Thanks for a great run, Oz!

So, I THINK the last time you heard from me I was talking about being halfway up the east coast of Australia . . . NBD, but that was about three months ago . . . Oops. But gimme a break! Using the internet is EXPENSIVE and I was just having way too much fun to sit down and write about it. So there.

Well, folks, the rest of my time in Australia was rather amazing. I finished up my east coast tour with the must-dos of Fraser Island, the world's largest sand island, and a three-day, live-aboard sailing trip through the Whitsunday Islands! I was hopping from one beach paradise to the next. I soaked in fresh water lakes, walked across the finest white silica sands, and even snorkeled with sea turtles!

I also got myself a tan, but not on purpose! Australia is home to the hole in the ozone layer and some of the most damaging sun in the world. In five minutes without sunscreen or protective clothing, you can be burned. And I'm not talking just a little pink. I'm talking pink that progressively turns to a shade that is best described as lobster. I'll admit that there were days in the city when I'd forget about it before I went for a wander through the streets. I paid for it dearly. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that my nose and shoulders paid for it dearly. It's probably just me being paranoid, but I think I have a bunch of new freckles on my chest. Anyway, I didn't want three months in Australia to turn me into a leather purse in my 30s, so, particularly when out on the water, I lathered up with sunscreen every time I thought about it. Which was about every 5 minutes. In fact, for about a week after my sailing trip in the Whitsundays, my face was a solid three shades lighter than my body because I'd used a special facial sunscreen with SPF 70. But I was proud. (That one's for you, Aunt Patti, and all your greasy and irritating applications of sunscreen in my childhood!)

By the time I made it all the way up to Cairns, I was more than ready for my week of SCUBA certification! I got certified with an outfit called Pro Dive Cairns and if you EVER go to the Great Barrier Reef, you should go with these guys. I can't think of a single thing that would have made my trip with them better. It was that good. From my instructor to the boat to the group to the food to the diving (DUH), it was a perfect trip.

The week started with two days of classroom and pool time. I had been nervous about the pool work because, well, it's unnatrual to breathe underwater and I've heard many people talk about how they were fine in the ocean where there was so much to distract, but that they were nervous in the pool where all they could focus on was how impossible what they were doing really was. Thankfully, however, I surprised myself and, although I didn't enjoy all of it, I never freaked out! Even during the exercises that are universally recognized as cruel and unusual, such as taking your mask off for one minute, replacing it, and clearing it of water all while underwater (and with my eyes closed because of my contact lenses), I held it together. Interesting note: if at any time I got nervous with my mask off, holding my nose for a few seconds always helped. Why? No idea.

After the classroom and pool, it was time to head out into the big ole blue. Day three saw us all up at the crack of dawn to be taken to the marina and board the boat that we would all call home for the next three days. That afternoon, it was time to put what we'd learned to the test. I. Was. STOKED. A little flustered, yes, seeing as the ocean still is not my element, no matter what you teach me, but I was excited. We entered the water with our buddies, and followed our instructor, Sarah, down the mooring line to the sandy bottom. I felt like my eyes couldn't possibly see enough. I looked down and saw sand and coral and giant sea cucumbers. I looked out and saw endlessness. I looked up and saw my air bubbles scurry toward the sparkling surface so far above our heads. It was cool. That first dive, we repeated several pool skills, including the mask flood and clear, and then Sarah took us on a tour of the reef. There were fish EVERYWHERE and they were so beautiful! At one point, she found a sea cucumber that was about a foot and a half long and six inches wide and handed it to each of us to hold for a bit. It was nuts. Parrotfish, triggerfish, blue-spotted stingrays, and every cast member of "Finding Nemo" was there. Incredible. As we surfaced, I already knew I'd caught the bug. I couldn't wait to get back underwater again.

Two dives later, we'd seen two reef sharks, millions of stunning fish, mountains of coral, mellowed out sea turtles, and were officially PADI Open Water certified! I was proud, but definitely not finished. I decided to upgrade my certification to Adventure Diver. It's the step between Open Water and Advanced and, most importantly, certifies you to 30 meters (100 ft) instead of just 18 as in the Open Water certification. I wanted to go deeper! For our certifying deep dive, Sarah once again led the way and brought some toys for us to play with to see how the depth changes things. She brought an empty water bottle to show us the pressure involved at such a depth. It was in a mangled ball. She had color cards to show us how colors are distorted by the lack of light. Also, a tomato to show us how shape and size appear different that far down. None of us really had the time to think about that since there were fish that had been following us for about 10 minutes trying to get to them! Sarah finally held it out in the open and the fish swooped in and in a flash the tomato was gone! I suppose it's quite a treat for a fish who lives at 20-30 meters deep to have a snack that's grown on land! The funniest thing we did down there was test everyone for nitrogen narcosis. This is apparently something that can often happen to people as they start to get deep. Symptoms are similar to someone being drunk. Judgement can sometimes be slightly clouded, coordination and simple tasks become difficult, and the person feels GREAT, hahaha. The game went like this: Sarah would hold up a certain number of fingers and all we had to do was hold up the same number of fingers. I did very well and didn't feel any effect of nitrogen narcosis. My fellow students, however, were hilarious to watch! Once on the surface again, we were also regaled with more extreme stories of people's reactions to nitrogen narcosis. One of the other instructors had a student once who started shoving sand into the pockets on his BCD vest because, as he explained later, he thought it was buried treasure!

All the dives were great, but the one I'm most proud of is the night dive. Yes, that is exactly what it sounds like: I went SCUBA diving in the dark of night. I know what you're thinking and no, I didn't know that people did that either. Now, for any of you out there who might be thinking of diving some day and may end up on a night dive, some words of wisdom:

1) The sharks are not, in fact, attracted to the light from your flashlight.
2) The sharks will not come up and "nudge" you.
3) If asked how much air you have left, you do NOT need to remove your regulator to hold the flashlight in your mouth to light your hands for the signals.
4) The glowsticks they give you to attach to your tank are regular glowsticks. To activate them, you crack them. You do not rub them in your hands or put them in your mouth to warm them up.

It is apparently tradition to mess with any newbies before descending into the dark depths, and we were actually told the items above as if they were true . . . . and totally and completely fell for it. I mean, who the hell are we to argue?! We've been certified for all of two hours! Suffice it to say, your instructors wish to unnerve and terrify you if possible for their own amusement. Evidently, from the other side, it's hilarious. To make things worse for ourselves, my group's first night dive happened to take place on April Fool's Day . . . . . . . . Put it to you this way: our instructors had themselves a belly laugh or two at our expense that night.

Finally, I was fully certified and could be trusted to dive without supervision! (Or so my instructor believed.) So, I had two independent dives including a photography dive. I had 9 dives in 3 days and I could've done 12 more end to end. I was crushed to have to leave. But, I was so thankful to have had such a wonderful experience and to gain a skill that I could take around the world with me for the rest of my life!

From Cairns, it was back to Sydney to meet up with Duckie, a lovely Aussie girl who I'd been introduced to via Facebook. Now, don't worry, nothing sketchy! She had done the same projects I did in Swaziland and South Africa, but about two months after me. The project coordinator in Cape Town is another Aussie from Sydney and she knew I was headed there later in my trip and thought we'd hit it off! Boy was she right! Within two hours of meeting me in Sydney, Duckie had offered for me to join her on a road trip through the infamous Australian outback of the Northern Territory to where she'd taught school for two years and had been dying to visit! When I got back to Sydney, Duckie, her friend Yvonne, and I were set to head west and north! The plan was to make it up to Darwin and back within the two weeks of their school holidays, and see as much as we could along the way. So, the three of us piled into Duckie's Hyundai Elantra with all of our shit and pointed the bonnet toward outback country. It was an incredible trip. Roadtrips are always the best and this was no exception. We could watch the subtle then dramatic changes in landscape as we passed through lush farmlands, dramatic red rock ranges, flat flat flat, and into the tropical north. Most nights we camped, others were hostel nights, and more than expected were kind friends offering spare beds/couches/floors. We saw wild kangaroo (though didn't hit a single one, thank God!), Uluru (Ayer's Rock), Coober Pedy (the underground mining town), several Aboriginal communities, an unusually green "Red Centre" thanks to a record-breaking wet season, Kakadu National Park, and the city of Darwin, where we quickly turned around and headed back.

I remember feeling at one point in the first week of the trip that this was the Australia I'd been waiting to see. The Australia and I hadn't even really known to expect. Of course, the East Coast had been beautiful and amazing, but it had also induced the beginning of my reverse culture shock. After all, arriving in Sydney was my first time in a first-world, western civilization in over 6 months and it was strange to always be on time again and have paved roads everywhere and to be able to find Dr. Pepper. My time in the NT, however, was a way to hail back to the time I'd spent in developing countries. It's difficult to believe that in the middle of the modern nation of Australia, there is a place that is still so untamed and so poor as it is, but that's the truth. The Aboriginal people and the Australian government are both in difficult positions and it won't be an easy fix. Communities are so scattered and so remote, the people are so attached to the land, and the cultures are so different, but have already been too mixed to just undo it now. The most shocking thing I learned out there was how there are actually different laws for Aboriginal and white people. Particularly when it comes to alcohol. In some communities, Aboriginal people aren't even allowed to be in possesion of alcohol, but it's no problem for white people in the same community. Even in the roadhouses, there are separate windows outside where Aboriginal people go to pay for their gas, etc, to keep them from coming inside where the bar is. I was astonished. Even Yvonne, an Australian born and bred had never known that this was going on in her own country.

From the viewpoint of an American, it was interesting to see another country go through handling the same issues we have with the Native Americans. We've been a country for a bit longer, so we're further along in the process, but it was very educational.

After my time out bush had finally come to and end (and a minor bus fiasco had been smoothed over), I bid farewell to Duckie and Yvonne and headed into Adelaide for Easter weekend where my only real task was to buy thermals for New Zealand during all the Easter sales, and then I toured the famous Great Ocean Road to my last week in Melbourne. I'd been told I would love Melbourne and it did not disappoint. I started things off with a free walking tour offered by my hostel to see the quirky public art the city is famous for. Then I met up with some camp friends for lunch, an Aussie rules footy game, a comedy show, and crashing a wedding in the botanic gardens. I also used this opportunity to cash in my birthday gift from my parents: two nights in a REAL hotel room! I had my own undisturbed space for the first time since I'd left home! It was magnificent. So magnificent, that rather than actually do anything on the first day I checked in, I went outside to pick up dinner, then sat in my queen sized bed eating pizza and watching the royal wedding. Excellent.

Soon after that, it was time to head to my last stop: New Zealand! I'm here now and have only 5 weeks until I'm back home. How time flies! My next entry I'll give an update on life in the "land of the long white cloud" and I'll do it before three months from now!

In the land of Oz . . .

Well, folks, I made it to Australia without incident (unless you count some infuriatingly smug, PDA-crazed couples on Valentine's Day rubbing in the absence of my own Valentine the day I flew in)!

I've been here a month now and have already had some incredible adventures! I started with two weeks getting to know Oz's most famous city: Sydney. I absolutely loved it there and had never realized just how much there was to do! And, let me just say, that despite a minor pang of loss at the absence of a major culture difference, I was ecstatic to be back in a modern, western city again. I mean, for crying out loud, I could get myself on a train without an army of translators! It felt great to really know what I was doing for, arguably, the first time in over 6 months.

Now, my plan for Australia was to work for the first month to generate some income to travel with. However, I shortly realized that, just like the US, Australia is FREAKING HUGE and offers more to see than could ever be seen, no matter the length of the trip. It quickly became apparent that if I were to see and do everything I'd hoped for on this trip, that I would not be able to settle in one place for that long. So, NEW PLAN: find a few one-shot jobs (as many as I could) to bring in even a little money, and otherwise, budget budget BUDGET. Thankfully, I've become pretty damn good at finding a bargain and exploiting every offer of "FREE" things that are actually designed to draw you in to spend money. Not me, sneaky marketing ploys! I'll take the free stuff and take my leave, thank you very much! Unfortunately, however, I also soon discovered what I had been warned of just a couple months before my arrival: Australia is expensive. I'm talking "you have GOT to be kidding me" prices. Exhibit A: staying in a multi-share, dorm style hostel costs an average of $32AUD/night. In Europe, this would cost about half that and in Africa and Asia, the difference in price is too painful to talk of now. Exhibit B: a value menu meal at McDonald's, designed specifically to cost nothing at home, costs an average of $7-9. FOR MCDONALD'S. I mean, the Subway footlong deal is $7 here! What?! Sheesh.

Anyway, with my work cut out for me, I set about planning my attack. And, if I do say so myself, it's pretty awesome. First, was two weeks in Sydney, getting over my reverse culture shock and checking things off of my "must do" list. I did my obligatory city sightseeing bus tour to get my bearings and see where I might like to go back to and set about hitting it hard. I did a general and backstage tour of the Opera House, saw a play in it's drama theater, spent a day at Taronga Zoo, Wildlife World, Sydney Aquarium, the Hunter Valley winelands, the Rocks weekend markets, Darling Harbour, and the list goes on and on. I also had the chance to meet up with friends in Sydney. Two folks from my time in Thailand also made there way Down Under next and it was great to catch up with them, even if it had only been a month or less since I saw them last. Even better, I spent an evening with a friend from college! He'd graduated a year before me and moved almost immediately to Sydney to start work, so it had been three years since we'd seen each other! He contacted me and invited me to dinner and a wander around the cool neighborhoods of Sydney. It felt great to talk about old friends and old times and have someone offer to buy me a nice dinner out. Thanks, Colin! You're the bestest.

Sydney also afforded me one particularly surprising and wonderful opportunity. Through my volunteer coordinator in Cape Town (who is actually Australian and from Sydney), I was introduced via Facebook to another Australian volunteer who had done similar projects in Swaziland and South Africa with All Out Africa and lives just north of Sydney. I met Duckie, as she calls herself on my first full day in Australia when she came all the way into the city to show me around. It was a great day and it was obvious that my volunteer coordinator's praise of her kindness was more than justified. Not only did she take me around the city that day, but, having only known me in person for a couple hours, offered for me to accompany her on a road trip to the Northern Territory, land of Uluru (Ayers Rock) and Kakadu National Park (where "Crocodile Dundee" was filmed), in the middle of April. I was absolutely stunned with gratitude and disbelief at my own good luck! I had been lamenting how to make it to the otherwise isolated "Red Centre" and here was the perfect solution! I obviously accepted her invitation and get more and more excited for our trip every day!

SO, as it stood, a plan for my time in Australia was starting to fall into place.

After two weeks, my time in Sydney was finally and thankfully coming to a close. I had really enjoyed my time there, but I was anxious to move on and see more. My trip up the east coast was to begin with a 5-day, traveling surf school going from Sydney north to end in Byron Bay! I woke up that morning filled with anticipation. All my things were packed up, I checked out of the hostel which had been my base of operations for most of my time in Sydney, planted myself on the sidewalk outside and awaited the representative who was to pick me up.

. . . . . . More than half an hour later, I was still waiting. I started to get nervous, so I called the number I'd been given for the surf school. After about 2 minutes on the phone, it was established that not only had my agent never actually made my booking, but that the group had left more than an hour and a half ago, making it impossible for me to join them that day.

Ummmmmmmmmmmm . . . What could I say or do in that moment? I think I froze for a solid minute. There I was, standing on the sidewalk like a jackass with all my shit packed up and nowhere to go. After the numbness wore away, it was quickly replaced with an outrageous fury. Not only was I potentially going to have to delay my trip, perhaps by as much as a week (which I did not have to spare), but it meant that I had to fill more time in the most expensive city in the most expensive country on my itinerary, mostly covering things like accomodation and meals that were to be included in the program I'd paid for already. CRAP.

Well, God bless what's-her-face who I spoke to at Waves Surf School. Not only did she find me a quick solution, but she did it with compassion and speed. I wanted to hug her. She told me that I could either defer for a week (not an option) or lose a day and join in with the 4-day surf school that would join that day's group the following day. She did warn me that they would still have to charge my booking agent for the 5 days since that was the voucher I had, but I told her not to worry, my beef wasn't with Waves. It was with Real Gap. And with God as my witness, I would tear them a new one, demand a refund for the money lost, and rain fury down on them like they'd never expect from some stupid Yank.

After a completely wasted day in Sydney, most of which was spent sitting with all my stuff in the common areas of the hostel waiting for my room to be ready some time around mid-afternoon, the next morning went off without a hitch and by that afternoon . . . I was surfing!

Now, the surf camp was not without incident, either, but they were mostly small issues, particularly in comparison with not having something booked that I was told was booked. On that first day, I had the pleasure of someone surfing into the back of my head. It was only POSSIBLY a concussion, but my mother will roll her eyes and sigh with maternal concern unpon reading that phrase. In short, it hurt. But, (and again my mother will wail with her powerlessness from the other side of the world) I was back in the waves after a rest and standing up on the board before the end of the day!

Over the next several days, I got to know the others in my group, got more and more practice in the water, swallowed/inhaled more saltwater than is healthy (or I had even previously thought possible), generally got assaulted by the ocean, fell down a lot, stood up a little, and had the time of my life. What surfing comes down to for me is this: it's a helluva lot of time and effort for what is comparatively little time in enjoyment, but it is DEFINITELY worth it. I had so much fun! And it is absolutely something I want to keep doing.

Surf school ended in a lovely little town called Byron Bay that so reminded me of the spirit of Austin, Texas on the coast of Australia, that I found myself feeling real pangs of homesickness for my hometown for the first time since my departure. I filled my three days here with an essential night out at the infamous Cheeky Monkeys bar and niteclub, a kayak tour around the bay looking for marine life and kayak surfing, a day tour to the infamous town of Nimbin where (with the exception of recent police raids) a tolerated market for marijuana and hemp products has blossomed, and a walk up to the lighthouse and the most easterly point of the Australian mainland.

I felt it was too soon to leave Byron, as I could see myself enjoying some time to settle down there for a while. However, time, even a little while, I did not have. So, I continued my way north using, for the first time, my pass on the Oz Experience bus. This is a bus service with routes all over the country that usually pick you up from your hostel and drop you off at or near the door to your next hostel. It's just like my Baz Bus experience in Swaziland and South Africa: full of backpackers, many of whom are also traveling alone, and a great place to get good ideas, advice, and even discounts for where you're headed next.

My next stop was Surfers Paradise . . . Apparently, a misnomer. While there are sometimes surfable waves there, it is not generally considered the end all, be all of surfing in Australia. It is more like the party capital of the east coast. My time here was spent organizing and paying for (ouch) my upcoming tours as I made my way north, as well as watching the Roxy and Quicksilver Pro Surfing Championships. Now, anyone who knows me probably knows that it doesn't take much for me to get into watching a sport. Except maybe baseball. Surfing, I'm excited to say, was no exception. I was in absolute awe. Quite possibly because I had now experienced just how much work it is and what a challenge it can be to do the simplest things. Regardless, it was an incredible competition and, unfortunately, one that I'd not had the means to get to, even though it was happening SO close by on the Gold Coast. Oh well. Next year . . . ?

From Surfers Paradise, I hit Brisbane, or "BrisVegas" as it's known by the locals (ha). My time here was split between a day trip I booked last-minute and was surprised to enjoy so much and a day trip I'd been looking forward to since I decided to come to Australia and was surprised by its effect on me. The first was a day trip to Moreton Island, the world's third largest sand island. The latter was a trip to Australia Zoo, Steve Irwin's brainchild and dream come true.

My Moreton Island trip was a ridiculously great day. I met fantastic people (including a mom who gave me a "mom fix" to last me a while); had a fun tour guide who actually used to compete on a national level in pole dancing competitions (what? haha); sandboarded down some rather steep sand dunes; and snorkeled around half a dozen shipwrecks where we saw beautifully and brightly colored fish, two wobbegong sharks (sp?), two eels, and a stingray, with a wingspan of about 5 feet and a stinger that was no less than 10 feet long, that I spotted first at about 20 feet deep and half buried in the sand! When we weren't engaged in these activities, we were either charging our way over the sand in a 4-wheel drive bus, talking, or enjoying the ferry ride. It was a surprisingly wonderful day and a place I would recommend wholeheartedly for a visit!

As for Australia Zoo, I was incredibly excited when the day finally came. So much so, that I was extremely irritated when my day was cut short by a bus that ran more than an hour behind schedule! But fear not. Thankfully, I didn't miss that much in the end. I saw it all. Every exhibit, some keeper talks with the koalas, tigers, and otters (duh), and the infamous Crocoseum Show! There were some very cool moments throughout the day, such as getting to pet and hand-feed lounging kangaroos and wallabees, watching the tigers show off their natural abilities, and seeing a keeper almost lose a hand to a giant saltwater crocodile. However, I found myself feeling a little depressed throughout. Steve Irwin's image is absolutely everywhere. It is actually impossible to escape the thought of him. On the one had, I totally get it. He's easily the reason people come to that place. But, on the other hand, putting it bluntly, it's a bit of a downer. Not only are there photos of him everywhere, but in his absence, his wife and children are the new, though not exclusive, faces of the zoo. For crying out loud, his daughter Bindy has her own fashion line on sale in the store! Basically, as much fun as I had there and as much as it seems to be that the Australia Zoo is becoming more and more what Steve had dreamed of, it was bittersweet to know that he wasn't there to enjoy it.

OK. My hands are getting tired and there is still much to write about. AND, seeing as how I have already written a novella, I will end here for the moment and get to the northern half of the east coast a little later. For now, though, enjoy this summing up.

If anyone actually read this far . . .

Other than my mom and Aunt Patti. (Love you!)

For now, mates, take care!

"Mai" Means "Mai"

More than halfway through my volunteer adventure in Thailand!

The past three weeks have been spent as a volunteer at a childcare center called the Temple Kids project. It's essentially a day care center for children age 2-4 that is offered for free by the monks of this particular temple in a small village outside of the town of Surin, where I've been staying. The children are at the temple from about 8 AM until about 3 PM, they're fed a relatively healthy lunch and afternoon snack, given milk twice a day, have play time and simple lessons to prepare them for school and a base knowledge of English, and the only fee the families have to pay is for transportation to and from the temple each day. The transportation fee is only 100 baht per month (approximately $3.50), but there are still families who can't afford to pay this every month so although there are about 60 children on the register, there are rarely more than 27-30 children present on any given day.

In many ways, my experience in the township outside of Cape Town four months ago was helpful as preparation for this project. After all, it's a volunteer position with preschool age children in a poor area of a developing country. However, there were far more differences than similarities. For example, the things that were the same were the ages of the children, the language barrier, the lack of emphasis on constant supervision, health, safety, and hygiene, and the boundary-testing behavior of the children with the volunteers. The things that were different, though, essentially revolved around the level of support at the project. First of all, I was one of three to five volunteers present on any given day, whereas in Cape Town, I was on my own. Second, every day at the childcare center we had a coordinator with us who could explain things and, more importantly, be our translator between us and the children as well as us and the teachers. Which leads me to the next difference: the teachers. Although they often let the children run wild with us, the teachers here were far more engaged and interactive with the children than the staff in Cape Town. There were three of them, they worked in shifts (one cooking, one leading the lessons and activities, and one assisting with supervising the children), and there was far more structure in these children's day. Really, the only time when things weren't organized was during the children's free play time in the middle of the morning while lunch was being prepared. Even then, though, there was often something specific for them to do such as play with blocks and Legos and playdough or color, or some other activity. In Cape Town, I usually felt like every day was a bit of a toss up, all thrown together on the fly throughout the day. The other difference was in their level of comfort and understanding of the little English they've been taught. Whereas the children in Cape Town could correctly sing through the majority of the alphabet song, if you showed them the letter "A," they wouldn't know what it was. These children, however, are just beginning to learn the song, but if you show them the letter "A," a good portion of the older children will call out what it is without difficulty.

The outcome of these similarities and differences? When it comes down to it, although the extra support has been wonderful and made my volunteer placement much less stressful, it's also made me feel less needed and more of a superfluous addition than a necessary aid. Every single day at Siyazama Preschool was a struggle, but in the end, it was one of the most rewarding things I've ever done when, by the end of it, there were children who were school-bound soon who would have more of a head start, children who had gained social skills, and I had achieved things I'd had to work my volunteer BUTT off to achieve. The Temple Kids project has been, for the most part, a wonderfully enjoyable experience for me, but I know that I'll leave here not having made much of a mark on these children in the long run. I did paint the walls, though! Mark left!

Less rewarding than Cape Town or no, however, I will cherish my time with these children. Like most of the kids I've come into contact with in my volunteering positions, these come with the saddest of stories and more baggage than they deserve in their short lives. A day care center like the Temple Kids project is necessary because many parents must either leave Surin to find work in Bangkok to support their families, leaving the children with their grandparents, or, even worse, the parents of these children just honestly don't give a shit. I know that sounds harsh, and I wish I could say it was just me being overly judgemental, but unfortunately it's just the honest to goodness truth. These children frequently show up to school in dirty clothes, unbathed, sick, and underfed. Some of this can be attributed to a lack of resources, but some to what could only be classified as neglect back home.

One little boy, Kio, was brought to our attention before our first day at the childcare center. We were told by every coordinator that he was a trouble child and that we had to watch out for him because he was always misbehaving. Honestly, they made this kid sound like the very spawn of Satan. However, after a week at the project, not only had we not really noticed Kio being particularly naughty, we hadn't really noticed him at all. He was very shy, almost wary around us. Sure, he did some things that were inappropriate every once in a while, but so did every child there. as our second week came to a close, I and the other volunteers were in agreement: Kio wasn't a bad kid. He was a kid who'd maybe done something really outrageous once and has been unfairly labeled ever since. Honestly, this kid can't sneeze without the teachers whipping around and scolding him. Another kid bites his friend on the face, though . . . and they pretend they didn't see it. It was my second Thursday there that I realized that Kio was never touched by any of the adults at the center. The teachers and our coordinators were all conviced he was the devil child and, due to their warnings, we volunteers had avoided him, too. I'd learned that day that Kio stayed with his alcoholic grandmother, so I was all but certain that he wasn't being cuddled at home either. When it came to nap time, I was determined to break through to him, even if he was half asleep at the time, and show him some affection. Often, when the kids can't fall asleep, we or the teachers will sit or lie next to them and either rock them back and forth or rub their backs until their asleep. I noticed that Kio was having a hard time getting sleepy so, slowly, deliberately, I sat down next to him. When he didn't indicate that he was upset with me or that it bothered him, I inched closer. When he remained relaxed after that, I gently placed a hand on his back and started rubbing his back in small circles. About 20 minutes later, he was asleep and I was overjoyed. The following week, we watched him continue to slowly come out of his shell around us: openly laughing, letting us chase and tickle him, even accepting a hug every once in a while. Baby steps, but a victory nonetheless.

There was another child who I would have been much more inclined to award the "Spawn of Satan" title: Kieren (or Kevin). No, that's not his real name. Rather, it's just a name that one of the former volunteers called him because he looked like a Kieren to her, and it just stuck. Even the teachers call him that now! Anyway, he's almost every volunteer's favorite (or at least in their top three). He's not mine. This kid is the most misbehaved child I've EVER seen and I seem to be the only one not completely fooled by his cute exterior. I've watched this barely three-year-old full on deck a girl in the face for no apparent reason. I've seen him have all out meltdowns over being told "mai" (the Thai word for "no,"). But more than all of this, I and other adults have been the victims of this kid's all out violence and disrespect.

Exhibit A: I had a child sitting in front of me on the floor and we were playing with Legos. Kieren approaches and snatches the child's Legos away. I gently pry them from his hand, tell him "mai" firmly, and return to playing with the first child. Kieren immediately lashes out. He begins by hitting the kid on the floor in the head. I pull him back gently and again tell him "mai." He goes in a second time. This time, when I pull him back, he comes after me, managing to strike me twice in the head and get away before I can get a solid grip on his arm. He runs off. I thought that perhaps that meant that the altercation was over. WRONG. I feel something hard and plastic hit me in the back. I turn around just in time to watch Kieren hurl another disjoined baby doll leg in my direction. "That's it," I exclaim. I pull myself up to my feet and march toward Kieren. He either knows what he's done or knows what could be coming, so he tries, unsuccessfully, to escape. Now, between a language barrier and this kid's obvious lack of respect for me, telling him to sit in "time out" would be, in a word, ineffective. Instead, I haul his squirming body up and place him on my lap while I sit facing the corner. Kieren struggles and yells the entire 5 minutes we're there. All the while, the other volunteers hear me saying things like, "I know. This is just awful, isn't it?" and, "I'll bet you wouldn't want to do this again," and, "Hit me again, kid, and then see what happens."

Well, I can't say we saw much of a noticeable improvement in Kieren's behavior. And, unfortunately, I can also predict that we aren't likely to so long as he is the chosen one among the volunteer staff. However, we learned something about Kieren last week that, if nothing else, explains a lot about why he is the way he is. Kieren's mother is 17 years old. This means that she was 14 when she became pregnant. Kieren explained.

Finally, the two girls that I will miss most are Cafe and Fia. They are sisters, ages 2 and 3 years old and the most adorable, sweet, endearing little girls you have ever seen. They don't always have to be together, but they often choose to be together, particularly at nap time. It's also incredibly sweet to watch how careful and caring Cafe is to her little sister. For example, one day during their nap, both girls had accidents in their sleep. There were no adults readily available as we were all outside painting and the teachers had fallen asleep. Well, rather than freak out or wake one of the adults, little Cafe gingerly got her sister and herself out of their wet clothes, placed them in a pile with the wet sleeping mat, and got out a fresh, dry mat on which they could finish their nap. What 10-year-old is that caring and attentive, let alone a 3-year-old?!

Now, you would think that any mother would feel more than blessed to have such loving children, but, apparently, their mother is one of those who falls into the category of "just doesn't give a shit." This was not immediately obvious from looking at the girls most days. Compared to others, they were relatively clean, seemed pretty healthy, and since they were so sweet, you figured they had a supportive family. Unfortunately, though, they are the way they are in spite of their environment, rather than because of it. We started paying more attention to these girls after hearing more about their home situation. That was when we noticed how many cuts and scabs they had that were infected and wouldn't heal. The older girl, Cafe, in particular was absolutely covered head-to-toe with infected sores, some of which had even started to acquire scar tissue. The younger sister, Fia, however, had the most serious injury. I'd noticed a cut on the bottom of her big toe on the last day of my second week. These kids spend just about their entire lives barefoot, so it was no surprise at how dirty the cut was. However, when I asked about a First Aid kit or supplies to clean it with, I was bascially ignored. The next week, I decided to give it a closer look and I was absolutely appalled by what I saw. What had seemed like a small cut was actually a gash about a half a centimeter deep going all the way along the crease at the base of her big toe. It looked like the cut had come close to the bone, but that it had started to heal with the skin apart instead of fusing back together. There were little infected scabs, some discoloration, and obvious pain on top of the main gash itself. I was so horrified that I almost started crying right then and there. The very next day, I brought my own first aid kit and spent close to a combined hour cleaning, bandaging, and rebandaging the sister's wounds. Thanks to a very wonderful suggestion from my Aunt Patti and Uncle Stephen (MDs), we decided that since it was not likely these sisters would be taken to a doctor, that I could Super Glue the cut together, after a thorough cleaning, to keep it clean and encourage it to heal properly. Thankfully, the next day during our little "procedure," little Fia was asleep when we started and stayed asleep the entire time! Both of those girls were fantastic patients and I sincerely hope they get better soon.


People joke all the time about wanting to scoop these children up and carry them home to their developed Western world in their backpacks. At times, I can include myself in that category. However, with these sisters, for the first time, I almost wanted it to be real. It was the day I first cleaned and bandaged them up. After they were all disinfected and Band-Aided, it was past time for their naps. They were a little wound up because they'd had to be woken up at one point already and all the medical attention and they were just NOT falling asleep. For those of you who have sisters, think of a time when you were both very little when, for some reason, you had to share a bed. It was time for lights out . . . you knew that you were supposed to be falling asleep . . . but for some reason or another, you and your sister just couldn't stop laughing! Then, of course, you know that you're bound to get in trouble for laughing too loudly, but that only makes it worse and you laugh more! These little girls would get started on something silly and just couldn't stop. It was so adorable that it actually broke my heart. I remember lying next to them on the floor, rubbing their backs, pulling their hair out of their eyes, seeing them look up at me with their big, smiling brown eyes and sincerely wishing I could take them home and away from a life they didn't deserve. I'll be able to stay up-to-date on their healing progress for at least the next month or so as there will still be volunteers at the project who I know, but it really scared me not to know what would happen to them after that. I'll miss you girls. Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other . . .


In sum, my time at the Temple Kids project was full of snotty noses, age-inappropriate Thai music videos, lots of hitting, having the word "mai" mockingly repeated back to me by 3-year-olds, grubby feet, paint EVERYWHERE, lots of crying, playing games, tickling and tossing children around the room, teaching the alphabet, numbers, and colors in English, deliciously authentic Thai lunches, donuts from the monk, and the hysterical antics of children who have not yet been socialized to be embarrassed of themselves yet. I'll miss all of those things . . . except the hitting. And the snotty noses.


As of tomorrow, I'm off to two weeks of elephant volunteering! This should be absolutely fantastic, if a little nerve-racking! Looking forward to it and to soaking up my last two weeks in Thailand!

(Thai) Wedding Crashers

(This post was written on 1/12/2011 but not posted until now. Because I'm an idiot. Apologies.)

This morning as I and the other volunteers gathered in front of the 7-Eleven across the street from our house to go to our volunteer placements, one of our coordinators, Aim, casually mentioned that we could stop along the way to peek in on a wedding. We were delighted by the idea of dropping in for at least a few minutes just to see what things were like at a Thai wedding . . . If only we'd known then just how involved we were about to be!

Considering the fact that we hadn't heard about this whole wedding business until about half an hour before we arrived at the wedding, we were all a little frazzled and excited. We got out of the van and looked around to see what looked like half the village gathered together to celebrate.

Now, being the westerners that we are, we already stood out like tall, white, and inappropriately dressed sore thumbs. Added to this, however, was the fact that we had no idea what was going on and had only a limited number of people with whom we could communicate to ask. Suffice to say, we felt like we were crashing a wedding.

. . . Which we were.

BUT, whereas at home Bridezilla or her mother would fly at us like a banshee and brandishing her perfectly manicured nails and delicately arranged bouquet, the people at the wedding were more than welcoming. Even from the start, they seemed delighted to see us and offer us chances to participate! In fact, at one point it was announced that it was a sign of good luck for the couple that we westerners had shown up!

At the start, the groom and his party carry loads of food and other offerings (including two live ducks and two live chickens which were caught outside the gate) to the house. Aim actually asked a couple of us if we wanted to carry some of the platters of offerings inside! We had no idea how to react, but felt pretty uncomfortable and would hate to ruin some poor strangers' wedding, so we respectfully declined and instead got into a better position for photos. At the gate there is a little girl who decides if they will be allowed in based on the offerings they bring. If she's not satisfied, groom ain't gettin' married until he finds some more stuff to bring! Thankfully, in this case, the groom came with enough swag from the start and, with music blaring, the groom's party continued their processional dancing along the path to the altar where they laid out their gifts.

After a little while, the groom appeared wearing an all white suit and looking nervous. He and his bride had been separated the day before and wouldn't see each other until the impending ceremony later that morning, just like in a Christian wedding. Aim was talking me through what was going on when she pointed out a banana leaf that was laid on the floor at the foot of the stairs. She explained that before the ceremony, which would take place upstairs, the bride would come down and wash her soon-to-be-husband's feet as he stood on the leaf before they ascended to their ceremony.

Then suddenly, women started taking some of the groom's offerings upstairs and Aim turned to us and said, "Would you like to go up and see the bride's side?!" Once again, we found ourselves feeling like we were intruding and getting confused looks from our Thai coordinators who kept assuring us that no one minded us being there and that they were, in fact, glad to have us. So . . . up we went!

We weren't there 2 minutes before our other coordinator, Santana, was peeking through the crack in the door into the bride's room and calling us over to come look! We were mortified, but to our surprise, the bride actually opened the door, shyly greeted us, and allowed us to take photos! And boy, was she STUNNING! Hand to Buddha, I almost started crying, she looked so beautiful. The other thing I noticed? She looked like she could still be in high school. Thankfully, we soon were told that she was actually 25 and the groom was 42. Bit of an age difference, but they had chosen each other as arranged marriages are no longer the norm here in Thailand.

Once we finally managed to tear ourselves away from the bride, we took seats on the floor surrounding the altar. The small room was crowded with people who we assumed were family. The women were busy preparing and arranging the altar with the groom's gifts as well as a few other things. There was also a giant platter covered in money. LOTS of money. Apparently, it was a collection from those present at the wedding as the couple's "nest egg" to get their new family and new lives going. We were recruited, once the money was arranged on the platter, to sprinkle flower petals over it as a form of a blessing on it and their future.

Before too long, the bride emerged from the back room, along with her mother and bridesmaids, to go retrieve her groom and begin the ceremony. She looked distinctly nervous, too. The bride and groom shortly came back up the stairs together and took the seats of honor right in front of the altar. We were satisfied to linger at the back along the walls. I probably took close to 100 photos of the ceremony. I couldn't understand ANY of it (duh), but it was fascinating and beautiful to watch. The bride and groom didn't just exchange rings, but also necklaces and other jewelry. The man conducting the ceremony painted three dots on their foreheads. the couple held hands while their closest family members crouched around them, touching their arms. It was the perfect and most beautifully symbolic way I've ever seen of bringing two families together as one with a marriage. The couple then wore these kind of wreaths for their heads that was connected with a piece of string, similar to what I've seen in Greek weddings. Finally, the couple remained where they were, with their hands held together, as everyone present (including us) kneeled down next to them and tied money to their wrists using string. I gave 100 baht to the new couple. Figured it was the least I could do for a family that had been so accomodating to a wedding crasher.

As others were finishing up their offerings to the couple, older women from the family started coming around with the same string being used to tie the money to the couple and started offering us bracelets of string as their blessings and thanks to us for coming that day. It was incredibly generous and I almost cried for the second time that day.

After that, we went downstairs where we thought we might be heading home . . . WRONG! First of all, the families had insisted we stay for the meal . . . which was absolutely enormous. There must have been at least a dozen different dishes for us to try and water, Sprite, and Coca-Cola overflowed our glasses. It was relentless. Thai hospitality is notorious when it comes to food. "You're full? More rice will fix that." It's outrageous, but fantastic to be on the receiving end of it.

We were then invited to sit down and watch the second stage of the wedding ceremony during which the guests offered their blessings a second time by pouring water over the couples hands as they sat at these very ornate stools and tables. This sounds lovely, and it was, but it was during this portion of the morning that I may or may not have ACCIDENTALLY (operative word here, people) . . . smacked a rather old woman in the face.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Good one, Kilgore.

In my defense, I was joking around with our driver about dancing, went to gesture over my shoulder and nailed a woman whose face was right at shoulder level as she was walking just behind me. Silently. I was . . . horrified with myself. Thankfully, she was either wonderfully understanding or didn't have the energy to get furious with someone with whom she could not directly communicate. However, the incident obviously provided endless entertainment for my fellow volunteers, so . . . you're welcome.

The morning ended perfectly, just rounding out a fabulous morning. We were beckoned over to dance with the older ladies who were guests at the wedding and family members of the bride and groom. If you've ever seen "The King and I," you've seen some Thai dance moves. It's very elegant and the position and gesture of their hands is of paramount importance. We mimicked their moves, stepping left and right to the beat of the music, curling our wrists around while bending our fingers back as far as they could go, swayed back and forth . . . It was an absolute blast and we all had a lovely, laughable time together. In fact, it was exactly like the movie "Wedding Crashers!" I would have loved to have seen Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson on that dancefloor with those old women! After our dance fest, we got some photos on the dancefloor and, just like my kids at the childcare center, as soon as that first camera came out, every woman was scrambling around wanting to take as many photos as they could. It was adorable.

Finally, on our way out, the bride's father, a very gregarious outspoken whisp of a man bid us farewell, his hands pressed together in front of him, dipped into a shallow bow, and saying "I love you!"

I still suck at blogging . . . but now I suck at it in THAILAND!!!

Sawasdee ka from Thailand! Apologies for my lack of posting. My B, folks!

It's been a whirlwind of adventure since my last post.

I finished up my two months at the lion project in Zimbabwe at the beginning of December. I left feeling like it was time for me to go, ecstatic to get away from the frustration and the drama that came along with that project, but unbelievably and incolsolably sad to have to leave the lions. However, as you may have seen on facebook, I have enough photos to last a lifetime, so for now, that will have to do. And best of all, I did actually get to meet the newest addition to the Antelope Park family of lions. Baby Lowa was born only 11 days before I left and the cubs are meant to stay with their mother and secluded until they are 3 weeks old. HOWEVER, the onslaught of the rainy season meant trouble for mother and baby and a silver lining for me. Rain flooded the den leaving mama Lola with a terrible choice: leave the cub in the den as it fills up with water or leave her outside in the pouring rain . . . COOL. Anyway, the lion manager Leigh Ann made the call to take her away from mama early. Lowa was living in Leigh Ann's living room when I got to meet her. I spent my last 45 minutes at Antelope Park petting, cuddling, and bottle-feeding a newborn lion cub. And God bless Leigh Ann becase not only did she answer each and every one of my incessant questions, she left me alone with the kitten while she prepared her bottle, and best of all, allowed me to take my "Circle of Life" photo that I'd dreamed of since before I even booked the trip! Thanks, Leigh Ann!

I finally left Antelope Park later that morning. The tears didn't really come until that night, but I was comforted by the thought of Thailand on the horizon . . .

I had a night in Johannesburg in transit between Zim and Thailand where I accidentally met one of the other women on my trip! We just HAPPENED to be put as roommates in the same hostel near the airport. Weird.

After what felt like my longest trip since my departure back in July/August, I finally arrived in Bangkok. I have to be honest, I was terribly concerned about the group of people I would be traveling with. The month of December was to be spent on an organized tour around the country with three big stops, beginning and ending in Bangkok. I imagined myself surrounded by 18-year-old gap yearers whose only interests would be getting drunk and getting laid. Thank the sweet baby Jesus that was not the case! In fact, there was only one 18-year-old. Most of us were in our mid-twenties and there were a few in late twenties early thirties. It really was a wonderful group. Of course, we knew how to have fun, but it was also a group that was really nice just to chill with. A great mix of people.

I don't have the time or energy to recap the entire month for you, but suffice to say, it was a little bit of everything. After our introductory days in Bangkok, we hit the road for a week in Kanchanaburi along the River Kwai, then it was off to the more rural Sangkhlaburi for two weeks, including our volunteer projects, and we wrapped it all up with the week from Christmas Day to the day after New Year's Day on the party island of Koh Phangan. In the last month I've visited gorgeous Buddhist temples, had a mani/pedi for the equivalent of $7, found a new favorite dish (chicken with cashew nuts), cuddled and bottle-fed a tiget cub, swam in the highest tier of a beautiful waterfall, trekked in the jungle (ish), chased and been chased by two dozen Thai children at once, shopped a market at the Burmese border, gone zorbing for the second time in my life, learned to say two things in Thai, been to an infamous Bangkok ping pong show (horrifying was the only word that sprung to mind), drunk a mixed cocktail out of a bucket while wearing neon clothing and body paint and dancing like a fool on the beach, risked my life on many a tuk tuk, and made great friends along the way. It really was a great trip.

Since the tour ended here in Bangkok on January 2nd, I've just been killing time. I'm SO ready to get the hell outta Bangkok! I can't go anywhere that isn't dripping with Western influence. Now, don't get me wrong. For a few days, that can be kind of comforting, but it's been close to a week now and that's MORE than enough. Time to move on. I've been told that there is only Thai food in Surin . . . perhaps I will have to take advantage of the McDonald's down the street before I leave in the morning, just because I can.

The train tomorrow will take about 7-8 hours, assuming no complications (*scoff). The next 5 weeks hold my last volunteer projects of this trip. First, I'll be working in childcare facilities for young children (mostly under the age of 4, as I understand it) either in a daycare or orphanage setting. This placement will be fore three weeks and I'm VERY excited. I love kids and I can't wait to work with the same group regularly and get to know them, even if it's only a little bit. Then, the first two weeks of February are reserved for the elephants! I'll be living in a homestay situation, along with any other volunteers, during the week while we work with and for the elephants. Not sure exactly what our days will be spent doing, but often our afternoons will be filled with learning how to handle the elephants and we'll have the pleasre of taking them for afternoon swims! Don't really know what to expect from that project yet, but I'm positive it will be amazing. As always, these projects sounded like a long time when I booked them, but I know that when it comes down to it, it'll fly by and feel like I haven't been there long enough.

I have no idea what the internet situation will be in Surin, but here's hoping I can post more often there! Miss you and love you all!

Lions & Elephants & Poop, OH MY!

I'M IN ZIMBABWE!!!

I've been here about two and a half weeks and, so far, it has been even more amazing than I ever imagined. For those of you who don't already know, I'm working with a lion conservation and breeding program in the midlands of Zimbabwe just outside of a town called Gweru. I live and work at a place called Antelope Park with the programs African Impact (a volunteer organization) and ALERT (African Lion and Environmental Research Trust) with the goal of repopulating Africa with lions.

The lion population has has been decimated over the last 30 years. Literally. 90% of the lions who were here 30 years ago, are gone. And what is Africa without the lion? Not anything I want to see.

Anyway, although our goals are lofty, my job is rather humble (I AM still a volunteer, after all), but it's still very important to the program and freaking awesome, besides! My daily hours are from 6:30AM to around 7:00PM with breaks for meals. It's a long haul and some icky and back-breaking work, but not all of it!

Seeing as how there are animals of all shapes and sizes here at the park, you can perhaps imagine the myriad of poop that these animals leave for us to clean up. Lion poop is gross. They are big and they are meat eaters. We also get to clean up the halves of cows that are left behind after a feeding! Hooray! . . . Gross. There are horses here as well, so those of you who have ever been to a stable can sympathize with the amount of shoveling involved in the care of close to 30 horses. We also have elephants! If you're like me, you'd probably guess that these would be the worst to clean up after, but, like me, you'd be wrong! This is one of the easiest jobs at the park. They eat grass. It's big, but it's mostly in one place, and it's nowhere NEAR as stinky.

Still have your attention?

Didn't think so.

Anyway, for those of you who either made it through the poop paragraph or just skipped over it (smart cookies, you are), now to the good stuff. The REALLY good stuff.

I walk with lions.

Seriously.

At least once, if not twice a day, I join a small group of lion handlers and other volunteers, open an enclosure, and take cubs from 3-18 months out for a stroll in the bush. No fences. No weapons. Just us, the lions, and our humble sticks. The sticks are not there for our protection. They instead serve as an extension of our arm. That way, if cubbie wants to play, which is often far too rough for human's super sensitive skin, we can offer them our stick and it's just as if they were lovingly chewing on our paws. We take them on these walks to help prepare them for the next stage of the program. Lions who grow up in enclosures in captivity have no hope at being wild lions someday. So, we introduce them to the bush on a daily basis and sit back and watch their instincts take over. These cubs, having never seen their mothers hunt, do just that: they hunt. It might be each other, it might be a butterfly, but it might be something real, like a zebra or a giraffe. They know exactly what to do (although some are far better than others). It's amazing. I've seen the 10-month-old cubs chase after a full grown giraffe! (To put that into perspective, that would be a lion about the size of a Labrador taking off after, well, a GIRAFFE.)

We also get to connect with the cubs. Now that they are more familiar with me (and like me), I can kneel down next to them and scratch their back and neck and, if they REALLY trust me, their belly and chin! This is really only with the younger ones. The older cubs are over us humans, and that's what we want. In the next stage of the program, human contact is cut off, so it's more than ok if they don't want a snuggle!

Anyway, I'm running out of time here, but I'll try to post again some time soon. I'm leaving for a 5-day trip to Victoria Falls tomorrow, so that'll be fantastic.

If you have any questions you want me to answer, just post them in the comments section and I'll be happy to answer! Missing you all!

“You do the hokey pokey/ And you turn yourself around/ That’s what it’s all about!”

Without a doubt, my legacy at Siyazama Preschool will be . . . the Hokey Pokey. What can I say? It was a smashing success! Did the kids know the difference between their right and left? Definitely not! They don’t even speak English! But, did they have a blast and a half “shak[-ing] it all about”? HECK YES! As a matter of fact, their very favourite part was the clapping at the end, particularly the part of “a-bout” where I taught them to clap under their leg like I used to do at roller rink birthday parties in the third grade. Good times . . .

But I digress. The last month of my life was spent at Siyazama Preschool in the township of Imizamo Yethu (ee-mee-zah-moe yeh-too, or Mandela Park as the white people call it). It’s a small building with three rooms. One room is used for nothing other than putting kiddies in time out, the middle room is where they eat and hang their backpacks, and the back room is where they spend most of the day playing, watching videos, or (occasionally) learning! In this one tiny room, there is usually one teacher, every once in a while there’s the principal, and about 60 children between the ages of 2 and 6.

Oh, and me.

Did I mention that only the principal speaks English? YEA. That meant that on days she was there, I could communicate with her. And if she wasn’t (and she often wasn’t) . . . OH WELL! Put it this way: Janie got pretty damn good at international sign language, smiling and nodding, and other forms of non-verbal communication.

My main responsibility was creating and teaching workbook exercises to teach the children how to write the letters of the alphabet. Now, when I say “workbook,” I’m perhaps being a little generous. They became workbooks. In fact, they were actually blank notebooks that I had to individually write in daily exercises . . . for approximately 26 children. There were many days when these workbooks were the absolute bane of my existence. I tell you what, there are only so many times you can write “l is for lion” and it’s corresponding page of exercises before you go cross-eyed and the word “lion” begins to look like Sanskrit. BUT, it was the most productive I ever felt at Siyazama, so I wasn’t going to let a pesky little thing like not enjoying writing out 26 identical exercises every day stop me!

There are other reasons why the workbooks were a constant cause of inner conflict. On the one hand, it felt SO amazing to help a child work through their mistakes until they could write a perfectly acceptable “g,” especially when you consider that I couldn’t effectively just tell them how to do it. However, the teacher and the principal have little, if any, training on teaching young children, so when a child does something wrong, they’ll probably just get yelled at in a tone that suggests that it’s ridiculous that they (a 5-year-old) doesn’t know how to write a proper “g.” Rather, these teachers prefer to take the child’s hand in theirs and do the worksheet for them . . . SUPER! Now what has the child learned? Nothing. If the teacher does the worksheet, the kid doesn’t even have to be looking at it. It’s just magically done and magically the teacher is pleased with the child . . .

I saw this happen for about a week and a half before I plucked up the courage to mention it. After watching Viola, the principal, do the ENTIRE page for the letter “k” in about 10 seconds after I had spent an hour and a half the night before making sure that each child had at least one letter to do for worksheet time that day, I gently got her attention and said something tactful like, “Actually, Viola, I’d really like it if the kids would do the worksheets on their own. Obivously, it’s fine to help them out when they need it, but it’s important to me that they do it themselves.” She nodded and smiled and didn’t seem offended, so I guess it worked. Kind of. They still did worksheets for the kids sometimes, but it happened less frequently, sooooo I’ll call that a victory!

Teaching and interaction styles and customs were often surprising to me, as a matter of fact. The way children are treated here is much less gentle than at home. Not saying that our way is absolutely right and theirs is absolutely wrong, just that they are different. For example, when I say “less gentle,” I mean that milder forms of corporeal punishment are more than acceptable here. Things that I found shocking at first were standard practice. For example, when the children were a little slow to form a circle around the room, one of the teachers would often roughly grab them by the shirt or shoulders and shove them into place. The teacher also often used a stick to get the children’s attention. Don’t worry, she wasn’t hitting kids with it, but she would strike the ground in front of them or on the table top to make a lot of noise and get them to pay attention or back up. Yes, it made me nervous and even uncomfortable sometimes, but it certainly was not my place to intervene, especially since no child was really being harmed.

A side effect of this norm of rougher handling and yelling was that I had little, if any power to get the kids to be quiet. Between that and the language barrier, I was little more than a spectator or unintentional instigator when left in the room by myself. Knowing the kids knew the word “quiet,” I would sometimes shout it out and then shush them. This would either be ignored, or several of the kids would echo, “QUIET!” to the rest of the class. I never knew if they were sincerely trying to help me, just repeating a funny English word because I said it, or mocking me. I suppose it didn’t matter. It never worked anyway!

This lack of authority also spilled over into conflicts between the kids. Usually, thankfully, issues could be sorted out quickly and easily just by separating kids who were fighting or cuddling a child who was crying. Unfortunately, though, sometimes things weren’t that easy. Take the swings on the playground, for example: after my first week, I never went near them again! A child would be on the swing, having a ball, and then suddenly, another child would stop the swing and sit directly on top of the first child telling them to move. Then, three more children would descend upon the exact same swing, all grabbing and pushing and squirming and shouting. At first, I thought, “Oh no! I have to do something to keep these kids in order and teach them that they have to share and wait their turn!” However, I only speak English, they only speak Xhosa, and they have learned from experience that the most persistent and outrageously stubborn one will be the one to get the swing. I would start with talking, asking them nicely to stop standing on their friend’s kneecaps. When that didn’t work, I tried a more firm verbal approach. When that failed, I had to resort to physically prying the children off of the swing. You’d think that might work, right? WRONG! Just as soon as you had managed to pull an uncooperative child off the swing (after considerable physical effort to get them off the swing without actually hurting them) and set them off to the side, they’d dart between your legs and latch on in an even more impossible grip. In case you don’t buy how ridiculous it was at the swings, even the janitor who speaks ONLY Xhosa and is absolutely adored by the children there couldn’t wrangle them. We tried everything. Nothing worked. I never even looked at the swings again.

As this tale may indicate, sometimes these kids could be . . . difficult. But that was the challenge. I couldn’t be afraid to break up a fight or to be stern or to punish a child. They had to learn that such behaviour was not allowed. And I just had to learn how to handle things without communication. There were so many times that a child would come up to me crying, speaking spit-fire Xhosa, and pointing at another child. What could I do? At best, I could assume that the other child had done something to the one who was crying. But what? Did they punch them in the face or did they refuse to share their lollipop? Thankfully, my extensive experience with children has taught me that 9 times out of 10, a crying child just wants a little attention. Even if something was actually wrong, if I just gave them a hug, wiped away their tears, and tickled them, all was well again. This actually led to children preferring to talk to me about their problems since the teacher would probably just tell them to suck it up.

I was also unofficially put in charge of first aid for the same reason. Thankfully, it wasn’t needed but three times, but children would come to me with their “wounds” or nosebleeds, and I’d patch ‘em up! Interestingly enough, this was an interesting experience unto itself. South Africa has a serious HIV/AIDS problem, particularly among poor populations like the one I was working in. It’s estimated that close to half of people living in the township I worked in are HIV+, whether they know it yet or not. That meant that I couldn’t treat blood or open cuts as nothing. Even just to put on a bandaid, I had to don my latex gloves. I’ve never had to be careful about the possibility of exposure to HIV while working with children before I came to Africa. It was a strange thing to get used to. I also had to make sure that if I had any cuts or abrasions that they were covered by a bandaid ASAP. Even IF I’d somehow got an HIV+ child’s blood on an open wound on myself, chances are still astronomically small that I could become HIV+, but it was weird and kind of scary to think about.

Anyway, back to the kids: Even though they sometimes gave me headaches, I came to love those kids. All the little monsters usually made it up to me in the end and of course my star students were always perfect. The first name I learned was Sisipho (see-see-poe) and from that first day on, she was one of my favourites. She is one of the brightest, sweetest, and most mature children there. I love her! I also acquired a son and a daughter while there. My son is a 4-year-old boy named Oyama (oh-yah-mah) who latched on to me in my first week. I’m not sure why, but he just liked to be near me. Didn’t matter where we were, he wanted to either be wrapped around my leg, face buried in my pant leg, or in my arms, had resting on my shoulder. He’s missing his four front teeth. He’s adorable. My daughter is 3 (I think) and her name is Aftin. She’s one of the smallest people I’ve ever seen and her throne was sitting on my lap. She was a mischievous little bugger, but she could be very sweet. She even came in with a sneak-attack kiss on the lips at the beginning of my second week, which may have been part of what led to my string of sickness throughout the month . . . Regardless, it was sweet.

The kids also finally learned my name after four weeks! They started out, as with every new volunteer, calling me “umlungu” which is Xhosa for “white person.” I was not going to tolerate being called “White lady! White lady!” by 60 children, on top of which I wanted them to learn that, just like they are not all “black child,” I am an individual and I have a name. It’s “Jane.” Anyway, every time they called me “umlungu,” I would just look at them and say “Jane” until they said it back, and then I would respond. Some of them even loved just saying my name out loud. Just cuz. Or just cuz they wanted me to look at them. Whatever.

All the kids loved getting attention. Even more so than children at home, I think. For one thing, at school, they were one of sixty all vying for the attention of one to three adults, one of whom was usually a white foreigner (how exciting!). It was always so simple to make them smile. That’s one of the things I loved most about them. Even if I couldn’t carry on a conversation, or even ask them a simple question, I could make them laugh.

Some days were more difficult than others to organize activities for the kids to fill time. I’d want to teach them something or play a game, but wouldn’t be able to teach it since I didn’t speak the language and the one bilingual person on the staff was so rarely there. Some days, especially when the weather wouldn’t permit outside play time, the teacher would just pop in a VHS tape and let it run all morning. Then, when it was finished, she would rewind it . . . and play it again from the beginning. I don’t care to share with you how many times I watched the same damn Barney video. Those songs will never be out of my head. And no, I don’t mean the “I love you, You love me” gem. I’m talking about songs about brushing your teeth and the season called “fall.” (Kill me now.)

Thankfully, though, the teacher and I formed a really wonderful and inexplicable bond. We only really spoke to each other when she asked me the time, but somehow we became friends. She impressed me. When Viola was gone, she was much more fun and engaging with the kids. She was creative. She was lively. The children loved it and it was adorable. Sometimes, a child would do something funny, in the way that only children who just don’t have the sense of embarrassment that comes with adulthood do, and we would just look at each other and start laughing. I loved that. I’ll miss that.

Well, I only have four more days in Cape Town! Tomorrow I move from my home away from home here in Hout Bay to a hostel/backpackers in the city bowl. I’ve got some big plans for my last few days, so I’m pretty excited! I just know how much I’ll miss this place and these people.

To Shelby, Hanna, Karoline, Vanessa, Micha, Sisipho, Oyama, Aftin, Brian, Ibenathi, Yibanathi, Mziwonke, Khanya, Asivile, and the countless other people I’ve had the absolute pleasure of meeting: Thank you. I am truly a person changed for the better from this experience and from the things you’ve taught me.

(Not that they’ll EVER see this, but) I’d also like to send a special shout out to Afrika and Bridget. The things you taught me are too numerous and personal to recount here, but more than anyone or anything else, you both taught me more about real life in Africa and the strength of the human spirit than I could have ever asked for. In the short time that I’ve known you, I’ve not only become closer to the Africa I came to see, but I’ve also found a new direction in life: social work. The future has never seemed so clear to me, and that is in large part thanks to you both. Thank you. I’ll miss you.