Farewell South Africa

Well… I am at the end of my six week journey in South Africa. The trip was designed to teach us about the history, environment, society, religion, government and culture of this vast and complex country. In the end, I think that what I learned went so far beyond what was “intended.” One can’t help but reflect on oneself and one’s own place in a world that can be both beautiful and tragic. I am still processing what I will do and how I will deal with everything that I have learned, seen, and felt but I know that I need to do it all justice somehow. At this moment, when I am at a complete loss for words, I think the best summary of my experience in encompassed by the greeting of the Khoisan (the original people in this country). Their greeting literally translates as: “I see you.”


I have seen.



Thanks for reading and I’ll see you all soon.
Love,
e

Home Sweet Home...and Fired up about Education

Maybe it was the last 8 hour bus ride, maybe it was the 3 weeks on the road, or maybe it was the little struggles with laundry and food choices, but we all breathed a collective sigh of relief to be pulling in to the Check Inn hotel on Wednesday (July 29th) night. We all have commented that our little neon lit hotel, while certainly one of the most basic of our journey, feels like “home.” I think this is also due to the familiarity and safety within Cape Town. It feels great to have all of those restrictions on our movements to be lifted, and for us to again have that freedom and choice of movement. Despite all of the time we have spent together, everyone moved out together en masse to get dinner – a testament to the cohesive and close nature of the group.
I went to bed relatively early because Thursday (30th) is the day that we are going into schools around Cape Town. I didn’t know that we would be divided amongst 4 schools, but it makes sense that it is easier and less distracting than having 25 teachers wandering through the hallways. I ended up at the Ode Moden School of Science and Technology with three other teachers. The focus of the school is to direct students towards careers in engineering, architecture, and other technical jobs. It is a comparatively expensive school, with tuition of R8,900 ($1,100) per year, while township schools are R40 ($5) per year and for most of the students, their parents are struggling to pay. We toured the school and definitely garnered a lot of interested stares. After the tour I was assigned into an English classroom where students are learning English as a 2nd (actually, more like a 3rd or 4th) language. The students were in 11th grade, just like most of the students that I teach at West. All of the students here wear uniforms, and it was no exception here. They all wear grey pants, white shirts, striped ties, and navy blue jackets affixed with the school emblem on the chest. The seniors (or matrics, as they are called here) are distinguished by a sky blue coat instead. The first thing I noticed is that the students line up in a single file line outside the classroom door and talk amongst themselves or to the teacher. After a few minutes, they are invited into the room where they proceed to stand behind their chairs. They responded to her greeting with a “good morning” in unison, and to my introduction with a “good morning Ms. Clark.” I was totally blown away with the formality as I am picturing my students flooding into my room and the 5 minutes of controlled chaos that is passing time. This was the last of their strict behavior, because they were quite chatty for the rest of the class. This day they were working on developing argumentative oral reports. They were previously assigned topics, and today was the day to finish and present. The teacher asked that I work with groups to help them develop their projects. The students were excited to have me come to their groups, and it was amazing to be able to talk one-on-one with them.

One of the interesting topics was over corporal punishment in schools. Most of the groups who had this topic felt that corporal punishment should be reinstated in schools to help control “kids today.” When I asked a boy how he thought it would help, he told me that last week one student stabbed another with a scissors for flicking a piece of paper at him from across the room. He felt that the threat of physical pain could have prevented that act, and that even if it didn’t, a person has no right to hurt another person and should be therefore be hurt. As I am shocked, and looking for the right words to respond with I am also looking at this kind 17 year old boy, his hands casually in his pockets, when he just shrugged at me. A look that showed a kind of small sadness and just general resignation to the way things are in his world. There is a startling amount of school violence here. In fact, I have heard several people say “Columbine happens all the time here.” This information is shocking and I hesitated to even share it, for fear that I would leave anyone with the wrong impression of education and life in the country. I share it because it made me realize how long it takes to overcome years in a cycle of violence that was perpetuated by poverty and inequality that still exists today. There are lots of good, functioning schools, but as it is in the U.S., not all schools are created equal. For example, urban schools such as the Milwaukee Public Schools struggle with issues that the suburban schools do not even experience.
As a teacher, I passionately believe in the power of public education to uplift and change individuals, and as a result, a society. It has never been more evident to me than it is here. The township schools are lacking in supplies, have huge class sizes (50 to 60 in one room), and a huge gang problems, all of which partially contributes to teacher reliability issues. Many of my colleagues in other schools reported to us that teachers simply didn’t show up. There is no substitute system, so classes were just not being conducted during those times. This seemed to corroborate a seemingly astonishing recent study I heard about on the morning news: 70% of schools do not have a library, 60% do not have a lab (for science), and 65% of all teachers say they would leave the profession if they could. There is an obvious problem with teachers, but there are also larger problems within the system. The pay is disturbingly low – a teacher I talked to who has 19 years of experience makes R 6,000 per month ($750) after taxes! Aside from that, there are poor conditions, scarce resources, and limited support. Again, in the United States, we struggle with many of the same issues, but on a smaller scale. We too have seen a devaluing of the teaching profession and of education itself within society. We see class sizes creeping up, requirements being reduced instead of strengthened, and resources diminishing as funding and the resulting budgets get cut.
My perceptions of education in this country were only heightened as I heard these students tell me about local gangs in one breath and their plans to become engineers and architects in the next. Their dreams are a sign of a hope for students, who just 15 years ago wouldn’t have the same thoughts, ideas, or opportunities. However, these students are only a portion of the children in South Africa. The students struggling in the township schools are struggling beyond belief. I hope for the future of this country (and ours for that matter) that the education system will undergo huge improvements that will show these kids that they have good reason to hope for their futures.
Feeling inspired to get back to work!

Toto, I don’t think we’re in South Africa anymore…

That was what I said to Tracy as we were waiting in the Gaborone Hotel and Casino in Gaborone, Botswana (July 24th). As we pulled in, we all couldn’t help but notice that the hotel was just outside of the main part o the city, and then situated at the back of a giant parking lot packed with buses, vans, hawkers, suitcases, various possessions, and people. The lobby of the hotel was dark and smelled like a permanent marker. You know that it is a little questionable when Rich and Kay, our fearless leaders, say “oh my goodness.” The hallways and rooms were covered in this plain terracotta tile and our room had a peeling ceiling from the water situation. Our window overlooked the corrugated metal roof and the only real amenity was the huge pile of free condoms on the table. I definitely felt a little shocked, especially after staying in a string of really nice hotels.
Botswana feels very different. A country of 1.8 million, it is much more “rural” than South Africa. The country’s experience was so different than South Africa’s that it profoundly differs in its history and issues. In fact, the Botswana’s flag has a black and white stripe in the center that symbolizes racial harmony. Granted we were only there for a few days, but it definitely felt less tense. The issues of the country were expertly highlighted by Peggy McClure, Country Director for the Peace Corps.
Botswana has the highest percentage of HIV/AIDS in the world, but has some very successful programs that are beginning to curb the problem. One of which gives free condoms to prostitutes and puts them in hotels and other similar places, AND, surprisingly, this has been partially funded by the Bush Administration (with the contingency that abstinence education would be a significant part of the program). The country’s goal is to have no new infections by 2016, the nation’s 50th anniversary. It definitely is on the right track to do so.
The other cool thing about Botswana: the money is called pula. The large amount of blue on the flag represents rain. The Setswana word for rain? PULA! Make it Pula! Yeah… we are getting a real kick out of that…

From Botswana we traveled to Mafikeng and from Mafikeng to Kimberly. In Kimberly we finally saw the Big Hole. It was pretty big… we had a lot of fun in the refurbished mining town where you can pan for diamonds (skipped that) and play skittles. Skittles is like bowling, but with balls that are similar to the ones used in croquet, and there are only 9 wooden pins. We had a blast, and our cheers could be heard throughout the mining town.

From Kimberly we had a VERY long bus ride to Matjesfontein where we stayed in a refurbished Victorian hotel, which is also the only hotel, with the only restaurant in town.

It was a cute little hotel, and I am fairly sure that we were the only 29 people in the entire place (you can’t really call it a town or city). The hotel had an old Victorian pub attached which was outfitted with a disco ball. They opened it up for us, got the disco ball turning, played music from the 70s and 80s, and even though bar time is 11o’clock, they kept it open late for us. Having the Victorian bar, in the Victorian hotel, in the middle of nowhere South Africa all to ourselves was another one of those moments that furthers my feeling that this experience has been one of the most surreal, unique, and incomparable of my life.

Back to Cape Town…

To Hope or To Despair Vol 2

Well, today (July 22nd) was without a doubt, one of the most emotionally exhausting days I have had since being in South Africa. Our first stop was to the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg. The museum was amazing down to every detail. The exhibits were set up to mirror the apartheid experience – surrounded by cages and prison bars, it was a powerful experience in architecture and design alone. To start with, the museum gave us a ticket – some said “Europeans only – White” and the others said “Non Whites.” They told us that we had to have the opposite of what we would have been classified as during apartheid. Since I am half Latina, I had to be in the Non White group. It was then that I realized that if I had been born in South Africa April 29, 1981 I would have been classified as “coloured.” In fact, I failed the hair ethnicity test established to prove my Non White status. This is where they would put a pencil in your hair, and if it didn’t easily fall out, it was proof that you were non-white. Your racial status dictated your entire life during that time. As a coloured person, I would have only have been allowed in certain neighborhoods, and could only attend certain schools, which would not have prepared me for college. At the museum, this segregation was simulated by having the non-whites enter through one door, and the whites through another. On my side the laws of ethnicity were posted, stating that to be white, you had to be 100% of European decent, and that while some people may appear to be, they might not actually be white. It just boggled my mind that I would have lived as a “coloured” person until 8th grade! Who knows how that would have affected and changed me? Even with the same family, could I possibly have ended up the same person?
Inside the museum we first went through an amazing temporary multi-media exhibit on Nelson Mandela that only heightened the admiration that I have for him. At the end of the exhibit you are asked to pick a colored rod that reflects your emotion after the exhibit. I chose blue… the color of everyone’s sky here in South Africa…
The next part of the exhibit outlined the rise and fall of apartheid. Some highlights were a series of interviews of Afrikaner politicians defending the system. Direct quotes:
1.I wouldn’t even call it Apartheid… I would call it a policy of neighborliness.
2.The passbooks aren’t a big deal. It is just an ID, and I even have one. What we have done for the black man is to give him a handy book to keep themselves organized.
3.We had to teach the black man to work, then we had to teach him to be satisfied with working, and now we have reached the stage that he likes work….You have to understand that these are barbarous individuals.

These ideas are so askew and so disturbing; it is hard to believe that is what people actually thought. It was actually sickening to realize the generations of white children that were taught this rationale and then perpetuated a system that is still so utterly present in the damage that it has done to this nation. He experience made it that much easier to understand how the system of apartheid created a level of
anger that exploded throughout the 80s and early 90s.

More insight to the violent attitudes came with Mandy, our guide for our day in Soweto. Mandy is a hilarious and bubbly woman who loves to joke around and tease us as Americans. Born and raised in Soweto, she had a fascinating insight and opinion on South Africa’s past, present, and future. There are many neighborhoods in Soweto… Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Orlando, and Kliptown are just some of the examples. She took us to the Hector Pieterson memorial in Orlando West, Soweto. Hector Pieterson was 13 years old and at a student led peaceful protest which had been organized to show their objection over a new law which required all education to be conducted in Afrikaans – a foreign language to most of the students and teachers in the townships. The police, saying they felt threatened by the marching children opened fired on the group, killing over 600 children. Pieterson is remembered specifically because of the famous photo of an older boy carrying him as he died.

As we were looking at the outdoor memorial, I heard Mandy casually mention that she was there when it happened. When she took us to the memorial within the Hector Pieterson museum, I took the opportunity to ask her about the protest and her experience.
What I didn’t know was that it was totally student led, with no input from adults. The high school kids had come to the primary schools and told the children to come to the march. Without any idea of what they were doing, hundreds of elementary school children came to the march. I asked Mandy if she really was there, and she began to tell me about that horrific day. Apparently, when the students saw the police they put the youngest children out in front, thinking that the police wouldn’t attack, but they did, which means that most of the children killed were especially young. I asked her what she saw, what she did when chaos broke loose and then she revealed that she was shot, lifting her skirt up high enough for me to see the scar on the back of her leg. All of the children fell on top of each other as they ran, and their tripping meant that even more of them were shot. She went on to say that the protest led to her older brother’s exile, and then subsequently frequent visits by the security police. The police came by regularly, and proceeded to harass and torture her family for information. By the time she finished her story everyone was listening in a heavy silence, and I found myself tearing up. She, like the ex-political prisoner who gave us a tour of Robben Island, said that giving these tours helps her work through her “hysteria” and heal her past. The only thing that really upsets her now (and I wish you could have heard the passion and anguish in her voice when she said this…) is that the uprising is now remembered in this glossed over way, calling it Youth Day, “when it was a massacre!” As I fought back tears, I realized that despite hearing these stories and witnessing this history over and over again, I am never ceased to be amazed by the tragedy, loss, and incredible suffering by so many of these people.

After the memorial, Mandy had us all give R20 ($2.50), with which she bought about 50 small bags of rice, about 20 loaves of bread, about 50 packs of 6 eggs, and 20 bottles of oil – totaling R540 ($67), so that we could take it into one of the roughest parts of Soweto: Kliptown.
When we arrived, local kids took us through the shack town. The river of garbage water between the shacks, fences made out of bed springs, wires dangling low from shack to shack, rocks piled on top of the corrugated metal roofs to keep them attached, and people -- kids, babies, and adults all poking their heads out to watch us as we walked by. Our guide, a young man who has found himself orphaned and in charge of his young siblings told us of his dreams of becoming a pilot. Standing in his 10ft x 10ft shack with his baby brother sleeping behind a curtain, you couldn’t help but feel a sincere lack of hope that becoming a pilot would ever become a reality for this young man.

We left the shack, wound our way back through the tiny street to make our way back to the opening where our bus was parked. Immediately, I saw that there were around two hundred people standing in this opening in front of the bus. There was a long line of adults and a separate and equally long line of children. I asked Mandy why they were all here, and she said they were here for the food, and when I asked how they even knew, she said that whenever she comes the people know that she has brought some food. I looked at her in shock and said: “But, we don’t have enough for all of these people.” To which, Mandy hugged me, and said “They accept that, and know that when I come back they can try again.” It was then that I could feel their desperation as they stared expectantly at us. She also told us that the kids were lined up separately for candy, because that is what they expect from Americans. I realized that we hadn’t brought any, so Mandy took my friend Tracy and I to a little tuck shop where for R20 we bought 250 pieces of candy. The kids were lined up and we started to hand them out when things started getting a little frenzied. Many of these children were carrying babies and forcing their hands open so they could have their piece. Mandy had to help us keep them in line as they started swarming around, fighting over the candy, and who they believed had and hadn’t already gotten a piece.

None of the other groups were back yet and people had been in line for over an hour and a half, so Mandy had us begin to hand out the food. There was a lot of confusion in the beginning; because we didn’t realize that she wanted us to only give each person got ONE thing, not one of each. As supplies got lower things began getting hectic amongst the adults, leading to all of this confusion, cutting, and yelling. Amidst all of this intensity were people emotionally thanking us for giving them something to eat for that night. Suddenly, my initial excitement to help and hand out food began shifting to a concentrated sense of anxiety and claustrophobia as people came up to thank me, to beg for money, and even to gloat, as some of the children came up to show their extra pieces of candy that they had gotten by cutting the line. As some of these children were reveling over their little victories, I realized the power of the survival instinct – to get those pieces they had screwed over other children, but they didn’t care. All of these emotions, the overcrowding, and general sensory overload hit me hard, and I knew that it was time for me to return to the bus.
My last sight in Kliptown, Soweto was of a young man staring at me as he leaned against an electric pole next to the bus. I stared at the ragged and holey sweatshirt he was wearing, but it wasn’t until I was on the bus that my brain was able to process what it said: Proud to be and American, Where Freedom isn’t Free.
I am still reeling…
Apartheid is over, but the effects of it are still entrenched incredibly deep. How long can people live this way? How long before there is real and significant change? I do not hesitate to state that the events of the day have certainly given all of us good reason to despair for humanity, but despite this, I still have to believe that there is hope, because without hope there is just giving up… and that simply isn’t an option.

Six Days in the Bush

Six Days in the Bush
The city of Durban is the largest Indian population living outside of India and it was fascinating to learn about Apartheid on the Indian side of things, as well as to have some exposure to Indian culture.

We saw Durban through the bus and organized tours. There is no walking around in Durban – especially along the beautiful Indian Ocean (which came up to our hotel), because that is a prime place that criminals use to rob people. Apparently, the latest thing is to take EVERYTHING from a person – money, belongings, and clothes! We kept joking about having to return to the hotel in the nude, but the warning did make most of us a bit nervous. We weren’t as literally locked in like we were in Umtata, but we did not have the freedom that exists in Cape Town. Therefore, it was a bit of a relief to leave the tumult of the urban atmosphere in favor of “the bush” in KwaZulu-Natal.
We headed to the National Park – Hluhluwe-Imfolozi (the oldest in Africa) where we would be going on our game drives (safari). How do you describe the hilly brown landscape and then seeing elephants walking along a ridge in the distance?! When we pulled into the park office and a warthog (pumba) was feasting off to the side, I thought the bus was going to tip over as everyone rushed to one side to photograph it. That’s what you call tangible excitement! We were all assigned cottages at Hilltop Camp that had scenic views, kitchenettes, and nice bathrooms. Feeling beyond lucky, most everyone signed up for our first game drive that night. We took turns shining the light into the bush, and when you are shining everything looks like an animal! I found a hippo, which was awesome because they are very elusive in the park. Later, we came around the corner to find two white rhinos walking in the road ahead of us! We went on drives the next day – at 6 and then again at 10. Drives take a lot of patience, because it might be a bit before you see anything, but as Ephraim (our guide) told us, not knowing what you are going to find is what makes it “the bush” and not a zoo. My best moments happened in the afternoon of the second day I really wanted to see elephants, but they had moved into the wind (as they apparently always do), across the river, and away from roads. Our guide told us that if the wind changed, we might get lucky. Later in the day it did, and we saw an entire family of elephants emerge from trees and proceed into a giant mud-hole. It was amazing! I thought that would be the ultimate highlight until later when we happened upon giraffes and zebra hanging out right by the side of the road. Then, as we were following and watching zebra a giant bull elephant came out of the bush. We were watching him and he decided to watch us as well. He proceeded to follow us down the road. I thought I was going to pass out from excitement and adrenaline!

After 2 days of safari we moved to Babalango, in the heart of Zulu country.

The lodge was nestled between mountains and was rough going on the bus. We were positioned all around the camp, and the bulk of my friends were staying 3ks away in the bush camp, while I was stuck at the lodge with the early to bed group. I was disappointed until I saw that the rooms in the lodge had huge cushy beds, bath tubs, robes, amenities, and turn-down service while down at the bush camp they were freezing and battling spiders that were bigger than tarantellas!! It is here in the quiet valley that I got back in the running game. I don’t remember the last time I ran without headphones (which I was doing so that I could hear any approaching leopards), and it was amazing to listen to only my feet hitting the cracked dirt road, my own breathing struggling a little at altitude, and then to look around and see springbok and eland staring at me as I ran. During the day a professor specializing in the Zulu wars took us on amazing tour of the countryside, showing us the battle sites and museums. He painted such a vivid picture, we all felt like we were seeing the whole thing as it happened.
It is interesting to note that memorials to the British who died in these bloody battles have been in place since 1883 (4 years after) and the first memorials to the Zulus were established in 1999.
We left Babanango to head for the Drakensberg Mountain range. On the way, we stopped into a Zulu village where the family proudly showed us around.

It was a powerful experience of contrast – urban vs. rural, animals vs. people, young vs. old, and men vs. women. The society is patriarchical and the entire village is set up around the father’s hut. He can have several wives and then grant them land with which they have to grow food to feed their children. The mother’s hut is where all the cooking happens, and it was so smoky in there that I could only stay for a few moments.
The oldest son’s hut was very modern with a big boom box, posters, and a rack of clothes. Xolani, my new friend and trip guide was experiencing his own range of emotions as an urban, professional Zulu man who, like many South Africans I have met so far, is desirous of some kind of balance between tradition and modernity. He doesn’t agree with the lobola (dowry in the form of cattle) that his father is demanding for the marriage of his sister, but he also would only marry women of certain “tribes.” He sees women washing their clothes in the rivers and carrying potable water in giant plastic jugs on their heads, and wonders why they don’t have running water yet – a problem in the rural areas and even in the townships surrounding Cape Town!
The Drakensberg Mountains are beautiful and jagged and we stayed the two nights at Didima Camp. Supposedly Tolkien’s inspiration for the Lord of the Rings, there is a mystical quality about them. Our cottages looked like hobbit homes nestled in the range.

I ran again, thoroughly enjoying the freedom and scenery, but not enjoying the hills! We were able to cook again and enjoy the beautiful skies at night. The next day we took guided hikes up to see 2,000 year old cave art,

and I took an unguided hike with a few people to Mushroom Rock – which overlooks the range and the valley below. A challenging hike at 7,000 feet, but totally amazing!


We had a group brai (cook out) was an amazing end to our time in the bush.

We are on our way to Johannesburg (Jo-Berg) right now, and have already been given our lock-down orders. There will be absolutely NO leaving the hotel, for any reason, in any sized group. We come and go as a group and only on and then off the bus. Our six days in the bush spoiled us as far as our freedom of movement, so it is going to be an adjustment to be back in an urban atmosphere -- especially in one of the crime capitals of the world. However, we are doing some amazing things here, and I am excited to experience this city.
Ps. This last Saturday the 18th was Madiba’s (Mandela) birthday – he turned 91. He lives in the area, so I will keep my eyes peeled!

A Life Lived...

After a restful night in the Umtata compound, we headed to the Nelson Mandela Museum. “Madiba,” as he is called here was from Umtata and he himself came to open the museum in 2000. The museum traces Mandela’s life through quotes from his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom, pictures, video, and other artifacts. Then there is room after room of gifts given to Madiba from all around the world. These gifts he accepted on behalf of the people of South Africa who struggled for their freedom. As a result, all the gifts are in this museum so that all can share in the world’s happiness over the end of apartheid. After viewing all of these amazing treasures, I couldn’t help but giggle over the suspicion that he probably had to put much of it in the museum because there was no room in his house for all of it.

When going through the museum, of course I continue to be affected by the sheer injustices of the time. It is interesting to note that Mandela does not believe that any particular event shaped him to political activism. Instead, he believes that every African is born political and it is through thousands of tiny humiliations and injustices that the activist emerges. It reminded me of being in the townships, and talking with our guide Brian. He told me that he would not be surprised if there was a large rebellion in South Africa because the people can only put up with so much poverty, so much crime, and so much injustice. After witnessing so much politically charged art over the past couple of days, one has to assume that Mandela is correct and that as long as there is so much inequality and injustice all Africans are born political.
The other thing that was really powerful to me is how much Mandela commented on the affect his political life had on his personal life. He spoke of his honor of being “father to a nation” when his greatest regret is not being able to be a true father to his children. Throughout his life and even up to present day Mandela wondered about the sacrifices that he made in dedicating his life to the struggle for freedom in South Africa, wondering if he had chosen the right path, made the best decisions, and even if it was all worth it. It made me realize that if Nelson Mandela feels this way after an amazing remarkable life that changed the course of the world, there is hope for all of us on our own individual human quest to live our best life. While we have not been thrown into a deplorable prison system for 30 years of our adult lives, it was amazing that Mandela had many of the same reflections that we all do. In acknowledgement of choosing the most difficult path, Mandela is honored by the thousands of gifts – from extravagant statues and priceless artifacts to the simplicity of a child’s drawing or an individual’s letter. The most powerful of which perhaps honored Mandela’s struggle the most: “Your pain has healed the nation and the world. If I had the heavenly powers I would give you another life.”

Prison Yard Games

Well, we got up bright and early this morning (July 12th) to leave Grahamstown to head towards Umtata. I was a little surprised when I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower only to find that no water came out. I couldn’t figure out what the deal was, so I tried the bath faucet and nothing! I put my clothes back on and tried a completely different shower room and still nothing. I eventually gave up and settled for a bottled water and washcloth shower in my room. Everyone was running around trying to get their things on the bus and I was doing the same. Since our rooms were on the fourth floor we all had a long way to carry our things down to the bus. When I finally got a chance to talk to everyone else in the group they were all lamenting the lack of water. Rich says that the water running out is South Africa. We’ll see about that…

The ride to Umtata was fascinating. South Africa (at least this part) is large rolling hills and the countryside is starting to look like what I imagined Africa to be. Large swaths of golden-brown grass – called veld make up the landscape, with only the occasional tree. Also, there always seems to be mountains in the distance. Along and between all of these hills and mountains there are villages, towns, and cities. Some of them contain rows of small, perfectly square houses. In some communities all the houses are white, and in others they are an array of beautiful colors – teal, pink, yellow. Among these houses are the round stick topped traditional homes of the Xhosa. Sometimes they are the only dwelling, sometimes they are next to the house itself. All along the way there are all of these amazing sights that I continuously want to photograph, but I would only be taking pictures and not taking it all in. One of the most common sights is all of the farm animals. There are goats, cows and horses all around eating and walking right up to the road. I had to laugh when we passed a mini herd of goats trotting up the highway in the opposite direction. Then there are these other amazing sights – two women walking through the veld with huge bundles of sticks balanced on their heads, children playing along fences, an old man waving from his yard, a veld fire with the community carrying buckets of water to put it out…




Life out here is so different from what we saw in Cape Town and I think we are about to have a very revealing time on the road.
We got to Umtata at 3pm where Rich told us again that we were to stay within the hotel’s perimeter, and I quote: “This is a HIGH. CRIME. AREA. No wondering the streets, everything you need is right outside of the hotel and you should go in groups.” When I saw the hotel, I realized that it was actually a compound. The rolled back the metal gate for the bus and we pulled in. The rooms were surrounded by spiked metal fencing topped with barbed wire and then electrified for good measure.

We put our things in our rooms and went as a group to just outside the hotel to the grocery store right next door. The Superspar was well stocked and crawling with security. We got things for a potluck party and headed back to the hotel. My friend Kim bought a Hannah Montana ball when he realized, as we all did, that we were going to be behind hotel walls for the next 18 hours. When w returned from the store we found ourselves kicking this ball around the parking lot, and eventually having a little soccer game.

I had to laugh when I initially called the game prison ball. As we were joking that it was exercise time in “the prison,” I realized that we were safe behind the walls, but totally contained. It was driving us a little nutty after only a few brief hours, and I can’t imagine living a life where fear is a daily part of your existence. While they might not fear as we do, foreigners in their city, their fear is very present and represented by the houses surrounded in fences topped with shards of glass, barbed wire, or electric wiring.
On a silly note, we spent our potluck having delicious, fresh food and fabulous South African wine, and it was a delight to not be in a restaurant. We ended up trying to explain “The Sound of Music” to Xolani, which inevitably led to the (horrific) singing of the songs. Chris and I made up our own lyrics: “The hills are alive with the sound of music in Umtata.” When someone suggested that we put out an album as the Von Trapped Family Compound Singers, I thought I was going to throw up from laughing. I actually had a great time locked in the compound, but am infinitely glad that I had the option to leave.

Ps. where there is a will, there is a way! I managed to make burritos on the road by buying from a deli: Xhosa Samp and beans, savory rice, south african cheddar cheese, and "mexicorn" shells! YEAH! Tadashi and I thoroughly enjoyed our "Mexican" feast!

Grahamstown

I don't have my pictures yet, but I thought that I would post a picture of the artist I saw last night -- Simphiwe Dana. She is a very popular "jazz" musician that reminded me a bit of Erika Badu. Her voice was amazing and she combines her cultural roots with modern music. She sang mostly in Xhosa, but her intros were in English. To hear her say: "We must teach the children about their roots, about apartheid, about Steve Biko, about Nelson Mandela..." Then to hear the crowd erupt with every word was awe inspiring. Even though we couldn't understand the words, to watch her movement, to listen to her voice, and then to hear the crowd (constantly) reacting throughout all of the songs was an amazing experience!

I don't know if I mentioned, but we are staying in the dorms of Rhodes University here in Grahamstown. The university is beautifully old, and the rooms are all singles with built in wooden dressers, closets, basins, and shelves. Aside from sharing bathrooms, it is really cool! Here is a picture of Grahamstown -- the university is on the bottom right.

Tomorrow morning we head out to Umtata, which is apparently not that safe since we are in a walled-in hotel and are instructed to only go out in large groups. Yikes! I have been enjoying the freedom of movement here in Grahamstown, so I am thinking that it is going to be very uncomfortable for me to be there. I guess I have to wait and see...

From the Beach to the Arts

Hello from Grahamstown!

We are here for entire weekend for the South African festival of the arts. There is an impossible amount of plays, concerts, dances, comedy, and art shows. We are trying to take ity all in, and see as much as we can. I just spent a few hours wandering through, what we thought was a craft market, but was more of a crap market. Wall to wall with clothing, weird little nicknacks made in china, fake African stuff, and all the people buying, selling and just passing through. There were a llot of children trying to make money as living statues. They paint their faces white and try to stand very still. It doesn't work so well, but one has to smile at the effort. It feels very warm today, I am hot in jeans and a short seleved cotton top, but the locals are totally in a winter mindset. All of the women are wearing skinny jeans or tights, boots, scarves... definately cute, but my body would be screaming sweat in protest to such a get up. Meanwhile, they look at us like we are crazy! Whenever we ask to sit outside to eat here, we get the strangest looks: "Are you sure?!" It's funny...

Before we got here, we spent two days in the countryside on the Indian Ocean. The first night, the women of a fishing village made us a traditional meal. It was amazing. Now that Xolani, our graduate student and guide is along, we have all started to try to learn Xhosa. It is a clicking language, that has four distict clicks in it. I can click, but it is so hard to click seamlessly within the words. You can't pause to click. I am determined to learn something though!

The next night was spent in oceanettes in the Tsitikamma National Park. When the air blows here, it feels so warm. It is a weird sensation, you can feel that you are in a tropical environment. We watched the waves crash at night at were entertained by some otters. The morning brought a whale, a pod of 25 dolphins playing in the surf, and a hike to a crazy suspension bridge. We were all sad to go.

Well, I am excited about all the art and culture that we are witnessing here, I can't wait for our upcoming shows!

To hope or to despair

Day 12
Today was the most revealing and fascinating day that we have had to far. When I read on the itinerary that we were touring townships, I had no idea what to expect. When we began driving through the formal townships, and informal shack communities I began to see what our guide called: The other side of Cape Town.”
We learned that to encourage racism against one another the Afrikaan government gave different accommodations to different racial groups. Indigenous blacks got the most deplorable conditions, and that was the first one we went to. We pulled up in front of an outdoor meat market and our guide (Brian) informed us that we should not take pictures of it because the people get embarrassed and angry. They feel embarrassed that their food is served this way, because they know that it isn’t “clean” according to western standards. I felt nervous about taking pictures anyway. Is their poverty tourism? Is that right? My reasons for taking pictures are for the education of my students. This IS real, I HAVE seen it, and it IS this bad. Brian also said to ask before we took pictures, and that most people would be excited and friendly about our visit.

I had an idea of what I was going to see, but dirty streets, trash on the side of the road, shack housing, starving dogs wandering around... but nothing can really prepare you for the starting contrast that is the townships...

We were taken into an apartment of sorts. We entered into a dark bare kitchen with a sink, lone window and two plastic covered picnic tables that we were told become beds at night. Our guide had a few of us, me included, enter into one of the bedrooms. I was absolutely shocked to not only see 3 twin beds in a room that was 12ft x 20ft, and that there was a woman sitting on each bed. I was under the impression that the building was no longer used, but for tours. The women told us that they pay R20 per month for a bed in the apartment, and that their bed was for their entire family. One bed was a family of 7, one a family of 5, and one was a family of 4. There are 16 people living in that room! I looked at the woman sitting on the bed and noticed that there was 7 changes of clothes sitting in small piles around on the bed. I realized that everything they owned was on this twin bed and up on a small shelf above it and I felt this intense shock. You know it exists, but our frame of reference is so small in comparison. Outside, I saw a little boy squatting in the street and then his mother picked up a newspaper from the ground, wiped him with it, picked up his waste, and threw it away. This is the legacy of Apartheid and it is tragic.

Amongst the millions that live in these conditions are so many signs of hope. People get shipping containers and open their own businesses, and many people choose to give back to their community. We met a woman, Beauty, who became HIV positive due to her husband’s straying ways. While she cannot publicly speak of her status, (no one can, they would be shunned from the community), she spends her life teaching others her sewing skills for free. We met another man who picked up cans from the trash that is piled up in the streets. Since nothing can grow in the flats (that’s why it was given to the blacks and colored people) he began making flowers out of cans. Perhaps the biggest sign of hope is the children. Full of smiles, laughter enthusiasm, dance moves and so wanting hugs, high-fives, handshakes, and LOTS of pictures. Every time we got off the bus, they would come out of the wood work and we would have up to 50 children following us around. They were so sweet, happy, and it made me hopeful for a country that got rid of its divisions politically, but not socially.


By far, the most moving experience I have ever had.

Uncle Sam, Ostrich beaches, and Baboons

Day 10
Happy 4th of July!! No fireworks but we travelled to Stellenbosch and Frankenhoeck. These places were insanely beautiful, but had a very European feel. It definitely did not feel very “African.” We toured some restored Dutch homes from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. What I discovered is that the Dutch loved taxidermy. Pelts, horns, stuffed creatures – even stuffed house cats! Ew! One of my favorite things was a child’s room in the house from the 1800s. There were old toys and books out, and one that was open was the Tale of Noah’s ark. Check out the last line… it’s my favorite! “Mrs. Noah stayed home and tidied up the ark.” HA!!!!!!!!!!

Later that night we went to a little hole-in-the –wall bar called Wine and Hearbreak. We met a South African and had a great time chatting him up. He showed us the South African handshake. If you are lucky, I’ll show it to all of you in person. What is interesting is that you do NOT make eye contact when you shake hands. It is considered rude. The only time you make eye contact is when you toast “cheers!” Raymond wanted to celebrate America’s birthday, so he asked us to go around the table and come up with 25 things we loved about America. We were giving funny sarcastic answers like “Taco Bell,” “Special effects in films,” “Roller blading,” “The Bush twins,” ect. He got a little upset and didn’t understand our sarcasm, so we had to give some serious answers. When we got back the hotel there was a wine tasting 4th of July party going on and we had a blast continuing our list. We are so far from home, but we all enjoyed a little taste of it.

Here is our most serious answer: The american taxpayer. Thank you for helping to fund this trip! : D




P.s. My new friends love to tease me about my accent, but as we were leaving the bar a South African complimented it! He asked me to say “You Rock!” to him, so I did. His whole group was freaking out! They loved it! Lol…

Day 11
AN AMAZING DAY!!!



It was so beautiful and we spent the whole day at the beach. On the way there we stopped at anostrich farm. There was no riding going on (sorry any West folks who may be reading), but I got to see them. They are a little freaky close up. They look kind of like angry little dinosaurs. They are kind of cute too. I find it funny that people go to see them, take pictures, and then go to the ostrich cook out and buy an ostrich belt at the gift shop. I don’t think they are running any cow slaughterhouse tours for fun right?! OK… lol…enough of that.
We went to the Cape of Good Hope and Cape point where we hiked down to a beach and had a picnic lunch before hinking around. We saw wild ostriches and a lot of baboons. There are signs to be VERY careful around them, and they are very brave. In fact, Jacob, another teacher on the trip was eating a sandwich when a furry hand popped out of the bushes and stole it away! We laughed at him, but I guess they can get fairly nasty.




We ended the day with a beautiful dinner on the water! It felt like summer today, but winter is lurking in the central and northern parts of the country.

Catching up... Days 6 - 9

Days 6 – 9
Ok – I am really trying to keep up, but it is so difficult. I try to take time during the day to list out what I am doing and thinking, so that I will remember what I want to put in my blog post later. Day 6 was a little brutal…we had 3 lectures scheduled on exciting topics, but none of the professors talked on topic! They kind of decided to “go their own way” and it seemed a little disorganized. We were all very excited about the evening wine and cheese tasting that we had planned. We all brought a bottle of wine, and some snacks and then met up at the beach to watch the sun set. The beach is rocky, so we were up above it in a grassy park area. There were people running and walking by and a group of young boys playing soccer near by. We stayed until well after dark! We went to an internet café/restaurant/bar afterwards and sat outside in this Moroccan-style seating area. We ended up chatting up a bunch of people, 2 of which owned the place. We got some Afrikaans lessons and had a blast asking questions and exchanging stories. It was a fun night.
I am still having a difficult time sleeping. You ALL know that I am NOT a morning person, but apparently my body has decided that I only need 5 to 6 hours of sleep in South Africa. Currently, I am incapable of sleeping in! It is horrid! Today (day 7) we went to the hospital where the first ever heart transplant was preformed. My science oriented friends may have liked it, but it definitely was NOT my bag!
The lecture in the afternoon discussed the difficulty of education in a nation that has 11 official languages. Parents feel that learning English is the only way for their children to succeed, but not speaking it themselves, and teachers not having a good idea of it, means that students have an inability to truly understand and think at higher levels in school. There seems to be this reoccurring issue: how do we honor our culture and background, but also succeed in a country that is so western AND “African? “
New favorite candy discovered at lunch: Astros! YUM!

DAY 8:
Today’s focus was on religion in South Africa. It is amazing that religion has played such a prominent role in Apartheid, but also in the ending of Apartheid. A strong majority of the population here is Christian, but there are also indigenous beliefs, as well as followers of both the Muslims, and Jewish faith.
We went to the Muslim neighborhood – Bo-Kapp.



We got a chance to look through a museum, but it was pretty small. We spent most of the time wandering through the brightly colored neighborhood. Then, out of the blue we heard the singing of Arabic. We all froze, looking around to see where it was coming from. It was the call to prayer, and it was amazing to hear. It is another validation of the diversity of Cape Town. There is an image of Africa – of black people, and maybe when thinking of South Africa, people think there is only black or white. Really, it is an incredible diverse place. On our way back to the bus we found a little shop called Monkey Madness. It is a place where people who have HIV/AIDS can work and interact. They produce beautiful beaded animals, dolls, wall hangings and magnets. There was even Barack Obama – made of beads! Lol… Afterwards we went to St. George’s cathedral, Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s church. For dinner Kim’s brother Simon took me, Tadashi, Kim, Chris, and Tracy to Rick’s American Café off of Long St. Rick’s is totally modeled around Casablanca. A great day…

Day 9: MAAK IT ANN! (Make it happen)

Today, we had some lectures, and my group did our presentation! It went well! More interesting is that we went to see two documentaries at Cape Town’s film festival. One of them followed the rising artist Jitsvinger as he talked about his views and message. Raised in the Cape Flats townships he raps in Afrikaans and Xhosa. There were some many touching moments and insights, but one highlight was his discussion of how people avoid talking about the severe poverty problem. “It’s a blood clot mentality.” The film follows him to shows in Europe and he wonders what his friends from the flats would do if they moved into the western world… “Would they miss the poverty? The hunger? The crime? Not being able to get home to be with their wife or hold their baby?” He has this amazing balance of honoring his “roots,” while working to change the future. In Afrikaans he sings “MAAK IT ANN” (Make it happen). It was very thought provoking and really spoke to this lingering question: What is African? What does that mean? People talk about being African, or being a proud African, but Africa is so diverse. This question is something I am going to continue to ponder…
The second documentary followed South Africa’s #1 rap artist HHP (double H. P) on a new series where South Africans do genealogy to discover their own diverse pasts. It went right along with this theme of Identity, but the best part was the Q & A with HHP after the film. All of these excited teenagers were there taking pictures and asking questions. I got really excited when a girl asked if by looking at “roots” and the past, are South Africans prevented from moving forward. I was practically bouncing in my seat, because it was such a great question. I feel that this factors into the identity issue.

"Joy in spite of everything..."

DAY 5:
Today we went to university for a fascinating lecture on South Africa since Apartheid. The lecturer has spent time as a teacher and had a lot of amazing experiences to speak of. He told us many interesting things, but one interesting note was that during the height of Apartheid in the 1980s, the government was spending R 500,000 per white student and R 7,000 per black student. Just one more thing that makes fixing this stuff so difficult -- especially when you realize that it is such a contributing factor to 25% unemployment, health issues, and extreme poverty in general.

After lunch we went to a museum called the slave lodge. It is the only building related to slavery that is left in Cape Town. It is where slaves were held before auction or shipment to other places around the world. Something that I didn’t know was that slaves came from not just Africa, but South Asia/India and East and South East Asia as well. It was moving to hear the music, read the testimonials, and look at the exhibits. The upstairs has a home goods exhibit on European and African possessions from the 17th to 19th centuries. I loved the exhibit on antique toys (which I like anyway). We were laughing at this wagon/train set that was made of a jaw of some animal with a chariot made out of a sardine can. It looked out of place next to the old matchbox cars, dolls, and wooden blocks. Then I walked around and saw that the label read: Zulu Children’s Toys. It was so thought provoking…
My favorite exhibit was a temporary one that they had on Steve Biko. Killed while being questioned by police, the exhibit was a moving example of the struggle over freedom for Black/Colored people in South Africa. To read his inspiring words, to his disturbing death, to the lies told by the medical examiner, through the truth and reconciliation hearing where the officers continued to lie. Yet, the hope conveyed by the effect that he had and still has on South Africans today was powerful.



In the evening we went to our graduate student and guide Xolani’s favorite restaurant, called: A Touch of Madness. It was a Dutch mansion that has been converted into a restaurant and arts place. I had deeeeelicious apricot and chicken kabobs. I loved it!
Being responsible… Early to bed tonight….

We Just Might...

Day 4:
Sunday was the first day that we could sleep in if we wanted to. I wanted to.  I didn’t sleep too much, but it was nice to get up at 8 instead of 6! A bunch of us walked down the street to an African market where we had some new experiences. There are so many bowls, masks, baskets, carvings, and art… a lot to take in, although many of the booths had the exact same things. What was really different was that as you walk by they try to lure you in “We have the cheapest prices!” I didn’t even want to ask how much things were, because I was already avoiding eye contact as I was just walking by! We were told that you had to negotiate, but it was very clear because if you pause to look at something the vendor will give you three prices one after another – each lower than the one before. I feel nervous about haggling…not my thing! I loved that each person says “You are my friend, I’ll give you a special price” or even try the guilt trip: “I have had no customers today, you would be my first one.” That was the worst! I did end up buying a cool piece of art. You all will have to wait and see…. : D
After the market I went with my friends Kim and Tadashi to the Cape Town Country Club located on the water. It was an amazing day, I was almost going to get a sunburn. It was a nice change from the cold weather. It was here that I couldn’t help but notice that all the workers – waiters, bartenders, cooks were black and ALL the patrons were white. I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen any white people doing any of the “unskilled” jobs. It was then that I realized that with all of its progress, South Africa has a long way to go.
On the way to meet the bus we stopped at this AWESOME mural! What do you all think about the African Simpsons??

We met the group at the National Gallery of Art, which was shockingly small and empty. My favorite exhibit was a photography exhibit from a man who worked as a bouncer in a Cape Town hotspot in the 1950s. It made me laugh…
After we went to the Company Gardens (began by VOC) and saw all these families playing, laughing, and getting married. Life is good!
I was also followed around by a homeless “representative of the homeless association of South Africa.” Would I like to make a donation? Another example to Cape Town contrast – a Christian wedding, and then a half hour later a Muslim one… beautiful families of all colors playing and picnicking, and the homeless sleeping under trees and on benches…
In the evening we went to an Irish Pub to watch the USA play Brazil in the final match of the soccer thingy. Surrounded by Brazil fans, we chanted: “YES WE CAN!” Each goal we chanted again and again and at 2 to 0 we were feeling pretty good… until the 2nd half when the Brazilians scored and the bar erupted in cheers, promptly followed by “NO YOU CAN’T!” After they scored again and AGAIN chanted no you can’t, I started a new cheer… “WE JUST MIGHT!” It was funny and we had an international laugh. Lol…

Above the clouds on Table Mountain...

I know that I haven’t been able to post again to the blog…but it took me a while to sort out my password situation. Plus, it always seems like there are people going places and I am always wanting to go along! I have done so many amazing things already, and all of my evenings have been a blast, so it is difficult to know where to start. So I will try to break it down by day:
Day 2:
During the week we go to the University for some lectures. So, on Friday we had 3 lectures, each on a different period of South African history. We got back, changed and went to Pan Asia for dinner. At meal times we sometimes wander down the street from our hotel and see what we find. Cape Town is very eclectic and diverse and as a result there is a variety of fun foods to try. In a few short days I have had: Asian, Indian, Italian, and African. After dinner I went out to a bar high above Cape Town. There were a lot of locals there and great live music.
Day 3:
We all went via ferry to Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was held for 17 years (before being transferred to a different prison). The tour began on the bus trip around the island and then we went to the prison itself. The tours are led by ex-political prisoners. It is interesting to note that people live on the island –those that work on the Island, which is now a historical site. Some of them are former prisoners, and others are former guards! Our guide was in prison beginning when he was just 17 years old. He was caught with firearms and explosives and was sentenced to seven years on Robben Island. He talked about the horrors: the segregation in the prisons, the mundane work designed to break their spirits, how one had to apply to learn (and the process took years), the solitary confinement, the three showers per 60 inmates, and how they weren’t allowed to converse. However, he also talked about the hope. .. how doing this everyday heals his heart a little more. While one might find it difficult to believe that a person can endure that much oppression and discrimination and just move on, I feel that common desire to move forward everywhere in Cape Town, which makes me believe…
We stopped at the V & A for lunch (woo hoo Falafel Special!) and then we took the bus to the base of Table Mountain. From there, we took a gondola to the top. It was a little freaky, mainly due to the 360 degrees of glass windows and rotating floor!! The view from the top was beyond worth it. Since the top is flat you can hike all around up there. Kay (one of the leaders of this trip) told us to listen for the “hooter,” at which point we should return to the gondolas immediately because bad weather was on the way. No worries…we had an excellent hike. We posed on rocks and took pictures up above the clouds. It was so unbelievable beautiful!
We had an insane dinner at Mario’s – an Italian restaurant down the road from our hotel. Our waiter was hilarious and we got to write our names on the ceiling. After dinner we decided to go out to Long Street. It is supposedly THE place to go out in Cape Town. I was a little suspicious when our taxi driver said that it was mostly tourists and young people, and when we got there I thought it was worse that a tourist trap. The streets were jam packed with cars and people. It is a little disarming to be followed down the street by a child begging for money. We had to get money and 4 of us went into a store to get it. I was a little freaked, but we all took care of each other and went into the Irish Pub – The Dubliner. All these people were dancing to Coca Cabana -- which was hilarious! We went upstairs and got a coveted spot on the balcony where we could people watch and talk to one another. The evening took a further decline when two guys fought near our table. It was ok, but I think everyone felt disarmed by the entire situation and we decided to head back to the hotel. We grabbed cabs, and this guy was there “helping” – rushing to open the doors and such. Then he leaned in the doors with a cup for a tip! I threw some change in, so we could just leave. Then, to cap off an already agitating evening, out cab driver charged us double what we paid to get there. It was then that we noticed that he didn’t have a meter! It sucked to feel like we were ripped off. We discussed finding another place, but I think everyone just wanted to hide out in their rooms!

On route... belated

June 24th, 2009
Here I am… 23 hours since departing Milwaukee for South Africa, at 35,000 feet, flying over Angola. We have about 3 hours left to go before we are in Cape Town. I left Detroit at 5:40 pm local time. While in the air I flew into “night time” and then right into “morning” in Amsterdam. I didn’t sleep a wink, despite my efforts. So, I arrived in Amsterdam at 7:30 am (with my body feeling like it is 12:30 am) and proceeded to meet up with the 25 teachers that I will be spending the next 6 weeks with. There is a mixture of excitement and punchy energy due to lack of sleep. We had to go through security again at the gate before boarding the plane for the final leg of the trip. I have to say, I was not looking forward to another 11 hours on a plane. ;) After boarding I soon realized that no one else was coming into my row, and we all excitedly looked around when the flight attendant asked us not to move seats until after takeoff. No one ever did show up to my row, and I realized that I was looking at 3 open seats for the entire time! I used the blankets and pillows to make a cozy bed and curled up to get some sleep. I slept for 4 – 5 hours. I watched a film, ate some lunch, and read some of my first book, which inspired me to prepare my first post.
Chapter 1 of Africa and Africans discusses the mythology surrounding Africa. About how media, culture, and our western perceptions have shaped how we view Africa and its people. The stated goal of the book: “The task remains: to look at Africa whole, without the myths and without the images built on our own ethnocentrism.” It hit me that this isn’t just the goal of a book I am reading for a class, but actually what I am seeking to accomplish on this 6 week journey.
I am passing into “nighttime” for southern Africa, and soon I will be stepping off of this half empty plane into a country and a continent that I cannot yet fathom. I do not know what I will discover, or what I will think about any of it, but I will keep you all posted! :)