I Titled This One Late

I've resumed my jogging routine and it makes all the difference. I sleep about three hours less a day, I have more energy, I am happy. These are obvious benefits, but I've never seen them work so quickly over night. It took about two days to overhaul my brain chemistry.

Things have been great with my training homestay as well. My sister and I have been cooking pap every night. We sit out in this corrugated metal structure out back and cook the stuff in a metal pot over the fire. It involves a lot of muscle I don't have, but I enjoy entertaining Rendani with my attempts. Mostly she does the heavy mixing, especially when it starts to get really thick. We're in and out of there for about an hour. The structure fills with smoke and my eyes and nose are really runny by the time dinner is ready. I practice tshiVenda with my family and it's really starting to take off. I've been stringing together every more complicated sentences and making fun of my sister where I can. "Rendani, you walk like a chicken." To which she responds, "when your mother leaves to visit Venda again I will kill you." I tell mom and hilarity ensues. I can't express how content I feel these nights - sitting over the fire with my sister, laughing, my glasses smudged, my face a wet mess. My mom will bust out this upbeat music from Zimbabwe (it's not contemporary?) that I like to dance to. More laughter. This family is definitely what I will miss most about Moletji.

I'm sure it's well trodden-turf, but I'd love to sociological or anthropological study of WWF. I've watched more WWF in the last couple months than I'd ever imagined I would. I would wager it is a telling portrayal of the challenges that confront poor, disadvantaged white American men. It deals with issues of paternity, fatherhood, sexual assault, and domestic violence. I'm afraid the picture is grim. Underdogs don't necessarily fare too well; villains can and do win. Take the conflict between Rey Mysterio and Eddie Gerero (forgive possible spelling errors). Rey raised Dominic, whose biological father is Eddie. Dominic is in ignorance of this until Eddie tells the world and reclaims Dominic for his own. Rey and his wife are distraught til Rey challenges Eddie for custody of Dominic. Sadly, Rey is defeated and the family is destroyed. But I think Dominic ends up in foster care - there was an episode I missed. I'm still trying to figure out the significance of the cowbell. (I expressed concern at this whole drama and my homestay mom consoled me that it's not real).

Other random facts - they've put Bocceli to techno. That's Con Te Partiro, the Remix.

I am painfully genteel. Aside from the difficulty I have whipping up a satisfactory pot of pap, I recently spent a couple of hours helping my family around the house and only proved what a huge wuss I am. My sister was smashing some wood chips into powder for Mawae. Mawae prescribes the powder for people to bathe in to cure them of their bad luck. (My homestay mom is a traditional healer, a sangoma). Anyway I offered my help in making the powder. I imagine the action is similar to that used to churn butter. Big metal mortar and pestle. I recall once asking (I think in an obligatory gym class) what good are triceps for... how often do you grab something from behind you anyway. It seems neglect of this muscle group has put me at considerable disadvantage. After making the bad luck medicine, we shoveled out the garbage pit and moved some bricks. My family is so hard working.

Ironing is this new facet of my existence. This is not to say that I'm naturally sloppy or law with my personal hygiene. I've always felt presentable. I suppose I can be found walking around in boxer shorts, but those are certainly days I would call casual. I never really ironed my clothes for work and I felt satisfactorily business casual. If you have wrinkled clothes here, it seems you are more or less a pariah. Perhaps, my clothes made me a pariah in the states as well, but I guess pariahs fare better there. Given that washing clothes is a good two hour process of bicep and tricep intensive labor, who would want to follow that up with another 45 minutes of ironing when it's 90 degrees +? It feels particularly useless trying to maintain this high standard of dress when I could be smelling funky for a week if my upwind neighbors decide to burn their trash the day my clothes are drying on the line. Come on South Africa, let's give up. Wouldn't it be more fun in boxers?

Only a week left til swearing-in. It will be nice to have agency again. Peace Corps training has eaten every moment of my free time.