kickin' it in africa

And for fun, I can be found...

2008-04-22T11:27:00.012+02:00

…hunting jackal, herding sheep on horseback, or reading by candlelight. Because of a major power crisis in South Africa - thanks to poor government planning, scandal, fraud - the country has adopted "load shedding," whereby the power is purposefully and systematically shut off throughout the country. Each city has a different “blackout schedule,” expected to last for at least two to three more years. Here in Richmond, we are plunged into darkness every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 6pm – 9pm. Each day around 5:45, Beth and I prepare the candles, and then spend the next few hours reading by candlelight, watching DVDs until our laptop batteries die, or venturing to the only restaurant in town with a generator, usually accompanied by several other locals waiting it out. Although it sounds amusing, it gets pretty irritating, and I often find myself wanting to scream “Get your shit together South Africa!”

Beth and I have befriended Hannes (or more accurately he has befriended us) a retired, burly Afrikaner who watches out for us. A former farmer and teacher, his children have moved away, and he now spends his days doing the occasional odd job and his nights hunting jackal. Apparently, the jackal is the biggest predator of lamb (adorably cute and defenseless baby sheep) and a major threat to a farmer’s herd, so Hannes is hired by the farmers to do to provide the obvious solution – kill them off. And although I’ve always been an animal lover and staunchly opposed to hunting, I was immediately intrigued by Hannes’ creepy, late night task, and figured the jackal would be killed whether I was there or not. So, I convinced Hannes to take me along. He picked me up after dark in his combination bakkie/hummer, painted camouflage (in browns and reds, though, to blend into the desert landscape), stopping first at the petrol station to get some snacks (he got the snacks, I stayed in the truck to make sure nobody stole his shot gun – seriously). We then drove nearly 45 minutes out and turned off the main dirt road onto a nondescript dirt track, into complete darkness. After driving a while, Hannes stopped and placed a “caller” a few meters away, removed the roof of the truck, and got into a massive, lifted seat in the back, shotgun and spotlight in hand. The caller emits various noises, all loud and high-pitched; there is a male jackal call, a female jackal mating call, three lamb-in-distress calls, and some high pitched cat-sounding noise. And then, we waited in silence. The whole time, Hannes was scanning his light across the landscape, trying to identify the animals surrounding us solely by the reflection of their eyes. And so I sat, in total silence and total darkness, looking at a sky full of stars, the reflection of thousands of eyes and the calls of animals carried by the wind – sheep, springbok, gemsbok, steenbok, cows, tortoises, rock rabbits. A couple hours in, we caught one jackal, which Hannes spotted and shot dead from about 200 meters away. At one point, as we were driving to a new spot, I was confused and surprised to see the lights of a town in the distance ahead, and I asked Hannes what town that was. He laughed in that way people do when I show my colors as an ignorant American city girl, and told me that the lights were not a town, but rather the reflection of thousands of sheep’s eyes. Holy shit, I thought, that’s a lot of sheep.

And to round out my farm girl experience (I need some overalls), Beth and I just came back from a weekend “at the farm.” Since we arrived, one of the local farmers, Hendricks, has been inviting us to his massive sheep farm nearly 70 kilometers outside of Richmond. So, last Friday night, just as the power went off, Beth and I escaped town for the weekend. The farm was lovely, the TV and good food (lamb chops and leg of lamb) even better, but the best part was herding sheep on horseback. In my second attempt atop a horse, this one a white beauty named Lulu, we rode with several farm workers for nearly three hours into the veld, tracking down and herding a group of sheep across the landscape. Once the work was done, we went even further out on horseback and saw a herd of zebras, dozens of impala and gemsbok. I’ve decided, however, that I’m just not a horse person. I never quite feel steady, especially when climbing up and down steep hills of loose rocks, it scared the hell out of me when Lulu started to run (completely ignoring me when I yanked hard on her reins), and my butt always hurts like hell when it’s over (as I write this, I keep shifting positions to alleviate the aching). But, then again, a little pain or terror never killed anyone, and the game viewing and scenery was incredible, and, admittedly, even cooler on horseback.

All work and no play...

2008-04-22T10:57:00.016+02:00

…makes Leah a ___ girl. Since the TOT, we have been working non-stop to prepare our trainers to plan, implement, monitor and evaluate the GRS program in Richmond. We’ve chosen two Program Managers; they will spend the next month assisting as we organize the school programs, street league and tournaments, and once we leave, the sustainability of the program will be up to them. One of our Managers, Ova, lit up when we told him about his promotion, giggling to himself saying “I’m a manager, I’m a manager.” Some of his friends have left to continue school or to work (mostly construction or road work), but he has remained behind. While he wants to continue with school he doesn’t want to put the financial burden on his single mother. So, this opportunity is huge: possibly the first time he’s held a job, not to mention a management position, and definitely the first time he will receive a salary.

As a Grassroot Soccer Richmond kick-off event, Beth and I organized a tournament in the township, including small-sided soccer games and two GRS activities, Find The Ball and HIV Attacks. The event was the first opportunity for the new trainers to introduce themselves as peer educators in Richmond and facilitate to kids. We are planning another tournament with a similar model, but which will also incorporate HIV testing for the children and the community. Testing is available in Richmond, but people are reluctant to visit the few nurses or counselors, don’t trust the concept of confidentiality (which to me is implicit in health care), and fear even being seen at the clinic for an HIV test. But, Beth and I recently went to the Richmond Hospital to assess the quality of the local counseling and testing process. When we first requested an HIV test, the nurse cocked his head, and in a tone that could only suggest amusement, said “Are you sure you want to be tested?” To this, I immediately felt one of my overly sarcastic retorts bubbling up, but I held my tongue; people don’t really get sarcasm here. The counselor was very thorough in the pre-counseling session (though admittedly nervous to speak English), and I got the same rapid-response finger prick test as I had in Lesotho, administered by one of the nurses. But the testing itself was not as professional; he drew my blood in the entrance/waiting room, without gloves, insisting they were unnecessary, and he then placed the plastic strip on the desk, with other people standing around. And as we waited for either one line (negative) or two lines (positive) to appear, the nurse was blatantly hitting on Beth and I. Regardless of the fact that I never doubted what the results would be, those five minutes are not easy to sit through, and it didn’t feel quite appropriate for the nurse to be asking what we did to socialize in Richmond, or if I would take him with me to New York.

Our final, and biggest, project, is the school and street league program. We are working with two Grade 7 classes, with 50-something learners in each classroom. A massive amount of kids crowded into rooms probably meant to accommodate 25 students, most of whom have long outgrown their one school uniform. There is a third Grade 7 class, but unfortunately, it is Xhosa-speaking, and none of our trainers speak the language (Beth and I were not prepared for, or perhaps properly informed of, the black-colored issue, so now we have taken on the somewhat awkward task of trying to recruit black, Xhosa-speaking people). We arranged to teach after school, but several teachers expressed concern that the kids may be too hungry to focus by the end of the day. The middle school ran out of money for its feeding scheme, so the kids no longer get lunch, which is for most kids the primary (or only) meal of the day. It didn't seem right to keep the kids after school without giving them something to eat, so I have arranged to provide a small meal before each GRS session. I am now fighting hunger and AIDS…what a hero.

So how is South Africa?

2008-04-22T10:09:00.014+02:00

This is a question I get, all the time, once people find out that I’m American. They ask because they have never seen anything outside of this country, and most have never seen anything outside of Richmond. But it’s sort of an awkward question, to which “good” never seems to be sufficient (especially because I have surely had my fair share of doubts about this country). They usually want to know how

South Africa

compares to the

United States

, and often, to New York. To this, I reply that New York City is pretty much what it looks like in the movies (the only frame of reference), and therefore it is fairly different from Richmond.

But, if I put the question within the context of my work, I can fairly say that South Africa is good. In fact, “all work and no play” is pretty much my life right now. Since I’m a volunteer I can presumably make my own schedule, but it turns out that starting up an HIV education program, in the middle of nowhere, is fairly time consuming. Beth and I work all the time, and keeping busy in Richmond is probably the only thing that keeps me sane. We’ve made tremendous progress, and with less than a month left in the Karoo, we have a hell of a lot of work to do.

About a month ago, Beth and I planned, organized and executed a week-long Training of Trainers (TOT), training twelve local community members (several of whom are “well-known” soccer players in Richmond). We were assisted by Themxo and Siya, from Bloem and Port Elizabeth, respectively, two of our Master Trainers who have been working for GRS for a while. Throughout the week, Themxo and Siya facilitated the games (Find The Ball, HIV Attacks, etc), and then the new trainers did “teach-backs,” receiving consistent feedback (praise and advice) on their performance. Though it ran smoothly, we faced some major challenges in teaching this sparsely educated, isolated population. First: language. Everyone speaks English (and over the last couple months have gotten more comfortable doing so), but the primary language in Richmond is Afrikaans. Locals speak Afrikaans almost exclusively with each other, and only use English when foreigners like myself are around, which is rare. Second: race, an issue I see and struggle to understand every day. All of our trainers are colored, but the TOT was lead by two black South Africans and two white Americans; while this didn’t affect our interactions, a few trainers voiced discomfort at first being taught by two blacks. Also, Siya confided that this was his first time interacting with the colored community, and never in his life had he spent more than two hours with a colored person (he’s from the Eastern Cape, which is primarily Xhosa). While the township is “integrated,” there are distinct colored and black “sections.” Both populations have been struggling for the same rights, recognition and privileges for years, but they have also been distinctly at odds with each other. Like everything here, it’s an issue I never could have anticipated, but I’m learning, I’m learning…Third: education. Almost everyone graduated high school, but only two trainers have held jobs since. The rest have been unemployed for years since school ended, and it seems in that time that their level of education has either remained static or dropped. It’s hard to pinpoint, and while low education or unemployment is common in townships, the isolation and lack of exposure to anything outside of Richmond seems to be having a unique, destructive affect on the community.

But, in spite of all the unforeseeable issues, and perhaps because of them, TOTs are an incredible experience. Not only are we training peer educators to work with kids, but we are also giving adults the skills and knowledge that they never had. Most trainers had limited or incorrect knowledge about HIV/AIDS, and believed the myths which circulate throughout South Africa. One trainer anonymously asked if “washing” after having unprotected sex with someone who is positive could keep you safe (thanks, Jacob Zuma). Not a single person could identify what “HIV” or “STIs” stand for, but many believed that you could get HIV by hugging, or that you could tell by looking at someone if they are HIV+. The concept of sex as a choice had never really been considered; one guy thought that if you were married, you were required to have sex, and another said “I learned that sex is not something you have to do.”

The night the TOT ended, I waited with Themxo at the petrol station for his bus back to Bloemfontein. As we waited, a bakkie pulled in, driven by a white man, with an empty middle seat, and at least five black men crowded into the back – such a natural scene that it’s not even questioned, except maybe in my head whenever I see it. We sat and watched, a rich white American and a poor black South African, and Themxo leaned over to me and said “You see that? He's in the front, but they have to sit in the back. We let them do that to us.” How does one respond to that? You don’t. And I didn’t…I just sat there. And then Themxo’s cell phone started blaring Alicia Keyes, and he began to dance in the parking lot, moving his hips as if they were completely detached from his body.

For a while I've been keeping track of quotes that have hit me particularly hard, made me smile or given me chills, and here are just a few...“We are all Africans, we know soccer. It’s what we do, it’s who we are”... “I’m so grateful you guys are here. You’ve given me the chance to do something important…otherwise I’d be sitting at home, doing nothing. Now it’s up to me" ... One trainer told his coach’s story of his best friend, who was raped in prison (as he put it: “they did funny things to him, they made him into a woman”) and later died of AIDS. As he finished his story, he told us: “When you keep something inside, it can break you. This is the first time I’ve ever told my story; I feel such relief, I feel I can breathe.”

Farm Life is Awesome

2008-03-14T16:31:00.016+02:00

One of the farms surrounding Richmond is the largest merino sheep farm in South Africa (merino wool is the really soft, really expensive stuff). I’ve befriended the farmers who own it, John and Lorette, and they invited me to see the shearing process. City girl that I am, I’ve never seen a sheep being…shorn…except at the Dutchess County Fair in Upstate NY...but that doesn't count. They shear the sheep every 6-8 months, and the process itself is incredible to see. They shear nearly 500 sheep a day in a huge barn with about twelve guys quickly, systematically cutting away at their thick coats. The sheep are baaing, making a racket, and the workers are sweating and muscling them around. Several other farm workers stand for hours sorting for quality (the good quality for clothes, the denser stuff for carpets, etc) – apparently, more than 90% of the wool is exported.

I also got to see the more intimate side of farm life…a system of “practice artificial insemination,” in which they train rams to ejaculate into a fake vagina. They hold an ewe, and bring in one ram at a time to sniff her and eventually mount her; as he is about to ejaculate, farm workers use an artificial vagina to collect semen. It was a long process, with several rams, but only one ewe. What a job. Lorette showed us a small vial of semen, which can apparently inseminate up to 20 ewes, and said “look you can still see the sperm swimming!” I guess farmers are very open about all of this…I thought it was totally awesome.

Hope in Richmond

2008-03-14T16:31:00.014+02:00

Grassroot Soccer has partnered with Hope in Richmond, a small non-profit in the States dedicated to developing and improving life conditions by providing health care, employment opportunities and infrastructural improvements. Since arriving, they have built several bathroom facilities, constructing toilets in the township and nearby squatter camps, where previously there were none whatsoever, and renovating the bathrooms in the high school, which were apparently non-functional. They also replaced the septic tanks for the entire town, which will benefit the entire population of Richmond, white, black and colored.

On a recent trip, Hope in Richmond recruited a group of medical and public health professionals to assess the needs of the town; they performed a health assessment survey of the squatter camp, and basic medical training to three AIDS outreach workers who do home visits, weekly medical assessments and counseling sessions. While they have a good sense of the symptoms, conditions and needs of their HIV+ “patients,” they have no training or medical background and may be illiterate. In the next few months, I’m hoping to work with them so that they can better contribute to local health needs.

One of Hope in Richmond’s most crucial projects has been the introduction of a daily feeding scheme, or soup kitchen, to the township and squatter camp. Every day at 3pm, the three AIDS outreach workers serve a basic meal to hundreds of township kids. There is not enough money for a real meal, but the kids usually get bread with butter and jelly and a cup of juice; a crucial meal for most kids, lasting them until the next day’s lunch at school. Every day, children start to appear outside the church, rambunctious at first, but then forming an orderly line to receive a squirt of hand sanitizer and recite the daily prayer (eyes closed, young bodies squirming with impatience and hunger). They then receive their food; and though the kids are filthy, barefoot, in tattered clothes, and probably haven’t eaten all day, their excitement and satisfaction with this simple meal is unmistakable. Nigel is a young boy who is always at the soup kitchen, we think he lives in the squatter camp. He is only seven years old, but somehow speaks nearly perfect English, and has been a great translator between us and the hundreds of other Afrikaans speaking kids.

The final project which seems to be finally coming to fruition is Hope in Richmond’s major, long-term undertaking – the renovation of the local stadium and soccer field into a community center. Currently, there are five families squatting in the concrete rooms underneath the stadium, and Hope in Richmond is the final stages of building homes for these families (very basic, but reliable brick structures). Once they are moved out, the complex will be refurbished to accommodate the soup kitchen, a permanent clinic for the HIV outreach workers, a Grassroot Soccer office, and a library for the township. It will be one of the only community spaces for the people of Richmond, and will be a tremendous resource for health, nutrition and education.

And last, but certainly not least, Hope in Richmond has recruited Grassroot Soccer to provide the first formal, sustained, HIV education program for the tiny, isolated desert town. Apart from a once-yearly government workshop, and a Life Orientation class, which teaches basic life-skills to learners, there is no HIV-education to speak of, a likely explanation for the 35% HIV-infection rate. Beth and I have a lot of work ahead of us, and in the coming months, we will be establishing a GRS school program and weekly street league. While GRS primarily targets middle-school aged children, presumably intervening before they reach high school, several people in Richmond have pinpointed the high school as the most at-risk population. In a meeting with the principal, he told me that the University of Stellenbosch recently completed a survey of Richmond High School, and found that 30% of its students were HIV+. A staggering statistic, which I still find hard to believe, but one which came directly from the mouth of the high school principal. He explained that if the school administration finds out about a learner’s status, they try to support the child without immediately informing his or her parents; it is so common for HIV+ kids to be abused, neglected or kicked out of their homes, and the school tries to protect its learners for as long as possible.

We’ve spent several weeks meeting with community members, black, white and colored, trying to identify bright, committed and engaged individuals to become Grassroot Soccer coaches (including unofficial community leaders, teachers and pastors, local soccer players and coaches, students, and of course, hundreds of unemployed young men and women). Our recruiting effort culminated in a community meeting, during which Beth and I introduced GRS and facilitated Find The Ball – not completely disastrous! The application process is tricky, but exciting; I’m learning that it’s really difficult to get a good sense of personality, intelligence and commitment from a written application, especially when written in a second language. And, it’s no easier to conduct interviews with young people who have never been interviewed, much less by two American women. One major challenge we have faced is determining those actively want to work to better their communities, and those who simply see Americans, and think money. But, from the fairly diverse group of applications (black and colored, male and female, almost all high-school educated and currently unemployed) we selected several people who seemed genuinely committed to helping local youth. In a couple weeks, Beth and I (with the help of two GRS Master Trainers, Themxo and Siya) will be facilitating a week-long TOT workshop for 16-20 new GRS coaches, and we will then officially launch GRS in Richmond.

Land of Ten Thousand Sheep

2008-03-14T16:27:00.011+02:00

I never thought it would happen, but I am now, officially, a small town girl. For the last month I have been living in Richmond, a tiny farming village in the middle of the Great Karoo Desert, where we have been working on the initial stages of introducing GRS to the community. We drove the nearly five hours from Port Elizabeth, crossing over from beautiful coastal city into barren desert landscape. The final leg into Richmond took us onto a dirt road, with nothing but sheep and the occasional farm house. In the nearly two hours of driving this road, the only vehicle we passed was a horse-drawn buggy. The following is a little depiction of my home for the next several months…

First, a little perspective as to how much I do, quite literally, live in the middle of the nowhere: if I ride my bike for more than six minutes in any direction, I emerge from town or township, and into the desert…thousands of acres and miles and kilometers of beautiful, sprawling, endless mountains, valleys, flat prickly bush and cactus, and a lot of damn sheep. One of the farmers, Johan Bezuiidenhout, owns 25,000 acres of land and 3,000 sheep, and he is only one of 60 incredibly wealthy farmers who work the land surrounding Richmond. Johan took me on a tour of “the veld” on the back of his bakkie, passing jackal, kudu, hemsbok, springbok, hundred of tortoises, and a hell of a lot of sheep.

The town of Richmond was partially founded as a religious center point for the Afrikaans farmers settled in the area. “Town” itself is composed of two long streets, and a third dirt road; it’s the type of town where you can walk down the middle of the street because there are never any cars. Only on Sundays do cars line the streets, when the white farmers come into town for Church. There is a grocery store and two restaurants in town, one convenience-type store, and the “Chinese store” – the only place in town to buy any clothes (those who enter it are viewed with disdain for supporting a store owned by a Chinese family. Who knows how a Chinese family ended up in Richmond, but they need to make a living, too). A small “stream” (usually a dry riverbed, with occasional water running through it) divides the town and the township, connected by a rickety footbridge.

I live in town, which is incredibly, disarmingly quiet; the only other people I ever see who live in town are the old lady across the street, the pastor and his wife, a loopy, middle-aged self-professed “flower child” who owns an abandoned book store (which has sold 7 books in 7 months), and a few colored people. While the town is almost deserted, right across the stream the township is bustling with thousands of people, a mix of colored and black (Xhosa), most of whom speak Afrikaans. The official-unofficial population is 9,000, three hundred of whom are white and mostly live on the surrounding farms, the rest of whom live in the townships. I am just getting used to using the term “colored” given its distinct racial implications in the States. But here, it’s a commonly accepted term to describe a person whose racial composition may be any combination of white colonial, black African and Indian. During apartheid, the distinction was made between whites, coloreds and blacks, and rights were distributed in that order.

There are almost no job opportunities to speak of in Richmond, except the lucky handful who work in the few shops or become farm workers. Almost everyone is unemployed; young men spend their days walking aimlessly through the township, while women stay closer to home, usually sitting outside their shacks, talking, watching. The widespread unemployment explains the rampant alcoholism in the township, as well as the spread of HIV (there is quite literally nothing to do, so people turn to sex, usually unprotected). Parents often begin drinking as soon as their kids leave for school, in one of the 30+ shebeens (illegal pubs) located behind store fronts or in people’s homes.

The alcoholism strikes me as quite ironic considering the religious foundation of Richmond, with 30 churches meeting regularly in the town and township. My second day in Richmond, I attended St. Matthews Anglican Sunday Mass with a group of visiting Americans; I was the only one who did not stand up to receive communion. The next weekend, Beth and I got invited to the Harvest Time Church, for self-professed born-again Christians. I’ve attended church before, and while I am always respectful, each experience has reinforced my own values about the concept and institution of religion. But this time, I couldn’t not be uncomfortable in the small, cement room, as the congregation sang and prayed, eyes closed and reaching for the sky. Toward the end, several women came to the front, presumably to confess their sins; as the preacher held one woman’s shoulders and powerfully sermonized over, she began to convulse and collapsed to the floor. At that point, I left.

Richmond has three schools - a primary school, middle school and high school - with about 1500 black and colored students; white children of the farmers are sent away from an early age to private boarding schools. There is a youth hostel for the children of farm workers; kids of all ages live in “dorms” and return to the farms on the weekends. It’s primarily high-school aged kids, and given the fact that it is fairly unstructured, poorly resourced and maintained, it has been dubbed “the red zone.” A group of poor, hungry, uneducated teenagers, living together with minimal supervision – strikes me a breeding ground for unsafe, unhealthy behavior.

I recently went to meet with the principal of the middle school, Ikhaya Primary, and I arrived at 10am, just in time for “lunch.” Each school has funds for a feeding scheme to provide one meal per day, and one plastic plate per child. They try to feed the children as early as possible, because for many it’s their only meal of the day. Some may eat breakfast or dinner at home, but most kids will not eat again until the next day. At the beginning of each term, the school tries to provide breakfast for those learners who are really bad off, but that only lasts until the money runs dry. As the food was brought out to a dusty courtyard in massive buckets, the kids formed a long line for one scoop of pasta with fish sauce, and a cup of juice. I almost asked about silverware, and then immediately felt silly and/or completely ignorant when I saw the kids grabbing at the food with their hands.

Off to Richmond...

2008-02-15T08:08:00.000+02:00

After sending my parents off I headed straight to Kimberley, a town just west of Bloemfontein, to run a Training of Trainers (TOT). GRS has partnered with De Beers to sponsor a Grassroot Soccer program in Kimberley and in surrounding townships. During the training, which lasts for five long, ten-hour days, we introduce the entire GRS curriculum (20+ activities), basic HIV/AIDS information, facilitation and leadership skills, and monitoring and evaluation of the GRS programs. Lucky for me, I got to do the condom demonstration. One of the older guys, Mutabaruka, has been a youth facilitator for years, and has attended many workshops on health and facilitation; while taking feedback at the end of the first day, he said that our activity-based strategy was the most fun, effective and informative strategy he'd ever worked with. On the last day, we had a big graduation ceremony, with live music, dancing, GRS activities, and several community leaders who came out to learn about and participate with GRS. All in all, we trained 16 new trainers, ready to introduce the GRS program in Kimberley.

One of the more serious activities of the GRS curriculum is Coach's Story, in which each coach tells their "story" of how HIV has affected them and why they got involved with GRS. The stories are meant to encourage everyone to share and trust each other, and to break stigma. One of our trainers, with whom I've become very close, shared her story: She had been estranged from her father for years, until she found out he was "very sick." She refused to see him, until one day in church something convinced her to go see him before he died. The string of women he had been involved with had abandoned him, and he was alone, hungry and incredibly ill, without any medical care. She asked why he was sick, and while everyone else knew, he was somehow oblivious, and said he didn't know. When she told him "you're HIV+", he proceeded to yell at her, denying it, accusing her of lying. He died soon after. She later told me that this was the first time she had shared her story. I know that several of the trainers I work with have lost parents, but they have never discussed whether it was HIV-related (one must just assume). I'm beginning to realize that so many of the people I work with, and those in the townships, have their own HIV-related stories.

On the downside, I did get mugged while in Kimberley. Driving back from the townships, we stopped at a light; Bri was driving, Themby was up front, and I was in the backseat. A tsotsi ran toward the car and jumped more than halfway through the open window. He grabbed my backpack first, but I was able to pull it away from him (it had everything in it - my laptop, ipod, wallet, everything). I was yelling at Bri to drive, and in the commotion he grabbed my phone. We finally pulled away, shaken up, but ok (minus one cell phone). And, of course, in the 27 years that Themby has been living in South Africa, this has never happened to her. But, because she was with two white girls, we were all a target. Needless to say, I now keep my windows closed and doors locked.

On the bright side, I have officially passed along the Bloem project, and today I am moving to a town called Richmond to pilot a new GRS program there. Richmond is a very small farming community in the middle of the Karoo Desert, and GRS will be partnering with an outreach program of St. Peter's Episcopal Church in Maryland. Apparently, the town has 70% unemployment and 35% HIV prevalence, and they've gotten involved in several community development projects over the years in Richmond, including a local soup kitchen. They have just recruited GRS to introduce HIV education and awareness to the community, so our first step will be to identify local community members who will participate in a TOT, and join GRS in educating youth. I'm hoping we will be able to collaborate with SPEC and pilot the first sustainable HIV education program in Richmond. Side note: the town is so small, Beth and I are getting bicycles for transport. I think I'll be spending a lot of time at the local pub with Afrikaans farmers.

Yay for Mom and Dad

2008-02-15T07:50:00.000+02:00

My parents came to visit in late January, and it was so wonderful to spend time with family, and get out of Bloem, once again. I took them to the GRS office, and one of our trainers, Thabo, gave them a tour of Mangaung. We then flew to Cape Town, which is stunning, probably the most beautiful city I have ever seen. Set against Table Mountain, it has incredible views of both the mountains and the Atlantic and Indian oceans, beautiful architecture, incredible food, and a level of diversity I had not yet seen in South Africa. They say it's "not really Africa," and while that's a tricky statement, I would definitely say it's distinctly unique from any other place on the continent. Liz flew down from Malawi (!) and we spent a week exploring; walked around the famous Waterfront and toured Robben Island, an isolated prison island off the coast where Nelson Mandela, among thousands of other political prisoners, was held for nearly 25 years. Also drove down to the southernmost tip of Africa, to the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point. A gorgeous drive around Cape Peninsula, and incredible to climb to the top of these ridges, essentially at the end of the world. On the way north, we drove through Simon's Town, a quaint naval town, with a colony of native African penguins. Adorable and funny, especially when Liz started to chase them and they bit her.

Spent a couple days in wine country (Frankschhoek), driving through vineyards, tasting wines and chocolates. After a final meal of sushi (oh, how I've missed sushi), we flew up to a private game reserve at Kruger National Park. We went out on early morning (think 5am) and late afternoon game drives with a ranger and tracker. By looking at a footprint or animal dropping, they can track what animal it was, how long ago it was there, and which direction it headed. Safari was probably one of the coolest things I've ever done - coming within five feet of a pride of lions, elephants, hyenas, rhinos, water buffalo, zebras, giraffes, leopards, etc. And, we got lucky...on our first drive, we came upon a pride of lions devouring a zebra they had just caught; all that was left to identify it was two striped legs. A pack of hyenas had begun to gather around the periphery of the kill-site, trying to get at the zebra scraps left behind. Resulted in a face-off between the small pack of hyenas and a lioness, trying to protect her pride. On our last drive, we happened upon a leopard just minutes after a kill. It was dragging an impala through the bush, trying to hide among the trees so that it could feast safely. We sat and watched and followed the leopard for almost an hour, and you could hear dozens of impala nearby barking and hissing at the predator. Absolutely unreal. A pride of lions or a leopard itself is something, but seeing the carnage is pretty damn awesome.

Shabbat Dinner in Joburg

2008-01-17T13:36:00.000+02:00

Just when I thought my trip was over, I ended up having my first Kosher Orthodox Shabbat dinner in a beautiful Jewish suburb in Johannesburg. While in Zanzibar, Bri and I met Hayley, a sweet girl from Joburg who has been living in Australia for several years. She became our travel companion, snorkeling and partying with us, and she left with the requisite “If you’re ever in Joburg…” On our way back to Bloem, we decided to take a detour through Joburg. We called information, luckily, bizarrely, got her cousin, and managed to track her down.

We got into the city on a Friday afternoon, just in time for Shabbat dinner. As the sun went down, I borrowed “dinner appropriate” clothes from Hayley, we lit the candles, and Hayley’s father said a prayer for Bri and I, surprised that our fathers had never “blessed us” before Shabbat dinner. Even though I’m a proud, educated Jew from the Upper West Side, I have never experienced such strict practices, and I spent the next five days trying to follow the house rules, and not expose my own rather “flexible” version of Judaism. I learned to use separate meat and milk dishes, separate sinks, and to sit in the proper seat around the table. Saturday was tricky; I wasn’t quite sure what was “resting” and what wasn’t, but I know that Hayley’s father had ripped off strips of toilet paper beforehand, so it seemed like anything I did might violate the day of rest.

But once the sun went down, Joburg far surpassed my expectations. Had some great nights out (although all the clubs play house music - which I think is awful and monotonous, but South Africans love it) and drove through several townships, which were not unlike those in Bloem. Many homes have “domestics,” black women who you see every morning and night, coming and going from the townships to the white suburbs. So it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary that there was a live-in maid, except that she called the father of the house “Master.” When I first heard this, I could not quite believe it. “Master”? The implications, to me anyway, are appalling and unacceptable, but as a relative stranger and guest, it was clearly not my place to say anything. Needless to say, it made me quite uncomfortable.

Finally got back to Bloem, and within 24 hours of being home, my phone rang with an invitation to Shabbat dinner that Friday. Even though Jews only make up less than one percent of the world, apparently, we’re everywhere. This family was as surprised to meet us, two foreign Jewish girls living in Bloemfontein, as we were to meet them. Until that point, I quite literally thought that Bri and I were the Jewish community in Bloem, and had no idea that there were 120+ Jews in town, and even a synagogue! Either way, I’d missed challah and brisket and kugel, and it felt strangely familiar (and immensely ironic) to be caught up in the dinnertime banter of a nice Jewish family.

New Years Eve in Zambia

2008-01-12T23:47:00.000+02:00

After finally leaving Zanzibar behind, I spent the last week hanging at the intern house in Lusaka, Zambia. Lusaka is a very urban environment set among sprawling hills and rural farmland. In contrast to South Africa, Lusaka represented much more of what I imagined an African city to look like, both in terms of racial divisions, and the integration of Zambian culture and tradition with urban, semi-modern living. Grassroot Soccer in Zambia has been well established for years now, and I got to see the program at a weekly “KidSafe League” at the local futsal stadium (futsal is essentially small-sided soccer). The GRS trainers have formed a team called PEP FC (Peers Educating Peers Football Club); they play in a weekly league, and after each game deliver Grassroot Soccer activities to other young players.

Very low key end to the trip. On New Years Eve, we intentionally avoided Lusaka’s ex-pat scene, and a bunch of us made a delicious curry dinner and played drinking games. Apparently it’s the most dangerous night of the year to drive (drunk driving is a problem year-round), so we stayed put. Very relaxed and fun night, and Lusaka definitely impressed with the fireworks – coming from all over the city, for hours (and days) before and after New Years Eve.

Stone Town

2008-01-12T23:27:00.000+02:00

Back in Stone Town, we headed out to explore the fish, fruit and spice markets, but within ten minutes, some guys grabbed Melissa and tried to pickpocket her. Freaked out and annoyed, we left our backpacks, cameras, phones at the hotel, and tried again.

This time, without our backpacks, Stone Town was wonderful. The main commercial district of Zanzibar, it’s a network of narrow, winding, shady alleys, nestled between ancient buildings, mosques and raised terraces. I spent hours getting lost through these streets, and I could have taken a thousand pictures, if it had been safe to have a camera. There are tiny shops everywhere which sell everything – bread, fruit, art, jewelry, ripped DVD’s, random electronics, traditional clothes, non-traditional clothes. Every evening there is a night market on the dock, where tables are set up with stacks of freshly caught seafood – lobster, tuna, calamari, octopus, prawns, kingklip, barracuda, crab – plus fresh chapati, falafel, fruit, sugarcane juice, tea and Zanzibari Pizza – fried dough with ground meat, egg, and spices. The food is dirt cheap, and although everyone cautions against street food, it is unbelievably good. We went twice.

Out of Stone Town are daily Spice Tours around Zanzibar, nicknamed “Spice Island.” We walked through the local inland villages, and toured spice plantations with hundreds of spices native to Zanzibar. We were able to taste and smell spices fresh from the tree – cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, nutmeg, peppercorn, lemongrass, cacao beans, coffee beans, jackfruit, “lipstick tree” fruit, vanilla, and curry spice. The whole time, young local kids were offering us rings, bracelets, necklaces and hats made with banana leaves, which they later expected to be paid for. Very persuasive (and very poor) little entrepreneurs.

Christmas in Nungwi

2008-01-12T23:15:00.000+02:00

We left Paje a few days before Christmas and went up north to Nungwi, a village at the very northern tip of Zanzibar – slightly more touristy, slightly more of a party scene. Bri and I found a beautiful (by our standards, anyway) cheap bungalow, literally on the beach. The water was equally stunning, the sand a little less soft, and the beach bars definitely busy. The piña coladas are actually made with fresh cut pineapple, and the seafood was literally just pulled from the sea. Lunch consisted of fresh mango, pineapple and coconut, straight from the tree. Since only locals seem to possess the skill to crack open a coconut, I was forced to bargain for my fruit, which seemed absurd considering the thousands of coconuts scattered everywhere. So it goes.

On the day of Christmas Eve, our neighbors, two Swedish girls and an Austrian guy, convinced us to go deep sea fishing. It was expensive, but sounded awesome – what the hell is deep sea fishing anyway? – so at 6am we got on a boat and headed out nearly two hours into the “deep sea.” Absolute torture – I have never experienced seasickness before, but being on a small boat, hours from shore, it feels like the waves and churning and bouncing will never end. I spent the next four hours seasick, miserable, and clenching the side of the boat, contemplating jumping in just for relief. Forget fishing; I couldn’t even turn around to look whenever the line caught. Like the true friend she is, Bri got sick too, and we eventually convinced them to turn back. One of the Swedish girls put two anti-nauseous pills in my hand, which I swallowed without a second thought. I later found out you’re only supposed to take half, and when we got back to shore, I immediately passed out, and spent the next twenty four hours completely high and/or dazed.

Christmas Eve was wonderful nonetheless. Our boat caught an impressive ten fish – including a barracuda – and the local restaurant set out a table on the beach, and prepared for us a wonderful feast with the fish we had caught. So, a table of relative strangers – two New Yorkers, a Canadian, a French couple, two Swedish girls, an Austrian guy and his father, and a German guy – enjoyed Christmas Eve dinner on the beach. Later that night, we wandered down the beach to Kendwa, a nearby village, to a Full Moon party held annually by one of the hotels. Bizarre to spend Christmas partying on a tropical island, but also a fairly incredible way to spend the holidays.

It is somewhat startling to wander into the villages that lay just behind the beach, away from the tourist trap and into the real Zanzibar. Walking through, Bri and I encountered a different world of stone huts, young kids playing soccer with balls made of plastic bags, and women selling bread, weaving clothes, gossiping and laughing. The local men on the beach are overtly friendly, trying to get our attention and sell us something, and the very few Muslim women who enter the tourist areas are there only to sell massages and henna. The rest of the women stay within the village, and are almost all covered from head to foot, many revealing only their eyes – a stark contrast from the nearly-naked tourists lounging on the beaches. I’ve gotten used to being stared at, but with these women, it was different. It is hard to tell if they are disdainful toward us as non-Muslim women, if they feel threatened by our presence, or if they simply don't speak English, and it's especially hard to perceive sentiment when all you can see is their eyes. Either way, Zanzibar is becoming increasingly touristy, and there is a distinct contrast between beach life and life just inland. The clear line reminded me somewhat of parts of South Africa.

Hakuna Matata

2008-01-12T23:00:00.000+02:00

My head was fuzzy for days following Livingstone (I’m not sure it’s possible, but I think I may have overdosed on adrenaline), and the next two weeks were pretty much spent in paradise. We left Zambia for Tanzania – landed in Dar es Salaam and took a 6-seater plane straight to Zanzibar, an island 25 miles off the coast of the mainland. Before traveling to Zanzibar, I wasn’t even quite sure where it was or that it even existed – it seemed too mystical and mysterious to be a real place. But it is real, and it is as gorgeous and remote as it is gritty, busy and crowded. We spent nearly two weeks on the island, traveling from Stone Town, the main commercial district, to Paje, on the eastern coast, up to Nungwi, on the very northern tip of the island. Our first night in Paje, we arrived to an all-night beach party at our hostel. A fun, loud, surreal dance party of locals and travelers.

The water at Paje was a spectacular blue-green, and the sand literally felt like flour. Endless stretches of blue beach and white sand, dotted with fisherman’s boats (dhows). Indescribably gorgeous. Paje is a quiet, somewhat secluded region of Zanzibar, and for a week, we lay in hammocks, ate meals of pineapple and fresh bread, and woke up to watch the sun rise over the Indian Ocean. The island is supposed to have some of the best snorkeling in the world, so we took a tiny dhow out for a day. The trip was a near disaster; as soon as we dove in, an hour into the Indian Ocean, we immediately started getting stung by some mysterious jellyfish-like creature. I was determined to see some tropical fish, but after about ten minutes of getting stung, repeatedly, we all gave up. We were taken to a private island, where local fisherman had prepared a feast of octopus, calamari, tuna, lobster and prawns, plus traditional rice, bread, and fresh fruit. Likely the best meal I ate on the trip. So the snorkeling was a total bust, but the private lunch on the private island made up for it.

We became friends with a couple local guys, Sale and Danda, who showed us the other side of Paje. They own their own small restaurant/bar, which runs entirely without electricity, and they invited us to dinner and a drumming circle down the beach. Another incredible meal, and a wonderful way to experience real Zanzibari food, music and culture. I’m not too naïve to think they’ve never done this for other tourists, as they’ve clearly perfected the balance between friendship and business, trying to make a living with foreign money. But, for a few weeks, they were our friends, and gave us a really great view of the island. I probably picked up more Swahili from them in my two weeks in Zanzibar than I’ve learned of Sotho, Tswana or Afrikaans in my 3+ months in Bloemfontein. It’s a beautiful language, and I quickly learned that the locals are pleasantly surprised, and less likely to rip you off, when you address them in Swahili. And, everyone says Hakuna Matata, all the time (it’s not just a stupid line from the Lion King, which most ignorant tourists assume, including myself!). It means no problem, don’t worry, and I heard it many times – when we were getting stung by jellyfish, and when our taxi got a flat tire, mid-day, at peak heat. Most of those times, I wanted to scream, but eventually I was [somewhat] able to adapt the mindset, and let it go. Hakuna Matata.

Random note: One night, Sale grabbed my feet, pressed one spot, which sent a shock through my leg, and said “You had a headache today, here…” and pointed to the exact spot where I’d had a tension headache earlier that day. He kept prodding at my foot, rather painfully, and said “You get lots of headaches, migraines, don’t you?” I don’t understand how, but he knew what kind of headaches I get and where, from the pressure points on my feet.

5-4-3-2-1 Bungee!

2008-01-12T22:40:00.000+02:00

I’ve been gone for a while, but I am finally back in Bloem. Here’s where I’ve been for the last month: Zambia, Tanzania, and the incredibly unreal island of Zanzibar. Along the way, I had some wonderful – and some very shady – moments, but now that I’m back, I’m happy to report that I have had a proper shower, have gotten the sand out of my pack, and am back to drinking clean water. It was a long, incredible and exhausting, and for the first time in my life, I actually kept a journal, to keep track of it all, the good and the bad.

I started off in Livingstone, Zambia, at Victoria Falls. One of the natural wonders of the world, it is truly incredibly to see. But, I didn’t go to Livingstone – the adrenaline capital of Africa – just to look at Vic Falls; in three days, I leaned over its edge, got tossed in its rapids, and jumped over it. I was on the Zambian side, offering a clear view of the main waterfall over a steep edge. A thick mist rises over the edge, called Mosi-Oa-Tunya (The Smoke That Thunders), which can apparently be seen from 30 kilometers away. Immediately after getting off a hot and cramped bus from Lusaka, I headed to Livingstone Island, a world heritage site that stands on top of the main waterfall. The island leads into the Devil’s Armchair, a rock pool with one of its main walls forming the edge of Victoria Falls. We swam toward a rocky ledge and jumped off into the pools, with the water pushing me up against the wall that forms the main waterfall. And then, I did probably the most incredible, and stupidest, thing I’ve done to date – I literally hung over Victoria Falls, with water gushing past me and over the edge. As I leaned over the edge, face first, and then backwards, the only thing keeping me from literally plummeting over was our guide, who was holding onto my legs as I screamed “just take the picture!” I honestly cannot believe the guides are allowed to do this…and as I sit here, I’m realizing that it’s impossible to explain the feeling of being outstretched, looking down and out over Victoria Falls.

The next day, somewhat recovered from the rush of hanging over the Falls, Bri and I went white water rafting on the Zambezi River. I had never been rafting, had no idea what I was doing, and no idea what to expect – I especially didn’t expect to be rafting through 23 rapids, many of which ranked Grade 5, “extremely difficult, long and violent rapids, steep gradients, big drops and pressure areas.” Our guide, Enoch, taught us how to paddle, and “get down!” when a rapid was too major to paddle through. We barely got any practice because the first rapid was major, directly into a rock wall, and of course, we flipped. It's really terrifying at first - you get tossed under a major rapid, don't know where you are, and think you'll never emerge to the surface, because the waves are continuously crashing down. Our boat started with six people, and by lunch, three had abandoned ship, leaving myself, Bri, and a cute British girl named Jenny. Once the guides realized that we were having a great time flipping and panicking and recovering, they started leading our raft directly into the rapids – so, of course, we flipped four times. I felt fairly safe, most of the time, but the second time we flipped, I got caught in the air pocket of our capsized boat, took a wooden oar straight across the face (nearly broke my nose), and finally got pulled out. By the end of the day, we were all bruised, sun burnt and partially bleeding, but running with more adrenaline than I have ever felt.

I had been waiting for my final day in Livingstone since I learned several months ago that you could bungee jump off of Victoria Falls. And I did just that – I jumped off the bridge that connects Zambia and Zimbabwe, and looms over 111 meters above the rapids that had beaten me up the day before. To my surprise, I was never quite nervous or hesitant, probably because there was no question about it; I knew that I had to do it, and that I was going to do it. And I did it. Everyone says “don’t look down!” but as I approached the edge, it was too beautiful not to look down, out and up over Victoria Falls. Then, it was a quick 5-4-3-2-1 BUNGEE! and I was over the edge. There are really no words to describe the feeling, so I won’t even try. Suffice it to say, I will do it again. To my mother’s dismay, this only provoked my desire to jump off of high things; now I can’t wait to bungee again, and to skydive, hopefully in Namibia this Spring.

I'm famous

2007-12-07T18:26:00.000+02:00

http://cultureofsoccer.com/

An Afrikaans Play

2007-12-07T18:17:00.000+02:00

A couple nights ago, Lukas, one of our Afrikaans friends, invited Bri and I to a play at the University. Another friend is the writer-director of the play, which just won a major national competition for high-school student performances. It was free (including wine and hor’dourves!) and Lukas promised it would be in English. Of course, when we arrived, the play was entirely in Afrikaans. So, Bri and I had a great time attempting to interpret what was going on with the characters, putting our own words into their mouths (a game we often play when our trainers are speaking Sotho, and we have no idea what’s going on). We were fairly successful at figuring most things out, except when we thought the main female lead was committing suicide by overdosing on pills. Confused, I whispered to Lukas that I thought she was dead, so why was she still talking to other characters? He almost burst out laughing in the silent theater. Turns out, she was just making some silly metaphor with candy. You probably had to be there, but it's just very typical of my life here…I never have any idea what is going on, but I still enjoy free food, anytime.

Thanksgiving at the beach

2007-12-07T17:56:00.000+02:00

Just a quick update, as November and December have been surprisingly busy, and slow, at the same time. Did a great job keeping the American tradition alive over Thanksgiving; my housemates and I drove down to Port Elizabeth, on the Eastern Cape, to join the GRS interns who live and work there. The drive itself was beautiful, through the mountains from Central South Africa all the way to southeastern coast. There were almost 20 of us – the interns, their Afrikaans friends, and some GRS head-honchos in town for meetings, including Tommy Clark, the founder/CEO of GRS. They prepared a huge feast – two turkeys, a porgasm (ham, wrapped in bacon, stuffed with spiced chili cream cheese), mashed potatoes, veggies, rolls, and 13 desserts – the works. No offense to my mom (or Nancy), but it was up there as one of the best thanksgiving meals I’ve ever had. Over the next few days, we lived at the beach, drove to Jeffrey’s Bay (the surf capital of Africa) and climbed South Africa’s largest sand dunes at Maitland Beach. We also got to know their Afrikaans friends, and they prepared for us a potjie, traditional Afrikaans stew. According to tradition, while the potjie is cooking, everyone must be drinking, and potjie takes at least 3-4 hours to prepare. Needless to say, a great time was had by all in Port Elizabeth.

Back in Bloem, we finished up our school graduations, as the schools closed for the summer on November 30. Since my arrival in Bloem, we have graduated 719 kids from the GRS program, with plans to continue to expand the Bloemfontein site over the next several months. While it makes only a small contribution to GRS’ goal to reach 1,000,000 by 2010, it’s still a fairly impressive number. While I risk sounding cliché, even if we reach one kid, it will be worth it. Next January, we'll be having a Training of Trainers, during which we will be training nearly 40 new “coaches” from throughout Mangaung. This includes a women’s group called the Sisterhood (formerly South African Women in Dialogue), who do various community outreach campaigns to young women and children, and also the Outdoor Sports Center staff of Mangaung. The Center is a large complex with indoor and outdoor sports grounds, and educational and leadership training courses. The individuals who run these organizations are well-known leaders within the community, and once we train them in the GRS curriculum, we will be able to reach a continuously wider base of kids. The Sisterhood women are particularly important, as they are Afrikaans speaking, and will be able to reach the Afrikaans-speaking colored demographic that we have yet to cover.

For World AIDS Day, December 1, we had a huge multi-sport tournament in the township, co-sponsored by MUCPP. Anthony and I were in charge of the 5 vs. 5 soccer tournament, which I would characterize as organized chaos; we had about 12 teams, probably 100 kids. The day was long and exhausting, but I got to watch soccer all day (really, really good soccer), and introduce the concept of an HIV-free, healthy lifestyle into some young minds. After the holidays, Bri and I are going to begin planning for a testing tournament similar to what we saw in Lesotho, and hopefully establish it within GRS Bloem and Mangaung as an annual event.

Last night, I attended the opening ceremony of the Love Life All-Star Games. Love Life is a national organization that uses techniques similar to GRS to promote an HIV-free, healthy lifestyle; their motto is “An HIV-Free Generation.” They have a massive following in every province throughout South Africa, with over 1,000 volunteer peer educators, or Love Life Mpintshis (like GRS trainers). The All-Star Games is a national tournament with teams from all 9 provinces, nearly 3,000 kids, hosted this year in the Free State. During the ceremony, everyone packed into a huge hall at the University for opening speeches, ground rules, and dancing. The entire hall was on their feet...suffice it to say, people can move here. And, needless to say, Bri and I stuck out, as usual. We’ve been working on several collaborations with Love Life, and the tournament is an ideal venue for us to participate, gather ideas, and spread the word within the Love Life community about GRS.

Adventures with Kevin

2007-11-10T19:48:00.000+02:00

Immediately after the tournament, we drove north into the Maluti Mountains, toward a tiny, remote village called Malealea. It was getting dark as we approached a sign which read “Gates of Paradise,” which lead us through the valleys of Malealea and into the village. We arrived at the Malealea Lodge, ate dinner (buffet-style, unlimited food is a major plus these days), and went to bed so excited to see the place in the daylight. I woke up and ran up the hill to see the view, which, as I predicted, was spectacular. Our trip to Lesotho, and Malealea, was a much needed holiday after weeks of hard work, long days, and meetings. I read my book on the porch of the lodge, overlooking the mountains, and happily drank instant coffee (which is actually beginning to grow on me).

Dying to get into the village and explore the landscape, we hired a guide (aptly named Malealea) to lead us on a day-long trek into the Maluti Mountains to Botsabelo Waterfall. Bri, Anthony and Meghan went by foot, but I decided to join Malealea on horseback. Ponies are the primary means of transportation here, and I wanted to experience it for myself (donkeys are too, but you couldn’t pay me to ride one of those). The landscape was beautiful (see pictures: picasaweb.google.com/leahrbh) and seemingly untouched; shepherds young and old (all wearing Seanna Marenas) with flocks of goat, sheep, horses and cattle, no electricity, and small huts lining the countryside. Little kids appeared out of nowhere, grabbing our hands, and following us as far as their bare feet could take them. I really could not believe that I was actually in the middle of Lesotho, in a tiny village, on a pony. My pony’s name was Kevin, an embarrassing but true fact that Bri is making me share. Kevin and I had an interesting power dynamic going on – he had all the power, and I had none. Granted, I had no idea how to control him, so it may have been my fault, but he was incredibly stubborn; when I tried to make him stop so I could take a photo, he either turned right, jerked his head down, or sped up. He seemed to be unsure about his footing at times, especially as we went through incredibly steep and rocky passages toward the waterfall. Several times, he simply refused to take a downward step, and Malealea (our guide) had to backtrack to help me out. I was assured that he wouldn’t fall, but it was somewhat scary to be high, high in the mountains, atop a pony with uneasy footing. Eventually, though, my Kevin and I made peace, and we had a lovely time.

As we got to know our guide, he told us there was a village soccer game taking place later that afternoon, and we went to watch. There was a fairly nice pitch, with two real goals, and both teams had brand-new jerseys. (Apparently, several wealthy travelers had recently sponsored the uniforms, soccer field, and even local high school). It seemed like the entire village turned up to watch the game. I was content; watching a soccer game, listening to locals singing and dancing (not unlike Celtic fans), and looking at the view beyond the field, which was, again, unreal.

Later, we watched a local choir and band perform with hand-made instruments, and drank Maluti beer (Lesotho’s local beer). We ended up meeting some Americans (yay!), who live in a small town in the Free State, and we spent hours sharing stories back of forth of our bizarre, unexpected experiences living in South Africa thus far. Our short time in Lesotho was wonderful, and Bri and I have already decided that we have to go back.

Unfortunately, getting back into South Africa was a headache. We drove up north to see Maseru, the capital of Lesotho. As it turns out, Maseru is a busy, dusty, crowded city, and the main entry-port into South Africa. We got stopped at the border, and had to join the long lines and wait in the hot sun (no shade - good thing I carry sunblock everywhere I go) for almost two hours to have our passports stamped. There were four long lines, and as I tried to explain to the guard that I was American and didn’t know where to stand, he barked “Americans, Germans, whoever, you wait over there!” Not the best way to end our ideal vacation, but not surprising either.

Footballers vs. AIDS

2007-11-10T19:39:00.001+02:00

As I watched so many kids go for testing, and told so many how important it was to know their status, it felt strangely hypocritical not to do so myself. I felt compelled to share the unpredictable emotions, fears, and potentially life-changing experience that so many kids had just gone through, so toward the end of the day, I walked into one of the tents to be tested myself. Even though I knew my status, there is something about walking into a testing and counseling tent, in the middle of rural Africa, that makes your heart beat just a little bit faster.

Since it was the end of the day, there was no counselor, just a nurse. She sat me down and had me sign a simple consent form, alerting me of the implications of my test results, and informing me that the statistics may be used for research. As the lawyer's daughter that I am, I read every word, but I asked the nurse if most kids even read the form. She said no, they simply sign what they're given (it probably doesn't help that the form is in English). She then proceeded to ready the supplies she would need (all of this took place atop her "table," which was the seat of a folding plastic chair). I watched her meticulously as she readied her supplies: a cotton swab and alcohol, a small device used to prick my finger, a small straw-like glass tube, and a thin slip of paper. She cleaned my finger, pricked me, and used the tube to draw a tiny drop of blood. The whole testing process takes place on a small testing strip; blood is placed onto one end of the strip and mixed with a drop of a clear, mystery substance.

And then, the waiting begins. It's a five minute wait to find out your HIV status; if one line appears on the strip, you’re negative, if two lines appear, you're positive. During this time, I tried to get the nurse to walk me through the experience as if I was a young child. She said she usually asked kids questions about how they were feeling, and what they would do if they tested positive. My experience was atypical as there was no counselor present, and because of the major language barrier between myself and Sotho-speaking nurse. So, I waited in silence.

Three and a half long minutes later, a very faint, single line appeared, revealing that I am HIV-negative. No surprise, but a wave of relief rushed over me. She told me my status, wrote it on the form, and dropped the used supplies into a box. I was rewarded with the knowledge that I am HIV-free, and with a sweet green arm band that reads "Footballers vs. AIDS, Ha Li Baje!” I emerged from the tent to join the hundreds of kids proudly wearing the same green bracelet.

Test Your Team

2007-11-10T19:18:00.000+02:00

Last weekend, we headed east to the Kingdom of Lesotho, for both business and pleasure.

Lesotho

is an “island country,” entirely encompassed within

South Africa

, known for its beautiful mountains and Seanna Marenas (traditional blankets). Of the hundreds of shepherds I saw all through the countryside, every one was wearing some form of this beautifully patterned thick wool blanket, regardless of the fact that it was scorching hot. It took less than two hours to get to the border from Bloem, and the moment I crossed, I realized that

Lesotho

was the most uniquely beautiful and untouched place I’d ever been. We drove straight down to Mohale’s Hoek, which is a tiny city/village in the southeastern edge of the country – a small and impoverished region. We arrived after dark at the Mafeteng Hotel, and quickly realized that our accommodations were not exactly up to par. In fact, the Lonely Planet describes the hotel as: “lacking something – security and the ‘it’ factor.” We’re clearly on a volunteer’s budget, and I’m up for an adventure, but needless to say, I didn’t mind getting out of there at the crack of dawn the next morning.

We went to Lesotho “on business,” to assist with a tournament/testing event called “Test Your Team,” organized by Kick 4 Life (Lesotho’s branch of Grassroot Soccer). Kick 4 Life uses soccer to promote health among children, and they use the GRS curriculum for their HIV/AIDS program. The event was co-sponsored by Grassroot Soccer, Kick 4 Life, the Clinton Foundation HIV/AIDS Initiative, Baylor Medical Centre, and the Lesotho’s government’s “Know Your Status” campaign, and was widely promoted through southern Lesotho.

The event incorporated a day-long soccer tournament, GRS activities, and on-site testing and counseling; throughout the day, students from fifteen high schools rotated between these activities. At the site of the tournament, there were 20 testing and counseling “tents” staffed with nurses and counselors. Our role as GRS trainers was to “adopt” a team, run GRS activities, and escort them to the testing site. Each school participated in Find the Ball and HIV Attacks, which deliver key messages about knowing your status, and how even an HIV-positive person can live a healthy life. In Find The Ball, we highlight the only way to know one’s status is to get tested (in particular, you cannot tell by looking), and directs students to testing sites (doctor’s office, clinics, hospitals, voluntary testing and counseling centers). Conveniently, we could simply direct students to the on-site testing center.

HIV Attacks explains how the immune system protects the body, how HIV attacks the immune system, and how ARVs (anti- retrovirals) attack HIV, thereby allowing the immune system to function properly. The game involves four participants, labeled Human, Immune System, HIV, and ARVs, each trying to dodge a ball (representing germs and diseases). The game allows kids to see how each system works, and demonstrates that even if they test positive, there are still ways to live a long and healthy life. Very simple, yet very effective concepts.

Right after we delivered the activities, we accompanied students to the “testing site,” which was only several meters away. The testing dimension was voluntary, of course, and there were several hesitant students. They asked me simple questions – like if they had to test, and if it would hurt – which were incredibly hard to answer. It’s not easy to tell a group of kids to get tested when it’s likely that they might test positive, but part of my job is getting them to understand that it’s better to know your status, regardless of what it may be.

Toward the end of the day, I ran “debrief sessions” with several kids. Basically, I approached groups of kids and asked them questions about the day: if they had fun, what they learned, if they had decided to get tested. It was great to hear that they had learned new information from the GRS games, and even better to hear that many had chosen to get tested. I sat down with a group of three smart and outspoken boys, who were eager to share their experience with me. All three told me they’d gotten tested, and I asked them how they felt before and after. They told me that beforehand, they talked to each other about being scared and not knowing how they would react if they tested positive. They then revealed their status to me: they were all negative. They told me that once they found out their results, they were all incredibly relieved and happy to know they were still healthy. One boy said he planned to go back in six months.

Listening to these kids made me realize how important this event was, and I am incredibly eager to bring the concept back to Bloemfontein. Of the hundreds of kids who participated in the tournament, 490 got tested that day. Unfortunately, out of those, 23 tested positive. I am not sure what happens next with them, but each one of those students played the GRS games, and hopefully the lessons we taught them will help them deal with their new reality.

Side note: Simply adding to the incredible experience of the day was the arrival of a very special guest. As I was in the middle of delivering HIV Attacks, a helicopter appeared from behind a mountain, and landed on the field next to me. Seconds later, Prince Harry emerged. Apparently, he has taken interest in Lesotho, and was in Mohale’s Hoek to visit an orphanage that he had “adopted.” The Prince (who is much taller in person) took a tour of the event, and participated in Find the Ball. His visit was brief, and he was back on board within a couple of hours, but it was fairly exciting to get such a major public figure involved in a GRS activity (despite the fact that he’s my age).

Foot skills and ball control

2007-11-07T21:33:00.001+02:00

Today during street league, I got schooled by a bunch of seven year olds. No joke. They are so good at soccer. We had a big group of kids show up, so we divided them by age. The kids above the age of eleven went with Anthony, Bri and Samito to do GRS games, and Matebalo and I took the little ones, ranging in age from about 5-10. Since they’re too young to understand concepts about HIV/AIDS, we just threw together a game. I played for one team, and I swear these kids were pulling moves on me the whole time. It wasn’t bumble bee soccer like you see in the States, where kids just chase the ball wherever it goes; they knew how to pass, dribble and do impressive fakes. And most of them were barefoot. I think for many them, this may have been their first organized game, because they mostly grow up just playing in the streets. But, they even argued with the "ref's" calls (in Sotho, of course). I eventually stepped out and reffed with Matebalo, because I couldn’t handle the humiliation of losing the ball to a barefoot seven year old with better foot skills than I'll ever have.

When I’m not watching sports, sometimes I do work

2007-11-06T22:43:00.000+02:00

The constant sports games have been a great diversion from the hours we have been putting in at work. And for volunteers, we work long, long hours. We’ve been incredibly busy graduating schools, setting up GRS programs in new schools, running street league, and organizing a tournament for World AIDS Day. Last week, the Kellogg Foundation was in town (they provided the primary grant for MUCPP/GRS) and Taylor, the Director of Training and Curriculum, and Kirk, the Managing Director, came up north for the meetings. We talked primarily about re-assessing the program in Bloem to ensure that our trainers can most effectively reach kids, and to figure out how to guarantee long-term sustainability.

Apart from the grand-scheme talks, on a day to day basis, it’s easy to see that the program is making an impact. In the last few weeks, we’ve been invited to several workshops around Mangaung – a Mental Health and Awareness Day workshop, and a workshop on Drugs, AIDS and Culture. Both were held at local high schools, and gave our trainers the chance to participate in other forms of outreach, outside of the classrooms. There was also a week-long HIV/AIDS workshop, sponsored by MUCPP and open to local community members and GRS staff, which gave a good overview of current issues regarding the epidemic. It’s exciting to see people volunteering their time and resources to learn more, and several people stopped by the office to find out about our next Training of Trainers.

Each GRS site has to manage a complicated system of Monitoring and Evaluation (M&E), and I’ve stepped up to head this process for Bloem. After all, organization is my forte, and brings me a pathetic amount of satisfaction. We closely monitor how many kids attend each session and which activities they have participated in, and every student takes a pre and post-quizzes, on the first and last day of a new GRS program. The quiz includes questions such as “I can avoid getting HIV/AIDS” and “Having more than one sexual partner can put someone at higher risk for getting HIV/AIDS.” It is startling and saddening to read how many students believe they cannot avoid getting HIV. Fortunately though, in most cases, student’s post-quiz answers demonstrate that we are getting through to them, and they are in fact learning. And by comparing pre and post-quizzes, we can evaluate how effective the program is, and how successful our trainers are at delivering the key messages. Entering quiz data is a surprisingly hilarious task. We spend hours trying to read names, figure out genders and ages. It’s partially because the kids have poor handwriting or didn’t listen to instructions, but it’s mostly that we can't figure out their names, so we usually have to ask our trainers for help. First they laugh and try to get us to pronounce the names, clicks and all, and then they finally tell us the name, as if the name Qhalitse was easy to say. (By the way, my clicking is getting much better. I can actually say the word Xhosa, and refer to Mxolisi and Themxo by their real names).

Tackling the M&E process means I’ll have to sacrifice some of my time in the classroom, but it will satisfy my ridiculous impulse for organization and could be really beneficial to GRS in Bloem.

Cheetahs Bo!

2007-11-06T22:41:00.000+02:00

It must seem like all I do is go to sports games, which is only partially accurate. Last weekend was the national rugby championships between the Bloem Cheetahs and Joburg Lions, hosted right here in Bloem. Pretty much the Super Bowl of South Africa, and Bri and I managed to get tickets. Since it was just a week after the country became world champs, the entire country was still buzzing with excitement, and Bloem in particular went wild. Days before the game, everyone started wearing their jerseys, stores put up orange balloons and streamers, and the streets were adorned with Cheetahs banners and flags.

Bri and I went with Lukas and his fanatic friends, and they made us wear t-shirts that spelled out “Cheetahs Bo!” (Cheetahs on Top!) The pre-game braai started five hours before the game began, and even then the fields surrounding the stadium were packed. The game was intense, and once you start to figure out the rules, rugby is actually quite fun to watch. The Cheetahs were down 6-18 with only five minutes to go, but they came back to win 20-18! Every time they scored a try, Lukas made everyone stand up and turn around to show our backs to the stadium. I’ve always seen those crazy fans with the matching shirts, but I never thought I’d be one, especially not at a rugby game in the middle of South Africa. So it goes. The Springbok were welcomed back to South Africa with an appearance at half time, which got the crowd even more excited. When the game ended, thousands of people rushed the field. At first, security tried to contain the crowd, chasing down and tackling fans. Eventually they gave up, and the celebration continued in the stands, on the field, and in the streets.

Bri and I came home, took power naps, and went back out. The Springbok were rumored to be at one of the local university pubs nearby our house, so we started there, but apparently the entire city had heard the news. It was packed, and we ended up meeting a group of kids from Joburg who had driven down for the game, and they took us out. We finally found Bloem’s night-life; lots of pubs and bars, lots of old-school American hip-hop, some terrible Afrikaner music, and lots of dancing. The Springbok had just become world champions, and the Cheetahs had just become national champions, so the partying, car honking and celebration lasted way into the night and for days after.

Shiny Rocks and Half Naked Men

2007-11-06T22:34:00.000+02:00

It’s been an extremely chaotic few weeks, and I’m finally home with enough time to recount it all. Work has been hectic and busy, but in between we’ve found time to travel. About three weeks ago, my housemates and I escaped to Kimberley, South Africa. It’s a relatively small city to the west of Bloem, famous for one thing – the Big Hole. Kimberley is home to the largest hand-excavated diamond mine in the world. The city itself is not entirely thrilling, as many locals tried to warn us, but we were really excited just to escape Bloem and see someplace new. We stayed at a bizarre backpackers, in the “Digger’s Den,” which is a dorm-like room designed to look like miner’s quarters during the late nineteenth century. Clever idea, but in the reality of the twenty-first century, it looks (and feels) quite claustrophobic. But, for $6 per night, totally worth the experience.

Back in the day, miners discovered the site in Kimberley, and by the time the mine was suspended in the early 1900s, nearly 22.5 million tons had been dug up, producing more than 2,700 kilos of diamonds. The city just built a new museum surrounding the hole, with a simulated mine-shaft and vault with 3,766 diamonds. In spite of my best efforts at being rugged volunteer, I still appreciate a shiny diamond. The security guard must have noticed my keen appreciation, because he said he’d give me one if he could. I’m sure he says that to all ladies who pass his way, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. It was fun to see the Big Hole, especially because there’s so much hype about it, but in reality, it’s really just a big hole.

Apart from appeasing my expensive taste, we also went to out to the Vaal River. Not the most beautiful river I’ve ever seen, but when trapped in a hot, dry desert-like environment, it’s incredibly refreshing to see natural, running water. Unfortunately, we missed out on the last main attraction in Kimberley – the ghost trail. It’s a six-hour tour of historic libraries, houses and museums, and a grave yard, which boasts ghost sightings and the sensation of being surrounded by the unknown. According to the guide, though, you must drink beer and brandy at the start, middle and finale of the tour – so I’m assuming this may contribute to participant’s altered perception and alleged sightings.

Rounding out our Kimberley experience, we were in town for the Rugby World Cup Final, between South Africa and England. Like all other South Africans, we squeezed into a crowded pub to watch the game, drink beer and eat meat. The game was great, and the bar was rowdy, and then, South Africa’s Springbok became world champions! The pub exploded into celebration, yelling and cheering and hugging and kissing, and then everyone poured out into the streets. Cars stopped in the street, blocking traffic, opened their doors and blasted music, and there was honking and horn blowing from every direction. Any car trying to pass (en route to another party) was forced to stop so revelers could dance in, on and around the cars; only then was it allowed through. People of all ages were celebrating, including older, incredibly intoxicated men who found it particularly celebratory to drop their pants and run through the streets naked. Hilarious. The party in the street and in the pub lasted for hours, as more and more people came out to celebrate. We ended up meeting a bunch of students who live in Bloem, and attend the University of the Free State, and even some American Peace Corps volunteers, including a girl from Queens! In typical outer-borough fashion, she was not overwhelmingly polite, but I was very excited to finally speak to someone with a normal sounding accent.

The night was great, and the best part was seeing first-hand how sports can bring people together. Rugby is primarily played and supported by white people, but it has become increasingly popular in the black community here. On game night, it was clear that everyone was out to support the Springbok, regardless of underlying racial tensions. I saw this in the thousands of whites and blacks sporting Springbok jerseys, and in the boisterous dancing between young black women and older white men (often partially clothed) on game night. It really supports everything GRS is all about and makes me believe in why I’m here.

Palesa Bellow-Handelman

2007-10-22T21:21:00.002+02:00

My trainers have given me a Sotho name, Palesa, which means “rose.” I like it, especially because I live in the City of Roses. There are more roses in all parts of Bloem, both rich and poor, than I’ve ever seen. Plus, I think Palesa Bellow-Handelman has a nice ring to it.

"So what are you doing here?"

2007-10-22T21:12:00.000+02:00

While the first question I get is an excited “where are you from,” the second question is always asked with even more curiosity: “So why are you in Bloem?” Depending on who’s asking, my explanation, “I’m here with Grassroot Soccer - we use soccer to teach kids in Mangaung about HIV/AIDS” is received in one of several ways, grossly generalized as follows…

Most of the black South Africans get excited; they love that I play soccer, and almost always comment about the importance of HIV education in their community. The response of the white Afrikaaners, however, tends to vary a lot more. Some people praise us, saying how important and valuable our work is, especially in the townships. Some people, though, literally laugh in our faces, or tell us that HIV education is a lost cause, because “it’s their fault, and those people won’t change.” It’s alarming to speak with people who really seem to believe that intervention programs like GRS are futile, and that poor blacks in townships and rural areas don't deserve help in fighting the epidemic. I try to keep an open mind about the views of native South Africans, as they clearly have more experience than I do, but this is one perspective I just cannot understand.

I’ve noticed that even the people who do support our work have almost no experience with the other half of the city. Bri and I have been told almost daily how dangerous it is here. The other day, we were heading to a session in the townships in broad daylight. Some guys from MUCPP ran after us, saying it was too dangerous for us two white girls to walk alone, and that they would accompany us to the school. Sometimes when I hear from a white person how dangerous the black neighborhoods are, I can’t help but wonder if it’s racism, or rumor, or truth, especially because I usually feel quite safe in the townships. I’ve decided it’s a combination of both. I’ve been warned by both white and black people, and it’s hard to question the experience and authority of any South African, regardless of color.

Bloem's first-ever tourists

2007-10-22T21:10:00.000+02:00

I’m starting to realize that the reason people are so intrigued by us is because there are simply no foreigners in Bloemfontein. Coming to South Africa, and especially to Bloem, which is situated in the middle of the country, I expected to be encountering tourists, backpackers, and travelers much more frequently. But there are no tourists here, a fact that really sets Bloem apart from other cities in the country. I haven’t met any other ex-pats, no Europeans, definitely no Americans, and not even many people from outside of South Africa. This explains why people are so excited to meet Americans – and perhaps why we’re getting invited to so many braais, rugby games, small Afrikaaner villages outside of Bloem (and why so many people want me to take them home with me). The absence of anyone foreign makes for a really unique experience, but it can make things quite difficult – it took about four people at the bank to figure out how to cash traveler’s checks, almost as if they had never seen them before! So, besides Anthony (Bri doesn’t count, she’s Canadian), I don’t expect to encounter any Americans for quite some time. And I think I’m ok not hearing the familiar, harsh sound of an American accent until I eventually come home.

Ek praat nie Afrikaans nie

2007-10-22T20:51:00.000+02:00

It’s very strange to look like so many people here. Bloem has a very prominent white Afrikaans population, and my features and coloring – red hair, green eyes, and freckly, fair skin – are pretty common among the Afrikaaners. Bri’s a freckled redhead, too, and walking through the city (in the white parts of town, that is), we easily blend into the crowd. Almost without fail people speak to me in Afrikaans, to which I reply my token phrase: "Ek praat nie Afrikaans nie," I don't speak Afrikaans. The second I open my mouth, people are usually surprised and curious. Whether I’m asking for directions or buying instant coffee (awful, but filter coffee is really hard to find), it usually takes only a minute before someone asks where I’m from. Then, inevitably, they get really excited to hear that not only am I from the States, but I am from New York. Also, quite often I get asked “Do you know Bush?” To this, I smirk and answer accordingly, depending on my audience. At first, their curiosity was endearing and even flattering, but when I’m asking for directions, it’s usually in the middle of the street with insane traffic flying by; I don’t have time to stand and chat. Sometimes I just wish I could fake a South African accent (hard!), or never speak (for me, even harder!)

While there’s lots of white Afrikaaners in Bloem, there are virtually none in the townships, so walking around, we are usually followed by children smiling and waving, and yelling “lekgoa!” (white person in Sotho). The other day, driving out of Toka Primary, some young boys started chasing us, sticking their hands into the car, yelling and laughing. It was adorable, but a little disconcerting, because the boys were too busy paying attention to the white people in the car to pay attention to the oncoming traffic. There are also always high school kids or random adults watching us as we pass, who are probably curious about us, and our trainers walking, laughing and juggling with three white people. Going into the schools is another story, where the kids have a very amusing pattern of staring. Usually, when I’m in a classroom, there are several kids just staring at me, shamelessly, at all times. When I catch their eye, first they stare back, then get super shy, giggle, whisper to a friend, and look away. Inevitably, though, about three seconds later they will check back to see if I am still looking at them. Usually, I’m equally amused, so I am.

p.s.

2007-10-09T19:18:00.000+02:00

my pictures are now posted at http://www.flickr.com/photos/leahrosebh/sets/

White girl with a soccer ball

2007-10-09T16:12:00.000+02:00

I was at Nzame Primary the other day, again, waiting for a meeting with the principal. I was hanging out in the school courtyard with Samito, one of our trainers, juggling a soccer ball, when suddenly kids started to take notice. First, a few came up and watched us juggle. Then, more ran up, watching us and reaching out to shake my hand. A minute later, dozens of kids starting running toward Sam and I, pretty much backing us into a corner. I’m not sure if they were more excited because I’m a white girl, or because of the ball, or probably the combination of the two, but it was pretty crazy.

Reality check

2007-10-09T16:09:00.000+02:00

A few days ago, the principal of Nzame Primary School approached me as I was finishing up a session with some of the trainers. He said that a twelve year old girl had committed suicide a few days earlier, and that while the students would never admit to it, they were pretty shaken up and confused. She was a student in one of the classes in which we had been running sessions, and he thought that GRS could provide guidance and support for the kids. He asked us to conduct a last-minute assembly for the 200+ kids, which would occur right before the girl’s memorial service. With only several hours notice, the trainers (under the direction of Bri and I) pulled together a really effective program, combining several of our activities, including “Choices” and “My Supporters.” In this modified version, we created a program to engage the kids, and emphasize that they had choices in life, and when faced with a challenge, they could turn to their supporters (friends, parents, teachers, GRS coach, counselor, etc) for help. These concepts seem really basic, but when such important key messages are combined with the games-based method of GRS, they are really effective at capturing the attention of students.

The very fact that Nzame turned to GRS makes me believe even more that our trainers are becoming crucial role models in the community. Apparently suicide is not uncommon in primary schools in Mangaung, and I only hope that we won’t have to conduct an assembly like this again.

Street Football League

2007-10-09T16:08:00.000+02:00

The work we have been putting into this program recently is really starting to come together. By the end of next week, we will have completed our fourth graduation, and we will have over 500 “graduates” in Bloem (a small, but solid contribution to GRS’ 100,000+ graduates throughout Southern Africa). Since our current sessions are wrapping up, we are in the process of enlisting new schools to complete the program before “summer break” in December. In the past few days, we visited five primary schools, Karabelo, Polokehong, Toka, Nozola and Ihobe. The principals have been really receptive to inviting us into their schools, and giving us time either after-school or during Life Orientation classes. Each school generally has three Grade 7 classes, with 40-55 students in each class. By the time these sessions finish, we will hopefully have nearly doubled the amount of kids exposed to the GRS curriculum. The new sessions are due to start next week, it is going to be a lot of work on both ends, to organize and conduct so many sessions, but that’s why I’m here.

In addition to organizing the school sessions, I am heading the development of a Street Football League. We work through the sports development and recreation project of MUCPP, but I recently found out that soccer is not a part of this program. I see kids playing soccer everywhere, on almost every side street in the township. So, my primary project is to establish soccer as a formal part of MUCPP, and provide the first organized venue for the kids of Mangaung to play soccer. The Street Football League will incorporate GRS activities with weekly tournaments and games. Since we don’t have the capacity to work in every school in Mangaung, the League will give us the chance to reach a wider base of kids with our curriculum, including kids who don’t go to school. Plus, we get to play soccer. I finally found a relatively nice field for the League, and it actually has grass on it, which is very uncommon and a huge perk. And a few days ago, I met with the South African Football Association; they’re excited about the introduction of soccer into Mangaung, and we discussed recruiting some pros into GRS, both to deliver our curriculum and provide some legitimate soccer training for the kids. We’ve spent the last few days trying to recruit kids, and I don’t know if we’ll have 5 of 100 show up on the first day.

Adding to my busy and lucky week, in town a few days ago we happened to meet the Team Manager of the Bloem Celtics, and we wouldn’t let him go without giving him the full GRS rundown. He said he had heard of us, and that he would look into getting his players and the Celtic organization involved. The Celtic players are the biggest role models around, and it would be awesome to get them to Street League.

Setting up shop

2007-10-09T16:00:00.000+02:00

The past few weeks have been incredibly busy, and we have been working day and night to simultaneously make this program happen, and to expand our scope and capacity in Bloemfontein. We have a strong base of trainers, and we have been successful so far, but the Bloem site is only a few months old, while our other sites throughout South Africa and Zambia are fairly established and self-sustainable. Since the program is so new, Bri, Anthony and I have quickly come to realize that our roles will be fairly different from interns at the other GRS sites. We aren’t here just to assist at sites that have already been established, but rather we have the opportunity and responsibility to manage, develop and expand to establish GRS in Bloem. As I’ve already learned in the past few weeks, it’s going to take a lot of work, initiative and creativity to get this program up and running.

We meet people all throughout Mangaung who want to get involved with GRS, and in a few weeks we are holding a Training of Trainers (TOT), to expand our base of trainers. Last week, we had a meeting with Sisterhood, a group of community workers who have recently partnered with South African Women in Dialogue (SAWID). These women do community outreach and mobilization projects among women and young girls in the township, and they are really eager to participate in the TOT and use aspects of the GRS curriculum in their work. We also met with the Mangaung Local Municipality, and have had several requests from the sports and youth development program there to participate in our next TOT. Hearing the enthusiasm of community members regarding GRS is really motivating, and I think we will slowly, but surely, begin to expand and become more sustainable.

The trainers we have now, though, are impressive to watch in action. The atmosphere produced by their enthusiasm is met completely by the enthusiasm of the students. In every GRS session, we do “energizers” to keep the kids engaged and alert, during which the entire class will simultaneously start singing and dancing. I haven’t quite figured out why, but it’s a scene I could never imagine in an American classroom. The sessions are conducted in mix of Tswana, Sotho and English; the kids understand English, and many speak it, although sometimes they get bashful around us white folk. So, quite often, the entire class will break into hysterics at something a trainer (or a fellow student) has said, while I’m sitting there still trying to figure out what just happened. And then, inevitably, all the kids laugh at me for not understanding. I can’t tell who finds it funnier: the kids, or my so-called colleagues.

Where were you?

2007-10-09T15:57:00.000+02:00

Where were you?
When the Madibas
were shouting “viva”
The Mbekis exiling,
crossing rivers

The black full of pain
fighting and protecting
Driving whites insane
The anger ruling
the street of Soweto
Turning it into a
sorrowful ghetto

The memories aren’t forgotten
The days aren’t forgotten
The scent of tear gas aren’t forgotten
The sound of gun shots aren’t forgotten

Yes it was Apartheid
BUT “where were you?”

When I say the memories
Aren’t forgotten, I don’t mean
We should do the same. NO.

Unlike those who smile at
everything they see
Who develop appetite for everything
Who see anyone equal before their eyes

They sodomize, they rape and
they kill when craving for coke

Their breakfast is coke
Their lunch is mandrax
Their dinner is heroine
Their dessert is dagga
Their overtime is crime
They need help

They are allergic to school
They are phobic to sleep
They see their girl children as adults
They see their grannies are single
beautiful virgins
Their mothers as girlfriends
when are they intoxicated

They are hypnotized by mandrax
They are remote controlled by dagga
They are upside minded by cocaine

Education our prevention
Rehabilitation our remedy
Campaigns our frustrations
Awareness our solution

Africans unite against their monster
Come rain, come sunshine
Arise and shine
Together, siya nqaba.

This poem was written by Morena, a high school student in Mangaung, who has been helping out with GRS. A few days ago, he asked Bri and I if he could recite a poem for us. We were shocked as we listened; looking at him, he is just a kid, but his words and voice convey incredible experience, understanding and innocence.

They love their meat and sports here

2007-09-30T17:18:00.000+02:00

Even the most devout American sports fans do not even come to close to the fans here. The day Brianna arrived, we picked her up at the airport and went straight to a Bloemfontein Celtic game with some of our trainers. The Celtic are in the Premier League of South Africa, and while they are not the best team in the league, they are known to have the most intense, devoted fans in the country. The stadium is in the middle of the township, and literally everyone is decked out in some variety of green and white striped team paraphernalia. The Celtic won 1-0, and for 90 minutes, the entire stadium swayed and pulsed with singing, dancing, cheering and horn blowing. In a stadium of probably 12,000 people, the three of us attracted quite a lot of attention, as we were almost certainly the only white people there. It was partly alarming, partly amazing, and totally an experience. We cannot wait for the next home game. And next time, we will be wearing our green and white stripes.

Last night, we went to a rugby game: Bloemfontein Cheetahs vs. Durban Sharks. I made friends with a local guy, and he took us along with his friends. Before the game, we had a braai in the parking lot (South African tailgating); they love their meat and rugby here. I’m still learning the rules of rugby, but the Cheetahs won after time had run out, 25-23, securing their spot in the semi-finals and driving the crowd wild. The intensity of the Cheetahs fans barely rivals that of Celtic fans, but both games outweighed any American baseball games I’ve ever been too.

Tonight, USA faces South Africa in the Rugby World Cup, and we are going to a braai to eat more meat, and watch the US get slaughtered. It should be great.

I've posted some pics at picasaweb.google.com/leahrbh, for now in "senior year."

Driving stick is hard

2007-09-30T17:15:00.000+02:00

Bri and Anthony finally arrived about a week and a half ago. We have a really nice apartment in a community called Langenhoven Park, just outside the center of the city. Every day, we travel from the northern end of Bloem, all the way through the city, to the southern end, where the township begins, which presents quite a contrast. So far, the apartment is largely unfurnished, with the exception of a table and chairs. It’s amazing how you take for granted just how comfortable a couch is, until you don’t have one. While we patiently wait for funds to come through for furniture, we have had some sweet juggling circles and games of soccer tennis in our empty living room.

We have a sweet little Jetta, which we do not predict will last long. It broke down about a week ago, and was stuck in the shop, leaving us without a car for nearly a week. Last weekend, we took a day-long walk through Langenhoven Park, down into the University, and through the city. It was great to be on the campus, which is beautiful and just slightly bigger than Oberlin (about 30,000 students). Now that we have our car back, we still drive around lost and aimless, trying to navigate our way through the city. It’s pretty sweet how much of a place you can see when you get lost every day.

Things have started to pick up some pace, and I am getting to know Bloemfontein. Right now, the Macufe Festival is going on, which is an annual South African traditional cultural festival. This year, for the 10^th anniversary, Macufe is based out of Bloem, so there will be performers and visitors coming from throughout the country and there will be music, dancing, poetry, art, sports, and my favorite, traditional foods.

My housemates and I have already started exploring and making travel plans. A few weeks ago, I went down to another GRS site in Port Elizabeth, on the coast of the Indian Ocean. It’s really beautiful there, and we are going to plan a shark-diving trip, and travel the coast, hopefully learning to surf along the way. We are also planning a trip to Lesotho within the next month, which is supposed to have the most beautiful mountains around, and also to Kimberly and Botswana.

I am slowly, but surely, learning to drive stick, and it is quite different from learning in a quiet parking lot in the States. Here, you drive on the wrong side of the road, the steering wheel is on the right, and you shift gears with your left hand. Plus, where I live is entirely hills, and hills are scary. And not to mention, South African traffic laws are, well, unique. Unique meaning they hardly exist.

Place of Cheetahs

2007-09-30T17:08:00.001+02:00

I just got internet at my place, and am just catching up with all that has happened since I departed from JFK airport three weeks ago today. As soon as I got off the plane, I was greeted by my boss, Lebo (a former national team player in Botswana), and four guys in bright yellow Grassroot Soccer t-shirts. I was exhausted, hungry and disoriented, and they took me straight to the GRS office, based in a massive township called Mangaung, which means “place of cheetahs” in Sesotho. It is a sprawling shanty town of nearly 700,000, overflowing with red brick structures, tin shacks, children in school uniforms, often barefoot, playing with soccer balls made of plastic bags. Manguang is a lively city within a city, with staggering levels of poverty that barely seems to faze its residents. My words could not give justice to what the township feels like or the livelihood encompassed within it, so I hope my photos will suffice.

GRS within Bloemfontein is based out of the Mangaung-University Community Partnership Project (MUCPP), which is a large community center that provides services to the entire township. MUCPP works in alliance with the University of the Free State, in Bloem, and has extensive services, including sports development and recreation, small business and economic development, agricultural production and assistance, various women’s empowerment projects, and health promotion in a large multi-service clinic. We have about 15 GRS trainers at this site; they are all enthusiastic, outspoken, and hilarious, and are really knowledgeable about the GRS curriculum. They speak multiple languages, including Tswana, Sotho, Zulu, Xhosa (mostly among the blacks) and Afrikaans (mostly among the whites), and almost everyone speaks some variety of English.

We are currently running sessions in four primary schools, and are expanding to schools throughout the Mangaung. The curriculum includes about 20 activities, which incorporate some aspect of soccer with several key messages about HIV/AIDS and staying healthy. Each program ends with a graduation ceremony; students invite their parents, teachers and coaches, and we invite community role models, like professional or national team players. It’s a big celebration, and the kids get really excited about their certificates, and having their photos taken.

My job so far is to work alongside the trainers with program delivery, and also to monitor and evaluate progress. Each student takes pre and post-quizzes, so that we can track effectiveness, and hopefully assess what needs to be changed. I’m also networking with community leaders, to increase local awareness and interest in the GRS programs and curriculum. Right now, MUCPP does not have a formal soccer program, so I’m organizing a street football league, getting kids from all over the community out to participate in GRS activities and play soccer. We are also working on GRS-sponsored tournaments and fundraising activities, to increase the presence of GRS throughout Mangaung.

Getting there...

2007-09-08T00:27:00.000+02:00

I don't really know how this whole blog thing works, but here's my first try. As it turns out, getting fired from Dean's gave me tons of time to get organized and ready to go, and I woke up today ready to pack and get on the plane. But, it seems as if I'm getting an early introduction to the unpredictability of traveling. I am supposed to be leaving in about 12 hours, arriving in Johannesburg on Sunday morning. But, as I learned today, totally last minute of course, every flight from there to Bloem was sold out, and my only option was to catch an 8-hour train, with all of my bags. Not safe. So, long story short, I'm now leaving Sunday, arriving Monday, and I can't wait. It's nice to have a little more time to pack and see all my favorite people - but I really just can't wait to get there. But, as I was just telling my dear friend my new plan, he reminded me: "A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving." I guess I'll have to get used to going with the flow, but I am very intent upon arriving.

Not much more to report until I arrive. My summer was great, and it's been a really nice last few weeks in New York. The picture I posted is in the subway on the night of my birthday. I had a totally awesome dinner, great company, and even better dessert; and, even though I'm not on facebook, people managed to remember! A few nights ago I had all my friends over for going-away drinks and dinner. Everyone showed up (yay!), and it was really nice way to see everyone before I take off. Even though they're all signing leases and starting new jobs, at this point I can't imagine anything I'd want to be doing more than this.

So, if all goes according to plan, I will be in South Africa on Monday morning!

2007-08-23T22:11:00.001+02:00