It has been a very busy winter in South Africa – for me, anyway.
I am finally back to school after a three-week holiday (part of it spent in the Drakensburg Mountains of the KwaZulu-Natal Province) and one week at a remote village in Mpumalanga Province preparing for new Peace Corps volunteers (they arrived July 27).
In less than a week I will be gone again, accompanying the staff and students of one of my schools on a one-week trip to Durban (another place in KZN – along the coast of the Indian Ocean).
Many photos from this season have been posted on my Flickr site.
Holiday in the Drakensburg Mountains was lovely and cold. There was frost on the ground every morning and snow apparently fell on the higher peaks. This is Africa? Since most homes and hostels we stayed in don’t have heating systems and my travel buddy Emily and I had packed clothes more appropriate to the heat of Venda, we tried to find creative ways to stay warm. Luckily there were quirky little shops selling hand-knitted gloves and scarves, and pubs and restaurants with working fireplaces. Even one of the hostels in Pietermaritzburg had a fireplace in the bedroom that we kept fed.
I much prefer finding ways to stay warm than ways to stay cool. So, winter has become my favorite season in South Africa.
Our trip seemed to center around spirituality, although we didn’t completely plan it that way.
The first day we arrived in Pietermaritzburg, the capital of KZN (and a place where Gandhi was once thrown off a train for refusing to comply with segregation rules), we chanced upon a Pentecostal church service in the historic town hall. Although we were the only white folks present and were wearing street clothes, the church members warmly welcomed us. I tied Emily’s jacket around my head turban-style (she was already wearing a hat), as women were required to cover their heads.
Nearly every space on the wooden benches in the upstairs gallery and the main floor of the old fashioned hall was filled with men and boys in good suits and women and girls wearing white dresses with white hats or white head scarves. Much of the service involved long moments of singing and rhythmic swaying, which was meditative and hypnotic. Several church members shouted in ecstasy or grief during these times, as is common in Pentecostal churches. For me, the experience evoked a huge wave of love and compassion for every person in the room. Even though I couldn’t understand the Zulu words of the songs, I felt so connected and so blessed.
At one point during the singing I opened my eyes to see a girl, about 10 or so, with a silky cream colored dress tied in a bow in back and a gauzy cream colored head scarf, sneak from her seat next to her mother to stand next to Emily. She kept looking up at Emily in shy fascination during much of the service thereafter.
Mid-week, we attended a meeting of a poetry group in a cozy coffee shop near a university. The theme happened to be “spirituality and creativity.” Folks young and old, of a variety of races, sat in front of a warm fireplace and read aloud poems they had written, gave their thoughts on the subject or quoted from things they had read.
There was even a spiritual feel to Martizburg's Tatham Art Gallery, where a Klee and a Picasso were hung on the wall next to paintings by local African artists and there were no guards hovering about as we spent our time appreciating them.
The last part of the trip was a three-day retreat at the Buddhist Retreat Center in Ixopo, in the Drakensburg. The center provided a haven of quiet spaces, breathtaking views, enlightening reading, yoga, tai chi, meditation sessions, wonderful vegetarian meals and monkeys.
Last week I came full circle in my South African experience as I helped Peace Corps staff prepare for training a new group of volunteers. Remembering some of the angst and frustrations I had when I arrived nearly one year ago and knowing I had overcome most of it, made me realize that the country has become like home. It will be difficult to leave.
On the trip back to Venda, I stopped in Pretoria with some other volunteers to join the crowd of yellow-wearing fans to blow our vuvuzelas (horns), wave yellow and black flags and scream in joy as hometown heroes, Kaizer Chiefs, beat the famous English football club Manchester United (without David Beckham, one of its famous former players).
After the game, my friends and I found ourselves in an impromptu, enthusiastic street party as we walked the two blocks from the stadium to the backpacker’s hostel where we were staying. I lost my vuvuzela to the housekeeper at the hostel who wanted to keep blowing it at the revelers passing by long after we went inside.