It seems to be some cruel twist of fate that I could excel academically all through high school and university, staying at the top of my game, winning awards and scholarships, only to graduate and begin my blossoming career as a waitress. It’s CRUEL I tell you.

Oh. P.S. I’m home.

My last week in Africa I spent at Cindee’s relaxing for the most part, and doing not too much. I made it to the beach once, which was nice. It was a good transition week between being away from the kids, but still in driving distance of them. We met up for a Saturday and went to an aquatic world.

Then on the day I had to leave, Ruth and the kids took me to the airport. Mary cried all the way to the airport. In a kid’s world it just doesn’t make sense why you can’t stay a bit longer when they ask you to. I still don’t think saying goodbye to the kids has necessarily sunk in. I just spent six months with them, and it feels like in a few weeks I’ll be able to check in and see how they are doing. It’s sad to know that next time I see them will most likely be years from now.

The journey home was long. About thirty plus hours door to door. When you get on a crowded airplane for an eighteen hour flight, it feels like an eternity stretching before you. But now I’ve been home for almost a week. How strange is that?

My jet-lag seems to be winding down, and I’ve stopped waking up at 4:30 in the morning. But my lovely African habit of waking up naturally at 6:30 a.m. is also gone. Too bad, that was handy!

I’m moving forward with no concrete future plans, no apartment and no job prospects. I don’t think I can emphasize how terrifying this is for me. Apparently the economy is crashing? Geez people. I leave the country for six months and it all falls apart.

I’m checking Kijiji and the classifieds like its my religion, and hoping an affordable/adorable (whichever comes first) apartment appears. Not having any job lined up, I can’t really afford adorable right now, as much as sketch and dirty, but hey, I’ve done that sort of apartment before too.

It’s funny having spent six months around people who have learned to trust God as a daily exercise. I’ve learned a lot actually, but at the same time, well, it’s just hard. But hey, I’m trying to pry open my tension-fists, and lay my empty hands before God.

I’ll let you know how that goes.

Well it is hard to believe, but I fly home in fifteen days. I have a week left at Ruth’s with the kids, and then I’m taking the last week off for recovery before I fly home. (I’m praying it will be sunny my last week! It has been overcast and rainy for months…I do not lie.)

My departure comes with mixed feelings, as I anticipated. I feel like it is time to leave in many ways. I feel used up and tired, and in desperate need of some space and freedom. Physically I don’t think I can go on like this for much longer. I’m very ready to see familiar faces of friends and family. Here, I am constantly giving it seems, and those people who wait for me back home are the type of people who fill me up…I feel a bit empty being without them for so long.

Not to mention that most days and nights my only company is myself…and although I am endlessly fascinating…three months later I’m a bit bored of me!

But, even though leaving is almost essential for mental soundness, it will be hard. Ruth will be without a volunteer til April, when a girl is coming from Germany for a year. Both Ruth and I are well aware that coping for these next months seems almost physically impossible. I feel burdened for her and the kids, and seeing life here day after day, I panic thinking about what holes are going to be left as I go.

I know it is not my life to figure out, it is hers, but what can I say: I’m a wonderful person and I feel very concerned for all of them! These last six months have been filled with some grief and struggles as I’ve battled to keep my head afloat, in a household where it is easy to feel a bit like Cinderella. The politics of how volunteers are treated has at times been questionable.

I’ve been angry and lonely many times, and frustrated with various situations. But I am leaving on a good note, and I feel like even Ruth has changed and grown in many ways over these last few months. It is an encouraging change. It just reinforces to me how important it is to have a teachable spirit. Maybe the most important thing.

Leaving the kid will be endlessly difficult. This last week has been a chaos of behavior issues. Siya, who is almost always mature and well spoken, lashed out on Monday. This is something that has not even been close to happening before. Over a small issue of sharing with Simon, he became instantly violent, attacking me, breaking things, and shouting louder than I thought possible for a child. For the first time in six months, I found myself in a situation I could not handle. In five minutes he had me outside the house in tears. (And I am a very tough person!! Haha.)

He proceeded to act this same way with Ruth and Pastor, and the tantrum went on for hours and hours. I was very pleased with how it was handled though.

Siya has a lot to come to grips with as he grows, issues of abandonment, adoption, lack of any male father figure in his life. He’s seen things in Ruth’s teenage son, that were mirrored perfectly in this tantrum.

The other children who quite traumatized by the experience… Mary is always quite concerned about me, and when I left the house crying, she came and gave me a hug and rubbed my back and told me, “Shh…It’ll be ok. I love you. It’ll be ok.” That had me laughing. What a sweetheart. Jake was quite concerned that Siya’s behaviour was the reason I was leaving. All week he has been telling Siya, “You made Maria cry!” Is that bad? I don’t know—I think its ok for Siya to see that his behavior has an impact on the people he’s hurting.

Mary has told me for about three weeks, in the most serious voice, that I cannot leave her cause she’ll be too sad. She asked Ruth the other morning what would happen when she (Ruth) leaves. It’s hard on the kids having people coming and going like this, and especially for Mary who gets very attached.

It is pretty much certain that she is going to make me cry at the airport. I need to leave, but I will miss my little kids.

We had such fun last night. My Auntie Molly sent a big package, that included some CDs with kid’s songs on them. I don’t think the kids have ever seen Veggie Tales—but man oh man, The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything and The Lip Song were great hits and had them in hysterics. I’m also pleased that the Poopsmith Song by Over the Rhine is reaching children all over the world. Although, Potty is not in their vocabulary and Siya was singing, “Poop goes in the pot!” I had to explain to them.

Well. A week left. A week left of the good and the bad.

Well, Siyabonga made me a wedding ring. However, he put it on my pinky, so I guess it doesn’t really count.

Yes. This child is consistently suprising. He ran into my room butt-naked screaming, “I’m FATHER CHRISTMAS!”

This is also an original Siya.

And of course, the joy of putting doll clothes on Bella.

Children were all home today. Yes, I realize there are five in this photo. That little new one is the neighbour girl who doesn’t speak a word of English, but who played so nicely with the kids all day.

I’m a little impressed with myself that I can still handle the gang almost six months later… Although, I am ready to be around some people who aren’t little.

The Gateway drop off zone. I’ve probably spent 100 hours waiting for rides here. The other day I finally took out the camera. Gives you a bit of an idea what Gateway looks like…

Mary and Jake all bundled up.

Boots on the clothes line.

I was driving in the back of a pick-up truck on the way to church. We were on the stretch of highway along the coast, and I was looking at the trees that stretch out and canopy the road in some places, and out at the sea, which on hot days reflects light from the top of every wave and ripple. I got this strange feeling that I sometimes get…

I’ll be in the middle of life, and all of a sudden I’ll just step back, suddenly overwhelmed with possiblity. All of a sudden it’ll feel so surreal that with every choice I’m creating my life.

I’m twenty-two years old now, and twenty-two years of my life have been written, never to be changed. The decisions I’ve made, the places I’ve gone, the person I’ve been. It’s there. It’s my life. I guess you could take that in a constricting way, where everything is so permanent and unchanging…

That’s not how it normally strikes me though. Normally it makes me think of the future and I wonder what I’ll write next year, or the year after…what will the story look like in ten years. It doesn’t feel out of my control either, it feels like every possibility is right there at my fingertips and I just have to make a choice, and poof there’s that life. It’s just a matter of what choice to make.

I feel poised to pick up the pen and write the next chapter, but am hesitating for only a moment to consider the possiblities… The only thing that seems to pop into mind is that there is only so much space in one life, I can’t write everything and every opportunity, I have to choose. I feel like I could write anything. It hardly seems possible to know what to write.

In a strange way, this feeling just makes me realize how blessed I am. I am part of the slimmest fraction of people on the planet who can actually debate what their life will be like, from so many options and possibilities—with a little determination, hard work and creativity, nothing seems unachievable. If I was struck with a dream, I don’t think I’d ever feel like, well that’s just not possible. Maybe I’m overly optimistic, but its also about being part of a certain class and culture of people.

I don’t have to dream year after year about going back to school, I just need to fill out some OSAP applications and poof I’m there.

I think of how some people here in South Africa must feel… like someone else is writing their life for them. I’m sure many of them feel like they have no other option than to be exactly where they are, working some lousy job. I think of the women who wake up in this neighborhood at 4 a.m and spend hours finding transportation so they can go clean some white person’s house, only to get home to their family and children after dark. And there is no way out. I think of being in their position and its terrifying and depressing.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I feel so privileged to have so many possibility before me. I shouldn’t complain that I have no idea what I want to do next…

Once a month the Pastors Salina head about twenty minutes down the road to do some outreach and feeding at a rural school. After a bit of off-roading we arrived at this school of 900 students. The principal had mentioned to us that they did not have any water for a few months, but that’s mostly sorted out. My word. I can’t even imagine! When we didn’t have water for a few days I was going crazy, and that was with only four children!

Being a rural school, it is really full of children who are in the heart of the consequences and tragedy of the Aids epidemic.

It was an interesting experience, I guess the classic “Africa” that I’ve not really experienced yet. Funny, that its been down the road all this time! I feel so isolated here.

The 900 students sat in the sun for abour three hours while people sang and Pastor spoke. Wow, what kids. I was so hungry and hot, and I’m a very tough person!! The kids got up and performed songs and dances, and it was lovely.

A group of Indian-South Africans came and with incredible speed and efficiency, fed all 900 students. I love that visiting South Africa is a bit like visiting England, Africa and India all at the same time, as I sat in the hot sun and ate my curry. I also get to say things like, “rubbish”, “crumpets” and stuff like that.

I was a bit suprised that after it was all done, no one really wanted to spend any time with the kids. I was even a bit ticked that most people spent their energy telling the kids to go away, and chasing them off. Given, there were a lot of children and they were quite wild and a bit intimidating, espcecially some of the older boys. Lots of these kids lack authority figures in their lives and it shows. The teachers on yard duty carried sticks. That was also a bit alarming!

There was a language barrier. Most of them only spoke Zulu, but a few of the older kids knew a few words in English. I stepped out of my comfort zone and started chatting to some of the girls, making almost comical efforts to talk to them. \They wanted to know if I was Siya’s Mom, and I had a hard time explaining to them.

It was so nice though, to try and chat for a few minutes.

I took a lot of video, and a few photos. Mostly video though cause the singing and dancing was beautiful.

Joanna Salina and the team.

Trying to make some friends. Turns out it was quite easy.

Siyabonga has been raised in a very different life. It was interesting for him to see this part of his world, although a bit difficult for him since he can’t speak Zulu. I’m really hoping he learns soon.

This is for Keith. Pastor asked me to take this photo, and chose this location specifically. Let’s just say, I’m surrounded by some real characters, and although I love them, I look forward to being around some people I can actually relate to.

This was supposed to be a photo of my friend and I, who is holding my hand. However, we were mobbed in the 10 seconds it took for the photo to be taken. Photos were quite popular.

Well. I must say I enjoyed meeting these lovely children, and seeing a bit more of South Africa. But, it was depressing to feed these children one meal and leave. Knowing what some of these children were going home to.

Interesting words for those of us trying to elect the right leader’s for our countries.

“For day after day they seek me out; they seem eager to know my ways, as if they’re a nation that does what is right and has not forsaken the commands of its God. They ask me for just decisions and seem eager for God to come near them.

Why have we fasted; they say, and you have not seen it? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you have not noticed?

Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please and exploit all your workers. Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife and in strking each other…. You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high…Is that what you call a fast a day acceptable to the Lord?

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free… Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter–when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Then you will call and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

…

It’s good to know that’s a promise.

Simon: Do you miss your family?

Maria: Ya. I’m excited to see them.

Siya: I thought you weren’t excited to leave!

Maria: Well, I’m sad to leave you guys, but I’m excited to see my family. So I’ll be happy and sad at the same time.

Siya: So you’ll cry a little bit and then smile a little bit.

Maria: Yep. Sounds right.

Siya: My old mom had a dog that was a cow. A cow-dog. We had a cow that laid a dog. How silly is that?

(I think he means ‘laid’ as in lay an egg, and not the more colloquial sense.)

I’m glad the fact that I’m leaving has about the emotional significance as a cow dog. ;) Just kidding. These kids will miss me as much as I miss them!!

I can’t quite attribute one thing to my relative lack of updates these past few months. It’s probably something to do with a weariness. Also, being here for five months has washed everything in familiariy, and it’s hard to know what to write about.

However, I’ve jotted notes here and there. I’ve met many people who inspire poetry, in all its bleakness and beauty. Maybe they’ll be a series of poems, or just one.

In any case, I’ve enjoyed writing little bits, trying to pinpoint the finer details and feels of this place. Here is a bit I wrote in August:

The sun rises on unfamiliar seasons, melting away the muted blues and greens from the valley. The days are stretching out; could this be winter’s end? Marked by the clatter of dry avocado leaves in the trees, the crackle of a bush fire across the road–where Prudence and Knowledge live in tin houses, the bleating of Anna’s goats in the field over the sound of men building a cinder block chapel.

A lizard scuttles between the cracks in the brick wall. Bits of ashed-sugar cane fall onto my arms and legs. A taxi honks at it passes and the dust billows up from the road and covers everything. Its grit sticks to my damp skin, the children’s legs, and covers the sheets of our beds.

It hasn’t rained in six weeks.

A couple months later the farm is very different. Spring is here and it is cold and damp. Heavy fogs roll in and it rains most days. A strange country.

We’re at Cindee’s for a few days cause its Spring Break. I’m leaving in a month and Mary and I are going to have to part. This is going to be a bit rough on her, and me for that matter.

Five months later I’m quite burnt out, but I guess that’s to be expected. This morning I fell asleep while the kids and I watched Mr. Bean. Mary took photos. I was pretty much gone to the world. However, I shared my bed last night with both Mary and Jake, Jake sleeps like an awake boxer and Mary insited on sleeping on top of me, so it wasn’t as restful as it could have been!