the coffee bean.
This evening, we ran to the University of Cape Town’s Jammie Shuttle over to The Coffee Bean. The Coffee Bean is an independent, student-oriented coffee shop in Rondebosch that reminds me a lot of the Davenport of American University, but it has pizza and Irish Coffees. This evening at the shop was a benefit concert for immigrants, refugees and asylum seekers, mostly from Zimbabwe, through an organization called PASSOP.
When we walked in to the crowded coffee shop, a group of very joyful singers with a drum player performed on the small, makeshift stage. The musicians were a Zimbabwean music group, and their jubilant and peaceful music welcomed us into the event filled with a room of what seemed like a very socially conscious, laid back crowd. After the Zimbabwean music group, two guys clad in all black with scruffy faces and guitars walked on stage. A complete devation from the previous group, Fly Paper Jet was an indie group with guitar strumming, sing-a-long and quirky lyrics.
PASSOP stands for People Against Suffering Oppression and Poverty. I had not heard about it until tonight, but the situation in Zimbabwe is dire. While South Africa is also ridden with poverty, and Thabo Mbeki is not the best leader, it is extremely more stable and affluent than Zimbabwe, who is stricken with Mugabe. The South African government has a responsibility as a neighbour to do what it can in aide. The responsibility has not been taken by the government thus far, so the refugees, immigrants and asylum seekers must rely on other organizations and people for survival.
lucy, clive, and the soup kitchen clan.
Quinton told us that we were visiting Ocean View to “see positive images of marginalized people.” Quinton had the right sentiment, but the phrase was too scientific, too technical. For a weekend to be spent with the warmest, most familial, welcoming, humoured people to be called “seeing positive images of marginalized people” is to over simplified and does not say enough about this wonderful weekend.
Ocean View is a coloured township about an hour outside of Cape Town. The township was created during the forced removal of coloured and black people from Simon’s Town and surrounding areas in the 1960s during the apartheid. Now, while there are many problems that face the township, there is a solidarity among the families that have been there since the only buildings existed were a church and a liquor store.
Lucy and Clive were mine and Brianna’s parents for the weekend. They were immediately warm and candid with us, telling us about their children and grandchildren right away. The best part is their story:
Lucy and Clive met when they were seven years old. Lucy could remember the exact toy that he was playing with forty seven years later- a Styrofoam airplane. They both lived in Simons Town; this was before the forced removal in the 1960s. Lucy’s house was up the hill from Clive, and she could yell down to his backyard from her house. The apartheid forced their families out of their homes together; they withstood the humiliating, institutionalized racism of the apartheid together. They have successful children and adorable grandchildren today. I could not even imagine being with someone for the rest of my life that I have seen every day since the age of seven. They know every inch of each others bodies, every ounce of each others personalities, wishes, hopes, dreams. Call me a romantic, but I love it.
Lucy immediately asked us about our eating and religious situations. I mentioned that I am a vegetarian and a Jew, but this weekend I would completely giving up both. I ate tons of meat and went to church, a decision for the weekend with which I am very pleased.
Every weekend, Lucy and Clive run a soup kitchen with other families who also were hosting us this weekend. On Friday night after dinner, we headed over there to sort out the crates and crates of vegetables that came into the rec. room of the church. After we sorted, we played countless games of jumping over sticks with all the kids, who were so creative and energetic we were almost sore the next day from it. Brianna and I also played some intense games of dominos with a very attractive Belgian man who is to be ordained a priest next month…the unattainable…hmm
Lucy gave us the tour of their modest home clad with family photos and bible quotes all over the walls. That night she made us hot chocolate and put hot water bottles in our bed. She told us “This weekend, this house is your house; you just take anything you need.”
The next morning we headed back to the soup kitchen to play more dominos, hang out with the kids, and of course prepare the food. About 150 people came to the soup kitchen for food. I did not quite know how to feel and act around the people coming to the soup kitchen, because of the many sentiments that came through the line. Some were so grateful to us for this meal, some kept trying to get more food and were not grateful, and many were very embarrassed at the fact that they had to come to the soup kitchen in the first place. It was difficult to be especially joyful when there are so many people that have to come to this soup kitchen, especially so many children. However, at the same time, the Lucy, Clive and the gang do not have much themselves and it is already so generous and of true value that they run this huge soup kitchen, so it was something to be joyful about.
Later that day, we sang, danced, played karaoke with everyone in the families. Then we went on a tour of Simon’s Town, which is where all the adults in the families grew up, and Jeremy, one of the host fathers, gave us a very detailed description of every area. We saw sunset over the harbour with our new families.
We then piled back in the cars and had yet another feast at one of the houses. They all said that they show their love by feeding people, so boy, they must have loved us a ton.
We went to church on Sunday, which I am usually quite opposed to, but the church had a live band, everyone was humble and lively. The service was genuine, the congregation was very involved in portraying and living by Christian values of love, kindness and generosity, and I was not judged for not taking communion.
After church, there was yet again, another feast, as per usual. Saying goodbye to the families was difficult, even after spending only 48 hours with them. They were so candid and warm from the very beginning that we did not waste any of the precious hours together being awkward and “getting to know each other.” They invited us back for weekends, for dinner anytime we want, an offer I will be truly taking advantage of the rest of the time I am here.
The township of Ocean View is familial and friendly. Even though it is stricken with racism, violence, drugs, alcoholism, health problems and poverty, everyone has a great humour about their situation, and having families who have grown up and experienced every hardship together gets them through life. It was something that I would have never experienced without coming to South Africa, that since the politics and history is so ridden with horror stories, beautiful neighbourhoods, families, and people come from it.
The More there are suffering, then, the more natural their sufferings appear. Who wants to prevent the fishes in the sea from getting wet?
And the suffering themselves share this callolusness towards themselves and are lacking in kindness towards themselves. It is terrible that humans beings so easily put up with existing conditions, not only with the sufferings of strangers but also with their own.
~Bertolt Brecht, “The World’s One Hope” (From Pathologies of Power: Health, Human Rights, and the New War on the Poor by Paul Farmer.)
tuberculosis.
Every time I approach the paediatric ward of Brooklyn Chest Tuberculosis hospital, I hear the delight of the children that we are coming to play with them for the afternoon, behind the delight- I hear coughing, crying, and sickness, and not enough nurses to protect them all.
Yesterday was the first time that I saw the true effects of the lack of staffing and resources at Brooklyn Chest. Previously, I knew that the hospital did not have much, but it seemed like they were getting by with what they had and the nurses were happy to have us take the kids off their conscience for a while.
Yesterday, I walk in and immediately lift one of the little girls up. They all love it when we carry them, I think they like the idea of being tall, it is empowering to them. After a few minutes of playing airplane with her, I notice it is time for her diaper to be changed. I walk in to find the diapers, and that is all they have- diapers. No wipes, no cream, nothing to prevent infection. It is the little things that even kids who are not sick that they do not have- which is keeping them sick for longer because they simply are not receiving adequate care. I finish changing her and send her off to play outside.
It is then that I hear hysterical crying of my best friend at Brooklyn Chest, Jacey. Jacey is about six months old, and she is the one baby that I make sure to see every time I go. She has the biggest curious eyes, and the goofiest smile and laugh I have ever heard from a baby. The best part is, she is beginning to recognize me when I come, seeing her is always the highlights of my afternoons at Brooklyn Chest.
Today, she was not smiling when I came in. She was crying with a soiled diaper that had leaked all over her crib and she was sitting in it for who knows how long. Now, I am not blaming anyone for lack of attentiveness. The nurses do the best they can, but the ratio of nurses to children is so bad, and there is only so many kids that they can attend to at one time. But it scared me to think that this happens all of the time, and volunteers are not there twenty four hours to lend a hand.
The kids are mostly in high spirits considering they are quite sick and many of them do not have parents to visit them, and will go to foster homes once they recover. I am very pleased that I have this opportunity to work here, because I am seeing first-hand the psychological effects of sickness, which are considerable especially for tuberculosis. These children are in a hospital for six months to two years. Not only does TB take a long time to treat, but because of malnourishment and lack of resources, many of the kids will be hospitalized for longer than necessary. Their physical and mental development come to a halt during their hospitalizations. They all look and act about two years younger than their biological age.
They have attachment and trust difficulties that will follow them when they leave that hospital. Nurses come in and out of their lives, many do not have parents or families. All they have is each other, but even friends are constantly leaving. These are not something that we can cure, and since their physical health is the priority at their time at Brooklyn Chest, they are not receiving any psychological care.
These damages to their psyches shout at me every time I visit. They cry when we leave a room, for fear that we will not come back, they are violent towards each other, and many start calling us mommy even if we have only been in acquaintance for two hours.
race. race. race.
I had two assignments due today- on in my critical psychology class, and one in my class on religion and slavery. Both of the assignments asked students to define racism. Now this seemed redundant to me at first, but I wrote something completely different in each of the assignments. Race is everywhere in this country, race is also means something different to each person, in each group, in each course, in each place I go. Last week I was sick in the head from talking about race so much, but now I see how productive it is.
I was thrown off by not only overt racism in this country, but just the fact that people will actually talk about race in everyday conversation. I am so used to the “color blind” society in the United States, where in elementary school my teachers told me that everyone is one race, and that we should not see the color of anyone’s skin. When describing someone in the United States, anyone will jump leaps and bounds in attempting to avoid describing someone by the color of the skin.
Not only is it more convenient to just describe someone by the color of his or her skin, as the skin is the largest visible organ on the body, but talking about race in this open manor helps South Africans and others to decipher the issues of this socially screwed up country, where race is the main deciding factor of money, neighborhoods, friends etc. When race is an issue in everyone’s life, whether white, black or colored, it makes sense to talk about it all the time to not only understand it, but to do something about the overt racism that is so prevalent in this country, even without the explicit institutionalized racism of the apartheid.
Many South Africans in my courses have pointed out that the United States does not have racial issues, which is sadly humorous to hear, that we have actually succeeded in ignoring our problems so much that people from other countries actually believe that we do not have problems with racism in our country.
reptile man.
“So there is this guy with some reptiles down the street, we could go see them,” Says the sarcastic Taylor as we lounge on picnic tables in the afternoon sun at the Orange Elephant backpacker in Addo. We decide to peel ourselves out of the sun, gather up some energy after our seven am game drive, and walk down the road with the Orange Elephant dog following our every step.
We walk up to what looks like the backyard of a man who might have a couple of snakes lying around somewhere. “This looks like something we might find in Alabama or something,” murmurs Laura. Stereotypes of Alabama aside, it did look like something someone might find in the backyard in the sticks somewhere in the U.S.
As it turns out, we were completely wrong. This reptile man had many reptiles and birds in proper containers, and was quite obsessed with and informed about them. He lead us into the snake shed, where stacks of snake tanks lined the walls and proceeded to open one of them and stick his bare hand inside, not even checking to see if his fingers were headed for the open mouth of a poisonous snake. He immediately started playing with his pet snakes, telling us how poisonous each one is, stories about them biting his friend, putting them in his mouth and irritating them almost to the point of the demise of one of his extremities.
We thought this man has to be clinically insane, but really, he is just passionate about what he does, and not many people can say that about what they do. He is also more successful than having some reptiles in his backyard, he is going to be on Animal Planet, which to me, is pretty damn successful.
He handed us snakes to hold, some of us were more phased and teary-eyed than others while the anacondas were draped around our necks. At first, I would not think to be the type of person to hold a snake with such assurance, not that my heart was not pumping so hard that the snake could probably see it coming out of my chest, but since I am in South Africa, since I get a chance to drape an anaconda around my neck, why not. If I die, I would get “mad street cred,” as Sam put it.
surf’s up. (well…kind of up)
The previous day consisted of horseback riding and drinking, never a great combination the day before waking up at eight in the morning to surf for the first time, but who cared, I was surfing in Jeffrey’s Bay, energy would create itself.
After putting on my wetsuit backwards, not being able to put my feet in or zip it up, I was ready to hop in the Land Rover en route to the best place to surf. We lined up with our massive surfboards in front of our instructor, i.e. surf bum in Jeffery’s Bay, who taught us how to lie down, paddle, get on our knees, not hit our head or get lost from him while surfing. He yelled at me numerous times for not keeping my feet straight, lying too far ahead on the board, then lying too far back and not paddling hard enough even before I was in the ocean. This was not the best sign of my talent as a surfer.
We headed to the waves. After using the surfboard as a body board one too many times, I decided it was time to really focus and I finally was up on my knees on a surfboard. To me, this was success. I had surfed. Not success to our instructor, back to the beach we went to learn how to stand up on a surfboard, i.e. surf. I had never needed a RedBull so badly, but I had to force my adrenaline to make it for me. I stood up on the surfboard many times on the sand, how difficult could this be in the water? Apparently quite difficult. After about another hour of falling, I had managed to half stand up about three times, which meant I stood up one a half times. Success.
wild horses.
Horseback riding on the beach would be an elitist, expensive, perhaps honeymoon activity anywhere else but in Africa. TIA- as college students, we could afford to horseback ride on the most stunning beach I have ever seen.
Mounting my horse with ease, the trail started through a woodsy, lush, green area. Apparently, an Italian family owns the land we were on, and there is over 900-acres of it, but they never manage to visit said 900 acres of untouched land. Even though my horse hated me and flipped out a couple of times, there is something about being on an animal, walking along hundreds of acres of untouched land, with nothing man-made in view. I felt quite at one with nature.
The green land brought us to an almost desert-like area of sand dunes, that our horses climbed and lead us to a desolate beach of soft, white sand, on which only tiny birds had left their prints. My horse started galloping next to the waves of the ocean, the feeling as my hair blew in the wind, the adrenaline rushing through my body, it was a truly unreal feeling, that could come nowhere else but South Africa.
island vibe.
I want to become a professional backpacker. Island Vibe is the backpacker in which we fell in love in Jeffery’s Bay. The Backpacker chills out on a dune on a tourist-less beach. A five minute walk in the soft sand lead us to excellent surfing waves with friendly body-boarders, surfers and tanners going about their business with smiles all around.
The bar was plentiful, street dogs became my new best friends, and the bunk beds set up to open our eyes in the morning to the waves of the ocean. Backpackers at Island Vibe all shared the backpacker sentiment of chill out, have a beer (or fishbowl), share stories and have a good time.
