Cultural Immersion of the Best Variety: Stormers Game, Mowbray Pub Crawl, and Liesbeeck Party

So the last couple of weeks have been busier with work than I would have liked. Yes indeed, I do have schoolwork done here despite it’s glaring absence in my blog. Despite being pretty busy writing papers on everything from Shaka Zulu the famous 19th century king of the Zulu, to the private security industry in South Africa, to the development of a South African dance aesthetic (yeah, you can laugh about that one) I have managed to have a good time on the weekends and actually spent a great deal of time with the locals.

Starting last Friday night, April 30th, the shenanigans with the locals commenced as I went to my second Stormers game of the year. They’re the beloved local professional rugby team and are currently in an ongoing heated battle for the championship. We managed to get standing room tickets to the game, which was played against the Crusaders, who at the time were tied with them for second in the league. The night was one of debauchery typical of rugby games as we spent nearly the entire second half of the game in the pub at the stadium chatting and cheering with a number of middle-aged colored men who were huge Stormers fans. Amidst the jeers we talked with them about rugby and their love for the city and the team. Many bellies were bumped. The Stormers won handily.

(The Crew Before Heading Out on the Pub Crawl)

The next morning came the much anticipated Mowbray pub crawl that my friend Pat and I had organized. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of a pub crawl, the basic idea is that you go from one bar to another in the same neighborhood, having a drink or two at each bar. We had gone to a number of the places in the days leading up the crawl and they awaited the arrival of 15 or so of us from Liesbeeck who all donned our Liesbeeck t-shirts for the occasion. The crawl began at The Fat Cactus, a tex-mex restaurant with pretty good margaritas and better food (for South Africa of course). Next came “The Greek” our favorite local eating joint (The shawarma royale has gained legendary status in my circle of friends) which isn’t exactly the type of place for a pub crawl, but we love it so much we needed to include it, so we each had a glass of wine there.

(How Could We Forget About The Greek)

From there it was off to African Rest, Champs on Main, and Champs of Vic, all three of which are not used to seeing white Americans or any white folk for that matter in their bars. In African Rest we had an amazing time dancing and partying with the African men who were there. Outside the sun still shone but inside the bar pumped with music dancing. We met nearly every person in the bar including the Djs. We told them we were planning a party for the following week that they should come play at. They were very excited at the prospect and Pat exchanged numbers with them. Everyone in the bar was genuinely excited that we were there, super friendly, and eager to talk with us. As Americans, the color of our skin doesn’t come with the same baggage that it does for South Africans. It’s been my experience that many working class black Africans make a real distinction between white Americans and white South Africans. They are eager to meet us and find us new and interesting, whereas they are hesitant to meet white South Africans whom they suspect are racist or look down on them. I by no means what to paint of picture that all black Africans think white South Africans are racists, I just want to stress that being white and American means something very different for some people than being white and South African does.

Hanging out at African Rest...
Notice the Elephant and Cheetah Painted on the Wall

The night ended with a trip over to Obs for some KFC where I had a long conversation with two local students in line for our chicken and who gave Elle, David, and I a ride back to Liesbeeck afterward. The crawl was so much fun. I only wish you could picture what a crowd of 15 Americans walking through the working class neighborhood of Mowbray in the middle of the afternoon wearing matching t-shirts looked like. Everyone on the streets starred in confusion as we reveled in excitement representing the neighborhood that despite its grunginess has grown near and dear to our hearts for its character and acquired the endearing nickname of Mowbreezy.

That brings us to this weekend. For the second time this semester my flatmates and I hosted a party, which gathered quite an eclectic group of people. Americans, European exchange students, and Africans shared conversation and Black Label in our small apartment (until ultimately the party was shut down for noise complaints). The best part of the whole affair is that we were actually able to get the Djs from African Rest (all four of them) to come set up their equipment in our apartment and spin their jams. The guys were ecstatic to be invited to the party and as was soon revealed to me in a conversation with them, it meant a great deal to them to be there. Dj Vuysi explained to me that they had just started playing at African Rest a few weeks ago and that they weren’t paid to play. They live in Khayelitsha and take the train every weekend day with all their equipment to Mowbray to play for free in hope of getting a paying gig sometime soon. The owner of the bar only pays their (very cheap) train fare. Vuysi explained to me that they were all so excited to meet us and so thankful that we’d given them an opportunity to play. More than anything it seemed as if he was just happy we were hanging out. In a moment that really hit home, he told me that we were the first white people he’d ever met who’d wanted him around. Wow.

The Desert is Ablaze: AfrikaBurn

It was Saturday morning April 24th. We had just finished stuffing every last loaf of bread and bottle of water into the tiny truck of our radio-less manual rental car and were finally off on the five hour drive to our latest adventure. AfrikaBurn is an annual self proclaimed “creative arts and freedom of expression festival” held in the middle of the desert about halfway along the longest stretch of road in South Africa without a town. We’d heard various tid bits about it through the grapevine but as we left Cape Town that morning only really knew that we were going into the desert and that we were going to see some pretty sweet things burn.


The drive north was quiet (no radio) as we eagerly anticipated the festival. On the way we popped a tire, allowing me a second opportunity this semester to show off the ‘ol Rudnick handy-man capabilities (and who says Jewish men are hopeless when it comes to fixing things). When we finally arrived we invited to get out of our cars and ring the “virgin bell” a massive chime made of random metal objects, announcing the arrival of more first timers to the festival. The makeshift village that had been set up stretched in a large half circle around various installations (which I would later find out were all going to be burned down). The people who made their way in and out of the various tents that made up the half circle were dressed in all sorts of strange clothing. We had arrived. As we pulled in we turned off the car to stop for a moment and see where the car of girls was (Pat, Max, Marshall, and I drove together and Lilly, Becca, Farley, Elle, and Haleigh caravanned alongside in another car). We’re still not exactly sure how it happened, but in the process of taking the key out of the ignition, the key cracked down the middle. Now I’ve never see a key crack before, but I’m in Africa so I’ve grown to expect the unexpected. Anyhow, we found the girls, put the car in neutral, and pushed it to a spot that we decided would be suitable to set up camp. By the time we got there and got our things set up the sun was setting and we decided we weren’t leaving until Tuesday morning so we’d figure out what do due about the key the next day.

(Flat Tire)

(Our Makeshift Camp)

After making some sandwiches for dinner, the party began. We spent the night roaming around the various tents in the village. Some were low key with people just hanging out, others had DJ’s and were packed with raging dancers. My favorite was one of the dancing tents that looked like a giant octopus. Everywhere I went this one cubby topless woman kept appearing with glow sticks wrapped around her breasts. You know, the kind they give out at bar mitzvahs that as kids we used to wrap around our arms and legs and head and necks. I always was amazed by how many ways kids managed to wrap a glow stick. Now I’ll be honest she was not by any means attractive but the glow sticks made it hard to look away. It was clear everyone had come to have a good time.

The next morning we awoke and donned the vests I had bought at a second hand store in Mowbray a couple of days earlier for the occasion. The vests were made of the same material as kitchen mitts and were covered in designs of various African animal skins. I had gone to the store to find something strange for my boys and I to wear at the festival, needless to say the vests were perfect. After having our faces painted with African-looking designs by the girls, we wandered around talking to people and seeing the variety of tents in the village. I added a small design to a beautiful communal mural that was being painted (I decided after the fact that I had drawn a dove) and inquisitively wandered around in my vest and sunglasses as the Africa sun beat down on my bare chest.

(The Boys in Our Vests)

(Getting My Face Painted by Lilly)

After spending a few hours talking to people and enjoying the village we decided to try and find someone who was working for the festival to see if they could help us out with our car. After talking to a few people, one guy directed us to jump on his enormous man trike and drove us back over to our car. The trike was covered in metal spikes and looked like something Doc Brown from Back to the Future had made. In one swift movement the man broke off the end piece of the key that at this point was just hanging on, and shoved it into the ignition. He then pulled out a screwdriver from his pocket and used it to start the car. Great success! We were going to leave the desert alive. After the car problem had been solved I went and took a long celebratory nap and woke up as the sun was setting. Deciding it was too much effort to cook the mac and cheese we’d brought for dinner, we ate biltong and NikNak sandwiches and began the festivities once again. As the evening began, the first controlled burning began and a new burning followed every forty five minutes or so as the night rolled on. The fiery displays, ranging from a massive wooden ball with giant wooden men standing on it to a swinging pendulum of fire, organized by the festival personnel were incredible and one stretched what seemed like 100 feet into the sky. I gazed in awe at the fire as a handful of naked men and women interspersed a crowd of people who danced around the flames. I’ve often found myself memorized staring into camp fires, so these enormous fires left me speechless. We spent the entire night migrating from fire to fire like insects to the light. The final display I watched from a distance, standing on top of a pyramid of huge Lego blocks next to a giant version of the Lego man that had been constructed in the middle of the village. As the fire died down, we decided that we needed to make a fire of our own and gathered some spare wood and headed back to our car where we used the lamp oil we had bought to set our little pile ablaze. What an evening.

(Revisiting the Lego Man the Morning After)


(The Crew)

The next morning we packed up and after spending a little more time wandering around the village headed back to Cape Town. Now just our luck, in order to open the hatch for the gas tank you needed to use the key, so as we left we knew we needed to get more than 500 kilometers on whatever gas we had in the tank. As we left the gauge read that the tank was near full, but it hadn’t changed in a while and we wondered how accurate it really was. As we got close to Mowbray and our beloved Liesbeeck, the gaslight went on and short after the gauge hit empty. Now it was already dark and this point and we were pretty worried about what would happen if we ran out of gas at night outside of the townships we were passing. Somehow we made it back to Liesbeeck without running out of gas. Wowzers, that could have gone horribly wrong, but thanks to mother Afrika another crazy adventure was in the books.

Note: So the camera has been out of commission for a while and I haven't managed to get it fixed yet, so most of these pictures weren't taken by me. Alot of the really sweet ones were taken by my friend Becca. Just didn't want to be taking credit for someone else's work...