Happy Anniversary Quig and Charlie! Ten years, solid. <3
In the transition of Spring, I have returned from yet another great weekend adventuring. Saturday was a day of immense rain. I thought the windows were going to cave in. I can successfully say that I spent the entire day reading and catching up on some homework, even though that’s all I feel like I do during the week. Oh, well.
Although, Earth Dance was all weekend (25-27) we could only make it Saturday night into Sunday. Fighting the rain and the clouds on our back, we drove from Cape Town, through a carbon dioxide tunnel and into what some claim as another realm. “The light at the end of the tunnel” did actually emerge between conversations and the warmth of each other crammed into Shale’s Toyota. Arriving around roughly, 11 p.m. our wrists were wrapped in a kool-aid blue bracelet at the entrance, searched for glass bottles (Earth Dance supports and actively promotes the idea of an eco-friendly environment which consequently linked to my International Politics lecture today). Amidst the rain and the copious amounts of strangers that collaborate in the dark, storm fronted campsite, the energy that was leaking from the transmissive beats, bass tones, and subtleties of trance music was a kinetically charged quantum.
Those times when you feel confused or lost or numb you have to remember that there are layers of yourself you haven’t hit yet- a metaphorical onion- sure there are going to be parts of yourself that you are going to be upset over, but the other layers unravel in a versatility unimaginable. Be an onion, even if you are stinky sometimes- it’s always worth it in the end.
Sadly, I was experiencing a piercing and idling migraine where my eyes felt so swollen and sensitive that I was succumbed to the tent the entire night. I took comfort in the fact that the next day was going to be a crazy connection with others and a time of spiritual realization. And to my relief, it was. A lot of people carry stereotypes about trance music and what it represents, claiming that it is too “repetitive” or that it all sounds the same. That’s the thing; many don’t take enough time to pick it apart. It’s the type of music that makes you think and ties in with the layering idea. Trance music represents that idea perfectly. Once you take the time to pick apart the different sound layers you hear the deconstructed messages strategically placed within the tracks and it literally puts you in a state of mind where you find that core of yourself. It makes you move and feel its presence right away, gunning your knees forward or making connections with perfect strangers whom you woke up that morning not knowing of their existence yet you stand lost in a crowd and this relationship that carries as strong of a bond as you would have with a decade long friend.
We woke up around 7 am with all our concentration going towards the dance floor. Missioning over with a beer in hand and some water in the other the dance party started. Before I knew it, it was noon and we had been dancing for 5 hours, but once you get lost into that realm, it is very difficult to break away. We eventually did find ourselves quite on the hungry side and venturing back to the camp to make some fruit salad. And then back again for more dancing.
Overall, the trance party was more than I what I thought it was going to be. Even though my mind was pretty open to anything that came along, there were still something’s that I still thought that would “define” trance. And I find myself, after returning home still struggling to really give a “definition” of trance or the essence that it carries. Almost emulating a religion, the type of following is devote, worshipping and carries a sense of pride. As I am fully embracing, everything is contextual- so of course, what I find exciting and alluring may or may not seem such that way to others. So let it be known, that this is my opinion and in no way should anyone take it as a matter of fact.
As another week molds into the concrete shape of work and seriousness, I am demonized by papers, reading, research and gasp! more writing. I am destined to go hiking this weekend; the forecast has already promised me good weather so if it does not follow through, I will be upset. Ahh.
I’ve posted the good pictures of Earth Dance on facebook, so if you aren’t on facebook, feel free to e-mail me so I can pass some along. I’m trying to conserve bandwidth.
Cheerio!
Mel
Monday, September 28, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Burn Afrika, but leave Tankwa Town behind.
Spring break came and left as always, too quickly. The first few days, it was a relaxing wind down from writing paper after paper and reading article after article. Nothing worth writing home about.
Although, I did go to AfrikaBurn 2009, embarking on the journey Wednesday morning and beaconing home sometime Saturday.I must admit, I have grown relatively lazy on writing in this blog because I have so many other things to write. It always seems that I am writing SOMETHING. So in defense of the genre, I hereby am guilty of self-plagiarism for this post will be a repercussion of a a blog post about AfrikaBurn I wrote for my Print Production class. Forgive me!? All in all, when I have the creative concepts going again, I will return with fresh, un-published material. Haha.
Enjoy the post and the pictures <3
**MEL
AFRIKABURN 2009
$: R350
When: 09-13.09.2009
Where: Tankwa Town, Karoo
www.afrikaburn.com
TIME- 09-13.09.2009 was the theme carried on for the event known as AfrikaBurn. Modeled after the American burning man, AfrikaBurn brings a community and participatory essence to South Africa.
Making 2009 its third year, AfrikaBurn stands for a cooperation of human kind, isolated in the desert and beautified with the key elements to what it means to have dignity, respect, creative juice and a peace of mind. Free of judgment and ridicule, AfrikaBurn gives one time to express themselves in a realm otherwise covered up by the ills of society.
“…a place to collaborate, cooperate & contribute to our collectively created experience… an opportunity to invent the world anew… to generate a culture… a connective environment… to be idealistic & celebratory… to have fun… this town may be temporary, but we hope the experience stays with you… this is an invent rather than an event…”
Spring break in America means hitting the beaches of Cancun, exploring the coast of Southern Cali or just really venturing to someplace warm and sunny and getting wasted with your friends. While that sounds like a nice little week off from college, it begins to feel routine and overrated. This invent as AfrikaBurn deems the event gives people not just a time to get away from the formalities of society but also a time to create something to bring back from this temporary space and intertwine the aspects into everyday life.
We left Wednesday around noon- embarking on this three-hour journey was something of a mystery to me. Carrying with the theme of time, we left our cell phones, our watches and just any electronical piece at home. It was a disconnect from technology and a time to enhance a time where you can really, truly find yourself, connect with humanity, and express yourself in a free and open environment without the harsh judgment or stress of reality.
Lost in the Karoo desert of Tankwa Town, AfrikaBurn provided you with that escaped sense of self, that ideal essence of being where you could connect with a simplistic symphony of ideas and creativity. Having Spring break in September is a cool benefit from studying abroad, but being lost in the desert for 4 days is even a larger benefit. I chose to bring this to our Around the Corner blog so that people can see how cool of an experience it is, so that they can venture into the invent next year.
As a giving community, AfrikaBurn prohibits any monetary exchange and that idea is really stressed on. You don’t have to get your keys or your ID card in order to go someplace, you just need your two feet and your brain. Having an open mind is probably one of the largest things to carry with you at all times; without it, the Karoo isn’t right for you. Since we all lived together in this abyss of communal entity, we ended up using that idea of giving, trading our neighbors for some cheese in exchange for eggs, beer for water, fire for coffee. The exchanges were always fair and it always meant that you could meet and talk with someone completely new.
Cascaded with an explosion of collaborative creativeness, AfrikaBurn was circled around with structures and sculptures that made you just stop in awe and think about why they stood there and what impact they had on your life. ‘The Wish’ was a large white, wooden structure that took semblance to that of Epcot Center in Disney World except for the idea that it had nothing to do with space but more of finding what you truly wish for in life. Created by Brendan Smithers and the Upsetters it honors Welcome Nombila who lost his life in July 2009. It has been apart of AB since last years invent. No matter where you go around the site, you can see ‘The Wish’ which puts this on your mind and makes it a permanent backdrop in your stay.
Other art that was shared was, The Paranoid Android, Memory, Spiral Time Peace, Devoid of Fridge Poetry, Art on a Blank Canvas, The Triple Bypass, Timeless DNA, Half Past Nine, Shipwrecked at AfrikaBurn—Buried in the Sands of Time, etc. Each piece of art carried its own deep connection with time and why it is important to have displayed at AB.
Other than art, AB had themed camps that were set up along the outside of the site, surrounding the art. The theme camps included The Silent Cinema where you could watch a range of classic, antique, silent and rare films. Burning Mail where you can send post to your family and friends. Heart Space where you can go and relax, recharge, rejuvenate and be inspired. The Homeless Hotel which had six hammocks made from 2 litre plastic bottles suspended in a circular design with a fire at night and a portable pool filled with plastic bottles and balls.
Recycle and re-use is a common aspect of the festival. The site is a leave no trace site, making sure you leave with what you have brought. This allows for the desert to be left in the same state that we arrived in and gives respect to Mother Earth.
The variety that is around AB is incredible. It gives you a sense of the diversity that we often forget in a busy, urbanized world. This differentiation is something to carry with you no matter where you are, whom you are with or what you are doing in life. Having a tight grasp on being kind and open is crucial in understanding the order of the world.
So with this all being said, go to AfrikaBurn next year if you have never gone. Get a group of your friends, hire a car, a tent, a sleeping bag and a bunch of food (don’t forget the beer!) and go have the time of your life. I know I did. And I also know that what I learned at this invent will always be with me and it stands as somewhat indescribable, making it that much more valuable.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
08/09/2009
I leave for Afrika Burn tomorrow morning, with only what I can carry in my JanSport, a sleeping bag and a tent. I haven’t updated in about two weeks—so let me try and recall what I have been doing.
1. I shaved my head, in the sake of redefining beauty, liberation and for a journalism project.
2. I have learned that you can’t depend on anything but who you are and what you want to become, in order to be happy.
3. I’ve done a lot of cooking the last two weeks- concoctions with avos, tomatoes, cheese, eggs (sometimes, always whites) and some bread.
4. I’ve been trying to get out more- to see more things. I’ve been using my camera a lot more lately, going out specifically to take nice shots and learning how to edit them. Another aspect of journalism that keeps my creative juices soaring.
5. I’m learning more about myself than I ever thought was possible.
After I got my head shaved ( which when I get home, I have a great video of it all ) we ventured in Obz to try and find cool places to hang out in. We discovered some interesting used book stores, the first second hand clothing shop I’ve seen, bunches of java junctions and cafes- If you’re from Albany, Obz is like Lark St., minus Bomber’s and The Shining Star). I encountered this really great find, called Ska, apparently a chain hippie style-clothing store in Obz as well as on Long St. After shaving my head, which the woman who did the deed was fascinated that I wasn’t intoxicated and that I had a legitimate reason for doing it—I found some great head scarf’s at Ska that help my already existing Bohemian-isk style. With some expectation, I did not get the greatest of reactions for cutting it all off, but mostly and what surprised me the most was when girls from my lectures who had seen my hair the length it was before to now, would come up to me and tell me how much they admired what I did and which they could pull it off or have the courage to part with it. I heard rumor that something along those lines happens, but I was utterly shocked when someone actually did approach me—all in all, I think about ten girls complimented me. Which proved my point a little bit more. And it made me feel that every woman really should just shave it all off- it’s such liberation a sense of who you are and a fail proof people filter. Autumn was 100% right when she told me that you’ll get the people that are interested in you not just for how you look, but for what you have to say. I’ve been meeting more interesting people in the last two weeks and the perspective I have now, has revolutionized whatever I thought before.
I went to The Assembly at some point in the last two weeks. It’s a local art/music/bar venue where cool upcoming bands play and you can dance or sit and chill. One of my favorite Friday/Saturday night places because the drinks are cheap and the music is always pretty decent. The last time we went, The Toxic Avengers were playing and it was a sweat fest. I’ve never danced so intensely where my clothes felt like the were embedded into my skin- and I only had 1 drink the entire time so I knew it wasn’t because I was drunk, it was because the music was making me move and dance and feel their vibes. I love how music can bring people together on so many interesting and creative levels.
I went to the Townships again. I saw District 9. I found a park. And I found my favorite place on UCT to sunbathe between classes. And realized that I can go the entire day at UCT without shoes on, gorgeous.
This week at my tutoring section it was a shame, my entire section which was sports didn’t show up. I was bummed to say the least, but I helped out the other sections and kind of just floated. One of our learneres, Thumeka Hoga handed us her poems that she copied for us so that we can publish them in our home papers. Her insight is amazing for her age. Her style and even her structure is so advanced for having no formal education in language or poetry.
This is just one of the ones she handed me, one of my favorites:
You’ll Never Know
You’ll never know how strong is a tea bag
Until you put it in hot tea water.
You’ll never know…
The scent of a rose,
Until you smell or crush it.
You’ll never know
If you are doing it overdone,
Until you are told.
You’ll never know
How beautiful is gold,
Until you burn the dirty rock,
Which holds the element.
You’ll never know
If you head won’t crush
And if you become a solider
You’ll never know
How if feels to be a corpse,
Until you die.
You’ll never know
How it is to be a liar,
Until you lie
You’ll never know
How it is to be him
Until you fit in his shoes.
You’ll never know…
Her insight has left me completely stunned as I read these poems on my couch. I was just aside from myself. I used to write a lot of poetry when I was her age and my notebooks contain nothing his profound and she reminds me of myself and I guess this where I begin to feel age kicking in. So real.
What her poems say to me is that she is just a lost in life as everyone else and that you can’t know anything until you are in the exact moment- making you never judge anyone or anything until you’ve been there.
Going back two weeks is kind of a lot of time to recall everything, which means I should write more in order to remember but I’ve been taking some time away from everything and concentrating on just what needs to get done.
The sun is shining right now, which is good because it’s been a stream of fierce rain the last two days, a great kick off to spring break! Haha.
I will have tons to write on in Afrika Burns, which you can just Google in order to find more about it. It should be one of the best times that I will have while I’m here, or at least that’s what I’m hoping. In December, I’m planning a road trip in the Garden Route in order to go bungee jumping and make friend with some elephants.
You know you’re in Z.A. when you walk out of the coffee place on campus and there is a baboon perched on top the rubbish bins, eating away in glory and instilling fear on every student that sees him. Clusters of people were circled around this almost invisible fence between themselves and the baboon—watching in amazement as he eats our old banana peels and crisp bags.
I discovered the V&A Waterfront, had some coffee, shopped a bit… Yesterday we went to the Canal Walk, the best mall in CT. We were on a mission for a sleeping bag and tent for Afrika Burn but needless to say, we couldn’t afford to get all of it, but luckily our friend Shale was nice enough to lend us his sleeping bags and tent for the week. Without that it would have been tight budget to get the equipment. There are going to a lot of outdoor parties and braais from here on until May because it’s starting to get warmer and people are starting to get as stir crazy as we get in Upstate in March. The entire city is getting ready for the World Cup so most of the highways and commercial looking buildings are under construction and it makes you think about proud this country is for having visitors. They are very hospitable and very welcoming to people who come and appreciate Zud Afrika for what it truly is and for what is had to offer in the world.
They are right when they say that it takes almost three months to feel home. And it’s starting to get that way but at the same time, I also am starting to discover even more of this country and the beauty is that you never really stop discovering, no matter where you are or what you decide to do with your life.
Wish me luck in the desert!
Cheers.
Mel
I leave for Afrika Burn tomorrow morning, with only what I can carry in my JanSport, a sleeping bag and a tent. I haven’t updated in about two weeks—so let me try and recall what I have been doing.
1. I shaved my head, in the sake of redefining beauty, liberation and for a journalism project.
2. I have learned that you can’t depend on anything but who you are and what you want to become, in order to be happy.
3. I’ve done a lot of cooking the last two weeks- concoctions with avos, tomatoes, cheese, eggs (sometimes, always whites) and some bread.
4. I’ve been trying to get out more- to see more things. I’ve been using my camera a lot more lately, going out specifically to take nice shots and learning how to edit them. Another aspect of journalism that keeps my creative juices soaring.
5. I’m learning more about myself than I ever thought was possible.
After I got my head shaved ( which when I get home, I have a great video of it all ) we ventured in Obz to try and find cool places to hang out in. We discovered some interesting used book stores, the first second hand clothing shop I’ve seen, bunches of java junctions and cafes- If you’re from Albany, Obz is like Lark St., minus Bomber’s and The Shining Star). I encountered this really great find, called Ska, apparently a chain hippie style-clothing store in Obz as well as on Long St. After shaving my head, which the woman who did the deed was fascinated that I wasn’t intoxicated and that I had a legitimate reason for doing it—I found some great head scarf’s at Ska that help my already existing Bohemian-isk style. With some expectation, I did not get the greatest of reactions for cutting it all off, but mostly and what surprised me the most was when girls from my lectures who had seen my hair the length it was before to now, would come up to me and tell me how much they admired what I did and which they could pull it off or have the courage to part with it. I heard rumor that something along those lines happens, but I was utterly shocked when someone actually did approach me—all in all, I think about ten girls complimented me. Which proved my point a little bit more. And it made me feel that every woman really should just shave it all off- it’s such liberation a sense of who you are and a fail proof people filter. Autumn was 100% right when she told me that you’ll get the people that are interested in you not just for how you look, but for what you have to say. I’ve been meeting more interesting people in the last two weeks and the perspective I have now, has revolutionized whatever I thought before.
I went to The Assembly at some point in the last two weeks. It’s a local art/music/bar venue where cool upcoming bands play and you can dance or sit and chill. One of my favorite Friday/Saturday night places because the drinks are cheap and the music is always pretty decent. The last time we went, The Toxic Avengers were playing and it was a sweat fest. I’ve never danced so intensely where my clothes felt like the were embedded into my skin- and I only had 1 drink the entire time so I knew it wasn’t because I was drunk, it was because the music was making me move and dance and feel their vibes. I love how music can bring people together on so many interesting and creative levels.
I went to the Townships again. I saw District 9. I found a park. And I found my favorite place on UCT to sunbathe between classes. And realized that I can go the entire day at UCT without shoes on, gorgeous.
This week at my tutoring section it was a shame, my entire section which was sports didn’t show up. I was bummed to say the least, but I helped out the other sections and kind of just floated. One of our learneres, Thumeka Hoga handed us her poems that she copied for us so that we can publish them in our home papers. Her insight is amazing for her age. Her style and even her structure is so advanced for having no formal education in language or poetry.
This is just one of the ones she handed me, one of my favorites:
You’ll Never Know
You’ll never know how strong is a tea bag
Until you put it in hot tea water.
You’ll never know…
The scent of a rose,
Until you smell or crush it.
You’ll never know
If you are doing it overdone,
Until you are told.
You’ll never know
How beautiful is gold,
Until you burn the dirty rock,
Which holds the element.
You’ll never know
If you head won’t crush
And if you become a solider
You’ll never know
How if feels to be a corpse,
Until you die.
You’ll never know
How it is to be a liar,
Until you lie
You’ll never know
How it is to be him
Until you fit in his shoes.
You’ll never know…
Her insight has left me completely stunned as I read these poems on my couch. I was just aside from myself. I used to write a lot of poetry when I was her age and my notebooks contain nothing his profound and she reminds me of myself and I guess this where I begin to feel age kicking in. So real.
What her poems say to me is that she is just a lost in life as everyone else and that you can’t know anything until you are in the exact moment- making you never judge anyone or anything until you’ve been there.
Going back two weeks is kind of a lot of time to recall everything, which means I should write more in order to remember but I’ve been taking some time away from everything and concentrating on just what needs to get done.
The sun is shining right now, which is good because it’s been a stream of fierce rain the last two days, a great kick off to spring break! Haha.
I will have tons to write on in Afrika Burns, which you can just Google in order to find more about it. It should be one of the best times that I will have while I’m here, or at least that’s what I’m hoping. In December, I’m planning a road trip in the Garden Route in order to go bungee jumping and make friend with some elephants.
You know you’re in Z.A. when you walk out of the coffee place on campus and there is a baboon perched on top the rubbish bins, eating away in glory and instilling fear on every student that sees him. Clusters of people were circled around this almost invisible fence between themselves and the baboon—watching in amazement as he eats our old banana peels and crisp bags.
I discovered the V&A Waterfront, had some coffee, shopped a bit… Yesterday we went to the Canal Walk, the best mall in CT. We were on a mission for a sleeping bag and tent for Afrika Burn but needless to say, we couldn’t afford to get all of it, but luckily our friend Shale was nice enough to lend us his sleeping bags and tent for the week. Without that it would have been tight budget to get the equipment. There are going to a lot of outdoor parties and braais from here on until May because it’s starting to get warmer and people are starting to get as stir crazy as we get in Upstate in March. The entire city is getting ready for the World Cup so most of the highways and commercial looking buildings are under construction and it makes you think about proud this country is for having visitors. They are very hospitable and very welcoming to people who come and appreciate Zud Afrika for what it truly is and for what is had to offer in the world.
They are right when they say that it takes almost three months to feel home. And it’s starting to get that way but at the same time, I also am starting to discover even more of this country and the beauty is that you never really stop discovering, no matter where you are or what you decide to do with your life.
Wish me luck in the desert!
Cheers.
Mel
Thursday, August 27, 2009
No cream, no sugar-- taking it straight.
27.08/2009
Ahh, full of vital energy, my kinetic potential of life here has risen to new levels. I cannot even describe how for once, I felt like I belonged here. It started off, kind of normal—with my usual wake up call at 7:15 am- snoozed a few times until 7:40, showered, and went off to call for 9am. From learning about Christianity- my baptized religion, for what seems like the first time, to learning about Print Production in FAM2010S from a jaded journalist who really could give a shit about a bunch of varsity students. My creative vibes got moving, nonetheless and my brain felt alive for the first time since Vermont. In Vermont, I always felt like my creative inhibitions were a sacred part of myself, somehow juxtaposed between the mountains, the cold and the stigma behind the naturalistic ideal of life out of the state. I felt like, you wanted to be a writer; Vermont was the place you found that part of yourself. So I did, for my first year and brought those fundamentals I learned in the small vicinity of Bennington, across the Atlantic, to Cape Town.
I had taken interest in Ubunye during O-Week, orientation my first week of settling in. They promoted themselves as a student run organization that used its resources to set up different schools of media for the townships that surrounded UCT. I immediately took interest in learning more- signed up and waited.
Time in South Africa is something of a lost arch. Somehow disoriented in Pandora’s box, time is paralleled between a maybe and sometime. By the time I heard back from Ubunye it was the 5th week into the term and I had to juggle so much out of the way in order to become involved, but deep down I knew it would be worth it. Or so I was hoping. As todays early morning evolved into the earlier parts of the afternoon, I got an SMS from Chrizane, the head director of the Media School telling me my tutor time is open and that we have a confirmed ride into the township- and to be ready at the Jammie stairs by ten past one. Excited I barreled through the meridian, the large amount of people that congregated at the Jammie stairs for the usual meridian performance of some MTN promotional band (somehow, commercialism never escapes any possible opportunity) and waited. Chrizane, against the South African time standard was ten minutes late of punctuality, but pretty much, on time. We ventured down Main Rd for Tracy, our ride into the township where we would be teaching. Tracy has been in Cape Town for 7 months, coming from the western coast of the states, San Fran, CA.
She drove Chrizane and I, along with a girl from Kansas, mhm, her name… is a blank, but we all ventured together. Since I only just joined and gotten involved, the three other girls seemed pretty involved about the project, talking about organization amongst the volunteers and the concept of responsibility, the concern for funding and the anxiety for writing our own exams before the Spring break. We finally arrived, at about half past 2. The townships that I saw on the way there were picturesque out of a slum movie. Coming for the idealistic, commercial being of the UCT region, the real, down to earth, hardships of places where our school was, it was like stepping into this space between the past and the present. A dividing line stood between myself, Cape Town and what was currently in front of my eyes. The houses were packed closer than any amount of hotels you ever owned on Baltic Avenue in your best game of Monopoly. Stray cats meowed to the chilly sun as they took homage to rooftops and garbage cans, just as desperate at the people that occupied the streets. Graffiti took major art form, in expression of struggle, the dark times of apartheid and the racial division that still stands strong in economical flows throughout the area. The division of white and black stands strong and proud, on both sides—and it was quite evident that I was the odd many out.
The four of us pulled into the Sophumelela Township School at the end of their day of school, as they stood in the courtyard, in full uniform and staring at us. Four white girls from the University step out of the transport taking eminence amongst their simplistic and almost archaic sense of being. Lost, as they were confused, we found the nearest teacher in order to find our learners for the afternoon. Chrizane found a kind woman dressed in jeans and a bright red sweater, her books and registers clustered and clutched tightly into her body. Her smile was as welcoming as American apple pie and her inquisition to our presence was as excited as a little boy who just discovered science in his backyard. She was eager and determined to help us find our learners. Some of the kids, aged in between 13-18 were already involved in the program, so the other volunteers has a better idea to what was going on than me.
Sophumelela carries that old schoolyard ambience that perhaps you see in good independent films that depict a 1960’s British school yard with a tetherball pole, lacking the tetherball and string while also having obsolete classrooms divided obscurely with a singular indication to room number only. They get straight to the point in lacking fancy education attaches (e.g. anything electronic, modern desks or titled floors…) This is raw education carries more of a close reality that is being instilled early on as opposed to 23-24-year old American college graduates that haven’t even seen any other than luxury, a sports utility Utopia of plastic overconsumption an a constitution of ignorance is bliss.
As soon as we were settled in a classroom, we stood before a room full of learners who sat in their dark blue uniforms, the sun shining through the windows and what stood between us and them was a gregarious sense of class, preponderance and titillating speculation. Chrizane is a local South African, relating more to the learners than myself. As she began the lesson plan, I stood before these 20-25 learners totally dumbfounded that I was were I was. The dirty wooden floors, the faded green chalkboards and the clusters of bland wooden tables that had their accompanying scattered chairs around was my audience in stead of being on the other side, looking at the speaker.
Teaching is flipping scary. It’s intimidating and it’s not easy. On the other hand, I’ve been in their shoes in terms of being a student looking at the teacher to run things, to hold structure and to be the source of stability—this was not my time to buckle and feel like my shy, introverted self. Hell, I am in their shoes every single day at varsity, staring blankly at my Professor with the eyes of a bad hangover and the weight of my brain holding me back from any defining ideal of participation. It wasn’t a time where I could really think about what I was going to say- it was a time to just let the punches roll. We introduced the learners into the very basics of journalism, the inverted pyramid of information (Who, What, Where, When, How) and what the purpose of having news is. Most learners source of news was limited to what they had at home, what their parents exposed or not exposed them to and what their friends talked about. As a final project, we want the kids to produce their own newspaper, with our guidance and advice we want them to be able to hold onto something tangible, to bring home and to hopefully cherish as a piece of themselves for their rest of their lives—or at least for the time being. We broke them off into the various sections of their paper. 4 groups divided into Business, Politics, Scandal/Gossip, and Sports. With 4 volunteers, our plans next week are to take our own section, have our group produced 2-3 articles and then publish them in the paper. We guide them into basic news writing, how to write in proper English and how to captivate a reader while building trust with society. They seemed so excited. And motivated. And amazing.
At another townships a few over from where we were, the headmistress was shot in the head last week, due to student rebellion. She was killed. You never get too comfortable here, ever.
“Nice tattoo!” one of the older girls said as she grabbed my wrist and gazed at my tiger lily as if it were sitting her own garden. She is doing a story about crime and her interview—or main source was her friend, who sat alongside her and was mugged last week on her way home from the township. To these children, it seems like a way of life where they don’t fret over it, they accept it as an aspect of how they live but they still carry that sense of hope of making a difference or at least for someone to make a difference for them.
Since I am away for the semester I cannot contribute actively to our school paper at SUNY but another volunteer in Ubunye had a brilliant idea to have our contribution to our home paper, be their contribution. And this idea excited the learners past belief. Their faces lit up brighter than Las Vegas from space and their glee glowed through their veins faster than they could even handle.
“When you guys write up your stories we’re going to give you disposable cameras so you can have pictures that help tell your story,” Chrizane said to a group of quite and absorbent girls. When she said that we would give them cameras, their reaction reached the excitement of a 13-year-old American girl seeing Britney Spears or the latest boy band for the first time. Covering their dropped jaws, their white teeth dazzled against their espresso skin- their eyes widened like the parting of the Red Sea, an unexplainable divine phenomenon. Their excitement was about how they could change their lives instead of being excited over the admiration of a corporate entity. The difference and culture clash begins to really take the main stage here.
“Melissa comes all the way from New York! And she is going to help you guys write the best stories you can so that you can see them in print and take them home and have your very own paper,” Chrizane motioned towards me as the entire group of learners now looked at me as they were meeting their face of America, in real life, for the first time.
I never felt such a yielding to my intelligence or my purpose, or even of my defining elements—and for once, someone looked up to me.
The feeling is actually pretty blank- speechless—liberating. I will never trade that feeling for anything material, any amount of money or any benign article, it was the realist moment about living in the present, living in the moment and sucking hard on the juices of the now.
One of the best moments of our session today was at the end, when two shy girls with their blue overcoats and side bags approached us as we gathered our own bags. She handed us this stationary that had bright colored and poignant red strawberries in the corners. Folded over and neatly written were lines of poetry, a personal emancipation of her inner-self, her confession of her emotions stood before us, complete strangers to her. Skimming quickly, I looked up, “this is beautiful. Did you write this yourself?” She nodded and kind of bowed in embarrassment. I flipped the next page backward to find only more of her poetry and as I keep flipping, I found her notes to our session, my words of advice on her small notepad.
Her eyes told me so much. They held a conviction, a truth, a story of struggle and sadness but a pair of glimmering hope that was exemplified by the ink that sat before me on the lined pages of these pieces of parchment. “Can this go in?” Her dark colored hands motioned towards her words and her eyes locked with mine.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Nothing is more perfect.”
The afternoon sun was hiding behind the mountain, as the parted in new directions with new destinations for the next seven days until our next meeting. Their assignment was to think about why type of articles they want to write for their section and to think of a title for their paper. Our assignment is a big more challenging, finding enough funding for the printing, the ability to bring the learners some pencils and paper (most of them had nothing to write with or on) and an afternoon snack—along with getting more organization going amongst ourselves. While this can be very stressful and make it seem like things aren’t worth all the strife and struggle, it’s moment of poetry that make things slow down and make the bureaucratic semantics feel like a needle in the hay.
Ahh, full of vital energy, my kinetic potential of life here has risen to new levels. I cannot even describe how for once, I felt like I belonged here. It started off, kind of normal—with my usual wake up call at 7:15 am- snoozed a few times until 7:40, showered, and went off to call for 9am. From learning about Christianity- my baptized religion, for what seems like the first time, to learning about Print Production in FAM2010S from a jaded journalist who really could give a shit about a bunch of varsity students. My creative vibes got moving, nonetheless and my brain felt alive for the first time since Vermont. In Vermont, I always felt like my creative inhibitions were a sacred part of myself, somehow juxtaposed between the mountains, the cold and the stigma behind the naturalistic ideal of life out of the state. I felt like, you wanted to be a writer; Vermont was the place you found that part of yourself. So I did, for my first year and brought those fundamentals I learned in the small vicinity of Bennington, across the Atlantic, to Cape Town.
I had taken interest in Ubunye during O-Week, orientation my first week of settling in. They promoted themselves as a student run organization that used its resources to set up different schools of media for the townships that surrounded UCT. I immediately took interest in learning more- signed up and waited.
Time in South Africa is something of a lost arch. Somehow disoriented in Pandora’s box, time is paralleled between a maybe and sometime. By the time I heard back from Ubunye it was the 5th week into the term and I had to juggle so much out of the way in order to become involved, but deep down I knew it would be worth it. Or so I was hoping. As todays early morning evolved into the earlier parts of the afternoon, I got an SMS from Chrizane, the head director of the Media School telling me my tutor time is open and that we have a confirmed ride into the township- and to be ready at the Jammie stairs by ten past one. Excited I barreled through the meridian, the large amount of people that congregated at the Jammie stairs for the usual meridian performance of some MTN promotional band (somehow, commercialism never escapes any possible opportunity) and waited. Chrizane, against the South African time standard was ten minutes late of punctuality, but pretty much, on time. We ventured down Main Rd for Tracy, our ride into the township where we would be teaching. Tracy has been in Cape Town for 7 months, coming from the western coast of the states, San Fran, CA.
She drove Chrizane and I, along with a girl from Kansas, mhm, her name… is a blank, but we all ventured together. Since I only just joined and gotten involved, the three other girls seemed pretty involved about the project, talking about organization amongst the volunteers and the concept of responsibility, the concern for funding and the anxiety for writing our own exams before the Spring break. We finally arrived, at about half past 2. The townships that I saw on the way there were picturesque out of a slum movie. Coming for the idealistic, commercial being of the UCT region, the real, down to earth, hardships of places where our school was, it was like stepping into this space between the past and the present. A dividing line stood between myself, Cape Town and what was currently in front of my eyes. The houses were packed closer than any amount of hotels you ever owned on Baltic Avenue in your best game of Monopoly. Stray cats meowed to the chilly sun as they took homage to rooftops and garbage cans, just as desperate at the people that occupied the streets. Graffiti took major art form, in expression of struggle, the dark times of apartheid and the racial division that still stands strong in economical flows throughout the area. The division of white and black stands strong and proud, on both sides—and it was quite evident that I was the odd many out.
The four of us pulled into the Sophumelela Township School at the end of their day of school, as they stood in the courtyard, in full uniform and staring at us. Four white girls from the University step out of the transport taking eminence amongst their simplistic and almost archaic sense of being. Lost, as they were confused, we found the nearest teacher in order to find our learners for the afternoon. Chrizane found a kind woman dressed in jeans and a bright red sweater, her books and registers clustered and clutched tightly into her body. Her smile was as welcoming as American apple pie and her inquisition to our presence was as excited as a little boy who just discovered science in his backyard. She was eager and determined to help us find our learners. Some of the kids, aged in between 13-18 were already involved in the program, so the other volunteers has a better idea to what was going on than me.
Sophumelela carries that old schoolyard ambience that perhaps you see in good independent films that depict a 1960’s British school yard with a tetherball pole, lacking the tetherball and string while also having obsolete classrooms divided obscurely with a singular indication to room number only. They get straight to the point in lacking fancy education attaches (e.g. anything electronic, modern desks or titled floors…) This is raw education carries more of a close reality that is being instilled early on as opposed to 23-24-year old American college graduates that haven’t even seen any other than luxury, a sports utility Utopia of plastic overconsumption an a constitution of ignorance is bliss.
As soon as we were settled in a classroom, we stood before a room full of learners who sat in their dark blue uniforms, the sun shining through the windows and what stood between us and them was a gregarious sense of class, preponderance and titillating speculation. Chrizane is a local South African, relating more to the learners than myself. As she began the lesson plan, I stood before these 20-25 learners totally dumbfounded that I was were I was. The dirty wooden floors, the faded green chalkboards and the clusters of bland wooden tables that had their accompanying scattered chairs around was my audience in stead of being on the other side, looking at the speaker.
Teaching is flipping scary. It’s intimidating and it’s not easy. On the other hand, I’ve been in their shoes in terms of being a student looking at the teacher to run things, to hold structure and to be the source of stability—this was not my time to buckle and feel like my shy, introverted self. Hell, I am in their shoes every single day at varsity, staring blankly at my Professor with the eyes of a bad hangover and the weight of my brain holding me back from any defining ideal of participation. It wasn’t a time where I could really think about what I was going to say- it was a time to just let the punches roll. We introduced the learners into the very basics of journalism, the inverted pyramid of information (Who, What, Where, When, How) and what the purpose of having news is. Most learners source of news was limited to what they had at home, what their parents exposed or not exposed them to and what their friends talked about. As a final project, we want the kids to produce their own newspaper, with our guidance and advice we want them to be able to hold onto something tangible, to bring home and to hopefully cherish as a piece of themselves for their rest of their lives—or at least for the time being. We broke them off into the various sections of their paper. 4 groups divided into Business, Politics, Scandal/Gossip, and Sports. With 4 volunteers, our plans next week are to take our own section, have our group produced 2-3 articles and then publish them in the paper. We guide them into basic news writing, how to write in proper English and how to captivate a reader while building trust with society. They seemed so excited. And motivated. And amazing.
At another townships a few over from where we were, the headmistress was shot in the head last week, due to student rebellion. She was killed. You never get too comfortable here, ever.
“Nice tattoo!” one of the older girls said as she grabbed my wrist and gazed at my tiger lily as if it were sitting her own garden. She is doing a story about crime and her interview—or main source was her friend, who sat alongside her and was mugged last week on her way home from the township. To these children, it seems like a way of life where they don’t fret over it, they accept it as an aspect of how they live but they still carry that sense of hope of making a difference or at least for someone to make a difference for them.
Since I am away for the semester I cannot contribute actively to our school paper at SUNY but another volunteer in Ubunye had a brilliant idea to have our contribution to our home paper, be their contribution. And this idea excited the learners past belief. Their faces lit up brighter than Las Vegas from space and their glee glowed through their veins faster than they could even handle.
“When you guys write up your stories we’re going to give you disposable cameras so you can have pictures that help tell your story,” Chrizane said to a group of quite and absorbent girls. When she said that we would give them cameras, their reaction reached the excitement of a 13-year-old American girl seeing Britney Spears or the latest boy band for the first time. Covering their dropped jaws, their white teeth dazzled against their espresso skin- their eyes widened like the parting of the Red Sea, an unexplainable divine phenomenon. Their excitement was about how they could change their lives instead of being excited over the admiration of a corporate entity. The difference and culture clash begins to really take the main stage here.
“Melissa comes all the way from New York! And she is going to help you guys write the best stories you can so that you can see them in print and take them home and have your very own paper,” Chrizane motioned towards me as the entire group of learners now looked at me as they were meeting their face of America, in real life, for the first time.
I never felt such a yielding to my intelligence or my purpose, or even of my defining elements—and for once, someone looked up to me.
The feeling is actually pretty blank- speechless—liberating. I will never trade that feeling for anything material, any amount of money or any benign article, it was the realist moment about living in the present, living in the moment and sucking hard on the juices of the now.
One of the best moments of our session today was at the end, when two shy girls with their blue overcoats and side bags approached us as we gathered our own bags. She handed us this stationary that had bright colored and poignant red strawberries in the corners. Folded over and neatly written were lines of poetry, a personal emancipation of her inner-self, her confession of her emotions stood before us, complete strangers to her. Skimming quickly, I looked up, “this is beautiful. Did you write this yourself?” She nodded and kind of bowed in embarrassment. I flipped the next page backward to find only more of her poetry and as I keep flipping, I found her notes to our session, my words of advice on her small notepad.
Her eyes told me so much. They held a conviction, a truth, a story of struggle and sadness but a pair of glimmering hope that was exemplified by the ink that sat before me on the lined pages of these pieces of parchment. “Can this go in?” Her dark colored hands motioned towards her words and her eyes locked with mine.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Nothing is more perfect.”
The afternoon sun was hiding behind the mountain, as the parted in new directions with new destinations for the next seven days until our next meeting. Their assignment was to think about why type of articles they want to write for their section and to think of a title for their paper. Our assignment is a big more challenging, finding enough funding for the printing, the ability to bring the learners some pencils and paper (most of them had nothing to write with or on) and an afternoon snack—along with getting more organization going amongst ourselves. While this can be very stressful and make it seem like things aren’t worth all the strife and struggle, it’s moment of poetry that make things slow down and make the bureaucratic semantics feel like a needle in the hay.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Assimilation of the absent minded.
25.08/2009
Assimilation has been on my mind lately. Different cultures require different standards, expectations and ideals. I carry on here day to day, doing pretty much the same things that I do in New York- waking up, usually after 5 snoozes on my alarm, grudgingly going into the shower, heading to class, absorbing massive amounts of information, being overwhelmed, walking back from class feeling confused about life, questioning where or who I am, thinking what I should have for dinner, going for my nightly run, finishing my work out, eating what I thought of about eating, and studying until sleep takes over- and so the cycle beings once again.
The thing about life that I love the most is that it is yours and that you have the ability and the tenacity to change it at your will. So back to assimilation—what will make me more South African? Will it be how I say things, using slang, adhering to the accent…? Will it be what I begin to eat? How I dress? What I do on my free time? I don’t think so. I know by definition ‘to assimilate’ is to take in (information, ideas, or culture) and understand fully. Mhm, that gets my brain warm with thought. Let’s analyze. If I assimilate to the information of South Africa, I can study-, which I do religiously every single day. If I adhere to their ideas, I believe that is a vague assertion- what type of ideas? Political? Religious? Culturally? Mmh. That I am unsure of. If I assimilate to the culture, I will be doing all of the lifestyle concepts I mentioned earlier. Technically, in my mind, I feel like I have been assimilating well. And I’m glad that I got that off my chest. Sometimes, when you walk so far to school, you get stuck on these notions that just get glued into your brain until you get work them out.
I am going to the opera tomorrow night. I’ve been waiting for this specific one to commence at Baxter Theatre, next to lower campus. It’s sung in Italian and it’s a love story- ahh, sounds perfect for a monotonous Wednesday evening. Aside from that, my concentration has been on writing paper after paper so I feel that even my blog entries are becoming more technical sounding and more academically structured. I guess education does rub off. I’m currently working on my first feature article for my Production class. That’s eating up a lot of time and research time.
Thursday we are having a braai (BBQ). Everyone has been under so much stress the past few weeks that it is much needed!
This weekend is the last weekend for shark diving. I’m there. Last weekend I went to the Assembly, a local music venue/bar. Pictures will NOT really be posted due to intense intoxication and the possible embarrassment to my parents and family and most importantly, my reputation. Heh. I clicked on my camera the next day and was informed that I bought three CDs (which I found in my purse stacked along with flyers and pamphelts on car insurance & cable TV), I danced with some kid in high school and apparently thought that I could sing like Lady GaGa. I can’t forget the huge cut on my knee from tripping out of a taxi at 4 am… (SORRY, QUIG- YOU DID TEACH ME BETTER! I’M JUST STUPID. Hey, as you read this, you know that I didn’t drink and drive and all of my fallacies, are funny and innocent.) Oh, vodka- you have taught me my inhibitions can be pushed aside for a while.
*For those of you that do not know, Quig is my mom who is most likely cringing, laughing and shaking her at this blog entry... !
All for now. More updates this weekend. Cheers!
-Mel
Assimilation has been on my mind lately. Different cultures require different standards, expectations and ideals. I carry on here day to day, doing pretty much the same things that I do in New York- waking up, usually after 5 snoozes on my alarm, grudgingly going into the shower, heading to class, absorbing massive amounts of information, being overwhelmed, walking back from class feeling confused about life, questioning where or who I am, thinking what I should have for dinner, going for my nightly run, finishing my work out, eating what I thought of about eating, and studying until sleep takes over- and so the cycle beings once again.
The thing about life that I love the most is that it is yours and that you have the ability and the tenacity to change it at your will. So back to assimilation—what will make me more South African? Will it be how I say things, using slang, adhering to the accent…? Will it be what I begin to eat? How I dress? What I do on my free time? I don’t think so. I know by definition ‘to assimilate’ is to take in (information, ideas, or culture) and understand fully. Mhm, that gets my brain warm with thought. Let’s analyze. If I assimilate to the information of South Africa, I can study-, which I do religiously every single day. If I adhere to their ideas, I believe that is a vague assertion- what type of ideas? Political? Religious? Culturally? Mmh. That I am unsure of. If I assimilate to the culture, I will be doing all of the lifestyle concepts I mentioned earlier. Technically, in my mind, I feel like I have been assimilating well. And I’m glad that I got that off my chest. Sometimes, when you walk so far to school, you get stuck on these notions that just get glued into your brain until you get work them out.
I am going to the opera tomorrow night. I’ve been waiting for this specific one to commence at Baxter Theatre, next to lower campus. It’s sung in Italian and it’s a love story- ahh, sounds perfect for a monotonous Wednesday evening. Aside from that, my concentration has been on writing paper after paper so I feel that even my blog entries are becoming more technical sounding and more academically structured. I guess education does rub off. I’m currently working on my first feature article for my Production class. That’s eating up a lot of time and research time.
Thursday we are having a braai (BBQ). Everyone has been under so much stress the past few weeks that it is much needed!
This weekend is the last weekend for shark diving. I’m there. Last weekend I went to the Assembly, a local music venue/bar. Pictures will NOT really be posted due to intense intoxication and the possible embarrassment to my parents and family and most importantly, my reputation. Heh. I clicked on my camera the next day and was informed that I bought three CDs (which I found in my purse stacked along with flyers and pamphelts on car insurance & cable TV), I danced with some kid in high school and apparently thought that I could sing like Lady GaGa. I can’t forget the huge cut on my knee from tripping out of a taxi at 4 am… (SORRY, QUIG- YOU DID TEACH ME BETTER! I’M JUST STUPID. Hey, as you read this, you know that I didn’t drink and drive and all of my fallacies, are funny and innocent.) Oh, vodka- you have taught me my inhibitions can be pushed aside for a while.
*For those of you that do not know, Quig is my mom who is most likely cringing, laughing and shaking her at this blog entry... !
All for now. More updates this weekend. Cheers!
-Mel
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
1 Month Reflection...
19/08/2009
It’s been some time since I last wrote. Things have gotten challenging with my timetable and having a social life, that the computer doesn’t really seem to be that important any more. Or at least, I’m trying to stay away from it…
Either way, I have to update once in a while. Nothing too exciting lately, just straight lectures and studying. Last Wednesday was my friend from North Carolina’s birthday so we gathered up everyone that lives around us and went out for a nice dinner on Long St. Mama Africa was everything the name implies- full of African culture, dark romance, and mysterious sounds, it created an atmosphere I only dream of re-creating. 20 of us reserved a table and looked so foreign in such a home driven restaurant, but none of us cared. The walls were decorated with gigantic paper mache lamps in shapes of crocodiles and springboks. Dimly lit and very nicely heated, it gave us a sense of African cuisine. The menu: your arrangement of wild game e.g. crocodile, ostrich, springbok, calamari. Other dishes (aka the vegetarian dishes) were a vegetable bake which was the dish I got, full of beans, cheese, carrots, mushrooms all baked into one dish- very, very tasty. Another option was the stuffed butternut squash, which one of my friends had and was very tasty as well. I did figure that I was in Africa and that I need to try as many things as I can while I am here—so I sucked up my vegetarian morals and had some ostrich, a delicacy in Africa. Needless to say, it resembled the taste of steak and rumor has it, you can’t overcook ostrich because it’s so tender, apparently. I couldn’t get the nerve to try a reptile so I stuck to my sampling of ostrich, washed it down with my merlot and went about my way, deep into conversation.
Sunday, the 16th, marked my one-month anniversary of being in South Africa. As I walk to and fro school everyday, I think about what I have learned and what is different from home, what I miss and what I don’t miss,etc. My list always changes and very few things remain staple, but as I recall it goes as follows:
I MISS:
1. My bed. 2. My kitty. 3. My family, of course. && friends. 4. Uncommon Grounds bagels. 5. Bomber’s. 6. Grey Goose. 7. Gasp! NY heat. 8. The smell of my clothes after they get out of the dryer. 9. Being familiar with things.(this something that you take for granted when you’re home. You don’t know what you’re so accustomed to things that once you removed from everything you know, it’s habit to go back to what you do at home. In other countries, if you do that, you are more lost).
WHAT I’VE LEARNED, so far.
You have to ask for the cheque at restaurants, otherwise you sit there for an hour, looking lost and wondering. Saying bye is an insult. American is perceived as everything horrible but something everyone envies. Tabloids are called glossies. Magazines are called just Mags and men’s magazines are called Lad Mags. They love entertainment news, especially from the states. To go is called take away. You have to ask for tap water if you don’t want still, but most order still, not bottled. It rains in winter. And it rains an awful lot- and it’s horrible. Horrible is actually an understatement. When a shuttle bus sloshes you on your way home from lecture and from head to toe you are solid water, you begin to wonder what the desert fells like and how great it would be. For the rooibos capital of the world, that’s really the only tea they have. That and Ceylon and of course green. Bah, no oolong, no white and not very much herbal. My tea addiction is lacking. You press your coffee you don’t use automakers. If you ask for a large coffee, you get blank stares- let’s reiterate, long Americano or short Americano. Either way, you order anything with American in the name and you are one, which warrants the blank stare nonetheless. Most java drinkers like cappuccino or straight espresso. They drive on the other side of the road and I still after a month always ask, why are they on the wrong side of the road?! The only SUV car I’ve seen is the Land/Range Roover, no Escalades, Yukons, Navigators, etc. Tiny cars, usually Volkswagen or BMW. South Africa LOVES COCA-COLA. It’s almost as if they need it to survive. AIDS is a very, very, very real thing here, not just something you hear about if you are in school and learning how to use a condom in health class. A professor at UCT, who was supposed to be my production prof, died last week from HIV/AIDS. There is daily testing free on campus and throughout the town. It’s scary and realistic, something that America should start concentrating more on. Much more homelessness, very many people who literally curl up on the street side and snuggle with the cement wall with a tattered blanket, some have corrugated cardboard and if they are lucky, a knit hat. Whenever I go out to eat and don’t finish my meal, which is almost always—I give my leftovers to a lonely man on the street. You don’t know what happiness looks like until you see a face of a starving, cold man see food for the first time in weeks. You also understand the definition of being grateful and charity. The Internet isn’t as big here as it is home. Most people check the Internet on their phones than on laptops. Fancy electronics are not very popular because they are expensive. Cops carry rifles on the regular, in shopping malls, the grocery market, etc. Frightening, but scary for someone like myself not really used to seeing a fully armed large black man greeting me a pleasant morning with a rifle pinned to his side the size of my body. Needless to say, you greet back with enthusiasm.
Saying, “Ill see you later” means nothing. You have to add in when or a guess to when. So you say either I’ll see you just now, I’ll see you now now, or I’ll see you now. Just now= in a few days. Now now= in a few hours. Now= maybe I’ll never see you or maybe I’ll see you in a week. A very strange concept that I’m still adjusting to.
No matter how much Americans try to blend it, our backpacks and sneakers make us stick out peanut M&Ms compared to regular M&Ms.
I hate, absolutely hate, how people smoke everywhere. That’s one thing I love about home in a way. Here, there are no smoking laws in regards to restaurants or bars or the streets. And almost everyone smokes so smoke is everywhere. My asthma wants to rebel against my body already with the dry humidity let a lone the great smell of cancer streaming up to my nostrils every ten feet.
I’ll never talk in Celsius or kilos or anything metric. I have tried and it just leaves me confused. Numbers have never been my thing.
The only night people don’t drink is Monday and that’s only if you are sick or have a family emergency. Sundays you are not allowed to buy alcohol. Wine is sold in the market but beer is sold in bottle stores. Social lives are super important and if you’re not in, it’s hard to get in—but when you have an American accent, it makes for interesting conversation ranging from ‘did you vote for Bush?’ to ‘what the hell is this football thing?’
Ahh, that’s all I can remember for now. Spring break is in 2 weeks and I’m thinking of going to Africa Burns, which is considerably comparable to Woodstock 1969 minus Janis Joplin and the LSD. You drive 2 hours north of Cape Town and camp in a cell phone restricted area for 4 days, without shower or anything electric and just listen to the coolest music, hang out with friends and hike. It’s going to be a blast! I’m pretty stoked. I was considering ending up to Egypt for the week, but flights are too pricey and I’m going to see if I can get a discount for a ticket more towards December when I’m out of school and I have a few weeks before I head back to NY. Shark diving is a possibility this weekend, finally. After a week and half of rain and being sick, I finally get to see a shark an inch or so away from my face. Other things on my future agenda, sky diving, bungee jumping, tenting on Table Mountain and scuba diving.
I hope things in NY aren’t too warm and that things are winding down for the Fall.
Cheers,
Mel
Monday, August 10, 2009
Science amazes me.
09/08/2009
This weekend was gorgeous, finally! After pretty much a solid week of rain, the sun shined right into my window this morning and I couldn’t be more excited. Not only is today Women’s Day, but also it’s a Sunday where tomorrow we have no lectures. Three-day weekends are the best. At 7 am this duck that decided to perch itself next to my window and sing for the world to hear, woke me up, grudgingly. I tried to fall back asleep for a few more hours and he was just not having it- bah. Ben attempted at murder but throwing one of our lemons from the lemon tree that grows on the garden patio at the duck and his accomplice. Ben negatively failed but succeeded in throwing the lemon at the neighbors’ roof.
“Ohhh, shit!” When Germans swear, it cracks me up, every time.
Andrew and I decided that today we were going to the Botanical Gardens in Kirstenbosch. We gathered Ben and Jessica to join us. We called a taxi and went into one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. The entrance way was confected with indigenous looking statues, mostly of naked women- mhm, and of strange animals that may or may not be a cat/bird? After the entrance, you feel completely enveloped into something unreal- or at least something that you thought only existed in movies and books. Time stopped. Your heart fills with this feeling that everything in the world that ails you, doesn’t matter—you are here, in this sanctuary of beauty, peace and serenity. And that is all that matters. If you feel stressed or depressed or anything- go there to make things make sense. If I ever get married (god forbid) it will be there. And I don’t care how much it costs every guest to fly there; it will be worth every penny when your soul and body finally get a chance to meet.
It was like I was 10 again, being the tomboy and climbing trees. They have numerous hiking trails, natural waterfalls, picnic areas and amazing plants. Some were healing plants, some were just beautiful flowers that bathe in the South African sun, others are just strange, amazing—but strange. As we discovered new things, I just couldn’t actually believe that a place like that actually existed. And better off, I was standing in the heart of it. We took a moderate hike higher so that we could see parts of the city (another weekend I will go there for a sole purpose of hiking—the trails looked awesome!).. but the city view we saw from a low elevation was remarkable.
When those points in life seem unbearable, where you really think you’re not going to get through it—all you need is some great new perspective that will vivaciously help you. I came to South Africa not expecting the cliché. I suspended any other preconceived notion and just dove right in. As I stood in the middle of a stream today, watching crystal clear water naturally flow off of rocks, I could feel the world resting in my hands. I could see how the earth was created and why, I could see why we all must be decent to each other and why sometimes when things just are too much, you need to take a step back and think, the world is a huge abyss of creation- be apart of it. Get your hands dirty and feel what is around you. That’s usually the problem- you need to ground yourself again. In the hastiness of everyday life, people forget their surroundings, what is happening outside of their bubble. Stepping away from it will not only pop it but also prevent it from ever getting enough oxygen to fill up again.
After spending a few hours, we all decided we were pretty hungry. We called Mark, our new taxi man to come fetch us. We went to Cavendish and at Osumo, a great little smoothie/health food place. So fresh! The cool thing about food here when you order, you get the correct portion size and the dish usually doesn’t have anything but the main concentration- so no chips or fries, sometimes salad. Being healthy is everywhere. And I love it.
The rest of the afternoon I worked on a paper drank tea and relaxed. Happy Woman’s Day to me!
-Mel
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