I’m feeling less than inspired to write this, but figured I was overdue for an update. So I’m sitting in front of my computer screen, trying to think of some clever theme or anecdote that I can share. I thought of talking about race, something that I haven’t discussed much in my blogs, but which is an issue that is part of every aspect of life in South Africa. In fact, when I was looking for a new apartment last month, I was shocked to find how many people specified in their advertisements that they wanted a white roommate only. They would disguise it cleverly, by saying something like “this apartment would ideally suit a young white male or female professional” so that they didn’t have to outright say “whites only!” But it was there nonetheless. I actually emailed several of the people who placed these advertisements asking why they specified the preferred race of their potential roommate. None replied. Perhaps their silence speaks more than any reply could.
I thought of writing about crime, which is unfortunately also part of every aspect of life here. I was walking home from the university the other day and thought about how funny it is (perhaps funny isn’t the word…) how protecting myself against crime has become a very normal part of my day. For instance, I only walk on the side of the road facing traffic, so that if I’m approached by a suspicious vehicle I have time to react, rather than it coming up behind me and catching me by surprise. I’ve adjusted in other ways too. I never carry more than $10 on me. In fact I rarely carry a purse so that there is less for someone to grab. And I’ve thought many times of how I would react were someone to mug me. I actually had a very unsettling dream last night about being mugged at gun point, probably because such an event is a constant fear and something I regularly plan against. Strange enough, my dream took place in New York City, not in Durban. Crime is a universal problem, I suppose. Fortunately I have been very lucky and have had little experience with crime since I’ve been here (knock on wood). I had my cell phone stolen a year ago, and then in October my apartment was broken into and my laptop was stolen. A laptop seems very insignificant though when I think about how incredibly lucky I am that I was not asleep in my bedroom when the person broke in my bedroom window that night.
I also thought of writing about AIDS. In past blogs, I’ve barely discussed the issues surrounding AIDS in South Africa, a topic which I’ve learned a great deal about through my studies and my dissertation. I actually changed my dissertation topic about a month ago. I was making no progress with gaining access to do interviews in hospitals for my previous topic, so I switched the whole thing up. I joined a research project that was already underway. There’s a research organization at the University of KwaZulu-Natal called the Health Economic AIDS Research Division (HEARD). They conducted interviews 2 years ago looking at the impact of the provision of treatment for HIV/AIDS (Antiretroviral treatment) on the health systems in South Africa. Basically, they looked at whether or not the AIDS treatment programmes in South Africa were impacting the staffing, funding, and infrastructure of other health services. So they conducted these interviews, but no one ever analyzed or wrote them up. That’s where I come in. I received the complete data sets, and am now working on writing up a literature review, analyzing the interviews, and then writing up the discussions and conclusions that can be arrived at from the research. It’s interesting stuff, and I’ll fill you in more on it as I get further into the research. In terms of AIDS in South Africa, about 20% of all adults in the country are HIV+. 1000 people die in South Africa EVERY DAY from AIDS. 71% of deaths among those aged between 15 and 49 are caused by AIDS. A recent survey found that South Africans spend more time at funerals than they do having their hair cut, shopping, or having barbeques. Twice as many people have been to a funeral in the last month than have been to a wedding. I could go on and on, but I think these statistics speak to the magnitude of the problem and the immediacy with which it needs to be addressed.
And then of course I thought of writing about development itself. Still not sure exactly what development is, or whether or not I agree with it or how I fit into the development of other countries. In my part-time work that I’ve taken on, I have found a route of development work that I really like. I’m working for a non-governmental organization called the Media in Education Trust. They do work to improve education, especially in rural areas, in South Africa. I’m working as a researcher, monitoring and evaluating a couple of their programs. My job is to assess the effectiveness of the programs, helping to determine how they can be improved. It’s interesting work, although I sometimes get frustrated because I’m still trying to find my place and my role in this job. But it’s great experience. In terms of development, I think education is the key to development of any country or any community. By building the capacity of the youth, you build the capacity of the country. Perhaps education is the key to addressing the issues I mentioned above of race, crime, AIDS, and development in South Africa. Look at that, a theme emerged for this blog afterall. So perhaps in a very small way I am helping to improve South Africa. I like to think that development work is simply doing what you can to improve life in your own little corner of the world. Small things with great love.
So that's the update for this month. Perhaps a bit scattered, but I touched on several of the important issues that this country is dealing with and that I have encountered in my everyday life. Of course much more can be said, but that is all for another time and another place. I hope this update finds you well, and that you too are able to find small ways of showing great love.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Ubuntu
Exactly one year ago this week I was boarding a plane in New York City with one suitcase in tow, wide-eyed and ready for the adventure of a lifetime. And one year later, I sit in my apartment, my home, on the other side of the world, a little bit wiser, a little bit more experienced, a little bit more independent. But mostly, a little more aware of how big the world is and how much I still have to learn. In the past year I have completed the coursework for my masters degree, I have traveled to six new countries, I have met countless friends from all over the world, I have learned some (but not enough) Zulu, I’ve learned how to cook, I’ve learned how to fix a clogged drain, I’ve learned how to navigate Durban via public transportation, I’ve learned how to deal with the daily challenges of living in a new country away from my family and friends, and I have in every sense of the word had the adventure of a lifetime. And the adventure continues. I am now working on my dissertation (slowly but steadily proceeding) and have taken on a part-time job working for an NGO that is working to enhance education in South Africa. My plan is to wrap my dissertation up by April, and then… who knows?! If nothing else, I’ve learned in South Africa that making plans is pretty pointless because chances are, life will ensure that your plans do not unfold as you envision them. And so, South Africa is teaching over-organized, obsessive-compulsive Jaime to take it one day at a time.
Many people have asked me what it is I love so much about South Africa. I often give different answers, ranging anywhere from “I love the beaches!” to something as ambiguous as “I love the culture.” But one year in, I’ve finally realized a way to verbalize what it is about this country that has captured my heart… ubuntu. This is a Zulu word that has no direct translation into English, but roughly means “I am because you are.” In other words, we exist not in and of ourselves, but rather we exist as part of a community, we exist through each other. A person is a person through other people. The philosophy of ubuntu lies behind the amazingly peaceful transition from Apartheid to the post-Apartheid Era in South Africa and behind Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s preaching about there being “no future without forgiveness.” It is ubuntu that is at the heart of South African culture and what makes this country so unique and so dear to my own heart.
Let me try to explain this more clearly. In one of my classes on Social Policy last semester, the professor was talking about the South African right to health care and that every South African is guaranteed access to emergency health care, if resources reasonably allow. In other words, if it is unreasonable to use resources on one person and if these resources could be better used to benefit the community as a whole, then that person does not receive the emergency health care. I questioned the professor on this, asking if this means that South Africans do not have individual rights. And she acknowledged that because I am an American, this is a very foreign idea. In South Africa people do not have individual rights, but rather rights as part of a community, and that the greater good is more important than your individual well-being, that the greater good trumps individual rights. I guess the difference is whereas in many western countries we follow the philosophy of “I think therefore I am,” here it’s more of, I am part of a community, therefore I am.
Although I learned about ubuntu three years ago when I spent a semester here, it took me a year of living here to realize just how much this philosophy is at the very core of South African society. This was never clearer than during the holiday season. Now I’m not going to lie, it was very difficult being away from home on Christmas and on New Year’s. There is no place like home. I was, however, well taken care of by friends and by my home-stay family during the holiday season. I was warmly welcomed into the homes of friends and treated like a family member. Christmas day is celebrated here in a similar fashion to home: family and friends get together and eat a lot, the only difference being that here we wear shorts and t-shirts and go swimming on Christmas day, rather than wearing sweaters and scarves and going shoveling.
During the holiday season, which lasts from mid-December to mid-January in South Africa, no one goes to work, but rather they spend everyday having braiis (South African word for a BBQ) on the beach and having parties. Again, ubuntu prevails. If you know someone who knows someone at a party, you are also invited to the party, or wedding as the case may be. So I have spent the last month showing up at random parties and in a couple of cases weddings, to eat the food and join in the party. And every time I have been warmly welcomed, and every time I have been the only white person. Whereas I feel like I’m being a mooch or a party crasher, the ubuntu philosophy ensures an open-door policy. I once asked how people can possibly plan for a party when they don’t know how many surprise visitors may show up, and was answered with a shrug and a reply of “you just make extra food.” One day I went to a little girl’s third birthday party with a few friends because one of my friends was friends with her uncle, or something along those lines. And as soon as we sat down I was given a plate full of food and a piece of birthday cake. I laugh when I think of the photographs that I’m in the background of, and of the three year old girl someday asking “who’s the white girl at my party?”
Now I’m not going to sugar-coat this country too much. You may ask, what about the frighteningly high crime rate in South Africa? Where’s the ubuntu in the rape, murder, car-jacking, and mugging? Well I don’t have any answer except to say that when poverty and inequality are extreme, people act out of desperation. But regardless of crime, or perhaps despite the crime, ubuntu is the heart and soul of this country. As an outsider, I have been met far more often with kindness and generosity. I could give many, many examples, such as the woman on the bus who rather than giving me directions when I asked for help, actually took me by the hand and brought me to the location I was looking for. Or the fact that when someone asks you “how are you?” they actually stop and wait for a response (I’ve noticed that in America we far too often say “hey, how are you?” in passing and do not actually stop and listen).
In December, I spent a week visiting Mozambique with a friend of mine. We spent a couple of days in the capital, Maputo, and then a few days further north in a beautiful beach town called Tofo. Although the trip was hindered by a few rainy days, it was, as always, great visiting a new place, learning about a new culture, and meeting new people along the way. On the 8-hour ride from Tofo back to Maputo, the door of the mini-bus that we were in wouldn’t shut, so the driver tied it shut with rope. When that didn’t work, two men had to hold it shut. In the 18-person vehicle, we somehow squeezed about 25 people, plus their luggage. The driver neither slowed down nor swerved to avoid potholes in the road. And the woman in front of me was carrying a package which smelled like rotten fish, but which I later learned contained coconut beer, that dripped on my bag the whole ride. And so, sitting in a not comfortable seat in a stuffy and smelly mini-bus, with my legs folded under me because there wasn’t enough leg room, and a coconut carved to look like a monkey that I had purchased in Tofo sitting in my lap, I had to smile. More often than not over the past year, I have found myself in situations similar to this. Situations where I think to myself “how did I end up here?!” When I think of myself just 12 months ago, boarding the plane in New York City, both excited for what lay ahead of me and terrified that I wouldn’t be strong enough to handle what this new adventure held in store, I have to smile because I now find myself sitting with coconut-beer lady and a bunch of other strangers in a mini-bus with the door tied shut, bouncing through Mozambique, and I somehow feel perfectly at home.
As a new year begins, I hope that you all find yourselves in similar situations. Similar not in that I hope you are also in mini-buses that smell like rotten fish, but rather that you are faced both with new challenges and adventures, and with the contentment that comes with taking on these experiences. And in the spirit of ubuntu, I hope that should you find a stranger at your party this year, that you will welcome them in with open arms. Trust me, they’ll appreciate your kindness.
Many people have asked me what it is I love so much about South Africa. I often give different answers, ranging anywhere from “I love the beaches!” to something as ambiguous as “I love the culture.” But one year in, I’ve finally realized a way to verbalize what it is about this country that has captured my heart… ubuntu. This is a Zulu word that has no direct translation into English, but roughly means “I am because you are.” In other words, we exist not in and of ourselves, but rather we exist as part of a community, we exist through each other. A person is a person through other people. The philosophy of ubuntu lies behind the amazingly peaceful transition from Apartheid to the post-Apartheid Era in South Africa and behind Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s preaching about there being “no future without forgiveness.” It is ubuntu that is at the heart of South African culture and what makes this country so unique and so dear to my own heart.
Let me try to explain this more clearly. In one of my classes on Social Policy last semester, the professor was talking about the South African right to health care and that every South African is guaranteed access to emergency health care, if resources reasonably allow. In other words, if it is unreasonable to use resources on one person and if these resources could be better used to benefit the community as a whole, then that person does not receive the emergency health care. I questioned the professor on this, asking if this means that South Africans do not have individual rights. And she acknowledged that because I am an American, this is a very foreign idea. In South Africa people do not have individual rights, but rather rights as part of a community, and that the greater good is more important than your individual well-being, that the greater good trumps individual rights. I guess the difference is whereas in many western countries we follow the philosophy of “I think therefore I am,” here it’s more of, I am part of a community, therefore I am.
Although I learned about ubuntu three years ago when I spent a semester here, it took me a year of living here to realize just how much this philosophy is at the very core of South African society. This was never clearer than during the holiday season. Now I’m not going to lie, it was very difficult being away from home on Christmas and on New Year’s. There is no place like home. I was, however, well taken care of by friends and by my home-stay family during the holiday season. I was warmly welcomed into the homes of friends and treated like a family member. Christmas day is celebrated here in a similar fashion to home: family and friends get together and eat a lot, the only difference being that here we wear shorts and t-shirts and go swimming on Christmas day, rather than wearing sweaters and scarves and going shoveling.
During the holiday season, which lasts from mid-December to mid-January in South Africa, no one goes to work, but rather they spend everyday having braiis (South African word for a BBQ) on the beach and having parties. Again, ubuntu prevails. If you know someone who knows someone at a party, you are also invited to the party, or wedding as the case may be. So I have spent the last month showing up at random parties and in a couple of cases weddings, to eat the food and join in the party. And every time I have been warmly welcomed, and every time I have been the only white person. Whereas I feel like I’m being a mooch or a party crasher, the ubuntu philosophy ensures an open-door policy. I once asked how people can possibly plan for a party when they don’t know how many surprise visitors may show up, and was answered with a shrug and a reply of “you just make extra food.” One day I went to a little girl’s third birthday party with a few friends because one of my friends was friends with her uncle, or something along those lines. And as soon as we sat down I was given a plate full of food and a piece of birthday cake. I laugh when I think of the photographs that I’m in the background of, and of the three year old girl someday asking “who’s the white girl at my party?”
Now I’m not going to sugar-coat this country too much. You may ask, what about the frighteningly high crime rate in South Africa? Where’s the ubuntu in the rape, murder, car-jacking, and mugging? Well I don’t have any answer except to say that when poverty and inequality are extreme, people act out of desperation. But regardless of crime, or perhaps despite the crime, ubuntu is the heart and soul of this country. As an outsider, I have been met far more often with kindness and generosity. I could give many, many examples, such as the woman on the bus who rather than giving me directions when I asked for help, actually took me by the hand and brought me to the location I was looking for. Or the fact that when someone asks you “how are you?” they actually stop and wait for a response (I’ve noticed that in America we far too often say “hey, how are you?” in passing and do not actually stop and listen).
In December, I spent a week visiting Mozambique with a friend of mine. We spent a couple of days in the capital, Maputo, and then a few days further north in a beautiful beach town called Tofo. Although the trip was hindered by a few rainy days, it was, as always, great visiting a new place, learning about a new culture, and meeting new people along the way. On the 8-hour ride from Tofo back to Maputo, the door of the mini-bus that we were in wouldn’t shut, so the driver tied it shut with rope. When that didn’t work, two men had to hold it shut. In the 18-person vehicle, we somehow squeezed about 25 people, plus their luggage. The driver neither slowed down nor swerved to avoid potholes in the road. And the woman in front of me was carrying a package which smelled like rotten fish, but which I later learned contained coconut beer, that dripped on my bag the whole ride. And so, sitting in a not comfortable seat in a stuffy and smelly mini-bus, with my legs folded under me because there wasn’t enough leg room, and a coconut carved to look like a monkey that I had purchased in Tofo sitting in my lap, I had to smile. More often than not over the past year, I have found myself in situations similar to this. Situations where I think to myself “how did I end up here?!” When I think of myself just 12 months ago, boarding the plane in New York City, both excited for what lay ahead of me and terrified that I wouldn’t be strong enough to handle what this new adventure held in store, I have to smile because I now find myself sitting with coconut-beer lady and a bunch of other strangers in a mini-bus with the door tied shut, bouncing through Mozambique, and I somehow feel perfectly at home.
As a new year begins, I hope that you all find yourselves in similar situations. Similar not in that I hope you are also in mini-buses that smell like rotten fish, but rather that you are faced both with new challenges and adventures, and with the contentment that comes with taking on these experiences. And in the spirit of ubuntu, I hope that should you find a stranger at your party this year, that you will welcome them in with open arms. Trust me, they’ll appreciate your kindness.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
A Visit Home
Whenever I start to feel too big for my boots, I visit the ocean. It never fails to bring me both humility and peace. And so I just had lunch with the sea. I am on campus doing work today, so couldn’t actually go to the beach, but sat on a bench on campus that overlooks the harbor and ate my sandwich, letting myself feel belittled again. With that big, beautiful ocean out there, that has been there long before I entered the world and will remain long after I depart, how can any problem I have ever seem unmanageable? Not that I really have any pressing problems, just millions of questions swimming around in my head (I’m a worrier by nature).
Lately what has been pestering me is the idea of having two vastly different realities in my life, and somehow figuring out how they fit together. How can someone feel so at home both in Rochester, NY, and in Durban, South Africa? How can I feel just as comfortable being an American in my own country and being a foreigner in another? How can I feel just as comfortable being squeezed in a mini bus taxi with a bunch of South Africans, listening to house music, riding through Durban’s bustling and beautifully vibrant center city, as I do driving my own car through the streets of my quiet suburb in upstate New York? And how on earth will I ever find the compromise that will allow both of these realities to exist in my life simultaneously, feeding both my need for adventure and newness, and my love for home and familiarity? And so here I sit, too big for my boots, thinking that these questions a) are really important in the grand scheme of things, and b) that I can answer them today, right now, definitively. Silly me.
As many of you know, I just spent two weeks back at home for Thanksgiving. Having been away from home for ten months, it was wonderful to see my family and friends again. I have completed the coursework portion of my masters, and now just need to do the dissertation part (I like how I said “just,” as though it’s an easy task… ha!). So it looks like I will be sticking around South Africa for another few months. Thus, a visit home was in order. I spent the first week visiting my sister in Delaware and visiting my relatives in New Jersey for Thanksgiving. I then spent the second week at home in Rochester, splitting my time between sleeping in late, eating all of the food that I’ve missed, visiting friends, and spending time with my family.
Although I have taken several vacations while I’ve been in South Africa and haven’t been necessarily studying hard the entire time, I have been constantly challenged and constantly learning. So being home was not only an opportunity to reconnect with people, but also an opportunity to turn my brain off and stop thinking about poverty and AIDS and the state of the world for a couple of weeks. It’s as though every day and every interaction I have in South Africa is a cultural and learning experience, constantly challenging me and pushing me to the limits of my comfort zone. Being at home was a much needed break, to say the least.
Because I was home for such a short time, I really didn’t have to deal with culture shock or evaluating my time here or where I stand in my life now. As I said, I just turned my brain off for a little bit (is that even possible?). I did make a couple of interesting observations, though. I was very overwhelmed by two things: 1) the speed of life in the US and 2) the variety and huge quantity of choices in the US. As for the speed of life, my sister Abby often reminded me, “your not on African time anymore, Jaime!” because apparently I had trouble hurrying and being on time. As they say here, “there’s no hurry in Africa.” If I did in fact adopt this slower pace as part of my own routine, than I am quite pleased with myself. Having experienced life both here and there, I can say with some certainty that perhaps the saying should go, “there’s no hurry in life.” Let’s be honest, where does hurrying get us besides ulcers and high blood pressure? We all get to the same destination in the end.
And as for variety, eish, walking down an aisle in a grocery store was incredibly overwhelming. Are there really that many varieties of cereal, that many colors of Gatorade, that many flavors of dog food?! I went clothes shopping one day and ended up not buying anything because I just couldn’t make any decisions, it was all too much. I ended up deciding that if I could live off of the same ten shirts for the past ten months, I certainly can make it for the next few months without adding anything to my wardrobe. Not to say that there isn’t variety in South Africa or that there isn’t any consumerism here, but America puts the rest to shame.
And so, after a fulfilling but all too brief visit home, I hopped back on the plane and after a 30+ hour journey and a fiasco involving a lost ATM card and no place to stay overnight in Johannesburg, I ended up back in my beloved Durban. And the strange thing is, I felt like I was in a sense coming home. It felt nice to be back in my apartment, back in my routine here. But it also felt equally nice being in my house back home, in my routine there. And the strangest part is how surreal it feels. It’s as though I cannot picture the other life existing when I’m not in it, and yet when I return to one or the other, it’s as though I never left. Perhaps I need to stop thinking about this and go sit by the sea again.
A little update on life in Durban… Summer is getting back into full swing. The only way I can describe the heat here is to compare it to sitting too close to a campfire, only you can’t step away. There’s no escaping the Durban sun, and there is certainly no escaping the Durban humidity. I’m already dreading the unbearable heat of January-March. At least I’ll get some good beach days out of it. No new progress with the dissertation, but I have full confidence (most of the time) that it will all work out just fine. I’m going to be spending next week in Mozambique, lying on the beach and exploring new places and a new culture. And then my first Zulu Christmas! It should be an adventure, which I will certainly fill you all in on. If I don’t speak with you before the holiday season, have a lovely time and play in the snow for me, because it certainly will not be a white Christmas here!
Lately what has been pestering me is the idea of having two vastly different realities in my life, and somehow figuring out how they fit together. How can someone feel so at home both in Rochester, NY, and in Durban, South Africa? How can I feel just as comfortable being an American in my own country and being a foreigner in another? How can I feel just as comfortable being squeezed in a mini bus taxi with a bunch of South Africans, listening to house music, riding through Durban’s bustling and beautifully vibrant center city, as I do driving my own car through the streets of my quiet suburb in upstate New York? And how on earth will I ever find the compromise that will allow both of these realities to exist in my life simultaneously, feeding both my need for adventure and newness, and my love for home and familiarity? And so here I sit, too big for my boots, thinking that these questions a) are really important in the grand scheme of things, and b) that I can answer them today, right now, definitively. Silly me.
As many of you know, I just spent two weeks back at home for Thanksgiving. Having been away from home for ten months, it was wonderful to see my family and friends again. I have completed the coursework portion of my masters, and now just need to do the dissertation part (I like how I said “just,” as though it’s an easy task… ha!). So it looks like I will be sticking around South Africa for another few months. Thus, a visit home was in order. I spent the first week visiting my sister in Delaware and visiting my relatives in New Jersey for Thanksgiving. I then spent the second week at home in Rochester, splitting my time between sleeping in late, eating all of the food that I’ve missed, visiting friends, and spending time with my family.
Although I have taken several vacations while I’ve been in South Africa and haven’t been necessarily studying hard the entire time, I have been constantly challenged and constantly learning. So being home was not only an opportunity to reconnect with people, but also an opportunity to turn my brain off and stop thinking about poverty and AIDS and the state of the world for a couple of weeks. It’s as though every day and every interaction I have in South Africa is a cultural and learning experience, constantly challenging me and pushing me to the limits of my comfort zone. Being at home was a much needed break, to say the least.
Because I was home for such a short time, I really didn’t have to deal with culture shock or evaluating my time here or where I stand in my life now. As I said, I just turned my brain off for a little bit (is that even possible?). I did make a couple of interesting observations, though. I was very overwhelmed by two things: 1) the speed of life in the US and 2) the variety and huge quantity of choices in the US. As for the speed of life, my sister Abby often reminded me, “your not on African time anymore, Jaime!” because apparently I had trouble hurrying and being on time. As they say here, “there’s no hurry in Africa.” If I did in fact adopt this slower pace as part of my own routine, than I am quite pleased with myself. Having experienced life both here and there, I can say with some certainty that perhaps the saying should go, “there’s no hurry in life.” Let’s be honest, where does hurrying get us besides ulcers and high blood pressure? We all get to the same destination in the end.
And as for variety, eish, walking down an aisle in a grocery store was incredibly overwhelming. Are there really that many varieties of cereal, that many colors of Gatorade, that many flavors of dog food?! I went clothes shopping one day and ended up not buying anything because I just couldn’t make any decisions, it was all too much. I ended up deciding that if I could live off of the same ten shirts for the past ten months, I certainly can make it for the next few months without adding anything to my wardrobe. Not to say that there isn’t variety in South Africa or that there isn’t any consumerism here, but America puts the rest to shame.
And so, after a fulfilling but all too brief visit home, I hopped back on the plane and after a 30+ hour journey and a fiasco involving a lost ATM card and no place to stay overnight in Johannesburg, I ended up back in my beloved Durban. And the strange thing is, I felt like I was in a sense coming home. It felt nice to be back in my apartment, back in my routine here. But it also felt equally nice being in my house back home, in my routine there. And the strangest part is how surreal it feels. It’s as though I cannot picture the other life existing when I’m not in it, and yet when I return to one or the other, it’s as though I never left. Perhaps I need to stop thinking about this and go sit by the sea again.
A little update on life in Durban… Summer is getting back into full swing. The only way I can describe the heat here is to compare it to sitting too close to a campfire, only you can’t step away. There’s no escaping the Durban sun, and there is certainly no escaping the Durban humidity. I’m already dreading the unbearable heat of January-March. At least I’ll get some good beach days out of it. No new progress with the dissertation, but I have full confidence (most of the time) that it will all work out just fine. I’m going to be spending next week in Mozambique, lying on the beach and exploring new places and a new culture. And then my first Zulu Christmas! It should be an adventure, which I will certainly fill you all in on. If I don’t speak with you before the holiday season, have a lovely time and play in the snow for me, because it certainly will not be a white Christmas here!
Monday, October 22, 2007
A few life lessons along the way.
I usually only write blog updates when I’m in a particularly happy/inspired mood. But I decided that this is not the most accurate picture of my South African adventure. So instead I am writing today on a rainy day when I am in a frustrated/overwhelmed mood. Today I found out that my research proposal was turned down at the hospital at which I had planned to interview nurses. I’m looking at the impact of the nursing shortage on HIV/AIDS care for my masters’ thesis. Now getting turned down at the hospital may not seem like a big deal, but after spending 5 months on literature research and 3 months getting research approval from both the university and the Department of Health, it’s a VERY frustrating roadblock, as I now have to either reapply to the Department of Health to do the research at another hospital, or find some inventive way of contacting nurses by going around the hospital administration (an ethically questionable endeavor). It’s made all the more frustrating by the fact that their reason for turning down the proposal was not the content of the proposal, but rather that they just have too much research going on at the hospital and don’t have time for any more. Now I wanted to scream at them “YOU don’t have time?! YOU will not be doing the research! I’M the one who doesn’t have time! And now YOU’VE wasted MY time!” But instead I smiled politely and thanked them for their time.
While this is a decidedly bad-mood post, I know better than to dwell on the negative. After finding out about this latest roadblock in my research, my first instinct was to call it quits and declare that this is just too hard. I even looked longingly at the lonely suitcase waiting patiently in my closet and pictured myself throwing all of my belongings in it, buying an airplane ticket to Rochester, and waving goodbye to Durban. After all, I could be home in less than 24 hours if I so desired… But I’m a Gentile and Gentile’s don’t quit. Well, sometimes Gentiles quit musical instruments or hobbies, but they don’t quit serious things like this. So instead I took a bubble bath, drank a cup of tea, and decided to look at the bright side. Because it really isn’t all that bad. And therefore I am turning my lemons into lemonade and making a list of the nine lessons that I’ve learned in the past nine months. No, things are not always easy and they are not always perfect, but it is through the challenges that we become stronger and through the challenges that we learn the most worthwhile lessons.
1. Living simply is not easy.
Yesterday I opened my closet and let out a loud, annoyed sigh because I do NOT want to wear any of the ten shirts that I have been wearing over and over again for the last nine months. And some mornings I don’t want to walk the 30 minutes (uphill, mind you) to school. Can’t I just call a cab instead?! Sometimes I think wistfully of my lonely car sitting in the garage back home and of my unlimited access to internet and to a washer and a dryer. And a dishwasher and a microwave! Oh the luxuries. While I certainly am not living in poverty here, there are certain luxuries which I have learned to live without. But sometimes this spoilt American girl gets a little sick of it. I admit it, living simply (in material terms at least) may not be my thing after all.
2. I’m stupid.
I have learned since I’ve been here that it’s often more important to shut up and listen than it is to talk. In my classes I am surrounded by students who have worked for the government of Lesotho or the finance minister of Malawi. People who were raised in rural villages without electricity, where their fathers had not one, but multiple wives. People who have lived in several countries. People who have 2 or 3 other masters degrees already. While yes, I have my own contributions and talents to share, it is important to remember how much I can learn and that everyone else knows more than I do.
3. The answer is always yes (well, within reason).
No matter how tired I am or how much work I have to do, I try to take every opportunity for adventure or new experience that I can. How does that quote go? Something along the lines of “You will not regret the things you have done, but rather the things you have failed to do.” Yea, something like that. For instance, I may have had to stay up late writing a paper the other night because I spent the weekend with my homestay family in the township, but I would say it was worth the loss of sleep.
4. 23 is very young.
I sometimes get overwhelmed because I’m 23 and still don’t know exactly what I want to do with my life. Or for that matter, exactly what I want to do next year. But I have learned that I am still very young and have endless possibilities ahead of me. And this means that it is completely and absolutely okay if I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life. It’s the twists, turns, roadblocks, and bumps that make the journey so exciting.
5. I’m very lucky.
This is connected to the previous point in that not many people have been as lucky as I have been in being able to see and do so much at such a young age. Even when I get frustrated and overwhelmed with my life here, I always remember what an incredible blessing it is to be here and to have these experiences.
6. I still don’t know what development is.
Now you’d think that working towards my masters’ degree in development studies for the past 9 months, I would have figured this out by now, but I haven’t. I’ve decided that there is no definition, so I work on the idea that the goal of “development” is to improve the well-being of people, working toward justice and equality. Where I fit into that, I have no idea. But as I said, I’m still young. I have time to figure it out.
7. Laugh. A lot.
There are situations here that just make no sense and all I can do is laugh and appreciate the moment for what it’s worth. Whether it be in a bar, on a bus, or in a church, I’m often the only white person and I often stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t understand all of the customs and nuances here, and will therefore continue to mess up. For example, the other day in the township, I said that I had a headache and someone offered me toothpaste. When I asked how that would help me, she explained, in entire earnestness, that putting toothpaste up your bum-hole cures all ailments. I replied that I’d rather have the headache. And so I’ve learned to take it all with a grain of salt, and laugh along.
8. There’s no hurry in South Africa (I have yet to be convinced that there is hurry anywhere in Africa for that matter)
For a very structured person who likes to plan ahead, this has been a difficult lesson to learn. But as shown by the research approval stuff, sometimes there isn’t a whole lot I can do to hurry things up. And so I will continue to wait for an hour at a bus stop. I will continue to wait in long lines at the bank. I will continue to listen to the parking guard tell me his whole life story every time I pass by him on the street. While I may be in a hurry, no one else is. So I might as well walk a little slower and listen to the parking guard’s story. Stop and smell the roses, right?
9. There’s no place like home.
When all is said and done, no one will ever replace the people from home. When I’m in a crappy mood, the best thing for me to do is to call my mom because in the end, she’s the only one who can help me make sense of life (in fact, I’m going to go call her as soon as I finish writing this). No matter how beautiful the places you visit are or how wonderful new friends are, they are not, nor will the ever be, the ones who unconditionally loved you and cared for you first.
So there you have it. A sweet glass of lemonade squeezed from some sour lemons. As my friend Amy told me in an email after she returned from a year in China, “As long as you have confidence, flexibility, and a smile, everything will work out in the end.” And so my suitcase will remain in my closet for a little bit longer.
While this is a decidedly bad-mood post, I know better than to dwell on the negative. After finding out about this latest roadblock in my research, my first instinct was to call it quits and declare that this is just too hard. I even looked longingly at the lonely suitcase waiting patiently in my closet and pictured myself throwing all of my belongings in it, buying an airplane ticket to Rochester, and waving goodbye to Durban. After all, I could be home in less than 24 hours if I so desired… But I’m a Gentile and Gentile’s don’t quit. Well, sometimes Gentiles quit musical instruments or hobbies, but they don’t quit serious things like this. So instead I took a bubble bath, drank a cup of tea, and decided to look at the bright side. Because it really isn’t all that bad. And therefore I am turning my lemons into lemonade and making a list of the nine lessons that I’ve learned in the past nine months. No, things are not always easy and they are not always perfect, but it is through the challenges that we become stronger and through the challenges that we learn the most worthwhile lessons.
1. Living simply is not easy.
Yesterday I opened my closet and let out a loud, annoyed sigh because I do NOT want to wear any of the ten shirts that I have been wearing over and over again for the last nine months. And some mornings I don’t want to walk the 30 minutes (uphill, mind you) to school. Can’t I just call a cab instead?! Sometimes I think wistfully of my lonely car sitting in the garage back home and of my unlimited access to internet and to a washer and a dryer. And a dishwasher and a microwave! Oh the luxuries. While I certainly am not living in poverty here, there are certain luxuries which I have learned to live without. But sometimes this spoilt American girl gets a little sick of it. I admit it, living simply (in material terms at least) may not be my thing after all.
2. I’m stupid.
I have learned since I’ve been here that it’s often more important to shut up and listen than it is to talk. In my classes I am surrounded by students who have worked for the government of Lesotho or the finance minister of Malawi. People who were raised in rural villages without electricity, where their fathers had not one, but multiple wives. People who have lived in several countries. People who have 2 or 3 other masters degrees already. While yes, I have my own contributions and talents to share, it is important to remember how much I can learn and that everyone else knows more than I do.
3. The answer is always yes (well, within reason).
No matter how tired I am or how much work I have to do, I try to take every opportunity for adventure or new experience that I can. How does that quote go? Something along the lines of “You will not regret the things you have done, but rather the things you have failed to do.” Yea, something like that. For instance, I may have had to stay up late writing a paper the other night because I spent the weekend with my homestay family in the township, but I would say it was worth the loss of sleep.
4. 23 is very young.
I sometimes get overwhelmed because I’m 23 and still don’t know exactly what I want to do with my life. Or for that matter, exactly what I want to do next year. But I have learned that I am still very young and have endless possibilities ahead of me. And this means that it is completely and absolutely okay if I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life. It’s the twists, turns, roadblocks, and bumps that make the journey so exciting.
5. I’m very lucky.
This is connected to the previous point in that not many people have been as lucky as I have been in being able to see and do so much at such a young age. Even when I get frustrated and overwhelmed with my life here, I always remember what an incredible blessing it is to be here and to have these experiences.
6. I still don’t know what development is.
Now you’d think that working towards my masters’ degree in development studies for the past 9 months, I would have figured this out by now, but I haven’t. I’ve decided that there is no definition, so I work on the idea that the goal of “development” is to improve the well-being of people, working toward justice and equality. Where I fit into that, I have no idea. But as I said, I’m still young. I have time to figure it out.
7. Laugh. A lot.
There are situations here that just make no sense and all I can do is laugh and appreciate the moment for what it’s worth. Whether it be in a bar, on a bus, or in a church, I’m often the only white person and I often stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t understand all of the customs and nuances here, and will therefore continue to mess up. For example, the other day in the township, I said that I had a headache and someone offered me toothpaste. When I asked how that would help me, she explained, in entire earnestness, that putting toothpaste up your bum-hole cures all ailments. I replied that I’d rather have the headache. And so I’ve learned to take it all with a grain of salt, and laugh along.
8. There’s no hurry in South Africa (I have yet to be convinced that there is hurry anywhere in Africa for that matter)
For a very structured person who likes to plan ahead, this has been a difficult lesson to learn. But as shown by the research approval stuff, sometimes there isn’t a whole lot I can do to hurry things up. And so I will continue to wait for an hour at a bus stop. I will continue to wait in long lines at the bank. I will continue to listen to the parking guard tell me his whole life story every time I pass by him on the street. While I may be in a hurry, no one else is. So I might as well walk a little slower and listen to the parking guard’s story. Stop and smell the roses, right?
9. There’s no place like home.
When all is said and done, no one will ever replace the people from home. When I’m in a crappy mood, the best thing for me to do is to call my mom because in the end, she’s the only one who can help me make sense of life (in fact, I’m going to go call her as soon as I finish writing this). No matter how beautiful the places you visit are or how wonderful new friends are, they are not, nor will the ever be, the ones who unconditionally loved you and cared for you first.
So there you have it. A sweet glass of lemonade squeezed from some sour lemons. As my friend Amy told me in an email after she returned from a year in China, “As long as you have confidence, flexibility, and a smile, everything will work out in the end.” And so my suitcase will remain in my closet for a little bit longer.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Earn This...
I went to church today with my roommate, Angel. Going to church here is always an experience, especially when you are the only white person there and are accustomed to the one hour, ritual-dependent Catholic services. Angel’s church consists of 3 hours of singing and dancing; the best singing and dancing I’ve ever experienced. Although I often have trouble agreeing with the sermon (i.e. A few weeks ago the pastor preached about how real men are not meant to do “women’s” work, such as cooking and caring for children. Real Men are meant for something better. I have many issues with this message, but won’t get into it now), I am always humbled and inspired by the joy, celebration, and strong sense of community. In addition, I am always very warmly welcomed and have even been told that when we reach the gates of Heaven, people of all nations and all races will be together as they should be, so it is good that I join in their celebrations and that people of different races mix as they should here on earth.
But my reason for talking about church is not to tell you about what happened in church, but rather what happened after church. As Angel and I were waiting for our bus, a Jehovah’s Witness approached us and asked “why do you think the world is so wicked?” I replied that perhaps it is just her perspective that the world is wicked. One could also say that the world is filled with love and the overcoming of obstacles, just as easily as one could say that it is filled with hate and misery. For example, when I visit my home stay family in the township, I never see misery or unhappiness there, but rather always feel surrounded by love and joy, regardless of how little money the families in the community have or how many hardships they have faced in their lives. Well my Jehovah’s Witness friend disagreed, using the example of the problems of rape and disease in SA as evidence of the overwhelming evil. She then told us that Satan has control of the world because we are all sinners, or something along those lines. After giving us this uplifting message and some literature, she walked over to her BMW and drove away, most likely directly past all of the slums filled with “rape and disease,” and to her posh white suburb.
Ok, stick with me on this one because I’m going to tie all of this rambling together at the end but here’s another little story first. A couple of weeks ago my friend Briana who is working with the Peace Corps in Namibia visited me here in Durban with a few of her fellow volunteers. We spent a very fun week together, visiting all of the Durban highlights and spending a couple of days on the Wild Coast (my favorite place in SA, about 2 hours south of Durban). While on the Wild Coast, a couple of us rode horses on the beach, a personal dream of mine. Granted they made us wear helmets and the guides insisted on keeping our horses on leashes, so it wasn’t the picture I had of my hair blowing in the wind as my horse gallops down the beach, but it was still a great experience. But somewhere along our walk, I saw a woman standing in the shallow water collecting something, perhaps some sort of shellfish. I was struck by this clash of cultures and of realities. Whereas for me the beach is a place of relaxation and fun, for others it is a source of livelihood and a place of work. Whereas I had just paid about $12 to ride a horse for 40 minutes, this woman was probably struggling to feed her family and would gladly have put that money to use in the form of school fees or clothing for her kids. But hey, I have a right to use my money however I see fit, right? I have a right to be sitting up on this horse while she digs through the muck for her dinner, right?
Whenever I go out to a bar on the weekends, I walk by beggars on the street, asking for money to feed their children. As a rule, I don’t believe in giving money to beggars because I reason that even if I gave away all of the money I have, it wouldn’t even scratch the surface of the problems of poverty and homelessness. And after all, they’ll probably just use it on alcohol anyway. So instead I walk by the beggars, and into the bar to buy some beer for myself. And as with the horse riding, I rationalize it, telling myself that I deserve the break or I deserve to have fun and take advantage of every opportunity while I’m in South Africa.
As I was writing this blog update, I listened to the song “Dear Mr. President” by Pink. It doesn’t paint a very good picture of the current US administration, but regardless of how you feel about the president, it has a powerful message for all of us. It goes a little like this: “What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street? Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep? What do you feel when you look in the mirror? Are you proud? How do you sleep while the rest of us cry? How do you dream while a mother has no chance to say goodbye? How do you walk with your head held high? Can you even look me in the eye?” While I think these are indeed very good questions to ask anyone in a position of political power, I think often we must also turn these questions on ourselves.
So here’s the point of all of these disjointed anecdotes: rather than seeing injustice and blaming the powers that be, perhaps it is time to turn the finger of blame around on myself. In the last eight months, I have realized just what it means to be an American, and a financially secure, middle-class, educated, white American on top of that. It is easy to blame God or the Devil for the evil and injustice that exist in our world, and then return to my own personal security and comfort. It is easy to ride a horse by a woman digging in the muck, assuring myself that I deserved this little vacation and that I’ve worked hard for the opportunity to be here and the money that got me here. It is easy to blame the president for failed policies that cause havoc both domestically and internationally, to ask him how he can sleep soundly at night, but to not question the impacts of my own actions. But the thing is, the easy answers that comfort us are not always the right answers. As an American, all I have to do is flash my passport or my MasterCard and I can pretty much get whatever I want. As an American with an education, I can travel the world and see and do whatever I dream of. But with this comes a huge burden of responsibility.
I haven’t seen the movie Saving Private Ryan for some years, but I remember a scene at the end where a dying Tom Hanks tells Matt Damon to “earn this.” For those who haven’t seen the movie, I think something like 4 soldiers are killed in a mission to save one soldier, played by Matt Damon. And the soldier is told to earn the lives that were lost on his behalf, to somehow make his life worthy of their sacrifices. There are great injustices in this world, and I’m not saying that I or any other privileged person is directly to blame for the suffering and misfortune of others. But I am saying that perhaps it is time to turn the finger of blame on ourselves and ask not who is responsible, but rather what am I doing to make it better, to create a more just and loving world. In all statistical probability, one is more likely to be born an impoverished African than a privileged American, and for some reason I was born a privileged American who has been blessed with a loving family, a good education, and a wealth of opportunity. I’m sure that many of you who are reading this blog were also born into similar situations, for which we should be grateful. But sometimes gratitude isn’t enough. We must earn this.
But my reason for talking about church is not to tell you about what happened in church, but rather what happened after church. As Angel and I were waiting for our bus, a Jehovah’s Witness approached us and asked “why do you think the world is so wicked?” I replied that perhaps it is just her perspective that the world is wicked. One could also say that the world is filled with love and the overcoming of obstacles, just as easily as one could say that it is filled with hate and misery. For example, when I visit my home stay family in the township, I never see misery or unhappiness there, but rather always feel surrounded by love and joy, regardless of how little money the families in the community have or how many hardships they have faced in their lives. Well my Jehovah’s Witness friend disagreed, using the example of the problems of rape and disease in SA as evidence of the overwhelming evil. She then told us that Satan has control of the world because we are all sinners, or something along those lines. After giving us this uplifting message and some literature, she walked over to her BMW and drove away, most likely directly past all of the slums filled with “rape and disease,” and to her posh white suburb.
Ok, stick with me on this one because I’m going to tie all of this rambling together at the end but here’s another little story first. A couple of weeks ago my friend Briana who is working with the Peace Corps in Namibia visited me here in Durban with a few of her fellow volunteers. We spent a very fun week together, visiting all of the Durban highlights and spending a couple of days on the Wild Coast (my favorite place in SA, about 2 hours south of Durban). While on the Wild Coast, a couple of us rode horses on the beach, a personal dream of mine. Granted they made us wear helmets and the guides insisted on keeping our horses on leashes, so it wasn’t the picture I had of my hair blowing in the wind as my horse gallops down the beach, but it was still a great experience. But somewhere along our walk, I saw a woman standing in the shallow water collecting something, perhaps some sort of shellfish. I was struck by this clash of cultures and of realities. Whereas for me the beach is a place of relaxation and fun, for others it is a source of livelihood and a place of work. Whereas I had just paid about $12 to ride a horse for 40 minutes, this woman was probably struggling to feed her family and would gladly have put that money to use in the form of school fees or clothing for her kids. But hey, I have a right to use my money however I see fit, right? I have a right to be sitting up on this horse while she digs through the muck for her dinner, right?
Whenever I go out to a bar on the weekends, I walk by beggars on the street, asking for money to feed their children. As a rule, I don’t believe in giving money to beggars because I reason that even if I gave away all of the money I have, it wouldn’t even scratch the surface of the problems of poverty and homelessness. And after all, they’ll probably just use it on alcohol anyway. So instead I walk by the beggars, and into the bar to buy some beer for myself. And as with the horse riding, I rationalize it, telling myself that I deserve the break or I deserve to have fun and take advantage of every opportunity while I’m in South Africa.
As I was writing this blog update, I listened to the song “Dear Mr. President” by Pink. It doesn’t paint a very good picture of the current US administration, but regardless of how you feel about the president, it has a powerful message for all of us. It goes a little like this: “What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street? Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep? What do you feel when you look in the mirror? Are you proud? How do you sleep while the rest of us cry? How do you dream while a mother has no chance to say goodbye? How do you walk with your head held high? Can you even look me in the eye?” While I think these are indeed very good questions to ask anyone in a position of political power, I think often we must also turn these questions on ourselves.
So here’s the point of all of these disjointed anecdotes: rather than seeing injustice and blaming the powers that be, perhaps it is time to turn the finger of blame around on myself. In the last eight months, I have realized just what it means to be an American, and a financially secure, middle-class, educated, white American on top of that. It is easy to blame God or the Devil for the evil and injustice that exist in our world, and then return to my own personal security and comfort. It is easy to ride a horse by a woman digging in the muck, assuring myself that I deserved this little vacation and that I’ve worked hard for the opportunity to be here and the money that got me here. It is easy to blame the president for failed policies that cause havoc both domestically and internationally, to ask him how he can sleep soundly at night, but to not question the impacts of my own actions. But the thing is, the easy answers that comfort us are not always the right answers. As an American, all I have to do is flash my passport or my MasterCard and I can pretty much get whatever I want. As an American with an education, I can travel the world and see and do whatever I dream of. But with this comes a huge burden of responsibility.
I haven’t seen the movie Saving Private Ryan for some years, but I remember a scene at the end where a dying Tom Hanks tells Matt Damon to “earn this.” For those who haven’t seen the movie, I think something like 4 soldiers are killed in a mission to save one soldier, played by Matt Damon. And the soldier is told to earn the lives that were lost on his behalf, to somehow make his life worthy of their sacrifices. There are great injustices in this world, and I’m not saying that I or any other privileged person is directly to blame for the suffering and misfortune of others. But I am saying that perhaps it is time to turn the finger of blame on ourselves and ask not who is responsible, but rather what am I doing to make it better, to create a more just and loving world. In all statistical probability, one is more likely to be born an impoverished African than a privileged American, and for some reason I was born a privileged American who has been blessed with a loving family, a good education, and a wealth of opportunity. I’m sure that many of you who are reading this blog were also born into similar situations, for which we should be grateful. But sometimes gratitude isn’t enough. We must earn this.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Corey's whirlwind tour of South Africa
As I write this, I am sitting in my apartment on a lovely August day (it’s spring here in Durban, which means beautiful sunny days without the unbearable humidity that will be arriving in a couple of months) pretending to do work. I say pretending because I have a pile of reading to do for my dissertation, but instead am taking a not-so-well-deserved break to write this. So as I was sitting here, I heard a bell ringing outside and looking outside realized that it was the South African version of the ice cream man who we so fondly refer to as Skippy back home. But South African Skippy has one distinct difference from American Skippy: he has no ice cream truck. It’s just a guy walking down the street carrying a cooler, ringing a bell. This is something that I found pretty funny the first time I saw him, but after almost 7 months here has become commonplace. I start this update with a very random story because my older sister, Corey, just spent the last 10 days with me here, and I finally got to share my life in South Africa with someone from home. While Corey didn’t get to meet South African Skippy, she did experience many of the other aspects of my life, which seem normal to me, but seen through new eyes are far more interesting and unique than I realize.
During Corey’s 10 days in South Africa, we tried to fit in as much as possible because I wanted to give her the fullest picture that I could of why this country is so great. We started with three days in Cape Town. While in Cape Town, Corey and I went to Table Mountain, visited Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned, took a day trip to the Cape of Good Hope (most southwestern point in Africa), and did some shopping and other sight-seeing in the city. Cape Town is a great city; very beautiful and much more tourist-friendly than Durban with a great tourist trap harbor front with shops and restaurant. We had a fun few days in Cape Town, even though the backpackers that we stayed in was a little smelly and too crowded for Corey’s liking (we had to share a room with some crazy foreigners), and we didn’t realize that we needed to bring sleeping bags so we slept without sheets or blankets. But as I told Corey, here in Africa we’re roughing in. Actually that’s a complete lie; my life here is not rough at all, but I have learned to roll with the punches and expect anything (aka the Skippy without the truck).
After returning to Durban and spending one night here, Corey, my roommate Stephanie, and I headed up to a game park in Umfolozi a couple of hours north of Durban. I had shown Corey the very modern face of South Africa in Cape Town, so now it was time to show her the stereotypical African side of South Africa… the animals! At Umfolozi we stayed in a hut in the game park, which meant that we had some rather scary evening visitors. The first night I was heading to the bathroom, which is in a separate building from our hut, only to find the entrance blocked by a hyena. Now hyenas in real life are not as friendly and small as they may seem in The Lion King. They’re actually pretty big and scary, and we’ve been told they have jaws stronger than those of a lion. So I calmly turned and walked away, breaking into a run the last few meters, terrified that I would meet my end at the jaws of a hyena. We then watched from our window as the hyena scavenged around the camp and came right up to our hut and stared us down, only to walk away. It was pretty cool to be so close to a hyena, although a little disconcerting and we decided that evening trips to the bathroom were probably not the best idea. The next day as we were sitting in our hut reading, a monkey popped his head in the door, but seemed just as surprised to see us as we were to see him, and quickly left. I was glad that the wildlife of Umfolozi had decided to give Corey a good show, though.
We went on two game drives while at Umfolozi. The first, and best, one was during the day and it was just the three of us in our little rental car. During our 3 hour drive along the meandering dirt roads we saw 4 of the big 5 (the big 5 being lions, leopards, elephants, buffaloes, and rhinos… we didn’t see the leopards). We also saw giraffes, warthogs, zebras, baboons, multiple types of antelope, and other birds and animals that we couldn’t identify. Many of the animals were right on the road, which was a great experience. In fact we drove right through a herd of rhinos standing in the road and were a little afraid they may ram our car because they’re actually very dangerous animals, but we made it through alright. Last time I was here in 2005 I also visited Umfolozi, but I think this time I was more in awe of the animals we saw and perhaps was able to see more than last time. It’s such an amazing experience to be, although in the safety of a car, so close to such majestic animals. The other game ride we went on was organized by the park and was a night drive. It was a little cold and (obviously) dark, so we didn’t see as much, but we did get to see 4 lion cubs, which I thought made the whole thing worthwhile.
After a few days relaxing in Umfolozi, enjoying the animals and the beautiful scenery (picture rolling hills that go on as far as the eye can see without buildings or electricity lines obstructing the view), we headed back to Durban so I could show Corey MY South Africa. During our four days in Durban we visited the beach a couple of times, visited my family in the township where I lived in 2005, went shopping at a market, had a couple of nights out on the town, and visited my university. It was really wonderful to get to show Corey around South Africa and to see her reactions to things and get her perspective. For example, when we were in the shopping centre near my apartment, which is very modern and American-feeling, a woman walked by carrying a huge package on her head, as many black South African women do. Like Skippy-on-foot, this has become very commonplace to me and I am no longer as stunned by the amazing strength and balance these women possess. But seen through Corey’s eyes, I got to again realize how great the clash of cultures is here. It’s this amazing mix of the “developing world” and the “developed world” (I put them in quotes because I don’t agree with the idea of ranking countries in this way, but I won’t get into that now) and of European culture with African culture. I am always amazed that it only takes about an hour drive out of the bustling city of Durban to be in a rural village with no electricity or running water where English is often not spoken. South Africa really has an incredible juxtaposition of very different realities that somehow seem to be working together.
But I’m off track. The point is, it was really great to share all of this with my sister and to know that when I get back home there will be one person who at least somewhat understands my life in South Africa and what I have been so fortunate to experience here. When we were at the Cape of Good Hope we climbed to the top of this rock outcropping overlooking the ocean and Corey turned to me and said “I can’t believe I’m in Africa!” And I just smiled and nodded, happy that someone else understands the constant state of awe and wonder that I am in. Of course I am also constantly challenged and overwhelmed too, but mostly it is just pure, wonderful awe and I know I will not make sense of most of it for a long time. But for now, I’m glad that I could share it all with my sister and give her a glimpse of this incredible adventure.
During Corey’s 10 days in South Africa, we tried to fit in as much as possible because I wanted to give her the fullest picture that I could of why this country is so great. We started with three days in Cape Town. While in Cape Town, Corey and I went to Table Mountain, visited Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned, took a day trip to the Cape of Good Hope (most southwestern point in Africa), and did some shopping and other sight-seeing in the city. Cape Town is a great city; very beautiful and much more tourist-friendly than Durban with a great tourist trap harbor front with shops and restaurant. We had a fun few days in Cape Town, even though the backpackers that we stayed in was a little smelly and too crowded for Corey’s liking (we had to share a room with some crazy foreigners), and we didn’t realize that we needed to bring sleeping bags so we slept without sheets or blankets. But as I told Corey, here in Africa we’re roughing in. Actually that’s a complete lie; my life here is not rough at all, but I have learned to roll with the punches and expect anything (aka the Skippy without the truck).
After returning to Durban and spending one night here, Corey, my roommate Stephanie, and I headed up to a game park in Umfolozi a couple of hours north of Durban. I had shown Corey the very modern face of South Africa in Cape Town, so now it was time to show her the stereotypical African side of South Africa… the animals! At Umfolozi we stayed in a hut in the game park, which meant that we had some rather scary evening visitors. The first night I was heading to the bathroom, which is in a separate building from our hut, only to find the entrance blocked by a hyena. Now hyenas in real life are not as friendly and small as they may seem in The Lion King. They’re actually pretty big and scary, and we’ve been told they have jaws stronger than those of a lion. So I calmly turned and walked away, breaking into a run the last few meters, terrified that I would meet my end at the jaws of a hyena. We then watched from our window as the hyena scavenged around the camp and came right up to our hut and stared us down, only to walk away. It was pretty cool to be so close to a hyena, although a little disconcerting and we decided that evening trips to the bathroom were probably not the best idea. The next day as we were sitting in our hut reading, a monkey popped his head in the door, but seemed just as surprised to see us as we were to see him, and quickly left. I was glad that the wildlife of Umfolozi had decided to give Corey a good show, though.
We went on two game drives while at Umfolozi. The first, and best, one was during the day and it was just the three of us in our little rental car. During our 3 hour drive along the meandering dirt roads we saw 4 of the big 5 (the big 5 being lions, leopards, elephants, buffaloes, and rhinos… we didn’t see the leopards). We also saw giraffes, warthogs, zebras, baboons, multiple types of antelope, and other birds and animals that we couldn’t identify. Many of the animals were right on the road, which was a great experience. In fact we drove right through a herd of rhinos standing in the road and were a little afraid they may ram our car because they’re actually very dangerous animals, but we made it through alright. Last time I was here in 2005 I also visited Umfolozi, but I think this time I was more in awe of the animals we saw and perhaps was able to see more than last time. It’s such an amazing experience to be, although in the safety of a car, so close to such majestic animals. The other game ride we went on was organized by the park and was a night drive. It was a little cold and (obviously) dark, so we didn’t see as much, but we did get to see 4 lion cubs, which I thought made the whole thing worthwhile.
After a few days relaxing in Umfolozi, enjoying the animals and the beautiful scenery (picture rolling hills that go on as far as the eye can see without buildings or electricity lines obstructing the view), we headed back to Durban so I could show Corey MY South Africa. During our four days in Durban we visited the beach a couple of times, visited my family in the township where I lived in 2005, went shopping at a market, had a couple of nights out on the town, and visited my university. It was really wonderful to get to show Corey around South Africa and to see her reactions to things and get her perspective. For example, when we were in the shopping centre near my apartment, which is very modern and American-feeling, a woman walked by carrying a huge package on her head, as many black South African women do. Like Skippy-on-foot, this has become very commonplace to me and I am no longer as stunned by the amazing strength and balance these women possess. But seen through Corey’s eyes, I got to again realize how great the clash of cultures is here. It’s this amazing mix of the “developing world” and the “developed world” (I put them in quotes because I don’t agree with the idea of ranking countries in this way, but I won’t get into that now) and of European culture with African culture. I am always amazed that it only takes about an hour drive out of the bustling city of Durban to be in a rural village with no electricity or running water where English is often not spoken. South Africa really has an incredible juxtaposition of very different realities that somehow seem to be working together.
But I’m off track. The point is, it was really great to share all of this with my sister and to know that when I get back home there will be one person who at least somewhat understands my life in South Africa and what I have been so fortunate to experience here. When we were at the Cape of Good Hope we climbed to the top of this rock outcropping overlooking the ocean and Corey turned to me and said “I can’t believe I’m in Africa!” And I just smiled and nodded, happy that someone else understands the constant state of awe and wonder that I am in. Of course I am also constantly challenged and overwhelmed too, but mostly it is just pure, wonderful awe and I know I will not make sense of most of it for a long time. But for now, I’m glad that I could share it all with my sister and give her a glimpse of this incredible adventure.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Namibia
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.
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.
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