Taxis and Flags (Note Mondays may have multiple posts because I don't have internet on weekends unless I blog from my Blackberry)

The weekend was incredibly warm- for a place where it's winter, we had temperatures around 20 C (68 F) and it was pretty clear, which is also rare for a place known for its winter rains. On Saturday, Gareth (after constant prodding by Moira, unbeknownst to me) picked me up and brought me to Quynh's, where we made plans to go into the city and just chill and try to meet up with Emily, since the tablecloth on the mountain prevented our plans to hike and take the cable car.

This would end up being our first attempt to take public transportation other than metered taxis. Here, a taxi is not what you find in New York- instead, it's something that looks like the Little Miss Sunshine van. They are crowded, rickety, and safe in the daytime. Patsy dropped us off in Mowbray, a nearby city, and 2 minutes later a van drove up to us asking if we were going to Cape Town.

The inside reinforced the reputation of the taxis as fast, almost to a reckless extent, as they are famous for getting into accidents. The bumper stickers next to my head talked about not leaning against the windows, and that the driver is never late, so don't argue with him. You can't really sit up, and a man sits by the door constantly poking his head out the window asking people if they are going to town and easily pulls the door open like it's not there. It's really cheap- R5.50 (less than a dollar) for the trip, but the driver goes really fast and you never feel quite secure. The really disheartening thing was that sometimes when the taxi stopped for a woman, the woman would say no to the ride because there were so many men (and Quynh) in our taxi. This is the other reason foreigners are so reluctant to take taxis (and public transportation)- they are known for being highly dangerous at night as sites for muggings and rapes. We felt safer when an older woman and her grandchild came on, but other than that, the next woman to get on would only do so if she could sit in front and Quynh refused to talk or look my way, hoping to get the ride overwith. We got to the taxi bay in Cape Town, where you have to walk through most of the other outgoing taxis to get out, including all of the ones to the townships. It's frightening if you don't know where you're going, and afterwards you're swamped with stalls the size of bathrooms selling anything from purses to clothes to food.

Heading to Long St., we pop in to a "cafe" (read: restaurant/bar but mostly bar) to watch the Australia/Ghana game, which ended up being really good. We then headed out to a dinner near Green Point that we had been invited to by Brother Patrick, who works at the ward.

The Christian Brothers Center is just 2 blocks from Green Point stadium. It's a sprawling, cozy place, home to 14 brothers from around Africa, currently led by an older Canadian and older American, as well as being co-occupied by a (northern) Irish guy (also named Ian) working on his PhD comparing political prisoners in Belfast and Cape Town (I imagine because they are also English speakers here). Most of the brothers have very Christian names (Nicodemus, Peter, Moses, etc.) and are from Zambia, Sierra Leone, and Kenya. They've made us (including Magda, one of our coworkers, and her friend) a very large dinner and we sit around chatting about the Christian brotherhood and soccer, which they've eagerly been following. They're very chatty and humble, though there are definitely some pranksters.

After a rousing game of pool played by Magda, we sit down to watch the Cameroon/Denmark game. All the people there were cautiously rooting for Cameroon- as Brother Patrick said, "Although my country isn't here, I don't like to root for these [African] teams because Africa always breaks your heart". They popped lots of popcorn and had drinks (including beer, which made me really surprised to see Christian brothers having a cold brew). When Samuel Eto'o scored his goal, all the guys jumped up excitedly and were cheering. Africa roots for Africa unless playing against one another. However, Brother Patrick's prophecy came true as Denmark came back to win the game. Quynh got hit on by one of the brothers.

Some of the brothers drove us home because they could see we were both very tired, though apparently these brothers are famous for getting multiple tickets on the highways. We got lost on the way to Pinelands, but eventually dropped both of us off.

The next day I went to a cookout at one of Patsy's friends, where I met a really cool guy (Lucien #2) who works as a computer programmers and is relocating to Atlanta with his wife, who is doing public health at Emory. Somehow we keep bumping into medical people, because the husband at this house is a general practitioner and the wife is a radiographer. Quynh was occupied with Lucien's brother, Pierre, who loves playing (field) hockey (not just a woman's sport outside America), studies Electrical Engineering (and does coding for field hockey websites), and goes to Stellenbosch, which Quynh loves (ask her why).

Lucien and I had a long conversation about taking alternative pictures of Cape Town for a website he is doing for U. Illinois kids who want to come to South Africa, and compared the sort of apartheid/post-apartheid race relations with what he experienced living in Atlanta for a few months and how I grew up in Virginia Beach. The old South African flag still is flown by people trying to hold on to their Afrikaner heritage that used to reign in South Africa, which I find incredibly similar to how Southerners still fly the Confederate flag proudly (go to any Virginia Beach parking lot and you're likely to see at least a bumper sticker). Even though both flags are burdened with histories of hatred and intimidation and racism, these days it's the only symbol that people who grew up in those systems have to hold on to. Most teens who wear Confederate flags these days don't support slavery or racism (though you do find the anomaly here and there), they just love the South and country music (not stereotypical) and the unique culture of the South. The same goes for the old South African flag, flown mostly by older people- it's not to scare people off, it's to represent their Afrikaner culture and be proud of it. We also chatted about how America's contribution to South African media is reality television (with a few gems like HIMYM and Law and Order reruns thrown in). Hopefully Pierre will take us up on his offer to show us around Stellenbosch, known for its wine and generally being pretty (bosch means bush/garden).

That's about it. Got home and the Germans were off in Muizenberg (where I had been on Wednesday) and all of the family was home watching the Italy/New Zealand game, so the grandkids decided to attack me and spit on me and make me play with them as they usually do. Really need to get on the ball and take some trips- we haven't really seen any of the touristy things (and will probably wait until after World Cup madness ends) and I'm really starting to feel stuck in the suburbs since our transportation is still an issue.

Happy Belated Father's Day y'all.

Afrikaans word(s) of the day: gees (pronounced ghee-us but like you're hocking a loogie)- (n): spirit, pride AND eina (int.)- ouch

P.S. The Germans always make the shower smell strange, and I realized today that it's one of their hair products that apparently is promoted by Joachim Low, the coach of the German team (it says so on the bottle). If Bob Bradley, the coach of USA, were to make hair products, 1) it would be phony because he's bald and 2)it would be really strange. Imagine Phil Jackson selling hair products.