kids

Kids, like intestinal issues and sociocultural confusion, are a constant in Peace Corps. And sometimes they wear on you the same. But most of the time they are godsends, as they too barely speak the local language. Instead of formal verbal communication, an erratic series of grunts and hand motions tends to suffice. Which, given my poor Sotho skills, is generally faster than trying to piece sentences together word by word. Ke….nyaka….meetse vs. pointing at the water barrel, pantomiming drinking, and then staring at the child to see if anything been conveyed. Usually not, but I haven’t died of thirst yet.

Some photos:


Motlare with his toy for the day. Yeah, I put a stop to it before they figured out space monkey.


Motlare in his true form - reaching for anything that I am holding.


Dankie and a neighborhood boy.


I let Dankie use my camera for a bit. We are still working on the whole not covering the lens with your finger bit.


Local kids who come over a lot.


Mostly because there is a kids bike at the house, broken and chainless as it is.


Leah and her daughter, Ndezi, who was tiny when I arrived. She forgot who I was when I came back from holiday break and burst out crying when I went to say hi. She's remembered now and is back to her usual huge smiles and sort-of waves.