This is one of the schools I visited. They put on a big AIDS assembly on my behalf. It was really neat. Can you find the white girl in the crowd?
Monday, October 20, 2008
My kids at Aletuke... love them!
This is an event we had with all the guardians and kids when we gave out new school uniforms. The kids really enjoy the art supplies that so many of you have donated. Art program, here we come.
My Home
Typical Sunday afternoon laundry session with my Mma. Tumi is my Mama's 2 1/2 year old grandaughter who stays with us on the weekends. She is so cute and fun to watch grow and develop language, both English and Sepedi.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Embracing the Ride
I’ve been in South Africa for nine months now. The house I live in is quite modern by local standards. My Mom is a teacher, paid by the government, which allows her a reasonably comfortable life. We have a nice television with Satellite reception, refrigerator, electric range with oven, indoor plumbing with hot water and a flush toilet. We also have a borehole, or a shallow well, which provides us with a back-up water source for when the street pipes run dry. As of today, the street has been dry for over a month. Gutter collectors have been empty since before winter (June) and we haven’t seen rain since April. In the mean time the municipality trucks in water to community holding tanks for people to fetch what they need. Our borehole water is very salty so we must fetch only our drinking water. For that I am grateful.
I sit in my living room on matching furniture and wonder if I could, would I choose to live more remote, without appliances or electricity, my computer or cell phone? What if I lived in a place where I couldn’t count on their English and I had to rely only on my Sepedi? Would I have it in me to live further out of my comfort zone?
There are things here that I have no problem living without. And the longer I’m here the easier and more normal it becomes. I haven’t used a napkin, paper towel, zip-lock bag or aluminum foil since I’ve been here. I can count the meals I’ve used a fork to eat with. There isn’t a butter knife in the house (the back of a spoon works great) and a drawer organizer is the furthest thing from our kitchen. You have to pay for plastic bags at the grocery store so my Mom showed me how to fold and tie one up in a tiny bundle and always have one in my bag. I’m glad for that about once a week. Pens and pencils are hard to come by so I’m much better about keeping my pens until they are out of ink. I keep food boxes to make homemade postcards and projects for work, pieces of string and wire, wash out food jars and recycle the nice paper bags that sugar and flour come in. At the point in which a typical American would toss a dishcloth into the trash, we use it until it almost falls apart and then it continues to live out the rest of its life as a cleaning rag. Old panty hose are used for buffing floors and shoes. I watch my coworkers blow their nose on their child’s outgrown infant t-shirt. We save the oil from cooking. We re-use the vinegar used to boil salt off the kettle heating coil. We collect rain from the gutters for bathing, washing clothes and cooking. I will use the plastic wrap from my lettuce to wrap a leftover. I use the toilet paper bag for my trashcan. And even then I dump it out and use it again. You know the wax molded at the bottom of the candle holder? There’s a use for that too. If you look inside my Mom’s pillow there’s years of outgrown, ripped and recycled clothing. It’s a little lumpy for my taste but it’s the one she chooses to sleep with every night. I use the communal cup at the drum of drinking water. I pee in a bucket in my room at night. It’s pit toilets everywhere you go so don’t forget to keep toilet paper on you at all times.
The list goes on and on with the everyday little things that are truly everyday and little things. They were adjustments to begin with but living so simply has it’s own rewards. I wonder to what degree I will fall from this way of living when I return home.
In contrast to the life style I’ve embraced there are parts of my life here that have pushed me to my limits and beyond, frustrated me, brought me to tears and forced me to dig deep for strength I wasn’t sure was there. As a young, independent woman who’s made every decision for herself up to this point in time, living in an extremely patriarchal culture has proven very difficult. The hardest part for me is that the women who live in these rural communities, rich with tradition, accept the absence of choice and independence in their lives. To them, there is no absence, it just is. They know no other way. Boys and girls are separated in their chores, where they sit in church, stand at morning assembly before school and their roles in the home from a very young age. Simply the act of paying labola, a bride price, puts a woman in a position of being property and the man, owner. When I talk to people here and point out what I see their answer is always, “that’s the way it’s always been.” Then my response is usually, “yes, but it doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Because of these definitive roles whenever I’m at a celebration of some kind I find myself doing dishes, serving tea, cooking, cleaning and spending my time with the women doing what they do best, serve. I have to bite my tongue a lot and wonder if these women, who have never lived a day not servicing “their man,” long in their hearts for the choices I’ve been blessed with.
With a little gentle probing many women have opened up to me and talked about their relationships with their husbands. Some don’t even share the same bed. Most women speak of their husbands’ infidelities as if it’s just a part of the marriage package. Almost all are forced to “perform” on demand and receive no sexual pleasure from their husband. But their strength is for their children and grandchildren they are raising single handedly. It’s not an unfamiliar sight to see a woman in her sixties or seventies washing a mountain of laundry by hand with a little one tied to her back. These women inspire me while at the same time my insides weep for them.
The language barrier continues to challenge me everyday. What once was a novelty has become a daily struggle. My use of Sepedi is what often brings me closer to the people around me. Yet, their use of Sepedi is what pushes me away. I more often choose to be by myself then sit in a room with other people and feel alone. My Sepedi grows stronger everyday but despite my efforts I can understand very little of their conversations. The speed at which they speak is impossible for me to pick out words. And to complicate matters worse, the mother tongue of the village I live in is not the language I am learning. So unless I am engaged in a one on one conversation with someone who is willing to speak slowly and clearly for my understanding, I continue to sit alone. Some would say this should be a motivator to learn the language better. But the truth is, no matter how badly you want to learn to swim you can’t start in the deep end.
These daily struggles are invisible to the people around me. The thick skin I came here with is now gone. My breaking point now lives on the surface of my emotions. I am more raw and real then I ever have been. Now, it’s all about protecting myself and being proactive. What do I need right now? Where do I need to be? Who do I need to talk to? I’ve made decisions about work to maintain my happiness and productivity. I’ve had numerous conversations with my host Mom so she can understand my challenges and reactions more clearly and be a support for me, a role she has truly embraced. I know what works for me and what doesn’t. I know when to walk away and when to stay. I’m actually living in a survival mode now. If I don’t do the things necessary to protect myself emotionally and mentally I won’t be able to stay here. I often feel weak when I make the decision to get up and leave a situation but then again I feel stronger than ever because I’m acting on my behalf and doing what’s best for me without harming anyone else and I consider that strength. This may be a phase of adjustment I’m growing through. Sometimes it feels like a valley in the rollercoaster experience that Peace Corps is. But knowing yourself better than you ever have before would qualify as a peak. I believe the Universe is setting me up for success when I see the miracles all around me; my host Mom, David, my supervisor, the wonderful people I work with, the support I have from home and the lessons I embrace everyday.
I sit in my living room on matching furniture and wonder if I could, would I choose to live more remote, without appliances or electricity, my computer or cell phone? What if I lived in a place where I couldn’t count on their English and I had to rely only on my Sepedi? Would I have it in me to live further out of my comfort zone?
There are things here that I have no problem living without. And the longer I’m here the easier and more normal it becomes. I haven’t used a napkin, paper towel, zip-lock bag or aluminum foil since I’ve been here. I can count the meals I’ve used a fork to eat with. There isn’t a butter knife in the house (the back of a spoon works great) and a drawer organizer is the furthest thing from our kitchen. You have to pay for plastic bags at the grocery store so my Mom showed me how to fold and tie one up in a tiny bundle and always have one in my bag. I’m glad for that about once a week. Pens and pencils are hard to come by so I’m much better about keeping my pens until they are out of ink. I keep food boxes to make homemade postcards and projects for work, pieces of string and wire, wash out food jars and recycle the nice paper bags that sugar and flour come in. At the point in which a typical American would toss a dishcloth into the trash, we use it until it almost falls apart and then it continues to live out the rest of its life as a cleaning rag. Old panty hose are used for buffing floors and shoes. I watch my coworkers blow their nose on their child’s outgrown infant t-shirt. We save the oil from cooking. We re-use the vinegar used to boil salt off the kettle heating coil. We collect rain from the gutters for bathing, washing clothes and cooking. I will use the plastic wrap from my lettuce to wrap a leftover. I use the toilet paper bag for my trashcan. And even then I dump it out and use it again. You know the wax molded at the bottom of the candle holder? There’s a use for that too. If you look inside my Mom’s pillow there’s years of outgrown, ripped and recycled clothing. It’s a little lumpy for my taste but it’s the one she chooses to sleep with every night. I use the communal cup at the drum of drinking water. I pee in a bucket in my room at night. It’s pit toilets everywhere you go so don’t forget to keep toilet paper on you at all times.
The list goes on and on with the everyday little things that are truly everyday and little things. They were adjustments to begin with but living so simply has it’s own rewards. I wonder to what degree I will fall from this way of living when I return home.
In contrast to the life style I’ve embraced there are parts of my life here that have pushed me to my limits and beyond, frustrated me, brought me to tears and forced me to dig deep for strength I wasn’t sure was there. As a young, independent woman who’s made every decision for herself up to this point in time, living in an extremely patriarchal culture has proven very difficult. The hardest part for me is that the women who live in these rural communities, rich with tradition, accept the absence of choice and independence in their lives. To them, there is no absence, it just is. They know no other way. Boys and girls are separated in their chores, where they sit in church, stand at morning assembly before school and their roles in the home from a very young age. Simply the act of paying labola, a bride price, puts a woman in a position of being property and the man, owner. When I talk to people here and point out what I see their answer is always, “that’s the way it’s always been.” Then my response is usually, “yes, but it doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Because of these definitive roles whenever I’m at a celebration of some kind I find myself doing dishes, serving tea, cooking, cleaning and spending my time with the women doing what they do best, serve. I have to bite my tongue a lot and wonder if these women, who have never lived a day not servicing “their man,” long in their hearts for the choices I’ve been blessed with.
With a little gentle probing many women have opened up to me and talked about their relationships with their husbands. Some don’t even share the same bed. Most women speak of their husbands’ infidelities as if it’s just a part of the marriage package. Almost all are forced to “perform” on demand and receive no sexual pleasure from their husband. But their strength is for their children and grandchildren they are raising single handedly. It’s not an unfamiliar sight to see a woman in her sixties or seventies washing a mountain of laundry by hand with a little one tied to her back. These women inspire me while at the same time my insides weep for them.
The language barrier continues to challenge me everyday. What once was a novelty has become a daily struggle. My use of Sepedi is what often brings me closer to the people around me. Yet, their use of Sepedi is what pushes me away. I more often choose to be by myself then sit in a room with other people and feel alone. My Sepedi grows stronger everyday but despite my efforts I can understand very little of their conversations. The speed at which they speak is impossible for me to pick out words. And to complicate matters worse, the mother tongue of the village I live in is not the language I am learning. So unless I am engaged in a one on one conversation with someone who is willing to speak slowly and clearly for my understanding, I continue to sit alone. Some would say this should be a motivator to learn the language better. But the truth is, no matter how badly you want to learn to swim you can’t start in the deep end.
These daily struggles are invisible to the people around me. The thick skin I came here with is now gone. My breaking point now lives on the surface of my emotions. I am more raw and real then I ever have been. Now, it’s all about protecting myself and being proactive. What do I need right now? Where do I need to be? Who do I need to talk to? I’ve made decisions about work to maintain my happiness and productivity. I’ve had numerous conversations with my host Mom so she can understand my challenges and reactions more clearly and be a support for me, a role she has truly embraced. I know what works for me and what doesn’t. I know when to walk away and when to stay. I’m actually living in a survival mode now. If I don’t do the things necessary to protect myself emotionally and mentally I won’t be able to stay here. I often feel weak when I make the decision to get up and leave a situation but then again I feel stronger than ever because I’m acting on my behalf and doing what’s best for me without harming anyone else and I consider that strength. This may be a phase of adjustment I’m growing through. Sometimes it feels like a valley in the rollercoaster experience that Peace Corps is. But knowing yourself better than you ever have before would qualify as a peak. I believe the Universe is setting me up for success when I see the miracles all around me; my host Mom, David, my supervisor, the wonderful people I work with, the support I have from home and the lessons I embrace everyday.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
"That Person"
Everyone, at one time or another has been thankful not to be “that person.” You know, the one who trips up the stairs, doesn’t think before speaking and immediately regrets it, is experiencing unfortunate circumstances or is remembered for something they’d rather not be and you think to yourself, “I’m glad I’m not him/her.” Most people would rather be known for their uniqueness, personal attributes, talents, accomplishments, and people would know them as the person who did something great. We all want to be different, just not so different that we stick out. It’s basic human nature. Another common trait of human nature is the desire to be with people who are like us. Simply put, like attracts like.
Living in a poor, black, rural community has forced my social and emotional comfort zone to stretch in ways I never would have imagined. At first glance I am nothing like the people who surround me so it has forced me to find our likenesses. In the eyes of the people in my village I am the first white person in the world to learn Sepedi. I’m the white girl who washes her clothes by hand, takes bucket bathes, does the dishes, knows how to cook pap and eats it too (the staple porridge that requires quite a technique to cook), who uses an outhouse, eats with her hands, uses public transportation and so on and so on. I’m the one who is visiting their schools, talking to the teachers and shaking the hand of every learner. I am, to them, “that person,” the one who is like no one they have ever met.
People look at me strangely everyday, everywhere I go. They are only curious about me. Although I’ve always known that it took a long time and a few tears to get used to. Today I smile, greet them and take pleasure in their immediate changes. They want to know more; where am I from, why am I here, what do I think about their people, how is it different from my home, and how is South Africa treating me. I am humbled and honored to be living with a celebrity status. It has given me the opportunity to shift their views, change their perspectives and help them develop a better understanding of, not only white people, but Americans. Being different from everyone around you can be one of the most difficult and challenging things, but it’s how you choose to use the opportunity that guides your ability to cope, adjust, accept and, in the end, be accepted yourself.
It’s been five months since I moved to Moshate. I have met over five thousand learners and a hundred teachers by spending time at nine different schools in my village and surrounding area. Most of the taxi drivers know me by name and people holler from afar to greet me when I am anywhere this side of the tar road. I don’t feel like a stranger around my home anymore and when I show up at celebrations or community events I am greeted with smiles and hugs from so many people. Its moments like that I forget I am white. So when I’m laughed at, stared at or simply treated differently I must remind myself that both good and bad are parts of living a life as “that person.”
Living in a poor, black, rural community has forced my social and emotional comfort zone to stretch in ways I never would have imagined. At first glance I am nothing like the people who surround me so it has forced me to find our likenesses. In the eyes of the people in my village I am the first white person in the world to learn Sepedi. I’m the white girl who washes her clothes by hand, takes bucket bathes, does the dishes, knows how to cook pap and eats it too (the staple porridge that requires quite a technique to cook), who uses an outhouse, eats with her hands, uses public transportation and so on and so on. I’m the one who is visiting their schools, talking to the teachers and shaking the hand of every learner. I am, to them, “that person,” the one who is like no one they have ever met.
People look at me strangely everyday, everywhere I go. They are only curious about me. Although I’ve always known that it took a long time and a few tears to get used to. Today I smile, greet them and take pleasure in their immediate changes. They want to know more; where am I from, why am I here, what do I think about their people, how is it different from my home, and how is South Africa treating me. I am humbled and honored to be living with a celebrity status. It has given me the opportunity to shift their views, change their perspectives and help them develop a better understanding of, not only white people, but Americans. Being different from everyone around you can be one of the most difficult and challenging things, but it’s how you choose to use the opportunity that guides your ability to cope, adjust, accept and, in the end, be accepted yourself.
It’s been five months since I moved to Moshate. I have met over five thousand learners and a hundred teachers by spending time at nine different schools in my village and surrounding area. Most of the taxi drivers know me by name and people holler from afar to greet me when I am anywhere this side of the tar road. I don’t feel like a stranger around my home anymore and when I show up at celebrations or community events I am greeted with smiles and hugs from so many people. Its moments like that I forget I am white. So when I’m laughed at, stared at or simply treated differently I must remind myself that both good and bad are parts of living a life as “that person.”
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Updated Dream List
I got the $5000 grant I applied for. I'm so excited to be starting an Arts Program at Aletuke. The benefits of this new program will run high and wide. I'm on a search for story books that have a healthy lesson to be learned. With those types of stories it's fun to create an activity to go with the story. Right now I'm very interested in "The Story of 1000 Paper Cranes" and "The Giving Tree." If anyone would like to donate and send one of these stories that would rock my world. Please let me know if you are planning to do so and I will eliminate it from this posting. Embroidery floss is a hot commodity and is very expensive here (about $1.00 per skein). I received some already and would love to get more.
If anyone has any resources for teaching life skills/lessons and complimentary craft activities those would be great. I'm always looking for new ideas for all ages.
I would love to have a big bucket of Legos for the kids to play with. For all you folks who have a bucket left over from the kids that is shoved in the back of your closet, send them on over. My kids would do flips over them. ANY creative manipulatives would be awesome.
I have received a donation to purchase an LCD projector. We plan to create a movie theater at the center for the community and use it as an income generating project. Again, if you have any movies you are willing to part with that would be terrific. We can use VHS and DVD.
The results of a big survey we took of all the children we serve and their guardians show that these children are in dire need of almost all basic items. To keep the list short and simple yet containing items easily collected we would love any of the following:
SOCKS- ages 5 to 19
TOOTHBRUSHES and TOOTHPASTE
UNDERWEAR- ages 5 to 19 boys and girls (most of our children only have 1 or 2 pairs at best- boys wear more tighty-whitey style here)
FACECLOTHS
FEMININE PADS/TAMPONS (girls are using more pads)
I'm going to work on bigger and heavier items from here like bath towels, soap, pillows, bed sheets and blankets.
If you want to collect $ for me to purchase from this end a towel costs about $3. A nice heavy blanket for winter nights (which are really cold- I had 4 blankets on my bed this winter) are about $20 each. Contact me for money transfer info.
Anything that gets sent to me should be in an envelop of some kind if possible and be sent to: Darcy Stillman, Box 3350, Mokopane, 0600, South Africa (five lines total). Thanks for all the support so far.
Last but not least, if anyone wants to simply make a gift of cash that is always appreciated.
Sending peace and love to all you people who are keeping up with my life here.
If anyone has any resources for teaching life skills/lessons and complimentary craft activities those would be great. I'm always looking for new ideas for all ages.
I would love to have a big bucket of Legos for the kids to play with. For all you folks who have a bucket left over from the kids that is shoved in the back of your closet, send them on over. My kids would do flips over them. ANY creative manipulatives would be awesome.
I have received a donation to purchase an LCD projector. We plan to create a movie theater at the center for the community and use it as an income generating project. Again, if you have any movies you are willing to part with that would be terrific. We can use VHS and DVD.
The results of a big survey we took of all the children we serve and their guardians show that these children are in dire need of almost all basic items. To keep the list short and simple yet containing items easily collected we would love any of the following:
SOCKS- ages 5 to 19
TOOTHBRUSHES and TOOTHPASTE
UNDERWEAR- ages 5 to 19 boys and girls (most of our children only have 1 or 2 pairs at best- boys wear more tighty-whitey style here)
FACECLOTHS
FEMININE PADS/TAMPONS (girls are using more pads)
I'm going to work on bigger and heavier items from here like bath towels, soap, pillows, bed sheets and blankets.
If you want to collect $ for me to purchase from this end a towel costs about $3. A nice heavy blanket for winter nights (which are really cold- I had 4 blankets on my bed this winter) are about $20 each. Contact me for money transfer info.
Anything that gets sent to me should be in an envelop of some kind if possible and be sent to: Darcy Stillman, Box 3350, Mokopane, 0600, South Africa (five lines total). Thanks for all the support so far.
Last but not least, if anyone wants to simply make a gift of cash that is always appreciated.
Sending peace and love to all you people who are keeping up with my life here.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Waste not want not
Last month I had the amazing privilege of being a part of a huge family celebration from the food preparations on Saturday to the party clean-up on Monday. It was an unbelievable amount of work that brought with it great joy, satisfaction, honor, experiences of all kinds and some hard lessons as well. Celebrations here in South Africa have their own traditions and rituals. On Saturday morning I rode in the back of a little pick-up truck with the meat of an entire cow, the head nearly resting in my lap. After unloading all the meat the first major task was to clean and prepare the intestine and stomach to be cooked. It took five of us almost two hours to clean, trim and portion it all. If there was ever a time I had to shut off my nose and breathe through my mouth this was it. These huge flies, hundreds of them, could smell the intestine from miles away and came to feast on the goods. But as we were handling it the flies were landing all over us too. The cow intestine is a highly desirable part of the cow and is what is eaten the night before a party. Family and friends arrived that evening for a meal of pap (staple porridge) and intestine. The next morning it was back to the cutting board preparing beetroot, squash, potato salad, bean salad, fried chicken, more pap, soup and cooking more beef.
The party was to celebrate my sister’s graduation from college. We fed about two hundred people that day. After everyone was fed the drinking began. And boy can these people drink and party. There is something about South Africans that lean them towards music played at ear-piercingly loud volumes. Every event I have attended it is the same. The sound system is turned up so loud there isn’t even room in my head for my own thoughts. This party was no exception. It’s mostly men who drink but the women tend to do it on-the-sly. When it comes to drinking they are serious about it. When you live in poverty where you can’t even put food on your table and you attend a celebration where alcohol is served it’s like a get-out-of-your-life free card for one night.
The day after was clean-up day. Women appeared from all over to come scrub the big cast-iron kettles, do dishes and pick up the trash left from the night before. Let me make a note that trashcans rarely exist here. Even when they are made available at a party they are seldom used. It is disturbingly acceptable to drop your bottle/trash where you are when you are done with it. On this day my Aunt woke up at 4:00am to make fresh biscuits for all the help. Another party must-do. When people come to clean you need to have tea and biscuits to offer them when they take a break and when they are done. The men’s job is to grill the rest of the beef and cook the cow’s head. All the help is also fed a meal before they leave. When the cow’s head is done all the men, and only the men, gather around it with a huge bowl of porridge and eat standing up. They were like vultures tearing at this cow’s head. My sepedi wowed them and I was able to get in on some of this action. Some were not so gracious but others realized I just wanted to join them for the experience not to threaten their manhood. So I can now say that I have eaten cow brain, eye, heart, spleen and marrow. One gentleman told me to put my palm out. He knocked a huge bone on my hand and out came a huge glop of marrow. I slurped it right up like a pro. I must admit that everything has a same similar flavor but varying textures.
In the course of three days we consumed and entire cow. No part was wasted and it all had it’s own place in the celebration. The amount of work hours it took to pull an event off like this was amazing. There is no such thing as cutting corners or purchasing anything packaged or frozen-prepared or disposable. It is part of the custom here that when someone you know is having a party you show up to help. Everyone lends their fire kettles, dishes, bowls, plastic ware and their own two hands. It felt really good to be a part of such an event. Did I mention that I slaughtered twenty-eight chickens myself for this party? That’s a whole other story that will have to wait.
The party was to celebrate my sister’s graduation from college. We fed about two hundred people that day. After everyone was fed the drinking began. And boy can these people drink and party. There is something about South Africans that lean them towards music played at ear-piercingly loud volumes. Every event I have attended it is the same. The sound system is turned up so loud there isn’t even room in my head for my own thoughts. This party was no exception. It’s mostly men who drink but the women tend to do it on-the-sly. When it comes to drinking they are serious about it. When you live in poverty where you can’t even put food on your table and you attend a celebration where alcohol is served it’s like a get-out-of-your-life free card for one night.
The day after was clean-up day. Women appeared from all over to come scrub the big cast-iron kettles, do dishes and pick up the trash left from the night before. Let me make a note that trashcans rarely exist here. Even when they are made available at a party they are seldom used. It is disturbingly acceptable to drop your bottle/trash where you are when you are done with it. On this day my Aunt woke up at 4:00am to make fresh biscuits for all the help. Another party must-do. When people come to clean you need to have tea and biscuits to offer them when they take a break and when they are done. The men’s job is to grill the rest of the beef and cook the cow’s head. All the help is also fed a meal before they leave. When the cow’s head is done all the men, and only the men, gather around it with a huge bowl of porridge and eat standing up. They were like vultures tearing at this cow’s head. My sepedi wowed them and I was able to get in on some of this action. Some were not so gracious but others realized I just wanted to join them for the experience not to threaten their manhood. So I can now say that I have eaten cow brain, eye, heart, spleen and marrow. One gentleman told me to put my palm out. He knocked a huge bone on my hand and out came a huge glop of marrow. I slurped it right up like a pro. I must admit that everything has a same similar flavor but varying textures.
In the course of three days we consumed and entire cow. No part was wasted and it all had it’s own place in the celebration. The amount of work hours it took to pull an event off like this was amazing. There is no such thing as cutting corners or purchasing anything packaged or frozen-prepared or disposable. It is part of the custom here that when someone you know is having a party you show up to help. Everyone lends their fire kettles, dishes, bowls, plastic ware and their own two hands. It felt really good to be a part of such an event. Did I mention that I slaughtered twenty-eight chickens myself for this party? That’s a whole other story that will have to wait.
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