Table Mountain has the most glorious view I have ever seen from a mountaintop. Cars from Cape Town have some of the most disorienting views of road driving that I have ever experienced.
After successfully navigating Cape Town's public train and taxi systems, Quynh and I make it to the base of Table Mountain, which is lined with cars and foreigners trying to take advantage of the unusually warm, sunny, and clear winter day. We luckily ran into an old man who works for the park, reminiscent of a sea turtle from Finding Nemo combined with a really tan hippie, who gave us a map and a bottle of water before we headed up the Platteklip Gorge trail- listed as one of the easiest trails on the mountain.
By "one of the easiest trails on the mountain", what the park is really saying is that it does not require you to climb on chains or nets or beat through the bush to get up the mountain. Instead, you are treated to a series of rocky steps and tiny waterfalls that spiral up the mountain. Because it was such a nice day and it was still the World Cup, you could see climbers up and down the trail. Families with whiny children who don't want to climb back down, seasoned hikers who run up and down the trail in sandals or no shoes at all, Muslims in full garb, accents of varied sounds. We start at the same time as a group of 3, who we later find out work for BCG and are on holiday and know some mutual friends from Yale, so we become sort of a super group with them- Baz (the South African woman), Michael (a purported American), and Manuel (a Costa Rican). As we traverse the trail, we take turns leading one another's groups aiming for a small gap between 2 ledges that would take us to the top. At times, it was like climbing a stairway to heaven, except having to stare up at Quynh the entire time. But the views just got better and better as we went up.
When you get to the top of the mountain, you feel like you've just made it onto Pride Rock and that Rafiki should come raise you up for all of Cape Town to see. Both the Atlantic and Indian Oceans are visible, and the beautiful beaches of Camps Bay lie beneath you as you look out at the Cape peninsula and acknowledge your body for suffering and sweating for the last 2.5 hours. This all juxtaposed with people who have taken the cable car up the mountain instead walking around in their sandals and blowing vuvuzelas and giving us live updates of the England-Germany game. The "shop at the top" restaurant that they had strangely offered more alcohol selection than food, thinking that hikers and casual cable car-riders would want to pop champagne on the mountain and enjoy the sights (though I only bought trail mix, I was incredibly tempted to get a refreshing Hunter's hard cider based off of things Connie Wang and Peach told me over the summer after their frisbee practices).
Luckily, Quynh's attractiveness to Manuel (even under her sweat and slight redness from hiking) got us a ride back down the mountain to town with the three of them. Which brings me to an interesting list I have compiled and will continue to update:
Things Quynh Do's attractiveness have gotten her on this trip:
1) A personal guide to Cape Town who lives in Stellenbosch
1a) A free program to the World Cup that usually costs R70 detailing all of the teams participating in the World Cup
1b) A trip around the Cape Peninsula and Camps Bay
1c) A lesson on how to dance the soekkie dance- essentially a waltz done in socks to pop music
2) An offer for a tour of a new exhibit at the Nelson Mandela Gateway Museum
3) A car ride down from Table Mountain (alleviating her discomfort with South African public transportation)
4) Shouts of "umlungu" (white person) as we drive through the townships
Things my attractiveness have gotten on this trip:
1) A lovely conversation with an older British and South African woman in a bar
2) Two rand from the Germans for dancing with said women
Also, we rented a car on Monday, and because South Africa has respect for the UK, they drive on the left. And because Quynh is afraid to drive here, I'm learning how to drive on the left.
Because automatic cars are only really prevalent in the US, there is a very small selection of automatic cars available in Cape Town, most quite expensive. We lucked out and found a place that gave us an 80's Toyota Corolla (essentially the car I learned to drive on) for R120 a day.
The setup is what throws you off: seeing the steering wheel in the right side with the gear shift on your left is strange, as is having the indicator lever on your right. Also, looking into mirrors from the different direction and now having to yield on green lights for right turns and not being able to turn left on red is strange. And everyone uses their parking brakes here because of habit from driving stick (even licensing is different- if you pass on an automatic car, you are only licensed to drive an automatic car and not a stick) And of course, driving in a mountainous area like Cape Town means highways and roads (which aren't really marked very well) are a bit steeper and curvier than usual. The first few turns I made, I turned on my windshield wipers instead. Also, just as it with houses, anti-theft security is nice and strict here. Before I can drive my car, I have to unlock my gearlock (a huge padlock on my gearshift), deactivate my immobilizer, and turn off my anti-theft system or the car will shut down, alarms will turn on, and I am trapped. Essentially, I hope that I never have to quickly leave any place or I'm screwed. Also, you never leave things in your seats. Never. Because smash-and-grab is a frequent crime that happens here (because of that, there is a law now that if you have a red light and you see people standing around that look potentially dangerous, you are allowed to drive through the red light). But after 1.5 days of driving, I have yet to have any incidents. Huzzah.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Oranje Oranje and Ghana
On Thursday, we had tickets to the Netherlands-Cameroon game. And not just any tickets, FRONT ROW TICKETS ZOMG. We got a ride with our crazy friend Martin again, who was trying to listen to the Italy game on the radio. For a government official, he's damn insane. Among the insane things he did that night:
1) Played the mix CD from his DJ friend that he had previously told us about and blasted it as we drove through the city
2) Made a new tradition of playing "Wakka Wakka" whenever a team was eliminated and called it "Wakka Wakka Wah Wah"
3) Declared that no one in Cape Town would be allowed to eat spaghetti after Italy's loss
4) Constantly abused his city parking privileges, proclaiming to each police officer we passed, "Do you know who we are? We're the damn council!"
5) Hypothetically procured semifinals tickets in Cape Town for US$140 for us (I don't think this is actually happening)
Anyways, the game itself was so orange. I'm convinced that prisons in the Netherlands sell their jumpsuits to fans so they can dress up. Orange tuxes, orange cowboy outfits- anything that could be orange, was orange. I'm also fairly sure we ended up either on TV or a foreign newspaper because of this guy next to us who had a huge leather banner saying that he was Robin Van Persie's biggest fan. Our seats were right next to one of the goals, and when Klaas-Jan Huntelaar scored his game-winning goal he slid sort of towards us. Also, the wave (which apparently is properly called the Mexican wave- that would be really cool if that's how you were supposed to greet people in Mexico) worked out really well at this game, as one wave made 3 or 4 laps around the stadium. Also, people have developed something with the vuvuzelas that I liken to how in wars centuries ago, soldiers would send volleys of arrows or bullets all at once. Here, people would all blow their vuvuzelas every second for something like 15 seconds to produce some mutant of an emergency siren and an explosion.
At work on Friday, we had to help run a World-Cup-themed holiday program for the kids. After playing soccer with a little plastic ball in the main hall for a while with 2 kids who called themselves Kaka and Messi (there was also a kid named Craig. I don't think that's his real name, but I swear he called himself Craig.), we set the room up for the program with posters we painted with the older girls.
The highlight of the program was a clown named Shop Shop Jabulani. Though Shop Shop isn't so much of a clown, but really an award-winning magician named Matt Gore who does more juggling and magic tricks than crazy clown things. And by award-winning, he is currently the South African junior magic champion and competes in all of these international competitions and has met David Copperfield and apparently comes from a long family of magicians. He also calls himself the "ginger ninja" (it rhymes in South African accents, also I'm glad people still use this term). Quynh and I also became very, very good at face painting, especially the South African flag. Unfortunately, I later found out that we were painting it reverse, as when it hangs down vertically the red is supposed to be on the left side (it's the same thing with the Philippines flag, but I was just copying what the other social workers had done so sorry South Africa). Another funny thing I've realized here is that the kids are a lot smarter about their diseases and know how to use them (something I've mentioned before). We had to give the kids soda (cool drinks), and so we had special soda for the diabetics. No less than 10 kids all tried to pretend they were diabetic to get some Sprite Zero (Sprite Zero isn't even that good), after which the real diabetics called them out. I also half-attempted to learn the Diski Dance (it's supposed to be like a guy playing soccer for the World Cup, so think the Soulja Boy x a billion), which is still in the process.
To continue our World Cup frenzy, on Saturday we went back to the Waterfront to watch the USA-Ghana game with Emily and Tasnim. In a sudden surge of patriotism, I decided to run into the mall and buy a huge American flag to wear as a cape (at one point, one of the merchants told me that she had run out of all things American, and "didn't I want something Brazilian or African anyways?"). I didn't realize until a few hours before that Ghana would be the USA's opponent. Being in Africa, I had been a supporter of African teams and of course wanted Ghana to progress for the sake of the continent, which had seen its more likely contenders like Cote d'Ivoire, Cameroon, and Nigeria fall victim to high expectations, the coaching carousel, the Group of Death, and referee decisions. I have never felt so lonely rooting for a team in my life- most of the American supporters were in the outdoors portion of the bar while we grabbed dinner, so trying to find friends was hard-pressed as South Africans made themselves honorary Ghanaians for the day.
The cardiac-kids style of play (read: we need to warm up the car for 20 minutes before the engine can really start turning) that America had used throughout the tournament failed us again, and the cheering for Ghana present in the bar was a reduced (but still as enthusiastic) version of what we had seen during the SA-Mexico game. After heading to Long St. to meet up with my German housemates, the streets were flooded with Ghanaians (and other Africans looking to pose as Ghanaians) honking their horns down the street flooded with drums, people, and cars that magically had Ghanaian flags next to South African ones. At one of the clubs I went to, an older British woman (whom I was paid 2 rand by my housemate to chat up and dance with) serenaded me with a song, to which the words were "Going home, going home, going hoooooome".
Good luck to Ghana (unless they ever play the Netherlands, in which case at least they made it that far). The state of African soccer is relying on you. For a continent where soccer and politics have uncanny parallels to one another, the success of a team from Africa in what has been called an "African World Cup" can do wonders for the other national teams hoping to have success outside the African Cup of Nations. From importing international coaches (notice how none of the African coaches are African, save Algeria's) to the failing economies of African countries hindering domestic play and development to the annual export of the continent's best players to foreign leagues (even a commercial that plays every day here shows how the African "all-stars" of this World Cup all left their countries early in their lives and now are taking this opportunity to come back and play for Africa), the success of an African country would prove that teams have started to amend and overcome these barriers. If the continent can pretty successfully host a World Cup, why can't it win it?
1) Played the mix CD from his DJ friend that he had previously told us about and blasted it as we drove through the city
2) Made a new tradition of playing "Wakka Wakka" whenever a team was eliminated and called it "Wakka Wakka Wah Wah"
3) Declared that no one in Cape Town would be allowed to eat spaghetti after Italy's loss
4) Constantly abused his city parking privileges, proclaiming to each police officer we passed, "Do you know who we are? We're the damn council!"
5) Hypothetically procured semifinals tickets in Cape Town for US$140 for us (I don't think this is actually happening)
Anyways, the game itself was so orange. I'm convinced that prisons in the Netherlands sell their jumpsuits to fans so they can dress up. Orange tuxes, orange cowboy outfits- anything that could be orange, was orange. I'm also fairly sure we ended up either on TV or a foreign newspaper because of this guy next to us who had a huge leather banner saying that he was Robin Van Persie's biggest fan. Our seats were right next to one of the goals, and when Klaas-Jan Huntelaar scored his game-winning goal he slid sort of towards us. Also, the wave (which apparently is properly called the Mexican wave- that would be really cool if that's how you were supposed to greet people in Mexico) worked out really well at this game, as one wave made 3 or 4 laps around the stadium. Also, people have developed something with the vuvuzelas that I liken to how in wars centuries ago, soldiers would send volleys of arrows or bullets all at once. Here, people would all blow their vuvuzelas every second for something like 15 seconds to produce some mutant of an emergency siren and an explosion.
At work on Friday, we had to help run a World-Cup-themed holiday program for the kids. After playing soccer with a little plastic ball in the main hall for a while with 2 kids who called themselves Kaka and Messi (there was also a kid named Craig. I don't think that's his real name, but I swear he called himself Craig.), we set the room up for the program with posters we painted with the older girls.
The highlight of the program was a clown named Shop Shop Jabulani. Though Shop Shop isn't so much of a clown, but really an award-winning magician named Matt Gore who does more juggling and magic tricks than crazy clown things. And by award-winning, he is currently the South African junior magic champion and competes in all of these international competitions and has met David Copperfield and apparently comes from a long family of magicians. He also calls himself the "ginger ninja" (it rhymes in South African accents, also I'm glad people still use this term). Quynh and I also became very, very good at face painting, especially the South African flag. Unfortunately, I later found out that we were painting it reverse, as when it hangs down vertically the red is supposed to be on the left side (it's the same thing with the Philippines flag, but I was just copying what the other social workers had done so sorry South Africa). Another funny thing I've realized here is that the kids are a lot smarter about their diseases and know how to use them (something I've mentioned before). We had to give the kids soda (cool drinks), and so we had special soda for the diabetics. No less than 10 kids all tried to pretend they were diabetic to get some Sprite Zero (Sprite Zero isn't even that good), after which the real diabetics called them out. I also half-attempted to learn the Diski Dance (it's supposed to be like a guy playing soccer for the World Cup, so think the Soulja Boy x a billion), which is still in the process.
To continue our World Cup frenzy, on Saturday we went back to the Waterfront to watch the USA-Ghana game with Emily and Tasnim. In a sudden surge of patriotism, I decided to run into the mall and buy a huge American flag to wear as a cape (at one point, one of the merchants told me that she had run out of all things American, and "didn't I want something Brazilian or African anyways?"). I didn't realize until a few hours before that Ghana would be the USA's opponent. Being in Africa, I had been a supporter of African teams and of course wanted Ghana to progress for the sake of the continent, which had seen its more likely contenders like Cote d'Ivoire, Cameroon, and Nigeria fall victim to high expectations, the coaching carousel, the Group of Death, and referee decisions. I have never felt so lonely rooting for a team in my life- most of the American supporters were in the outdoors portion of the bar while we grabbed dinner, so trying to find friends was hard-pressed as South Africans made themselves honorary Ghanaians for the day.
The cardiac-kids style of play (read: we need to warm up the car for 20 minutes before the engine can really start turning) that America had used throughout the tournament failed us again, and the cheering for Ghana present in the bar was a reduced (but still as enthusiastic) version of what we had seen during the SA-Mexico game. After heading to Long St. to meet up with my German housemates, the streets were flooded with Ghanaians (and other Africans looking to pose as Ghanaians) honking their horns down the street flooded with drums, people, and cars that magically had Ghanaian flags next to South African ones. At one of the clubs I went to, an older British woman (whom I was paid 2 rand by my housemate to chat up and dance with) serenaded me with a song, to which the words were "Going home, going home, going hoooooome".
Good luck to Ghana (unless they ever play the Netherlands, in which case at least they made it that far). The state of African soccer is relying on you. For a continent where soccer and politics have uncanny parallels to one another, the success of a team from Africa in what has been called an "African World Cup" can do wonders for the other national teams hoping to have success outside the African Cup of Nations. From importing international coaches (notice how none of the African coaches are African, save Algeria's) to the failing economies of African countries hindering domestic play and development to the annual export of the continent's best players to foreign leagues (even a commercial that plays every day here shows how the African "all-stars" of this World Cup all left their countries early in their lives and now are taking this opportunity to come back and play for Africa), the success of an African country would prove that teams have started to amend and overcome these barriers. If the continent can pretty successfully host a World Cup, why can't it win it?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Angelique and New Homes
USA 1-0 OVER ALGERIA WHATTTTTTT
Quynh has a funny way of having hilarious things happen to her. Her host mom Patsy loves this casino called Grand West that's near her house where we watch some of the soccer games and where Patsy takes us to eat seafood because she's known on a first-name basis. In South Africa, drinking and gambling age is 18. Unfortunately for Quynh, her Asian heritage has gotten her carded twice now, including when we went to watch the South Africa/France game on Tuesday. That day, I was convinced SA could go up 4-0 in the first half- I'm really glad to see that South Africans maintained their pride in their team and that the team responded with a well-deserved 2-1 victory to end their World Cup.
After I got back that night, there was a braai at my house because it was our neighbor Angelique's birthday. Initially we were supposed to play poker that night, but it was immediately decided that there should be a huge supper (with all of Moira's family invited as well), and I managed to get back in time to smoke hookah while Freddy and Lucien cooked the chicken. Although poker was vetoed, Angelique insisted that we go out clubbing again, so Lucien, the Germans, and I all went with her as we wandered through town on a Tuesday night, smoking hookah, drinking caipirinhas, recalling Angelique's bartending experience, and eventually ending up at a pool hall, where I was humbled by 2 huge, incredibly drunk South Africans in foosball (note: these 2 reportedly practice for hours every day, so I really wasn't that ashamed, but it was getting ridiculous). The highlight of conversation for the night- a long discussion on how FIFA's power is so unchecked and how it leaves countries far below the economic expectations they seek after World Cups. This led to a side conversation on how Cape Town is run by the Chinese mafia and how the Illuminati will contribute to a war also partially caused by FIFA's influence on international politics.
Yesterday, we started our interviews in the townships with our social worker, Edith. Our first stop would be Khayelitsha, whose name translates to "New House" in Afrikaans because it was a new settlement set up for black people after overcrowding in existing ones like Nyanga and Langa. Khayelitsha is known for being the biggest and among the poorest of the townships. As we drove past the airport towards it, you could begin to see the expanse of small houses, shacks, tents, and less spread across the land. Most of the townships in Cape Town are located in an area called the Cape Flats- a desert-like area surrounded by Table Mountain and the other mountain ranges that flank the city. It's almost like a crater, with the haze of smog and pollution rising up from the neighborhoods.
Khayelitsha is so big that it has its own sub-neighborhoods- Site A, Site B, and Site C are poorer areas where shacks are built on top of shacks from anything that people could find- storage containers (like those on huge cargo ships), scrap metal, even the lids of tins welded together, while places like Harare have more built-up houses that wouldn't be out of place in a suburb like the one I live in. Loads of barbershops and beauty salons have been created inside of these containers, as well as the occasional take-away (convenience store) and cell phone store. The roads are bustling with people carrying produce, men chatting in circles, kids kicking around a soccer ball. There is also an unusually high (I estimated around 10) number of white people roaming around as well, looking to be conducting programs of their own throughout the township. There were even tours, which make me feel really uncomfortable because it would be like asking someone to bus you through the projects of the Bronx or through Whalley St. You can hire a guide to lead you through the townships and experience poverty for yourself, and even get a more authentic experience by spending the night at a backpackers lodge somewhere in the township. Profiting off poverty just seems wrong.
Our research is to conduct an AIDS audit. Since St. Joseph's is not meant to be a permanent home, kids are frequently discharged from their hospital (and subsequently St. Joseph's) and put back into the custody of their parents. Our job is to go out into the townships and find the guardians of these kids and see how the children are doing and if the parents are complying with ARV therapy.
The first 2 kids we check up on are in foster care with a program called Home2Home. The program helps a house mother look after around 6 children, all usually orphaned or severely disabled, and even provides them with a daycare and a school. Mothers are constantly evaluated in terms of their performance, and their compliance with medicine is tracked with a medical notebook that they bring to doctor's offices so that they can track reactions to medicine, CD4 counts, viral load, and general wellness. Our social worker is amazed by how much these children have grown, as many more kids from St. Joseph's have also been placed here. Old wounds and scars have healed, the children are doing well in school and learning Xhosa (for all those people that start making clicking sounds when trying to imitate how Africans speak- this is one of those actual languages, and it's damn hard to pick up, especially because there are 7 different clicks and a bunch of other mouth movements and sounds that I haven't figured out). But we were reminded that we were still in Khayelitsha when Toni, the awesome director of the program, scolded Edith for not taking the keys out of her car while Quynh and I (whom Edith adjudged to be able to fight off any robbers) were still sitting inside. "Man, people will still steal cars around here, whether or not there are people inside". The third child we visited was living in Site B with his mother and her mother's friend. The house was as big as a room, just a single room with a bed and a microwave and some other appliances. But the child was definitely doing well, though her mom who had told us that she knew English was struggling with our accents. The highlight of the day was Quynh and I driving past some schoolchildren, who then pointed at Quynh and excitedly yelled "umlungu", which means "white person". Or a discussion on how black people are "so bootylicious".
Unfortunately, not all of our searches were this happy or successful. One boy whom we looked for had been taken away by his mother after his father died, and now they were reportedly on the street somewhere. Our social worker sadly told us that her grandparents were in the house and had hoped that she was telling them they needed to pick up their grandchild somewhere. We soon headed back to St. Joseph's for the day, but were definitely very impressed with the kids we had seen and hopeful that this would be the norm rather than the exception for the other 20 children we are tracking.
Quynh has a funny way of having hilarious things happen to her. Her host mom Patsy loves this casino called Grand West that's near her house where we watch some of the soccer games and where Patsy takes us to eat seafood because she's known on a first-name basis. In South Africa, drinking and gambling age is 18. Unfortunately for Quynh, her Asian heritage has gotten her carded twice now, including when we went to watch the South Africa/France game on Tuesday. That day, I was convinced SA could go up 4-0 in the first half- I'm really glad to see that South Africans maintained their pride in their team and that the team responded with a well-deserved 2-1 victory to end their World Cup.
After I got back that night, there was a braai at my house because it was our neighbor Angelique's birthday. Initially we were supposed to play poker that night, but it was immediately decided that there should be a huge supper (with all of Moira's family invited as well), and I managed to get back in time to smoke hookah while Freddy and Lucien cooked the chicken. Although poker was vetoed, Angelique insisted that we go out clubbing again, so Lucien, the Germans, and I all went with her as we wandered through town on a Tuesday night, smoking hookah, drinking caipirinhas, recalling Angelique's bartending experience, and eventually ending up at a pool hall, where I was humbled by 2 huge, incredibly drunk South Africans in foosball (note: these 2 reportedly practice for hours every day, so I really wasn't that ashamed, but it was getting ridiculous). The highlight of conversation for the night- a long discussion on how FIFA's power is so unchecked and how it leaves countries far below the economic expectations they seek after World Cups. This led to a side conversation on how Cape Town is run by the Chinese mafia and how the Illuminati will contribute to a war also partially caused by FIFA's influence on international politics.
Yesterday, we started our interviews in the townships with our social worker, Edith. Our first stop would be Khayelitsha, whose name translates to "New House" in Afrikaans because it was a new settlement set up for black people after overcrowding in existing ones like Nyanga and Langa. Khayelitsha is known for being the biggest and among the poorest of the townships. As we drove past the airport towards it, you could begin to see the expanse of small houses, shacks, tents, and less spread across the land. Most of the townships in Cape Town are located in an area called the Cape Flats- a desert-like area surrounded by Table Mountain and the other mountain ranges that flank the city. It's almost like a crater, with the haze of smog and pollution rising up from the neighborhoods.
Khayelitsha is so big that it has its own sub-neighborhoods- Site A, Site B, and Site C are poorer areas where shacks are built on top of shacks from anything that people could find- storage containers (like those on huge cargo ships), scrap metal, even the lids of tins welded together, while places like Harare have more built-up houses that wouldn't be out of place in a suburb like the one I live in. Loads of barbershops and beauty salons have been created inside of these containers, as well as the occasional take-away (convenience store) and cell phone store. The roads are bustling with people carrying produce, men chatting in circles, kids kicking around a soccer ball. There is also an unusually high (I estimated around 10) number of white people roaming around as well, looking to be conducting programs of their own throughout the township. There were even tours, which make me feel really uncomfortable because it would be like asking someone to bus you through the projects of the Bronx or through Whalley St. You can hire a guide to lead you through the townships and experience poverty for yourself, and even get a more authentic experience by spending the night at a backpackers lodge somewhere in the township. Profiting off poverty just seems wrong.Our research is to conduct an AIDS audit. Since St. Joseph's is not meant to be a permanent home, kids are frequently discharged from their hospital (and subsequently St. Joseph's) and put back into the custody of their parents. Our job is to go out into the townships and find the guardians of these kids and see how the children are doing and if the parents are complying with ARV therapy.
The first 2 kids we check up on are in foster care with a program called Home2Home. The program helps a house mother look after around 6 children, all usually orphaned or severely disabled, and even provides them with a daycare and a school. Mothers are constantly evaluated in terms of their performance, and their compliance with medicine is tracked with a medical notebook that they bring to doctor's offices so that they can track reactions to medicine, CD4 counts, viral load, and general wellness. Our social worker is amazed by how much these children have grown, as many more kids from St. Joseph's have also been placed here. Old wounds and scars have healed, the children are doing well in school and learning Xhosa (for all those people that start making clicking sounds when trying to imitate how Africans speak- this is one of those actual languages, and it's damn hard to pick up, especially because there are 7 different clicks and a bunch of other mouth movements and sounds that I haven't figured out). But we were reminded that we were still in Khayelitsha when Toni, the awesome director of the program, scolded Edith for not taking the keys out of her car while Quynh and I (whom Edith adjudged to be able to fight off any robbers) were still sitting inside. "Man, people will still steal cars around here, whether or not there are people inside". The third child we visited was living in Site B with his mother and her mother's friend. The house was as big as a room, just a single room with a bed and a microwave and some other appliances. But the child was definitely doing well, though her mom who had told us that she knew English was struggling with our accents. The highlight of the day was Quynh and I driving past some schoolchildren, who then pointed at Quynh and excitedly yelled "umlungu", which means "white person". Or a discussion on how black people are "so bootylicious".
Unfortunately, not all of our searches were this happy or successful. One boy whom we looked for had been taken away by his mother after his father died, and now they were reportedly on the street somewhere. Our social worker sadly told us that her grandparents were in the house and had hoped that she was telling them they needed to pick up their grandchild somewhere. We soon headed back to St. Joseph's for the day, but were definitely very impressed with the kids we had seen and hopeful that this would be the norm rather than the exception for the other 20 children we are tracking.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Today is sad for two reasons:
Firstly, North Korea got blasted 7-0 by Portugal. That's going to suck to have to go back to North Korea. Apparently fans were "walking briskly" from the stadium so as not to have to get interviewed.
Secondly, you may have noticed that the title of the blog changed. Quynh Do has officially resigned her posting abilities for reasons you will have to inquire about yourself, but she will continue to pester my posts with her comments.
Here's hoping Bafana can beat up on the currently self-imploding French team this afternoon.
A Farewell From My Former Co-Author and Current Travelling Buddy
Monday, June 21, 2010
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.
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.
Feel It. We Are Here.
Friday, June 18th. This date has been important to me for about the last 5 months, as that’s about how long I’ve known that I’ve had tickets to the World Cup.
The day starts with a meeting with Mrs. Patterson, the director of St. Joseph’s, to go over the questionnaires that Quynh and I have developed. We have to simplify a few of the questions so that we don’t confuse our interviewees, but other than that we just have to do some brief editing, as well as find the contact information for a bunch of AIDS care programs in Cape Town. During this search, I realize that I’m going to be talking to an organization that I researched for my Global Health class- the Desmond Tutu Foundation, makers of the Tutu Tester- a mobile AIDS clinic that I tried to adapt for TB research. A lot of organizations are also doing something I kept writing about in my Global Health class- taking patients and converting them to counselors and therapists. There’s a really cool group called Mothers 2 Mothers where mothers with AIDS act as group leaders for newly-infected mothers to help them get through their sickness. Who better to talk about these things than the people themselves? In a strange way it reminds me of some old Maury Povich shows where they used to make troubled kids talk with hardened criminals.
Lunch is really funny because Quynh’s host mom loves giving her meat, so I always end up with chicken hot dogs.
In the afternoon, we helped set up for the “black bag” fashion show. Since many of the kids have left St. Joseph’s for the 5-week holiday, the programs now integrate all of the children. For this one, each child was given a black garbage bag and told to make their own outfit (Project Runway for Kiddies). The pre-show entertainment was a young boy who sang and dance to Thriller by himself. So awesome- Michael Jackson is like the only musician who exists in St. Joseph’s (more on this below). Afterwards, the younger kids came out, most of them really shy and holding on to the volunteer for dear life and clinging to the number that the judges would use so that no one could read it. Then my Sweet Basil boys came out.
I should’ve seen this coming. The day before, Quynh and I had been playing with my ward and all they wanted to do was either color, play with clay, or dance. They would jump on stage and play with the curtain buttons and surprise us with dancing, which I failed to videotape because my camera battery died. As they came out during the show, each of them had converted their bag into some sort of superhero costume, with some even having Zorro bandannas. Each of them, however, had a different Michael Jackson dance memorized. Popping, locking, jumps, spins, and crotch grabs. So many crotch grabs. I’m pretty sure that for some of them, their dance solely consisted of them jumping up and down and doing crotch grabs and shouting.
I stayed at Patsy’s before the game, and we watched part of the USA/Slovenia game (by the way, USA GOT ROBBED. ROBBED I SAY! MAURICE EDU DID NOTHING WRONG EXCEPT GET HUGGED BY A SLOVENIAN). Quynh again scolded me for having wine at her house. Two of Patsy’s friends- Martin and Agnes- were going to pick us up and take us into town. Martin and Agnes are a really sweet couple- I think Martin is of some East Indies descent and he always looks like he’s going to cause trouble, while Agnes is really quiet. He is soccer-crazy, having tickets to 7 games throughout South Africa. Somehow for this match, he has finagled VIP box tickets from his friend who works for one of the governing boards for the World Cup. We park near the Civic Centre where he works and use the Fan Walk, a 2.4 km path that winds through the CBD (central business district) of Cape Town out to Green Point Stadium.
The walk to the stadium is so alive. Every few blocks, there is some form of entertainment along the road, whether it be a concert, dancers, jumproping teams, a guy singing You Raise Me Up. The road is mainly packed with English fans and smaller clusters of Algerians. As you get closer to the stadium, informal sellers are hawking vuvuzelas, scarves, and food, all for much cheaper than the official FIFA goods inside the stadium. Green Point glows magnificently on the right- it’s shape is supposed to be that of a protea, a flower that looks sort of like a bowl and, although not South Africa’s national flower, is really, really popular. As we go through security, it becomes increasingly more apparent that this is the effing World Cup. There is a huge soccer ball you can sign, a penalty kick simulation, karaoke, a drum circle, and all the Budweiser you could want (for some reason, Budweiser is the official beer of the World Cup).
Martin and Agnes leave us to go to their fantastic seats, so we go head to ours. We’re like an hour and a half early, but we cannot wait to find our seats. We got category 2 seats, so we’re on the corner of the stadium, but we’re in the topmost level. Though this sounds bad, we have a full panoramic view of the field and the rest of the stadium. Everything is bright white from the lights that ring the open oval roof. People have come early to line every single wall with English flags, with a few Algerian flags, and a Norwegian and an Uruguayan flag thrown in for good measure. The cool thing about the English flags is that a lot of them are personalized with team names, family names, and inspirational messages for each of their favorite clubs, but all are still English nevertheless. Montages of the qualifications of each of the teams, sounds of Wakka Wakka and Waving Flag, and stats on all of the teams play on the screens as English and Algerian fans file in. The Algerians are all concentrated in one place across the field, while British fans fill everything else, except for the mobs of South Africans (still wearing their Bafana jerseys) behind the goals and in the top levels.
I stand up to watch the English and Algerians warm up. I never thought about the fact that the refs would have to warm up (they run just as much as the players- I wonder if there are match statistics for refs for how much they have run and their percentage of BLOWN CALLS AHEM SLOVENIA), but there they were in the middle of the field doing toe-touches together (really helpful for the line judges I imagine). The game opens with the traditional walking out of flags and singing of anthems. Some really drunk guys next to me take the opportunity to sing “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands”. The English fans tried to rile up their team by singing their anthem repeatedly and doing their cheers (how do you learn these cheers anyways? Is there a book? Training sessions? A sing-along DVD?). Midway through the second half, some Algerian fan started shooting off really small fireworks, which were quickly stopped by cops, but in the meantime was sort of crazy that someone managed to sneak them in through “strict security” (a metal detector). The South African contingent really wanted to start the wave, and tried so in both directions. Unfortunately, the most serious of the English delegations were on either side of them and had really gotten into the game, so every time they tried, it fizzled out in seconds. I really wanted to do the wave.
Unfortunately, the game ended as a scoreless draw. Algeria (whom I had been rooting for) really played well and looked sharp, especially on the left side, though their finishing was not top quality. The English really looked lazy and ragged, and only got good shots based on individual skill. The English fans were quite unhappy, booing Frank Lampard, Steven Gerrard, and Wayne Rooney off the field (Rooney later had a shot where he looked in the camera as everyone booed and said “Thanks for your support”). 60,000 fans came and ended up booing their own team. It’s eerily like the South African fan base here, who have started to remove their flags and shirts in the wake of the loss and anticipating the result of the SA/France game. Especially for Bafana, there is so much pressure on them from the country (and subsequently the continent hoping for some African success for once). Even though club soccer teams like Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates have been around South Africa for years, as well as the legions of Man U fans roaming South Africa, this World Cup has really made most of South Africa fans of soccer. Even my host families, who rarely watch anything outside of rugby, have sat down to watch the games and comment on making substitutions and comparing to other teams. Regardless of Bafana’s results (they most likely won’t make it out of group stage, though they would be forever the first host nation to do this), the legacy of South Africa’s World Cup won’t be their team’s success, but the success of a developing nation in hosting the world’s greatest sporting event.
We left the stadium and, although we were supposed to meet up with Tasnim on Long St. we were sort of tired and decided to head home. But we managed to run into Martin and Agnes again.
Martin is a G. Probably an OG. He informed us that his VIP seats allowed him to sit with Princes Harry and William, Zinedine Zidane, Jerome Valcke, and Cafu, among others. WHAT THE HELL MAN? The only other time I had been this shocked was when Nazrina subtly informed us that we could have had backstage passes to the opening concert for the World Cup, but that she doesn’t roll that way. He’s the chillest dude ever though- he knows everyone in the street, he smokes all the time, he’d be the type of person who, if someone tried to rob him, he’d just rob them back. At one point, Agnes fell behind and he told her, “Agnes, my dear, I may have to sell you. It’s like if a horse goes lame, you shoot it and get another one.” As we drove home, he blasted a mix CD one of the top DJs in Cape Town had made for him, with surprised onlookers in the street getting hit with heavy bass from David Guetta and some house tunes. Epic.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Biscuits and Peninsulas
Yesterday was a public holiday (June 16 is National Youth Day commemorating the shooting of Hector Pieterson and others in response to protests against a law saying that kids would have to use Afrikaans in their classes rather than many of their native languages). It seemed strange that there wasn't a more somber way to celebrate this- things like Memorial Day and Veterans Day are just more reasons for discounts at restaurants and bars.
The past 2 days have been pretty boring at work- we're done with our preliminary questions for our AIDS questionnaires and just have to wait for the director of St. Joseph's to sit down with us and make sure everything is ok. So really the past few days we just sit in our offices and go on the internet because it's the only time of the day that we have it (Quynh quote: "I love the internet. I just want to be a willow tree and have the internet". Sounds vaguely like the life spirit trees from Avatar). However, we did get warned by one of the admins that we have to be careful not to go over our 200 MB limits, because apparently all of the internet in the entire building shuts down. It makes you really love internet oh so much.
On Tuesday after work, we went to a place called the Old Biscuit Mill (named so because it used to be a bakery) to meet up again with Tasnim, whose dad runs a summer program here and who is responsible for our invitations to U.S. consulate parties (US/Slovenia tomorrow!), as well as to finally meet up with Emily Auchincloss (MC '11), whom only I had seen in person and whom our host families refer to as "our mysterious friend Emily".
We find Emily on the street and go into the stores while we wait for Tasnim. Usually on Saturdays, the Biscuit Mill is converted to something like the New Haven Farmers' Market, but slightly hipper. We walk into a tent which is brightly lit by makeshift chandeliers and is filled mostly with racks of womens' clothing and jewelry interspersed with South African wine stands. The second partition of the tent is sort of the main room- delicious food stands run along the outside, as well as South African brewing companies and more wine. It's definitely a younger crowd, as Emily finds some of her housemates and we sit with some beers, wine, and falafel. I also treat myself to some Namibian beef biltong (pronounced bull-tongue, it's like beef jerky but not nearly as dry and in shavings rather than thick strips), spicy with really deep herby flavor. Unfortunately for me, I had just had a huge dinner at Quynh's place and was a little tipsy from the wine that her host mom kept offering me (" Tomorrow's a public holiday. It's fine, you don't have to wake up".), but that didn't stop me from partaking a little in some more beer and some yellowfin tuna sushi.
Afterwards, we go with Emily to watch the Brazil/North Korea game at a Jamaican-themed bar in Observatory (Obs), a really hip, eclectic part of town named for an actual observatory. A lot of Emily's housemates are there and we sit with a very pro-Brazil crowd. While talking with Emily and her friends, I start to get a sense of the very different experiences we have had so far. Emily lives almost in a commune- 16 students (mostly American with a French doctor and some other random internationals thrown in) with no real overseer living at the house. She's really close to a lot of bars and cool restaurants and her program helps plan a lot of the major sight-seeing events, whereas Quynh and I are right in the suburbs with not a lot of transportation options or set plans, usually benefiting from the generosity of our host families. They talk about their trips to go shark-cage diving and taking a few days to go to the jungles of Namibia, and I start to second-guess my choice to try and set up this internship by myself rather than using an umbrella organization.
After getting back from Obs, I can't find anyone in my house. I know that there had been some excitement because Angelique's (my neighbor's girlfriend) brother is a really good drag racer in South Africa, and some of Moira's relatives wanted to meet him and see his car. I find my new German housemates (Sebastian and Marek), as well as Freddy, Angelique, and 2 hookahs in Angelique's house, as she tells me that they're going out to the pubs. I end up in Tygerberg first at Stones (a popular chain of poolhouses/bars/dance floors) where I talk to Angelique about her moving to Dubai soon where its effing 53 degrees C (thats somewhere in the 120s F) and how bad the DJ is at mixing. We soon move to China White, a much posher bar/dance place. I didn't get to change before we left, so I'm instantly recognized as American by someone at the door because of my accent and Yale sweatshirt and feel sort of out-of-place at this dressier place (another guy thought I looked like McLovin, which instantly made me set a reminder for myself to get contact solution so I can wear my contacts more often). The Germans dance funny (it looks like a lot of stomping and head bobbing), but the DJ was damn good.
Yesterday, I had made plans with Fredre (my host family's middle daughter) and her fiance Gareth to go out with them on the holiday while Quynh was on her own adventures. They kidnapped me around 12:30 and we set out for the peninsula, one of the more beautiful parts of Cape Town (really, everything is fucking beautiful around here).
I've always liked these two, especially after they took care of me after my panic attack my first night. Gareth is a gentle giant, unless you're playing rugby or cricket with him. He's incredibly funny, and although not very fond of foreigners, has allowed me to hang out with them. Moira always described Fredre as her chatty daughter and listening to her describe her stories of robbers at Woolworth's are hilarious. She's volunteered in Canada and we're able to discuss North American/South African stereotypes, which include how white people can be Africans, or why the hell American food portions are so big.
Since Gareth is vegetarian, she made me a big vegetarian omelet and then we were off for our journey to the peninsula. We first drove through Gareth's hometown- a colored township where Fredre's dad was unimpressed by the small apartment that they lived in when he met them while they were dating. Although colored townships aren't as dangerous as black townships, it's still pretty damn rough out there ("If you get out of this car, these guys will all try to rob you. All of them. Go on and try it.")
We start by driving through Constantia and part of the wine route. Cape Town is famous for its abundance of vineyards, and all of these look like old plantation homes since they are very old, expensive property. It's like Napa Valley juxtaposed in the African mountains. But the main destination is Chapman's Peak- part of the same range as Table Mountain, but not quite the same. Dangerous for rockslides along the side of the road (and on top of us in some of the tunnels), we drive along the ridges and overlook the sea and parts of the other coasts, as you can see across to downtown Cape Town. This city never fails to make me jealous- the seas are blue (and if you're lucky, full of whales) and it's just perfect scenery- some place that Thomas Kinkade should consider moving to.
As we continue to drive past Noordhoek and Scarborough, it's just more of the same- beautiful scenery, beaches, mountains, with the occasional sign warning not to feed baboons on the road. It is at this point that Gareth decides to increase the amount of beauty with some Master Kush. Remembering the last time I tried this, I take it slowly and feel the same physiological reactions- fast heartbeat, warmth, slight brain numbness- but just let the Biggie blasting from our car do the singing (I'm glad Biggie at least made it across the ocean before he died). Pringles, Biggie, nature- sounds like perfection to me.
Coming around towards Simon's Town brings more overlooks of beaches and wineries. On the way to Kalk Bay, Gareth and Fredre remember that there's an ostrich farm. So obviously we have to go to the ostrich farms. I'm still a bit high at this point and it's raining, but there are hundreds of ostrich pens sitting in this field. As I'm taking pictures with them, I'm convinced that they're all glaring at me, and that you have to treat them like hippogriffs and get their trust. This fails miserably, and thus we head off to the gift store. Have you ever wanted ostrich leather? Purses, shoes- I don't know if this place actually expects to sell all of these products ever, but they're all still here. They even have an egg painting section, for which they've made a special display with eggs of all the World Cup countries.
We finally got to the beaches at St. James and Muizenberg. The eastern side of the peninsula is much more charming than the west- it would be like walking into a seaport in Maine compared to something closer to a California or Miami beach. Everything is much more low key here- grizzled fishermen watch the World Cup on a tiny screen above of their pickup truck, fish and chips stands are everywhere along the beach. The water is definitely cold (it is winter after all), but unusually warmer than the air around it. There's a funny bit of fake grass separating the boardwalk from beach, and the edge of St. James is lined with really colorful changing rooms, an Andy Warhol-like combination of sameness and color swapping. We head towards the marina, where fish are being sold and the two seals that inhabit the bay eat squid thrown by sailors tanned by the wind and salty sea. We end up buying some fish to braai later and drive home, still high and still wandering through the mountains.
Its around 8:30 and we go to watch the South Africa/Uruguay game at Lucien's baseball club house, where we find him playing poker with old men. Gareth and I (after smoking again while he was braaing) are still pretty high and now sitting next to a guy who apparently played for Mamelodi Sundowns (a South African team) at one point. Freddy and the Germans come in later, armed with Freddy's bugle, his response to the vuvuzela. Unfortunately the crowd does not go home happy as Bafana loses 3-0 in a very unimpressive showing. Grumbles are about as people joke (but still pretty seriously) about taking the South African flags off their cars and choosing other teams to root for. But I leave with my housemates, bugling into the night.
The past 2 days have been pretty boring at work- we're done with our preliminary questions for our AIDS questionnaires and just have to wait for the director of St. Joseph's to sit down with us and make sure everything is ok. So really the past few days we just sit in our offices and go on the internet because it's the only time of the day that we have it (Quynh quote: "I love the internet. I just want to be a willow tree and have the internet". Sounds vaguely like the life spirit trees from Avatar). However, we did get warned by one of the admins that we have to be careful not to go over our 200 MB limits, because apparently all of the internet in the entire building shuts down. It makes you really love internet oh so much.
On Tuesday after work, we went to a place called the Old Biscuit Mill (named so because it used to be a bakery) to meet up again with Tasnim, whose dad runs a summer program here and who is responsible for our invitations to U.S. consulate parties (US/Slovenia tomorrow!), as well as to finally meet up with Emily Auchincloss (MC '11), whom only I had seen in person and whom our host families refer to as "our mysterious friend Emily".
We find Emily on the street and go into the stores while we wait for Tasnim. Usually on Saturdays, the Biscuit Mill is converted to something like the New Haven Farmers' Market, but slightly hipper. We walk into a tent which is brightly lit by makeshift chandeliers and is filled mostly with racks of womens' clothing and jewelry interspersed with South African wine stands. The second partition of the tent is sort of the main room- delicious food stands run along the outside, as well as South African brewing companies and more wine. It's definitely a younger crowd, as Emily finds some of her housemates and we sit with some beers, wine, and falafel. I also treat myself to some Namibian beef biltong (pronounced bull-tongue, it's like beef jerky but not nearly as dry and in shavings rather than thick strips), spicy with really deep herby flavor. Unfortunately for me, I had just had a huge dinner at Quynh's place and was a little tipsy from the wine that her host mom kept offering me (" Tomorrow's a public holiday. It's fine, you don't have to wake up".), but that didn't stop me from partaking a little in some more beer and some yellowfin tuna sushi.
Afterwards, we go with Emily to watch the Brazil/North Korea game at a Jamaican-themed bar in Observatory (Obs), a really hip, eclectic part of town named for an actual observatory. A lot of Emily's housemates are there and we sit with a very pro-Brazil crowd. While talking with Emily and her friends, I start to get a sense of the very different experiences we have had so far. Emily lives almost in a commune- 16 students (mostly American with a French doctor and some other random internationals thrown in) with no real overseer living at the house. She's really close to a lot of bars and cool restaurants and her program helps plan a lot of the major sight-seeing events, whereas Quynh and I are right in the suburbs with not a lot of transportation options or set plans, usually benefiting from the generosity of our host families. They talk about their trips to go shark-cage diving and taking a few days to go to the jungles of Namibia, and I start to second-guess my choice to try and set up this internship by myself rather than using an umbrella organization.
After getting back from Obs, I can't find anyone in my house. I know that there had been some excitement because Angelique's (my neighbor's girlfriend) brother is a really good drag racer in South Africa, and some of Moira's relatives wanted to meet him and see his car. I find my new German housemates (Sebastian and Marek), as well as Freddy, Angelique, and 2 hookahs in Angelique's house, as she tells me that they're going out to the pubs. I end up in Tygerberg first at Stones (a popular chain of poolhouses/bars/dance floors) where I talk to Angelique about her moving to Dubai soon where its effing 53 degrees C (thats somewhere in the 120s F) and how bad the DJ is at mixing. We soon move to China White, a much posher bar/dance place. I didn't get to change before we left, so I'm instantly recognized as American by someone at the door because of my accent and Yale sweatshirt and feel sort of out-of-place at this dressier place (another guy thought I looked like McLovin, which instantly made me set a reminder for myself to get contact solution so I can wear my contacts more often). The Germans dance funny (it looks like a lot of stomping and head bobbing), but the DJ was damn good.
Yesterday, I had made plans with Fredre (my host family's middle daughter) and her fiance Gareth to go out with them on the holiday while Quynh was on her own adventures. They kidnapped me around 12:30 and we set out for the peninsula, one of the more beautiful parts of Cape Town (really, everything is fucking beautiful around here).
I've always liked these two, especially after they took care of me after my panic attack my first night. Gareth is a gentle giant, unless you're playing rugby or cricket with him. He's incredibly funny, and although not very fond of foreigners, has allowed me to hang out with them. Moira always described Fredre as her chatty daughter and listening to her describe her stories of robbers at Woolworth's are hilarious. She's volunteered in Canada and we're able to discuss North American/South African stereotypes, which include how white people can be Africans, or why the hell American food portions are so big.
Since Gareth is vegetarian, she made me a big vegetarian omelet and then we were off for our journey to the peninsula. We first drove through Gareth's hometown- a colored township where Fredre's dad was unimpressed by the small apartment that they lived in when he met them while they were dating. Although colored townships aren't as dangerous as black townships, it's still pretty damn rough out there ("If you get out of this car, these guys will all try to rob you. All of them. Go on and try it.")
We start by driving through Constantia and part of the wine route. Cape Town is famous for its abundance of vineyards, and all of these look like old plantation homes since they are very old, expensive property. It's like Napa Valley juxtaposed in the African mountains. But the main destination is Chapman's Peak- part of the same range as Table Mountain, but not quite the same. Dangerous for rockslides along the side of the road (and on top of us in some of the tunnels), we drive along the ridges and overlook the sea and parts of the other coasts, as you can see across to downtown Cape Town. This city never fails to make me jealous- the seas are blue (and if you're lucky, full of whales) and it's just perfect scenery- some place that Thomas Kinkade should consider moving to.
As we continue to drive past Noordhoek and Scarborough, it's just more of the same- beautiful scenery, beaches, mountains, with the occasional sign warning not to feed baboons on the road. It is at this point that Gareth decides to increase the amount of beauty with some Master Kush. Remembering the last time I tried this, I take it slowly and feel the same physiological reactions- fast heartbeat, warmth, slight brain numbness- but just let the Biggie blasting from our car do the singing (I'm glad Biggie at least made it across the ocean before he died). Pringles, Biggie, nature- sounds like perfection to me.
Coming around towards Simon's Town brings more overlooks of beaches and wineries. On the way to Kalk Bay, Gareth and Fredre remember that there's an ostrich farm. So obviously we have to go to the ostrich farms. I'm still a bit high at this point and it's raining, but there are hundreds of ostrich pens sitting in this field. As I'm taking pictures with them, I'm convinced that they're all glaring at me, and that you have to treat them like hippogriffs and get their trust. This fails miserably, and thus we head off to the gift store. Have you ever wanted ostrich leather? Purses, shoes- I don't know if this place actually expects to sell all of these products ever, but they're all still here. They even have an egg painting section, for which they've made a special display with eggs of all the World Cup countries.
We finally got to the beaches at St. James and Muizenberg. The eastern side of the peninsula is much more charming than the west- it would be like walking into a seaport in Maine compared to something closer to a California or Miami beach. Everything is much more low key here- grizzled fishermen watch the World Cup on a tiny screen above of their pickup truck, fish and chips stands are everywhere along the beach. The water is definitely cold (it is winter after all), but unusually warmer than the air around it. There's a funny bit of fake grass separating the boardwalk from beach, and the edge of St. James is lined with really colorful changing rooms, an Andy Warhol-like combination of sameness and color swapping. We head towards the marina, where fish are being sold and the two seals that inhabit the bay eat squid thrown by sailors tanned by the wind and salty sea. We end up buying some fish to braai later and drive home, still high and still wandering through the mountains.
Its around 8:30 and we go to watch the South Africa/Uruguay game at Lucien's baseball club house, where we find him playing poker with old men. Gareth and I (after smoking again while he was braaing) are still pretty high and now sitting next to a guy who apparently played for Mamelodi Sundowns (a South African team) at one point. Freddy and the Germans come in later, armed with Freddy's bugle, his response to the vuvuzela. Unfortunately the crowd does not go home happy as Bafana loses 3-0 in a very unimpressive showing. Grumbles are about as people joke (but still pretty seriously) about taking the South African flags off their cars and choosing other teams to root for. But I leave with my housemates, bugling into the night.
Monday, June 14, 2010
10 or 11 Days After The Fact
So it's been a while since we updated this. I blame that on the fact that we were led to believe that we would have reliable wireless at our house (which turned out to be very untrue), and the fact that the only internet we have is at our workplace from 9 am-2 pm (subtract 6 hours from that and you'll figure out what time you have to be awake on the East Coast to gchat with one of us).
The past week and a half have been an interesting mix of local Capetonians, rowdy children, and rowdier World Cup fans. Our host grandparents and actual host parents are some of the lovingest people ever. With them, we've gotten a glimpse of 2 interesting facets of Cape Town life that a lot of people studying abroad don't see- Cape Colored and Cape Malay families (something I'll get to in another post).
That probably sounds really racist calling someone colored. Here, because of the unavoidable influence of apartheid, the racial classifications are white, black, colored (read: mixed-race, usually some combination of European and South/Southeast Asian blood), and Indian. For the last 10 days we have lived in a suburb of Cape Town called Lansdowne, probably a 15 minute drive from the city (which we can see every day nestled into the base of the glorious Table Mountain). The suburbs here are much smaller than what you would expect- every few blocks or exits on the highway, you get to a new suburb because apartheid officials used their small size to more easily classify non-white and non-Christian people into their own neighborhoods.
People also know about Cape Town's (and South Africa's for that matter) reputation for being incredibly dangerous- I believe the stat is that there is a rape every 26 seconds around here. Subsequently, almost every house has a gate. Not one of those fancy gates that you might have to go into your backyard- we're talking heavy duty, steel gates reminiscent of prisons and the driveways of high-security mansions. Every day before I leave our house I have to make sure the padlock is secure on our barred doors, and then close the remote-controlled gate leading to the driveway. Police are very visible in the streets, but that hasn't stopped people from being cautious. However, the houses here are incredibly beautiful. In Quynh's new neighborhood, it literally feels like you're driving down a street in SoCal. Spanish clay, plaster, terra cotta like roofs, and an unusual abundance of palm trees and pine trees with their trademark Cape Town curve (because of the strong winds that come in the winter) mark traditional neighborhoods, while the poorer townships (think the projects + not that much building material + apartheid + even worse) have really colorful buildings and shacks on the side of the highway.
Our work is a pretty interesting place. St. Joseph's Home for Chronically Ill Children is a large compound with a circus-top-like roof that is visible from the highway. Quynh and I share an office where we do our research; unfortunately, because of a lack of central heating and the fact that the Southern hemisphere is in winter right now, it's always cold. COLD. Like fleece and beanie cold. And the saying that "you can see four seasons in a day" in Cape Town constantly holds true through our small window. The home itself serves as a sort of intermediate point in the treatment of kids with diseases like AIDS, TB, and diabetes- once they're out of acute care in the hospital, they stay at this home run mainly by nurses until they can be discharged to their parents (who often are in very tight situations of their won) or are sent back to the hospital. Our assignment is to design questionnaires to conduct an audit of 30 children who have been discharged from St. Joseph's over the past few years to see how they are being cared for by their parents, see if they are taking ARVs, etc. The really interesting part of this is that we are going to have to travel into the townships with a social worker who can translate for us into Xhosa (one of the native languages here), as well as interview the doctors who referred these children to St. Joseph's to see how their stories match up with the medical records. So we spend our mornings reading up on the status of pediatric AIDS care in Cape Town and in the afternoons we head out to the children's wards named after plants- Quynh works with the older teenage girls in Freesia and I'm with the younger boys in Sweet Basil.
The kids are loud and eager to play with us. I've been climbed on top of and punched many times already, but they're the cutest kids ever, and I've made a deal with them that if they help me learn Afrikaans (a hybrid of Dutch and English that at times sounds like a mother talking to her 1 year old child), I'll get them something cool (undetermined). I was happy to see that still kids of their age just love watching Power Rangers (now there's a purple ranger? and a white ranger who rides a rhino? WTF?) and WWE wrestling and jumping around. The best day so far has been when the nurses put on a VHS of a concert from Michael Jackson's We are the World Tour (his peak in the early 90s). The kids know all the lyrics already and were dancing around with their shirts unbuttoned and doing the moonwalk and crotch-grabbing like nobody's business.
The other interesting thing about St. Joseph's is that the older kids, for the most part, are very self-aware of their diseases, and sometimes try to manipulate you with them. For example, the two oldest kids in my ward are diabetic, and so they always use their different eating times to try and play with my phone and boss people around. It's a very open place and we've been talking about possibly teaching the kids a bunch of Asian cultural dances (this after a long conversation that we had to have with some of the staff explaining that 1) Quynh and I aren't married and that 2)Quynh and I do not live in Vietnam and the Philippines respectively, but are only of descent. The equivalent of Asian-Americans doesn't really seem to be existent here (or at least acknowledged), as I've also heard some Chinese people who have grown up here referred to as "honorary whites")).
And then there's the World Cup. South African spirit has been on a high, as soccer has finally started to get the recognition that rugby and cricket have always had. The yellow Bafana Bafana jerseys are sold out everywhere, so Quynh and I resorted to buying some pretty good knockoffs to wear on Friday for the opening game. The fan jols (fan parks) in downtown Cape Town fill up so quickly, and there are always rumors of stampedes and barriers and riot gear (affectionately called "apartheid shields" by one of our friends) happening because of overcapacity crowds. We went with Mishkah and Tasneem- our host grandparents' (Nazrina and Moosa) daughters, as well as their friend Tabang to go watch the game in the city. The incessant sound of vuvuzelas (which now can sound from a range of an elephant to the drone of bees to crying babies to a birthday party favor) covered the city, which was decked out in the colors of all of the represented countries. Unfortunately the city was full, so we resorted to going to the Waterfront to watch at a bar.
Regardless of native country, 99% of the bar was wearing Bafana jerseys, save for one brave family dressed in US gear and a guy with a Mexico jersey and a luchador mask. There was such a vibe of excitement and nervous energy as people watched the opening ceremony and kickoff, energy which people calmed by smoking (everyone smokes. everyone.) and doing vuvuzela beer funnels. The singing of the South African national anthem was particularly moving because I didn't realize that it was half in Afrikaans and half in English, uniting the Rainbow Nation both in color and in language. Mishkah was visibly teary-eyed, while Tasneem tried to show as little emotion as possible because of her full-face painted South African flag which had dried.
After the early scare of an early Mexican goal, Siphiwo Tshabalala's goal in the second half sent the bar into a frenzy. Beers spilling, vuvuzelas blaring, shouts of joy, tables rocking, lights being ripped out of walls, anthems being chanted, me being picked up by my shirt and hi-fived- I have never seen so much energy exerted over one sports play. Not a Super Bowl touchdown. Not a World Series walkoff home run. Not a Robert Horry gamewinning three-pointer. The expectations of this nation on its soccer team has been immense, not to mention the pressure of the world on this country to show it is capable of hosting a World Cup. Concerns about the economy not being able to sustain itself after FIFA leaves, of the government having too much corruption, of the people not being supportive enough of this team, all were alleviated in that moment of ecstasy. Definitely one of those sports highlights I would watch for motivation before an exam.
Although that game was a draw, the post-game festivities on Long Street were ridiculous. So many drunk people, so many tall Dutch people, so many people drumming and dancing in the street. People partied so hard that when we went out the next night, the clubs weren't nearly as packed because people had just exhausted themselves (someone called the Algeria-Slovenia game a recovery game to try and get rid of their hangover).
Somehow, by the grace of Tasnim Motala (one of two other Yalies we know who are in the Cape Town area), we got invited to watch the US-England game with the US Consulate-General at the One and Only Hotel (a haughty name apparently supported by a six-star rating which I don't think actually exists). Upon arrival, we were not only amazed by how absurdly nice this hotel was, but also because there was an antique car show happening outside. Though we were advised to dress "smart casual" (business casual), there were definitely the usual American blue jeans and T-shirts floating around as we were seated next to a party for FIFA Executives, which had a bit more England fans then we would have liked. Although the party was mildly deflated after Steven Gerrard's early goal, the place burst into cheers after Robert "Butterfingers" Green allowed the tiebreaker. I'll take the points. And unfortunately, this guy who called himself King Solomon stole my American flag, so I was left with a tiny replica to put in my host house under an unusually large Swedish flag.
I know this isn't a particularly philosophical or thoughtful post (and only my side of things), but we needed to post something. We have a hell of a lot more to tell you about.
Most lovingly
Ian
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Charisma of Ian and Quynh, part 1: JFK
Greetings and welcome to Quynh and Ian's summer blog as we work in Cape Town for 2 months at St. Joseph's Home for Chronically Ill Children and experience the World Cup FIRSTHAND.
It's really hard to pack all of your life into 2 bags, one of which can weigh 23 kg (50 lbs) and a carry-on which can weigh 7 kilo (15 lbs). It's especially hard if your name is Quynh Do. Thanks to my mom's handy portable luggage scale Balanzza, we realized that Quynh was at least 5 lbs over (because of "toiletries") and in danger of paying riduculous overweight fees to Emirates. After unloading said "toiletries" (and a soccer ball and purses and all this other stuff), somehow my bag managed to just hit the 23 kg limit, while Quynh had to charm the Emirates check-in staff to allow her extra luggage on (I similarly pretended to be Quynh and used her flight itinerary to verify my visa since you apparently have to prove that you are coming back to America to go to South Africa).
Instance of Ian and Quynh's charm #2: After the check-in debacle, we decide to get food and drank at an Irish pub near our gate. After asking a nice-looking lady at the bar about the lack of free Wifi, she decides to give me her internet subscription for the rest of the day as she left for Ireland (thank you username cooltownusa, password maxcity, whoever you are). Taking full advantage of our internet, we begin to make sure we haven't forgotten anything as I get a beer. We get our sandwiches and because the table was way too crowded of stuff, it caused Quynh to accidentally knock over her glass of water. But thankfully, Quynh was graceful enough to catch the glass, with her lap, and proceeded to charm the waitor to get her a new glass, oh, and a gin and tonic. But she wanted to share the experience, so Ian got a cider.
So in a few short hours, Quynh and I have managed to swindle our way through security and make it to Emirates for our 12 hour flight to Dubai.
Fun facts of the day:
1) For an 11 pm flight, Emirates will still serve you dinner at 1 am.
2) Emirates has soooo many movies and songs to choose from. Had I wanted, I could have watched the Hannah Montana movie, both Twilight films, and the Aristocats and still had a 2 hour nap.
3) Emirates flight attendants have to wear an interesting headdress until take-off.
4) Those little things you use for outlets in different countries are called adaptors, not converters.
5) It's really hard to get all the water out of those new metal water bottles.
Most lovingly,
Ian and Quynh
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