Day 3 Sunday 4/5/09 Advance warning – the following is extremely long and tangential! Hopefully not everyday will be this full or I will definitely develop carpal tunnel. Feel free to skim… In the last two days I feel like I’ve seen extremes of both sides of Durban – from a fancy new casino to a township pre-school with 15 girls living crowded together in a single makeshift room. Yesterday myself, 4 other students (Caroline, Adriel, Anella, and Megha), and one of the other students “little sisters” went to uShaka, Durban’s Sea World. Apparently a lot of money has recently been poured into Durban’s beachfront area in hopes of decreasing crime and increasing tourism. uShaka consists of a fancy new aquarium, complete with dolphin and penguin shows, and a water park. Caroline and Adriel’s homestay mom, Bongi and her kinda-boyfriend (who her daughter explains as a friend “with intentions”) met us at uShaka. As most hosts to foreigners, they wanted to take us to see the best Durban has to offer – Suncoast Casino. We enjoyed some disgusting and overpriced cocktails and headed home. We are all just getting oriented so directing a cab to four different houses was a bit of an ordeal – luckily our cab driver was very understanding and didn’t rip us off too bad, I think. At home I proceeded to teach Alutha, the youngest daughter some very improper English. She could repeat “clap your hands” and “eyes”, “nose”, and “mouth” but couldn’t point to them until I made it “clap your eyes” or “clap your ears” while slapping at the body part being named.. So this morning I woke up to a 4-year old slapping herself in the head singing “clap your head!!” Brilliant. Today was a brief orientation and tour of some of the townships. We went over some cultural differences that I’d wished I’d known but had kind of noticed already such as a different understanding of privacy. It is common for the kids to come into your room, lay with you on your bed, look through your stuff, play with your camera, etc. I see how some people could be bothered by such but having grown up with two younger siblings I guess I know better, and I was honestly glad for the company. We then met up with Steven, a local Zulu man, who guided our tour around the townships while giving us an overview of the current social and political situation in the area. Steven’s seemingly perpetual smile turned into a loud chuckle any time one of us made a lame attempt at pronouncing any Zulu word necessitating a clicking sound! I found Steven’s story a fascinating example of someone who doesn’t have to be doing the work that he is but his heart wont let him just sit back and do nothing. From what I understand, as the safety manager at the local Toyota plant, its part of Steven’s job to go to the neighborhoods of the Toyota employee’s who have HIV/AIDS and assess their needs. He also serves as a liason between the Japanese Toyota employees and their South African employees by taking them on tours when they are in the area. While doing this, his observations of the downtrodden schools, children living in the streets, and families torn apart by AIDS, have led him to become a sort of ambassador between all the neighboring townships, despite political affiliation. Apparently, the neighborhoods are decisively ANC (African National Congress) or IFP (Incarta Freedom Party) affiliated. While there is still a lot of tension between the political parties it was significantly worse before Mandela’s ’94 election, when members of the opposing political parties would engage in “necklacing,” igniting a rubber tire around the neck of a member of the opposing party and burning them to death. It is estimated that hundreds to thousands of people were killed this way. Our first stop was the village of Malukazi, a small village composed of mud and stucco huts complete with cows lazing in whatever patches of shade were available. A group of people were gathered underneath a large tree listening to what Steven explained to be a campaign speech for the ANC, due to the upcoming election. I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly awkward as we walked by – our group wouldn’t have screamed “AMERICAN!” louder if we were wrapped in red, white, and blue flags. I know we are there to learn and observe but it seemed nothing more than voyeuristic at the moment. I asked Roy what people thought of us being there and he assured me that they understand about people wanting to learn about different cultures and they’re just as curious about us. He must have sensed my discomfort; after a pause he asked “when you see tourists in America, do you think they are being rude.” I guess not. I did definetly feel uncomfortable about the members of the group who were just snapping pictures and looking at the locals blank-faced – so I took it upon myself to practice my horrific Zulu by proclaiming “Sawubona! Unjani?”, meaning Hello! How are you? to anyone who looked my way. They may have thought I was insane but at least it made me feel less like a creepy voyeur. Steven led us into a larger one-room building strewn with goat skins. He explained this to be the place of worship and pointed out the wooden shields lining the walls and goat carcasses drying on hooks. There was a locked cage in the middle of the room containing stacks of soda bottles, dozens of cookie boxes, and a bowl of fruit. Despite my best intentions I could not understand what this was for, besides to some group of people to eat after returning from something. The sound of drums called us outside, where a large group of men were heading down the dirt hill towards us. The drumming, chanting, and dancing continued until they entered the “church,” the rest of the group close behind. We left them to their worship and Steven explained that Malukazi is one of the few villages where the ANC and IFP coexist peacefully thanks to the daughter of one member marrying a higher-up in the other. He explained the two political parties as “being in bed” with each other, which cracked him up. We headed down the freeway for a bit and pulled off amongst a community of homes made from discarded sheet metal with a stucco wall sprouting up here and there. Up a small dirt hill was a constellation of four single room buildings, a clothesline outside waved tiny bright flags of children’s’ clothing. Steven explained that, when passing here yesterday, he saw a horde of children playing outside and stopped to investigate. Thinking we should see this, he arranged a meeting. We stepped inside one room, probably 15x12 feet and about 90 degrees but cheerfully decorated with the English alphabet and colorful drawings. A woman, introducing herself as the director, explained to us that the two people behind us had opened this school and it as the only in the area. She translated their Zulu into heavily accented English, explaining that they take children from 2-18 years old who otherwise would have no education and possibly no place to live. They count on donated bags of corn to feed the students, many of whom live in the adjacent rooms. She led us into another single-roomed building, crammed with seven bunk beds – this is the boys room. The girls live in another just like this, with the beds squeezed in wall-to-wall. In between is a room with a sink, stove, two “toilets,” and two washing faucets – all obviously hand built. The woman explained anything that could be donated from overseas would be so appreciated as they are in desparate need of food, blankets, clothes, books, pencils… everything. A handful of children chased us around curiously, darting behind each other and giggling loudly. I said hi to one little girl leaning against the wall with a shy smile. With a lot of gesturing patching together our words she told me that she loves school, has one dress, and likes to read stories. When I asked what she needed, she whispered “I would like a dolly.” If my heart breaks like that many more times this trip I don’t know what I’m going to do. After big hugs from everyone, Steven took us down the street and welcomed us into his home with the same warm hospitality I’ve witnessed from everyone here so far. His house was beautiful and his pride was obvious as he showed us around. Soon thereafter we headed home, many of us nodding out in the overheated van. After a lovely dinner with our host Mom and the two youngest daughters (while watching the Cartoon Network), Anele (the 16 year old) flew through the front door, a whirlwind of questions and stories. The topic of the evening was how she wants to be adopted by Brad and Angelina because they love African kids. Hey, I totally understand why she’d want that! Finally getting ready for bed. I’m sweaty, greasy, and probably stinky -- I’m not sure if I’m embracing the experience here or am just too lazy to bathe. I’m sure Akhona will burst through the door any second with her five opinions on the matter!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Day 3
Day 3 Sunday 4/5/09 Advance warning – the following is extremely long and tangential! Hopefully not everyday will be this full or I will definitely develop carpal tunnel. Feel free to skim… In the last two days I feel like I’ve seen extremes of both sides of Durban – from a fancy new casino to a township pre-school with 15 girls living crowded together in a single makeshift room. Yesterday myself, 4 other students (Caroline, Adriel, Anella, and Megha), and one of the other students “little sisters” went to uShaka, Durban’s Sea World. Apparently a lot of money has recently been poured into Durban’s beachfront area in hopes of decreasing crime and increasing tourism. uShaka consists of a fancy new aquarium, complete with dolphin and penguin shows, and a water park. Caroline and Adriel’s homestay mom, Bongi and her kinda-boyfriend (who her daughter explains as a friend “with intentions”) met us at uShaka. As most hosts to foreigners, they wanted to take us to see the best Durban has to offer – Suncoast Casino. We enjoyed some disgusting and overpriced cocktails and headed home. We are all just getting oriented so directing a cab to four different houses was a bit of an ordeal – luckily our cab driver was very understanding and didn’t rip us off too bad, I think. At home I proceeded to teach Alutha, the youngest daughter some very improper English. She could repeat “clap your hands” and “eyes”, “nose”, and “mouth” but couldn’t point to them until I made it “clap your eyes” or “clap your ears” while slapping at the body part being named.. So this morning I woke up to a 4-year old slapping herself in the head singing “clap your head!!” Brilliant. Today was a brief orientation and tour of some of the townships. We went over some cultural differences that I’d wished I’d known but had kind of noticed already such as a different understanding of privacy. It is common for the kids to come into your room, lay with you on your bed, look through your stuff, play with your camera, etc. I see how some people could be bothered by such but having grown up with two younger siblings I guess I know better, and I was honestly glad for the company. We then met up with Steven, a local Zulu man, who guided our tour around the townships while giving us an overview of the current social and political situation in the area. Steven’s seemingly perpetual smile turned into a loud chuckle any time one of us made a lame attempt at pronouncing any Zulu word necessitating a clicking sound! I found Steven’s story a fascinating example of someone who doesn’t have to be doing the work that he is but his heart wont let him just sit back and do nothing. From what I understand, as the safety manager at the local Toyota plant, its part of Steven’s job to go to the neighborhoods of the Toyota employee’s who have HIV/AIDS and assess their needs. He also serves as a liason between the Japanese Toyota employees and their South African employees by taking them on tours when they are in the area. While doing this, his observations of the downtrodden schools, children living in the streets, and families torn apart by AIDS, have led him to become a sort of ambassador between all the neighboring townships, despite political affiliation. Apparently, the neighborhoods are decisively ANC (African National Congress) or IFP (Incarta Freedom Party) affiliated. While there is still a lot of tension between the political parties it was significantly worse before Mandela’s ’94 election, when members of the opposing political parties would engage in “necklacing,” igniting a rubber tire around the neck of a member of the opposing party and burning them to death. It is estimated that hundreds to thousands of people were killed this way. Our first stop was the village of Malukazi, a small village composed of mud and stucco huts complete with cows lazing in whatever patches of shade were available. A group of people were gathered underneath a large tree listening to what Steven explained to be a campaign speech for the ANC, due to the upcoming election. I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly awkward as we walked by – our group wouldn’t have screamed “AMERICAN!” louder if we were wrapped in red, white, and blue flags. I know we are there to learn and observe but it seemed nothing more than voyeuristic at the moment. I asked Roy what people thought of us being there and he assured me that they understand about people wanting to learn about different cultures and they’re just as curious about us. He must have sensed my discomfort; after a pause he asked “when you see tourists in America, do you think they are being rude.” I guess not. I did definetly feel uncomfortable about the members of the group who were just snapping pictures and looking at the locals blank-faced – so I took it upon myself to practice my horrific Zulu by proclaiming “Sawubona! Unjani?”, meaning Hello! How are you? to anyone who looked my way. They may have thought I was insane but at least it made me feel less like a creepy voyeur. Steven led us into a larger one-room building strewn with goat skins. He explained this to be the place of worship and pointed out the wooden shields lining the walls and goat carcasses drying on hooks. There was a locked cage in the middle of the room containing stacks of soda bottles, dozens of cookie boxes, and a bowl of fruit. Despite my best intentions I could not understand what this was for, besides to some group of people to eat after returning from something. The sound of drums called us outside, where a large group of men were heading down the dirt hill towards us. The drumming, chanting, and dancing continued until they entered the “church,” the rest of the group close behind. We left them to their worship and Steven explained that Malukazi is one of the few villages where the ANC and IFP coexist peacefully thanks to the daughter of one member marrying a higher-up in the other. He explained the two political parties as “being in bed” with each other, which cracked him up. We headed down the freeway for a bit and pulled off amongst a community of homes made from discarded sheet metal with a stucco wall sprouting up here and there. Up a small dirt hill was a constellation of four single room buildings, a clothesline outside waved tiny bright flags of children’s’ clothing. Steven explained that, when passing here yesterday, he saw a horde of children playing outside and stopped to investigate. Thinking we should see this, he arranged a meeting. We stepped inside one room, probably 15x12 feet and about 90 degrees but cheerfully decorated with the English alphabet and colorful drawings. A woman, introducing herself as the director, explained to us that the two people behind us had opened this school and it as the only in the area. She translated their Zulu into heavily accented English, explaining that they take children from 2-18 years old who otherwise would have no education and possibly no place to live. They count on donated bags of corn to feed the students, many of whom live in the adjacent rooms. She led us into another single-roomed building, crammed with seven bunk beds – this is the boys room. The girls live in another just like this, with the beds squeezed in wall-to-wall. In between is a room with a sink, stove, two “toilets,” and two washing faucets – all obviously hand built. The woman explained anything that could be donated from overseas would be so appreciated as they are in desparate need of food, blankets, clothes, books, pencils… everything. A handful of children chased us around curiously, darting behind each other and giggling loudly. I said hi to one little girl leaning against the wall with a shy smile. With a lot of gesturing patching together our words she told me that she loves school, has one dress, and likes to read stories. When I asked what she needed, she whispered “I would like a dolly.” If my heart breaks like that many more times this trip I don’t know what I’m going to do. After big hugs from everyone, Steven took us down the street and welcomed us into his home with the same warm hospitality I’ve witnessed from everyone here so far. His house was beautiful and his pride was obvious as he showed us around. Soon thereafter we headed home, many of us nodding out in the overheated van. After a lovely dinner with our host Mom and the two youngest daughters (while watching the Cartoon Network), Anele (the 16 year old) flew through the front door, a whirlwind of questions and stories. The topic of the evening was how she wants to be adopted by Brad and Angelina because they love African kids. Hey, I totally understand why she’d want that! Finally getting ready for bed. I’m sweaty, greasy, and probably stinky -- I’m not sure if I’m embracing the experience here or am just too lazy to bathe. I’m sure Akhona will burst through the door any second with her five opinions on the matter!
