Mom & Dad's Visit

Seeing as Mom & Dad left last week this post is overdue, and I have newer things to report on, but those will have to wait a few more days as life dictates.

Mom & Dad are now back in the US after a jam-packed six-day stay in South Africa. They arrived two weeks ago on Monday. They were very lucky to rent a car with not only an automatic transmission (very uncommon here) but also with the blinker on the left side of the steering wheel--on trips I've taken the American/European drivers repeatedly turn on the windshield wipers when they want to signal. It was a little nerve wracking getting Mom & Dad to adjust to driving on the other side of the road. We were all in agreement that we would prefer to have me drive because I'm used to the roads, and simply a better driver, but the minimum age to rent a car here is 21 and I'm just a few months shy. As soon as we left the airport, Dad started pointing out almost every plant on the side of the road. When we got to my dorm this continued, but with picture taking. Every 20 feet or so he would stop because, "That is the tallest [insert Latin plant name] I have ever seen!" After sorting out the stuff they brought for me from home, I took them to lunch at my favorite place--Kara Nichha's. They were quite impressed with the $.50 roti rolls and now understand how I could live on that place. I think many of Mom & Dad's misconceptions about South Africa were quickly dispelled within a few hours of stepping off the plane. They saw that, unlike Israel (another middle-income country), buildings are well-constructed, roads are well-paved and drivers are polite, vegetation is impeccably maintained, and public spaces are incredibly clean--definitely more so than in the US. Sadly, I think that many of these "good things" can be attributed to severe inequalities that exist here. For instance, South Africa has 30-40% unemployment, so you see three or four people doing the job that you would see one person doing in the US. So here you have many more gardeners, cleaning staff, road workers, etc. Additionally, the cost of low-skilled labor is relatively inexpensive for the more advantaged segments of the population (i.e. even middle class families have full-time domestic servants). After lunch, Mom & Dad checked into the B&B that luckily turned out to be very nice. They stayed in a cottage behind a large Victorian house built in the late 1800s on about 5 acres of land (well maintained of course)--right in the middle of Scottsville. We then went back to the Scottsville Mall to meet Mani, Lauren, and Jessi at Checkers. Mom & Dad were once again shocked by the familiarity of the selection in the grocery store. The way they put it, South Africa is kind of like a parallel universe. It's sort of like looking in a mirror because many things are similar but they are flipped, like driving on the opposite side of the road, water draining clockwise, and flipping switches down to turn things on. The South African mirror also gives you a different perspective on your own life, and how much of an effect American culture has on the world. In the evening I took Mom & Dad to Ocean Basket at Liberty Mall, one of the few places around with sushi although we didn't get any, but the big news is I tried fish for the first time in 10 years! I ate it, but still prefer non-meaty, non-fishy things.

On Tuesday we drove down to Durban to go to the botanic gardens. As we were getting close, an accident shut down the N3 so we had to get off and try to navigate side streets with limited help from maps. The detour took us past the Howard College campus of UKZN where I initially applied to study. Seeing the surroundings I'm very glad I chose PMB instead. With some luck we made it to the botanic gardens. Dad was hoping for more indigenous plants and better labeling, but it was still a very relaxing place to be considering we were in the middle of the city--there were even vervet monkeys climbing around in the trees. Surprisingly, the curio shop at the gardens had the best selection and prices that we saw the whole time they were here. They even had real Magwaza pots, the clan I visited the week before, for only about double what I paid. After getting some African crafts, we went on to the African Art Centre on Florida Road, one of the happening streets in Durban. For lunch we decided to try a Thai restaurant down the street because I hadn't had anything resembling Asian food for months. We had to be buzzed into the restaurant--a reminder that Durban is more urban and probably has more crime than PMB. I didn't have high expectations since this was the first (and only) Thai restaurant I had seen in SA, and sure enough, it wasn't like California Thai, but it was pretty decent. The important thing was that I finally had some tofu! I even asked the waiter where they get their tofu, but it's from some distributor in Jo'burg, so I guess I won't be seeing any more for a while. After lunch we drove up the coast which had been devastated just the day before by the worst storm surges in 80 years. This was the first time I had driven up the coast, so I don't know what it's supposed to look like as a comparison. There were lots of locals out taking pictures, so clearly what we saw is not normal. When we drove by there were still 8-10 ft wind swells crashing against the heavily eroded beaches. We got off the highway to take a closer look in Ballito, which took us past some very fancy developments. The electric fence for the beach villas was seriously more fortified than the Israel-Palestine wall, no joke. Upper class whites in South Africa have a very high quality of life--it's like living in paradise--but the problem I have is that it is at the expense of so many who are forced to remain impoverished to support the posh lifestyle of the wealthy. For every few cars along the roads in Ballito is a kombi packed with 15 people--likely domestic workers or otherwise employed in the area. And just as many people as were in the kombis were waiting along the side of the road for one with space to stop and catch a ride home. Even in Palos Verdes, where there is a large concentration of wealthy people, I don't know a single family with full-time domestic servants. If you want to live a luxurious lifestyle, fine, but don't do it at the expense of other human beings who can't afford to send their children to school. More than anything else, I think the weak social conscience of privileged South Africans (of all races) would make it difficult for me to live here in the long term.

On Wednesday we went to Tala Game Reserve, where I had gone with a school group in February. Unlike my first visit when it was rainy and cold, this time it was warm and sunny. It was also a public holiday, Human Rights Day, so there were a lot more cars around. We went for a game drive and luckily there were also a lot more animals out than on my previous visit. We saw impala, ostriches, zebras, white rhinos, wildebeests, hippos, warthogs, eland, giraffes, and cape buffalo--all close up. It was very cool and there were even baby giraffes that weren't born when I was there last--they still had the umbilical cord attached. After having a nice lunch at the exceptionally crowded restaurant--one of the few places I have been to that was understaffed (due to the holiday), we went to Howick Falls. On the way back we stopped at Liberty Mall so that Mom could pick up some capris because she felt out of place wearing shorts since other women either wear capris or skirts.

After my Zulu test on Thursday morning, we left for Monk's Cowl in the Central Drakensberg. I took Mom & Dad to the backpackers I had stayed in the month before, Inkosana. I've said it before and I'll say it again: If you're going to the Central Drak, that is the place to stay. This time we got to try the dinner that they serve which was very good. One of the advantages of staying in backpackers is getting to meet friendly people from allover the world, something you miss out on when staying at a hotel.

After a relaxed morning by the pool, we continued on to the Northern Drakensberg. On the way we stopped at Tower of Pizza, a restaurant/accommodation located in the middle of corn fields on the way to the Royal Natal National Park, where they happen to have excellent wood-fired pizza baked in a silo-shaped structure--hence the name. A few more kilometers down a side road was our hotel, the Cavern. I'm not sure why I didn't anticipate it, but staying at the Cavern was like staying at a resort during apartheid. With the exception of our interracial neighbors from Durban and one Asian family, all of the guests at the Cavern were white South Africans. In addition, besides the administrative staff, all of the staff were black. After checking in, we went to the Royal Natal National Park, home of the Amphitheatre and Tugela Falls, the second tallest waterfall in the world (the first being Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwe-Zambia border...probably not going there). The park was stunning, but we arrived at 4pm and the gate closed at 6pm so we didn't have much time. On the way back to our hotel there was a large flat-bed truck going the other direction on the road that must have been packed with 30-40 people who are probably workers at the resorts--very disturbing. Meals at the Cavern were quite formal (we sat at the same table and had the same waiter the whole time) which was nice, but really unnecessary. It was also much less of a communal dining experience than at the backpackers. On our second day there we took a long hike in the morning during which we saw a herd of eland (the largest species of antelope weighing about a ton), baboons, and had a stop at a stream where we had tea and "crunchies" (granola bars). Mom wanted to rest after the hike, so Dad and I went horse riding in the afternoon. This was the first time I had been on a horse in almost 15 years, and my first time riding English saddle, so I might as well have never been on one. Luckily the horses were well behaved and knew where to go, but every time they started to trot I held on for dear life worried that I would fall off. After a shorter hike the next morning we headed back to PMB so that Mom & Dad could catch their flight. Although the Cavern was very nice, I don't think I could stay there again because I just can't support a place like that. For instance, since it is so out of the way the staff stay on-site away from their families. If you didn't know better you'd think it was pre-1994. Despite the comfort of the resort, I am happier staying at backpackers with their diverse clientele and lower reliance on low-skilled workers.

Overall, I would consider Mom & Dad's visit a big success. In the months leading up to my departure and their visit you could euphemistically say that they were apprehensive. The media and travel books make it sound like one has to live in constant fear of being mugged, carjacked, etc. In reality this is very far from the truth, and I am glad that Mom & Dad were able to realize that during their six-day stay. They went from having virtually no desire to travel to South Africa (besides visiting me of course) to wanting to recommend it everyone they know. If that's not a dramatic turn around, I don't know what is.

From Magwaza to Guinness

On Wednesday, my fun and awesome Ceramics professor, Juliet, took a few American students and some honours/post-grad students on a trip of a lifetime. We went to visit the Magwaza clan potters at their homestead in the interior of rural KwaZulu-Natal. To get there, it is a three-hour drive, about half of which is on dirt roads. I was sitting in the back with a couple girls doing their honours in Ceramics who had studied abroad in Japan last year. In general, because there are very few Asian people here, most South Africans know next to nothing about Asian culture, so it was a breath of fresh air talking to these girls. They could understand how I am missing tofu and told me that it actually is possible to find some locally. It was an interesting experience talking about common experiences in Japan while driving through sugar cane fields in South Africa. I have an idea where we went, but the roads that we went on for the last stretch do not show up on the map of KwaZulu-Natal up in my room. As Juliet put it as we passed through Kranskop (about the last point on my map before the road "ends") we were about to fall off the edge of the planet. It definitely got a lot more rural after that point, but compared to being in Lesotho just a few days earlier I didn't get quite the same "time machine" feeling. Along the roads there were lots of children dressed in uniforms walking home from school (the sight of the herdsmen in their wool blankets with feathers and what not stood out a bit more). The odd thing was that all of these children were out of school at noon, and Juliet explained that it's no secret that rural school children receive 100 hours less instruction than kids in urban schools. Along the way, we passed the home of Jacob Zuma, the extremely controversial former deputy prime minister. One of the more notable controversies surrounding him is that he said he took a shower after having sex with a woman who is HIV+, so he would be all right. The scary thing is that many people believed him because he is a prominent public figure. Around KwaZulu-Natal there are quite a few supporters of Zuma who want him to be the next prime minister, but I think most of the country thinks he is a crooked nut job.

After almost burning out the clutch and ruining the shocks of the minibus borrowed from the Geography department, we finally made it to the homestead. The homestead is situated on a slope with the highest ranking woman's rondavel located at the top. In the middle there is a chicken coop, which women are forbidden from entering because it is a man's work to care for the animals. As soon as we got there, women were coming from all directions bringing out their pots for us. We shook hands with the women and said our simple greetings since the Magwazas do not speak English and only a couple people in our group speak Zulu. We walked down to the bottom of the homestead where a few of the women demonstrated a small firing for us. Every step of the pot-making process is done with resources that can be found locally. The clay is dug out of nearby hills (so we think, they are a little secretive about where they get their clay), and the firing is done with wood and aloe leaves. Apparently the techniques have been refined and passed down over centuries and millennia. Juliet explained that if we tried firing our pots in that way they would just burst--although seemingly simple, the methods and clay used are very sophisticated. Just as taking care of animals is the domain of the men in this culture, pot-making and firing is strictly done by women. If a woman marries into the clan, she is taught the techniques by the other women and becomes an artisan as well. Certain things about the culture reminded me of Chassidish culture. For instance, I noticed that the married women wore a head covering of the same style worn by many Breslov Chassidish women. Also, when eating, men and women sit on opposite sides of the room. After the firing, which took about 30 minutes, we were privileged with getting to have a meal in the traditional style (which is how they always eat). Before we entered the dwelling we took off our shoes. Walking in the door, the men go to the right and the women go to the left. We sat down on mats on the floor, legs together straight out in front with our backs on the wall. At first I didn't have my back against the wall because there was a spider about an inch in diameter right there--finally someone else had the courage to shoo it out the window. The meal consisted of homemade beer made from millet and sorghum (similar to what I had in Lesotho), corn and bean dishes, a dish made from indigenous watermelon, maize meal dishes, and meat. There has been a drought this year, so apparently most of the fresh vegetable crops such as spinach have died, so there were many corn and bean dishes (that were quite tasty). We ate in the traditional style--no dishes or utensils. First a basin of water is passed around in which you clean your hands. The highest ranking woman then walks around the room presenting the dish to each person who scoops the food with their hand and then eats it--very efficient but very messy. I was worried I wouldn't be able to eat anything, but everything except for the meat served at the end was completely vegetarian so I had plenty. After lunch we went back outside to buy pots. By this time there were dozens of pots on display for us, ranging in size from a baseball to a beach ball. All were hand made using a coil technique with beautiful designs, and pain-stakingly hand burnished. Realizing I would probably never have an opportunity like this to buy hand made pots directly from some of the best artisans in South Africa I went crazy and bought four pots that I now am not completely sure how I am getting back to the US. Even though I "splurged" on these four pots, all together they cost less than $40--no bargaining. The largest one cost R120, or about $16. I honestly don't think I could buy that pot for less than $500 in the US--and here the money is going straight to the artist with no middle man. I am pretty sure that Juliet brought the American students along because she knew that we would buy a ton of stuff and promote the Magwazas' work to our "rich" American friends and families as I am doing now. After making our purchases we carefully packed the pots in newspaper and loaded them into the minibus--we must have bought at least 30. The pots survived the long bumpy ride back to "civilization" and the long walk back to my room. Mom & Dad will be here on Monday, so I'm hoping that they can take back a couple next week and I will probably ship the other ones. I have to admit that international students at this university get some incredible privileges--and I am perfectly happy to take advantage of every one.

The rest of the week was quite hectic since I had been gone pretty much all day Wednesday and had two papers due Friday. After getting less sleep than I would have liked on Thursday, I got my papers done. Friday afternoon I went to my Ceramics practical. I was the only American in the studio with about five South Africans. Somehow the guys got into a conversation about how men are supposed to be the head of household. I countered that in my culture the women usually call the shots, plus women are better managers than men. One guy (who isn't even in the class, but was visiting his friend) was trying to sound smart by using all this theoretical rhetoric, saying that in "traditional religious" culture the women always listen to the men--I think he was trying to write off America as being secular and devoid of morals. Having a brother who lives in a "traditional religious" culture outside of the US, I argued that in his culture the women definitely play an important role in leading the household, and in disagreements the woman is usually right. I kept myself from flying off the handle, although it was tempting, because these guys were just speaking from their own experiences. For instance, the one trying to sound all theoretical grew up in a household where his father never stepped foot in the kitchen or did laundry, not because he didn't know how to cook or clean, but because that is the woman's responsibility. I've noticed that guys here get away with saying a lot of chauvinistic things, and I think that is because it goes largely unchecked by the female population.

This weekend I gave myself a chance to decompress from the previous weeks in which I have been constantly running around. I am also trying to get all my work done since Mom & Dad get here tomorrow and I will pretty much be skipping class all week. Last night the Denison crew went out for St. Patrick's Day to Firkin, a pub/restaurant in town. We went there mainly because they had Guinness on tap--Jessi's prerequisite. It is definitely the "whitest" place I have been in PMB. Most restaurants or other establishments have a diverse clientele. Although usually an individual group will be of the same race, you will see different races at the same place. Not at Firkin. And when we got there it was packed with people watching rugby--a white sport. It's not like the food or drinks were even more expensive than other restaurants of the same type, it was just simply a white restaurant...very weird. Also something interesting about the streets of PMB after dark--at 8pm it looks how I would expect it to look at 3am--there is hardly anyone walking around and there aren't even many cars. The cars that are out drive fast and try to avoid stopping at traffic lights. I have to admit it's a little bit eerie, although not scary. I have very much gotten used to "being more aware of the surroundings" as they put it in the travel warnings. I do not live in fear, or anything close to it, but I have gotten used to being more watchful of my belongings (i.e. what I take with me where so that I am less of a target). Mom & Dad, if you read this before you get here, really, don't worry. South Africa is a lovely place with lovely people and I know you will enjoy it as much as I am.

Drakensberg Weekend 2

This weekend eight of us went up to Sani Pass in the Southern Drakensberg on the border of Lesotho (pronounced le-su-tu). We drove up Friday after class so that we could be there early Saturday for our tour. We drove almost entirely in the dark (and fog at some points) so we had no idea what the scenery was like until the next morning. Many people walk along the roads and highways in South Africa even at night, so we had to drive especially carefully because every so often it seemed like a person would just pop up at side of the road. When we got to Underberg (the last town before Sani Pass) at about 8pm everything was closed except for the gas station so we made a dinner out of chips and ice cream. Finally we made it to the backpackers, Sani Lodge, which is definitely much more like a hostel than Inkosana Lodge, the last place we stayed which is more resort-y. In the morning we had breakfast with five other American girls in our EAP/Rutgers program who incidentally came to the same backpackers on the same weekend.

After breakfast we started our tour by 4x4 up to Sani Pass and over the South Africa-Lesotho border. The lodge we stayed at is located about 20km from the border. The pass is only accessible by 4x4 on a dirt road, so we got to ride in one of those crazy Indiana Jones-ish Land Rovers. Into the Land Rover we squeezed the eight of us, our guide, and Sarah from Sweden who is traveling in South Africa for five weeks on her own. Since Sani Pass is the only border crossing for hundreds of kilometers, there are even special 4x4 minibus taxis that make the journey a few times a day. Lesotho is an independent kingdom situated on a high plateau entirely surrounded by South Africa, so it is very dependent on South Africa for resources not available within its own borders, which is a lot. We stopped at a now abandoned trading post built by some British in the early 20th century. At that time, and up through the 1970s, Basotho shepherds would come down the pass (a journey that took between five days and three weeks) with wool or mohair (primary exports of Lesotho) to trade for just about anything. Now the pass is accessible to certain kinds of big trucks, so the shepherds no longer have to come down the mountain by foot with their animals. Along the way we took a drink at the "Fountain of Youth," saw some baboons, and made some other random stops because it didn't take long for our guide to realize that Amir is crazy and has lots of schpilkus (for example, we stopped so that Amir could get out and break an invasive tree). We were lucky to have a clear sunny day, so the scenery was stunning. In that area, South Africa and Lesotho are separated by a watershed boundary. Basically, whatever rain falls in Lesotho eventually flows to the Orange River which flows to the Atlantic Ocean, and the rain that flows to the Indian Ocean is in South Africa. Or as our guide put it, if you pee off the cliff, you are peeing into South Africa. After many hairpin turns and a stop at the border post, where Lauren got hit on by the border police, probably because few black women come through that border as tourists, we made it to Lesotho (I now have stamps from three continents on one page of my passport!). Besides the schnazzy Sani Top Chalet with its "Highest Pub in Africa," entering Lesotho was like stepping into a time machine. The difficult border crossing has left Lesotho very much isolated from the western world, unlike the cities of South Africa. The part of Lesotho that we saw is very rural and looks more like what many people imagine when they think of Africa. Most Basothos (in the rural area, I should point out--there is an urban city on the other side of the country) live in rondavels (thatched-roof huts) with no electricity or running water. It is above timber line, so there are no trees growing up there. Instead, people use a type of weed and cow dung for fuel. Almost all boys become shepherds around the age of 13 (sometimes as young as 9). They all dress similarly with a wool blanket and some sort of cap--sometimes from animal skin or embellished with feathers. As we rode along, some small children would run up to the vehicle asking for sweets. Because most people use horses for transportation, most of the vehicles that go by are filled with tourists. Our guide discouraged us from giving them things unless we took a picture of them (in which case there would be an exchange) because just giving aid when a person can help themself creates a culture of expectation. So we didn't give away any money or cookies, but we did exchange some apples for pictures. After another stop in which Amir got out to run uphill alongside the car at over 10,000-foot altitude (crazy), we stopped for lunch and a few of us hiked up the hill so that we could view the highest point south of Mt. Kilimanjaro. It was maybe only a quarter-mile walk with a gentle incline, but at the top my lungs felt like I had just sprinted a mile. While stopped for lunch, Lauren received marriage proposals from two shepherds (she was very popular that day). One of them even thought that she was Zulu and was trying to speak to her in Zulu. On the way back we stopped at the home of a woman who runs a little shop out of her rondavel. There we got to try some bread baked in a pot over a cow dung fire (very good actually) and some beer made from maize and sorghum that is fermented for a couple days. The woman has a cute two-year-old daughter who is used to having tourists around so she is very photogenic. Her other five children are away at boarding school, the youngest of which is five. As we were getting back in the vehicle there were some shepherds nearby trying to sell us fish. Instead, Lauren bought a crazy woven hat right off the head of one of them. Apparently the grass used is readily available so they can go home and make another one easily enough. We then had a quick stop at the "Highest [Commercial] Pub in Africa" before heading back down the hill so that we would make it back into South Africa before the border closed at 4pm (we made it with about two minutes to spare). On the way back we saw some more baboons and some cool eagles and vultures. Even though we weren't walking around much we were all exhausted from the day and had a relaxed evening at the lodge.

The next morning after breakfast, I went on a hike up to a nearby ridge with Jacob, Amir, and Stina from Norway. The rest of the girls went straight to a waterfall down the road. The hike was pretty short (about an hour) but had a good bit of elevation change so it was a good workout. It was also very steep coming back down so my thighs are quite sore right now. From there we walked onto the property of the Sani Pass Hotel which provides access to the waterfall. We all agreed that the hotel reminded us of stereotypical images of apartheid: a bunch of white people lounging by a nice pool, hotel rooms with thatched roofs to remind you you're in Africa, and black workers in the background taking care of the grounds. I'm happy to say that most of South Africa does not provide this image anymore. We finally got to the waterfall, which was about 25 feet high and gushed into a deep pool below. The rest of our group were relaxing on the rocks to the side of the pool when we got there. To get down to those rocks we had to walk a few hundred feet downstream and climb down the hill a bit. I then took off my shoes and left my pack at the edge of the stream (which I'm glad I did because I slipped a couple times). To get back to the waterfall I had to walk barefoot along the slippery, rocky stream, climb over some boulders, and finally swim about 20 feet. A couple people tried swimming under the waterfall, but it was very powerful. Amir stayed in the water too long and got, what seemed to be, some hypothermia because he had trouble getting back. Luckily he quickly recovered after a few minutes out of the water. Climbing over the rocks was definitely more challenging for me than the steep hike earlier in the morning. Aside from lingering worries of contracting schistosomiasis, swimming to the waterfall was overall a great experience and once again tested my strengths. After walking back to the lodge, five of us headed back to PMB, while the other three and Sarah stayed back to go horse riding. This trip to the Drakensberg was very different from the one taken two weeks earlier, so it is impossible to compare the two. Both have been amazing experiences that I would recommend to anyone looking for some adventure.

Living with Lizards

Although it is very easy to forget that I am on the other side of the planet, there are some situations that slap you in the face with the realization, "You're in Africa." One example, for the last two nights in a row I have encountered lizards...inside my apartment. Americans in other residences have complained about cockroaches in their rooms, but I have only encountered one or two. Then, Wednesday night, I was coming back into my room after watching Scrubs with Mani, about to get ready to go to sleep when I see a lizard on the wall in the corner of my room. I call Mani to come look, and then the lizard runs down the wall into the corner behind my bed. I send a message to Jessi (who has no problem with spiders, so I was hoping the same was true for lizards) to come help us get it out. Although it wasn't moving much with the lights on, I feared that when I turned off the lights to go to sleep it would start running allover the room and allover me. Jessi messaged back the she was in the computer lab waiting for Wakeem and Amir to walk back with her. So Mani and I are standing in the door, hoping that they will show up and come to the rescue. After waiting for 20 minutes it becomes clear it will be a while longer so we decide to take action. First we scope out the lizard's location: right in the corner behind my bed. Then we come up with a plan: one of us will slide the bed out while the other tries to capture the lizard in a tennis ball canister. There is a ton of stuff under my bed that I was worrying it would hide in, so I slowly pull out all the contents while Mani watches to make sure it isn't moving. Finally we are ready to implement our plan--I quickly pull the bed away from the wall and Mani moves the canister toward the lizard which makes a run for it. First it runs up the wall, then towards the window (which I was hoping it would go out of), then down under my desk. Finally, after some more chasing and shrieking it drops into the canister (although we weren't sure at the time because we couldn't see it), and we successfully release it outside. My room was in shambles after the ordeal, but I was able to sleep knowing that my room was lizard-free.

The next night I am taking a shower when I look up and see a lizard (same type as the one that was in my room--maybe even the same darn lizard) looking down at me from the ceiling. Before I know it the lizard loses its footing on the damp wall and drops to the floor of the shower and starts scurrying around, finally making its way to the side. I quickly wash the soap out of my hair and cut my shower short, all the while keeping my eye on the lizard in case it makes any sudden moves. I grab my stuff and shut the door behind me, leaving the lizard in the shower stall. I'm not sure if it made its way back out the window, but I'm going away for the weekend so hopefully it will be gone by Sunday. I have become tolerant of living with more insects than I am used to, but lizards...I'm just not there yet.

Peer Educator Training and Classes

This weekend I attended training for the HIV/AIDS Peer Educator Programme. The sessions on the first day focused on the psychology side of our duties--how to counsel without giving advice, being aware of our own emotional state, etc. In the second day of the workshop we went over the basics of HIV/AIDS--what causes it, the myths, the facts, and treatment. Of the 40-50 people at the training, there were nine American students, so we definitely stuck out. At the beginning of one of the sessions we played a name game where you go around the circle introducing yourself, but you have to repeat the name of each person who has introduced themself before you. I was about two-thirds of the way through a group of about 20 people, so that was about eight Zulu names to remember/pronounce. I think I offended about eight people. In general, the South Africans were open to our input and dumb questions, but I could also tell that at moments we didn't quite mesh and they saw us as outsiders. For instance, on the first day we did a role playing activity in groups of three where we alternated different roles--a peer, a peer educator, and an observer to critique. After we finished the activity, my group had some extra time, so the girl flatly asked me, "So why are Americans so arrogant and ignorant?" She went on to explain that she had met Americans who were surprised that they weren't living in the bush, that people don't wear traditional garb, and that there aren't lions wandering around. Her response to such thoughts is, "When you board a jumbo jet in New York, where do you think your plane is going to land?" She definitely had some valid points, and her frustration is somewhat justified, although overgeneralized. Both her and the guy in our group (who was less outspoken) seemed annoyed that when some black Americans (who they prefer to classify as "coloureds" or mixed-race people) come to South Africa they consider it the "motherland." They contend that African-Americans do not have ancestors from South Africa, rather their ancestors would have been from West Africa such as Ghana. I explained that the education we get in the US tends to be very Euro-centric, so the little that we are taught about Africa has to be generalized. African culture is incredibly complex because it is made up of hundreds of individual tribes, each with its own language and culture, not to mention the added diversity from colonial influences. There is no way that a survey course of African history, or a world history class for that matter, can do justice to the complexities of modern Africa. This girl pointed out that westerners tend to view Africa as one country, with one culture, and just a handful of languages, which I think is sometimes true. She also asked me if white people in America think they are immune to HIV/AIDS. I quickly dispelled this impression, which supposedly exists amongst some white South Africans (although I'm not sure who). I'm not sure why she was putting me on the spot like that--whether it was a test to see if I was another one of those ignorant Americans, or because she is frustrated with westerners and I was a captive audience--I don't know. I appreciate that they were open and up-front with me, which I tried to be in return. This was a good reminder that we are ambassadors and need to act in such a way because we are constantly being watched, judged, and criticized. On the second day during the tea break, all of the international students in my group were standing together in a circle talking amongst themselves while the South Africans were sitting down on the other side of the room. I could tell that the South Africans were looking at us in a somewhat scornful way because the body language of our group was very closed off. I casually walked away from the Americans to sit down with the rest of the group because it seemed like we were inadvertently sending the wrong message--especially since most of the Americans at the training were white and all of the South Africans were black.

Earlier in the week, Jacob and Erica--a couple other Jewish kids from California in Denison, reminded me that Purim was on Saturday night, so we decided to throw a Purim party (for those who don't know, Purim is basically the Jewish holiday equivalent of Halloween). So I dressed up as Queen Esther, using my bedsheet as a toga, and with a crown made out of scrap paper. Others put together makeshift costumes as well, and we set up a makeshift bar in my room since you're practically commanded to drink on Purim, and played some Yiddish music while playing Mafia--good times.

On an unrelated note, some people have been asking about my classes, which I have mentioned little about so far. For the most part, I feel like I am back in high school, which although boring and tedious at times is a nice relief from the pressures of more serious work. This is especially true in Zulu and Labour Economics. There's about 50 people in the Zulu lecture, so there is no way for the instructor to gage the progress of each student like they do at Berkeley where there is never more than 20 students in a language class. Also, we don't have daily assignments that force us to practice, and since I would rather do other things with my time, I feel like I am not learning much. In Labour Economics, although it is a third-year class (senior-level), it feels like high school because the lecturer puts the notes up on an overhead projector which we copy verbatim and the content is highly conceptual rather than theoretical/mathematical, so there are no problem sets which is a major change of pace. For the first couple weeks my Politics of SA class was very from-the-book, but the other lecturer started teaching last week and she makes the material much more engaging and college-y. I haven't taken anything like Ceramics at the college level, in fact I don't think it's even offered for credit at Berkeley, but my instructor here definitely has higher standards in terms of artistic quality compared to my high school Ceramics class which is good. The tough thing about it is that it is all Thursday afternoon and all day Friday--the time of the week when the last place I want to be is in class. But the professor is not strict about us being there during the scheduled times--rather that we put in the needed time and enjoy ourselves. We are going to start learning how to throw this week which I am looking forward to. The good thing about my classes is that thus far I don't have much homework, which is a good thing because I didn't come here to sit in my room and work on assignments and read boring articles. I am lucky though because not all of the international students have as little homework as me. But still, nobody takes their classes too seriously here, so I still have plenty of travel buddies.