Michelle's exciting new journey

This past week was an exhilarating one, as I got to see my first birth. I usually go with Susan or Ciska (they switch off being on call and seeing clients) to their appointments on Tuesdays. Since we returned from Jo’burg, Susan and Ciska have been adamant on getting me to a birth, so this week Susan was priming all the women who are due soon with little comments like, “yes, either me or Ciska will be there, and maybe Michelle too.” As I left last Tuesday, Susan told me to keep my phone on and with me at all times. There were seven women due in the last two weeks of the month, so I was officially on call.

There was a possibility that I would be called to a birth in the near future, as Susan performed two “stretch and sweep” procedures on women who were over-due that day. “Stretch and sweep” refers to a process in which the midwife will prime the cervix by literally stretching it with her fingers and sweeping her fingers around it in hopes that this will release hormones that will begin a feedback loop of contractions. The hormone is released, it goes to the brain, the brain sends signals to start contractions, these contractions open up the cervix more, and more labor hormone is released. It is a beautiful, and amazingly simple system.

I left the practice antsy and excited. Would the call come late tonight? In the early hours of the morning? Not until the next day? I turned my phone’s volume up as high as it would go. There would be no way I would miss the call. I woke up the next morning, and there was nothing yet. I went to my internship and patiently waited. Should I SMS Ciska? I decided not to, and to try and get my mind on other things, like compiling a budget for Gender DynamiX’s exchange program next month.

I returned home that afternoon, and a bunch of us made plans to go to the Taste of Cape Town, an annual event in which restaurants from all over the city bring food for locals and tourists alike to try. I was excited to go, but no sooner had we made our plans, my phone rang, obnoxiously loud. It was time. I picked up, and tried to hide much of the excitement in my voice. I needed to sound like a mature, capable apprentice. I got the information, and hurried out of the house, caught a mini-bus taxi, and was in downtown Claremont in no time.

Ciska had told me to tell the head sister (nurse) on the labor and delivery ward that I was an apprentice midwife joining her for the delivery. It was the first time I had referred to myself, out loud, as an apprentice midwife. It fit, I think. I got into the room, and Ciska caught me up on the situation. The woman in labor had been induced at 11:30 that morning, and labor had been slow and contractions spotty. At about 3:30, Ciska broke her water, and that’s when she called me. Labor had progressed quickly, and by about 6 p.m., delivery seemed imminent. My primary jobs were to run and fetch things that were needed, help get the delivery kit set up, and take note of things once the baby was born, like birth time, weight, height, and head circumference.

While laboring, the woman was walking around, leaning on her husband, sitting on a bosu ball, rolling her hips, humming, moving, humming. She was completely in her own space, and honestly, I don’t even think she realized I was there until after the birth. It was amazing to see Ciska’s many roles in that space. She was completely calm, guiding, leading, following. Giving instructions and taking them from the soon-to-be mother. She later told me that the only time she becomes assertive and gives directions that absolutely must be followed is when she needs something quickly, like to examine mother or baby. There was one instance in which I really feel that I could pin-point a key difference in midwife and obstetric care. As the second stage of labor neared, pushing, Ciska needed to make sure that she was fully dilated, which she would do through an internal examination. Ciska asked if she could examine her, and at first she said no. Ciska asked again, and told her that she really needed to check, and that she would not examine her without her consent, but that it had to be done. Ciska needed the woman to partner with her and work with her. In any other OB-lead birth, there would have been no question. It would be, “I am going to examine you now.” It got me thinking, had my GYN ever asked me expressly if she could examine me? No. It was always, “I need you to put your feet here, lay here, do this.” It was never a question, and never a feeling of active partnership.

I stood watching as Ciska moved with the woman into a squat, with the woman leaning against the bed, her husband sitting on the bed behind her, and Ciska in front. The baby slipped out in an instant, it seemed. I was overcome with a short burst of emotion, but then remembered my duties of remembering birth time. 6:40 p.m. I was instructed to let Ciska know when five minutes had passed, and then they would prepare to cut the cord and deliver the placenta. Dad cut the cord, and Ciska called me over to tell me about delivering a placenta. Following its delivery she showed me how to examine it and make sure that there were no pieces missing, as it could have dire complications for the mother.

We situated Mom and Baby in a warm bath, dealt with relatives, other nurses, paperwork and suddenly it was already 9:00. It was a whirlwind, and I was flying high. On the car ride home, Ciska asked me about my feelings, and I tried to tell her about this unbelievable feeling. I could do that every day, I said. She smiled and told me that no matter how hard a birth is, or how tired you are, it’s that high that keeps midwives going. We live on it.

Since that birth, I have come to terms with the fact that I am resigning myself to a lot more school, seeing as how an undergraduate degree in anthropology and women’s studies will not help me much. Instead of starting all over again, I will probably look at an accelerated BSN/RN program following my graduation next May. Unfortunately this means taking chemistry and statistics over the summer, anatomy and physiology and genetics in the fall, and a few other core nursing requirements. I am a little nervous, but at the same time excited to embark on this new journey.  

Leah's inspiration to work for social change

About a week ago we returned from our week long excursion to Johannesburg and Kruger National Park. I loved it! All of it. We first went to Johannesburg where we were met with many of the issues that I had not directly confronted since orientation. The issues of race, class, government, and oppression that had made their way out of my everyday vocabulary quickly slipped back in. It is not that I had forgotten about these problems, it is simply that I had become accustomed to seeing them in everyday life. I had fallen into a pattern of accepting the presence of these problems without analyzing each facet of every one. Luckily, my analyses have been rejuvenated.

The Apartheid Museum made me think about activism. Immersed in academia, it is easy for me to slip into a helpless “what can we do?” mindset. Governments are so bureaucratic, every official is corrupt, and they designed the system so that we cannot change it, so what is the point of trying? However, analyzing and studying the history of the anti-apartheid struggle always changes my mind. Not only did these citizens have a government that was not responsive to them, but it was outright attacking them. Still, they overcame the system. This victory inspires me to go back to American and work. Yes, it will not be easy. Yes, so many Americans, especially University students, are apathetic. Yes, the government is huge, racist, sexist, classist, and unresponsive. The important point to recognize is that there have been worse situations. Black South Africans were in a worse situation. Still, they fought and won. There is still hope for change in America, in society, because there have been just victories. Movements with positive, fair, equalitarian, honorable missions have emerged victorious.

When I return to America, I am going to change society by starting with myself. I think that change can come if every single person makes sure that they are always acting in a calculated manner. Each person can control which institutions and corporations she supports. Each person can make sustainable lifestyle choices that will positively impact the environment. She can choose which establishments she pours her time, work, and effort into.

It is easy to forget how privileged we are in America. We have so many rights that we often overlook the importance of each. We can protest, assemble in groups larger than three people, and speak out against our government without having to be afraid of being shot (we will probably just get tazed…). We are privileged to have a better system in place with regard to freedom than many other countries. With that said, we are not perfect. That is where the need for change lies.

My point is simply this: if each person did what she/he/ze could to support peaceful and just organizations and institutions, the world would slowly become a better place. 

Sarah questions things done in the name of religion

If I am going to be completely honest, this blog entry might offend some people.  It is not my intent to do so, but any time I have expressed thoughts similar to these I have insulted at least someone.  So I apologize in advance.

I was considering writing something along these lines for a while, and just now while reading Biko by Donald Woods (a biography on the founder of Black Consciousness, Steve Biko), I was inspired to finally take a stab at it.  I have been brought up in a nonreligious family; my mom was brought up Catholic, my dad Jewish.  I never went to church (except for a few times with friends when I was much younger), I was never baptized, and I never had a bat mitzvah.  Up until just recently I have been hesitant to use the term Atheist to describe myself, but I stand by making my personal decisions based on a moral compass distinct from religion or God in any traditional sense.  This information should give at least a little bit of background concerning where my biases stand.  That being said, I can also admit that these characteristics make me far from an expert; I know very little about religion in terms of specifics.  But from my standpoint, in my opinion, I have seen more bad come from religion than good.  This is not to say I believe all those who are religious are bad.  Actually, far from it.  I have tried relentlessly when discussing these thoughts with others to explain I can truly appreciate the framework and basic moral principles of religion.  Sometimes this is not heard, but in this case I hope it is.  I do not judge those who are religious simply based on their beliefs; I judge them based on what they do with those beliefs.

Anyways, in Biko Woods includes an interview between Steve Biko and Bernard Zylstra.  Zylstra asks Steve, “How does Christianity fit in with Black Consciousness?”  This immediately caught my eye.  If one is to equate Black Consciousness with the black revolution in South Africa, and then draws another parallel from the black revolution in South Africa to the new South Africa that is emerging today, then how does Christianity fit in with South Africa now?

Biko goes on to explain what I have been questioning, albeit my thought process was much vaguer and lacking concrete facts.  Biko says, “We blacks cannot forget the fact that Christianity in Africa is tied up with the entire colonial process.”  The white man converted Africans.  We landed on their continent, and not only “saved” them in the name of God, but changed their entire culture simultaneously.  Christianity was not linked to God or Jesus, but to Western culture.  “When an African became Christian, as a rule he or she was expected to drop traditional garb and dress like a Westerner,” Biko explained.  He then goes on to address a question in modern-day Africa far too radical for me to ask with any sort of validity (the interview, and thus ‘modern day’ was 1977): Does the necessary decolonization of Africa also require the de-Christianization of Africa?  In my opinion, the “westernized” package of Christianity has brought a good deal of evil into South Africa.

Last week at Thandokhulu, I experienced a good amount of intolerance directed towards homosexuals.  I sat in on a Life Orientation class, which is similar to health class in the U.S.  Or at least in theory.  I listened to the teacher give a slightly bigoted, but mostly kindhearted description of homosexuality and its acceptance amongst Africans.  “Older people find homosexuality to be taboo, and they don’t really want anything to do with it.  The younger generation generally doesn’t mind,” she explained simply.  I kept scanning the room as she talked, prepared for the type of narrow-mindedness others have witnessed and described to me concerning such subjects.  Sure enough, there it was.  “Do you agree?” the teacher asked.  “No, miss,” said a young boy in the back of the room.  “I don’t think the younger generation likes them either.  Me, I don’t like the gays.”  Immediately, a few others raised their hands in agreement.  The teacher reassured them, without any hesitation, that their fears were “natural.”  She went on to say that sometimes, even if we don’t like an aspect of someone we love, we need to “look past it” and love them anyways.

That same day I sat in on 12th grade oral presentations.  The learners were allowed to pick their own topics, which ranged from gangs, violence in the schools, low Matric scores, etc.  Sure enough, another boy stood up and presented to the class his theory on the cause of homosexuality, as well as some solutions we should all invest in.  As flabbergasted as I was, I was not able to follow the entire presentation.  I do recall some of the causes being absent parents and neglecting parents, as well as outside influence.  I believe the example he used for the latter was when “kids see their teachers touching and stuff, they want to try it, too.”  The presentation was met with indifference; no surprised murmurs, a polite, half-hearted round of applause at the end, and an average mark from the teacher.

I think of examples like these all the time, and they are not exclusive to South Africa.  I think of one of my students in my 11th grade class who is my age, repeating the grade for the third time.  She has no family, a baby, and is currently living with a boyfriend who is not the father of her baby, who helps “sometimes,” as one teacher put it to me.  This girl’s best friend goes to SCC (Student Christian Community) during break, where she is most certainly not welcome.  I went to a meeting one day to watch, and ignorantly asked if she was coming along.  Averting her eyes, she mumbled, “No, I don’t really go to those.”  Her teachers are disappointed when she doesn’t show up to school or when she hands her work in late.  She is completely and utterly shunned, and I really do not think she will pass. So I find myself asking, just as I did in the states, what constitutes a sin?  Who constitutes a sin?  What has religion really done for South Africa?  I know much of the anti-apartheid resistance was centered around the church and religion, but so was Apartheid itself.  So much of the justification for Apartheid was propagated in terms of God’s will for us to be separated.  I have simply had enough of intolerance shielded behind the façade of a “merciful God.”  

Pamela on Sexism

What is sexism? Well, by dictionary definition sexism is the discrimination against women or men because of their sex  or the tendency to treat people as cultural stereotypes of their sex .

Couple weeks ago we had a class on sexism. We watched a documentary called “Dream World 3”, it talked about how women were being portrayed in music videos and how the people watching these videos were interpreting and integrating what they’re seeing  in real life. This documentary showed music videos that I am used to seeing and never thought anything of them, because I didn’t look past the music. I always saw these girls as pretty women and never paid attention to the story that was being told in the video. In these videos the female body is objectified, women are portrayed as empty status symbols  and decorative objects of male desire. They are shown as passive creatures that accept everything that men does to them.

 I wanted to talk about this documentary and the whole thing about sexism because as a young women growing up I have seen girls around me trying to look like these video models and trying to look like them. I am not going to lie I used to strive to look like a video model I wanted to be thin and “pretty” like them. I am no different from these other girls out there wanting to act like them. I was disgusted and mad at myself that night just by watching these videos and realizing what I had been doing for long. It also made me realized that for a while I stopped looking up to these standards of beauty. It is not ok for women to be treated like objects, it is not ok for men to under estimate us we are worth so much.

A few years back I was scared to wear certain types of clothing because I was self conscious about my body image I always thought that I wasn’t thin or pretty enough to wear them, because I looked nothing like these models. It wasn’t until last year that I stopped worrying about these little things I told myself that I would stop it because it shouldn’t be that way, no one should care about these minor things in life and I learn how to love my body the way it is . There are way more important things that I need to focus on, the less time I will spend on worrying about my body image the more time I will have to devote myself to important things going around the world and actually do something about it.

Watching this video made me realize that even more, people need to stop portraying women as objects and start to see them as the strong human beings they really are not only in videos, but women also need to break these cycle where they need stop following what is going on in these videos where they only serve as objects and stop striving to be carbon copies of the imaged object of male desire.

When I finished watching that documentary I told myself that I would no longer try to be one of these women who strive to reach society’s standard of ‘beauty” nor would I let anyone around me do it to themselves. As women we should not let society fix  our standard of beauty because everyone is beautiful no matter what size or race you are . I realized that here in South Africa there is less pressure at least on me to look like that because people have way more important things to worry about. The media here talks more about politics and things that really matters. In the U.S all you find in the media is how models, actresses gained weight  and where people make such a big deal out of it, I feel more pressure there to worry about how I look and how much weight I need to lose. It is still something that I am working on, it is a slow process and I know that someday I will no longer worry about these artificial things. 

Meredith on separation

The word ‘separation’ has many different connotations.  Some things in life are supposed to be separated.  Oil and water for instance.  Those two things just don’t mix and they never will.  They aren’t supposed to.  Natural separation though is a completely different concept than forced separation.  These two types of separation might as well be polar opposites because they are so completely different.  While living in South Africa for the past two months we’ve studied separation, seen separation, and experienced separation in a first-hand approach.  Though separation may seem more prevalent here in South Africa, the truth is, there is probably just as much separation in America.  The difference though is that in South Africa, separation is still on the surface making it easier to spot.  Growing up in the bubble that is a quaint New England town, I never really noticed separation being a problem in society.  Equality is still a concept newly on the surface of South Africa so now separation is brought to my mind quickly in almost every situation.  The other night for instance we went out to dinner at a Thai restaurant.  Within five minutes one of my housemates pointed out the fact that there were all white people eating in this restaurant and every single one of the waiters was either classified colored or black.  The reason why this separation is still seen is because the new democratic South Africa is still just a teenager.  Fifteen years old to be exact.  People are still dealing with the transition from apartheid to equality.  This past week we went to the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg.  The visuals that the museum offered further strengthened my understanding of apartheid along with strengthening my disgust for the word separation.  I can’t even fathom how the overall consensus of white South Africans thought that it was there God-given right to have power over other human beings.  That they were supposed to separate from them as if it was the most natural steps they could possibly take.

        We watched the movie “Color of Freedom” the other night and one scene truly stuck in my mind.  A little girls asks her mother why they have to be separated from the black and classified colored people and the mother responds by saying that it is the natural order of things.  She proceeds to explain, “that we don’t see two different species of animals together.”  This mindset disgusts me.  I don’t understand how one side of the struggle could have felt that this separation was natural, just like oil and water, when the other side clearly felt this separation was completely forced upon them.  How could common, white South Africans believe that this awful separation was completely natural, when on the inside government was doing as much as they possibly could to resist coming together?  With this much resistance, how could this separation be viewed as right?  I just can’t even understand it.  It all started when the National Party came into power in 1948.  The National Party became obsessed with the supremacy of race, classification and separation.  The party started getting so nervous that anyone who did not speak Afrikaans would try to seize power so they literally started doing everything they could to make it unachievable.  In school systems for example government would only allow English to be taught.  By teaching them English it would make it harder for them to adapt to this new language.  So they used language as a tool to weaken everyone who wasn’t white.  Does this sound like natural separation to you?

       How about the fact that if you were a black person in 1959 you had to carry around a passbook, a means for the ownership of power white people held to show complete dominance over South Africa.  With these passbooks, blacks were not allowed to go to specific areas at specific times.  Sure it held power over the black people, but overall the government’s main reason for the passbooks was separation.  The government was so terrified that classified colored and black people would come together and rebel against the government so they weakened them with law after law.  During our trip we went to the Union Building in Pretoria and I remember our Professor Vernon saying how it felt peculiar for him to even be there.  When I asked why he explained that he wasn’t allowed to be there in the past based on the color of his skin.

        Now living in Cape Town, I have noticed that there is clear separation that still exists.  It isn’t just Whites and Non-Whites.  It’s Whites, Blacks, and Classified Colored people.  There are townships that are literally three minutes away from each other but that would never associate with one another based on the language barrier that they face.  Walking around Cape Town, it really shows how in the past the government did a relatively good job forcing separation based on the divide that is still clearly shown today.

            Separation is such an interesting concept that comes in so many different shapes and sizes.  It can engulf a country, or it can affect a single person.  When I was at a market in Johannesburg, I was haggling with a man for a beaded figurine and we got to talk about life.  He asked me how long I’ve been in South Africa and I explained that I’ve been here for about two and a half months.  He asked if I missed my family and friends and I explained that I missed them all incredibly but I still have a means of communication with them so it’s manageable.  He then asked how I would feel if I couldn’t see them for six years. He went on to explain that his family and his sweetheart live in Kenya and he hasn’t seen them in six years.  I can’t even imagine that kind of separation without any form of contact with my loved ones.  Though he would rather be in Kenya where he belongs, he made Johannesburg his temporary home so he could raise support for his family.  His love for them exceeds the notion of separation.  I thought that was really admirable and on a positive note, he went on to tell me how he was traveling back in January and how excited he was to see them.

Adam on the highs and lows

Our trip to Johannesburg and Kruger National Park was a truly memorable one.  From what I saw of Johannesburg I’m happy that I’m spending my study abroad experience in Cape Town.  It just seemed that it was a city that is still very much stuck in the past as opposed to Cape Town which seems to be much more progressive and liberal.  For instance if you are an open homosexual in Johannesburg it is much less accepted by society than it is in Cape Town.  It was these little facts that I picked up along the way from the people that lived in Johannesburg that caused me to form my view of the city.  Overall it just made me realize how much more Cape Town really does feel like “home.”

           

Kruger was a great experience.  All of the animals and the bush were so amazing.  It was beautiful and the experience of going on an African safari is something that I feel everyone should do at least once in their lifetime.  We saw rhinoceroses, elephants, hippopotamuses, hyenas, and some of us even got see a leopard.  The walking tour through the bush really allowed me to pick up on all of the small details about the environment that you miss when you’re riding in the truck.

So as of now we have about six weeks left here in Cape Town.  We’re going to a human rights conference this weekend, which should be interesting.  I’m getting a sense that for many in the house homesickness is beginning to set in a bit more than usual.  I think it may just be the realization that we’re back from our excursion and people are coming to grips with the reality that there is still six more weeks of internships and classes.  I am even a little daunted by this fact.  I think it may be the monotony of it all that is getting to people.  Either way I plan to make the most of my last month and a half of my time in Cape Town. 

             

Katherine on changes she would not have expected

While we did many things on our spring break excursion, one moment during our trip that stuck out to me was when we took a tour of the Chris Hani Baragwanath Hospital in Johannesburg. It is the largest hospital in the southern hemisphere.  Our guide who works on a program called “Health 4 Men” showed us around many areas of the hospital and then brought us to the Board Room.  She discussed how “Health 4 Men” works and what kind of patients they see.  It was started in part to provide a place for gay men to come and receive health information.  There is a large gay community in Soweto (the biggest township in South Africa) where some of the “Health 4 Men” program participants come from.

During her speech, the lady who showed us around said that “Health 4 Men” does not promote homosexuality but understands that it exists and therefore is providing a place for sexual health awareness.  I was surprised at how offended I was by this woman’s comment about homosexuality being something they do not wish to “promote.”  After she made the comment I quickly glanced around the room wondering if I had misheard the woman, but other people were frowning and making unpleasant facial expressions, as well.  While I am heterosexual, after living and interacting with three people on a daily basis who have declared their sexual orientation to be within the LGBTI range, I have become much more sensitive to how they are perceived.  It is not always easy for them, especially when people are not willing to accept them, even if their sexual preference is not “straight.”

At the end of her talk, she asked a few times if there were any more questions and when everyone seemed to be done asking questions I finally decided to challenge the woman’s comment about homosexuality.  I told her that I do not find homosexuality to be something that, if promoted, is contagious and will make other people become gay.  I then asked her how the gay community can feel welcomed or comfortable coming to “Health 4 Men” if the program continues to stigmatize homosexuality.  The woman’s response led me to believe that she had not quite meant what she had originally said.  She informed our group that homosexuality is still extremely shunned in South Africa and that if “Health 4 Men” was seen as a homosexual program than those who were known to come to the clinic would be harassed or abused.  While I understood what she was trying to get at, for some reason I still was bothered by the use of the word “promote.”

I was proud of myself for challenging the woman’s statement.  Before living and interacting with a few people who are not heterosexual, I would have most likely let the comment go and not have asked the “Health 4 Men” woman any questions.  I was surprised when one of the people in my group thanked me for being an ally and countering the woman’s statement.  Instances like this show me that I have changed in ways I would not have expected before coming on this trip.

Michelle on the stages of cultural shock

For the past few blog entries, I have been incredibly up-beat, excited, and generally all-around chipper. After re-reading my last blog entry, I have decided that chipper is not exactly the feeling I have had over the past few weeks. A more realistic representation of my moods would probably include the words, angry, irritable, and frustrated. We had our first bout of house drama, which was to be expected. I have faced some trouble in feeling accepted at my internship, and have been feeling my first real stabs of homesickness. Up until a few weeks ago, I was in a honeymoon period. I couldn’t get enough of everything in Cape Town, and everyone in the house. I was constantly amazed by the city’s beauty, and continually engrossed with my new friends. As I constantly saw the injustices that still exist, and as I slowly realized that it can be exhausting to be around the same 12 people (although I love them dearly) all day every day, the city began to lose its luster. At the same time, I was having spotty internet and skype issues, so I hadn’t spoken with my family or boyfriend in almost three weeks. Even as the city started to fade as a magical place, I also started to realize that I am almost 2/3 of the way through my time here. All of these things combined contributed to a feeling of unrest in these past few days.

Even more frustrating is that the study abroad fair said that this would happen. We actually went to a seminar in which other people told me how I would feel and when. And then it happened. The study abroad fair predicted that I would first feel a stage of honeymoon, which for me lasted approximately six weeks, followed by conflict and frustration, which has lasted for about three weeks, and now I can feel myself moving into a more realistic love for this beautiful, yet challenging, place. The thing I worry about most now is adjusting back to my life in the States. How will I go back to living in the most racially and economically segregated state in the country? How will I continue to see amazing prejudices and examples of white privilege and not blow a casket?

Since my last blog entry, we have participated in Cape Town Pride, visited Bo-Kaap, the Muslim quarter of the city, been to Johannesburg, and visited Kruger National Park. It was great to see another South African city, but I just didn’t feel the same connection that I do in Cape Town. As we flew back into the Mother City and I saw the outline of Table Mountain, I knew I was home.

Sarah on 'experiencing' Sharpeville

We all got back from Kruger yesterday, exhausted and eager to be “home.”  I never realized I subconsciously considered 10 Lock Rd. to be such a place, but when the plane touched down in Cape Town and we got our first glimpse of Table Mountain, I felt as if our journey was over and we were home.

Our excursion to Johannesburg and Kruger National Park was successful, albeit exhausting and sometimes even overwhelming.  One of my favorite parts was our visit to Sharpeville.  I was amazed at how well it all worked out…I became interested in their community, and we so happened to be going on excursion in the area, and then Marita and Vernon were nice enough to fit it into our already packed schedule.  Everything worked out flawlessly.  We went on a tour led by some of the community members I had met in Cape Town.  The story of the “Sharpeville 6” was clarified in greater detail (I had met a member of the “Sharpeville 6” in Cape Town as well).

A mob of about 200 residents of Sharpeville marched through the streets, protesting exorbitant rent prices (during the Apartheid Regime, blacks were not allowed to own land, thus enabling the government to remove them from their houses if they were not able to pay ridiculously high rent prices).  The mob proceeded to the mayor’s house and asked him to join their cause.  Upon his refusal, he fired a revolver into the crowd, injuring a handful of the protestors.  When he ran out of bullets, the mob burned down his house, killing the mayor in the process.

In response, the Apartheid government singled out 6 of those supposedly in attendance and sentenced them to death by hanging.  After eating their last meal, with mere hours before their imminent hanging, their death sentence was terminated on account of international demand.  Their belated release in 1990 has left 2 survivors with mediocre jobs: one man sells vegetables and stays away from even the idea of politics to this day; one man finally found a job just this past year cutting grass at the municipality.

We were able to see the building that was burned down, or at least what is left of it.  The house was never rebuilt, and only a small weathered frame remains, unprotected and available for all to see and touch.  The frame of the house is actually in an old woman’s front yard.  All of us sat down under the frame with the woman and her children, taking pictures and communicating in any we could.  It was one of my favorite experiences on the excursion, yet I could not help but think of those six people who probably could never come near that site.  A place of such peace and happiness for some is a place of horror and pain for others.

It was also upsetting to compare the progress of Soweto to the progress (or lack there of) in Sharpeville.  For whatever reason, Soweto has been built up while Sharpeville has been completely overlooked.  Tomorrow is Human Rights Day, previously commemorated as Sharpeville Day.  As a protest to yet another example of neglect, the community has decided to protest their former national holiday.

 I was happy, however, to read an article commemorating Sharepville on the Yahoo homepage today.  It described the ceremony at the Garden of Remembrance that we also visited, as well as giving insight into the daily lives of citizens in the community.  Such recognition is what the community strives for, and I hope our visit will spark the acknowledgment and appreciation they deserve.

Erica's continuing journey

During our first two weeks in Cape Town, we were flooded with history lessons about South Africa, we went on excursions to various historical sites and learned about apartheid, and we witnessed the harsh reality that apartheid still has lasting effects on South Africa’s people. We began our internships and by talking with the people of South Africa were reminded even more about the struggles they must face. I remember writing in my journal, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to numb myself to the kind of pain I’ve witnessed in South Africa or to the reconciliation that makes this country so incredible.” However, I have to admit as time went on I did begin to become jaded to some of the things I witnessed. That’s not to say that I stopped caring, but when you are exposed to poverty and the effects of poverty on a daily basis, you naturally become more used to the realities you see. However during our excursion to Johannesburg this past week, while I was least expecting it, many of the things I felt my first two weeks while I was here were awoken in me once again. 

There could be several reasons for this. Maybe it was seeing Soweto—the largest township in all of South Africa, home to 3 million people, and trying to grasp the reality that the poverty expanded on for miles and miles. Or maybe it was visiting the Hector Peterson Museum, the museum that commemorates the children who were brutally murdered by the South African police during apartheid when students of Soweto protested against Bantu education, an education system that would have forced the predominantly black students of Soweto to learn in Afrikaans and would have removed regular school subjects, like math and science, from their curriculum. Hector Peterson was the first child shot and killed—he was only 13. Or maybe it was visiting the Apartheid Museum, where I watched real footage of the violence that occurred during apartheid. It was the first time I had ever seen someone die. Of course we’re exposed to violence like this in movies all of the time, but as I sat there in the darkness of the apartheid museum, watching on three big screen televisions the violent massacres and protests, the reality sunk in that these were real people being bitten by police dogs and beaten by the police officers and getting shot in the back by machine guns—real people dying on the ground, gasping for their last breath—all because of the color of their skin. These images will haunt me for the rest of my life.



However, I think what affected me the most during our time in Johannesburg was our visit to Sharpeville. Sharpeville is a predominantly black township about an hour out of the city. In Vincent’s class we learned that in 1960, hundreds of people came together in front of a police station in Sharpeville to burn their passbooks as part of the Defiance Campaign. Passbooks, a hated symbol of apartheid, were what determined where a man or woman could travel depending on the color of their skin. On March 21, 1960, fifty years ago from today, the police opened fire on the crowd of men, women, and children gathered outside the station, killing 69 and wounding 108. When we visited Sharpeville, we visited their graves, and I was absolutely shocked to see the ages of those murdered. I walked past gravestone after gravestone—age 12, age 13, age 17. I stopped at one gravestone in particular and stared at it for quite some time. “Mahlong Shadrack, age 19.” 19. That’s my age. My age. The reality began to sink in that this person fought and died for freedom and was never able to bear the fruits of that freedom because his life was stolen due to apartheid. And he was only 19. What sorts of freedoms am I enjoying at 19? I have the freedom of education. The freedom to move and travel as I please. The freedom to laugh and enjoy myself because I do not have the weight of the world on my shoulders. These are all things that Mahlong Shadrack was denied in life and in death. The injustice of it all hit me on a new level.

 After we were done at the gravesite, we were given the opportunity to talk to some of the incredible people of Sharpeville. They flocked to us to ask us questions and to answer our questions about their community. It was as if they had not seen someone come from outside of Sharpeville in years. Some of them told us that Sharpeville has not changed in 50 years—that it looks exactly the same way it did when the massacre occurred, and that justice has still not been granted to the much deserving people of Sharpeville. We have visited many townships before, but Sharpeville was certainly one of the poorest, if not the poorest. People told us about the lack of schools or clinics and the staggering unemployment rate. In fact, just last week there were protests in Sharpeville in a desperate attempt to get the government’s attention with the slim hope that maybe something would be done to help the people of Sharpeville. As I listened to all of these realities, I felt small and confused.

Of the many locals we talked to, I think the most touching experience for me was when we talked with a woman who told us to call her Grandma. She came out from her home to speak with us, and a handful of small, barefoot children followed behind her and gathered around her skirt, laughing at all of these new and strange faces that reached out to get to know them.

Before I go on, I should mention my bracelets. For the past 6 years or so I’ve made bracelets out of colored embroidery string. Each bracelet has a different meaning for me or a different memory or person associated with it. In fact, I am currently working on making bracelets for some of my students at Thandokhulu so that they can remember me after I’m gone. Lately, however, I’ve kind of wanted to slowly detach myself from the many bracelets I wear because, for me, when a bracelet falls off it symbolizes some sort of personal or emotional growth. Since I have been here, 4 of them have fallen off of my wrist at very significant moments. One fell off the day I got to South Africa. One fell off on a day I talked with my family about something really important to me. Another fell off the day after I bungy jumped. Then, after the Apartheid Museum, while we stood in the center of Soweto, I ripped one of in anger due to the injustices I had witnessed that day. It happened to be the bracelet that I made with the colors of the South African flag. I was about to throw the bracelet down on the ground and leave it in Soweto, when something told me to hold on to it.

While we stood outside of Grandma’s house in Sharpeville, playing with her many grandchildren I noticed that one little girl, who told me she was 12, was wearing a simple piece of brown string around her wrist. Immediately, I knew why I had kept the bracelet that I had ripped off the day before. 

“Do you like bracelets?” I said to her.

She nodded her head and whispered, “Yes.”

I pulled from my purse the bracelet made of South Africa’s colors and tied it around her wrist. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the smile that came to her. I couldn’t believe how happy she looked.

Leaving Sharpeville was extremely difficult for me because I felt like I couldn’t give enough of myself to that place. As we drove away I kept thinking to myself, “I have to come back. I have to do more.” However, giving that little girl my bracelet made me feel like I left a large piece of my heart, my soul, and my mind in Sharpeville. I will never forget her, or her smile. And it is this memory that will help me to move forward in life and continue to be an activist for change.

Brittany on the environment

Living in the modern world it is easy to become disconnected from the environment.  How often do you ask yourself, what farm did my vegetables come from?  Who grew them?  Where does the world’s gas/petrol come from and at what cost?

I ask myself regularly, what are the long term consequences of using petroleum based chemicals in pesticides and fertilizers?  What happens to all the detergent, bleach, soap, and waste dumped down the drains?  What byproducts were produced while making my computer?  What does it mean to have Dow and Monstanto Chemical Companies (the same producers of the defoliant ‘Agent Orange’ used during Vietnam causing over 900,000 deaths, disabilities, and birth defects) controlling our food system? 

The world resources are in crisis!  Although everyone contributes to the problem, Americans are to blame because we use far more than our share.  The United States makes up 5% of the world’s population but uses 30% of the world’s resources and creates 30% of the world’s waste.  We are a nation of consumption and pollution in excessive amounts.  We are inevitably only doing harm to ourselves because all these pollutants build-up in our bodies.  The highest levels of many toxins are found in human breast milk.  This means that babies get the highest level of toxins from their mothers.  Even though it is ok to keep breastfeeding, it is a violation on humanity that women and children are suffering the most from our environmental irresponsibility (www.storyofstuff.com).

I actively try to break the vicious cycle of consumption and pollution because it is my duty.  I have had many irreplaceable moments in Africa where I feel connected to nature.  Below are a few examples.

I find every blade of grass or drop of rain fascinating.  I pick up handfuls of soil because I like to feel the texture.  I rub stones together to see what sound they make.  Sometimes I sit in the garden at our house and watch the insects. 

While paddling on my surf board at Muizenberg Beach I saw something weird floating above the water.  I reached out my hand and came in contact with the stingers of a blue bottle jellyfish.  My whole arm went numb and then immobile.  My mother always said I was a very curious child.  Apparently, nothing has changed.

The moon has become a new presence in my life.  I left for Africa on the new moon which is symbolic of new beginnings.  During the 2 day hike around Cape Point, I spent my evening starring at the unforgettable moon and stars.  The sky was speckled with so many white stars it looked as if a painter had flicked a paintbrush across the sky.  North America has too much light pollution to see the stars in the same way you would see them on Africa’s continent.  It’s sad that my friends and family back home don’t get to see the same night sky.

I saw a dead dolphin carcass that had washed ashore after what appeared to be a shark attack.  The smell of this rotten creature or the infestation of maggots over its decaying body was not enough to keep me from getting up close.  Oh no, I even had to take it one step further and touch it, first a nudge with my foot and then with my hand.

I went tubing down Storms River in Tsitsikamma National Park.  The word tsitsikamma is a Khoisan phrase meaning place of abundant water.  This is very fitting because the Storms River water is so fresh and unpolluted you can drink it.  Storms River is also special because it is chocolate brown colored from getting stained by the forest tree roots.  The tree roots in that area contain the same substances used to make tea and red wine in South Africa giving the water a mildly sweet taste.  I spent all day slurping down hand full’s like I was in a scene from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory.

I stood on a rock jetty as waves crashed around me at Cape Agulhas, the southernmost tip of Africa. I stayed on that jetty until the day became night.   I watched the sun wink at me as it set behind the blue skyline.  Just as the sun went down the white rim of the moon leaked through the start of the night.  Then, I took off all my clothes, jumped into the sea at the spot where the Indian and Atlantic oceans meet and did the mermaid float.  My mother always said I was a free spirit, indeed, she was right again. 

I have been grateful for the abundance of lavender plants in my yard in Cape Town.  It was the first flower I pressed in my journal.  Every day when I leave the house and return home I pick a needle from the plant.   Sometimes I rub it on my wrists to smell throughout the day.  Other times I put lavender in my closet with my clean laundry.  The smell of lavender allows me to leave and enter the house in a calm state.  It helps me refocus my thoughts and energies on what is important. 

There are so many small steps you can take to protect our world today. 

• 1.     Make your own eco-friendly cleaning products cheaply.  Vinegar diluted in half with water is great for cleaning windows, floors and bathrooms, disinfecting, and eliminating hard water deposits.  You can also make your own furniture polish for wood with one cup of oil and half a cup of lemon juice.
• 2.     Wash clothes in cold water as much as possible and hang them to dry.
• 3.     Compost food items (fruit, veggies, egg shells, yard waste) to cut down on landfill pollution.
• 4.     Buy local, organic, in season food to reduce transportation emissions.
• 5.     Buy used books, furniture, appliances, clothes, etc.
• 6.     Eat less meat to reduce hormones and other environmental waste.
• 7.     Kill weeds naturally without pesticides. Putting down a black cloth or mulch are organic options for gardening.
• 8.     Consider alternative energy options such as solar power. Even when used on a small scale it helps decrease electricity use.
• 9.     Celebrate holidays in less commercialized ways by making handmade gifts or baking.
• 10.  Buy fair trade products because it improves labor conditions while empowering communities through ethical and sustainable trade. 

Rachel's meanderings

I am sitting outside. It is beautiful.  I have my papers spread out on a picnic table in the back yard.  There are ants crawling all over them and the table is full of coffee rings and melted candle wax from a late night of laughing and interesting conversation the night before. For some reason I don’t care about the ants.  Everyone is deciding what they want to do today.  Some people want to go to the beach, some people want to go to Bo-Kaap, some want to sit at home and write their essays due the day before, some want to go to monkey town.  I can hear the sound of the TV upstairs but can’t make out what is playing and can imagine in my head about 6 people cuddled up in the couches watching a movie.  I walk upstairs and that is exactly what I see.   Another debate of what to do today. Does it really matter where we go? No, the sun is shining all over this place and I am in the company of people that I have grown to adore.

This is what we decided to do.

Five of us decide to go to Bo-Kaap.  We piled into a minibus taxi.  The music was blasting so loud I couldn’t hear myself think.  We all get checked out by the men running the minibus.  “We are going to Cape Town” we said and handed over 8 Rand.  The windows were open all the way and my hair was blowing all over the place.  I gazed at the locals out the window and heard the driver scream “CAAAAAPE TOOOOOOOWN” over the music. We got to Cape Town.  We got side tracked.  We stopped at a small bakery and each got a treat.  We walked up the street finding ourselves at St. George’s Market.  This is where all the informal businesses are set up.  We went shopping.  After spending all our money on jewelry, paintings, shirts, and djembes we decide to actually head in the direction of Bo-Kaap. It’s the traditionally Muslim quarter of the city.   We arrived and took our cameras out.  It was handsome. The houses are painted in bright colours up and down the streets.  I looked down to see that the streets were made of cobblestones.  We walked around relaxed and aimlessly.  I passed a young man, I felt awkward.  He curled his lips and showed his teeth.  I smiled back.  I was happy.  Suddenly, my stomach streamed at me and decided it was time to eat. 


We decided to go to a place that we have heard of but never been, Mama Africa’s.  When we got there it wasn’t open yet.  We made a reservation and walked next door to get the most delectable milkshakes I have ever tasted.  We walked around.  We got lost.  We didn’t care.  We went to a bar and got a round of drinks.  We talked and laughed just like the night before.  I was happy.  Time for our reservation.  We walked over to Mama Africa’s.  We are seated right next to the band. I opened the menu….what to get?  I am thinking mango chicken kabobs.  I shifted my eyes toward the other side of the menu.  I saw a section entitled wild game.  I order warthog along with a black label.  It’s a risk I was willing to take.  I sat and ate warthog as South African drums rang in my ears. We danced along side the drums.  I can’t believe I ate warthog.  We went to hang out at another place on the balcony upstairs.  We laughed some more.  We called a cab and went home.  We made too much noise.  We sat in the kitchen scrounging for food.  No one has gone grocery shopping in over a week.  We ate some crackers.  We kept laughing and recalled the stuff that we had done all day.  I brought my mattress outside by the pool.  I cuddled up in my comforter. I opened my eyes and saw the stars, I closed my eyes and I fell asleep.   

Kayley on her work in Tafelsig

Last Friday I accompanied some sisters (nurses) into Tafelsig, a community in Mitchell’s Plain, for a free HIV testing out reach. We all shoved into the clinic’s minibus and headed on our way. Ten minutes later we all piled out and started setting up our tent on an old run down basketball court.  It was a small tent with a few chairs and a table.  We also had a mega phone so we could let everyone know in the community about the free HIV testing and the free drug awareness class that the clinic was offering. 

Immediately when we set up the tent this man came over and started asking questions about why we were there. As we were explaining his eye caught the megaphone. He LOVED that megaphone.  Within seconds he was telling everyone to come over and check out the tent through the megaphone.

One of the sisters and myself accompanied him around the neighborhoods. Since he lived there he knew where to go and provided a great guide. We just followed him around the neighborhoods talking to everyone and telling them about the free HIV testing down the road and the free drug and alcohol abuse class at the clinic. At first I didn’t say much. I just followed and watched and handed out the fliers. As I became more comfortable I started going up and talking to people.  Our megaphone man helped out by telling everyone that I was his American girlfriend which started some interesting conversations. Most people there knew Basic English but I didn’t want to come off as that American who assumes that everyone can speak English. So I tried using some of the words I was taught, “molweni, unjani”, when I got a response I would say “Ndiphilile, enkosi”. This all means “hello, how are you” and then  “I’m fine thank you”.  Some people responded very well to me awkwardly trying to speak Xhosa and others just didn’t answer me.

It was really interesting to talk to everyone about HIV. Some people didn’t even want to hear anything about it and some people were very interested.  Some people just wanted to check out the tent and watch what was going on. I went up to one women who told me she was just tested last month for HIV and she is negative, but she said how she has been fighting breast cancer for a couple of years. She then proceeded to ask me if we do cancer testing under the tent as well. 

As we were following our megaphone man, we stopped at a bar in the neighborhood to talk to some of the people in there. The owner came out and was a little upset. He was speaking in Xhosa to the sister I was with. I couldn’t completely understand what they were saying but I had a good idea. One of the main issues is that HIV and AIDS is not talked about really at all. It is something that is hidden and to be ashamed of. Mostly, because people are not educated correctly about it. My friend told me that one of her students wrote in a paper that sneezing could spread HIV.

The main ways to get HIV is through sexual intercourse, sharing needles, blood transfusions and mother to child. Of course there are other accidents that can occur but they are rare.  Our megaphone man turned and explained what the owner was saying. He was basically saying that if someone HIV positive came into the bar he might loose customers because they wouldn’t want to be around an HIV positive person. After he was done explaining this to me he said, “Girl, what would you do about this?”  The best answer I could come up with at the time was to educate people about HIV and AIDS. To not treat it as some deadly disease that no one ever talks about. From what I understood, and I could be wrong, all people really know about HIV and AIDS is that it is deadly and not acceptable to talk about let alone to get help for. Not many people even understand how it is transmitted and what can be done for it.

Our megaphone man asked us to talk to his friend who is HIV positive and not taking her medication. When we tried to speak to her about taking her medications regularly she got very upset and the man she was living with was also extremely upset. It wasn’t understood that by taking the medications you could really prolong the onset of Aids. If HIV and AIDS was talked openly about then people may learn how to prevent contracting it and learn what can be done if you are positive.

            

Leah's extracurricular activities at Thandokhulu

So because I feel as though I established my love for Thandokhulu in my previous blog, I want to describe the extracurricular activities that I have been engaging in at the school.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a white woman at Thandokhulu. This threw me off because normally Erica, Sarah, and I are the only awkward, non-Xhosa people within the premises. It turned out that she was here with the University of Cape Town. Whatever department she works with organizes programs, workshops, and guest teachers for underprivileged schools. She was here to work with the teachers of Thandokhulu, teach some of their classes, and evaluate the school. Additionally, she was starting a book club! This really excited me because, well, I love books. And I love Thandokhulu. So it was the perfect combination! Of course I immediately volunteered to help.

Ever since, Sarah and I have been working at the book club after school on Tuesdays at Thandokhulu. We were quite worried that high school students would not be interested in something sounding as boring as “book club.” We were expecting to be satisfied with three or four students but to our surprise, 100 students showed up! The students are able to rent out books for a week. Then they bring them back and we talk about them or do different activities like learning how to write a book review. Sarah and I put on a slam poetry class in which we showed the kids some slam poetry and then encouraged them to write their own.

Jackie then asked Sarah and I if we could conduct our slam poetry lesson at a high school she visits on Wednesdays, Sophumelela. This high school is in Khayelitsha and is one of the township schools that are completely funded by the government. It is actually so much nicer and better resourced than Thandokhulu. However, Ms. Bopi told me that parents still want to send their children to Thandokhulu because it is in such a safer area: the residential, previously “white-only” Mowbray. If children are attending the schools in the townships, they have to worry about being raped and mugged on the way to school. So even though Thandokhulu is located next to a highway, costs 400R a year, does not supply notebooks or uniforms, and requires about an hour commute, it is still in high demand. It must be hard to put a price on your child’s safety.

The students in the book club at both Thandokhulu and Sophumelela are absolutely amazing. They are so motivated and excited about reading and learning. Some of the books that they are able to borrow at in Xhosa, but most are in English. Even though the students really do appreciate the club so much, I asked kids at each school how we could make the club better and many had only one answer: food. It killed me. At lunch time during Thandokhulu, I stay in my office because so many of the kids have nothing to eat. A student in one of Sarah’s classes invited us one day to watch some music during lunch. We followed her to room 8A. Little did we know, we were entering a church service! These students gather on their own will during their free time at lunch to basically attend a Baptist church. The leader of the Student Christian Organization (SCO), was absolutely amazing! She was a high school student but she sounded like she had been a pastor for years. Even though most of the students were excited and involved in the service, I could not help but wonder when they were going to eat lunch, if ever.

Anyway – I have also been working with Brittany who started an after-school art program for the kids. We have only met once, last Friday, but the students LOVED it! So many kids from my classes came and they really enjoyed it. Basically, Brittany just brings in art supplies, inspires them with some cool activities, and lets them go! Having this time to express themselves in any way always confuses them a bit at first, but then they love it. Even in class the other day I instructed them to free write for ten minutes. They all just stared at me. I explained to them that you can write about whatever you want. Some began writing. Others just put their hands up to ask me to further clarify the assignment. These kids could be so creative if they were not brainwashed into just mechanically spitting back information for their teachers everyday.

Basically, the kids are great. They are excited and we are assisting them in choosing to engage in different activities after school!

Adam's fourth blog entry

My trip to Plettenberg Bay was a truly unique experience.  The drive was a bit long but not unbearable if you had an ipod or a book to distract you.  The hostel we stayed in was very rustic and bohemian.  Animals just roamed around the grounds giving it an almost farm like feel.  I got to pet some elephants and ride down a river on an inner tube.  We also visited the Canga Caves and went to Cape Aghulus, which is the southern most tip of Africa.  At the Cape we were able to see the sunset on the Atlantic Ocean and the moon on the Indian Ocean.  It was definitely a brief but memorable experience.

At my internship the days vary in busyness depending on what’s going on in the office.  The other day I sat in on a meeting that is held at the beginning of each month and everyone runs through the agenda for the coming month.  It gave me a good overview of what everyone in the Black Sash is working on.  It has also been a very enjoyable experience to work alongside Jeremicia who has really made me feel at home and never hesitates to ask me about my day or what I’ve been doing.

            

I’m very excited for our upcoming excursion to Johannesburg and Kruger.  I cannot wait to see another part of South Africa and see what’s it like outside of Cape Town.  The fact that we get to go on a safari is just an awesome bonus.  If someone had told me I’d be going on an African safari before I visited Europe I would have never believed them.  A weeklong trip is exactly what I need at this point in my study abroad experience.  As they say here, “cheers.”  

Rachel sweats the small stuff

Rachel on Table Mountain

So all these blog entries have been talking about some pretty heavy stuff, I feel as though I should address some of the little everyday things that we have to adjust to being in South Africa.  These things are something that if you lived in South Africa you would never notice.  The things that in the US or in South Africa you take for granted.

One thing that I have noticed is the lack of work ethic.  Wait, no.  People here work hard; they just like taking their time and taking many breaks. Tea breaks.  How do I describe tea breaks? If you are just standing around not working, that is not okay.  But if you are standing around and not working with tea in your hand then that is perfectly acceptable. There are tea breaks where everyone just stops working at least 3 times a day at most places here. I sometimes don’t understand how they get anything done in this country. 

Sleeping breaks. The first couple of weeks that we were here, Harry, the house owner had people working on the outside of the house.  There were probably around 10 workers doing various tasks.  They arrived around 8 am; by 9 it was breakfast break.  At 10 they were back to work.  At 11 it was naptime. 12 back to work, 1 lunch and then a nap, 3 work, 4 o’clock home.  Naptime consists of the workers lying face down on the lawn.  Of course when we first arrived here in Cape Town, we were unaware of the lackadaisical schedule so after coming home from a long day we went outside and to our surprise we thought there were a bunch of dead Africans on our lawn. Enough said about breaks.

Red lights mean absolutely nothing in South Africa.  If there is a red light, that means go fasters so that you cannot get hit.  Which brings me to Cars getting the right of way.  It is difficult enough crossing the street with the cars driving on the opposite side of the road.  I have to look both ways fifteen times just to cross half of the road.  Then, once you begin to cross, people will honk at you if you are in their way and speed up just because you were RUDE enough to attempt to cross the street.  Rain or shine, cars will NOT stop to let you pass. You could stand at the side of the road for hours until there is a break in traffic and not one person will even slow down to allow you to cross.

Now once you cross the road, don’t bother asking for directions.  If you stop and ask a person for directions and they have no idea where it is that you are trying to get to, they will give you directions anyway.  “Sir, can you please tell me how to get to pick and pay?”  Reply: “uhh, ummm, uhh okay, you are going to want to go straight down there, make a left, a right and then another left.”  Meanwhile it is in the complete opposite direction and you are headed who knows where.  This is a similar effect, as when you ask someone to hang out and they reply yes even though, they know and you know that they cannot hang out. But anyway, your best bet is hopping on a minibus taxi.  I can’t even begin to talk about those, that’s a blog within it’s self.  Similarly, there was a man the other day sleeping or at least I hope he was sleeping on the street.  He could just as easily have been dead, as I looked at him with concern.  The street sweepers did not even wake him and just swept around him and a little bit of him and then walked away. 

Bare feet is a completely normal and acceptable thing around here whether in the grocery store, or walking around town.  I told someone that in America, most stores would not let you in if you weren’t wearing shoes and a shirt.  The surprised look on the South African’s face surprised me a bit.  She had asked “but why?”  I told her I wasn’t actually 100 percent sure; it was mostly because of sanitary reasons.  She responded “but what ever is at the bottom of you feet is the same thing that is on the bottom of your shoes.”  Touché South Africa Touché. 

Customer is always wrong! Simple as that, if you go to the store and you aren’t satisfied it is your own fault.  If you go to a restaurant and they bring you the wrong order, the waiters roll their eyes at you and it’s too damn bad.  Don’t forget to weigh your own produce and sticker it with a price before getting to the register, because that is not a happy sight!

Sweeping is another interesting South African task.  People whose jobs it is to sweep/mop, no matter where you are will mop and sweep right over your feet.  Your fault if you are in their way.  We went out to a club a few weeks ago.  As I was dancing a man literally was sweeping my feet away! The broom was on my feet and in America, this is not okay!

Toilets.  Oh South African toilets, where do I start? Well first of all I cannot get used to the fact that when you ask someone where the “bathroom” or “ladies room” is, they will get slightly confused.  Here in South Africa they straight up call them toilets.  No getting around things here. Just like when I interacting with the Afrikaaners at work, they tell you how it is.  If you are fat they will tell you.  If you are ugly they will tell you.  Anyway, back to the toilets.  Once I arrive at toilets it is always some sort of adventure.  The toilet handle is guaranteed to be somewhere and something different in every bathroom you go.  So after you are done doing your business, you are sitting in the bathroom OOPS excuse me toilet stall for a good thirty seconds before figuring out if there is a string you have to pull, an actual handle (which most must be jiggled a certain way before it will flush), a button that needs to be pressed (which are annoyingly placed behind the cover so you have to put that down before flushing the toilet), or some other makeshift handle that they can come up with.  This makes it difficult for the germaphobes in America like me who don’t like to touch toilet handles and try to use their foot instead of their hands to flush the toilet (if you are wondering how I am dealing with that by the way, I have now just become a dirtier person in general).  So, once you have figured out how to flush the toilet, comes the next task, this is a tough one.  You would think that here in South Africa, the toilets would just flush in the opposite direction, NOPE!  When you flush the toilets here water splashes in every direction, most times, creating an extremely terrifying backsplash; so the goal is to flush the toilet and run and shut the door as fast as you possibly can before you get sprayed with dirty toilet water. 

I tell you, the adventures that you go on here are things you could never encounter in the US!

These are only a few things that we experience here everyday.  I have lists full of things like this.  Strange at first but then hilarious when you look back. I love South Africa.