Michelle on finding her calling

Today is my 21^st birthday, and I will spend it hiking through the Cape of Good Hope with my new friends, new hiking pack, and a fresh outlook on what I want to do with my life. Before I explain how I have decided what I want to do with my life, I want to share a quick tradition we have learned about in South Africa. When South African youth turn 21, they are given a large, decorative key inscribed with their name. This is the key to their adulthood, and should be hung above the doorframe of their first home. Commonly, this key is passed down through families. I very much like this tradition, and hope to pass it on to my friends and family.

This week I started my activist project, a requirement of one of our classes. We are to choose an organization that we will volunteer for, and hopefully aid them in some way. I have always had an interest in women’s health, and specifically reproductive freedom. Reproductive freedom, as many assume, does not just apply to abortion rights, but also to freedom in birth. Freedom to choose where, who attends, and especially weather to have a midwife or obstetrician. The midwife standard of care is very different than obstetricians, who tend to treat pregnancy and birth as a pathology that needs “curing.” Midwives believe that birth is a natural process that a woman should actively “do.” Labor is something one does, not a process that happens to you. This philosophy has always resonated with me, and I had always thrown around the idea of becoming a midwife. It always stuck in the back of my head, even, I think when I was a little girl. When I was in elementary and middle school I read and re-read a book called “The Midwife’s Apprentice” until its dog-eared pages fell apart.

On Tuesday I shadowed a midwife in Plumstead and sat in on her consultations for the day. I called her early in the morning, per her instructions, to make sure that she was not attending a birth that morning. She told me that she had actually been at a birth since 3 a.m. and was just heading to her office. I could hardly believe her enthusiasm as she told me about the birth and her upcoming appointments, even though she had not slept the night before. Her passion was contagious. She told me the story of Amelie’s dilevery, and how she refused to be examined. She was in control. Knew when it was time to push. Time to rest. Her body told her what to do. Hearing this story of a woman’s empowerment through her birth exhilarated me.

I walked into Ciska’s office, and immediately felt at home, thanks to a painting of my favorite tree, the baobab. As I watched several women, in various stages of their pregnancies, be examined, I was overcome with emotion. I have never felt such an overwhelming desire to learn, to touch, to comfort, to lead these women through such an exciting and promising time in their lives. The only way I can describe the feelings I had would be to equate it with a calling to the clergy. I have been called to this, oldest of professions, and cannot wait to start my journey to practicing midwifery. “Midwife” comes from the old English “to be with women,” and I can’t imagine a better way to stand up for women’s health and rights by empowering and encouraging a woman through the hardest, most painful, and most rewarding day of her life.

I have been thinking a lot about this decision, and I know I haven’t been at a birth yet, and many of you probably think I am an idealistic young girl who knows nothing about the hardships of birth. I hope that this is not true, however. I hope that I truly have found my calling, and that I have the strength to see it through. That’s half of the excitement. I don’t know if I can do this, but I can’t wait to try.

Brittany's transformation

Brittany: Before

I can recall a distinct memory from my high school years of watching a TV show where a woman shaved her head because she crossed the equator.   I remember feeling a desire to cut my hair short too.  I felt instantly guilty for having this thought because boys have short hair and girls have long hair. 

One week ago today I shaved my head.  I stood in front of a full length mirror with a pair of scissors and I watched my silky dark brown curls fall to the ground.  I didn’t feel a bit of sadness.  On the contrary, my face hurt from smiling.  I was surrounded by a very supportive group of people.   It was the most liberating experience of my life.  

During the process I thought about everyone who made me feel bad about my body.  I dredged up the embarrassment and hurt after being teased for my freckles, my mustache, the bump on my nose, my dark arm hair, and my short stubby nails.  I internalized every comment and have never forgotten them.  Some still make me feel self conscious.  Shaving my head symbolizes me refusing to allow others to hurt my self esteem again.

This act also symbolizes my refusal to follow social norms.  I don’t want to do something just because everyone else says it is acceptable.  Who gets to decide what is acceptable?  Numerous people in my life stated before I left for South Africa, “Britt, please don’t do it, your hair is so nice.”  And I complacently listened.  But those people are not around me now.  I only have myself on this journey of self realization and at the end of the day it is not their opinion that matters.  

We are all sent messages about what is acceptable and what is not.  Men and women both are targeted to have a very specific body type, skin color, and hair style among a million other non important qualities.  I want to know why it is acceptable for women to have long hair on their heads but hairless everywhere else.  Armpit hair, leg hair, and pubic hair is actually upsetting for some people to see on women. 

 If you are wondering, “Why is she so defiant of beauty standards?” the answer is very simple.  I want to love myself today.  I don’t want to wake up and need lotions, mouse, sprays, creams, makeup, and razors to make me feel better about my body.  The days of feeling anxious because I didn’t go to the gym, leave the house with my hair done, or a full face of makeup, are gone.  I will never look at a Marie Claire magazine and say I wish I could look like her.  I am free from the grasp of the media.  Advertising funds our mass media.  Commercials purposefully make women feel bad about their bodies.  When you feel bad you buy more unnecessary scam products to make you feel good.  If you turned the TV on and saw women of all shapes and sizes would you buy that product that runs on self-loathing?  NO you would not.  The cost to our consumer driven society is women’s self esteem.

People in Cape Town have mixed reactions to my hair cut.  It is more common to see black women with very short hair then white women.  Positive reactions to my new look have been, “Nice style maam” or “Hi, G.I. Jane.”  Some men have pointed at my head and laughed.  Some women have snickered in each other ears just loud enough for me to hear them ask each other, “Why would you ever do that?” 

I feel ecstatic.  I have never felt so beautiful, sexy, and confident.  I walk taller and more proud.  My large hazel eyes, lips, and huge smile stand out and are breathtaking!  I feel free from the confines that others have put on me.  I said goodbye to my past and let so many negative thoughts and feelings go just by cutting my hair.  I have lifted 23 years of oppression off my shoulders.  I am in touch with myself and the world around me.  Acceptance has brought me so much happiness.

I love me.

Thank you Betsy C, Jackie V, and Alison B for being amazing women.  You have each inspired and empowered me in more ways than you know.  Thank you for being in my life. 

 Brittany: After

Meredith's reflection on Table Mountain

 

Meredith with Table Mountain

I’m currently sitting on a comfy couch in our common room trying to decide what to write my second blog post about.  It should be something meaningful, something that has impacted my life here so far, and something that we’ve managed to overcome.

I honestly don’t even have to think too hard about it because what I’m going to write about is starring me in the face right now. Table Mountain.  All I have to do is pull the curtain back and there it is. Table Mountain in all its glory.

Witnessing it from the airplane at the final stretch of the tedious seventeen-hour flight completely took my breath away.  Now, one month into our trip I still catch myself in a complete trance by its beauty.  For some reason, I just cannot get enough of it.  It’s an absolutely mesmerizing spectacle.  As one of my housemates Rachel put it a few weeks ago, “It’s just so beautiful, but why? I mean it is just a pile of dirt and rocks.”  What makes this mountain so special?

What makes this mountain so beguiling is how immeasurable it truly is.  It is hard not to feel so small when you look at how great Table Mountain is.  Sometimes when the clouds cover the peak of the mountain, it looks as if it could go on forever.  The artistry behind Table Mountain is that there is nothing man made about it, it is so naturally beautiful.  Table Mountain is always etched into the background of the sky.  Wherever you look, it is there.  Wherever you go, it is there.

At Loch Road one of the main topics of discussion that always tends to resurface is the symbolism behind the majestic Table Mountain.  It is so interesting to me that everyone here looks at the mountain and has adapted unique and completely different views on what it means to them.  In order to help with my blog I’ve asked a few of my fellow housemates about what they believe the metaphor behind the mountain is.  Michelle for instance views the mountain as a weight on the people of the land.  It is the

weight of responsibility.  To her, a constant reminder that justice has not been served.  A completely different perspective on the mountain was given by Kayley would believes the mountain signifies hope because it is so great and stands so strong over Cape Town.

As you can see we all have completely different views on the symbolism behind Table Mountain.  This comparison really helps show the broad spectrum of individuals who live under this roof.  We are all here with a variety of different views on almost everything, and yet we are all here for one underlying reason.  To make a difference. Last weekend we finally decided that it was time to conquer the mountain.  The hike was prolonged and painful.  The mountain itself is 1,086 meters so it took about four hours of rock climbing at a forty-five degree angle.

  There were a few moments of weakness when we did not think we would make it to the top but we continued to tread on until we finally reached the very peak.  It was such a powerful feeling that each one of us made it to the top.

In our class, History, Politics and Culture of South Africa, Vincent showed us a political cartoon with Nelson Mandela at the top of “freedom hill” with many other hills in the distance.  This political statement portrays the vast amounts of hills that the people of South Africa have to climb in order to completely gain their equality.  Even now, twenty years after Nelson Mandela was released from prison, there is still a constant mountain to be climbed.

As we hiked up Table Mountain, I realized how perfect the timing of this climb was.  This mountain has perplexed me since the moment we arrived in South Africa.  It just felt so far and impossible.  This feeling of disconnection is exactly how I felt the first time we ventured into the townships.  I felt so disconnected from the people of South Africa and I had such a longing to feel connected.  Now, a month into our trip, it no longer feels like a vacation where I’m just a tourist passing through.  Working here, studying here, interacting with the people here are all ways which have led me to feel like this is exactly where I should be right now.  Now when I look at Table Mountain, I feel connected to this place.  I conquered the climb and know exactly why I am here.

Katherine on her time at Black Sash

Katherine with other Black Sash Interns

Interning at Black Sash has been an informative and enjoyable way to spend my Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays.  Black Sash is a human rights NGO that works to help South Africans recognize their social and economic rights.  I work at the Provincial Advice Office in downtown Cape Town on the corner of Long Street and Strand Street.  There are five interns including myself.  However, Persis, a student originally from Egypt who now lives in Australia has just left to go home.  She had been working at Black Sash since November.  The other three interns all began interning in January.  Elly is a twenty-four year old college graduate from Peoples, Scotland.  She is here through September.  Johanna is a twenty-nine year old originally from Finland but now lives in Germany.  Vera is a twenty-seven year old originally from Nicaragua and now lives in Los Angeles.  I have never worked with people from all over like this before.  I was surprised to find out that they are all older than me as well.  When I think of interning, I picture college students or those who have just graduated.

While at Black Sash I will be focusing on working on Phase Two of the SASSA Monitoring Project.  SASSA stands for South African Social Security Agency.  Phase One of the project dealt with researching in three areas in the Western Cape Province (where we are located) and surveying the SASSA site points.  The monitors found that most of the people waiting for social security services could not find places to sit, had to show up extremely early to ensure they would be seen the day they went, and if they got to a sight point late would have to wait over an hour to be seen. Phase Two will continue research on the quality of service that beneficiaries receive and will include a new and improved survey for those beneficiaries who are willing to take it.  Elly will also be working on this project with me.

I have been luckily enough to venture to Parliament twice in my three weeks of interning.  I went my first week to sit in on a newly formed committee that will deal with educational inequalities in South African public schools.  The meeting that the interns and I sat in on was the first time the members had met each other.  It was amusing to see that even grown adults play the same ice-breaker games I have grown up being forced to play in new situations.  The first exercise they did was to get up and say their name and what it means or why they were given it.  The second time I went to Parliament, which was this week, was to sit in on the Select Committee on Social Services.  The meeting was a briefing by SASSA on their Annual Report to members of Parliament. 

But of course, one of the more entertaining parts of my day is when I take the minibus home.  The minibus ride in the morning is much quieter because no one seems to be enthused to be going to work.  Yet in the afternoon people are much more vibrant.  On the journey back from Cape Town to Rondebosch I am always nervous that we are going to hit someone in the road.  People walk in the middle of the road and wherever else they please.  Luckily I haven’t witnessed anyone being nicked!

Vera, Katherine,  and Elly at Cafe Mojito

Brett on Cape Town's challenges and contradictions

Alright. Anything and everything to write about. Tonight is spaghetti and meatballs, and I look forward to it with a homeward nostalgia. Now and then it’s nice to pretend you are in America, as we do by nights like this, and our trips to Fat Cactus, a Tex-Mex restaurant that serves hamburgers and fajitas.  One of the burgers is called the Obama, and oddly it has slim-jims on it. I don’t plan on trying it.

I am sitting on the couch in the pool house, a box spring couch, and the door of the pool house is open wide. Tonight is chillier than it has been, but not to cool to enjoy. Everyone is chilling around the house, talking and hanging out. This morning it struck me that my time here is limited, and I walked around with wide eyes trying to absorb every second as I walked towards the train on my morning commute.

Later on I rode that same train home, tired and frustrated with the weight of the problems of the country. I talked with a man today, who came into the office wanting money for rent. The office doesn’t like to give out money, unless the person either can’t take care of themselves, or will invest the money into a business. The man asked for rent money, and told me his story. He is from Somalia. He came to South Africa and with his brother opened up a business. In August, his business was destroyed, and his brother was shot and killed. He said that his brother was shot in the chest and blood came out his nose and mouth. He wanted money for rent and to start a new business. 

To listen to his story today was one of the most puzzling situations of my life. On the one hand, if his story is true, this man needs not only sympathy from me, but support and grievance and counseling. But on the other hand, if this man is making up a story to win my sympathy, in order to get money, I am not about to be swindled.

To walk the line between sympathy for someone’s death and challenging the authenticity of the story was a situation that I found almost comical in its absurdity.  The answer was as real as dice, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and while not outright asking him whether he was making it up, asked him why he never pressed charges, or reported the case to the police. He said that he knew that if he pressed charges the people who killed his brother were apt to find him, a plausible situation given the prevalence of xenophobia in the country.

One family the other day who came in told me that their daughter was threatened at school, with a knife, by some gangsters, because of her race. A man today told me that he didn’t want to apply for a teaching job at a predominantly black high school because he feared for his safety. This man was from Rwanda, and his skin was as black as any South African. So, for all of these different groups of oppressed peoples, to be oppressing each other, is terribly defeating.  

And so, after this long day today, I came back to the house, and walked upstairs to chill in the common room. Some people were watching ‘family guy’ so I chilled and watched family guy for an hour or so. I did nothing for a few hours, played guitar a little, cooked some potatoes for the week ahead, and then dinner, spaghetti and meatballs.   

Adam's experience in South Africa has been progressing very nicely.

My experience in South Africa has been progressing very nicely. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been here for a full month already. I have been enjoying all of my classes, especially my Politics of South Africa class. Everyday I’m learning something new whether it’s at my internship, in the classroom, or just walking around town.  

Today I went cage diving with great white sharks. It was all that I’ve seen on the Discovery Channel and more. It was such a surreal experience being inches from a humongous shark that has been made so infamous by movies like Jaw. It was a very memorable encounter that I won’t soon forget.  

Another memorable excursion was our climb of Table Mountain. Our two-hour hike from the bottom to the top was extremely tiring. It was great to reach the top despite the all-encompassing fog that obscured our view quite a bit. I would definitely take this trip one more time before going home.  

My internship at the human rights organization, Black Sash has been great. I’ve had the perfect amount of work to do and it’s a very relaxed atmosphere. Everyone in the office is very friendly and helpful. I’ve been reading through Acts and have been writing summaries of them. It’s not the most exciting work but it should be helpful for the future if I attend law school. Hopefully in the near future I’ll be able to visit Parliament with Black Sash.  

I’m not sure what the future brings for me here in Cape Town. I’m very okay with this fact. At home I’d be snowed in stuck to my weekly schedules and syllabuses. Studying abroad in South Africa is definitely preferable to this alternative. All I know is what ever I discover next I won’t be disappointed.

Sarah reflects on her first month in Cape Town

I can’t believe it’s been a month.  Even though the time has flown by, I somehow feel like I’ve been here all my life.  It’s a strange dynamic, and one I haven’t gotten used to yet.

While I am certain I have undergone many changes since arriving in South Africa, one characteristic that has apparently stuck with me is my scattered and spontaneous way of looking at life.  This past Monday I came to the impulsive conclusion that newspaper writing wasn’t for me, throwing yet another life goal down the drain.  With Vernon’s help (and unrelenting patience for my impetuous decisions), I now will be interning at Thandakulu High School.  I never in a million years thought I would find myself working in any sort of school setting, yet here I am.  I’m not nervous at all, simply because it feels so right and I am so excited to be working closely with the community. 

At my last day at The Argus, however, I was faced with an experience that will always be in my thoughts when thinking about this country.  I followed a reporter to what I was told was a press conference for something to do with the 50^th anniversary of The Sharpeville Massacre.  Other than this general description, I really had no idea what it entailed.  We drove to the Waterfront, which I have had mixed feelings about since our trip to Robben Island (and by mixed feelings I mean I’m not really a huge fan).  We pulled into a beautiful, affluent hotel that looked like something one would see in the movies.  We walked down a few long marble corridors until we came to a beautiful room where the press conference was to take place.  The room was filled with long tables, each with pitchers of water, notebooks, pens, and little bowls of mints neatly set up for the assumed large group that would be attending.  Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed and I was still one of four people in attendance.  Five panel members in the front of the room decided to start up their press conference, their voices echoing into microphones that mocked their subpar turnout.

The more I watched, the more I got sucked into their desperate, albeit hopeful, cause.  All were members of the Sharpeville Township, the first to be victimized by the ruthless Apartheid regime.  One of the men was a survivor of The Sharpeville 6, a group of 6 people who was sentenced to death in the 1980s.  This man received his sentence on his 21^st birthday.  Its stories like this that always gets to me.  I am 20 years old, and in so many ways my life is just beginning.  It gives me chills to imagine someone my age experiencing something like that.  This particular man was released in 1990 and has not been able to find a job since.  Through tears of frustration and unresolved pain, the man explained to the few people in attendance that unemployment was perhaps the biggest issue in their often overlooked township.  The Soweto Massacre tends to receive more recognition, I’m assuming on account of the number of people involved combined with its happening in the midst of extreme anti-apartheid resistance. 

While most of their ideas were vague and often inconceivable given their meager funds, their presence alone really moved me.  Again, I found the hope of South African citizens inspirational beyond my greatest expectations.  Even if it’s just raising awareness about their condition, I really feel as if it’s something I want to become involved with in some way or another.  One of the representatives described one of their goals as follows: “When the world is looking at South Africa, let them also remember Sharpeville exists.”  While there are many activist projects I have my mind on, this experience opened up even more possibilities.

Pamela's Reflections on Christel House School

A week ago I started my internship at Christel House, which is a non-profit school for disadvantage learners from grade R to 12^th grade in Cape Town. Christel House is working to break the cycle of poverty  by using education, and for what I’ve experienced for the past  two weeks the staff is working very hard to help make a difference in these children’s lives. I am extremely happy with my placement.

I have the chance to be working with the grade R  which is basically kindergarten. These kids are approximately five and six years old, they come from different townships around Cape Town but mostly Xhosa speaking children and the majority of them do not speak English. These kids are very energetic, they have to be the happiest kids I have ever met. They are so affectionate, they always want to hug or  just want to play with me… they are the cutest thing ever! The children are very eager and happy to learn. They work very hard and learn very quickly. They are so smart!

The grade R is where the kids learn how to speak English before they can go to grade one, therefore, I am working with Miss Angela which is the head teacher and Miss Phelo who is the assistant teacher who translate what miss Angela says to Xhosa. They are excellent teachers and take very good care of the children, they really care about each and everyone of them . I am very happy to be working with them, I feel welcome , I also feel like I am helping to achieve Christel house’s goal  for the kids.

Last week  the kids passed their very first test while I was here on what they have been learning for the past two weeks, I was very excited because I made them pass a portion of the test which was the primary color section. I was very pleased that the teachers trusted me to make them pass the test. Almost everyone knew their colors. I am very proud of them!

Sometimes it is very hard to communicate with the ones who don’t speak English because some of them tend to forget that I don’t understand Xhosa or Afrikaans but I try to use non-verbal communication which works most of the times or I just ask the teachers to translate for me.

This past two week I had the chance to meet children from grade one, sixth and seven. When they see me they speak Afrikaans to me thinking that I know how to speak it, I really wish I did. They are very welcoming and friendly. So far I have learned a few words in Xhosa, the kids  thought me , I also intend to learn a few words in Afrikaans. 

Working with these children in the past two weeks made me realize how much I miss being with my sisters, because some of them remind me so much of them personality wise. It also give me the strength to continue doing what I am suppose to because these kids need all the support that they can get.

Yesterday (02/12/10) I participated in my first South African protest against homophobia in front of parliament,  a few student of our group went  to show our support. It was very interesting for me because it was my first protest ever. I’m happy we helped a good cause.

On Friday(02/26/10) I will be starting my activist project ,  I will be volunteering at Thamba Care which is an organization that helps children living with AIDS, I am  looking forward to start on Friday I am also very excited  to learn more about it and help.

I am very happy to be working at Christel House in South Africa, so far it has been a great experience and I am wishing that it will get even better in the next weeks. I am thankful for this opportunity.