Your lucky guide for today went on a food drop while the other group worked like Trojans. So today’s story will be a tale of two cities.
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times...
The blue car and the silver car rushed off to site for a 7:00am start. One hour later came Baba Bhata, the foreman to tell us what to do. Always good to clock in early even if you can’t start work!
Setting out, the old fashioned way, with string, a tape measure and a few concrete blocks was slow thoughtful and accurate. An 8m by 6m rectangle may not challenge the average £8k GPS EDM but we had a tough time getting it right. Then the silver car had to go back to GGA leaving the blue car to lay the first three courses of blocks up to the level of the ground floor slab. The blue car, or rather its contents, mixed mortar by hand, shovelled, trowelled and laid level, straight and vertical. What more can we ask.
The silver car loaded up rice, mealie meal and bags of children’s goodies into the back of a bakkie (pickup) while we loaded up donated clothes and toys into our car. Off we headed past the familiar Spar and beyond, into the valley of a thousand hills. And what hills. And what roads. I say roads, but footpaths with tyre tracks, ruts, rocks and rubble. The clue to the terrain is in the words “a thousand hills”. All the 15 drops of food and clothes to the scheme’s families, usually partial, unregistered, with no other means of support and sometimes looking after a number of local orphaned children were at the ends of the earth (track).
The people appeared content, proud and smart; their Sunday best, for collecting the only reliable source of food they can get just once a month. Their children were an absolute joy. Happy playing with so little and making the most of every friend, every imaginary toy, every bit of love and contact offered from deeply moved strangers.
After the evening meal in our new home with our new family we headed off to the on site theatre to watch the Young Zulu Warriors training sessions. To call it dance would be simplistic. Rhythm, chant stamp and slap. The rhythmically challenged part of the group laughed, safely seated in the thatched theatre auditorium. The movers and groovers amongst us dedicated their evening to learning complex routines and so impressed Sizwe, the skilled teacher and leader of the group that they will be performing in the end of term show. More laughs on that later. Don’t be alarmed when I tell you that Angela discovered the true brutality of the Zulu regime when she saw the self inflicted bruise on her right thigh. We laughed.
And then the after show party...
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times...
The blue car and the silver car rushed off to site for a 7:00am start. One hour later came Baba Bhata, the foreman to tell us what to do. Always good to clock in early even if you can’t start work!
Setting out, the old fashioned way, with string, a tape measure and a few concrete blocks was slow thoughtful and accurate. An 8m by 6m rectangle may not challenge the average £8k GPS EDM but we had a tough time getting it right. Then the silver car had to go back to GGA leaving the blue car to lay the first three courses of blocks up to the level of the ground floor slab. The blue car, or rather its contents, mixed mortar by hand, shovelled, trowelled and laid level, straight and vertical. What more can we ask.
The silver car loaded up rice, mealie meal and bags of children’s goodies into the back of a bakkie (pickup) while we loaded up donated clothes and toys into our car. Off we headed past the familiar Spar and beyond, into the valley of a thousand hills. And what hills. And what roads. I say roads, but footpaths with tyre tracks, ruts, rocks and rubble. The clue to the terrain is in the words “a thousand hills”. All the 15 drops of food and clothes to the scheme’s families, usually partial, unregistered, with no other means of support and sometimes looking after a number of local orphaned children were at the ends of the earth (track).
The people appeared content, proud and smart; their Sunday best, for collecting the only reliable source of food they can get just once a month. Their children were an absolute joy. Happy playing with so little and making the most of every friend, every imaginary toy, every bit of love and contact offered from deeply moved strangers.
After the evening meal in our new home with our new family we headed off to the on site theatre to watch the Young Zulu Warriors training sessions. To call it dance would be simplistic. Rhythm, chant stamp and slap. The rhythmically challenged part of the group laughed, safely seated in the thatched theatre auditorium. The movers and groovers amongst us dedicated their evening to learning complex routines and so impressed Sizwe, the skilled teacher and leader of the group that they will be performing in the end of term show. More laughs on that later. Don’t be alarmed when I tell you that Angela discovered the true brutality of the Zulu regime when she saw the self inflicted bruise on her right thigh. We laughed.
And then the after show party...
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