Eskom, Come On!

Ah, yes. The darkened classrooms and non-functional traffic lights mean only one thing. Load shedding has come back with a vengeance. And just when I had started to take electricity for granted!

Molweni

'Molweni' is Xhosa for "hello everyone." It's one of a handful of various Xhosa phrases that I am learning in my time volunteering to tutor third graders as a part of the program SHAWCO. It's a really cool program that's been around for around 40 years, even in the darkest days of apartheid. It's a way for UCT students like myself to learn how a great number of South Africans live. SHAWCO seeks to offer educational and medical services, among other things, to many of Cape Town's townships.  Out of the various projects and locations available, that range from teaching high schoolers about the environment to forming  a cricket league, I have chosen to tutor third graders in math and english in Khayelitsha on Wednesday afternoons. 

Khayelitsha means "new town" in Xhosa, and was formed as a direct result of the land reform acts that separated Cape Town and South Africa into racially arranged allotments.  The black townships like Khayelitsha were placed on some of the most poorly resourced land, receiving little or no help from the South African government. White and coloured townships were granted more, showing apartheid's destructive race bias. It is easy to see. White South Africa lives in nicely furnished apartments and homes like mine, with indoor plumbing and electricity. Coloured townships like Bonteheuwel and Kensington are impoverished, but have houses built on solid foundations; some made of bricks and stucco, others with fenced-in and nicely maintained lawns. Khayelitsha, Langa, Nyanga, and other black townships consists of houses and shops made from corrugated aluminum, tin, and particle board. The houses are like brightly colored tin dominos, leaning so heavily on one another to the point that if one fell, many would follow. Running water is rare, men piss on the street, and dogs are everywhere. I don't mean to romanticize or demonize this place, where 1.2 million Capetonians make their homes.  It's just what I see out of the big windows of the converted tour bus that SHAWCO uses to bring its volunteers into places like Mannenberg and Khayelitsha. I would never get to see this place any other way. There are thing like township tours where groups of tourists walk through the townships and gawk at the abject poverty and give the kids sweets, but I haven't reconciled myself with the idea of poverty as a tourist attraction. 

Perhaps the most surprising thing about Khayelitsha is how content its residents are. Maybe content isn't the word- I don't know. This is where their families are. Yes, there is crime. This is the neighborhood they have grown up in, in the midst of AIDS and its crushing destructiveness. I see red ribbons painted on walls covered over and again with graffiti, and there is beauty and danger in everything here. Cell phone stores are built up within the metal huts and grocery counters sit with a certain poise upon rotting wood. 

The bus drops me off in front of the SHAWCO building, where kids are running playfully and greeting me with huge and curious smiles. They're in their uniforms from school, and I wonder at how they can wear the thick wool sweaters in the late summer heat. I have volunteered to work with a third grade class, and I walk into the common room where the children have been waiting for our arrival. Since my kids are young, their English is thin at best, but I am fortunate to have been paired with a girl named Cynthia, a first year at UCT, who is fluent in Zulu, which shares much in common with Xhosa. We've had a couple really funny moments when something means one thing in Zulu, and another in Xhosa, and all of the kids giggle because Cynthia has said something like "pee" inadvertently. There are about fourteen kids in our class, roughly half boys and half girls. As usual, I have bonded with the boys before the girls. There is Buhle, Wanda, Lundi, Sinethemba, Sinesepo, Khayefelang, Linda, and others. I love Sinesepo's name; it means "we have hope." He's a crazy little boy, who does all of the little boy things. He's really smart and blows me away every lesson. I would love to get some pictures of them, they're all really adorable and affectionate. They have me laughing pretty much the entire lesson. I find myself wanting to go outside and play with them instead of doing subtraction. At the end of our lesson last time, Cynthia had them sing the South African national anthem, and I thought I was going to die for the cuteness. Thanks to the almighty Wikipedia, here are the lyrics. The first verse is Xhosa, the second is Zulu, the third is Afrikaans, and the fourth is English. 

Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo, Yizwa imithandazo yethu, Nkosi sikelela, thina lusapho lwayo.

Morena boloka setjhaba sa heso, O fedise dintwa la matshwenyeho, O se boloke, O se boloke setjhaba sa heso, Setjhaba sa South Afrika - South Afrika.

Uit die blou van onse hemel, Uit die diepte van ons see, Oor ons ewige gebergtes, Waar die kranse antwoord gee,

Sounds the call to come together, And united we shall stand, Let us live and strive for freedom,

In South Africa our land.    

And a translation?

Lord, bless Africa May her spirit rise high up Hear thou our prayers Lord bless us.

Lord, bless Africa Banish wars and strife Lord, bless our nation Of South Africa.

Ringing out from our blue heavens From our deep seas breaking round Over everlasting mountains Where the echoing crags resound ...

Time to Move On, Time to Get Going

Nothing beats a road trip. Open roads, open windows, and open bags of chips in rental cars are universal signs of freedom and serendipitous travel. That's why I was so excited to take a massive road trip to Namibia from Thursday to Monday.  Eighteen hours each way, mostly through desert and mountains in one of the least densely populated countries in the world. We left on Thursday afternoon, eight girls among which were three Lehigh-ers, and drove six hours to a town about an hour south of the South Africa/ Namibia border called Springbok.  We spent the night there in the Cat Nap Inn, probably the most bizarre hostel I have ever seen. The beds were cots bolted and chained to the wall. Comforting? No. Comfortable? Surprisingly.

 

We left around 7am the next morning for what was to be a 12 hour drive to Swakopmund, a town on the coast of Namibia. This was a really great drive that went surprisingly fast. We had some good music that helped to pass the time, as well as some amazing scenery. There were honestly times when I couldn't breathe because the sunset, mountain ranges, and landscapes were so intensely beautiful. 

Swakopmund is a really cute town of German-style architecture. I think it might be the largest German population outside of Germany, actually. Weird. For all of the beautiful buildings and sand dunes, this city was a total ghost town. There was no one there. In fact, I think the 7 girls and I doubled the population of Swakopmund when we showed up. Our hostel there was called the Desert Sky, and reminded me a little of the Fairy Knowe hostel that we had stayed in on the Garden Route. We all crammed into two small rooms and avoided duck poop. The owners kept these two funny looking ducks as pets, and they pooped everywhere, as ducks will do.

 We crashed early after our long drive and woke up early the next morning to go sand boarding. Just outside of city limits are these huge sand dunes, and you can strap on a snowboard and sand board down them. It was really fun, but really hard work.  Every time you board down, you turn right around and climb the 250ft dune. It was hot and tiring, but really fun too. We went to the beach afterwards to rest our aching muscles and we instantly learned, while lying on the beach, the fascination that Namibian men have for American women. We were pretty uncomfortable and made a quick exit to a seafood dinner, followed by a trip to the local hangout where a video of our sandboarding adventure was played. It was funny to see how stupid we all looked and we had a great time laughing at our various wipeouts. 

The next morning we searched around for a good breakfast place, and again discovered what a quiet town Swakopmund really was. We were the only ones walking around, and it was almost a little bizarre. After a little fiasco at the ATM where one of my trip-mates Lindsay had her ATM card stolen, we grabbed lunch along the beach where we had relaxed the day before. After a nice huge burger, we went shopping on a strip of vendors not far from the beach. I was surprised at how up-front and resilient the vendors were. One actually followed me to the car, trying to sell me baboon candlesticks!

That afternoon was taken up by a 6-hour drive back to a bed-and-breakfast in a town called Mariental. It was a lovely place, with the most comfortable beds and bathtubs. I think I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, which never happens. We woke up at 5:15 the next morning for our leg back to Cape Town; another 12 hour ride. Snacks and girl talk coaxed us through this last leg of our journey and back home to our little flats in the southern suburbs of Cape Town. I got home and felt an immediate sense of relief to be out of a car and back to my room; my personal space. It was also nice to see my roommates, and Olivia made us a lovely pasta dinner to come home to. 

Matt informed me when I got home that he would soon be leaving Cape Town for good, and while I am disappointed, I honestly think I would choose to do the same thing in the wake of the accident and surgeries, along with all of the other medical care necessary. We had a braai for him tonight so that everyone could get  chance to say goodbye, and I realized just how much I really am going to miss him here in our apartment and for the rest of our stay here in Cape Town.

Music Across Townships, and Some Other Random Items of Note

For starters, those are my roommates top left. Ian and Matt respectively. That's just after climbing Table. Top right is my room in 10 Kendal. Bland, I know. But I love it. Bottom left are Fran, myself, Olivia, and Brittany at a club called Tiger Tiger. The wonderful Sophie took the picture. Bottom right is a pickup soccer match in Ocean View, a township about an hour's drive from Cape Town. I just really like that picture. I think this kind of shows you the diverse things we've been able to do here; hiking, going out, and learning about the people of this country. This past weekend we did this really awesome tour called Striking Common Chords, where we visited two townships, one coloured (this is where I explain that coloured is not a derogatory term here, but in fact what ethnically mixed- race people are called. They are also called Cape Malays, and many descend from slaves that were brought to South Africa during the Dutch slave trade) and one black. Apartheid was screwed up for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the segregation of different races into what are called townships. Like with like, if you get the idea. Many people were forcibly removed from their homes and onto small, poorly resourced tracks of land. Coloured townships were given slightly better treatment than black townships, and the effects of this appalling system are still all too apparent. It's weird to think that the fancy, upscale mall down the road from me was build on top of people's bulldozed homes. The coloured township we visited was Q-town, in an area called Bonteheuwel. We were brought to a relatively large schoolroom where a group of older men sat on chairs before us and told us about the music that defined their culture- Goemba. It's music that's very specific to Cape Town, and has a big creole influence. Imagine guitars, banjos, drums, and a chorus of young men singing old slave hymns- the songs of their forefathers, as they called them. It was incredible. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love music, so having the chance to hear and then participate in making this music was incredibly fun for me. We sang a song about the Alibama, a slave ship, in Afrikaans. After some time in Q-town, we headed over to the black township Langa, where a man named Dizu welcomed us into his home. He's a really successful musician who has made a career out of performing the traditional African instruments and preserving the traditions of his ancestors. We got to play drums and listen to some of the coolest, most interesting music I have ever heard. Dizu's mother played two really interesting ancient string instruments, one of which is supposed to be played naked.  They also sang in Xhosa, a beautiful language that is spoken widely over the Western Cape. It's a language that's really musical, and full of clicks.  My favorite instrument that Dizu and his group played was the Mbira, a tiny little iron instrument from Zimbabwe that has little keys like a piano. I would love to learn how to play it. After spending the afternoon with Dizu and eating a delicious dinner cooked by his extremely pregnant wife, we went back over to Q-town for a parade around the streets. I could have honestly done without it, but it was really evident that a lot of the kids of the neighborhood were having a really good time, and really liked to ask us for our umbrellas that we were given to parade with. I gave mine away to a couple of adorable little children, who I hope have enjoyed it.

Some things I've noticed:

- It's really common not to wear shoes here.

- Civil rights issues are still and will continue to be a big issue. For those who have read about       the events in the University of the Free State, you know that race relations are not yet      

    mended. 

- Common ways to greet a person are "Howzit?" and "Is it?"

- Springbok, Kudu, and I assume other kinds of antelope, are delicious. Same goes for ostrich.    

    Feta cheese is hugely popular, not quite sure why.

- Construction, roadwork, and really anything else gets done really slowly. Cape Town is 

    infamous for its laid-back attitude. 

Back to School?

School here, or "varsity," as they call it, has many similarities to college in the states. Some differences, too. Make that a lot of differences. I'm taking 4 classes- Modernism, African Language and Literature, Liberation in Southern Africa, and Africa: Making of a Continent to 1800. I think I will like all of my classes. It's been really hard to get back into school mode, though. The freedom I have had up until school has been amazing. While it's nice to have some kind of routine, the many papers and readings I am doing at the moment are hardly a day on the beach. At least my campus is unbelievably gorgeous, nestled right into the side of Table Mountain. I start at either 8 or 9am pretty much every day, and am finished by 1pm most days. Pretty ideal. Especially considering that the Cape Doctor, the pleasant wind that has served to cut the heat has somehow now vanished and campus can feel like the blinding surface of the sun. It's been great to meet some more South Africans in my classes. I mean, isn't that why I'm here? I've come to the realization that it's time to start pinching pennies, but the food on campus is making that pretty difficult. My favorite is this little Indian food cart in the bottom floor of one of the buildings where I have class. Lots of veggies and curry; really, really delicious. Cheese croissants are also a daily staple. To combat this horrible obsession, I have joined the local gym. 

Cape Town has started to feel more like home now that I have begun classes, which makes me really happy. I feel more confident here. There have been some pretty serious safety concerns, however, and those have recently played a major part in my life on Upper Liesbeek road. Cape Town as a city and South Africa as a whole are generally pretty unsafe places. The whole Apartheid thing has made some big rifts among people so gang warfare is common, as is unemployment (a 40% unemployment rate, if you can imagine) and domestic violence. I say this not to scare anyone, and not because I am particularly scared, but rather because I am experience for the first time what it is like to have safety concerns on my mind constantly. It's a shift in paradigm for a girl from Pennsylvania farmland. This week, my friend and roommate Matt was hit by a car on his way to campus. Today marks exactly a week that he has been in the hospital. I've really admired his determination through his injuries- a shattered tibia, broken ankle, fractured maxilla and chipped teeth. Things took a frightening turn when a pulmonary embolism, presumably fat from bone marrow that was released during surgery, ended up putting Matt in the ICU for a couple days. I am happy to say that his parents are here with him now and he will be perfectly fine. My other roommate Ian and I have been visiting him in the hospital as much as we could over the past week, along with our program director Ouma. All of our friends have been wonderful with going to visit and taking good care of him. I'm really happy that he's begun to recover and Kendal 10 will see him back soon.

Garden Route: Volumes 2,3,4,5, etc.

Okay, change of plans. Here's a freeze-dried version of the duration of the Garden Route:

Knysna- Trust me when I tell you it was ridiculous, and I have no need to ever go back. Cute town, albeit rather commercial. Also, populated by a couple of fascinating individuals who prey on traveling girls in their twenties and exploit the notion of a free drink. Tony and Charlie, namely. There were speedos and near bar fights involved, and we won't go into that.  If you want further details, we'll email. Oh, and there was a nice lagoon. 

Plettenberg Bay- Anything would have been nice after Knysna and the Island Vibe hostel that we stayed in there, smelling of gasoline and kids who drank too much. Nothando, the backpackers we stayed in while in Plett was clean and suburban and far removed from old men with bad intentions. There were comfortable beds, fresh towels, and a great sushi restaurant nearby. Felt a little like central New Jersey. More quaint, though. We went to a couple of preserves while in Plett called Monkeyland (guess what you can find there) and Birds of Eden. Both were fun and really worthwhile. Monkeys are hilarious and well trained at stealing food. There were some obnoxious German tourists who found it appropriate to smoke in the midst of Monkeyland. Geez. Monkeys have lungs, too. We left Plett rather sadly, as we knew it would be our last real outpost of civilization before we headed on to our final stop, Stormsriver. We got some groceries, some box wine, and said goodbye to the comfy sheets of Nothando. 

Stormsriver- Goodbye Nothando, hello Tube n' Axe. That was the name of the backpackers we stayed in while in Stormsriver. Picture mid-twenties, dreadlocked vagabonds with a pension for, as my mother calls it "smoking the ganja." These are the people who run the Tube n' Axe. With names like Monty and Bushy and Leon, what could one expect of them? Hate to say I was a bit of a grandma and passed out early, due in part to that box wine. From the stories I heard the next morning, I missed a good time. Stormsriver is a tiny little outpost in the Tsisikamma National Park. Driving into the park, also the portal to the province of the Eastern Cape, was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Valleys and hills and rivers and canyons and bridges. Bridges to jump from, as it were. And so I did. I, along with 9 of my compatriots, jumped off of the highest bungee jump in the ENTIRE WORLD. Yes. THE WORLD. I made sure to get not only the pictures, but also the DVD of my jump, just for you nonbelievers. It was the scariest thing I've ever done. Basically, they walk you out to the middle of the bridge, call out your number, bind your feet up and clip some kind of harness somewhere, and walk you to the edge. Your toes hang off of the edge slightly as they give you a count of "5,4,3,2,1, BUNGEE!" and then you jump. You have to. For all intensive purposes, they push you.  My stomach was all out of sorts for about the next 24 hours. Glad I did it for the bragging rights, but I don't really need to do it again. You should do it, if you ever get the chance. Back to the Tube n' Axe and some more (surprise!) obnoxious German tourists, one of whom was drunk and asked us if we were slaves. Um. No. Another, presumably slave woman's lover, but in reality her husband's friend (red flag, anyone?) showed us the Chicago LP he had just acquired. Congrats, German dude. Early bed again for me. Lame, I know.  I woke up to a long day on the Baz Bus, about 9 hours total. We ended up having to leave Ian and Isaac in Mossel Bay for a night due to a glitch in the booking, and they had a very interesting journey back the next day. The rest of us got home that same night and went straight to bed, ready for the first day of classes bright and early the next morning.