Adjusting to Life, the Cape Townian Way

Molweni!

I've finally managed to upload a few pictures! I hope you enjoy...

I guess it makes sense to talk about our house first. (These are the details my family seems to ask about most, so if this doesn’t interest you, just skip ahead…) Her (yes, I decided it’s female) name is Kimberley House…because we live on Kimberley Road…creative, right? All of the houses in Obz have high-tech gates, fences, and lock systems. Our windows have bars/grates on them, as well, so theft is much less likely than in the past. Furthermore, we have a panic button that goes right to the security company, which is constantly patrolling the neighborhood, anyway. I guess it makes me feel safe…although I have yet to encounter any problems. Perhaps it’s a good deterrent then?



Our house is pretty large. There are two main wings of rooms, and two guys’ rooms (4 of the 6 guys in the group stay in them) outside. We have a total of 5 showers and 5 toilets for the 20 of us, so it’s usually not an issue. We also have a main kitchen area and a smaller one…3 big refrigerators and one small one. You’ll see some pictures of my room and the pictures I put up on the wall. The verdict is still out as to whether it’s a suspension bridge or Table Mountain. I like to think the latter.



Anyway, this seems like a long time ago now, but one night during orientation week, we went out for an authentic South African meal. First, there was a traditional alcohol that was passed around the table, meant to be sipped from the massive gourd thing. It smelled utterly foul, and I decided my stomach would be just fine without it. Then, our meal consisted of 128973 types of meat. I tried: lamb, oxtail, chicken, ostrich, kudu, and springbok. I decided tripe was not about to make the cut. Ugh. Honestly, my favorite was ostrich. (It tastes a bit like steak!)

On Friday night, we threw our long-awaited neighborhood braai (South African barbeque). Technically, it wasn’t a normal braai because we provided all the food, and it was all American cuisine (but that was the idea). I made homemade salsa, and helped my friend, Matt, make guacamole, which turned out to be a hit. We invited all of our neighbors on Kimberley road, as well as friends we’d met during the week, and we had an awesome turn out. It was a warm realization to know that we’d made friends so quickly. Furthermore, not to make too sweeping of a generalization, but people here are really genuine [overall]. When you meet them, they make a big effort to both learn and remember your name, so that when you see them again, they remember your name and are authentically interested in how you are doing. It’s wonderful and something I don’t encounter much in the States.

On Saturday morning, our drivers took us up to Signal Hill. The view is gorgeous, as you can imagine by looking at the pictures. It was cool to see Green Stadium, where the World Cup games in Cape Town will be played. It was difficult to get a sense for how big it is from where we were, but it seems enormous. Someone told us that it was built on top of a bunch of apartheid era graves…? I’m sure that was a big scandal/debate, but I honestly don’t know that much about it…



~me, with the lovely Ranice~




After Signal Hill, we went to the Robben Island museum at the Waterfront and then took the 45-minute ferry ride to Robben Island (where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 18 years). It was pretty surreal to take that ferry ride, knowing that prisoners had taken those same boats to the island. It was even more surreal to see the very quarry where Nelson Mandela and so many other political activists had slaved away.


~A view of the mainland from Robben Island~



Then, we got a tour of the prison itself from a former political prisoner who had been there at the same time as Mandela. He explained some of the cruelties that the guards did to him, such as using his private parts as an ashtray. (Why he would want to give tours of that place, returning to it, and walking its halls everyday, is beyond all of us.) He also told a story of how his father had applied to come visit him, but that the guards shot him 8 times upon arriving at the island. He explained that his father is now in a terrible state of health, and those guards [because of the generosity of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission], who were granted amnesty, are now sitting on wealthy farms. It was pretty obvious that he was not completely sold on the ideology of the TRC, but how can you blame him? He took us through the prison, and we finished the tour by seeing Mandela’s cell, which is exactly as he kept it while he inhabited it.




~Nelson Mandela's cell~



~the prison yard~

After our time on Robben Island, we spent the rest of the afternoon exploring The Waterfront area, which is basically a touristy area with a bunch of shops and restaurants…and pretty views, of course.

On Sunday, I ventured out to one of the Townships, Guguletu, with three other girls in our house and some friends we’d met earlier in the week. In Guguletu, there is a restaurant called Mzoli’s that is FAMOUS for there meat. It is ridiculously delicious. (Two of the girls are vegetarians, ate it, and loved it.) Anyway, this restaurant is open everyday, but Sundays are special because they basically through a massive block party in the street, with djs going all day long. What you do is get there around noonish to get a table (or steal a “reserved” table, in our case). They sell all of their alcohol in 6-packs, so it’s definitely a communal gathering. Once your group is together, one person goes and orders the meat. We ended up getting a big mix of chicken, steak, sausage, and pork chops. They basically take a massive pot, put your meat in it, and put it in the queue. Then, about an hour later, it’s ready, and they bring it out to you with some pap (a bland, spongy, starchy food) and some salsa-like thing to put on the pap. There are no utensils at all. You get paper plates, and you use your hands: to grab, to eat, to break sausage links. It was wonderful. It is honestly the best meat you’ll ever taste. (I’ve heard it’s won legitimate awards in the cuisine world.) Afterwards, you pass around a wet rag to clean your hands, possibly venture to the bathrooms (another adventure…), and then hit the dance floor (the street, which isn’t technically closed).

We got there around 12:30 and stayed until about 19:00. That may not seem very long, but we were utterly wiped out by like 18:00. Dancing in the sun for hours will do that to you, I suppose. It was honestly my favorite day here so far. It was such a rich afternoon, full of wonderful friends, friendly strangers, delicious food, and authentic African music. (They play WAY too much American music here…) Everyone we met at Mzoli’s was joyful and accepting, regardless of race, age, or nationality. There were people of all races present, and I didn’t see a single person even a hint of a look of disapproval. It was such a beautiful experience. Anyone and everyone come together to celebrate life and to be in community in this vibrant township. How amazing it is that everyone heads out to “the ghetto” on Sundays, not to gawk at the shacks, but to experience love and community. It really hit me that afternoon that South Africa is a unique nation, home to so many different types of people, still struggling to deal with the past and working toward a brighter future. Mzoli’s gives me so much hope for the future here. At Mzoli’s, everyone is welcome, and everyone is home. I can’t really express the joy I experienced that day. It’s one of those days that will be etched into my mind and heart for a long time.

Back to the grind. On Monday, we started classes at UWC. I attended my Xhosa class, excited to jump into a completely foreign language and to hopefully learn the clicks. My heart sunk when the professor said that the class meets three times per week. Since I can only be at UWC two days each week, there’s no way for me to take the class, so I’ll have to drop it. However, my Tuesday class, Leadership and Transformation, should be really good, as well as my Wednesday class, Social Problems (Intro to Development Studies). Both are in the ISD (Institute for Social Development), which is reserved for Honours and Masters students. It’s really interesting to take class with people from all over the continent. Aside from classes, UWC is still proving to be frustrating, though. No one knows where things are, and the common trend is to pass you off to someone else, sending you a wild goose chase until you give up or get lucky enough to either find it on your own or to find someone who takes some sort of responsibility. I have yet to “delete” (drop) my Xhosa class, but I can already foresee long queues and headaches.

On a final note, I’m going to attempt to keep some running observations (perhaps Obz-ervations?) of South Africa. I don’t like to make broad generalizations, but there are some trends I’ve noticed. Here’s the list thus far:

1) Almost everyone here smokes cigarettes (but I got this in Paris, too, so nothing new, really…)
2) People like to walk around barefoot everywhere, especially at the grocery store. There’s a lot of broken glass on the streets. Anyone else confused by this? I’ve never seen our landlord, David, with shoes. Today, he helped install another security gate…barefoot.
3) Here, bras are a multi-functional phenomenon. Not only do they provide support, but they also act as all-encompassing storage units…for cell phones, for money, for keys. At first, I thought it was weird, but I’m starting to see the positives. “When in doubt, stick it in your bra.” A girl at a bar saw my roommate’s phone just barely sticking out of the top of her pocket, stopped her, and told her to put it in her bra immediately. One of our friends here, Paul, gave me advice about throwing parties here. He says, “As long as you lock your bedroom door, hide your keys, and keep your phone in your bra, you’ll be fine.”

Okay, that’s my list for now. I hope to add to it later.

Until next time,
Sarah Ann Olivia