Well friends this is an extremely old post that I wrote about three weeks ago, but due to the SIT center's blockage of blogspot and just coming off a week in my rural homestay with no electricty or running water this is the first time I've had the chance to post it. Soooo I'll catch y'all up (if you're even still reading this) for now and post another one in a bit :).
It seems a century has passed since I last wrote—I’ve trotted off to Argentina and back, stopping in Jo’berg for some good ole bush, braii, and shebeen, meeting some amazing South Africans along the way, before I began my SIT program. I meet my SIT group at the airport and it was like I was in two different countries—most of the activities I had already done were strongly advised against and our program director goal was to lead the group into SA slow and steady, an existence I found hard to adjust to after complete freedom. Our two days in Jo’berg were spent at viewing the Holocaust Museum, Soweto (where Winnie Mandela and Desmund Tutu still reside), and Constitution Hill. The open artistic design of Constitution Hill—a building and branch of South African government designed specifically to uphold the extremely progressive constitution—is striking and moving. It houses not only a symbolic balboo tree for justice, but tributes to freedom fighters and AIDS victims alike, and a policy that any citizen can address the Constitutional Court appeal or not. Though I know most of the history that the panels in the Apartheid museum, I was amazed to learn that a huge casino (which you can see atop the reflection garden hill) was its creator—built on land that was auctioned off to big business for the best philanthropic project. The result is an emotional shattering museum, made all the more haunting by television footage from the 1970s and 80s, and heart stopping propaganda films and rally cries. My fellow SITers are overall amazing—they have not only a wealth of travel experience and intelligence, but are also considerably more adaptable than I ever credited a group of 22 Americans being. Moreover, I’ve already found a partner to voyage to Mozambique with after the program ends. Yebo! We traveled on a beautiful route through the Drakensburg mountains to reach Durban and all my mates were introduced to the city by the sea—or the party city as most South Africans know it. After going out to one too many club before I met with the group I’d contracted a really nasty cold and an ear infection to boot, so once we got to Durban I saw the SIT doctor who prescribed me oodles of antibiotics, while continually saying, “It may be tempting but don’t sleep with us, just don’t!” over and over again. Afterwards we had a blind drop off in Durban, where I and two other group members got the chance to interview both a private doctor and a pharmacist who had extremely interesting views on the state of health care in South Africa, one of which involved a planned extermination of the poor through the ‘failure’ to distribute anti-retrols on the part of the government. Private and public healthcare in this country are indicative of the economic disparity as a whole, or as my doctor put it, “the first and third world that lives here.” After a lovely dinner on Florida Road a hip restaurant named Bean Bag Bohemia, some of the dinner went out for drinks with university students who had given us a “safety and security” talk earlier in the day. They turned out to be a complete riot and danced us half off the roof of the club we ended the night at—Sky bar. Aptly named, Sky bar has one of the most amazing views of Durban I’ve seen, complete with a VIP room full of free cocktails that our new admirer DJ Chinaman (“he’s got a NICE car,” says every girl you mention his name to) a select few girls into ;).
Friday night we moved into our homestays, which was so relieving. My family is absolutely amazing. I’m now dubbed Oweto Zwane by my lovely 16 year old sister, Fundo, Oweto meaning “Ours” in Zulu. My mama is a school teacher in the rural area, teaching classes of 60-70, with students ranging from 15-85 and my baba is a construction worker. We live on Buckingham Road in Cato Manner with a beautiful view of the entire township, informal settlement and all, our two dogs Prince and Mercy pacing continually for scraps outside. We have a helper Auntie Rose, with the most amazing laugh, who only speaks Zulu and is forcing me to get my clickin on as well. My ubhuti, Muntu, is crazy about science and soccer and is going to force me to learn so many house and rap songs by the time I leave that the umbrella song won’t be no thing. Muntu accompanied me on minibus trip to the beach and a stroll around town on Saturday, leading me and another student around like a pro as we swung in and out of vendors stalls. My usisi, Fundo, is incredible—I’m amazingly luck to be sharing a room with such a lively, funny, intelligent person. Not only has she begun to teach me the hottest South African dances, but we’ve talked intensely about religion, the glass ceiling (or lack there of according to some) for South African women, informal settlements, her brother who died in political action in the apartheid, virginity testing, and the jail system here (which she has another brother in). Though we went to three hours worth of very spirited Mass where she served as an usher, she told me that when she finishes grade 12 she’ll be an atheist. She’s also fasting for Ramadon to help out a friend. Cool girl to say the least. Notably the most intense and interesting prayer at church was one for the people of Zimbabwe—with mixed reactions from the crowd. Days here are EARLY, everyone in the family gets up at 5am and the TV and radio are automatically turned on and kept on for the entire day. The neighborhood is instantly alive with gogos hanging out the wash and children playing magaloba (a reverse limbo) in the car park before they move to the gameroom to buy 25 cent lollies and play a round of pool. One is constantly traveling from door to door to visit, where high decibels welcome you, and some of the most beautiful children come to hang on your legs. Come night, no one is out, safe the men gambling in the lot, gates locked, families eating chicken and beans in front of their favorite SA soup opera “Generations.”
