the dichotomy of south africa--manure and money.

Last night at Monkey Valley Resort, Living Hope hosted its first fundraiser in the community. Around 75 businessmen and women accepted our invitation to feed them and tell them about all the problems in the community and our means of treating them--for the small fee of 250 Rand (about 40 bucks). The former Mr. South Africa was our MC, and he happens to be on the board of Living Hope. He is a beautiful man, inside and out. And apparently a comedian. We still are not sure if one of his jokes was a mistakingly semi-racist ( is that possible?) "oh dern, i wish i hadn't said that" comment or if he really thought it was funny to tell the "black" people (instead of the "back" people) to get their food first. Judging by the akward laughter and silence of the room as a whole, I'd say that was a belly flopped attempt at humor. None the less, we had fun and everyone still loves mr. africa. Even the black folk:


These are members of the HIV support group I sit in on with Nobuntu on Tuesday mornings. All Xhosa speaking, you can imagine what great wisdom and guidance I offer them. Nobuntu and I talked at the end of the night, and I shared with her my frustration at having to sit in the white crowd while they sang to us, rather than being up there with them, even if i don't know Xhosa. If I could turn back time, i'd be in this picture pretending I have rhythm and a grasp on one of many african languages.



On a completely other note, here is my new hobby: organic gardening. Outside the hospice is a series of gardens tended by Darvy (pictured below). It's his JOB to teach people how to grow vegetables. What a completely glorious way to spend your time. Darvy gave both Melissa and I our own little plot of land to tend, pictured below. It's actually bigger than the meager hole I'm standing in, but this was after day 1. Digging dirt is hard work. My back is still sore. But I successfully made this hole and filled it with compost (aka--manure and other random things found lying around). I wish I had carried it on my head, b/c that would have been the african thing to do, but I cannot balance the wheelbarrow like that, and i didn't see any empty buckets lying around. And it wasn't hot. And I wasn't starving and stricken with some deadly disease. So really, I'm not at all african. But I like to pretend.


Here is Darvy. He likes the idea of us gardening. I take this wild guess from the fact that everytime I looked up at Darvy he was taking a photo or video of us with his cell phone.


Mother Mafrica's treating me well. You know you want to come.