Eight Months Later

by Doug Roland

Introduction

It has been difficult explaining in a few words what our work is at the seminary. In re-reading some of our attempts, it sounds as interesting as watching grass grow. The truth is, we have the best job in the seminary - a window into the hearts of 90 seminarians, ministers in training. We get to journey with them as they learn sometimes uncomfortable truths about their communities, admit their incomplete understanding of ministry, discover what it means to follow in Jesus’ footsteps, and find him in places few deign to go. How we got to this point is a primer on how God takes what we offer and melds it into a new thing, as if we were the last piece of a puzzle that He had long ago solved. At its most basic, it was a matter of hearing a faint, then semi-serious, then shocking call in the form of an e-mail. It remained only for us to say, “Yes; here we are. We will go.”

The Invitation

We arrived last year bearing no small amount of anxiety. Leaving our family, friends, the comfort of Davis Islands, our well-worn habits, customs, celebrations and familiar rhythms of life, left us vulnerable and uncertain. Our minds were flush with the words of the seminary president in his e-mail invitation.

“As part of their formation studies, the seminarians are required to be engaged in ministry and field work within the community; present involvement includes work at schools, hospitals, prison, poverty alleviation projects, HIV/AIDS clinics, a school for children with disabilities, a children’s orphanage, and some others. This is is a vital aspect of seminary life, and one which we would dearly love to develop. As the number of seminarians increases (next year we will have 82), the need to develop new opportunities, administer the program, evaluate effectiveness, deepen relationships, assess impact, forge partnerships, supervise seminarians – all of this will certainly require full-time attention. . . . . .

The opportunity I envisage could engage both of you in “hands-on” ministry, as the bridge between the struggles of the local communities and the human resources inherent in the seminary. I would expect you to forge partnerships, develop the vision, design systems, yet with freedom to invest yourselves according to your ministry, passion and gifts. . . . “

This gave a whole new meaning to “e-vite.” It sounded way too much like real work, but we had, after all, asked for it three years earlier, not thinking someone would say “yes”.

The Rebuilding

We found the field work program at the seminary in a state of near collapse and quickly realized a unique opportunity to give life to a laudable program. The problem was that nurses and lawyers know from nothing how to do that, other than to dive in blissfully ignorant. Trusting God, we did just that.

To develop contacts and build relationships, we made cold calls on people we didn’t know, with our quaint American accents and customs. Surprisingly, we were well received. (I think it was mostly curiosity. U.S. citizens living in PMB are rare.). We played our best cards: two Americans - come to Africa to volunteer, no contacts, eager to learn, lots of vision, “you’re gonna love it” routine. I felt like an encyclopedia salesman throwing in a Fuller brush on the side. (Some of you will relate.) Local Methodist ministers and others gave us leads. We went down all the alleys and discovered a well-developed network of non-profits (NGO’s) serving the marginalized and disadvantaged from severely disabled children to those dying of AIDS. So, how does one convince these veterans that they might need untrained seminarians with minimum language skills and even less experience to volunteer for them? Prayer!

Between mid-August and mid-November, we built a network of 8-10 NGO’s who agreed to partner with us in the formation of new ministers. We needed to have programs in place to accommodate about 75 seminarians (now up to 90) for carrying out their course requirement. Frankly, I think that the wise leaders of these partners understood the traditional importance and power of ministers in the culture. This was an opportunity for them to do a little educating themselves.

The Workbook

Our seminarians would be sent out to one of the programs for 3 hours each week. But the question remained - how do you make it meaningful when you can’t be at all these places at the same time to provide direction and support? We were confident that working in these projects held great promise, but we did not know how to evaluate the seminarians, keep them interested or keep them accountable. The solution came via a seminarian who had done some field work at another school. The answer was to create a workbook which would require seminarians weekly to write reflections on a prescribed scripture and their experiences. These would be turned in to us the day after and we would read them and comment. We started working on it and soon realized that this was the key to unlock the almost unlimited possibilities that may flow from a seminarian’s pen after close up interaction with the poor, the sick, the naked, the prisoner, the homeless, the hungry. We gave it a new name - Field Education and Ministry Course. Perhaps our only oversight was that we would we have 90 reflections each weekend to read, comment and mark. But then the movies at the mall are dreadful and the TV programs are in Xhosa or Zulu or Afrikaans, or are re-runs from 2003 American programs.

The workbook outlines goals, rules, expectations and all that. But its value in ministerial training and that of the entire program lies, in my opinion, in the two reflections. It became evident early this year when we began to read the first ones. The questions were designed to coax seminarians to face and engage new realities about the populations they were working with, about themselves and their view of ministry.

The weekly questions given each week that prompt and guide the writings are divided into the scriptural and the experiential.

Scriptural

How does this passage relate to my agency?
What relevance does this passage have for my ministry?
How does this passage define serving for Christ?

Experience

What I did today
What did I learn about myself?
What did I learn about God?
What did I learn about my ministry?

The Outcome

The results are best appreciated through the writings themselves. Thembe (not her real name) is a first year seminarian in the Diploma program. A mother of five, she left her job as an inspector of schools in the land-locked country of Swaziland and traveled the six hours to Pietermaritzburg. For her field education, she was assigned to a government mental hospital, Town Hill. The ward where she served is populated by older men, many of whom stare and say nothing. With Thembe’s permission, I have selected several sentences and partial sentences from her workbook that I believe reflect the first fruits of the new program. Whatever editing I have done to her writing is to give a little clarity where needed.


ORIENTATION

“The nurses and caregivers need to be supported in prayer and love . . . Ministry of presence is important to visit them, talk and share with them [the staff]”

WEEK TWO

Relevance for my ministry

“When we work for God we are not to expect rewards . . . “
“To go to the hospital in ordinary old clothes contributes to the ministry as the stigma of clergy is removed.”
“Jesus was at the level of the people.”

What I did

“Made beds; assisted the blind man (Shawn) . . . talked with him for two hours

About myself

“Though I am shy, somehow I am able to reach people, even ones I am not familiar with”
“I am still not sure about changing nappies, etc. skill to get the hang of it.”

My ministry

“My ministry is not limited to preaching but it is most effective in the one on one situations.”

WEEK THREE

Relevance to my ministry

“Talking to people about Jesus makes us alive in him. Sharing this truth is important so that people do not feel condemned and abandoned . . . . . Serving Christ is all about showing the love of God. Doing much more than talking about it. Going to the places where people have lost hope.”

What I did

“I read to the patients from a bible story book. One patient asked for the story of Joseph and we discussed how his brothers sold him due to the jealously of his coat. We talked about the importance of forgiveness. I was amazed at the depth of knowledge shown by Shawn. He talked about the effect of unforgiveness, the anger, resentment.”

About myself

“Still quesy about changing nappies.”
“ I want to get involved, not just pay lip service.”

About ministry

“Ministry is not limited to things we know and understand. God wants to use our hands, feet, eyes and everything . . . Sometimes ministry is not easy.”


WEEK FOUR

About ministry

“Jesus did not neglect one part of the community for another. Even though according to his culture, touching the dead, the lepers, the mentally disturbed made him to be unclean, he touched them anyway. When service moves from the lips to the heart and hands, feet, then we are truly serving God.”

What I did

“I brought a deck of playing cards and Snakes and Ladders. Dennis just sits there and not talk much. I asked if I could play with him. He agreed. What a game we had! He can even count . . . . . . Grand Pa Aoupa recognized me, and we also played a game. . . When we prayed the Lord’s Prayer, they could sing and we danced and sang. When we left we could hear the singing continuing for some time.”

About my ministry

“It is possible to enjoy outreach if you plan and give yourself to God. . . . . I also caught a glimpse of the female ward. There is also a need there. Patients need people to talk to.”

WEEK FIVE

WEEK SIX

About myself

“This encounter [with the man whose family does not visit] confirms my calling to the people in need. My belief is that ministry may involve action otherwise how will the people see, learn and experience the love of God? For me the ministry of presence is essential.”

WEEK SEVEN

About myself

“I am not good with farewells. I got an affirmation of my skills for encouraging and bringing hope. She said when I shared Christ, he became real to her. Two of the nurses asked for prayers.”

My ministry

“ . . . is still unfolding. I had a question why God will call me to leave my job. I am discovering that I enjoy what I am doing. My prayer is for God to reveal his purpose for my calling.”



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As part of their training, every seminarian is placed with a local church for the year. There they help with services and such other pastoral tasks requested by their supervisor. Thembe was placed at Town Hill Hospital.

DO UNTO OTHERS by Doug Roland

On one of her walks through the neighbourhood, Cheri stopped in front of a chapel that looked a bit like a mausoleum. It sits on about two acres of high ground on the east side of Pietermaritzburg and is visible from a number of areas in the city. A large white cross is placed behind the chapel. We've never seen anyone go in or out of the building. The architecture does not resemble the colonial British buildings that dot this area. It has more of a European feel. Other than the Latin on the building, there is nothing there that reveals just what it is. We were looking at it one evening when an Afrikaans couple on a walk came by. They said it was a memorial for Italian prisoners of war. That's about all they knew. So what's it doing in a small city in South Africa?

In the early years of World War II, Italy was persuaded by Hitler to join the Axis powers. Italy had interests and holdings in northeast Africa, specifically Somalia and Ethiopia. Three days after Germany invaded Poland in 1939, South Africa declared war against the Axis countries to defend its strategic geographic position. It had fewer than 4,000 soldiers at the time.

In 1940, Germany and Italy went into north Africa primarily to secure the oil fields. By then, South Africa had beefed up its enlistments and joined Britain in attacking and defeating the Italian army in Eastern Africa, one of the first setbacks for the Axis.

In February 1941, the first Italian prisoners-of-war from the North Africa campaigns arrived in South Africa. Thousands more followed over the next two years. Eventually, some 67,000 Italian prisoners were housed in the country. Providing for them was an enormous and challenging task for the South African army and other public officials. They set about it on a massive, country-wide scale. Indeed, one of the largest POW camps in all the Allied territories was located near Pretoria.

The treatment of the POW's was extraordinary and speaks volumes about the people of South Africa. The Geneva Convention of 1929 prescribed minimum conditions for treatment of military captives. South Africa, facing boatloads of Italian prisoners, marshaled its resources and, in an act of uncommon grace, exceeded the minimum standards in ways that have probably never been matched. Barracks were quickly built, along with hospitals, eating halls, schools, libraries and community halls with performing arts venues. The army tended to the religious and spiritual needs of the prisoners with a cadre of chaplains. Sports facilities such as football grounds, tennis courts, and boxing rings were part of every camp. Some theater companies had as many as 120 men. They performed operettas using their own symphony orchestra. Literacy was taught to prisoners unable to read Italian to help prepare them for re-entry into Italy. Four thousand South African industries, shops and households provided employment for the prisoners. One such employer , Guido Monzali, was himself an Italian.

Born in March, 1877, near Bologna, he left his impoverished family for the United States at age 14. Poorly educated and possessing no real skills, he worked in Midwestern coals mines for several years before returning home briefly. He again left home to work on the Trans-Siberian Railroad project, then on to the Sudan where he learned how dams were built.

In time, he settled in South Africa and started his own construction company that built some of the largest public works projects in South Africa, most of them within an hour of Pietermaritzburg. He also constructed railroad lines, bridges and water supply facilities.

In 1931, he built a mansion (more like a castle) for himself and his family on the outskirts of the city. It remains there today. Many POW's worked as part of Monzani's household staff. It is they who built the chapel to honor and memorialize the Italian prisoners who served their time in South Africa. It is not surprising that many of the prisoners did not go back home after the war.

My ophthalmologist here is named Donelli. I'll ask him at my next appointment.

Helps to Stay Healthy

by Cheri Roland

"Somebody’s going to die here!” A new student had leapt to his feet, shouting and stabbing his finger accusingly at me. The lecture hall air was electric. For a moment nobody breathed. Inwardly I sighed. I had hoped to get through my power point presentation during the seminary orientation without great confrontation. In hindsight, that was quite a naive expectation; I had just dropped a bomb shell. Per seminary policy, seminarians would not be able to see a doctor until they had been referred by me, the school nurse.

About 100 folks were packed into the lecture hall, 90 of them our seminarians in training to become "transforming leaders for church and nation". They were required to attend my lecture, "Helps to Stay Healthy". Many of our students come from rural settings where education is imparted orally. Books, paper, computers and libraries are scarce. There are no courses in health and science from first grade on up; maybe somewhere along the way they have been lucky enough to have heard a professional teach about HIV/AIDS. As a result, there is wide spread ignorance and misconceptions about how their bodies work, let alone causes or prevention of disease.

In jail vernacular, I had “dissed” my accuser and his fellow seminarians. What right did this white, old, American woman have to trash their health care traditions? Later – much later – I put myself in their shoes. How I would feel if suddenly informed that my wellbeing now rested in the hands of a witch doctor?

Traditional healers, or sangomas, mirror the wide range of practitioners we have in the states, providing reputable to disreputable to downright dangerous treatment. Here healers work with a wide broad variety of techniques, from using highly effective herbal remedies to using witch craft, with all of its far reaching ramifications. But that is another story.

Recently Western medicine has become available to outlying rural areas; for many, the manner in which a doctor is consulted has become wrapped up in its own set of customs. (Please understand I’m relaying a compilation of hearsay relayed to me after my presentation, and in no way meant to diminish the wonderful medical care provided for marginalized patients all over Africa and beyond.) These common cultural practices surrounding medical care put a new face on seeing the doctor.

One such practice revolves around visiting the clinic. Due to the scarcity of doctors, villages must rotate specific days for the medical team to treat patients. Because of 80%+ unemployment in townships and beyond, folks often have little to keep them occupied, so clinic visits become an anticipated social event. This has nothing to do with being ill. Bathed, wearing their church clothes and armed with food for the day, they gather together to kibitz for the 12 hours it may take before they are seen by the doctor. And they are rewarded for their patience; they always are given a tablet with the assurance of “curing” their common complaints of “a mouse running around inside my tummy” or “bugs eating me from the inside”. If they are actually feeling sick, their expectation, at the very least, is to be given an antibiotic; but an “injection” is even better…

No wonder many of my patients have been furious after their visit with the school nurse! In their experience, medical care = tablets promising a cure. But at SMMS they usually leave my office with patient education and (maybe) medicine to relieve their symptoms. The fact that antibiotics are ineffective against viruses is still too great a leap for them to swallow. Imagine their feelings of fear, frustration and loss of control over their health when I announce that a) they don’t need to see the doctor and b)there are no antibiotics that will fix their complaint! Hence my current reputation among the seminarians is, “All she does is tell you to exercise and drink more water.”

So where does this leave me as school nurse? Obviously my clever power point presentation did not do the trick. It seems I forgot the number one principal of Missionary Training 101: I must shed my “western medicine has all the answers” attitude and appreciate the positive healing practices of the seminarians’ cultures before I can hope to affect any real change in cultural attitudes. In other words, it is I who must be transformed in order to help transform and empower them. How will I tackle this challenge?

Early this morning God floated me His promise from 2 Chronicles 7:14: “If my people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will heal their land.” If I have been called by God, as I claim I have, I must humble myself, pray for forgiveness, and journey, not out ahead of, but along with these folks . He will do the rest. Guess I’d better get started.

OPENING DAY

by Doug Roland

2010 at the seminary did not end well, except for the collective relief that a difficult year was over. In the final 2-3 weeks there was an accumulation of matters from the complete failure of a some seminarians to clean their apartments to a coordinated effort to subvert a presentation on issues surrounding aging, simply because the seminarians were upset at its timing. The seminary closed with a worship service though many had already left. Yet, it was a year of learning, especially for the staff, and hopefully for seminarians. Some things would have to change.

After a long semester break, the staff trickled in to prepare for year 3 of the seminary's existence. The full time staff reported along two new members. One is a highly competent academic assistant who would shoulder the load of handling schedules of all sorts, attendance records, room assignments, keys to the new lecterns, and other things. Her Germanic background will serve her well in keeping it all straight. The other is a lecturer from Cape Town and is well-acquainted with many of the people here. He brings a highly developed sense of humor, dedication to the church, and deep sense of grace. It was quickly apparent that his presence would make a significant difference at all levels of the seminary. So, two were added to our number of 8 full time staff. It was inevitable that the character of the group would not be the same.

The seminarians came later, all 90 of them. That's up from 77 at the end of 2010. They included about 50 returnees, and a combination of 40 new faces made up of Methodist probationers, students from other denominations and private students. Like the full time staff, a drastic change was poised to launch. In a major way, the seminary had taken a sharp turn in a different direction before the first hymn was sung. How this would play out as we reconvened was unknown.

The seminary officially re-opened Sunday, Jan. 23 the way it closed, with a worship service. As the seminarians arrived, we received smiles, handshakes and hugs from many. My first clue that something was different could not have been predicted from the demographics described above. Last semester, there was a seminarian that never looked directly at me, much less said anything to me. A day or two before the opening, she was on campus and, as we were about to pass each other, she stopped, held out her hand and said "Hello, Doug." Now, three weeks into the year, she always speaks to me. But back to opening day.

In one of the large outdoor common areas, six to eight of the returning seminarians stood in a shady spot and began to sing a little. The informal chorus grew as as more arrived. This went on for nearly thirty minutes until they finally filled the open space, voices reverberating off the surrounding seminary buildings. Then, without a command, they sort of "lined up" into a loose formation and walked to the chapel in a slow, celebratory cadence, bringing with them the joy of their songs. It brought to mind the psalmist directing us to " . . . come into his gates with thanksgiving and into his courts with praise. . ." It wasn't planned. It just happened.

The service itself was electric from the entry to the exit. It was a day of joyful anticipation.

Since that day, seminarians have come up to me to say that it's a different feeling from last year, a new spirit. And it is starting to show up in other ways. In Cheri's last blog she alluded to the workbook we developed, not as a constant assignment but to direct seminarians to take seriously their field experiences and reflect on how they affect their lives and ministries. The first week of field eduction is complete and the first reflections turned in. Let's describe the result this way: we suddenly had around 80 reflections/reports to read before Tuesday. So, we peeked at a few, then could not put them down until we had finished reading and marking all of them. They met, and in many cases, exceeded all our hopes and expectations.

It's early yet, but there is tangible hope that these experiences in the field will become a part of seminarian transformation as people and as ministers. Still there are no laurels to be worn. This, like many successes, is temporal. It only opens the door to more possibilities. Yet we continue to be confounded and surprised at the amazing grace that blesses each of our days. May it be so for all of you.

LIFE AS A STAFF MEMBER

by Cheri Roland

“Ach, shame!” is the Afrikaners' response when we relay the events of the past two weeks to our walking club pals. “Whew!” is probably the equivalent American exclamation. Who knew how complex and time consuming registering and orienting 99 students would be? After this adventure, our hats go off to teachers and administrators at all levels of the educational spectrum. It is just short of a real life miracle.

As I was emailing friends a thumbnail sketch of our activities the first six months as staff members of the Seth Mokitimi Methodist Seminary (SMMS), it occurred to me that we haven’t really explained what has kept us occupied from 7:30-4:30 Monday through Friday since August 2010. Since neither of us has ever been on staff (pronounced staaahf) of an institution of higher learning before, we had no clue what we would actually be doing when we bid goodbye to the familiar last July. Additionally, our son suggested that perhaps several of our blog readers might be puzzled by how we became staff members of a seminary in South Africa.
“Why are you here?” is the frequently asked question. Our pat answer is, “Because the Lord told us to come.” That sounds rather presumptuous or sanctimonious or preposterous, and perhaps all three. But the fact is for several years we had been focused on our desire to give back, to step out in faith, to be used for something bigger, all those warm and fuzzy phrases that make you want to retch. There was a lot of discernment during this process that didn’t make sense until His timing and plan came together, and BLAM - there we were, and our prayers to be used by Him actually caught up with us! As it came to pass, Doug’s background of 4 ½ years teaching plus 35 years in transactional law and mediation translated into a skills set perfect for our current task. My job nursing for 22 years with Tampa’s jail population provided me with great stories and a wide range of experiences teaching, assessing and managing diseases, people and processes. Through an amazing journey guided by other Christians’ encouragement and faith, we finally landed in this small university town charged with helping to birth an infant ministerial training center for all of southern Africa.

Before leaving,one of our biggest concerns in coming here was that we would be bored. Ach, shame! But not to worry! God heard that prayer, too. We, in typical American fashion, hit the ground running in August and haven’t looked back. Now we run out of hours in a day. You should see my desk, or not…

Seminarians are different animals than theology trained students at a university: seminarians are being prepared to be pastors with their hearts and hands engaged to serve others, not simply their intellect. And that is where “the Americans” fit into the plan. Our first priority was to assess the current “field work” program, experiences designed to introduce the seminarians to encounters with the widest range of vulnerable people possible. What parts of the existing program were or were not working? We found a structure that had potential but lacked oversight. Because of a three way breakdown in communication, the program had imploded before we arrived. Yet, because this is a required core course, we needed to be able to evaluate seminarians at semester’s end. Oddly enough, the country-wide strike of hourly paid workers came to our rescue.

One day in September the entire seminary volunteered en mass at a huge psychiatric hospital across town to help reduce the suffering of those patients and support the few committed nurses brave enough to cross the strikers’ picket lines. Several seminarians even continued to help out for weeks, whenever their schedule allowed. So, when SMMS needed an agency to accommodate all those registered in the field work class, the hospital kindly accepted 70 volunteers every Thursday afternoon for a month, with the nursing supervisors dutifully filling out evaluation forms for us. The processes, paperwork and organization involved in mobilizing 70 people for this task was eye opening. Besides stationing students in the wards to foster one-on-one relationships, we had painters who transformed the day care center and crews who weeded the huge on-site vegetable garden, using supplies and equipment provided by the Seminary.

So we were able to avert a potential red tape crisis. But after the Academic Board meeting earlier this week, we were welcomed into the real world of realities and responsibilities of having detailed course outlines and class notes submitted before the course even begins, of intricacies of evaluating students’ work, of moderators who continually check if your course and grading are consistent and with your projected outcomes. There is so much more behind the scenes happening that funnels into that final grade on a transcript. May I again offer a heartfelt “Ach Shame.”

Concurrently with rescuing the existing field work we were building creating a directory of humanitarian organizations already doing the Lord’s work in and around Pietermaritzburg. I’ve lost track of how many agencies we surprised with cold calls, and how many referrals we followed up. We think our strange accent was an asset; doors were opened out of sheer curiosity. Brits, Canadians or Americans too naïve to know better? Soon we were getting around town with the help of Garmin and our new car (another story). We invited prospective partners to visit us in our (impressive) facility, offering them a sense of the mission driving these partnerships. As we forged relationships and and set up training for the seminarians, we quickly concluded the program needed a fresh face. Even the name needed tweaking; seminarians equated “field work” with slave labor. How could their perception of punishment be transformed into an emulation of Jesus’ servanthood? Or in nursing language, how does one become infected with compassion?

While we lined up the agencies which mutually fit our requirements, we were still struggling with the details of the overhaul. How could we effect a critical attitude change, credibility, supervision, on-going evaluations, weekly attendance, topped off with ensuring communication between seminary staff and agency, agency and seminarian, and staff and seminarian? In November, shortly before the close of our first semester, one of the seminarians brought us her workbooks from a previous Bible college course. Voila! This was another answer to prayer, providing us with the idea for a framework upon which to hang our proposed program. As the seminarians left for the end of the 2010 year, Doug and I were frantically cranking out document upon document, culminating in a folder for each agency and a workbook for each seminarian, hopefully solving our multifaceted dilemmas. Ross, our president, worked for hours with me and my ignorance of the computer’s capabilities to turn out the finished products. What a wonderful Christmas present those prototypes were! We were able to leave for our time off without the nagging anxiety of unfinished business hanging over our heads.

In the meantime, I was the “school nurse”; another story. Sufficient to say, we continue to learn what it means to be a Seth Mokitimi Methodist Seminary staff member. Never a dull moment :)

A Box of Delights

by Doug Roland

After 6 months living in Pietermaritzburg, the bloom is off the rose. Things have become familiar -we don't need the Garmin to go to the grocery store, find a nearby church, or go to a park. Cricket (the sport) drones on for weeks at a time sucking up a lot of TV air time. While at first we were met regularly with wonderful surprises, charming customs and practices, such are now routine. It's common after living in one place for awhile. Locals tell us that we've been to more places in the country than they have. Back home, we can say the same thing about Florida. People live habitually - it's comfortable, predictable and safe. It would be easy for us to slip into that so we have to find new, more subtle things that amuse and delight. We refuse to go there. We are dedicated to staying out of the box. Here are a few samples of recent finds:

a free local "newspaper" is stuffed into our mailbox each week. It includes TV listings for the next week, except Thursday - always Thursday.

Similarly, there is a website for the local mall, including movies times at its multiplex. But the dates are always at least a week old.

Tomato stakes (you know, keeping the vines off the ground) are named "stoppers".

Ham from the leg of the pig is called "gammon". Tastes the same, though.

Chocolate chips, the kind you make cookies with, are rare and found only in thimble size containers. This in a continent with some of the world's best cocoa.

There is a little restaurant north of here called the "Sticky Fig". (It's just down the road from the "Pickle Pot.") One of its specialties is a fig sandwich. It's great.

We would pronounce 8:30 as eight-thirty. Here, it's hah-pahst eight.

There is a common road sign on the limited access highways that reads "Average Speed Prosecution". What the h___ does that mean?

In the US, we approach a very large truck with a small truck behind it with a broad sign that says: WIDE LOAD. Here, it's ABNORMAL.

Many locals don't know where they are. They can give you great directions but usually without street or road names. Instead, you are directed by landmarks (FNB Bank; soccer stadium; Pic N' Pay; the old jail; etc.) Never mind asking for an address for the GPS. But they do know how to get there. And now, for the most part, so do we.

Yesterday was trash pick-up day. It must be a big job. There was the truck driver and maybe a passenger, accompanied by four assistants hanging on to the back. When the truck slows, all four jump off running through the street, hollering loudly at each other, presumably in a sort of coordinated pickup of 3 black garbage bags. The neighborhood dogs, seeing four guys in blue work uniforms running through the street, went into a frenzy, waking those who have chosen Friday to sleep in. From a municipal service standpoint, the efficiency is doubtful, but it's good theater.

Finally, a preview of coming attractions. It's time for our car to go in for "routine" service. Typically, that means, oil, filter, checking fluids. Since we had not been to this dealer before, we were required to come in, show i.d., and fill out forms (Oh to have the concession on forms in this country.) I asked about how long the service would take. "Most of the day", they replied. We have a broken tail light and also need a second key. This means parts. If they know you need a part, you must first pay for it; the dealer orders it and will call you when it's in. You pick it up at one counter on the day of service and take it to the another counter. It is not without reason that I doubt the Tuesday date will hold. How many other parts doesn't the dealer stock? Will they run an MRI on the car and find a need for more parts? "Sorry, you'll have to reschedule until the part(s) comes in." Here's what I'm thinking: the car's warranty will run out in about 500 kilometers. If we are delayed another couple of weeks . . . . well, you get the idea. This could take a while. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, we will continue to seek meaning in the odd corners and serendipitous turns of our journey.

WHATEVER

by Cheri Roland

New Year's Eve is an excellent excuse to have a party, even in South Africa. Doug and I received an invitation from our neighbors two doors down, Alison and Ian whom we had met thru our walking club. It's hard to meet people here outside of the seminary, so we were eager to get the opportunity to connect with our new surroundings.

This neighborhood is mostly white working class with medium sized concrete block and stucco forgettable rectangular homes surrounded by inventive high walls and gates all topped with various uncomfortable deterrents and hung with brightly colored signage cheerfully proclaiming "Armed Response" from a myriad of security companies. Vegetation is surprisingly Florida-like, but these plants are prickly and on steroids. I can feel them growing. Many flowering trees are currently softening the otherwise thorny succulents that line the path, threatening to impale unwary pedestrians. Zoning here allows extra buildings behind houses, so most sport a variety of opportunities for income-producing lodgers, and many yards park an assortment of vehicles. Virtually every home here has at least two attack dogs that enthusiastically charge the gates with every passerby. And this street is a traffic thoroughfare - for runners and walkers (a surprisingly large numbers of fitness-conscious PMB-ites regularly traverse these big hills), folks walking their dogs, really causing pandemonium, and the regular constant to and fro of domestic and day labor workers in their layers of brightly colored dress, caps or turbans on their heads, ladies often waddling under huge sacks balanced on top, all loaded down with any number of bags and sacks and umbrellas. Five houses away at the top of the hill is a taxi stop (no regular public busses here; a taxi is a crammed 13 or so passenger van), so folks are always waiting, resting awhile on the meter high cement road signs if they are lucky. Down the hill and bordering our valley across the street is the N-3 highway going west to Johannesburg and east to Durbin. In between is our "One Hundred Acre Wood" which certainly would have added to Pooh's and Eyore's adventures. It is a long stand of Australian eucalyptus harboring the extremely noisy African ibis, cousin to our silent, well behaved white ground-peckers. But these are huge dark glossy monsters that insist on emitting ear splitting squawks whenever they move, preferably in concert, and begin this unfortunate group activity at four AM, rain or shine (and it is shining at four AM, believe me). Adding to this auditory insult is the busy train track running about 1/2 kilometer away, curving around across the top of the ridge, so that its effect can echo across hill and vale. (We have taken to sleeping in ear plugs.) Directly behind us is the seminary. The asymmetrical tower cross fills the sky to the left. All we need is a gate cut through our back wall, and we could trot right into the Christ the Servant Chapel. And along its edge, now a strip of grass, will be our production garden. And that is my project for this new year.

The New Year's Eve party did not disappoint. Allison had their back garden (yard) decked out in a beach theme, and rain, drenching at times, just added to the wet and wild flavor. They had invited about forty revelers to help cheer in 2011, albeit about seven hours before we Rolands could honestly celebrate. Most guests brought major food - "Bring a plate of snacks" - trays and trays of heavy hors d'oeuvres but they scarped up my paltry ham and cream cheese pinwheels nonetheless. Somehow Doug and I managed to stay awake for the big 2011 countdown, drink some champagne and dance around with sparklers.

Interesting people with all sorts of odd experiences and thought provoking theories were circulating. Of course, being American in this small town is still a drawing card, so we were quite popular among the over thirty crowd. We finally caught up with our next door neighbors whom Doug had briefly spoken with shortly after we moved in. Vivian teaches math to 8-12th graders and is on the committee that writes the national competency exams; Garth teaches several musical instruments and has a piano gig two nights a week at a nearby hotel restaurant singing and playing requests. (I must follow up to see if I could get keyboard time somewhere.)

At one point I was chatting with Quintis, an Afrikaaner thirty-something dad. True to form, as soon as he found out we'd been here for five months, the first question invariably was, "How do you like it?" And we answered, as always, "Oh it's great!", although I must admit I'm not as adamant with that reply as I was at first. (I mentioned to Doug the other day that the excitement of newness and wonder has faded.) Quintis was more interested in our real assessments of life here than many others have been, and continued to question me. I found myself verbalizing impressions and experiences that had been swimming around in the deep recesses for some time. Man, this guy was asking for it! But New Year's Eve is often accompanied by a lack of good judgement.

I started a litany that could have really hurt his feelings, but he surprised me by voicing agreement. In fact, he eloquently summed up the state of affairs with, "If you are OK with mediocrity, this is a great place to live". In my short time here, this WHATEVER attitude seems to pervade all levels of life, pressing down with a weight that is palpable. He concurred that here eventually one just must shrug and give in, or end up being visited at Town Hill Mental Hospital.

After a couple of drinks of New Year's Eve cheer, my examples of startling circumstances struck me as more and more funny. Maybe tops on my list were problems with "the Municipality". Power and water outages happen out of the blue, and last for at least eight hours after being reported to the Municipality; the last time this happened, the worker explained that we had been notified the day before that the power would go off- right! We live in the middle of the block; the two houses next to us and immediately across the street are on a different grid than the rest of the long street. No one knows why. Where there are sidewalks, the sewer access six foot deep holes are often uncovered for months, with no safety provisions in place. Now that it's summer, the grass along the roads has grown by leaps and bounds, now up to my armpits, and has yet to be mowed. In other areas we've seen abandoned mowers surrounded by a small islands of futile attempts. Trash pick-up is another mystery, and even the locals just shake their heads. Schedules? What schedules? Today I learned that the municipality workers expect "Christmas boxes", meanwhile slacking off during working hours in order to demand overtime. Postal service is another nebulous concept, and we are clueless in this department. Our mail has ended up at four different locations, and we always have to pay varying amounts to retrieve it. Only junk mail get delivered to our gate. Major highways seem to be in fairly good repair, but the rest of the roads are happy to inform the travelers that there will be potholes for the next 30 km; for fun I've clocked it, and the next pothole sign always occurs with a 10 km overlap, just as so not to disappoint. I guess there are no plans to actually repair the road…, just make more signs. Recently, we decided to go to the driver's license place to see if we really needed to have SA drivers' licenses. When we mentioned this to others, we usually got a "Good luck with that" response.

TV viewing is entertaining. We are trying to stay on the cheap, so our options are limited. There are three SABC stations, one for Afrikaans, one for Zulu, and one for English. All three use the same news stories, the same video clips, the same weather graphics. If we were clever, we could probably pick up some foreign words. We have been reduced to watching re-runs of reality shows from years ago; Survivor - Gabon is currently our big thrill during the week. I'm sure the news is slanted. A surprising story caught my attention the other day, and I made Doug listen the next time it came on. A man had been arrested for driving 235km/hr, in the 120km/hr zone. He told the judge he was on his way to his sick mother and was sorry. So the judge "let him off because he pleaded guilty". So I guess this means that if you admit guilt accompanied by the most overworked excuse known, you incur no penalty. SWEET.

We've noticed the glut of employed official workers, especially in "security" capacities. Their are usually two or three uniformed people standing at the entrance to a building, two or three standing just inside, two or three at the next turn, and to what end? It makes me nervous, as if they are expecting an armed insurrection. Over-employment seems to be the norm here. It's a shame that efficiency has proportionately decreased as the numbers of employed has increased.

Looking back on my conversation with Quintis, I'm smiling. We are in a foreign country, after all, and we are no longer visitors. How disappointing it would be if life here turned out to be the same as at home! Half the fun is finding these differences - and celebrating them! So I lift my glass to South Africa and 2011. May we continue to respect this country's culture and all her peculiarities as we concentrate on making God's love a reality WHATEVER, WHEREVER.