Wa lala po?! (This is the extent of the Oshiwambo (sp?) that I learned in Namibia, and means "how are you?!")
During the three week break between the end of the second quarter and the winter session, I again threw my passport and some clothes in a bag and headed out for unknown territories, and again it was a wonderful, once in a lifetime, amazing experience. This time my destination was Namibia, a country just above South Africa on the west coast. My friend Briana is volunteering there with the Peace Corps for two years.
While I may have thought that the bus ride to Zimbabwe was the longest trip ever, this trip made that one seem like a pleasure cruise. It included an 8 hour bus ride from Durban to Johannesburg, a 22 hour (which actually ended up being more like 26 hours) ride from Jo’burg to Windhoek, the capital of Namibia. From there I hopped in a mini bus taxi for an eight hour ride up to Ongwediva, a town in northern Namibia where I met up with Briana.
I’ve discovered that I have a 36 hour travel tolerance. Up until the 36th hour, I find the journey novel and exciting and bask in the assertion of my independence and sense of adventure. When people along the way ask “aren’t you scared to be traveling in Namibia alone?!” I answer with an emphatic “No!” because in all honesty the thought that I should be scared never even crossed my mind (things tend to work out for me… perhaps I have an invincibility complex that I need to think about). After the 36 hour mark hits, however, something changes and suddenly my legs feel cramped and my butt is tired of sitting. I have to pee and I’m hungry (keep in mind all I’d eaten had been what could be purchased at gas stations along the way) and the sun is setting, which means I’ll reach an unknown town somewhere in Northern Namibia in the dark. The mini bus taxi is starting to smell and is quite stuffy as people begin closing their windows to keep out the cool evening air. So at hour 36, all of a sudden this traveling adventure stops being fun and I want to be done. Fortunately, I arrived safely at Ongwediva shortly after dark and met up with Briana with no complications.
To say that it was great seeing Briana would be a huge understatement. After not seeing any friends or family from home over the last five and a half months it was great to catch up with her and to share our respective experiences. It was also very nice to hang out with the other Peace Corps volunteers because up until this point I haven’t really socialized with any Americans at all, which both has its benefits and its drawbacks. While it’s great making friends with people from diverse cultures and backgrounds, sometimes you want to be with someone who understands better where you’re coming from and how you experience new things, if that makes sense. Let’s just say it was great to hear some American accents in person rather than over the phone for a change.
After spending the weekend in Ongwediva, which included watching Briana’s stellar dance performance in the World Music Day festivities in a nearby town, Oshakati, and visiting various other volunteers in the area, Briana and I hopped into the back of a pick-up truck and headed into the bush to her homestead. She lives with a retired teacher, her niece, and her niece’s two year old daughter. In the spirit of African hospitality, they warmly welcomed me into their homestead and were wonderful hostesses for the week. Briana has two huts for herself on the homestead (one serves as a kitchen, the other as a bedroom), and although the homestead has no electricity, the Namibian Ministry of Education hooked her up with some gas powered electricity so she can have a refrigerator and stove.
To be honest, spending time in a village in the Namibian bush where there is no electricity or running water made me feel sort of like I am skimping out on the whole “African” experience by being in Durban, a very western city with all of the luxuries that I enjoy back home. And while at times it made me wish that I was volunteering in a more rural area rather than studying and living in a westernized city, I also realize the incredible value of the learning experience that I am receiving in Durban, both in the classroom and outside. And to be completely honest, I don’t know if I could handle two years of bucket bathing and cooking by candlelight, so props to you Briana!
During the week I went to the school where Briana teaches English to 8th and 9th graders, which was a great experience. I was able to attend some of the classes taught both by Briana and by another teacher who taught geography and life skills. In both classes I was impressed by the questions that students directed toward me and by their interest in American lifestyle. While some of the questions (concerning my marital status and age) just made me laugh (especially when I said that I was 23 and everyone nudged a male student who looked far too old to be in the 10th grade, apparently indicating that he had a chance with me), other questions such as “why is America considered developed while Namibia is underdeveloped?” and “Do you have AIDS in America and why isn’t it as bad as here?” really made me stop and think.
I spent most of the week hanging out in the library that Briana is in charge of running. I think the funniest part of the whole experience was the fascination of the students, particularly the younger ones, at the fact that there were now not only one, but TWO Americans at the school. During breaks, the younger students would all gather at the door of the library or peer in the window, just to observe us interacting and talking to each other. And if we addressed them, saying “hi, how are you?” they would all run away, screaming and laughing as though we had said the funniest thing they had ever heard.
And so I spent a week in the bush, waking early (usually very early because I had to pee so bad but we weren’t allowed to use the latrine at night because it was outside of the borders of the homestead and there was a risk of getting bitten by a snake), spending the day at school, then returning to the homestead to read and relax until the sun went down at about 5:30, at which point Briana and I would make dinner, then go to bed pretty early so that we would be well rested to do it all over again the next day. While this may not be the ideal vacation for many people, it certainly was for me. In fact I would rank it among the best trips I’ve ever taken. I loved escaping from the hustle and bustle of every day life, not having access to internet or use of my cell phone. The silence of the star filled nights was incredibly peaceful and beautiful. It was great to step back half way through my time in South Africa, and have a chance to reflect on the experience so far, especially since I had the added benefits of Briana’s experiences and insights. By the end of the week, I was very sad to say goodbye to Briana, her host family, fellow teachers, and students, and I don’t think I could ever express how much of an impact they had on me.
My second weekend in Namibia, Briana and I went to the homestead that Holly, another Peace Corps volunteer, lives at to celebrate her birthday. It was great to get to visit another family and to share in the celebrations, which of course included a traditional Namibian dinner (although I am no longer a vegetarian, I still have trouble eating goat, particularly freshly slaughtered goat that still has some random hairs on it), some beer, and some dancing. All round, a great night and a great way to end my visit to Namibia.
On Monday, I hopped back into a mini bus taxi to return to Windhoek. This time, however, I flew back to Durban rather than experiencing the glory of another 26+ hour bus ride. The only sketchy part of the journey back was when I arrived in Windhoek after dark and had to figure out how to get to a youth hostel, which was made more complicated by the fact that the first two youth hostels I visited were fully booked. So picture me standing on the side of the street with a big bag of luggage next to me, in a city that is completely foreign to me trying to wave down a taxi. Fortunately, a kind taxi driver took me under his wing and made sure that I arrived safely at a youth hostel with vacancies.
I was actually very impressed by the kindness of strangers who I met along the way. For example, the man I sat next to on the bus ride from Jo’burg to Windhoek made sure that I safely got on a taxi from Windhoek to Ongwediva and than made me promise to call once I got there so he knew that I was safe. And then there was the kindness and hospitality both of Briana’s family, and of other volunteers who welcomed me into their homes on the weekends. I think that when I look back at my time here in retrospect, what will stick out most in my memory will be the many people who have entered my life while I’ve been here, whether it be those who enter only briefly or those who I am certain will always be a part of my life. If for nothing else, I believe that this experience has been so important and transformative because of the people I have met along the way. As a friend recently wrote to me in a letter, perhaps the most important thing that we can do (in any situation, not just in my situation) is to spread love and joy everywhere that we go, with everyone we encounter. It may sound cheesy, but it’s true. It’s the connections that you make along the way that make the journey so incredible.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Lesotho
I think my blog posts have been too serious and heavy lately, so it’s time for something a little lighter. And what could be lighter and more enjoyable than travel adventures in southern Africa?! So here goes…
This past weekend my roommate Kinsley and I took a trip to Lesotho, a small country (about the size of Belgium) that is completely within the borders of South Africa (look at a map). It’s a few hours away from Durban and is known as the “mountain kingdom” or the “kingdom in the sky” because the whole country is in the Drakensburg Mountains. It also has the highest mountain south of Kilimanjaro, has the highest low point of any country in Africa, and has the highest pub in Africa, which we of course visited.
So last Friday morning Kinsley and I headed out from Durban at 6 am for another great adventure. We arrived in the Southern Drakensburg Mountains, still within South Africa, and from there met up with a tour guide who was taking us on a guided tour of Lesotho. Now before you accuse me of living too luxuriously with a personal tour guide and all, let me explain our reasoning. The road into Lesotho is a VERY bumpy dirt road and you are not allowed to drive on it unless you have a four-by-four vehicle, which clearly we do not have. So we decided the best way to get there was through an “adventure” agency that organizes trips into Lesotho. We were joined on our trip by a French girl named Matilda and by our tour guide, Philip, a middle-aged South African who loved pulling over on the side of the road to point out birds and plants, forcing us to look at them through the binoculars.
Now I know that I always say how beautiful the places I visit are and I tend to use words like “breathe-taking” and “stunning,” but for real, this was one of the most awe-inspiringly beautiful places I’ve ever visited. Although it is winter here now so the mountains were not as green and lush as they are in the summer season, they were still amazing. They reminded me of the Rocky Mountains where the sheer magnitude of them leaves you speechless. Again, words fail me to describe the beauty. It was one of those places where you stand on top of a hill and look around and see nothing but beautiful rolling hills.
We stayed overnight at the home of a Lesotho man named Thabiso in a small village. It felt as though the 21st Century, even the 19th and 20th Centuries, had completely bypassed the country, as though it were isolated from the crazy modern world altogether. We had no water and no electricity and the main form of transportation was either your feet or a horse. Not to romanticize poverty in any way, but I loved the simplicity of it all. It really makes me think that perhaps it’s the “under-developed world” that has it all figured out, and not the “developed world.” It makes me wonder what the world would be like if we all lived like Thabiso and his family in their little home on the side of a mountain.
When we arrived at Thabiso’s on Friday, he first introduced us to his family then took us into the village to show us around. We saw a traditional dance performed by some of the local women, watched the sunset behind the mountains, and then returned to Thabiso’s where we gathered around a campfire to fight off the cold night (I’m not just being whiny… it was really cold, as in wearing 8-layers of clothing cold). We were then fed a wonderful traditional Lesotho dinner and had a few beers, before heading to bed (with a hot water bottle which I hugged all night, while still dressed in my 8-layers because it really was a very cold night).
On Saturday we visited a traditional healer who performed a traditional dance for us and then told us about our futures. Now I don’t want to give it all away because I’m afraid it’s like a wish where it doesn’t come true if you tell other people, but let’s just say my future is looking good and I am “surrounded by good luck.” Following our visit with the traditional healer, we went on a two-hour horse ride through the mountains and valleys surrounding the village. I think the horseback ride was my favorite part of the weekend. It was a beautiful sunny, though still chilly, day and it was so incredibly peaceful riding around the mountains on horseback. As Philip our tour guide said, “if the rest of the world goes to hell, I’ll move to Lesotho.” I love how it seems to be a parallel universe, where people live in the houses that their ancestors built hundreds of years ago and all of the villagers know each other. Of course I do not want to make light of the poverty the people of Lesotho experience (according to the UN, about 50% of people in Lesotho live below the poverty line and Lesotho has one of the worst HIV/AIDS prevalence rates in the world) but the hospitality and happiness of the people we met was truly inspiring.
So after only two days in Lesotho, we all hopped back into the car and headed back along the bumpy road into South Africa. I was very sad to leave Thabiso and his family waving goodbye, knowing that I would probably never see this wonderful man or these stunning mountains again. But I guess that’s the nature of traveling; you get a taste of the world and try to cherish it while you can, knowing it can never be permanent. On the ride back into South Africa as I looked out the window I thought about what the traditional healer had said about me being surrounded by good luck, and I realized how right she is. I am SO fortunate to have these experiences and to get this year to travel and explore and adventure into new places, meeting new people, and learning new things along the way. And now I know where I can go if the rest of the rest of the world goes to hell.
This past weekend my roommate Kinsley and I took a trip to Lesotho, a small country (about the size of Belgium) that is completely within the borders of South Africa (look at a map). It’s a few hours away from Durban and is known as the “mountain kingdom” or the “kingdom in the sky” because the whole country is in the Drakensburg Mountains. It also has the highest mountain south of Kilimanjaro, has the highest low point of any country in Africa, and has the highest pub in Africa, which we of course visited.
So last Friday morning Kinsley and I headed out from Durban at 6 am for another great adventure. We arrived in the Southern Drakensburg Mountains, still within South Africa, and from there met up with a tour guide who was taking us on a guided tour of Lesotho. Now before you accuse me of living too luxuriously with a personal tour guide and all, let me explain our reasoning. The road into Lesotho is a VERY bumpy dirt road and you are not allowed to drive on it unless you have a four-by-four vehicle, which clearly we do not have. So we decided the best way to get there was through an “adventure” agency that organizes trips into Lesotho. We were joined on our trip by a French girl named Matilda and by our tour guide, Philip, a middle-aged South African who loved pulling over on the side of the road to point out birds and plants, forcing us to look at them through the binoculars.
Now I know that I always say how beautiful the places I visit are and I tend to use words like “breathe-taking” and “stunning,” but for real, this was one of the most awe-inspiringly beautiful places I’ve ever visited. Although it is winter here now so the mountains were not as green and lush as they are in the summer season, they were still amazing. They reminded me of the Rocky Mountains where the sheer magnitude of them leaves you speechless. Again, words fail me to describe the beauty. It was one of those places where you stand on top of a hill and look around and see nothing but beautiful rolling hills.
We stayed overnight at the home of a Lesotho man named Thabiso in a small village. It felt as though the 21st Century, even the 19th and 20th Centuries, had completely bypassed the country, as though it were isolated from the crazy modern world altogether. We had no water and no electricity and the main form of transportation was either your feet or a horse. Not to romanticize poverty in any way, but I loved the simplicity of it all. It really makes me think that perhaps it’s the “under-developed world” that has it all figured out, and not the “developed world.” It makes me wonder what the world would be like if we all lived like Thabiso and his family in their little home on the side of a mountain.
When we arrived at Thabiso’s on Friday, he first introduced us to his family then took us into the village to show us around. We saw a traditional dance performed by some of the local women, watched the sunset behind the mountains, and then returned to Thabiso’s where we gathered around a campfire to fight off the cold night (I’m not just being whiny… it was really cold, as in wearing 8-layers of clothing cold). We were then fed a wonderful traditional Lesotho dinner and had a few beers, before heading to bed (with a hot water bottle which I hugged all night, while still dressed in my 8-layers because it really was a very cold night).
On Saturday we visited a traditional healer who performed a traditional dance for us and then told us about our futures. Now I don’t want to give it all away because I’m afraid it’s like a wish where it doesn’t come true if you tell other people, but let’s just say my future is looking good and I am “surrounded by good luck.” Following our visit with the traditional healer, we went on a two-hour horse ride through the mountains and valleys surrounding the village. I think the horseback ride was my favorite part of the weekend. It was a beautiful sunny, though still chilly, day and it was so incredibly peaceful riding around the mountains on horseback. As Philip our tour guide said, “if the rest of the world goes to hell, I’ll move to Lesotho.” I love how it seems to be a parallel universe, where people live in the houses that their ancestors built hundreds of years ago and all of the villagers know each other. Of course I do not want to make light of the poverty the people of Lesotho experience (according to the UN, about 50% of people in Lesotho live below the poverty line and Lesotho has one of the worst HIV/AIDS prevalence rates in the world) but the hospitality and happiness of the people we met was truly inspiring.
So after only two days in Lesotho, we all hopped back into the car and headed back along the bumpy road into South Africa. I was very sad to leave Thabiso and his family waving goodbye, knowing that I would probably never see this wonderful man or these stunning mountains again. But I guess that’s the nature of traveling; you get a taste of the world and try to cherish it while you can, knowing it can never be permanent. On the ride back into South Africa as I looked out the window I thought about what the traditional healer had said about me being surrounded by good luck, and I realized how right she is. I am SO fortunate to have these experiences and to get this year to travel and explore and adventure into new places, meeting new people, and learning new things along the way. And now I know where I can go if the rest of the rest of the world goes to hell.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Fighting for fairness
I just realized that it’s been a month since my last blog update (it's also been exactly 4 months since I left home), so I figure it’s time for another installment. My other reason for writing a blog update is that, as per usual, I have a paper to write and am procrastinating. This paper, though, is kind of a big deal so I really should get cracking on it. It’s my research proposal for my master’s dissertation and I have to turn it into the school to get approval to get my research started. I’ve decided to look at the impact of the nursing crisis in South Africa on HIV/AIDS care at the community level. Basically I’ll be researching whether or not the shortage of nurses here is having an impact on the burden felt by the community, particularly women, in caring for people living with HIV/AIDS. So get excited, because I’m sure I’ll have lots of fun stats to share with you in future blog posts.
Since my last update I haven’t had any particularly exciting adventures to report on. My focus has mainly been my schoolwork. Right now I’m taking two classes: Research Methods II and Development management. Research Methods is all statistics and math, which let’s be honest, isn’t really my strong suit. Development Management, on the other hand, has been pretty interesting. It has raised a lot of questions for me concerning the nature of development and my role in it. Ever since I started classes in February, actually, I’ve been struggling with the idea of development and whether or not I agree with it. Considering that my degree will be in development studies, you would think that I’d have a pretty good idea what it was about and would be a big fan of it. If you asked me for a definition of development, I would probably say it’s economic growth with the aim of increasing equality and justice in a country. But, in an amendment, it isn’t just about economic growth, but also looks at social and political issues in a country. My problem with development is that I wonder what my role in the grand scheme of things is. As a westerner and an outsider, I wonder how I could come into an African country that I know relatively little about and tell them that I know the best way for them to develop. I certainly do not have some special knowledge that a local person doesn’t have, even if I do have a fancy diploma that says I read a lot of books.
Another student in my program asked me the other day “what are the pertinent development issues in your own country?” And it took me aback for a moment because I’ve been so focused on thinking of South Africa as a “developing country” and the US as a “developed country” that I hadn’t thought about the fact that the US itself is still developing. I suppose like in any line of work and any interaction with other people, it’s all about the attitude that you come at it with. If you go at development work with an attitude of “I’m here to save you from your misery” then you’re putting yourself above others when truly you have no right to. If, however, you come in with an attitude of “let’s work together and share our resources and knowledge” maybe you can get somewhere. If anyone has any insights on any of this, they’re much welcomed.
On my way to the university in the morning, I walk through a very nice neighborhood, as I think I’ve mentioned before. There are lots of big houses overlooking the harbor, all with big fortresses of protection around them. This morning was garbage collection day, so all of the houses had trash bags out on the street. As I was walking, I passed a house where a young man, probably a few years younger than me, was opening each trash bag and sifting through it, probably looking for something to eat. Now, I’ve seen people sifting through trash cans before for sure, but this time struck me for some reason. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of the opulence with the destitution. I think part of me is still that little girl who would whine “that’s not fair!” when someone got a bigger piece of cake than she did. To which my parents would undoubtedly answer, “well, life’s not always fair.” No, life isn’t always fair. But I certainly couldn’t say that to the guy who was sifting through garbage at 7:00 in the morning, while I went along my merry well with a stomach full of breakfast, off to another day of learning at a university he could never afford to attend. So even though life isn’t always fair, I think we need some people who will stand up and say “wait a second, that isn’t fair!” And then fight to make sure that everyone gets a slightly more equal piece of cake. Maybe that’s what I need to find: a job that will pay me to be the whiny little girl.
Enough of this rambling. What else is new? I started taking weekly Zulu classes. I figure it’d pretty silly of me to spend a year in a country and not make a real effort to learn the major language of the area. That and I want to know when people are talking about the only “umlungu” (white person) on the khombi (a mini-bus taxi). Today we learned some useful verbs so that I can say something such as “ngiyabhala ublog,” meaning I’m writing a blog. If that is not in fact how it’s said, none of you will know any different so I feel pretty secure in posting that on here. We also learned Zulu idioms today, one of my favorites being “banjengulimi namathe,” translated literally to mean “they’re like tongue and spit.” Or as we would say in the US “two peas in a pod.” Another good one was “A’kho qili elazikhotha emhlana,” meaning “no matter how clever you are, you cannot lick your own back.” Aka: don’t get too big for your boots/ have some humility. A good lesson for us all. As a sidenote, I’d be interested to know how many of you just attempted to lick your own backs.
Well, my research proposal is calling my name, so that’ll have to be all for now. Salani kahle! (Stay well!)
Since my last update I haven’t had any particularly exciting adventures to report on. My focus has mainly been my schoolwork. Right now I’m taking two classes: Research Methods II and Development management. Research Methods is all statistics and math, which let’s be honest, isn’t really my strong suit. Development Management, on the other hand, has been pretty interesting. It has raised a lot of questions for me concerning the nature of development and my role in it. Ever since I started classes in February, actually, I’ve been struggling with the idea of development and whether or not I agree with it. Considering that my degree will be in development studies, you would think that I’d have a pretty good idea what it was about and would be a big fan of it. If you asked me for a definition of development, I would probably say it’s economic growth with the aim of increasing equality and justice in a country. But, in an amendment, it isn’t just about economic growth, but also looks at social and political issues in a country. My problem with development is that I wonder what my role in the grand scheme of things is. As a westerner and an outsider, I wonder how I could come into an African country that I know relatively little about and tell them that I know the best way for them to develop. I certainly do not have some special knowledge that a local person doesn’t have, even if I do have a fancy diploma that says I read a lot of books.
Another student in my program asked me the other day “what are the pertinent development issues in your own country?” And it took me aback for a moment because I’ve been so focused on thinking of South Africa as a “developing country” and the US as a “developed country” that I hadn’t thought about the fact that the US itself is still developing. I suppose like in any line of work and any interaction with other people, it’s all about the attitude that you come at it with. If you go at development work with an attitude of “I’m here to save you from your misery” then you’re putting yourself above others when truly you have no right to. If, however, you come in with an attitude of “let’s work together and share our resources and knowledge” maybe you can get somewhere. If anyone has any insights on any of this, they’re much welcomed.
On my way to the university in the morning, I walk through a very nice neighborhood, as I think I’ve mentioned before. There are lots of big houses overlooking the harbor, all with big fortresses of protection around them. This morning was garbage collection day, so all of the houses had trash bags out on the street. As I was walking, I passed a house where a young man, probably a few years younger than me, was opening each trash bag and sifting through it, probably looking for something to eat. Now, I’ve seen people sifting through trash cans before for sure, but this time struck me for some reason. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of the opulence with the destitution. I think part of me is still that little girl who would whine “that’s not fair!” when someone got a bigger piece of cake than she did. To which my parents would undoubtedly answer, “well, life’s not always fair.” No, life isn’t always fair. But I certainly couldn’t say that to the guy who was sifting through garbage at 7:00 in the morning, while I went along my merry well with a stomach full of breakfast, off to another day of learning at a university he could never afford to attend. So even though life isn’t always fair, I think we need some people who will stand up and say “wait a second, that isn’t fair!” And then fight to make sure that everyone gets a slightly more equal piece of cake. Maybe that’s what I need to find: a job that will pay me to be the whiny little girl.
Enough of this rambling. What else is new? I started taking weekly Zulu classes. I figure it’d pretty silly of me to spend a year in a country and not make a real effort to learn the major language of the area. That and I want to know when people are talking about the only “umlungu” (white person) on the khombi (a mini-bus taxi). Today we learned some useful verbs so that I can say something such as “ngiyabhala ublog,” meaning I’m writing a blog. If that is not in fact how it’s said, none of you will know any different so I feel pretty secure in posting that on here. We also learned Zulu idioms today, one of my favorites being “banjengulimi namathe,” translated literally to mean “they’re like tongue and spit.” Or as we would say in the US “two peas in a pod.” Another good one was “A’kho qili elazikhotha emhlana,” meaning “no matter how clever you are, you cannot lick your own back.” Aka: don’t get too big for your boots/ have some humility. A good lesson for us all. As a sidenote, I’d be interested to know how many of you just attempted to lick your own backs.
Well, my research proposal is calling my name, so that’ll have to be all for now. Salani kahle! (Stay well!)
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Adventures in Zimbabwe
During our mid-semester break, I spent a week and a half in Zimbabwe with three of my friends, two of whom are from Zimbabwe (the other one is from Malawi). There is something very invigorating and exciting about throwing some clothes and my passport in a backpack, hopping on a rickety old bus, and travelling across South Africa and into a new country. Of course the novelty of the rickety old bus started to wear off after the eight hour ride to Johannesburg, fourteen hour ride to Bulawayo (a city in Zim) and then a seven hour ride in a mini bus taxi (a 14 passenger van used for public transportation in most African countries) to Victoria Falls. I did get to see some amazing scenery, beautiful starry nights, and stunning sunrises from my bus window. There were also some elephant crossing signs, but much to my dismay I did not see any elephants lumbering across the road.
We spent two days at Victoria Falls, which is on the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia. We crossed over to Zambia for a few hours to see the Falls from that side, and of course to get another stamp on the old passport. It was pretty much the same as Zim, only there were baboons in Zambia and not in Zimbabwe (apparently their passports weren’t up-to-date so they couldn’t cross the border). Victoria Falls were (is it “were” or “was”? I’m not really sure) absolutely stunning. They make Niagara Falls look like a trickling stream. The Falls are one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and it was easy to see why. They’re about a mile in length and so massive that I couldn’t capture them adequately with my camera. The mist from the falls left us soaking wet, as though we had walked through an intense rainstorm. It’s hard to describe how it felt looking at the Falls. It was one of those moments where you just stand there and try to take it all in, try to burn the immensity of what you’re seeing into your memory, and try to realize how fortunate you are to be there. It was truly breathe-taking.
After spending a couple of days at the Falls, we went to a town called Gueru, where my two friends are from (yes this meant another long rickety bus ride and this one left at 3 in the morning). It’s funny because someone asked me today what my favorite part of my trip was and at first I was tempted to say Victoria Falls, but then realized that in fact it was staying at the house of my friend’s sister and her husband in Gueru. In the tradition of African hospitality, we were welcomed in not as guests but as members of the family. We spent the remainder of our trip there, relaxing and visiting my friends’ family members and friends, all of whom welcomed us in the same manner. The second we stepped in the door a meal would magically appear, and the food was so good that I ended my vegetarianism. This was meant to be a temporary change, but I realized that I love chicken and have decided to forfeit the vegetarian deal altogether, much to the delight of my traveling companions who never really understood the vegetarian thing to begin with.
I don’t know how much you know about Zimbabwe, but it is currently a country in conflict. I’m not going to go into detail about it all now, partly because I don’t completely understand the situation and partly because this is a public blog and I don’t want to say anything against the country in a public forum because it’s a bit of a dictator state that doesn’t take kindly to criticism, but I encourage you to look it up and learn more because it’s really fascinating. Let me just say that there is a lot of political and economic unrest, which at first made me nervous about traveling there, but my friends assured me that it was very safe. And in fact I felt safer there than I often do here in S.A. It was strange being able to carry a purse without fearing it would get stolen and being able to walk around at night. The only thing that made me uncomfortable was the fact that I was one of only a handful of white people in the entire town of Gueru. While I’m often in situations in SA where there are no other white people, in Zimbabwe it seemed to be more of a novelty for other people, particularly the men who were fond of calling out to the tall white woman walking by, and several of whom proposed to me. At first I found it all entertaining and just shrugged it off, but it got very tiring to be stared at and to have men making comments everywhere I went. I think my favorite line was “my name is Moses and I want to take you to the promised land.” Niceeeee. I will say that at times it got quite annoying to constantly feel out of my comfort zone, both racially and culturally, and to constantly feel out of place. My limited attempts at Shona, the language spoken there, and my attempts to act socially appropriate were often met with (friendly) laughter. It was a good lesson in taking myself lightly and learning to laugh along with everyone.
I think my favorite part of the trip was one night at my friend’s sister’s place when the electricity had been out since 8 am (the electricity and water go out daily for several hours). We all went outside under a sky completely blanketed in stars to cook dinner over a fire, and not just a dinner of hots and hams like we would back home, but a full meal of vegetables, beef, stew, and sadza (a traditional Zimbabwean food, kind of the same consistency of mashed potatoes but made of maize). We then went inside and ate it by candlelight. We sat around the table for a couple of hours just talking and laughing. It’s hard to describe how I felt or why such a minor evening had such an impact on me. Part of it was the simplicity of the six of us cooking together by starlight and then sitting and talking because there was no electricity to distract us. I guess we don’t always take the time to do that back in the states, or even here in SA, where we’re always busy. At one point I looked around the table and thought that at that moment there was absolutely no where else I would rather be.
So that was a very simplified rendition of my trip to Zimbabwe. There’s lot s more I could tell you, like about hitchhiking in the back of a pickup truck which smelled like meat, or the anxiety I felt during the two hour process of crossing the border both going into Zim and coming back into SA. There’s the sketchy bar we went to where we had the traditional home brewed beer called Opec and where someone shouted “thanks for bringing us a white woman!” in Shona when I entered the bar. Then there was exchanging our South African money into Zim dollars on the black market (aka through questionable characters standing on street corners) because the exchange rate was much better (inflation is horrendous there, something like $1 to 1700 Zim dollars). As always there are so many stories to tell that I can never really properly put into words. Sometimes I feel like our memories are meant for us alone, to be kept bottled up and savoured on a rainy day somewhere down the line because no matter how we try to describe what we experience no one else can ever really understand. This isn’t a bad thing, but rather it makes me cherish my experiences more, realizing that I may tell the stories, but they are for me alone. Hopefully this weak attempt at sharing these experiences will at least give you a glimpse into my jar of memories.
We spent two days at Victoria Falls, which is on the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia. We crossed over to Zambia for a few hours to see the Falls from that side, and of course to get another stamp on the old passport. It was pretty much the same as Zim, only there were baboons in Zambia and not in Zimbabwe (apparently their passports weren’t up-to-date so they couldn’t cross the border). Victoria Falls were (is it “were” or “was”? I’m not really sure) absolutely stunning. They make Niagara Falls look like a trickling stream. The Falls are one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and it was easy to see why. They’re about a mile in length and so massive that I couldn’t capture them adequately with my camera. The mist from the falls left us soaking wet, as though we had walked through an intense rainstorm. It’s hard to describe how it felt looking at the Falls. It was one of those moments where you just stand there and try to take it all in, try to burn the immensity of what you’re seeing into your memory, and try to realize how fortunate you are to be there. It was truly breathe-taking.
After spending a couple of days at the Falls, we went to a town called Gueru, where my two friends are from (yes this meant another long rickety bus ride and this one left at 3 in the morning). It’s funny because someone asked me today what my favorite part of my trip was and at first I was tempted to say Victoria Falls, but then realized that in fact it was staying at the house of my friend’s sister and her husband in Gueru. In the tradition of African hospitality, we were welcomed in not as guests but as members of the family. We spent the remainder of our trip there, relaxing and visiting my friends’ family members and friends, all of whom welcomed us in the same manner. The second we stepped in the door a meal would magically appear, and the food was so good that I ended my vegetarianism. This was meant to be a temporary change, but I realized that I love chicken and have decided to forfeit the vegetarian deal altogether, much to the delight of my traveling companions who never really understood the vegetarian thing to begin with.
I don’t know how much you know about Zimbabwe, but it is currently a country in conflict. I’m not going to go into detail about it all now, partly because I don’t completely understand the situation and partly because this is a public blog and I don’t want to say anything against the country in a public forum because it’s a bit of a dictator state that doesn’t take kindly to criticism, but I encourage you to look it up and learn more because it’s really fascinating. Let me just say that there is a lot of political and economic unrest, which at first made me nervous about traveling there, but my friends assured me that it was very safe. And in fact I felt safer there than I often do here in S.A. It was strange being able to carry a purse without fearing it would get stolen and being able to walk around at night. The only thing that made me uncomfortable was the fact that I was one of only a handful of white people in the entire town of Gueru. While I’m often in situations in SA where there are no other white people, in Zimbabwe it seemed to be more of a novelty for other people, particularly the men who were fond of calling out to the tall white woman walking by, and several of whom proposed to me. At first I found it all entertaining and just shrugged it off, but it got very tiring to be stared at and to have men making comments everywhere I went. I think my favorite line was “my name is Moses and I want to take you to the promised land.” Niceeeee. I will say that at times it got quite annoying to constantly feel out of my comfort zone, both racially and culturally, and to constantly feel out of place. My limited attempts at Shona, the language spoken there, and my attempts to act socially appropriate were often met with (friendly) laughter. It was a good lesson in taking myself lightly and learning to laugh along with everyone.
I think my favorite part of the trip was one night at my friend’s sister’s place when the electricity had been out since 8 am (the electricity and water go out daily for several hours). We all went outside under a sky completely blanketed in stars to cook dinner over a fire, and not just a dinner of hots and hams like we would back home, but a full meal of vegetables, beef, stew, and sadza (a traditional Zimbabwean food, kind of the same consistency of mashed potatoes but made of maize). We then went inside and ate it by candlelight. We sat around the table for a couple of hours just talking and laughing. It’s hard to describe how I felt or why such a minor evening had such an impact on me. Part of it was the simplicity of the six of us cooking together by starlight and then sitting and talking because there was no electricity to distract us. I guess we don’t always take the time to do that back in the states, or even here in SA, where we’re always busy. At one point I looked around the table and thought that at that moment there was absolutely no where else I would rather be.
So that was a very simplified rendition of my trip to Zimbabwe. There’s lot s more I could tell you, like about hitchhiking in the back of a pickup truck which smelled like meat, or the anxiety I felt during the two hour process of crossing the border both going into Zim and coming back into SA. There’s the sketchy bar we went to where we had the traditional home brewed beer called Opec and where someone shouted “thanks for bringing us a white woman!” in Shona when I entered the bar. Then there was exchanging our South African money into Zim dollars on the black market (aka through questionable characters standing on street corners) because the exchange rate was much better (inflation is horrendous there, something like $1 to 1700 Zim dollars). As always there are so many stories to tell that I can never really properly put into words. Sometimes I feel like our memories are meant for us alone, to be kept bottled up and savoured on a rainy day somewhere down the line because no matter how we try to describe what we experience no one else can ever really understand. This isn’t a bad thing, but rather it makes me cherish my experiences more, realizing that I may tell the stories, but they are for me alone. Hopefully this weak attempt at sharing these experiences will at least give you a glimpse into my jar of memories.
Friday, March 30, 2007
I can't think of a creative title...
I feel as though it’s time for another update, but to be completely honest there isn’t a whole lot to update on. The last month it seems that class work has almost entirely consumed my life, and I don’t think this would be a very interesting blog entry if I talked about all the reading I’ve done and the lectures I’ve attended, or if I talked about the two 20 page papers that are due next week (I’m procrastinating, which is the real reason I’m writing this right now).
I think you would actually be shocked if you knew how similar to an American lifestyle my life is here. In fact some days walking around campus it would be easy to forget that I am not in America, but then a monkey will jump out of a garbage can and everyone reacts as though it were just a squirrel or a chipmunk, and I’m reminded of how far from home I am. I’m getting used to the small daily hardships we face, like hand-washing clothes (there is a Laundromat near us, but it costs $8 per load, which may not seem like much, but when you consider that I spend $15 on food for a whole week, you realize it’s pretty pricey) and not having a TV, a car, or internet access at my flat. Even the Durban heat and humidity have become more bearable as summer is slowly coming to a close. I even wore long sleeves a couple of times last week! Although one of the days that I thought it was cold out and had long sleeves on, I saw a thermometer in the afternoon that said that it was 83 degrees, so I‘m not sure if the thermometer was incorrect, or if I’m just acclimatizing surprisingly well.
One highlight from the last few weeks was a daytrip to Umhlanga Rocks, a small resort town with beautiful beaches about 30 minutes north of Durban. While there we stopped at Gateway, the largest mall in the Southern hemisphere, which sort of reminded me of King of Prussia mall in Philly. Definitely felt like I was in America that day. But the beaches were lovely and we went for a walk down the beach to a lagoon, which we didn’t realize was a nudist lagoon until we got there. Made for a bit of an awkward situation, until we stripped down and joined in. (Just joking.)
One thing that I am still adjusting to here is the safety issue. While I do feel safe in the part of town where I live, it can be tiring to always have to think about safety and always have to be in by 6:30 when it gets dark. It gets particularly frustrating on weekend nights when we want to go out, and are forced to choose between going to posh, wealthy bars with a dress code (clearly not my kind of place), and less safe but much more relaxed and fun bars. Even at the bar on campus we sometimes face safety issues. A few of us have started a tradition of stopping there every Friday afternoon after lectures for a couple of drinks, and last week someone came up to our male friends and requested that they go and “leave the white chicks here.” Looking around and realizing that Laura and I were not only among only a handful of women there, but also the only white people there, we decided that perhaps it was about time we headed home.
The gender issue has also been difficult to adjust to. I never realized how good women have it in the states until I arrived here. Don’t get me wrong, women and men still aren’t completely equal in the US, but they are so far from equal here that it has turned me into a bit of a feminist. Laura and I have found that men, both black and white, always address our other flat mate Andy rather than us when we meet them. This may seem like a small thing, but it’s very frustrating to not be included in conversations. Women aren’t supposed to drink beer (it’s un-womenly… I still do it) and when you shake hands with a man you’re supposed to give a limp handshake (to show submissiveness?). But I never know how far to push these boundaries and whether or not it’s my place to assert my values on another culture. One day in class we got into a discussion about gender, and it was interesting to see the reaction of the males in our class and how they sort of laughed at the women, saying “oh, here they go again on their feminist rants.” I will say that I’ve discovered that for some reason South African men are worse than any of the men from other parts of Africa. Two of my closes friends here, Lukes and Tawanda, are from Malawi and Zimbabwe respectively, and I’ve found that they are very respectful towards women and just generally very good guys. Why South African men have different ideas of gender roles, I’m not sure.
While this issue is an annoyance for me, it is even worse for poor women who are not white. Black women are expected to do all of the cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing in their households. One South African girl that I know told me that she would never marry because she would then become a slave. In addition, they are often forced to have jobs as well to make money to support the family. I’m actually thinking about doing my dissertation on care work, which is done almost entirely by women. By care work, I mean caring for children, elderly, the disabled, and the ill (especially those with HIV/AIDS). There have been studies done in South Africa that reveal that even when men are unemployed they do not assist in care work because they don’t feel it’s their duty. This clearly puts a huge burden on women. As one person told me the last time I was here, “this country is carried on the backs of women.” I’ve been looking into doing my research on nurses and the current “brain drain” (nurses are moving to the UK or US where they can make more money) and the impact of their absence on communities and the discrepancy between those who need care and those who are able to care.
Alright, rather than catching you up on my life here I’ve again managed to go off on a tangent, which my sister Abby will probably accuse of being too political. Oh well, it’s probably more interesting to read about this stuff than to read about my daily schedule which consists of walking to campus, doing a couple of hours of reading, attending class, coming back and doing more reading, then going to bed. At the end of this quarter (in a week and a half) we have a nice long two week break, during which I’m hoping to do some traveling, possibly to Zimbabwe, so I promise a much more action packed update next time. Unfortunately my flat mate Laura has decided to return to the UK at the end of this quarter, which I‘m very sad about because she’s a wonderful person and has become a very close friend. The good news is, we have an open room in our flat now, so if anyone wants to move to South Africa, you’d have a place to stay:)
I hope all is well with you all. Keep in touch; I love receiving your emails!
I think you would actually be shocked if you knew how similar to an American lifestyle my life is here. In fact some days walking around campus it would be easy to forget that I am not in America, but then a monkey will jump out of a garbage can and everyone reacts as though it were just a squirrel or a chipmunk, and I’m reminded of how far from home I am. I’m getting used to the small daily hardships we face, like hand-washing clothes (there is a Laundromat near us, but it costs $8 per load, which may not seem like much, but when you consider that I spend $15 on food for a whole week, you realize it’s pretty pricey) and not having a TV, a car, or internet access at my flat. Even the Durban heat and humidity have become more bearable as summer is slowly coming to a close. I even wore long sleeves a couple of times last week! Although one of the days that I thought it was cold out and had long sleeves on, I saw a thermometer in the afternoon that said that it was 83 degrees, so I‘m not sure if the thermometer was incorrect, or if I’m just acclimatizing surprisingly well.
One highlight from the last few weeks was a daytrip to Umhlanga Rocks, a small resort town with beautiful beaches about 30 minutes north of Durban. While there we stopped at Gateway, the largest mall in the Southern hemisphere, which sort of reminded me of King of Prussia mall in Philly. Definitely felt like I was in America that day. But the beaches were lovely and we went for a walk down the beach to a lagoon, which we didn’t realize was a nudist lagoon until we got there. Made for a bit of an awkward situation, until we stripped down and joined in. (Just joking.)
One thing that I am still adjusting to here is the safety issue. While I do feel safe in the part of town where I live, it can be tiring to always have to think about safety and always have to be in by 6:30 when it gets dark. It gets particularly frustrating on weekend nights when we want to go out, and are forced to choose between going to posh, wealthy bars with a dress code (clearly not my kind of place), and less safe but much more relaxed and fun bars. Even at the bar on campus we sometimes face safety issues. A few of us have started a tradition of stopping there every Friday afternoon after lectures for a couple of drinks, and last week someone came up to our male friends and requested that they go and “leave the white chicks here.” Looking around and realizing that Laura and I were not only among only a handful of women there, but also the only white people there, we decided that perhaps it was about time we headed home.
The gender issue has also been difficult to adjust to. I never realized how good women have it in the states until I arrived here. Don’t get me wrong, women and men still aren’t completely equal in the US, but they are so far from equal here that it has turned me into a bit of a feminist. Laura and I have found that men, both black and white, always address our other flat mate Andy rather than us when we meet them. This may seem like a small thing, but it’s very frustrating to not be included in conversations. Women aren’t supposed to drink beer (it’s un-womenly… I still do it) and when you shake hands with a man you’re supposed to give a limp handshake (to show submissiveness?). But I never know how far to push these boundaries and whether or not it’s my place to assert my values on another culture. One day in class we got into a discussion about gender, and it was interesting to see the reaction of the males in our class and how they sort of laughed at the women, saying “oh, here they go again on their feminist rants.” I will say that I’ve discovered that for some reason South African men are worse than any of the men from other parts of Africa. Two of my closes friends here, Lukes and Tawanda, are from Malawi and Zimbabwe respectively, and I’ve found that they are very respectful towards women and just generally very good guys. Why South African men have different ideas of gender roles, I’m not sure.
While this issue is an annoyance for me, it is even worse for poor women who are not white. Black women are expected to do all of the cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing in their households. One South African girl that I know told me that she would never marry because she would then become a slave. In addition, they are often forced to have jobs as well to make money to support the family. I’m actually thinking about doing my dissertation on care work, which is done almost entirely by women. By care work, I mean caring for children, elderly, the disabled, and the ill (especially those with HIV/AIDS). There have been studies done in South Africa that reveal that even when men are unemployed they do not assist in care work because they don’t feel it’s their duty. This clearly puts a huge burden on women. As one person told me the last time I was here, “this country is carried on the backs of women.” I’ve been looking into doing my research on nurses and the current “brain drain” (nurses are moving to the UK or US where they can make more money) and the impact of their absence on communities and the discrepancy between those who need care and those who are able to care.
Alright, rather than catching you up on my life here I’ve again managed to go off on a tangent, which my sister Abby will probably accuse of being too political. Oh well, it’s probably more interesting to read about this stuff than to read about my daily schedule which consists of walking to campus, doing a couple of hours of reading, attending class, coming back and doing more reading, then going to bed. At the end of this quarter (in a week and a half) we have a nice long two week break, during which I’m hoping to do some traveling, possibly to Zimbabwe, so I promise a much more action packed update next time. Unfortunately my flat mate Laura has decided to return to the UK at the end of this quarter, which I‘m very sad about because she’s a wonderful person and has become a very close friend. The good news is, we have an open room in our flat now, so if anyone wants to move to South Africa, you’d have a place to stay:)
I hope all is well with you all. Keep in touch; I love receiving your emails!
Friday, March 9, 2007
of palm trees and barbed wire...
The other day as I walked to the university I started thinking about the houses I was passing. There are some absolutely beautiful houses around the university; the types of places you would expect to see lining the coasts of Malibu, with yards shaded by palm trees and a magnificent view of the sea. But every single house is surrounded by a thick concrete wall, which then has spikes sticking out of it and is topped off by barbed wire or electric fencing. The prison-esque security adds quite a contrast to the beauty of the houses and the area. It actually made me feel very sad as I realized that every single house I passed was similarly protected, and most had the added security of a large, terrifying looking dog. I’m not sure why I’m sharing this rambling with you. I guess it struck me because it is so indicative of the current situation of South Africa. I would like to say that these measures are unnecessary and reveal the racism that is still prevalent here, but unfortunately I think they often are necessary. Every day in the news there are stories of violent break-in’s and similar examples of the rampant crime. The apartment complex that I live in is similarly protected, and I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t make me sleep more comfortably at night.
Unfortunately, these fortresses of barbed wire are also indicative of the state of society here. South Africans, though often hopeful and forgiving people, are also filled with fear. Particularly in the white neighborhoods, there seems to be a lack of sense of community and a lack of trust. I rarely see children out playing or neighbors chatting in the street. Everyone is inside by sunset at 7 pm. The exception to this rule is in the townships, where there is a very strong sense of community and property is not only not divided by large walls, but doesn’t seem to be separated at all. Children run freely and neighbors call out to each other from their open doors. This creates a stark contrast that is very revealing of the nature of South Africa and the clashing of different cultures. Of course there is also crime in townships, more so than in the posh neighborhoods surrounding the university, but there isn’t the overwhelming feeling of fear there. It makes me wonder about the future of this country and how the gap can be bridged.
I recently read a story by Nadine Gordimer, a South African writer, about a white family that kept adding more and more measures of protection as they heard more about the crime and violence in the country. Eventually they had the whole shebang… concrete walls, glass spikes, and barbed wire. One day their son, having just read the fairy tale of Repunzel, playfully decided to climb the wall, pretending to save the princess. The story ends abruptly with him getting caught up in the barbed wire that was meant to protect him from harm. Again, I’m not sure why I feel moved to share this, but I found this to be revealing of the way that protecting oneself so militantly also keeps you trapped and isolated from the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, I think this is what is happening in much of South Africa. There have been many instances when (white) South Africans have asked me incredulously why I would ever want to come to this country when they all want to leave it. They tell me that it is falling apart and it isn’t what it used to be, meaning under Apartheid when they were safer from violence. And so the “rainbow nation” makes the bumpy, difficult journey towards reconciliation. I do have hope in how far it has come since Apartheid ended 13 years ago, but there are still these moments of startling awakening when I realize how far it has yet to go.
Unfortunately, these fortresses of barbed wire are also indicative of the state of society here. South Africans, though often hopeful and forgiving people, are also filled with fear. Particularly in the white neighborhoods, there seems to be a lack of sense of community and a lack of trust. I rarely see children out playing or neighbors chatting in the street. Everyone is inside by sunset at 7 pm. The exception to this rule is in the townships, where there is a very strong sense of community and property is not only not divided by large walls, but doesn’t seem to be separated at all. Children run freely and neighbors call out to each other from their open doors. This creates a stark contrast that is very revealing of the nature of South Africa and the clashing of different cultures. Of course there is also crime in townships, more so than in the posh neighborhoods surrounding the university, but there isn’t the overwhelming feeling of fear there. It makes me wonder about the future of this country and how the gap can be bridged.
I recently read a story by Nadine Gordimer, a South African writer, about a white family that kept adding more and more measures of protection as they heard more about the crime and violence in the country. Eventually they had the whole shebang… concrete walls, glass spikes, and barbed wire. One day their son, having just read the fairy tale of Repunzel, playfully decided to climb the wall, pretending to save the princess. The story ends abruptly with him getting caught up in the barbed wire that was meant to protect him from harm. Again, I’m not sure why I feel moved to share this, but I found this to be revealing of the way that protecting oneself so militantly also keeps you trapped and isolated from the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, I think this is what is happening in much of South Africa. There have been many instances when (white) South Africans have asked me incredulously why I would ever want to come to this country when they all want to leave it. They tell me that it is falling apart and it isn’t what it used to be, meaning under Apartheid when they were safer from violence. And so the “rainbow nation” makes the bumpy, difficult journey towards reconciliation. I do have hope in how far it has come since Apartheid ended 13 years ago, but there are still these moments of startling awakening when I realize how far it has yet to go.
Friday, March 2, 2007
My first month in Durbs
I wrote a nice long blog yesterday, only to discover that somehow it didn’t work and now I have to write it all over again. Technology has not been on my side lately. I had my cell phone stolen this past weekend, my laptop died a few days ago, and now this. Sometimes I swear we were better off before we depended on all this stuff.
So let me try to rewrite the update and catch you all up on my first month here. Classes started about 3 weeks ago and are now in full swing. I’m currently taking two classes: Economics for Development and Comparative Development Problems and Policies. Both are on the challenging side, mostly because of my lack of background in either development or economics, but I find them both very interesting and am really enjoying learning (I’m a dork). We only have three class sessions in total each week, but each class requires about 7-10 hours of reading, although I think it takes me longer than the average student because of my inexperience in this field. There are about 25 students in our program, and I am the only American. I actually really enjoy being the only representative of my country, although I have to suffer a lot of America bashing on my own, both from my two British roommates and during classes. I’m often reminded that American English is not real English and that US policy is ruining the world. I like to think they’re all just jealous that they’re not Americans. It’s all in good fun though. I really love the diversity of our program. There are students from Norway, the UK, Canada, Zimbabwe, Angola, and Malawi, to name a few. I certainly have a lot to learn from many of these people.
Other than keeping busy with class, I’ve been readjusting to life in South Africa and falling in love with the country all over again. While it has been a bit tougher this time without the protection and guidance of a study abroad program and twenty American friends always at my side, the challenge has been good. As I mentioned, I had my first run in with South African crime when my cell phone was stolen from my pocket at a club the other night, but I should’ve known better than to keep it there and at least it was just my phone and not my wallet or anything. We actually live in a safe part of town not far from the university. Well, it’s a 25 minute walk (uphill in the 85 degree weather… not always pleasant). I have been relearning how to hand wash my clothes in the sink, how to take baths rather than showers, and how to live with cockroaches (this last one has been particularly difficult as I have been woken up a few times with a cockroach crawling across my face… disgusting). We certainly aren’t living a hard life though. We have a pool in our complex, we go out on the weekends, and we try to make our way to the beach about once a week. Not bad, eh?
This past weekend my two flat mates (Laura and Andy) and I took a trip a couple of hours south of Durban to the Wildcoast. It was great to get out of the city and away from work and enjoy some hiking and relaxing. The Wildcoast is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. I remember when I went there last time thinking that it was the “happy place” that you always picture in your head, but never believe could actually exist. The beach is nearly untouched and empty and the rolling hills are green and seemingly never-ending. If anyone saw the movie “Blood Diamond,” it was actually filmed here. All of the diamond mining scenes in the river were actually in the Wildcoast.
So that’s my life in a nutshell. There have been some bumps along the road, of course, but for the most part everything has been great. I have had some homesick moments when I wish I could be with my family and I realize how long a year really. But the other day I had a feeling of complete contentment, like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now in my life. That is a wonderful feeling. I am excited to discover what the next several months have in store and what I will learn. I miss you all very much and hope to hear from you soon.
So let me try to rewrite the update and catch you all up on my first month here. Classes started about 3 weeks ago and are now in full swing. I’m currently taking two classes: Economics for Development and Comparative Development Problems and Policies. Both are on the challenging side, mostly because of my lack of background in either development or economics, but I find them both very interesting and am really enjoying learning (I’m a dork). We only have three class sessions in total each week, but each class requires about 7-10 hours of reading, although I think it takes me longer than the average student because of my inexperience in this field. There are about 25 students in our program, and I am the only American. I actually really enjoy being the only representative of my country, although I have to suffer a lot of America bashing on my own, both from my two British roommates and during classes. I’m often reminded that American English is not real English and that US policy is ruining the world. I like to think they’re all just jealous that they’re not Americans. It’s all in good fun though. I really love the diversity of our program. There are students from Norway, the UK, Canada, Zimbabwe, Angola, and Malawi, to name a few. I certainly have a lot to learn from many of these people.
Other than keeping busy with class, I’ve been readjusting to life in South Africa and falling in love with the country all over again. While it has been a bit tougher this time without the protection and guidance of a study abroad program and twenty American friends always at my side, the challenge has been good. As I mentioned, I had my first run in with South African crime when my cell phone was stolen from my pocket at a club the other night, but I should’ve known better than to keep it there and at least it was just my phone and not my wallet or anything. We actually live in a safe part of town not far from the university. Well, it’s a 25 minute walk (uphill in the 85 degree weather… not always pleasant). I have been relearning how to hand wash my clothes in the sink, how to take baths rather than showers, and how to live with cockroaches (this last one has been particularly difficult as I have been woken up a few times with a cockroach crawling across my face… disgusting). We certainly aren’t living a hard life though. We have a pool in our complex, we go out on the weekends, and we try to make our way to the beach about once a week. Not bad, eh?
This past weekend my two flat mates (Laura and Andy) and I took a trip a couple of hours south of Durban to the Wildcoast. It was great to get out of the city and away from work and enjoy some hiking and relaxing. The Wildcoast is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. I remember when I went there last time thinking that it was the “happy place” that you always picture in your head, but never believe could actually exist. The beach is nearly untouched and empty and the rolling hills are green and seemingly never-ending. If anyone saw the movie “Blood Diamond,” it was actually filmed here. All of the diamond mining scenes in the river were actually in the Wildcoast.
So that’s my life in a nutshell. There have been some bumps along the road, of course, but for the most part everything has been great. I have had some homesick moments when I wish I could be with my family and I realize how long a year really. But the other day I had a feeling of complete contentment, like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now in my life. That is a wonderful feeling. I am excited to discover what the next several months have in store and what I will learn. I miss you all very much and hope to hear from you soon.
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