As of two weeks ago I am now back in the States. I enjoyed my last few days in Israel since I last posted an entry. As I mentioned before, we went to Calanitte's parent's home for Shabbos. They live in the Katamon neighborhood of Jerusalem, a kind of hippie progressive area with cute cafes scattered at random street corners and lots of flowering street trees. It was a pretty crowded Shabbos dinner as one of Calanitte's brothers, Uri, had just returned home from a year in Boston, so family friends, aunts and uncles, and cousins were also visiting. On Shabbos morning I walked with Calanitte's father Raphi, her sister Keren, and Aaron to the Great Synagogue. The last time (and first time) I had been to the Great Synagogue was 15 years ago this summer when our family first visited Israel. Along the half-hour walk there we passed by a couple residences with large walls and fences that reminded me of home security measures used around ordinary South African homes. At first not knowing what we were passing I pointed this out. Raphi informed me that this was the Prime Minister's home and that I was currently on camera--so maybe the security is higher than around middle class homes in SA. I then stopped pointing at things and tried to act nonchalant as we walked the length of the block. The other residence a couple blocks away happened to be that of the President. During the service I had trouble at times keeping up with the 100% Hebrew service, but then Keren would help me find the right spot, and I enjoyed the singing of the chazzan and choir. The second and third Shabbos meals were much less hectic than the first and I even squeezed in a nice Shabbos schluf (nap) in the afternoon.
That evening Raphi helped Aaron and I map out our trip to Tzfat for the next day. Since we had a couple free seats in the rental car, we invited to Uri to join us. He excitedly accepted our invitation as he had been thinking of going up there for a while. So the next morning we departed on our mini road trip. Tzfat, the home of Kabbalah, and a main spiritual/artistic/hippie center of Israel is located about 300km north of Jerusalem in the mountains above Lake Kinneret (aka the Sea of Galilee). Besides stops for Coca-Cola (Uri's passion in life--I kid you not) and lunch (falafel in Tiberias...mmm), we made a number of stops at the tombs of Tzaddikim (big holy rabbis). We first stopped at the tomb of Rabbi Meir Baal Ha'Nes, who is buried close to Lake Kinneret. The reason that people pray at the tombs of Tzaddikim is not to pray to the person (that would be idol worship), but to ask the Tzaddik to pray for you since they are closer to G-d. After lunch in Tiberias we had trouble finding route 90, so we wound up driving through Tiberias a few times. It was encouraging to see so many tourists around (Tiberias is one of Israel's vacation playgrounds due to its location on the lake) because there were almost no tourists around the last time I was there about three years ago, and this time last summer Tiberias was within range of rockets flying down from Lebanon. After our inadvertent driving tour of Tiberias it was only another half an hour up the road to Tzfat. We stopped at a large cemetery built into a hillside where dozens of tzaddikim are buried. This is also the location of a very holy and notoriously very cold groundwater mikve (ritual bath). Many of the tombs are painted light blue which I learned on this day is supposed to confuse evil spirits so that they cannot tell the difference between the earth and the sky. From there we continued up the hill to the main part of town. Tzfat has lots of high-quality art shops as well as lower quality touristy shops and overpriced food stalls. There were so many American tourists in one stretch (mostly Birthright kids) that the shopkeepers were yelling out prices in dollars. I just window shopped since I didn't want to spend $100 on a necklace. Uri picked up one of those Coca-Cola in Hebrew t-shirts to further profess his love to his favorite soft drink. Earlier at lunch I was surprised to hear that he didn't already have one since I see them allover the States (probably because they're only bought by Americans). Just as we had driven a few circles around Tiberias earlier that day, we drove up and down Tzfat a couple times trying to find the tomb of Nemucha (sp?) where you supposedly go and pray to get married. As it was starting to get later we gave up on Nemucha and decided to go to Rabbi Tarphon instead since Aaron knew how to get there. His tomb is just down the road from one of the numerous hippie communes around Tzfat. From there we headed back towards Jerusalem, stopping along the way at Rabbi Meir Baal Ha'Nes again to daven mincha. Since this trip was during the three weeks leading up to the destruction of the Temple, the Ninth of Av, you are not supposed to listen to musical instruments (although you can listen to a cappela). With no a cappela music for the road, Uri provided us with a live soundtrack on the way back.
By the time we got back Avital was already asleep, and apparently she was upset earlier that day because she didn't get to spend more time with me (awww...such a sweetie), so the next morning I went with her to kaitanah--a sort of summer camp run by one of the moms upstairs for neighborhood girls. To say it was hectic would be an understatement. Of the dozen or so girls there ages 3-6, Avital was the only who spoke English. The mom running it spoke some English but soon after I got there she left me with another older girl about age 10 to do a craft project with the girls. After leaving Avital at kaitanah, Aaron and I went to run some errands around town. Upon returning to his place, I had a few hours to coo at Feige and pack my stuff up before leaving for the airport. The nesher came early, leaving me the most rushed I have ever been right before a big trip. I even had a scare in my last few minutes that I had lost my passport. My passport had gotten wedged within some CDs that I had thrown into my purse when we returned the rental car. I put the CDs on the table, not knowing my passport was mixed into the stack. Luckily I saw the CDs on the table and thought to look through them. Had they been put away earlier I might still be in Israel. A few hours at the airport and a 15-hour flight later I was home in Los Angeles. Amazingly, I had no jet lag despite the 10-hour time difference.
I am now slowly getting back into the swing of things here. Last Monday I started working at the Job Placement Center at LA Harbor College where I have worked for the past couple summers. I am happy to have a routine because I think I would feel a bit lost without it. In the first couple days after I got home (before I knew I would have this job) I woke up in a bit of a panic wondering what to do with myself and eager to find something new to consume my time. Being home has been strangely familiar and yet distant all at the same time. In many ways, it feels that my life here has simply been on pause for a few months. Same people, same places, same food, same traffic, same bad television. However, I now have another place to be homesick for. So far, more than anything else I miss my friends and everything we had the time to do together there. I miss communal dinners, group walks to the Lan and Scottsville, cramped cab rides around town, weekend adventures, costume parties, rewatching old TV shows, shopping for curios, and frequenting Bread Ahead among countless other experiences. Right now my consolation is that I will be living in International House next year and will hopefuly have the opportunity to bond with a new set of international students. Until then I am just trying to adjust to the small things day-by-day and evaluate my options for what to do next. Any suggestions?
Sala Kahle
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Goodbye Winter, Hello Summer...again
I am now in Israel at my brother’s home in Jerusalem. I spent Tuesday night at a hotel in Boksburg near the Jo'burg airport before flying to Tel Aviv yesterday. After Susanne left last Thursday, Jessi and I went on various outings around PMB to keep ourselves occupied. One such activity was a trip to the Natal Botanical Gardens on Sunday. The gardens are located in the western part of PMB just past a pretty sketchy part of town I wouldn't want to walk around, day or night. The gardens had a nice selection of indigenous and exotic species, as well as some nice benches for napping in the winter sun. After wandering around for a while, Jessi and I decided to get a snack at the cafe. As it turns out, the owner of our favorite cafe at the Tatham Art Gallery had just relocated the restaurant to the gardens that day. At first, we just ordered the salad with their great dressing, but then decided to go for the full Sunday brunch which was amazing. The service was also incredibly attentive and friendly. The chef even offered to prepare us vegetable lasagna when he noticed that we had not taken any of the meat entree. (Note to self: try cooking curried sweet potato and butternut soup in the fall.) There happened to be a group of a few couples and their kids dining at the same time as us. As soon as the five kids walked in the door, one of the little girls obnoxiously chided the server because there were only four place settings. Throughout the meal, the kids were generally whiny and picky about their food, much like American kids of their age often behave. Needless to say, the disrespectful families were privileged white South Africans, and the friendly kitchen staff were black. Back in the States I have gotten used to tuning out bratty children, but what really struck me here was the stark difference between the behavior of these privileged children and the deprived children of rural Africa. The kids from rural KZN, Lesotho, and Mozambique that I have met are ridiculously adorable. Rural kids are very respectful, easily entertained, and enthusiastic about just about everything. What I have trouble accepting is how someone can literally spoil their child rotten when there are orphaned children who receive one meal a day growing up half an hour down the road. Knowing that my life will likely continue to be one of privilege in general, I am now concerned with how to raise children with the qualities of rural children, but without the life of deprivation. While it may not be possible to raise kids who are captivated by colorful books in a foreign language, I hope I can find some sort of middle ground. As we left the restaurant I asked Jessi to please tell me should she ever see my children behaving like that, "You have raised South African brats."
On the way home from the gardens we had yet another interesting, or should I say disturbing, experience. Our cab driver noted our American accents and started going on and on about how he is saving money to leave SA and move to the US, Europe, or anywhere to work as a chef. Towards the end of the ride, he asked us what we were studying at the university. When Jessi mentioned politics, he began ranting about the corrupt nature of South African politicians, such as the president. He even prefaced one of his statements with, "Not to be racist, but..."—meaning, I am about to say something horribly racist. He tried to argue that back when de Klerk was president (the last president of the apartheid era) there were no street children begging for money, crime was not as bad, etc...and that quality of life has generally gone down since the ANC came to power. It was the combination of this statement with this his previous remarks about wanting to leave the country that made me realize that perhaps racism is even worse in this country than I had previously thought. There is a significant amount of people (primarily white, Indian, or coloured) who wish to leave this country for the UK, Australia, or any other western country that will grant them a visa. Many of these people cite that they do not see a future for themselves in SA, but almost no one dares to refer to race as a reason. Listening to the cab driver made me realize that perhaps many people do not see a future in SA BECAUSE the country is now run by the black-led ANC government, and there is no sign of that changing any time soon. While it does not necessarily seem like a bad thing to get rid of these racists, there is still the dilemma of stopping the flight of skilled people. It is not uncommon for people to receive a South African education and then leave the country without 'giving back' as a productive citizen. I know at least one such person--a girl who was in my ceramics class graduated this semester and is possibly already in the UK looking for work. This girl definitely came from a privileged family as she had traveled all over the world, including to the US which is a very difficult thing to do for most South Africans. People like her are a drain on society. The government subsidizes education with the intention that their investment will be repaid in the form of income taxes, but when people take the education and flee, the government is left with a serious debt of both money and skills.
I still believe that the overwhelming levels of inequality and racism in SA make it so that I cannot see myself living there indefinitely. I worry that if I would stay longer, I would become apathetic and the horrible injustices would no longer bother me. Apathy is the only justification I see for the way that the privileged classes seem to turn a blind eye to the fact that half of the population lives in poverty while they live an incredibly comfortable catered life. Although it sounds strange, I am glad to say that this still troubles me to no end. When it no longer concerns me, I'll know I've become one of 'them'--that is the uncaring, selfish elite.
After many hours of packing and difficult decisions about what to leave behind, Jessi and I flew out of PMB on Tuesday morning. Our neighbors and some of the Denison staff were not necessarily sad to see us go because we left behind a lot of nice stuff that we had acquired throughout the semester and couldn't take with us. I was glad to see that our extra food and cooking supplies will be well utilized and that the extra blankets and clothing are going to the homeless. Although I didn't expect to get emotional, as our plane took off I couldn't stop my eyes from welling with tears. As I saw my last glimpses of the university and Scottsville from the plane it finally hit me--it's over. Luckily it was a beautiful clear day, so there was a lot to see from the window. I recalled being on the flight to PMB, now over five months ago, my mind filled with wonder about my new home. The flight on Tuesday paralleled the N3 all the way up to Free State, the whole length of which I was able to recognize exactly where we were. I was able to spot Howick Falls, the Midmar Dam, the toll plaza next to a big township, Monk's Cowl, and the Amphitheatre among numerous other notable spots. The land below me was no longer mysterious, but rather very familiar. I definitely feel that I got to know KZN as my home.
My last few hours in Africa, spent in Jo’burg, were largely uneventful. One of the few notable differences that I picked up on there (albeit during the 15 minute shuttle ride to the hotel) is that at each intersection there were about a dozen men in the street trying to sell things to people stopped at the light. The items seemed completely random (i.e. DVDs, clocks, baskets, etc.), and it being Jozi, there is a chance that the goods were stolen. I have not witnessed this sort of informal trading anywhere else in SA, which makes me think it is possibly connected to the notoriously high crime rate there. It was also obvious that the city is heavily reliant on nuclear power as there was a six-tower plant visible from the airport. I’m sure that this plant dates back to the apartheid days when SA was internationally sanctioned and could not import energy sources. Besides that and the mountains of mine tailings scattered around town, there was not much interesting to note about Jo'burg.
Although I have mixed feelings about my departure from South Africa, I am positive that I want to return...possibly not to live, but definitely to travel. I have left with no regrets about my choice to go there and the experiences I made. I wholeheartedly believe that anyone who gets a chance to live or study abroad should take it.
My flight went by without any major problems, just some small annoyances (i.e. pushy families at the airport and the news that I am only getting back $3 worth of taxes…in 4-6 weeks). Also, while at the airport my laptop started acting up by giving me a blue screen of death when I tried to turn it on. I restarted it numerous times, even in safe mode, and still got the blue screen so I’m hoping that Aaron can work his computery magic and fix it. I am grateful though that my computer waited until now when I’m on my way home to get sick.
I spent today playing with my nieces and enjoying the wonderful Israeli summer produce. Feiga has doubled in size since I last saw her (she’s now 7 months!), and Avital who is turning six later this month is as cute as ever. For lunch I satisfied my cravings with falafel and my favorite drink, malt (unfermented beer that is only done right in Israel). Tomorrow we are going to Calanitte’s parents’ home in another part of Jerusalem for Shabbos. After Shabbos I just have a couple more days with the family here before boarding a 17-hour flight to LA that should have me home by Tuesday morning.
On the way home from the gardens we had yet another interesting, or should I say disturbing, experience. Our cab driver noted our American accents and started going on and on about how he is saving money to leave SA and move to the US, Europe, or anywhere to work as a chef. Towards the end of the ride, he asked us what we were studying at the university. When Jessi mentioned politics, he began ranting about the corrupt nature of South African politicians, such as the president. He even prefaced one of his statements with, "Not to be racist, but..."—meaning, I am about to say something horribly racist. He tried to argue that back when de Klerk was president (the last president of the apartheid era) there were no street children begging for money, crime was not as bad, etc...and that quality of life has generally gone down since the ANC came to power. It was the combination of this statement with this his previous remarks about wanting to leave the country that made me realize that perhaps racism is even worse in this country than I had previously thought. There is a significant amount of people (primarily white, Indian, or coloured) who wish to leave this country for the UK, Australia, or any other western country that will grant them a visa. Many of these people cite that they do not see a future for themselves in SA, but almost no one dares to refer to race as a reason. Listening to the cab driver made me realize that perhaps many people do not see a future in SA BECAUSE the country is now run by the black-led ANC government, and there is no sign of that changing any time soon. While it does not necessarily seem like a bad thing to get rid of these racists, there is still the dilemma of stopping the flight of skilled people. It is not uncommon for people to receive a South African education and then leave the country without 'giving back' as a productive citizen. I know at least one such person--a girl who was in my ceramics class graduated this semester and is possibly already in the UK looking for work. This girl definitely came from a privileged family as she had traveled all over the world, including to the US which is a very difficult thing to do for most South Africans. People like her are a drain on society. The government subsidizes education with the intention that their investment will be repaid in the form of income taxes, but when people take the education and flee, the government is left with a serious debt of both money and skills.
I still believe that the overwhelming levels of inequality and racism in SA make it so that I cannot see myself living there indefinitely. I worry that if I would stay longer, I would become apathetic and the horrible injustices would no longer bother me. Apathy is the only justification I see for the way that the privileged classes seem to turn a blind eye to the fact that half of the population lives in poverty while they live an incredibly comfortable catered life. Although it sounds strange, I am glad to say that this still troubles me to no end. When it no longer concerns me, I'll know I've become one of 'them'--that is the uncaring, selfish elite.
After many hours of packing and difficult decisions about what to leave behind, Jessi and I flew out of PMB on Tuesday morning. Our neighbors and some of the Denison staff were not necessarily sad to see us go because we left behind a lot of nice stuff that we had acquired throughout the semester and couldn't take with us. I was glad to see that our extra food and cooking supplies will be well utilized and that the extra blankets and clothing are going to the homeless. Although I didn't expect to get emotional, as our plane took off I couldn't stop my eyes from welling with tears. As I saw my last glimpses of the university and Scottsville from the plane it finally hit me--it's over. Luckily it was a beautiful clear day, so there was a lot to see from the window. I recalled being on the flight to PMB, now over five months ago, my mind filled with wonder about my new home. The flight on Tuesday paralleled the N3 all the way up to Free State, the whole length of which I was able to recognize exactly where we were. I was able to spot Howick Falls, the Midmar Dam, the toll plaza next to a big township, Monk's Cowl, and the Amphitheatre among numerous other notable spots. The land below me was no longer mysterious, but rather very familiar. I definitely feel that I got to know KZN as my home.
My last few hours in Africa, spent in Jo’burg, were largely uneventful. One of the few notable differences that I picked up on there (albeit during the 15 minute shuttle ride to the hotel) is that at each intersection there were about a dozen men in the street trying to sell things to people stopped at the light. The items seemed completely random (i.e. DVDs, clocks, baskets, etc.), and it being Jozi, there is a chance that the goods were stolen. I have not witnessed this sort of informal trading anywhere else in SA, which makes me think it is possibly connected to the notoriously high crime rate there. It was also obvious that the city is heavily reliant on nuclear power as there was a six-tower plant visible from the airport. I’m sure that this plant dates back to the apartheid days when SA was internationally sanctioned and could not import energy sources. Besides that and the mountains of mine tailings scattered around town, there was not much interesting to note about Jo'burg.
Although I have mixed feelings about my departure from South Africa, I am positive that I want to return...possibly not to live, but definitely to travel. I have left with no regrets about my choice to go there and the experiences I made. I wholeheartedly believe that anyone who gets a chance to live or study abroad should take it.
My flight went by without any major problems, just some small annoyances (i.e. pushy families at the airport and the news that I am only getting back $3 worth of taxes…in 4-6 weeks). Also, while at the airport my laptop started acting up by giving me a blue screen of death when I tried to turn it on. I restarted it numerous times, even in safe mode, and still got the blue screen so I’m hoping that Aaron can work his computery magic and fix it. I am grateful though that my computer waited until now when I’m on my way home to get sick.
I spent today playing with my nieces and enjoying the wonderful Israeli summer produce. Feiga has doubled in size since I last saw her (she’s now 7 months!), and Avital who is turning six later this month is as cute as ever. For lunch I satisfied my cravings with falafel and my favorite drink, malt (unfermented beer that is only done right in Israel). Tomorrow we are going to Calanitte’s parents’ home in another part of Jerusalem for Shabbos. After Shabbos I just have a couple more days with the family here before boarding a 17-hour flight to LA that should have me home by Tuesday morning.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Zanny's Visit and Wrapping Up
A lot has happened in the last couple weeks since I last posted an entry [disclaimer: long post to follow]. Almost all of the international students have gone home or at least left PMB, and my sister, Susanne, has come and gone. Also, seeing as I leave SA on Wednesday, this will likely be my last South African post…although, never fear, I will probably post some more from Israel before calling this blog thing quits.
A couple Thursdays ago (the last time I posted an entry, to be exact) I went with Amir, Jacob, and Wakeem to Durban to do some last-minute curio shopping at the beachfront. We were supposed to get a ride with our friend Rob who called at the last minute to inform us that he couldn’t find the registration papers for his car, so he couldn’t drive outside of PMB. It was now almost 11am and we weren’t willing to give up on the trip since Wakeem was leaving the next day and Amir (who had a ridiculous amount of gifts to buy) was leaving Monday. So our only option was to take a kombi to Durban, a very cramped ride that takes about an hour. I had never before taken an unchartered kombi to Durban, so I did not know where they would drop us. I assumed the guys would know (I now know to never make such an assumption), but they were just as surprised as I was when we were dropped at the taxi rank a couple miles from the beachfront. As soon as we got off the kombi I had a feeling this was not an area we should stand around looking lost. We walked at a pretty good pace, dodging traffic, to the beachfront about 30 minutes away. We made it there without incident, stopped for lunch at an Indian restaurant, and went about perusing the craft stalls. The stalls more or less sell the same things, so there is always a good deal to be had due to the competition. I stocked up on some more beadwork and woven baskets. Although I am not especially good at bargaining I was pleased with the deals I got. We took a cab back to the taxi rank where we picked up the PMB taxi. We made it back safely, but sore and tired from being cramped in kombis so long.
Just two days later I went back to Durban via uncomfortable kombi rides as Mani and Amir had some more shopping to do. By this time, everyone except for Mani, Amir, Jacob, me, and Jessi S. (who was in Lesotho for a few days on a solo adventure) had left Denison. Faced with the prospect of being stuck in PMB by myself, I accompanied Mani, Amir, and Jacob back to Durban. We were dropped around the same place so we still had to walk to the beachfront, but at least there was less traffic on this day. Tired of the craft stall scene, I picked up some more beads and we sat on the beach as Amir finished his shopping. At this time I noticed that I was starting to feel out of it, but I didn’t know why. When we got back to PMB we stopped in Scottsville to get dinner at Debonair’s and then catch a movie. We all ordered the same thing: margherita pizzas (cheese pizza is not an option here), but my pizza did not sit well with me. We had a few hours before the movie, Ocean’s Thirteen, started so we decided to try out the ten pin bowling alley which we had been avoiding all semester. It turned out to be pretty fun and inexpensive--they even let you wear your own shoes. At 6:30pm (apparently when late-night starts in Scottsville) they turned on black lights and disco balls. When we got home from the movie, Mani and I found Jessi on our couch. She had returned from Lesotho earlier that day.
The next morning, the three of us and Amir woke up at 5am to walk down the road and watch the Comrades Marathon. Comrades is the biggest ultra-marathon in the world run between PMB and Durban. This year was a “down run” so they started in downtown ‘Maritzburg and ran to Durban 56 miles away, a run which has numerous difficult hills in between. This area is also known for having the worst air quality in the country this time of year because there are lots of fires and the pollution sits in the basin, which I cannot imagine makes things any easier for the runners. The race started at 5:30am and the runners were given 12 hours to complete it (the winner finished in about 5:20). It was pretty crazy seeing 12,000 people run by in what felt like the dead of night. Most of the runners were very focused, but some were in crazy costumes (like one guy dressed as a fairy) and many even thanked us for our support as they ran by. There were not many women in the race, but I was impressed by the number of African runners, who clearly made up a majority, rather than rich white men as I was expecting. Later that morning, after a few more hours of sleep, we took Mani to the airport.
Later that evening Susanne arrived. After narrowly making the last flight of the night to PMB due to her flight being delayed from DC, we learned that her luggage did not make it. Unfortunately it did not just miss the flight, but it is truly lost. Right now, two weeks after her first flights, the airlines have no clue where her bag is--not even which airport. We didn't let this set us back too much though. Susanne was able to use some stuff left behind by Mani. On Monday I tried to give Susanne a 'real' South African experience by taking her to downtown PMB. After breakfast at Bread Ahead in Scottsville we took a minibus taxi into town. I think Susanne developed an appreciation for how uncomfortable it can be to ride the taxis (because they pack people in) and for how hectic things are in town during the week. Shortly after arriving in town I realized I had a pretty bad stomach virus, mild symptoms of which I had already been feeling for a couple days. I wound up puking right in the middle of one of the plazas--it was a fine moment that Susanne was lucky enough to witness. After defacing public property, I was temporarily feeling better so we did some shopping and I introduced Susanne to my favorite, Kara Nichha's.
On Tuesday I was still not feeling so great, so we took our time getting to Durban. We arrived later in the afternoon at the lovely Gibela Backpackers Lodge. Gibela was incredibly clean and had very comfortable beds and great art. I took it easy as Susanne and Jessi went out shopping. After resting for a while I thought I was ready to try eating something, so we went to the Green Mango, a Japanese/Thai restaurant just up the block from Gibela. The Green Mango had surprisingly good food and service--definitely the best Asian food I have had while here. Trying not to irritate my stomach, I just had miso soup and avocado maki. I thought I would be okay until we got up to walk back to the hostel. As soon as we reached the street I puked in the gutter--the third time in two days that Susanne witnessed me puking in public. The car park guard seemed to assume that I had too much to drink as he assured, "It's better to get it out." After a great nights sleep, we headed down to Florida Road, the trendy area of Durban, to do some shopping before heading on to the Gateway Mall in Umhlanga. Gateway is proud of its title as the largest shopping center in the southern hemisphere. Susanne was able to get some clothing and shoes to get her through the trip and I was finally able to stomach some food.
We continued up the North Coast to Cape Vidal in the Greater St. Lucia Wetland Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was a good thing we didn't spend any more time at Gateway because we arrived at the gate for the Cape Vidal Camp at 5:57pm, and the gate closed at 6:00pm. Even in the dark we were able to spot large herds of zebra right next to road. The three of us wound up having a five-bed fully-equipped cabin located about 200-ft from the beach all to ourselves. Signs around the cabin warned against walking around at night because we were in a game reserve and we could encounter hippos, which are responsible for more deaths than any other animal in Africa.
On Wednesday we got up early to watch the sunrise over the ocean and go for a drive around the game reserve. We did a very nice self-drive around a lake and wetlands. During the drive we spotted cape buffalo (one of the big five), wildebeest, reedbucks, kudu--a type of antelope, warthogs, zebra, and countless monkeys and birds. I was thinking about how gratifying it was to do a self-drive with no other tourists around and how much cheaper it was than going for a game drive in a private reserve. Then we got back onto the paved road and noticed a strange rhythmic thumping sound. We stopped and realized we had gotten a flat tire when a sharp rock got lodged in our back right tire. So Jessi, Susanne, and I went about changing the tire--something we had all only been shown how to do years ago--while still in our pajamas. We were actually doing pretty well--we jacked the car, had the spare and tools out and ready, but when it came time to loosen the bolts we ran into trouble. The bolts had probably been tightened by machine and would not budge when the three of us tried to loosen them. I even tried sitting on the wrench to get more leverage. Luckily a truck with some park workers came down the secluded road (I had also left my cell phone in the cabin so we couldn't call for help). As a couple workers approached the car, the man seemed to say that he wasn't sure if he was capable of helping us. We told him that we were having trouble with the bolts so he gave it a shot...he had the spare tire on and tightened in about two minutes. I guess he was just trying to be modest when in reality he could work in a NASCAR pit crew. After getting back to the cabin we had breakfast (my stomach was finally doing better) and got ready for a day on the beach. Only in Africa can you have a great beach day on the winter solstice. The sun was shining and both the air and water temperatures were in the 70s. Susanne took us for a walk down the beach (as she is known for doing). Just like in Mozambique, once we walked a few hundred meters past the fishermen and other beach loungers near the Cape Vidal Camp we were the only ones on the beach and ours were the only footprints in the sand. Susanne spotted some sand dunes in the distance that she wanted to walk to. I think they wound up being about 5km down the beach from where we were staying, but it was still a very worthwhile walk and the dunes were very dramatic as they seemed to flow out of the densely forested hills running along the beach. We made it back to our cabin before sundown (being winter solstice, the sun set around 5pm) to find our cabin completely surrounded by monkeys. The monkeys seemed unfazed by our presence and went about whatever they were doing such as grooming each other on the driveway. For dinner, Susanne impressed us with her from-scratch cooking skills by preparing a delicious tomato pasta sauce with sauteed greens. We enjoyed dinner with our new favorite wintery drink: chai tea with amarula (a fruity cream liquor made in SA--a few bottles are on their way home).
The next morning we checked out of our cabin and spent a few more hours on the beach before leaving Cape Vidal. Susanne and I went swimming which was refreshing but semi-treacherous. The waves were pretty small and the sand was fine, but all along the beach there were large patches of rocks just under the water making them difficult to spot. We were able to maneuver around the rocks but finally got tired of it and went in. From Cape Vidal we continued on to our next stop: Isinkwe Bush Camp just outside of Hluhluwe. On our way out of the park we spotted more reedbucks, kudu, warthogs, and zebra. Along the way we stopped for lunch in St. Lucia, a very white, touristy town. For lunch we went to the Greek Sizzler--the name drew us there more than anything. St. Lucia had an Avis where we traded in our cushy Corolla, Ruth, who had gotten the flat tire for a more South African VW Citi who we named Tootsie because it smelled like tootsie rolls. The PMB Avis had given us a free upgrade, but the St. Lucia Avis had the car group we were paying for in stock, so that's what we got. Most of our rentals have been something similar to the VW Citi--a car not sold in the US because it would never meet the stringent safety standards. Cars in SA are ridiculously expensive due to high tariffs on parts, so many are sold new with manual steering, no airbags, exposed metal on the interior, tiny 1.2L engines, etc. The exterior of the VW Citi, for instance, looks like the VW Rabbit sold in the US in the 1980s, but the car itself is in fact new. Jessi and I justified that our downgrade gave Susanne a more authentic South African travel experience. After switching cars we left St. Lucia, happy that we had stayed at Cape Vidal and not in the uber-white tourist town. We stopped in Mtubatuba, a much more 'African' town, for some groceries. To say that the town center of Mtubatuba is bustling in the evening is an understatement. It reminds me of the hectic movement of religious neighborhoods in Israel right before Shabbos. Just after dark we got to Isinkwe, which is located a few kilometers down dirt roads from the N2, truly in the bush as they claim. We were some of the only guests there that night as it is now the low-season, so we had the kitchen to ourselves. Susanne impressed us yet again by whipping up an excellent chickpea and tomato curry. While cooking we took a break to watch the bushbaby feeding, a nightly activity at the backpackers which attracts its namesake (isinkwe is the word for bushbaby in Zulu). Sure enough, the cuddly bushbabies with their big eyes came out of the trees and munched on the bananas set out for them.
After dinner we decided to have an early night since we planned to get up at 5:30am to go for a morning drive at the Hluhluwe-Imfolozi Park, a public game reserve that has the Big 5. I was happy to be in our heated rental car rather than an open safari vehicle that cold morning. We only had a couple hours to drive around the park, which although only one-twentieth the size of Kruger is still quite large and you could easily spend all day driving around. We only drove through the northern section, Hluhluwe, where we saw more cape buffalo, wildebeest, giraffe in the distance, a few types of antelope, and zebras crossing the road right in front of our car. Judging by the amount of dung in the road I expected to see more game, but it's possible that they weren't very active that morning since it was pretty cold. We drove back to our backpackers to get some sleep before having to check out. From there we headed back to PMB. In between doing laundry in the ever-frustrating Denison laundry room we met Jessi H. and Stine and her brother for dinner at Firkin. Jessi and I had Susanne try Firkin's red ale--what Jessi and I consider one of the best beers in SA. Susanne was thoroughly unimpressed (as she should be) and empathized with the pathetic selection of beer available to us over the last five months. I should have had Susanne try a Hansa Pilsener--a disgustingly bitter beer with no flavor. After dinner the six of us squeezed into our compact rental and then said our goodbyes as Jessi H. and Stine would be leaving for a roadtrip on Monday and this would be our last time seeing them in SA.
After a late laundry night we got up early the next morning to head off for the Drakensberg Mountains. We drove up to Monk's Cowl in the Central Drakensberg where I had gone hiking months earlier on separate trips with the Denison crew and my parents. The landscape had an entirely different character than when I had been there before. Rather than lush and green, the mountainsides were now a dry yellow or black from fires. There was also an unpleasant haze from the fires burning throughout the Natal Midlands. At 1pm we started the Blind Man's Corner trail, an 11km hike I had done during my first visit to Monk's Cowl which at the time nearly killed me and during which I got the worst sunburn of my life. However, just like the scenery, the winter conditions were very different from those back in the summer. The first time I did the hike, the temperature was about 30C, there was no shade, it was humid, the air was still, and I was with a group that was going faster than my own pace. This time, the temperature was about 20C, it was dry, there was a light breeze, and we went at a very comfortable pace. This time I was incredibly surprised at how much easier I found the steep ascent. Never once did I feel like I was going to collapse and need to be carried down the mountain. However, due to the relative ease of the climb, I underestimated the amount of time it would take to get back. Once we reached the top, around 3pm, we stopped for lunch and then continued along the plateau at 3:30pm. I guess because the plateau was the easiest part of the hike, I remembered it being shorter than it actually was. The trail on the plateau had us hiking in about 3km further so we didn't reach the descent segment of the loop trail until 4pm. At this point I silently started to get a bit worried since it had taken us three hours to get to this point--essentially half way--and the park gate would be closing in two hours. On top of that, I knew that I had struggled with the descent portion of the hike last time because it was very steep and I am very slow at climbing down rocks. Since I anticipated being the slowest, I led the three of us on the way down. The fear of being locked inside the park forced me to overcome my fear of falling down the mountain and I'd say I completed the descent in half as much time as it took me the first time around. It was also getting dark fast which forced me to keep moving. We did make it out in time, reaching the parking lot at 5:45pm. Even though my legs felt like jell-o when we got to the car, I was still very proud of myself for being able to complete the hike faster and in a much better condition at the end. From Monk's Cowl we drove up to the Northern Drakensberg where we would be staying for a couple days. We stopped for dinner at Tower of Pizza--still the best pizza I have had in SA. We then checked into Amphitheatre Backpackers where I had stayed with Jessi, Mani, and Lauren a couple months ago. Last time I was getting over the flu so we took it easy. This time we were there to take advantage of the adventurous activities.
On Monday the three of us went on the tour up to Lesotho. This tour took us through the Monantsha Pass border via the Free State province, a border not otherwise used by tourists unlike the Sani Pass border in KZN. Also along for the tour were a Dutch couple, a girl from the UK traveling with a South African girl who now lives in the UK, a guy from Israel (incidentally the same town as my brother), and a guy from Michigan. I'm not sure of the name of the area in Lesotho that we toured through, but it is fairly close to the town of Buthe-Butha. Not only is this part of Lesotho less touristy than Sani Pass, but it also has different topography. Sani Pass is characterized by rolling pastures (at very high elevation) with rivers meandering in all directions, whereas the Monantsha Pass led us into a valley surrounded by rocky cliffs on all sides. Also the Sani Pass area was mostly inhabited by shepherds, and this area had many more families and a much higher population density (although still rural, so really not 'dense' by any measure). Our first stop was a primary school established by a South African in the 1970s. The school consisted of two large classrooms (and one still under construction), the first of which was built entirely by students, teachers, and parents. The original classroom accommodates four teachers instructing grades 1 through 5, and the second classroom accommodates grades 6 and 7. The school is currently out for winter break, and our local guide was a math and science teacher at the school named Power. After seeing the school we hiked up the hill to the edge of the cliffs where we stopped for lunch to view some San rock art. The San were hunter-gatherers who roamed around southern Africa for the last 10,000 years but their culture went extinct about 100 years ago for numerous reasons, part of which is that they could no longer hunt for animals on property claimed by whites and Zulus. The shaman, or leader, of a nomadic San group would create rock paintings of animals or people as a signal to other San groups that would come through the area indicating what types of animals had been found and where or if nothing had been found. Recently the rock art sites allover SA have been protected and access is only allowed with guides, but for many years the paintings were subject to vandalism. On our way back to the school we came across some cute Basotho kids who wanted their picture taken, so Susanne and I took pictures with them and gave them our extra sandwiches from lunch. From there we continued on to visit a local sangoma, or traditional healer. On the way to the sangoma, Power suffered an epileptic seizure, a condition he is familiar with but which had not been bothering him recently. Luckily he was not driving but was sitting next to one of our guides who was able to keep him from injuring himself. I had never witnessed a seizure, so at first I was not sure if it was for real. We stopped the bus and waited for him to 'come out of it.' They lied him down in the front seat with his head tilting down so that he would not choke on his saliva. It took a few minutes before he was able to respond to questions, and in about half an hour he seemed back to normal. Further down the winding dirt roads we reached the home of the sangoma. In this case, the sangoma was a 71-year-old Basotho woman who became aware of her gift in 1968 while working as a maid in South Africa. Sangomas are apparently chosen by their ancestors who come to them in dreams and tell them of their gift and of which sangoma to be an apprentice for. Sangomas administer treatment with locally grown herbs that are drunk, smoked, or eaten. She told our guide Power to drink a brownish liquid filled with herbs sitting in a jar on the table. This particular liquid is given to people with head problems such as headaches or 'to make someone less crazy.' He drank it, but from the looks of it, it couldn't have tasted good. After hearing the sangoma's story and asking her questions we headed back to stop at a shebeen, or unofficial bar, to taste local beer. I have tried Zulu beer (utshwala) a few times before, but the beer that we tried this time was made from pineapple so it had a really nice sweetness and fruity flavor. Interestingly enough, the beer was served to us by a group of children probably between ages six and eight. After trying the beer we went to Power's home where we tried pap (maize meal porridge) and cabbage. As we were getting back into the bus our guide bought a string of dead field mice from a local kid, which were cooked and offered to our group at the hostel later that night. From there we headed back to the border.
The next day we went on the other tour offered at Amphitheatre Backpackers: a guided 15km hike along the Sentinel Peak trail up to the top of Thukela Falls, the second highest waterfall in the world (the first being Angel Falls in South America). Although the Amphitheatre, an 8km long rock face in the Royal Natal National Park, can be seen from the backpackers, it is about a two-hour drive to the trailhead which is accessed through the Free State province. On this tour were the three of us, the Israeli guy, one high school-aged guy from Oregon and three high school girls from Europe who had been studying in Jo'burg and Pretoria for the last year...crazy. The trail begins at about 2500m (8200ft) from where we climb up to about 3000m (9850ft). As soon as we got out of the bus it was obvious that the weather was very different from where we started that morning. It was extremely windy as we were on a mountain ridge, which made it very cold (I am eternally grateful that I brought all of the layers that I did which I wound up sharing with Jessi and Susanne--only wish I also had gloves). My legs were still sore from the hike in Monk's Cowl a couple days before, but I was determined not to miss this hike so I took a couple ibuprofen before starting which sort of helped. The hike started out at a gradual incline, so I was not feeling the altitude too much. The scariest thing was that, as I mentioned before, it was very windy and the mountain dropped off quite steeply for a couple thousand feet on one side. After hiking for about an hour we stopped at the bottom of a rocky corridor that led up to the top of the mountain. I thought we were going to continue along the contour trail, but our guide, Sim, had something else in mind. To reach the top of the Amphitheatre, still a few hundred feet above, we were going to scramble up the passage of rocks. Jessi and I started out confidently and enthusiastically, but about half way through I felt fatigue starting to set in. I was on all fours literally the whole way up. As rock climbing goes, it was pretty easy because it was not vertical and there were sturdy foot and hand holds almost everywhere, but it was still a lot of climbing. Susanne was loving every second of it as rock scrambling is her thing. I asked her to stay behind me so that I knew she could give me a boost if I needed it. Every now and then she would ask to go ahead because she couldn't stand all the starting and stopping, so she would bound ahead about 30 feet and then wait for me as I took my time. Susanne was under the impression that we would be coming back down this way, and about two-thirds of the way up she told me this and I almost started freaking out as I knew it would take me hours to get back down, if I could get myself to do it all. Jessi called up to Sim and confirmed that this was not so, so I was able to keep going. For the last hundred feet or so, I wanted nothing more than to be at the top because I was getting more worried that I would make a mistake and get injured. Not only was I getting tired (the three ibuprofen I had taken that morning were not helping), but my hands were getting numb from the cold and I was having trouble grasping rocks. I finally made it, quite a bit slower than most of the group, but I did it nonetheless. Once at the top, we were on a ridge overlooking the Amphitheatre, just about 20ft away from a 3000ft vertical drop. There we stopped for lunch which for me was much needed after the rock climb. From there it was an easy gradual decline down the hill to the Thukela River and falls. The plateau at the top of the Amphitheatre reminded me of the top of Sani Pass in Lesotho--similar rolling hillsides and meandering rivers. This was the first place I saw snow in SA. There wasn't much, but on hills with southern aspect there were some patches of white. Susanne was practically frolicking she was having such a great time. The Thukela River, which has pretty low flow due to the drought this year, was half-frozen. In little time we were at the edge of the falls which is also the edge of the Amphitheatre--a 3000-foot drop that occurs in five stages. I am not usually one to have a fear of heights, but looking over the Amphitheatre was downright intimidating. Unlike Susanne, I could not get myself to dangle my feet over the sheer precipice. One of the high school girls even got close enough to spit over the falls. Just watching this made my heart pound. We stopped just long enough to take a few photos, take our malaria pills, and split a Lara bar before heading back. It was obvious that a storm was rolling in from the Free State side and we did not want to be at the highest point around should it be a lightning storm. As we walked through the alpine meadow we could spot Mont Aux-Sources, the third highest point in southern Africa which is the source of two major southern African rivers: the Thukela which flows to the Indian Ocean and the Orange which flows to the Atlantic. Although we had finished the rock climb, the difficult parts were not behind us yet. To get back down, we had to descend about 100m of chain ladder which has been welded into the sheer rock face. There were two ladders, the second of which was about twice as long as the first. Jessi, who is not a fan of ladders, was worried that she would not be able to make it down, but with the help of our awesome guide Sim, she made it down like a champ. While I did not struggle with the ladders as much as Jessi, I cannot say that it was easy. To get myself down, I repeated a mantra: one step at a time. It didn't help that it was still extremely windy and cold. Most of the time it felt like my wool cap was going to be blown off my head and by the end my hands were numb and frozen into a curled shape which I was barely able to latch around the rungs. From there we hiked a couple more hours, following the trail back around to where we began, which seemed like a piece of cake after the rock scramble and chain ladders. As we approached the end it was obvious that the storm was getting close as flecks of snow were starting to fall. We made it back without trouble and spent most of the evening lounging around the bar of the backpackers, which we've decided is the best hostel bar we have been to, with much credit belonging to Zi, the most talented bartender we have come across in SA. We suggested that she write a book.
I had not visited the Free State province before the two tours, so even the drives through there were fascinating. The part of Free State we saw, Qwa Qwa, is a former 'homeland' where blacks were forced to live and which was recognized by the apartheid government as an independent state. The landscape is high desert, so there are almost no trees growing and everything seems to have a yellowish-brown tint. Unlike most other parts of SA that I have seen that have a general diversity of population, absolutely everyone in Qwa Qwa is black. This is yet another reminder that the Sotho and Zulu tribes did not choose to inhabit this area, but that the white-led apartheid government forced people to relocate to this isolated land. Apparently over 1 million people are packed into this desolate valley. The only economic opportunities present in the area seemed to be some industrial factories set on the outskirts of town. On our way back from the Lesotho tour we passed the headquarters for the provincial government (basically the equivalent of a state capital), and Sim was quick to point out that it wasn't a jail...wow. Can you imagine driving past the capital in Sacramento and someone pointing to it and saying, "It's not a jail." Oh, Free State, what impressive architecture you have. After the hike, we were riding through Qwa Qwa around 5pm, when everyone seems to get off work. The sides of the road were suddenly filled with thousands of people walking home. On each side of the road, the line of workers was about ten people wide. What is startling is that these workers, who are probably employed in the industrial factories, are so poor that they cannot even afford to take a minibus taxi, so they choose to instead walk home in the cold. It was like witnessing rush-hour traffic on a freeway, but it was all pedestrians. On top of the amazing tours, which Susanne noted as the highlight of her trip, I’m glad I got to see another part of this ever-surprising diverse country before I leave.
On Wednesday we headed back to PMB, stopping along the way in Howick to see the falls and the craft shops. The storm we had seen rolling in the day before while on the Sentinel Peak hike turned out to be a pretty big one and dumped a good layer of snow on all of the surrounding mountains, and even much of the Natal Midlands. Not only did we see snow on the side of the highway, but we drove through it for a bit while on the N3. Luckily it wasn’t cold enough for the snow to turn to ice so it was still safe to drive. By the time we got to Howick and PMB, the snow had turned to a steady rain. We drove to downtown PMB to take Susanne to the Tatham Art Gallery. Since we usually take taxis into town we didn’t realize that there is a shortage of parking, so we wound up parking a few blocks away at the Voortrekker Museum and walking through the rain. After a nice lunch at the lovely café, we went over to Liberty Mall to replace some things lost in Susanne’s missing luggage. After introducing Susanne to Nando’s, Portuguese-influenced fast food, we went back to Denison to pack things up. Susanne left Thursday morning and is now back in the States. Her visit definitely went by too fast, but I am glad she was able to make it, as I’m sure she is too.
After saying our goodbyes, Jessi and I went over to the National Alamo car rental counter at the airport to try to sort out a rental that we were overcharged for. Our encounter is a perfect example of the brain drain that is plaguing this country. When we got here back in February, the PMB branch was managed by a guy named Mike who always got us good deals, honored online confirmations, and was always helpful and friendly. Mike, who did not see a future for himself in this country, left for the UK back in the beginning of April. Since then, Mike has been replaced by four people, and somehow neither on their own nor combined can they do the job that he did. Last month, Jessi and I rented two cars from National Alamo for our weekend trip to Umzumbe. According to our online confirmations, which had been honored in the past, we were supposed to be charged $150 for both rentals, but instead we were charged $350. The new manager had us return to the airport to bring him the webpage print-out so that he could fix the rate, but he did no such thing, insisting that the rate is set by the system and he has no power to change it (he also charged us for an extra day when we returned one of the cars half an hour late after he had wasted over an hour of our time). A couple weeks ago, Jessi confronted the new manager about this. He was utterly unhelpful and after some demanding gave her the phone number of someone who never returned our calls. On Thursday, I went to talk to him to see if he would be reasonable. He immediately started giving me the same run around, saying that he has no power to change the rate (even though he is the manager), that it is not his problem that the system does not work, and that there is nothing he can do when other National Alamo employees do not return our calls. As if this is not bad enough, it is what this man said next that should alert his company that he should never work in customer service. He then told us that we were giving him attitude, that he wanted us to leave his sight, and that he would like us to never rent from National Alamo again. This man was even so naïve to tell us that he was only losing the business of two customers. Even when we assured him that we would make sure that all of the international students we know who take frequent trips would also never rent from him, he did not back down. He clearly has no appreciation for the power of word-of-mouth. I can only imagine that that sort of behavior from a representative of a multi-national firm in the US would have them out of a job before the customer got a chance to bad-mouth the company. But somehow, in SA it could be years before customer feedback makes the company realize that this is a damaging person to have on their payroll. Customer service frustrations aside, it is time for me to leave South Africa. I have had a fully satisfying, challenging experience here, and I definitely feel ready to go. The question is, am I ready to return?
A couple Thursdays ago (the last time I posted an entry, to be exact) I went with Amir, Jacob, and Wakeem to Durban to do some last-minute curio shopping at the beachfront. We were supposed to get a ride with our friend Rob who called at the last minute to inform us that he couldn’t find the registration papers for his car, so he couldn’t drive outside of PMB. It was now almost 11am and we weren’t willing to give up on the trip since Wakeem was leaving the next day and Amir (who had a ridiculous amount of gifts to buy) was leaving Monday. So our only option was to take a kombi to Durban, a very cramped ride that takes about an hour. I had never before taken an unchartered kombi to Durban, so I did not know where they would drop us. I assumed the guys would know (I now know to never make such an assumption), but they were just as surprised as I was when we were dropped at the taxi rank a couple miles from the beachfront. As soon as we got off the kombi I had a feeling this was not an area we should stand around looking lost. We walked at a pretty good pace, dodging traffic, to the beachfront about 30 minutes away. We made it there without incident, stopped for lunch at an Indian restaurant, and went about perusing the craft stalls. The stalls more or less sell the same things, so there is always a good deal to be had due to the competition. I stocked up on some more beadwork and woven baskets. Although I am not especially good at bargaining I was pleased with the deals I got. We took a cab back to the taxi rank where we picked up the PMB taxi. We made it back safely, but sore and tired from being cramped in kombis so long.
Just two days later I went back to Durban via uncomfortable kombi rides as Mani and Amir had some more shopping to do. By this time, everyone except for Mani, Amir, Jacob, me, and Jessi S. (who was in Lesotho for a few days on a solo adventure) had left Denison. Faced with the prospect of being stuck in PMB by myself, I accompanied Mani, Amir, and Jacob back to Durban. We were dropped around the same place so we still had to walk to the beachfront, but at least there was less traffic on this day. Tired of the craft stall scene, I picked up some more beads and we sat on the beach as Amir finished his shopping. At this time I noticed that I was starting to feel out of it, but I didn’t know why. When we got back to PMB we stopped in Scottsville to get dinner at Debonair’s and then catch a movie. We all ordered the same thing: margherita pizzas (cheese pizza is not an option here), but my pizza did not sit well with me. We had a few hours before the movie, Ocean’s Thirteen, started so we decided to try out the ten pin bowling alley which we had been avoiding all semester. It turned out to be pretty fun and inexpensive--they even let you wear your own shoes. At 6:30pm (apparently when late-night starts in Scottsville) they turned on black lights and disco balls. When we got home from the movie, Mani and I found Jessi on our couch. She had returned from Lesotho earlier that day.
The next morning, the three of us and Amir woke up at 5am to walk down the road and watch the Comrades Marathon. Comrades is the biggest ultra-marathon in the world run between PMB and Durban. This year was a “down run” so they started in downtown ‘Maritzburg and ran to Durban 56 miles away, a run which has numerous difficult hills in between. This area is also known for having the worst air quality in the country this time of year because there are lots of fires and the pollution sits in the basin, which I cannot imagine makes things any easier for the runners. The race started at 5:30am and the runners were given 12 hours to complete it (the winner finished in about 5:20). It was pretty crazy seeing 12,000 people run by in what felt like the dead of night. Most of the runners were very focused, but some were in crazy costumes (like one guy dressed as a fairy) and many even thanked us for our support as they ran by. There were not many women in the race, but I was impressed by the number of African runners, who clearly made up a majority, rather than rich white men as I was expecting. Later that morning, after a few more hours of sleep, we took Mani to the airport.
Later that evening Susanne arrived. After narrowly making the last flight of the night to PMB due to her flight being delayed from DC, we learned that her luggage did not make it. Unfortunately it did not just miss the flight, but it is truly lost. Right now, two weeks after her first flights, the airlines have no clue where her bag is--not even which airport. We didn't let this set us back too much though. Susanne was able to use some stuff left behind by Mani. On Monday I tried to give Susanne a 'real' South African experience by taking her to downtown PMB. After breakfast at Bread Ahead in Scottsville we took a minibus taxi into town. I think Susanne developed an appreciation for how uncomfortable it can be to ride the taxis (because they pack people in) and for how hectic things are in town during the week. Shortly after arriving in town I realized I had a pretty bad stomach virus, mild symptoms of which I had already been feeling for a couple days. I wound up puking right in the middle of one of the plazas--it was a fine moment that Susanne was lucky enough to witness. After defacing public property, I was temporarily feeling better so we did some shopping and I introduced Susanne to my favorite, Kara Nichha's.
On Tuesday I was still not feeling so great, so we took our time getting to Durban. We arrived later in the afternoon at the lovely Gibela Backpackers Lodge. Gibela was incredibly clean and had very comfortable beds and great art. I took it easy as Susanne and Jessi went out shopping. After resting for a while I thought I was ready to try eating something, so we went to the Green Mango, a Japanese/Thai restaurant just up the block from Gibela. The Green Mango had surprisingly good food and service--definitely the best Asian food I have had while here. Trying not to irritate my stomach, I just had miso soup and avocado maki. I thought I would be okay until we got up to walk back to the hostel. As soon as we reached the street I puked in the gutter--the third time in two days that Susanne witnessed me puking in public. The car park guard seemed to assume that I had too much to drink as he assured, "It's better to get it out." After a great nights sleep, we headed down to Florida Road, the trendy area of Durban, to do some shopping before heading on to the Gateway Mall in Umhlanga. Gateway is proud of its title as the largest shopping center in the southern hemisphere. Susanne was able to get some clothing and shoes to get her through the trip and I was finally able to stomach some food.
We continued up the North Coast to Cape Vidal in the Greater St. Lucia Wetland Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was a good thing we didn't spend any more time at Gateway because we arrived at the gate for the Cape Vidal Camp at 5:57pm, and the gate closed at 6:00pm. Even in the dark we were able to spot large herds of zebra right next to road. The three of us wound up having a five-bed fully-equipped cabin located about 200-ft from the beach all to ourselves. Signs around the cabin warned against walking around at night because we were in a game reserve and we could encounter hippos, which are responsible for more deaths than any other animal in Africa.
On Wednesday we got up early to watch the sunrise over the ocean and go for a drive around the game reserve. We did a very nice self-drive around a lake and wetlands. During the drive we spotted cape buffalo (one of the big five), wildebeest, reedbucks, kudu--a type of antelope, warthogs, zebra, and countless monkeys and birds. I was thinking about how gratifying it was to do a self-drive with no other tourists around and how much cheaper it was than going for a game drive in a private reserve. Then we got back onto the paved road and noticed a strange rhythmic thumping sound. We stopped and realized we had gotten a flat tire when a sharp rock got lodged in our back right tire. So Jessi, Susanne, and I went about changing the tire--something we had all only been shown how to do years ago--while still in our pajamas. We were actually doing pretty well--we jacked the car, had the spare and tools out and ready, but when it came time to loosen the bolts we ran into trouble. The bolts had probably been tightened by machine and would not budge when the three of us tried to loosen them. I even tried sitting on the wrench to get more leverage. Luckily a truck with some park workers came down the secluded road (I had also left my cell phone in the cabin so we couldn't call for help). As a couple workers approached the car, the man seemed to say that he wasn't sure if he was capable of helping us. We told him that we were having trouble with the bolts so he gave it a shot...he had the spare tire on and tightened in about two minutes. I guess he was just trying to be modest when in reality he could work in a NASCAR pit crew. After getting back to the cabin we had breakfast (my stomach was finally doing better) and got ready for a day on the beach. Only in Africa can you have a great beach day on the winter solstice. The sun was shining and both the air and water temperatures were in the 70s. Susanne took us for a walk down the beach (as she is known for doing). Just like in Mozambique, once we walked a few hundred meters past the fishermen and other beach loungers near the Cape Vidal Camp we were the only ones on the beach and ours were the only footprints in the sand. Susanne spotted some sand dunes in the distance that she wanted to walk to. I think they wound up being about 5km down the beach from where we were staying, but it was still a very worthwhile walk and the dunes were very dramatic as they seemed to flow out of the densely forested hills running along the beach. We made it back to our cabin before sundown (being winter solstice, the sun set around 5pm) to find our cabin completely surrounded by monkeys. The monkeys seemed unfazed by our presence and went about whatever they were doing such as grooming each other on the driveway. For dinner, Susanne impressed us with her from-scratch cooking skills by preparing a delicious tomato pasta sauce with sauteed greens. We enjoyed dinner with our new favorite wintery drink: chai tea with amarula (a fruity cream liquor made in SA--a few bottles are on their way home).
The next morning we checked out of our cabin and spent a few more hours on the beach before leaving Cape Vidal. Susanne and I went swimming which was refreshing but semi-treacherous. The waves were pretty small and the sand was fine, but all along the beach there were large patches of rocks just under the water making them difficult to spot. We were able to maneuver around the rocks but finally got tired of it and went in. From Cape Vidal we continued on to our next stop: Isinkwe Bush Camp just outside of Hluhluwe. On our way out of the park we spotted more reedbucks, kudu, warthogs, and zebra. Along the way we stopped for lunch in St. Lucia, a very white, touristy town. For lunch we went to the Greek Sizzler--the name drew us there more than anything. St. Lucia had an Avis where we traded in our cushy Corolla, Ruth, who had gotten the flat tire for a more South African VW Citi who we named Tootsie because it smelled like tootsie rolls. The PMB Avis had given us a free upgrade, but the St. Lucia Avis had the car group we were paying for in stock, so that's what we got. Most of our rentals have been something similar to the VW Citi--a car not sold in the US because it would never meet the stringent safety standards. Cars in SA are ridiculously expensive due to high tariffs on parts, so many are sold new with manual steering, no airbags, exposed metal on the interior, tiny 1.2L engines, etc. The exterior of the VW Citi, for instance, looks like the VW Rabbit sold in the US in the 1980s, but the car itself is in fact new. Jessi and I justified that our downgrade gave Susanne a more authentic South African travel experience. After switching cars we left St. Lucia, happy that we had stayed at Cape Vidal and not in the uber-white tourist town. We stopped in Mtubatuba, a much more 'African' town, for some groceries. To say that the town center of Mtubatuba is bustling in the evening is an understatement. It reminds me of the hectic movement of religious neighborhoods in Israel right before Shabbos. Just after dark we got to Isinkwe, which is located a few kilometers down dirt roads from the N2, truly in the bush as they claim. We were some of the only guests there that night as it is now the low-season, so we had the kitchen to ourselves. Susanne impressed us yet again by whipping up an excellent chickpea and tomato curry. While cooking we took a break to watch the bushbaby feeding, a nightly activity at the backpackers which attracts its namesake (isinkwe is the word for bushbaby in Zulu). Sure enough, the cuddly bushbabies with their big eyes came out of the trees and munched on the bananas set out for them.
After dinner we decided to have an early night since we planned to get up at 5:30am to go for a morning drive at the Hluhluwe-Imfolozi Park, a public game reserve that has the Big 5. I was happy to be in our heated rental car rather than an open safari vehicle that cold morning. We only had a couple hours to drive around the park, which although only one-twentieth the size of Kruger is still quite large and you could easily spend all day driving around. We only drove through the northern section, Hluhluwe, where we saw more cape buffalo, wildebeest, giraffe in the distance, a few types of antelope, and zebras crossing the road right in front of our car. Judging by the amount of dung in the road I expected to see more game, but it's possible that they weren't very active that morning since it was pretty cold. We drove back to our backpackers to get some sleep before having to check out. From there we headed back to PMB. In between doing laundry in the ever-frustrating Denison laundry room we met Jessi H. and Stine and her brother for dinner at Firkin. Jessi and I had Susanne try Firkin's red ale--what Jessi and I consider one of the best beers in SA. Susanne was thoroughly unimpressed (as she should be) and empathized with the pathetic selection of beer available to us over the last five months. I should have had Susanne try a Hansa Pilsener--a disgustingly bitter beer with no flavor. After dinner the six of us squeezed into our compact rental and then said our goodbyes as Jessi H. and Stine would be leaving for a roadtrip on Monday and this would be our last time seeing them in SA.
After a late laundry night we got up early the next morning to head off for the Drakensberg Mountains. We drove up to Monk's Cowl in the Central Drakensberg where I had gone hiking months earlier on separate trips with the Denison crew and my parents. The landscape had an entirely different character than when I had been there before. Rather than lush and green, the mountainsides were now a dry yellow or black from fires. There was also an unpleasant haze from the fires burning throughout the Natal Midlands. At 1pm we started the Blind Man's Corner trail, an 11km hike I had done during my first visit to Monk's Cowl which at the time nearly killed me and during which I got the worst sunburn of my life. However, just like the scenery, the winter conditions were very different from those back in the summer. The first time I did the hike, the temperature was about 30C, there was no shade, it was humid, the air was still, and I was with a group that was going faster than my own pace. This time, the temperature was about 20C, it was dry, there was a light breeze, and we went at a very comfortable pace. This time I was incredibly surprised at how much easier I found the steep ascent. Never once did I feel like I was going to collapse and need to be carried down the mountain. However, due to the relative ease of the climb, I underestimated the amount of time it would take to get back. Once we reached the top, around 3pm, we stopped for lunch and then continued along the plateau at 3:30pm. I guess because the plateau was the easiest part of the hike, I remembered it being shorter than it actually was. The trail on the plateau had us hiking in about 3km further so we didn't reach the descent segment of the loop trail until 4pm. At this point I silently started to get a bit worried since it had taken us three hours to get to this point--essentially half way--and the park gate would be closing in two hours. On top of that, I knew that I had struggled with the descent portion of the hike last time because it was very steep and I am very slow at climbing down rocks. Since I anticipated being the slowest, I led the three of us on the way down. The fear of being locked inside the park forced me to overcome my fear of falling down the mountain and I'd say I completed the descent in half as much time as it took me the first time around. It was also getting dark fast which forced me to keep moving. We did make it out in time, reaching the parking lot at 5:45pm. Even though my legs felt like jell-o when we got to the car, I was still very proud of myself for being able to complete the hike faster and in a much better condition at the end. From Monk's Cowl we drove up to the Northern Drakensberg where we would be staying for a couple days. We stopped for dinner at Tower of Pizza--still the best pizza I have had in SA. We then checked into Amphitheatre Backpackers where I had stayed with Jessi, Mani, and Lauren a couple months ago. Last time I was getting over the flu so we took it easy. This time we were there to take advantage of the adventurous activities.
On Monday the three of us went on the tour up to Lesotho. This tour took us through the Monantsha Pass border via the Free State province, a border not otherwise used by tourists unlike the Sani Pass border in KZN. Also along for the tour were a Dutch couple, a girl from the UK traveling with a South African girl who now lives in the UK, a guy from Israel (incidentally the same town as my brother), and a guy from Michigan. I'm not sure of the name of the area in Lesotho that we toured through, but it is fairly close to the town of Buthe-Butha. Not only is this part of Lesotho less touristy than Sani Pass, but it also has different topography. Sani Pass is characterized by rolling pastures (at very high elevation) with rivers meandering in all directions, whereas the Monantsha Pass led us into a valley surrounded by rocky cliffs on all sides. Also the Sani Pass area was mostly inhabited by shepherds, and this area had many more families and a much higher population density (although still rural, so really not 'dense' by any measure). Our first stop was a primary school established by a South African in the 1970s. The school consisted of two large classrooms (and one still under construction), the first of which was built entirely by students, teachers, and parents. The original classroom accommodates four teachers instructing grades 1 through 5, and the second classroom accommodates grades 6 and 7. The school is currently out for winter break, and our local guide was a math and science teacher at the school named Power. After seeing the school we hiked up the hill to the edge of the cliffs where we stopped for lunch to view some San rock art. The San were hunter-gatherers who roamed around southern Africa for the last 10,000 years but their culture went extinct about 100 years ago for numerous reasons, part of which is that they could no longer hunt for animals on property claimed by whites and Zulus. The shaman, or leader, of a nomadic San group would create rock paintings of animals or people as a signal to other San groups that would come through the area indicating what types of animals had been found and where or if nothing had been found. Recently the rock art sites allover SA have been protected and access is only allowed with guides, but for many years the paintings were subject to vandalism. On our way back to the school we came across some cute Basotho kids who wanted their picture taken, so Susanne and I took pictures with them and gave them our extra sandwiches from lunch. From there we continued on to visit a local sangoma, or traditional healer. On the way to the sangoma, Power suffered an epileptic seizure, a condition he is familiar with but which had not been bothering him recently. Luckily he was not driving but was sitting next to one of our guides who was able to keep him from injuring himself. I had never witnessed a seizure, so at first I was not sure if it was for real. We stopped the bus and waited for him to 'come out of it.' They lied him down in the front seat with his head tilting down so that he would not choke on his saliva. It took a few minutes before he was able to respond to questions, and in about half an hour he seemed back to normal. Further down the winding dirt roads we reached the home of the sangoma. In this case, the sangoma was a 71-year-old Basotho woman who became aware of her gift in 1968 while working as a maid in South Africa. Sangomas are apparently chosen by their ancestors who come to them in dreams and tell them of their gift and of which sangoma to be an apprentice for. Sangomas administer treatment with locally grown herbs that are drunk, smoked, or eaten. She told our guide Power to drink a brownish liquid filled with herbs sitting in a jar on the table. This particular liquid is given to people with head problems such as headaches or 'to make someone less crazy.' He drank it, but from the looks of it, it couldn't have tasted good. After hearing the sangoma's story and asking her questions we headed back to stop at a shebeen, or unofficial bar, to taste local beer. I have tried Zulu beer (utshwala) a few times before, but the beer that we tried this time was made from pineapple so it had a really nice sweetness and fruity flavor. Interestingly enough, the beer was served to us by a group of children probably between ages six and eight. After trying the beer we went to Power's home where we tried pap (maize meal porridge) and cabbage. As we were getting back into the bus our guide bought a string of dead field mice from a local kid, which were cooked and offered to our group at the hostel later that night. From there we headed back to the border.
The next day we went on the other tour offered at Amphitheatre Backpackers: a guided 15km hike along the Sentinel Peak trail up to the top of Thukela Falls, the second highest waterfall in the world (the first being Angel Falls in South America). Although the Amphitheatre, an 8km long rock face in the Royal Natal National Park, can be seen from the backpackers, it is about a two-hour drive to the trailhead which is accessed through the Free State province. On this tour were the three of us, the Israeli guy, one high school-aged guy from Oregon and three high school girls from Europe who had been studying in Jo'burg and Pretoria for the last year...crazy. The trail begins at about 2500m (8200ft) from where we climb up to about 3000m (9850ft). As soon as we got out of the bus it was obvious that the weather was very different from where we started that morning. It was extremely windy as we were on a mountain ridge, which made it very cold (I am eternally grateful that I brought all of the layers that I did which I wound up sharing with Jessi and Susanne--only wish I also had gloves). My legs were still sore from the hike in Monk's Cowl a couple days before, but I was determined not to miss this hike so I took a couple ibuprofen before starting which sort of helped. The hike started out at a gradual incline, so I was not feeling the altitude too much. The scariest thing was that, as I mentioned before, it was very windy and the mountain dropped off quite steeply for a couple thousand feet on one side. After hiking for about an hour we stopped at the bottom of a rocky corridor that led up to the top of the mountain. I thought we were going to continue along the contour trail, but our guide, Sim, had something else in mind. To reach the top of the Amphitheatre, still a few hundred feet above, we were going to scramble up the passage of rocks. Jessi and I started out confidently and enthusiastically, but about half way through I felt fatigue starting to set in. I was on all fours literally the whole way up. As rock climbing goes, it was pretty easy because it was not vertical and there were sturdy foot and hand holds almost everywhere, but it was still a lot of climbing. Susanne was loving every second of it as rock scrambling is her thing. I asked her to stay behind me so that I knew she could give me a boost if I needed it. Every now and then she would ask to go ahead because she couldn't stand all the starting and stopping, so she would bound ahead about 30 feet and then wait for me as I took my time. Susanne was under the impression that we would be coming back down this way, and about two-thirds of the way up she told me this and I almost started freaking out as I knew it would take me hours to get back down, if I could get myself to do it all. Jessi called up to Sim and confirmed that this was not so, so I was able to keep going. For the last hundred feet or so, I wanted nothing more than to be at the top because I was getting more worried that I would make a mistake and get injured. Not only was I getting tired (the three ibuprofen I had taken that morning were not helping), but my hands were getting numb from the cold and I was having trouble grasping rocks. I finally made it, quite a bit slower than most of the group, but I did it nonetheless. Once at the top, we were on a ridge overlooking the Amphitheatre, just about 20ft away from a 3000ft vertical drop. There we stopped for lunch which for me was much needed after the rock climb. From there it was an easy gradual decline down the hill to the Thukela River and falls. The plateau at the top of the Amphitheatre reminded me of the top of Sani Pass in Lesotho--similar rolling hillsides and meandering rivers. This was the first place I saw snow in SA. There wasn't much, but on hills with southern aspect there were some patches of white. Susanne was practically frolicking she was having such a great time. The Thukela River, which has pretty low flow due to the drought this year, was half-frozen. In little time we were at the edge of the falls which is also the edge of the Amphitheatre--a 3000-foot drop that occurs in five stages. I am not usually one to have a fear of heights, but looking over the Amphitheatre was downright intimidating. Unlike Susanne, I could not get myself to dangle my feet over the sheer precipice. One of the high school girls even got close enough to spit over the falls. Just watching this made my heart pound. We stopped just long enough to take a few photos, take our malaria pills, and split a Lara bar before heading back. It was obvious that a storm was rolling in from the Free State side and we did not want to be at the highest point around should it be a lightning storm. As we walked through the alpine meadow we could spot Mont Aux-Sources, the third highest point in southern Africa which is the source of two major southern African rivers: the Thukela which flows to the Indian Ocean and the Orange which flows to the Atlantic. Although we had finished the rock climb, the difficult parts were not behind us yet. To get back down, we had to descend about 100m of chain ladder which has been welded into the sheer rock face. There were two ladders, the second of which was about twice as long as the first. Jessi, who is not a fan of ladders, was worried that she would not be able to make it down, but with the help of our awesome guide Sim, she made it down like a champ. While I did not struggle with the ladders as much as Jessi, I cannot say that it was easy. To get myself down, I repeated a mantra: one step at a time. It didn't help that it was still extremely windy and cold. Most of the time it felt like my wool cap was going to be blown off my head and by the end my hands were numb and frozen into a curled shape which I was barely able to latch around the rungs. From there we hiked a couple more hours, following the trail back around to where we began, which seemed like a piece of cake after the rock scramble and chain ladders. As we approached the end it was obvious that the storm was getting close as flecks of snow were starting to fall. We made it back without trouble and spent most of the evening lounging around the bar of the backpackers, which we've decided is the best hostel bar we have been to, with much credit belonging to Zi, the most talented bartender we have come across in SA. We suggested that she write a book.
I had not visited the Free State province before the two tours, so even the drives through there were fascinating. The part of Free State we saw, Qwa Qwa, is a former 'homeland' where blacks were forced to live and which was recognized by the apartheid government as an independent state. The landscape is high desert, so there are almost no trees growing and everything seems to have a yellowish-brown tint. Unlike most other parts of SA that I have seen that have a general diversity of population, absolutely everyone in Qwa Qwa is black. This is yet another reminder that the Sotho and Zulu tribes did not choose to inhabit this area, but that the white-led apartheid government forced people to relocate to this isolated land. Apparently over 1 million people are packed into this desolate valley. The only economic opportunities present in the area seemed to be some industrial factories set on the outskirts of town. On our way back from the Lesotho tour we passed the headquarters for the provincial government (basically the equivalent of a state capital), and Sim was quick to point out that it wasn't a jail...wow. Can you imagine driving past the capital in Sacramento and someone pointing to it and saying, "It's not a jail." Oh, Free State, what impressive architecture you have. After the hike, we were riding through Qwa Qwa around 5pm, when everyone seems to get off work. The sides of the road were suddenly filled with thousands of people walking home. On each side of the road, the line of workers was about ten people wide. What is startling is that these workers, who are probably employed in the industrial factories, are so poor that they cannot even afford to take a minibus taxi, so they choose to instead walk home in the cold. It was like witnessing rush-hour traffic on a freeway, but it was all pedestrians. On top of the amazing tours, which Susanne noted as the highlight of her trip, I’m glad I got to see another part of this ever-surprising diverse country before I leave.
On Wednesday we headed back to PMB, stopping along the way in Howick to see the falls and the craft shops. The storm we had seen rolling in the day before while on the Sentinel Peak hike turned out to be a pretty big one and dumped a good layer of snow on all of the surrounding mountains, and even much of the Natal Midlands. Not only did we see snow on the side of the highway, but we drove through it for a bit while on the N3. Luckily it wasn’t cold enough for the snow to turn to ice so it was still safe to drive. By the time we got to Howick and PMB, the snow had turned to a steady rain. We drove to downtown PMB to take Susanne to the Tatham Art Gallery. Since we usually take taxis into town we didn’t realize that there is a shortage of parking, so we wound up parking a few blocks away at the Voortrekker Museum and walking through the rain. After a nice lunch at the lovely café, we went over to Liberty Mall to replace some things lost in Susanne’s missing luggage. After introducing Susanne to Nando’s, Portuguese-influenced fast food, we went back to Denison to pack things up. Susanne left Thursday morning and is now back in the States. Her visit definitely went by too fast, but I am glad she was able to make it, as I’m sure she is too.
After saying our goodbyes, Jessi and I went over to the National Alamo car rental counter at the airport to try to sort out a rental that we were overcharged for. Our encounter is a perfect example of the brain drain that is plaguing this country. When we got here back in February, the PMB branch was managed by a guy named Mike who always got us good deals, honored online confirmations, and was always helpful and friendly. Mike, who did not see a future for himself in this country, left for the UK back in the beginning of April. Since then, Mike has been replaced by four people, and somehow neither on their own nor combined can they do the job that he did. Last month, Jessi and I rented two cars from National Alamo for our weekend trip to Umzumbe. According to our online confirmations, which had been honored in the past, we were supposed to be charged $150 for both rentals, but instead we were charged $350. The new manager had us return to the airport to bring him the webpage print-out so that he could fix the rate, but he did no such thing, insisting that the rate is set by the system and he has no power to change it (he also charged us for an extra day when we returned one of the cars half an hour late after he had wasted over an hour of our time). A couple weeks ago, Jessi confronted the new manager about this. He was utterly unhelpful and after some demanding gave her the phone number of someone who never returned our calls. On Thursday, I went to talk to him to see if he would be reasonable. He immediately started giving me the same run around, saying that he has no power to change the rate (even though he is the manager), that it is not his problem that the system does not work, and that there is nothing he can do when other National Alamo employees do not return our calls. As if this is not bad enough, it is what this man said next that should alert his company that he should never work in customer service. He then told us that we were giving him attitude, that he wanted us to leave his sight, and that he would like us to never rent from National Alamo again. This man was even so naïve to tell us that he was only losing the business of two customers. Even when we assured him that we would make sure that all of the international students we know who take frequent trips would also never rent from him, he did not back down. He clearly has no appreciation for the power of word-of-mouth. I can only imagine that that sort of behavior from a representative of a multi-national firm in the US would have them out of a job before the customer got a chance to bad-mouth the company. But somehow, in SA it could be years before customer feedback makes the company realize that this is a damaging person to have on their payroll. Customer service frustrations aside, it is time for me to leave South Africa. I have had a fully satisfying, challenging experience here, and I definitely feel ready to go. The question is, am I ready to return?
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Strike and Birthday Wishes
I finished my last final on Tuesday, and as it turns out that was just in time. Yesterday, commercial and educational activities in South Africa came to a standstill. Civil servants (i.e. school teachers, hospital workers, municipal workers, etc.) have been striking since June 1 for higher wages. On Wednesday, university faculty struck in a show of solidarity. Exams scheduled for Wednesday were postponed until Friday. There are a few international students who had exams scheduled Wednesday and who are going home on Friday, so their exams are going to be mailed to their home university and they will have to take them in July (that's why I am so happy I finished on Tuesday). University faculty were not the only workers showing solidarity. On Wednesday there were no taxis running. If you have been following this blog, you can possibly appreciate the significance of that. The majority of South Africans use minibus taxis as their primary form of transport. This means, with no taxis running, most people could not get to work, whether or not they were part of the civil servants' strike. Mani, Jessi, and I were going to grab lunch at our favorite cafe, Bread Ahead. After sitting down we realized there were only three workers in the entire bakery/cafe (there are usually about 15 at any given time), so we would certainly not be getting food soon. Instead we got pastries from the counter and left. I was going to get something from Kara Nichha's, but it was closed as were many other shops and restaurants around Scottsville. From what I heard, the central business district of PMB was completely dead. Unlike the major supermarket strike in southern California a few years back, there were no picketers to be seen on Wednesday - at least not in Scottsville - but according to the news marches were held in major cities all around the country. As far as I can remember, I have never witnessed such widespread strike action as occurred on Wednesday.
On an unrelated note, today is my brother Aaron's 30th birthday. Happy Birthday Broader!! I would like to take this opportunity to say that you are officially old--your youth is behind you. I mean look at you...you've got a wife, a house, a job, a couple kids bouncing around, and a beard that must stretch to the middle of your torso by now. If that doesn't scream "I'm an old fart!" I just don't know what does. Sibling cruelty aside, I really am happy for you and hope you have a wonderful day! Love, Toader/your sis/the "Old Maid"
On an unrelated note, today is my brother Aaron's 30th birthday. Happy Birthday Broader!! I would like to take this opportunity to say that you are officially old--your youth is behind you. I mean look at you...you've got a wife, a house, a job, a couple kids bouncing around, and a beard that must stretch to the middle of your torso by now. If that doesn't scream "I'm an old fart!" I just don't know what does. Sibling cruelty aside, I really am happy for you and hope you have a wonderful day! Love, Toader/your sis/the "Old Maid"
Thursday, June 7, 2007
In Between Finals
Classes ended two weeks ago on Thursday (although I still had to finish some glazing in Ceramics on Friday morning), and to celebrate the Denison girls and I went down the coast to Umzumbe for the weekend where we stayed at Mantis & Moon Backpackers. It was the perfect post-school, pre-finals break. Located just a couple blocks from the beach in a subtropical climate, the backpackers had a very jungle-y setting. I stayed in a treehouse, you heard right, with Kate and Debbie. The rest of the girls (Lauren, Jessi H., Jessi S., and Mani) stayed in adjacent treehouses. The treehouse had a bathroom, a hammock on the porch with an ocean view, as well as a view of the many vervet monkeys bounding through the trees (and on top of the treehouse). The backpackers also had a jacuzzi set within the trees--the first I have seen in SA, and much appreciated now that the nights are getting cooler. All of us would have been pretty content just lazing around the backpackers all weekend but there was so much more to see. On our second day, after chatting with another guest who had just sailed from Argentina to Antarctica and then Cape Town, we went off to Oribi Gorge. The Gorge, which is located about 20km inland from Port Shepstone, is gorgeous and dramatic as it cuts a deep and long slice through what would otherwise be a swath of sugar cane. We went horse riding around the mouth of gorge. This horse ride was only walking (no trotting) so I didn't feel like I was going to fall off like when I went riding in the Drakensberg, plus they used western saddles which are much easier to hold onto. During the ride we saw a family of warthogs--the guide said this was the first time in four years of doing this ride that she had seen them. The Gorge is also an adventure junkie's paradise as it is home to the tallest gorge swing in the world. I briefly considered trying the swing until I saw what it entailed--a 100m freefall. I opted instead to try the 'foofy slide' or zip line that traverses the gorge. What happens is they strap you into a harness that hooks into a wheel mechanism that goes over the cable. You just sit into the harness and slide into the middle of the gorge. They let you hang there for a minute, suspended 160m above the ground, before pulling you back with a rope that is attached to the harness. The scariest part is at the end when you're almost back and the tension of the rope makes you swing and bounce back and forth. I would definitely do it again (if it weren't so expensive). The next day we spent as much time as we could on the beach before having to head back to PMB. Umzumbe has a beautiful relatively secluded beach, but the waves are brutal. The sand is pretty course and filled with shards of shells, there are patches of rocks right by the shore, and the waves break in very shallow water on the beach. Just sticking my feet in the water, although warm, was painful as it felt like being attacked by seashell shrapnel. I tried walking in past the breaking waves, but my efforts were thwarted when I was knocked down by a thigh-high wave. I then determined it was not worth it and went back to lounging on the beach. Amazingly, the local kids about half my size seemed to have no problem with these waves. Possibly immune to the pain, they would stay out for ages and a few of the little guys were excellent body boarders and got some great rides. Later in the afternoon we reluctantly headed back to PMB.
After returning, I spent much of last week cramming for my two finals that were at the end of the week. When not studying I was usually ranting about the format of exams at this school, which I assume reflects the format of university exams in this country due to the British educational influence. In South Africa, finals carry much more weight than in the US (i.e. more than 50% of your final grade). There is a lot of pressure to do well on the three-hour exam, while 'real' work during the semester receives a marginal grade. I was discussing this with a girl in my Zulu class, and she was insisting that it is probably better this way because so many people plagiarize their work during the semester and it is harder to cheat in an exam setting. I do not agree with this. Many lecturers here are lazy and do not change their exam questions from year to year, so people pass off the prompts to their friends who are going to take the class in the future. Since I had so much material to memorize in a short amount of time, I tried focusing on certain areas I thought would show up and ignoring areas that I had already been tested on. This was not a good strategy because in both of my exams thus far the lecturers repeated questions already asked during the semester. Also the exams do not focus on comprehensive understanding through analysis and interpretation, but rather memorization through regurgitation. For instance, for my Labour Economics course (the most basic economics course I have taken since high school even though it is offered at the senior-level here), we were expected to memorize ten topic areas as they appeared in the textbook (since lecture notes very closely mimicked the text). My single-spaced typed notes with half-inch margins wound up being 12 pages, excluding graphs. After getting a very low grade on a test during the semester and talking with the lecturer, I realized that they were looking for exactly what is outlined in the book--nothing more, nothing less. This is problematic for me because I am not good at memorizing text. I thoroughly understand all of the topics covered during the semester because they are so basic, but I cannot necessarily memorize the five advantages and six disadvantages of bargaining councils in South Africa as stated in the textbook, for example.
If the content and expectations of exams weren't bad enough, the examination setting is not at all conducive to focused thinking. Exams are held in big halls around campus where they test about 300 students in one room, with possibly four different classes being tested at the same time and place. You have to check your bag at the door "at your own risk" and are assigned a seat situated in long rows of about 25 desks. The exams are not proctored by lecturers, so you cannot ask questions during the exam, and the people who do proctor the exams walk incessantly up and down the rows, stopping every now and then to stare at you (no, that's not distracting at all). Twice during my first exam they called out car registration numbers on the loudspeaker. Not only was this terribly distracting, but did they really think someone was going to get up and move their car, cutting short their own exam time? On top of those nuisances, the lights flickered regularly and it was cold in the exam room.
Besides screwing up my GPA, the higher education system here concerns me because, the way I see it, it does not prepare students for ANYTHING. Exams are incredibly unrealistic scenarios. In the real world you have time to research and prepare your work in a thoughtful manner. In the past, I have developed intellectually and professionally by doing work during the semester, but never by cramming for exams. I honestly believe that I did not develop academically at all this semester--if anything I have reverted to the warped expectations of high school. From what I have seen, many students are incapable of producing original university-level work, and yet they are able to slide through and graduate. This leads me to now severely question the validity of a South African college degree. The universities here are not creating thinkers, but rather machines that learn how to work the system. This is problematic for the current and future state of South Africa. The country is already experiencing a massive skills shortage, and I do not believe that the existing caliber of the university education will alleviate this anytime soon. I would like to be proved wrong. I hope South Africa does fill its skills gap and that its ‘educated’ population will be able to think critically to solve some of the country's major dilemmas such as mitigating the impacts of HIV/AIDS and lifting millions out of poverty.
After the frustration of my first two exams, I took a much-needed mid-finals trip to Mozambique with Kate, Patty, and Amir. The southern border post is about 500km up the coast from PMB. We left in the evening on Saturday and stopped about halfway in Mtubatuba for the night at Khumbulani Lodge where Kate and Patty had stayed before. The backpackers was basically one big converted house, with many home-y comforts. We spent most of the evening lounging in the living room on the big comfortable couches in front of the TV, and even though we stayed in dorm beds we had two clean bathrooms to ourselves. Continuing the trend of meeting interesting people at hostels, we met a woman from Nova Scotia who is in the middle of a six-month round the world trip. Her work offered to either transfer her to Atlanta or give her a severance package. She took the severance package and decided to take a trip of a lifetime--I think she made the right choice. Sunday morning we continued on to the Kosi Bay border post to make our 2pm pick-up. We got there early and there was already someone there from the resort, Ponta Malongane, with a pick-up truck and trailer waiting for us. Even though the place we stayed at was only 15km from the border we had to leave our rental car there because Mozambique only has sand roads, so you need a 4x4 to get around. It worked out fine because there is a private lot on the SA side where they watch your car for about $3 per day, and once you get to the beach you do not want to leave. The SA-Mozambique border was probably the most lax border I have seen. The fence separating the countries is smaller than the fences most people have around their homes, and people were bringing in pick-up trucks with tarps over their cargo in the back--no fear of terrorists here. A group of five from Pretoria was being picked up at the same time so we waited as they loaded their stuff. As it turned out, it seemed like we got ripped off at the Mozambique border post because we were charged R172 (almost $25) each for our visas, while the South Africans were charged only R10 each. They are at Ponta Malongane for a week, but when I first saw how much food, equipment, etc. they had brought I seriously thought that they worked for the place and were restocking it and that perhaps the language they were speaking was Portuguese (it was actually Afrikaans). The 15km ride to Ponta Malongane took 45 minutes because you cannot drive faster than 20km per hour on the sand roads. Some background on Mozambique: After decades of colonial rule by the Portuguese, Mozambique won its independence in the 1970s. In 1977 a civil war broke out as factions vied for control. The war lasted until 1992 and resulted in the displacement of about 4 million people and close to 1 million deaths. Life is now peaceful in Mozambique, but many people still live in poverty, and the government still does not have the resources to provide many basic services such as tarred roads or clean piped water.
We stayed in the dive camp at the resort which was more like a hostel than a fancy resort, which was fine with us. We stayed in tents with mattresses on a covered deck with shared bathroom and kitchen facilities. The beach was about 200 feet from our tents and you never needed shoes because there is fine sand everywhere. After realizing how warm the water was (about 23C or 73F) we decided to go for a swim before the sun went down. Unlike the beach at Umzumbe, the sand was very fine, there were no rocks, and the waves crashed a bit farther out. As is apparently the case along most of the Mozambican coast, we pretty much had the beach to ourselves. After swimming we were ready for dinner. We cooked some spaghetti in the questionable water which is supposedly okay when you boil it and enjoyed our dinner on the deck of the bar which overlooks the beach. After dinner, Kate, Patty, and Amir got their books out to start studying since they have a few finals left. Totally burnt out from having just finished two brutal finals, and with only Zulu left, I did not bring a single book with me. Their studiousness seemed to weird out a bunch of other guests who were horrified by the sight of them studying while on vacation. With the only light being at the tables by the kitchen and having nothing to read, I decided to go to sleep early. However, none of us slept well because it was raining most of the night, and with only a tarp above the tents it sounded like it was raining right on the tent. The next morning we started our day off right with a breakfast of Portuguese bread rolls still warm from the oven. The folks from Pretoria (I will refer to them as the Pretorians from now on), a few of whom had stayed at Ponta Malongane the year before, invited us to walk down the beach with them to the town of Ponta D’Ouro. The town is located about 7km down the secluded beach from where we were staying. We took our time walking, enjoying the tide pools, shells, and warm water, spending about two hours walking each way. Along the way there were a handful of nice beach houses just above the sand. Leonard told us that the people who own the houses do not actually own the land that it is built on. Apparently it is a risky endeavor because the Mozambican government can come in at anytime and tear down your house, plus there are still many landmines leftover from the war, so it’s not safe to go walking around in the bush. We eventually made it to Ponta D’Ouro which is an absolutely lovely little beach town. The streets (still sand roads) were lined with brightly colored charming bungalows--no electric fences, no bars on the windows, and kept in very good condition. There was however an eerie juxtaposition--about one in ten homes were completely gutted. From what was left you could tell that these were once very nice homes, but they were abandoned during the war and no one had come back to claim them and fix them up. I’m sure that these broken down homes are just the tip of the iceberg that is Mozambique’s remaining scars from the war. Overall, the town had a very different vibe than towns in South Africa. It is difficult to describe the difference, but a big part of it was that we did not feel threatened or targeted in any way even though we were some of the only white people in town. The town was pretty small and quiet, which means it is probably a boring place to live but a wonderful place to vacation. After getting a drink (Mozambican Coke in a glass bottle really is better) the Pretorians wandered back and we went to lunch at one of the restaurants. I had a surprisingly good veggie pizza that I enjoyed with the homemade peri-peri. Peri-peri is a citrus-garlic chili sauce that is used commonly in SA, but comes from the Portuguese influence in Mozambique. It was definitely the best peri-peri I have had. After lunch we slowly made our way back to Ponta Malongane. After another swim, dinner, and studying, the girls and I sat around chatting with the South Africans. The Pretorians were in the middle of a board game when we joined them. I’m glad I got a chance to hang out with them because I now realize that I had some stereotypes about Afrikaans-speaking South Africans since there are not many of them in KwaZulu-Natal. Unlike many white South Africans I have met, these people are not itching to flea the country. They love South Africa and Africa and appreciate its astounding and unique beauty. They acknowledge that crime is a problem, having all been victims of carjackings and armed robberies, but they did not seem bitter or fearful of this, but rather accepted it as a way of life.
The next morning we woke up early to watch the sunrise over the Indian Ocean. Since it is almost winter, the sun does not rise until about 6:30am. We unsuccessfully tried to join a boat trip to go snorkeling since you need eight people to launch a boat, but there was no one else going out so we were stuck on shore. Instead we each wandered down the secluded beach in the other direction from where we had walked the day before. I stopped to lie down on the sand and rest for about an hour. For that time there was no one around me in either direction for at least a kilometer. After a quick swim we walked back towards the resort where we lounged on the beach for a few more hours. It was an incredibly relaxed day--the sort that is desperately needed during finals. For dinner, we had arranged for one of the workers to buy and cook prawns for us (I of course did not have any). They were cooked in the traditional Mozambican way with just butter, garlic, and lemon. They were supposedly excellent and the guy only charged R80 per kg (about $5 a pound). Since this was our last night in Mozambique we decided to take a break from studying. After the Pretorians finished braai-ing their dinner we built another fire on the beach. As we went out there the moon was just beginning to rise over the ocean, the light from which helped us to see the hundreds of crabs on the beach (luckily the crabs were very afraid of us and kept their distance at all times). The beach fire was definitely the perfect ending to our great trip. The next morning we spent some more time on the beach, where it was now very windy as another storm rolled in, before packing up and heading back to the border. Kate, Patty, and I joked about stealing a Mozambican kid because they are so cute. As the truck passed, some kids would start running after us waving. We made it back across the border without incident. As soon as we got in the car it started raining, which lasted for the first few hours of the drive. Along the way we stopped at a collection of craft stalls near Hluhluwe. Since it had been raining, a lot of stuff was covered in the tarps and the rest was wet, so I just got some beads. As we approached PMB there were flashes of lightning in the sky, and as soon as we pulled up to the Denison gate it started pouring (apparently it hadn’t rained the whole time we were gone).
I now reluctantly have to get back to studying for my Zulu final which is on Tuesday. After that I have a few days before Susanne arrives a week from Sunday. Sadly, many of the international students are starting to pack up and leave in the next couple weeks. We are trying to plan one last bash for this weekend and talks are beginning for a reunion trip to Alaska in a year or so. I have had some experiences of a lifetime with these people and I’m sure I will miss them dearly.
After returning, I spent much of last week cramming for my two finals that were at the end of the week. When not studying I was usually ranting about the format of exams at this school, which I assume reflects the format of university exams in this country due to the British educational influence. In South Africa, finals carry much more weight than in the US (i.e. more than 50% of your final grade). There is a lot of pressure to do well on the three-hour exam, while 'real' work during the semester receives a marginal grade. I was discussing this with a girl in my Zulu class, and she was insisting that it is probably better this way because so many people plagiarize their work during the semester and it is harder to cheat in an exam setting. I do not agree with this. Many lecturers here are lazy and do not change their exam questions from year to year, so people pass off the prompts to their friends who are going to take the class in the future. Since I had so much material to memorize in a short amount of time, I tried focusing on certain areas I thought would show up and ignoring areas that I had already been tested on. This was not a good strategy because in both of my exams thus far the lecturers repeated questions already asked during the semester. Also the exams do not focus on comprehensive understanding through analysis and interpretation, but rather memorization through regurgitation. For instance, for my Labour Economics course (the most basic economics course I have taken since high school even though it is offered at the senior-level here), we were expected to memorize ten topic areas as they appeared in the textbook (since lecture notes very closely mimicked the text). My single-spaced typed notes with half-inch margins wound up being 12 pages, excluding graphs. After getting a very low grade on a test during the semester and talking with the lecturer, I realized that they were looking for exactly what is outlined in the book--nothing more, nothing less. This is problematic for me because I am not good at memorizing text. I thoroughly understand all of the topics covered during the semester because they are so basic, but I cannot necessarily memorize the five advantages and six disadvantages of bargaining councils in South Africa as stated in the textbook, for example.
If the content and expectations of exams weren't bad enough, the examination setting is not at all conducive to focused thinking. Exams are held in big halls around campus where they test about 300 students in one room, with possibly four different classes being tested at the same time and place. You have to check your bag at the door "at your own risk" and are assigned a seat situated in long rows of about 25 desks. The exams are not proctored by lecturers, so you cannot ask questions during the exam, and the people who do proctor the exams walk incessantly up and down the rows, stopping every now and then to stare at you (no, that's not distracting at all). Twice during my first exam they called out car registration numbers on the loudspeaker. Not only was this terribly distracting, but did they really think someone was going to get up and move their car, cutting short their own exam time? On top of those nuisances, the lights flickered regularly and it was cold in the exam room.
Besides screwing up my GPA, the higher education system here concerns me because, the way I see it, it does not prepare students for ANYTHING. Exams are incredibly unrealistic scenarios. In the real world you have time to research and prepare your work in a thoughtful manner. In the past, I have developed intellectually and professionally by doing work during the semester, but never by cramming for exams. I honestly believe that I did not develop academically at all this semester--if anything I have reverted to the warped expectations of high school. From what I have seen, many students are incapable of producing original university-level work, and yet they are able to slide through and graduate. This leads me to now severely question the validity of a South African college degree. The universities here are not creating thinkers, but rather machines that learn how to work the system. This is problematic for the current and future state of South Africa. The country is already experiencing a massive skills shortage, and I do not believe that the existing caliber of the university education will alleviate this anytime soon. I would like to be proved wrong. I hope South Africa does fill its skills gap and that its ‘educated’ population will be able to think critically to solve some of the country's major dilemmas such as mitigating the impacts of HIV/AIDS and lifting millions out of poverty.
After the frustration of my first two exams, I took a much-needed mid-finals trip to Mozambique with Kate, Patty, and Amir. The southern border post is about 500km up the coast from PMB. We left in the evening on Saturday and stopped about halfway in Mtubatuba for the night at Khumbulani Lodge where Kate and Patty had stayed before. The backpackers was basically one big converted house, with many home-y comforts. We spent most of the evening lounging in the living room on the big comfortable couches in front of the TV, and even though we stayed in dorm beds we had two clean bathrooms to ourselves. Continuing the trend of meeting interesting people at hostels, we met a woman from Nova Scotia who is in the middle of a six-month round the world trip. Her work offered to either transfer her to Atlanta or give her a severance package. She took the severance package and decided to take a trip of a lifetime--I think she made the right choice. Sunday morning we continued on to the Kosi Bay border post to make our 2pm pick-up. We got there early and there was already someone there from the resort, Ponta Malongane, with a pick-up truck and trailer waiting for us. Even though the place we stayed at was only 15km from the border we had to leave our rental car there because Mozambique only has sand roads, so you need a 4x4 to get around. It worked out fine because there is a private lot on the SA side where they watch your car for about $3 per day, and once you get to the beach you do not want to leave. The SA-Mozambique border was probably the most lax border I have seen. The fence separating the countries is smaller than the fences most people have around their homes, and people were bringing in pick-up trucks with tarps over their cargo in the back--no fear of terrorists here. A group of five from Pretoria was being picked up at the same time so we waited as they loaded their stuff. As it turned out, it seemed like we got ripped off at the Mozambique border post because we were charged R172 (almost $25) each for our visas, while the South Africans were charged only R10 each. They are at Ponta Malongane for a week, but when I first saw how much food, equipment, etc. they had brought I seriously thought that they worked for the place and were restocking it and that perhaps the language they were speaking was Portuguese (it was actually Afrikaans). The 15km ride to Ponta Malongane took 45 minutes because you cannot drive faster than 20km per hour on the sand roads. Some background on Mozambique: After decades of colonial rule by the Portuguese, Mozambique won its independence in the 1970s. In 1977 a civil war broke out as factions vied for control. The war lasted until 1992 and resulted in the displacement of about 4 million people and close to 1 million deaths. Life is now peaceful in Mozambique, but many people still live in poverty, and the government still does not have the resources to provide many basic services such as tarred roads or clean piped water.
We stayed in the dive camp at the resort which was more like a hostel than a fancy resort, which was fine with us. We stayed in tents with mattresses on a covered deck with shared bathroom and kitchen facilities. The beach was about 200 feet from our tents and you never needed shoes because there is fine sand everywhere. After realizing how warm the water was (about 23C or 73F) we decided to go for a swim before the sun went down. Unlike the beach at Umzumbe, the sand was very fine, there were no rocks, and the waves crashed a bit farther out. As is apparently the case along most of the Mozambican coast, we pretty much had the beach to ourselves. After swimming we were ready for dinner. We cooked some spaghetti in the questionable water which is supposedly okay when you boil it and enjoyed our dinner on the deck of the bar which overlooks the beach. After dinner, Kate, Patty, and Amir got their books out to start studying since they have a few finals left. Totally burnt out from having just finished two brutal finals, and with only Zulu left, I did not bring a single book with me. Their studiousness seemed to weird out a bunch of other guests who were horrified by the sight of them studying while on vacation. With the only light being at the tables by the kitchen and having nothing to read, I decided to go to sleep early. However, none of us slept well because it was raining most of the night, and with only a tarp above the tents it sounded like it was raining right on the tent. The next morning we started our day off right with a breakfast of Portuguese bread rolls still warm from the oven. The folks from Pretoria (I will refer to them as the Pretorians from now on), a few of whom had stayed at Ponta Malongane the year before, invited us to walk down the beach with them to the town of Ponta D’Ouro. The town is located about 7km down the secluded beach from where we were staying. We took our time walking, enjoying the tide pools, shells, and warm water, spending about two hours walking each way. Along the way there were a handful of nice beach houses just above the sand. Leonard told us that the people who own the houses do not actually own the land that it is built on. Apparently it is a risky endeavor because the Mozambican government can come in at anytime and tear down your house, plus there are still many landmines leftover from the war, so it’s not safe to go walking around in the bush. We eventually made it to Ponta D’Ouro which is an absolutely lovely little beach town. The streets (still sand roads) were lined with brightly colored charming bungalows--no electric fences, no bars on the windows, and kept in very good condition. There was however an eerie juxtaposition--about one in ten homes were completely gutted. From what was left you could tell that these were once very nice homes, but they were abandoned during the war and no one had come back to claim them and fix them up. I’m sure that these broken down homes are just the tip of the iceberg that is Mozambique’s remaining scars from the war. Overall, the town had a very different vibe than towns in South Africa. It is difficult to describe the difference, but a big part of it was that we did not feel threatened or targeted in any way even though we were some of the only white people in town. The town was pretty small and quiet, which means it is probably a boring place to live but a wonderful place to vacation. After getting a drink (Mozambican Coke in a glass bottle really is better) the Pretorians wandered back and we went to lunch at one of the restaurants. I had a surprisingly good veggie pizza that I enjoyed with the homemade peri-peri. Peri-peri is a citrus-garlic chili sauce that is used commonly in SA, but comes from the Portuguese influence in Mozambique. It was definitely the best peri-peri I have had. After lunch we slowly made our way back to Ponta Malongane. After another swim, dinner, and studying, the girls and I sat around chatting with the South Africans. The Pretorians were in the middle of a board game when we joined them. I’m glad I got a chance to hang out with them because I now realize that I had some stereotypes about Afrikaans-speaking South Africans since there are not many of them in KwaZulu-Natal. Unlike many white South Africans I have met, these people are not itching to flea the country. They love South Africa and Africa and appreciate its astounding and unique beauty. They acknowledge that crime is a problem, having all been victims of carjackings and armed robberies, but they did not seem bitter or fearful of this, but rather accepted it as a way of life.
The next morning we woke up early to watch the sunrise over the Indian Ocean. Since it is almost winter, the sun does not rise until about 6:30am. We unsuccessfully tried to join a boat trip to go snorkeling since you need eight people to launch a boat, but there was no one else going out so we were stuck on shore. Instead we each wandered down the secluded beach in the other direction from where we had walked the day before. I stopped to lie down on the sand and rest for about an hour. For that time there was no one around me in either direction for at least a kilometer. After a quick swim we walked back towards the resort where we lounged on the beach for a few more hours. It was an incredibly relaxed day--the sort that is desperately needed during finals. For dinner, we had arranged for one of the workers to buy and cook prawns for us (I of course did not have any). They were cooked in the traditional Mozambican way with just butter, garlic, and lemon. They were supposedly excellent and the guy only charged R80 per kg (about $5 a pound). Since this was our last night in Mozambique we decided to take a break from studying. After the Pretorians finished braai-ing their dinner we built another fire on the beach. As we went out there the moon was just beginning to rise over the ocean, the light from which helped us to see the hundreds of crabs on the beach (luckily the crabs were very afraid of us and kept their distance at all times). The beach fire was definitely the perfect ending to our great trip. The next morning we spent some more time on the beach, where it was now very windy as another storm rolled in, before packing up and heading back to the border. Kate, Patty, and I joked about stealing a Mozambican kid because they are so cute. As the truck passed, some kids would start running after us waving. We made it back across the border without incident. As soon as we got in the car it started raining, which lasted for the first few hours of the drive. Along the way we stopped at a collection of craft stalls near Hluhluwe. Since it had been raining, a lot of stuff was covered in the tarps and the rest was wet, so I just got some beads. As we approached PMB there were flashes of lightning in the sky, and as soon as we pulled up to the Denison gate it started pouring (apparently it hadn’t rained the whole time we were gone).
I now reluctantly have to get back to studying for my Zulu final which is on Tuesday. After that I have a few days before Susanne arrives a week from Sunday. Sadly, many of the international students are starting to pack up and leave in the next couple weeks. We are trying to plan one last bash for this weekend and talks are beginning for a reunion trip to Alaska in a year or so. I have had some experiences of a lifetime with these people and I’m sure I will miss them dearly.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Good and Bad
This weekend I went to a going-away party for our friend John from New Jersey who will be returning to the US on June 4. The reality that we all will be going our separate ways soon is becoming more obvious with each day. Part of me is really looking forward to being home, seeing friends and family, eating burritos and In N Out, and having fast internet; another part of me knows that I am really going to miss the life that I have here. While the South African lifestyle* is by no means flawless, there are some aspects of it that I wish I could take home. Here's a quick rundown:
1) Ubuntu
This is a Zulu word that has no direct translation in English--the closest single-word definition is 'humaneness.' Basically it is the idea that as a human being it is your duty to look after other people around you. For instance, if your neighbors are struggling, you will help them out in whatever way you can, even if you yourself do not have much. This carries over to the idea of knowing your neighbors. South Africans are horrified when we (Americans) tell them that we don't really know our neighbors back in the US. They ask, "Who's going to look out for you when your house catches fire?" I think that the lack of ubuntu in the US has something to do with the deeply programmed fear of unknown people. As children, we are frequently told to never talk with strangers. There is no word for "stranger" in Zulu--when you are talking about someone you don't know they are simply a "person."
2) Kara Nichha's
Nichha's is perhaps the most democratic, equal opportunity institution I have encountered in South Africa. It is completely vegetarian Indian take-away at unbeatably low prices that is enjoyed by all people regardless of race, gender, or age. I find myself going there at least three times a week because I can always get lunch or dinner with the change in my wallet. Where else can you get a roti roll, biryani tub, or 1/4 bunny chow for $.50? At the beginning of the semester I thought that I would get sick of it after a while, but instead I find that the more I eat it the more I crave it (I even went through withdrawals over semester break). I have a feeling that when I get home I am going to miss Nichha's far more than I miss Mexican food and In N Out right now.
3) Bread Ahead
This is the bakery/cafe in Scottsville that my friends and I have made our second home. Sure the service is kind of slow (as it is at almost all restaurants), but they have incredibly comfortable couches, good pastries and coffee, and a friendly waitress that has learned our orders and even gossips to us about other customers. There is no place at home where I am sure to run into a couple friends AND where we are sure to have the place to ourselves.
4) Natural Beauty
I have become spoiled by being constantly surrounded by beautiful outdoor spaces. Back home it is rare that I get to see anything as stunningly beautiful as the white sandy beaches of the Indian Ocean, the rolling hillsides of the Natal Midlands, or the dramatic peaks of the Drakensberg Mountains. But here I am treated to these sights almost weekly. Day-to-day I am spoiled by beautifully kept grounds everywhere I go, such as around campus. While I think Berkeley is a better institution than UKZN in many ways, the PMB campus is gorgeous and makes Berkeley look pretty shabby.
5) Having Time
I never seem to have time at home. Especially when in school, I seem to be constantly bombarded with work or other commitments, and when I happen to have some free time it's usually not when my friends do. Although classes here are a joke and incredibly frustrating, I must admit that I am thankful for the lighter workload. I have had time to do what I WANT, and so have many of my friends, giving us the opportunity to spend quality time together and do incredible things. Back at home, there is no way that I could go away for an entire weekend without having to do any work like I have done here, a few times.
As I mentioned above, I am not completely sad to have to leave this place. Here are some things that remind me why I have it so good at home:
1) The Lan
I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that the Lan (various computer labs around campus) epitomizes my frustrations with this university. The download transfer rate averages between 1 and 2 kb per second during a weekday. The university connection, which probably has about 1000 computers networked to it, is a mere 2 mb/second. Mom & Dad, your house has about 5 times that much bandwidth. If excruciatingly slow internet weren't bad enough, the computers in the Lan are very poorly networked so people are constantly loading tons of viruses and other junk onto them. At any given time, in a room of forty computers there will be three that students cannot even log on to. This becomes a problem because the Lan computers are always in high demand since most students do not have personal computers. To get onto one of these slow-operating, virus-riddled machines, there is usually a wait. Another nuisance that is slowly alleviating itself as the weather gets cooler is the general smell associated with the Lans. Simply put, Africans do not have the best hygienic standards, and the Lan often has a strong funk which makes spending time there that much more unpleasant. Additionally, the Lans are generally unreliable. Printing credit has to be bought at vending machines located in buildings outside the Lan which cannot be accessed on weekends or at night, and sometimes these machines are broken (like 15 minutes before I had a paper due). And sometimes the security turnstiles do not operate properly. When this happens, rather than have a campus security officer check IDs at a door, they kick everyone out and shut down the Lan until a technician can fix the turnstile (which usually takes a day or two). I also usually get kicked off a computer at least once a week because classes are held in the Lan, so they will kick everyone out for 2-4 hours, exacerbating the overcrowding of the other Lan facilities. I am eternally grateful for having brought my laptop this semester. Although I have to use the Lan for research, I have been able to write my papers in the quiet and privacy of my room, not to mention these blog posts which assuredly would have been much more sporadic and less-detailed had I had to write them in the Lan. What perhaps makes the Lan most frustrating is that the internet has been my primary means of communication, and thereby connection, with life back home. Just today, the university has now denied access to facebook, a site that I use frequently for communicating with friends and sharing pictures. At home I can communicate with friends and family at the drop of a hat, so it is aggravating when I cannot do that here. Next year I will have SO much appreciation for Berkeley's remarkably fast internet connection and vast subscriptions to research archives.
2) Cell Phones
Telecommunication services in South Africa are unbelievably expensive. Cell phone calls (whether to local numbers or other cell phones) are about R6 per minute. That is almost $1/minute!! To give you an idea how ridiculous this is, I can call any landline or cell phone in the US from Skype for only $.02 per minute. The only reasonable way to communicate locally is through text messages (or 'SMS' as it is known here). A text is only 20-50 cents ($.03-.07). It will be nice to be able to talk on my cell phone without thinking that each second on the line is shrinking my bank account.
3) Little to No Public Transport
Within PMB, there is no public transportation. I mean no city buses, no light rail, no nothing. As I have mentioned before, the majority of the population manages to get around by means of kombis (minibus taxis), which work and are relatively inexpensive. But these are largely unofficial and unregulated, so there are no set timetables or stops like there are for city buses, and they do not run after dark. In this way they are somewhat unreliable, but people seem to manage. It will be so nice to have a bus pass again, and to be able to look up bus routes online.
On another note, winter has finally arrived. Over the last month or so it has been getting cooler at night, but staying hot during the day. This weekend the daytime temperatures were in the 80s and 90s. Monday was the first day that it didn’t get out of the 50s during the day and it is now in the 30s at night. This sudden change has managed to catch everyone off guard, including the people from the East Coast. Apparently the whole country is going through a cold spell and there has been snow in most areas--not PMB though because it is located in a basin. Since classes end on Thursday, the Denison girls and I are going down the coast to Oribi Gorge this weekend. Hopefully it will be warm enough to go snorkeling…if not, my back up plan is to swing across the gorge.
This last weekend, Lauren, Mani, and I went to Trustfeed again. This time we were working on the vegetable garden. I learned that I am not conditioned for hard labor. Mani and I gave the grannies a good laugh when we tried to lift a 50kg (110-lb) bag of cement. We managed to move it, but not as deftly as the old grannies. The grannies are also better at digging and lifting water buckets than my 20-year-old self. While many of the kids were diligent little workers, they were definitely less enthused about this activity than ones we have done in the past. That will possibly be my last visit to Trustfeed with Sibambisene since I will be traveling next weekend and exams are the week after. While I am not sure what kind of lasting impact our work there will make, at the very least all of us who participated have a better perspective of what life is like for kids in poor rural communities. My perspective is that there is still much work to be done in South Africa for there to be equality and it will be an uphill battle to acheive it. HIV/AIDS is without a doubt the most significant threat to improving quality of life for the tens of millions of South Africans still living below the poverty line. What is discouraging is that even though everyone knows people who have died from an AIDS-related illnesses, there is still a stigma associated with admitting to being HIV positive and people are still afraid to say that a young person died of tuberculosis or pneumonia BECAUSE they had AIDS. As they say, admission is the first step in realizing you have a problem, and I think many South Africans are still in denial. Everyone knows that HIV/AIDS is a huge problem, but not everyone is changing their behavior.
I am now looking at the end of my semester abroad. In many ways it has been easier than I expected, and in some ways it has been harder. Of course there is always a positive side to everything, and that is that the difficult aspects of life here have given me a new-found appreciation for how things are at home. I was definitely taking many things for granted before I left, and living abroad has given me a fresh perspective on my many privileges.
*Note: I have mostly been exposed to Zulu culture and I do not want to give the idea that this is the only indigenous culture in SA or that they are all the same. South Africa has 11 official languages, nine of which are indigenous--each one representing a different tribal group.
1) Ubuntu
This is a Zulu word that has no direct translation in English--the closest single-word definition is 'humaneness.' Basically it is the idea that as a human being it is your duty to look after other people around you. For instance, if your neighbors are struggling, you will help them out in whatever way you can, even if you yourself do not have much. This carries over to the idea of knowing your neighbors. South Africans are horrified when we (Americans) tell them that we don't really know our neighbors back in the US. They ask, "Who's going to look out for you when your house catches fire?" I think that the lack of ubuntu in the US has something to do with the deeply programmed fear of unknown people. As children, we are frequently told to never talk with strangers. There is no word for "stranger" in Zulu--when you are talking about someone you don't know they are simply a "person."
2) Kara Nichha's
Nichha's is perhaps the most democratic, equal opportunity institution I have encountered in South Africa. It is completely vegetarian Indian take-away at unbeatably low prices that is enjoyed by all people regardless of race, gender, or age. I find myself going there at least three times a week because I can always get lunch or dinner with the change in my wallet. Where else can you get a roti roll, biryani tub, or 1/4 bunny chow for $.50? At the beginning of the semester I thought that I would get sick of it after a while, but instead I find that the more I eat it the more I crave it (I even went through withdrawals over semester break). I have a feeling that when I get home I am going to miss Nichha's far more than I miss Mexican food and In N Out right now.
3) Bread Ahead
This is the bakery/cafe in Scottsville that my friends and I have made our second home. Sure the service is kind of slow (as it is at almost all restaurants), but they have incredibly comfortable couches, good pastries and coffee, and a friendly waitress that has learned our orders and even gossips to us about other customers. There is no place at home where I am sure to run into a couple friends AND where we are sure to have the place to ourselves.
4) Natural Beauty
I have become spoiled by being constantly surrounded by beautiful outdoor spaces. Back home it is rare that I get to see anything as stunningly beautiful as the white sandy beaches of the Indian Ocean, the rolling hillsides of the Natal Midlands, or the dramatic peaks of the Drakensberg Mountains. But here I am treated to these sights almost weekly. Day-to-day I am spoiled by beautifully kept grounds everywhere I go, such as around campus. While I think Berkeley is a better institution than UKZN in many ways, the PMB campus is gorgeous and makes Berkeley look pretty shabby.
5) Having Time
I never seem to have time at home. Especially when in school, I seem to be constantly bombarded with work or other commitments, and when I happen to have some free time it's usually not when my friends do. Although classes here are a joke and incredibly frustrating, I must admit that I am thankful for the lighter workload. I have had time to do what I WANT, and so have many of my friends, giving us the opportunity to spend quality time together and do incredible things. Back at home, there is no way that I could go away for an entire weekend without having to do any work like I have done here, a few times.
As I mentioned above, I am not completely sad to have to leave this place. Here are some things that remind me why I have it so good at home:
1) The Lan
I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that the Lan (various computer labs around campus) epitomizes my frustrations with this university. The download transfer rate averages between 1 and 2 kb per second during a weekday. The university connection, which probably has about 1000 computers networked to it, is a mere 2 mb/second. Mom & Dad, your house has about 5 times that much bandwidth. If excruciatingly slow internet weren't bad enough, the computers in the Lan are very poorly networked so people are constantly loading tons of viruses and other junk onto them. At any given time, in a room of forty computers there will be three that students cannot even log on to. This becomes a problem because the Lan computers are always in high demand since most students do not have personal computers. To get onto one of these slow-operating, virus-riddled machines, there is usually a wait. Another nuisance that is slowly alleviating itself as the weather gets cooler is the general smell associated with the Lans. Simply put, Africans do not have the best hygienic standards, and the Lan often has a strong funk which makes spending time there that much more unpleasant. Additionally, the Lans are generally unreliable. Printing credit has to be bought at vending machines located in buildings outside the Lan which cannot be accessed on weekends or at night, and sometimes these machines are broken (like 15 minutes before I had a paper due). And sometimes the security turnstiles do not operate properly. When this happens, rather than have a campus security officer check IDs at a door, they kick everyone out and shut down the Lan until a technician can fix the turnstile (which usually takes a day or two). I also usually get kicked off a computer at least once a week because classes are held in the Lan, so they will kick everyone out for 2-4 hours, exacerbating the overcrowding of the other Lan facilities. I am eternally grateful for having brought my laptop this semester. Although I have to use the Lan for research, I have been able to write my papers in the quiet and privacy of my room, not to mention these blog posts which assuredly would have been much more sporadic and less-detailed had I had to write them in the Lan. What perhaps makes the Lan most frustrating is that the internet has been my primary means of communication, and thereby connection, with life back home. Just today, the university has now denied access to facebook, a site that I use frequently for communicating with friends and sharing pictures. At home I can communicate with friends and family at the drop of a hat, so it is aggravating when I cannot do that here. Next year I will have SO much appreciation for Berkeley's remarkably fast internet connection and vast subscriptions to research archives.
2) Cell Phones
Telecommunication services in South Africa are unbelievably expensive. Cell phone calls (whether to local numbers or other cell phones) are about R6 per minute. That is almost $1/minute!! To give you an idea how ridiculous this is, I can call any landline or cell phone in the US from Skype for only $.02 per minute. The only reasonable way to communicate locally is through text messages (or 'SMS' as it is known here). A text is only 20-50 cents ($.03-.07). It will be nice to be able to talk on my cell phone without thinking that each second on the line is shrinking my bank account.
3) Little to No Public Transport
Within PMB, there is no public transportation. I mean no city buses, no light rail, no nothing. As I have mentioned before, the majority of the population manages to get around by means of kombis (minibus taxis), which work and are relatively inexpensive. But these are largely unofficial and unregulated, so there are no set timetables or stops like there are for city buses, and they do not run after dark. In this way they are somewhat unreliable, but people seem to manage. It will be so nice to have a bus pass again, and to be able to look up bus routes online.
On another note, winter has finally arrived. Over the last month or so it has been getting cooler at night, but staying hot during the day. This weekend the daytime temperatures were in the 80s and 90s. Monday was the first day that it didn’t get out of the 50s during the day and it is now in the 30s at night. This sudden change has managed to catch everyone off guard, including the people from the East Coast. Apparently the whole country is going through a cold spell and there has been snow in most areas--not PMB though because it is located in a basin. Since classes end on Thursday, the Denison girls and I are going down the coast to Oribi Gorge this weekend. Hopefully it will be warm enough to go snorkeling…if not, my back up plan is to swing across the gorge.
This last weekend, Lauren, Mani, and I went to Trustfeed again. This time we were working on the vegetable garden. I learned that I am not conditioned for hard labor. Mani and I gave the grannies a good laugh when we tried to lift a 50kg (110-lb) bag of cement. We managed to move it, but not as deftly as the old grannies. The grannies are also better at digging and lifting water buckets than my 20-year-old self. While many of the kids were diligent little workers, they were definitely less enthused about this activity than ones we have done in the past. That will possibly be my last visit to Trustfeed with Sibambisene since I will be traveling next weekend and exams are the week after. While I am not sure what kind of lasting impact our work there will make, at the very least all of us who participated have a better perspective of what life is like for kids in poor rural communities. My perspective is that there is still much work to be done in South Africa for there to be equality and it will be an uphill battle to acheive it. HIV/AIDS is without a doubt the most significant threat to improving quality of life for the tens of millions of South Africans still living below the poverty line. What is discouraging is that even though everyone knows people who have died from an AIDS-related illnesses, there is still a stigma associated with admitting to being HIV positive and people are still afraid to say that a young person died of tuberculosis or pneumonia BECAUSE they had AIDS. As they say, admission is the first step in realizing you have a problem, and I think many South Africans are still in denial. Everyone knows that HIV/AIDS is a huge problem, but not everyone is changing their behavior.
I am now looking at the end of my semester abroad. In many ways it has been easier than I expected, and in some ways it has been harder. Of course there is always a positive side to everything, and that is that the difficult aspects of life here have given me a new-found appreciation for how things are at home. I was definitely taking many things for granted before I left, and living abroad has given me a fresh perspective on my many privileges.
*Note: I have mostly been exposed to Zulu culture and I do not want to give the idea that this is the only indigenous culture in SA or that they are all the same. South Africa has 11 official languages, nine of which are indigenous--each one representing a different tribal group.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Winding Down
Things are beginning to wrap up around PMB. Although I still have almost two months left in South Africa, the end is now in sight. Those two months break down to just a couple more weeks of class, a few weeks for exams, and a couple weeks of traveling before leaving this beautiful continent. Besides realizing that all of this fun will be ending before I know it, I am also starting to feel that I will be ready to go when the time comes. If you had told me last month that I had to get on the next plane back to the US, I would have been very disappointed. However, I am now starting to feel content with what I have experienced, plus I have growing nostalgia for the way things are back home.
Taking a break from traveling, last weekend we threw a Cinco de Mayo party in Denison. We made salsa, guacamole, and "faux-tillas"--our homemade version of tortillas since decent one's are impossible to come by in the stores. We also made sangria and mojitos...true, these are not Mexican drinks, but Africans don't know the difference.
Last Sunday, Lauren, Jessi, Mani, and I were lucky enough to be on the exclusive guest list for our friend Phindy's birthday dinner. Phindy, Thandeka, and Xolly had us over at their place on the other end of Denison for some home-cooked African food. They made amasi (corn meal and sour milk porridge), ujeqe (steamed bread--by the way, the q is a click), and tripe stew. I didn't try the stew, but reports are it was very good. On a previous visit they had prepared another delicious meal for us of pap (thick corn meal porridge), mashed potatoes, butternut squash, bean stew, and chicken livers. Even Jessi (an occasional vegetarian) who thought she hated chicken livers loved it. Yesterday we had the girls over to teach us how to cook African food, and now I have even more respect for it because it takes so much time and effort. We made all the dishes that we had for Phindy's birthday plus sugar beans (bontshisi). I'm not sure if tripe is kosher, even though it is from a cow, but I'm quite sure that I will never choose to cook it on my own. When you get it you first have to be sure that it is very clean (since it was the stomach of a cow), then you have to boil it for many hours because it is very tough, adding more water every few minutes. Another lovely aspect of cooking tripe is the smell...which also attracts flies. Besides the tripe, I will definitely try cooking the other dishes again. Since the kitchens in Res do not have ovens it was great being able to bake bread on the stove, although it was also a lot of work. All in all, we were cooking for about six hours. I may not be able to speak much Zulu when I get home, but at least I will be able to cook Zulu food. Us Californians have also participated in the cultural food exchange by having the girls over a couple weeks ago for Mexican food. We made beans, rice, fajitas, faux-tillas, guacamole (avocados are finally in season!), and salsa. The girls loved the food, insisting that we are welcome to cook for them every night. We are planning on teaching them to how to cook the dishes later this week.
As far as class go, I am pretty much ready to be done. I am very happy with my decision to stay here for a semester rather than a year. Don't get me wrong, I have loved my time here and would recommend studying abroad to anyone, but at Berkeley I have been spoiled by a higher standard for almost everything. This university has a way of making simple things difficult (i.e. dropping a class, checking email, etc.). Trying to do research is a joke because the library has very limited journal subscriptions, and it seems that most classes are taught at the high school level, so plagiarism is rampant. The one class that remains interesting, albeit frustrating at times, is Ceramics. On Friday we Raku-fired our "tomb guard" pieces. I had made a fish-bird as a sort of dedication to my dead pets, Peppy the cockatiel and Charbroil the goldfish. The Raku technique is specifically for glazing. There is significant variation in the appearance of Raku glazes after firing because it is a very manual process and it is chemically complex in that some glazes undergo oxidation and others reduction, but you never know exactly what will happen. It is also a very dirty process. The pieces are first placed in an outdoor gas-fired kiln to melt the glazes. After about 30 minutes, the fragile glowing pieces are transferred to a brick enclosure where they are covered with sawdust for another 30 minutes. This is when the reduction occurs in some of the glazes as the burning hot pieces suck the oxygen out of the air as well as carbon out of the sawdust. The result is a metallicky finish over the glaze and blackening of the clay that is not covered in glaze. Throwing sawdust on the burning hot pieces created a ton of thick smoke and sent burnt sawdust into the air. It was downright disgusting (after getting home I had to hang my clothes outside to keep them from stinking up my room). I now have an idea of why Ceramics is not offered for credit at many universities in the US--it is too big of a liability. Mind you, our only safety equipment for this whole process were some heat-proof gloves for those handling the pieces--no safety goggles, no aprons, lots of people in sandals. At one point as we were firing up the kiln the gas was on too high so when it got lit there was a loud 'boof'. Still, everyone survived relatively unscathed (with the exception of our lungs), and it was a very interesting technique to learn with beautiful results...I'm just glad I don't have to do it again. That was not the only time I have feared for my personal safety in Ceramics. The week before when the professor was out of town, some older folks were doing a semi-indoors gas firing (conventional kilns are electric), which is very laborious, and from my perspective, quite dangerous because you get flames shooting out from almost all sides of the huge kiln. For whatever reason, the people doing the firing insisted that we stop what we were doing and come watch as they open the kiln door at about 1200 degrees C (that's about 2200F). It was a hilarious sight when everyone went running for their lives as the small room became inferno-like and it felt like our hair would be singed off our heads. For fear of burning my retnas to oblivion I did not look directly into the kiln, but apparently the pieces were so hot they were almost translucent.
At the end of the week we went out to Stagecoach, a bar/restaurant in Scottsville, to celebrate our friend Murray's birthday. We gave him the Twister game left from the 80s party and an In N Out hat, which he wore for most of the night. We also met a few of the only Spanish-speaking people in PMB (seriously, there are almost no Latinos in SA). From Stagecoach, we got rides up to Crossways in Hilton, the only place around that doesn't have a cover charge. Lauren and I rode with a couple guys from Cuba and a girl from Spain. Along the way we listened to Reggaeton which was a nice break from the House music and bad pop that is so common. This was my first time going to Hilton which is about 10 km outside of PMB. To give you an idea of the class divide, if PMB is the South Bay, then Hilton is Palos Verdes. Besides the class divide, there is also a distinct racial divide. Crossways, which is a bar with a wide variety of music set in the entrance of a small hotel, had a completely white clientele (that is until we showed up). As we were walking in, Lauren voiced that she was worried people would give her weird looks. Henry from Cuba assured her that if they did it's because they're inbred. This place made Firkin look diverse. I also found it odd that the bartenders were all black--it was a strange dynamic. Although the music was decent, that is not the sort of place I would choose to go back to.
The next morning, Mani and I were up early and all ready to go to Trustfeed, but when we got to the meeting place only three other people from our group had shown up (a kombi holds 15 people and costs R500 for the day and we were not prepared to pay R100 each). Another, apparently better organized, campus group was to go along with us that day. They had 15 people to fill a kombi, a bunch of food to cook for the kids, and a plan to work on the vegetable garden. In the end we let them go and the few of us from our group decided to stay back as it didn't seem worthwhile with so few of us and for such expensive transport. Instead, Mani and I went into town to the cafe at the Tatham Art Gallery. We perused the bustling street stalls and shops before going to the lovely cafe overlooking Commercial Road. Although PMB on the whole is a diverse town it is very ghettoized. For instance, the downtown area where we were is predominantly black, but after a few months here I am not fazed by seemingly sticking out in a crowd.
Saturday evening, the boys in block B (Amir, Wakeem, and Jacob) hosted an Indian party. It was Bollywood-style, so we dressed up in saris and colorful skirts that we found at the hospice shop. The boys cooked some excellent Indian food: baigan bharta (eggplant curry), aloo palak (potato & spinach), beef curry, spiced rice, raita, and chai. After stuffing ourselves we tried dancing to some Bollywood music which proved challenging because each song is about 10 minutes long, so everyone was quickly exhausted. The dancing degenerated to playing along to the music with some of the crazy instruments Wakeem has acquired while here.
This has now been the longest stretch of time that I have stayed in PMB without any weekend trips (three weeks!). Although PMB is a slow town, there is enough going on to keep me busy and interested for a few weeks...but I will still be ready to leave when the time comes.
Taking a break from traveling, last weekend we threw a Cinco de Mayo party in Denison. We made salsa, guacamole, and "faux-tillas"--our homemade version of tortillas since decent one's are impossible to come by in the stores. We also made sangria and mojitos...true, these are not Mexican drinks, but Africans don't know the difference.
Last Sunday, Lauren, Jessi, Mani, and I were lucky enough to be on the exclusive guest list for our friend Phindy's birthday dinner. Phindy, Thandeka, and Xolly had us over at their place on the other end of Denison for some home-cooked African food. They made amasi (corn meal and sour milk porridge), ujeqe (steamed bread--by the way, the q is a click), and tripe stew. I didn't try the stew, but reports are it was very good. On a previous visit they had prepared another delicious meal for us of pap (thick corn meal porridge), mashed potatoes, butternut squash, bean stew, and chicken livers. Even Jessi (an occasional vegetarian) who thought she hated chicken livers loved it. Yesterday we had the girls over to teach us how to cook African food, and now I have even more respect for it because it takes so much time and effort. We made all the dishes that we had for Phindy's birthday plus sugar beans (bontshisi). I'm not sure if tripe is kosher, even though it is from a cow, but I'm quite sure that I will never choose to cook it on my own. When you get it you first have to be sure that it is very clean (since it was the stomach of a cow), then you have to boil it for many hours because it is very tough, adding more water every few minutes. Another lovely aspect of cooking tripe is the smell...which also attracts flies. Besides the tripe, I will definitely try cooking the other dishes again. Since the kitchens in Res do not have ovens it was great being able to bake bread on the stove, although it was also a lot of work. All in all, we were cooking for about six hours. I may not be able to speak much Zulu when I get home, but at least I will be able to cook Zulu food. Us Californians have also participated in the cultural food exchange by having the girls over a couple weeks ago for Mexican food. We made beans, rice, fajitas, faux-tillas, guacamole (avocados are finally in season!), and salsa. The girls loved the food, insisting that we are welcome to cook for them every night. We are planning on teaching them to how to cook the dishes later this week.
As far as class go, I am pretty much ready to be done. I am very happy with my decision to stay here for a semester rather than a year. Don't get me wrong, I have loved my time here and would recommend studying abroad to anyone, but at Berkeley I have been spoiled by a higher standard for almost everything. This university has a way of making simple things difficult (i.e. dropping a class, checking email, etc.). Trying to do research is a joke because the library has very limited journal subscriptions, and it seems that most classes are taught at the high school level, so plagiarism is rampant. The one class that remains interesting, albeit frustrating at times, is Ceramics. On Friday we Raku-fired our "tomb guard" pieces. I had made a fish-bird as a sort of dedication to my dead pets, Peppy the cockatiel and Charbroil the goldfish. The Raku technique is specifically for glazing. There is significant variation in the appearance of Raku glazes after firing because it is a very manual process and it is chemically complex in that some glazes undergo oxidation and others reduction, but you never know exactly what will happen. It is also a very dirty process. The pieces are first placed in an outdoor gas-fired kiln to melt the glazes. After about 30 minutes, the fragile glowing pieces are transferred to a brick enclosure where they are covered with sawdust for another 30 minutes. This is when the reduction occurs in some of the glazes as the burning hot pieces suck the oxygen out of the air as well as carbon out of the sawdust. The result is a metallicky finish over the glaze and blackening of the clay that is not covered in glaze. Throwing sawdust on the burning hot pieces created a ton of thick smoke and sent burnt sawdust into the air. It was downright disgusting (after getting home I had to hang my clothes outside to keep them from stinking up my room). I now have an idea of why Ceramics is not offered for credit at many universities in the US--it is too big of a liability. Mind you, our only safety equipment for this whole process were some heat-proof gloves for those handling the pieces--no safety goggles, no aprons, lots of people in sandals. At one point as we were firing up the kiln the gas was on too high so when it got lit there was a loud 'boof'. Still, everyone survived relatively unscathed (with the exception of our lungs), and it was a very interesting technique to learn with beautiful results...I'm just glad I don't have to do it again. That was not the only time I have feared for my personal safety in Ceramics. The week before when the professor was out of town, some older folks were doing a semi-indoors gas firing (conventional kilns are electric), which is very laborious, and from my perspective, quite dangerous because you get flames shooting out from almost all sides of the huge kiln. For whatever reason, the people doing the firing insisted that we stop what we were doing and come watch as they open the kiln door at about 1200 degrees C (that's about 2200F). It was a hilarious sight when everyone went running for their lives as the small room became inferno-like and it felt like our hair would be singed off our heads. For fear of burning my retnas to oblivion I did not look directly into the kiln, but apparently the pieces were so hot they were almost translucent.
At the end of the week we went out to Stagecoach, a bar/restaurant in Scottsville, to celebrate our friend Murray's birthday. We gave him the Twister game left from the 80s party and an In N Out hat, which he wore for most of the night. We also met a few of the only Spanish-speaking people in PMB (seriously, there are almost no Latinos in SA). From Stagecoach, we got rides up to Crossways in Hilton, the only place around that doesn't have a cover charge. Lauren and I rode with a couple guys from Cuba and a girl from Spain. Along the way we listened to Reggaeton which was a nice break from the House music and bad pop that is so common. This was my first time going to Hilton which is about 10 km outside of PMB. To give you an idea of the class divide, if PMB is the South Bay, then Hilton is Palos Verdes. Besides the class divide, there is also a distinct racial divide. Crossways, which is a bar with a wide variety of music set in the entrance of a small hotel, had a completely white clientele (that is until we showed up). As we were walking in, Lauren voiced that she was worried people would give her weird looks. Henry from Cuba assured her that if they did it's because they're inbred. This place made Firkin look diverse. I also found it odd that the bartenders were all black--it was a strange dynamic. Although the music was decent, that is not the sort of place I would choose to go back to.
The next morning, Mani and I were up early and all ready to go to Trustfeed, but when we got to the meeting place only three other people from our group had shown up (a kombi holds 15 people and costs R500 for the day and we were not prepared to pay R100 each). Another, apparently better organized, campus group was to go along with us that day. They had 15 people to fill a kombi, a bunch of food to cook for the kids, and a plan to work on the vegetable garden. In the end we let them go and the few of us from our group decided to stay back as it didn't seem worthwhile with so few of us and for such expensive transport. Instead, Mani and I went into town to the cafe at the Tatham Art Gallery. We perused the bustling street stalls and shops before going to the lovely cafe overlooking Commercial Road. Although PMB on the whole is a diverse town it is very ghettoized. For instance, the downtown area where we were is predominantly black, but after a few months here I am not fazed by seemingly sticking out in a crowd.
Saturday evening, the boys in block B (Amir, Wakeem, and Jacob) hosted an Indian party. It was Bollywood-style, so we dressed up in saris and colorful skirts that we found at the hospice shop. The boys cooked some excellent Indian food: baigan bharta (eggplant curry), aloo palak (potato & spinach), beef curry, spiced rice, raita, and chai. After stuffing ourselves we tried dancing to some Bollywood music which proved challenging because each song is about 10 minutes long, so everyone was quickly exhausted. The dancing degenerated to playing along to the music with some of the crazy instruments Wakeem has acquired while here.
This has now been the longest stretch of time that I have stayed in PMB without any weekend trips (three weeks!). Although PMB is a slow town, there is enough going on to keep me busy and interested for a few weeks...but I will still be ready to leave when the time comes.
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