Superlatives

If nothing else, we will leave here having taught our students English superlatives for “good”:  great, excellent, fantastic, outstanding, etc.  Because they always try to show off their English to us, our kids will drop “fantastic” or “excellent” to describe seemingly mundane, everyday things.  Recently, a group of kids watched a movie at our house.  When they left, one of the boys told Matt that it was a “fabulous visit.” 

Teaching superlatives, however, has also led to some unforeseen negative consequences.  All of these positive words roughly translate to “mnandi” in Zulu, and this same word is used to describe tasty food.  So Matt taught his 5^th graders early in the school year that “ukudla kumnandi” means “delicious food” in English.  At the time, Matt didn’t realize that mnandi was used not only for food, but also for every positive experience known to man.  Later in the year, Matt gave grade 5 a test and asked them to write a complete sentence about their favorite school subject.  We were thoroughly amused when one of the brightest boys in the class wrote “science is delicious.”  We’re not sure if our explanation of when to use “delicious” completely rectified the mistake, but you win some, you lose some!

Our Weekend

We’ve enjoyed a nice, rain-free weekend.  Because we apparently only know how to blog in spurts, why not tell you guys about our Sunday?  We were planning on going on a run, but when we were joined by our 10 year-old friend Aphile (pronounced A-pea-lay), we knew it would be more of a walk.  First things first, we had to walk with her to her house to ask permission from her mother, a local high school teacher.  It felt awesomely juvenile to ask a grown woman if her daughter could come out and play with us.  Fortunately she said yes.  So off we were on our typical walk to the main road, about 3 miles roundtrip.  At the road though, we spotted a bunch of baboons in the distance.  Because we had nothing better to do, we decided to check things out.  We ran into a group of young boys from our primary school who were walking in the same direction.  We asked them in Zulu “what are you doing?”  They responded in Zulu “we are fine.”  Hmm.  On the second take, with help from Aphile, we found out that the boys were going to throw rocks at the baboons.  Matt asked in Zulu if they wanted to kill a baboon.  They said yes and showed us their rocks.  We obviously started walking with them.  When we got to within a good 50 yards of the baboons, some of the young boys got excited and started running.  The baboons ran faster, much faster.  The boys heaved their rocks into the air, all falling at least 30 yards short of the mark.  A failed mission for the boys, amusing diversion for us. 

On the walk back Aphile was telling us about a book she is reading.  After our conversation included a mix of English and Zulu, we reached a roadblock.  We didn’t know the Zulu word she was using, so we asked her to show us.  The demonstration went as follows.  Aphile put Sara’s ipod on the ground and told Matt to walk 10 feet away.  Then she told Matt to call Sara.  “Zahara!  Zahara!”  (yeah we aren’t Matt and Sara here).  Aphile then told Zahara to walk to Sbu (Matt).  After that happened, she ran up and grabbed the ipod and ran away.  “Oh, steal!” we both laughed and told Aphile. 

When we got home, church was finished which meant one thing:  here come kids.  We had a noisy afternoon with 12 year-olds watching Terminator 2 (Schwartzkegger was requested) while the little ones colored on the ground. 

All in all an ordinary Sunday, but as we reflected on it we realized that what we consider mundane can actually be pretty entertaining to people back in America.  We are organizing a 5K race and kids’ fun run for this upcoming Saturday, so we will definitely let you guys know how that goes.  

What I Really Miss

Of course, we miss our family and friends, but people aside, it’s surprising what you end up missing.  You’d think I would miss having a washing machine or a dishwasher, but I’m pretty used to washing clothes by hand.  When it rains for several days straight (like it did this week), it would be nice to have a dryer, but no big deal.  Honestly, I’ve sort of forgotten what it is like to have a dishwasher.  As long as you don’t let dirty dishes build up, washing by hand is fine.

What I DO miss, however, is our Swiffer.  Sunday is our mopping day, and it is a physical and emotional ordeal.  After five minutes of mopping, the mop water turns brown, and 50% of our house still remains un-mopped.  Once, the actual mopping is finished, you then have to wait for an eternity for the floors to dry.  Confined to our bedroom, we typically twiddle our thumbs in boredom waiting for the sun to make its brief daily cameo and accelerate the drying process.  Once the floors are dry, there is a brief feeling of euphoria, however fleeting.  By this time, it’s nearly one o’clock and church will be letting out soon.  That means kids will soon be coming over for a visit, tramping dirt and mud all over our once immaculate floor (okay, not really immaculate but whatever).  Mopping sucks.  Big time.

Water Gods Part II

Thank you for turning the water back on in the kitchen today.  We are extremely grateful.  It seems like you feel we are not yet ready for hot water or for water in our bathroom, and that is okay.  But there is a lot of thunder and lightning right now, and we are worried for what your future plans might entail.  Please be nice to us.  We understand you will turn the water brown if you must, but please just let it stay on.  Thanks in advance.

Monkey Business

So the excitement of the day was a monkey that was in a tree inside the gates of the school.  A bunch of Grade 7 kids were outside during class, and we saw them start throwing branches and rocks at the monkey.   Adults got into the action as well.  When we came back to school after lunch, the gate was locked.  We called a teacher to let us in, and she told us the men inside the gate were trying to get the monkey while trespassing at the school and she was waiting for the police to come.  Turns out she was joking and just wanted them to apologize.

Anyway, all the learners made a beeline for the trees after school.  Tons of rocks and branches were being thrown, and at least two learners tried to climb the trees (one making it probably 30 feet up the tree).  The monkey was freaking out and making huge leaps from tree to tree.  I asked a kid (one of the Grade 7s who speaks passable English) what the other learners were doing.

Kid: Trying to kill the monkey.

Me:  Noooo!!!

Kid: They want to eat it.

Me: No way.

Kid: Do you want the monkey?

Me: No, but I don’t want it to be killed.

Kid:  But monkeys are food.

Don’t worry.  The teachers kicked everyone out of the schoolyard before the monkey was actually knocked out of the tree.  Just a small reminder that we aren’t in America anymore.

Dear Water Gods,

Thank you for raining practically nonstop for 3 days straight.  That was really fun.  Our water turned brown, but Crystal Light can make almost anything drinkable.  We didn’t even mind that our laundry has been soaking in a bucket ready to go outside since Tuesday.  But now our water has been off for awhile now, and we’d really like to bathe.  Also, we’re running out of clean underwear.  Please throw us a bone.

Sincerely,

Needs to bathe in Ngwelu

How You Know You Live In A Small Village

11.   Boys pee on your toilet seat because they are used to latrines.

22.  The entire village runs out of milk and bread.

33.  Cows, goats and chickens routinely walk by the classroom windows and are chased out of the school gate by learners.

44.  The village’s taxi driver buys you a live chicken for dinner just because he likes you (don’t ask).

55.  Most of your male learners are herd boys after school.

66.  Soccer and netball are always played barefoot.

77.  Some kids walk for over an hour to come to school, yet each grade has only one class.

88.  Babies cry hysterically when they see you because they aren’t used to white people.

99.  Since everyone knows you, people will stop the village’s sole taxi when they see you coming a block away in town.

110. Everyone has known your name (or at least your African name) since your second week in the village.

111. Daily, kids give you their parents’ cell phones to charge, because most people don’t have electricity.

112. You can run to the main road and back (~5k) on the only road in and out of your village and see no cars (besides hospital vehicles, only a handful of people have cars).