The Best Class I've Been to Yet, Khayelitsha, Wine Tasting, and Lion's Head by Moonlight

Wednesday I was back at Leap, again unsure of what exactly I’d end up doing. When I got there, the 10th graders were on break so I wondered around the school eventually finding the kids I had been introduced to on Monday. I joined a bunch of them for their Xhosa class. Xhosa is one of the local African languages, spoken primarily in the southern half of the country, and by the majority of black South Africans in Cape Town. I ended up sitting next to Sipho, one of the students I’ll be “mentoring” who began translating what the teacher and his peers were saying without me asking. The students had just read a poem about the roles of different members in a family, and were using the poem as a springboard to discuss their own experiences with family life and their own perceptions of what it means to be a mother or a father. The conversation that unfolded blew me away, especially considering I was only getting what I could make out from Sipho’s whispers. One by one the students discussed how their mothers were the foundations of their families, and how they understood a father to be a distant, stern figure who didn’t play much of a role in the family and had little relationship with his children. Nearly all of the students in the classroom were without a father and a number without a mother as well. I was astounded as certain students spoke of domestic abuse as if it were status quo in their community of Langa. At one point after a bit of probing, Sipho explained that when he went to school in the township, if a girl made fun of him he was expected to beat her. If he didn’t he’d be ridiculed by his male peers. He also told me that he used to drink a lot (referring to his elementary and middle school years). The openness and honesty of these kids really impressed me. There are few safe spaces for these kids to discuss their lives and none for the many other children in their communities who aren’t fortunate enough to be at Leap, and this class was one of those opportunities.

As the afternoon progressed and class ended, I continued talking with Sipho. He asked me all sorts of questions about my life and aspirations, and I continued to probe him. He explained to me that when he has children he wants to be a different kind of father, and that he feels a responsibility to his community to be a positive example for other boys. He even told me what he thinks he most needs to improve about his character. This from a 10th grader. I couldn’t believe how mature he was. Nothing like the 10th graders I’ve met. Nothing like I was in 10th grade. Leap must be doing an awful lot right.

On Friday, Buchule, my RA, took a small group and me to his neighborhood in Khayelitsha, a predominately black township of nearly a million people. Many of the residents were originally from the Eastern Cape, but moved to Cape Town during the massive urban sprawl of the 1980s. We spent the afternoon at a bar and then went to his house briefly to meet his mother and sisters. The bar was lots of fun; they only played south African music which was a welcomed change from the American music that gets played at most of the bars and clubs in the city. I came to South Africa to escape Miley Cyrus, unfortunately that hasn’t fully worked out, but thankfully here they’d probably never heard of her. Buchule’s home was nice by the standards of the township (he bragged that it was only one of two with a fire place,) but would be considered a shack by American standards. Seeing the way people live there was incredibly humbling and reinforced just how spoiled me and my American counterparts really are. And yet, nearly everyone I saw that afternoon was smiling. The children play in the streets and the adults go about their business. It’s an entirely different world from where I grew up, but people have learned to make what they can of their situation.




Saturday I joined the CIEE crew on a trip to Spier Vineyard a half hour outside of Cape Town in Stellenbosch, an area flooded with vineyards, for a morning of wine tasting (and why lie, a little bratwurst too). The wine was delicious and is incredibly cheap compared to what we’re used to. The most expensive bottle the vineyard sells was less than $25, and I managed to buy some nice wine for 3 or 4 dollars a bottle. I’m even learned a bit about wine too. Note to potential visitors: A little secret of South Africa—you can get the buzz without slapping the bag.


Sunday afternoon a group of friends and I made our way up Lion’s Head, a mountain adjacent to Table Mountain to watch the sunset and hike down in the light of the fulll moon, an activity that draws many every month. The hike was a lot of fun and the views from the top were unreal, you can see the city from a 360 degree angle. First I got to watch the sun set over the Atlantic, casting red and orange on the Clifton and Camp’s Bay beaches below, then as the sun peaked below the horizon, we walked a few steps to the other side of the peak to see the entire city alight sprawling around Table Mountain with the full moon directly above the city. Sometimes things tend to attract lots of people for a reason. Best place to see the city at night—I won’t even humor you to debate it.

A Look at the South Africa Beyond the Beaches and Sun

Most Monday mornings you wake up expecting to be like, well, most Monday mornings. Today wasn’t one of those days. As I left my second class of the day and headed to the Jammie Steps, the main meeting point on campus I could see a large crowd gathering on the steps. A week ago Saturday, Dominique Giddie, a 21 year old UCT student was stabbed to death in Observatory, a near by neighborhood that like most UCT students I frequent at night. Someone tried to rob him, he resisted, and they stabbed him four times. Today, they were celebrating his life and protesting the senseless violence of the act at UCT. What seemed like a number of thousand of students and faculty gathered on the steps, and listened as a Vice Chancellor of UCT, the president of the student representative council (SRC), Dominique’s father, his sister, and his best friend addressed the crowd. Each speaker had a slightly different message: the Vice Chancellor spoke in an angrier tone blaming President Zuma and his government as well as the South African Police force for their inability to protect innocent South African people; while Dominique’s sister claimed that she’d already forgiven the murderer and that her people had to come together in love to save their country. I sat there, a bit overwhelmed with everything going on, really moved and saddened. At the same time, I was fascinated to be seeing a community respond to this, one of the country’s most serious problems. More than 50 people are murdered in this country every day. That alone is an astounding stat that is hard to really fathom. And that’s not even brushing the surface.

(The Progression Down the Jammie Steps)

I decided to join the march and protest that followed the ceremony and speeches. I felt that even if I had never met the guy, I really wanted to show solidarity with the community that I have decided to be a part of for six months. Ironically I had to skip my Crime and Deviance in South Africa class for the march. Talk about a real lesson in crime and deviance. As I marched, I questioned whether his death was only receiving attention because he was a UCT student, there are far too many that die without a protest in their honor. But it is true, that even if this story is getting all too familiar, when the community comes to accept the murder of a 21 year old student as normal, that’s when this place has gone to crap.

We marched from upper campus down to Main Rd. and towards Observatory where Dominique was murdered. All along the way people haphazardly led chants and songs protesting the violence. “How Many More?!” the crowd asked again and again, “Enough is enough!” It was one of those surreal moments you can't believe you're a part of as it's happening.

As we approached Observatory the president of the SRC announced that we had to turn back to campus because the police didn’t want us to go all the way to Obs. Some protested, but he urged that he didn’t want to see any students hurt by the police.

After the march ended, I headed off to Leap for the second time, only this time I actually got to meet the students that I am going to be mentoring. We spent the late afternoon playing a large game of soccer barefoot on a dirt field, every man for himself. The scene was idyllic--the game hysterically hectic, and a lot of fun. I had a great time talking to both the kids that I will be working with regularly, and the rest of the group. We went back and forth asking one another questions: I’d ask what they liked to study and what sports they liked, they’d ask me what celebrities I’d seen, and whether all Americans were rich. I’d ask whether they knew where Boston was. They’d ask if I’d ever heard of Nelson Mandela, and what life was like back where I came from. They asked if I lived in a beautiful house. I wasn’t sure how to respond.

My first impressions of the kids: They’re smart and they seem eager to learn and ambitious to make a life for themselves. They all seem happy to be in school, despite the long school day, and talk excitedly about what they’re studying in school and what they enjoy learning the most. After a pretty depressing and draining morning, getting to hang out with all of these bubbly kids was pretty awesome. I can’t wait to start building a repore with them and really get to know them. I know it’ll take a while, but I think this could be great.

Wowzers what a day.

Sting Rays, Gardens, Oversized Men, and Mountains

I must be adjusting to the culture down here even faster than I realized, because it appears my internal clock has switched to South African time (no one does very much on time or quickly at all for that matter) because it has been a little while since my last entry. The last week and a half has been busy, with classes every day and lots to explore on the weekends. Even wrote a few papers last week—no small task for someone who was beginning to think they were on a semester long vacation (the verdict is still out on that one). I’ll leave you all with a few highlights:

Last weekend, I went scuba diving with a friend from the program who goes by Coop, and his host-brother, James. James is a scuba instructor and took the two of us out to a place called Long Beach near Simonstown for two days of diving. I’d been thinking about getting scuba certified for a while and when the opportunity arose I couldn’t resist. Turns out it was a lot of fun, pretty exhilarating to breathe under water. The dive site, the area where most people in Cape Town come to be trained, has a number of shipwrecks and some sweet aquatic life. The wrecks have accumulated in this bay over time (one sunk almost a century ago and another was supposedly sunk recently, due to some insurance shananagins). It was great that we got to go straight to the ocean to learn and didn’t have to start at a pool like most folks who are getting certified. Highlight of the diving: a really close encounter with a stingray the size of a small car. A one point it got a little hairy— he apparently wasn’t so happy about our little visit so starting flapping up sand and raised his stinger a bit to let us know. Needless to say we gave Ray some space, but it was really neat to see such a cool animal up close. Yesterday, I completed the written test component and now am entirely done with the certification. Call me Scuba Steve. A shark scuba dive is in the works for next weekend, I’ll keep y’all updated.

After diving in the morning last Sunday, I joined a big group from CIEE and headed to Kirstenbosch Gardens, a beautiful botanical garden at the base of Table Mountain. Every Sunday night during the summer they have a concert out on this expansive lawn overlooking the mountain. Everyone comes out and brings their own picnics and wine and enjoys the warm Cape Town summer breeze. The music was a little funky, a bit poppy for my tastes, but the atmosphere was stellar. I already have plans to go back soon.

This past Saturday morning (yesterday) I forced myself to wake up early to make it to Old Biscuit Mill, this market a few neighborhoods away where they have the sort of shops women tend to enjoy looking through, and two large tents of the most incredible variety of delicious foods. I opted for the steak sandwich, but only after walking around for a while sampling all sorts of things and enjoying the varied smells of the place. It appears that waking up early to eat meat is becoming a bit of a trend. I don’t think I have a problem with that.

Saturday evening I went on another CIEE adventure to my first ever rugby game. The local team, The Stormers, which is supposedly very good, played a team of Aussies. I had practically no idea what was going on, but that didn’t stop me from cheering and jeering as loudly as the locals. The atmosphere was a lot like a football game back home, only here they serve Castle and Black Label instead of Miller Lite and Bud Lite and the sorts of things that drunk people yell out sound funnier down here. A few thoughts on rugby: The guys are big. Really big. Not sure if they’re quite as big as NFL football players, but they don’t wear any pads so the toughness factor needs not be questioned. I’m going to have to read up on the game and make it back for another game.

Sunday morning, (this morning), I finally was able to make it out on a hike. I’ve been trying to find time to hike for a while now, and Table Mountain teases me every time I look up at it. I’ve been gazing at it in awe for too long not to have conquered it. Turns out a trip to the summit wasn’t in the cards today, it was far too cloudy and windy at the top to make it all the way up, but we did manage to take a contour path around half of the mountain. We left from UCT campus, where there are a number of trails, and made our way around the mountain, looking down at the city wrapping around its base below. We made it all the way to Lion’s Head, another peak on the other side of the mountain. As disappointed as I was not to make it to the top, it was really neat to hike in the clouds for a while. It was really windy and moist up there, with little visibility, but every so often the clouds would clear and you would get a few moments of unobstructed blue. I’m determined to try again soon and reach the top. The weather on top is pretty erratic and unpredictable, so I may just need to wait till the next beautiful day and put everything else off to just hike.

Tomorrow I start volunteering for real (we had an orientation last week) and should be meeting the group of students I’ll be working with / mentoring. Can’t wait. It’s been far too long since I’ve done anything of this sort and I’m really ready to get started.

Cheers!

Thoughts After a Week At UCT

So today marks the completion of my first week of classes at UCT. If my stress level were a terrorist threat level it would probably be yellow (a little stressed, but c’mon now, I’m in Cape Town). To be honest, it wasn’t until this afternoon, the final day to add courses, that I was finally able to work out my class schedule, but at long last things are sorted as the locals would say. Getting anything done at this University requires navigating an outrageous number of bureaucratic processes that to a typical American college student seem straight out of the stone age, and they only give you a week to sort out your schedule, which makes everything quite a bit more difficult. On Thursday afternoon, as I was munching on a delicious mango poolside, I was informed that the African Music course that I intended to take was rescheduled and it would now conflict with another course I wanted to take. Fortunately, African Dance meets on Thursday afternoons, so I figured I may as well check it out, as I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do. Turns out it was a pretty good time, and while I’m sure at times I’ll look straight ludicrous trying to mimic a dance teacher whose moves put Beyonce to shame, I figured my time abroad is for trying new things and stretching myself a bit, so why not let my arms and legs in on the action too. Anyhow, my last dance class worked out pretty well, and I’m beginning to think that just maybe I was endowed with a bit more rhythm than the average white Jewish boy, but I suppose only time will tell.

Provided that I filled out all the forms properly and got the proper signatures, I’ll be taking four courses this semester. Two history survey courses: one called “The Making of the African Continent to 1800” and the other called “Southern Africa to 1900.” I am also taking a sociology course called “Crime and Deviance in South Africa” and of course, African Dance.

Yesterday marked the opening of parliament and a number of festivities that go along with it. I hoped to make it downtown to see them, but was too busy fighting with UCT bureaucracy to make it. But, my friends who went said that President Zuma’s speech was held indoors where only a select few had access, and that the parade was pretty subdued. While my assessment of the culture and people down here is fluid, and only having been here a month, I definitely can’t say I have my finger on the pulse of the South African people, I do have some thoughts from what little experience I do have. The locals often describe South Africa as a country in transition. In reality, I’m not sure that captures the situation on the ground. While the end of apartheid brought hope to millions of South Africans that their lives would improve quickly, reality has proven otherwise. Mandela and South Africa’s subsequent leaders have promised jobs, homes, food, and security to their people, and yet for the vast majority of the population those promises are far from being fulfilled. Millions live in abject poverty, HIV continues to stunt the potential of innumerable children and undermine family development, and an education system in place until the 1990s in which blacks were intentionally given poor quality education so as to limit their potential and ability to rise up, has meant that with far too few exceptions most black South Africans older than 30 have had little or no quality education. Even today, the education system in this country is horrible, and the youth are resorting to crime and violence. Speaking of which, the levels of violent and sexual crime here are some of the worst in the world, with South Africa leading the way in murders per year. Not to mention the fact that (and this one really blew me away) a quarter of South Africa’s police force is illiterate. How can you record a crime when you can’t read or write? I don’t mean to sound too pessimistic about South Africa and it’s future, I’ve already seen so many amazing things about this country and its people that I’m sure will come out in my writing as the semester progresses, but there are some appalling realities here. The reason I mention them in light of the celebration yesterday of the twenthieth anniversary of Mandela’s release from prison, is that for many people, it would seem, the excitement and jubilation of the end of apartheid has been overshadowed by the myriad of problems this country faces. In some ways this country has come a far way, but in many more it still has marathons to go. So yes, the New York Times headline my father sent me last night was accurate, “Thousands of South Africans were marking the 20th anniversary of Nelson Mandela's walk to freedom after 27 years as the world’s most famous political prisoner," but millions were trying to figure out where they’d find their next meal.

Riding an Ostrich, Jumping off a Bridge, Just a Typical Week in South Africa

This past week was a crazy one. In fact, more happened in this past week than anyone, even my mother, would have the patience to read about, so while I am sure what follows will be lengthy, know that it could have been much longer.

Last Saturday, myself and about 60 or so other residents of Liesbeek went to Mzoli’s, a South African carnivore’s paradise and a Cape Town landmark. Mzoli’s is a restaurant in a local township where you sit around big tables and they bring you an enormous platter of meet for everyone to share—without forks and knives of course. Unfortunately, we got there far earlier in the morning than even I really want to be eating meat, because it was the only way to ensure everyone had a seat, but the experience was well worth it. The restaurant blared music as everyone stuffed themselves with the traditional cuisine of steaks and sausage. At my table, we even passed the last steak around the table everyone taking a bite out of it as it passed. Maybe not a place to take a girl on a first date (or maybe it is if that’s your style), but a woman on the train said to me the day before that you haven’t experienced the city until you’ve been to Mzoli’s, so I’m glad I’m one step closer to understanding life down here. Actually, I think that understanding what and how people eat is crucial to understanding any people, but I’ll leave those musings for another time.

The rest of Saturday was spent in a glutton’s comatose, (I actually slept from two until 9 in the evening,) but it allowed me to catch some rest before another early wake up on Sunday. Sunday morning, a caravan of busses filled with CIEE students headed out on a day long tour of the Cape Peninsula. We visited numerous beaches, hiked around the Cape of Good Hope, and had lunch at the community center in Oceanview, a community formed by the black exiles of Simonstown, a beachside town that had forcibly evacuated all blacks in the 1960s and 1970s. We were even treated to a performance from a number of the local kids who participate in an arts program at the community center that included a Michael Jackson tribute dance performed by three of the boys. The head of the center introduced the performance by offering, “I am sure you were all as shocked and devastated by Michael’s death as we were.” I couldn’t help but chuckle out loud, but then again, he was the king of pop—don’t you ever forget that. The tour was fantastic and reinforced just how beautiful this city and the surrounding areas are. Such natural beauty abounds—I’m really hoping I don’t get used to it.

Monday morning marked the beginning of what would turn out to be the second most exciting road trip of my life. No worries Mark and Lavi, nothing will top the trip cross-country. After lots of organizational nonsense (the size of our group seemed to change every hour leading up to the trip) we were able to rent a car and myself, Ariel (a friend from Wash U), Max (my flat-mate), and the two Chrises were on the road, the Fugees blaring the streets of Mowbry. I had combed my guidebooks and booked some hostels, but we left with only a broad outline of what we wanted to do. The route we followed is called the Garden Route, and consists of lots of beautiful scenery and small beach towns, so we weren’t too worried about finding things to do. The first stop on Monday was Worcester, South Africa. As soon as I heard that my sister city was only an hour and a half from Cape Town, I knew it had to be visited. Worcester was a quaint little farm town, situated in a beautiful valley. We managed to make our way to the “Worcester Farm Museum” where we were greeted warmly by the woman working there. She happily poured us free shots of the brandy and liqueur that they make on the farm and told us about life in Worcester. I was ecstatic with the stop and even bought a hand towel with a picture of an ostrich (I’ll explain in a bit) and the word “Worcester” embroidered on it. (A note to all Worcesterites—they pronounce it the same too!)

After Worcester, we headed off through lush vineyards and stunning mountain passes on scenic route 62 toward Oudtshoorn, Ostrich capital of the world. Oudtshoorn is a small town about an hour and a half inland that became famous for breeding ostriches. Ostrich farms fill the surrounding valley, the gangly creatures staring at you inquisitively as you drive by. After a delicious dinner of Ostrich steak (it’s actually quite tender and delicious), a night at a quant little hostel in town, and a complementary breakfast of scrambled ostrich eggs (fun fact: an ostrich egg could fit 24 chicken eggs inside of it), we were off to explore this quirky little place. Our fist stop was Highgate Ostrich Farm, a tourist’s dream, where we got a private tour of the farm, were able to stand on ostrich eggs (they’re crazy strong), and wait for it…. wait for it… ride an ostrich! Needless to say, the riding was the highlight. You mount the bird from the back (let’s be adults now) on a little set of stairs as the attendants put a bag over its head to calm it down (can’t imagine how that would calm it down, but then again they are very stupid birds). As I got on, the attendant turned to me and said, “You must be very quick.” I looked at him for more advice and was greeted with silence. To ride the birds you sit on their backs and hold on to their wigs and lean back, then the attended smacks the big beast in the behind and it starts running. I can’t imagine staying on a bull is much more difficult, in fact, the only way to get off the bird is to fall off, but I think I make at the very least a respectable ostrich jokey. The rest of the afternoon was spent at the Cango Caves, a series of really neat caves (which I would have probably enjoyed more had the tour guide not been such an ostrich) and the evening under a waterfall we happened upon 15 km down a dirt road.

Monday night we drove to Plettenberg Bay, officially entering the garden route, and stayed at “Starling Backpackers” the sort of place where sitcoms are born. The cast of characters that we met at this place was fantastic and led to a lively night around the fire pit and the bar. Vicky and her husband run the place—after traveling all over the country they chose Plettenberg to open their hostel. They were thoroughly South African in character—thick accents, incredibly hospitable, and very laid back. Also at the hostel was Gustavo, a 25-year-old Brazilian man who could barely speak English, but was nonetheless not deterred from cracking jokes all night. It was his first night on the job and Vicky had given to him an apron to wear as a “uniform.” The apron actually had a fake penis attached to it, so everyone burst into laughter as Gus scurried around the room yelling in his broken English that he didn’t know how to make the drinks we were ordering. The final character that shouldn’t be left out was Trevor, a professional skydiver who had jumped out a plane literally thousands of times, and who kept egging on Gustavo’s antics. The night was spent with our small group, the locals, a few other travelers, and one confused Brazilian talking and drinking around the fire. It was one of those nights that will live on in memory for a very long time.

The following day we headed out in the morning to Monkeyland, a primate sanctuary 20km from the city. Monkeyland is no zoo—the monkeys roam free in a large forest—but is a monkey lover like myself’s dream. There are monkeys from all over the world that roam the sanctuary and they swing from the trees and scurry between your feet as you walk through the forest. Our tour guide explained about the social dynamics of this monkey kingdom (which monkeys were in charge, which of the females were considered the hotties, that sort of thing) as I walked around eyes gapping at how friggin cool the moneys were. I may have found a job for the year after I graduate: Howie Rudnick, ranger at Monkeyland.

After Monkeyland, we dropped off two members of the group who weren’t quite up for our next adventure to go kayaking at a nearby river, and Ariel, Chris S., and I headed to the Bloukrans Bridge, ready (or as ready as I was ever going to be) to jump off of it. I had initially hoped to go skydiving in Plettenberg, but as Trevor had informed us the night before, the plane was out of commission for the week, so I let Ariel convince me to go bungee jumping. We psyched each other up and decided we had to do it. Driving over the bridge, as we pulled in, I couldn’t believe I was actually going to do it. Jumping off a bridge is lunacy, the sort of human pastime that makes you wonder why a smarter species hasn’t evolved yet. But despite my reservations, waking up in the morning knowing I was about to do the craziest thing I had ever done was invigorating in a way I had never felt before. The walk out to the middle of the bridge was rough, looking down into the ravine, it was hard to imagine willingly throwing myself off the bridge, but by the time we got to the waiting area in the middle of the bridge, I had psyched myself up enough. The attendants were blasting music and dancing, trying to keep the nerves at bay, and one by one I watched as the people in front of me jumped off the more than 700 foot bridge (the highest bungee jumping location on the planet) and came back alive. (Mother, now is when you thank me for not telling you I was going to do this before I did it). The whole event was caught on video which I am sure I will show all of you in good time, (or you can see someone else do it on YouTube if you’re impatient) so you can judge for yourselves how scared you think I was, but honestly seeing how much everyone else had enjoyed it calmed my nerves quite a bit. The only moment of terror was the second before I jumped as the attendants began the five-second count down. So how can I describe the feeling of freefalling? Well, I keep replaying the feeling in my head, and honestly it was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. There was a sort of freedom and weightlessness that I’ve never felt, and a certain serenity if you can believe it. I’ve never felt more empowered, even as I was putting my life in a stranger’s hands for the first time. I don’t think heights can scare me anymore. It was unreal. Unbelievable. One of the most fun things I’ve ever done. You all have to try it!

After soaking in the glory of our jump, Ariel, Chris, and I rejoined the group and headed to the second hostel we had booked, also in Plettenberg, but this time right in town. Turns out I only spent a few minutes in the hostel, because after a few hours in town, we decided we should go back to the first hostel to join some friends who we had recommended it to and to see our friends at Starling Backpackers. When we got back, we were greeted with cheers and quickly joined in the festive atmosphere. Vicky and her husband had left town for a few days so Hercules, the man in charge when they’re out, was running the show. A former gang member, Hercules was incredibly friendly and hospitable. He offered us to stay in the same rooms we had the night before for free, and even sent us on our way with a special treat the following morning. In the morning, when we returned to the hostel that we had paid not to sleep in, they looked at us quizzically as we gathered our belongings and left. The drive back, along the coast this time, was also stunning, though markedly different from the drive through the mountains, and we got back to Cape Town in time to return the car before the rental place closed. An epic trip along the southern coast of the continent if I do say so myself.

Now it’s Friday afternoon and I’m off to enjoy the weekend in Cape Town before classes officially start Monday—maybe I’ll even get a breath in.