The end, for now

Our flight didn’t leave Capetown until 10 pm, so I had some time to kill on Wednesday. I went with Dixie and Melanie to the aquarium and had my own shark encounter; much less dangerous than the one some of the people in the group did while I was boozing it up at the wine festival. The kelp farm was magnificent, relaxing and hypnotic.

Then Melanie and I went back to Oude Moulen school and visited with Sandy. We sat in on a couple of classes and Sandy and I spoke about trying to do a book or film study in January/February. I’m really disappointed again that I’m not teaching 9th grade. This joint project would work so well with their curriculum and the way I teach, as it is, I dread playing catch up and trying to create three new courses in two weeks. However, that's not what I want to write about. I want to write about leaving Capetown.

When I was leaving Capetown on the plane in the dark, I regretted that I couldn’t have one last look at Table Mountain. How did I know that the wine festival would be the last day it wasn’t covered in clouds? I wanted one last look at Robben Island, the Waterfront, the Check Inn, Xolani, Richard, the townships. I wanted one last look before it all faded into the clouds of the sky. I don’t feel like I said a proper goodbye to a place that has wormed its way into my own story. I have become a collector of stories, but it’s not until the plane lifted away from the runway that I realized what I have been really doing is writing my own story.

Ok, so this is when I cry. Of all the people, it was hardest to leave Xolani. He has become a good friend and if I could pick someone to adopt as a brother, it would be him. He and I shared many good moments and he’s the only one who ever picked up on my mood at seeing or being somewhere. I appreciate his kindness and his generosity, sharing his story and becoming part of mine.

Since I have returned home, people have wanted me to sum up my trip in 2 minutes or less. Rich is right, they don’t want to hear the whole story and they are already getting tired of me saying, “When I was in South Africa…” I obviously can’t sum up the trip in two minutes or less, those of you who have been reading this know I’m more than a little long winded.

What I can say is that to me South Africa is a juxtaposition of anachronisms, just when you think you understand a piece of South Africa there’s something that doesn’t fit. The Mercedes in front of a township shack. The flat screen TV in Vicky’s and our wonderful dinner, and Thandile eating our leftover chicken in the kitchen. The slave lodge museum with a room dedicated to old children’s toys. South Africa is the third world and the first world right next to each other, not just in neighborhoods, but literally across the street. It’s corrugated steel shacks and brick houses with carved wooden doors. It’s racists and hope. It’s diamonds and smileys. It’s scars and gaping wounds. It’s beauty and danger. It is South Africa. Yes, I know that waxed on, sorry for the sap, but there it is. There’s my impression in “two minutes or less,” so to speak.

August 3-4

August 3rd was our last day of lectures. Betsy did a great lesson on the state of South Africa’s economy, the impact of employment and foreign investments. She had a lot to say about the infrastructure spending South Africa is doing now to prepare for the World Cup and had the same question we all do, “What happens in 2011?” When the eye of the world leaves South Africa, will Zuma continue to pump as much money into development?

We also had our “retrospective” look at South Africa. There were quite a few tears shed by people who have grown attached to their colleagues and friends as well as the country. I didn’t cry, but I was the third one to speak. Tommy had some great haikus, I’d love to get some copies and share them with you. He captures in syllables some stunning pictures, funny and honest, about the country. It is a very original way to view South Africa. Kim was poignant and memorable, such an articulate writer. I aspire to give you the same impressions that he gives his readers.

Later that night, we went to the African Café and celebrated. We had a 13 course meal of different African dishes, some good, some not. My favorite was the curry and the cassava bread, a bread with yogurt and cheese cooked in. We said our formal goodbyes to Rich and Kay, Chris and Kim drew them beautiful cards with caricatures of themselves. I gave Xolani the card and tip money I had collected for him and Rich did the same for Richard. It was a boisterous night and I was sort of sad that it wasn’t more conducive to discussion. Melanie and I sat together with Xolani, Richard, Rich, Kay, and our other guests. It was interesting sitting away from the majority of the group. I had felt all trip that I was on the outside of the group, looking in and in this case I really was. While I like many of my fellow travelers, I don’t feel that there were many close bonds created. I sat looking at these people I didn’t know six weeks ago and won’t know in three more days, and I knew that I was ready to come home more than anything else.

August 4, one last road trip. We went out to Tulbagh and saw yet another old Cape Dutch building, this time a church and to the Afrikaans language monument. I think Rich described it best when he said it was a phallic symbol of the Afrikaans. It was indeed, a long one...used to screw the African natives and give the finger to the British invaders simultaneously.

August 2 part 2

After the brief walking tour, I had to hurry back to the Waterfront to catch a ride with Kathy, Dixie, Amy V., Tommy, and Jason for the wine festival in Stellanbosch. I was worried at first because even though I had asked Vicky and her husband about leaving near 9 am to get back to the hotel in time, it was after 9:30 before we left Khayelitsha, South African time does not work on a schedule. Heather, Mary, and Kori loaned me some money, since I wasn’t going to be able to come back to the hotel and get my own. I bought a hat on the waterfront and went wine drinking, sans shower.

I had a lot of fun tasting wines and of course there was delicious gourmet food, including a lady bug cupcake, wine, salami, and some wonderful sausage and swarma. No, I didn’t eat ALL of that.
It was probably one of the most fun and relaxing days of my journey. But, again it was a day squirreling away stories of people and experiences.

First, I met Devin and Paul, two heavily intoxicated but social Afrikaners. Paul, I think, was trying to hit on Amy V, but Devin kind of spoiled it when he began telling us how much he disliked the United States and how conceited we are because we don’t travel enough. “People from the states just don’t get the rest of the world,” he argued. I told him he was partially correct, but no one turned down our money or aid when they were in need, so we may be insular and detached, but we (as a people) have also been generous and concerned. He’s right that we have made a lot of mistakes, especially surrounding foreign policy, frequently bullying countries into submission, but I think as a general group, Americans are also passionate about causes they believe in. We put our money where our mouth is, if it’s something we truly care about. In the end, Devin still gave me a sloppy hug and told me, “You’re all right for an American,” before weaving his way off to find more wine.

The second person we met was a sommelier from Speir, a winery. While we were sitting on the sofas having cheese and crackers, Jason came over raving about this hot sommelier who as it just so happened was sitting right across from us. He turned three shades of red J. She was brilliant though. We sat talking to her for a good thirty minutes, her and a coworker with a family. They were wonderful people. She was young and so full of hope for her country. She is working on her second degree, one in marketing. She said she has no intention of leaving the country because she wasn’t to make her home better. She told us about finding funding sources to put her through school and help her with difficult topics, and we talked about what she remembered of apartheid, and what she remembers most is that we would not have been sitting there talking together the way we were, a mix of colored and white. If we did, we would certainly be ostracized by the whites around us. Every time I talked to someone in his/her twenties in SA, I have been impressed by their hope and determination in a country that has 60% unemployment of the youth. Even the young men, recovering from their Saturday party that we met in Khayelitsha spoke about their pride in the country and their hard work to get somewhere.

The final people we met were Jim and Louise, a white couple. He was from Liverpool and she from Jo’burg. They had been long distance dating for some time and were recently engaged. They were both very friendly. Tommy, Amy, and I even ended up having dinner with them when we returned to Capetown. What stands out most to me about them is that they are educated and trained employees, but when they marry they’ll go to England, not stay in South Africa. As Jim said, “There’s no jobs here for a white male immigrant.” Louise will give up her country because there’s no way the affirmative action policies in place would allow Jim to get a job. There’s hope for a coloured sommelier, but not for a white man in South Africa.

August 2, 2009 - Khayelitsha

Mary, Jane, Kori, Heather, Erika, and I called Vicky as soon as we got back to the hotel, called several times because Vicky’s cell phone wasn’t working properly. When I finally got her, an hour and a half after I started calling, sometime around 5 pm, we arranged to be picked up at 6:30 to spend the night at the B & B. However, South African time is not exactly timely, and we were picked up at 7:15 by Vicky’s husband. By the time we got to Khayelitsha, it was dark. The shebeen was hopping, the streets were full of people walking around, most carrying beers, music playing. We were welcomed by Vicky’s children and niece, Olona. Olona is a senior in high school and she welcomed us, retold Vicky’s story and explained that Vicky was at a community party and would be home later. We were left upstairs to our own devices for some time before Thandile, Vicky’s 9 year old daughter came up to visit. She sat on the arm of my chair and we talked about the first time we had met her during the Kayelitsha tour in our first two weeks. She had stood shyly beside her mother as Vicky welcomed us and told us her story about starting her own business and how she has been giving back to the community.

Thandile was something else, a little drama queen. Her hero is Beyonce and she showed us some Beyonce moves that looked very grown up in her little 9 year old body. For some time she sat on the arm of the chair, petting my hair. The girls found it very amusing, but I remember when Twana Plair, back in elementary school liked to brush my hair because she said it was so much softer than hers. I asked Thandile if she liked my hair.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s soft.”
“Yours is very pretty, too,” I said reaching up to touch her extensions.
“This,” she said, yanking hard. “Is not my real hair.”
“I know, it’s a weave,” I said. “Did it hurt?”
“Yes, it hurts a lot.”
“And it took a long time.”
“Only forever,” she said.

A little later, Jane mentioned that she was from the same town as Beyonce, at which point, Thandile promptly begged for Jane to take her home with her. Jane told her she’d have to ask her mom. Thandile then, very dramatically, fainted across my lap, making us all burst with laughter. 9 year old dramatics cross language, cultural, and age barriers.

Olona and Vicky’s eldest daughter brought up our dinner then, baked chicken, pap, and beans. It was delicious, but Vicky still wasn’t home. It was obvious that the older children took responsibility for the younger ones frequently. Around 9 pm, Vicky returned home and with Lolo, her son, Pumna, her son’s friend, and Thandile, came up to visit for awhile. She told us that Sunday she would give us a walking tour of the township as it was too late to go out tonight. She mentioned that since it was the first Sunday of the month, she would be very busy that day, since the burial committee meets the first Sunday of the month to go over who has died and how much was paid out in burial fees so that the community can be asked to contribute and replenish the fund.

Just before bed, while the other children were cleaning up downstairs, Olona came up and visited with us. She talked to us about Umbuntu ngumntu ngabantu, “one hand washes the other.” In the townships, they have learned and continue to learn that to get by they must work together. Olona’s mother is a nurse, her dad is a principal and she plans to attend Capetown University after graduating from high school. She has worked hard, applied for and been accepted for a program that gives her extra assistance in physics. She says that even though she goes to Rhodes High in Capetown, she is a part of the township community and proud of it. She says her motto is, “perseverance is the key to success.” For a little while after she left, we sat up discussing events from the trip, people we’ve met, and childhood stories, but then went into our separate bedrooms.

In the morning, the first thing I noticed was the sunrise over the township, making the mountains a hazy purple in the background. For the past 5 weeks, I’ve been taking sunrise pictures, over the ocean in Tsitsikamma, over the Drakensburg Mountains, by the coast of Capetown, in the hazy valley of Bobanango, but it was the sunrise Khayelitsha that encompasses the beauty and the depression that is South Africa in a way I had not thought possible.

For breakfast, Vicky made us delicious muffins, coffee, and tea before we went on a short walking tour of the township. During our walk, I took numerous pictures of houses in various stages of construction. In Vicky’s area, the C area of Khayelitsha, home to 3.5 million people, there is a lot of construction because it is an older section and the compensation funds have been appropriated for many of them. The Khayelitsha building committee, which Vicky takes part in, receives money from the government, which they distribute to applicants when they are approved and ready to build. The building is supposed to take a month, but very rarely are the funds available for each stage of building on time, and those who are building do not always have the opportunity to work straight through on their homes.

While we walked around, we ran into several people heading to church and a group of boys still partying after Saturday night. I think Woody Allen made a movie about New York Stories, but, for me, it’s about South Africa stories. They’re all different, they’re all important, and they all change how you view this country.

August 1, 2009

We began this morning at 8:45 am. We went to Green Market Square in downtown Capetown, where I bought a wrap around skirt and cute new bag as well as some elephant earrings, all for under $50.00. It’s difficult shopping sometimes around here because I want to be fair for them and fair to my own pocket book and the Green Market is a place that expects haggling. Sometimes I’m really good at it, better when it’s a man than a woman. Other times, I feel the price they’re asking is fair, but I know they expect me to haggle.

We then went to the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, Melanie and I walked through the sculpture garden which had a lot of sculptures to celebrate women and family. The gardens were not blooming very much, but they are wonderfully landscaped and encompass 48 hectares. We had a nice little lunch at the snack bar, butternut soup, Greek salad, and apple tart with coffee.

From there, we went to visit Groot Constantia, an estate and winery started in 1685 by Simon van der Steel, the governor at the time. The wine wasn’t really up to par, but the grounds were lovely and the company even better. The ride home took us through some long and windy roads above Capetown and lovely views of the city. It’s too bad that the day was overcast because Table Mountain was hidden under the clouds. I took a really cute picture of Melanie in a hallowed out tree, and she took one of me. I really enjoy hanging out with Melanie. She’s got a great sense of humor and has just the right amount of attitude.

Tonight, Heather, Erika, Mary, Jane, Kori, and I are going to stay the night at Vicki’s B & B in Khayelitsha, a township outside of Capetown. When I asked the crotchy deskman to help me dial the number, he made sure to tell me the story about the German tour bus that went there and was attacked and a German man’s finger was cut off for his diamond ring. Yeah, thanks Mister…that makes me feel so much better.