Bucket by Bucket

The bucket- a seriously underutilized object in the States. Perhaps a few were stored in the garage, used for the occational gardening, construction, or painting projects. Here, in SA, I find I never have enough buckets. I now understand the dire need for this precious plastic item. Buckets collect and store my water. Buckets are my kitchen sink, where dishes are washed. Buckets serve as a washing basin, rather than washing machine. (2 required. One to wash, the other to rinse.) Buckets are tucked into the corners of bedrooms because pee buckets are much more convenient in the middle of the night than latrines. And finally, a bucket is what I squat in when I take my daily bucket bath. I have been learning the wonderful joys (and sacrifices) of living bucket by bucket for the past 2 and a half weeks, here in Isandlwana.

My PC journery feels like it has finally begun and my fingertips are white as I grip my faith hoping that I can do this for two years. Training was just that. Training wheels, PC style, included living in a village with a family that spoke good English, therefore they also understood my humor and thought I was hilarious. It meant seeing Americans everyday for language classes and attending "sessions" that covered topics ranging from HIV/AIDS, to what church is like in SA, how to observe and interview community members, lesson planning practice, unwritten rules in SA culture, SA history, dealing with unwanted behavior, and discussing the scar that is Apartheid. Due to one of SA's longest public service strikes, going into the schools was not safe as union members can become violent when met with resistance (witnessed on the evening news when people attempted to enter the hospitals for care and were confronted with an anger mob). PC was forced to transport us to a nearby, barely functioning, teacher college for our sessions. We all began craving the adventure of PC much more so than continuing to stare at one anothers' American faces. Training felt like a watered down period that allowed me to be exposed to the idea of my white skin acting as a 24-hour spoltlight and my American identity meaning that I am BFFs with JayZ, which I confirmed often to humor myself. Before I knew it, I was in an 11-hour carrride, when we were told it would take 7 hours, to a resort in KwaZulu Natal (KZetN) to meet my future principals and "go home" with them.

I stood in the room of enthusiastic South Africans singing and Zulu calling as they heard us sing our national anthym. I stuttered out my Zulu, "Sannibonani! Ningani? Igama lami ngingu Katie wakwa Petersen. Ngizosebenza eSiyanda neSandlwana." My principals jumped out of their seats. One, a petite, thin woman. The other a big, big, Zulu teddy bear man.

Half a month into my service now, I am finally settling into my home. Although I do not have chairs or a table, my furniture provided by KZN DoE has arrived, meaning that I no longer live out of suitecses. I am absorbing a new list of rules to live by:
1. Floors are polished daily, using cow dung.
2. Trash is burned.
3. Everyone must be greeted, even the little grandma sitting under the tree that you cannot see.
4. Do not pet the dogs.
5. Umbrellas and caps are a necessity on a sunny day because they provide shade, even in the middle of a field.
6. Outside is inside. Your food is shared by the critters that live in your home too.
7. I iron t-shirts.
8. Taxis displaying their maximum capicity is 16 really means 16 people is the minimum. Taxis are known to carry about 40 children at a time.
9. When a man tells me how many cows he has, he is proposing to me. Cows are expensive and used for dlombolo, payment given to the father of the bride.
10. Even if a clock has a working battery it is never set to the correct time. Clocks, ironically, are everywhere.
11. When an event "begins" at 2pm this means at 2pm everyone begins preparing for the event. People will arrive around 3:30 or 4pm.
12. When a neighbor passes away, the older women cover their heads and sholders, wear skirts, and sit in that neighbors' house together. Then, the women move outside, where they bow on all fours to the men. (This was an amazing first experience.)
13. Pigs are slaughtered inside. You may or may not walk in on this.
14. Cow dung is used for everything. Period.
15. I have a lot to learn.

Thus far, I have many highlights of which I can paint a romantic picture. I also have a lot of downtime and thoughts of home. My family and I are moving out of the honeymmoon phase although I still enjoy walking to school with my mom, 2 youngest sisters, and 2-6 neighbor children.

I started carrying my water buckets home using the handles. Later, I brought my sisters along and while we sang, they taught me to place the smallest bucket on my head. Next, I filled the large bucket halfway full on my head. The other day, I carried a large, full bucket on my head all the way home. I am slowly learning, slowly growing, slowly adjusting.

Kancane kancane. (Step by step.) Bucket by Bucket.