Life in Khayelitsha

About two months ago (not exactly timely news, eh?) I went on a tour of Khayelitsha, the township where Bapumelele is located. In addition to general cruising around (pictures of which I have already posted), we visited some local businesses, school, and non-profits. I’ve been meaning to write about those visits for months now.

Odd as it may sound, going on township tours is actually a very popular activity for tourists in Cape Town. To be honest, some of the tours are kind of voyeuristic, like ‘hey, lets go look at poor people.’ It reminds me of a funny but sadly true quote that I heard a while back: “People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home” (Dagobert Runes).

But I liked the Aviva tour. I didn’t get that vibe at all. Perhaps it’s because we were all going to actually be working in the township. Or, perhaps it’s because the focus was on what’s working, not what’s broken. It felt good, not voyeuristic.

Non-profits

We visited several non-profits, like a textiles cooperative where they make really great rugs and purses and table cloths (like the cool Pop Art laundry detergent table cloth at right) and all profits go to a local healthcare center.

We also visited a skills training center where women are trained (free of charge) for housekeeping work, which is in great demand in Cape Town. Since women in the townships are very poor, they are not familiar with many mod-cons of the contemporary home, so they need to learn how to use a washer, dryer, kitchen appliances, etc…

And there are other classes, like how to make a bed, how to set a table for tea and how to cook European food.

I really liked all the educational posters. I wish I could buy them and put them up in my kitchen, laundry room, etc. Here’s one of the laundry posters:


Small businesses
And, we visited a number of small (micro!) businesses, like:

-A preschool that charges only what the parents can afford (but unfortunately we visited at naptime.)

-A bed and breakfast. Kudos to the progressive [and brave] travelers who actually go stay in a township!

-A small business that teaches sewing. This was my favorite visit! Called “Beauty’s Sewing Training” (Beauty is the owner’s actual name), the business is located in a tiny two-room wood
and metal shack, with one room dedicated to the business and the other serving as the family living area (for a family of four!)

Beauty’s daughter gave a fantastic and quite professional explanation of the business, and proudly showed the posters of successfully sewn creations (below).

Below right is a photo of Beauty's family bedroom. Sadly, this is probably representative of the interiors of many Khayelitsha homes, with newspaper on the walls for insulation, scraps of linoleum on the floor, patched together sheets of plywood for walls, and a corrugated metal roof. Actually, I think this is one of the nicer shacks, given the success of the business. 

Click to enlarge, take a look...then take a moment to reflect on how lucky you are.

My new friends

In keeping with the same 'slice of Betsy’s life' theme as the last entry, I thought I’d also share a bit about my new friends. 

I am so lucky to have met these girls. We have had so much fun together, and having them around has certainly made hard times easier (like Thanksgiving without Warren). There are five of us on the same volunteer team at Bap, and we all get along so well. There’s Kristen from Ohio; Kaity from Alberta, Canada; Henriet from Holland; and Molly from Maryland. The other volunteer team has a few 30 year olds and a few 60 year olds, so it seems like I should be on that shift, but I’m really so glad to be on this one instead, despite the big gap in our ages.

We talk about doing a reunion volunteering trip somewhere. I don’t know if that will ever materialize, but it sure would be fun.

Thanksgiving
Since most of us are from North America, we decided not to let the fact that we’re on the wrong continent get in the way of having a Thanksgiving. I wasn’t sure we could pull it off, but…check out this feast:


Kaity, Molly and Kristen made everything from scratch (no mixes), and wow was it delicious. (I did help a little.) We had to substitute barbequed chicken for turkey because that’s the closest thing we could find, but everything else was traditional and scrumptious. And we don’t really have a table for dining, so we had to eat buffet style and sit around the TV room coffee table (pictures below), but it made for a fun and relaxed atmosphere.


Henriet is from Holland, so this was her first Thanksgiving. I’m sure she was duly impressed.

Before digging in, we all said what we were thankful for. And, without exception and actually not very surprising, we all expressed thanks for our newfound friendships!

A truly memorable American holiday.

Living like a local…
Having been in Cape Town for almost two months now, we have pretty much exhausted the main tourist activities. Now we spend our off time like Capetonians—going grocery shopping, doing errands, running into town for shopping or a visit to a nice restaurant. These are nice, relaxed days…the kind of ‘living abroad’ experience I had wanted to have here (as opposed to a more rushed, sightseeing mentality).

But these ‘relaxed’ days are also not terribly momentous, and thus…there’s not much of interest to write about or photograph.

I did take my camera one time though—on a day when we all accompanied Kristen on a nose-piercing mission, stopping first for a fattening but delicious pancake lunch. Here are two pictures from the day:

Ode to Lower Main

As I have mentioned before, for the three days that I am “off-shift” (not at Bap), I live at a house in Cape Town in the Observatory neighborhood. I really like this area. It’s close to downtown and has a great mix of restaurants, quirky shops, and lively nightlife spots. Like my guidebook says, “Observatory has an atmosphere all of its own.”

So, since I spend so much time here and like the area so much, I thought I’d share a few pictures. To the right is the main street in Obs, called “Lower Main.” It reminds me of that one street in New Orleans (sorry, the name escapes me) because of the architecture, the bright colors, and the crazy mix of businesses. The buildings on Lower Main are admittedly a little shabby, but that’s okay with me. If they were all spiffed up, the area would surely get gentrified and lose its cool, off-beat vibe.

I now frequent the same three restaurants, having sampled others and decided these are my favorites. All offer good blog-writing spots, and have tasty food.  Mimi's Cafe is above (right) and Thai Thai (left) and Obz Cafe (right) are below.

And, Lower Main is also where I use the internet at African Access, and where I get my laundry washed, dried, and nicely folded for me…for just $4 per big load. That alone makes me never want to leave Cape Town!

A Day at the Factory

About 50% of every day is engaged in some sort of assembly-line task. Every morning we make 70-something formula bottles. Twice a day we help brush 30 little mouths. Twice a day we put on/take off sixty shoes on little feet.(Actually, that last one's often more like three or four times a day, since taking shoes off and then needing them put back on is a good way to get adult attention...and that's what it's all about for these poor attention-started kids!)

And, of course, there's feeding time. We aren't there for breakfast, but lunch and dinner are EXACTLY the same every single day: little colorful bowls full of rice, meat and vegetables, all mushed together. Sometimes I wonder if the kids even know that other foods exist. (Many have lived here since infancy, so they've never been exposed to the world outside the orphanage walls.)

About two-thirds of the children can feed themselves, so volunteers are needed to help shovel rice into the other kids mouths. At this point, we are all very aware of which babies to steer clear of at feeding time. I try to (covertly) be in the vicinity of Nsikelelo when it's time to feed a baby since he's always very interested in eating. And, on rare occasion when he loses interest, all I have to do is give a bite from his bowl to some other child and he's immediately back on task. With so many kids in such a small area, there's definitely an environment of competition. (Hmmm...that might make me sound mean. Let's just call it 'strategic'.)

Bathtime is another daily assembly-line production. The staff mamas wash the children, then we dry them off, rub Vaseline on their bodies (is this common?), and dress them. Toddlers get bathed in one room, babies in another.

I don't like it. In fact, I don't even go in to help anymore. The toddler bathtime is too sweaty and chaotic--the bathroom's too small for that many little naked toddlers--and, I dunno, rubbing down a four year old with Vaseline isn't really my thing. And the baby bathtime is really just an opportunity for the mobile babies to beat the snot out of each other. Maybe it's the temptation of all that naked skin or something, because immediately after we take off their clothes, the slapping and kicking commences. And since all the kids have pretty much figured out that volunteers are not allowed to discipline the children, they largely ignore our attempts to break up the fights. (And no, physically separating them doesn't work since there's one of you and many of them). On rare occasion the whole scene is actually kind of funny, but most of the time, the resultant crying is just too loud.

And really...that's what it always comes back to: Betsy can't handle the noise level. And also...the other volunteers don't seem to care.


The Staff Mamas
There are always three or four staff mothers working at any time. They are called "SiSis", which is Xhosa for Miss. Two of them are pictured at right. The kids all really listen to them! A baby could be having the fit of the century, and all the SiSi has to do is yell his name and he will stop crying immediately. It's wierd. Who knew yelling at a crying baby would get him to stop crying. I think it's a numbers thing again: there are so many other kids running amok that when your name is called by a SiSi, it's serious and you'd better listen because there could be consequences (non-violent) if a SiSi calls your name.

So, that's daily life in the factory, with a little bit of whining thrown in there. :)


SIDE NOTE: What I'm blaming it on (he he)
They are all delightful children, really, so I don't want to blame the chaos on the kids. I've decided the problem is either me (some rare auditory-sensitivity disease) or it's a space thing. The space is TOO small for so many babies and toddlers. The picture below shows the extent of the main room--the size of that red-blue-yellow-green pad on the floor. That's it. (Kids can't play in the bedrooms during the daytime.)

So maybe, just maybe, if the room were bigger... Hmmm. Ya think?


(Note: In the picture above the kids are ENRAPTURED by seeing their faces on the TV. A former volunteer made a DVD slide show of the pictures she took at Bap and mailed it to us. We had just received it that day and the kids LOVED it.)

The Kids of Bap, Pt. II

More on ‘the favorites’
I’ve written a bit on my favorites, so I thought I’d also show some favorites of my teammates.

Molly and Kaity both love Siphounathi ("Sipho") and secretly dream about taking him home with them. He’s a little cutie with those big eyes and deep dimples.  He and his brother arrived three weeks ago, but they seem to be adjusting to their new home quite well.

Henriet loves Keketso, and is strongly pressuring her parents to adopt him. (They are not amused). I can see why she loves him so much—he is so adorable and funny, unlike any other child I have ever known.

My favorites are now firmly entrenched: Sibusiso and Lukholo (above). I’ve talked about Sibusiso (in the last Kids of Bap entry).  Lukholo is a softy, both physically and personality-wise. He is just plain mushy—mushy lips, mushy nose, mushy body. And he is so laid back and easy to please. When chaos reigns at Bap, I search for Lukholo and play with him.

Why is there a Bap?
I read in a magazine recently that by 2010, orphans will constitute between nine and 12% of the South African population. More Baps will be constructed, and then will probably immediately bust at the seams, just like Bap. Such a sad thought.  I don’t know all the reasons for the above statistic (or actually, how reliable it really is), but I can tell you why there are so many kids living at Bap? There are actually a number of reasons.

1) AIDS ORPHANS: Many are orphans from parents who have died of AIDS or TB. Due to the nature of the virus, children often not only lose one parent but both, usually in a very short period of time. In South Africa it is expected that 2.5 million children will be orphaned through HIV/AIDS by 2010.

And, consequently, some of the children also have the virus. Several of the children that I have talked about on this blog, in fact, have HIV. Only one is in the advanced phase (stage 4), but she is a real fighter! She’s 18 months old, but couldn’t weigh more than this little laptop I’m using. (I haven’t included a picture of her on this site.)

[Note: You can only contract HIV through blood-on-blood contact. Still, volunteers don’t change diapers or bandage cuts, so we aren’t really ever at risk. We know which children have HIV so we can be extra careful around them, and make sure other children are not in danger as well.]

2) ABANDONED: Other children at Bap were simply abandoned, often found alone on a street corner. In such cases, Bap renames the child with a new first name and the founder’s last name (Rosie Masale). Hence, there are a lot of children running around with the last name Masale.

3) ABUSED / TAKEN FROM UNFIT PARENTS: We are not told of the consequences that have led each child to live at Bap—probably to protect the privacy of the child. But during babytime, we see scars from burning and cuts on many of the children. The picture at right is just one example.

Just two days ago a three year old girl arrived, making her the eighth new child to join the Baby House (0 to 5 yrs) since I started there. It’s evident she is a victim of abuse because she has a terrible black eye. It’s so sad to think what these children have been through already at such a young age.

Cape Town Experiences (aka: World's Longest Blog Entry)

written 11/18/07

Ooog…I’m feeling the downside of my little blog break: WAY too much to catch up on. I don’t have the discipline to write about everything, so instead I will give you a sampling of what I have done. I try to make sure my travels are well-rounded. Helps fight travel fatigue (ie…not wanting to cross the street to see yet another cathedral in Europe). So here’s a sampling of my recent activities in four different areas: culture, adventure, excursions, and education.

(And no, I don’t travel with set categories—so stop picturing me diligently entering each completed activity neatly into an Excel spreadsheet. I’m uptight, but not that uptight. He he. )

CULTURE SAMPLE---PRAISING WITH THE LOCALS
I really like experiencing different religious practices, so I was thrilled when Ursula, one of the Aviva drivers, invited some of us to church with her one Sunday. She described the service for us, and it sounded perfect! (In the words of one of my fellow volunteers: “Happy Clappy”.)

And I didn’t just attend, I joined in. It was great. There’s a portion where people go up front and dance, and I just couldn’t help myself. I’m sure I looked a fool, but then I also think one of the essential skills of a traveler is the ability to make a rather extravagant fool of oneself.(I remember reading this phrase somewhere, and deciding then and there that that is how I would travel.) I’m not sure what the other volunteers truly thought of my little participatory religious experience (inappropriate? funny? embarrassing?), but a few church-goers came up to me afterward and said they enjoyed dancing with me. :)

(People in the congregation were taking photos. Not sure why. However, it emboldened me to take a few snaps, which are at right).

It was a really long service—over two hours—with lots of singing and praying and talks. My spiritual maturity level isn’t quite big enough for two whole hours on a wooden pew, so I appreciated the experience but also appreciated when it was finally done. After the service, we had a Thanksgiving-caliber feast at Ursula’s.

(L to R: Kristen, Henriet, Patain, Ursula [standing], Wendolyn, and Molly.)

ADVENTURE SAMPLE---SHARK CAGE DIVING
I also went diving with Great White Sharks. Yep, little fleshy me in the water with a 10ft killer shark no more than an arms length away. It was crazy! :)

The dive spot was “Shark Alley”, just off Gaansbai and about 90 minutes drive from Cape Town. Gaansbai is the best place in the world (!) to go diving with sharks, so it was a once in a lifetime experience. (You can also shark cage dive off Australia and North America, but it takes over a day at sea to get to the sharks).

It’s was truly an awe-inspiring experience to be IN the water so close to such a powerful, intelligent predator. I had no idea how enormous sharks are! It was awesome (in the true sense of the word, not the Southern California slang sense)

Shark cave diving sounds impressive but really, it’s not scary. It just sounds frightening. It’s not as safe as sitting at the shore, but heck…that reminds me of the quote: “A ship in port is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.”

Basically, you’re in a cage (show below at left, before being lowered into the water) so you are totally secure. In the photo on the right, that’s me in the far right of the cage, just before being lowered down.

Once the cage has been lowered, the boat crew throws bait (chum) into the water out in front of the cage, on a line, and the sharks smell the blood and head on over. In just two hours we had seven or eight different sharks swimming around the boat, grabbing at the bait (not all at the same time though—that would have been COOL!)

Here are shots of the fish bait, the boat, and the human bait. (No just kidding…that’s Chelsea and Kristen, two people I went with).

Photographing sharks is like photographing whales, and you already know how I feel about that. So I only took two or three pictures, then put my camera away and just enjoyed the sightings. Here is my best shot (that’s the cage in the bottom right corner):


EXCURSIONS SAMPLE---TRAIN RIDE ALONG THE COAST
One overcast day, I took the train along the coastline to see some of the charming little towns along False Bay. I went with Rianne, a volunteer from the Netherlands who was staying at the Cape Town house for a few days before leaving for her volunteer assignment out east.

Our first stop was Simonstown—the prettiest town on False Bay, especially with all the Victorian buildings lining the main road. The town has been a naval base since its founding—first British, then South African—so it has a distinctly nautical feel. We ate greasy fish and chips at Salty’s Sea Dog—a local institution—then wandered along the main streets and hiked up to the cobbled lanes of the residential areas.

After Simonstown, we headed for neighboring Kalk Bay, which was basically another Simonstown with an added bohemian vibe. We wandered around the main road and the residential areas here as well, then stopped for two huge portions of decadent chocolate cake in a restored 1904 train car.

Apart from the sporadic bursts of rain, it was a really nice day. But then again, in my book any day that involves a train ride is a good day. :)

EDUCATIONAL SAMPLE---A VISIT TO ROBBEN ISLAND
Last weekend Kaity, Kristen, Molly and I went to Robben Island—South Africa’s Alcatraz, but for political prisoners (people fighting against the apartheid system). Like Alcatraz, it has been turned into a tourism site, although this one’s a World Heritage Site because of its historic importance.

We were guided around the island by two former prisoners, who shared their personal stories and the stories of other prisoners.

It’s all pretty shocking and stupid, all very in keeping with apartheid logic:

-All guards were white, all prisoners were black or ‘colored’ (In South Africa, the terms ‘black’ and ‘colored’ are politically correct. Colored refers to a person of mixed race or non-European and non-black, ie…Indian.)

-Prisoners were kept in cells smaller than the kennels for the prison dogs and treatment was harsh, particularly for the imprisoned leaders of banned political parties (pictured at right). ie…the former leader of the party now in power in South African (the ANC) spent nine years in solitary confinement.

-Even within the prison, blacks received less food and less clothing than colored prisoners.

Of course, it’s Nelson Mandela’s cell that most of us wanted to see. I knew this before I came, but…Nelson Mandela truly is a great man. He experienced so much persecution and pain at the hands of the apartheid regime, but he chose forgiveness over resentment and revenge. Everyone credits South Africa’s smooth transition into democracy to Nelson—to his example of forgiveness, to his emphasis on reconciliation, to his…greatness. It really is remarkable that apartheid just kind of ended. The treatment of blacks and colored was HORRENDOUS for almost a century, but when it ended, it just ended. No massive bloodshed, no horrible tales of revenge. It’s really incomprehensible to me.

Although, all is not perfect. I don’t want to paint too rosy a picture however. Racially-motivated violence—revenge—against white farmers is occurring up in the northern part of the country. Under the slogan “Kill a farmer; Kill a Boer” (Boer is Afrikaans for farmer), hundreds of white farmers have been murdered in South Africa in the last several decades—murdered solely because of the color of their skin and the anger that still exists against white landowners in that area.

North of Johannesburg there’s a hillside monument to those that have been murdered. I saw it on the way back from the monkey sanctuary. I had heard about it so I was on the lookout, but I hadn’t expected to see so many crosses—hundreds upon hundreds of them. (Part of the monument is pictured below. I was on a moving bus so I wasn’t able to capture all the crosses.) I hope this is a remnant of fading animosity, not a window into what’s to come.

The Big Bap But

written November 20, 2007

So yep, the kids at Bap are cute. Each child at Bap is so special. At church today, I was looking at their faces— freshly cleaned, smiling, singing, listening to the preacher—and I was so overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all that I felt like crying. Each one of them is such a little miracle.

But, put all those little miracle children together, and well, unfortunately it’s a different story. For a good percentage of my time at Bap, my mind is like a broken record, replaying the same four-word sentence over and over. I try to push it out by willing myself to chill, by trying to focus on the beauty of each little human, by calmly proclaiming Serenity Now :) ...you name it. But those four words just pop right back in. Try as I may, for most of the day I can think of nothing other than: “This is f*cking pandemonium.”

If I didn’t know better, sometimes I’d say that the kids are crawling up the walls, hanging from the ceilings, falling from the sky. I’d swear that they each had a clone, that there are double the number of kids that I intellectually know there to be. Because that’s how it feels in my head.

One of my favorite activities at Bap is doing the dishes. (Perhaps only my immediately family will know how truly telling this statement really is.) The other day I was standing at the sink washing the lunch bowls with the usual, astoundingly earsplitting din of the Baby House in the background—a cacophony of screaming babies and toddlers (dozens of them!), plus several conversations amongst the staff mamas at curiously loud decibel levels, plus GuGu (one of the staff mamas) belting out a gospel hymn. (Why she chooses such moments of chaos to belt out a hymn is beyond me. I know it’s a hymn, but she doesn’t do it out of exasperation. It’s not some plea for help from above. Nope, she’s fine. I appear to be the only one in the room that is taking any notice of the chaos.)

I was deep in my usual pandemonium mantra when Henriet (a fellow volunteer) walked up, grabbed some bowls to dry, and confided “I am really going to have a hard time leaving here. I have decided to come back next year, and maybe volunteer for a whole year. I’m just so attached to these kids.” She gave me a really big happy smile, and looked to me expectantly, awaiting my cheery statement of concurrence. But before I could say anything, she got called away by a staff mama.

Standing there alone at the sink, I suddenly imagined Warren right there with me, next to me, laughing hysterically—laughing at how loud it was, laughing at all my little attempts to make peace with the chaos, laughing at the whole preposterous scene (Betsy shrinking over in the corner at the sink while everyone else is buzzing around taking no notice of the chaos.)

And I laughed with him. It truly is funny--funny how loud it is, how utterly chaotic it is. This experience has validated my hypothesis that while Betsy plus kids can equal fun, Betsy plus kids plus chaos...not so much.

So…the verdict
I’ve probably received a dozen emails over the past month asking if I like it at the orphanage. I haven’t been checking email, so sorry to have left you in suspense. The answer: Sometimes 'yes', sometimes 'no'. And that’s been true pretty much since day one.

But I’m fine with it. Really. I have two weeks left at Bap, and that’s fine. I really like the volunteers I work with, and one-on-one, the kids really are adorable. And I’m not at all upset with myself for signing up to come in the first place. Since Warren died I have been really gentle with myself. If I want to sit on the couch all day: okay. If I want read the same book three times: sounds good. If I decide to travel half way around the world to do something, and then end up not liking it 100% of the time: oh well.

I have recently told the other volunteers about “the phrase” and about how I sometimes feel about being here. I was hesitant to say anything before because I didn’t want to rain on their parade. They all LOVE being with the kids and are so glad they came. (Again, I appear to be the only one overcome by chaos!)

And, at the times when chaos rules the playround, I simply fake enthusiasm around the kids because, heck, they're kids and they deserve nothing but HAPPY from me. [As a volunteer I, of course, am not in a position to make any structural changes to address the chaos.]

I figure as long as the kids are happy, my work here has been successful regardless of any menacing phrases floating around my head. :)

The Kids of Bap

written November 14, 2007

I’ve lost all track of time (as should always happen on vacation), but…I think I’ve been volunteering at Baphumelele (Bap) for about a month now. Seems like about a month. Our daily schedule at Bap never changes, so the days can be a bit monotonous. But the kids never are.

I finally know them all by name, which seemed an impossible task at first. Picture a room with three dozen babies and toddlers, most of them from the same African ethnic group. They all share clothes across genders, with boys in frilly pink pants sometimes. All of them have the same short hairdo, and none of them speak much English. Now tell me who is Simnikiwe, Endinako, Ensikilelo, Boniswa, Thembani, Nokathula, Zolela, Sibase, Baphiwe, Sibaunathi, Asemale, Unathi, Sinazo, etc...

To break up the monotony and to help the children learn new things, we usually come up with one new activity a day. Pictured below are snapshots from the day we did face painting. The older kids loved it; the younger ones couldn’t have cared less.

We've all have taken loads of photos so far. Here are some of Henriet's best shots:


We are told at our volunteer orientation that we are not to have favorites. Yeah, okay, sure thing. Here are some of mine:

Leema (lee-emma) is really shy and has the cutest little voice I’ve ever heard. I’ve given up trying to coax her to speak, and now accept with gratitude any little utterance she chooses to bestow upon me. I don’t actually spend much time with Leema lately though because, well, she kind of stinks. She has some sort of ear infection or something, and I am not embarrassed to admit that my repulsion over the foul smell exceeds my warm feelings towards her, so lately I’ve been keeping my distance. I try several times a day to stand the stench, but I rarely last more than a few minutes. Until the pus (often visibly oozing from her ear, ooooooooh!) is gone, I’m gonna just like Leema from a distance.

Also pictured is Luthando (luh-ton-doe). His was one of the first names I learned because Luthando is quite Rotundo (get it, it rhymes, he he). Luthando is absolutely, comically obsessed with food. If any of the kids have even the smallest morsel of food, Luthando will be nearby, trying to work a deal, make a new best friend, or, when all else fails, grab a bit and throw it down his throat before it can be retrieved by one of the adults. Perhaps it’s because I empathize with Luthando’s love of food, but I find these interactions quite hilarious. (Volunteers are not supposed to discipline the kids…in case I am sounding negligent here). Most of all I love Luthando for his crazy facial expressions. I’m betting I still haven’t seen them all. The other day, Luthando bit the back of my leg after I pulled him off the couch, but my frustration immediately evaporated when I saw the HILARIOUS expression he came up with to save his hide. I’m not worried about Luthando. He’s gonna make it.

I also REALLY like Sibusiso (see-boo-see-sue). He’s the one brushing his teeth in the photos above. He can be a little turd—hitting, grabbing toys, running amok—but he’s a funny little turd and I like the sound of his laugh when I tickle him. I’ve tried to take a good picture of him, but he always ends up looking like an angry middle aged man, so I’ll just have to try to remember his cuteness.

Likhona (lick-hone-ah) is another favorite. He’s at the far bottom left in the large photo collage. When Likhona’s happy, he’s unbeatable. Just looking at him makes me smile. I am convinced that Likhona, unlike other human beings, is actually 99.8% water because when he cries (which, I will admit, is annoyingly often), water pours out in copious amounts. We are talking huge puddles, from his eyes and his mouth. (He’s got a really big mouth, and I don’t think he’s quite got a handle on the swallow-the-slobber bit.) When he’s not crying, Likhona’s pretty great.

Okay, one more: Keketso (kah-ket-so). He’s in the top left picture of the large photo collage, sitting in the middle. Keketso is the spitting image of Sanford of Sanford and Sons. Everything about him looks like an old man—even the way he walks—so when he dances, it’s pee-your-pants funny. And he loves to dance.

And, I’ll admit that there are four kids that I am not at all fond off. I just wrote a long paragraph explaining exactly why I didn’t like them, but then decided that publicly ridiculing defenseless little orphans isn’t terribly classy, so I deleted it.

I guess I’ll end on that high note. I’ll spare you the blog equivalent of pulling out a wallet photo insert and talking about each one of the kids.