last night i slept next to nuxie under millions of blankets and a tin roof and held my pee all night as she said i should not go outside to use the toilet in the dark. she peed in a bucket next to the bed, but i decided to hold it.

her daughter is also mosego, the other lorato. mosego means blessing, lorato love. they are 18 and 12, and fight like sisters, lorato gaining the reputation in her house for laziness. she looks at least 15 in a tall and developing body, and her mother says she is worried already about the boys. you must not sleep so much rato, she says... much sleep makes you grow too quickly.

i eat some kind of sheep meat for dinner. it is one of the more challenging things i have tried, but it is nuxie's favorite and she cooked is specially for me, so i ignore the jaw bone (and teeth) on the plate and try to be grateful for this chance to "enter in". pap is the staple here... porridge they call it... a heavy, corn based meal similar to couscous. nuxie says if she ever went to america she will bring her own pap.

soaps are big here... we watch days of our lives, the bold and the beautiful, and generations. these characters seem like friends in the home of people who engage with them twice a day, and we joke about the drama. it IS this way though, nuxie says, in real life. she tells me stories of her exhusband, who left many years ago, and of the other man who she should have married, but who was killed a few years ago. her picture album is full of his picture, and i feel sad for her.

she mutters often about too little money and too much work. i feel compelled to help her, am a bit caught in the awkwardness of us both knowing that my life is "easy" and i have much money. and meanwhile they are generously sharing with me. i admired a photo of nuxie's mother in african dress and she said... "you will get this from us before you leave."

nuxie's mom lives in a larger home a few houses away. she stays there with her other grown children, nuxie is the oldest. they have maybe 5 bedrooms, full kitchen, full bathroom inside and beautiful wood ceilings. her parents used to own some kind of shop... her father too was killed... by a jealous friend. i struggled to understand the story as we walked through the township with children staring.

in the "black taxis" here they play the music LOUD, a type of house groove on the weekdays and gospel on sundays. the driver honks incessantly, hoping to attract passengers and working magic with the gears that grind and hop each time you change them. the people are friendly as you climb over them, and i feel comfortable, reminded of mexico city once again.

i had my facial and massage today. treating myself is shadowed by the knowledge that so many will never have that luxury. i had to almost lie to mosego as we came into town. i did not want her to know where i was going, and that felt wrong somehow.

nuxie says the teachers are upset with kathy for staying in the hadida guest house on the other side of town, and for having the children call her "dr. robinson." they are insulted, i think, that someone would choose not to come and stay in their house. i have gotten several invitations to stay with people now... although i think kathy has decided i must stay with the brothers. it might be a good thing, becuase how can i say yes to someone and not to someone else. these offers are given assuming i will be sharing not only a bedroom, but a bed. and although i am honored by the offers, i cherish time alone and hot showers. this morning was a bit awkward as everyone in the house cleaned, swept, cooked, did laundry and refused to let me help. i finally did the dishes and felt a bit better... i am humbled in realizing you must build trust over and over, negotiating each new relationship with more observation and sensitivity. this is a true challenge.


tommorow i go to dikeledi's and we walk to church together. she says it is a 45 minute walk and that she goes to a "not fancy" church. i am excited to spend the time talking with her on the way and hope she will let me buy some groceries for lunch.


at 2 tommorow dimakatso has organized some kind of choral festival. i overheard the students talking about it and passing tickets and asked them why do they have to pay if they are singing in the program. no answer. are you raising money for something? no amswer. what are you raising money for? it's personal. says lerato. i'm overwhelmed again with the suspicion that they are doing something for us... all the community and church choirs will be there too. i sat in on the st boniface rehearsal yesterday as they practiced for the concert. they sang traditional songs one after another and i just sat satisfied to listen to them and absorb as much as possible. i danced with them a bit too, but was easily embarrased and red faced in the warm room, trying to learn and look cool at the same time. i am blessed by their confidence and spirit as they sing and almost ran back to the brothers' to get my camera only to remember pictures have no audio. the men tilt their heads down to their chest (esp the basses) and rock back and forth with enthusiasum, eyes on the conductor and at times on each other as they joke and continue on. the women are all business, only cracking a smile in the rare occasion that someone communiates with them from across the room. the feet move in unison, stepping, kicking, rhythmic and sure. the hands are specific in their motion, driving, shaking, stretched out, fingers wiggling. the voices jump easily into four part harmony after a short cue from dimakatso... and i wonder how can they remember all these clicks and throaty syllables, forgeting for a moment that each word has meaning in their language. i am a bit jealous, longing for connection and community such as this, and missing all of you, my friends.


i am upset with this young man jackson. he is the love interest of kitumetse, friend of lerato (all seniors at st. boniface). lerato and kitu had a fight this week. lerato says she wants the best for her friend and the best is not jackson. he is fooling around with other girls? yes. and when i tell her that, she gets upset with me, doesn't want to face it. he is a charmer, i can see that, as are many young men here at this school. they are receiving a very good education here, one of the best in the country they say. and they have these young women wrapped around their fingers... i can see it from a distance, watch it happen. they touch casually as they want to, becuase they can... and don't realize the seriousness in which it is received. they flirt and make eyes and expect to be bowed down to. and this makes me angry. my own issues are wrapped up in that anger, i'm sure, but i have heard more women here say that they are through with men... young and old women. dimakatso and i talked about this one night while walking... she agreed that many men here have nothing of their own, work, career, home, purpose... and so they control the things they can... their women.

the flip side seems to be the faithful man who wants to know where his woman is at every moment... mosego says she broke up with her man again becaese he is too possessive. checks her messages on the cell phone, won't let her see her girlfriends, wants her to give him her schedule and tell him each detail of her day. i was reading a s african magazine which contained an article for women on "how to know if your man is controlling you..."

and so are the women innocent? i asked mosego... do you talk to other men on purpose to make him jealous? only sometimes.

you have to admit, it does seem to be that the women of south africa seem to be doing the carrying, the cooking, the cleaning, the raising of children. i hate to male bash, but there is something amiss.


love.