PST
Stuff happened and it was bangin'.
PST was not unlike summer camp. Forty-six people away from friends and family, thrown together for a set period of time, juvenile in their knowledge of local language, geography, and customs, and forced to abide snack, play, and activity times. Initially, we stayed at Mokopane College in Limpopo (the province where I have been placed), but, after a week or two, were sent to one of three villages depending on our language assignments. XiTsonga went to Tshamahansi; Zulu, SiSwati, and Xhosa (there's a click in that one, but I won't say where) to Moshate; and we Sepedi speakers to Sekgakgapeng.
A note: G is a special letter in Sepedi, described in the Peace Corps learning material as being “pronounced like the sound which is made when one hawks.” No joke. And 'kg' is what I would describe as a more violent form of 'g'. So it might just have taken some of us the better part of training to get the pronunciation of our host village down. And I might have blown through a nalgene or two every language class.
In village, we lived with home stay families. I stayed with Mabatho [pr. Mah-bah-too - it means crowds - she says she was named such because their was a crowd around when she was born], an absolutely wonderful and caring person. Mabatho is of the holiest class of people here – Gogos (grandmothers). Gogos are afforded the utmost respect, and, due to this, can get away with just about anything. Which they know. My second night, she threatened to use her beat stick on me if I didn't eat more. Then she showed me her beat stick. It was in jest. Mostly. I ate more.
Mabatho works alternating weeks as a night cook at the local clinic. She leaves home around 4 p.m., works until midnight, sleeps at her station for an hour or two, resumes working until 4 a.m., and then heads home. At which point she sweeps the dirt yard, cleans the house, and cooks breakfast. From what I observed, during the weeks she worked she napped only an hour or two in front of the tv. Generally to American reality tv (especially World's Wildest Police Chases) or soapies. Yet, despite her schedule, she never failed to treat me with great kindness or to have a hot dinner waiting for me when I returned from sessions. I even had to beg her to do my own laundry. I really could not have asked for a better introduction to South African life than her. Even if she did keep her beat stick prominently displayed.
Mabatho has three sons, all in their 30s and all of whom had to leave home for work in Joburg (a fairly common thing here) – a whole bunch of km and a several hour, multi-taxi public transport ordeal away.
A note about public transport: Most people get around via koombies (a.k.a. taxis – 14-person vans). Generally, koombies will congregate at a central meeting point known as a rank. You show up, state your destination, and hopefully the person will understand your crazy American accent and poor pronunciation of local village names enough to show you the general location of the taxi. Once located, you board the taxi and wait. And wait. And wait. Until it fills up. This can take from ten minutes to several hours. I've blown through most of the Economist during one of these waits. And, for some reason, most people don't like to open their windows - even when it is 95 degrees outside, which has the wonderful effect of turning a perfectly ordinary and boring taxi into an exotic steam bath. All during this, the driver has cranked up the kwaito or Jesus tunes. And, in what I'll call the Koombie Law of Discomfort, invariably some excessively large person has seated themselves excessively close to you. So getting around can be interesting. Certainly more interesting than the T.
Mabatho also has two wiener dogs. Twin (the boy) and Pinky (the girl). Twin took a shining to me and would sit on my lap during language class. He would also freak out, run in circles, and jump several times his height when I got home. It was endearing. Pinky was pregnant for most of PST. “Too pregnant,” as Mabatho was fond of saying. Too is a common word here and is used in a variety of settings and meanings. Such as when my friend Elizabeth and I climbed a mountain in Sekgakgapeng and, once back down, were told that the mountain was covered in snakes, “too big snakes.” Honestly, though, towards the end Pinky could barely waddle around. She gave birth to four puppies, only one of which survived.
We had language class in Mabatho's garage. Despite class being twenty feet from my bed, and Sean having to walk at least half an hour to get there, I was always the last to class - often walking in toothbrush in mouth. Sometimes I shaved during our ten-minute break. Our teacher, Kgabo, was a darling and put up with all of our asinine questions. Like, “How do you say, 'Please don't kill me.'” [Hle! O se ke wa mpolayo!], or, “Just how many concurrent 'ba's can you have in a sentence and still have it make sense?” Sepedi is a language of concords and prefixes, and 'ba' is an incredibly common one. To give an example: Batho bale ba ka ba babotse ba ja nama [Those beautiful people of mine eat meat]. Or, magapu a a a butswa [These watermelons are ripening]. That is indeed three 'a's in a row, each with a different meaning. This is not a language for stutterers.
We finished PST after two long months, swore in as volunteers, and were sent out to our sites on some date towards the end of March. I'm not so good with the exacts. I'll write more about my village and organization later. Suffice it to say, my new family, village, and org are all absolutely fantastic and I am incredibly happy.
