Wednesday, November 23, 2011

out of order but you get the drift

posts have been out of order, but you will get the drift. I have been busy and writing far more than i have time to post.  Consider yourselves lucky.  Just sitting here thinking about Pumpkin Spiders at home and the coming of the  holiday season. Just 4 more months of summer left. Wondering if i will get any christmas packages....besides the one my mom is sending me. I love my mom. I would love you too if you sent me a package. Heh, if you are still reading, chances are I love you anyway, package or not.  Happy Thanksgiving to all my turkey friends!! love you!

thunder and lightning 101

If I hadn’t left work today early, at 4:30 instead of, say 5 or 5:30 as per usual, I would have been totally nailed. As it was, I walked the almost 2 miles home in a terrific thunder and lightning storm sans rain. But it was coming.  It had rained really hard at about 4, then stopped, but the thunder and lightning continued. The thunder sounded like someone really big had even bigger sheets of metal that they were banging around.  Like they would show being used in movies depicting stage shows back in the 30’s or 40’s. The lightning cracked loud and hard and you could see the bolts hit somewhere far off.  Or so I hoped.
I took out my umbrella then thought better of it. So I put on my hat to help me retain a bit of my body heat. Yeah, it had cooled off, and the wind was cool. Refreshingly cool. Now I know why they want it to rain. As I walked in this basically flat area with trees here and there, I tried to separate my thunderstorm facts and fiction.  Okay, first, don’t walk around in it, right? Check. Uh, no choice, so uncheck. Then certainly don’t use an umbrella. Checkaroo. Stay away from trees. Check, except when I have to walk by them. Then walk with someone taller than you. Struck out there. No one was going my way.
There were a lot of people out in it, though. They didn’t have much choice either. I guess they figured that the chance of getting struck by lightning is pretty minimal compared to say, contracting a sexually transmitted disease, dying in a car accident or from heart disease, a stroke, or diabetes or something else less sudden. At one point I smelled the smell of burned hair, but didn’t see anyone lying around, so I am sure it wasn’t lightening related.
I stopped by the fat cake lady to order 100 fat cakes for Saturday’s clean up event. She raised her eyebrows but said she would bring even more than 100. I told her, hopefully understandably, that I was only paying for 100, so if she brought more, she would have to collect money from someone else.  We have no idea how many people will come, and how many of those will actually work or just eat fat cakes, but it is the first organized community event the Otse Disability Support Group has done since I have been here, if not longer, and the word has been spreading. Hopefully not just about free fat cakes, but also that we need help cleaning the property and getting it ready for a garden.  If we have a good crowd, we might get somewhere. Apparently a few churches are coming (well their members, that is), and I was told they like to work. Fire and brimstone is sometimes a good thing.
The contractor is busy on the building as well, and his guys of course poured the concrete for the path today, so were busily covering it from the impending rain when I stopped by there.  Bad timing but such is the nature of concrete work. In fact, I am pretty sure the only reason it finally rained is because they poured that concrete. We shall see tomorrow what is what.
I got to see how much my route will be rerouted with the rain, when it comes regularly. Even though it wasn’t raining anymore on my walk, the gullies were full and water was flowing from what is probably a marshy area in the spring and summer, but up to now had just been a nice short cut. The piles of dirt they have put everywhere to re-dirt the roads was already running off, without ever having experienced being part of a roadway. Potential lost forever, right down the road.
When I finally arrived home, I opened my garden gate, walked up to my porch, put my back pack down and went to retrieve my wet clothes hanging on the clothes line.  I took them inside and hung them, then went out for my back pack, which I had left ever so briefly outside.  The rain had finally come, and my back pack was pretty well soaked in that short time. When it rains here, it really pours.
The lightning and thunder continued for hours, but I guess either because of the reduction in heat and thus use of air-con, or there is a Ben Franklin type out there with a kite harnessing all this electrical current into the system, my power has stayed on all evening and I even got hot water.
I heard on the news they are predicting water shortages in my area over the next few days- just when all that water fell down from the sky. Go figure. Sadly, the Girls have borrowed and not returned all my empty soda and water bottles so I am filling up buckets, pots and pitchers just in case. And I took that hot bath. Just in case it will be a few days before I get any kind of bath, unless I step outside.
When we were with our families in Kanye, some of the PCVs felt harassed by their family members to take two baths a day.  My family had a cold house in the winter so they only expected me to do it once a day, which while not excessive, was at times painfully cold. With the heat here I now take them twice a day and would take one mid-day if I could:  the cooler the better.
Tomorrow we will see the damage the rain did, if any, to the concrete. It felt like home for a minute – trying to pour concrete and do brick work without getting everything rained on. Good times.

Have YOU ever been mellow?

Running the “play all” shuffle on my music tonight and one of the songs I got from my friend Tom came on. Olivia Newton John’s ‘Have you Ever Been Mellow?’ gave me a good laugh - a hearty and no doubt salt induced laugh after eating the lunch the Girls cooked me today. I haven’t heard that one in a few hundred years. Damn girl, you talking to me???
I definitely need some “mellow” and a chance to relax and do something not work related. On the other hand, I have no social life outside of meeting people and doing things with them. Okay that sounded stupid, but what I mean is, I am mostly meeting people and “helping capacitate them” and thus not just hanging out and having a social life.  And I am mostly okay with that although I could handle a bit more of this being non-work related. And more social.
Not sure where to fit it in with the 40+ hour work week and 45 minute walk each way, Rotary and its projects, the Girls on the weekend, laundry, shopping, cleaning, trying to teach Sisi to NOT wake me at 5-ish on the weekends, and writing my account of my activities. Okay, I can give up the cleaning. And teaching Sisi anything she doesn’t want to learn doesn’t really take much time either.
So I just invited a young woman from the support group to come and use my computer on Sunday morning to practice her typing skills on this nifty typing tutorial program. She is a below knee amputee, not sure the cause. She is 20 years old. Her mother died in 2003, a brother in 2008 and she lives with her Grandmother and 3 remaining brothers. She is smart, speaks decent English and needs work. She would like to become a secretary but needs to go to school to learn stuff and pay money for the privilege. I told her I could help her learn to type, how to use word and excel and surf the web. That ought to count for something. 
We will see if she shows up.  I get a lot of people saying they will come by and “check me” or come to work on something at the office. If they all showed up I would be even busier than I am.  I mostly don’t mind it – them not showing up – though sometimes it is a pain. But it gives me permission to not show up sometimes; a skill which I think I need to practice more.
This week I bent over backwards apologizing to the funders of our grant for not being able to go to a three day training starting on Wednesday, even though I only heard about on Monday. Then I realized: wait. We are trying desperately to finalize all the expenditures (renovate a building, build a building, you know – every day stuff) and do the reports and, and, and, in time for a deadline I heard you say was the end of November, and you now want me to spend 3 days in a workshop?  And I am apologizing?  And then you are sending the Ambassador from the EU (didn’t know that existed but I guess it makes sense) here to visit the funded projects and he wants to visit us on December 8. Awesome. I have to get our report done by December 2 so that I can enjoy my trip the same EU to replenish my inner icicle reservoir in Germany on that same day, but maybe I can stop by his home in Europe during my stay, once he is back from Botswana?
Then I will be able to ask HIM: have YOU ever been mellow, Herr, Monsieur, Senor Ambassador?

Busy Weekend...Again

This last weekend started out early, with a 5:30 a.m. meeting time at the Otse Disability Support Group’s office to do our property clean up event. I must admit I got there around 6. There were already a handful of women working when I arrived and we ultimately had about 25 people spend some time working during the morning.  A far cry from what they were estimating as potential attendees.  They really had no idea, but had told a few churches and lots of other people, so maybe thought everyone would come.  I am glad they didn’t as it would have gotten a bit congested. 

We could have used more men though. The chair’s son came and was a hard worker, going after the plants with the large needle like stickers on them.  Later in the morning, when the main group was mostly finished, a couple more young fellows came and helped finish hauling away piles of rocks that we had gathered.  We didn’t finish the entire yard, but got enough of it done so the group can start planning and digging for garden beds.

We sat in the shade and drank juice and ate cookies and apples while the chair thanked everyone for helping. I had made the mistake of telling them fat cakes would be coming, but when they didn’t show, the chair called our only member with a car and he took me to the fat cake lady, who had plenty of fat cakes, but apparently no intention of bringing them to us.  On the up side, I had told her “co-worker” that I had wanted 100 delivered, now I was able to get away with buying just 40 and all our workers were quite happy with two “magwinya” piece.

The contractor has been working on the ramp, new doors, burglar bars and will be installing the electrical outlets so we can have electricity run to the building.  The chair is supposed to bring me a bill from the water utilities so we can pay it and they can start digging to install the water pipe so there is water. 

Our contact at the grant giver’s office was out last week helping me move some of the various bids forward so we can finish this project and spend all the money by the end of December. I won’t even go in to all the reasons why we are waiting to the last minute other than to say it is everyone’s fault.  And to add that anyone who knows me must know that it is driving me crazy to have things go up to the wire cause that just ain’t my style.  So I am learning to roll with the punches, go with the flow, swear like a sailor (yeah, already had that one down) etc. 

There is now interesting added pressure because the delegation from the European Union will be visiting to see how their money was spent and will probably visit both this and the Mogobane site on December 8th. Luckily I will miss it as I will be in Germany. But the folks at the local granting agency office are very interested in making everything just right.

This might mean adding a few more items to the work order for this building, but she has to get back to me on whether we have to take it out to bid of if the current contractor can just add the items on. It comes to 2,000 USD of extra work and the headache of getting bids for just those items, in time, from competent bidders is one that will make my head just pop off my neck, I swear it.

After the cleanup, I went home and took a nap. It was hot and I had to go to a wedding in Mogobane around 1.  I planned to be late because things are that way and I had yet another thing to do after the wedding, so wanted to pace myself.  When I woke from my nap I realized that it was probably only about my 2nd or 3rd nap since I have been in Africa. Something is very wrong here.  I am going to add “weekend napping” to my PC reporting form as a goal.  It is certainly measurable and would be a clear indicator that I am not overworking if I am taking enough of them.  Note to self.

I put on my nice long dress from the States and headed to Mogobane. Lucked out with the bus and a hitch right into Mogobane to the wedding site. When I landed, I  became the only white person within miles, but most obviously at the wedding.  I knew the bride and a few people who were there from the disability group, but not the 380 other people there.  I was led to sit at the head table. Turns out even though I only was an hour late, they had all already eaten and were just hanging out listening to loud music.  They must have been hungry, because normally it isn’t so.

I sat with my friend and her new husband for awhile. Then we all stood up and danced our way out of the tent around the immediate vicinity, singing a number of wedding related songs (which I really need to the get words for). One basically went, “I march forward and then I stop.”  Not sure if that is a traditional wedding song or just used to march us forward and then stop. But then again, life and marriages can be a lot about moving forward and then stopping. Moving forward and then stopping. So maybe it IS a good wedding song.

Then the wedding party left us to take photos.  I sat with a couple of older men I knew from the group, just watching what was going on. Mostly nothing, interspersed with something, and once or twice with bits of more obvious mayhem. (Sounds an awful lot like a weather report. Which, by the way, can be as useless here as at home.)

The majority of the men sat under a tree drinking the homemade brew. No one offered me any and no women sat there so I figured it wasn’t for me. Women were cleaning up from the huge cooking fest (there were at least 400 people there – at least 150 of them children under 15), and the kids were just running around like crazy.

So I decided to start taking their pictures. It became a mob scene but kept me busy with something to do.  I would take 5 to 10 photos of which ever kids had gathered around, and then show them to the kids on the little screen. I would have to hold on tight to my camera as they all wanted to grab it.  The photos would show a progression of kids noticing me and coming into view, with all kinds of combinations of ages and facial expressions.

It was really way too fun for an almost total stranger to have at a wedding.  At one point the strangest thing happened and if my camera had been on video I could have caught it, but all I could do was just watch and wonder.  For some reason a large group of people, mostly kids but some adults, just started running behind a tent and towards the ridge behind the house that looked down over the valley. The stream of people racing suddenly for an unknown reason was a bit unsettling. I walked over to see what was what, and it turned out it wasn’t anything. Someone must have said something that caused someone to run, and then others to follow, but no one really knew why.

At least they weren’t completely like lemmings and no one jumped off the side, but it could have been a real disaster because the kids ran under the tent wires holding the tent up and some of them didn’t see the wire and ran into it. One 5 year old girl got it the worst and it looked like it hit her in the neck (that’s what she was rubbing) as well as the top of her head.  I knelt with her until she was feeling okay, and others wiped off the blood and said soothing things. The whole thing scared the bejebezus out of me.

Then we took more photos. At one point a young child started touch my veiny hands, which in the heat showed even more the blue veins popping up. I told them it was “madi” which is both the word for money and for blood, and tried to show them on one of their hands the darker part where their madi was. Challenging on dark skin and young, nonveiny, hands. Then we all had our hands there for comparison purposes and I took some photos of just my big old hand and all these tiny little ones. It was pretty cool. These kids do my heart good and they are so easy to interact with, without having to talk. The younger ones were simply delightful.

I left about 5:30 to walk to the main road and head home before dark. On my way a boy of maybe 10 or so chased ahead to catch up with me and ask me for money. He wasn’t one of the kids at the wedding, but from the other side of town as I was walking through. My problem is I understand when they ask for money and can say no, but if they say something unrelated to this or more complex, I don’t have a good response.

Well this kid must have said something that he deemed very worthy of an appropriate response, because when I didn’t give it to him he went off on me.  I think he was yelling at me that I was either fickle, or a pickle, but he said it like a swear word he had learned somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be learning things.  I frankly didn’t have an answer.  I think showing him my hands and my blue veins wouldn’t have been enough, so I just kept walking.

things got out of hand.

I clearly let things get away from me the other day with the Girls. It became obvious to me today when I took the leftovers from the two different “soups” two of them concocted and thought I would use them to make the sauce for my veggies.
Hold on! OMG that is why they were saying I was out of salt! Jeez Girls, what were you thinking?  I am going to have to cut the computer game playing expert off from any cooking because her soup was by far the most tragic.  I just put about ½ cup of sugar into my veggies to try to counteract it and not waste the whole thing. But I may have just thrown good sugar after bad salt.  Or made a nice sweet and sour thing. I’ll have to get back to us on that.
No wonder the two top diseases here, besides HIV/AIDS, are diabetes and high blood pressure. These girls like things either REALLY sweet, or REALLY salty. And they have clear expectations of what should be which.  I found another non-bake dessert recipe and thought I would try it out on them while they were glued to ET on my computer. Popcorn, which I know they like, mixed with melted honey, sugar and peanut butter, of all which I also know they like. Well one of them liked it, the others didn’t, but they tried to put some honey on another batch of popcorn, which they also didn’t like. So then they tried to rinse it off!  Like I said earlier, I may have let things get out of hand. 
So then they cook the little bit of remaining popcorn which they plan to put salt on, just as God intended popcorn should be eaten. Slight problem. All the salt was already in the soup. They helped me go through the amount of salt in, what 3 months - that I would have gone through myself in 2 years. But meanwhile, me and “the girl who will eat anything” were munching down on our Peanut Butter and Honey Popcorn and looking ever so smug.
Update on my dinner: eh, still salty, but edible. I could probably continue to dilute this for a few meals. Or just down a gallon of water when I am done and call it even. But it IS nice with my glass of wine. Hmm.


Tuesday, November 15, 2011







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Love and Marriage, Women and Children

I went to visit my friend Florence in Taung over the weekend.  I have been worried about her since she had some surgery on October 12 – women’s stuff – and I hadn’t been to see her or the Support Group because they haven’t been meeting regularly. Once she was down for the count with the surgery and recovering, nothing has been happening at all to move their agenda forward. She’s the Chair of an uncommitted committee.
The grant period is coming to the end and I have to report to the funders what is going on in each community, what worked, what didn’t, etc. etc.  But to me it is more than that. This is one hardworking woman who wants to improve things for her son and other disabled kids in their community, but she can’t get any traction or help from the other parents.
I suggested its best for her to get healthy and recover her strength before she does anything, and then we should have a meeting with everyone to see if they want to keep pushing their agenda forward or not. They are the newest group, having just become an official non-governmental organization this year, and are really having a troubled infancy. If my counterpart had not left in July, he might have been able to get further with them than I have been able to, but he was also struggling with this group before he left, so maybe not.
This is the group I brought clothing back to from home when I went home in August. I had discussed with her then in great detail about the group working together to sell it, and being sure to have a good plan to work as a team and decide which way to go. I helped her with a mini-business plan and talked about keeping track of what she sold everything for.  Back then, when I met up with her after a few weeks, I had a first thought she had told me she had sold it all for 950 Pula. But what she had really told me was that if they sold it all, they would get 950 Pula. And what she was REALLY saying was if the people who promised to pay for clothing they took actually paid, they would get 950 Pula. The reality was that, given how things work and how people share things and how you don’t tell people “no” if they really need something, she had given many of the people the clothing first, with only their promise to pay later. The result being that now, in November, she managed to retrieve about 400 Pula and will probably never see any more.
And since you need 1000 Pula to open a bank account, and the bank takes 50 Pula a month in fees, these groups can’t open and keep active bank accounts, so the 400 Pula sits at the treasurer’s house. We decided it would be good to put it in an account at the post office, designed for those who want to keep money safe but don’t have 1000 Pula, but the local post office won’t do it, so she is supposed to go to Gaborone to the big post office there. That takes about 35 Pula for a round trip from Taung.  So the Pula sits under a mattress somewhere, of great temptation or target, depending on how things go.
Meanwhile her younger brother, the Kgosi for Taung is getting married on December 10, with the Groom’s party at her mother’s house on the 17th, so the family will be forking out a huge amount of Pula for that one.  The family as a whole is probably better off than most, she is personally at a disadvantage because she is a widow and her son is disabled, but at least her family won’t leave her adrift.
I got invited to the wedding today. Then I got invited to come the day before around 4 p.m. to help prepare all the food. Late into the night. That is the woman’s role and I will have a bed at her mom’s house should I decide to join in. Sure, I want to work my ass of in the heat all day long, then the next day. No really, I do. It will be an insider’s view on the whole mechanics of putting on a meal for an unknown number of people and I am honored she invited me into the “inner family circle.”
Today when I went to see her, I took apples and cookies for whatever kids would invariably be at the house and there were at least 6 young ones who showed up, all cousins - Florence’s nieces and nephews - none of them siblings. She comes from a large family.  I am a bit of a freak in that I too come from a large family (a freakish one at that, but not my point), but don’t have a bunch of kids.  People here just don’t get not having a bunch. Frankly, I like having bunches (okay, since it isn’t a “bunch of kids” like a “gaggle of geese” or a “pride of lions” then what is it??) around, but it must be hard to feed, clothe and school all of them.  And the more friends I make, the more people I wish I could help with various financial aspects of their lives, but it just isn’t possible, nor appropriate.
I know this isn’t really the answer, but I imagine that millionaires should be required to join Peace Corps work and live in the community but also covertly give money to people who really need it, especially helping the kids with education. That is what is going to help people the most, especially getting the girls educated.  Women are the ones who will change the world and smart young women will do it faster, to be sure.
On that note, a sad story. One of the women working at Camphill went to her home town this weekend for a funeral.  Not the stereotypical  AIDS related death. A young woman, 24 years old, was killed by her boyfriend. My co-workers said this is increasingly common.  It’s the downside of women becoming empowered when the culture and laws don’t change as quickly. She was clearly angry and mourning the loss of her friend. I could tell she was also fearful; fearful that she might be in a relationship some day like this one. She is no shrinking violet and maybe that scares her even more. We discussed that it is common for this type of thing to happen when behaviors and expectations change before cultural norms and laws to protect women do, but what I really wanted to do was just cry for the loss.

Erto Back on Track?

After some bumps and stalls in the road, it is looking like we have a plan to move things forward with Erto.  Tshepang, a woman from Gabs who has a son who had the same condition successfully treated, and a friend of hers were finally able to make the trip to Otse this weekend to meet Erto and his mother Cathrine. 
While I fed all the kids my chocolate oatmeal peanut butter no bake cookies before they melted into oblivion (not a chance of that – these kids ate them up. Only I am in danger of melting into oblivion), Cathrine and Tshepang got to know each other and she explained to Cathrine was it is like and what will need to happen to get Erto into tip top shape. I so wanted her to have someone who spoke her language, who was a parent and who had gone through this to help shepherd her along and I think Tshepang is just the gal for the job. She reassured Cathrine that by June of next year, Erto would be running around raising hell (my words, not hers) with his siblings and cousins.
Down to brass tacks. She is going to contact the doctor in Johannesburg to see what exactly the costs will be – there is apparently a very small surgery at the end of the treatment, just to release a muscle in the heel – and has a cost from the hospital that the good doctor can’t waive cause he isn’t the one charging for it. Then there is the issue of accommodations and travel. I was dismayed when she said that it might all come to closer to 20,000 Rand when I thought it would be 12,000. But she and her friend, who works for a big bank here, are planning to fundraise and are just waiting until we know the exact amount. I told them we already have about 4,000 Rand and that anything they can do will help insure my mother doesn’t have to pay for everything (!)   They felt confident that they could raise what was needed over what we can raise from the US.
The banking friend is also a Rotarian (who admits to failure in regular meeting attendance at the Gaborone club – I told her to go this next week because I would be there visiting!), and we decided that if we also put the word out to the Rotary clubs in our district, which includes Johannesburg, we might get food and housing for Cathrine and Erto in Johannesburg for the six to eight weeks needed, which will save on the costs.
So if we can nail down the costs, raise the rest of what is needed, and get 6 to 8 Rotarians in Johannesburg to agree to house them for a week at a time, we could possibly get this started after the first of the year!  I am so excited. Cathrine seemed overwhelmed but grateful for the visit and the help.   It will be a tough ride for her especially, since Erto is liable to not remember any of this, and I hope having met someone who has been on the rollercoaster will give her the support she needs.
If you haven’t been able to donate yet, but still want to, let me know and I will help you navigate the web page that is raising the money.  Every bit will help.

Stand Still and Be Counted


Given our swell idea of hosting a party for all the neighborhood kids of a certain age, I thought I should try to get a rough estimate of just how many kids that would actually be.  Harder than you might think. These kids move around a lot. I need them to all just stay put for a minute, at THEIR own house, in front of their yard, and let me walk by and count them.
Instead I see them here, there and everywhere. Sometimes they are at home, sometimes they are at a friend’s house, and sometimes they are living for a while at their grandmother’s, or at another relative’s. It isn’t at all clear.
I don’t even know where my neighborhood would officially begin or end; since I walk across the entire village to and from work, I have “neighbors” that side too. And Erto and his family don’t live nearby, and they are definitely invited.
I have just about decided it will be more than 100 kids, if they all came and if they tell their friends who I didn’t happen to invite, per some oversight.  So the plan is definitely no meal, just fruit and drinks and sugary treats to send them in circles and then home again.
Call me crazy. Yeah, that ship has sailed. I realize this will have to come out of my “slush fund” from home, rather than my PC allowance, which is meant to keep me in sweets and treats, but not hundreds of kids.
The whole thing will hopefully give my Girls something to plan and look forward to, as well as the opportunity to “share” me with others who weren’t quick enough to claim me.  They are a bit protective of and territorial with me, I have noticed. Some of it is about them getting treats and being able to hang out in a relatively nice house, away from their families, siblings, and potential chores that need doing. Some of it is that they have actually grown to like me and respect me as more than someone who does all the aforementioned.
But they keep a watch, to be sure, and share me with one another on a seemingly “truce” kind of status. They got this brilliant idea when it got really hot last week that they should have me freeze water bottles in my freezer and one of them would come by around 6 am and pick them up.  I used to get up at 6, so I had to start getting up a few minutes before and change out of my sleepwear into clothing I could actually walk outside wearing. But Sisi has since totally fixed that by waking me up consistently at 5 or 5:15 every morning. She is on the “its burning daylight” theory of things (this means that when the sun is up, you should be up) and I don’t think she realizes it is too hot for me to go back to sleep, or I am sure she wouldn’t do it. At any rate, I am up and dressed now by 6, but that isn’t my point. It’s so darned hot, I forgot my point.
Oh yeah. So they bring the bottles back in the evening for refill. For a while they would just throw them over the fence and I would find them when I got home. (The bottles that is.)  Lately though, I have been coming home at different times and am discovering that they actually wait around a bit to see if I am coming home and if I am, they want to come in and fill their bottles up themselves. And get a drink of water, or tea, or hot chocolate, or whatever small treat I can give them before I kick them out.
One day, two of them came first and I kicked them out with a piece of fudge each. Then the third came along just as they were leaving. She came in, got her drink of water and piece of fudge and I kicked her out. Well, the other two girls were waiting to make sure she only got one piece, just like them. Fair is fair.  And I don’t play favorites because they would kill each other and that would be awkward.


The Burden of Madi

Saturday  we had a 3 hour workshop for the Otse Disability Support Group.  We reviewed their vision and mission statements, checked in on their short term and long term goals, and then talked about fundraising and accountability for funds.  I think it went well. One of the members, is a young fellow of about 26 who works at Motse wa Badiri and is disabled. He was my translator.  He graduated from high school and really has a lot going for him in terms of smarts and can be very motivational with others, especially younger people. His physical disability would be considered relatively minor in the States, but here he has probably had to fight for everything he has every gotten and it will be hard for him to get much further than he has right now, unless he is given some opportunities, which I am trying to work on a bit, but that is another story. At any rate, he and I were both quite pleased afterwards because he wasn’t sure he would be able to translate the whole time, and he did a terrific job.
The group appreciated the training, but there are some challenges in terms of their understanding that they must operate as a group and not individually in their actions. This makes sense to all of them, but the reality is, when there is any pot of money (madi), it is easy for people as poor as they are to feel it is okay to “borrow” some of it. Always with the intention of paying the group back, of course.
So they are learning how to put the mission and vision and the work of the group above their own personal immediate needs, and to save money to use to further the short and long term goals of their group, not any immediate needs of an individual.  It is a hard thing and goes against the mostly helpful cultural mandate of, “if you have money, you use it to help others and yourself now.”
We talked about receipts and accounting and the fact that they will never get big money or grants if they don’t appear trustworthy and if they are unable to prove to donors where the money went. I am hoping this is a cautionary tale and that no one has actually “borrowed” money, but it is hard for me to know.  I am giving the group the tools to deal with it themselves, and set up systems to address and prevent this, but then I am going to back out and let them do what they need to, if they need to do anything to “clean house.”
Right now they don’t have any big money, but before I lead them on potential fundraising events and efforts that could be successful, they need to make sure they have these ducks in a row. And before we pursue any grants, the ducks better be marching a goose step.
I told them there are some universals for nonprofits – namely that we all need money and never have enough – and that the most successful nonprofits build real relationships with their donors and stay true to their mission, no matter what money is floated in front of them.  I tried to give them an example of mission driving their fundraising decisions and got the point across, but I didn’t come up with the best example, culturally speaking. It worked out, but here it is.
“There is a grantor who wants to give you a million Pula (pula= Botswana’s money. Pula is also the word for rain, which is worth a heck of a lot here too.) to fix all the dogs in the community, due to overpopulation of dogs.  You refuse the grant. Why?”
Okay, so MY answer was: because it doesn’t fit the vision and mission of the organization. Easy right? Mission is to teach people with disabilities skills to make a living and find employment, and unless we are going to employ them all in the sterilizing of these dogs, it wouldn’t meet the mission. No brainer.
Culturally speaking however, they said “No, we won’t take the money because it wouldn’t be good to sterilize the dogs. Old dogs die and we need to replace them. It wouldn’t be a good thing to sterilize all the dogs, because we need dogs.” Very pragmatic. 
They also did get the point that they shouldn’t take the money because it didn’t fit the mission, and I learned a bit more about why dogs won’t be sterilized in Otse village any time soon.
The other universal is that people want to be recognized for giving. HOW they want to be recognized may differ from culture to culture and even from person to person within each culture.  But they now understand that people who have given us even one Pula (less than 15 cents), need to be thanked and recognized if we want them to give us another Pula.
We role played asking someone to help with a hands on project (no money involved) and asking local shop owners for donations of drinks and cookies for an upcoming project then sent a few members on their way with letters in hand to the local shops to see how it goes.  I made sure they understood that people will say “no” and it is okay. That some people will say, “no, but…” and there is sometimes room to negotiate to something they can afford to give.  We are taking baby steps.
Meanwhile the contractor started work on the renovation of the office building today. They are fixing broken windows, putting in better doors and locks, building wheelchair ramps, and adding burglar bars and electrical outlets and lights to the building.  We are hoping to get the water and electricity hooked up while we still have the grant money to pay for it.  I have cautioned the group that once they have these things, they are going to have to have money to pay the bills, so this may end up being a case of “be careful what you ask for.”
But this is how we learn, right?

Building Update

Before I forget, the builder for the Otse renovation put the old skeleton key locks back on the doors so I guess I really DO have to look at some locks and door handles. But at least I know he will won't go high end. They have put up burglar bars, replaced the doors and knocked out the wall wear a new, wider door will go.  This is a weekend project for the builder, so he will be back with his crew Saturday, working right in the middle of our clean up day at the site. This will add to the interest and excitement, I am sure. As long as he isn't pouring concrete on anything or anyone.

My Rotary club here overwhelming and officially (finally) for the minutes agreed to move forward and form a committee to work with my Rotary club stateside to help find money to fix the well of the Mogobane Disabled Persons' Committee. They also politely (and somewhat tongue in cheek) informed me that they were MY club and the club stateside was well, the club that had "only" made me an honorary member, so I needed to stop calling them "My Club at home."  I guess they are telling me that for now, THEY are My Club at Home. Sweet.  Or were they just buttering me up to take the lead on this grant?   The tricky part will be getting a reasonable estimate for the cost of renovating a bore hole because sometimes, you don't know what you are goinig to run into until you start drilling down. Like how far you have to drill to get to the water...Ah, this is all beyond my social worker mind, just like door knobs and concrete pathways. Sigh.

But I did do a bang up job on a recent training to one of the groups on their vision, mission, short and long term goals, fundraising and accountability. They got to role play asking for donations and for help with a project. Then they went right out the next day and started asking! Like to see new skills used at the earliest possible moment.  We will see Saturday if we have been able to attract enough workers, or just a bunch of folk who want to see what we are up to and what we are serving food wise. Juice and cookies I am afraid, we are on a budget!!!

Friday, November 11, 2011

so, not so clever with photo posts yet.

Okay, so Blake and Liles, or biles and Lake, as I now like to call them showed up to the 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps party wearing almost the same thing. So there you have it. And then there is Tom, probably the most liked PCV in all history. Then there is the very picture of resilency, Botswana Spider style. This guy lives in my house and i see him periodically. I will not kill him. Then you have some a picture of my brother's crazy girlfriend, some stuff from us at a wedding and the kids I saw there.  I need to post more photos, just forget.  Hope you like these ones.  Next group will be of my Girls, who I hang out with each Sunday. They LOVE having their pictures taken.







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Thoughts on a VERY HOT Thursday afternoon

I swear some of the sounds that come out of the animals here are pretty amazing. This cool looking, black, white and yellow bird just flew up to the window to my living room,  got the cats’ attention, then sat on the deck chair outside for about 15 seconds just staring at us and saying “wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute.”  Really, really fast and with a bird like voice and I swear that is what it sounded like.
Another bird makes the sound of someone whining “why?”  Not like a 2 year old would do it, but more like a wicked witch of the west. Again, really fast and kind of high pitched, but clearly a question.
There is another bird that just whistles a flat, boring whistle. At first I thought it was someone at work who couldn’t whistle and it was really, really annoying. Now it is still really annoying, but at least it is just a bird.
The baby goats in my neighborhood sound like they are blowing one of those party favor horns. Not the ones with the paper that rolls out, (although actually one little kid DID sound like that, but maybe he had a cold) but the other ones with the more annoying sound. On a goat it is very cute, but if 50 of the human kind of kids went at it, well not so cute.
Speaking of 50 human kids, my Girls and I have decided we are putting on a birthday party/ neighborhood party on February 4th. The idea is, we invite all the neighborhood kids under say age 12 over for a few hours of American and Botswanan games, treats, music and dancing and just see how many of them we can get really hyped up on fun and sugar before we sent them home.
Then we will have a more adult party to celebrate my 50th, to which I am inviting other PC volunteers, friends from work, my Rotary club here, and people I know in the neighborhood or village. The challenge will be that every Tom, Dick or Kabelo may show up, whether invited or not, and you have to feed people. Then again, I could just say this is an American party so we are playing by American rules. Sure, we feed people at American parties, but not like they do here.  Full plates of food, given to big and small alike. Meats and salads and starches. Eish.  I will have to recruit some Batswana women to help me pull anything respectable off, I am afraid.
February will be like our August (well, like Sacramento’s August, let’s say) so I am thinking we should just fill a bunch of large wash basins with water and sit in them for the majority of the day.  Hopefully, we can turn that into a game that makes sense. And definitely a water balloon fight is a good plan. Nothing more American than that. And maybe no one will be that hungry. Except the mosquitos, this I know from experience.
I accidentally left my screen open on one of my windows a few night ago and awoke to find mosquitos had sucked most of the blood out of my left ear and had started on my check.  They also got my right calf.  These bites itch like the dickens too….I heard during training that mosquitos tend to prefer younger women with some fat on them. I have no idea if this is true or not, but during our training a few months back it is true I didn’t get bit as much as the, uh, younger women with some fat on them. But now I am the only one here and even with my weight loss I am still fatter than most of the people in my neighborhood.
I am supposed to be working right now, but it is too damned hot to think straight. That is probably clear to you by now. After my trip to Mogobane this morning I came back and figured I would work from home and keep an eye on my power going off so I could shove things into my freezer. Apparently it is 40 degrees or something. I stop counting once it is over 30 because I really don’t want to know. We are waiting for rain, and we haven’t had enough of it, this is for sure.
I certainly miss the rain and fog from Humboldt. Obviously, living in Humboldt means you have to at least have some affinity for rain, unless you are a complete moron or being held there against your will.  Here when it rains it comes down fast and furious with thunder and lightning, but doesn’t last for days on end, like it can do at home.  Here after it rains just a little, you have maybe a day of being able to walk around without your feet getting all dusty.  If it rains more, you will discover gullies where your path used to be and big tire tracks that will dry and permanently scar a once reasonably flat dirt road with huge long craters. I am waiting to see if my normal route to work will be impacted by any real rain fall.
I’ve always thought it should rain every night so that we can enjoy its benefits without having to get wet. Whoever I mentioned that to once said, “What about all the people who work at night, or have to be out at night?” Well heck, they can move to Botswana, where it might rain at night or might not, but at least it doesn’t rain very much if and when it does and they could probably avoid most of it by just going inside or pulling over for 30 minutes. You don’t want to be driving when it really starts coming down here. That IS just like home.
Well, it is Thursday and I have already put in 32.5 work hours and I still have Friday and a workshop Saturday morning, so I guess I really don’t have to work right now if I really don’t want to. Just have a lot to do, but whatever.  Saturday the renovation starts on our Otse group’s building, so I need all the rest I can get before dealing with another construction job.  Who would have thought I would leave HSRC after all the capital projects we did to come here and do some of the same thing?  And I realize right now that I haven’t clarified with the builder exactly what kind of security locks and doorknobs we want. Yikes. At least I know these won’t cost $575 each.


Knew it would be a hot one

Knew it would be a hot one when Sisi poked me in the nose at 5:30 this morning and the air wasn’t moving through my open window. Nothing blowing against my sweat drenched self. Sigh. And my power was out again.
Too hot for breakfast, so I took a cold shower, which was the only alternative and actually felt pretty good. I then headed to the Water Utilities Corporation office down the road to meet the Otse Disability Support Group vice-chair to talk to them about hooking water up to the office site.  They needed a letter from the building owners, the Village Development Council, so we headed over there. The vice-chair is getting  a barrage of phone calls along the way, and I am able to understand that she is telling whomever what we are doing. It’s like we are on a large group mission, even though she and I are the only frontline soldiers for now.
On the way to the VDC office, we saw another member of the group and told her what we were doing. She was on her way to the clinic.  A bit further along the road, we get a call from her that the guy we are going to meet at the VDC office has a meeting in Gabs and we should come back to the clinic to talk to another member of the VDC who happens to be there. So we turn around and go back.
I take this opportunity to enjoy the pit latrine because of the 3 glasses of juice I had for breakfast. It was my first chance to use one without a door. Nice.  We spoke to that woman who said we should now go see the guy who was leaving for the Gabs meeting, because he hadn’t left yet and would wait for us.
So we went back that way. It is now about 8 a.m. and hotter than it really needs to be at this hour, or any hour. We get to the VDC office and he tells me to go ahead and draft the letter on his computer. Okay, I say, but what should it actually say? So he tells me and we cut and paste their letterhead onto a new letter. When I type Otse, the ever so smart computer turns it into “toes” and no matter how hard I try it won’t let me change it.  Luckily, he has managed to at some point to get Otse correctly in the Letterhead template so I cut and paste it in. He says, “It is always doing stuff like that and I can’t stand it.”  Well, yeah, if every time you have to type the name of your village, which is probably daily because you are part of the Village Development committee and you don’t want people to think your village is called Toes, I guess you would be annoyed.
We didn’t have time for me to capacitate him or the computer on this one, so we finished the letter. About this time, the local manager of the Water Utilities Corp who we just met with, along with two of the workers who must have just come along for the ride, on the way to somewhere else, showed up. They had arrived with the paperwork our chair had at some point filled out and thought she had done all she needed to. But no, she needed this letter we were getting along with yet another form, which they so kindly brought, but hadn’t bothered to mention to her before.  We filled out the form using a seemingly random group decision making process about what information from whom should go where. (“Yeah, put his number there, and your name there, and what is your mother’s maiden name? Sure, put that there.”) I was assigned to do the writing but by this time have to admit I was pretty skeptical about what we were doing.
When all was said and done the form was completed in some fashion with the Disability Support Group not mentioned at all as responsible for a water bill (I am liking this, but doubt it will last).  The three water guys headed off to Ramotswa with paperwork in hand promising to turn it in and get things moving. We need water at the site so the contractor can do the renovations to the building, including putting in a concrete disability ramp and he starts work on Saturday.
By now it is about 9 and I am sweating beyond normal.  The only good thing about this heat that I am able to see at this point in time is that I no longer get annoyed and uncomfortable when my feet are too hot.  Because they are now just part of a long list of body parts that are hot and when everything is that hot, they just don’t “stand out.”  I head to the office and while my first thought is to remove all my clothing, and run through the sprinklers that are watering the cabbage in the field,  I decide instead to check my email and talk to my boss, who is leaving town tomorrow for 10 days.
I spend the rest of the morning waiting for the okay from our granting agency to send out for bids for the buildings for the other support group in Mogobane.  I also make the mistake of leaving my office to do something and come back to find they are interviewing one of what must now be 105 youth between the ages of 18 and 25 for 30 slots coming open for new trainees in December. I will eventually enter everyone in a database and see what we can learn about people with disabilities in this district. 
What I haven’t quite understood is why I can’t quietly sit at my desk while they are doing the interviews. I miss most things, okay more than most things, anyway. So what harm do I cause?  This was a surprise interview that meant my computer and all my work was in there and they went for a whopping hour plus.  The kid must have been truly engaging.  I had been able to grab a bag and my wallet because I thought I was going with the driver to Lobatse to shop for Saturday’s workshop I am doing.  That was right before I was told that the driver had already left so I couldn’t go until later.
So I am sitting with nowhere to go, nothing to do. Can’t go shopping, Can’t get to my desk to work. I am ridiculously overheated and very annoyed at my being in the middle of a bunch of projects yet sitting outside unable to do any of them.  I am also getting hungry, having skipped breakfast. And I have my wallet. So the only rational and productive thing to do at that point was to head over to the tea garden and have three scoops of ice cream, with whipped cream and a cherry on top. This is probably my up to now best moment of rational handling of a difficult situation. Look at me! I found the cure for impatience.
After that, I get back in my office, get the bid information out, prepare for my workshop some more, notify my Rotary club here that my Arcata club looks interested in pursuing the grant for the well for one of the support groups, start working on that documentation, and do a bunch of other needful things until at 3 p.m. I get to take a ride in a very hot vehicle to Lobatse to shop. At least I had control of my window, so got to enjoy the extremely warm breeze instead of a claustrophobic and boiling bus ride.
I shopped quickly and got back in time to do a few more things and get ready to head home at 5. A risky venture given the temperature, but I wanted gone.  As I am walking home, there is a fairly strong breeze blowing towards me, and enough shady spots to make it okay that I can’t use the umbrella or even make good use of my hat due to that same wind. But it is making my skirt and slip blow up, so I stop to rearrange things.
After doing so I look up and see a fellow standing at his fence watching me. Well, heck if I get to watch them pee on the side of the road, a little skirt rearranging is a seemingly tame trade. Further along I run into the Support group’s secretary who needs more flyers for our planned clean- up day on the 19th. I happen to have a few so hand them over.
A bit further along I pass a house that usually doesn’t have much action at 5:30 on a Wednesday night, but the yard is full of people, mostly men.  What is most challenging about this whole need to greet people and not seem rude thing is knowing when it is okay to not greet people and still not seem rude.  I didn’t want to say hello, felt a bit silly and shy doing it, and once I realized they were all there to drink the traditional beer, knew that most likely they all had a bit of a buzz going and I didn’t know any of them  so probably could have gotten away without a hello. Sadly, one of them called to me and I couldn’t tell him to take a hike in front of all these people, so had to wait for him to come over, greet me, shake my hand and then not let go. And then when I finally got it back into my possession he took it again.
He told me stories about his family being here forever and that his name was therefore John-John. I am sure I missed something there regarding the “because….therefore” sequence, but nevertheless, that is what it seemed he said. I then remembered seeing him on the other side of town, being way too friendly and probably drunk at that time as well. Unfortunately his home is a place I have to pass to get to the bus. But without a big crowd watching I think I can give him the slip more easily. No, not the one I am wearing. That would be the wrong message.  (Two unintentional puns in one piece: I can only blame the heat that is frying the more sophisticated neurons in my brain and leaving me with, well, what I am left with.)
A bit further along I see what at first appears to be an amazing sight. I have come to the football pitch and am watching young kids playing football (soccer).  They range in age from 8 or so up to 12 and from my faraway and culturally biased point of view, I am certain and delighted to see all these young girls playing soccer! Wow, that is great, who arranged this? Maybe I should volunteer to help!  I walk a bit closer and watch a bit longer. Then I realize that my cultural bias has caused me to see something that isn’t there.  I thought it was girls because of the amount of pink shirts, pants and shorts that were being worn by the players, who I realized now were all young boys.  Kids here where whatever clothes fit them, and if they have an older sister or cousin who at some point had a pink piece of clothing and it now fits them, they will wear it. At least apparently while playing soccer. I haven’t seen a lot of boys wearing this stuff off the pitch - and thus my initial confusion.
I told my boss today that if it is this hot very often I will probably stay home and work from my slate floors (or actually not work but lay with my face and naked skin pressed hard against it). He said, “when it gets to be 40 Degrees like this that won’t even help.”  Shit, is it really that hot today?  I don’t feel so bad now. I mean, it wasn’t great, but I survived it. Okay, but for 3 or 4 months more?  We will just have to see.  There is another universal truth: every culture likes to complain about the weather.  Yet I hear them all complaining, but still they are wearing long sleeves, suits, ties etc. and apparently not sweating. I look and feel like a wet mop. Probably, like learning a new language, I have just not practiced being hot enough yet.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Blessed and Extremely Fortunate

I was walking home from work yesterday, relaxing after another full day and taking in the various sights and sounds that accompany me on this almost two mile walk, when I passed a well-dressed woman, probably in her late 20s or early 30s (note: I am really bad at guessing ages, but she wasn’t a child or an old lady, okay?).  We exchanged greetings, this time in English and she said to me, in describing how she “was,”  “I am blessed and extremely fortunate.” Huh. Got me thinking, that one did, for some reason. Well, by golly, I am probably as close to blessed as a non-believer in organized religion can be. Oh wait, it is the God/higher power as we know him/her who does the blessing, not the religion, right? So yeah, I also feel blessed. Extremely Fortunate?  You bet.
Gave my walk home a whole new perspective.  As I walked by the goats, I felt extremely fortunate to be able to learn what a goat fart sounds like. This was a first for me (amazingly enough after all this time) and I can’t help but think that had I not been brought to greater awareness by my short conversation, I might have totally missed it. I felt blessed to have the kids call me “lekoga” and ask me for money, because really, in fact, I did have money.  My life would be so different if I wasn’t here as a PC volunteer and didn’t have the privilege granted me by being born in the USA.  I am clearly EF not to be squandering that privilege.  I am also EF to be here in Botswana for my service, no question.
As I got closer to my house, still thinking about fortune, good and bad, I heard a man yelling at someone.  It was so loud and emphatic that a young fellow came out of a nearby house to see what was going on.  Well, this is when I decided to stop and adjust my backpack and take a moment to wait for clarity, if not in fact a clear and obvious blessing.
I thought I got it when I saw an older man walking by where the other man (still unseen but clearly heard by me) was yelling. He made it by the yeller safely, so I figured I could head up that way and be safe.  As I got closer, I saw the man was yelling at his goats.  Okay, I talk to animals, but this guy was having a full on argument with about 20 of them. Seems they were supposed to get inside the gate and they weren’t fully on board.  They are goats, after all.  But I walk by this house every day and I have never seen 1) the goats put in this particular yard 2) them put into anywhere this early in the evening and 3) this guy doing it and doing it so loudly.
Anyway, now I had to greet the old guy who was walking by all this, so I stopped and greeted him properly.  He returned the greeting, said a few things I didn’t understand and then started to swing his walking stick at me buttocks. I think he was joking and wasn’t going to hit me, but I had no clue why he suddenly did this.  Was I being herded?  Did I fail to answer an unknown question? Is he a retired teacher who still believes sshitting children with a switch is how to gain compliance and teach wisdom? Blessed and extremely fortunate, I moved quickly onward.

More Girl Talk

So a few weeks back I had the Girls watch the original Dirty Dancing.  I thought, well, it is a bit mature, but we could maybe talk about after and, shit, Patrick Swayze. I needed a PS fix.  I don’t think the Girls had any idea how hot he was in that movie. It made me feel sad and old and sad again just watching it.  I needn’t have worried. The two younger girls, who also don’t speak English as well as the 15 year old, tired of it early on and went outside to play some game or another. The older girl, I need to watch out for.
I was walking home from the bus one day and a man was calling various things to a girl on the road in front of me.  I hadn’ t a clue what he was saying, which means he wasn’t using any of the polite greetings I have learned to use, but the girl was saying, “no sir,” repeatedly, and trying not to engage with him. When I got to her, I saw it was one of MY Girls, the oldest one.  I asked her if she knew him and she said no. She didn’t go in to what he was saying to her, so my untrusting nature figures he was coming on to her and I wanted to go and hit him over the head with something hard or sharp or both, but that would have been wrong and probably on the list of things you can do to get yourself kicked out of the Peace Corps.
The culture here, and the socio-economic realities of some people’s lives, make it possible and acceptable to a degree for older men to have something to offer younger women in exchange for sex.  Now, I have to qualify that with a clear statement that I believe this is not strictly a function of this society.  One needs only to look at how it is culturally acceptable in the US for a guy in his 60s, 70s, 80s, etc. to date and even marry a woman more than half his age, or at least 10 to 20 years younger, and this often seems to happen a lot more (or at least it is in the news a lot more) if the guy is loaded (I mean financially, not alcoholically speaking.) The difference here may be to the degree it occurs and the danger involved. In a country with such a high prevalence of HIV, these economically based decisions can be disastrous for the girl.
Girls at this age just aren’t mature enough to make these kinds of decisions or to be equal partners in the relationship. This often means they aren’t making wise decisions about condom use or even allowed to make a statement about condom use. It is literally, and sorry for the pun here, left in his hands.  I would also argue that a man that chooses these young girls isn’t all that mature either, but in an entirely different way.  Having once also been a 15 year old girl who would have been, and once or twice was, thrilled by the attention of an older guy, I can see the danger in this.  Luckily, I didn’t have to make decisions based on what a man was offering me financially, but could make it based on whether I was comfortable or ready for that, with that person at that time, which I wasn’t, although I had friends in high school who were and did. Again, the risks health-wise simply didn’t exist the way they do here.
Being a woman that has set up my life to never be dependent on a man financially means I can make my choices for more emotionally stunted reasons, but at least it isn’t about the money.  I am proud even if more poor for it. But how do you explain that to someone who is REALLY poor and young and so vulnerable?  The secret of HIV prevention: empowering young girls and women to be able to make wise decisions. And getting men to back off and allow women to be real partners in relationships.  Ah, this is the secret to life in the heterosexual world. The gay world has to learn the same thing too, actually, but there it’s not so much gender based as treated others kindly based. So I guess relationships are about equality and partnership versus power and control. Good luck with that. I have my cats and we share the power.  I have opposable thumbs and they tell me how to use them.
Okay, way off topic now. Say goodnight Gracie.


After the Road Trip


At the end of all my Rotarian travel, I was mighty tired Sunday, but knew I would get no rest.  I had to work on a grant, which I did Sunday morning and then, realizing that the Girls would be showing up round 3, decided that I either needed to take a nap or eat. Neither won, because I decided to make cookies for the Girls, who decided to come at 2. They come earlier and earlier, wanting to stay longer and longer. There are three of them now and I realize my house is a haven with indoor plumbing, electricity, cooking facilities and other treats.
We dove into the cookies and they made themselves hot chocolate using about 1 ½ cups of sugar and the same amount of the powdered milk I keep on hand.  They opted for a couple rounds of three way solitaire, which I had to watch because I only have three sets of cards. I helped the new girl learn the ropes while I also tried to keep an eye on the other two, who play a very creative form of the game, to be sure.  I mean, how many 10 of diamonds should they be putting on a 9, and probably those two Ace of Hearts shouldn’t have been in the same pile, either. But they have fun.  As I really just want to fade into a quick nap, they decide to play hide and seek in the house, which I thought was pretty funny because, well, there just aren’t that many places to hide.
They were very respectful of my closet, and didn’t hide in it at all, but every other closet or cupboard was fair game.  One girl did hide on the side of my bed, but learned that the cats, who were sleeping on the bed, totally gave her up.  They both sat straight up and started staring very obviously in her direction. She didn’t have a chance. 
I decided a nap was out, so maybe I would sweep the floors. Just to keep awake. So they are running around the house, Sisi has long since taken up residence under my bed, as a permanent player of the “hide” side of things, and I am sweeping.  At one point I opened the cupboard under the sink to throw out what I had swept up, only to find one of the Girls squeezed in there. Oops, I guess I will, uh, throw this out uh, oh, somewhere  else and try not to give her away with my laughter. 
Then there was the time one Girl decided to stay in the kitchen and close the door, thereby finding herself locked in the kitchen, waiting to be found for sure. They finally tired of this, and having used up all the hiding spots decided they were thirsty. So out came the wine glasses, which they like to fill with my ginger drink concentrate and the Emergen-C calcium/Vit D packets my Mom sent me.  They didn’t like these packets with plain old water, but with the ginger drink, in wine glasses, it is absolutely festive. I pulled out some ice cube popsicle from the freezer and they dunked those in the glasses.
As they continue with their antics, still so childlike yet with bodies of young women, I realize that giving them a place to be kids still, away from the men who might want to try to entice these poor girls with gifts, is something that is worth giving up any number of Sunday afternoon naps for.  I just need to buy larger bags of sugar, flour, powdered milk and cocoa to entice them to stay childlike for as long as possible.  Hopefully I will offer adequate competition to the threats on the other side of my fence, but I just don’ t know.