Sometimes I can’t see the forest for the trees

Sometimes I can’t see the forest for the trees

I’ve been feeling a bit dissolutioned lately but on reflection, maybe it’s me who’s loosing the plot again. It’s easy to fall into the trap. The pathetic schooling system really fails the children here and it’s driving me insane trying to work with a system that is non existent. Besides the fact that school only takes place Monday to Thursday mornings; afternoons are a bit wishy washy since it depends on which teachers aren’t in a meeting. Some afternoons the teachers who are at school, leave work on the blackboard for the students to do on their own but usually the students just amuse themselves. Friday’s the teachers go home from 10am and the learners clean the classrooms.  When it rains, many learners can’t get to school as the river flows stronger than normal but they don’t miss much.  Lessons are taught in Xhosa by teachers who don’t have a clue about dedication and the principal is about as much of a token trophy as we are.  The kids have no discipline but mind you they are pretty good at making coffee for the teachers.

Last week we attended a big party at school.  The grade R’s graduation and the grade 9’s farewell.  The parents/ grandmothers and the elders were there to proudly cheer the 6 year old’s dressed in hired white dresses and suits and cloaked in their graduation gowns.  The grade 9’s looked like matrics in their fancy suits and shiny dresses all dressed to the nines.  The school spent a fortune to feed everyone who attended and there were no lessons for the whole week what with students having their hair done, others cleaning classrooms and teachers off shopping for groceries for the occasion.    

Last month at the school sports day, another huge chunk of school cash was spent on meat and booze to feed the teachers.  The students were given their usual samp and beams although the guest soccer team were treated to hunks of bread and a slice of polony.  The teachers took loads of left over meat home and we were given our share as well.  The guest school went home with a few bottles of Johnny Walker red label and I went home with a lump in my throat.  

So.  What am I missing here?  The whole forest actually. The above are all the reasons why education in Transkei sucks but I’m not a politician and I didn’t come here to change the course of education in Transkei.  I’m just somebody living in a rural village, helping at the school and our library while learning about the Xhosa nations’ lifestyle.    

Actually, I enjoyed spending the day at the functions with the other teachers in the kitchen chopping vegetables.  I got to know them a little better. I was intrigued by their practical method of cooking 2 huge bags of butternut.  Peeling all the butternut took some time but no one complained and they sang songs and did the occasional dance when it got boring.  Cooking seemed to be part of the party.  Then they put all the peeled butternut slices back into the big orange bags which they came in and tied the bags up again.  They boiled the bagged butternuts in a huge black pot for an hour or 2 on the fire.  Then they took the bags out and hung it on the fence for all the water to drain off for a half an hour or so - somewhere out of reach of passing livestock.  A nifty way to handle bulk portions of food.  I took my own chopping board in since I haven’t mastered chopping carrots and vegetables into miniscule blocks in the air above a bowl.    

They boiled a pig in a huge black pot on the fire.  Everything got cut into massive blocks, chops, hocks, the whole damn thing.  No water was added at all and the meat just cooked in its own juices with some spices.  It was quite tasty. Another huge pot was filled with hunks of seasoned beef steaks, stewing meat and sirloin all stirred into one pot and also cooked only in its own juices on the fire.  It was just as tasty. 

Luckily we are not fussy eaters and have sometimes been invited to join the teachers over lunchtime when they eat boiled pigs heads and such like.  I ended up with a piece of ear once which was a bit too cartilagy for me so I kinda sucked on it and nibbled on it until a respectable amount of  time had passed and I could politely put it down on a plate. The way to eat meat, fat or afval is to pass a knife around and cut chunks off which you eat with your hands.  This is the Xhosa way which we are becoming comfortable with.  In the beginning I tried acting casual and took my piece of stomach or whatever it was handed to me and bit into it as you would a chop.  I felt a bit like a Neanderthal gnawing and yanking on my kill until someone passed me a knife while the teachers all continued jabbering loudly around me. 

I’m learning that when Xhosa people get together for a party it makes white people’s parties look like a stuck up affair.  The graduation was much more of an interactive event and the mammas got quite carried away with spontaneous singing as they hailed the next speaker. Some ululating to show appreciation of a child’s performance was quite in order.    

Next month we have been invited to an initiation and I can’t wait.  I think Theo is a bit worried about the fact that he will be the only male there over the age of 25 with a foreskin but I don’t think they will be doing a spot check. 

I’ve decided it’s more fun enjoying the ride through the forest than worrying whether someone checked the brakes.

SOUTHERN NAMIBIA

Feral horses mountainous Namibia

Feral horses near Aus

Friendly baker at Solitaire

Namibia desert

Luderitz Grosse bucht beach

SOUTHERN NAMIBIA

Theo peeled the Hoodia plant and we chewed it.  My mouth filled with a liquorice flavoured foam and the more I chewed the more it lathered.  I felt like a rabid dog, drooling at the mouth and the heat was enough to make a person want to strip naked and kill.  I couldn’t swallow the cactus foam but what the heck I had diarrhoea and didn’t have an appetite anyway.  Our freezer couldn’t cope with the heat either and 20 kg of vacuum packed meat started defrosting but quite frankly my dear, I didn’t give a dam.  Cold water and beer was all I wanted.  F.Y.I. they didn’t inspect our truck at Vioolsdrif border post.

We followed the Orange River on the Namibian side for 2 days, stopping every now and then to lie in the luke warm water, clothes and all, to cool off.  The greenery on its banks was a pleasant relief.    We arrived in Luderitz and camped on the beachfront for free with running water, loos, braai spots and best of all it was lovely and cool at the coast.  After living on gallons of water for 2 days, I’ve decided what the heck, I might as well make an effort about my body which has turned to shit, so I’ve started doing toning exercises on the beach.  I feel great and have a new zest for life.  Heck I even feel like going for a jog or a swim or singing at the top of my voice.  I might end up with the body of a wrinkly 16 year old and if I walk around with my arms crossed behind my head, I even have perky boobs - well almost.
After 4 days of relaxing, we headed north towards Walvis Bay along the gravel road which was 800 km through the desert.  The mountainous landscape is spectacular.  You drive over one mountain range only to find another one stretched out in the distance from east to west as far you can see. They range from purple to pink to brown and rocky and some seem as though they are fixed to the earth in a sea of mist from the mirage created by the shimmering heat.  Its hot, rainy season now in January (yeeha hardly any other tourists) so we took a fat chance opting for the gravel road, which when dry is in excellent condition but wet and slippery mud could be a different story.  The map showed towns about every 200 km so initially I didn’t know what all the hooha was about to make sure you are prepared for the desert.  We soon discovered that places like Beta, Helmeringhausen, Sesriem and Solitaire, all indicated on the map, aren’t towns but rather just a fuel stop and shop selling essentials like expensive cold beer and offered overnight facilities.  The friendly people all speak Afrikaans which made me feel quite at home as apposed to being in a foreign country and Theo fell in love with the jolly baker at Solitaire selling seed bread and delicious confectionary.    We passed about 6 cars the whole 800 km’s, and yes if you get caught in the desert without water or have an accident, you definitely could die.  Our cell phone doesn’t work out here but we do have a ship to shore radio although I don’t know how it works yet so if Theo does have a heart attack from all the chilli bites which he made from the excess of potjiekos meat which bounced around in the caravan drying on a rack as we headed north, I’ll have to dig into the recesses of my brain to recall the first aid taught to us a year ago. 
You don’t see much life except lots of Springbok and Gemsbok which have adapted to the harsh environment by being able to survive at body temperatures 5 degrees higher than normal without frying their brains.  Near Aus, we saw 100 or so skinny feral horses who had survived the tough dry winter and we passed surprisingly green beef and sheep farms where it had recently rained.  Further north we saw a few harems of Zebras nibbling on small tufts of grass, sprouted from recent rains but mostly we drove through dry gravelly landscape, beautiful to look at but difficult to survive in.  I was reminded of the koue bokkeveld back home in SA except this was on a much bigger scale.
We arrived in Walvis Bay and walked the town which had all the same franchise shops as in SA and where everyone used rands and spoke Afrikaans.  We searched for a bar and drank cold draught on tap and of course the mandatory Jugermeister. 
Tomorrow is another day to tackle my non existent six pack and perky boobs on the miles and miles of beachfront stretched out before me.