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.