Week Seven: Activism and Academia

Molo! Family and Friends!

Forgive my tardiness! I know I usually have this in your boxes by the morning, but schoolwork is really picking up. We're ending the first quarter and our 10 day VAC (Fall Break) is just around the corner--next week. I'm going to Durban which is on the eastern side of the country! I leave this Friday evening (so no week 8 update) and I'll return to Cape Town next Friday just in time for the International Jazz Festival March 28th-29th!

So this week:

I had the pleasure of going to a play on Saturday that was produced out of the University of the Western Cape (UWC), a historically black and coloured university, by Mary Hames, the Director of the Gender Equity Unit at UWC, apartheid activist and feminist scholar.

Hames produced, performed in and wrote some of the pieces featured in the play, "Reclaiming the P Word." It was South African women's take on the Vagina Monolgues if you're familiar with that production. It's wonderful because it really encourages women to take back their bodies from these patriarchal notions we have about femininity and pleasure and self worth and just reclaim... the P word.

**commercial break** I met the cutest baby at the theater. Her name was Nika. Her mother ran the theater so as people started to file in for the performance, she asked me to hold Nika for a while. I obliged and was taken by this little girl. She was trying to eat my finger and my cell phone and my programme. Toward the end of our time together she spit up on my jeans... awwww. Soooo cute! Her older cousin/sister cleaned me up.

Ok back to the show: After the amazing performance I went up to introduce myself to Mary Hames because I thought she was the coolest person ever. I didn't realize that I'd see her today in my class! She was a special lecturer in my gender course. She remembered me. She sent a smile my way and went on with her lecture about "the university as a site of resistence.'

The academy is an interesting institution. There are very historic (perhaps prehistoric) ways we think about learning: who should have access to it, what it's uses are and why we need it. Hames is currently working on organising women students around their reproductive health rights.

Does it make sense that at a university where there are free condoms everywhere, they make the morning after pill very very available and they preach safe sex, that there are no policies or accommodations for female students who do get pregnant and want to remain in school? Does having a baby automatically mean that you are unfit to be a student?

I mean, in the first public high school I went to, a predominately black school--where teen pregnancy was real--there was a day care facility on campus for young women who had children; and people who were going into early childhood education were the teachers and were able to get hours toward their degrees.

Honestly before Mary mentioned it and posed those questions it never even occured to me that women should be able to have children whenever they want to. Who says that a university isn't a place for mothers? Who made that rule? And how can we begin to have a discussion about its implications on women.

Fascinating woman, Mary Hames. Probably the coolest South African person I have met to date. She said "not many people prescribe to myr type of feminism. It requires real commitment. It's 24/7."

Her and Elaine Salo challenged the class to really consider the way we view intellectual labor. Are we here in academia to write articles and get published internationally, and have people cite us in their papers, write a few books... or do we have a greater responsibility? Especially in a South African context where there is a void in the area of struggle and resistence. It's a time when there is a real need for activist and scholars--activist schoalrs who do more than tell someone's story. They help that someone to write their own story.

This week has been filled with learning about learning. I have had the opportunity to engage with my professors and lecturers and classmates around issues that are being parsed out in the classroom. Really figuring out how the academy, the tower, higher learning, i.e. these degrees I'm earning, are going to be useful to people other than myself.

I have so much to be angry about: Bush. This trillion dollar war in Iraq. Poverty in America. The racial and gender inequality that still exists; that the Civil Rights Act and Affirmative Action can't fix.... I could go on and on, but what am I doing to make change? How do I want to actively be apart of finding solutions in the near future?

One Love

--
"Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning." Maya Angelou

Week Six: Introspection

Hello, hello! Family and Friends!

I've been having to deal with a lot of big girl decisions this week.
Lot of thinking about my future and what's next after this experience
and how I'm going to use this experience and just a lot of
introspection into the person I want to be after all this is done.
Thinking about different ways I'm being myself here. Thinking about
how different I may be when I return to the states, but also thinking
about ways that won't change.

I do know that I'm applying for graduate school at GW. A 5 year
Master of Arts in Public Policy/ Bachelor of Arts in Women's Studies
program that will allow me to take graduate course in my senior year
that count towards both degrees and then leave 24 credits of my M.A.
for me to complete in the 5th year. It shaves off a couple years of
the graduate degree and saves me some time and money. I had been
questioning whether or not I could pull something like this off, what
if it's too much... Do I want to spend another year in D.C.? Where do
I want to live? Those type questions. I can't believe that this is
my last semester before my senior year in college! AAAAHHHH! I'm
hyperventalating as I'm writing this and hoping for some advise on
what I should do in the last year to make sure I can get a job after I
graduate.

Oh, I'm sorry I haven't even mentioned South Africa yet and that's what this is about...

Let me see: I had a wonderful dinner last Thursday with some Zimbabwean women and one South African woman. She hangs out with the Zim women but makes sure that everyone in a 5 km radius knows that she is in fact from SA, Jo'burg to be exact. Two of the women I met, Serena and Nyasha are related. Nyasha is a few months younger than Serena but she's Serena's grandmother. What is stranger than that is that I didn't think that was odd. I just said, "Serena, respect your elders. Will you get your grandmother some more rice."

I had dinner on Saturday, March 8th International Women's Day at
Kath's house. Met some wonderful people there as well. Had kudu for
dinner. Kudu is a wild buck with curly horns that someone has to
shoot in the wild in order for you to have the meat but it's at the
Pick n' Pay and costs less than steak. I told Peter, Kath's husband,
that I'd tell people he actually killed the kudu we had for dinner
so... Peter actually stood out on his deck and shot the kudu that was
running through the hedges, skinned it, and then cooked it to
perfection.

I had a pretty slow week. Lot's of papers due this week and next (okay two), but it feel like a lot. I suppose I don't have much of a right to say anything since most people are in the midst of midterms and I get to bed by 10pm every night.

Anyway, I hope you have some time to introspect and do some thinking about what you want for yourself in the next few years. It's a good practice to do every now and again: inspect where you are, where you've been and where you want to go.

One Love!

--
"Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human
voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning." Maya Angelou

Week Five: Humanity

Molo Family and Friends:

This past week has been one in which I won't ever stop feeling. I'll preface: Last week I had a very moving and emotional experience. I share it for no other purpose than to remind you that I am living in a place where the reality for a lot of people is that life is cruel and harsh, and sometimes humans are brutal to one another for reasons beyond the comprehension of most of us.

Last week Wednesday I was taking my weekly trip to the Rape Crisis Center. I had just planned to do some reading. Take a look at this resource cabinet I'd heard so much about. I walked in and the place was pretty quiet. The regular receptionist wasn't there, but the woman who was there informed me that no was there; all the staff was at a meeting in Khayletia which is a predominately black township where there is another Rape Crisis center. I told her that I was just there to read for a couple hours and I did just that. I made myself some Rooibos tea and dug through the resource cabinet which had surpassed all my expectations. There were so much there about constructions of race and gender violence, historiographies of rape in varying cultural contexts, studies done by women's research organizations, materials to help counsellors of sexually abused children; just a wealth of information. After my second cup of Rooibos, I packed up and returned the materials to the cabinet and made my exit.

As I was walking toward the main rd, not ten steps out of the door of Rape Crisis I run into an older woman, a teenaged girl, and two very active children not older than 5. The woman asked me if I worked there as she pointed to the Rape Crisis house. I told her no, but I was doing some research and voluneer work there. She then starts talking to me in one of South Africa's 12 official languages cleary just venting. Her eyes were sad and her arms looked tired from carrying
these two small children around but I stopped her telling her that I only spoke English. She looked somewhat annoyed that she couldn't use her first language, but she was perfectly fluent in English.

She tells me her story: Her daughter, the teenaged girl was raped and either the hospital or trauma center directed her to this place. She told me that the daughter had not had any services provided to her: no AIDS/HIV test, no pregnancy testing, no emergency contraception, no rape kit, nothing. She said that they only came here because they were told that they could get help here but the receptionist inside said that there was no one there who could help them and that the daughter should go to the Wynberg where I guessed there was another crisis center for rape survivors. I told her that I wasn't sure what I could do, because I didn't work there and the woman was right there was no one there and I had no idea if or when they were due back. It was
already 1 o'clock. She looked at me with frustrated and confussed eyes and the daughter couldn't look at me at all. In fact, she kept her back turned and her hood on her jacket up.

I felt my stomach clinch and my eyes burn from holding back my own frustration and guilt. I didn't know what to do. I asked the mother what she needed. She said that they were stranded. She said that she had to go pick up her son from school and get back to where they lived which was in Town. They only came there because they were told that someone would be able to help them. Provide them resources. Tell them what to do next. Provide the girl with some counselling. The mother told me that she wasn't working but the daughter was to start work on Friday and she wanted to have all this "stuff" taken care of before she started so she didn't have to take time off. I asked her again what she needed. She said money. I told her that they could wait inside for the staff to return. The mother was clearly getting more frustrated and she was done with me at that point. She said that she wanted her daughter to go to Wynberg to the crisis center but she needed to go get her son and take her girls home.

Transportation around Cape Town is expensive on a budget of zero. From Obz to Town is R4 for one, but she has two kids plus one she'd have to pick up which would be R16. Her daughter needed to go to Wynberg which would've been R6 one way but to get her back to Town from there could be up to R10.

She looked at me begging me not for money but to just tell her what to do. I told her that there was nothing that I knew to do. I didn't know what she should do. She said to me, "I only stopped you because you were human..."

She dismissed me and I walked away toward the main rd. I was crying inside but I already knew what I was going to do. I went straight to the nearest gas station which was less than a block away, I pulled out my weekly ration and I walked back to where the mother and her kids were. The mother had stopped another woman and was talking to her. The teenaged daughter was posting against the wall, her hood up and her head down. As I was walking toward them she looked up at me. I called her over. Her mother didn't even notice I was there. I took out the money I had to give saving only enough to buy a phone card so I could call my mother. I put it her hand and it was the first time she looked in my eyes.

My god: she looked like me, like you, like anyone of my friends, my cousin, my sister, my mother She was a human being. I put the money in her hand her and we held on to each other for a moment and I just felt her pain and her sadness and I still do.

I rushed back to school and I called my mother. I was so upset. I put my hood up at the pay phone and I let the tears roll down my face as my mother consoled me. I sent up a prayer that evening for that young woman's strength and for her triumph over the forces that seek to break her spirit. I hope you'll do the same.

No afterward.

Week Four: Conversations.... Words... Discourses

Family, Friends…

Dialogue. Speech. The power of words. The power of silence. These are the things that I learned this week. I read Yvonne Vera's Under the Tongue this past week. Vera is a Zimbabwean woman writing in a post-independence Zimbabwe and really challenging the notion of "freedom for everyone." It's a story about incest and secrets and silence and the ways in which women in that country are expected to carry the burdens of keeping these horrible things that men do to them; these things that keep their spirits captive. I won't do a full book report, but if you can find an Yvonne Vera book I'm certain you'll find it challenging and enjoyable.

So, it was the first full week of classes. The work is picking up and the pace is getting set and I'm finally meeting African people. I say African not as a monolithic term as if there is some unifying aspect of skin color, culture or language that makes the people I've met 'African' instead I use it to distinguish them from the 'American' students which I do use as a monolithic term to describe what sometimes feels like a homogeneous group of individuals I am studying abroad with. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm getting too heady. It's being back in school. My brain works again.

About the people I've met. I've met Kim, a white South African woman from Johannesburg. Peggy, a Chinese Canadian woman. Mashudu and Xabiso, Xhosa speaking men who I'm having dinner with tonight. Anna, a Tanzanian woman studying at UCT. Simba, a Zimbabwean man studying film and production. And it's only fair to mention that I had lunch with one of the guys in my house, Zach from California. Great guy. We met for lunch and we're going to make it a weekly ritual because we find each other to be so cool.

Simba, Anna and I had a really deep conversation on Sunday where we met at a braai (a barbeque) that was held at my house. Someone asked who I was going for in the American presidential election and I told them. We then got into a discussion about race and gender and American politics and American foreign policy which of course lead to a discussion about apartheid and race in South Africa but that lead to a discussion about mores and morals and crime specifically how different it is in Tanzania as compared to South Africa. And of course that moved us into a discussion about colonization of all people of African descent which lead us to talk about privilege and education and how we as educated black people were responsible for a lot in terms of advancing black people in the diaspora. Whew. Deep. I'm just fascinated and really taken by the people I've had a chance to meet so far and I'm doing whatever I can (like cooking dinner) in order to really get to know them because I do enjoy their company and conversation.

Funny story: I got sick Wednesday and after going through the day on Thursday all miserable I decided I should go have a visit to the student wellness center. I have to tell you about this because it wasthe strangest experience I've had since I've been here. Okay, so we all know how doctor's offices in America feel. Sterile. Unholy. Uncomfortable. You're sick and the receptionist is looking at you like "ewwww." This was the exact opposite. I go with my credit card, bank statement, passport, birth certificate, insurance card, drivers license, and proof of address because I feel like they ask you for all that and then some when you go to any clinic for the first time usually. Not here. The Afrikaans speaking receptionist handed me a one sided piece of paper that asked for my address, phone number and student number. She gave me an "awwww" look not to be confused with the "ewwww" look. I asked how much the visit would cost and she said "Nothing, you're just going to see a nurse." Ten minutes later she handed me a chart and directed me to the nurse's office I was to go see. "Oh, she doesn't come out and mispronounce your name and ask you to come back? That's different." I think to myself.

So I walk into the nurses office. There was a bed looking thing against the wall. It didn't have that crackly paper on it though. There were sheets and a blanket and pillow. There was a sink and a medicine cabinet looking thing next to it. And then there was a desk with a computer on it and the desk was pilled with charts and a nice white lady also Afrikaans sounding was sitting behind it. I sat down in a chair facing the desk. She asked what I needed from her as I handed over my chart. I started telling her my symptoms and she wrote them down. She was really patient with me. She stuck a thermometer in my mouthat one point and took my wrist to read my vitals (no stethescope). She handed me a cupto give her a urine sample in. She told me what she wanted me to do with it. Told me not to let it touch my skin. Of course I felt really awkward in the bathroom so I'm like trying to clean the outside of the cup before I give it to her. She takes it from me when I come back to the room (no gloves on mind you) puts a piece of paper in it and tells me that what ever I have is something viral and that she was sorry but there was no magic pill she could give me and that I would have to treat the symptoms. She assures me that I probably don't have anything that will kill me but that if I didn't get better I should come back and see her.

That place was magical. It just showed me how ridiculous the medical practice in America is and how it doesn't have to cost me an arm and a leg at GW's student health for a nurse to tell me I'm sick.

I've learned a lot this week in terms of discourse in class and in terms of how it all applies in my life and in the lives of the people I'm meeting everyday. Take the time to have a meaningful conversationwith someone this week.

This one was a long one! But I tried to keep it conversational...

It's the theme.

One Love

Week Three: Cultural... Appreciation

Family, Friends...

Appreciation is the word of the week. I am learning to appreciate Cape Town, South Africa. I really am. Last week I was a little down,but everything worked out in the end. I mean, yes, I got my flashdrive jacked this week but I'm not upset. I probably should not have left it laying around at a party at my house. Things like that happen when you're less than careful. This week has been interesting and I got to do some cultural things that really helped to bring my experience back into perspective.

I'll share: Last week Thursday I visited Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was held for 18 years as a political prisoner. It was a very powerful experience. It felt like a place of resilience. Ex-political prisoners under the apartheid government actually serve as tour guides for the prisons on the island and many of the people who work on the island which is a museum actually live there. There is a church there and people from all over come to get married there. We actually saw couples in suits and gowns there preparing for their ceremonies. Just moving the experience. You look into that tiny cell and you can't believe that a man could live there for 18 years without going absolutely mad, but then you hear stories of how the men kept themselves sane. How they learned to communicate with one another by hiding notes in tennis balls; how they would teach one another to read and write during the working hours; how they stayed sane.

I also got a chance to go to a concert for the South African band Freshly Ground. If you haven't heard about them yet, you will very soon because they are amazing. Their music is distinctly South African. The band is made up of white, black and coloured South African men and women. Their music is so universal. Everyone likes the type of music that they make. The only band I can think of in America that's even close is the Brand New Heavies, if anyone has ever heard of them. Check their music out though. Freshly Ground.

Classes started yesterday, Monday. They "fake" started on Friday. Apparently there is some unspoken, yet understood rule about the"first day" of class (which was supposed to be on Friday). Professors and students don't actually show up to that "fake" first day of class. Everyone except for semester study abroad students and freshers (freshmen) knows that. So I sat in my classes waiting for the professors to come in on Friday and when they didn't show I felt like someone knew something that I didn't. I mean, of course I thought it odd that I would see people just sitting on the steps of Jameson Hall for hours. I'd "go to class" and then see them there when I was walking from class, but who knew? You don't actually go to the first class. You learn something new everyday. And I have been.

My week is definitely on the up and up. So far, Ithink I'm going to enjoy my classes. They seem challenging and very thought provoking. Yesterday I was given a list of books and told to pick one and read one. The lecturer didn't really give a deadline, but she did mention a paper being due next week. I guess I'll read the book.

Appreciation: I appreciate those of you who read what I share every week.

One Love

Week Two: Culture Shock

Molo Family and Friends,

This has been some what of a trying week. Yes, I know my first e-mail described the awe and wonder I felt from being in South Africa, but this one forgive me, is one in which I just need to express my first real feelings of culture shock. I felt it terribly yesterday. I mean, I hated everything about this place from the bright colors to the music to this place called Wynburg which I've never been, but because of the way that the minibus taxi operators yell it out of the windows of the taxi's it's a place that I never want to visit... Now of course it hasn't been all bad, but culture shock makes you hate it all. And I did. I was depressed and couldn't sleep, but was tired atlike 2pm because I looked at my watch (which I refuse to change toSouth African time) and saw that it was 7am and I wanted to still bein my bed (at home... in America... in Georgia or DC... didn't matter) asleep.

But like I said, it isn't ALL bad. In fact, yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting the site where I'll be doing some volunteering and research. It is a Rape Crisis center started here in Cape Town inthe early 70s. Wonderful place. I mean, the women were extremely nice and welcoming. The space was beautiful and they just had their stuff together. They even cook dinner with the volunteers once aweek.... awwwww... That is the cutest thing ever. I'm really going to enjoy that experience. There is such a wealth of resources inside that place and I know that it's going to be both a challenging and rewarding experience to work there.

I had a chance to lay out for an entire day on the beach. I even watched the sun set behind the mountains while I was there. The sky turned this beautiful orange color and I don't have to tell you that the colors of the sky against the backdrop of the ocean was absolutely breath taking. I spent all of 10 minutes in the water the entire time I was there. The water is very cold here. Partly because the closest continent is Antarctica, a big block of ice.

I also visited the aquarium. Very cool. The have a "Predator Tank" with sharks swimming around with other fish. To put it intoperspective, the majority of these fish were at least 5'0 feet long. There was this one particular fish that I saw inside the Predator Tank that had big teeth marks in his flesh. I don't know how he survived.

So those were the good things that happened this week. It rained for most of the weekend. Which would not have been a bad thing except I had decided to wash clothes. I have a fairly modern washing machine available in the house I live in, but drying can be a whole other animal when there is no dryer. I washed my clothes in the evening (no sign of rain) and decided I'd just hang them in the morning. But CapeTown decided it needed to rain that morning, so I had wet clothes drying in my room on a tiny little rack. My room smelled like a no name brand fabric softner and wet potato chips. And it took forever for the clothes to dry. The whole weekend! I mean, they just dried today so you can imagine the stale smell. Honestly, I'm going to have to wash them again because I can't walk around smelling like old feet.

I won't go into the complex details of everything that went wrong thisweek, but let me say that they do things very different here. Cell phones are prepaid. Customer service on the phone doesn't reallyexist. The charge that shows up on your credit card/bank statement for the purchase of your cell phone is "Internet Online Sea Point" which doesn't make much sense since you didn't purchase the phone on the internet or online or in Sea Point, a suburb you've never been to. There is no such thing as a toll-free number here, and Jessica service number 34235 from Bank of America sucks.

One Love

My First Week in Africa!

Hey Everyone!

My first week in South Africa: This has been an experience to say the least. Internet is hard to come by. Phone time is hard to come by. Soy milk is hard to come by and I can't walk anywhere alone after 7pm. Public transport consists of raggedy looking men in minivans picking people up (anywhere from 10 to 20 people at a time); a few buses that you are not advised to ride if it is empty; taxi drivers that change the price of the ride depending on how many white americans are riding with you; a train that takes you into town (Cape Town), but you have to be so alert, so on guard because professional thieves lurk in the train stations.

But the people are absolutely beautiful to look at. Beautiful black people everywhere you go. I have never felt so beautiful; I can feel the standard of beauty being somewhat closer to what I look like as I walk down the street with my short cut and big earrings.

When your wallet gets stolen our orientation leaders say "Welcome to South Africa." When the lights go out they say "Welcome to South Africa." I partied at this restaurant called Marco's African Kitchen during a city wide black out. All the power in the city was gone for 5 hours. When the lights went out the sisters serving us broke out the candles while the band kept right on playing their drums and percussion instruments. No idea how they heated the food but it kept right on coming too.

The landscape is stunning. I am surrounded on all sides by mountains and water and so many different kinds of trees. Pine trees stand next to palm trees that stand next to bamboo stalks which grow next to beautiful flowering trees. Everything grows here including this tea called rooibos. I was addicted after the first sip. It's so good. Thank god Lipton packages and sells it. It only grows on these mountains in the Cape. It has such a rich flavor.

Registering for classes: my god. The university runs on paper. Nothing is digital. Being educated here is going to be an experience all it's own. All of the african students I've met thus far are so smart. They possess some higher level thinking skills that I'm going to have to work hard to develop. They are brilliant people. I'm having a wonderful time.

Loading pictures can be expensive (you pay per megabite for internet here) so look for pictures within the week. I don't have to tell you that they are beautiful. You'll see them soon.

Thinking of you all