Chintsa

I have found myself yet in a new place, deep down against the Indian Ocean in a tiny town called Chintsa. Which you wont easily be able to pronouce because the Ch make a "t" cluck sound when your toungue touches the roof of your mouth. The school I work in is worse... Ngxingxolo and there is a cluck on both x's. Try that one!

The town is lovely, very hilly green and mountainous, cows, chickens, goats, roosters, dogs and cats are everywhere, people are dressed in their bright aqua dresses, and red headpieces, floral prints and white toothy smiles. I walk down the big hill every morning to where we meet for school and the silver Indian Ocean plays before me. Next to it a lovely beach full of white sands, and millions of seashells that have washed up here as well.

The other evening storm clouds moved in, but it didnt stop the hundreds of men and boys that were practicing soccer on the beach. Nor did it slow down the two women who run the preschool. Although both are in their older ages, they used a spade and a shovel like a tireless teenager. Their backs are as strong as their minds, hearts and traditions. We couldnt hold a candle to their work ethic.

The children are lovely, I teach all ages from 5 to 22. Some high schoolers are 22 and married. At the end of long windy, rocky bumpy roads hundreds and hundreds of students gather in their navy blue sweaters and black pants and skirts with pride to learn. They are attentive, interested and some are very smart. They are excited about Valentines day, curious about white teachers from far away, and their eyes light up at the term, World Cup.

When I walk home along the ocean, I feel sad to know I will never return to this place. I am sure if I come to Africa again, I will want to see new countries, and for some reason... it hurts. It kind of numbs your heart that you are only here to help for such a short time, to make children laugh, and then to never see them again. The place is like out of a dream, and I am sorry to leave it although I know my time has come. It is hard to explain.

Unfortunately I hear random stories about home, and about the chill of fear in the air, and the wind of depression on the horizon. Lets just say Im not running for the plane. Because, while draped in poverty here, we are pretty much all smiles.

I know that it is so hard to remove oneself from where you are in your world and work and life because it is all around you, but at home where we have EVERYTHING, fear and depression lurk, but here where we have NOTHING, there is pride, smiles, and hard work, yet a sense of contentment and happiness. How I wish I could bring these feelings home and spread them out.

I did wake up the other day though on my 82 night of sleeping on terrible mattresses, and said to myself, yep, Im tired, Ive come to do what I said I would, I did a good job, and im ready to go home.