Mission City Councilman Celestino Ramirez passed away Monday, May 18, at University Hospital in San Antonio. He was 64 years old.

Mr. Ramirez was first elected to the Mission City Council in 1993 and was currently serving his sixth term.

Visitation will be held Thursday, May 21, from 10 a.m. until 9 p.m. with a 7 p.m. rosary at Ric Brown Family Funeral Home in Mission. A funeral mass will be held Friday, May 22, at 10 a.m. at Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church in Mission with Fr. Roy Snipes Officiating.  Burial will follow at Texas State Veterans Cemetery in Mission.

South Africa

by Mary Nichols

Writer enjoys travelling the world

Silence is all around me. All that is heard is the pitter patter of rain on my tent, and the creepy crawling of unwelcomed visitors. The blackness of the night is slightly interrupted every few minutes by my sudden urge to beam a spotlight around the area. Then, when I finally surrender to sleepy eye lids, I hear the sudden SCREECH of a monkey! I realize that I am not dreaming. I am indefinitely sleeping on the muddy ground, in the middle of nowhere, in AFRICA.

Traveling to South Africa was part of a huge addiction I have, which is to explore the world less visited. This obsession started in 2006 as a college sophomore, when I studied abroad in New Zealand and Fiji for six months. Now, at the age of 24, I wanted to continue to learn more about myself and the world.

 Careful Planning

Wanting to travel to Africa was a choice made randomly. I wanted to get out into the world again, and traveling to Europe or other famous travel destinations didn’t really appeal to me. I wanted an adventure. Once I decided I wanted to go to Africa, my family and friends were completely against it. The media wasn’t helping to change their opinions either. Reports of cholera outbreaks, gang raids, AIDS, wars, and political unrest, looked like I was just asking for trouble. After all, it’s not like I was Oprah and could safely travel in and out of the continent. However, everywhere I turned, Africa seemed to be beckoning me to come.

I began researching because I knew the continent had to offer more than just the negative stigma assumed. Sure enough, I came across an organization called I-to-I, that places people all over the world, at unique volunteer projects. My first choice was to volunteer at a Vervet Monkey Sanctuary in South Africa for four weeks.

So, I immediately began packing. Scattered across my blue carpet were essentials that I assumed would protect me from dangerous hazards. However, an unsettling feeling came over me when I began packing mosquito nets, antibacterial creams, stomach medicine, batteries, pepper spray, malaria pills and a Swiss Army knife. To protect me from weather conditions, I packed sun-shielding clothes, sun block, boots and sunglasses. Finally, to complete the package, I spent $300 on injections to prevent yellow fever, tetanus, hepatitis A and B, and diphtheria. At that point, I felt, perhaps, “Vacationing” in South Africa may not have been such a good idea after all.

February 14, 2009, I was boarding a plane from Houston to Atlanta, Atlanta to Senegal, and Senegal to Johannesburg, South Africa. The flight was a total of 20 hours in the air and caused me to have many small anxiety attacks. I crossed the Atlantic Ocean, went through various inspections and was sprayed with pesticide. I was on a whole other continent and completely alone.

Immediately, trouble began when I arrived at the Jo’Burg airport. My reserved airport transfer to my hostel was nowhere in sight. An hour later, and shrugging off people who said they could take me to my destination, I had to call for a litigate transfer.

I was finally in South Africa, but it sure didn’t look or feel like Africa. Mercedes Benzes gleamed on lanes of the motorway. Large houses, restaurants, factories and McDonald’s were on every corner. I had to double check with the shuttle driver to make sure I was in the right country. Darkness approached and I reached the city of Pretoria, and my hostel. I was guided to a single room and told where and what time breakfast was served. I sat in my room staring at my luggage aching for a shower and some good ‘ole Mexican food. Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. A group of physio students from the Netherlands doing their internships in the city invited me to dinner. I accepted the invitation and indulged in white meat with vegetables and white rice. When my plate was clean, my hosts began giggling. Turns out, what I thought was chicken, was really crocodile meat. I settled to bed, and wondered if the morning would bring out the dangerous Africa everyone was warning me about.

When in Africa

I survived the night and began my first day in Africa. I was still jet-lagged, but the excitement in my stomach made it disappear. I walked into the huge dining area, where the morning news was sounding off from a television. The smell of toast and coffee engulfed the air.  The housekeeper of the hostel, dressed in a large floral dress and bandana, gave a gleaming smile and said, “Good Morning sweetie.” Breakfast was composed of socializing with two 60-year-old English teachers volunteering with the Peace Corps for two years in Pretoria. Then, making friends with Daniela from Germany, and Stefan from the Netherlands, Stefan, Daniela and I took a trip to the center of city, as I waited for orientation in the evening with my volunteer organization.

The hustle and bustle of the city was apparent, cars and people mimicked a New York City traffic mirage. Stoplights, called robots, were the only things in control of the city. Markets were jam-packed and avoiding bumping elbows with strangers was impossible. Stefan, a retired journalist, shared his take on Africa and world politics, while Daniela and I, exchanged teaching words in German and Spanish. We sat under large Armarula trees eating ice-cream and Mêlée (toasted corn on a stick). There was no breeze, and the rays of the sun beat down on the people of Pretoria. Those able to would take off their shoes and nap under trees, creating a blanket of scattered people on a hot summer day.

Comfort was settling in and once orientation came around I was a social butterfly. To kick off the orientation meeting, we took a shot of South Africa’s most famous liquor, Amarula. There were a total of six volunteers including myself. However, all five other volunteers were going to a lion monitoring project and I was the only one reporting to the sanctuary. John, Jenny, Mikalea, and Eugenia were in their early twenties from the United Kingdom, all in search of finding themselves, and wanting to enhance their already ongoing educations from their home universities. Eveylene was from Switzerland, and was looking for a break from the ice cold snow. We all instantly bonded and prepared to have our first homemade South African dinner, prepared by Alaya, the housekeeper of the hostel.

There was salad, white rice, steamed vegetables, white chicken served in gravy and sweet potatoes. The long dinner table sat about 20 other hostel visitors and the food was enhanced by Scottish, Irish, Spanish, European, and Russian accents. Food disappeared, but conversation didn’t. Young adults shared their views of America and the world’s wars. I was the only U.S. citizen seated at the table, so much of the table agreed that the world disliked President Bush, and President Obama was a refreshing relief. It was shocking that my dinner company was more familiar with the happenings of my home country than I was or for that fact, most of our nation. However, their knowledge and experience was gained from traveling the world. Estefan asked,”  “How does America hope to progress, if its children don’t go out to see the world or learn of it? How do they find themselves?”

It made me think, and today less than four percent of teenagers or college students study or travel abroad, compared to my counterparts, who say parents and teachers encourage them to travel as a mandatory necessity of their education.

With bottles of wine, African beer, cigarettes, and coffee depleted, laughter and conversation ceased, with silence and mosquitoes filling the void.

Monkey Sanctuary

Morning came and it was time to prepare to leave to our final destinations. We would be heading to the northeast end of the country, to the Limpopo province. My volunteer project would take five hours by bus, while my other friends would take on an extra three hours to reach their project. We left the hustle and bustle of the city to paved open roads surrounded by plains of green grass.  The six of us sat together on the second level of the double decker bus. We smelled of sun block and, uniformed like park rangers, this made us obvious foreigners, to the locals filling the bus.  Rain slid down the large glass windows and others dosed off as cool air hit their faces.

Without warning, the bus came to a screeching halt. The bus driver in his business suit and glasses came up and delivered a speech in Afrikaans. One white South African lady pointed at us, and told the driver, “I think they need it in English.” We were informed that the fan belt of the bus busted, as did the air conditioner. Luckily, we got stranded at a small gas station and would have to wait two hours for mechanical support. Passengers stocked up on water, coke, chips, and lunch from Wimpy’s (a fast food restaurant). Curious gas station attendees asked if I was from India. I stated proudly, “No America.” The young manager chuckled and said, “Now you guys say America. When Bush was president, people never wanted to say where they came from. Obama really made a change huh?” Politics was starting to frustrate me, but there was some truth in it. I was proud of our nation’s new president. Maybe, that was not obvious from other tourists during the Bush administration.

Two slow hours passed in 120-degree heat, and we all sat outside, waiting to board the bus again. We decided to pass the time by playing hacky sack. Though sweat trickled and the sun was burning our skins, we laughed because it didn’t matter; we were in Africa. Passengers sat under trees watching “the foreigners” look like drunken children laughing and completely possessed by a small toy. Onlookers laughed, while others yelled a cheer, “You almost got that one!”

Finally, the belt was replaced, but the air condition was not. The next four hours were hot, stuffy and nauseating. As we began climbing winding hills, and driving through thick forests, breakfast was beginning to make its way up. Everyone held on tight and hoped the big bulky bus would not tip over the edge. I arrived late at the City of Tanzeen, and left the bus alone to meet my transfer to the sanctuary.

David, a Canadian resident, was my pick up, and in a small-worn out van, smelling of sweat and mud, we sped off to the rugged unknown. Signs of city life became scarce and only small huts and dirt roads were left to be seen. Rain had been pouring rigorously and mud was everywhere, threatening to keep us stuck.  We arrived at the site and I was taken to the camp where I would be leaving my belongings. David gave me a tour of essentials. There was no electricity, so head torches were mandatory at night. My toilet was composed of a dug deep hole that everyone advised to never look down at (I couldn’t help it and did). The toilet had worms that decomposed the waste and sent it back into nature. Water had to be brought in from a well far away, making water usage limited to one shower a day. All meals were vegetarian-based and any meat brought into camp was frowned upon. The sanctuary holds over 500 vervet monkeys at its rehabilitation center. Our job as volunteers was to clean cages, feed and water the monkeys, and give them love and care.

David took me to the main lounge area where all the other volunteers were gathering for dinner and a movie. After meeting the other volunteers, we gathered and talked about the rains and the project. That night, I slept alone as the shadows of eight legged creatures decorated my tent. The night was silent and only crickets and baby vervets rattling their cages could be heard.

Dawn came at 4 a.m. and I awoke to scorpions surrounding my tent. I got dressed, and stepped out on the muddy path to the lounge. Monkeys sat on the road playing, eating fruit and not at all disturbed by my presence. They jumped from tree to tree following my path and hung upside down on the lounge roof in the hopes of a treat. In order to handle vervets, you had to be introduced slowly, so a minimum of four weeks was needed for volunteering with the project.

However, after less than a week the rains made it difficult to get any work done and living conditions were getting riskier. Mud slides nearby, killing some locals, forced us to retreat back to the city.

Back to Pretoria

I was dismayed to leave the project so soon. However, I was welcomed openly by the same hostel staff, and my physio student friends, who wanted to give me a taste of what it was really like to live in South Africa. They had already been living in Pretoria for a year, and were familiar with the city. Armed with their own car, all five of us took a cruise, drinking ginger beer (root beer), discussing music, life, future dreams and goals.

We went running, mountain biking and even got to walk along Nelson Mandela Road. I watched South African soap operas with Alaya at the hostel and gave her spoilers on 80s re-runs of the Young and the Restless she watched. Oprah was seen almost as God and you couldn’t read any newspaper without a story on President Obama. I spent half a day with Kelly a 30-year-old Scottish woman who has spent the last 10 years traveling the world and earning her keep by cleaning the hostels she would visit. I even acted as an internet search engine for my physio friends while they asked questions like: Does everyone in Texas drive big trucks? Do you wear cowboy hats and ride horses? Why doesn’t the U.S. believe in universal health care? Is Brittney Spears really that interesting?

I broke stereotypes of Americans and ones I had of Africa. We did agree that some countries on the continent are dangerous and suffering from disease, drugs and violence. Even in Pretoria you had to be cautious, as theft was common. My camera got stolen with all my photos, and walking at night was risky. Elections were taking place in the city with all their candidates being corrupt. However, the rest of the country was civilized, beautiful and thriving. The city is even preparing to host the World Cup in 2010.

Next Destination

Two and one-half weeks later, I was running low on cash and my trip had to come to an end. Surprisingly, I didn’t use half the things I packed. I made lasting friendships that will allow me to travel and meet the rest of the world. South Africa was not the danger-filled pool I had imagined and I would gladly return.

Mission remembers officers

By Ricky Reynoso

The City of Mission held a memorial service for its fallen police officers and firefighters on Monday, May 11.

Assistant Police Chief Martin Garza welcomed those in attendance, giving thanks especially to those family members who have lost police officers and firefighters in the line of duty. He went on to thank other departments in the City of Mission, most notably the fire department.

“This is one of those organizations that we are very close to and have a very good working relationship with,” said Garza. “The leadership that [Police] Chief Leo Longoria and Chief Saldana have demonstrated through their troops serving the community is certainly very important.”

Mayor Norberto “Beto” Salinas also spoke highly of the men and women who have given their lives serving the city. He left a special message to their family members.

“I personally want to welcome the families of the fallen police officers, firefighters and constables we’ve had in the City of Mission,” said Salinas. “This is a yearly tradition that we have so that we’ll never forget those who have fallen. I can assure the families that the City of Mission will never forget.”

Chief Longoria also thanked the families of the officers, saying they were instrumental in helping not only their loved ones, but the department as well.

“When you become a law enforcement officer, your whole family becomes law enforcement officers,” said Longoria. “It’s something that’s inherited and it goes with you wherever you go. Every year that goes by, every family member who’s lost somebody has a big fear that we’ll forget their memory. I’d also like to remind them that we won’t forget about them.”

Also present at the event were Mission CISD Superintendent Oscar Rodriguez and Risk Management Coordinator Sylvia Cruz. Garza said the Police Department prided itself on the relationship it has with the local school districts and administrators

Pastor Paul Birch, with the Bread of Life Church in Mission gave both the invocation and closing prayer for the ceremony. As everyone in attendance stood up, the Police Department color guards presented the flags and Mission High School junior Stephanie Robles sang the National Anthem. The 21-gun salute followed.

Garza said every year the Mission City Council proclaims a week of police memorial ceremonies, with this year’s being May 11 through May 15. Though a ceremony for fallen officers, he thanked the families of all officers for supporting the police and fire departments throughout the years.