It’s been quite awhile. I suppose my ability to sit down and write these things has dwindled, possibly coinciding with a lack of reliable internet access and a pure inability to sit myself still for more than twenty minutes. Regardless, I figure I should utilize the burst of inspiration I received on this monday afternoon. I am sitting on my apartment balcony, listening to the familiar sounds emanating from Green Market Square, one of Cape Town’s many bustling areas of music, art, and people. While in my apartment, I can rely on the company of construction workers on the neighboring balcony. Their work creates a mechanical soundtrack of slamming hammers, high-pitch wood saws, and precarious knocking sounds that I often mistaken as the hands of a visitor at my door. I can’t say I have a positive relationship with the electric wood saw; the darn thing has morphed into an unwanted 8 AM alarm clock that can’t be snoozed. Nevertheless, I love the hustle and bustle of Green Market Square. I love that I can walk outside every day to look up at table mountain poking through the geometric lines of the buildings. I like that the yellow edifice directly across from my apartment has Corinthian pillars that highlight bold black letters proclaiming it as the “leadership house.” Whatever that means. I like that this area has roads made of grey cobblestone that weave through various venders and the feet of some little girls who dance and sing Xhosa songs to the beat of a drum on a daily basis. There’s always the regular street singers, my favorite being a blind man who sits on a dark blue crate while strumming his guitar as it sits vertically on his knees, strings facing in. I typically pass him on my way to the mini-bus station, but I never neglect to read the cardboard sign on the outfacing side of his instrument that informs each passerby of his 95 rand CDSs for sale. I have yet to see a tangible pile of his musical creations, but I fully intend on buying one before leaving this place.
Since I last wrote, I have completed two more home stays; a one-week stay in Stellenbosch, as well as a one-week stay in Bo-Kaap. Stellenbosch is a predominantly Afrikaaner area twenty minutes away from the city, and Bo-Kaap is a “coloured” community that sits on a hill overlooking the heart of Cape Town. The two home stays were completely different, and between the two I viewed vast wine country, attended a mosque in traditional Muslim dress, drove a tractor, listened to the call of prayer five times each day, developed an appreciation for hard-boiled eggs, road in the bed of a truck on multiple occasions (sorry mom), saw Elton John in concert (we were undoubtedly the only people under the age of 45), watched a rugby game between UCT and Stellenbosch, and learned how to cook some Malay food. Curry is fantastic. At the end of the last two home stays, however, I was ready to live on my own. I couldn’t wait to move into an apartment we had arranged in Cape Town.
So, the last month of this program is upon me. During this time, all SIT students live independently while completing independent study projects. So two weeks ago, I moved into the apartment with four other friends in the program. We reside above Baran’s, a Kurdish restaurant that emphasizes the art of Hookah and compliments any interior designer’s love of soft embroidered pillows and swooping silk curtains. Our two-bedroom apartment quickly felt like home, mostly due to valiant efforts to decorate it. Above my bed is a large mirror, and above it a proudly hung South African flag that involved quite a bit of physical stamina to hang. My five-foot-one-self could not muster the height to hang the flimsy thing, so my roommate Julie proceeded to hoist and support my behind as I balanced on top of the headboard to secure the flag’s four corners firmly on the wall. Unfortunately, we soon discovered that the flag was indeed placed upside-down....and upside-down it stays. Besides the acknowledgment of my lacking flag-hanging skills, life here is great. Most of the other SIT students live nearby, so our four block radius of residency has allowed us to see a lot of one another. More importantly, the close proximity has re-introduced “four square” into my life. This is due to my friends’ scotch tape creation on their common room carpet. That game can turn any dull night into an exciting one. Speaking of, I must get ready for a “birthday dinner” for two of my friends. Their birthdays fall in July and September. It’s April 26th, but who’s counting? Our goal is to get an abundance of free desserts at Spur, South Africa’s equivalent to Applebees. It’s completteelllllyyy politically correct theme of Native Americans dressed in feathers and animal skins will surely create a décor unlike any other party scene. I better snatch myself a free t-shirt or something. Until later,
Love across the world
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Making the Strange Usual
Where do I begin. I recently returned from a two week to East London, Tshabo, Buccaners, Eden Campus, and places in between. I suppose I have been wondering how to correctly portray the amazing-ness of the last two weeks, but I think that it is impossible to do without writing a novel. The main focus of the trip was to give our group the opportunity to complete a rural homestay in Tshabo, a village in the Eastern Cape. Considering that my Xhosa skills are less than sub-par, I was a bit worried about my ability to communicate with my family. Fortunately, I was able to live with my fellow SIT group member, Julie. It put my mind at ease to know that she would be with me to push through moments of uncertainty and awkwardness. As I scrambled to pack in twenty minutes (typical) the morning of departure, I asked my Tata for one piece of advice for the Eastern Cape. He was born in the area, and clearly has “cultural wisdom” to bestow upon me. After pausing for a moment with a contemplative expression unique to Tata, he told me to “do as they do.” Thus, I put those four words in my back pocket and told myself that I would continually pull them out to remind myself of Tata’s advice.
After a long day of traveling, any previous anxiety I had about meeting my family was shattered when we drove up the dirt road that led to where all the mamas were waiting to meet us. As our gigantic vans filled with ridiculous amounts of luggage puttered up the drive, we were warmly greeted by the smiling faces, “molwenis” and waving hands or our mamas. We descended the vans, completely forgetting about hawling out our luggage because we were embraced by hugs and greetings from all directions. We had lunch together (chicken and rice of course) and Julie and I were introduced to our mama. She had brought our bhuti and sisi (brother and sister), ages five and three. Dolls. They were shy to begin with; bhuti quietly eating his chicken bone and sisi hiding her little body behind mama’s skirt with a head of curls poking out the side. The quickly warmed up to us once I busted out a shiny new soccer ball to play with.
Where our mama lives was a five minute walk from the meeting spot. I attempted to drag my rolly suitcase along a rocky dirt road, trying to keep my eyes closed because a strong wind was blowing stinging sand in our direction. As we walked, we all made a galliant effort at having a conversation. In the end, after many blank stares, we established that all parties like to eat meat, cook bread, and watch Generations on tv. Finally we made it to the house; a yellow one-room structure with a red-ish roof. We were greeting by happy children, cows, goats, chickens, and dogs. I got a little overzealous after discovering some baby chickens. I successfully scooped one into my hands, but two seconds later I had to run away from an angry mama chicken squawking in an uncomfortably aggressive manner. The rest of the night included eating the best mango I’ve ever had, picking up a giant turtle (random?), playing with kids, learning a local “volleyball/baseball” game, never wearing shoes, watching the sunset, eating a mound of chicken, and of course, watching Generations to top off the evening.
Over the next week, our group had the priviledge of seeing some incredible events around where we stayed. I particularly enjoyed attending a traditional healer ceremony in a nearby village. The family and friends of a deceased xhosa man all gathered to witness the traditional healers help him transition to the afterlife. We were all welcomed into the home, and became official participants into the ceremony once we drank a sip of homebrewed African beer that was passed from person to person. A series of beautiful songs and dances were performed, all by traditional healers and chiefs who were dressed in elaborate robes and beads. It was hard to understand what was happening, but it was clear that the ceremony and its meaning were very powerful. Besides the traditional healing, over the week we went to museums, visited local schools, and experienced daily life in Tshabo.
One of the things I loved most about Tshabo was its sense of community. Up until two days before I left, I had no idea who were my brothers and sisters. Doors were constantly open; enabling anyone who wanted to flow in and out of a space welcome to do so. The peaceful landscape of the village was always alive with people playing or resting outside. And of course, splattered with animals. Toward the end of the week, I began to navigate Tshabo’s winding dirt roads and rolling hills of grass and cattle. I like to think that the bottom of my feet became thicker from all of the times I neglected to wear shoes while running across rocks, gravel, and sharp water-starved African grass. I grew a great fondness for my backyard; its piles of cow dung (which made traveling the path to the outhouse like a game of battleship), its water tap that often went dry, its clothes line, and the large tree stump that made a perfect seat for my bum. I was even able to defeat my irrational fear of zombies ("28 days later" scarred me for life) by going outside in the middle of the night. Well, except for the occasion when Julie and I took a 3AM pee on a particularly foggy morning, only to be caught in the middle of a donkey stampede. Ironically, that was the only time I wasn’t wearing my trusty headlamp with three badass elastic head straps and adjustable light settings. Nevertheless, we had a good laugh and were glad that we had already peed in the grass instead of in our pants.
Leaving Tshabo was really difficult, I think because the reality started to kick in. It’s strange how big the world is; you move in and out of space, interactions, and people’s lives as merely a miniscule, 1/20 piece of a thread on an enormous carpet. As we walked hand in hand with our mama toward the vans, our mama kept saying: “I am not happy, because today my daughters, my twins leave.” Julie and I had only been there for a week and we felt as though we were part of the family. We spent about thirty minutes saying goodbye, which made me feel as though I was at home participating in a classic “Greek goodbye” after any gathering. As our vans pulled away from our families, we waved knowing that we would probably never see them again. The world is strange.
We drove several hours to Buccaneers, a backpackers place where we spent the weekend surfing, eating great food, drinking champagne, attending a pirate themed party, skinny dipping, and getting nice and crispy in the African sun. I wish I could give myself the title of a surfer, but admittedly, announcing that would be over-ambitious. At the end of our Saturday morning lesson, I could successfully catch a wave on my stomach and stand up for five seconds before toppling into the water. I quickly learned to grab onto my board after falling due to an unpleasant encounter with that heavy son-of-a-gun slapping me in the face and leg. But hey, I walked out of the situation with some awesome battle wounds and a heightened ego as I swaggered in my wetsuit back up to my cabin. All in all, Buccaneers was a memorable weekend that I will never forget.
The last nights traveling, we spent our days at other backpackers in Port Elizabeth and Nysna. Heading home, I had mixed emotions; feeling excited to return to my family in Langa and sad that our amazing two weeks were over. I suppose all good things come to an end. Since being back in Langa, I’ve been semi-successfully tackling the mountain of papers that I need to finish. If procrastination were an Olympic sport, I would win the gold. Tomorrow we leave for Stellenbosch, where we will be living with families in an Africaaner community. This should be an interesting experience, one reason being that it was the Africaaners in power who enforced Apartheid. While it would be incorrect to assume that the families we will encounter were/are supporters of the government’s recent oppression of non-whites, I hope that I meet some who are. The point of coming to SA was to get a glimpse into as many cultures and beliefs as I could. I realize that I may encounter some uncomfortable situations, but my hope is to sit with what I experience and simply gain a new perspective; even if I strongly disagree. I am looking forward to stellenbosch, but Ill soon be ready to stop living in a suitcase and stand still for a bit when I live in an apartment for my last month.
Well, I tried to keep it short. I should have written a disclaimer at the beginning to suggest bathroom breaks and stretch time.
Love across the world
Cheers everyone.
After a long day of traveling, any previous anxiety I had about meeting my family was shattered when we drove up the dirt road that led to where all the mamas were waiting to meet us. As our gigantic vans filled with ridiculous amounts of luggage puttered up the drive, we were warmly greeted by the smiling faces, “molwenis” and waving hands or our mamas. We descended the vans, completely forgetting about hawling out our luggage because we were embraced by hugs and greetings from all directions. We had lunch together (chicken and rice of course) and Julie and I were introduced to our mama. She had brought our bhuti and sisi (brother and sister), ages five and three. Dolls. They were shy to begin with; bhuti quietly eating his chicken bone and sisi hiding her little body behind mama’s skirt with a head of curls poking out the side. The quickly warmed up to us once I busted out a shiny new soccer ball to play with.
Where our mama lives was a five minute walk from the meeting spot. I attempted to drag my rolly suitcase along a rocky dirt road, trying to keep my eyes closed because a strong wind was blowing stinging sand in our direction. As we walked, we all made a galliant effort at having a conversation. In the end, after many blank stares, we established that all parties like to eat meat, cook bread, and watch Generations on tv. Finally we made it to the house; a yellow one-room structure with a red-ish roof. We were greeting by happy children, cows, goats, chickens, and dogs. I got a little overzealous after discovering some baby chickens. I successfully scooped one into my hands, but two seconds later I had to run away from an angry mama chicken squawking in an uncomfortably aggressive manner. The rest of the night included eating the best mango I’ve ever had, picking up a giant turtle (random?), playing with kids, learning a local “volleyball/baseball” game, never wearing shoes, watching the sunset, eating a mound of chicken, and of course, watching Generations to top off the evening.
Over the next week, our group had the priviledge of seeing some incredible events around where we stayed. I particularly enjoyed attending a traditional healer ceremony in a nearby village. The family and friends of a deceased xhosa man all gathered to witness the traditional healers help him transition to the afterlife. We were all welcomed into the home, and became official participants into the ceremony once we drank a sip of homebrewed African beer that was passed from person to person. A series of beautiful songs and dances were performed, all by traditional healers and chiefs who were dressed in elaborate robes and beads. It was hard to understand what was happening, but it was clear that the ceremony and its meaning were very powerful. Besides the traditional healing, over the week we went to museums, visited local schools, and experienced daily life in Tshabo.
One of the things I loved most about Tshabo was its sense of community. Up until two days before I left, I had no idea who were my brothers and sisters. Doors were constantly open; enabling anyone who wanted to flow in and out of a space welcome to do so. The peaceful landscape of the village was always alive with people playing or resting outside. And of course, splattered with animals. Toward the end of the week, I began to navigate Tshabo’s winding dirt roads and rolling hills of grass and cattle. I like to think that the bottom of my feet became thicker from all of the times I neglected to wear shoes while running across rocks, gravel, and sharp water-starved African grass. I grew a great fondness for my backyard; its piles of cow dung (which made traveling the path to the outhouse like a game of battleship), its water tap that often went dry, its clothes line, and the large tree stump that made a perfect seat for my bum. I was even able to defeat my irrational fear of zombies ("28 days later" scarred me for life) by going outside in the middle of the night. Well, except for the occasion when Julie and I took a 3AM pee on a particularly foggy morning, only to be caught in the middle of a donkey stampede. Ironically, that was the only time I wasn’t wearing my trusty headlamp with three badass elastic head straps and adjustable light settings. Nevertheless, we had a good laugh and were glad that we had already peed in the grass instead of in our pants.
Leaving Tshabo was really difficult, I think because the reality started to kick in. It’s strange how big the world is; you move in and out of space, interactions, and people’s lives as merely a miniscule, 1/20 piece of a thread on an enormous carpet. As we walked hand in hand with our mama toward the vans, our mama kept saying: “I am not happy, because today my daughters, my twins leave.” Julie and I had only been there for a week and we felt as though we were part of the family. We spent about thirty minutes saying goodbye, which made me feel as though I was at home participating in a classic “Greek goodbye” after any gathering. As our vans pulled away from our families, we waved knowing that we would probably never see them again. The world is strange.
We drove several hours to Buccaneers, a backpackers place where we spent the weekend surfing, eating great food, drinking champagne, attending a pirate themed party, skinny dipping, and getting nice and crispy in the African sun. I wish I could give myself the title of a surfer, but admittedly, announcing that would be over-ambitious. At the end of our Saturday morning lesson, I could successfully catch a wave on my stomach and stand up for five seconds before toppling into the water. I quickly learned to grab onto my board after falling due to an unpleasant encounter with that heavy son-of-a-gun slapping me in the face and leg. But hey, I walked out of the situation with some awesome battle wounds and a heightened ego as I swaggered in my wetsuit back up to my cabin. All in all, Buccaneers was a memorable weekend that I will never forget.
The last nights traveling, we spent our days at other backpackers in Port Elizabeth and Nysna. Heading home, I had mixed emotions; feeling excited to return to my family in Langa and sad that our amazing two weeks were over. I suppose all good things come to an end. Since being back in Langa, I’ve been semi-successfully tackling the mountain of papers that I need to finish. If procrastination were an Olympic sport, I would win the gold. Tomorrow we leave for Stellenbosch, where we will be living with families in an Africaaner community. This should be an interesting experience, one reason being that it was the Africaaners in power who enforced Apartheid. While it would be incorrect to assume that the families we will encounter were/are supporters of the government’s recent oppression of non-whites, I hope that I meet some who are. The point of coming to SA was to get a glimpse into as many cultures and beliefs as I could. I realize that I may encounter some uncomfortable situations, but my hope is to sit with what I experience and simply gain a new perspective; even if I strongly disagree. I am looking forward to stellenbosch, but Ill soon be ready to stop living in a suitcase and stand still for a bit when I live in an apartment for my last month.
Well, I tried to keep it short. I should have written a disclaimer at the beginning to suggest bathroom breaks and stretch time.
Love across the world
Cheers everyone.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Where am I
This weekend was the first that I was home every day, and I really enjoyed it. After returning home from school at the usual time of 5:30 on Friday, I went outside with my sister Olo and our two cousins Uket and Simo. One of the things I love about Langa is the constant energy in the street. Kids are always outside playing with each other and adults can often be seen chatting in front of houses. Simo had brought a rubber bouncy ball to play with (admittedly one of my favorite pass time activities). We took the ball out into the street and made up a game with about 10 other children. Who knew that chasing a bouncy ball on pavement could be so entertaining. We played with it for about an hour and it was fantastic. Afterward we played another game in which I just chased the kids around the street. Apparently, making spirit fingers while running is quite monstrous.
I woke up on Saturday morning, and as I was cooking my family a champion’s breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, I stopped mid- chop to re-think where I was. Life at my school, in my house, and with my family and friends has become so normal that sometimes I forget I am across the world. I am in Africa. What?
One of the things I have realized here is that I can make a home wherever I am. Langa has become my home; its smell, its roaming dogs, its playing children, its morning fog that I see every day on the way to school, the smell of chicken and rice, are now a representation of comfort. I love everything about this place, and it will be very hard to leave. This Thursday, we will be going to the Eastern Cape, where we will do a rural homestay for a week. I am excited for this, one reason being that many people from Langa grew up in that area.
On Saturday night, my sister Ayanda and I met up with Julie, a friend of mine from my program who is also staying in Langa. There were other American students in Langa this weekend from a different abroad program, and we ended up going to a braai (barbeque) with them close to Julie’s house. When we arrived, we found a mixture of local South Africans and American students. The night was awesome, and by the end of it my clothes smelled of braai smoke. The scent reminded me of making bonfires up north (up north = northern Michigan for all you non-Michiganders) while roasting marshmallows and listening to Dad’s infamous “scary” stories about mystical owls.
After getting home around twelve, Ayanda and I realized that we had no key to the gated garage. The gate stands about ten feet tall, and in between the metal bars are large spear head-like pieces that protrude from the top and middle of the horizontal metal bars. Instead of waking up Mama or Tata to open the gate, we thought it would be a great idea to attempt climbing over. I should have listened to my inner voice when, before climbing, I had a mental image of me seriously hurting myself. But instead I thought, heyyyy you’re only in Africa once, right? Climb the damn fence. In the end, it was far from pretty. Ascending in my flip flops, I somehow managed to reach the top. I looked like an unbalanced cat on a telephone wire as I wobbled dangerously close to the metal spear-heads that were starting to poke through my jeans. But at this point, there was no turning back. I should have formed some sort of game plan of how to get down, but the combination of beer and uncontrollable laughter thwarted any logical decision-making. Ayanda had already semi-gracefully landed on the other side, and was waiting under me to catch my body if it should fall. Disclaimer: Ayanda is eighteen, about 4’11 and 95 pounds. Not much assurance. In the end, I attempted what I thought to be a James Bond move involving a nearby wall and a water pipe. I failed miserably, and as I came crashing down onto Ayanda I reached my right hand out for anything to grab on to. Unfortunately, one of the metal “spear heads” was the only thing my hand found. After recovering from the fall, I looked down at my burning hand and saw a bloody puncture wound on my inside palm. Still laughing hysterically, we went to my room and dug around for my trusty first aid kit. I had never been more appreciative of alcohol wipes and band-aids. After treating my hand, I swallowed two pain-killers and fell fast asleep. What a night.
On Sunday, we went to a famous place called Mzoli. Known for its braai meet and party setting, many of us had it on our bucket list of things to do before leaving South Africa. Before going, I expected to enter a semi-rowdy setting of loud music, people sitting and standing, and an abundance of meat in every corner. Upon arrival, we could hardly drive because masses of people were floating on the streets. We swam through a sea of broken bottles and bodies to enter the dancing area in a small hut where the floor was shaking from the bass. The air smelled like bbq sauce, sweat, smoke, and beer. Interesting combination. I couldn’t get over the masses of people going in and out of the area, and at first we felt overwhelmed trying to push through the crowds of people. I couldn’t believe that Sunday, of all days, is the busiest. Mzoli’s had already closed at eight, so our attempt of eating famous braai meat failed miserably. In the end, we just danced until 9:30 until the music stopped.
Well this post was entirely too long. But I couldn’t resist writing about my fun/injury filled weekend.
I woke up on Saturday morning, and as I was cooking my family a champion’s breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, I stopped mid- chop to re-think where I was. Life at my school, in my house, and with my family and friends has become so normal that sometimes I forget I am across the world. I am in Africa. What?
One of the things I have realized here is that I can make a home wherever I am. Langa has become my home; its smell, its roaming dogs, its playing children, its morning fog that I see every day on the way to school, the smell of chicken and rice, are now a representation of comfort. I love everything about this place, and it will be very hard to leave. This Thursday, we will be going to the Eastern Cape, where we will do a rural homestay for a week. I am excited for this, one reason being that many people from Langa grew up in that area.
On Saturday night, my sister Ayanda and I met up with Julie, a friend of mine from my program who is also staying in Langa. There were other American students in Langa this weekend from a different abroad program, and we ended up going to a braai (barbeque) with them close to Julie’s house. When we arrived, we found a mixture of local South Africans and American students. The night was awesome, and by the end of it my clothes smelled of braai smoke. The scent reminded me of making bonfires up north (up north = northern Michigan for all you non-Michiganders) while roasting marshmallows and listening to Dad’s infamous “scary” stories about mystical owls.
After getting home around twelve, Ayanda and I realized that we had no key to the gated garage. The gate stands about ten feet tall, and in between the metal bars are large spear head-like pieces that protrude from the top and middle of the horizontal metal bars. Instead of waking up Mama or Tata to open the gate, we thought it would be a great idea to attempt climbing over. I should have listened to my inner voice when, before climbing, I had a mental image of me seriously hurting myself. But instead I thought, heyyyy you’re only in Africa once, right? Climb the damn fence. In the end, it was far from pretty. Ascending in my flip flops, I somehow managed to reach the top. I looked like an unbalanced cat on a telephone wire as I wobbled dangerously close to the metal spear-heads that were starting to poke through my jeans. But at this point, there was no turning back. I should have formed some sort of game plan of how to get down, but the combination of beer and uncontrollable laughter thwarted any logical decision-making. Ayanda had already semi-gracefully landed on the other side, and was waiting under me to catch my body if it should fall. Disclaimer: Ayanda is eighteen, about 4’11 and 95 pounds. Not much assurance. In the end, I attempted what I thought to be a James Bond move involving a nearby wall and a water pipe. I failed miserably, and as I came crashing down onto Ayanda I reached my right hand out for anything to grab on to. Unfortunately, one of the metal “spear heads” was the only thing my hand found. After recovering from the fall, I looked down at my burning hand and saw a bloody puncture wound on my inside palm. Still laughing hysterically, we went to my room and dug around for my trusty first aid kit. I had never been more appreciative of alcohol wipes and band-aids. After treating my hand, I swallowed two pain-killers and fell fast asleep. What a night.
On Sunday, we went to a famous place called Mzoli. Known for its braai meet and party setting, many of us had it on our bucket list of things to do before leaving South Africa. Before going, I expected to enter a semi-rowdy setting of loud music, people sitting and standing, and an abundance of meat in every corner. Upon arrival, we could hardly drive because masses of people were floating on the streets. We swam through a sea of broken bottles and bodies to enter the dancing area in a small hut where the floor was shaking from the bass. The air smelled like bbq sauce, sweat, smoke, and beer. Interesting combination. I couldn’t get over the masses of people going in and out of the area, and at first we felt overwhelmed trying to push through the crowds of people. I couldn’t believe that Sunday, of all days, is the busiest. Mzoli’s had already closed at eight, so our attempt of eating famous braai meat failed miserably. In the end, we just danced until 9:30 until the music stopped.
Well this post was entirely too long. But I couldn’t resist writing about my fun/injury filled weekend.
Monday, February 22, 2010
cranky penguins
This past weekend, we went to Simonstown. It's a town about an hours drive away from Cape Town. The purpose of the weekend was to give our group a chance to just relax, because ever since we arrived we have had scheduled activities every day. Simonstown is known for its African Jackass Penguins, as well as baboons.
On saturday afternoon, most of us went to Boulder Beach. You had to pay to enter, but we were willing to pay a small price to see penguins. The beach was so beautiful. The water's edge was located in a quiet bay surrounded by enormous boulders. The water was such a clear blue that you could see straight down 20 feet. Nevertheless, we kept getting freaked out by our own shadows thinking that they were the shape of a great white. Who knew giant sea weed could be so intimidating. Since shark attacks are common in South AFrica, my main objective was/is to avoid donating my arm to a shark that wants an afternoon snack. In terms of the penguins, they were everywhere. Unfortunately my dream of snuggling a penguin could not be fulfilled since they bit anyone who came too close. Thus, I tried to compensate by taking an inappropriate amount of pictures. I also discovered the joy of chasing penguins, because watching a penguin "run" is hilarious.
After the beach, we were taken to the Cape of Good Hope. This is where the Indian and Atlantic oceans theoretically meet. Once we climbed to the top of the cliff, the temperature changed as we stood in the clouds. But when the clouds moved on, we could see the vastness of the horizon. When looking out at the blue water, I thought I could see the curving of the earth. I also took many pictures here, but they cannot fully depict what I saw.
On sunday, we slept late due to a saturday night out. The day was relaxed, and we planned to "braai" later that night. "Braii" is the word used here for barbeques, a common occurrence. We had previously be-friended the hostel owner named Andrew, who offered to take a few of us get get all the right meet and supplies for a proper braii. When they returned, they brought a ridiculous amount of lamb, chicken, and pork, along with wine. Oh how I love the exchange rate here. By the time the meat was ready, we were all hovering around the grill. With no utensils, plates, or napkins, we smashed the meat in about ten minutes. I really think that the dripping meet juices on our hands and faces really solidified our group bonding that made way for a great night. Among many events, the evening included a few memorable ocurences: cutting an un-ripe lime with a butter knife, a pseudo rugby game, disney movie soundtracks, and seeing shooting stars while laying in the cement driveway. Unfortunately, we all had to wake up at 5:30 this morning to get back to school in time. I have never had a more extreme case of the mondays. I can't wait to get back home today to Langa to see my family/sleep/watch Generation. It's growing on me.
On saturday afternoon, most of us went to Boulder Beach. You had to pay to enter, but we were willing to pay a small price to see penguins. The beach was so beautiful. The water's edge was located in a quiet bay surrounded by enormous boulders. The water was such a clear blue that you could see straight down 20 feet. Nevertheless, we kept getting freaked out by our own shadows thinking that they were the shape of a great white. Who knew giant sea weed could be so intimidating. Since shark attacks are common in South AFrica, my main objective was/is to avoid donating my arm to a shark that wants an afternoon snack. In terms of the penguins, they were everywhere. Unfortunately my dream of snuggling a penguin could not be fulfilled since they bit anyone who came too close. Thus, I tried to compensate by taking an inappropriate amount of pictures. I also discovered the joy of chasing penguins, because watching a penguin "run" is hilarious.
After the beach, we were taken to the Cape of Good Hope. This is where the Indian and Atlantic oceans theoretically meet. Once we climbed to the top of the cliff, the temperature changed as we stood in the clouds. But when the clouds moved on, we could see the vastness of the horizon. When looking out at the blue water, I thought I could see the curving of the earth. I also took many pictures here, but they cannot fully depict what I saw.
On sunday, we slept late due to a saturday night out. The day was relaxed, and we planned to "braai" later that night. "Braii" is the word used here for barbeques, a common occurrence. We had previously be-friended the hostel owner named Andrew, who offered to take a few of us get get all the right meet and supplies for a proper braii. When they returned, they brought a ridiculous amount of lamb, chicken, and pork, along with wine. Oh how I love the exchange rate here. By the time the meat was ready, we were all hovering around the grill. With no utensils, plates, or napkins, we smashed the meat in about ten minutes. I really think that the dripping meet juices on our hands and faces really solidified our group bonding that made way for a great night. Among many events, the evening included a few memorable ocurences: cutting an un-ripe lime with a butter knife, a pseudo rugby game, disney movie soundtracks, and seeing shooting stars while laying in the cement driveway. Unfortunately, we all had to wake up at 5:30 this morning to get back to school in time. I have never had a more extreme case of the mondays. I can't wait to get back home today to Langa to see my family/sleep/watch Generation. It's growing on me.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
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In the last couple of days, we have had the opportunity to visit significant sites in Cape Town. We have seen the beautiful campus of UCT (University of Cape Town), taken tours around Langa/ other townships, and seen significant historical places where massacres occurred. For me, the most profound site was the view of district 6; a black community that was demolished in the early 1900’s. The space has been kept barren, with merely grass and the remains of its original stone roads. This is to show the stark difference between the distant community and its destruction that left so many people with nothing. Two sets of cement stairs are the only structural remains of district six, and standing there I could imagine the thousands of feet that must have climbed up and down them.
Besides these periodic excursions, I spend my days in class. Because we are either traveling or doing our individual research projects for the rest of the semester, we have to pack in our class time into three weeks. Thus, every day, I wake up at six. Rough. I don’t think I have ever done that on a regular basis. On the other hand, I have been going to bed at the ripe hour of 8:45 so I think I’m good on shuteye. Anyway, we have lecture/language from 8:30 to 12:30, a break for lunch, then more lecture/language from 1:30 to 5. By the time I get home, I am pooped and can hardly stay up to watch the must-see soap opera of South Africa called “Generation.” What an epic 30 minutes of my day. But I really enjoy just being at home with my family, whose warmness has made me feel so welcome here. I know that it will be hard to leave at the end of these three weeks.
I am really excited for tomorrow (sat) because our SIT student group will be going to Robben Island, where Mandela was held for many of the years he was detained. Afterward, we will go to the beach (which is a first), then for a night out in the area. I am looking forward to having some free time.
Monday, February 8, 2010
CT
So this is the first day I have had internet in quite some time. While it has made it difficult to communicate with everyone at home, it has been kind of nice to escape from the world of facebook, email, and technology in general.
We are now in Cape Town. Surrounded by Table Mountain on one side and the ocean on the other, Cape Town has definitely lived up to what I expected. Walking through the streets, you often cant see the top of the mountain because they are covered by white wispy clouds. Eventually, some friend and I will climb it, but we need to learn more about the trekk before doing so. Apparently, people die on the mountain every month due to thick fog and a higher chance of falling off the cliffs. ouch. But dont worry mom, Ill take necessary precautions for this. Cape Town is amazing though. There are all different type of people, and the architecture and entertainment reflect that. Now, I am staying in a Township of CT called Langa. The township was created during Apartheid, as a designated black area. Unfortunately, the segregationist era has left Langa the way it was created; relatively poor. However, the layout of the township is cut into four sectors, including an upper class area that transforms into the most impoverished living zones. I am living with a xhosa family, and I arrived on saturday. In my home is two grandparents, Mama and Da Da, their daughter Pam, and Pam's three kids: Ayanda (19), Olo (11), and Simni (6 weeks..ADORABLE). I am really excited to get to know them all. They have given me a xhosa name, which is Noluthando (No-Loo-Tan-Doh). Olo gave me the name, and apparently it means "lovely."
I would love to write more, but once again my internet time has been cut off. Hopefully I can write tomorrow or the next day.
chau!
We are now in Cape Town. Surrounded by Table Mountain on one side and the ocean on the other, Cape Town has definitely lived up to what I expected. Walking through the streets, you often cant see the top of the mountain because they are covered by white wispy clouds. Eventually, some friend and I will climb it, but we need to learn more about the trekk before doing so. Apparently, people die on the mountain every month due to thick fog and a higher chance of falling off the cliffs. ouch. But dont worry mom, Ill take necessary precautions for this. Cape Town is amazing though. There are all different type of people, and the architecture and entertainment reflect that. Now, I am staying in a Township of CT called Langa. The township was created during Apartheid, as a designated black area. Unfortunately, the segregationist era has left Langa the way it was created; relatively poor. However, the layout of the township is cut into four sectors, including an upper class area that transforms into the most impoverished living zones. I am living with a xhosa family, and I arrived on saturday. In my home is two grandparents, Mama and Da Da, their daughter Pam, and Pam's three kids: Ayanda (19), Olo (11), and Simni (6 weeks..ADORABLE). I am really excited to get to know them all. They have given me a xhosa name, which is Noluthando (No-Loo-Tan-Doh). Olo gave me the name, and apparently it means "lovely."
I would love to write more, but once again my internet time has been cut off. Hopefully I can write tomorrow or the next day.
chau!
Monday, February 1, 2010
The last few days have been busy, with a mixture of Xhosa, museums, groups discussions, and lectures. I feel as though I am already learning a lot. The only free time I have had is after 8:30 or so, when we finish dinner. The religious hostel in which we are staying is in a more secluded area in the outskirts of Johannesburg. Nothing to do is in walking distance, so at night we have resorted to UNO, ukre (?), and notoriously making the priests angry with our noise. These walls are paper.
Johannesburg is a city that used to be the economic hub of South Africa. After gold was discovered in 1867, the mining industry brought many people into the area. Whites the British and Dutch came to claim the riches, and the non-whites were forced into labor. However, J-burg today is not what it used to be. Buildings previously well kept are now shrunken and brown. The city seems to have a gray blanket covering the beauty of not long ago. Before coming here, I did not understand why Johannesburg was so significant. It turns out that some very important events within the years of Apartheid occurred in this city, and one of these was in the township of Soweto.
During Apartheid, Soweto (South West Township), was a black only residential area. It was poor, and lacking in the realm of education. When the nationalist group who enforced Apartheid (the Africaaners, descendants of Dutch colonizers), created a law that forced oppressed Africans to teach 50% of their educational courses in Africaan (Dutch language), there was a revolt in Soweto. The 1976 resistance was led by youths from the area, and is one of the most well known events of Apartheid. The influence of their uprising was so great that it spread throughout South Africa and increased blacks’ collective consciousness. Many students were killed and injured. The riots greatly influenced the course of Apartheid’s later years, and I feel fortunate to have visited Soweto to see where the protest took place. We also had the opportunity to visit the Hector Peterson museum, which was named after the first child who was gunned down by the white police during the revolt. A 10 x 10 black and white photo hangs in the museum, capturing a man carrying the limp body of Peter in his arms. Next to them is a woman screaming, and smoke/bodies/running people can be seen in the background. The image was really powerful.
Yesterday’s activities were quite intense, so we were all inclined to go swimming after returning from a long day. It was five thirty, and the sun was just starting to go down. Its dimming light through the wooden fence placed warm yellow lines on the pool deck that we strategically laid on. The water was freezing, but I jumped in anyway. I swear, living in Michigan and swimming in Michigan lakes has made my skin thicker. I admit, though, that I mostly jumped in to wake myself up because my jet lag has seemed to last for four days. I think I have been dubbed as “the sleeper” on the bus. There is just something about long rides that knocks me out every time.
Today we were able to attend a local university to see a lecture given by a professor there. It was really interesting, but lasted for four hours. By the end, all of my limbs were asleep and my pencil started to sway in front of my eyes. Needless to say, we were all happy to leave and come back to the hostel.
Tomorrow we are going to the Apartheid museum. Should be another great learning experience, although intense like the other places we have visited.
one last thing. Yesterday I saw Danny Glover. Three Times.
Johannesburg is a city that used to be the economic hub of South Africa. After gold was discovered in 1867, the mining industry brought many people into the area. Whites the British and Dutch came to claim the riches, and the non-whites were forced into labor. However, J-burg today is not what it used to be. Buildings previously well kept are now shrunken and brown. The city seems to have a gray blanket covering the beauty of not long ago. Before coming here, I did not understand why Johannesburg was so significant. It turns out that some very important events within the years of Apartheid occurred in this city, and one of these was in the township of Soweto.
During Apartheid, Soweto (South West Township), was a black only residential area. It was poor, and lacking in the realm of education. When the nationalist group who enforced Apartheid (the Africaaners, descendants of Dutch colonizers), created a law that forced oppressed Africans to teach 50% of their educational courses in Africaan (Dutch language), there was a revolt in Soweto. The 1976 resistance was led by youths from the area, and is one of the most well known events of Apartheid. The influence of their uprising was so great that it spread throughout South Africa and increased blacks’ collective consciousness. Many students were killed and injured. The riots greatly influenced the course of Apartheid’s later years, and I feel fortunate to have visited Soweto to see where the protest took place. We also had the opportunity to visit the Hector Peterson museum, which was named after the first child who was gunned down by the white police during the revolt. A 10 x 10 black and white photo hangs in the museum, capturing a man carrying the limp body of Peter in his arms. Next to them is a woman screaming, and smoke/bodies/running people can be seen in the background. The image was really powerful.
Yesterday’s activities were quite intense, so we were all inclined to go swimming after returning from a long day. It was five thirty, and the sun was just starting to go down. Its dimming light through the wooden fence placed warm yellow lines on the pool deck that we strategically laid on. The water was freezing, but I jumped in anyway. I swear, living in Michigan and swimming in Michigan lakes has made my skin thicker. I admit, though, that I mostly jumped in to wake myself up because my jet lag has seemed to last for four days. I think I have been dubbed as “the sleeper” on the bus. There is just something about long rides that knocks me out every time.
Today we were able to attend a local university to see a lecture given by a professor there. It was really interesting, but lasted for four hours. By the end, all of my limbs were asleep and my pencil started to sway in front of my eyes. Needless to say, we were all happy to leave and come back to the hostel.
Tomorrow we are going to the Apartheid museum. Should be another great learning experience, although intense like the other places we have visited.
one last thing. Yesterday I saw Danny Glover. Three Times.
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