Erica free falling into a new reality

On January 15 I boarded a plane to South Africa, and in doing so I bungy jumped. There is no doubt about it—when I got on that plane I dove into a beautiful abyss, having no expectations whatsoever. The bridge I jumped from was made out of my former self—it was built from fear, misunderstanding, passivity, apathy, confusion, and failed attempts. But when I jumped off of that bridge, and took a risk, I found myself in South Africa, learning more than I ever have from sitting behind a desk in a classroom. When I boarded that plane, I dove into the issues of racism, poverty, inequality, injustice, hate, and fear, all the while strengthening myself and bracing myself for the recoil of the realities I would have to face here. I think that’s why we, and every other UConn group that has come here before us, decided to take that 6-hour drive to Plettenburg and throw ourselves off of that bridge. It’s because bungy jumping is, without a doubt, a physical manifestation of everything we’ve been doing from the moment we arrived in Cape Town. For me, bungy jumping was so much more than a thrilling adrenalin rush that left me breathless and wanting more. In a larger sense, it was a moment of personal strength that represented everything I’ve been doing thus far—free falling into understanding, compassion, self-love, love for others, healing, reconciliation, and hope.

            When I got to Bloukrans Bridge the reality of what I was doing there began to sink in. They told us we could not choose who went first and that they would choose for us. When he said that, an overwhelming feeling came over me. I thought to myself, “You’re going first.” I just knew that I was. When the time came for him to announce who was going to be the first one off of the bridge, I already knew what he was going to say, “Erica, you’re up.” But I was so ready. Loud techno music and the support of my wonderful new friends certainly helped me to dance my way to the edge of that bridge, but it was also a strength inside of myself…a kind of strength I had never really felt before. The man helping us said to me, “Do you have any last words?” With a huge smile on my face, I replied, “This is awesome!” I hopped and danced my way to the edge and then they counted down. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1…bungy!” And then I dove. I free fell with my arms spread out wide, into a beautiful abyss of green mountains, blue sky, and rushing river water. And then—silence. Nothing but the sound of my own breathing. I lost all sense of time and space and, forcing my eyes open, I saw a beautiful landscape spinning beneath me. It was the most peaceful moment of my entire life. There were no words, but words came to me still—I spoke aloud to myself, “This is so beautiful”. I felt connected, spiritual, emotional, strong, alive. In fact, it was the most alive I have ever been.

            I told myself before the jump that there were things I wanted to leave behind on top of that bridge forever. I wanted to leave behind insecurity, weakness, sadness, anger, and my past. I wanted to leave it all behind me and dive into an endless abyss of peace, calm, and beauty. The reality is, I cannot leave all of those things on top of that bridge. The reality is that they will stay with me because they are a part of me. However, I can ALWAYS bring myself back to the moment I jumped—the moment I let go of those things and dove into a future of self-love, self-esteem, power and strength. I can always bring myself back to the feeling that I really am on top of the world, with no fear and no weakness. I can always bring myself back to that moment of pure strength where I felt like I could change the world. Whenever I need to, I can go back to that moment in my head and feel just as free as the moment I first jumped. And that’s all I could ever ask for in life.

            The reality is, that I began my jump the moment I boarded the plane to South Africa. When I return home, I know I will take with me all of the lessons I learned from jumping into this and facing it head on. I will take with me all of the lessons I’ve learned from my friends here in South Africa. I will take with me all of the lessons I learned from taking risks and opening my mind and becoming a stronger person. I will take with me all of the lessons I’ve learned about this country and its people and how they’re strength and resilience is a true testament to the good of humanity.

  Being in South Africa has been a thrilling, rushing, loud, quiet, peaceful, calm, crazy, hectic, educational, emotional, spiritual, powerful, brave free-fall. I don’t think I’ll ever come back up. 

Michelle applying valuable life lessons while connecting the dots

It has been a wild week since I last wrote my blog about finding my calling as a midwife. Things have been picking up at my internship, I have continued to shadow Ciska and Susan, the midwives, and we have traveled to Plettenburgbaai to hurl ourselves off the highest bridge used for commercial bungee jumping in the world.

When I think about bungee jumping, I like to think of it as a metaphor for pursuing this trip to South Africa. I have always been terrified of heights, and often get nervous on our hikes, in elevators, or simply being in a tall building. We watched Ben’s bungee video and I almost wished that I hadn’t. The bridge was so high, and he fell for so long. I was convinced that I would get to the edge of the bridge and freeze. I knew that they couldn’t push us, so I had to continually tell myself that it would be me and me alone getting myself off of the bridge.

When I transferred from Smith College to UConn I had my eye on this program, and from the get-go was sure that I was going to go to South Africa, no matter what. As the date of our departure got closer and closer, I began to feel nervous. Would I fit in? Would I like it? Would I miss my home and family too much? The night before I left, as I said goodbye to friends and my boyfriend, my brother and my mom, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I thought, “What the hell am I getting myself into? Why am I flying half a world away from everything and everyone I love?”

 As I sunk into the hostel bed the night before our jump I had many of the same sentiments. “Why would I jump off a perfectly good bridge when I don’t have to, and kind of really don’t want to? What am I trying to prove?”

When I stepped off of solid, well-supported ground and onto the rickety, see-through walk-way that would surely bring me to my sudden death, I felt surprisingly at peace. I was boarding the plane to South Africa all over again. I was embarking on a new, exciting journey that would leave me forever changed.  I was literally enacting what I had metaphorically done a little over six weeks ago. I was plunging into the great unknown. In this abyss I would confront my fears and anxieties not only of my new surroundings, but also confronting the flaws and strengths of my own character.

I reached the edge of the platform and knew I was ready. I was going to jump, of my own free will, into the unknown. I feel that I have learned, over the past few weeks, that I was also ready for this jump, both the literal and metaphorical. I think back to all the people that have taught me valuable life skills, and how each one prepared me for this huge leap. Conflict resolution, critical thought, and map-reading from my mother, a broad base of wonderfully immature humor from my brother, cooking and a sense of direction from my boyfriend, and finally my knowledge of music, composure in tense situations, and talking out problems and obstacles from my father. All of these qualities and traits have helped me tremendously and have prepared me for this journey, as well as for my adult life.

This week we were really gearing up for Cape Town Pride and a strategic planning meeting for Gender DynamiX. This weekend, GDX will have the first float to be devoted to transgender individuals in Cape Town Pride history. It has been such an honor to be able to participate in such an historic event, and can’t wait to march, with extreme pride (excuse the pun), alongside these incredibly courageous, strong, men and women.

I also have the privilege to take minutes for the strategic planning meeting this weekend. GDX has invited over twenty transpeople, from all over the country, to participate in a meeting that will help GDX determine its programming and focus for the next two years. It is an incredible opportunity not only to see how NGOs function and take cues from their constituents, but also to meet people who have such a diverse set of experiences, thoughts, and dreams for what GDX can achieve.

On the other hand, I am also gaining valuable experience shadowing Ciska and Susan, independent midwives for Birth Options in Plumstead. This week I sat in on a few appointments, and also learned how to identify which way a fetus is facing, and thus, where to find the heartbeat. I have learned so much about pregnancy, midwifery, breastfeeding, and by extention, the amazing and wonderful things women’s bodies can do. I also accompanied Ciska on a post-natal home visit. Ciska helped the new parents work through breastfeeding issues, sleeping arrangements, co-parenting, as well as the numerous fears and trepidations that come with the territory of being new parents. It has been amazing to see the many roles of midwives: as nurse, counselor, mother’s aide, friend, coach, sister, and mother herself.

Sometimes I wonder how my two experiences are compatible: half the week I am Michelle, intern and activist for trans issues, and for one day a week I am Michelle, apprentice midwife. How are these worlds connected? One of my co-workers at GDX asked me that the other day. He asked me what I wanted to do, and after replying that I wanted to be a midwife, he thought for a minute, and then asked, “Well, that’s nice, but what the dickens does catching babies have to do with trans issues?” I was caught a little off guard by this comment, and it really made me think about how I can connect these two seemingly separate realms. I have thought a lot about it, and I have decided that first and foremost, as a feminist, trans issues are by and large ignored. I am excited to take back what I have learned and share it with my co-workers at the Women’s Center. Secondly, I truly believe that this work could someday be integral to my work as a midwife. What if, someday, a transman or woman comes to see me with their partner? Trans people face unique reproductive rights battles that cannot be separated from the battles of ciswomen (women who are born biologically women and identify their gender as female).

I am completely exhausted, but in a good way, and can’t wait to wear a shirt that I made for the Pride Parade tomorrow. It simply reads: TRANScend Hate.   

Leah on the rewards of teaching

So the other day, Rachel put it most concisely when she said, “Leah’s life is Thandokhulu.” It is true. I have fallen head over heals, irrevocably, and unconditionally in love with my students at that school. The school itself, its administration, and my fellow teachers may have their faults, but the students are just so amazing.

Before everyone stops reading my blog and labels it as the typical, “Rich white girl goes to Africa and thinks all the little kids are wonderful and try so hard even though they’re poor and blah blah blah,” I want to add a disclaimer. I am not presuming any of this in my blog. Yes, most of the students are from Khayelitsha, a poor township comprised of informal settlements within Cape Town. Yes, most of them are extremely driven and focused on their future. I mean, which American high schoolers ask their teachers for extra English grammar worksheets?! Which American high schooler would EVER in a million years attend something called Book Club?! We had 100 students come after school just to read and learn! When asked what they wanted to read, many responded, “Just anything English…” The disclaimer here is that not all of the students are like this. This is most of the students, the majority I would hope. But many of them too are just going through the motions, like American teens. I have definitely had to discipline the students for talking in class, not listening, etc. (This has benefited me in my future teaching endeavors in that I am learning how to be strict). With that said, many of the students are truly interested and excited about learning. The disclaimer that I am trying to describe is that even though many are dedicated to their work, they’re still teens. Sometimes they’re tired or preoccupied with their love life or social scenes. They are excited and they are interested, but they are also human.

For a little over a month, I had been the sole teacher of two Grade 10 classes because their real teacher was sick. I had gotten extremely used to these students and they had gotten used to me. They expected to see me, expected to learn an American slang phrase or word everyday, expected to take notes in my class. I was regularly making lesson plans and grading essays and tests. The other tenth grade English teacher constantly worked with me to put together exercises, essay topics, and exam questions. I was loving every second of it.

However, there was this constant potential disaster looming in the background. Mr. Tsoli would indeed eventually return. I knew that this dream world could not continue forever. I am a young, American, University student who is leaving this country in May. I could not provide for these students as a full time teacher. As February 28^th approached, the day that Tsoli’s medical leave would expire, I grew more and more nervous. I did not want to lose all of these responsibilities that I had gained in his absence!

Finally, he arrived. Because I still had not finished teaching the poem On Aging by Maya Angelou to my students, he sat in on both of my classes to watch me teach. After my first class, he said to me, “That was really impressive! You were great in there. You definitely have the voice for it…” and that was it. I loved him. Not only did he like my teaching skills, but he saw my loud, out spoken quality as an asset.  Back at the office, he went on to tell me about how he was a teacher when Thandokhulu was taken over! The people of Khayelitsha had been petitioning the government for a school, but they were constantly rejected. Then, the petitioned to use an abandoned school in Mowbray (which is present day Thandokhulu), but were rejected because Mowbray was a designated white area. So in 1992, students, teachers, and supporters from Khayelitsha all rode into town on the buses with the intention of taking the school. The government had sent police, officials, and even helicopters in to stop their seizure of the school. When the students broke through the gate, the dogs were let loose on them! Finally, the teachers were able to negotiate with the officials to obtain the school and ever since then, we’ve had Thandokhulu, “much love.” Anyway – the point is that Tsoli, once an omnipotent fear, has transformed into one of my idols.

On Wednesday, Mr. Tsoli was teaching a poem to the classes and I was just sitting on the side lines, watching. It is never my favorite position, but I now share my classes and I am re-learning that Kindergarten lesson about sharing nicely. So Mr. Tsoli asked the class what literary device was used in the first stanza of some specific poem. Immediately, a boy at the back of the class (the boy at the back of the class), raises his hand and answers, “Personification.” Dead on. Mr. Tsoli was so surprised! He said he was only looking for metaphor, but personification was even more specific! The boy just looked at me and smiled, I had taught them about these different poetic devices a couple of weeks ago. I could not contain myself!! The boy at the back of the class, the one you never think is listening, IS! Then, Mr. Tsoli asked the class what irony is. Almost in unison they recited the definition that I had taught them, looking over at me the entire time. I could not wipe the grin off of my face.

I was so incredibly rewarded.

All I could think was – how can I not teach? How can I not pursue something that makes me feel so good? I want nothing else in life. I just want to feel rewarded. 

Brett on the pattern of life that is emerging

So, on life. Here’s my blog. We have now been in Cape Town a month and a half. The idiosyncrasies are beginning to sift themselves out and a pattern of life is emerging.  We had Marita’s class this evening and last weekend we went to Plettenberg. The honeymoon portion of the trip is over, and the realities of the situation, of my colleagues, and my expectations are becoming more visible. But I prefer whole grain bread to white bread, so while I am adjusting to the grittiness of my situation, I appreciate it with a wholesome quality more than taste alone provides. To hike Cape Point as opposed to looking at it from the window of a bus goes beyond the beauty to the gravity of the environment.

Schoolwork is not very fun, and seems like a hindrance to the wealth of experiences that we have and could have more of, as well as an insult to my own desire to learn, but my frustration with formal education goes far beyond this trip, and compared to a traditional education this trip is far more liberal and progressive. It just seems that I have gotten a taste of a truly liberal education, and now I no longer want to be, or at least pay to be, in school. Maybe if I find what I want to study, then I will have a better time, but for now I’m still struggling with motivation, and justifiably so.

Our days are just packed, I must say, with full days of work and class and events of different sorts. I’m a bit tired at present, and backed up on laundry, as I haven’t done it in the past two weeks. Food, I cannot complain about, as I take time for food first, both eating out often, and affordably so, as well as experimenting with cooking. On my way home today from work I stopped and got a styrofoam bowl of rice and curry, a good sized portion for $3. Here, I feel like the price that I pay for food is worth the quality and the quantity. As far as cooking goes, I have become a little less enthused, as of lately, since I got both a guitar and more homework assignments.

The refugee center took a turn for the better today, as we had a long staff meeting in which we discussed a better strategy for dealing with the number of refugees and variety of their problems. Instead of listening to the refugees and trying to problem solve on the spot, as we have been doing (I gave a man food stamps on Tuesday after he explained to me how he lost his job and wife just had a baby), we decided, as a center that we would simply gain information during the initial interviews, and then talk about them with our colleagues before calling them back. This way, it takes the pressure off of us to come up with solutions on the spot, as many cases are difficult to assess. We also brainstormed the idea of creating email addresses for the refugees, which may lessen the number of refugees in the office on a regular basis if they can simply email a question instead of having to come in. They can access computers at internet café’s throughout the city. An email address can also assist them with job application and networking in the city. So, I think that the center will slowly become more efficient than it has been.

Other than that, I have been so busy, and yet I feel like I could be doing so much more. Three months is a very short time, I am coming to find out. I do miss my family at home, and yet, the longer I am here, I am beginning to grow roots in the African soil as well. But, this is not my home, although it is quite interesting to experience.

 

Meredith on finding confidence, inner strength and ability to take action

As I walked into the Grade R classroom at eight o’clock this morning I was just waiting for Mrs. Loren to ask the burning question.  “Well did you go through with it?”  I confidently replied that indeed a few days before I bungee jumped off of the highest commercial bridge in the world.  I laughed as Mrs. Loren explained to the kindergarteners what bungee jumping entails.  “A long rope is tied to your feet and you jump off of a huge bridge and spring back up.”  It wasn’t until it was translated to the kids in Xhosa with hand motions that they really understood the insanity behind physically pushing yourself off of a bridge.  “Would any of you ever like to do that?” As they looked at me shockingly with their mouths opened maybe about two students raised their hand half-heartedly.  The fact that six year olds seem to have more common sense than me was humorous.  I laughed.

This weekend all twelve of us packed up our bags and headed for a weekend trip out of the city to Plettenberg with the main intension to go bungee jumping at the Bloukrans River Bridge.  After a grueling eight-hour car ride, we arrived at our youth hostel for one last night of sleep before the big event.  It was such a relief that we planned the jump early in the morning the following day because it really did not give any of us time to think about what we were about to go through with.  I got out of the van and immediately looked at the bridge.  As my stomach started to turn, all of my emotions suddenly rushed through me.  I was frightened, eager, nervous, and so confused as to why I was about to voluntarily fling my body off of a bridge.  Before we made our way across the bridge, we took our last Loch Road group huddle where we had the chance to as we call it “throw it into the bag.”  Everyone shouted words such as courage, strength, self-determination, and power with the hope that we could all take in these things for the next few moments of our lives. 

Next thing I know, I’m walking across a metal bridge where all you can look is down and all you can think is: Shoot, this is where I will be in a matter of a few minutes.  As we trudged across the bridge on what seemed like the longest walk of my life, I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of determination.  I knew I was ready to jump.  Finally we reached the platform in the middle of the bridge and I glanced over the edge.  It was finally time to push myself.  The loud techno music playing in the background helped all of the unsettling thoughts exit my mind.  Erica was the first one up.  It felt like I was watching a magic trick or something.  She was standing on the edge and then all of the sudden she vanished.  My mind chose to treat this scene as an illusion as if it wasn’t really happening.  Next up, Leah.  I think okay I know can do this.   She steps up to the platform.  Arms out and she is gone.   I watch as the rope frantically unravels off of the platform.  It is Brittany’s turn now.  We cheer her on as she prepares to dive into the abyss.  I’m called up to be the fourth jumper.  Brittany places her arms carefully in the sky and is gone.  As my legs were getting tied and I was being told the safety rules, I just couldn’t bare to pay attention.  My mind was trying to wrap around the extent of what I would be doing.   Something that my body physically knows is a huge red flag.  All the sudden before I knew it my feet were at the very edge of what felt like the whole entire world.  It was time.  I lifted my arms as the workers shouted FIVE…. No way I’m backing out now…FOUR…. breathed one last deep breathe …THREE…closed my eyes and said a prayer…. TWO…opened my eyes and looked into the blue sky around me…ONE BUNGEE!  I jumped off the edge and it was nothing like I thought it would ever be.  It felt like the world stop around me and I was just floating there.  Just the Earth and I together in harmony.  It was the most surreal feeling of my life.  I never would have thought that jumping 216 meters off of a bridge would be the most serene experience of my life. 

I hung there upside down and realized for the first time in my life that I am literally capable of anything.  When I say anything I mean anything.  When I jumped off of that bridge I left all of my insecurities and fears on the platform all the way at the top.  Hanging there with me was confidence, inner-strength, and the ability to take action.  In the future when I’m faced with a situation where I tell myself I can’t, all I need to do is remind myself that I jumped off of the highest bridge in the world.  

Katherine on city life

 As I have become more used to living in Cape Town, I have become more comfortable with my surroundings.  The three days a week when I get off the minibus at the taxi rank to go to my internship, I try to be conscious of those passing by me.  The minibus taxi rank can be an intimidating place if you do not know where you are going.  There are many people around who you come in close contact with. 

In the mornings I usually feel safer because there are less people in the taxi rank and at the bottom of the stairs that lead down from the taxi rank.  The majority of the people walking in the crowd I travel in are headed to work and do not waste time idling around the premises.

In the afternoon, around 3PM, when I leave Black Sash to journey back to Rondebosch, the taxi rank area seems to be less safe.  There are many more people around and most are not travelling home from their jobs but instead just walking around, selling items, shopping, heckling, and many other things.  The first few weeks at my internship I was slightly nervous when I got close to the taxi rank because of the plethora of people pouring out of every place.  It is hard to keep track of every angle of your surroundings.  Yet I began to feel more confident as time went on.  I have become very good at keeping an eye what is going on in front of me as well as on either side of me.  What lies behind me is still a challenge.

It has been difficult to decide what type of bag I should carry when I go into downtown Cape Town.  A shoulder bag is easier to carry in front of me so that I can see if anyone tries to pickpocket me.  Yet a shoulder bag is also much easier to grab and run with if someone wanted to rob me.  A backpack is more comfortable to carry and allows me to but heavier things including my computer inside.  However a backpack is behind me and I cannot see who may be directly behind me when I am in a crowded area.  I have resorted to carrying a backpack and usually it is extremely hot so I treat it is more of a shoulder bag. 

Today I was almost pick pocketed while walking to the taxi rank.  Thankfully two men saw what was going on and alerted me.  I was very surprised that I had not been paying enough attention because I am usually meticulously careful the closer I get to the minibuses.  I had been carrying my backpack with just one strap on and walking at my usual brisk pace.  I did not even notice that the man behind me managed to unzip the lower pocket to my backpack.  Sadly for him there was only hand sanitizer, deodorant, and tissues to take, but he did not get far enough before being spotted even if he had wanted those items.  I was very grateful to the two men who alerted me.  At first I thought they were trying to heckle me because they approached me quickly and started speaking loudly.  If they had not said anything, the man behind me probably could have forcefully yanked my bag away from me and ran.

While I do not deem Cape Town to be a dangerous place, as many Americans perceive it to be, it is a city with similar issues to that of New York City, Paris, and London, including pick pocketing.  As Ben, Marita, and Vernon warned the twelve of us, it is most likely only when you let your safety guard begin to slip will anything happen to us.  I guess mine had begun to slip after enjoying an adventure filled weekend in Plettenberg Bay which included bungee jumping, an elephant sanctuary, tubing, and travelling to the southernmost point of Africa. 

Kayley asks some tough questions

I am currently writing this blog entry in a little café in down town Rondebosch called Cocoa Wawa. There is free internet access as long as you order one of their amazing drinks. I usually get green tea. As I look around I have never been so aware of my privileges. My privilege to order what ever I want, to call a cab and have the money to pay for it, to have a really nice house to go back to, to have a computer to use while I sit here, and there are so many more privileges. The point is that I can no longer be anywhere without thinking about the people around me and the different socio-economic situations that each person comes from.

The poverty left from apartheid is blatant and in your face wherever you go.  For example, in the burn unit at the Red Cross hospital, most of the children there are Xhosa speaking. This is because burns are much more prevalent in the townships due to the stoves they use and the paraffin which is the fuel for the stoves. The poverty is even quite prevalent in the research I am doing. In each of the files there is the space for the mother’s name and a space for the father/boyfriend’s name. Many of them are unemployed and are receiving social grants from the government.  This is the reality here and it’s frightening. Especially coming from a wealthy mostly white suburbia in America.

In the past month and a half I am beginning to understand the history behind apartheid and why there is still a strong reminisce of it after it was abolished. As the weeks go on I start to see the big picture instead of the present moment. This has caused a controversy for me. Each week I see the burn unit packed from wall to wall with kids, I can’t help thinking that no matter how many burns are healed the burn unit will still be packed each week. To really help these kids in the long term, the poverty needs to be stopped. 

Last week I accompanied Prof into Khayelitsha. We were in the maternity hospital there. Child after child came in all with different smaller problems, but one of the overriding ones was nutrition. I can’t get the sight of this 8-year-old boy who was skin and bones with a belly full of worms out of my head. His mother was unemployed and an alcoholic. Again you can put the mom into rehab and find the boy a new home, de-worm him and start giving him the proper nutrition, but all of this will still not solve the overriding poverty that all of these families face. The route of the problem needs to be the main target.

One of the informal settlements in Khayelitsha

I am not writing this to make everyone guilty or depressed. I am also not saying that these problems are only in South Africa because America is confronted with them too.  I don’t even have a solution to these problems, I am just identifying them and drawing parallels back to America. That is the first step, looking outside yourself and understanding the people and places around you, then putting them into the bigger picture. It took me coming to South Africa and understanding it’s problems to really understand America’s. I guess the message that I am trying to get out is that you can’t just accept things the way they are. Ask questions.

Two weekends ago a couple of us went to Camps Bay (a really pretty touristy beach), I felt uncomfortable there. Everyone that was there looked just like me. This one image won’t leave my mind; I was walking along the beach and I saw this white women laying in a rented beach chair while this black man was on his knees displaying his handmade crafts to her. Normally, I wouldn’t give this scene much thought but it made me mad. I wanted the women to ask him where he is from what his story is and why he has to walk around the beach in the sweltering sun selling crafts instead of relaxing with everyone else. I’m not trying to make the assumptions that he is automatically poor but that is usually the case.

The first step is recognizing these differences and the next step is to ask questions. Why is he selling crafts? If you understand the big picture you will know that most likely this man didn’t chose to sell crafts, he probably lives in one of the townships and can’t get a better job because he wasn’t able to receive the proper education. Next question, why can’t he get a better education? Maybe during apartheid he and his family were forced to move from their home and they were placed in a township. Maybe he was born when apartheid was outlawed but he still was born and raised in a township where they don’t have equal opportunities for education. There are plenty more maybes, the point is to ask yourself the question. Next question, why if apartheid is illegal are there still so many people living in poverty, without jobs and without enough food for their families? When South Africa’s new constitution was being discussed and written, everyone was given equal rights and discrimination was outlawed but economic and social redistribution was not fully addressed. It was said that everyone is equal, but it was also said that it is illegal to take money away from the people that already have it. So if you can’t redistribute the wealth how can everyone be equal? Those are just a small handful of questions that should be asked. Now there could be a possibility that the man doesn’t live in poverty, but most likely he does. The point is ask to hear his story. Ask to hear anyone’s story. These stories can help change views, open people’s eyes and slowly start the mind numbingly slow process of changing the world.

Pamela on Themba Care

                                                                               
Already a month and nine days in Cape Town! Everyday in Cape Town seems to be filled with emotions such as happiness sadness and excitement. On Friday I visited Themba Care which is where I will be doing my activist project on Fridays. Themba Care is a care center for babies and children who have AIDS. They receive babies that are referred from the red cross hospital, one and each of these children have their stories.

On Friday I only had the chance to interact with the babies. When I arrived I was very excited to see the babies because I have been looking forward to see them all week ; it also made very sad to see them because they were sick and infected by a virus that they had no control over. Even though we did not get a proper orientation that Friday, because there was a staff meeting ,we still got to see the kids and spend some time with them. I spent four hours plying with them, I even had the chance to feed two of them, a two year old and a nine year old.

While I was there I had the chance to listen to a few stories about these kids. Some of them are dropped at Themba Care because their parents have HIV, they get rid of the children so their family don’t find out, others are there because there parents are too poor to take of them or to provide them with the right medication. I was really sad to listen to these stories where some of the kids are abandoned because of society’s discrimination against people with AIDS. I feel like people living with HIV/AIDS should not be stigmatized by society, they are people just  like us , they just need a little more support, love and comprehension because they are going through some rough times. The fact that adults are rejected by society makes even more difficult for the babies growing up with it because some of them are abandoned by their parents due to lack of resources or comprehension from their families.

Overall Themba Care was a good experience and I am really excited and honored to be volunteering there. I feel like these kids need love and a second chance from society because they are just like every other child out there.

Yesterday [Feb. 23^rd] was Katherine, Rachel and my birthday. Our housemates were very thoughtful and made us cupcakes and got each of us present . I was very happy because it was so nice from them to do that when they didn’t have to… I just want to thank them and let them know that I am very grateful to have them in my life . I would not one to share this experience with any other students but them! This weekend we are going to Plattenburg and I’m really excited and look forward to it!

Sarah on Thandokhulu High School

I’ve officially been at Thandokhulu for two weeks, and I can’t say I regret my sudden decision to change paths.  While it is certainly a stressful environment, one of my main goals in South Africa is to never get complacent, to never feel like I’m content in my own comfort zone.  And I am certainly not in my comfort zone here.

Out of over 1000 people, I am the only white, native English speaker in the school (not including the other two UConn interns).  There have been times when I am teaching in a classroom and another teacher will come through the door and speak to the class in Xhosa, leaving all the students laughing hysterically.  She’ll then turn around and walk out without any sort of explanation, leaving a class of 50 students laughing at God knows what.  So, to say the least, I’m the outsider.  While it is certainly something I have never experienced before, the stress is juxtaposed by the generosity and kindheartedness of those working in the school system.  While I do not think such niceties are extended to the children, as the faculty strongly believes in being “strict,” I personally have felt welcomed.

I have been given one 11th grade class to teach, and the students are so cooperative and nice.  I feel more comfortable than I ever would have imagined.  I have never even considered becoming a teacher before, but the students have made it an easy transition.

More rewarding than my classes, however, has been the afterschool reading program Leah and I are participating in.  This past Tuesday was our first day.  I noticed a girl writing furiously in one of my classes, so I asked her if she was writing for fun.  I half expected an apathetic, ‘leave-me-alone-you-stupid-teacher’ response, but she seemed so enthusiastic.  I told her and a few of her friends to come to the book club.  Not only did they show up, but so did over 100 others.  I was just totally blown away.  I never expected to convince more than a couple of kids to stay after school after waking up at 4 in the morning to go to something that sounds as lame as “book club.”  I know I never would have.  It made me realize how much I have taken my education for granted.  My schooling was literally handed to me.  I hardly lifted a finger when it came to learning; in fact, I actually resisted education and instruction of any kind.  Fortunately, unfairly some might say, I had the resources and support to graduate with ease.  I always knew I would go to college, I know I’ll get a job.  These are privileges that were literally just handed to me, and these students work so hard just to get a fraction of that.

The reading program is run by a group of people out of the University of Cape Town.  They came with a box full of books and planned to rent them out to the students, sort of like a mini library.  With over 100 students who wanted a book, they were simply underprepared and under resourced.  They started handing books out to the 12th graders and worked their way down through the 8th graders, leaving most of the younger kids empty handed.  Towards the end of the massive scramble for books, the woman who heads the program noticed a group of three older looking students in the back of the room.  She asked them if they got a book, and they responded despondently, “No miss.”  She told them to come back next week and they would see what they could do.  I walked to the back of the room to find out a little about them.  All three boys were in 12th grade, meaning they would be taking the Matric (a final exam that’s administered in English) in a few short months.  I asked them what they were interested in so I could keep an eye out for books they might like.  One boy’s response was, “Anything.  Just any book.  English please.”  It absolutely broke my heart.  I’m going to look at some second hand book stores on Monday, so they should be all set with a book by Tuesday.  I just have had a hard time getting those boys out of my mind.

Book club has really given me a chance to connect with students on a personal level, and it’s only been one session.  I’m so excited about getting them excited, if that makes any sense.  Their enthusiasm is more than I expected, so it shouldn’t be difficult.

Adam on expanding his horizons

My time in South Africa is going by so quickly.  It’s hard to believe that soon enough it will already be March.  The good news is I feel like I’m making the most of this wonderful experience.  Whether it’s hiking, surfing, or just hanging around with people in the house I feel like I’m truly making the most of my current situation.  Sometimes I just have to sit back and reflect on what I’ve done and just all these crazy new ideas that seem to be whirling around in my head.  I think ‘expanding’ is the word I’m looking for with what’s happening to my mind.

Last week for my internship at Black Sash I was fortunate enough to attend the annual budget speech at Parliament.  It was a great experience full of information and interesting people.  Tefarah, the other intern, and I mostly walked around Parliament with our Black Sash t-shirts on taking pictures and listening in on the budget speech.  At one point President Zuma and his whole entourage walked right past us, which was a semi-star struck moment.  It was interesting seeing the politicians and socialites dressed to a T in contrast to the protesters that were standing just outside the gate.  It definitely put into perspective where South Africa is as far as disparity is concerned.

My second most memorable experience I’ve had this past week has been our two-day twenty-mile hike.  It was an awesome time that I’m very happy we did.  It was grueling and very hot at times, but in the end it was worth it.  The views, foliage, wildlife and just all of it were so great.  Once we got to the cabin we were exhausted and we made hot dogs, beans, rice, corn, and other vegetables.  Everything tastes delicious after a day of hiking 12 miles.  Like the rest of my experiences I’ve been having here the hike tested me and left its mark on me.

Erica on gaining strength while confronting fears

Just a few months ago, if you asked me to answer some questions about myself, I probably would have told you that I felt shame for my sexual orientation, that I didn’t consider myself a feminist, and that my biggest fear was great white sharks. Needless to say, things have changed.

Exactly one year ago, in February of 2009, I preformed in the Vagina Monologues. Standing in front of 1,000 people, with 20 other incredible women, I began to learn what it meant to be proud of my gender, my sexual orientation, and my ability to affect change in the world. But the transformation was not complete. During the Vagina Monologues, we learned about the women of Democratic Republic of the Congo. We learned that 75% of all rapes in the entire world happen in the DRC. The heart and soul and strength of the DRC, its women and children, are being subjected to torture and what can only be considered femicide. As we raised money to build a City of Hope refugee center for these women, we became educated about their situation. I was absolutely blown away at how the women of the DRC continued to seamlessly weave strength, hope, and inspiration into every aspect of their lives, even after experiencing such trauma. It was because of the Vagina Monologues that my heart really began to yearn for Africa—I called my mother in hysterics, exactly one year ago from today, telling her (no longer asking her at this point) that I was going to Africa.

And now, one year later, I’m here. And the transformation I have experienced since my arrival here one and half months ago is indescribable. It was only during the Vagina Monologues that I really began to learn about feminism…and my question is: Why? Why was I 19 years old when my educators first gave me the resources to learn what it meant to be a feminist? I’m officially embarrassed of my ignorance—I thought that women already had equal rights. That feminism was a dead issue. That there was no such thing as male privilege. That feminism was just tiresome complaining. Though a sexist society surrounded me in every single aspect of my life, I was downright OBLIVIOUS to the world around me, even though it compromised MY OWN rights as a woman. The spark was simply ignited with the Vagina Monologues, but now, here in South Africa, it has become a fire within me and there is nothing in the world that could extinguish it.

I think it might have been Brittany shaving her head. That’s when it really hit me. What are the chains that bind females to their hair? A fear of not being “feminine” enough? A fear of “not looking pretty anymore”? Basically, a fear that a man would no longer accept a woman if she parted from that precious hair. But the minute Brittany shaved her head, I knew that all of those gender stereotypes, everything I had been taught by society my entire life, were wrong, When I saw Brittany with her head shaved, I didn’t see masculinity. I didn’t see ugliness. I didn’t see shame. Instead, in front of me, stood the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The strength of the women living in this household with me, and the strength of every single South African woman I have met since I have come here, is absolutely contagious! I hear so many of the girls say, “This is one of the healthiest living environments I have ever been in.” That’s because, for many of us, this is our first time being surrounded by constant encouragement to love the skin we’re in, to embrace our bodies and our souls, and to view ourselves in a way that the sexist societies we come from would deem “incorrect”.

Since my arrival here in Cape Town, I have rallied in front of Parliament to end the attacks on the LGBTI community in Uganda. I have gone to a documentary on three lesbian women living in Orthodox Jewish communities in Israel and I have learned what keeping quiet because of fear can do to the soul of a person. Next Friday, I’ll be partaking in Pride Week, a festival to celebrate the LGBTI community here in Cape Town. Two nights ago, we had some people over from the Gender Equity Unit at the University of the Western Cape. I met a woman named Thozama who runs a program called “Loud Enough” that helps the LGBTI community at UWC feel confident in themselves. Thozama said, “I started this program with 50 students, and now I have 30. Why is that? It’s because they are afraid. It’s fear of their families, of their friends, of their communities.” I know this kind of fear that Thozama was talking about. I’ve experienced it first hand because I am a bisexual woman. For 10 years I have struggled with my own sexual orientation and my own feelings of shame for something I now am finally beginning to realize I have absolutely no control over and should feel absolutely no shame for. I have finally, finally begun to accept myself and love myself. I have finally begun to stand up for my gender and for my identity. And this is the strongest I have ever been in my entire life. I couldn’t have accomplished this without the eye-opening experiences I am having here in South Africa.

Up until last Saturday, great white sharks were my biggest fear. I couldn’t even look at a picture. Swimming in any ocean could turn into a panic attack in seconds. I was literally paralyzed with fear. And then, last Saturday, myself and 5 other brave souls climbed into a cage, went under water, and got up close and personal with great white sharks. I did not even hesitate for a second when it was time for me to get in the cage. I could not believe how easy it was to face my fear. And that’s what South Africa has done for me. I am the strongest I have ever been, physically and emotionally, and there is no longer an excuse to let myself be paralyzed with fear.

So go ahead and ask me. Am I feminist? The answer is a giant YES. Do I feel shame for my gender or my sexual orientation? The answer is a giant NO. Is my biggest fear a great white shark? Absolutely not. Today, my biggest fear is living in a society where I cannot love myself. My biggest fear is living in a society where every human being is not granted equal rights and equal opportunities. My biggest fear is living in a society that acts as a great white shark, but provides no cage for protection. However, this kind of fear does not leave me paralyzed. Instead, this fear makes me more active than ever as I brace myself to affect change in this world.

Bring on the sharks. I have bigger things to worry about.

Katherine on her grandparent's visit

Last week my grandparents came to visit.  They are on two-week tour that began in Cape Town.  They flew in a few days early to see me.  Their flight from JFK was delayed because the plane was so icy that it had to be defrosted twice.  Once they finally arrived in this warmer weather zone, I went to meet them at their hotel: the Mount Nelson Hotel.  We walked around some of the downtown area on Plein Street where Parliament is and then up Orange Street and down Long Street.  We had dinner at Café Royale.  It was great and I had a peanut butter and banana milkshake that could have fed five people, but I managed to eat it all myself.

On Thursday I took my grandparents to Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens.  When we had visited Kirstenbosch during our orientation I knew that I would have to bring my grandmother because she is an avid gardener.  While my grandfather is not a flower person, he hung in there.  We went to the new restaurant called Mint in the Taj Hotel.  I love everything green and the most of the decorations in the restaurant are green so I had to go.  Mint is located on Saint George’s Mall (which is the name of a street in downtown Cape Town) which I have walked by several times and is about five minutes away from my internship.  The food was really good and my grandmother was brave enough to try the ostrich fillet.  Surprisingly it tasted very similar to steak, just a little tougher.

On Friday my grandparents began their tour and visited Robben Island and saw the downtown area.  I met up with my grandparents to go to Mama Africa for dinner.  Another couple from my grandparents’ tour joined us at this restaurant which is located on Long Street.  They had a local band playing music.  The best part of the night was when we piled into the taxi and my grandfather, thinking we were in America, got into the cab driver’s seat!  As some of us have mentioned, South Africans drive on the other side of the road so my grandfather was not paying attention when he hopped in the front right side of the car.  The cab driver jokingly asked my grandfather if he planned on driving.

On Saturday my grandparents and I went to the V & A Waterfront.  I think it was the hottest day since I’ve been here.  It was in the 90s with no breeze.  Signal Hill even caught fire.  It is common at this time of the year for the mountains to catch on fire because there is very little rain.  That evening we dined at a restaurant on Keerom Street called 95.  Ben, our R.A., had recommended it to me and I must say he knows where to go.  My grandmother raved about it and I would definitely recommend it to any other parents or friends who are coming to visit one of my housemates.

Sunday was the last day I got to spend with my grandparents.  I was lucky enough to tag along on their day trip to Cape Point and Boulders Beach.  We even got to see a large male baboon rifling through a garbage bag heap on the way to Cape Point.  While I had already seen both of these places during our two-week orientation, it was definitely fun to go back.  After saying goodbye to my grandparents they were off to pack up for their two day train ride through Kimberley on toward Johannesburg.

It was nice to have family come to visit five weeks into my stay in Cape Town.  I had been feeling a little homesick but seeing my grandparents made me feel better.  I was surprised about how many questions they asked me about Cape Town specifics that I was able to answer.  I have learned so much about the public transportation, education system, and location of downtown areas in the past few weeks.  I will be even more informed and prepared for when my mom arrives in early April!

Rachel on Tafelsig Clinic & life in South Africa

I am interning at a place called Tafelsig Clinic.  It is a health clinic in a small building in a poor community.  Ninety-nine percent of the patients are (classified) coloured and speak Afrikaans. Over five-hundred patients on average are seen per day, over ten-thousand patients per month coming to get treated and all for no cost at all.  This as you can imagine can take a toll on nurses or (South African way of saying things) sisters, doctors, and volunteers that come to work in such a stressful environment. To them, I have got the impression that it can many times feel as though they are living in a bona fide nightmare. To me, it an honour to work in such an amazing place.  I can, will, and have already learned so many things. Things that I would never be able to see in the States.

At times I feel so uncomfortable being the only white person in all of the clinic, the only person who does not understand Afrikaans, and the only person that has not lived amongst a community as they do.  It is so overwhelming. I love it.  I find it refreshing.

Today, on my birthday (23 Feb) , an overcast day, I went to work to find that the gates were closed.  Curiously cars not there.  No patients outside. The police pace outside.  The nurses were standing in a circle as a gust of wind ferociously whined blowing dust and sand into the air. It was almost as if nature was weeping for what I had heard next. Someone had broken into the clinic the night before. Computers stolen and the place destroyed.  “You can try to come back tomorrow they said.” I came home. Wow.  Someone had broken in and destroyed a place that was giving free services in a community that whoever the perpetrator was probably came from.  How could they do this and why?  They took from a place that was already low on funds, a place that served the community, a place that now over five-hundred people will be turned down help today, people who truly need help. I can’t explain the anger that ran through my body first starting as a slow drip and then suddenly feeling like an over flowing sink. I feel sick.

Everyone keeps telling me that I am so lucky I got a day off on my birthday but I don’t feel that way…

I miss everything about being there.  I miss the people I work with, the adorable kids that I see, the things that I should be learning.  I miss sitting at the tea table eavesdropping on all of the nurse’s conversations.  This is how I learn their culture, learn their country, learn their lives. I miss learning…did I say that already?  

I should try to think of this in a positive light.  In one way I am learning about the community and the way people live.  I am learning about the daily issues.  I just wish it wasn’t so negative. I wish it didn’t make me so angry. 

I know that there are things here that are left unsaid, but I honestly can not think of anything else at the moment.  I would like to change the subject and talk about the fact that my computer has been broken for the past 3ish weeks. There were things that I had left out of my previous blog entry that I would like to re-address:

Wow, I feel like I have learned more in six weeks than I have all last semester at UConn. Sorry UConn, but it really is true that something just can’t be taught in a classroom.  In the past two weeks I have seen the most beautiful scenery I have every seen before in my life, I have seen poverty, I have seen pride and joy that I have never seen before. Some of these things that I have seen here in Cape Town I already worry that I cannot describe them to other people and the pictures don’t even do them justice. 

As everyone else on this blog knows, I love to take pictures! So as I look through my 2000 photos, I will try to explain the best experiences of my life in a way that you can understand the indebtedness I feel to be here and to all the people that I will be surrounded by for the next 60 some odd days of my life for being such great people and for adding to my knowledge. I already know that everyone I have met will be my friend for life when I get back to the US.

I feel like I have the world in my hands right now.  I am experiencing things that some people will never able to in their life.  Seeing a completely different culture has completely changed the way I view things. The air seems so much fresher, my eyesight has slightly increased, and my knowledge is growing every one-hundredth of a second that I am here. I miss everyone at home so much and everything bagels toasted with cream cheese, but I am sorry I wouldn’t trade anything for this experience. I love South Africa.

Leah on Language

Lately I have been struggling with the existence of violence. It sounds like a simple and silly issue to not understand. I mean, of course there is violence in the world! We see it everyday. But I have been wondering why? I mean, you can say that people are violent because they are angry. But everyone has their problems, their issues, their unhappiness, and not everyone takes it out in the form of violence. I am especially perplexed by hate crimes. Who do people committing hate crimes think they are? Some say they think that they are protecting a country or a community. If so, who are they to take on this job? They are not the government, CIA, FBI, or police. Why is personal anger and rage taken out in the form of violence on perfect strangers?

After 9/11, there were about 19 racially motivated murders. We watched United We Fall, a documentary about the persecution of Sikhs in America after 9/11. Sikhs are not even Muslim, obviously! They’re Sikh! Just because Sikhs wear turbans, some were murdered. The night before, we had watched American History X. This movie details the life of an American Neo Nazi. It chronicles his radicalization which culminates in his murder of three black men. It demonstrates how he took the anger and grief he experienced after his father’s death and translated it into violence. Before his father died, he had made several racist comments in front of his son. The father was not a violent Neo Nazi. He did not murder people who were not white. He just made passing racist comments. But such a translation passed from father to son and rooted in language demonstrates the power of words.

It is in language where the sentiments that can eventually lead to hate begin. There are so many words and phrases in the English language that must mean something, must have come from somewhere, but are used unconsciously. How many times do you hear, “that’s gay,” you’re “retarded,” or “a fag.”?  How often is there talk about “those people,” “their type,” or “that group”? It is in language, the subtle remarks we make, that we can find evidence of the prejudices present in our society and lives. Like racism, sexism, agism, and all other prejudices are woven into the fabric of our society, they are grounded and present in our language. Furthermore, it is not as if these terms that we use unconsciously have lost their meaning completely. Language can desensitize us to prejudice. We become so comfortable with using offensive terms and we incorporate them into our vocabulary so much that it is only a small leap to inappropriate action. From there, it can spiral to hate crimes.

I have been especially preoccupied with language recently because I have been working at Thandokhulu Senior Secondary School where Xhosa is spoken. All of the classes are taught in English, but the first language of teachers and students is Xhosa. This language barrier has been one of my greatest challenges as a teacher. How many times do students talk behind their teacher’s back in whispers? In my classes, the students do not even need to whisper because they have this “secret” language that I as their teacher cannot understand.

With that said, such a barrier has improved my understanding of nonverbal communication. More and more I am able to tell when students are talking about me, subjects outside of class, or even continuing a discussion we were having in class in Xhosa.

My experience teaching so far has been unbelievably rewarding. I definitely have my hard days, when I am not sure what exactly my role is at the school, when it seems as though I am just babysitting these students to pass the time. But then there are the moments where students will wait after class to get extra help with English or just to ask me questions about the US. I have talked to my classes about how I respect them and do not corporally punish them and how they must, in turn, give me that same respect. They are in Grade 10 and they understand this concept. Simply treating these students like they are adults has allowed them to mature on their own terms.

What I am trying to say, I suppose, is that language is all around us. Communication is made constantly and is not necessarily in the form of words. But words do carry weight with them. Choosing hateful words and phrases leads to hateful thoughts and actions. It is necessary to remove unconscious prejudice from our lives and this removal must begin with our cleansing of the language that we use. 

Rachel's First Blog Post

Rachel on Robben Island with Table Mountain in background

And the story begins:

Wow, South Africa! I feel like since I have been here I have seen more things than I have in my lifetime.  There are so many people, feelings, and places that I could never forget and will be a part of me forever.  One of my first days working at the Red Cross Hospital, the doctor that was the head of the burn unit was talking to us about treating the patients.  He told us that “Burns are lifelong physical and emotional scars.”  I thought to myself, burns, by his definition is then Cape Town to me. Everything I have done, all the people I have met, and the places that I have been will be with me forever.  I will never forget. I will never forget how I feel every moment of being in such an exceptionally beautiful place. 

The things I love here I will never have at home:

Cape Point

Vernon, Parks, Ben, and Abongile

Walking across Rondebosch commons

Table Mountain

Minibus taxis

Waking up, walking outside only to be kissed by the South African sun, tasting the South African breeze, and feeling a smile rolling onto my face because this is the best damn place I have ever been. 

One person I want to mention is Vernon. I cannot believe it was only weeks ago, that I nervously and quite frankly uncomfortably shook his hand in an interview. Now when I see Vernon, it’s a big smile and a comforting hug. Because of Vernon I feel more at home here than in my own house back in cold, snowy, Connecticut.  He has so much knowledge, so many words of encouragement, and most importantly he makes us feel so cared about. He listens to every word that rolls off our tongues and does whatever is needed to feel as though nothing we want to learn or do is out of reach. 

Another person that I think is a mentionable person, is Parks, Vernon’s colleague and has had the pleasure of driving our group around for orientation week. This man has taught me about the passion that most South Africans have. He has taught me how much he appreciates, and how he cares about things.  I was once talking to him, I told him to teach me to say something in Xhosa.  He responded, say: “Iee! Segundibamba!” I replied:”Aye! Seygumbibana!” pronouncing it slightly off. He responded with a deep laugh saying: “very good Iee segundibamba!” I asked him what it meant. And he replied “NO! Don’t touch me!”  I laughed but at the same time, I saw that he really wants us to feel safe.

I cannot name all the people here that have touched me because there are so many but one other person that I would like to talk about is Abongile, a South African college student from Khayelitsha.  He has also shown me how much passion he has.  In his spare time he coaches younger kids soccer.  As I sat out to lunch with him, he told me that one day he wishes and is going to try his hardest to be able to take his whole soccer team out to his favorite restaurant that he eats at only on special occasions.  We hardly knew him, and he was skyping with my mother telling her that he was there to look out for us and show us the “real South African way of doing things!”

I can tell that my life is already completely changed from being here.  As I was walking up Cape Point during orientation week, I had already unpacked my thoughts of Connecticut and could not believe that such a refreshing place existed.  To be honest, I wish I could come up with a less cliché word than beautiful. It was only something that I could have dreamed of before I knew it was here.  There is no place in all of Cape Town where you can’t either see the mountains, the ocean, or both.

I can tell you another thing, after looking around at all the scenery, and all of the fun activities, I entered the real world of South Africa.  I realized there was so much more beneath the surface of its mouth-watering looks. I soon realized I am in for some serious life lessons.  I started to see the struggles of the people, the land, the politics, and my self-adjustment.  I am in for the journey of my life, and I can only hope that my words will be able to describe to you the way that I feel every moment of being here.