"I Went in Through the Window"

One of the joys of living in a post-apartheid state is realizing that you are surrounded by silent activists. Sure, these people exist in every country and come from every walk of life, but we are more likely to hear about people that choose to make a cause their life than people that have been forced to take up a cause as a part of everyday life.

Cato Manor has a past of activists by necessity. During Cato Manor’s early days, women stumbled into activism when the state tried to ban shebeens (informal bars run by women) and replace them with state bars. The women responded by organizing on Sundays (Zulu men like to drink after church), storming in to the government bars, and driving the men out with force and more creative tactics like dunking their underwear in the beer vats.



Fast forward a few years and Cato Manor has been torn down. Its African and Indian residents have been moved to different townships. Fast forward a few more years (about fifteen years ago) and Cato Manor is being rebuilt as an Indian township. Families have already deposited money on all of the houses and some lucky ones were already moved in. That’s when legend has it that Nelson Mandela and the rest of the ANC told the Zulu mamas to move on in.

Mama Busi, one of the host mamas said, “There were lots of houses for the Indians and no houses for us. So we took them…My sister needed a house so I took two.” I asked my mama how she got her house and she said, “I went in through the window. Nelson Mandela told us to.” This happened around two in the afternoon, as mamas walked from Chesterville, a township on the other side of town. Mama Dudu said that they looked in the windows, “and walked away very slowly if there was a family inside” until they found an empty house. One mama couldn’t find a key so she used the window as a door for a year. Few had water or electricity hooked up so some went to neighbors’ houses and some went back and forth between old houses and new houses for a few years.

Today I met another accidental activist when we visited an AIDS and cancer day clinic. Zandile went through full-blown AIDS and is back on her feet, talking to people in clinics and even people on the radio about HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment. Unfortunately, she was pregnant with her last child before Nevirapine was readily available to prevent vertical transmission of HIV, so her daughter now has the virus. She said, “I had trouble telling my daughter she had to start ARV. But because I was talking about myself [and my HIV+ status] it was better.” Now Zandile is a community health worker that supports HIV+ children, encouraging them to take their medication.

Many more accidental activists to come, I am sure.

I Bless the Rains Down in Africa

This weekend was a crash-course in the South African Wild Coast. Some crashed harder than others.

Of course every pseudo-tragic story must begin with a sunlit walk in the park or stroll in the bush, as the case here may be. The original plan was to spend Friday and Saturday camping in Mboyje (spelling there is questionable) and to spend the next two days hanging out with host families in Gwexlintaba (spelling there is also questionable) attempting to merge our limited Zulu skills with their language that combines Zulu, Xhosa, and Afrikaans.



The first day and a half worked out swimmingly. Saint Valentine (or perhaps just Zed, our program director) blessed us with a lovely six hour hike. Although it wasn’t too taxing, it was still quite impressive that our guide was able to navigate the entire thing in a pair of Birkenstocks.



After about an hour and a half we made our way to this beautiful outcrop where we snacked on some cheese sandwiches before heading over to Waterfall Bluff. This was a beautiful sight to behold despite the slightly grey day. It is one of only 5 or 6 (depending on your source) waterfalls that feeds directly into the ocean and the only one (sources all agree here) of this kind in Africa.




We took our lunch (one of the best PB&J sandwiches I’ve had in recent memory) at a beautiful pool created as this waterfall wanders down to the ocean. We even took a dip while we were there that cooled us off for the rest of the hike.



We found out on our way back that most of the people passing us on the trail were going to look for a girl that had been collecting mussels and had been swept away by the strong tides in the cove.

That night and into the morning, our lovely hiking weather turned into not-possible-to-access-village-with-its-dirt-roads-and-bolders-on-said-dirt-roads weather. Needless to say, we checked into the nearest Backpackers and tucked in for a quiet night. We thought. (Can you hear the suspenseful music now?) Round about 11 at night when we were all tucked into bed (did I mention we’re used to going to bed at 9…this was a crazy night) the first man went down. From there, about every half an hour another person mad a mad dash to the bathroom to relieve themselves from one or both ends. (I'm in a health program so you get to read this stuff.) I got off with just one round of vomiting, but was still in our make-shift infirmary (aka the couches) all night.

The next day, we discovered that about half of us were sick, so we stayed behind for another night in the hostel while the others went to the village. While we were bummed to stay behind, we were at least glad that we weren't like the unlucky ones that got sick when they went to the village. The hostel nursed us back to health (although the bartender couldn't seem to get it through his head that we weren't hung over and that no hangover could possibly incapacitate us like that) and we were good to head back to home sweet Cato yesterday! I think Mama was so happy to see me she forgot to be disappointed that I could only eat 1/2 a spoon.

Lessons learned: don't drink the water when it's raining.

Meatloaf Hops the Pond

Usually, we chow down on some variation of African curry with chicken (think mixed veggies, gravy, and chicken living in happy stovetop harmony) with pap (imagine if grits could be prepared in dry mashed potato form but be derived from corn) in Cato, but last night I got to play chef! I decided on meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and broccoli: the epitome of Midwest American fine cuisine. Everything turned out fantastically although I kept on confusing my family by refusing to call catsup tomato sauce. I even got my twelve year old sister to say that she liked the broccoli. (Whether that was truthful or not is another matter!)

Food in Cato is not done “family style” where everyone makes their own plate, but one person dishes in the kitchen and brings the food out to the rest of the family. I can’t tell how much of this is due to the fact that tables are actually coffee tables in living rooms (due to lack of space for separate seating) and how much of this is due to tradition. Either way, the disher (usually a younger member of the family) asks everyone else “how many spoons” they want to find out how hungry they are. (This led to much confusion on my part the first time I was asked.) The number of spoons is the number of (huge!) spoons of rice/pap/other starch you want on your plate and everyone gets roughly the same amount of curry after that. At first I was amazed at how much my family members ate (mama regularly gets 4-6 spoons which makes for a 3-dimensionally heaping plate), but have since realized that they don’t usually eat much during the day, so huge amounts of starch are good, cheap energy.

That aside aside (bad puns like these are the reason why I should not be allowed a blog), mama had about 4 spoons last night (and two pieces of meatloaf) and happily declared afterward, “That was good. I want more!” I think it was a success!

P.S. It was hilarious a) to see super American food sitting on the coffee table last night while we watched the news in Zulu and b) to see my host sister look for forks for 5 minutes because she insisted that we had to eat my food with a fork.

A Day in the Life

A lot of my life right now is just settling into the same routine so, given a lack of new and exciting events to share, here’s my day to day life:

*Wake up at 6:10, dash to the kitchen so that if mama Lucy made porridge (cream of wheat or oatmeal) I can dish my own and put WAY less (full cream) milk and sugar on than she would.

*Grab the pot of hot water mama has so kindly heated on the stove for me, dump it in the bath tub, and add an appropriate amount of cold water for a refreshing (sponge-ish) bath.

*Grab my stuff and head across the street to walk with Katie P. (my house is the one on the left and this picture was taken while waiting for Katie)to the pickup point and eagerly await Thula’s arrival.



*At 8:30 classes start. Zulu language class and a lecture by the one and only Kathy alternate between filling the first two hour time slot. Chances are either way, we are ready for a break by the time lunch rolls around as Zulu leaves our tongues twisted and Kathy leaves our minds twisted. (She’s fond of speaking of the BARKING MADNESS of history.)

*Lunch time comes at 1 so the kitchen gets nice and crowded before people migrate to the pool or take a stroll around the neighborhood.



*Afternoon lecture starts at 2. Here is when we usually have guest lecturers or field trips. By the time lecture is over, we have a little down time, then it’s time to go back to Cato Manor!

*Walking back in the afternoon is an experience, as all of the kids are home from school and we are usually greeted with a chorus of “Hello!”. (For some reason they are so determined to speak English to us and we’re so determined to speak Zulu to them.) I’m always greeted by my little brother Simphiwe running out of the door to say hello while Londiwe waits inside.



*Dinner usually comes around 6:30 which is conveniently time for Rhythm City, a fantastic soapie (aka soap opera). The big drama now is that Stone left his girlfriend/fiancé/wife at the alter of the in church wedding after going through the Zulu wedding because he couldn’t deny any longer that he was in love with his best (man) friend. Every episode, a lot of snot runs down is face. Then comes the evening news, and GENERATIONS, the biggest soapie in South Africa. I can’t even start to explain how wonderfully bad it is. It will truly be missed back in the States.

*After that it’s just homework time and then I make my Zulu teachers proud by declaring, “Ngidinga ukulale!” (I need to sleep!) before heading to bed!

This may sound unglamorous at best and boring at worst, but Zed (our program director) would back me in saying that the true gems of experience are found in the everyday.

Umdeni wami wakwaZulu Natal (My kwaZulu Natal Family)

I’ve been living with my homestay family in Cato Manor (a township in KZN that was torn down during apartheid due to too much racial mixing but was rebuilt by Mandela et al.) for a week now. We originally just got a basic information sheet, so I knew that I was going to be staying with mama Lucy who had an 12-year old granddaughter Londiwe (pronounced LawnDEEway). Needless to say, we were all nervous, having so little information and isiZulu language comprehension skills. As Thula (our trusty program administrative assistant/language teacher/comic relief/driver) snaked through Cato Manor and dropped off girls, our butterflies calmed down when we saw girl after girl getting a warm reception from their mama. (They were told beforehand that us Americans like hugs!)

When my turn came I was surprised, excited, and (let’s be honest) a little scared to see an adorable two year old greeting me. (This was not on the information sheet!) It turns out that two year old Simphwe (pronounced SimPEEway) and his mom Nobuhle (NoBUHle…but the hl makes a spitty retainer sound) have been living with mama Lucy (who is actually Nobuhle’s aunt).

I have a hunch that Mama Lucy is actually one of the coolest people I will get to know on this trip, but it’s going to be hard work to prove it. She has basic English skills, but I struggle with talking just with her because Londiwe is fluent and much easier to converse with. (Obviously I haven’t gotten past “Hi. How are you?” in Zulu.)

Last week though I had two great break-throughs. The first was initiated by mama who brought out her old apartheid-era passbook, some glasses lens cleaner (thanks!), and a catalogue of items made by an artists’ collective she’s a part of. She is (Bridget, get ready to be way jealous) in charge of making crocheted items out of used plastic bags. I tried to make the point that I want to learn really, really, really bad. Hopefully we can work that out. On top of that inconsistent income, she receives a government stipend for caring for Londiwe (whose father passed away eight years ago), money from SIT for taking in students (I’m her fourth), and money from her informal business of icy-pop selling out of the freezer (milkshake mix + water + sugar put in a sandwich bag and frozen…yum!).

The second great break-through was going to church with mama Lucy. That woman knows how to do church! When we were walking to church, I saw mama more excited than I had yet. She practically ran to the man recording the announcements to tell him that I was a guest (everyone in the church said “Obama Obama” when they found out that I was from the States) before rushing me to a seat. She’s a part of the special church ladies that dance in and out a few times (Mama knows how to get down!) so she joined me after a few minutes. She was sure to point out where we were in the service order book so I could stumble along in bad Zulu and grabbed my hand to dance with her at the end of the service.

Hopefully I can hop over to an internet café sometime and upload some pictures, but suffice to say that my family is fantastic!