HEATING UP

by Doug Roland

It's heating up in PMB and it's not yet summer. This afternoon (Friday) it was 38 degrees Celsius, 100.4 F and us with no air conditioning. But hardly anyone else has it either. The houses are constructed to trap the cool air inside and it seems to work. The humidity is 6% today. There is culture shock and there is climatic shock. Everyone, especially farmers are talking about the lack of rain, a condition going on for about 6 years. At the same time, the dollar continues to drop against the South African Rand.

We are reminded it is an election year by a rare visit from the postal service. We received our write-in ballots and two campaign brochures. I immediately got a headache. There's nothing like going out of the country for awhile to gain perspective. At least this far away there is an absence of the shrills and screams that have replaced spirited debate of an earlier time.

Meanwhile, our principal reason for being here - to help in the fieldwork aspect of the education of the seminarians, is also heating up. Field work, also referred to as work-integrated learning, means each person is required to spend about the equivalent of 1/2 day each week working in volunteer situations such as HIV/AIDS counseling, teaching teenagers the complex issues of teen pregnancy, working with orphans and a few others. Cheri and I have conceptualized a three year fieldwork program that focuses on a different area each term or 1/2 term. For example, the first year will revolve around life and death issues - hospice, suicide prevention, mental illness, family dynamics, caring for the aged and others. For weeks now, we have called on agencies, churches, hospitals, anyone else we can to explore ways for the seminary to partner with these entities next year.

We work closely under and with the Dean of Studies, a black Methodist minister named Sox Leleki. While we are culturally separated, we are discovering each other's gifts. We seem to feed off each other's ideas, and in that process, a new excitement about the program begins to spread. The seminarians are doing a lot of speculating on what this means to them and they will learn soon enough.

Before we came, the program was a requirement that needed filling, a box to be checked. It has enormous potential in transforming the seminarians and forging lasting bonds with the community. But it is an overwhelming job to plan spots for around 80 people, not to mention following up and evaluating the program. Now, though, with two new staff members (us) we feel it is within reach.

One of the greatest joys in being here in the second year of the seminary is plowing new ground for future years. What we do today has consequences for decades. The closer to getting it right this time through, the more there is to build upon.

It has been gratifying as well to experience the responses we have received from the heads of the agencies were we have gone. For sure, Christianity is growing in the southern hemisphere while declining in the northern hemisphere. Thus, we do not encounter resistance to an religious institution's interest in developing a partnership. The people who will be served by the seminarians in field work are of many faiths, especially in this neck of the woods with many Muslims and Hindus. (Note: the first Indian indentured servants arrived as here 150 years ago today.)

Of course, it's not all roses. It's 100+ degrees outside, we have 2 ceiling fans, a family 24 hours away, governmental bureaucracy that makes the U.S. look streamlined, loud neighborhood dogs that sometimes bark most of the night, and extremely loud birds (brown ibis) that a game preserve employee called a flying vuvuzela that wakes just before dawn and makes sure the rest of us do too. And we are beginning to lose some of our impatience since no one seems to care if it takes 3 days instead of a hour. A local paper publishes the TV schedule for the week and always leaves out Thursday. We no longer go to the toilet. We go to the ablution.

These locals oddities of speech, behaviour and environment are to be celebrated just as a foreigner to the US should celebrate the Theater of the Absurd that defines our election season. We smile and carry-on, enjoying all that is different, reveling in work that we do, and thanking the God that sent us here and watches over us.

The Adventure Continues by Cheri Roland

Semester break. I remember those with extreme fondness - uninterrupted sleep and interrupted routine, like good food, staying up late, and watching TV. Well, Doug and I just returned from our first semester break here at the seminary. And, yes, it was all I had remembered from years ago, except for the watching TV part. It was all I had hoped for and anticipated – and more. It was one big check mark on our bucket list – a true African Adventure.
Sunday AM we packed up and drove our little white (now tan) Toyota four+ hours up BIG hills and down, north along the coast, then west, to the premier provincial game reserve called Hluhluwe (pronounced “slu-slu–we”) - Imfolozi, two reserves joined at the hip. It was sort of like camping in a thatched hut with hot water and electricity, equipped kitchen, bamboo walls and stone floors. They call it “self- catering”. We even had a little deck out back, virtually at the forest’s edge, for our borrowed gas braai (barBQ) and critter-watching. The entire camp is “protected” by an electrified fence, which we saw several nyala leap over in a single bound… While we were moving in, a troop of inquisitive monkeys leapt through the surrounding trees, checking out these new Americans who were undoubtedly easy marks for snacks and fruit and overall fun. We were thrilled at their reception and our great photo opts, not realizing we were being set up…

FLASHBACK: Do you know about Flat Stanley?? Second graders at St. Mary’s have an annual project involving a little boy who has been squished under some unfortunate circumstances and rendered unable to locomote under his own power. So now he gets mailed to various places to have adventures. Our “adopted granddaughter”, Mary Grace, the cutest and smartest second grader ever, sent Flat Stanley, in his blue jumper (sweater) and yellow pants, to us for unequaled thrills and chills. We laminated him for posterity. He already was getting acclimated to this culture and begging for more. Particularly excited about this trip, we photographed him on our steering wheel (wrong side of course), as well as on the railing of our hut in the park. He absolutely loved those flying monkeys. He could even follow their route, crashing through the trees as they soared from one to another. What could be more fun?
So we now return to our story.
Monday morn started at “O-dark-thirty”. We, Doug and Flat Stanley and I, hustled to be at the main building by 4:50, forgetting to bring the ticket for the game drive. Doug hurried back to our hut and returned, huffing and puffing, before hopping into the canvas topped, open air bush vehicle. We had a thrilling quiet, slow bumping ride around this huge reserve for three hours, seeing animals we thought only lived at Busch Gardens or the zoo. (Check out the photos at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2067458&id=1011247864&l=ab592b44dd ) BUT, when we stopped mid-way for tea and biscuits- only proper, don’t you know - Flat Stanley was NOWHERE to be found! Oh horrors of horrors! What kind of grandparents can loose thelaminated child lovingly entrusted to their care???
This really weighed on us, as you can imagine. Our game drive mates were upset, too. Upon our return to camp, we scoured every path, vehicle, trash bin, and nook and cranny in our hut. We quickly informed the authorities. Word spread through the compound like wildfire, but that’s another story. Everyone was on the lookout for little flat American boy, notable since we were the only Americans there.
Dejected and heartsick, we sat on our deck to mourn our loss. Absentmindedly looking up, I thought I saw a flash of blue and yellow in the trees. I consulted our bird recognition page. It didn’t show that particular combination...
Then we heard them. The monkeys! The surrounding trees were full of them. And they were absolutely laughing at us! We looked at each other. Incredible! The nerve of them!!
In retrospect, what could be more exciting for Flat Stanley than swinging through the trees with his own troop of marauding pals, every branch a new vista, a new adventure? I guess it is a happy ending, after all.

Life in PMB by Doug Roland

First haircut outside the US. I went on a Friday afternoon - the place was packed and we had things to do. Went back at the 7:30am opening next morning, only to have to join a queue. Didn't last. Was given a nice haircut by a gay Indian.

Meat. We learned a valuable lesson this week. Meat in the supermarkets is overpriced. By luck, we were told about a place named Oscar's at the edge of town. Marvelous meat at about half the price.

Other food. Much of the food is quite good, especially the vegetables. We miss good peanut butter and real orange juice. South Africans as a rule do not brew coffee. They are addicted to instant. But they love french fries. Also bread. Seminarians pile their lunch plates with bread thus explaining their general state of being overweight.

U.S. Citizens. We are learning to use our citizenship to our advantage. White people are a minority. It doesn't take a census to tell you that. But an American white person is an oddity. This tends to get us in some doors perhaps out of curiosity. (I've only been asked for money once, aside from a few roadside beggars.)

Parking. There are car guards everywhere there is public parking. They help point you to a open space and they hang around. When you return, they help you back out of your spot (the lots are small). We pay them about 70 cents. It pays to ask their names and establish a relationship. It's money well spent in a country where car jacking is a way of life.

Safety. If you don't act stupid, remain alert and think about where you are going, it's pretty safe here.

AIDS. The population of SA has one of, if not the highest, percentages of HIV in Africa. There was a really dismal turnout at a local effort to get everyone tested - for free. Amazing how few of our seminarians went. Meanwhile, the disease marches on.

TV. The seminary has generously provided us a TV. Would that anything worth watching was on it. The best shows are Oprah re-runs, a Julia Roberts retrospective that lasted several Saturday nights and the occasional Bond movie. Fear Factor and Gossip Girl have started to look good. Otherwise,we are relegated to programs in Zulu and Afrikaans, really terrible "soaps", and World Wrestling something or other.

Wildlife. Everyone thinks there is of lots of wildlife in Africa. We were here three weeks before we saw a monkey running across the road in a rural area. The next day we saw a small pack of them at the edge of town. Last week, we went to a nature preserve and saw a pair of Elan, a beautiful deer-like animal with long, gently curling antlers. A couple of weeks ago, we were hiking with a guide in some beautiful mountains north of here. We asked him if there were snakes around. Much of the vegetation was bush grass. He replied that not this time of year (winter) but will be later. Common snakes on the trail are wrinkle snake, puff adder and spitting cobra. Ok, then.

Keys. This is a nation of keys - keys for nearly every room. The back door requires 2 keys, the garage 5 or 6. These aren't those little one inch stubs, but are proper English keys - long, elegant and timeless. Then there are the office keys - one to get in the building, one into the office and three for the desk, file cabinet and cabinet cabinet. I keep thinking I must be losing weight when it's really the weight of the keys pulling my pants down.

Gin. Tangueray is surprisingly rare. This is my third trip to South Africa and the first time I saw any was a couple of weeks ago. South African descendants of the British (who, after all, made the stuff) somehow failed to retain the taste for fine gin.

Electronic banking. On the spot EFT (using a debit card) is very prompt and confirmed on your computer or cell phone within minutes. Also can pay bills on the website. It is, however, much like walking a tightrope - one little bump of the wrong key and you end up in telephone hell. Alternatively, you could go into a branch. Tip: take a book. You will be there awhile.

Traffic. Traffic lights are called robots . . . .really. "Turn right at the next robot." You get used to it. Most drivers are reasonably courteous and the traffic here is not bad, though I haven't been on the right side of the road lately. Taxi drivers seem to think that anarchy has set in. No rules. Just right.

The grocery. Not a lot of difference here except at the checkout. The bags are called packets, and there is a charge for them. So we usually recycle ours. Our closest store is about 5 minutes away.

The car. Our Toyota is just about right. Four seats, nice size trunk (boot in SA). The title to it is four pages long and still doesn't say much of anything. I may have this wrong, but I was told it comes with insurance even though there is no policy to prove that. I need to dig a little deeper on that one.

Staff Retreat. It is written in the code of South Africa that any meeting lasting beyond 10:30 am shall include tea. Same thing in the afternoon at about 3:30pm. During our recent retreat at a conference center up in the hills around the city, there were chocolate chip chocolate muffins in the morning and chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven in the afternoon. At each break, we were interrupted by a monkey that paid a visit via an open window and helped himself to the sugar bowl, carrying away several packets for his tribe.

If you've wondered, this is how we are doing. It's a blast!!

A Letter Home

by Cheri Roland

6/9/10

Dearest Family and Friends,

I pray this finds you all well and happy and enjoying your summer. Greetings to you from the beautiful Seth Mokitimi Methodist Seminary, officially opened Sept.4/5. My heart is full to bursting. We are so blessed and privileged to be here during this historic time for Methodism round the world.

As you can imagine, life around here has been hectic and exciting in preparation for the opening. Thank God both Saturday’s and Sunday’s celebrations came off smoothly. By all appearances the programs flowed effortlessly, thanks to Dr. Peter Storey (responsible for our being here at SMMS) and his meticulous attention to a thousand details. Of course, he didn’t do it alone, and now our staff is breathing a collective sigh of relief. The weather was a big unknown. I’m quite uncomfortable bothering the Lord about the weather; but, in this case (and hurricanes)… The lawn of the amphitheater was already a marsh (due to a major landscaping faux pax) and would have swallowed the chairs WHOLE if it had rained. There IS a God So, no rain, but it was hot-HOT-HOT!, even for a Florida girl. All the courtyard table umbrellas were pressed into service to prevent congregational heat stroke. Yet the poor officiates seated in front were unprotected from that sun at its most obnoxious angle. In the country for two short days and still reeling from jet lag, Dr. Greg Jones, our American VIP from Duke University, never caught the shadow afforded by the 4 ton wooden chapel doors. He was directly blasted for 2 ½ hours! And he still had miles to go before he slept.

The seminarians processed both days in proper straight rows as if they had done so a thousand times, a much different picture than at Friday’s rehearsal. Our week long coaching and singing rehearsals had paid off. The whole group was fabulous, leading the hymns and liturgy like pros. Even Dr. Storey was impressed. They sang their big hearts out, whistling and clapping and jivin’. Even the congregation was jumping. We sang in English, Zulu, Xhosa, and Afrikaans. The Lord really got an earful! I know He still has a big smile on His face. And so do we.

Following the Saturday opening program, the seminarians served as docents for the different areas and buildings on campus. I was on duty in the grassy area behind the canteen/commercial wing, beside the chapel, to explain the production garden section of the Life Garden. Doesn’t look like much now, but we have BIG PLANS for beauteous vegetables, fruit, and climbing tomatoes and passion fruit and grapes and cucumbers to adorn the iron fence border. The large compost bin will be in the corner, with fruit trees along the back. We will learn about door frame and tire gardens and crop rotation and uses of different fertilizer and vermiculite as alternative soil base and I’m so excited to get this going! All we need now is a heavy duty tiller to cut through this shale.

Doug and I are making steady headway on our field experience interviews. With the help of Garmin (I named him GG) - thank you, Samie and Nat and Clara - we are becoming confident navigating around the greater PMB area. It’s very interesting meeting the angels here already being Christ’s hands and feet to the poorest of the poor and the sickest of the sick. Our goal, God willing, is to expose our students to real life situations, preparing them to become servant leaders.

This “servant” concept/word has a very negative connotation for the blacks because of Apartheid (“the Struggle” here). In the black church tradition the pastors must oversee perhaps 20 separate churches (societies) and may only visit a given church once every few months. These pastors are revered and held up on a pedestal by their congregations, never to be found in the midst of their flock getting their hands dirty. SMMS’s radical mission is “Forming Transforming Leaders for Church and Nation”. So we have been tasked with providing encounters that will effect transforming “surgery” on the hearts of these student pastors, crucial if they are to usher in a new age within the church. It is no coincidence that this new seminary is covered in scripture - on the doors, on the thresholds, on the walls - all with the theme of servanthood. The breathtaking chapel is christened “Christ the Servant”.

Tomorrow is our staff retreat to plan for next year, Jan. 2011. Doug has put together a power point presentation, complete with African hues and border designs, highlighting our proposed concepts and contacts thus far. We are eager to get everyone’s reaction so we know how to proceed. After this past weekend’s celebrations, we feel confirmed in our choice of the overall theme for the field experience as being “Preparing Servant Ministers”. “Servanthood” was the word on every speaker’s lips.

It’s late and we have a day pregnant with opportunities awaiting us. Please know we send our love and misses out to you all!

Blessings,

Cheri and Doug

TOWN HILL

by Doug Roland

It's one of those times that our resolve is tested, when we are called to live out what we say we believe. The extended strike by public workers has hit South Africa with predictable results. When bad things happen, usually the most vulnerable, the poor, the ill, the young, bear a disproportionate burden. When that happens, what is the role of a seminary whose reason for being is the training and developing of preachers for sure, but also a new generation of transformational leaders?

Across town from the seminary is Town Hill, a specialized psychiatric hospital situated at the top of a long hill. The centerpiece is a beautiful Victorian building of red brick with exquisite grillwork adorning it. The serene landscape belies the suffering that is occurring behind the bars. In a parking area just in front of the entrance is a car with four tires slashed, portions of a bumper ripped off and a fracture that destroyed half the front windshield. It sits there as a witness to misdirected anger. The damage was caused by a striker. The car belonged to a hospital staff member who ignored the strike to care for patients rather than barricade the front gate. There are about 18 housing units at Town Hill. There were four staff members to care for them.

On Monday evening, August 25, the seminary president announced the cancellation of classes for Tuesday to go en masse to the hospital and volunteer. A bus was scheduled to transport the seminarians at 8am. They were to serve until 4pm. As well, he asked for volunteers to leave almost immediately because the evenings were the crisis times - feeding and getting into bed. The president's reasons for our involvement were based on crystal clear scripture that commands Christians to serve the forgotten, the vulnerable, even the outcasts in the world.

It turned out that we really were not needed Monday evening. Tuesday was a different story. Hospital management, such that it was, expressed the needs as cleaning, removal of a week's accumulated garbage, providing company for neglected patients and doing long overdue laundry even though no one could find the key to the laundry room. A few seminarians used their own cars to load up the laundry into them and drove to the seminary apartments to use the household machines there. Now, three days later, the laundry is still not done. Some people worked through the night .

We soon learned that there were serious patient needs that were not being met. One of the wards, Impala, houses the women. There is nothing gentle on the inside. Hard, dark concrete floors, plain walls, and everything accented by bars and locks. The metal doors close with an unsettling finality. The women living there - about 25 or so, had been left on their own for 2-3 days. These are not people capable of self-direction. The events in that ward typify to a great extent what can be done when needs are so dire.

Early in the day, word spread that one young teenager in Impala had become uncontrollable. Her screams could be heard throughout the campus. Two seminarians and Cheri went in not really knowing the situation and established an uneasy calm. Later in the afternoon, I went in mostly to see if Cheri was ok and ended up staying. We served dinner to the patients then cleaned up. There weren't even any towels to dry the dishes but we managed nonetheless. However, the troubled girl from the afternoon threw another fit because she claimed we had not fed her. In the hollow atmosphere in that building, she was a one person speaker system. Eventually she was taken to isolation by the nurse and one of the four staff people.

When things calmed, three women came together to the kitchen area to thank us for coming and providing new faces. A few started to sing and dance. We joined with them. There were smiles and laughter and lots of hugs all around.

There were heros that day. Several seminarians did jobs they never envisioned. Soon-to-be ministers collected garbage, mopped floors, handled laundry in unspeakable condition and kept company with elderly folk who appreciated anyone. One seminarian in particular, Jill, a former nurse, took control on her own of managing the effort, assuring that everyone have a task. She has gone back each of the next four days.

The entire property is enclosed by a large metal fence with a security team at the only gate. As we were leaving around 6:30pm, there was an intense dispute at the gate between the strikers and some of our seminarians who were returning to serve a few more hours. The strikers were actually people who lived on the grounds, and they were intimidating the volunteers. Police were called but none showed, at least not while we were there. Eventually, the strikers agreed to let leave our people alone for two hours.

Wednesday the seminary president met with the strikers and negotiated a temporary peace which has held the rest of the week.

The laundry still isn't completely finished. The patients' condition has been improved though only temporarily.

Why do all this, extending ourselves into the unfamiliar territory of mentally ill people unable to care for themselves? Why go when danger is a possibility? It's that unavoidable scripture mentioned above. I'll be honest - not everyone answered the call. Some shied away.

Jesus said "What you do for the least of these, you do to me." He also said we would be persecuted for our beliefs. He said that and lots of other things. He never said anything would be easy.

If you want meet Jesus, or even if you are just curious, go to Town Hill.

Just a Bowl of Jello Rice Krispies

By Cheri Roland

It’s not Shadrac, Meshack, and Abednigo hanging out in the fiery furnace. Life is more like being poured into the bowl with Snap, Crackle, and Pop when the milk hits, a cacophony of new experiences rolled in serendipity.

It started popping last week. In a thumbnail sketch:

Saturday – The Capital Climb up one of the surrounding hills (mountains to us flat-landers) with hundreds of runners, walkers, and us stragglers. We did make it the 8 km to the top before Doug’s little heart arrhythmia kicked in and we caught a ride back down. Better safe than heroic.

Sun. – Church in the AM, then our first opportunity to cook together (our hobby) plus the proverbial house cleaning. (It is extremely dusty here because of the controlled burns.)

Monday – A regular day at SMMS , then entertaining a seminary prof and his wife for dinner before their move to England the next day.

Tuesday – Learned, after a three hour meeting in the AM, that we would be hosting Peter Storey, the face of the Methodist Church in Southern Africa, for the night. (Thank God, literally, that we had addressed the condition of our house on Sunday.) This meeting was with all staff initially, then continued with Sox, the Dean of Studies at SMMS, and Ross, the President. We finally got down to the nitty gritty of our assigned task: designing and implementing the field experience program for the seminarians, an awesome task. We are to start by visiting the five superintendent ministers of the greater PMB area to get acquainted with all church projects addressing the most urgent social crises. Also we will visit community agencies, hospitals, prison, hospices, etc. to scope out possibilities for field work. Then we will evaluate the opportunities, group them into themes for the 6 semesters of the seminarian’s training, meshing their class schedules, transportation availabilities, needs of the organizations vs. those of the students, creating agreements and evaluation tools and procedures, and Viola! We’ll have SOUP! Doug keeps assuring me that since we are starting from scratch, we can’t screw up too badly.

We had a lovely time with Peter that eve, after a Communion service and trip to the grocery, even convincing him to join us in a few rounds of Bananagrams.

Wednesday – A four hour staff meeting concerning upcoming visitors, and activities surrounding the official opening of the seminary. In two weeks, SMMS will throw a traditional African pre-opening fling to which the PBM community is invited. That Friday a bull will be slaughtered by what I call “the cow whisperer” –this man makes the cow know that he will be offed the next day after he makes a certain noise to open the channel for communication with the ancestors. (This ceremony is only for guys, but it is happening in the midst of National Women’s Month. What’s up with that?) The next day will be filled with feasting on the cow, traditional dancing and singing, and praise singers (“professionals” who would perform poetic songs for the king of the tribe, but now for The King in this celebration). It’s gonna be a blast!

Then for the weekend of Sept. 4 – 5, Peter Storey walked us through the grand ceremony announcing to all that Seth Mokitimi Methodist Seminary has become a reality. This promises to be pomp and circumstance, with luncheons, processions, dedications, singing, culminating with a community colloquium headed by Rev. Samanga Kumalo from SMMS (who has preached at our church) and Dr. Greg Jones, Duke University. I can’t wait! Stay tuned for photos.

On Wed. afternoon, Doug and I with another staff member gave two important visitors “the campus tour”, seeing areas of this place I’d not been before… Ross had instructed us to act as if we knew what we were talking about. It’s amazing how many titbits of info we had actually gleaned from hanging out around here.

After work I walked up to the sports park across from the Seminary, my first solo venture. I “chatted up” a young gal who was doing laps on one of the cricket fields. Cathryn is a psychologist whose father was a Methodist minister, turned psychiatrist, living in Joburg. He will be visiting Friday and we hope to give him “the tour”! Cath will call me today to set up our meeting. But as we were planning this, I noticed it had gotten dark. I knew Doug would get worried, so I asked her to drive me home, just around the corner. (Dark and out walking = stupid.) So she did, and popped in, wrote down her phone number, and now we have new friends! To top that off, while I was out walking, our next door neighbors dropped by with a flowering plant to welcome us. (In this land of a thousand gates and locks, I find that extraordinary.)

Thursday - Today I’ve scheduled a working lunch with Dr. Wendy Dougmore (what a great name!), my medical consultant, to discuss S.A.nursing protocols, thereby preventing my landing in jail.

This Saturday we’ve been invited to watch rugby with a big group at someone’s home. We have been instructed to wear green (Springboks). If any black (New Zealand) is noted, we will be sent packing.

Estimates of my clinic supplies are in. I hope to get them this week so I can open with office hours on Mon. Woo Hoo!

So, as you can tell, we are having the time of our lives!

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Part of the charm of traveling for us has been the fun cultural differences and surprises along the way. We have felt sadness as exotic places continue to become more homogenized. But we have plenty of new differences to celebrate here.

This place has deep British roots, from the colonial architecture to the word usage. After Sunday dinner you must have jelly (Jello) and pudding, (any type of dessert). Rum raisin ice cream trumps chocolate. Then our jelly is jam and pudding is custard or creme. Since we are always freezing in the mornings and evenings - these homes are built to stay cool in summer since no A/C - I purchased a "knee rug", big enough for both D and I to wrap up. Stop lights are robots, speed bumps are sleeping policeman, when driving (yikes stripes!) you must give to the right of way, literally. The trucks on the roads are buckies (small pick-ups), combis (campers), and taxies (mini-buses). My washing powder, detergent, is to be closed with a peg, or clothes pin. (I have a old-fashioned real clothes line, resembling an inverted bumbershoot.) Oh, tea is the thing, not coffee. Only instant stuff is hospitably offered to visitors; a real coffee pot and real coffee were included our in initial shopping spree. Our beds are made up with dubai, lovely to see but feel very heavy after a few hours of slumber, so I bought cotton sheets and a blanket, very pricy. In fact, the prices generally have not reflected our much anticipated lower cost of living.

My Zulu words so far are saw-BONE-na (I see you, I acknowledge you), answered by YEA-bo (back at ya), and BO-bo (our thatched patio under which we will eventually have a traditional braai, pronounced "bry", or bisected oil drum, covered with a screen for grilling).

Security is a must here, a BIG deal. I think we are the only house without man-eating dogs that lunge at their fences as folks walk by. Our house has the ubiquitous high walls surrounding the property with the bell to push for entry thru the mechanized gate. We each have a "clicker" and keys for every room and cabinet and folding security gate at each outside door, the old-fashioned JAIL kinds. I still can't remember to open the front gate to let whatever workman is here back out and/or remember to lock every blasted thing that should be locked at night! And then there's the security system alarm which I discovered our second night here when attempting to turn on the hall light… LOUD and SCARY and how does one turn it off?? Knowing we were awakening the entire neighborhood, D madly pushed buttons and tried to use the phone attached to the alarm box, to no avail. It FINALLY stopped. Whew. There was a slip of paper under the front door the next AM; the security guy had indeed been by. Good to know. And we have a zillion windows, sans screens, that open out and hook in varying ways, letting in the warmth during the day, all with serious bars. Ronnie, our main handyman, attached photo-sensitive security floodlights at every corner of the house. We lay in bed at night with our curtains diffusing the outside brightness, our space heater glowing softly, reflecting off the built-in cupboards along the wall. It looks like Christmas in front of the fire.

Emphasis on security spills over into all aspects of life here. Malls parking lots have gated, take a ticket entrances, manned by uniformed attendants, assisted by uniformed car guards, with whom it is wise to become friendly and then tip R5, about 70 cents. Upon entering a store with packages (packets), you must check the bags and upon leaving, the uniformed guard checks your purchases against the receipt, like at Sam's Club. Opening our bank account, purchasing cell phones, buying our TV, setting up the antenna (not yet), buying a car (not yet),and getting a land line (not yet) all required copious paper work and consternation.

The metric kitchen throws me; I keep pushing buttons on the microwave requiring me to input a weight in order to start. Whatever! Thankfully the measuring cups and spoons we bought are labeled with both systems. Reading the package nutritional labels is totally confusing. (Even our MD couldn't evaluate our blood work reports or recognize several of our medication dosages.) Thank God for the Internet with temperature conversion charts. Most every appliance in this house has the instruction booklet; you can bet we have been studying those. For our first home cooked dinner in SA, we invited Shayne, SMMS president's wife (the seminary owns four houses in a row, right around the corner from SMMS, and Ross and Shayne thankfully live next door) for dinner since Ross was in Joburg. It took us and Shayne a long time to get our oven to work, and she lives here.

Products packaging is interesting. Zip locks are few and far between; on the brown sugar, or muscovado, the instructions read, "Keep channel clear by removing any sugar particles with a toothpick". Most bags startlingly rip apart when I attempt to open them. If the product is likely to be stolen, go for the hack saw. And remember old Saran wrap? I'm in a time-warp-wrap. I covet your Press 'n Seal. Our vitamins come in generic small foil packages with the name stamped at the top.

This is enough musing for now. We are still lovin' it and will continue to be amused and amazed as our adventure continues. Stay tuned.