Adventures in South Africa

Hello, India!

2011-11-06T20:01:00.001-08:00

You can follow my new adventures, as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant in New Delhi, India, at this address: http://greenfulbrightindia.blogspot.com See you there! -ashley

Farewell, Cape Town.

2010-06-08T07:35:00.000-07:00

This final blog post is dedicated to the fifteen people with whom I have lived for the past five months, and also to Angela and Ronel, who are largely responsible for making this program possible. On Thursday evening at our “Closing the Circle” reflection session, I opted not to share my final thoughts right then and indicated that I would prefer to share my thoughts in written form. This, bhutis and sisis, is for you. This is for each of one you.

There are many things that I am good at, but saying goodbye has never been one of them. In all of the summer camps and programs and teams that I’ve ever been a part of, I dread the anticipation of separating yet again from human beings with whom I have woven some sort of web connecting the two of us within some larger entanglement with humanity. Perhaps this is part of the reason that, prior to arriving in South Africa, I had consciously prepared myself for the fact that these were temporary relationships I would be forming, and that maintaining some distance between those with whom I could potentially form relationships would make it easier to leave at the end.

Well, on Saturday I discovered that this is impossible, that forming relationships with people is something that happens despite even our greatest efforts to prevent this very thing from occurring. This is what my tears from Saturday taught me. Each of you has revealed to me something about the hidden mysteries of life. Many of you have shown me parts of me that I did not know existed; others of you confirmed for me things that I did know and, for this, I thank you.

More than anything else, for me, this semester has been one of personal growth and self-discovery. I am not the same person as when I arrived in Cape Town in January. Many things about me are the same – I still don’t enjoy going out to clubs or bars (they really are all the same to me), I still like to go to bed before midnight and to wake up early in the morning, and I still like to have a clean room and kitchen. But many things have also changed. As an individual I have grown more confident in myself and my own authority to make decisions, even when those decisions – whether that decision be to not go to Long Street with the masses, or to hop a flight to India – do not seem reasonable or rational to others; they make sense to me, and at the end of the day, it is me to whom I have to answer and who holds myself accountable for my decisions and actions. Many of you have supported me and encouraged me to have the strength to make and follow through with these decisions, particularly regarding the latter (India).

Naturally, I became closer with some of you than others; but know that each of you has played a significant role in shaping the person I am becoming, whether by challenging my own beliefs and attitudes or through the friendship we have formed over the past few months. I will not make “shout outs” here – you know who you are. Regardless of whether or not we ever have the privilege of meeting again, I will hold you dear to my heart indefinitely and am glad that you were able to join me during this portion of my life journey.

Aside from my personal development, there is also my experience of Africa. I was guilty of falling victim to the belief that Africa was in need of saving. Many of you will recall my enthusiasm to teach in South Africa; perhaps this was the way I had envisioned “saving” the children here. But after a few visits at Mannenberg and Masiyile, I felt that doing service at those schools would be emotionally and physically draining – not to mention that it would have been virtually impossible for me to maintain distance from those children. For this reason, and also because I have had quite a bit of experience working in school settings, I opted to work with Equal Education, which I imagined would allow me to further my experience in the area of education but through a different approach than ever I had taken before. (You all have heard more than enough about our experiences at Equal Education, so I will not belabor it here. I am glad for the experiences I had with EE and do not regret it, but if I had to choose all over again, I would have stayed with my gut instinct to go to Mannenberg and I would have immersed myself with those kids to the point that leaving them in June would have been almost impossible.) To Betsy and Laurie, I really admire your dedication to those kids and all of the efforts you made for them.

The point that I was trying to come to in the previous paragraph is one that I mentioned in an earlier blog post, namely that Africa is not in need of being saved. She does need our charity, or our missionaries, or any other kind of aid. And if She does, She knows where to find us. Yes, there are many problems in South Africa, most if not all of which are lingering legacies of Apartheid. But what country is without problems? When people hear “South Africa” they think of crime, Apartheid, murder, injustice, corruption, destitute poverty, Nelson Mandela, and Jacob Zuma’s denial of a link between HIV and AIDS. When I think of South Africa – and especially of Cape Town – I think of a microcosm of many worlds where injustice has been done yet life continues; a diaspora of skin colours and languages and income levels; a country with little hope for the future yet which does have a hopeful future.

At the moment I am safe and sound in India, where I have again found myself dropped into a country so different from anything I have ever known that it seems surreal.

And so here I say farewell to my blog. Thanks to all who have been accompanying me on my journey.

All is van die beste. Sayonara. Namaste.

Getting Closer

2010-06-02T23:44:00.000-07:00

I officially have only one day left in Cape Town, a fact that really hit me for the first time when we were driving home from Khayelitsha two nights ago. It is only a fraction of my life that I have been here, but in that small fraction, this place has also become my home. I have carved out a small space for myself here. I have a temporary home, I can cross the roads with ease, and I can use public transportation. I can speak a few words in Afrikaans, and fewer in Xhosa. On a few occasions I have even been mistaken for South African and asked for directions. In many ways I feel I have been absorbed into Cape Town, in its spoken dialects, body language, elocution, and mannerisms. I can eat (though less gracefully than true South Africans) without utensils, and though I still enjoy my personal space, my bubble has gotten smaller.

In many ways though, I’m still very American, and I’m sure I will realize this even more after I return home. I miss being able to wash my hands with soap whenever I use a public restroom. I enjoy being able to use the restroom without first having to purchase toilet paper by the square. I miss being able to walk outside at night, alone even, without heightened senses. I like when my milk can last longer than 3 or 4 days before spoiling. I like the orderliness of traffic and when people abide by the traffic light signals even when there is no one else around (this usually happens here, but not always). I like that teachers should have less than 30 students per class, and that libraries should not be luxuries in schools. I like that, though there are socioeconomic disparities in the US, they are less so along racial lines (though we still have a long way to go in this matter).

Though my time here is nearing its end, our program matters will not end until we get to the airport. Last evening I gave my final presentation on the factors affecting quality teaching and learning in South Africa, and I now all I have left is to complete my final research report on the same topic, which I anticipate accomplishing later today. And finally, one last trip to the market in town. Then all that is left is packing my suitcase, deciding what to take with and what to leave behind, and understanding how these last five months of people, challenges, and experiences are going to impact the rest of my life; and the latter is not something that can be stuffed in a suitcase.

The Beginning of the End

2010-05-28T12:13:00.000-07:00

All good things come to an end, or so they say. With seven days left in Cape Town, I think it is safe to say that this is the beginning of the end of my semester in South Africa. That is not to say that I will not one day return to this rainbow nation characterized, in my mind, by cash store names in white letters on bright red Coca-Cola backgrounds in the townships; vuvuzelas; rugby (and this year, the 2010 FIFA World Cup); overcrowded, often uninsured, yet efficient and economical taxis; Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela; ubuntu; a multiplicity of languages; a multiplicity of skin colours; university couples who are less shy than Americans to display their affection in public; the university students' fashionable dress (no sweatpants here!); the spontaneous Xhosa songs and dances that burst out while waiting for the bus, or riding the bus, or getting off the bus, or walking to class, or in the middle of the day at Equal Education, or...; British English spellings of words; British-style school uniforms (e.g. shirts and sweaters, which are entirely inappropriate when the temperatures are in the mid- upper-80s Fahrenheit; the overwhelming presence of meat in people's diets; mothers carrying babies and toddlers on their backs, holding them tight in place by tying a blanket or towel around them; the outfits that the Xhosa boys wear after returning from the ceremonies in which they become men; the ability to use the mountain as a geographical reference and permanent compass; the sunshine, the sunburn; the people who don't have homes; the number of people who tried telling me (a Christian) why I should believe in God; the white pastor preaching to a black congregation (save for me and Lin-Lin, who is Chinese); historically black primary and secondary schools whose pupil:teacher ratio is something like 40:1; the clear demarcations between poor townships and million-dollar homes; herders herding their goats and cattle across the N2; the seemingly carefree pace of life; a "holiday" nation; the cycle of poverty; the numerous legacies of apartheid; the hospitality of most of the South Africans I had the privilege of meeting; the prostitutes that stand on the street corners late at night; the man beating the woman on the side of the street, and feeling so helpless that I could do nothing but watch from inside the bus window; a dual sense of hopefulness and hopelessness; a future.

I'm not sure where this post was headed, but this is where it seems to end: a future. If there is one thing I have learned over the past four-and-a-half months, it is that everything Africa needs to succeed, She already has within and among her. Africa doesn't need our charity, our missionaries, or our approval. And my thoughts seem to end abruptly right here, right now. I suspect that the coming week will be a week of intense reflection, as well as mental preparation to close this chapter and open the next. Here's to the beginning of the end.

12 days more in Cape Town

2010-05-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe how fast my time in Cape Town has gone, and how few days are left. The fact that our program ends in 12 days is beginning to sink in, and we are beginning to realize how close our group of service-learners has grown over the past four months. Despite our cornucopia of personalities and interests, doing service is the one thing we all have in common, the one thing that bonds us all together. And after leaving any type of group program such as this, there is always some small feeling of disappointment when you are no longer around people who understand certain jokes.

As I begin to mentally prepare myself to end one journey and begin another, I'd like to take a few minutes to reflect on (1) some of my favorite things about South Africa; (2) some of the things I took for granted back home; and (3) some of the new words and meanings I've learned. I'm sure I'll add onto these lists in the next several days.

1. Some of my favorite things about South Africa

- The ketchup. They call it tomato sous, but it's ketchup. It looks the same, but it's 10 times sweeter than the ketchup back home. It caught my taste buds off-guard the first time I had it, but I've come to like it sweet.

- Acquiring a bit of an accent. I don't consider it a bad thing to be able to immerse oneself in a culture so much that one's own language begins to take the shape of the host culture. I've found myself unintentionally using distinctly South African phrases and inflecting my voice in patterns that are more South African than American.

- Being mistaken for a South African. Much to my surprise, this has happened on a few occasions. It's a nice feeling though, really. Some people never overcome the stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb-tourist-phase; I consider this ability to assimilate with a new culture a gift.

- Taxis. The taxis in South Africa are what we would call mini-buses back home. The taxis are run by the Coloured population, are often overcrowded, and frequently uninsured, but they are an efficient and economical way to get into the centre of Cape Town, and it only costs about US $1. It's a great system, in my opinion, as long as the taxis aren't on strike.

- The BIG university setting. I think this one speaks for itself. Ursinus is going to feel even smaller after being at the University of Cape Town. I've enjoyed the anonymity of it all.

- Table Mountain. I'm going to miss seeing the mountain towering over me every morning.

- South African Sunshine. All these hours of daylight and sunshine have been great for my spirit - and acne!

- Being able to walk barefoot anywhere you please.

- Internet. I definitely took fast and free internet for granted. Never again!

2. Some of the things I took for granted back home: grated cheese, chocolate chips, M&M's, drying machine (for clothes), milk that doesn't spoil after five days, my car

3. Some of the new words and meanings I've learned

- Chips = French fries (potato chips are also called chips, so to distinguish between the two you can say "hot chips" to refer to fries)
- Petrol = gasoline
- Boot = trunk of a car
- Takkies = sneakers
- Speed hump = like a speed bump only wider, so it's more of a hump than a bump
- Hoot = honk, as in "Please don't hoot your horn."
- Learners = students
- Robot = traffic light (thought I admit I didn't hear this used too often)
- "Just now" = a phrase used to indicate time; it could mean 2 minutes, 15 minutes, half an hour, 4 hours, or never
- "Now now" = right now
- Howzit? = What's up? (An appropriate response would be "cool, and you?")

And, I'll conclude with a couple of pictures from the recent talent show we hosted for the learners from Equal Education...

Photos: Buffelsfontein

2010-05-12T08:10:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was our Reflection Weekend at Buffelsfontein Game Reserve. Overall it was a very nice weekend in the bush, complete with African wildlife, a thatch-roofed hut, and fine cuisine. (Watching the lions devour those raw chickens with their massive canines made me glad for my decision not to eat meat.) But as far as I can tell, the general consensus seems to be that we had spent more time reflecting on our personal growth and transforming experiences rather than just constructively critiquing the study abroad program. Nevertheless, here are some pictures from the weekend...

The thatch-roofed hut where we stayed. (It's more aesthetically pleasing than practical, judging from the puddles we discovered the morning after the rainstorm!)

Anterlopers.

Mama and Baby.

Welcome to Darling, where my yogurt and milk are made.

This was outside a theatre of the comedian Evita se Perron. I had never heard of this person, so I didn't take any photos, but we had fun with this photo-opp.

A picturesque road in Darling.

Photos

2010-05-02T08:17:00.000-07:00

The house where I'm staying.

The view from the bus stop. I'm going to miss seeing these mountains every morning.

Walking to Upper Campus.

Greenmarket Square in Cape Town. All the traditional homemade Afrikan crafts you could imagine.

Saturday Mass

2010-05-02T07:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I was fortunate to attend a Mass of Thanksgiving in celebration of the twentieth anniversary of Michael Lapsley’s survival of a brutal attack by the South African apartheid government. This was only the second Catholic Mass that I have attended, but I dare say it was the single religious service where I have most felt the omnipresence of God. Many things contributed to this experience I’m sure – the ornate architecture of the cathedral, the rainbow of skin colours of the congregation and Fathers, the flickering candles, the statues of Jesus and Mary, the crucifix, and the perfume of burning incense that dispersed through the air around us. The service was also multi-faith, multi-generational, multi-national, and multi-lingual.

When I decided to attend the service I knew nothing of Father Lapsley, the man, or his story. In fact my decision to attend was based on the fact that the anti-apartheid activist and archbishop Desmond Tutu (winner of the Nobel Peace Prize and Gandhi Peace Prize, among numerous others) was presiding over the service. Tutu is also one of the proponents of “ubuntu,” a collective concept that translates roughly as “I am human because we all are human”, and one that I am thinking to explore in-depth during the year following my graduation. Despite my reverence for Tutu, I was equally inspired by the spirit of Father Lapsley. I have included Father Lapsley’s narrative below because I believe it is one worth reading, and I know that many of you will not read it unless I include it here (and some of you will still skip over it, and that’s okay, too):

Michael Lapsley (South Africa)

After Father Michael Lapsley was exiled by the South African Government in 1976, he joined the African National Congress (ANC) and became one of their chaplains. Whilst living in Zimbabwe he discovered he was on the South African Government hit list. In April 1990 he received a letter bomb in the post. He now runs the Institute for Healing Memories in Cape Town.

No one told me why I was being exiled. But as a university chaplain, and in the wake of the Soweto uprising (when students were being detained and tortured) I was no friend to the apartheid regime. In exile I therefore became a target of the South African government.

I had long ago come to the conclusion that there was no road to freedom except via the route of self-sacrifice, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to follow. Three months after Nelson Mandela’s release from prison, I received a letter bomb hidden inside the pages of two religious magazines that had been posted from South Africa. In the bomb blast I lost both hands, one eye and had my eardrums shattered.

For the first three months I was as helpless as a newborn baby. People have asked me how I survived, and my only answer is that somehow, in the midst of the bombing, I felt that God was present. I also received so many messages of love and support from around the world that I was able to make my bombing redemptive – to bring life out of death, good out of evil.

Quite early on after the bomb I realised that if I was filled with hatred and desire for revenge I’d be a victim forever. If we have something done to us, we are victims. If we physically survive, we are survivors. Sadly, many people never travel any further than this. I did travel further, going from victim to survivor, to victor. To become a victor is to move from being an object of history to become a subject once more. That is not to say that I will not always grieve what I’ve lost, because I will permanently bear the marks of disfigurement. Yet I believe I’ve gained through this experience. I realise that I can be more of a priest with no hands than with two hands.

In 1992, I returned to South Africa to find a nation of survivors, but a damaged nation. Everyone had a story – a truth – to tell. In my work I’ve developed a programme called the Healing of Memories. Our workshops explore the effects of South Africa’s past at an emotional, psychological and spiritual level. I try to support those who have suffered as they struggle to have their stories recognised.

I haven’t forgiven anyone, because I have no one to forgive. No one was charged with this crime, and so for me forgiveness is still an abstract concept. But if I knew that the people who sent my bomb were now in prison, then I’d happily unlock the gates – although I’d like to know that they weren’t going to make any more bombs. I believe in restorative justice and I believe in reparation. So my attitude to the perpetrator is this: I’ll forgive them, but since I’ll never get my hands back, and will therefore always need someone to help me, they should pay that person’s wages. Not as a condition of forgiveness, but as part of reparation and restitution.

http://www.theforgivenessproject.com/stories/michael-lapsley

I still find it hard to believe that something this brutal happened in my lifetime, and I cannot comprehend that similar acts of violence, suffering, and torture are occurring even as I am writing this. To think of all of the so-called achievements and progress that we as humans have made, while knowing that we are simultaneously unable to control our rage and anger in a humane manner, is an absolute embarrassment to the human race.

My semester abroad has been and continues to be very much a search within myself, often through the lives of others. Religion and spirituality has been one of the more subtle avenues of this self-searching journey, but is just as important, in my opinion. Thus there were certain excerpts from Father Lapsley’s remarks at yesterday’s Mass that I especially appreciated:

It is not an accident that we began with an Islamic and a Buddhist prayer. I have long believed that the future of humanity is an interfaith future in which we need to [have] reverence and learn from each other’s faith traditions including traditional beliefs but I also have the deepest respect for my atheist, agnostic, and communist friends.”
The congregation laughed enthusiastically after this last statement, much to my amusement. I am including the following two excerpts simply because I like them:

Traveling the world has taught me that we are one human family capable of the most horrendous deeds. Just a few days ago I visited the genocide site in Srebenica in Bosnia. At the same time we are all capable and called to tenderness, kindness, generosity and compassion.

Often through the years I have asked myself why I survived a bomb that was supposed to kill me when so many others died, who also deserved to live. I guess that some of us had to survive to be living reminders of what we in this country idd to each other. But a thousand time[s] more importantly, I hope I can be a small sign that stronger than evil, and hatred and death, is goodness, compassion, love and life – indeed of God.

Tutu is also a funny character, though I admit I was more than a little disappointed when he didn’t shake my hand. Prior to giving his closing remarks Tutu, referring to the small square bandage on the back of his nearly-bald head, said to the congregation, “I know you all are wondering what happened to my head. Instead of praying, you were wondering.” Everyone laughed. Tutu continued, “A dermatologist drilled through my head. And found nothing.” Again the congregation – and Tutu – roar in laughter. A nice time at the cathedral indeed.

Sea Kayaking

2010-04-18T10:07:00.000-07:00

This post is comparably dull, but I just wanted it to go on the record that today we went sea kayaking in Simon's Town. The weather was beautiful, the water was wet (and salty), and we saw seals about 10 feet away from our kayak. Well, the seals might have been 20 feet away, but they were pretty darn close. They would come up above the water wringing fish this way and that. The food chain in action! We also got quite close to the African (Jackass) penguins. However, when they saw the seal thrashing the fish about in the water, they backed their littles selves right back up the rock where they were standing. Smart birds. What a great day to be on the water.

Make Plans to Break Plans

2010-04-17T12:23:00.000-07:00

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." -John Lennon

There is a certain amount of planning that should take place in one’s life, an amount that should not be exceeded. We make a plan, and that plan begins as our plan. But as we begin to execute the plan, it becomes someone, or something, else’s. We only have a certain amount of control over our lives. The rest is up to some other cosmic being, or a web of human interconnectedness, or some intricate global balancing scale. Or chance—coincidence, if you will. Call it whatever you’d like, but I prefer to think that there is a reason for everything that happens.

This afternoon Laurie and I were on a mission: We would go into the city centre to the Harley-Davidson shop there to purchase gifts for our motorcycle-loving fathers. (It is very easy to choose a gift when your father is fond of Harley-Davidsons, and I am grateful for this!) Had we not stopped for coffee and postcards, we would have arrived at the shop before it closed. As it would be, we arrived at 2:03. That’s 3 minutes past 14:00. So we laughed at ourselves, rejoiced at the fact that yes, we could indeed navigate our way through the city, and proceeded with the rest of our plan.

The main event of our day was to go to the Bookery – a room somewhere in town that Equal Education has rented so as to collect books that will soon be donated to a school library. Laurie and I were going to help laminate the covers of the 3,000 books that will soon be donated. The many security guards (who are extremely friendly and helpful, by the way) were kind enough to point us in the right direction when our own sense of direction was becoming less keen. When we were probably about 5 minutes from our destination, we noticed that a filming was taking place on a side street we were passing. So naturally we observed for a few minutes what was going on, wondered if we were trespassing on some sacred piece of ground, decided it was okay, and continued walking further down Commercial Street.

Although this particular street is not the Hollywood of filming commercials, this particular filming did in fact turn out to be for a Coca-Cola commercial. Standing on the sidewalk, leaning against the wall of a building, we watched the set crew fasten the “sun” – a huge stage light covered with tinted film – to the outside of the bus. Inside the bus, a makeup artist was touching up the faces of a dreamy blond-haired boy and a pleasantly plump white-haired granny. We waved to the granny whose eyes had met ours, and her face lit up. She smiled a great big joyful smile, the kind that only a white-haired grandmother can smile.

A few minutes later I noticed a gentleman standing to my left. Oh, another spectator, I thought. I continued watching the set crew balance carefully atop ladders, working adamantly to properly attach the sun to the side of the bus. I was enjoying watching the whole process play itself out, remembering the many stories my sister shared with me about her experiences working on a film set (for the movie “The Fields”) as a makeup artist. It is really an excruciatingly long process. The older gentleman nudged my arm and struck up a conversation. He, it turns out, has been married to the white-haired granny on the bus for 41 years.

Standing to the left of the white-haired granny’s white-haired husband was a short, plump, Indian man sporting a plaid cap and a blue apron. In the commercial, he would be the worker at the concession stand. And so, as the granny’s husband and the short, plump, Indian man waited on set, Laurie and I engaged in a conversation that would last for three hours. Yes, we spent the remainder of our afternoon standing along Commercial Street watching the bus with a pseudo-sun move forward and backward, take after take, until we moved inside to the wardrobe where we sat around so as to escape the Cape Town winds.

For about the first 15 minutes I was checking the time on my phone regularly, as I felt compelled to get to the Bookery, where we had planned to spend the majority of our afternoon covering books. But I never expected to come across the filming of a Coca-Cola commercial on a side street in the middle of the city in South Africa. And so I decided that this was an opportunity to be seized, and that the Bookery would be okay without my volunteering there today (I was feeling only slightly guilty for this).

What I enjoyed far more than the fact that I was watching the filming of a commercial that I will be able to view on television in approximately 13 days was the sharing of stories that happened among the four of us. This world is a remarkable place, and it is filled with remarkable people, each with a story of one’s own.

The granny’s husband (who was himself an actor in the movie, “Doomsday,” as well as an Israeli film and Mexican film of which he cannot remember the names) met the granny at the dance studio she opened up when she was only 16. She had studied ballet, enrolled at a school in England when she was 15, attended school for one year, and opened up her own studio outside of Cape Town, South Africa. The granny’s husband (his real name is Roger Pote) signed up to take classes, and she was his teacher. He doesn’t remember how old they were when they were married, but they have been married for 41 years, and he is 68. (As we are talking he fiddles with something in his pant pocket and opens his hand to see what he’s found – it a pair of pearl clip-on earrings, which I assume belong to granny.) Somewhere in between meeting each other and getting married, the granny was in England and the two of them corresponded by letter. This, he pointed out, was before the advent of email and mobile phones, which again made me thankful to have this technology today.

The plump Indian man (Vijay Lalla) met his wife in some sort of shop. He was a customer and she the cashier. He was taken aback by her beauty and felt he had to introduce himself to her. And that was that. They have been married for… 31 years? 34? Since I had yet to meet an Indian practicing Hinduism in South Africa, I asked if he was Muslim. Then I realized that I had just met my first South African, Hindu, Indian. This came as a pleasant surprise. My kêrel is Hindu, I said, practicing what little Afrikaans I know. (Earlier that day I spoke in Xhosa to a restaurant worker, who also gave us directions.) Vijay’s parents were born and raised in Southern India, had a traditional Indian wedding, and moved to South Africa with the hopes of escaping the poverty they had known in India. (However, Roger informed me that South Africa is moving backward, and that the poverty here is getting worse.) Vijay and his wife also had a traditional wedding, and they continue to live in South Africa.

Oh, it was a great day—far better than any I could have planned. The past few days I have felt as though I am on some sort of high. Today I realize that I am feeding off of the energy of the magnificence of the ordinary people around me. Yes, it’s true. I will say it again, that every single person in this world has a story to tell, if people would only listen.

Vijay offered to take Laurie and I home, an offer which we accepted but later turned down as it was getting late and we were growing tired and in dire need of a toilet. Earlier in the afternoon Roger and Vijay had suggested that we turn our purses around when we carry them, or we are likely to get pick-pocketed. Also, we should make sure to leave before dark, before 6. So at 5:00 PM we hopped a taxi back home, grateful for a day that went nothing as planned and buzzing from the energy of hours of hearty conversation. Next weekend I am thinking to make more plans, merely so they can be broken.

A Great Day

2010-04-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

Today was a great day. Aly and I went shopping with three of the girls (Nokubonga, Nomzekelo, and Linda) at Kenilworth Centre near Claremont. It took the girls more than two and a half hours to get to the mall, as they came by train from Khayelitsha; when the train got stuck on the tracks they had to take a taxi the rest of the way. Oh, we had a great time. My goal was to find a pair of blue jeans and possibly a plain long-sleeve cotton shirt. The girls adamantly informed me that I do not have a sense of style, and before I knew it I was in the fitting room with an armful of clothing, including a brilliant yellow and rich fuschia jacket that I had no intentions of buying. (They wouldn’t even let me take the plaid shirt into the fitting room.) Still, they insisted that I acquire something fashionable and so, being the good sport that I am, I tried on all of the clothing they had hand-picked especially for my unfashionable self and modeled each piece for them. And so I left the store with a pair of “skinny jeans” which I described to them as feeling glued to my legs. They downplayed my complaint and explained that this is precisely what skinny jeans are supposed to feel like – that’s why they’re called skinny jeans!

I’ve never been much of a shopper, so I especially enjoyed the after-shopping affairs. After our shopping adventure was complete, we went to the grocery store to get some foodstuffs to take home for dinner, as the girls would hang out with us for a bit at our house near campus. So, on our dinner table, we had a heaping plate of homemade hot chips (French fries) with salt and vinegar, a loaf of white bread, a Styrofoam box of baked chicken, pea and onion samosas, and a bottle of Coke. Aly commented that this was just like having lunch at Equal Education, but with plates! I can never forget the first time I saw these kids eating chips on bread (French fries on bread, that is). I could feel my arteries clogging with every bite.

My favorite time of the entire was after dinner when we all sat on the floor in the living room, playing guitar and singing. First we sang Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen, complete with harmony and everyone joining in full force on each chorus. Afterward we sang some songs in Xhosa, drawing a crowd of housemates who were keen to listen in. There is something about trying to speak or sing in another language that truly draws different language speakers together; it is as if the honest desire and attempt to understand the other person is more important than whether or not you can actually accomplish this.

Before we knew it the night was over, and the girls had to catch a taxi home. Next time, we decided, we need to make this an all-night affair. No shopping, just hanging out together. Perhaps we’ll have a sleepover. And, before we leave South Africa, we’re going to make a recording of some of our favorite songs. I'm looking forward to it.

The Creeper Who Followed Me Home

2010-04-02T13:03:00.000-07:00

I’m becoming increasingly convinced that I have a sign on my forehead that reads “In Need of Salvation,” a blatant statement to the world that I have fallen from grace.

Note: I am posting this with the knowledge that this post is going to rub a lot of people the wrong way, but that’s okay. I’m posting it anyway. You can stop reading now if you so desire.

As I was about to leave Upper Campus just now, a man who introduced himself as Jonathan* began talking to me, asking me my name and where I come from. The United States, I said. Yes, you are right, I do not sound Capetonian. Jonathan, it turns out, is a pastor on campus, and it seems he had a hidden agenda of talking to me about my religion. Hoping that he would get the hint that I was in the middle of something on my computer, I continued with what I was doing and purposely showed little interest in the conversation he was trying to make. He did get the hint, but that didn’t mean I had escaped being the subject of yet another lengthy evangelization.

I put my laptop inside my backpack and headed to the bus stop where I would take the shuttle to Lower Campus. Much to my dismay, there, at the top of the steps, was Jonathan. Yes, I am finished with my “work,” I said, but now I must go and catch the bus. Why am I taking the bus? Because I don’t want to walk to Lower Campus alone. I prefer to take the bus, that’s why. (I didn’t come off as sounding this hostile in my verbal speech, of course.) I handled the situation in the best way I knew how.

Long story short, Jonathan followed me (actually he walked beside me and talked about religion) the whole way from outside the library, to the bus stop, on the bus, off the bus, and to the gate outside of my house. Now, you might be asking yourself why I allowed this guy to follow me the whole way home. Well, I knew that it would be safer for me to be at the bus stop where there would be more people around. Same thing with when he got on the bus – there were people around. And when he got off the bus and walked to the gate outside my house, I knew that our security guard would be there waiting.

All this time I listened to his claims about Christianity and responded with my own polite rebuttals. I didn’t, however, ask the question that I really wanted to ask—namely, Do you believe in Jesus Christ on your own volition, or because the people who colonized your ancestors forced it upon you? (Jonathan was originally from the Congo and has lived in Cape Town for nearly a decade, so the question would have been legitimate and supported by historical fact.)

At one point on the bus ride he handed me his cell phone and asked me to enter my number. Rather than explaining that I don’t give my phone number to random people that follow me to my house, I politely entered a made-up number.

Let me clarify here that I do not believe that all Christian pastors behave in this manner, nor do I believe that Christianity is inherently bad. However, I do believe that this is a terrible way to go about sharing God with someone. And I have very, very negative feelings toward evangelism, conversion, war and conversion in the name of any god.

*I am using a pseudonym for the mere fact that, as it was pointed out to me so well, “Jonathan” is very well-known on campus. Indeed, he told every person that he met and greeted on the way down to Lower Campus that he had not seen them in a while – where had they been? Since he knows so many people on campus, and since I am here until June, and since someone could potentially find this blog at random on the internet, I have decided to call the man Jonathan. That is all.

Day 66

2010-03-25T06:54:00.000-07:00

Today marks my 66th day in Cape Town. As I reflect on the past 65 days, I realize how much I have had to adjust and adapt my own behaviors to the fit into the culture around me, oftentimes without even realizing it. Here the things that stand out the most:

1. I never deliberately make eye contact with strangers here. At home I have no problem doing this occasionally just to challenge the social norms and see how people react—it’s a fun little social experiment.

2. For the most part, I don’t talk to anyone that I don’t know. There are only a few exceptions: I say “thank you” to someone who holds a door open, to the cashier at the grocery store, and occasionally to the bus driver. Students are generally much friendlier and more open to conversation than the rest of the public sector. I have become more judicious in expressing my gratitude not because I am becoming rude, but because “please” and “thank you” simply aren’t used as frequently in Cape Town as they are in the United States.

3. Public transportation isn’t as bad as I expected. I can take a taxi into town for R5 (less than $1 US). Most recently the taxi driver was going 150 km/h. I don’t know exactly how fast that is in miles, but I think it best not to do the conversion. On that note, all of the taxi drivers were on strike yesterday and none of them were driving. So, while it is a very efficient and economical means of travel, this is only true if the taxis are operating. The taxi strikes also provoke violence; there’s been ongoing tension between the taxi drivers and the bus companies that are taking business away from the taxi drivers, especially now that it’s nearing World Cup time.

4. I actually like being on a big university campus. Granted, there are at most 16 people in any of my classes since the classes are geared toward service-learning, but it is a nice change from my small campus at home. The University of Cape Town is literally at the base of Table Mountain, so walking to Upper Campus from where I live, on Lower Campus, requires 30 minutes of climbing stairs and inclines the whole way. Fortunately the University has shuttles (called “Jammies”) that run from Lower to Upper Campus most of the day. I thought that waiting for the shuttle would be an inconvenience, but I am actually becoming quite fond of it, and I’ve done a lot of reading-for-pleasure while waiting for and riding on the shuttles. That is one nice thing about public transportation, though it’s certainly nice to know that I will have my car when I get home.

5. In many public places, you have to purchase toilet paper for R1. Then, the store clerk, bartender, or whomever, will tear off a certain number of squares for you to use. There’s no hiding the fact that you have to use the toilet when you have to purchase your toilet paper in front of everyone. (If you have Runny Tummy, you’re probably better off carrying your own roll with you!) Oh, and it’s probably a good idea to carry hand sanitizer with you everywhere. Not even the University restrooms are stocked with soap. Maybe the soap dispensers are just for decoration?

6. Just say no. When people ask you for money, you just have to say no. Avoiding eye contact makes this a little easier, but being American certainly makes you a prime target for those wanting money. So far I’ve only been suckered into buying somebody one Coke. Then he told me loved me. I assured him that he didn't. I learned my lesson fast!

7. I’m learning what it means to be American: Americans carry water bottles everywhere they go, especially Nalgenes. It must be an American thing (or maybe just an Ursinus thing) to read a book at the gym (e.g. on the treadmill) because everyone I’ve run into has been perplexed as to why I was taking a book to the gym, and how reading while exercising is physically impossible. We also wear those wispy binders (thin head bands) and Adidas shorts when we’re exercising or playing sports. If you are wearing a T-shirt, Adidas shorts, sneakers, a wispy binder, and carrying a Nalgene, there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind – you’re American.

8. Apparently UCT students have a more balanced academic and social life than American students. During the week, the library closes at 10 PM which means that if you want to continue studying, they don’t support it. (If I’m correct, Ursinus’s Myrin Library is open till 1 AM during the week, and 4 AM during finals.) You’re free to keep studying, but you must do so somewhere else.

9. I’ve become much more aware of my surroundings and take much more care for my personal safety than I do at home, for several reasons. First, anyone traveling to another country would be more attentive to their surroundings when they are outside of the comfort of their home environment. Second, it is a well-known fact that Cape Town has a very high crime rate, and it would be foolish not to take precautions. For example, I never leave my room – not even to use the bathroom or shower – without locking my windows. With that said, being safe in Cape Town depends mostly on common sense (knock on wood). I try to fit in by following the social norms, acting as others act, going to public places in daylight, and carrying little money or valuables on my person. If I must go on campus somewhere past 6:00, the security guard knows where I’m going, and when to expect me back. So even though I’m much more aware of taking safety precautions, I do feel safe.

10,000 March for School Libraries in South Africa

2010-03-22T06:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the culmination of about a year of relentless organisation and mobilisation among Equal Education's staff and members, alongside numerous organisations with whom they joined forces. I have only had a brief peek at all the work that organising such a campaign entails, but to see everything come together at yesterday's march to Parliament was nothing less than impressive. Check out the press release here: http://www.equaleducation.org.za/press-a-views/press-releases/item/112-21march2010

Penguins & Babboons!

2010-03-18T23:25:00.000-07:00

Ubuntu (Togetherness)

2010-03-16T02:27:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was our homestay weekend in Khayelitsha Township. On Friday evening we went to a community building in the township where we were greeted with a welcome suited for royalty. Black Xhosa women and children clapped and cheered for us as our transport pulled through the iron gate. The young girls’ dancing and singing stood in stark contrast to us Americans who were standing still and in awe of the welcome we were receiving. (And, over the course of the weekend, we would confirm the correct stereotype that white people can’t dance.)

Inside the community building we were introduced to all of the host mothers for the weekend. Each one told us her name, surname, and clan name. Then we introduced ourselves. After introductions we sampled three traditional Xhosa dishes: homemade bread, tripe, and mielie. I tried two of the three, but opted not to take the tripe (the lining of a cow’s stomach). Those who did try it said it was poorly cleaned and tasted like the grass the cow ate. Others described it as tasting like cow shit.

The real meal that followed was filling and delicious. Food is a huge part of Xhosa culture. At the end of the weekend, the host families would tell the homestay coordinator that we were a much more open group of students than they have had in the past—meaning, of course, that we ate a lot more than past students. They appreciated this; they become concerned when you do not accept what they are offering you because it makes them feel as if you are not comfortable, or that they are not providing adequately for you. So, even if you cannot fathom putting another piece of fruit or bread or sweet in your stomach, it is polite to do so anyway.

Two students stayed with each host family. It was nice to be paired with Christina, to whom I hadn’t really spoken much before this weekend. Our host mother for the weekend was Ngawethu, a 67-year old, gray-haired, spunky, Black, Xhosa woman who introduced herself to the entire group by telling a story, complete with acting and hip-swinging, about how she came to live in Khayelitsha.

Mama, as we would call Ngawethu the remainder of the weekend, has two daughters. But the two daughters were not the two girls we met at the community center; one of these girls was in fact a daughter (in the American sense of the word). However, most non-European countries do not use the same words (e.g. aunt, uncle, cousin, brother, sister) to describe kinship as we do. And many, like the families in Khayelitsha, live with their extended families. After asking several family members many questions, we came to find out that Mama and her husband, Isaiah, have one biological daughter. The other “daughter” actually lives in another house with her mother, and I’m still not sure if she is of any blood relation or not. The other biological daughter married someone from, and now lives in, the United States. The two daughters still living with Mama were 21 and 23 years old. Eddy, who also lived with Mama, was 16. I came to find out that he is actually the biological son of Mama’s sister, who died of TB within the last five years. Eddy also has a biological sister who has a young child, but I don’t think she lives with Mama as I only saw her once.

From my conversation with Eddy, I gathered that Mama is a very authoritative parent, and he respects her tremendously. The other night Eddy received a phone call from a female friend. Mama inquired if this was a girlfriend and, if not, why was she calling him? “No,” Eddy assured her, “she was just a friend.” Eddy told me that he was not interested in having a girlfriend right now, and he is not going to have sex until he is married. He does not want to have a girlfriend right now, he does not go out on the weekends; all he wants to focus on right now is his studies, passing his matric exams (Grade 12 graduation exams), and get into varsity (college/university). Still, he knows that Mama does not question him because she does not trust him, but because she cares for him. Her authoritativeness is a manifestation of her love.

In another story, after Eddy’s sister found out that she was pregnant, they found her at the garage drinking petrol (translation: she was at the gas station drinking gasoline to try to kill herself and her baby). Mama took her to the hospital, had her stomach pumped, and the baby supposedly went unharmed. Afterward Mama asked, “Did I ever tell you to have many boyfriends and get pregnant? No. You did this. I did not tell you to do this.” Her message was that she did something of her own volition, and now she had to take responsibility for her actions. Both of these stories (and I’m sure there were many more that we didn’t hear) suggested that Mama abided by the letter that hung on the back of the bathroom door:

Dear Child
As long as you live in this house, you will follow the rules, when you have your own house, you can make your own rules.
In this house we do not have democracy. I did not campaign to be your parent. You did not vote for me.
We are parent and child by the grace of God and I accept the privilege and awesome responsibility. In accepting it, I have an obligation to perform the role of a parent.
I am not your pal. Our ages are too different. We can share many things, but we are not pals. I am also your friend, but we are on entirely different levels.
You will do in this house as I say and while you may ask questions, you may not question my authority. Please remember that whatever I ask you to do, is motivated by love.
This will be hard for you to understand, until you have a child of your own.
Until then, trust me.
Your Parent

Originally written by Ricardo Montalban to his son.

And children do understand this thing when they become parents of their own children. Sometimes children even realize the benefit of having a seemingly strict parent while they are still children. Still others come to resent that their parents were not stricter; that is, that they did not show them more love. After all there comes a point when children are no longer children, when they must make decisions for themselves. There is a poem by Kahlil Gilbran that speaks to this very thing:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

And, conveniently, I was just made aware of an African (Xhosa) proverb that echoes this idea that change comes through children. The English translation goes something like this: Old people are like metal, they don’t bend. In other words, young people cannot try to change the views of the elder generations. At the same time, the older generation should not hold it against the younger generation that their views are different. It is the parents’ responsibility to rear their children well and prepare them for the challenges that lie ahead of them. Then, after they have raised them and instilled in them their values, they must release them from their influence and trust that they have well-prepared them for the challenges and blessings that life will hurl at them.

So yes, Eddy is so appreciative of the love that Mama gives him. And he is determined not to disappoint her, or himself.

Around 9:00 on the Friday evening we arrived at our families homes, the two girls told Christina and me that we were going out.

“Where are we going?”

“Out!”

So, we went to Keith’s Place, a bar in the township, just a short walk from their home. Locals didn’t start filtering in until about half past ten, so for a while it was just six of us Americans and our host families. When the locals did start coming in, they did a double-take as to why there were six white people in a bar in a homogenously black township. But the oddity of the situation quickly wore off. We engaged in conversations with the locals and soaked up the atmosphere.

On Saturday morning we went to Ubuntu (“togetherness” in Xhosa), an HIV/AIDS clinic for infected children. On this day the children were performing songs, dances, and skits. It was nice, but it was far too long for my restless self to sit there and simply observe.

In the afternoon we went to Ace’s Place, a meat market similar to Mzoli’s. It was here that an old man (he was probably in his late 50s) professed his love for me, and I proceeded to assure him that no, he did not love me. “You don’t even know me!” At which point I rejoined our group’s conversation and tried to avoid the old man who was confused about love. It turns out he wasn’t the only one who was confused about love. After I spoke with one of the other host mothers, I realized how true it still is that marriage is an institution and a vehicle for social mobility. (There is a difference between marriage for social reasons and marriage for love; here I am referring to the first one.) Anyway, this lady (a single, 37-year old, black, Xhosa, school teacher) wants to marry a white man. Why? Because, in her mind’s eye, white men are faithful, you always see old white couples walking together and still holding hands. They divorce less than black men. In other words, white men are just better. This truly shocked me. Obviously it is an opinion, and every person is entitled to his or her own opinion. But it seemed to me as if this lady feels scared into marriage. Her motive for marriage is not love, but the avoidance of a situation she does not want to be in. As I understood it, she was motivated to marry out of fear. Of course she wants to be happy (don’t we all?). Anyway, I don’t intend to draw any conclusions from this, it was just an observation. However, I did give the conversation my two cents: People are people, and white men divorce just as much as anyone else. So to simply marry any white man guarantees only one thing—that the chance of having a lifelong marriage is the same as the flip of a coin.

After we finished enjoying the braai at Ace’s Place, we went to the other Ace’s Place across town, which was complete with a bar and dance floor. I walked in and walked straight back out to my host brother, Eddy, and two of the other host sisters. The three of them were too young to go inside. We got in the back of a truck and rode home. I couldn’t handle another night out; all I really wanted to do was spend time with Mama and talk with her. When we got home, we went to a house church. The setting reminded me of the Spanish church I went to at home in the sense that there were just a bunch of people crowded in a room in a house fellowshipping and worshipping God. However, this experience was much crazier, in my opinion. Perhaps it wouldn’t have seemed quite as crazy if the speaker hadn’t been speaking English – at least then I wouldn’t have known what he was saying! This speaker believes that he is a prophet of God (the Christian God, father of Christ). He saw “seven angels among us,” and prophesied that, of the people in attendance, three of their mothers would die on Wednesday at noon… Yes, this creeped me out.

On Sunday morning we went to an Anglican church service, which was conducted in Xhosa. Mama didn’t come with us because she was too busy preparing breakfast for us, despite our urging her to sit down and eat with us. My only regret for the weekend is that we didn’t have more time to talk with the elders. Well, that we didn’t get to talk more with Mama (I only saw her husband once over the weekend). Still, the conversations we did have were meaningful.

In summary, this weekend was a great experience. There is a spirit of ubuntu (togetherness, collectivity) in Khayelitsha. Everyone we met – our host families, locals, complete strangers – went out of their way to welcome us, make sure we were safe, and to make us feel at home. I wasn’t planning to have anything to drink at the bar on Friday night, and I was fine with this. So I was surprised when my host sister brought me a bottle of Powerade. Why was this girl who was just two years older than me and living in these conditions buying me, a white, privileged American, a drink? Someone else from our group started turning down beers from locals only because he couldn’t drink them all.

This is the benefit of becoming engaged in a culture despite how negatively it is portrayed by the media. Khayelitsha has a reputation for being one of the most dangerous townships. We students were all very aware of all of the things associated with Khayelitsha before we arrived, and we took these into consideration. I, for instance, didn’t bring my camera because I didn’t want to risk it being stolen. (My camera would have been just fine.) The residents of Khayelitsha were so eager to welcome us and to show us that it really is a great community, that people really do appreciate outsiders taking the time to understand them. And over the course of the 48 hours that we were there, we tended forget that we were in this supposedly crime-infested black township where poverty is an adamant oppressor. Instead, this was a vibrant community of human beings who care for one another and look out for one another. Yes, this was ubuntu.

I realize that I have not gone into too much detail here about the living conditions of the homes where we were stayed this weekend. I think this is an important part of the weekend, and I will include more of these details in the next post. For now though, this one has become too long. So, until next time…

Backflips in the vineyard, and other things to catch up on

2010-03-10T03:34:00.001-08:00

I have been slacking on my blogging lately, so I’ll attempt to sum up the past week in a single post. There hasn’t been much change in terms of classes or service is concerned, but I’m not sure whether this is a good or bad thing. Before I get into the academic aspects, let’s talk about the weekend. On Saturday we went to a wine tasting at Nelson’s Creek vineyard, about 40 minutes from where we are staying. Unsurprisingly, I wasn’t too enthused about the wine tasting, but I was excited to spend the day in a vineyard since I had never visited one before, and the only image of a vineyard I had in mind was from the movie The Parent Trap.

As soon as we stepped out of the van I was overwhelmed by the smell of fermented grape juice. (I think “fermented grape juice” sounds nicer than “alcohol.”) Our visit began with a brief tour of the vineyard in which we learned about the different types of grapes, soil, weather, and farming techniques. Then we saw the machinery used in the wine-making process that. The machinery sat outside on a neatly poured base of concrete, which my Grandpa Bowen would have been delighted to see. When our tour guide finished speaking, I asked what the trampoline was for. He replied that it was for the children who accompany their parents but cannot partake in the wine tasting. “Is there an age limit?” I asked. “No,” he said, “you can jump on it if you’d like.” Doing front-flips and back-flips on a trampoline in a vineyard would turn out to be one of the highlights of my day, until one of the other workers informed us that the trampoline is only for children. I guess I cannot pass for a child anymore after all.

The informal wine tasting was mildly entertaining, and I found it slightly humorous that the others could taste strawberries or smoke or other strange flavors in the wines. They all taste like alcohol to me. I did, however, enjoy the dried apricots, almonds, crackers, and cheeses, and the others at my table were glad to have my share of the wine. Afterwards we sat under a shade tree and had bagged lunches (no baboon intruders this time, fortunately). I also made friends with a golden retriever that enjoyed placing his large paw in my palm, until he caught on that I was playing a game and seeing how many times he would shake with me until he quit.

The following day Lin-Lin and I attended the non-denominational Christian service held at the Baxter Theatre. It struck me as ironic that, to the best of my knowledge, the rest of the congregation was either Black or Coloured, yet the pastor was obviously White. In one regard it was nice to know that all of these groups could congregate to worship one god, but at the same time the racial composition of the group, and the fact that a White pastor was ministering to a Black/Coloured congregation was reminiscent of the all-too recent colonialism this country has undergone. In my opinion, both South Africa and America are racial and cultural melting pots, but with different flavours of stew. The South African stew has a smooth base, a medley of many ingredients, but it also has some distinct vegetables that have barely been diced and tend to remain separate from the rest of the ingredients. The American stew is blander and less flavourful than that of South Africa, but it is palatable.

Back from my tangent to the originally intended narrative. My service at Equal Education has been both rewarding and frustrating. The entire organization is deeply involved in preparing for the March 21st protest for a national policy on school libraries, so it is difficult to work on any other projects right now. The library campaign will be complete in two weeks time, so for now I am trying to offer my help with the campaign and am waiting patiently to really dive into this academic program I am attempting to implement with the help of Joey, the head of the Youth Department. Perhaps the most frustrating thing is that it is nearly impossible to pin down this man because he is so incredibly busy. I think the trick is that I must just schedule weekly meetings with him, and even then it is virtually impossible to have an uninterrupted meeting. But, this is the nature of NGO work. I know for a fact that I could not handle so much stress and disorganization, but I admire people that can because their work is extremely important.

The most rewarding part of my time at Equal Ed. is interacting with the students. They are all incredible people with incredible stories to tell. Two of the gentlemen and I are working informally to improve some poems they have written. Their poems are very real and reflect some of the daily struggles they face. I am learning a lot from conversations over poetry, so it is more of a co-learning experience than anything. The ladies have been begging me to bring my guitar, so I took it with me last Friday and it was a big hit. The guitar is a very social instrument, I have found out. No matter where you take a guitar, you will make friends because of it. Anyway, the girls took turns playing and learning chords and just having fun. Before I knew it we had a crowd of no less than ten people gathered around this instrument and making music. Upon their request I agreed to play something for them – I had no idea Taylor Swift was such a hit in South Africa – and one of the girls took off her hat and set it in front of me to collect tips. They have so much spunk and personality, each one of them. It was a good day. Two of the girls either have or are now getting guitars for themselves, so I sense that there will be more guitar lessons in the near future.

Unfortunately one of my guitar strings snapped on Friday night, so I haven’t been able to play (although this does provide me with a legitimate reason for why I do not take my guitar to Equal Ed. every day!). Still, I need to find a music shop and get me some strings. There’s no sense in having a stringless guitar sitting in my room.

As far as classes go, I continue to be mostly disappointed with two of them. But there is one that I am enjoying very much, Poverty and Development. I think we could add “and Globalization” to the end of the course title as well. The professor is very knowledgeable, has lots of firsthand experience, and is passionate about what she is teaching. She also has an incredible life story (every person does) and I look forward to having more conversations with her in the future. We are thinking to go for coffee or lunch sometime over the following weekend.

This coming weekend is our home-stay weekend. Each of us 16 students will be staying with a family in the Khayelitsha Township, which I am very much looking forward to, particularly since Equal Ed. is located in, and most of the students live in, Khayelitsha. We will be departing from our residences at 17:30 on Friday and will return at 14:00 on Sunday. Khayelitsha is a Black township and the language spoken there is Xhosa. I am used to hearing this click-language spoken, and I can say a few words and phrases, but I am pretty useless when it comes to holding a conversation. On Saturday will be walking around the township and attending a festival at Ubuntu, the children’s HIV/AIDS clinic in Khayelitsha where some of my peers are doing their service. Most families go to church on Sunday mornings and have a large family dinner afterwards, so that is as much as I know about what this weekend will entail.

Wikipedia has an incomplete but basic description of Khayelitsha here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khayelitsha

You can also type “Khayelitsha Township” into Google images for some pictures.

Besides all of this, I do not seem to have any increase of fondness toward learning in the classroom. In other words, I have a research proposal due by tomorrow at midnight that is not yet complete. I must change this bad habit before I return to my home college next fall. Anyway, I plan to spend the remainder of this rainy day in the library. Speaking of rain, this is only the second or third time it has rained during the day since I have been here. It is a welcomed cooling agent after yesterday hit close to 90˚F. Still, this sunshine has been lovely.

That wraps up just about everything over the past week. I’ll make a more conscious effort to post more frequently; a lot of the feelings are lost when reflections aren’t done in a timely manner. I hope you all continue to be well, thanks for reading, and take care. Now I must make my way to the library!

Opposites

2010-03-03T08:47:00.000-08:00

Every single person on this planet has a unique life story, and all of our lives are somehow interconnected. When we look at people, we view them in a certain light. We compare their behaviors, attitudes, and opinions with our own, and we usually consider whatever we do or believe as being correct and anything that diverges from that as wrong. The problem with this is that none of us can know what is right or what is wrong. Our notions of right and wrong come from many places, most often stemming from religion or some other sort of spiritual practice. But in the end, our ideas of what is right and what is wrong are merely that – ideas.

As human beings, we are in no position to judge other human beings as being better or worse than ourselves. Nor should we expect that other human beings follow the same moral code that we do. Each person has a reason for following the moral code that he or she chooses; the only wrong moral code is one that is not supported by reason. I know what you are thinking: There are some moral codes that are inexcusable and undoubtedly wrong (those of the serial killers, rapists, pedophiles, etc.), and I agree with this. In fact, there are some things which are considered wrong or taboo in every culture for the reason that said behaviors are harmful to the existence of society and the sustainability of its members.

I do not mean for this to turn into a debate over the origin of right and wrong, nor how to determine what is moral and immoral. The point I am trying to make is that, as humans, we generally draw conclusions about people far too quickly; consequently, we judge them based on our constructed conclusions rather than taking the time to talk to people and listen to their life story. If only we would take the time to stop and listen before we judge and draw conclusions, then we might create understanding rather than discord. When understanding is sought, even the most opposite personalities can have a healthy interaction based on an appreciation of differences rather than a hidden motive to judge and compare.

Although we have no right to judge someone or say that they are a lesser person than we are, we do have a right to make judgments about what is good or bad based on our own values and moral codes. So a person could do something that is good according to his moral code, but is wrong according to mine. This does not make either of us right or wrong, it only makes it different. And this is where understanding is essential. You know the cliché about agreeing to disagree? It is relevant here. It is not our duty to change people’s moral codes against their will. Certainly we can discuss moral issues with them, defend our own moral codes, and challenge them to think differently; but any change must come from within their own hearts. If they do not accept those things that we have proposed, then they do so for a reason.

The line between reason and excuse is not a fine one. A person’s experiences can influence their present behaviors and beliefs, but these reasons cannot excuse their present ill-behaviors. This brings us back to the issue of how to determine what is right and wrong. So for now, just consider your own definitions of right and wrong. It is never too late for a person to change their wrong behaviors. However, we must remember that if a person does not view their own behavior as wrong, they are unlikely to change.

Perhaps this is where religion and spirituality come into play, though I do not believe that the two are mutually exclusive. More than anything else, religion and spirituality are the most discussed topics among the students in the house where I am staying. After the most recent debate between the two, the conclusion was drawn that religion has a more selfless component whereas spirituality is more self-focused. (Obviously these are just generalizations that are not applicable to all situations, but they are a starting point for further discussion.) This brings us back to the issue of right and wrong; where does this notion originate from? Can a person who is purely spiritual find definitions of right and wrong within themselves? Or must these definitions come from some higher being, a god or some holy text?

I’m not sure where I intended for this post to go when I began writing, but that’s often the way life works. We have certain intentions or expectations, but life – or god, or the universe, or some higher being, or humanity itself – has other plans. And those plans are generally more beautiful than anything we could have created for ourselves.

Photo Link (Erin Callison)

2010-03-01T00:34:00.000-08:00

A fellow student, Erin Callison, was kind enough to share this link of photos she's taken of our trip thus far. I haven't yet seen the photos, but thought I'd pass them on to you awhile. http://picasaweb.google.com/erincallison

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem

2010-02-28T13:01:00.000-08:00

In South Africa, you can go anywhere in bare feet. The earth connects with the pads of your feet, the texture of the stone pathways is like a natural massage, and the asphalt that basks in the South African sun warms your soles. Yesterday I decided to walk only in bare feet, and it was nice. You can’t do this back home. I walked on roads and sidewalks, rode on the shuttle bus, and walked through the library, barefoot. It’s a nice feeling, some kind of freedom about not wearing shoes. As a child I liked walking barefoot in the grass the most (though I didn’t like scrubbing off the grass stains in the bathtub afterward). There’s hardly any grass here, but the sensation is equally pleasant.

Perhaps this feeling of freedom is what those topless ladies on the beach were feeling. About a month ago several students and I went to the beach for the day. With no restrooms in sight, we were puzzled as to how we were going to change into our swimsuits. Perhaps we could go behind those huge rocks and change while the other girl students kept a look out for intruders. Or maybe we could hold towels up as a curtain while each of us took turns changing right there on the beach. And then, we saw a topless lady. And then, another. And still another. Then we laughed at how silly we must look to the others as we stand there on the beach trying to decide how best to maintain our modesty.

There were about 1,000 steps leading from the road down to the beach, and I don’t think 1,000 is an unreasonable exaggeration. We ended up changing on the steps, which were mostly hidden by trees and other foliage. We changed quickly and hoped that no strangers came while we were in the process. No one saw us, but they most definitely would have been more puzzled as to why three of us were changing on the steps than as to why there were topless ladies on the beach.

R & R & Mailing Address

2010-02-23T11:46:00.001-08:00

It is hard to believe that I am already in my sixth week in South Africa. Where is the time going? I've been fortunate enough to fit my 15 hours of service (though it will probably be a few more than that) into three of the weekdays, leaving my Tuesdays and Wednesdays open for classes, running errands, going to the gym, relaxing, etc. Although we are into our third week of classes, I still feel like I am on vacation. Perhaps it's the warm weather tricking my mind into thinking it's summer, or maybe it's the lax pace of life here. Whatever it is, I feel content. Now, just because I am content doesn't mean that I haven't experienced my share of frustration, no sirree! I still feel quite confused as to what is going on in my classes, none of the classes have a permanent classroom location yet, and I am still amazed that the course syllabi do not include assigned readings or due dates for papers. I have to admit, I like having a schedule and knowing exactly when things are due so I can plan accordingly. But the good thing about this is that I am learning to be more patient and to go with the flow of things; in Africa, one has no other choice!

One of my present endeavors is that I am trying to condition myself to like vegetables. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not a vegetable person, never have been. However, after one too many PB & J's, bowls of pasta, and pounds of meat, I'm realizing that, again, I have no other choice. Plus, they're good for me. Today I ate my second normal-size carrot, and it went down as easy as a pretzel. So I guess you could say I am making progress. Perhaps tomorrow I will tackle the celery (smothered in peanut butter, of course!).

Thank you to those who have sent emails, it is great to hear from you. I have had several requests for a mailing address, so I will provide that below. I'm not sure how long it will take to mail something to S. Africa from the States, but there's only one way to find out :) Here's the address:

Ashley Green
c/o Quinton Redcliffe, CIEE
IAPO Office
Lovers Walk, Lower Campus
University of Cape Town
Private Bag
Rondebosch, 7701
South Africa

Cheers!

Language and Post-Apartheid Legacies

2010-02-22T12:25:00.000-08:00

A friend from home just shared this NY Times article with me: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/22/world/africa/22bus.html?hp It is about the current "war" between taxi drivers and the bus industry. Taxi drivers in South Africa are predominantly black, and they became entrepreneurs in the industry post-apartheid. They're quite successful at it too. Now that the World Cup is coming to South Africa, the country is trying to improve the transportation system by introducing more buses as a means of transportation, thus competing with the taxi drivers. This competition is so fierce it has even broken out into violence and even death.

The current transportation competition is only one of the legacies of apartheid. Another is language. South Africa has 11 official languages, but English remains the main medium of communication in politics, business, education, and media. I don't have the statistics, but I think it is safe to say that most, if not all, South Africans are bilingual, speaking English and their mother tongue. (Nopi, our security guard, is fluent in nine of the 11 official languages.)

I assumed that having 11 official languages might pose problems when it comes to publishing newspapers, for example. But I never really considered how many levels of society it actually affected. Earlier this evening I attended my first Grade 9 Youth Group meeting at Equal Education. We played some fun games, discussed the goals of Equal Education, and talked about why the learners in the youth group decided to join Equal Educations causes. Since English is the language that will allow these learners to become successful, I was surprised that - when speaking in English without being prompted to - the youth group leaders asked them to speak in Xhosa (pronounced "cosa"), their mother tongue. Furthermore, everyone present could speak and understand English, but not everyone could converse in Xhosa.

Language is a powerful thing, and I understand some of the implications surrounding the debate over whether or not languages should be left to die out or not, though I admit the effects of such thing run much deeper than I am aware. For one thing, there are certain feelings, ideas, and concepts that cannot be adequately expressed in all languages. Secondly, language is a part of one's cultural identity. To allow a language to die out would be to cut one off from one's ancestors, and even one's immediate family. On the other hand, language is also a symbol of power and domination. The use of English, then, is a constant reminder of the colonizing of the African people. Although I don't think most South Africans are aware of this thing daily (particularly the youth), it is still a fact that resides in one's subconscious mind much the same as most white people in America do not wake up every day conscious of their skin color because they are part of the majority.

In short, the point is that apartheid's legacy is present at so many levels. You know, this shouldn't be surprising considering how recently apartheid was instituted. The thing that I still struggle to understand is how human beings can judge other human beings and decide that one is less human than he. Who are we to judge anyone? This is enough for tonight.

Penguins and Baboons, oh my!

2010-02-20T14:17:00.000-08:00

Prior to leaving for Cape Town, Grandma and Grandpa Bowen mailed me a newspaper article about the overwhelming presence of baboons in Cape Town and the concern this presents for the upcoming FIFA World Cup. Apparently the baboons like to get into cars whose windows are left rolled down, especially if there is food inside. I have been in Cape Town for five weeks now, and up until today I hadn’t seen a single baboon. But today after our hike out to the Cape of Good Hope, we had a couple of visitors at our picnic lunch. As we were sitting outside under the shade tree eating our paper bag lunches, I spotted a mother baboon with her baby on her back about 100 yards away from where I was sitting. Then, within five seconds, the same baboon swooped down from behind us and took Tina’s bagged lunch right out of her hands. I don’t think I’ve ever seen 15 Americans scream and spring from their seats so quickly. I don’t know what made us think the baboon was satisfied with just one bagged lunch; just as soon as we returned to our seats and got comfortable again, she made a second appearance, at which point we decided (and were told by the security guard) to move our picnic inside of our vehicle.

That was one of the highlights of the day. Prior to the baboon incident we visited Boulders Beach, known for its penguins. African penguins seem to be much lazier than those in Antarctica, or maybe they are just more relaxed. I’ve always liked penguins, mainly because they’re just so darn cute. But more than that, penguins take care of one another. They are a most faithful species (they mate for life). Perhaps they also a sense of decency; today it seemed as though two penguins who were becoming intimate with one another quickly ceased all intimacy as soon as they realized they were drawing a crowd. Maybe we were the ones without decency, refusing to give them their privacy.

The final highlight of the day was hiking out to a mass of rock, surrounded on three sides by the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. I could see nothing around me except for a horizon line of ocean. There is something about the natural world that never fails to remind me how small I am. I stood near the edge of the rock watching the waves roll in. If the wave was just right, it would crash into the side of the rock on which I was standing, forcing the wave’s water upwards and arching over my head – thousands of tiny saltwater droplets raining down on me from below. The greatness of nature such as this cannot be adequately captured by even the most gifted writers.

This evening we also went to a rugby game between a South African and an Australian team at the stadium in Newlands. Without a doubt it was nice to experience the atmosphere of a rugby game in South Africa, but I don’t particularly enjoy sitting and spectating for so long. Or perhaps it’s just that I miss playing sports myself.
Until next time…

Equal Education

2010-02-17T10:30:00.000-08:00

It is finally safe to say that my work at Equal Education has officially begun. After what has seemed like weeks of waiting, I’ve finally got my feet in the door and have some vision of how I can be of assistance at Equal Education. At first I was under the impression that I would actually be working with the gap year students to help them improve their scores on their Matric exams (the ones they take upon matriculating from high school), but this might not be the case. Although I still might be able to help them improve their English scores, we first have to establish an academic program. Joey Hasson, EE’s Youth Department director, told me that they tried to get this academic program off the ground in November without success. Although there are many teachers interested in coming to teach the gap year students, none of the EE staff members have enough time in the day to organizing this program. Joey has already collected a thick database of teachers’ contact information, which should make my job somewhat easier.

Today I did a whole lot of nothing, and I’m sure that this will be one day of many. Despite my eagerness to help, I couldn’t find any of the staff members to give me work to do because they were all in meetings. It was suggested to me that from now on, perhaps I could ask for a week’s worth of tasks at the beginning of each week so that I can be sure I have something to work on. Equal Education definitely needs the extra hands, and I am sure that after this week I will also have a better feel for where my hands are most needed. For now though I am trying to create each gap year student’s schedule so we can figure out what times during the day they have available to take classes, as well as which subjects they would like to re-test in. After we get this figured out, I can start going through the database of teachers and making phone calls to those who are qualified to teach the subjects that our students need. There is no saying how long this process could take, and it’s possible that I might not even get to see the implementation of the program in the short time I am here. This is where it is helpful to have the perspective that we as individuals are just one piece in a larger puzzle. In fact, one of the challenges facing EE is that so many of the volunteers, like me, are only here for a short period of time. So by the time they get settled in and comfortable with how the organization operates, they have to up and leave. In some ways this is just the nature of the organization, but they could certainly benefit from more consistency. Still, EE is doing great things.

That’s the update on the service project. Other than that, I am doing pretty well, though this week has been a bit exhausting. The food hasn’t been settling quite right in my stomach, which only encourages me to continue my all too starchy diet – a rotation of rice, pasta, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. (These aren’t the only items on the menu, but they have certainly been taking precedent.) Everything seems to spoil here so quickly – milk, bread, yogurt, you name it. Perhaps this is just one more thing I have been taking for granted.

Photos

2010-02-14T00:46:00.000-08:00

1-One of the shops in Langa Township.
2-Traditional healer (of questionable authority, in my opinion). Notice all of the shady animal skins hanging around.
3-Herd of cattle coming towards us in Langa Township.
4-Barbed wire irony.
5-Lira in concert at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens.

Photos

2010-02-14T00:37:00.000-08:00

1-View from the top of Table Mountain, and we weren’t even in an airplane!
2-Lin-Lin, Tina, me at Table Mountain.
3-World Cup Stadium!
4-Sunset from Signal Hill.
5-Our study abroad group +2 on Robben Island.

2010-02-12T06:30:00.000-08:00

A few of the girls and I just got back from a nice lunch at Cocoa Wah-Wah, a quaint little café where we sat outside, munched on food, and talked about things that only girls talk about. It’s important for girls to have girl friends, just as it is important for guys to have their guy friends. Girls’ help their girl friends maintain their femininity, and guys their masculinity. And it’s a great dynamic when these two beautiful items, femininity and masculinity, find in each other those things which one was seeking but could not find within oneself.

In other news, I have finally settled on the service project where I want to be placed. The name of the organization is Equal Education (EE); you can read more about the organization on their website: www.equaleducation.org.za. I was previously set on going to either the primary or high school for my service project, but when I revisited the schools, I did not have that “yes, this is where I want to be” feeling that I was hoping for. Fortunately, I found that feeling at EE. In short, the organization is committed to improving schools across South Africa. Right now EE is campaigning, petitioning, marching, and drafting legislation to have school libraries instituted in every school in the country. As of right now, something like 97% of schools in South Africa are without libraries.

My role at EE would be working in the Youth Department with students who are also dedicated to improving the school system. I would be helping the students develop leadership skills so that, in the near future, they will be able to help the next group of students do the same. I will also be working with a group of eight students whom I had the privilege of meeting this past week. These eight students are taking a gap year, which means they are 17 and 18 year olds who have graduated from high school and are taking a break before going to college/university. Many of them are using this year to take additional courses to prepare for college entrance exams. So I will be working with these students and helping them prepare for such exams. I don’t like to call this tutoring because it implies some sort of power relationship, but I can assure you that I will learn as much from these students as they will hopefully learn from me.

So what was it about EE that I did not find at the schools? Mostly it was that I identified in these students something that I also find in myself. They are natural leaders, motivated individuals, and they are passionate about improving the school systems of which they themselves are a product. You know, before coming to South Africa, my belief was that people were poor because societal forces gave them no other choice. When I say poor, I am not referring to poverty in terms of money. It is true that some people are happy with no money at all. If this happiness is all they desire from life, then this should be sufficient. But for those who are not happy in the situations into which they were born or forced into, there are avenues one can take to change these situations – avenues that require absolutely no money.

One of these avenues is education. Now I recognize that my previous statement about the avenue of education requiring no money whatsoever is not true. Public education is not free in South Africa, although the fee is minimal (about USD $16 per year). Regardless, the gap year students at EE with whom I will be working with come from the black township Khayelitsha, one of the poorest townships in the Western Cape province. Until now, I always thought that every single person on this planet could become great. But this simply is not the case. Perhaps we all have the potential to become great, but at some point achieving greatness involves making a choice. These are students who have made that choice. And these are the students in whom I want my energy, students who have made a conscious decision to do something great and are passionate about the power of education.

So that is that. We are still working on finalizing schedules and whatnot, and I still do not know exactly when I will begin my service there, even though we are supposed to begin this Monday, the 15th of February. On a similar note, it still does not seem like school has started. I still feel like I am on vacation. I’m not complaining about the vacation part. It’s been quite relaxing to get some writing and knitting projects done. But one of the reasons I came here was to get an education, so that part has been a bit disappointing thus far. I am sure this will soon pick up though, especially when my service actually begins. Until then I am practicing being patient, so maybe that is the education South Africa is giving me!

Lastly, I have joined the Volleyball Club here on campus. I will be setting for the competitive league team. The club sports here are much more competitive than in the States, which I enjoy. The players and coaches are great, we train like a regular team, and it’s a lot of fun. The South Africans take their sports seriously, but not unreasonably seriously. We will practice on Mondays and Thursdays in the gym, and Fridays are reserved for beach volleyball. This will be a good stress reliever, and as one of my peers said, sports force you to socialize without being socially awkward. These are both good things. On that note, I must slap on some sunblock and head out to the beach courts.

Expectations Weekend at High Africa

2010-02-09T23:48:00.000-08:00

We spent this past weekend at High Africa, an adventure camp about an hour and half from where we are staying in Cape Town. (You can view pictures in the photo gallery on this page: http://www.highafrica.com/) It was a very nice weekend, and the location was beautiful. We stayed in cabins that looked out over a river, complete with mountains in the background. From the deck we could watch the sunrise, ever… so… slowly… And watch the sunrise I did, because the screech of the bed made sure that I awoke early each morning.

Besides all of the program-related lectures, we also did lots of team- and confidence-building activities. One of the highlights of the weekend was the high ropes course. I am aware of the fact that using a high ropes course as a metaphor for life is cliché. However, as you might have expected, I am going to make this comparison anyway.

Twelve meters off the ground, the ropes course was quite a fitting capstone for my past two months or so. Looking up at the course from the ground, it looked manageable, do-able. Climbing the stairs, it got progressively scarier, but still I went, reminding myself that all my fears were created by my mind, and my mind was the only thing working against me; this is the illusion of perspective. I was scared. Then, the wind picked up. And then I stepped down onto the log balance beam, shaking like a leaf. I could go into a lot more detail here, but it’s of little importance. What is more important than how scared I was is the greater lesson taken from this activity.

You see, life is a high ropes course. There are always unexpected challenges. But even when those unexpected challenges arise, you cannot let them distract you from your goal. Look at the challenge, assess it, and continue on your journey toward your goal. I did it, and it was a great feeling to complete that thing. And the accomplishment seemed all the greater because of all the fear that I had to overcome to get to that point. Would I do a high ropes course again? Yes, but only if I had to. But one thing I would definitely do again: keep journeying toward my goal even when the challenges arise. Make a decision and stick to it. Then, everything becomes less confusing. Suddenly, every challenge in life becomes an opportunity rather than an obstacle. Lastly, we can always achieve beyond our comfort zone, we just have to push ourselves outside that boundary. One is always capable of doing more than one believes oneself to be.

Soul Vacation

2010-02-05T00:54:00.000-08:00

It has been nearly three weeks since I arrived in South Africa. So far it has felt like a much-needed soul vacation. Granted, most of the days have been jam-packed with tours and orientation lectures and other program activities, but the days in between and the evenings prove to be an opportune time for personal reflection. I did quite a bit of research on S. Africa’s history before I arrived so that, when I arrived, I could focus on the current conditions in the country. Also, I could be a little selfish and focus on myself. But there is a misnomer about this word selfish, I think. Devoting one’s energy to oneself is not a bad thing so long as the result is something positive. In America we are taught to focus so much energy on the self, but the result is not positive in the sense that I have in mind; we are taught to focus on the self in terms of achieving success, making money, earning rewards and promotions. In fact, I think this is one area in which American (and perhaps other Western) schools could improve; I only say American schools because they are the only ones that I have experienced first-hand. We focus so much on academic achievement and marks that we sacrifice the importance of the individual. Students, and eventually society, do not know who they are at the core of their being; they define themselves instead by their achievements. Consequently, students tend to value themselves based on the marks they receive rather than the positive personal characteristics that reside within themselves.

The mainstream person, the one who just rides the waves of life, never changed society. It is those who defy the waves of life that make a difference. It is our Martin Luther King, Jr., Nelson Mandela, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and Hitler, who refused to float through life; instead they chose a non-conformist path. They were labeled “outsiders” by society because they adopted lives of nonconformity. Not all nonconformity is for the betterment of society, mind you. In fact, it probably occurred to you that Hitler does not belong in the aforementioned group. Here it is important to make a significant distinction between those who are internally and externally motivated to adopt lifestyles of non-conformity. Those who are internally motivated have some passion that drives them to fight for the betterment of the human race simply for humans’ sake. On the other hand, those who are externally motivated seek to gain something in return. Hitler was externally motivated. He did not have it in his heart to improve society - even though one could argue that, in his mind, this is exactly what he was doing.

I have gone off on a tangent. All of this was sort of inspired by something one of the coordinators at the Love Life Center said on our recent visit there. (Love Life is an after-school center for students aged 12-17, funded by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, that offers educational programs including HIV/AIDS, teen pregnancy, safe sex, etc.) The coordinator said that the mission of Love Life is to help the students realize who they want to become before they turn out to be who they did not want to become. His exact words were, “I think the biggest tragedy in this life is not realizing who you are until you become who you don’t want to be.” In other words, more important than the external factors which life has dealt you are the internal qualities that drive you. If the seeds of hope inside you are planted, watered, and harvested, you too can become an internally motivated non-conformist who will improve society. I realize that this commentary is quite abstract and that you might struggle to grasp my point here, but at least I will be able to glean my point from this when I read it later.

I brought with me to South Africa some of my favorite inspirational literature, and have been borrowing some from housemates. I am not the only one on this journey of soul searching. It is comforting to be in the presence of others who are also on some version of this journey. Some sort of bond forms between two people who can discuss the deeper meanings of life in terms of humanity and spirituality, as opposed to race and religion, for example.

This will conclude this post. This evening we are departing for High Africa. They haven’t told us much of anything that we will be doing this weekend – many things in this program are a surprise. However, if you Google “High Africa” you will get results. It seems that we will be doing team-building activities and setting goals for our service projects, which should be interesting since we haven’t been officially assigned service projects yet. Also, our classes begin on Monday, and we have yet to receive our class schedule. One thing a person must learn in Africa: patience. That the world will not end if something begins 10 (or 45) minutes late. I generally prefer to have a schedule, and adhere to it, but learning patience is a good thing for me. It forces me to surrender some small sense of control that I have over the happenings in my days. I think we could all benefit from giving up a little bit of control in this matter.

One more thing. The African sun is much more relentless than in North America. I officially have my first legitimately painful African sunburn. But the sand and the waves were beautiful!

Happiness and Rainbow Nations

2010-02-01T00:14:00.000-08:00

Last evening we attended an outdoor concert at the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. The view was stunning. We walked up a stone path canopied with greenery so full it was as if we were completely immersed by the earth. The hill we sat and danced on during the concert created natural stadium seating, and the grass was a giant cushion, like an organic grass pillow. From the hill we looked down at the amphitheatre where Lira and others performed. Behind the amphitheatre were the mountains, so giant and mighty it is a wonder that anyone can deny the existence of some higher being.

We had never heard her jazz/afro-pop music before, but were all intrigued by the purity of Lira’s live performance. In public gatherings such as these, I am constantly reminded of how recent the end of apartheid is in this nation. Looking out over the crowd, Lira welcomed Nelson Mandela’s “rainbow nation” that was her audience. And it was truly something remarkable to witness. On this night, in this country where just a decade ago people still could not see past the color of skin, people of every hue were dancing and sitting crowded next to one another, no problem. Everyone was singing and dancing together and toasting to the same music of a Sotho musician. Music has a way of transcending boundaries that man has created. But it is not just the music, it is a spirit that is bleeding into the South African way of life, I think.

Lin-Lin, a fellow student, and I were walking through the garden paths prior to the beginning of the concert and were stopped in our tracks by a precious site in the distance. Three small boys, naked, frolicking in the stream. Two of the boys were white, one black. There is something beautiful about children, and I think we could learn a lot from them if we paid a little more attention. The sad thing about growing older is not that our skin begins to wrinkle or that our hair begins to gray. It is that we lose our childish innocence. We begin to care what the rest of society thinks about us rather than just doing what makes us happy, what brings us joy. Growing old is not all bad. Wisdom is precious (and we certainly would not want 40-year olds frolicking naked in the stream). But still we can learn to maintain, or at least return to, some of the beautiful parts of our childhood such as these.

While we are on the topic of happiness, let’s take it one step further. You know what I have noticed about this thing? It is everywhere that Americans might not expect it to be. I am reminded of an article we read for American Government last semester. The author stated something to the effect of, “there is nothing transcendental about democracy.” Her point is a valid one. I am grateful to have been born and raised in the United States, and I would speculate that most people have the same feeling toward their own native land. But like all other countries, the U.S. is not perfect. Perhaps it is superior in some ways, but not all. I think the one area in which its superiority falls short is that of happiness. People flock to America with the ambition of realizing the American Dream. The American Dream? What is this thing? For most, it is unattainable. The ability to transcend social classes is largely a myth. But this is not the point. The point is that people have invested false hope in the American Dream. They believe that if they can acquire more wealth, then they will become happy. If only they hit the lottery, they will become happy.

I am not dismissing the importance of money. Indeed, money is necessary to live. Instead I am suggesting that our flaw is in the way that we view money. Money will not make us happy. Certainly the availability of money can lessen financial stress, but we do not need money in excess. Money in excess does not breed happiness. Happiness comes from another source of wealth, and that wealth is love. After all, what do we need in this life in order to survive? We need food. We need shelter. We need clothing. We do not need money. You see, we have convinced ourselves that an excess of money is the only way to achieve happiness. But how? Who is to say that we will not die tomorrow? If we were to die tomorrow, what would make you happy today? Certainly money would not matter to you at all. At least it would not matter to me. This is why we must live each day as if there is no tomorrow.

What accounts for the over-medication of Americans for conditions such as depression? Is it the faulty notion that happiness can be attained by the accumulation of wealth? Do people become depressed when they realize that this notion is flawed? Why is it that underdeveloped- and developing nations have lower rates of depression and medication than the U.S.? You might say that they are less educated, thus they are not aware that they are depressed. (This thought only briefly crossed my mind when one of the teachers I observed offered her students a rather unusual explanation of bipolar disorder.) You might say they are less medicated because they cannot afford medication. Both of these postulates might be true. But because they are not aware of this thing called depression, its existence is minimal in comparison.

Awareness is often a good thing, but sometimes it hinders a human being’s development and prevents them from realizing their true potential. If this lack of awareness stems from the lack of capital, then so be it. It is better this way, is it not? Suppose that money allows people to be educated; educated people are made aware of this construct called depression; people believe they have this condition simply because it “exists”; people medicate themselves for this condition they might or might not have. And in the midst of all this, happiness is lost.

In short, my point is this. Would you rather be rich and miserable, chasing an unattainable dream? Or would you prefer to be poor and happy? This is something one must decide for oneself. A friend of mine recently shared a story with me about a man from Mexico who worked at a small home business in his village. He liked working here because he did work that he enjoyed doing, and he could play with his children whenever it suited him. Another man who was more educated and wealthy suggested that the other man go back to school, incorporate his business, make millions, invest it in the stock market, and become rich. “Imagine how happy you would be,” encouraged the rich man. “What would you do if you had all of this money?” he asked. The man replied that he would go back to his village where he could do the work he enjoyed and he would play with his children whenever it suited him – the same thing he was doing just now. So you see, even though the man did not have as much capital as the rich man, he was the wealthier man all along. He knew what made him happy, and he had it.

Some of the happiest people I know are from underdeveloped and developing countries, or even communities in the U.S. where poverty in terms of money is rampant, but where poverty in terms of happiness is virtually non-existent. We invest so much of our energy into the accumulation of material wealth when we should instead be focusing our energy on attaining something far more transcendental, something intangible. Happiness is not something that can be bought. It is something that comes from within, something that begins with you loving yourself.

Education is not a bad thing. In fact, it is liberating. But education alone is not sufficient enough to attain happiness. At some point, one must realize that just because one is educated does not mean that he must be rich, or that being rich will make one happy. There are better things to do with one’s money than to spend it on material things, or even to save it in the hopes that one might live to see another day. It is a myth that only the richest of the rich are influential in this world. It is the truth that actions speak louder than words. So speak with your actions. Begin now.

Simplify, simplify, simplify.

I am American.

2010-01-30T03:57:00.000-08:00

After visiting the Masiyile High School on Thursday, I’m fairly certain that this is where I want to do my service project. In the upcoming week we will have needs analysis meetings to determine where our help is most needed, and I should also know for sure by the end of this week where I will be placed. Actual service should begin by the following Monday, two weeks from now.

In other news, I’m becoming more and more aware of what it means to be an American. And for the first time in my life, I know how it feels to be referred to as “you people.” Last evening I was having a chat with one of our security persons. One topic of our discussion: Nelson Mandela. In America, we have this image of Mandela as a nation-changer, a transformer, a hero. He is all of these things, for sure. But why does Mandela need so many houses, one in several towns, while so many people are still suffering? Nopi’s point was clear. At the end of the day, even Mandela is only human.

We also talked about Oprah’s school for girls in Johannesburg. In Nopi’s opinion, the school was like a prison. The girls aren’t allowed to have cell phones or laptops or any connection with the outside world. This is the thing about education, especially in Africa. Education is both liberating and imprisoning. Most parents wish for their children to be more educated than they were. This wish is motivated by the idea that if they are more educated, they will have better lives. But education can also tear people away from their families. Like this school, for instance (and there are many others doing the same thing). I don’t think it’s all bad. I just think that, along with educating our children, we need to instill in them a sense of connection and respect for where they come from so that they may one day return to the towns and villages and schools they were raised in and return something to the communities that helped socialize them.

You know, I am beginning to increasingly admire people like Nopi, people with strong opinions. I am not talking about people who are simply stubborn. I am talking about people who have legitimate reasons for believing what they believe - people who are not easily swayed by things or ideas that contradict their personal values and beliefs. People who are willing to analyze opposing viewpoints and amend their own viewpoints if, after considering the opposing argument, they believe that certain opposing viewpoints could actually enhance their personal codes of conduct and help them live a happier, more purposeful, and more fulfilling life.

Nopi is proud to be South African. He says he wouldn’t leave his country for anything. He has South African pride. He would visit other countries, yes – first Manchester United’s stadium in England, then the U.S. and Spain and Italy, but he could never live there. And you know what is one of the biggest reasons why he couldn’t leave South Africa? What would he eat?! Where would he get his pap? “You people eat these… lettuce and call it a meal. That’s not a meal! I’m talking about soul food. I have to keep this big belly of mine or I would get thin as this (he holds up his pinky finger).”

After going to the grocery store today, I realized how much I have been viewing South Africa from a sociological perspective. Some people have been especially kind to us foreigners, others not so much. But it is nothing we should take personally. There is a whole legacy of apartheid which we have walked into here. My skin is the color of the class of oppressors. To many, that makes me one of them. It is not my fault that some might view me grudgingly or interact with me with bitterness. It is because they have suffered, or their families have suffered, and in fact they continue to suffer because of apartheid – this ideology that the color of skin determines the value of a person. But I did not choose to be born in the country I was born. I did not choose the color of my skin, the texture of my hair, or the family that I have. All of this was decided for me. And until we can recognize that we are not personally responsible for our history, until we can accept the fact that no one’s living conditions are because of them but because of society, we cannot begin to change the future.

Re-Visiting the Projects

2010-01-27T12:05:00.000-08:00

This morning a few of us who are interested in teaching at the Primer (Elementary) School for our service projects re-visited the school. If you recall, I was quite ecstatic about teaching the younger grades after our initial visit. But after our second visit, I was more amazed than ecstatic – and by amazed I really mean perplexed. In the second grade classroom I observed, there was one teacher in charge of 42 students, and one student was absent. Typically the teacher has an assistant, she said, but on this day I become the assistant. I am asked to get the children in their seats, quiet, and on-task. The students are not entirely rambunctious, and they prove that they can and do pay attention: When the teacher asked the students to say hello to “Ashley,” I was expecting a “Hi, Ashley!” Instead I was greeted by 42 students of nearly every skin color you could imagine. In unison they said, “Hello, Ashley, and how are you today?”

I have been forewarned many times about being the teacher that is too idealistic and believes that she can make a difference in the life of every student that enters her classroom. But when I enter this particular classroom, I cannot help but think idealistically. And I begin to think about what these students need. I also acknowledge that what they need might not be exactly what I would like to offer them. Obviously I have a lot of observing to do before I can begin to decide how I can address a need in this school. My biggest fear with this program is that I do not want to be viewed as that white girl who thinks she knows better than the others, who are (to the best of my knowledge) non-white. I am certain that my attitude would not cause people to view me this way; if anything, it is the history of xenophobia and oppression in this country that might cause others to adopt this view.

So what can I do? I can be the best human being I can be. I can try my utmost to understand the circumstances and conditions this school is facing. I can look at these students and see what they truly need, and see how I can help them attain this for themselves. That is the thing – I don’t want to do anything for them, per se. I want only to help them recognize what they need and help them realize that they have the strength to go after it themselves. I don’t know what this need is yet, but I’m sure this will become clearer in subsequent visits.

There is also a feeling of… confinement that I sense in this school. It is the confinement of circumstance, and more specifically of socioeconomic status. The Iranian philosopher Ali Shariati describes this circumstance as one of the four prisons in which each of us exist – the prison of our society’s social and economic structure, over which we have virtually no control. And it is true. In reality, no matter how much these students achieve, the odds are stacked against them. They are attending a school that recently had one of the highest rates of gang violence (now they rank second). They don’t have the resources that other students are receiving. As I understand so far, the students are struggling in their academic performance, but it is by no fault of their own. It is because they were born into families who are less well-off than others. It is because they have been oppressed for no other reason than the shade of their skin. And even though this racism is lessening in South Africa, it is an ideology ingrained in people’s minds that skin color can tell you something about a person. Skin color can tell you nothing about a human being.

You know, I honestly don’t know if we as human beings will ever be able to get over all of our differences and focus instead on our similarities. Certainly I would like to think this is possible, but I know that it will not happen in my lifetime. Once again, it is these ideologies that persist through generations. Physical objects and heirlooms passed down from generation to generation can be lost or even broken. This is less true of ideas. Ideas are not easily broken. And the only way to break an existing ideology is to replace it with a new one.

Despite all of the societal factors that are against them, these kids have so much life and energy. When I knelt down to help one of the students, another one touched my dangling earring and asked what it was. Another student kept rubbing the skin of my arm, perhaps trying to find if a darker color existed underneath. And when the boy and the end of the table proclaimed his love for me, I informed him that he did not, and that he should in fact be copying the daily news at the front of the room into his journal.

Tomorrow I will be re-visiting the Masiyela High School, so we’ll see how that goes. More to come tomorrow (as long as there’s wireless!).

For the Love of Whales

2010-01-24T11:50:00.000-08:00

I knew that today was going to be a good day. When I woke up this morning, the cell phone I purchased here worked again (save for the two dots in the middle of the screen). Yesterday my aerosol sunscreen leaked all over it, and as of when I went to bed, it refused to turn on. But this morning it was working again. And the hat I left on the bus that took us to the soccer stadium was right where I left it, patiently waiting for me to retrieve it. It is the little things like these that we take for granted. But often I have found that when we stop worrying about trivial things such as these, they tend to work themselves out. I do not mean to suggest that we be careless, but when we unintentionally become careless – or when unfortunate things occur simply by chance – we should not waste our energy worrying. There are too many other important things, people, and causes to which we should direct our energy instead.

Today was an enlightening day. We took a boat to Robben Island, the island where Mandela was kept extensively as a political prisoner. On the boat ride out to Robben Island, we saw several seals and then, a killer whale – first its smooth black back and then its distinguishing tail. I was not looking for a whale. In fact, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind that we might see a whale, but then we did. After this sighting my mind tricked me into believing that several clashing waves were also the backs of whales sneaking out of the water only briefly. Each time, however, I quickly realized that this was my mind playing tricks on me, my eyes were deceiving me. And then, in a single moment, a thought crossed my mind. A thought about expectations…
There is a time and a place for expectations. But in terms of casual interaction with people, one should not have expectations. One should have values that one believes in, but never should one expect to find these values in everyone else whom he meets. You see, if a person expects everyone whom he or she meets to be honest, he or she will be able to find honesty in that person, guaranteed; even if this person whom he or she has met is not honest, the mere belief that this person is honest is enough for supposed honesty to appear. The catch is that this honesty is manifested only in the mind of the person looking for it; in reality a person who is not honest cannot harbor honesty. Do you understand the importance? When you have no expectations of others, you find out who they truly are. But when you have expectations, then your mind is clear of expectations and you are able to view the person or situation or event as it is. Indeed, it is in moments when we are expecting nothing that we find the greatest things. However, when we expect to see something, our mind can be deceived into seeing things about people that are really not there.

This sort of thing especially surfaces in romantic relationships. Don’t you think so? When one is actively looking for a romantic partner, one expects to find certain qualities in the other person. As a result, one tends to find certain personal characteristics even when they do not exist, again because it is merely a manifestation of one’s own mind. Believing that the other person has those qualities for which one is searching, the relationship progresses and emotional attachment becomes greater. As time goes on and the honeymoon phase passes, however, one’s mind turns back to reality. When this reality sets in, one now recognizes that those qualities one saw in the other never truly existed but were only manifestations of one’s own mind. Then the relationship goes awry. All we all want is to be loved. But today, the whales taught me a lesson. Don’t go out looking for love, let it find you. Let your meeting of your significant other be by chance, by nature, by the work of God – whatever you want to call it. If you are looking for whales, you will see them, even when they are not there. So let love find you when you are least expecting it. You will know it is love when you feel compelled to deny that it is love.

2010-01-23T13:02:00.001-08:00

This morning we had our first talk on cultural diversity, which turned out to be more about poverty and the history of apartheid in South Africa. The information was good, but I worry that I might become easily bored by hearing the repetition of information I have already studied. Still, it is early in the semester. And, if nothing else, I will hear the information this time from a distinctly South African point of view.

After our talk we took a tour of Bo-Kaap, an area of Cape Town that consists primarily of Indian families whose ancestors were forced to settle in the area during apartheid. This section of town is vibrant, friendly, and complete with 11 mosques. At the end of the tour we were invited to dinner at the house of a very kind woman and her husband, whose names I cannot remember. For dinner we had “Cape Cuisine,” a fine blend of traditional (spicy!) Indian chicken curry over rice, potato pudding, and several other dishes of which I cannot remember the names – all with a hint of sweetness from Cape fruits. Delicious.

In the afternoon we attended a football (soccer) game in the stadium where the World Cup final will be played. The game was quite boring (it was between two minor league teams), but it was nice to be able to visit the stadium that is about to host the World Cup.

Visit to the Projects

2010-01-22T14:58:00.001-08:00

Up until today, I have felt nothing but overwhelmed. Today, however, we visited the four project sites where we will potentially be working. Two of those sites were schools, one primary and the other high school. Despite my being on the track to teach at the high school level, I felt more at home in the elementary school, which is where I would like to offer my help. If I am placed here, I will be assisting a teacher part-time, and will also have my own class of about fourteen students, teaching a subject of my choice. The township surrounding the school formerly had the highest crime rate (in Cape Town, perhaps?), but has since fallen to the second highest spot. The school itself, however, is very safe. This is the one thing I love about schools – they are structured and predictable, a place where students can always feel safe. I will write more about the school provided I am placed there for my service project. For now, I am going to freshen up; this evening we are going to a fancy African restaurant and dancing the night away!On a side note, this journey has already been quite the experience. I am learning a lot, to say the least. Adjusting is going to take time, and this is one of the reasons I chose to come here. I wanted to test my limits, my spirit, my ability to adapt to change. This mission will certainly be accomplished. (I have no other choice!) In the meantime, you should be comforted to know that the house where we are staying is quite safe and in a decent area on campus. There is a locked gate around the property, a locked gate to the front door of the house, and bars on the windows. There is also an alarm system (which should soon be enabled), and security officers patrol the property. Many of our orientation lectures have been dedicated to discussions of safety. It is causing me to become more fearful than before I left the States – no, fearful is not the right word. Rather, it is hardening my soft soul, and forcing me to recognize the reality of the situations I will encounter, and some that I already have. Nevertheless, all is well here, and after visiting the school today, I feel great.

2010-01-22T14:55:00.001-08:00

Well, I have finally arrived in South Africa (on Tuesday, actually). I managed to get some intermittent sleep on the 11-hour flight from London (thank goodness) and arrived in Cape Town at 10:00 AM (GMT). My first glimpse of Africa was the small area of landscape that showed through a single plane window (minus the area which was kept from my view by the wing of the plane). There, outside the window, were the foothills of Table Mountain, dotted with its typically African shrubbery. I suspect it will be an excellent hiking destination, and I believe we’ll conquer this task sooner than later. We have to wait for the perfect conditions to make the two hour trek up the mountain. The wind has been horrendous. The weather has been gorgeous – hot and breezy during the day and cool during the nights. The locals say it is quite cold for this time of year.

[Here I pause to offer some pieces of advice to other infrequent travelers like myself, should you dare to venture on your own: 1) Always, always, always call the airport on the day of your flight to make sure that your flight is on time, regardless of how nice the weather is. 2) When planning flight routes, allow for at least two hours between connecting flights. 3) Do not volunteer to take a window seat on flights lasting longer than six hours.]

Upon arriving at the airport I was greeted by an enthusiastic group of individuals working with the CIEE program, as well as some of the other students who I will be studying with for the next nearly five months. It was comforting to know that everything was well-planned upon our arrival. Also that morning we had our first taste of the reliability of the transportation here in South Africa. The minibus that was supposed to transport us from the airport to the hotel had broken down. So we went back inside and got our hands on some plastic instruments, called voovoozelas (sp?). Interesting story behind these instruments (you can Google it). On Saturday we will take them with us to the opening game at the World Cup stadium in Cape Town.
After leaving the airport and checking into the hotel on Tuesday, we went to "the mall" on the water front. Here we exchanged our money for the local currency, the rand (ZAR). [Note: It is better to exchange US dollars (USD) than traveler’s cheques; you are charged a fee to cash the cheques.] Then we had a bite to eat, and I regret to admit that my first meal in South Africa was none other than Subway. I felt this decision was legitimized by the fact that my system was still recovering from past day-and-a-half of traveling and airplane meals. Once my body better adjusts, perhaps I will give the ostrich meat a try, but right now is just too soon. For dinner we went to the Fish Market restaurant where I enjoyed fried calamari and the best lightest, richest hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted.

I have purchased a cell phone here. I have no idea how much it costs in USD, but I am told it is the best plan I will be able to get, so I trust this advice. I am tempted to keep a calculator on my person at all times for when I need to know conversions, but I know this is ridiculous and that I should instead work on my estimation skills. I must also familiarize myself with the Centigrade scale, because that conversion (˚C + 17.98 x 1.8) is just too complicated for my brain to handle.

And so the journey begins!

2010-01-18T05:39:00.001-08:00

Flexibility. This is one of the keys to a rewarding experience abroad, according to Dr. Hardin. We had a taste of this last evening when, upon arriving at Harrisburg International Airport, we were informed that my flight was delayed due to rain and clouds. Our only option: drive 3 hours (in the direction we had just come from) in order to make the connecting flight in Newark.

There was no problem, other than the minor inconvenience. I got checked in and through security in plenty of time and arrived safely at London's Heathrow a skip and a jump later. I have a feeling I am going to understand what jet lag is by this time tomorrow; it is hard for the body to adjust when its natural sleep cycle is broken. In fact, it is difficult for anything to function when its natural cycle is interfered with.

Nevermind. I am quite ready to go to South Africa, though I am not going with outrageous expectations. In many ways this is a soul-searching journey for me as much as it is a learning experience. Although I have never been abroad, I have a feeling that removing a person from her comfort zone forces her to look deep within herself and find what lies at the core of her being. I imagine it might be somewhat like (but also very unlike) the experiences Elizabeth Gilbert shares in "Eat, Pray, Love." I've decided to re-read this book for a boost of inspiration, and I imagine I can have it finished after the, oh, ELEVEN-hour flight to Cape Town.

At Heathrow I took a shuttle bus to the terminal from which my next flight will depart. I cringed inside and squinted my eyes when I saw that the bus in which I was riding was over the center-line and in the lane of the oncoming traffic. I quickly relaxed, and blushed to myself, after realizing that the traffic coming towards us was also completely on "our" side of the road.

And that was the first time it hit me: Ashley, you are not in America anymore. Now you are going to learn what it means to be American.

This is going to be a good four-and-a-half months!