Today was a lecture day, three 1hour 15 minute lectures on South Africa in the 21st century, politics, and foreign policy. We also had a panel of four teachers, mostly from township schools, who came in and talked about education in SA.
Much of what they said is exactly what we face, but to a higher degree. We have 35-40 in a class, they have 50-55. Class size is an issue.
They have irrational pacing guides, theirs from the National Curriculum Board, ours from our states and districts, both created largely by people who aren't in the classroom. Although after talking to the teachers here and those around the states on this trip with me, I have to hand it to Puyallup that we have a lot more input than most on curriculum development. They have students coming to school unprepared to learn, just like we do, but for them the students come from the rural Eastern Cape province and are far behind.
They lack parental support. Parents don't see the value in education. Those who do, send their kids out of the township schools to schools like Oude Moulen, where Brigitt told me she gets a lot of parent support.
They are low paid. R11,000 per month, with a take home of about R5,000. More than half of their pay is taken in taxes. In a country where only 20% of the elligible workers make enough to pay taxes, the tax rates are very high. At least we are still at 1/3 of our pay going for taxes.
They have limited resources and money to enhance their curriculms. I can understand that too. I gave the drama teacher who spoke with us my email. I told her I'd like to share some resources with her. She was an English teacher with no training and is now teaching drama. Hmmm....been there, done that. But can you imagine 50 drama students in a room?
They talked a lot about how HIV/AIDS is affecting their teaching. It touches everything here. You can't walk down the street with out seeing signs about the rate of infection and safe sex, but still the teenage pregnancy rate is exploding, even with the government providing free contraception. Plus, it is a problem for teachers who have relationships with their students. It's not uncommon for a male or female teacher to have a series of affairs with his/her students, especially in the junior-senior high.
There are very few female administrators, and there is no specialized training to be an adminsitrator. Most are teachers who simply applied for the postion or were given the position because of politics and nepotism.
I could go on and on, but I'm sure this is not the most fun topic to read about. I'm going to Indian food tonight with my friend, Melanie, while most of the others go to a rugby game. Tomorrow we go for a wine tasting, shopping in green market square, and to the botanical gardens.
Friday, July 31, 2009
July 30 - School Visit
Today we met with Geraldine Goldblatt, the local director for this region of the Cape's educational curriculum. She organized school tours for us at four different schools, each one giving a different perspective of education in SA. I went to Oude Molen, the Old Mill, which is a technical high school that specializes in engineering. There were very few girls at the school and most of the students were Cape Coloured. The principal said there were problems with white flight because the school was originally established as a white technical school, one that taught shop and wood working skills, but since the end of apartheid the white population has been steadily decreasing.
The principal met us with tea in the boardroom and a 20-30 minute introduction about the school. He was very proud of his relationship with an area insurance agency that has increased the funding for astro turf on their sports field as well as providing for a club house that can be used by the school and the community. He said that his school accepts 18o students out of the 400-500 applicants every year. Students pay over R8,000 to go to school, about $1,200 per year, plus have to buy uniforms and supplies. According to him, they haven't had to turn down a student because of lack of fees and have programs that help support those who can't pay, but there are still only a limited number of spaces. He also had some interesting things to say about education, saying that American schools suck, and we only do well because we give green cards and Asians and Indians come to our universities, such as MIT, to study. It's an interesting perspective. I know that our education system is not perfect, but I don’t think that our foreign students are the only students who can achieve in our system. Those of you who know me can assume that as difficult as it was, I bit my tongue.
I sat in on two lessons. In the first class, Brigitt, a very kind English department head had about 30 11 grade students. What struck me the most is how much her students were just like mine. They had been working on an argumentative essay, and she was intending to collect it and go over it, but of course, since she'd been gone three days with the flu most didn't have it done. So, she did what all good teachers do, adjusted. She pulled out a poetry project she had been preparing. In the project guidelines, 3-4 students were asked to create a power point or poster presentation that explicated a poem. They were instructed to provide background, teach the poem to the class and lead discussion on it, then have a quiz about it. She originally presented it as a single student project, but because the directions (not rewritten) said group work, it didn't take the boys long to cajole her into making it a group project, but she gave the same dire warnings I always give, that one or two students shouldn't end up doing the majority of the work. She told them to come up with a plan of responsibilities by next Monday. I asked her if the students had access to a computer lab to do the power point, but she said that although there was a computer lab it was used mostly by the math department and hard to use. Oh, and she had a smart board, by the way! She used it too. I didn't get a chance to ask her about how much training she had on it. Near the end of the lessons, one of the boys showed me a drawing he had made of a boy holding a flag and a joint. He asked me what the boy was holding. I thought about what the appropriate answer would be, but I decided on the truth. I said, “I know what it is in English, or what we call it.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well we call it a joint, maybe it’s a blunt, but I think you call it dagga,” I said. He laughed and took the picture back, elbowing his friends and laughing. I was just getting to talk to them a little, including September (the boy right in front of me who immediately introduced himself when he came in the room), but the bell rang and they had to go to a different class. Bridgitt mentioned that September was usually really shy and they were much more rambunctious because I was in the room, and they were showing off for me a little.
Before I left Bridgitt, she told me she would be at a training all next week and her students would be shared among her fellow English faculty. They do not have a substitute system. She also mentioned that while the government would give the school some money to provide coverage for her, she did not think that the money would be used to compensate those teachers watching her students.
In the second classroom, I watched Sandy Hendricks, a bright young teacher do a poetry lesson. The student I sat next to took copious notes on her PowerPoint analyzing the poem. However, they were all in his notebook, despite her encouragement to annotate on the handout she had provided. They read and analyzed a poem, The Watchman by a South African poet. She also gave me several copies of other poems by South African poets. I thought I might send her the acronym SOAPStone to help her organize her literary analysis; she guided them through analysis of sensory imagery, author intention, attitude of the author, and tone. Mostly it was with a few specific questions and then a teacher provided answer, but I can see how that could be a fundamental support for later independent analysis. I didn’t agree with all of her analysis completely, but I appreciated the chance to see how she explained her analysis to the students and guided them through their questions.
Her 9th grade students were obviously well managed. They came in just a little noisy and Sandy marched them right back out to do it again. The last few minutes of class, Sandy asked me if I’d like to address the students and after a brief introduction about me and what I was doing in South Africa, I asked them what they would like my students to know about them. I thought their answers were perfect. They said, wild animals don’t walk down the street here, you should be careful when you visit Capetown, and that I should tell my students how diverse they are in South Africa. I thought those were all very astute comments. They also asked me what my students knew about South Africa, and I said that before they came to me, most may know some geography, they may know Nelson Mandela, but beyond that there was very little. They asked me about American violence. I told them I didn’t know anyone who was a victim of violence in my circle of friends, but that there were very loose gun regulations. One student asked me if I owned a gun, and I said no. He looked disappointed. In addition, they asked about gangs and many other questions about American culture. They are great Eminem fans.
The other members of the group went to Siyabuela, a township middle school; Pinelands, a former model C school (advantaged); and Thandokhoulu, a school that specializes in math and science. Some of their comments included:
Thandokhoulu was an abandoned elementary school that was abandoned because of lead in the building and the Kaylisha township came to take it in 1992 to use as a squatter school. The police seized the school and tried to defend it from the township residents and didn’t want to permit them to use it. There were gaping holes in the school floors. 90-95% of the senior students are sexually active. The school principal never met them or addressed them and at least in one class the teacher never showed up and my colleagues taught the class by leading a discussion about economics. The six teachers who went here left early because no one seemed to direct them, but the met with a Canadian college student who was doing her student teaching here. She did 6 months at two different schools and will be qualified to teach in SA or Canada when she finishes. At Pinelands my friends were shown the school by the graphing and cad teacher. They attended an all school assembly where 800 students sat on the floor quietly. The counselor at the school, Judith Barren, is working on an integration and renovation campaign for the students called Rainbow camp, which is suppose to build student morale and teaming. One activity they do is blind-fold a pair of students and direct them not to speak. Then, they have to make something out of clay. Barren tells a story about two students who had been “enemies” since grade school who take off the blind folds and see that they created beauty. She says the kids experience a lot of emotional change because of the camp, but they only take a select group of students because of funds.
A fun fact from Tommy about Xhosa: Tommy noticed that the literal translation of the Xhosa greeting is, “I see you.” It’s an acknowledgment of them as a person, regardless of social status. To my colleagues and Barren it is this “seeing” of the other that makes the school work better. In the Langa township school, Siyabulela, my friends observed a language lesson in Xhosa and then in Afrikaans and English. The teacher did the lesson in all three languages to work on language development. Classes were large, 44 kids, tables and chairs. It was an eye opening experience in the township school. They came back with many pictures and stories about the difficult conditions and teachers who simply just didn’t show up to teach their classes.
The principal met us with tea in the boardroom and a 20-30 minute introduction about the school. He was very proud of his relationship with an area insurance agency that has increased the funding for astro turf on their sports field as well as providing for a club house that can be used by the school and the community. He said that his school accepts 18o students out of the 400-500 applicants every year. Students pay over R8,000 to go to school, about $1,200 per year, plus have to buy uniforms and supplies. According to him, they haven't had to turn down a student because of lack of fees and have programs that help support those who can't pay, but there are still only a limited number of spaces. He also had some interesting things to say about education, saying that American schools suck, and we only do well because we give green cards and Asians and Indians come to our universities, such as MIT, to study. It's an interesting perspective. I know that our education system is not perfect, but I don’t think that our foreign students are the only students who can achieve in our system. Those of you who know me can assume that as difficult as it was, I bit my tongue.
I sat in on two lessons. In the first class, Brigitt, a very kind English department head had about 30 11 grade students. What struck me the most is how much her students were just like mine. They had been working on an argumentative essay, and she was intending to collect it and go over it, but of course, since she'd been gone three days with the flu most didn't have it done. So, she did what all good teachers do, adjusted. She pulled out a poetry project she had been preparing. In the project guidelines, 3-4 students were asked to create a power point or poster presentation that explicated a poem. They were instructed to provide background, teach the poem to the class and lead discussion on it, then have a quiz about it. She originally presented it as a single student project, but because the directions (not rewritten) said group work, it didn't take the boys long to cajole her into making it a group project, but she gave the same dire warnings I always give, that one or two students shouldn't end up doing the majority of the work. She told them to come up with a plan of responsibilities by next Monday. I asked her if the students had access to a computer lab to do the power point, but she said that although there was a computer lab it was used mostly by the math department and hard to use. Oh, and she had a smart board, by the way! She used it too. I didn't get a chance to ask her about how much training she had on it. Near the end of the lessons, one of the boys showed me a drawing he had made of a boy holding a flag and a joint. He asked me what the boy was holding. I thought about what the appropriate answer would be, but I decided on the truth. I said, “I know what it is in English, or what we call it.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well we call it a joint, maybe it’s a blunt, but I think you call it dagga,” I said. He laughed and took the picture back, elbowing his friends and laughing. I was just getting to talk to them a little, including September (the boy right in front of me who immediately introduced himself when he came in the room), but the bell rang and they had to go to a different class. Bridgitt mentioned that September was usually really shy and they were much more rambunctious because I was in the room, and they were showing off for me a little.
Before I left Bridgitt, she told me she would be at a training all next week and her students would be shared among her fellow English faculty. They do not have a substitute system. She also mentioned that while the government would give the school some money to provide coverage for her, she did not think that the money would be used to compensate those teachers watching her students.
In the second classroom, I watched Sandy Hendricks, a bright young teacher do a poetry lesson. The student I sat next to took copious notes on her PowerPoint analyzing the poem. However, they were all in his notebook, despite her encouragement to annotate on the handout she had provided. They read and analyzed a poem, The Watchman by a South African poet. She also gave me several copies of other poems by South African poets. I thought I might send her the acronym SOAPStone to help her organize her literary analysis; she guided them through analysis of sensory imagery, author intention, attitude of the author, and tone. Mostly it was with a few specific questions and then a teacher provided answer, but I can see how that could be a fundamental support for later independent analysis. I didn’t agree with all of her analysis completely, but I appreciated the chance to see how she explained her analysis to the students and guided them through their questions.
Her 9th grade students were obviously well managed. They came in just a little noisy and Sandy marched them right back out to do it again. The last few minutes of class, Sandy asked me if I’d like to address the students and after a brief introduction about me and what I was doing in South Africa, I asked them what they would like my students to know about them. I thought their answers were perfect. They said, wild animals don’t walk down the street here, you should be careful when you visit Capetown, and that I should tell my students how diverse they are in South Africa. I thought those were all very astute comments. They also asked me what my students knew about South Africa, and I said that before they came to me, most may know some geography, they may know Nelson Mandela, but beyond that there was very little. They asked me about American violence. I told them I didn’t know anyone who was a victim of violence in my circle of friends, but that there were very loose gun regulations. One student asked me if I owned a gun, and I said no. He looked disappointed. In addition, they asked about gangs and many other questions about American culture. They are great Eminem fans.
The other members of the group went to Siyabuela, a township middle school; Pinelands, a former model C school (advantaged); and Thandokhoulu, a school that specializes in math and science. Some of their comments included:
Thandokhoulu was an abandoned elementary school that was abandoned because of lead in the building and the Kaylisha township came to take it in 1992 to use as a squatter school. The police seized the school and tried to defend it from the township residents and didn’t want to permit them to use it. There were gaping holes in the school floors. 90-95% of the senior students are sexually active. The school principal never met them or addressed them and at least in one class the teacher never showed up and my colleagues taught the class by leading a discussion about economics. The six teachers who went here left early because no one seemed to direct them, but the met with a Canadian college student who was doing her student teaching here. She did 6 months at two different schools and will be qualified to teach in SA or Canada when she finishes. At Pinelands my friends were shown the school by the graphing and cad teacher. They attended an all school assembly where 800 students sat on the floor quietly. The counselor at the school, Judith Barren, is working on an integration and renovation campaign for the students called Rainbow camp, which is suppose to build student morale and teaming. One activity they do is blind-fold a pair of students and direct them not to speak. Then, they have to make something out of clay. Barren tells a story about two students who had been “enemies” since grade school who take off the blind folds and see that they created beauty. She says the kids experience a lot of emotional change because of the camp, but they only take a select group of students because of funds.
A fun fact from Tommy about Xhosa: Tommy noticed that the literal translation of the Xhosa greeting is, “I see you.” It’s an acknowledgment of them as a person, regardless of social status. To my colleagues and Barren it is this “seeing” of the other that makes the school work better. In the Langa township school, Siyabulela, my friends observed a language lesson in Xhosa and then in Afrikaans and English. The teacher did the lesson in all three languages to work on language development. Classes were large, 44 kids, tables and chairs. It was an eye opening experience in the township school. They came back with many pictures and stories about the difficult conditions and teachers who simply just didn’t show up to teach their classes.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
July 30
Today we met with Geraldine Goldblatt, the local director for this region of the Cape's curriculum. She organized school tours for us at four different schools, each one with different problems and blessings. I went to Oude Molen, the Old Mill, which is a technical high school that specializes in engineering. There were very few girls at the school and most of the students were Cape Coloured. The principal said there were problems with white flight because the school was originally established as a white technical school, one that taught shop and wood working skills.
The principal met us with tea in the boardroom and a 20-30 minute introduction about the school. He was very proud of his relationship with an area insurance agency that has increased the funding for astro turf on their sports field as well as other benefits. He said that his school accepts 18o students out of the 400-500 applicants every year. Students pay over R8,000 to go to school, about $1,200, plus have to buy uniforms and supplies. They haven't had to turn down a student because of lack of fees and have programs that help support those who can't pay, but there are still only a limited number of spaces. He had some interesting things to say about education, including that American schools suck and we only do well because we give green cards and Asians and Indians come to MIT and such to study. It's an interesting perspective.
I sat in on two lessons. In the first class, Brigitt, a very kind English department head had about 30 11 grade students. What struck me the most is how much her students were just like mine. They had been working on an argumentative essay and she was intending to collect it and go over it, but of course, since she'd been gone three days with the flu most didn't have it done. So, she did what all good teachers do, adjusted. She pulled out a poetry project she had been preparing. In the project guidelines, 3-4 students were asked to create a power point or poster presentation that explicated a poem. They were suppose to provide background, teach the poem to the class and lead discussion on it, then have a quiz about it. She originally presented it as a single student project, but because the directions (not rewritten) said group work, it didn't take the boys long to cajole her into making it a group project, but she gave the same dire warnings I always give, that one or two students shouldn't end up doing the majority of the work. She told them to come up with a plan of responsibilities by next Monday. I asked her if the students had access to a computer lab to do the power point, but she said that although there was a computer lab it was used mostly by the math department and hard to use. Oh, and she had a smart board, by the way! She used it too. I didn't get a chance to ask her about how much training she had on it.
I visited Oude Molen and met Sandy and Brigitte, both English teachers, grade 9 and 11. Thandokhoulu, Pinelands High, Siyabuela Middle School. What things should I make sure to include in lessons about SA? That we don’t have wild animals walking down the streets, that we are diverse, that you must be careful here. They wanted to know if America is really violent, whether we wore uniforms, if I could speak Afrikaans, if I knew Eminem, no substitute program, smart boards, power points, but with poorly organized power points. Math department takes the computer lab. Principal said the American school sucks and our universities are only good because we take green cards. Our best schools, like MIT are filled with Asians and Indians. Very few white students, white flight from school.
Thandokhoulu was an abandoned elementary school that was abandoned because of lead in the building and the Kaylisha township came to take it in 1992 to use as a squatter school. The police seized the school and tried to defend it from the township residents and didn’t want to permit them to use it. Gaping holes in the school floors. 90-95% of the senior students are sexually active.
Pinelands, graphing and cad teacher showed them around. School assembly. 800 students sitting on the floor quietly. Judith Barren, integration and renovation. Rainbow camp. With a blind fold and no speaking, they have to make something out of clay. Literal translation of the Xoisan greeting is, “I see you.” It’s an acknowledgment of them as a person, regardless of social status.
Siyabulela, language – lesson in Xhosa and then in Afrikaans and English. 44 kids, tables and chairs.
Thandokhoulu was an abandoned elementary school that was abandoned because of lead in the building and the Kaylisha township came to take it in 1992 to use as a squatter school. The police seized the school and tried to defend it from the township residents and didn’t want to permit them to use it. Gaping holes in the school floors. 90-95% of the senior students are sexually active.
Pinelands, graphing and cad teacher showed them around. School assembly. 800 students sitting on the floor quietly. Judith Barren, integration and renovation. Rainbow camp. With a blind fold and no speaking, they have to make something out of clay. Literal translation of the Xoisan greeting is, “I see you.” It’s an acknowledgment of them as a person, regardless of social status.
Siyabulela, language – lesson in Xhosa and then in Afrikaans and English. 44 kids, tables and chairs.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
July 28-29
We left Kimberely at 7:30 this morning and are still on the road at 11:21, likely to be on the road until near 5 pm or so. We are slowly making our way back to Cape Town. Tonight, we’ll stop in M
Matjiesfontein, Mikey’s fontayn. It’s described in the rough guide as “little more than two dusty streets,” but Rich has assured us that our hotel, the Lord Milner, has a bar and I am sure many of us fully plan to exploit the riches there in upon our arrival. I’m not very good at these long days on the bus, but we make frequent pit stops and that helps. I finished my fourth South African novel, Ways of Dying by Zakes Mda. He also wrote Heart of Redness, both of which I have read during our bus days. I have also read Disgrace and Thirteen. I have Nectar in the Sieve, not a South African novel, which I’ll begin today. I really liked the Mda books because they both have a magical realist style. In Ways, Mda describes how the two main characters decorate their shanty in an informal township with catalog pictures. Pictures of designer living rooms on one wall, kitchens on another, bedrooms, etc. The most moving part is that they put pictures of gardens and together they “walk through the gardens,” sitting and imagining themselves walking through beautiful gardens together. The way Mda writes is so matter of fact and simple, but somehow incredibly lovely and vivid. It is what he leaves out as well as what he puts in that makes the two novels so memorable. The last 100 pages of the book were so good that I wanted to go on reading. He has one more novel that I may pick up while I’m in Cape Town to read on the plane home. If not, I’ll order them from Amazon to have them delivered by the time I get home.
Matjiesfontein, Mikey’s fontayn. It’s described in the rough guide as “little more than two dusty streets,” but Rich has assured us that our hotel, the Lord Milner, has a bar and I am sure many of us fully plan to exploit the riches there in upon our arrival. I’m not very good at these long days on the bus, but we make frequent pit stops and that helps. I finished my fourth South African novel, Ways of Dying by Zakes Mda. He also wrote Heart of Redness, both of which I have read during our bus days. I have also read Disgrace and Thirteen. I have Nectar in the Sieve, not a South African novel, which I’ll begin today. I really liked the Mda books because they both have a magical realist style. In Ways, Mda describes how the two main characters decorate their shanty in an informal township with catalog pictures. Pictures of designer living rooms on one wall, kitchens on another, bedrooms, etc. The most moving part is that they put pictures of gardens and together they “walk through the gardens,” sitting and imagining themselves walking through beautiful gardens together. The way Mda writes is so matter of fact and simple, but somehow incredibly lovely and vivid. It is what he leaves out as well as what he puts in that makes the two novels so memorable. The last 100 pages of the book were so good that I wanted to go on reading. He has one more novel that I may pick up while I’m in Cape Town to read on the plane home. If not, I’ll order them from Amazon to have them delivered by the time I get home.
We arrived in Matijesfontain, Mikey's Fountain, around 4 pm. It's a quaint Victorian city of about two streets. I had a great night hanging out in the Tavern. The piano player did a wonderful impersonation of Nelson Mandela and showed us a little around the Milner's Hotel. It was quite nice and the dinner was lovely, partly family style with the veg and served meats.
However, this morning before we left is when the excitement really started. Jacob and I walked around near sunset to get some sunset pictures, and happened upon a bunch of weaver birds weaving their nests. I could have stayed and watched them all day.
July 27
Kimberely and the Big Hole. The Big Hole is the largest man made hole in the world. It is a gigantic crater, 214 meters deep and 17 hectares in perimeter. It was made as a mining site for diamonds from 1871-1914. It was a beautiful day to go out and see it. The tour begins with a 20 minute film that begins with the original discovery by children at the Orange River and ends with Rhodes buying out Barney Barnato to control the diamond production in South Africa. In the movie they show two little white kids and a black kid playing together at the Orange River. I’m sure that’s exactly how the diamonds were discovered.
At one point in the film, they describe a Zulu chief who became a mine worker and had to be stripped down and searched like all the other workers. This chief saved lives in a cave in and did several heroic deeds. He was well respected by his fellow black miners, but was still black and therefore treated as if he couldn’t be trusted. The Big Hole does a great job glorifying mining, but poorly addresses the inequities in the black and white miners.
While at the Big Hole, yes I know it’s funny, go ahead and giggle, we toured a recreated mining town and some of us played skittles, a game like bowling, but with ball. Melanie and I went around taking pictures of some of the architecture before I got an ice cream bar. I also picked up another award winning purchase - a pin for the 2010 world cup that begins June11 and ends on my birthday next year, July 11. It’s one of my favorite things I have bought because you can see driving around SA how excited they are for 2010 and how much pressure it is putting on the government to get ready. Right now there are strikes all over SA. It began with the doctors in Kwala-Zulu Natal. Then it was the construction workers, especially those who were building the stadiums for 2010. We saw several of them marching in Durban. Now, it has branched out to municipal workers, trash collectors, bus drivers, etc. In addition there are many service strikes. People in the townships are lighting fires and protesting because Zuma has yet to deliver on the promise of providing electricity, water, housing, and basic services to the people, especially those in the townships. On the other side of this argument though, how much can the government provide? There is over 20 % unemployment (an accepted number by the government, although it may be significantly higher), but children drop out of school and want to do nothing. I know the government needs to supply the basic needs, such as clean water, electricity, housing, heat, but what people really need are jobs. Zuma promised half a million by December. He has a lot of work to do to get there.
After the mine tour, we checked into the Horseshoe Inn. It’s in the shape of a horseshoe, duh! Each of our doors are the split doors and it looks like our rooms are created from renovated horse stalls. Kori and I have four beds in our room. I think we each spend half the night in one, then move to another.
Matt, Jason, and I walked down to the Wimpy’s restaurant after we checked in and used the internet for a little while, but I didn’t have all my entries done.
For dinner, we took four cabs and went to Mario’s, a small Italian restaurant. The proprietor of the restaurant came and talked to us twice to make sure everything was fine, which it was. However, Erika noticed that there were only white customers and all the serving people were black. Kimberely definitely has some of the throwback to earlier days and separation of the races.
At one point in the film, they describe a Zulu chief who became a mine worker and had to be stripped down and searched like all the other workers. This chief saved lives in a cave in and did several heroic deeds. He was well respected by his fellow black miners, but was still black and therefore treated as if he couldn’t be trusted. The Big Hole does a great job glorifying mining, but poorly addresses the inequities in the black and white miners.
While at the Big Hole, yes I know it’s funny, go ahead and giggle, we toured a recreated mining town and some of us played skittles, a game like bowling, but with ball. Melanie and I went around taking pictures of some of the architecture before I got an ice cream bar. I also picked up another award winning purchase - a pin for the 2010 world cup that begins June11 and ends on my birthday next year, July 11. It’s one of my favorite things I have bought because you can see driving around SA how excited they are for 2010 and how much pressure it is putting on the government to get ready. Right now there are strikes all over SA. It began with the doctors in Kwala-Zulu Natal. Then it was the construction workers, especially those who were building the stadiums for 2010. We saw several of them marching in Durban. Now, it has branched out to municipal workers, trash collectors, bus drivers, etc. In addition there are many service strikes. People in the townships are lighting fires and protesting because Zuma has yet to deliver on the promise of providing electricity, water, housing, and basic services to the people, especially those in the townships. On the other side of this argument though, how much can the government provide? There is over 20 % unemployment (an accepted number by the government, although it may be significantly higher), but children drop out of school and want to do nothing. I know the government needs to supply the basic needs, such as clean water, electricity, housing, heat, but what people really need are jobs. Zuma promised half a million by December. He has a lot of work to do to get there.
After the mine tour, we checked into the Horseshoe Inn. It’s in the shape of a horseshoe, duh! Each of our doors are the split doors and it looks like our rooms are created from renovated horse stalls. Kori and I have four beds in our room. I think we each spend half the night in one, then move to another.
Matt, Jason, and I walked down to the Wimpy’s restaurant after we checked in and used the internet for a little while, but I didn’t have all my entries done.
For dinner, we took four cabs and went to Mario’s, a small Italian restaurant. The proprietor of the restaurant came and talked to us twice to make sure everything was fine, which it was. However, Erika noticed that there were only white customers and all the serving people were black. Kimberely definitely has some of the throwback to earlier days and separation of the races.
Monday, July 27, 2009
July 24-25
July 24-25
Two days in Gabarone, Botswana – it was about a 6 hour drive from Jo’burg here, and we arrived in the early evening after literally walking across the border from SA to Botswana. The border crossing was pretty uneventful, except for going into the wrong side of the Botswana immigration building. The lady was quite put out about this. She did however give me 27 of the immigration forms so that I could stand outside and get the group ready as they came up – joys of being first J.
When we arrived at the Hotel Gabarone, I could see we weren’t any longer on our luxury field trip. The hotel is definitely not of the same caliber as Didima, Tsitikamma, Schuschuluwe-Imfolozi, or even the Check Inn. Outside is a terminal with lots of buses, music, and activity. Inside is a casino, a single room with about 20 slot machines. In our bedroom, there are condoms in the safe, provided by the Botswana health department, one of their steps in combating the AIDS epidemic. However, I like the metaphor of having them in the safe, safe sex, get it? There are also condoms in the desk, just in case.
Driving around Botswana is interesting to say the least. Poor Richard turned out of the hotel down a street that suddenly become one way, the wrong way, just past a driveway for a mechanic. In addition, neither Rich, Richard, or Xolani have ever been here before, so when we were looking for the weaving and pottery places today, we had to retrace our steps- sometimes backing down dirt roads. Botswana conveniently also hides their road signs behind huge trees, just in case you want to get really lost, and sometimes their red lights (or robots) are yellow.
When we returned to our palatial temporary abode, we met with Peggy McClure, a friend of Kim’s who runs the Botswana Peace Corps. She filled us in on the work the Peace Corps is doing here and some Botswana politics. I’d love to take 2 years and go volunteer somewhere, but I don’t think Lance would be that into it, maybe after I retire.
The most memorable part of my visit to Botswana, happened outside the Pellagano Village, where I bought my pottery. Several of the guys in our group have consistently been getting a ball out and kicking it around in a semblance of soccer, really mostly just passing it around. They already killed one ball after replacing the initial Miley Cyrus ball Kim purchased at some grocery store. Anyway, on our way to Botswana, at a BP station where we stopped to get snacks and use the toilets, you got a free soccer ball with a R 40 purchase. I got one and told the guys, who pooled money and items to get several free balls, a couple of which they got aired up at the BP. Ok, so I’m getting to my actual point about the Pellagano Village.
While people were still shopping, the guys got out one of the BP balls and were kicking it around in the street. Two young African guys and a dog came and started playing with them. Initially, Matt just passed the ball to this one guy, young with shoes that barely stayed on his feet because he had no laces, but if you could have seen how happy he was…it was just like wow. Then one of his friends joined, then Jake, Kim, Xolani, but the funniest thing had to be the first guys dog. That dog wanted to play ball so badly it was hilarious. He would run from one guy to the other, staying on their passes, and several times was able to stop the ball and take it away from one of the guys. At one point, the guy who could barely keep his shoes on, went and got some laces and tied his shoes to his feet. Not laced up, more like just tied on. They played like that for 30 minutes or so, all of us snapping pictures and I took a little video. The universal language in Africa is not math…it’s soccer. At the end, Jake gave them the ball and as we drove away, I could see them behind the Pellango wall kicking the ball back and forth. Isn’t it funny that a small ball could make people so happy? A free ball that we got by spending R40 on chips, chocolate, and sodas, a ball that they probably couldn’t afford.
June 26
The stay in Mefeking was short and uneventful, except for Amy V’s birthday. We got there around 3:30, and I went for a walk with Dixie, Debra, Jason, Amy, and Kathy. We went down to the grocery store and picked up a little gourmet picnic, cheese, bread, salami, chips, etc. We were lucky enough to find a Woolsworth that would sell us wine on Sunday, even though they weren’t suppose to, earlier in the day, and we had all we needed to celebrate Amy’s birthday with a little picnic.
On our walk around Mekeking, we found the hall for the original creator of the Boyscouts as well as several back roads. We walked mostly in to down town before it began getting a little dark and we thought we should head back to the hotel. We did stop outside of the “serious crimes” police station to do a Charlie Angel’s pose, and got a number of odd looks from the locals.
When we returned to the hotel, about 10 of us sat in the veranda area and gorged ourselves and drank wine. Amy seemed to be very happy with her small gifts of chocolate, napkins, food, etc. Amy F. and I decorated her door, like Amy F did for me with wrapping paper and balloons. It was a fun couple of hours and I got to talk to Lance on the phone while he was driving to see the baby tigers. It was the best phone call we have had since I’ve been gone, and after it I really felt like I was ready to head home. It’s been a great trip, but I’m glad we only have a little over a week left.
Two days in Gabarone, Botswana – it was about a 6 hour drive from Jo’burg here, and we arrived in the early evening after literally walking across the border from SA to Botswana. The border crossing was pretty uneventful, except for going into the wrong side of the Botswana immigration building. The lady was quite put out about this. She did however give me 27 of the immigration forms so that I could stand outside and get the group ready as they came up – joys of being first J.
When we arrived at the Hotel Gabarone, I could see we weren’t any longer on our luxury field trip. The hotel is definitely not of the same caliber as Didima, Tsitikamma, Schuschuluwe-Imfolozi, or even the Check Inn. Outside is a terminal with lots of buses, music, and activity. Inside is a casino, a single room with about 20 slot machines. In our bedroom, there are condoms in the safe, provided by the Botswana health department, one of their steps in combating the AIDS epidemic. However, I like the metaphor of having them in the safe, safe sex, get it? There are also condoms in the desk, just in case.
Driving around Botswana is interesting to say the least. Poor Richard turned out of the hotel down a street that suddenly become one way, the wrong way, just past a driveway for a mechanic. In addition, neither Rich, Richard, or Xolani have ever been here before, so when we were looking for the weaving and pottery places today, we had to retrace our steps- sometimes backing down dirt roads. Botswana conveniently also hides their road signs behind huge trees, just in case you want to get really lost, and sometimes their red lights (or robots) are yellow.
When we returned to our palatial temporary abode, we met with Peggy McClure, a friend of Kim’s who runs the Botswana Peace Corps. She filled us in on the work the Peace Corps is doing here and some Botswana politics. I’d love to take 2 years and go volunteer somewhere, but I don’t think Lance would be that into it, maybe after I retire.
The most memorable part of my visit to Botswana, happened outside the Pellagano Village, where I bought my pottery. Several of the guys in our group have consistently been getting a ball out and kicking it around in a semblance of soccer, really mostly just passing it around. They already killed one ball after replacing the initial Miley Cyrus ball Kim purchased at some grocery store. Anyway, on our way to Botswana, at a BP station where we stopped to get snacks and use the toilets, you got a free soccer ball with a R 40 purchase. I got one and told the guys, who pooled money and items to get several free balls, a couple of which they got aired up at the BP. Ok, so I’m getting to my actual point about the Pellagano Village.
While people were still shopping, the guys got out one of the BP balls and were kicking it around in the street. Two young African guys and a dog came and started playing with them. Initially, Matt just passed the ball to this one guy, young with shoes that barely stayed on his feet because he had no laces, but if you could have seen how happy he was…it was just like wow. Then one of his friends joined, then Jake, Kim, Xolani, but the funniest thing had to be the first guys dog. That dog wanted to play ball so badly it was hilarious. He would run from one guy to the other, staying on their passes, and several times was able to stop the ball and take it away from one of the guys. At one point, the guy who could barely keep his shoes on, went and got some laces and tied his shoes to his feet. Not laced up, more like just tied on. They played like that for 30 minutes or so, all of us snapping pictures and I took a little video. The universal language in Africa is not math…it’s soccer. At the end, Jake gave them the ball and as we drove away, I could see them behind the Pellango wall kicking the ball back and forth. Isn’t it funny that a small ball could make people so happy? A free ball that we got by spending R40 on chips, chocolate, and sodas, a ball that they probably couldn’t afford.
June 26
The stay in Mefeking was short and uneventful, except for Amy V’s birthday. We got there around 3:30, and I went for a walk with Dixie, Debra, Jason, Amy, and Kathy. We went down to the grocery store and picked up a little gourmet picnic, cheese, bread, salami, chips, etc. We were lucky enough to find a Woolsworth that would sell us wine on Sunday, even though they weren’t suppose to, earlier in the day, and we had all we needed to celebrate Amy’s birthday with a little picnic.
On our walk around Mekeking, we found the hall for the original creator of the Boyscouts as well as several back roads. We walked mostly in to down town before it began getting a little dark and we thought we should head back to the hotel. We did stop outside of the “serious crimes” police station to do a Charlie Angel’s pose, and got a number of odd looks from the locals.
When we returned to the hotel, about 10 of us sat in the veranda area and gorged ourselves and drank wine. Amy seemed to be very happy with her small gifts of chocolate, napkins, food, etc. Amy F. and I decorated her door, like Amy F did for me with wrapping paper and balloons. It was a fun couple of hours and I got to talk to Lance on the phone while he was driving to see the baby tigers. It was the best phone call we have had since I’ve been gone, and after it I really felt like I was ready to head home. It’s been a great trip, but I’m glad we only have a little over a week left.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
July 23 - Pretoria
The union buildings in Pretoria is where President Zuma and the executive branch of the South African government is housed. The grounds were lovely, a crew of gardeners keep the gardens well tended and the area is obviously a showcase for the government, but even here there are idiosyncratic reminders of the apartheid era. A giant Hertzog statue is center stage of both the gardens and the building itself. Hertzog was one of the founders of the move toward apartheid and for him to have such a prominent place on the executive grounds seems strange. I envision the statue of Saddam being pulled down in Iraq and wonder about those who left this statue standing as an eternal reminder.
There are many things I don’t understand about South Africa. For example, the Voertrekker monument honors the Boer pioneers who moved further inland when the British imperialist began to occupy the coastal areas of the country. They crossed the Drakensburg Mountains, displacing indigenous groups, especially the Zulu. Inside the monument are huge marble slabs, carved to represent the important evens of this Boer movement, called “The Great Trek.” It was the beginning of Boer nationalistic pride which leads eventually to apartheid. On one slab, Zulu warriors are carved attacking women and children, one woman with her breast nearly exposed is obviously at the mercy of the fierce Zulu warriors. The slabs illustrate the perspective of the Boer, the eternal victims, victims of the British and victims of the Zulu. No where do they show the Boer guns that chased the Zulus from their land or the Zulu children killed by forced starvation. My pictures could be great to teach about narrative perspective or propaganda.
Xolani returned to our merry band today, having spent some time with his family in Jo’burg, including baking cookies with his 14 year old sister. He doesn’t like the Voertrekker monument. After seeing it, I understand why. Together we watched three large groups of Afrikaner school children go on tours of the monument. We were both very curious about what they were being told by their teachers about the monument and its place in their history.
The only other eventful part of the day was our visit to Freedom Park, a park being built on the hill overlooking Pretoria which connects many of the historical places and has various parts to commemorate a variety of wounds from the nation, including apartheid and the AngloBoer War. The picture is of the eternal flame lit by Mbeki at the park. The park isn’t completely done, but the parts that are, are beautiful. However, 150,000 R on a park, when Kliptown has no electricity, plumbing, etc.?
There are many things I don’t understand about South Africa. For example, the Voertrekker monument honors the Boer pioneers who moved further inland when the British imperialist began to occupy the coastal areas of the country. They crossed the Drakensburg Mountains, displacing indigenous groups, especially the Zulu. Inside the monument are huge marble slabs, carved to represent the important evens of this Boer movement, called “The Great Trek.” It was the beginning of Boer nationalistic pride which leads eventually to apartheid. On one slab, Zulu warriors are carved attacking women and children, one woman with her breast nearly exposed is obviously at the mercy of the fierce Zulu warriors. The slabs illustrate the perspective of the Boer, the eternal victims, victims of the British and victims of the Zulu. No where do they show the Boer guns that chased the Zulus from their land or the Zulu children killed by forced starvation. My pictures could be great to teach about narrative perspective or propaganda.
Xolani returned to our merry band today, having spent some time with his family in Jo’burg, including baking cookies with his 14 year old sister. He doesn’t like the Voertrekker monument. After seeing it, I understand why. Together we watched three large groups of Afrikaner school children go on tours of the monument. We were both very curious about what they were being told by their teachers about the monument and its place in their history.
The only other eventful part of the day was our visit to Freedom Park, a park being built on the hill overlooking Pretoria which connects many of the historical places and has various parts to commemorate a variety of wounds from the nation, including apartheid and the AngloBoer War. The picture is of the eternal flame lit by Mbeki at the park. The park isn’t completely done, but the parts that are, are beautiful. However, 150,000 R on a park, when Kliptown has no electricity, plumbing, etc.?
The only other partially exciting thing that happened is that we left one of our troupe at the Kruger Museum, so much for our accountability system.
July 22, Soweto and the Apartheid Museum
Day one touring Johannesburg, Equoli – the city of gold. I began this morning by dropping off my laundry at the laundry spot. Clean clothes for less than $15.00 – works for me. The hotel wanted that much to clean just a pair of jeans. Then I had probably the best hotel breakfast in South Africa. There was even an omelet bar.
We loaded up the bus at 9:30 and headed to the Apartheid Museum, which is ironically next door to an amusement park. The museum had a special exhibit on Nelson Mandela, which covered a lot what I already know from reading his book, Long Walk to Freedom and from the Allistair Spark book on Mandela’s release and election. The picture and artifacts were all very well done and detailed. I enjoyed those the most, especially Mandela’s speeches.
Three of the specific parts of the museum were very powerful. The first was the Soweto student uprising, in which there were first person accounts of the brutality and video tape. Watching children being chased by police, especially police dogs was very hard. Many of them were shot fleeing, shot in the back. Then around the corner from this is a full sized armored land rover, the kind they used to chase the children in. Policemen would just have to look out of a narrow slit of light and shoot, protected in their armor they gunned down 600 children. The first child shot at Soweto was Hector Pieterson. You’ve probably seen the famous picture of him being carried by a high school boy with his crying sister beside him.
Mendy, our guide later this afternoon, was there. She was in primary school and took part in the march. She told us that the older students came and got the primary students to march, but the little ones didn’t know what they were marching for. When the older students saw the police, they put the younger ones in front, believing that the police wouldn’t shoot at the younger students. They were wrong. Mendy was shot in the back of her thigh, trying to get away.
Another part of the museum that I will always remember was actually like relieving my teen years and watching the news. It was a 20 minute video about the violent resistance by teens and young people during the 80’s. They faced down guns and humvees with Molotov cocktails and stones. Again watching the police brutality, throwing young men down from trucks and attacking women and children, it was like seeing the news in the 80’s about South Africa.
A third part of the museum I found very memorable was a section of excerpts from House of Bondage by Ernest Cale. The photographs were a powerful condemnation of apartheid and the era leading to apartheid. One picture showed the mine workers (diamond and gold mines) who had to arrive and leave the mines completely naked so they didn’t “steal” anything. Another discussed the relationship that black domestic workers had with their white employers, not the “mammy” like relationship you see depicted in some movies and fiction books about the apartheid era. Perhaps the most memorable was a picture of a malnourished baby, starvation was inherent in the townships and infant mortality rates there are still high.
After the museum, Mendy took us around Soweto (Southwest Township) to various spots that played key roles in the Soweto student revolt. Currently the Soweto township houses 4.5 million people and maybe as many as 6 million. Mendy said there is a 20% unemployment rate in Soweto, which is a lot less than I would have expected in a country with 60% unemployment. I was surprised about how well maintained Soweto was in comparison to some of the townships in Cape Town.
In Soweto, we went to the Hector Pieterson museum, the first child killed in the Soweto revolt. Following the student protests, the government cracked down on the youth, allowing no more than 5 to gather in a place at a time, and so there was a perpetual cycle of violence against the youth, especially at memorial services, and Mendy showed us a church that was constantly a target for police raids, which has gun shot scars. The picture is of the bricks used in the student memorial. Each brick has the name of a student killed in Soweto.
At the end of our tour, Mendy took us to Kiptown, the informal settlement in Soweto, where 150 people have to share 5 porta potties for bathrooms. There is no electricity, everything runs on batteries, and a lucky few have generators that can be run a few hours a day. Their fires are coals burning in the street, shared by 10 families. We took them oil, rice, bread, eggs, and gave the children penny candy. One woman said, “Thank you for giving me a plate of food for tonight.”
It’s difficult to capture what it is like in the informal settlements, and I didn’t take pictures because I don’t want the people who live there feel like they’re on display. It seems perverted to exploit their lifestyle. They are proud people, even in squaller.
When I first walked into the informal settlement, the first thing I noticed was the garbage. Wrappers of every kind and color, along with a variety of green, red, brown, and yellow cans and bottles, which line the muddy unpaved alley ways, not wide enough to really be considered roads. Narrow paths, crooked and serpentine wind between walls of corregated metal, precariously balanced on wooden planks, not even 2x4s. Small children dodge down the paths rapidly making rights and lefts running toward the “big white bus bringing us sweets.” Laundry drapes over dilapidated fencing and wires that stretch between the leaning shacks. There are craters in th paths from the water that flows from the central tap, water the township inhabitants carry to their homes in buckets to wash their clothes and bodies. It seems something from the Middle Ages, the way I envision the era with sewer running down main roads, no refrigeration and plenty of rodents. One night in one of those homes would change your life forever. What good did bringing them one meal today do?
Adults look at me with either veiled curiosity or contempt, a white American using their lives as a tourist attraction. Some open their doors and invite me, willing to and wanting to share with me their culture and their lives. One family we saw today had purple linoleum right on top of the dirt floor and one person in our group remarked about how clean it was, they were, as if poverty means you can’t be clean. I know what she meant, but at the same time I hoped that the woman of the house didn’t over hear the surprise in her voice. However, what surprised me the most is the idiosyncratic DVD player. In a two room shack that doesn’t have electricity, they had a TV and a DVD player. On the doors of the shacks are bar codes. I asked our guide about them. He said five years ago the government came and put the stickers on the doors, it was a step in getting them a government house. Our guide was a 25 year old entrepreneur who sells meat to make a living. He has lived in the township all his life.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
July 20
What a full day! I got up at 7 am and went on the 8 am hike up to the 1800 year old cave paintings of the Khoisan people. It was a pretty arduous hike, mostly because our guide set a quick pace, and I was feeling pretty out of breath by the time I got to the top. I had to stop more frequently than some of the others, but I made it all the way to the top and took some good photos of the cave art. My legs were like jello coming down, but we took a more leisurely pace and I had the opportunity to rest at Doreen Falls for a bit.
On the way down, I was positioned near our guide, Lindeleni (Lyn da lan e) who is also a Zulu. Aside from him telling us about the snake that eats your brain, he also talked a lot about Zulu spirituality. One thing he spoke about was the Zulu belief in forgiveness. He said that Zulu power comes from the ability to forgive and that holding a grudge decreases your spiritual power. Since we got here in SA, all of us have marveled at the willingness of the Black and Coloured people to forgive apartheid. We have asked people why there isn’t more anger and tried to understand how the anger that simmers in the U. S. is not heated in SA. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that South African people of color have all come to love their white brothers and sisters, but in just 15 years, I thought there would be more anger aimed at whites. Instead everyone, everywhere we go have been courteous, friendly, etc, except for the guy in Durban. Did I tell you about him? Ok, I will do that at the end.
Anyway, my point is that perhaps it is this spiritual belief in the power of forgiveness that the Zulus, and as Lindeleni told me most other indigenous groups believe in, maybe…maybe it’s the idea that has allowed South Africa to go through the Truth and Reconciliation Commision and come through on the other side with more forgiveness than hate.
However, don’t get me wrong…there’s a great deal of crime here, but it is a crime born out of class discrepancy, poverty v. wealth, regardless of color that seems to be the norm. Blacks and Coloureds are victims of people from their own ethnic backgrounds as frequently as Whites are, perhaps more so.
Ok, so the guy in Durban, in case I haven’t told this story. When we first got to our hotel in Durban, I accidently rode the elevator up too far and had to ride it back down. A white Afrikanner man got in the elevator with me and asked if I had been there last night, which of course I wasn’t.
He said, “Oh than you missed the arrival of the South African gorillas.”
I looked at him puzzled. “Real apes,” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “South African apes.”
I knew what he was talking about, there were a lot of teenage athletic teams in our hotel for the KwalaZulu Natal Province all star teams in net ball, volleyball, soccer, etc.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I said.
“All those kids, the darkies,” he said.
I just nodded and did my best to avoid a conflict, but he obviously read my face because he said, “You’re obviously not with my program. Where are you from?”
“The United States,” I replied.
“Well your prisons are 90% full of them too,” he said. “You can’t control yours any better than we can.”
“Doesn’t mean I support that,” I said.
At that moment a Coloured man who worked for the hotel, got on with us and rode a floor. The man gave him a similar speech, slightly less targeted, and got off on the next floor. I didn’t know what to say to the remaining Coloured man except, “Sorry that guy was an asshole,” as I got off on my floor.I talked to a couple other people in our group about the experience and several of them had been with people or seen Afrikaners who were complaining about the noise and such from the teens. They were loud and rowdy, but no more so than any other teens I’ve seen. There are moments here when you realize 15 years isn’t that long of a time, and despite whatever government you have…well, some people are just assholes.
On the way down, I was positioned near our guide, Lindeleni (Lyn da lan e) who is also a Zulu. Aside from him telling us about the snake that eats your brain, he also talked a lot about Zulu spirituality. One thing he spoke about was the Zulu belief in forgiveness. He said that Zulu power comes from the ability to forgive and that holding a grudge decreases your spiritual power. Since we got here in SA, all of us have marveled at the willingness of the Black and Coloured people to forgive apartheid. We have asked people why there isn’t more anger and tried to understand how the anger that simmers in the U. S. is not heated in SA. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that South African people of color have all come to love their white brothers and sisters, but in just 15 years, I thought there would be more anger aimed at whites. Instead everyone, everywhere we go have been courteous, friendly, etc, except for the guy in Durban. Did I tell you about him? Ok, I will do that at the end.
Anyway, my point is that perhaps it is this spiritual belief in the power of forgiveness that the Zulus, and as Lindeleni told me most other indigenous groups believe in, maybe…maybe it’s the idea that has allowed South Africa to go through the Truth and Reconciliation Commision and come through on the other side with more forgiveness than hate.
However, don’t get me wrong…there’s a great deal of crime here, but it is a crime born out of class discrepancy, poverty v. wealth, regardless of color that seems to be the norm. Blacks and Coloureds are victims of people from their own ethnic backgrounds as frequently as Whites are, perhaps more so.
Ok, so the guy in Durban, in case I haven’t told this story. When we first got to our hotel in Durban, I accidently rode the elevator up too far and had to ride it back down. A white Afrikanner man got in the elevator with me and asked if I had been there last night, which of course I wasn’t.
He said, “Oh than you missed the arrival of the South African gorillas.”
I looked at him puzzled. “Real apes,” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “South African apes.”
I knew what he was talking about, there were a lot of teenage athletic teams in our hotel for the KwalaZulu Natal Province all star teams in net ball, volleyball, soccer, etc.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I said.
“All those kids, the darkies,” he said.
I just nodded and did my best to avoid a conflict, but he obviously read my face because he said, “You’re obviously not with my program. Where are you from?”
“The United States,” I replied.
“Well your prisons are 90% full of them too,” he said. “You can’t control yours any better than we can.”
“Doesn’t mean I support that,” I said.
At that moment a Coloured man who worked for the hotel, got on with us and rode a floor. The man gave him a similar speech, slightly less targeted, and got off on the next floor. I didn’t know what to say to the remaining Coloured man except, “Sorry that guy was an asshole,” as I got off on my floor.I talked to a couple other people in our group about the experience and several of them had been with people or seen Afrikaners who were complaining about the noise and such from the teens. They were loud and rowdy, but no more so than any other teens I’ve seen. There are moments here when you realize 15 years isn’t that long of a time, and despite whatever government you have…well, some people are just assholes.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Drakensburg and the HIKE
Ok, so as you can see I'm not there, in the Hiker's Grave site, but it's not for lack of effort. I truly thought I was going to pass out! The hike was only an hour up and about 45 minutes down, but by the time I started down, my legs were jello. It was worth it however to see cave art from 1800 years ago. If you want to see the picts of the cave art and a quick explanation, see my facebook.
July 19 - Zulu Village
Before leaving the valley, we visited a Zulu homestead. Two of the most prominent groups of native Africans in the country are Khosa and Zulu, most of the leaders have been Khosa, like Mandela and Mbeki, but the current president is Zulu. Ngnu, one of the lodge employees, took us to his home, where we met his mother and most of his 12 siblings. The school aged ones walk 6 km over hills and grassy terrain to go to school every week day. To be at school by 8:45, they leave at 6 in the morning.
The homestead had 6 homes, two rectangular and 4 roundavels. His mother’s house, next to his father’s is where all the young ones sleep, but the other 4 houses are homes for the older boys, at least one of whom is married with his own children.
Polygamy is still legal among the Zulu, but not frequently practiced. Years ago it was more economical to have multiple wives and families because each wife provided for her own children by farming a plot of land, but now that is less frequent and the men are earning the living by working in the city and smaller families are becoming more economical; however, many Zulu (at least rural Zulus) still benefit from multiple wives.
John Turner, who also gave us some information about Zulu practices and beliefs, told us about two Zulu customs that are interesting, at least to me. The first was lebola, bride price. In the Zulu tradition, if a young man wants to marry a woman, his family offers a lebola, 2-3 heifers for a “regular” girl and as many as 12-15 for a chief’s daughter. Xolani, who is a Zulu, said that frequently Westernized Zulus make this offer as homage to the tradition, but don’t always practice it. For example, Xolani’s parents may offer a lebola when he decides to marry, but the expectation may be that it will be minimal, something small, or that the girl’s family may say it is not necessary. However, John pointed out that many females’ families are inclined to stick with the tradition because it brings them more wealth. However, modern lebolas can go beyond cattle. They can be big screen tvs, satellite dishes, cell phones, etc.
John told us a story about one Zulu man who did not pay off his wives’ lebola until their children were 16 years old. The lebola can be a large financial burden to a young man, a debt to start a new life with. I wonder what Xolani will do if he falls in love with a woman from a traditional family.
The second practice has to do with the Zulu belief in after life. Zulus are frequently buried where they die, which may or may not be their homeland, or land of their family. In this case, a family member would go to the burial spot with a buffalo thorn tree branch in which to capture the soul. The family member lays the branch on the grave, captures the spirit of the dead person in the branch, and then turns without talking and takes it home. This may be difficult today because of how far apart families have spread. Today, when a Zulu family member goes to bring the spirit back, he/she may have a travel escort who can speak and negotiate travel, accommodations, cab fares, etc. Another interesting fact, when traveling with the branch, you pay for the branch as a person because it is.
We arrived at Didima Camp in the Drakensburg mountains around 5 pm tonight. I washed my underclothes and a couple T-shirts, sent my jeans and a fleece to the laundry, had a sandwich, and read in my room in front of a fire. Tomorrow at 8 am, I have scheduled a hike up to see the cave paintings.
The homestead had 6 homes, two rectangular and 4 roundavels. His mother’s house, next to his father’s is where all the young ones sleep, but the other 4 houses are homes for the older boys, at least one of whom is married with his own children.
Polygamy is still legal among the Zulu, but not frequently practiced. Years ago it was more economical to have multiple wives and families because each wife provided for her own children by farming a plot of land, but now that is less frequent and the men are earning the living by working in the city and smaller families are becoming more economical; however, many Zulu (at least rural Zulus) still benefit from multiple wives.
John Turner, who also gave us some information about Zulu practices and beliefs, told us about two Zulu customs that are interesting, at least to me. The first was lebola, bride price. In the Zulu tradition, if a young man wants to marry a woman, his family offers a lebola, 2-3 heifers for a “regular” girl and as many as 12-15 for a chief’s daughter. Xolani, who is a Zulu, said that frequently Westernized Zulus make this offer as homage to the tradition, but don’t always practice it. For example, Xolani’s parents may offer a lebola when he decides to marry, but the expectation may be that it will be minimal, something small, or that the girl’s family may say it is not necessary. However, John pointed out that many females’ families are inclined to stick with the tradition because it brings them more wealth. However, modern lebolas can go beyond cattle. They can be big screen tvs, satellite dishes, cell phones, etc.
John told us a story about one Zulu man who did not pay off his wives’ lebola until their children were 16 years old. The lebola can be a large financial burden to a young man, a debt to start a new life with. I wonder what Xolani will do if he falls in love with a woman from a traditional family.
The second practice has to do with the Zulu belief in after life. Zulus are frequently buried where they die, which may or may not be their homeland, or land of their family. In this case, a family member would go to the burial spot with a buffalo thorn tree branch in which to capture the soul. The family member lays the branch on the grave, captures the spirit of the dead person in the branch, and then turns without talking and takes it home. This may be difficult today because of how far apart families have spread. Today, when a Zulu family member goes to bring the spirit back, he/she may have a travel escort who can speak and negotiate travel, accommodations, cab fares, etc. Another interesting fact, when traveling with the branch, you pay for the branch as a person because it is.
We arrived at Didima Camp in the Drakensburg mountains around 5 pm tonight. I washed my underclothes and a couple T-shirts, sent my jeans and a fleece to the laundry, had a sandwich, and read in my room in front of a fire. Tomorrow at 8 am, I have scheduled a hike up to see the cave paintings.
July 17-18 Babanango Valley
Bobanango Valley. It was definitely a long and winding road to get to our cute little cottage in the middle of the Zulu battlefields during the Zulu-Anglo war. It was the first time I put on my seatbelt while riding the bus.
When we arrived here, Friday evening and off loaded our luggage, Kay, Kori, Melanie, Kathy, and I were assigned the cottage. A cute little white washed, 3 bedroom, 2 bath cottage, just on the other side of the lodge. We had just enough time to choose bedrooms and get out some warm clothes before I walked with Kathy, Amy, Debra, and Jason to the Bush Camp, where we were going to have dinner. It was incredibly cold and the employees had already started a small bonfire, which I kept going through dinner, the cauliflower butternut soup was awesome. By the way this dinner in the bush, came with table clothes, linen napkins, waiters, and a paid bar…not exactly roughing it but VERY cold. I think this is the only stay in which I will get sunburn and frost bite in the same day.
The next morning, after a frigid breakfast, we headed out to the Zulu battlefield of Islandlwana and Rorke’s Drift. Our guide, Dr. John Turner, owner of the lodge and a self taught historian, was fabulous. He knew details down to the hours of the day that events occurred, names, personalities, etc. Not to mention that he was an enthralling story teller. He showed us the British and Zulu movements through this battle, the first in the war. It all took place under a Sphinx shaped hill, Islandlwana. The British loss here was devastating. The area is strewn with pyramids of white washed stones, marking the places of the dead British soldiers. There was also a monument to the fallen Zulus, a Zulu necklace.
The tour was long and very detailed. While Dr. Turner was an excellent story teller, I was exhausted by the time we got back to our cottage and took a shower as soon as we got in. What had started as a very cool morning, got heated on the battlefield and as soon as the sun set the chill returned. I felt like I was stripping and putting on clothes nearly all day.
By the time we got down to dinner, I had reorganized my layers sufficiently to be more comfortable at dinner.
When we returned home, Jacob came to sleep on our living room couch because the Bush Camp tents – while luxurious – were also very cold. I was repacking for the following morning and picked my robe up from the bed to find it was warm. When I said something to Kori, she thought I was crazy, but then I pulled back the covers to get in bed and there was an old fashioned hot water bottle in an old fashioned cozy, which is now down at my feet, making me very happy and cozy. As Lance can tell you, my feet are rarely if ever warm!
I didn’t enjoy the battle field tour as much as I would have if I had taken notes, because although Dr. Turner was an excellent story, but of the awesome details will be lost in my faulty memory.
When we arrived here, Friday evening and off loaded our luggage, Kay, Kori, Melanie, Kathy, and I were assigned the cottage. A cute little white washed, 3 bedroom, 2 bath cottage, just on the other side of the lodge. We had just enough time to choose bedrooms and get out some warm clothes before I walked with Kathy, Amy, Debra, and Jason to the Bush Camp, where we were going to have dinner. It was incredibly cold and the employees had already started a small bonfire, which I kept going through dinner, the cauliflower butternut soup was awesome. By the way this dinner in the bush, came with table clothes, linen napkins, waiters, and a paid bar…not exactly roughing it but VERY cold. I think this is the only stay in which I will get sunburn and frost bite in the same day.
The next morning, after a frigid breakfast, we headed out to the Zulu battlefield of Islandlwana and Rorke’s Drift. Our guide, Dr. John Turner, owner of the lodge and a self taught historian, was fabulous. He knew details down to the hours of the day that events occurred, names, personalities, etc. Not to mention that he was an enthralling story teller. He showed us the British and Zulu movements through this battle, the first in the war. It all took place under a Sphinx shaped hill, Islandlwana. The British loss here was devastating. The area is strewn with pyramids of white washed stones, marking the places of the dead British soldiers. There was also a monument to the fallen Zulus, a Zulu necklace.
The tour was long and very detailed. While Dr. Turner was an excellent story teller, I was exhausted by the time we got back to our cottage and took a shower as soon as we got in. What had started as a very cool morning, got heated on the battlefield and as soon as the sun set the chill returned. I felt like I was stripping and putting on clothes nearly all day.
By the time we got down to dinner, I had reorganized my layers sufficiently to be more comfortable at dinner.
When we returned home, Jacob came to sleep on our living room couch because the Bush Camp tents – while luxurious – were also very cold. I was repacking for the following morning and picked my robe up from the bed to find it was warm. When I said something to Kori, she thought I was crazy, but then I pulled back the covers to get in bed and there was an old fashioned hot water bottle in an old fashioned cozy, which is now down at my feet, making me very happy and cozy. As Lance can tell you, my feet are rarely if ever warm!
I didn’t enjoy the battle field tour as much as I would have if I had taken notes, because although Dr. Turner was an excellent story, but of the awesome details will be lost in my faulty memory.
July 15-16 - Game Park
Hluhluwe-imfolozi park, which sounds like Shush louie and full-o-z when said aloud, is a park in the heart of Zulu country was once the private hunting grounds of the King shaka, but has become recognized for white rhino conservation. I spent 12 of our 36 hours on game rides around the park and saw: giraffe, kudu, vervet monkeys, baboons, bush babies, spotted hyenas, leopards, elephants, white rhinos, zebras, warthogs, hippopotamus, cape buffalo, blue wildebeest (gnus), impalas, duiker, nyala, white tail mongoose, and numerous mice.
I spent 6 hours with two different guides, Xolani and Ephraham. My two favorite sightings were both with Xolani. On the 6 am drive, we saw two leopards, one female on the right on the way down the road, then a male on the left after we spun around. Mary, one of the women on the trip with me, spotted the first leopard and did a great job not hollering “leopard” and scaring it away. She was small and yellow, but her belly was almost white. The second leopard was male, larger and lithe. I didn’t get pictures of either leopard, as Xolani says, “must have just a memory picture.” On the 10 am drive, Xolani looked very hard for elephants for us and we finally found some. A family of 6 were playing in the mud hole and the smallest baby elephant I’ve ever seen, which wallowed around in the mud for some time as we snapped till our hearts content. A couple of the women with me got video of the interaction among the elephants. It was such an obvious demonstration of family love and bonding that it made me a bit teary eyed. They were magnificent.
The little house I stayed in with Kori, Erika, and Heather was simply lovely, even better after the maintenance man came and threw the breaker for the plugs to work. Kori is a good roommate. I think things go ok for us. She does her own thing. I do my own thing, and then we sleep. It works.
I spent 6 hours with two different guides, Xolani and Ephraham. My two favorite sightings were both with Xolani. On the 6 am drive, we saw two leopards, one female on the right on the way down the road, then a male on the left after we spun around. Mary, one of the women on the trip with me, spotted the first leopard and did a great job not hollering “leopard” and scaring it away. She was small and yellow, but her belly was almost white. The second leopard was male, larger and lithe. I didn’t get pictures of either leopard, as Xolani says, “must have just a memory picture.” On the 10 am drive, Xolani looked very hard for elephants for us and we finally found some. A family of 6 were playing in the mud hole and the smallest baby elephant I’ve ever seen, which wallowed around in the mud for some time as we snapped till our hearts content. A couple of the women with me got video of the interaction among the elephants. It was such an obvious demonstration of family love and bonding that it made me a bit teary eyed. They were magnificent.
The little house I stayed in with Kori, Erika, and Heather was simply lovely, even better after the maintenance man came and threw the breaker for the plugs to work. Kori is a good roommate. I think things go ok for us. She does her own thing. I do my own thing, and then we sleep. It works.
Durban Part two
It was a long ride across the countryside to get to Durban. We passed rural Xhosa villages and into KwaZulu Natal, Zulu area. Durban is the largest port in the country and has one of the worst crime rates. Gayle took us on a tour of the coloured townships. They were very different than those we saw in Cape Town, much more settled, less garbage, and more durably built. Durban has the largest Indian population outside of India because many of them were brought as indentured servants to work the sugar plantations around Durban. Later they did much of the construction throughout Durban and other areas of South Africa.
One of the most memorable story Gayle told us was about the Zanzibar slaves. There were 43 slaves who arrived on a British Frigate in 1836, two years after the abolition of slavery. The British originally put them on several hectares of land on the bluffs, but when apartheid regulations became laws and the Group Area Land Act went into effect, the government wanted to move the Zanzibarians to the black townships, populated with Zulu and other South African ethnic groups. The Zanzibarians refused to go and requested to be grouped with the Indians with whom they at least shared some common religion with, at least with the Indians who were Muslim. It was much more beneficial for them to be labeled as Indian or Coloured, as opposed to black. The Zanzibar slaves were allowed to move into the Indian area and now post apartheid, they are trying to reclaim their land; however, an elderly home, school, and set of apartments currently occupies part of the land. To get back their land, the Zanzibar descendants now wait for the current tenants to die before they are allowed to move back onto their land, which will of course then display the families of the white residents currently living there. The whole reclamation movement post apartheid is now displacing another population…it’s an endless circle.
Gayle also mentioned that many of the whites left Durban post apartheid, afraid of black rule and retribution. Many have settled in Australia, selling their 3.5 million rand bluff homes for 350,000 rand in the early 90’s to leave the country. Now, it’s the crime level that is driving the Whites and well off Blacks and Coloureds out of the country. There appears to be a perpetual cycle, South Africa is like a dog chasing its tail. Every time it gets close to solving one problem, another crops up…maybe it’s more like the Whack-a-Mole game.
One of the most memorable story Gayle told us was about the Zanzibar slaves. There were 43 slaves who arrived on a British Frigate in 1836, two years after the abolition of slavery. The British originally put them on several hectares of land on the bluffs, but when apartheid regulations became laws and the Group Area Land Act went into effect, the government wanted to move the Zanzibarians to the black townships, populated with Zulu and other South African ethnic groups. The Zanzibarians refused to go and requested to be grouped with the Indians with whom they at least shared some common religion with, at least with the Indians who were Muslim. It was much more beneficial for them to be labeled as Indian or Coloured, as opposed to black. The Zanzibar slaves were allowed to move into the Indian area and now post apartheid, they are trying to reclaim their land; however, an elderly home, school, and set of apartments currently occupies part of the land. To get back their land, the Zanzibar descendants now wait for the current tenants to die before they are allowed to move back onto their land, which will of course then display the families of the white residents currently living there. The whole reclamation movement post apartheid is now displacing another population…it’s an endless circle.
Gayle also mentioned that many of the whites left Durban post apartheid, afraid of black rule and retribution. Many have settled in Australia, selling their 3.5 million rand bluff homes for 350,000 rand in the early 90’s to leave the country. Now, it’s the crime level that is driving the Whites and well off Blacks and Coloureds out of the country. There appears to be a perpetual cycle, South Africa is like a dog chasing its tail. Every time it gets close to solving one problem, another crops up…maybe it’s more like the Whack-a-Mole game.
In the picture you can see South Africans trying to reclaim their land and heritage by renaming the streets. Most of the streets in Durban have signs like this. Gradually, the ANC government is replacing colonial chosen street names with names of figures from the movement. However, as Gayle pointed out, in the effort to do so, many people are confused, lost, and don't even know the people who the streets are being named after.
When we go on these tours, I watch Xolani listen to the stories about his country. He listens attentively to the problems Gayle talks about, teenage prostitution, gangs, drugs, etc. and his face drops a little with every fact and statistic. I feel sorry for him and proud of him at the same time. When he’s not helping us, he’s a teacher working on his master’s degree in linguistics. He got out of the townships in Jo’burg and put himself through college.
I think about what I had to do, getting out of the inner city, being a teenage mom and dropping out of high school. I know that it was hard, and I worked hard all the time. If it was hard for me, it must have been hell for Xolani. Darrin and I have discussed how it is when you are doing better than those of your family and friends you knew. When you go back to the neighborhood, they look at you with envy and folded arms of expectation. It’s an unspoken expectation, but it’s tangible, hanging in the unspoken air, some expectation they have of your responsibility to drag him/her out of the mire of poverty. It’s uncomfortable. It’s sad, and it makes you feel like shit, which makes you never want to go back. But when you sever ties then you’re alone. Xolani must feel very alone at times.
When we go on these tours, I watch Xolani listen to the stories about his country. He listens attentively to the problems Gayle talks about, teenage prostitution, gangs, drugs, etc. and his face drops a little with every fact and statistic. I feel sorry for him and proud of him at the same time. When he’s not helping us, he’s a teacher working on his master’s degree in linguistics. He got out of the townships in Jo’burg and put himself through college.
I think about what I had to do, getting out of the inner city, being a teenage mom and dropping out of high school. I know that it was hard, and I worked hard all the time. If it was hard for me, it must have been hell for Xolani. Darrin and I have discussed how it is when you are doing better than those of your family and friends you knew. When you go back to the neighborhood, they look at you with envy and folded arms of expectation. It’s an unspoken expectation, but it’s tangible, hanging in the unspoken air, some expectation they have of your responsibility to drag him/her out of the mire of poverty. It’s uncomfortable. It’s sad, and it makes you feel like shit, which makes you never want to go back. But when you sever ties then you’re alone. Xolani must feel very alone at times.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
July 13-14
Two days in Durban. This one is going to be short. I've been crazy busy. Yesterday when we got in, we went over to the Casion/Entertainment World and had fast food Indian for dinner. I went with Xolani to watch The Proposal, fun to have a guy who watches romantic comedies around. It was just an ok movie, but Xolani made it fun. Today, we went to the Coloured townships and Indian townships as well as a Hindu temple and the Indian market. I bought the coolest bracelet EVER. I'll explain the story when I get home. It was a great day, but windy and cold for Durban, no swimming in the ocean for me. I have some great pictures, but they take too long to upload. I'll get a lot more uploaded when I get back to Cape Town for sure.
July 12
Long bus ride day. After waking up to no water, and a hasty breakfast, we drove from Grahmstown to Mhumtata, the site of the Nelson Mandela museum, and his childhood. The Mhumtata Savoy is NOT at all like the other Savoy’s. It was pretty comical watching Rich sort out the rooming reservations, about 40 minutes of faulty conversations and frustrations that leaves most of us in rooms with just a double bed. Fortunately, I like Kori enough and she’ll probably forgive me if I snuggle. Oh, and we had to wait 30 minutes to get toilet paper, and Jason had to have the desk call the manager to get us an extra towel, imagine wanting two. The drive however was beautiful, full of slopping hills, cows on the road, and rows of Xhosa styled houses. If you can get beyond the sheer number of plastic bags stuck in barbed wire running across the country side, there is a beauty in South Africa that takes my breath away. At every turn there are deep crevices, flat plains, rolling hills, high trees, and color. Along the road, there are small groups of houses, usually two round and one square. I asked Xolani about it this evening. The round houses use to be for families, or for each wife. The square would have been a common cooking and storage place and the round homes were for a son and his family or a second wife. However, Xolani said few people practice polygamy today, although the current South African President, Zuma is currently engaged to his third wife.
July 11
July 11
Happy Birthday to me. Ok, so I really missed having my family around and when I woke Lance up at 6:30 am, U. S. time he wasn’t very conversational, but it was probably one of my most memorable birthdays ever. My band of brothers and sisters were thoughtful and tasteful. I didn’t really want a big deal made about my birthday, but I also didn’t want it to go unnoticed, so I didn’t keep it a secret or anything.
This was our last day in Grahamstown, and I wanted to get some gifts for my friends and family. After breakfast, I spent some time at the internet café, the nicest one I’ve been to on the road, a really homey feeling, not high tech and using black lights, like the one in Cape Town. I had tea, emailed, uploaded my blogs and pictures. Then I went to the Eastern Cape Orchestra. These amazingly colorful men and women made beautiful music and explained Xhosa tribal traditions in between.
I then went to the Village Green and spent more money than I should have on gifts for my friends. I’m still looking for the right gift for Lance, but I got Darrin something. After the Village Green my friends bought me dinner at Calabash, the same South African restaurant from Friday. I had the butternut spinach lasagna…MMMMMM! But the best was yet to come. I went to a jazz concert after with Simpwahae Dana and Freshly Ground. Both acts were very good, but Freshly Ground was my favorite. I fully intend to order from Amazon so that the DVD and CD will be there when I get home. The music is great, but their stage performance was magnificent. I videotaped a couple of the numbers, but there was a lot of tall people dancing in front of me for most of the show so that’s all I could get. Trust me when I say they were legen….(wait for it) dary.
It really was probably one of the better birthdays I had, and when I got back to my room, Amy F, aka New Hampshire Amy, had decorated my door with wrapping paper, balloons, and a card signed by everyone. It made my night. I took a picture, and will keep the card.
Happy Birthday to me. Ok, so I really missed having my family around and when I woke Lance up at 6:30 am, U. S. time he wasn’t very conversational, but it was probably one of my most memorable birthdays ever. My band of brothers and sisters were thoughtful and tasteful. I didn’t really want a big deal made about my birthday, but I also didn’t want it to go unnoticed, so I didn’t keep it a secret or anything.
This was our last day in Grahamstown, and I wanted to get some gifts for my friends and family. After breakfast, I spent some time at the internet café, the nicest one I’ve been to on the road, a really homey feeling, not high tech and using black lights, like the one in Cape Town. I had tea, emailed, uploaded my blogs and pictures. Then I went to the Eastern Cape Orchestra. These amazingly colorful men and women made beautiful music and explained Xhosa tribal traditions in between.
I then went to the Village Green and spent more money than I should have on gifts for my friends. I’m still looking for the right gift for Lance, but I got Darrin something. After the Village Green my friends bought me dinner at Calabash, the same South African restaurant from Friday. I had the butternut spinach lasagna…MMMMMM! But the best was yet to come. I went to a jazz concert after with Simpwahae Dana and Freshly Ground. Both acts were very good, but Freshly Ground was my favorite. I fully intend to order from Amazon so that the DVD and CD will be there when I get home. The music is great, but their stage performance was magnificent. I videotaped a couple of the numbers, but there was a lot of tall people dancing in front of me for most of the show so that’s all I could get. Trust me when I say they were legen….(wait for it) dary.
It really was probably one of the better birthdays I had, and when I got back to my room, Amy F, aka New Hampshire Amy, had decorated my door with wrapping paper, balloons, and a card signed by everyone. It made my night. I took a picture, and will keep the card.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
July 9
It has been a couple of long days on the bus, quick stops, and late night stays at really wonderful resort rooms, but tonight it’s a dorm room at Rhodes University in Graham’s Town. We have officially begun partaking of the National Arts Festival. My contribution? Purchasing a new African adaptor for my appliances, an early shower, and downloading pictures. I did go have a great South African meal, a Xhosa Chicken Curry Pot, where a local celebrity had the wait staff females gaga.
On July 8, we stayed overnight at Arniston, lovely whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs, very near the beach. Five of us had a house to ourselves. That night the women of the village cooked us a Hake fish dinner and sang a couple traditional songs. One of the songs was about welcome to the village where the fish is plenty and the meat poor, but after talking to one of the women, I learned that it is the fish that is poor. Over fishing has become a problem in SA and many fishermen have no livelihood. They also served my new favorite dessert, Mulva pudding…omg, like bread pudding with ambrosia sauce! It was a good night to spend after so many hours on the bus.
On the way to Arniston, we stoped at Cape Agulhas, where the Indian and the Atlantic Oceans meet and climbed to the top of one of the oldest light houses in the country. Literally a series of ladders that took us through progressively narrow holes up to the actual light of the lighthouse. It was a bit of a climb, but not bad, unless you were wearing a skirt, poor Erica and Amy.
When we finished dinner in Arniston, we all gathered at one house for wine, music, talking and laughter, but that was my night to do the trip journal, so I didn’t stay that long, besides I have had more than enough wine J.
First thing in the morning we headed to Tsitsikamma, with Rich singing “It’s a long way to Tsitsikamma.” And so it was! Before we arrived, we stopped briefly in Mossel Bay at the Bartholomeu Dias museum, who sailed the cape in 1488. Inside was a real life replica of his ship. I felt like a pirate prowling around and took a bunch of pictures. My favorite item was the post office tree however. Legend has it that men would leave messages in a boot under the tree for each other. The trees pretty cool, I’m not gonna lie.
In Tsitsikamma we stayed in the MOST AWESOMEST PLACE EVER!!! We had an “Oceanette,” right on the beach, we could literally walk down several steps and on to the rocky shore if we wanted to. Here’s where I’ve seen the most wildlife so far. I saw a whale, no picture, just the tale , dolphins surfing the waves, pictures but fuzzy, Dassis, the closest relative to the elephant, and a couple Steenbok. It was a pretty good 6 hours at the park, I must say!
One thing I noticed as we travelled on the road. I could always tell when we were getting close to a larger town because outside each large town was a settlement township of corrugated steel shacks and plastic over the roofs. Even in the face of beauty there is poverty in South Africa, but everyone seems to accept it as part of the life here. Change is slow in coming.
On July 8, we stayed overnight at Arniston, lovely whitewashed cottages with thatched roofs, very near the beach. Five of us had a house to ourselves. That night the women of the village cooked us a Hake fish dinner and sang a couple traditional songs. One of the songs was about welcome to the village where the fish is plenty and the meat poor, but after talking to one of the women, I learned that it is the fish that is poor. Over fishing has become a problem in SA and many fishermen have no livelihood. They also served my new favorite dessert, Mulva pudding…omg, like bread pudding with ambrosia sauce! It was a good night to spend after so many hours on the bus.
On the way to Arniston, we stoped at Cape Agulhas, where the Indian and the Atlantic Oceans meet and climbed to the top of one of the oldest light houses in the country. Literally a series of ladders that took us through progressively narrow holes up to the actual light of the lighthouse. It was a bit of a climb, but not bad, unless you were wearing a skirt, poor Erica and Amy.
When we finished dinner in Arniston, we all gathered at one house for wine, music, talking and laughter, but that was my night to do the trip journal, so I didn’t stay that long, besides I have had more than enough wine J.
First thing in the morning we headed to Tsitsikamma, with Rich singing “It’s a long way to Tsitsikamma.” And so it was! Before we arrived, we stopped briefly in Mossel Bay at the Bartholomeu Dias museum, who sailed the cape in 1488. Inside was a real life replica of his ship. I felt like a pirate prowling around and took a bunch of pictures. My favorite item was the post office tree however. Legend has it that men would leave messages in a boot under the tree for each other. The trees pretty cool, I’m not gonna lie.
In Tsitsikamma we stayed in the MOST AWESOMEST PLACE EVER!!! We had an “Oceanette,” right on the beach, we could literally walk down several steps and on to the rocky shore if we wanted to. Here’s where I’ve seen the most wildlife so far. I saw a whale, no picture, just the tale , dolphins surfing the waves, pictures but fuzzy, Dassis, the closest relative to the elephant, and a couple Steenbok. It was a pretty good 6 hours at the park, I must say!
One thing I noticed as we travelled on the road. I could always tell when we were getting close to a larger town because outside each large town was a settlement township of corrugated steel shacks and plastic over the roofs. Even in the face of beauty there is poverty in South Africa, but everyone seems to accept it as part of the life here. Change is slow in coming.
July 10
It's been awhile between blogs, and the one I've been keeping on my lap top is getting uploaded today because I didn't want to carry my lap top all day at the festival. So, this is just about yesterday. I'll catch you up on the trip down when I get to Durban in two days.
My day started yesterday at 6:30 am, when I got up and did laundry in the dorm. We arrived early evening of the 9th at the Grahamstown National Arts Festival. We didn't have time to do much except eat dinner and lug my 50 lb suitcase up three flights of stairs *whew*! We did have a two hour dinner at Calabash, a South African cuisine. I had the Xhosa chicken curry pot with rice and veg. Xhosa is pronounced with a side click where the X is. I can't quite do it right yet myself, but I'm working on it. It was delicious. They also have an all you can eat buffet, which I didn't get, but sat right next to.
At dinner the buffet attendant got a bit flustered and began pointing to the man sitting behind us. She brought her coworkers out of the kitchen to see him. He was a character from a local Soap Opera. I told Melanie and Amy, my dinner companions, that the host had sat him by the stupid Americans so he could eat undisturbed :-).
Today, after doing my laundry, I hit the road. I began with a walking tour of Grahamstown and Rhodes University. I learned about the battles between natives, British, and Boers. I took a few pictures, but since I'm not on my lap top, I'll have to upload those when I get to Durban.
After the tour, I saw a cute little three man play called Meneer, which means "Sir". It was about a school boy convincing his teacher to be tested for HIV. The teacher was kind of a player. 21% of the teachers in SA have HIV. They have begun a new free testing program, even had tents set up in one area of the festival for free tests. It was pretty funny, at one point they said AIDS was an American conspiracy to keep the blacks down, it's American Identity Discouragement.
Next, I went up to Monument Hill, and saw three different shows and had lunch. Lunch was just a chicken burger with pink mayonaisse??? yeah, really pink. I saw the Eastern Cape Ensemble, a dance group, amazing! The rhythms and they way they move their bodies....WOW! The guys did this peck thing where their chest was constantly in motion.
After that, I saw a free show, called the Sundowners on the steps of the Monument arbereteum. It was really snippets from other shows around the festival, kind of an advertisement. One of the plays was done by convicts from an area prison. 40 of them share a cell here. They did a skit about ending up in prison, and as a rehabilitation program, they tour their show to local schools. At one point, the MC asked them where they were playing next at the festival, and one of the prisoners said that he didn't know because of security issues.
I also saw the South African premiere of the movie Disgrace. It's an independent film about SA after apartheid from a white perspective. A quick read for all my English teacher friends. I couldn't teach the whole thing, too much sex, but there are pieces that would be really good for curriculum. The movie had John Malkovich, and the girl who played Melanie was at the premiere.
I ended my night by going to the Bowling Club with Xolani, our South African student guide, and taking in the comic showcase. Every night when the comics finish their individual shows, they gather there to do some 15 minute routines and rip on each other. Since it was the last one of the festival it was really funny. I have to admit that Xolani had to help me a little with some of the more SA specific jokes, but just like everywhere, they love to rip on George Bush. He had is share of jokes. My favorite bit was a dancing through the decades bit by a young up and coming comic.
The funny thing about being in South Africa is when it hits you that you're in South Africa. For example, nearly all day I was in the minority, except when I went to some of the more expensive shows, like Disgrace and the comedy at the Bowling Club. In both cases, there were lots of whites. I didn't really notice at Disgrace, it was dark, but at the Bowling Club, it was obvious. When I remarked on it to Xolani, he said it was the ticket price R60.00 is less than $10.00 but it's more than most of the blacks who live in Grahamstown could afford for entertainment. Sometimes it hits you, you look around and you remember. That's what South Africa is like. Sometimes, you look around and you see a dassi, baboon, or an all white audience and you remember you're in South Africa.
It was a great day, but REALLY long. I got to bed about 2 am.
My day started yesterday at 6:30 am, when I got up and did laundry in the dorm. We arrived early evening of the 9th at the Grahamstown National Arts Festival. We didn't have time to do much except eat dinner and lug my 50 lb suitcase up three flights of stairs *whew*! We did have a two hour dinner at Calabash, a South African cuisine. I had the Xhosa chicken curry pot with rice and veg. Xhosa is pronounced with a side click where the X is. I can't quite do it right yet myself, but I'm working on it. It was delicious. They also have an all you can eat buffet, which I didn't get, but sat right next to.
At dinner the buffet attendant got a bit flustered and began pointing to the man sitting behind us. She brought her coworkers out of the kitchen to see him. He was a character from a local Soap Opera. I told Melanie and Amy, my dinner companions, that the host had sat him by the stupid Americans so he could eat undisturbed :-).
Today, after doing my laundry, I hit the road. I began with a walking tour of Grahamstown and Rhodes University. I learned about the battles between natives, British, and Boers. I took a few pictures, but since I'm not on my lap top, I'll have to upload those when I get to Durban.
After the tour, I saw a cute little three man play called Meneer, which means "Sir". It was about a school boy convincing his teacher to be tested for HIV. The teacher was kind of a player. 21% of the teachers in SA have HIV. They have begun a new free testing program, even had tents set up in one area of the festival for free tests. It was pretty funny, at one point they said AIDS was an American conspiracy to keep the blacks down, it's American Identity Discouragement.
Next, I went up to Monument Hill, and saw three different shows and had lunch. Lunch was just a chicken burger with pink mayonaisse??? yeah, really pink. I saw the Eastern Cape Ensemble, a dance group, amazing! The rhythms and they way they move their bodies....WOW! The guys did this peck thing where their chest was constantly in motion.
After that, I saw a free show, called the Sundowners on the steps of the Monument arbereteum. It was really snippets from other shows around the festival, kind of an advertisement. One of the plays was done by convicts from an area prison. 40 of them share a cell here. They did a skit about ending up in prison, and as a rehabilitation program, they tour their show to local schools. At one point, the MC asked them where they were playing next at the festival, and one of the prisoners said that he didn't know because of security issues.
I also saw the South African premiere of the movie Disgrace. It's an independent film about SA after apartheid from a white perspective. A quick read for all my English teacher friends. I couldn't teach the whole thing, too much sex, but there are pieces that would be really good for curriculum. The movie had John Malkovich, and the girl who played Melanie was at the premiere.
I ended my night by going to the Bowling Club with Xolani, our South African student guide, and taking in the comic showcase. Every night when the comics finish their individual shows, they gather there to do some 15 minute routines and rip on each other. Since it was the last one of the festival it was really funny. I have to admit that Xolani had to help me a little with some of the more SA specific jokes, but just like everywhere, they love to rip on George Bush. He had is share of jokes. My favorite bit was a dancing through the decades bit by a young up and coming comic.
The funny thing about being in South Africa is when it hits you that you're in South Africa. For example, nearly all day I was in the minority, except when I went to some of the more expensive shows, like Disgrace and the comedy at the Bowling Club. In both cases, there were lots of whites. I didn't really notice at Disgrace, it was dark, but at the Bowling Club, it was obvious. When I remarked on it to Xolani, he said it was the ticket price R60.00 is less than $10.00 but it's more than most of the blacks who live in Grahamstown could afford for entertainment. Sometimes it hits you, you look around and you remember. That's what South Africa is like. Sometimes, you look around and you see a dassi, baboon, or an all white audience and you remember you're in South Africa.
It was a great day, but REALLY long. I got to bed about 2 am.
Monday, July 6, 2009
July 6
I think I'm doing a really bad job of trying to explain what it's like here. Yesterday, we had a beautiful day at the ocean, taking pictures of ostriches, baboons, and light houses. Today, we spent five hours in the townships being mobbed by street children who want their picture taken and for you to show them the picture on the digital screen as much as they'd like a penny. We saw houses made of corrigated metal, one by two boards, newspaper for wall paper.
I saw bright shiny eyes of little kids who go to a community soup kitchen run by a woman named Rosie, who's own settlement home was burned down years ago and she badly scarred from saving her son.
I saw Vicky who started her own business and has had her husband at a second story to their concrete house so that she can run a Bed and Breakfast, giving tourists a taste of the real SA.
I met Beauty, Vicky's neighbor, who runs sewing classes for local women and children, who is HIV positive, a single mother, and "a woman who loves god."
They all want me to tell you that this is South Africa, people pulling themselves up by their bootstraps working hard and making a good living, but giving back to the communities in which they live. They want me to tell you that what they are doing is worth it, that they believe that it will get better. Beauty is set to have a real house next year. Rosie's hardwood floors up stairs are as lovely as any I've seen. They want me to tell you that they believe in their country.
I'm amazed that our tour guide and bus driver, both technically Coloured, have so little anamosity in them. They say Mandela said to forgive, and so they have. I look at the squaller of even the "Beverly Hills" of Townships and I am amazed. How can they not be angry? Could I be so forgiving?
Remember my professor who said, "the monster of apartheid came and went in one lifetime"? ONE lifetime. It seems to me looking at the young belligerent men on the corners in the townships, looking at the hopeful young faces in the day care, that one lifetime can make great changes. Can they make them for the better as easily as they make changes for the bad? And, if these people, these women in the Townships, can have such great hope for their country, can't we have just a little for our own? Race relationships in Cape Town are not healed, may never be healed, but neither are our own.
I saw bright shiny eyes of little kids who go to a community soup kitchen run by a woman named Rosie, who's own settlement home was burned down years ago and she badly scarred from saving her son.
I saw Vicky who started her own business and has had her husband at a second story to their concrete house so that she can run a Bed and Breakfast, giving tourists a taste of the real SA.
I met Beauty, Vicky's neighbor, who runs sewing classes for local women and children, who is HIV positive, a single mother, and "a woman who loves god."
They all want me to tell you that this is South Africa, people pulling themselves up by their bootstraps working hard and making a good living, but giving back to the communities in which they live. They want me to tell you that what they are doing is worth it, that they believe that it will get better. Beauty is set to have a real house next year. Rosie's hardwood floors up stairs are as lovely as any I've seen. They want me to tell you that they believe in their country.
I'm amazed that our tour guide and bus driver, both technically Coloured, have so little anamosity in them. They say Mandela said to forgive, and so they have. I look at the squaller of even the "Beverly Hills" of Townships and I am amazed. How can they not be angry? Could I be so forgiving?
Remember my professor who said, "the monster of apartheid came and went in one lifetime"? ONE lifetime. It seems to me looking at the young belligerent men on the corners in the townships, looking at the hopeful young faces in the day care, that one lifetime can make great changes. Can they make them for the better as easily as they make changes for the bad? And, if these people, these women in the Townships, can have such great hope for their country, can't we have just a little for our own? Race relationships in Cape Town are not healed, may never be healed, but neither are our own.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
July 5
Today we drove down to the Cape of Good Hope Park and Cape Point. The highway followed the Atlantic, winding around, similar to the Pacific Coast Highway, water on one side – mountains on the other, but as my friend Miley said, the mountains in Africa are “angrier” more jagged, cragged pieces that look as willing to eat you as pose for a picture.
I had my first near death experience, where I thought a baboon would tear my face off for a dry egg salad sandwich. There are signs all over the Cape pointing out that giving food to the baboons is dangerous and there’s even a statue that says “giving food to a baboon is signing his death warrant because aggressive baboons must be put down.” Erica, Melanie, Jane, and I were eating our dry sandwiches outside when a baboon came up and took food from a baby in a stroller, giving the parents and baby a pretty good fright. Initially we thought we might be ok, we were further away from the wooded area, closer to the restaurant and food store, but when the baboon came back we thought we should move inside. Melanie kept saying move slowly and purposefully, but by the time I had to turn away from him and glanced back he was running toward us. I shoved Jane and Melanie inside the store because they were trying to squeeze in and still be able to close the door, but I was having none of that, I’m sure there was some choice wording as I shoved my way through the door and the clerk got a big stick to tap on the window.
At Cape Point, I went to the furthest out point with a walk, basically I went to the end of the Earth…well at least the end of Africa. Not only did we see baboons, but also a variety of birds, ostriches, three whales (sorry no pictures…too far away), and a lizard. It was absolutely beautiful. Africa is not what I had imagined, well not this part anyway, but of course this isn’t the Serengeti. I took the funicular up to the base of the light house then climbed a number of steps up and around the lighthouse before climbing down and taking and hour walk to the furthest point of the Cape, where there is a sign that says “this is the end of the trail.”
After the Cape, we went to Boulder to see the penguins, many of whom seemed to be breeding, and unfortunately, I lost Geoffery. He has gone to claim his homeland and now lives in Boulder. He leapt to freedom from a ledge when I was bumped by a toddler. Poor fella, but at least he is home. This is where his journey must end.
On the way home, I slept the entire time doing that open mouth head bob thing that people always make fun of. All in all, it was an excellent and eventful day. Tomorrow we visit three townships, areas where most of the black and coloured still live, regardless of the end of apartheid. I expect to have a lot to write.
I had my first near death experience, where I thought a baboon would tear my face off for a dry egg salad sandwich. There are signs all over the Cape pointing out that giving food to the baboons is dangerous and there’s even a statue that says “giving food to a baboon is signing his death warrant because aggressive baboons must be put down.” Erica, Melanie, Jane, and I were eating our dry sandwiches outside when a baboon came up and took food from a baby in a stroller, giving the parents and baby a pretty good fright. Initially we thought we might be ok, we were further away from the wooded area, closer to the restaurant and food store, but when the baboon came back we thought we should move inside. Melanie kept saying move slowly and purposefully, but by the time I had to turn away from him and glanced back he was running toward us. I shoved Jane and Melanie inside the store because they were trying to squeeze in and still be able to close the door, but I was having none of that, I’m sure there was some choice wording as I shoved my way through the door and the clerk got a big stick to tap on the window.
At Cape Point, I went to the furthest out point with a walk, basically I went to the end of the Earth…well at least the end of Africa. Not only did we see baboons, but also a variety of birds, ostriches, three whales (sorry no pictures…too far away), and a lizard. It was absolutely beautiful. Africa is not what I had imagined, well not this part anyway, but of course this isn’t the Serengeti. I took the funicular up to the base of the light house then climbed a number of steps up and around the lighthouse before climbing down and taking and hour walk to the furthest point of the Cape, where there is a sign that says “this is the end of the trail.”
After the Cape, we went to Boulder to see the penguins, many of whom seemed to be breeding, and unfortunately, I lost Geoffery. He has gone to claim his homeland and now lives in Boulder. He leapt to freedom from a ledge when I was bumped by a toddler. Poor fella, but at least he is home. This is where his journey must end.
On the way home, I slept the entire time doing that open mouth head bob thing that people always make fun of. All in all, it was an excellent and eventful day. Tomorrow we visit three townships, areas where most of the black and coloured still live, regardless of the end of apartheid. I expect to have a lot to write.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
July 4
There were no fireworks tonight. No sparklers, in South Africa. There was a rowdy group of American tourists going down Main road, leaning drunkenly out of the bus hollering Happy Fourth of July, but I was not part of that. I was drinking wine and having South African pizza with my friends before hitting the internet café.
Today we visited Stellenbosch and the French Corner of SA. We visited the Huguenot museum as well as the museum of several old colonial Cape Dutch styled homes. In one, there was a room where the slaves slept. While the white Dutch family had cozy beds and quilts, the slaves slept on mats, wore short pants with no shoes, even in the winter, and were threatened with shackles. Remember that “study in contrasts” stuff I was saying. It was evident in Stellenbosch-wine country, where slaves picked the grapes and made wonderful wine. The best part of the day was at the Huguenot museum and French Corner, not because of the museum, but because I got to spend time talking with Xholani, pronounced with the Xhosa click and a K sound. Xholani is out 25 year old grad student and companion for our studies. He reminds me a lot of Darrin, quiet, somewhat shy, until you get to know him. He came from Johannesburg, bad years, as he says. His older sister died when he was born and his name means “to give comfort.” I can only imagine how proud his mother must be of this bright articulate young man. I can’t begin to imagine what it was like for him growing up on the hard streets of Jo-burg, but he is now studying and teaching technology and a great asset to my understanding of SA. This is a short entry, but tomorrow we go to the penguins. I’ll have more then.
Oh, but I did hear about Sarah Palin...hehehehehe!!!!
Today we visited Stellenbosch and the French Corner of SA. We visited the Huguenot museum as well as the museum of several old colonial Cape Dutch styled homes. In one, there was a room where the slaves slept. While the white Dutch family had cozy beds and quilts, the slaves slept on mats, wore short pants with no shoes, even in the winter, and were threatened with shackles. Remember that “study in contrasts” stuff I was saying. It was evident in Stellenbosch-wine country, where slaves picked the grapes and made wonderful wine. The best part of the day was at the Huguenot museum and French Corner, not because of the museum, but because I got to spend time talking with Xholani, pronounced with the Xhosa click and a K sound. Xholani is out 25 year old grad student and companion for our studies. He reminds me a lot of Darrin, quiet, somewhat shy, until you get to know him. He came from Johannesburg, bad years, as he says. His older sister died when he was born and his name means “to give comfort.” I can only imagine how proud his mother must be of this bright articulate young man. I can’t begin to imagine what it was like for him growing up on the hard streets of Jo-burg, but he is now studying and teaching technology and a great asset to my understanding of SA. This is a short entry, but tomorrow we go to the penguins. I’ll have more then.
Oh, but I did hear about Sarah Palin...hehehehehe!!!!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Cape of Good Hope - July 3
July 3 Friday
Ever notice how being with a group of adults and being told to pair up suddenly makes you feel like you’re twelve again and you have to worry about being the last one picked for kick ball? We had to choose roommates for our field study, which starts Tuesday (so the blogging may be pretty erratic), and I jumped on the person closest to me, who happened to be Kori. Basically I think I guilted her in to being my roommate, but so be it. Kori’s nice and I’ll be nice to her. At least she’s too nice to say no, when someone just turns to her and says, “so, you wanna be my roommate?”
Our last day of official lecture and learning at the University of the Western Cape was a good one. The state of education in South Africa faces many of the same problems we do. For example the argument over education in “mother tongue” is very much like our argument about how to handle ELL students. Is it better to give them content knowledge in their native language at the same time that we build their English skills? Science seems to say yes, but parents in the Cape want their children learning in English. After a lifetime of oppression, they see a “mother tongue” education as another way of keeping their children down, out of contention for university. Many of the Cape coloured (what they call themselves – Not a racial slur) also suffer from a lack of respect for education and therefore under appreciate it. 97% of South African children attend grades 1-9 and access is successful in SA, but “access hasn’t made success.” 2.8 million of the 6.8 million children who have graduated from high school have not gotten jobs and are not furthering their studies. What are they doing? Well, gangs run rampant and petty crime and thievery is a huge concern. SA ranks last in the industrialized countries of the world in literacy, yet many Africans from other countries come here for university access. Like I said before, SA is a study in contradictions and juxtapositions.
After our lecture on education, the third group of teachers lead a discussion activity that was a blast. They divided us up into 4 groups and we had to analyze a piece of the last couple days. For example, our group was suppose to be an advertisement company that created a campaign that illustrates the SA identity for the world cup, coming to SA in 2010. We could have responded with a political cartoon, skit, speech, sermon, comic strip, etc. We chose to create a skit of the advertisement company brainstorming session. Detailing SA identity is MUCH more complex than the US, ok well maybe not. I think in the US we just tend to ignore what we don’t want as part of our identity, but the problems here in SA are too vast and looming to ignore. SA is a study in contrasts. They have 11 official languages, but only English and Afrikans is used in the work place, justice system, and parliament. You can’t even get mortgage loan papers in Khosa or Zulu (two other very common languages).
After school today, we went to the Castle of Good Hope, the Cape’s oldest building completed in 1679. For 150 years it served as the heart of the Cape administration and the center of social and economic life, also the home of the governor. The grounds were amazing, but the batteries ran out in my camera, so I didn’t get as many pictures as I would have liked. I hung out with Jacob, Dixie, and Debra, all very fun, witty, and sarcastic in the exact right way. We then went on to the Gold Museum, not my cup of tea, but they have an interesting restaurant I’d like to try and get to when we return to Cape Town toward the end of July. This evening, we went to a Cape Malay restaurant, kind of a blend between Indian and Creole food. It was a little pricey, but very good. I had chicken curry, lamb somosas, spring rolls, and Nan, but they don’t call it Nan. Dixie, who has done at least a dozen of these trips, told us all about some of the different places to look for opportunities like this with NEH. I’m excited to think that this might be the first trip of many that could be open to me. It is now 10 pm, and I know it’s Friday night, many of my colleagues are out partying, but I am beat. I think I’ll turn in. G’night, Gracie.
Ever notice how being with a group of adults and being told to pair up suddenly makes you feel like you’re twelve again and you have to worry about being the last one picked for kick ball? We had to choose roommates for our field study, which starts Tuesday (so the blogging may be pretty erratic), and I jumped on the person closest to me, who happened to be Kori. Basically I think I guilted her in to being my roommate, but so be it. Kori’s nice and I’ll be nice to her. At least she’s too nice to say no, when someone just turns to her and says, “so, you wanna be my roommate?”
Our last day of official lecture and learning at the University of the Western Cape was a good one. The state of education in South Africa faces many of the same problems we do. For example the argument over education in “mother tongue” is very much like our argument about how to handle ELL students. Is it better to give them content knowledge in their native language at the same time that we build their English skills? Science seems to say yes, but parents in the Cape want their children learning in English. After a lifetime of oppression, they see a “mother tongue” education as another way of keeping their children down, out of contention for university. Many of the Cape coloured (what they call themselves – Not a racial slur) also suffer from a lack of respect for education and therefore under appreciate it. 97% of South African children attend grades 1-9 and access is successful in SA, but “access hasn’t made success.” 2.8 million of the 6.8 million children who have graduated from high school have not gotten jobs and are not furthering their studies. What are they doing? Well, gangs run rampant and petty crime and thievery is a huge concern. SA ranks last in the industrialized countries of the world in literacy, yet many Africans from other countries come here for university access. Like I said before, SA is a study in contradictions and juxtapositions.
After our lecture on education, the third group of teachers lead a discussion activity that was a blast. They divided us up into 4 groups and we had to analyze a piece of the last couple days. For example, our group was suppose to be an advertisement company that created a campaign that illustrates the SA identity for the world cup, coming to SA in 2010. We could have responded with a political cartoon, skit, speech, sermon, comic strip, etc. We chose to create a skit of the advertisement company brainstorming session. Detailing SA identity is MUCH more complex than the US, ok well maybe not. I think in the US we just tend to ignore what we don’t want as part of our identity, but the problems here in SA are too vast and looming to ignore. SA is a study in contrasts. They have 11 official languages, but only English and Afrikans is used in the work place, justice system, and parliament. You can’t even get mortgage loan papers in Khosa or Zulu (two other very common languages).
After school today, we went to the Castle of Good Hope, the Cape’s oldest building completed in 1679. For 150 years it served as the heart of the Cape administration and the center of social and economic life, also the home of the governor. The grounds were amazing, but the batteries ran out in my camera, so I didn’t get as many pictures as I would have liked. I hung out with Jacob, Dixie, and Debra, all very fun, witty, and sarcastic in the exact right way. We then went on to the Gold Museum, not my cup of tea, but they have an interesting restaurant I’d like to try and get to when we return to Cape Town toward the end of July. This evening, we went to a Cape Malay restaurant, kind of a blend between Indian and Creole food. It was a little pricey, but very good. I had chicken curry, lamb somosas, spring rolls, and Nan, but they don’t call it Nan. Dixie, who has done at least a dozen of these trips, told us all about some of the different places to look for opportunities like this with NEH. I’m excited to think that this might be the first trip of many that could be open to me. It is now 10 pm, and I know it’s Friday night, many of my colleagues are out partying, but I am beat. I think I’ll turn in. G’night, Gracie.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
July 2, 2009
This morning began at 7:35 AM, meeting on the Atlas bus with our driver, Richard, who took us out to the University of the Western Cape. Our first speaker was very interesting, he was supposed to talk to us about early religions in Africa, which he didn’t at all. However, he did let us know that the room we are using for our lectures was the parliament for the colored during apartheid at the Cape. He then spoke quite a bit about the amazing accomplishment of the Dutch Reform Church to pass the confession that discouraged the separation of the races. It only took the church 32 years to make their decision that apartheid was not very Christian.
The second lecture was a bit better, and we didn’t think the third lecturer was going to show up, but he did, which delayed our lunch by about 45 minutes. I have learned that I need warm clothes and food every day that we have lectures because the room is an icebox and you never know when we’ll actually get lunch.
The high point of the day was to go to the BoKapp Museum, Muslim museum, in the Muslim section of Cape Town. I bought a couple of hand-made wooden animals, my first real purchases, aside from a warm cap that I purchased for the mountains and Johannesburg, where it is supposed to be colder than Cape Town. While we were in the Muslim area, there were many children playing in the streets. My friend Kathy took pictures of a group of cousins and I’m including a picture of her showing the kids their pictures.
Additionally, on face book, I’m uploading a brief video of my bus ride from the hotel to the University. In it, you can see the townships and the shanty towns that spring up from nowhere. It’s a study in contrasts, here in Cape Town. There are million dollar condos overlooking the water and then around the next corner there are townships and the settlements, shanty towns, thrown together with scrap metal and two by fours. There are tourists with a lot of money and little boys selling oranges on the side of the road. For dinner I had a pleasant visit the two Amy’s and Melanie and Willy. We had decent Chinese food and a little wine. Now I’m at the internet café doing a quick upload. Check facebook for more pictures.
The second lecture was a bit better, and we didn’t think the third lecturer was going to show up, but he did, which delayed our lunch by about 45 minutes. I have learned that I need warm clothes and food every day that we have lectures because the room is an icebox and you never know when we’ll actually get lunch.
The high point of the day was to go to the BoKapp Museum, Muslim museum, in the Muslim section of Cape Town. I bought a couple of hand-made wooden animals, my first real purchases, aside from a warm cap that I purchased for the mountains and Johannesburg, where it is supposed to be colder than Cape Town. While we were in the Muslim area, there were many children playing in the streets. My friend Kathy took pictures of a group of cousins and I’m including a picture of her showing the kids their pictures.
Additionally, on face book, I’m uploading a brief video of my bus ride from the hotel to the University. In it, you can see the townships and the shanty towns that spring up from nowhere. It’s a study in contrasts, here in Cape Town. There are million dollar condos overlooking the water and then around the next corner there are townships and the settlements, shanty towns, thrown together with scrap metal and two by fours. There are tourists with a lot of money and little boys selling oranges on the side of the road. For dinner I had a pleasant visit the two Amy’s and Melanie and Willy. We had decent Chinese food and a little wine. Now I’m at the internet café doing a quick upload. Check facebook for more pictures.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Heart Transplant
July 1
Today I was feeling much better and ventured to the University for a wonderful lecture on the inequities of education and how language plays a role in it. We also had our small group presentation today, leading discussion on the state of culture and society, including music, healthcare, gender, and literature. We also went to Groode Schuur, the site of the first heart transplant. In the first room, they had a dog strapped down to a table as an experiment. It was a fake dog of course, but nonetheless, I was grossed out. I couldn’t really look at the thing. However, the Dr. Barnard was a hotty and quite the ladies man, I gather from his photos with Diana, Princess Grace Kelly, and his three progressively hotter wives. Of course they had wax figures set up for the process of both the removing and replacement of the heart from the 13 year old donor to the old guy who didn’t live very long after the replacement. I’m sure for a scientist, this would have been all very fascinating, but I was not really into it. I could appreciate the amount of work put into the process and the fact that it was breaking ground, medically, but I don’t think I got the full impact of the significance of the whole waxed statue three dimensional recreation. However, as Rich (my professor) said when we got back onto the bus, “it is quite unlike anything we had ever seen.”
Today I was feeling much better and ventured to the University for a wonderful lecture on the inequities of education and how language plays a role in it. We also had our small group presentation today, leading discussion on the state of culture and society, including music, healthcare, gender, and literature. We also went to Groode Schuur, the site of the first heart transplant. In the first room, they had a dog strapped down to a table as an experiment. It was a fake dog of course, but nonetheless, I was grossed out. I couldn’t really look at the thing. However, the Dr. Barnard was a hotty and quite the ladies man, I gather from his photos with Diana, Princess Grace Kelly, and his three progressively hotter wives. Of course they had wax figures set up for the process of both the removing and replacement of the heart from the 13 year old donor to the old guy who didn’t live very long after the replacement. I’m sure for a scientist, this would have been all very fascinating, but I was not really into it. I could appreciate the amount of work put into the process and the fact that it was breaking ground, medically, but I don’t think I got the full impact of the significance of the whole waxed statue three dimensional recreation. However, as Rich (my professor) said when we got back onto the bus, “it is quite unlike anything we had ever seen.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)