No updates to my blog in quite some time. I know all one or two of my readers were quite upset. Anyway, I’m in the States at the moment, so I have a little time to catch up.
I had been planning a rain water collection project for my school since the beginning of the year. For about six months I was waiting for funding from the Department of Education. I finally gave up on the DoE, and I applied for funds from a water charity called Appropriate Projects. They have approved my proposal and provided me with full funding for my project.

A summary of my project is posted on their website.

My primary school spent the first quarter of 2011 developing a school library. Furniture and books were provided by Room to Read. They provide materials and perform school evaluations to make sure that the libraries are being run correctly.

I painted a world map for the library. The dimensions were roughly 2 x 6 meters. The result turned out well, and the students and parents are very happy with the painting, but this was a tedious affair. Painting something so large took weeks. Balancing on a shaky ladder every day left me aching and exhausted. I felt like I understood how the old masters must have felt after a day of painting a church.

As I painted, I would be visited by Baba Nkosi, the general worker at my school. “Baba” means father, or sir, or, in this case, Mister. Nkosi, is the surname of half the people in my village. It’s like Johnson or Smith. He speaks English poorly and I speak Zulu poorly. We talk to each other in the manner of a couple Star Wars characters, each speaking to each other in their own language.

“Yebo Sibusiso”
“Hello Baba.”
“Unjani?”
“Good, how are you?”
“Ah is rightah. U dinga i sando namuhla?”
“Not today, you can take it.”

I live in a small village in South Africa near Swaziland. My village has one store which sells bread and that’s about all. The entire area is surrounded by pine tree plantations, and much of the year it is shrouded in thick fog. I often think about what a great location it would make for zombie movie. One of those old ones, where the zombies walk with the speed of octogenarians, yet appear from behind every tree and out of every cabinet, lazily biting their victims who would probably escape if they were not so overwhelmed by fear of the sluggish scourge.

While situated only a few miles from a village where most people have televisions and a few have real bathrooms, most of the homes in my village do not even have a radio. Cars are scarce, and many people ride horses. There is a troop of Vervet Monkeys that live in the trees. My efforts to capture them on photo resemble those of a Cryptozoologist’s search for the elusive Big Foot. I’ve seen them with my own eyes, I tell you, but where is the proof?

An interesting quirk of the rural South African conversational style is that it seems ruled by absolutes. It is too hot, it is too cold. It is too much, it is not much. This is small talk, it provides something to talk about with anyone, though it can cause problems. One day I thought I would run the dirt road to the border of Swaziland. I asked how far it was to the border. “It’s not far,” was the answer. A half-marathon later, as I wandered into foothills populated here and there by long abandoned houses and a few wayward horses, as the road was slowly reclaimed by long grasses, as mountains loomed ahead of me, I finally gave up and turned for home.

My skin was burned bright red. I stopped to rest in the shade and speak with a man. Sawubona Baba…Yeesh, it is too hot. I pointed up toward the mountains and asked where the border was. He told me that it was at the line of trees, about 100 yards from the spot where I had turned around.

I currently live in rural South Africa. The many exciting aspects of this lifestyle include, bucket bathing, boiling one’s drinking water, and walking long distances to a shop that sells more than just bread. Another exciting aspect is the very poor internet connection. I’m working on this site, but it is taking a while. This just looks better than the “Hello World” thing.