Tyson's travels

I’ve never cried when saying goodbye to anyone.  I didn’t cry when I bid my childhood friends goodbye en route to college. I didn’t cry when I said goodbye to my co-counsellor camp friends in Colorado after a memorable summer together.  I didn’t even cry when I said goodbye to my family when I moved to South Africa for an indefinite length of time.  But when I said goodbye to a silly cocker spaniel two weeks ago I cried like a baby.  We’re talking ugly crying, gasping for breath.

And so begins our move to the US.  And Tyson is leading the way for us.  I was surprised by how emotional I was about sending him off.  In the week leading up to his journey, I couldn’t look at him without getting teary.  The thought of him being stuck in a crate for a 16 hour flight horrified me.  I was worried that something would go wrong and I wouldn’t be able to help him. Or he would get lost during the layover in Johannesburg. Or he would think I’d abandoned him. Or he would never recover from the trauma of the trip. 

But I think it was more than just worrying about his trip. All of my uncertainty and emotions about moving to the US were channelled into this loveable little cocker spaniel.  Langa and I are about to embark on an exciting new adventure in our lives, but it’s also a very scary adventure as well. After living in South Africa for 6 years, moving back to the US will sort of be like moving to a foreign country for me. Langa and I will both experience culture shock and will have to adapt to different accents, different cultures, different music, different food, different ways of doing things, etc.  Add to that the fact that we are still not sure about employment or about where we’ll live.  AND we’re saying goodbye to some amazing people here.  It’s all a lot to handle.  And so I bawled as the pet travel agent drove away with Tyson-in-a-crate in the back of his truck.  Saying goodbye to Tyson felt like the beginning of many hard goodbyes.  It was also the beginning of saying goodbye to a life that I’ve come to love very much here in Durban.

The good news is that Tyson survived the flight without incident, and is now happily enjoying himself with my parents in Rochester.  The puppy that has always lived in an apartment finally has a yard to explore.  He has a constant buddy in my parent’s dog Tobey. And he has discovered that deer are even more fun to chase than birds. 

Tyson has created a good path for us.  He never asked where he was going or who would meet him at the airport. He didn’t care who was going to feed him.  He didn’t fret over the fact that he would never set his paws in the Indian Ocean again.  Hopefully Langa and I will also face our uncertain journey with the same unquestioning faith and enthusiasm in a couple short weeks. 

What's in a name?

A lot, apparently. Especially when you’re a white woman with a Zulu last name.

When Langa and I got married, I took his last name. I guess for all my liberal ideas, I’m still a traditionalist at heart. I wanted to have the same last name as my husband, and the same last name as our children. I considered the double-barrelled approach (Gentile-Mchunu) but it just seemed like a lot of work, so instead I became Jaime Clare Gentile Mchunu (Clare and Gentile both becoming my middle names because both have sentimental value). It turned out that the 4 name approach also require a lot of work, including an extra line on my driver’s license and THREE failed attempts by the US embassy to get my name right on my passport (I have three extra passports now, all with different varieties of Jaime Clare Gentile Mchunu).

I’ll be honest, I went through a bit of a mourning phase when I transitioned from Gentile to Mchunu; it wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be. When you spend 26 years introducing yourself by one name, there is a feeling of loss to suddenly identify yourself by another name. And even more than that, I was now identified by a last name which is ethnically different than mine. It is a traditional Zulu last name. I’m struggling to find the words to explain how this feels. I wonder if my German grandmother felt the same way when she married my Italian grandfather. Did Clare Heller have a hard time adapting when she suddenly became Clare Gentile? Was it hard for her to leave her family in Philadelphia and move to New York City where she had to adapt to the Italian-American way of life? I wish she were still here so I could ask her. All I can say is that your name says something about you; and my new name was saying something very different than my old one did.

What I did not anticipate was the reaction of other people to my last name. It’s very revealing when I introduce myself as Jaime Mchunu. First of all, people immediately know that my husband is black. This is not something I would ever hide, but basically when I introduce myself I am saying “My name is Jaime and my husband is black.” This opens up the opportunity for people to ask all sorts of questions into my personal life: “Did he pay lobola (aka traditional bride price) for you?” “Do you know how to make samp and beans (a traditional Zulu meal)?” “Is your family okay with you being married to a black man?!” No, receptionist at the post office, he did not pay lobola, I do not know how to make samp and beans (although I do like to eat it) and my family is absolutely okay with the color of my husband’s skin.

Often, my last name helps me out. If I want to break the ice or to be memorable, I can just throw in my last name and it works like a charm. For example, if I want to set up a meeting with someone in the government (which I have to do often for work) all I have to do is introduce myself as Jaime Mchunu, and I’m golden. Zulu people usually love that I am married to a Zulu man. It means that I am non- racist; I’m open-minded and I understand their culture. Langa and I are the face of the new South Africa. People usually like seeing us walking hand in hand, and they like us even more when they find out we’re married. We’re a bit famous in our neighbourhood because there aren’t a whole lot of mixed race couples. When people meet us or serve us at a restaurant/ grocery store/ veterinarian/ etc they remember us and I’m often thereafter referred to as Mam’Mchunu or Umama ekhaya (mother of the house).

There is also sometimes a bizarre reaction from Zulu men. I have found on a few occasions that when a Zulu man finds out that I am married to another Zulu man, he sees this as an opportunity to hit on me. I guess in his head he’s thinking “cool she’s open to dating a black man” but he ignores the fact that I’m married, and not interested in taking a mister (or whatever the male equivalent of a mistress is).

Often when people look at my credit card or passport and see my name they look up at my face in shock, then back at the card, then back to my face. Then they say “You’re a Mchunu?!” Usually it’s a kind-spirited question coming from genuine interest and/or confusion. To which I usually respond, “it’s my married name” or “my husband is Zulu.” Should I have to explain myself every time I introduce myself? Probably not. But it’s just easier. Once the airline employee taking boarding passes at the gate chased me onto the plane yelling, “Ma’am, you gave me the wrong ticket!” It happens when you’re a white Mchunu. These questions always come from Zulu people (I’ve never had a white person ask me about my last name) and they’re usually innocent and kind-spirited questions.

And now we get to the crux of the story. Sometimes the “How are you a Mchunu?” question is not so friendly. It’s more of a “How are YOU a Mchunu?” with attitude. Sort of “Just who do you think you are?”

Last week at the supermarket I apparently got the only cashier who has never seen or met me and Langa. A Zulu woman, she looked down at my credit card and back at me and started laughing. Laughing AT me, not WITH me. And then she said “that’s not your name! You’re not a Mchunu!” She yelled something in Zulu to the woman who was bagging groceries and showed her my card and then they both started laughing and talking in Zulu. Then I reached for my card, and said “I am a Mchunu!” But she pulled the card away to look at it again and kept laughing. To which I replied “I AM a Mchunu, now give me my card!” I then took my card and left the store.

I’m not usually the type of person that speaks up about something like this. If the waitress brings me a pasta with mushrooms after I had asked for no mushrooms (I HATE mushrooms) I would rather just pick around them than ask her to take it back. I don’t like conflict and I don’t do well in confrontations. So I’ll eat around the mushrooms and move on with my life. My husband is the other type of person. He has a strong sense of justice, and when he feels that he or someone he cares about has been treated unjustly, he will speak up and he will do it loudly.

So when I told Langa about this incident, he immediately demanded that we go back to the grocery store. He asked to speak to the manager and we told the story. I was TERRIFIED they would make me speak directly to the cashier who had made me feel so.... unwelcome? discriminated against? I’m not sure, but I didn’t want to see her again. The manager was amazing. She said “Well this is absolutely unacceptable! In this day and age in South Africa, we do not have room for people like this who would tease someone like this. Trust me, this will be taken care of.”

I suspect the cashier no longer has a job now. I don’t feel great about that. But I also didn’t feel great about the way she treated me. I guess it was up to the manager how to deal with a customer complaint. Maybe she just gave the cashier a strong talking to.

Basically all I’m trying to say is that in the last year and a half I have learned that there is a whole lot that people interpret and judge based on my name. Usually the response is positive, but sometimes it’s pretty rude or intrusive. I’m interested to see how this phenomenon will translate when we move to the US, where people will not know that Mchunu is a Zulu name, but they will know that it is a foreign name. I often wonder if our children will be treated differently and how they’ll react. Will they take the “pick around the mushrooms” approach like their mother, and later write a thoughtful, reflective blog post about an injustice they’ve experience? Or will they stand up for themselves in the grocery store like their father? No matter how they react, I hope that they are proud of their name and the heritage that they come from; I hope they’re proud to be a result of the “new South Africa” and a product of a love that is color blind. Only time will tell.

I'm back!

It's official: I'm bringing the blog back. But I'm doing it secretly. So only the old faithfuls will know (aka those who still check my blog, even though I haven't updated it in over a year). It makes me a bit sad that I haven't done a better job of blogging. I think I lost interest when life in South Africa became less foreign and more mundane. I felt like I had less to report on. But unfortunately, I've also stopped journaling somewhere along the way. And by "somewhere along the way" I mean, 2007. Shocking. I'm not sure why I lost interest in journaling. Maybe it had something to do with the mundane-ness of life. Or maybe it's just that I don't like writing by hand. One of my special skills in life is typing super fast. Coincidentally, my other special skill is making amazing chocolate chip cookies. With these powers combined I could very quickly write a very short cookbook... but I digress. So one of my reasons for reincarnating the blog is a (perhaps egotistical) desire to have a written record of my thoughts, observations and experiences again.

And there's another reason. In the near future (no set date yet, but it's out there), Langa and I will be making the big move to America. Langa passed his green card interview. That's right; the news just went viral (I think that's the term people use when something hits the cyber world?). He doesn't yet have the green card because it's only activated when he enters the US, but he's gotten the American nod of approval to become a resident of the USofA. And I want to capture this last (-- enter unknown number of months-- ) in Durban. This will be a big transition for Langa and me (and for Tyson of course, who as you can see from the picture is VERY excited to become an American) and the exciting-ness of this transition has motivated me to start up the blog again.

I have lots of ideas of what I want to write about, so I'm going to create a list of sorts. Partially to whet your interest (and by "your" I mean the fictional people who are reading this because I don't think anyone is) and partially as a reminder to myself over the coming months of what I was thinking of writing about. Perhaps this will serve as a "how-to" blog for fellow ex-pats who are contemplating making the big move home. So get excited, because this is what you have to look forward to...

1. The big scary green card process
2. Reasons to move to the USA
3. Things to miss about RSA
4. How to transport a cocker spaniel across the Atlantic Ocean
5. Being the prodigal daughter
6. South African-isms I may have to un-learn
7. Learning how to be an adult in America

And much, much more...

Two Weddings

They say that every girl dreams of her wedding day her whole life. To be honest, I don't think I was really that kind of kid growing up. Sure I'd given my someday-nuptials a passing thought here or there, but I had never put much concern into it. Getting married was something that grown-ups do and therefore something that I didn't need to worry about.

Had I been one of those little girls who had her whole wedding planned out by the age of 8, I don't think I could have in my wildest dreams imagined that I would someday have two wedding celebrations in two different languages, two different cultures, two different continents.

Our "white wedding" (this is what South Africans call the church wedding) took place in Rochester, NY on August 6, 2010. Langa and I agonized for the first few months of our engagement over where to have our wedding. Unfortunately, there was no possible solution that would incorporate all of our friends and families and cultural traditions in one location and one ceremony. In the end, we decided to have the white wedding in the US, followed by a traditional ceremony in South Africa. This seemed to be the best way to include as many of our loved ones as possible and also incorporate as many of our individual traditions as possible.


After a few months of long distance wedding planning (with much assistance from my amazing parents and sisters), Langa and I travelled to Rochester for our wedding, along with Langa's best friend Champ, his Aunt Sane, and his cousin Londi and her husbnad Sbu. The week before the wedding was a whirlwind of preparations. The day of the wedding was absolutely amazing and more perfect than Langa and I could have ever imagined.



The ceremony was perfect, filled with memorable readings and songs. There is a South African song called "Ndihamba Nawe" by Mafikizolo. It means "I'm going with you" and is often used in South African weddings. our wonderful friend Dave agreed to compose the song for his band (The Dave Savine Quartet) from listening to it on youtube, and our equally wonderful friend Jessie agreed to sing the Xhosa lyrics to the song. It was simply amazing and the perfect way to end our ceremony. It was such a joyful, wonderful day and we felt incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by so many amazing people who love and support us. And more than anything else, we had so much fun! Langa and I really felt so grateful to have friends and family join us from all over the country, and in fact from all over the world, to mark the beginning of our new journey together.

Fast forward one week and we were on a different continent heading to another wedding ceremony. The ceremony in Zulu is called ukugenisa umakoti ekhaya, which means "welcoming the bride home." Symbolically, it is the ceremony in which the groom's family welcomes his new wife into their family. Although Langa's family has always been incredibly welcoming and I've felt a part of the family for a while now, this was the day when I officially became a part of the Mchunu family.

As we drove up to Langa's mom's house in Umlazi (where the ceremony took place) I started panicking, saying to Langa "I can't do this! I don't want to get out of the car!" I was so nervous to participate in this ceremony which I didn't fully understand and didn't fully know what to expect. But slowly slowly as I exited the car, I started to see familiar faces. Several of my colleagues from work and several of my close friends were there. And Langa's granny came up to the car and took my hand. Langa's niece, who was acting as our flower girl, came to lead me to the tent. Langa's mother and aunt gave me hugs. Other family members came and greeted me as well. Everyone was singing a traditional Zulu wedding song and dancing. Truly, I felt welcomed into their home.

One of the traditions related to the ceremony was that I was meant to lead a goat to the house, and then it would be slaughtered in the backyard by Langa's older male relatives as a symbolic offering to the ancestors, letting them know that I am part of the family now. Rather than leading it (it was a very resistant goat... perhaps it knew what was coming), I just touched the rope, thus symbolically having a part in leading it to the house.












We then settled into a stunningly decorated tent. I must give props to Langa's mom who has an impeccable sense of style. She helped pick out the design for my dress for the traditional ceremony (which I love and hope to find an opportunity to wear again). She also had the tent in her front yard decorated beautifully. There were several speeches; one by the master of ceremonies (a male relative of Langa's) and by an elder in the family (Baba Mchunu) who led the traditional parts of the day. There was also a speech by the reverend who led us in our pre-marital counselling prior to the wedding and is also a relative of Langa's. He also had us renew our vows, which was very special because then our South African friends and family got to hear us say our "I do's." Other relatives spoke, including Langa's aunt and granny. Most of it was in English, but the bits that were in Zulu were translated for my benefit and for the benefit of other non-Zulu speaking guests. The speeches were broken up by outbursts of song and dance.

One of my favorite lines from the speeches was when Baba Mchunu said that Mchunu men can be difficult and stubborn and they sometimes misbehave. But one thing he knows for sure, is that when it comes time to pick out a wife, Mchunu men have very good taste. And they always select a very good woman, and a very tall woman. All of our guests got a good laugh out of this. I have to admit I'm a good head taller than most South African women, and many South African men as well for that matter. There's one picture from the ceremony where I'm walking into the tent, surrounded by people, and I look like a giant. One of my friends said "wow you must have had tall heels on!" I was wearing flats.

Following speeches and dinner, Baba Mchunu took the gall bladder from the slaughtered goat and placed a dot of its bile on my forehead, my thumbnails, and my toes. This was the culmination of the ceremony and was the official welcoming of me into the family and introducing me to the ancestors as a Mchunu. As I looked out at the crowd gathered, all of them smiling at me, I have to admit I was a bit overcome with emotion. When I think of the person I was when I first came to South Africa in 2005, when I returned in 2007, when I met Langa in 2007... it is amazing to think of the person I am now. Not to say that I have changed drastically, but rather to recognize the amount that I Have learned and grown. The amount that I have been challenged. The amount of love that I have experienced. It is truly stunning.

Langa and I both feel very grateful to have such wonderful, loving families on both sides of the world. It's really quite incredible to have families that are so accepting and that have welcomed us into their lives so warmly. And our two perfect wedding ceremonies demonstrated this for us.

Now we are settling into married life. I'm getting used to being Jaime Mchunu (I googled it and I think I'm the only person ever to have the name Jaime Mchunu). We are holding off on a honeymoon for now, although we did spend a 12 hour lay-over in Cairo on the way back to SA from the US. We got to see the pyramids and the Sphinx, and even got to ride camels. Not a bad mini-moon if you ask me.

And now, I've had my dream weddings that I never could have dreamt up in my wildest dreams. We're looking forward to the adventures that marriage has in store for us and the journeys that we'll take together. And we couldn't be happier.

Bafana Bafana

Two very unfortunate things have happened in my budding literary career... 1) I’ve stopped writing in my journal. After faithfully keeping a journal since my teenage years, in the past two years I have somehow stopped completely. And 2) I’ve stopped writing blog updates. Equally as tragic, I haven’t written a new blog in ten months. And somehow it seems that my life is passing, unrecorded. I’m not sure why I’ve stopped writing. Perhaps it’s because life here has become somewhat less shocking and new than when I first moved here.

But now I will commit myself to at least attempting to keep the blog more up-to-date. There is a lot to update you on from the last 10 months. Many of you will already know much of this, so you can just skim this update part and go onto the rest.

Let’s see... in September I travelled to a conference on Inclusive Education in Germany to present a paper that I co-authored on education strategies for children with disabilities in developing countries. The conference was in Dusseldorf, which I loved, and then after the conference I hopped on a train to Berlin to spend a couple days there. I really enjoyed what little I saw of Germany, and even got to use some of the limited German that I remembered from my high school days. But as is often the case with travelling, this brief visit gave me an itch for travelling and I hope to someday return to Europe and do some backpacking. We shall see...

Then in October, my boyfriend Langa popped the question! We are now in the midst of planning an August 2010 wedding in Rochester, NY, which will be followed by South African celebrations here later in 2010. It’s funny that I feel comfortable writing about my feelings of homesickness, my experiences of culture shock, my travel adventures, and all other emotions that I experience, but when it comes to mushy things like love, I feel less inclined to share my feelings on such a public forum. So let me just say, we are exceedingly happy and I can’t wait to be Mrs. Mchunu.

In December, Langa and I travelled with his best friend Nkululeko (also known by his nickname Champ) to America for a visit. During our one month in the US we travelled to Las Vegas, Philadelphia, DC, Delaware, New Jersey, New York City, Denver, and Rochester. It was a whirlwind visit, but we were able to see a lot of wonderful people and visit a lot of wonderful places.

So those are the big highlights from the last 10 months. Work is going well. I continue to work as a researcher. I am currently working on two projects: one looking at special education policy in KwaZulu-Natal province and the other monitoring our new HIV prevention programme in high schools. I really feel very fortunate to have had the chance to work at MIET for the last 2 years and have learned more than I ever imagined I could have.

So that is a very abbreviated version of what has happened since my last update in July 2009. And now onto what is most of interest to me (and to all of South Africa) at the moment... The 2010 Soccer World Cup! For those of you who don’t know, the World Cup will be hosted in South Africa next month, and South Africans have spoken of little else for the last 6 years. The big looming question now is whether or not South Africa is ready... will the transport system be able to handle the tourists? Will crime run rampant? Will all of the games sell-out?

Many South Africans have very strong opinions of the World Cup. I am a bit torn. On the one side there is the sceptic camp... those who see the millions of dollars that are being poured into building “world class” stadiums and wondering whether this money might be better used addressing the health, housing and education concerns of the country. There are other development issues connected to the World Cup... like the buses that will drive around the city picking up street children, who will then be dropped off outside of the city centre to present a better picture of South Africa for tourists; aka one without hungry children begging for food on street corners. Basically, trying to hide the poverty, rather than addressing the real issues that cause the poverty. And then the question of why the country can spend money improving the transportation and policing systems for tourists. Shouldn’t they have done this for South African citizens in the first place? Why do we need to wait until there are some foreigners who need to be transported and protected to improve services?

And then there is the vuvuzela blowing, flag waving side of the story. Hosting the World Cup is a great source of pride for South Africans, and for the African continent (this is the first World Cup ever to be held in Africa). Perhaps the event will increase tourism and increase respect internationally for South Africa. Every Friday, South Africans are encouraged to wear Bafana Bafana jerseys (Bafana Bafana is the name of the national soccer team and means "boys boys"). It is wonderful to walk around on Friday and see many people of all races wearing bright yellow shirts to show their pride in their country. And to see the South African flags waving out of car windows. This has been a wonderful example of positive nation-building. But as has been pointed out, national pride and impressive stadiums do not feed the hungry...

After 6 years of preparation... the World Cup will officially open in about 2 weeks time. Games will take place in various cities throughout the country for one month, culminating in the final match in Jo’burg in July. I’m hoping for a US-South Africa face-off in the final, but only time will tell. But after spending 6 years of preparation and 6 years of talking about little else besides the World Cup, the real question is... what will South Africans have to talk about after the World Cup is over???

Learning to drive on the other side of the road.

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The Warm Heart of Africa

On the flight from Lilongwe, Malawi back to Johannesburg, the woman sitting in front of me was a self-appointed expert on America. Although her blatantly South African accent revealed that she was not in fact an American, she clearly felt that she knew everything there was to know about America. I sat there, laughing to myself, as I listened to her tell her neighbor in great detail which cities were safe, which were fun, where the weather was best, etc etc. Although she had a very positive view of America, it was also unquestionably that of a tourist. And so I sat there smiling, feeling blithely superior because no matter how much she thought she knew, I obviously knew more.

This got me thinking about these blog updates I write. Am I that know-it-all tourist who claims to be an expert on another country? Perhaps, although I like to believe that having now lived here for more than 2 years I am no longer classified as a tourist, or am at least classified as an expert-tourist. And I also like to believe that I don’t come off as a know-it-all. But now as I sit down to write a blog update about our visit to Malawi, I am going to try to keep in mind that spending seven days in a country by no means makes me an expert. With this warning, please feel free to take my thoughts with a grain of salt and recognize that it is, in the end, just the rambling observations of a young American exploring a different part of the world.

My dad came to visit me for three weeks; the first two spent in South Africa, the third in Malawi. While in South Africa, we spent a few days in Johannesburg, almost a week in Durban (where the above picture was taken), and then made short trips to a game park to the north and to the beautiful beaches of the Wild Coast to the south. All in all, I think dad got a good feel for South Africa in a short amount of time. On my side, it was really great to be able to show him a bit of my life here. And he was a great sport about trying everything and fitting in as much as possible.

And now, on to Malawi. Dad, Langa, and I spent a week in Malawi, where we visited two of my friends there (Kevin, who was finishing his Peace Corps service there, and his girlfriend Briana, who recently finished her Peace Corps service in Namibia). We also visited Andy and his brother Pete, family friends from good ole’ Rochester who are in Malawi doing research.

I don’t want to go on and on about our week there, although I certainly could, so I will just share some highlights.


1. Our arrival at Senga Bay

After arriving in Lilongwe (the capital), meeting up with Kevin and Briana, picking up our rental car (a ’99 Corolla with questionable brakes… and by questionable I mean they squealed loudly even when touched ever so lightly), we drove about 2 hours to Senga Bay, where we would spend our first night. Our first observation: it smells like chicken poop. Our second observation: it’s getting dark and I hope they have food. Our third observation: it is quite pretty here. Our fourth observation: there’s a bar in the lake at the end of a dock. Sweet.

Unfortunately when we went to check-in and get settled in our chalet that we reserved, we were told that they had lost the keys. Our fifth observation: apparently they don’t keep spare keys here. And so we instead settled into our tents, which thankfully had cots and linens because we didn’t bring sleeping bags with us. After eating arguably the best burger of my life and having a few drinks at the bar-on-the-lake, we all settled into our tents for a good nights sleep, disrupted only by a windstorm and dangerous flying branches. In the morning we were served a delicious breakfast on the lake, and then headed off for our next destination…


2. Cape McClear

After a beautiful drive we arrived at a bumpy dirt road which led us to Cape McClear. Fortunately our Corolla (with the help of Langa’s driving skills) made it safely along the 15 or so kilometers of ditches and bumps that made up the road. Cape McClear is absolutely beautiful. It’s interesting in that it seems to be a tourist hotspot plopped down in the middle of a typical rural village. The road is dotted by backpackers, lodges, restaurants, bars, and craft-sellers, as well as small local homes. Children run barefoot along the dirt road and local men ride beat-up bikes. And as tourists walk down the road, it isn’t uncommon for a small child to run up and hold their hands, often saying the only line of English they seem know: “Give me money.”

The backpackers we stayed at was lovely and was located right on the beach so that we literally rolled out of our tent (we again stayed in a tent with cots) and into the lake. Unfortunately it was a bit noisy because it was a holiday weekend so the place was PACKED. And it was located right next to a local bar. We were awoken in the wee hours of one morning by drunken men shouting “I love Malawi! I love Malawi!” which somehow quickly mutated into “F*** Malawi! F*** Malawi!”

While there we did some swimming, some lying in the sun, and some snorkeling. It was very nice and very relaxing. The service was a bit slow (one morning I waited two hours for a grilled cheese sandwich) but the laid-back atmosphere was intoxicating.


3. The market in Zomba

After spending two days on Cape McClear we drove a few hours to the city of Zomba, where Andy and Pete (from Rochester) are currently doing research. They’re staying in a beautiful house just outside of town and we were all pretty excited to have showers, beds, a kitchen where we could cook, and their kind hospitality.

One of the highlights of our stay in Zomba was the market in town. Briana and I went there the first day to do some shopping to make fajitas. In addition to the fruit and vegetable market where we did our shopping, there was a “stuff” market that sold pirated dvds, knock-off purses, and sarongs. My favorite sarong, by far, was the one with the face of our very own Barack Obama. It had a map of Africa and writing in Chichewa (the local language), and Barack Obama’s face. I wanted to buy it, but was too stingy, so took a picture instead. In retrospect, it might have been a good investment.


4. “Mzungu”

While in Zomba we went for a hike on the plateau there. During our walk we were passed by many men riding bikes, piled several feet high with logs, which would later be used for firewood or to turn into charcoal. Andy informed us that the word for white person in Chichewa, “mzungu” could also mean “one who wanders aimlessly.” It seemed pretty appropriate as we walked leisurely, stopping for pictures and jumping through streams, while these men huffed and puffed down the dirt road, directing bikes which probably weighed a couple hundred pounds.

This term took on even more meaning the next day when Dad, Andy, and I visited a mental hospital in Zomba where a British girl that Andy knows is working as an occupational therapist. It’s the only public mental hospital in Malawi, and also has people staying there from Zimbabwe and Mozambique. It was a pretty powerful experience visiting the place and seeing the conditions there, especially for my dad (who works in mental health). The most difficult part for me was seeing the children, who are often just dropped there with no contact details for their parents/families, meaning that they will be there for the rest of their lives, even for minor problems. Many families feel that a mental disability is a sign of witchcraft and a shame on the family.

The British woman who gave us our tour told us that the main reasons for admitting someone into the hospital were: 1) Talking too much and 2) Wandering aimlessly. I briefly considered admitting dad, who is guilty of both of these maladies, but decided mom might miss him too much.


5. Pit stop

After spending a couple of days in Zomba, we headed back to Lilongwe, about 5 hours north. Unfortunately, we failed to realize that gas stations are not on every corner in Malawi, but rather you can go a couple hundred kilometers without seeing one. About half way through our trip the gas light came on, with us still a good one hundred kilometers from the next town that might have a petrol station. And so we started the great petrol hunt.

A gentleman at a museum we visited told us that we would be able to get petrol in a village about 5 km away, and that we just had to turn off the main road onto a dirt road and follow it to the trading centre in the village. After finding the turn off we stopped at a high school to ask for further directions, where a student told us to follow the road and look for “happy happy,” which would have petrol. After the Corolla scraped bottom a few times on the bumpy dirt road, we eventually found our way to “happy hap”… close enough. But after a conversation with some guys who didn’t seem too familiar with English, we discovered that “happy hap” was all out of petrol. Then a truck driver told Langa that he could help out, but that Langa had to go with him. So Dad instructed Langa to park in the shade and leave the keys. We all had a good laugh when Langa asked if Dad intended to leave him in the village if things went awry. Then Briana went off in search of some chips to snack on, leaving me and Dad in the car. While dad was for the majority of the trip up for any adventure, this was a bit more than he had bargained for. He sat in the front seat, looking in all directions nervously, saying that we shouldn’t have let Langa and Briana go off on their own. He then said, “this is how those scary movies start out when a bunch of foreigners get abducted.” Now I’ve never heard of such a movie, but eventually Briana and Langa both returned. Unfortunately this village was out of petrol, so we continued our hunt.

We stopped at little markets on the side of the road for the next few kilometers, until eventually we found one with some promise. Langa got out to explain our predicament (dad again requested that we park in the shade and keep the keys) and soon a group of men gathered to hear our story, or just to stare at us. Eventually a teenage boy wearing a Diesel shirt (always a good sign when you’re looking for petrol) ran off, and then returned a few minutes later with a 5 litre jug of petrol. While we paid a pretty penny and risked our lives (according to Dad) for this petrol, all in all we made it safely to our destination and got to experience a lil’ bit of Malawi along the way.


6. The warm heart of Africa

Malawi is known as “The warm heart of Africa.” I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, we met some very friendly Malawians (such as the Diesel boy who found us petrol) but we also had some negative encounters, such as two gentlemen who yelled at us to “F*** off!” and then chased our car when we stopped to take a picture of a billboard. I think this negative encounter may be more indicative of a negative view towards tourists rather than a reflection of the attitude of the entire country. All in all, I loved Malawi. I loved the beautiful lake, the bustling markets, the plateau in Zomba, and the long drives through miles and miles of open land. More than that, though, I loved that Dad was able to share this adventure with me, Langa, and our friends. So until the next adventure, this know-it-all (expert) tourist is signing off from the country just south of the warm heart of Africa.

Ntando's birthday party

Pics from my homestay sister Ntando's 4th birthday.

waya waya

One lesson that I have learned over and over again (or in Zulu… waya waya…meaning over and over, or again and again) is cultural sensitivity. Although I consider myself a tolerant, open-minded, and sensitive person, I am continually reminded that despite all this, I am still ethnocentric. I still subconsciously, yet inherently, believe that the morals and truths that I grew up with, are correct.

For example, there is the time that I exclaimed “gross!!!” when a friend of mine talked about eating chicken feet. Perhaps the better response would be, “interesting, but I don’t think I would like that.” The same goes for other foods that are considered delicacies here, such as tripe (cow intestines) and pig ears. Just because this is not something that I grew up eating or that I would enjoy, does not mean that it is automatically “gross!!!” Lesson learned.

Similarly, everyday interactions are different here than in the US. Making a huge generalization, I would say that Americans tend to be more straight-forward and blunt, whereas South Africans are more subtle and have a tendency to beat around the bush before getting to the point. For example when you start a conversation with someone here you must ALWAYS begin by greeting them and asking them how they are, even if you are asking a stranger for the time or ordering fast food. So in comes the blunt American who gets right to the point, and this is considered very rude. After some reflection, I realize that it is actually quite rude to ask for something from someone else without even greeting them. Lesson learned.

Traditions here are also usually very different than in the US. For example: weddings. There is usually the “white wedding” in the church, followed by a reception similar to those back home. The major differences being that there is an emcee who basically narrates the whole ceremony and reception, and that the bride, the groom and the bridal party/groomsmen all dance, rather than walk, down the aisle. Then the next day is umabo (sp?) which is the traditional Zulu part where the bride’s family gives gifts to the groom’s family. My favorite part of it is when the bride makes the bed (it’s the couple’s marital bed, which has been brought out into the yard). The groom then gets into the bed, and all of the bride’s male relatives beat the groom with sticks as he jumps out of bed. All in good fun. As an observer, it is easy for me to compare this to American traditions and say “well we do this” or “at our receptions we have this kind of food,” or “it’s rude to beat your new family member with sticks” etc etc. But I have learned that Zulu culture has taken centuries to evolve. And for every tradition that seems new to me, there is a long history behind it and probably a very good reason that it came to be. Again, lesson learned.

I could go on and on (waya waya) about all of the lessons I have learned in cultural sensitivity and in recognizing that my way is not always the right way, and yet I still continually run into situations where I find myself acting like my way is in fact always right. One area where I seem to run into this ethnocentric attitude a lot is traditional medicine. Most Zulu people believe in traditional medicine (or what the Western world would call “witchcraft”) to a certain extent. I’ve heard several Zulu people say “I don’t want to believe in it, but it’s strong stuff and I wouldn’t want to mess with it!” indicating that they do in fact believe in it.

Traditional medicine can be used for several purposes, from keeping your partner faithful, to bringing harm to another person, to bringing yourself good fortune. I’m currently reading a book called Sizwe’s Test by Jonny Steinberg (in South Africa the same book is published under the name The Three Letter Plague). The book follows one young man’s interaction with HIV/AIDS in his rural community in SA and his attitude to antiretroviral treatment (the drug that treats HIV). The book talks a lot about traditional medicine and its relationship with attitudes towards HIV/AIDS. The young man in the book expresses the fear that a jealous neighbor will send a demon in the night to have sex with him while he sleeps, infecting him with the deadly virus. While I’ve never heard this belief before, I have no doubt that there are many people who believe this very strongly. While working on my dissertation, I found that the belief in traditional medicine was a major deterrent to seeking antiretroviral treatment (ART) and that people first turn to traditional medicine which claims to have the ability to cure someone of AIDS, and only go to a clinic for ART after it is too late for the medicine to save them.

There are many claims that traditional medicine can be used to cure all sorts of ills. And I’m sure some of these claims are true. Afterall, aren’t most of the Western medications that we have full faith in also derived from plants and natural substances? Who’s to say that a traditional healer cannot create a medicine that cures a headache or stomach pains?

I am, however, skeptical of the ability of traditional medicine in many aspects. I find it hard to believe that it can actually cause or cure AIDS. I also find it hard to believe that it can either bring one person good fortune, or cause harm to another. But this is where cultural sensitivity comes in. I have found that many Zulu people not only believe in traditional medicine, but are scared of it. Many would find my last statement about not believing that traditional medicine can cause harm absolutely absurd, just as many of my American friends would find the idea that it can cause harm absurd. Then there are those who could argue that just believing that something is going to bring you bad luck or good luck is enough to impact the outcome.

So how does someone compromise their own beliefs with those that are integral to another culture? I’ve learned that arguing it is useless. Likewise, it would be useless to argue with a Christian that it is impossible for Jesus to walk on water. Part of the reason that it is hard for me to wrap my mind around these traditional beliefs is that I don’t have anything similar to compare it to. Americans, it seems to me, are rather rational people who don’t place much value in mythology or traditional beliefs. If anyone can think of an example similar to Zulu traditional beliefs I would be happy to hear it.

And so I have found that in a situation like this, it is best for me to recognize that a belief like this does not come naturally to me, but that at times it is necessary to suspend this disbelief and accept that perhaps I don’t know everything. Afterall, I do knock on wood and I do kiss the roof of the car when I run through a red light. And I have a lucky pink ribbon that I have tied onto my suitcase whenever I’ve traveled for the last 7 years. The one time I forgot it, I was certain the plane was going to crash. We all have different superstitions and different beliefs. And they have taken centuries to evolve, and will take more than two years for me to understand. But I will keep learning my lessons, waya waya.



An excerpt from Jonny Steinberg’s Sizwe’s Test:

“The most commonly spoken of demon in these parts is the tikoloshe. He is no more than a foot tall, has an old man’s face and a beard to his chest, and a penis so long he carries it over his shoulder. (He can, some say, turn himself into a woman in order to seduce a man.) He is visible to children and to the adults he sleeps with. His favorite habit is to befriend children. Some Ithanga [a village in Eastern Cape, SA] adults have told me that tikoloshe lived in their homes when they were young, invisible to their parents. They were pests, like monkeys, impish and naughty, forever knocking things over and stealing food.

A tikoloshe becomes dangerous when his child friends grow up and he proposes love to one of them. In combination with a human sexual partner he is a killer. He murders those his lover envies, and if she envies nobody, he demands that she present him a person to kill. He needs human blood; he is insatiable. The human being who makes a lover of him has entered a deadly pact; she must become a murderer.

It takes many months before it sinks into my head that those who speak of the shame of the HIV-positive are a hair’s breadth from speaking of the shame of witches. Like the witch, the HIV-positive woman has a sexual appetite, and, again like the witch, her sexual appetite is murderous. As much as people try to strip AIDS of evil by giving it a strictly biomedical explanation, it nonetheless remains lodged in an old and poisonous well of fear, of suspicion, and of misogyny.”

Steinberg, Jonny.2008. Sizwe’s Test. Simon and Shuster: New York. Pp. 132-133

My corner of the world

Today is a big day. Whether you are republican or democrat, male or female, white, black or somewhere in between, it is a big day. It’s the inauguration of a new president, and what promises to potentially be a new era in the US, and the world. I’m not saying that this guy is Superman or that he can solve all the world’s ills or even that I agree with him on all of his policies; I’m just saying that he’s stirring things up and bringing hope to the world. Hope is a big deal and is nothing to be taken lightly.

Hope can be dangerous too, like the kids in Kenya that I saw on a CNN report saying that now Obama will move everyone to America. I find it highly unlikely that Obama will be opening the US borders to all foreigners. I also find it highly unlikely that he could ever possibly live up to the high expectations that have been set for him, especially those expectations abroad. While I certainly expect foreign relations to improve during his presidency, I also think there is a lot for him to focus on in the home front. Unfortunately global poverty most likely will not be his first priority. I am keeping my fingers crossed, however, that he will somehow move issues of poverty and justice a little bit higher on the American list of priorities and consciousness. I suppose my hopes are pretty high as well.

Two days ago was also a very big day, but on a personal level. It marked my two year anniversary of moving to South Africa. When I look back at the person I was two years ago, I realize that I was a bit naïve, a big optimistic and a bit wide-eyed. I like to think, however, that I am still a bit naïve, optimistic, and wide-eyed. After all, these are characteristics that I hope to keep my whole life. But I have certainly learned a lot, seen a lot, experienced a lot, and perhaps changed and grew a bit along the way. While I know my family may not be thrilled with my decisions to continually extend my stay here in South Africa, (first to finish my studies, then to take on a job), I feel strongly that this is where I want to be at this point in my life. Have I made sacrifices by being here? Certainly. There are events that I’ve missed and friends who I haven’t been very good at staying in touch with. These are things that I will always regret. But I think that regardless of what paths we take, we will always have to make sacrifices to follow through with the decisions we make and the dreams we dream. The best you can hope for is a little bit of peace in your heart, as well as a little bit of restlessness that keeps you always excited and always challenged. This is what I’ve found during my grand adventure.

I recently returned to South Africa from a three week visit home for the holidays. This trip was also special because I brought my boyfriend, Langa, home with me to meet my family and friends. It was really wonderful to finally bridge the gap between my two worlds, and as always it was great catching up with friends and family. My trip included Christmas in Rochester, then visits to NYC, Philly, and NJ, including a family reunion at Aunt Maddie’s (there’s your shout-out, Auntie M!) where I was able to see family members, some of whom I hadn’t seen in five or more years. All in all, it was great not only to see some of the people I love most in the world, but also to see that despite the distances and despite the lack of constant and immediate communication, we can fall right back into place as though I had just run out to the grocery store for an hour instead of moved across the world.

It is very interesting to have one foot on one continent and the other foot on another. This is how my life has come to feel. It is like I have two different realities in two different countries. In each there are people who are very important to me and memories which I cherish. And each life has both its struggles and rewards. I guess the great challenge for me in the future will be somehow bridging the gaps between these two lives and finding a compromise that lets me not lose too much of either world. I’m not sure if that makes sense, but what I’m trying to say is that being a foreigner living in another country is quite a unique struggle because you come to love a new place as your home and you grow and change in that country, and then eventually once you return to your home country are forced to fit a square peg in a round hole, if you will. I’m sure some of my friends who have also lived abroad can understand what I’m trying to get at.

But I’ve fallen off track. I’m still here in SA, so don’t have to worry just yet about fitting any pegs into any misfit holes. I think one way that I have changed in the past two years is that I’ve become a bit… cynical? I’m not sure if that’s the word I’m going for but I’m a bit less optimistic and my life goals are a bit less grandiose. Maybe that’s the result of having poverty and injustice and crime and disease in your face every day, and then also seeing the remarkable individuals who everyday strive to make a difference in their own little part of the world. Nothing I can do will stop the AIDS epidemic (unless I magically discovered a vaccine... unlikely). Nothing I can do will end world poverty. Nothing I can do will end injustice. It’s been there since the beginning of time and will remain until the end. All I can do is my small part, and if that means helping a few kids in South Africa get the education they deserve, then I’m completely happy to play my part. It's kind of about fighting the daily battle, even if you'll never see the conclusion to the war. I could find a job where I fight poverty and work hard everyday for the rest of my life, but I know that in my lifetime I would never see the end of poverty.

But perhaps my cynicism is also due to the realization of how much I have in common with the people I've met here and that we are all just ordinary people, doing the best we can every day. In other words, my reality here has become less about sitting in a classroom learning about the economics of a developing country and having my thoughts of the world shifted or challenged, and more about sitting in a soccer stadium cheering on the local team with my friends, or sitting down to dinner with a group of people my age, talking about the movie we just watched.

Perhaps I’ve become a little more humbled by my experience here as well. I remember as a child there was one day where ancient prophecies predicted the world would end on that day. Being a worrier even as a young child, I remember raising my concerns with my mom, who was ironing at the time. She put the iron down and said, “Jaime do you really think I would be spending my last night on earth ironing?” And this put my worries to ease. This memory helps me put my life a bit into perspective. The world keeps changing. Wars begin and end. Laws are passed and repealed. Presidents are elected and retired. The world keeps spinning, and we keep waking up every day to face it all over again, and to get our ironing done. And hopefully, somehow during that day, we are able to do something that makes a difference in someone else’s life.

This is why the revival of hope that Obama’s election has generated is so important. His slogan of “yes we can” goes far beyond “yes we can” get him elected. It means “yes we can” make a difference, “yes we can” imagine a better world, and “yes we can” be part of that change. Change does not begin with political revolutions or wars or even with grassroots protests. It begins, as Gandhi taught us, within each of us. It's about changing our own individual mindsets and doing our own little parts, while still watching soccer games and getting the ironing done everyday. So as millions of people flood the nation’s capital to witness this historic inauguration, I will be sitting on my couch on the other side of the world watching it live on TV. And someday when my children ask me where I was when Obama became president, I will say that I was on the other side of the world, living my own dream, making my own little difference in one corner of the world, and being the change that I wanted to see.

A brief update

I am overdue for a blog update but I’m not feeling particularly inspired to write something interesting or exciting, so this will be an update in it’s most basic form.

First of all, I will be home for Christmas this year! I’m arriving in Rochester December 21 and then flying back to South Africa January 9. I’m planning on traveling to NYC, New Jersey, and Philly, so if you’re in these areas let me know and we can try to meet up.

Work is going well. It continues to be challenging and a constant learning experience, both through the research I do and through the constant cultural interactions and new experiences. I’ve recently started doing more HIV/AIDS related research, which has proved to be both very interesting, and incredibly frustrating. At times, the battles that we face seem insurmountable. And yet we fight on. I was going to share lots of shocking stats and figures with you in honor of World AIDS Day, but decided against it because it was just a list of figures that probably would mean nothing to most people. Let me just say that it is a heavy weight on my heart and on the hearts of most South African to witness the suffering of an entire nation. Everyone here is either infected or affected by the disease and the impacts will be felt and magnified for generations to come.

But it’s not all doom and gloom here on this side. There is always hope, and one of the aspects of this country that continually impresses and humbles me is the ability of the people to hold on to hope and to truly believe that things are getting better. The spirit of growth and community that exists in South Africa, despite all of the crime, poverty, corruption and disease that the media likes to talk about, is truly inspiring.

My life here in SA continues to feel more comfortable and more routine as I settle into this life and this city that has now been my home for almost two years. There are always new challenges and new adventures, but there is also the comfort of familiar faces and constant routines to counteract the never-ending newness of living in a country other than the one that I grew up in. It is still the rainy season here, which means that it rains every day without fail. There are sometimes sunny mornings, but they always end in rainy afternoons. I’m looking forward to the return of the summer sun, and thus the return to the beaches and barbeques. But for now, the rain continues. November and December showers bring January and February flowers I suppose.

So I think this is all I have to update you on for now. I’m sorry there aren’t any exciting stories or inspiring anecdotes to share. Perhaps those are better told in person anyway.

Wishing you all a wonderful and peaceful holiday season!

A political one

I wrote this update a couple of weeks ago and have been indecisive about whether or not I wanted to post it. But today I mailed in my absentee ballot, so in honor of that occasion, here's "a political one..."


In my blog updates, I tend to steer clear of politics. On occasion I will make a lefty comment about social justice or inequality, but for the most part I keep my opinions to myself and rather just tell my stories. But what with the political upheaval in South Africa and the exciting American election, in addition to the apparent collapse of global economies, I feel the need to have my say. Usually I avoid political issues because, well to be completely honest, I don’t feel like I am up-to-date enough on current events, nor do I think I’m smart enough to really understand what’s going on or to share my analysis. So let that be a disclaimer that what follows is the opinion of a layperson and the observations of a young American living abroad. And if necessary, I stand to be corrected.

Let me first talk about Barack Obama. I have supported him from day one, but this is not about how I feel about Obama, because my personal opinion is not very important in the grand scheme of things. Instead I want to talk about how he is viewed from South Africa.

You would probably be shocked to know how closely South Africa (and most likely the rest of the world) is following this election. In fact, it’s a pretty safe bet that none of you can name the current president of South Africa, yet every South African can not only name the current US president, but also the presidential AND vice presidential candidates. One of the most poignant observations that I’ve made over the past year and a half or so is that Americans, for the most part, are very ignorant of what is going on in the rest of the world, whereas the rest of the world watches very closely the happenings of other countries, including America. The first thing that I am usually asked when someone finds out I’m American is “so who do you think will win the elections?” Many South Africans, in fact, know more about the elections than I do. Both the Democratic and the Republican conventions were covered daily on the evening news here. In fact, South African news reports have followed the progression of the elections from the very beginning of the primaries when Obama and Clinton were fighting it out.

One of my favorite billboards in Durban is one for satellite TV. On the bottom it says “be inspired.” Above that there are three people pictured, one of whom is our own Barack Obama. Here in South Africa, he has become the face of hope, of success, of inspiration. It’s a pretty safe bet that there is no billboard in the world that includes both the face of George Bush and the word “inspired." I think that perhaps Americans don’t realize what Barack Obama signifies to the rest of the world. Most countries do not have very favorable opinions of the US, but Obama offers the world hope for change and for a new order. He is particularly loved here, I believe, because of his own African heritage. Although he did not grow up in Kenya, his connections to Kenya and his awareness of the struggles of this part of the world are very important. Foreign policy is, after all, more than the war in Iraq.

I think my true appreciation for Barack Obama came when I saw a video clip of him and his wife Michelle visiting Kenya and publicly taking HIV tests together. While in an American context this may seem like a minor event, in an African context it is monumental. Here in South Africa, for example, there is little political leadership in responding to HIV/AIDS. What action there has been has been marked by denial and suspicion over the past two decades. This includes a South African president who publicly questioned whether or not HIV caused AIDS; a Minister of Health who rejected the use of life-saving antiretroviral drugs, promoting instead traditional vegetables; and the president of the majority political party who was accused of raping a woman with HIV without using a condom, but said he took a shower afterwards so he wouldn’t get AIDS (just so there’s no confusion… taking a shower after having sex will NOT protect you from contracting HIV).

With political leadership such as this, it is little wonder that AIDS is the leading killer in SA. So the fact that Barack Obama, an African son in his own right, would recognize the importance of getting publicly tested for HIV in Kenya, is something to be commended and taken note of. Perhaps this signifies a new type of leadership and global awareness for the American presidency and the American people.

Now onto South African politics. Things here have been a bit rocky, but certainly interesting over the last month. Jacob Zuma, the above mentioned president of the majority party (the ANC) was recently on trial for something like 170 accusations of racketeering, bribery, corruption, and money laundering. He got off on a technicality. Free, for now, from the charges, it looks as though in the April 2009 elections he will become the next president of South Africa. But first, there was a bit of a coup as he and his cronies in the ANC dethroned the current president, Thabo Mbeki. Mbeki was accused of abusing his political power and apparently had something to do with the charges brought against Zuma. I don’t understand it all, but there appears to be a growing division in the party between Zuma and the more socialist ANC members, and Mbeki and the more conservative ANC members. So in one weekend the president was removed from office and a new one was voted in shortly thereafter. This was followed by the resignation of half of the ministers, as well as the premiers of three of the nine provinces.

This has all been very interesting to observe. I’m sure this has been brewing behind the scenes for months, but publicly it took about two days. And then it was less than a week before Kgalema Motlanthe, the new president, was put into office. In addition, I am disappointed by the low standards that politicians here are held to. In my opinion, it is terrifying that Jacob Zuma, a man who was accused of rape (although he was acquitted) and who is now accused of corruption, bribery, racketeering, and money laundering, in all likelihood will become the next president of one of the most powerful and influential African countries.

The current American and South African political transitions provide an interesting juxtaposition, particularly in the context of the failing world economies. It is certainly a very exciting time for America in particular and I wait anxiously to see how the November elections unfold and then in the coming months and years to see the impacts of the election both nationally and internationally. Whether we recognize it or not, the eyes of the world will be on us as we take to the voting booths on November 4. And most of the world will be holding thumbs (a South African phrase meaning “crossing fingers”) that January 20, 2009 will bring a new order and change that we can all believe in.


Some statistics, as a reminder that we are not only American citizens, but also global citizens:

September BBC poll of 22,000 people from 22 countries across the globe

49% have negative view of American influence on the world

Obama is preferred by a 4 to 1 margin

46% think that US relations with the world would get better with Obama, 22% that relations would stay the same, and 7% that they would get worse.

20% think relations would get better under McCain, 37% that relations would stay the same, and 16% they would get worse.

When asked whether the election as US president of Barack Obama would "fundamentally change" their perception of the United States, 46% said it would while 27% said that it would not.

The US public was polled separately and the results suggest Americans also believe an Obama presidency would improve US relations with the world more than a McCain presidency, with 46% of Americans expecting relations to be improved with Obama's election and 30% with McCain's.

From: http://www.bbc.co.uk/pressoffice/pressreleases/stories/2008/09_september/10/poll.shtml