In Response to Making the Grade...

The state of America's education is dire. Agreed. There are more students in classrooms than ever before; there is more pressure on teachers than I have ever felt in 18 years. Watching Tamron Hall and Hill Harper discuss the state of education with their "experts" has left me frustrated and near tears. Never before have I felt so ready to find a new job, and I LOVE WHAT I DO!

Right, there are bad teachers, but do you really think that's the majority of us? I just spent the last two weeks of my "summer vacation" moving furniture from one room to another for the third time in three years, and developing my first two units of the school year. I have spent time looking for material that would be engaging and meet the standards that I want my students to acheieve. Then I watch this program that talks about how all these bad teachers and the teacher unions are the reason for drop outs.

At 1:17 minutes into a 2 hour program before the experts start talking about what teachers need to be successful, what tools we need. How about smaller class sizes? How about more prestige given to the profession? How about just not bashing us? How about putting ONE TEACHER on the panel of "experts," Ms. Hall? HOW ABOUT THAT? Ms. Hall, if I held you to the samde standards for your journalism as you hold for me as a teacher, I believe that you would be failing to "make the grade" as well.

I have never been so disappointed in a journalistic endeavor in my life. Rather than offering solutions, all this program did was place blame and most of it on my back...on the teacher's back. I was hoping to see you profile effective programs that address educational issues. Wouldn't it have been more effective for you to profile that school in Houston and talk about what they're doing than to have a panel of experts give sound bites? What about giving us something to walk away with? Something beside a black eye?


At 1:28 you begin to really address the issue of parental involvement, but who's responsibility is it to engage those parents...oh yeah, the teacher's.

Darrin's Graduation

My son has done a lot to make me proud of him in the last 22 years. He has made soccer goals, home runs, great grades, graduated from high school, and now...he's graduated from college. I have never been more proud of him than I was last Saturday when this was taken. He's become a great man...despite or because of me, who can say. Either way, I am crazy proud.

Much too long between posts

Yes, I know I haven't written since September. I will however be writing more frequently. It's the day after Mother's Day, and I have to say it was to me the best Mother's Day weekend ever. Why? Because my son and husband went with me on a Writer's Marathon. My husband wasn't comfortable enough to share his writing out loud, but he wrote :-)! And my son wrote wonderful pieces. He has a great vocabulary and crazy good voice in his writing. I was so proud. I know it's corny, but it really was probably the best gift I could have ever gotten. I loved listening to his writing.

This is where the Beyond starts

Ok, so I have been back from Africa for one month exactly, and as much as it had an impact on my life, I must admit that there are limited outward signs of change, which is a little frustrating. I sort of wish I could pack my bags and go "DO" something, make change happen, but realistically, I have committments, obligations to friends, family, employers, and students - people who are counting on me to be here to do what they expect me to do.

Rich was right, as soon as I say South Africa, peoples' eyes glaze over. They're not interested in the AIDS epidemic or the state of the townships, but hey if I bring out a baby elephant picture...they're all over it!

So, what do I do now? Ok, well this is where I started. I teach at a 7-9 junior high for most of my assignment and am part of a "team" of teachers who share the same 150 or so kids. Our "team" has adopted Ubuntu, I am because We are, as our motto. We're working on creating an Ubuntu crew of students who will be our core welcoming body for new students and sit on a panel to make "team" decisions. HOWEVER, I am not really on the team because I don't have common planning with these people (the teachers). I only see 25 of the 150 students we "share" and I'm stuck in a hole behind the stage where I see ABSOLUTELY no other adult all day, unless I run into someone at the copier. Great "team"! So, I'm left to sit and hope they take the Ubuntu concept and run with it.

What else is going on? Well, I'm writing three new curriculums for three classes I haven't taught in 8 years and it's a little difficult to go far beyond day to day prep work. I have started meeting with my National Board candidates from my school district and will be working with them throughout the year. I have picked two plays to develop for spring semester, one as a class project, one as a school project, and I've been asked to go to Philadelphia for the NCTE convention in Novemeber. That's about it for now. I'll keep you posted on how the "team" works out.

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.

July 31

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.?

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.

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.

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.