Day 5 - by John.

This will be my first official post in South Africa. It’s Monday as I’m writing this, which means I’ve been here for five days. I’ve already gotten so used to everything it seems like I’ve been here for longer. My South African lingo has increased alarmingly and I even find myself using an unusual inflection along with foreign phrases and vocabulary.

The Miskins have given us plenty of time to get comfortable in this alien environment. Dr. Sonja Miskin let us sleep in and slowly adjust to the drastic time change. We were also given the chance to visit Cullinan, a quant tourist town near Pretoria.

Today was our first day outside of the white wealthy cities to the villages where Dr. Miskin works. The plan was to leave at quarter to nine; however, an unforeseen delay left us detained. After three attempts, Scarlett and Erika finally managed to wake me from my deep slumber. By the time I had finished my breakfast we were forty-five minutes late. So let’s just say I’m not fully adjusted time-wise.

The village was only about a half an hour drive from Pretoria, granted South Africans drive much faster than Americans. The large wealthy Pretoria mansions thinned out to a dusty orange earth, peppered with trees. Soon miles and miles of shacks appeared on the desert hills, cluttered into small spaces. It’s one thing to see it on National Geographic, in a magazine or on the television, but another to see poverty with your own eyes. We had arrived in Kwamhlanga.

Dr. Miskin took a sharp turn off the highway onto a dirt road. We came to Rose’s house, a fellow American from California who now lives within the village to provide care for the poor. Erika, Scarlett, and I were dropped off there to assist her in grocery shopping for some of the poor in the village. We hopped in the “bakkie” (pickup truck) and made our way to pick up a woman who would help us in purchasing food and translate Ndebele. After we greeted Ester we went to a grocery store and purchased food.

We ventured back into the village and unloaded the groceries at a shack. Erika gave some of her “sermon” sweets to a few of the children. One house held a crippled child. Rose told us that he had a tumour on his spine. Though it had been removed, it left the boy without the use of one of his legs. It was bent unnaturally, the foot frozen into a point like a ballerina. Because of his distortion the boy had the habit of wearing out his knee until it bled and needed to be bound.

Rose returned us to Dr. Miskin by dropping us off at the MCDC AIDs hospice. We were fed corn maize, chicken and spinach. No, it wasn’t so strange as roasted bugs or chicken feet—however, I can’t lie, when I bent to pray for my food I honesty asked God that I would be able to swallow it all down so as not to offend the nurses. My American pickiness shamed me, but I got the food down. It wasn’t so bad.

So that was my first time outside of Pretoria. More reports on the way.