T.I.A. - This is Africa.

I've been hesitant to blog about South Africa for two reasons:
1.I knew it would be ridiculously long. There’s simply too much to say.
2.Because blogging about it means that my time in South Africa, for now, is completed, and that still makes me sad.
Africa is tragic in its complexities and simplistic in its natural beauty. I have met some of the world’s most impoverished, friendliest people. The kids are amazing. They just need opportunity, which is dangerously lacking. I arrived unsure of what to expect. We’d been scared by security officers with statistics on rising crime. We’d been told how to have a good time by a South African college student. I knew I’d see poverty. I was planning to see wildlife. It is like the rest of the world, but things seem more extreme here. Problems are more drastic and the protests are more violent. The interior of the country is vast –green hills look never ending. This is a country in transition: politically, economically, and culturally.  My experiences are a mere glimpse into a complicated world. Over and over again my friends and I would glance at each other, unsure of words and would finally give up and simply say, “T.I.A. –This is Africa.”

Day 1: We arrived at 8am, but due to passport control, we were unable to leave the ship until almost 11. The original plan was for Katie, Andrea and me to head to Cape Point (the most southern point in Africa) and explore until our ferry to Robben Island departed at 3pm. This plan changed when we realized there was no way to figure out public transportation (it’d take over an hour each way) and get back in time for Robben Island. We were waiting to disembark on the gangway when I suggested that we head to the District Six Museum. The girls shrugged. We’d all wanted to go there, but it wasn’t first priority. Oh well. We got a cab and headed over.

A brief refresher on South Africa/Cape Town history to make everything I’m about to say make sense: Until 1994 and the election of Nelson Mandela, the country was run by the apartheid government, which was all white, in a country 80% black, and only about 10% white. The government distinguished race in three ways: The whites were the first class. These are people specifically of European origin. That’s it. If there is any racial mixing, they’re second-class. The second class is referred to as “coloureds.”This is where Americans tend to get confused. An African-American visiting South Africa would be considered “coloured”and not “black.” This also includes all Asians, people of mixed racial origin, and I believe people from India. I’m not as clear on that last one. The final category is the blacks, the natives, who were not considered citizens. Although these categories are no longer governmentally enforced, they still are socially to a large degree. So much distrust remains between members of these groups. Interestingly enough, the reason many South African blacks speak English was originally to spite the apartheid government, whose official language was Afrikaans. I hate to have to mention all this, but in this country, I cannot begin to explain anything without first saying a bit about race. 

So back to District Six. In the 1950s, the apartheid government decided they wanted to make more room for whites in Cape Town. To do this, they evicted every black and coloured person in District Six. Over the course of ten years, they forcibly removed 60,000 people from their homes and bulldozed everything but a mosque, church, and washhouse. It’s as terrible as it sounds. It was during this period (mainly early 60s) that blacks began living in townships on the outskirts of the city. 

We drove past District Six a few days later on our way to Khayelitsha (a township). It is still completely bare. We spent our morning in the museum reading story after story. I followed a school group of coloured and black children for a bit. Their teacher, a Muslim man of middle-eastern decent (coloured) told the class, “Before 1994, I was not a citizen. Now, I am proud to be South African.” I loved hearing that. This country has come far in a mere 15 years, even though it has much further still to come. (Crime and drug use must go down, political parties must be racially balanced, and there must be a stronger education system for predominately black areas.)

We left the museum happy we’d seen it. We had trouble getting a taxi, so we decided to see the Castle of Good Hope and try again later. I found the castle relatively boring, with the exception of one photography exhibition. It was photos from a township that was directly under the smog of an armament plant. The kids from this area developed heavy asthma, and adults had raised levels of lung cancer. The area was predominately blacks and Indians, so of course, the government did nothing, and the people continued to die. We walked out speechless, each of us adjusting to what we had witnessed. We soon found a cab to go to the wharf were our ship was docked and where our Robben Island ferry would depart in an hour. We were thrilled to find a Subway in the wharf mall. It was not the same as the in the States - no Sun Chips and no cheddar cheese shredded mix stuff. 

The Robben Island ferry was a 20-minute ride. Once on the Island, we hurried to a tour bus. We passed the Robben Island penguins (so tiny and cute), the leper cemetery, the prison guard housing, and finally the lime quarry where Mandela and the other founders of South Africa’s constitution discussed political theory while working. Mandela used to refer to Robben Island as “the University”due to the amount of policy decided there. At the prison, our bus guide left us. Our new guide, Kgotso, was a political prisoner at Robben Island for nearly 6 years. Nelson Mandela orchestrated his early release. He was sentenced for 25 years in prison after being found guilty of trying to overtake the government by force. He was a small man, wearing a baseball cap that casted a shadow over his weathered face. One of the women in my group asked why he’d chosen to work at the island. His simple response was, “Ma’am, I needed a job.”Kgotso had three children and a wife to support. Did he enjoy working where he was once held captive? Not so much, but he had no other option. He now lives in housing that was once just for guards, but is now shared between ex-guards and ex-prisoners. He admitted this was awkward at times and that despite the change in circumstance, they were never really friends. He walked us through the group cells. He showed us their bathrooms, and the food chart, explaining that food rations were different depending on race. This was an attempt to divide the prisoners, but this being Robben Island, where so many wise thinkers were held, the prisoners in these cells chose to compile their food and separate it themselves to ensure equality. Kgotso walked us to Nelson Mandela’s cell. It was incredible to me that the cell next to his was that of Robert Mbeki, who was Mandela’s prime minister and then brought the country to squanders when he became president in 1999. Mbeki is currently wanted for corruption charges (with good reason) but he has fled the country. 

Finally, Kgotso brought us to his solitary cell, where he had spent a lonely almost 6 years. I felt embarrassed as tourists began photographing him with his cell. It shocked me that he was used to foreigners wanting a picture of him with the cell that held him captive. The man is not a monkey. This is his job –that he clearly doesn’t love. When the tourists finished snapping photos, one immediately handed him a rolled up bill. I cringed, wondering what effect race had in this photo op. As the tour ended, I shook his hand and thanked him. He seemed so sad. Six years in prison for his politics and he ends up as a tour guide of the prison. He is changing lives by telling his story. I hope that he sees that.

Back to the ship, we quickly got ready for dinner. We were planning to meet a few friends for dinner at a jazz club called The Green Dolphin before a night on Long Street (the Bourbon St of Cape Town). I had a filet for 15 dollars and paid less than 2 dollars per cosmo. I love exchange rates. After dinner our taxi driver dropped us off on Long Street in front of a restaurant/bar/live music venue called Mama Africa. We entered hearing the band blasting, “No Woman, No Crime.”It was an eclectic mix of ages and styles, although still racially homogeneous, with the exception of the band, bartenders, and a select few black customers. It was at Mama Africa where we made friends with a pilot in from Amsterdam. He explained to us that American pilots were too uptight –he was flying tomorrow and was presently on shrooms and drinking heavily. He then bought us a round of the official shot of South Africa, the Springbok. The Springbok is actually a large, deer like animal with white and brown fur. In this case, it is a shot of amarula (spelling?) and peppermint. It was creamy and sweet. I did not like it. After that I switched to Savannahs, which is a South African hard cider. Over the next three hours, five of us went from Mama Africa to Jo-Berg’s to finally an Irish pub called Dubliners. Each time we exited a club it was like we were switching worlds. The glamour of the club was quickly drowned out by the meth addicts and beggars that filled the dirty streets. Along with the spread of HIV/AIDS, meth is one of the largest problems facing South Africa. Katie, Aaron, Jeff and I caught a cab back to the ship around 2:30am.

Day 2: My alarm went off at 7:30 the next morning. I lazily hit snooze until 8:10 and met my group five minutes later to head to the airport. This was my first overnight SAS trip. For the next three days, I’d be with a group of 60 students and two faculty. Luckily, my friend Andrea had signed up for this too. We headed in buses to the airport, where we met our flight. During the flight, The pilot never closed the cockpit door, and once in the air, he invited whoever wanted to come chat/take photos to come join him. 

Two hours later, we arrived at the airport closest to Kruger National Park. We were met by a row of old vans, ready to drive us the 1.5hrs to our resort in Hazyview. My seat was on the drink cooler. The Sabi Bungalow Resort greeted us with cool juice and cold towels, to dry our already glistening faces –the bush is hot! We were given an hour to cool off before meeting our guides for an afternoon safari ride into Kruger. Kruger is the second biggest park in the Africa, and the third largest in the world. Over the next few days, we’d only see a small corner of it. Andrea and I dropped off our belongings and found a safari truck. The safari vehicles were pickup trucks that had covered seats installed in the back and ladders screwed into the sides. We climbed up and met the eight girls with whom we would be stuck for the next two days. These girls were complete idiots. They asked our guide questions like, “Are there bears in Africa? No? Why not?” One wanted to know why we didn’t have elephants in North America, and after the guide tried to respond she said, “Oh, well we had the Woolly Mammoth. That’s sort of the same thing.”Andrea and I hated that we’d be stuck with these girls with no concept of quiet or time. (One made the rest of the group wait for 20 minutes so she could buy souvenirs - thanks to her we missed seeing a leopard.)

We returned to the resort sweaty and exhausted. Andrea and I happily watched 90210 from our room as we prepared for dinner. The room was nice, except for the bugs. On the last night, I woke up with a large beetle on the back of my pillow. On day two, I’d gotten Andrea to kill one flying ant looking thing and I’d (amazingly) killed one myself too. To welcome us, the resort had hired a traditional African band to perform at dinner. My dinner table decided that it was 50% their culture and 50% a show for tourists. This ratio drastically changed when they played “In the Jungle”as their encore. During that song, they pulled several audience members on stage, including me, to partake in their dance circles. Andrea has some wonderfully awkward photos of me dancing with men and women in traditional African tribal gear. My lack of rhythm proved to be in high contrast to their total understanding of it. I laughed my way through.

Day 3: The morning began with a 4:20am wake up call. After a brief breakfast, we met our guides at 4:45 so that we could be in the park at 5:30am, when it opened. We rode in tired silence to the park. Once in Kruger, we found elephants (with babies –so cute), rhinos, hippos, zebra (with adorable babies), giraffes, impala (these guys are everywhere –literally tens of thousands inhabit the park), birds of all shapes and sizes, and in a rare and lucky event, we even saw lions. Although we saw no males (apparently the female lions cast them away soon after the birth of cubs), we were able to see cubs and several females. My camera did so well with these animals.

This night consisted once again of good food and relatively good, cheap wine. Tonight (thankfully for some of us) included no more live music and was much quieter.

Day 4: The original plan had been to play tennis, but unfortunately I had packed for this trip after a night out, and had thus forgotten tennis shoes. Although I’d only played golf once before (and that was only a few holes), Andrea’s family plays in the summertime in Montana and I figured I could catch on. I also didn’t mention my lack of experience until after we’d gotten a tee time. She was hesitant, but it ended up fine. We each bought collared shirts (required to play) and hopped in our golf cart to head to the course.  Andrea felt much better about playing with me once my first hit actually got some air. I was proud, but it went downhill from there. We were even in skill, each missing the ball altogether several times and hitting into water twice. I learned that golf isn't as boring as it looks. I also learned of the drink cart. No one ever told me that someone had the job of driving around and supplying cold drinks on the course. We had intended to play 9 holes (we had to leave at 12pm), but by the 7th, we only had one ball remaining between the two of us. The SAS guys in front of us let us borrow two, but the eighth hole once again involved water, so it didn't end well. We drove off the course laughing, and soon departed for the airport.

I went to dinner with the girls at a traditional South African restaurant. I decided to try Ostrich. It was not something I’d recommend. It has tougher and veinier than beef. After dinner, we met friends for drinks before heading to a club called Tiger Tiger that was supposedly where I’d find “the most beautiful people you’ll ever see”–the students of Cape Town University.  

The taxi ride to Tiger Tiger deserves its own paragraph. In the states, our driver would be black, but in South Africa, he was considered coloured, as he spent the next 20 minutes ranting about South African blacks. He told us, “do not get in a taxi with a black driver. Have you heard of Amy Biehl? They will rape and murder you. You must not get in.” He told us about an SAS student a year ago who had been to a township at night and apparently was raped. He - I should probably use his name, Frank –Frank told us that they’d had a meeting before our arrival to make sure that coloured drivers were always available. He told us not to worry, because he always travels with a gun. I asked, “Wait, you drive with a gun in the car?”“Of course!”He exclaimed, “You never know when the blacks will attack you. See that red cab in front of us? He has a pump –a dirty gun. When we get in trouble, we all call him.” By the time we arrived at Tiger Tiger, we jumped out of the cab. I never felt unsafe riding with Frank, but it upset me to hear such blatant racism. 

We arrived at Tiger Tiger to be carded for the first time. The only ID I had was my SAS ID. Oh well. I was beginning to feel ill anyway. We ended up at this terrible club playing boring music. Trish and Andrea were trying their best to have a good time. I was starting to feel very weak and I wasn’t sure why. The girls both thought I was crazy –I knew something hadn’t been put in my drink –I would not have been this conscious of feeling crazy if that were the case. I felt very calm but out of control. I wanted to leave immediately, but it was our last night in South Africa, so I just made the girls promise to stay near me. I never felt unsafe, but I was relieved when we finally got back to the ship. Two days later I figured out why I’d felt so terribly weak. I’d been on Malarone, an anti-malaria drug, since arriving in South Africa. Malaria is a disease that attaches to red blood cells and spreads through them. Anti-malaria medication weakens red blood cells to the point that the disease could not attach. I’d been so confused as to why I was feeling strange. This explanation makes sense, as I was on a medication that purposefully made me weaker. Some people don’t have reactions to it –Andrea was on it too and felt completely fine. I’ll have to take it again when I get to India. I’m not looking forward to the medication, but its better than malaria, and at least I know what to expect.

Day 5: This is the morning that changed everything. I had signed up with Katie and Andrea to do a township tour. We met at 8am to drive to the largest township in Cape Town, Khayelitsha. The townships are hugely populated –500,000 people live in Khayelitsha, and around 50% of them have HIV/AIDS. Families have no less than three children and live in spaces approx 6x8ft.  Their shacks are made from garbage –old pieces of siding and sheets are improvised windows and doors. There are no yards and all is dirty. These homes are a huge fire hazard. The government is no help –to get electricity to their homes power lines have been pulled and now sink low to the ground. The lines weave between the houses, making an electrical fire inevitable. I found it incredible that the government has shown enough care to pave the roads, yet they’ve done nothing about the overall living conditions. 

Our first stop in Khayelitsha was Vicky’s Bed and Breakfast. This woman is a true hero. She saw the tourists wandering through the township and decided to invite some to stay with her. She began with just two rooms and now has ten. She’s the only two-story home we saw in Khayelitsha. Now she organizes Christmas for children in her area. She pays other women to bake, and she collects pens and paper to give away. Past guests send her boxes of goods to distribute. She requested we not give the children money, as it teaches them to beg.

Our next stop was the Khayelitsha Craft Market and St. Michael’s church. The market was obviously just for tourists, as the tables were fold away, and the goods were overpriced in comparison to others we’d seen. Still, we all purchased a bit to support the community. I walked to the church, interested in what it would look like and what the preacher would say. (Our last day in Cape Town was a Sunday.) He preached of forgiveness and unity. Interestingly, he switched back and forth between English and Afrikaans. He moved without transition from speech to song. Notably, the service was attended by probably 70% women. After watching for a while, I moved outside to play with the kids. They immediately wanted to see my camera. These kids are incredible. They filled my camera with pictures of themselves and of me with them. What’s most upsetting is that they’re smart. They knew which button was the playback on my camera. Some SAS students taught them the clapping game of my childhood, “Double/Double This/That.”The kids were practicing it as we left.

Our final stop was another B&B, where we were served ginger beer and traditional deserts. My favorite was the South African version of donuts –they were such a good combination of sweet and breadiness. This was followed by a walking tour. Our guide was probably in her mid-twenties. She wore pink sweatpants, flip-flops, a t-shirt, and sunglasses. She told us it was the day of the ANC rally and that we’d all need to stay together.

A bit of South Africa info: The ANC is the African National Congress, the leading political party in South Africa. It is the party of Nelson Mandela, Mbeki, and now Zuma. Support in the townships is approx. 80%, despite that President Zuma, may not be allowed in office should he win again –he is currently fighting corruption charges. The election in April should be interesting because the party has split. One cab driver told Trish that if the ANC lost, civil war would inevitably ensue. Outside of the townships, most are not ANC supporters; still ANC leadership is better than war.
 
Okay, back to township visit. It was walking that we got a better sense of life. There is an incredible community here. Everyone waved to us, saying hello and welcome. They wanted pictures taken in their ANC gear. They were proud. Soccer games filled the side streets. As usual, I attempted to walk next to the guide. I asked her first about safety. She (a bit annoyed) responded, “Of course its safe. I’d never want to live in a suburb. Here we have community. I have my family and friends. Everything we need is right here.” “What about schools,”I asked her. We’d learned in Global Studies that the government had intentionally provided less education for the black population and that despite the governmental switch, there was still a significant education gap. “We have schools just like anywhere else,”she told me, “I am happy here.” I do not believe her about the schools. 

We passed just one health clinic. When we arrived back on the bus, our guide discussed the problems aid workers encounter in the township. There is a large portion of the population who believes that AIDS A. does not actually exist or B. was created by the government to curve population. There is a problem with HIV+ people spreading it out of vengeance/frustration. The other large issue is the stigma attached to HIV. Should one admit to being HIV+, their immediate family ostracizes them. They must find housing alone elsewhere, which is near impossible. The Bush administration actually did a great job in helping with this. They sponsored an NGO that both treated HIV/AIDS victims and provided condoms and education for those in high-risk areas.  

Once back at the wharf, we separated to do errands before on ship time. Our time in South Africa was coming to a close, and each of us returned to the ship with wild stories and lessons learned. I won’t forget the township. They are in crisis and there is something seriously wrong with a government that buys arms instead of helping its starving people. After playing together, the kids hugged us to say bye. These kids are smart. They just need a chance to break the cycle of extreme poverty. They just need a chance.