Makotse

Let me talk for a bit about Makotse, the village in South Africa where my daughter, a Peace Corps volunteer, lived and worked.

Ronda had talked often about the village, but even if I’d seen pictures, I would have had to be there to comprehend it, even a little. I had even totally misunderstood her geographical position, the first of many misunderstandings. It also took me a while to understand “village” and “neighborhood.”

It was difficult to understand the relationships of all the people, probably because we there only three days. We stayed with Ma and Pa Mello, Ronda’s closest neighbors. They are a wonderful couple about our age (we both have adult children) who were thrilled to have us as their guests. We made Makotse our first stop. The people who knew Ronda excitedly anticipated meeting her mother. As a footnote, Brian is not Ronda’s biological father. The Makotse people didn’t discount him at all, but they really, really wanted to meet me because they really, really liked Ronda. Across the street from the Mellos and Ronda lived a lady named Pilate (like “pilates” but no “s”). There were other people there -- a lovely shy girl of about 10, an adult woman with a baby boy named Blessing. He let me hold him. I’m not sure how those people are related or if they all live there. Extended families are large.

We could have stayed with Ronda, who has a small but comfortable house. The main reason we didn’t (besides the “small” part) was that she does not have indoor plumbing. She takes “bucket baths,” carries in water from an outside tap, washes her clothes by hand, and, yes, she has a pit toilet (an outhouse). She has gotten used to this life, but it would have been difficult for me. She also said that the toilet creaks when she sits down, and she wasn’t sure how it would hold up with more action. It was agreeable to everyone (especially me) for us stay in a nice room at Ma and Pa Mello’s house. They have a Western bathroom and had recently purchased a clothes washer. The indoor toilet eased a lot of the travel anxiety. We got permission to take advantage of the washer too. We hung our clothes outside, but that was fine, as the weather was good, and that’s what I do at home.

Brian and I got lost in the village, even though Ronda’s house is about a 10-minute walk from the MWC (Makotse Women’s Club). Repetition would have rectified that, but it was embarrassing to get lost driving and then walking. Getting stuck in the sand was not so embarrassing. A man (the gardener at the MWC) sauntered out with a shovel over his shoulder, and he and Brian easily got me out. Apparently this is a common occurrence, but a lot of people turned out to watch. This exciting news got back to Ronda before we were moving again.

The children were at recess the two times we walked by (lost both times). I don’t know which part of the scenario they enjoyed, but they ran to the chain link fence and watched. We knew we were close, but that was all. We were trying to hurry, but the sand made walking difficult. We needed help. I walked up to three young boys and said, “Hi. Where is the bakery?” They stared at me. Then I remembered that “r” is pronounced as a soft “d.” I asked, slowly, “Where is the bak-uh-dee?” They understood, and one young student pointed vaguely. That was all we needed. We said thank you and waved good-bye. Ronda said later that I could have asked, “Where does the other white lady work?”

A couple of the bakery employees stood outside of the MWC building. Suddenly a big group of employees appeared, all women, crowding around to meet me. I swear, I never saw them coming. They smiled, shook my hand, and kept smiling. So curious, so delightful.

I took hard candy, at Ronda’s suggestion. I also took a bag of Obama buttons and nice but inexpensive T-shirts. The children loved the candy, the women (and Pa Mello) loved the T-shirts, and everybody loved the buttons.

I’m glad we went there first. I’m glad everyone liked Ronda. When we had to say goodbye to her 3 weeks later, it was okay to let her go back to her community.

The wonderful, though tenacious, Chia seeds

The label on my jar calls Chia seed a “powerful new superfood.” It’s actually ancient, not new, and nutritionists know that it can do a lot more than grow green hair on Scooby-Doo. Specifically, “due to its high fiber content, Chia seed absorbs more than ten times its weight in water, making it an excellent source of hydration” (good for athletes). “Omega 3 Chia’s soluble fiber forms a gel that slows the absorption of sugar into the bloodstream, binds it to toxins in the digestive system, and helps eliminate waste” (possibly good for losing weight and preventing constipation).

There is more. Mixed with cold water, they become a “perfect” egg substitute (I am a vegetarian but have no plans to try this). The seeds are a source of antioxidants, calcium, potassium, iron, and trace elements. They are a low-fat source of omega 3 and omega 6.

A note about the “gel” mentioned above -- the gel around each seed makes them cling to gums and between teeth, so I have learned to wait an hour or so before brushing my teeth. They're cute and crunchy, but only the ones I swallow will benefit me.

So, call it a superfood, egg substitute, constipation prevention, or a general health supplement. I recommend it, but, as mentioned earlier, if you travel with it, pack it carefully. Seeds scattered in a suitcase are just as lost as those spit into a sink with toothpaste.

Not Pacific, not Atlantic, but the Indian, oh, Lord.

Seeing the Indian Ocean for the first time was a thrill. I'm an ocean person, having lived a few hours from the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans all of my life, but here was a brand new one! The sun was hot, the sand was warm and clean, the water was a rich blue with high white waves, and jellyfish and pale red crabs surrounded us.

I was wearing my swim suit under my clothes but decided not to go in. Actually, I'm a sit-and-watch-it person and can do exactly that for hours. I had my sunscreen on, my umbrella up, and my camera at the ready. Ronda and Brian are fearless. They see water -- they go in. We couldn't tell whether the tide was ebbing or flowing, but after a brief discussion of the possible problems of each, they shrugged and braved it.

The reason I didn't swim or wade (intentionally, that is; the waves come in quickly and surreptitiously) this particular time was that we knew there was an impressive undertow. I'm not a strong swimmer so was content to stay (mostly) dry. I took pictures of Ronda and Brian as they got smaller and smaller, the current taking them to who knows where. I could do nothing about their situation, so I sat down and enjoyed my surroundings.

Little crabs are everywhere! I don’t know what kind they are (maybe hermit), but they are are as quick as the surf. They stay close to holes, so they can pop down if anything threatens them. Even if they weren't close to a hole, they could disappear in an instant if I made the slightest move. I made it into a game. If I gave them a wide berth and tiptoed up behind them or pretended to be looking elsewhere, hoping to surprise them, the result was the same. I quickly lost. I declared the game ended and pretended to not care that the little scuttlers could consistently get the jump on me.

Another fact about that ocean on that particular day was that we were the only ones there. It’s true! I’ve been to public beaches on both U.S. coasts and could hardly see the sand. On this beach north of St. Lucia, I could have sunbathed nude, and the only reactions might have come from my husband and daughter (if they could make it back) and the crabs. All that beautiful sand and water to ourselves on that glorious day was something I’d never seen before and will likely not see again. There are not enough superlatives to describe a situation like that, and we didn’t want to leave.

Being on anti-malarial medication, we were supposed to stay out of the sun. I had sat on the beach, but Ronda and Brian had fought the waves and the undertow and were exhausted when they eventually pulled themselves out. We reluctantly ended one of the most beautiful experiences on earth.

We found the public restrooms, then utilized the outdoor showers. The water was cold, but we needed to rinse off the sand and salt. We appreciated the opportunity very much. Besides completely wearing herself out, Ronda swallowed a lot of salt water (that was Brian’s assessment), and she got quite nauseated, especially in the back seat of the car on our way back to our motel. She went to bed where she napped and read while Brian and I ate pizza at a restaurant down the block and later went out on the night tour (see the “Leaf-Stitching Ants” entry).