There's a difference between "now" and "now now."
"Now" means eventually. When you call a taxi and they tell you that they're coming "now," you know that you have time for at least another beer or to take a quick shower or to eat dinner.
"Now now" means right now. "Now now" means hustle. "Now now" means get your stuff together or you'll be left behind.
Whenever the girls call Priscilla from upstairs, she yells back at them: "Ma's coming now!" and then she turns to me and continues the conversation that we're having.
Whenever Mike comes to pick me up, he tells me he's coming "now now" and then he appears out of the field before I even have time to end the call.
African time is a funny thing. Sometimes trains are early, sometimes they are late, sometimes they don't come at all.
African time is a relaxed time. Now can be tomorrow, the promise of something done hangs in the air until it's completed. It's going to be eventually.
Priscilla and I always say we're going to clean tomorrow, and then the next day, we repeat the declarations. The vacuuming has been put off for nearly a week, and we're quite alright with that. And of course, tonight, I've got plans elsewhere (the Wednesday social - dinner and drinks down in Town), so there will be no vacuuming, unless by some miracle I get it done this afternoon.
But it's no stress; it's not important.
It will happen now, sooner or later.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Worry
As I got home yesterday, I began to worry.
That worrying continued late into the night, until I could hardly keep my eyes open for want of sleep.
And yet the worrying failed to cease when the broken sleep fell on me and it was crouching upon me as I woke, waiting to strike at the moment my eyes were unshielded from the welcome darkness.
And it continues.
I'm heavy shouldered, snappy enough that my co-workers have noticed and questioned me and generally irritable. And I can't explain it.
A man from Projects Abroad came to do a second evaluation form. I wasn't as generous as I had been previously. I also wasn't as critical as I wished to be.
They asked me what I was doing, and I replied, "Job placement." They asked me what I'd like to be doing and I replied, "Marketing." I asked that I be able to add to my placement - perhaps I'll go do human rights and law for the next little bit so that I'm not quite so pent up here. I'm going to see if there's the possibility that I can split my weeks, or my days, or something.
Today I added a new line of attack as far as job placements go. I have added a form that requires that people who come in to use the services available here to sign a sheet detailing their job application. This way, when I write the report to the funders, I'll be able to at least have an idea of how many applications we are sending in a month.
I've decided that Fridays are going to be my manual days in which I spend the entire day attempting to reconstruct their Fit for Life/Fit for Work manual.
I'm branching out to do organization of the income generation project - inventory control, etc. This begins tomorrow, or whenever I get around to it.
I worry that I'm constantly complaining, and I don't mean for that to be the case. I'm quickly losing hope and am running out of bright ideas. Today, I am working with the same woman who was rude to me the other day, and who was just as rude this morning. She demanded the newspapers, even though they're outdated and won't be of much help.
And then she told me to email for her. I responded that since I emailed for her last time, she would have to do it herself today, but that I'd supervise.
I sat next to her and we spent the next twenty minutes formulating an email.
And so, for today, I have one job application on the way.
I've been having terrible dreams. I'm not sure what they're about, entirely, but they're full of fire and dark clouds and strange events. I wake up tired, confused, unaware that I've left my dream world. Soon enough, they've dissipated and I've begun my day, but I'm hoping that a night of relaxation activities tonight will cure me of the dark cloud that seems to have decided to follow me around this week. But I'm not entirely convinced that it will.
I hope tonight there will be no more dreams like that. Three nights is enough, I've decided. Tonight I will dream of something else, something abstract and colorful, something that isn't oddly off-putting. I think it might be the spark of a bout of creativity, one of those Virginia Woolf moments where for no reason I'm seized by an incurable pessimistic mood and from which I able to draw the bases of the art form I love best. And so I remain hopeful that this unexplainable moodiness is a call for withdrawal and creation, rather than a symptom of some greater dissatisfaction or uncurable fear.
I had to send a message to my former roommate today, and I think that's what part of the worry was about. I wanted to do it in public, so she coudn't accuse me of not having sent anything at all, as both she and her family have done in the past, ignoring my emails, etc.
This time, it must be dealt with.
Deep breaths, I thought, as I typed it. She'll respond kindly and fairly. She'll be pleasant about the whole thing. We'll split it down the middle and maybe she'll give me what she's been promising for nearly a year.
The worry hasn't eased up. It's breathing down my neck.
That worrying continued late into the night, until I could hardly keep my eyes open for want of sleep.
And yet the worrying failed to cease when the broken sleep fell on me and it was crouching upon me as I woke, waiting to strike at the moment my eyes were unshielded from the welcome darkness.
And it continues.
I'm heavy shouldered, snappy enough that my co-workers have noticed and questioned me and generally irritable. And I can't explain it.
A man from Projects Abroad came to do a second evaluation form. I wasn't as generous as I had been previously. I also wasn't as critical as I wished to be.
They asked me what I was doing, and I replied, "Job placement." They asked me what I'd like to be doing and I replied, "Marketing." I asked that I be able to add to my placement - perhaps I'll go do human rights and law for the next little bit so that I'm not quite so pent up here. I'm going to see if there's the possibility that I can split my weeks, or my days, or something.
Today I added a new line of attack as far as job placements go. I have added a form that requires that people who come in to use the services available here to sign a sheet detailing their job application. This way, when I write the report to the funders, I'll be able to at least have an idea of how many applications we are sending in a month.
I've decided that Fridays are going to be my manual days in which I spend the entire day attempting to reconstruct their Fit for Life/Fit for Work manual.
I'm branching out to do organization of the income generation project - inventory control, etc. This begins tomorrow, or whenever I get around to it.
I worry that I'm constantly complaining, and I don't mean for that to be the case. I'm quickly losing hope and am running out of bright ideas. Today, I am working with the same woman who was rude to me the other day, and who was just as rude this morning. She demanded the newspapers, even though they're outdated and won't be of much help.
And then she told me to email for her. I responded that since I emailed for her last time, she would have to do it herself today, but that I'd supervise.
I sat next to her and we spent the next twenty minutes formulating an email.
And so, for today, I have one job application on the way.
I've been having terrible dreams. I'm not sure what they're about, entirely, but they're full of fire and dark clouds and strange events. I wake up tired, confused, unaware that I've left my dream world. Soon enough, they've dissipated and I've begun my day, but I'm hoping that a night of relaxation activities tonight will cure me of the dark cloud that seems to have decided to follow me around this week. But I'm not entirely convinced that it will.
I hope tonight there will be no more dreams like that. Three nights is enough, I've decided. Tonight I will dream of something else, something abstract and colorful, something that isn't oddly off-putting. I think it might be the spark of a bout of creativity, one of those Virginia Woolf moments where for no reason I'm seized by an incurable pessimistic mood and from which I able to draw the bases of the art form I love best. And so I remain hopeful that this unexplainable moodiness is a call for withdrawal and creation, rather than a symptom of some greater dissatisfaction or uncurable fear.
I had to send a message to my former roommate today, and I think that's what part of the worry was about. I wanted to do it in public, so she coudn't accuse me of not having sent anything at all, as both she and her family have done in the past, ignoring my emails, etc.
This time, it must be dealt with.
Deep breaths, I thought, as I typed it. She'll respond kindly and fairly. She'll be pleasant about the whole thing. We'll split it down the middle and maybe she'll give me what she's been promising for nearly a year.
The worry hasn't eased up. It's breathing down my neck.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
HairCut
Well my earlier post was certainly moody and unsettled, and in typing it, I entirely neglected to inform you that I have a full set of bangs!
I haven't quite adjusted to them yet, so bear with me, but I'll post pictures soon.
Priscilla's daughter Angela cut them for me and I'm debating having her cut them a little bit shorter.
Either way, they're cute. I hope.
I haven't quite adjusted to them yet, so bear with me, but I'll post pictures soon.
Priscilla's daughter Angela cut them for me and I'm debating having her cut them a little bit shorter.
Either way, they're cute. I hope.
Tuesday: A Laundry List of Annoyance
I'm in quite the mood today, for reasons not entirely unknown.
Yesterday, a woman came in to the office (I was all alone yesterday - no tea, no lunch, just work) and told me that she wanted help finding a job. She was in Group 5 of the program and had gone through it in June and July.
She looked at my job board, took down a bunch of my postings and then asked me to send them off for her. Email address? I asked her.
No.
So we made one.
And then I sat, crunched considerably further into my corner than I would have liked, while she invaded my personal space from the left side and I attempted to type without full range of motion. I emailed her CV to no less than seven places.
I wrote seven slightly differing cover letter that started to lose momentum as I was going.
I admit that I was starting to lose patience.
The last cover letter was two sentences. It had no formal greeting. It said, "Hello, I wish to submit my CV for consideration for the available position. Please see the attached file for my contact information."
I apologize. In all fairness, she did get a call back from a place nearly immediately, so I'm not entirely overly concerned for her wellfare.
The reason the last cover letter was that way? (If you can call it a cover letter - it was the body of a recklessly addressed email.)
She had the nerve to tell me I had no responsibilities.
I bit my tongue.
It began with her telling me she'd left her R900 per month job because it wasn't paying enough. The conversation went like this:
Me: "I know it wasn't a lot, but it was something."
Her: "They weren't paying me enough! Transport nearly took it all."
Me: "How much was transit?"
Her: "R250! What does that leave me with?"
I pause, certain this is a trick question.
Me: "R650?"
Her: "That's nothing."
Me: "That's R650 more than nothing."
Her: "They weren't paying me enough. I've got a husband and a child. He didn't want me working at a horrible job like that. I'm desperate for work."
Me: (Obviously not desperate enough, I think. Leaving a perfectly good job without having gotten another one first.) "Sometimes you have to do jobs that you don't want or that don't pay enough for awhile."
Her: "You wouldn't know, you don't have any responsibilities."
Me: (Sharp biting of tongue. Two sentence cover letter. Mental damnation.)
Here's the thing. I may not have a lot of responsibilities, but that's because I'm responsible enough to have done certain things to avoid having those responsibilities, if you follow the insinuation.
I may not have kids and a husband, I've got quite a bit on my plate. Enough that I was willing to suck it up and work at Subway (this is where I might insert a "no offense" sort of thing but I'm not even going to bother because I mean it, with spite) all summer for $8 an hour. Trust me, there's nothing more fun (ah, depends on your definition of fun) than being patronized, but that patronization ensures that I will never have the spirited nature that might allow me to be snarky with someone attempting to help me find a job, or with the person who's typing my application when my CV declares me "computer literate."
Maybe she's partly right. Maybe I'm not wildly buried under responsibility. But then again, that depends on your definition of repsonsibility.
Debt? Check.
Unemployed? Check
Homeless? Check
Cat with AIDS? (Maybe that should read, Expensive Cat with AIDS who manages to get very expensive illnesses) Check
Car that needs regular upkeep and whose bumper is held together with duct tape? Check
These seem so trivial, I know. But trust me, I've got a lot of expectation hanging over my head. When I get back, I can't sit at home and wait for handouts, or ask my husband to provide for me. And I, too, will have to enter the job market and find myself employment.
Maybe my responsibilities are different, but trust me, they exist.
I'm frustrated. Today was not a good day as far as job hunting goes.
I've yet to find anyone a job.
I'm doing things that these learners should be able to do themselves - Googling. My resources are limited and I'm unfamiliar with the job market.
And yet, I need to stop complaining and get it together.
And so today, I posted another six pages of job openings available for consideration. Today, I got a Twitter for the programme and I got an email address as well. This way I don't have to keep emailing from my own personal account.
I bought yesterday's paper with the job listings after my boss neglected to do so last night.
I also attempted to get to the bottom of a possible nursing scam. I emailed a SETA and an NGO, and heard back from the NGO.
I am attempting to start an email list so that I can send out job postings and CV hints and such to the learners on a weekly basis.
I've got my job boards.
I'm trying to help them register their CVs with recruitment agencies.
And yet, I'm missing something.
Here's to brainstorming and some sort of miracle. Sheer determination is not enough, because sadly, I simply lack the drive. There's nothing fueling this endeavor. There is not enough need on this side - the contentment of unemployment is strong, the desire for work doesn't last.
And yet for some, it does. But they are self-starters. They don't want me to email for them because they're doing it themselves. And I wonder if I can just offer support, offer something that those who are movivated might need, something that might give them the edge.
Tomorrow I may be attending a dance show with the current group of learners in Cape Town. This could certainly be an adventure.
Yesterday, a woman came in to the office (I was all alone yesterday - no tea, no lunch, just work) and told me that she wanted help finding a job. She was in Group 5 of the program and had gone through it in June and July.
She looked at my job board, took down a bunch of my postings and then asked me to send them off for her. Email address? I asked her.
No.
So we made one.
And then I sat, crunched considerably further into my corner than I would have liked, while she invaded my personal space from the left side and I attempted to type without full range of motion. I emailed her CV to no less than seven places.
I wrote seven slightly differing cover letter that started to lose momentum as I was going.
I admit that I was starting to lose patience.
The last cover letter was two sentences. It had no formal greeting. It said, "Hello, I wish to submit my CV for consideration for the available position. Please see the attached file for my contact information."
I apologize. In all fairness, she did get a call back from a place nearly immediately, so I'm not entirely overly concerned for her wellfare.
The reason the last cover letter was that way? (If you can call it a cover letter - it was the body of a recklessly addressed email.)
She had the nerve to tell me I had no responsibilities.
I bit my tongue.
It began with her telling me she'd left her R900 per month job because it wasn't paying enough. The conversation went like this:
Me: "I know it wasn't a lot, but it was something."
Her: "They weren't paying me enough! Transport nearly took it all."
Me: "How much was transit?"
Her: "R250! What does that leave me with?"
I pause, certain this is a trick question.
Me: "R650?"
Her: "That's nothing."
Me: "That's R650 more than nothing."
Her: "They weren't paying me enough. I've got a husband and a child. He didn't want me working at a horrible job like that. I'm desperate for work."
Me: (Obviously not desperate enough, I think. Leaving a perfectly good job without having gotten another one first.) "Sometimes you have to do jobs that you don't want or that don't pay enough for awhile."
Her: "You wouldn't know, you don't have any responsibilities."
Me: (Sharp biting of tongue. Two sentence cover letter. Mental damnation.)
Here's the thing. I may not have a lot of responsibilities, but that's because I'm responsible enough to have done certain things to avoid having those responsibilities, if you follow the insinuation.
I may not have kids and a husband, I've got quite a bit on my plate. Enough that I was willing to suck it up and work at Subway (this is where I might insert a "no offense" sort of thing but I'm not even going to bother because I mean it, with spite) all summer for $8 an hour. Trust me, there's nothing more fun (ah, depends on your definition of fun) than being patronized, but that patronization ensures that I will never have the spirited nature that might allow me to be snarky with someone attempting to help me find a job, or with the person who's typing my application when my CV declares me "computer literate."
Maybe she's partly right. Maybe I'm not wildly buried under responsibility. But then again, that depends on your definition of repsonsibility.
Debt? Check.
Unemployed? Check
Homeless? Check
Cat with AIDS? (Maybe that should read, Expensive Cat with AIDS who manages to get very expensive illnesses) Check
Car that needs regular upkeep and whose bumper is held together with duct tape? Check
These seem so trivial, I know. But trust me, I've got a lot of expectation hanging over my head. When I get back, I can't sit at home and wait for handouts, or ask my husband to provide for me. And I, too, will have to enter the job market and find myself employment.
Maybe my responsibilities are different, but trust me, they exist.
I'm frustrated. Today was not a good day as far as job hunting goes.
I've yet to find anyone a job.
I'm doing things that these learners should be able to do themselves - Googling. My resources are limited and I'm unfamiliar with the job market.
And yet, I need to stop complaining and get it together.
And so today, I posted another six pages of job openings available for consideration. Today, I got a Twitter for the programme and I got an email address as well. This way I don't have to keep emailing from my own personal account.
I bought yesterday's paper with the job listings after my boss neglected to do so last night.
I also attempted to get to the bottom of a possible nursing scam. I emailed a SETA and an NGO, and heard back from the NGO.
I am attempting to start an email list so that I can send out job postings and CV hints and such to the learners on a weekly basis.
I've got my job boards.
I'm trying to help them register their CVs with recruitment agencies.
And yet, I'm missing something.
Here's to brainstorming and some sort of miracle. Sheer determination is not enough, because sadly, I simply lack the drive. There's nothing fueling this endeavor. There is not enough need on this side - the contentment of unemployment is strong, the desire for work doesn't last.
And yet for some, it does. But they are self-starters. They don't want me to email for them because they're doing it themselves. And I wonder if I can just offer support, offer something that those who are movivated might need, something that might give them the edge.
Tomorrow I may be attending a dance show with the current group of learners in Cape Town. This could certainly be an adventure.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Gender Bender
We’ve begun implementing the idea of the centre as just that, a centre, for the job search process. I have a board with positions stapled to it, dated, just waiting for people to come and select them based off of their own personal perceived ability and desire for that particular job. That’s where I come in, offering a certain amount of assistance in emailing the CVs and faxing and cover letters, etc. Tuesday was the first day of the process, and I think it may have gone well. I sent out a variety of CVs and there were people in and out of the room the entire day. This is the positivity that I hope to spread through the office, and hopefully these steps will keep the learners engaged in the job-seeking process.
I just finished proctoring a baseline assessment of the current group of learners. (I’m not sure that you can actually proctor a survey, but I feel pretty official saying it, so I’m going to stick with it.) It’s a coded ordeal that involves passing out secret identity numbers to the learners – they’re not actually secret, but the whole idea is that they sort of get to stay anonymous- and then sitting and watching for tentatively raised hands until the forty-five minutes they’re allotted have elapsed.
I wasn’t prepared for the hand in the back row that went up. I walked over and leaned over. The girl pointed to her page, and made a circular motion around the word “anal” and asked me what it meant. Since the word directly after it was sex, I paused for a moment and then, lacking any better-formulated answer, said, “butt.” “What?” she asked. “Butt sex,” I whispered. She didn’t hear me. “Butt sex,” I whispered again. “Ohhh.” I tried to hide my smile as I walked back to the front. It’s not that I was laughing at the question (that’s a half truth) but I was also laughing at my inability to answer.
The questionnaire needs to be re-written, there’s hardly any doubt about that. It’s full of outdated questions about sexual practices with a small space left at the end for life skills questions. They circle numbers one through five, depending on how they feel about a given statement. Some of the statements don’t even make sense to me, such as: “Safe sex means having sex with someone you love.” How do agree or disagree with a statement like that? I’m confused. What do they mean by safe sex? Do they mean that the love will protect you from STIs? Or is love inherently monogamous and that will keep you STI-free?
Some questions are entirely valid. “If a woman is participating in ‘foreplay’ with a man, she still has the right to say ‘no’ to sexual intercourse with him.”
The implications here are a little disheartening though. The questions come from a very traditional heterosexual standpoint, with the man taking the dominant role and the woman taking the submissive role. While this isn’t a problem sexually speaking, it maintains the power structure for relationships and reaffirms the subordination of the woman while simultaneously reaffirming the male’s right to oppression. There is no subtlety to this hegemonic dynamic, the reinforcement is quite clear.
I’ve asked to be the guest speaker for the unit on Human Sexuality and permission has been granted. I’m excited. I’m not sure what I’m going to talk about. Obviously the role of gender in sexuality; gender roles themselves; the socialization process that keeps people in those roles; STIs – not a “wear a condom” lecture, but a deeper discussion about stigma and the importance of maintaining an active role in one’s own personal healthcare; new health issues – particularly those for women; homosexuality – I’ve read that Cape Town has a large gay population, I’ll be interested to engage the group in discussion about perceptions of homosexuality in their community; the role of religion within sexual practices – this will be done from a Christian standpoint, so as to avoid stepping on any toes. Hmm....more on this as I figure out what I’ll be saying. I have to submit a lecture plan to Brenda, the facilitator, as soon as I can pull it together, but I have some time yet.
I’m thrilled, though. I love the exploration of sexuality (from an academic standpoint, of course) and I can’t wait to lead a discussion about gender – thus putting my education to work. I’m not going to get into feminist theory, simply because I don’t think it would be well-received and also because I’m not sure that it would find its place here, but I’m going to frame my lecture and the subsequent discussion from the feminist standpoint just to see if I have any takers.
Long weekend ahead. I'm headed out of work early today, not for any particular reason other than that the weather is nasty and I absolutely have to do laundry or I won't have anything remotely presentable to wear this weekend.
Tomorrow is Heritage Day. I'll update as soon as I know exactly what it is.
I just finished proctoring a baseline assessment of the current group of learners. (I’m not sure that you can actually proctor a survey, but I feel pretty official saying it, so I’m going to stick with it.) It’s a coded ordeal that involves passing out secret identity numbers to the learners – they’re not actually secret, but the whole idea is that they sort of get to stay anonymous- and then sitting and watching for tentatively raised hands until the forty-five minutes they’re allotted have elapsed.
I wasn’t prepared for the hand in the back row that went up. I walked over and leaned over. The girl pointed to her page, and made a circular motion around the word “anal” and asked me what it meant. Since the word directly after it was sex, I paused for a moment and then, lacking any better-formulated answer, said, “butt.” “What?” she asked. “Butt sex,” I whispered. She didn’t hear me. “Butt sex,” I whispered again. “Ohhh.” I tried to hide my smile as I walked back to the front. It’s not that I was laughing at the question (that’s a half truth) but I was also laughing at my inability to answer.
The questionnaire needs to be re-written, there’s hardly any doubt about that. It’s full of outdated questions about sexual practices with a small space left at the end for life skills questions. They circle numbers one through five, depending on how they feel about a given statement. Some of the statements don’t even make sense to me, such as: “Safe sex means having sex with someone you love.” How do agree or disagree with a statement like that? I’m confused. What do they mean by safe sex? Do they mean that the love will protect you from STIs? Or is love inherently monogamous and that will keep you STI-free?
Some questions are entirely valid. “If a woman is participating in ‘foreplay’ with a man, she still has the right to say ‘no’ to sexual intercourse with him.”
The implications here are a little disheartening though. The questions come from a very traditional heterosexual standpoint, with the man taking the dominant role and the woman taking the submissive role. While this isn’t a problem sexually speaking, it maintains the power structure for relationships and reaffirms the subordination of the woman while simultaneously reaffirming the male’s right to oppression. There is no subtlety to this hegemonic dynamic, the reinforcement is quite clear.
I’ve asked to be the guest speaker for the unit on Human Sexuality and permission has been granted. I’m excited. I’m not sure what I’m going to talk about. Obviously the role of gender in sexuality; gender roles themselves; the socialization process that keeps people in those roles; STIs – not a “wear a condom” lecture, but a deeper discussion about stigma and the importance of maintaining an active role in one’s own personal healthcare; new health issues – particularly those for women; homosexuality – I’ve read that Cape Town has a large gay population, I’ll be interested to engage the group in discussion about perceptions of homosexuality in their community; the role of religion within sexual practices – this will be done from a Christian standpoint, so as to avoid stepping on any toes. Hmm....more on this as I figure out what I’ll be saying. I have to submit a lecture plan to Brenda, the facilitator, as soon as I can pull it together, but I have some time yet.
I’m thrilled, though. I love the exploration of sexuality (from an academic standpoint, of course) and I can’t wait to lead a discussion about gender – thus putting my education to work. I’m not going to get into feminist theory, simply because I don’t think it would be well-received and also because I’m not sure that it would find its place here, but I’m going to frame my lecture and the subsequent discussion from the feminist standpoint just to see if I have any takers.
Long weekend ahead. I'm headed out of work early today, not for any particular reason other than that the weather is nasty and I absolutely have to do laundry or I won't have anything remotely presentable to wear this weekend.
Tomorrow is Heritage Day. I'll update as soon as I know exactly what it is.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Technology and Communication
Today's lesson in gratitude follows yesterday's attempt at returning my cell phone.
They wouldn't let me. So now I'm in Cape Town with a smart phone.
Great.
When I go out to bars, I'm going to take a pencil and pad of paper, a traveling "little black book" if you will.
I take my communication abilities for granted.
I find it relaxing to sit in front of computer and type for an hour.
I love that I can send you emails whenever I like it.
I never knew (or never quite realized) how difficult that is for some people.
We're not just talking no internet connection, no access, we're talking inability to type. To operate a computer. To move a mouse.
Today, the language barrier as well as the technology barrier barred me from assisting someone. He wasn't from the Fit for Life program, but he came in and asked in broken English to send a message.
And so I set him up with a Gmail account (because I am all about Gmail, all the time) and then I set him up with a blank message.
Talk of Mecca and of a Sheik and of stars and moonlight and other things I couldn't catch.
He was trying to send a message to Mecca.
I was trying to explain email.
There was a barrier there that could not be breached.
One of the ex-learners who had come to check his email leaned over to me and said, "He's not playing with all his cards."
Still, I was determined to ascertain his message, his purpose. But alas, it did not happen.
I still believe that he was trying to send a Sheik that had changed his life in Mecca a message.
But he was trying to get the computer to act like a phone and I could not explain that it was an impossible task. And then I realized that explaining Google Voice and Skype weren't going to help and somehow the US got thrown in the mix and it was a mess.
A mess.
And so today, I am experiencing overwhelming gratitude for my ability to type, my ability to email and overall, my ability to communiate (even if it's only in English - which I just mistyped no less than four times - and broken Spanish).
They wouldn't let me. So now I'm in Cape Town with a smart phone.
Great.
When I go out to bars, I'm going to take a pencil and pad of paper, a traveling "little black book" if you will.
I take my communication abilities for granted.
I find it relaxing to sit in front of computer and type for an hour.
I love that I can send you emails whenever I like it.
I never knew (or never quite realized) how difficult that is for some people.
We're not just talking no internet connection, no access, we're talking inability to type. To operate a computer. To move a mouse.
Today, the language barrier as well as the technology barrier barred me from assisting someone. He wasn't from the Fit for Life program, but he came in and asked in broken English to send a message.
And so I set him up with a Gmail account (because I am all about Gmail, all the time) and then I set him up with a blank message.
Talk of Mecca and of a Sheik and of stars and moonlight and other things I couldn't catch.
He was trying to send a message to Mecca.
I was trying to explain email.
There was a barrier there that could not be breached.
One of the ex-learners who had come to check his email leaned over to me and said, "He's not playing with all his cards."
Still, I was determined to ascertain his message, his purpose. But alas, it did not happen.
I still believe that he was trying to send a Sheik that had changed his life in Mecca a message.
But he was trying to get the computer to act like a phone and I could not explain that it was an impossible task. And then I realized that explaining Google Voice and Skype weren't going to help and somehow the US got thrown in the mix and it was a mess.
A mess.
And so today, I am experiencing overwhelming gratitude for my ability to type, my ability to email and overall, my ability to communiate (even if it's only in English - which I just mistyped no less than four times - and broken Spanish).
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Cape Point Tour
I was petting a black and white cat and one of our friends said to me, "don't touch the penguins." It was cute. Made me want to take a penguin home to keep Carlos company.
Sound and (Color) Fury
I wish I could describe how colorful this place is. I will always remember the colors here.
Even I feel more colorful here. Even though my customary black is still around, it's being supplemented by my bright red shoes and my brighter green jacket.
The clothing here is colorful - maybe it's because not everything matches, maybe it's something else. I feel a brightness. The women here wear clothes, long skirts, wraps, jackets, shawls. Multi-colored.
The food is colorful, too. Even this seems to light up the world around me.
Priscilla's favorite color is red. Her house is painted a soft pink (mauve, perhaps?) but the inside is all pale wooden floors or plain tile floor, with red accents. Red rug, red chairs, red candles, red lamps. Red pillows sit on the khaki colored chairs.
Yellow kitchen tiles with stainless steel appliances (or the spray-painted refrigerator pretending it's stainless steel).
My room is bright pink, painted in the similar spongy style that adorned the bedroom of my adolescence.
The shower curtains are pink and purple and the curtains are bright pink Hello Kitty. I'm so glad that I brought my own blanket, something to break up the pink party that I'm living in.
The trains are blue and yellow, covered in black and white graffiti.
The mountains are rocky, green fading into grays and oranges. The sky is blue, cloud-filled, or gray, also cloud-filled. The clouds here are whispy, misty, almost fog creeping slowly over the mountains to nestle in around the sleeping houses.
The rain comes in the night. I hear it tapping on the plastic roof next door. I had nightmares the other night, terrified that Priscilla would think I'd left the shower dripping, paralyzed in my own mind about the punishment. I woke to her laughing as she sipped tea in the kitchen, and the realization that the fear was all in my dreams washed over me like a tidal wave. Relief gave way to annoyance as I lay there listening to the constant "drip, drip, drip, drip" of the water sliding off the roof.
Sand along the dark black roads, pale concrete, bricks. Maybe the color lies in the multitude of materials used to construct these houses. Metal bits, fencing, concrete, bricks, anything on hand. The houses are painted colors, the tuck shops quite aptly tucked in between the houses bear brightly painted signs, Coca Cola, cigarettes, all things sold here. Flour and eggs, sugar, milk. The sweets and bags of chips glitter from inside the darkened storefronts. They call to passerby.
The other night I was so desperate to take a picture of the sunset. I looked outside, past Priscilla's blue roof with white trim, set so odd against the pale pinkish house, above the street to look at the mountains. Above the mountains, the sky was the faintest blue mixed with whites and pinks and purples, all the softest of pastels. The clouds weren't solid, they looked like someone had taken cotton candy and roped it through the sky. It was beautiful and soft and it was home.
Even I feel more colorful here. Even though my customary black is still around, it's being supplemented by my bright red shoes and my brighter green jacket.
The clothing here is colorful - maybe it's because not everything matches, maybe it's something else. I feel a brightness. The women here wear clothes, long skirts, wraps, jackets, shawls. Multi-colored.
The food is colorful, too. Even this seems to light up the world around me.
Priscilla's favorite color is red. Her house is painted a soft pink (mauve, perhaps?) but the inside is all pale wooden floors or plain tile floor, with red accents. Red rug, red chairs, red candles, red lamps. Red pillows sit on the khaki colored chairs.
Yellow kitchen tiles with stainless steel appliances (or the spray-painted refrigerator pretending it's stainless steel).
My room is bright pink, painted in the similar spongy style that adorned the bedroom of my adolescence.
The shower curtains are pink and purple and the curtains are bright pink Hello Kitty. I'm so glad that I brought my own blanket, something to break up the pink party that I'm living in.
The trains are blue and yellow, covered in black and white graffiti.
The mountains are rocky, green fading into grays and oranges. The sky is blue, cloud-filled, or gray, also cloud-filled. The clouds here are whispy, misty, almost fog creeping slowly over the mountains to nestle in around the sleeping houses.
The rain comes in the night. I hear it tapping on the plastic roof next door. I had nightmares the other night, terrified that Priscilla would think I'd left the shower dripping, paralyzed in my own mind about the punishment. I woke to her laughing as she sipped tea in the kitchen, and the realization that the fear was all in my dreams washed over me like a tidal wave. Relief gave way to annoyance as I lay there listening to the constant "drip, drip, drip, drip" of the water sliding off the roof.
Sand along the dark black roads, pale concrete, bricks. Maybe the color lies in the multitude of materials used to construct these houses. Metal bits, fencing, concrete, bricks, anything on hand. The houses are painted colors, the tuck shops quite aptly tucked in between the houses bear brightly painted signs, Coca Cola, cigarettes, all things sold here. Flour and eggs, sugar, milk. The sweets and bags of chips glitter from inside the darkened storefronts. They call to passerby.
The other night I was so desperate to take a picture of the sunset. I looked outside, past Priscilla's blue roof with white trim, set so odd against the pale pinkish house, above the street to look at the mountains. Above the mountains, the sky was the faintest blue mixed with whites and pinks and purples, all the softest of pastels. The clouds weren't solid, they looked like someone had taken cotton candy and roped it through the sky. It was beautiful and soft and it was home.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Where am I going?
Today is going to be blog-heavy, hopefully, provided I can get to an internet cafe with my computer to do a picture post. (It's going to blow your mind - we did the Cape Point tour this weekend that included the Cape of Good Hope and Simonstown - Boulders Beach with the penguins!)
This is the sort of obligatory "Where is my life going?" post.
I've been here for nearly three weeks now and everything has pretty much become routine.
I wake up between 7:30 and 7:45 every day. I'm out of bed by 7:50. In the car before 8:25. At work before 9:00.
Free between 16:00 and 18:00. Dinner. Shower. Bed by 21:00. Sometimes there's reading, sometimes there's just sweet sleep.
And then it begins again.
We have sort of created a giant pack of volunteers. We go out together, we have dinner together on the weekends, we plan trips together. It's nice. I am actually coming to enjoy the routine, the segmentation of it all. It gives me structure that perhaps I've been missing. It allows me to feel that Fridays are actually Fridays. I feel that Mondays are Mondays. (Trust me, since it's Monday I feel like the whole week is weighing down on me.)
But what happens when I go home?
I dashed off a frantic email to my mom this morning outlining my life plan, just so someone would see it, would read it, would reassure me that I'm on track to meet my goals, that home ownership before thirty can still be a bright spot on an otherwise (currently) dull horizon, that I've still got a future.
And it's funny, because the enormity of this future thing isn't a part of what I'm thinking about here. I'm left wondering where it came from, how it might have overhelmed my subconscious enough to have leaked out into a barely grammatically correct email that was little more than a collection of thoughts and a list or three?
Perhaps its the surroundings that are pushing me to fret.
I think it might be the realization that my education is such a precious thing to have; the realization that I have a support network unlike any other - my family, my friends; the gratitude I'm feeling for everything I have, everything I'm lucky enough to own; the desire to provide for myself and someday, my family.
I think maybe it's all settling in.
I need to stop being so afraid of what I might not be able to do and just do things. I'm great. I'm a hard-worker, a fun co-worker, determined and a quick learner. I can do anything I want to do. I'm feeling better about all of that now.
Priscilla talks endlessly during our long conversations about how hard she's worked for what she has, how proud she is to have a space to call her own. She calls her house her "haven" and it's true. It's cozy and comfortable and shows the signs of constant attention that any house should.
I work around determined people; I watch them try to handle tough tasks on a daily basis. But just as much as I see the struggle, I see the giving up that's all around me.
"They're unemployable," I said to Mom one day, exhausted and frustrated with the task at hand.
It's not that I don't want to see everyone around me succeed, but I can feel that the necessary sense of purpose doesn't seem to be alive here. No one wants to finish the equivalent of a high school education. Even of those who do - some are content to stand around day after day. It's not just in the townships. It's all over. If there is a means of support then there are those who will take advantage of it and run with that support until it's exhausted.
But for those who want to do anything to get somewhere, there remain hopefully a few options. Hopefully there can be a way out for those who need it and want it the most. Hopefully the people who want to learn and think and work will find the jobs that need to be filled, will succeed, will move up, will move out.
And hopefully I can be good enough at what I need to be doing to help them.
There's a sense of struggle that hangs over the communities and the people.
Priscilla touches on it during our conversations. I can hear the bitterness in her voice when she tells me that she could just sit around waiting for handouts, but that instead she goes out every day to work even though there are days that she doesn't want to. I wonder how much of that is the leftover sentiments from the apartheid, or how much of it is the true feelings from one class to another, how much of it might have to do with all of the theft in our neighborhood, how the people come from the townships to take and take.
It's the culture here, I want to tell her.
It's not people from the townships only. People everywhere steal. Here, they take and they take and they don't give anything back, they don't work toward anything better for themselves.
But is it merely expectations? Or is it a cultural epidemic? Does it have to do with race?
I hope to know the source of this by the end. I know it's not just joblessness, hopelessness, fear and struggle. It's also greed and history and ties to family and to the past.
But above all, it's the lack of education, the lack of resources.
Today, a new set of Fit for Life/Fit for Work people started. No one had pens. We didn't have any to offer them. It's that sort of thing that hinders intellectual progress.
Yesterday at Cape Point, we watched a car snatch a purse that was laying by the side of the road. It sped off. As we were leaving the park, we saw police gathered around the car by the gate, with the tourists milling about behind it, filing the report. Priscilla wanted to know who had committed the theft.
My cell phone now lives with someone else, stolen Friday night during the crowded five minute walk from the bars to the waiting taxi. I hadn't brought a purse exactly for that reason. Priscilla told me I had to keep everything in my bra from now on (I had all of my cash and my ID in there) but I reminded her that I've not got a lot of room with which to create storage space. She laughs, but gives me that look that says, "make some space, you silly sausage."
So I have a new number. I don't know it yet, of course, but I think it's: +27-0766658768. So you know, text it, see if I answer. I also think I can video chat from the new phone! (More to come on this development later...) But the new phone is no longer coming out with me when I go out. It can stay at home and languish in a cupboard, or a dark drawer. I'll hand out my number on sheets of paper. I'll write Mike's number on my arm so I can call it from someone else's phone.
To conclude this poorly organized thought jumble, I will say I feel better about things that I can do. It's reassurance. It's positive thought, it's that glimmer of hope that I needed.
I finished the manual for the program. I typed it and had to undo nearly everything and make it a more succinct package, but I did it. And then I printed it and bound it and now it's laying on the desks, ready to be taken home by the learners. It's clean, well-organized, cut perfectly, absolutely everything that was required of me.
And when my boss told me I was doing a good job, I nearly inhaled the praise. I'd needed that small bit of reassurance and it strenghtened my resolve. Brenda told me that without my work there would be no manual, and I glowed on the inside.
Tomorrow we institute the Katie Barry and Company attempts at re-organizing the job placement sector and hopefully all will be well. I finally feel like we can accomplish something and that my time here will be spent well.
Also, I know how to use a copy machine (entirely - loading paper, faxing, scanning, toner business, etc.) and route calls from one side of the building to the other. Those are the two most basic skills I could have developed and I can check them off.
Progress, however small, is still progress.
This is the sort of obligatory "Where is my life going?" post.
I've been here for nearly three weeks now and everything has pretty much become routine.
I wake up between 7:30 and 7:45 every day. I'm out of bed by 7:50. In the car before 8:25. At work before 9:00.
Free between 16:00 and 18:00. Dinner. Shower. Bed by 21:00. Sometimes there's reading, sometimes there's just sweet sleep.
And then it begins again.
We have sort of created a giant pack of volunteers. We go out together, we have dinner together on the weekends, we plan trips together. It's nice. I am actually coming to enjoy the routine, the segmentation of it all. It gives me structure that perhaps I've been missing. It allows me to feel that Fridays are actually Fridays. I feel that Mondays are Mondays. (Trust me, since it's Monday I feel like the whole week is weighing down on me.)
But what happens when I go home?
I dashed off a frantic email to my mom this morning outlining my life plan, just so someone would see it, would read it, would reassure me that I'm on track to meet my goals, that home ownership before thirty can still be a bright spot on an otherwise (currently) dull horizon, that I've still got a future.
And it's funny, because the enormity of this future thing isn't a part of what I'm thinking about here. I'm left wondering where it came from, how it might have overhelmed my subconscious enough to have leaked out into a barely grammatically correct email that was little more than a collection of thoughts and a list or three?
Perhaps its the surroundings that are pushing me to fret.
I think it might be the realization that my education is such a precious thing to have; the realization that I have a support network unlike any other - my family, my friends; the gratitude I'm feeling for everything I have, everything I'm lucky enough to own; the desire to provide for myself and someday, my family.
I think maybe it's all settling in.
I need to stop being so afraid of what I might not be able to do and just do things. I'm great. I'm a hard-worker, a fun co-worker, determined and a quick learner. I can do anything I want to do. I'm feeling better about all of that now.
Priscilla talks endlessly during our long conversations about how hard she's worked for what she has, how proud she is to have a space to call her own. She calls her house her "haven" and it's true. It's cozy and comfortable and shows the signs of constant attention that any house should.
I work around determined people; I watch them try to handle tough tasks on a daily basis. But just as much as I see the struggle, I see the giving up that's all around me.
"They're unemployable," I said to Mom one day, exhausted and frustrated with the task at hand.
It's not that I don't want to see everyone around me succeed, but I can feel that the necessary sense of purpose doesn't seem to be alive here. No one wants to finish the equivalent of a high school education. Even of those who do - some are content to stand around day after day. It's not just in the townships. It's all over. If there is a means of support then there are those who will take advantage of it and run with that support until it's exhausted.
But for those who want to do anything to get somewhere, there remain hopefully a few options. Hopefully there can be a way out for those who need it and want it the most. Hopefully the people who want to learn and think and work will find the jobs that need to be filled, will succeed, will move up, will move out.
And hopefully I can be good enough at what I need to be doing to help them.
There's a sense of struggle that hangs over the communities and the people.
Priscilla touches on it during our conversations. I can hear the bitterness in her voice when she tells me that she could just sit around waiting for handouts, but that instead she goes out every day to work even though there are days that she doesn't want to. I wonder how much of that is the leftover sentiments from the apartheid, or how much of it is the true feelings from one class to another, how much of it might have to do with all of the theft in our neighborhood, how the people come from the townships to take and take.
It's the culture here, I want to tell her.
It's not people from the townships only. People everywhere steal. Here, they take and they take and they don't give anything back, they don't work toward anything better for themselves.
But is it merely expectations? Or is it a cultural epidemic? Does it have to do with race?
I hope to know the source of this by the end. I know it's not just joblessness, hopelessness, fear and struggle. It's also greed and history and ties to family and to the past.
But above all, it's the lack of education, the lack of resources.
Today, a new set of Fit for Life/Fit for Work people started. No one had pens. We didn't have any to offer them. It's that sort of thing that hinders intellectual progress.
Yesterday at Cape Point, we watched a car snatch a purse that was laying by the side of the road. It sped off. As we were leaving the park, we saw police gathered around the car by the gate, with the tourists milling about behind it, filing the report. Priscilla wanted to know who had committed the theft.
My cell phone now lives with someone else, stolen Friday night during the crowded five minute walk from the bars to the waiting taxi. I hadn't brought a purse exactly for that reason. Priscilla told me I had to keep everything in my bra from now on (I had all of my cash and my ID in there) but I reminded her that I've not got a lot of room with which to create storage space. She laughs, but gives me that look that says, "make some space, you silly sausage."
So I have a new number. I don't know it yet, of course, but I think it's: +27-0766658768. So you know, text it, see if I answer. I also think I can video chat from the new phone! (More to come on this development later...) But the new phone is no longer coming out with me when I go out. It can stay at home and languish in a cupboard, or a dark drawer. I'll hand out my number on sheets of paper. I'll write Mike's number on my arm so I can call it from someone else's phone.
To conclude this poorly organized thought jumble, I will say I feel better about things that I can do. It's reassurance. It's positive thought, it's that glimmer of hope that I needed.
I finished the manual for the program. I typed it and had to undo nearly everything and make it a more succinct package, but I did it. And then I printed it and bound it and now it's laying on the desks, ready to be taken home by the learners. It's clean, well-organized, cut perfectly, absolutely everything that was required of me.
And when my boss told me I was doing a good job, I nearly inhaled the praise. I'd needed that small bit of reassurance and it strenghtened my resolve. Brenda told me that without my work there would be no manual, and I glowed on the inside.
Tomorrow we institute the Katie Barry and Company attempts at re-organizing the job placement sector and hopefully all will be well. I finally feel like we can accomplish something and that my time here will be spent well.
Also, I know how to use a copy machine (entirely - loading paper, faxing, scanning, toner business, etc.) and route calls from one side of the building to the other. Those are the two most basic skills I could have developed and I can check them off.
Progress, however small, is still progress.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
State of Politics in South Africa: September
http://www.economist.com/node/16953564?story_id=16953564
For lack of time today, an article about the political backlash of the workers' strike in South Africa. It details the relationship between the president and the other major players involved. Even if you aren't interested in the article itself, it is worthwhile to read the comments below.
It's an older article, but it shows the complexity of the situation surrounding the strikes and provides more information about the government than I'm capable of providing (I've yet to get a handle on it although I will say that no one seems to find the government effective. Our big black trash can is labelled with "CAPE TOWN, This city works for you" yet I see the neglect and sense a nagging feeling of abandonment, perhaps especially because of the locations where I'm living and working - the comparisons to Chicago grow in my mind daily yet I'm unable to produce an accurate picture of the state of affairs here and so I'll wait).
You'll remember President Zuma as the man who stated (wildly incorrectly) that avoiding HIV is as easy as showering after sex. You'll also need to know that right now, there is a huge problem of the government attempting to limit freedom of speech when it pertains to criticism of corruption and government. I believe that the vote is happening tomorrow (the 17th of September).
Also, I've posted in "A mile high...and then some" three articles in the past few days about the state of gender affairs both here and in the US. One article links to a New York Times article and the other two are localized to South Africa. I found the two I posted this morning to be especially affecting.
I've included the text to the Economist article below:
With friends like these
"President Jacob Zuma is badly bruised by weeks of crippling strikes"
Sep 2nd 2010
THE public-sector strikes that have paralysed hospitals, schools and other essential services across the country since August 18th have damaged South Africa’s image abroad. They have also undermined relations between the ruling African National Congress (ANC) and the Congress of South African Trade Unions (Cosatu), part of the ruling tripartite alliance, together with the communists. On September 1st Cosatu rejected the latest pay offer from the government, so as The Economist went to press the strikes seemed destined to continue, and even intensify. President Jacob Zuma, who ordered both sides back to the negotiating table on August 30th in a last-ditch attempt to end the strike, has emerged weakened from the fray.
Cosatu, with a membership of 2m, has been feeling increasingly aggrieved since Mr Zuma took over as president 16 months ago. Having helped elevate him to power, the country’s biggest union federation thought that he was their man. Cosatu had expected to play an important role in the new administration. Instead, it has repeatedly found its policies ignored. In June relations reached near breaking-point when the ANC threatened to bring disciplinary proceedings against Cosatu’s leader, Zwelinzima Vavi, for having accused the government of failing to take action against corrupt ministers.
Carrying on the fight against corruption in public life is one of Mr Vavi’s passions. Having already discerned a “tendency” within the ANC that is “hellbent on their agenda of self-enrichment and crass materialism”, he returned to the charge last week, claiming that the whole country was rapidly turning into “a full-blown predator state, in which a powerful, corrupt and demagogic elite of political hyenas increasingly controls the state as a vehicle for accumulation.”
Rows between the ANC, Cosatu and the communists are nothing new. But the rhetoric has become nastier and more personal of late. A meeting of alliance leaders, to try to sort things out, was due to have been convened immediately after the football World Cup in early July, but still has not taken place.
Mr Vavi says that the alliance is now paralysed. Some analysts believe it may break up. But its demise has often been predicted in the past without ever coming to pass. Much of Cosatu’s power is based on its close relations with the ANC. Its honeymoon with Mr Zuma may be over, but it has no credible alternative left-wing candidate to promote in his place as president.
Another of Mr Zuma’s kingmakers, the powerful ANC Youth League, also appears to have fallen out of love with its former idol. It has been incensed by Mr Zuma’s decision to call its leader, Julius Malema, to book, following a series of particularly outrageous statements by the young firebrand. At an ANC disciplinary hearing in May, Mr Malema was fined 10,000 rand ($1,300) and ordered to attend an anger-management course, for “sowing disunity” within the ANC. The League has demanded the whole proceedings be annulled, while hinting that it may not support the 68-year-old Mr Zuma for a second term.
It is time for a new generation to take over, Mr Malema suggested in an interview last week. “The older people don’t know what the current issues are or how to deal with them. Once older people decide to continue with the old way of doing things, they’re going to become irrelevant.” Mr Malema, meanwhile, advocates what he would doubtless regard as more relevant policies, such as the nationalisation of the country’s mines and the expropriation of white-owned farms at a price to be determined by the government. Land reform has been progressing too slowly, Mr Malema says. It is time to abolish the “willing buyer, willing seller” principle.
It is not only the alliance that is in turmoil. Both the ANC and its Youth League are struggling with their own internal divisions and in-fighting. How much of all this huffing and puffing is part of the normal jostling for position ahead of the ANC’s National General Council later this month, in its turn a preparation for the party’s five-yearly national conference, when a new leadership will be elected, is difficult to tell. But it is not making the government or the party look good in the run up to next year’s local-government elections.
(End of article.)
Comments:
Mekuria wrote: .Zuma is receiving the pay for what he did to Mbeki. COSATU was an ally in toppling Mbeki, but governing is way different than dancing and mobilizing the mob. He promised things he cannot implement in a free market economy, and now his promise is haunting him. It is very disturbing to have a leader who believes taking a shower could provide protection against HIV/Aids at a time when South Africa is suffering an epidemic of this disease. I remember Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu saying that he was disappointed that Zuma would come to power with "a question mark over his head". That is exactly what we are witnessing now. He better leave politics to those who can do it better and take care of his five + wives and fifty something kids. "As you sow, so shall you reap."
Aly-Khan Satchu wrote: The Noise Level that swirls during 'Strike Season' is of a Pitch and Magnitude that puts South Africa in the Outlier Category and it is easy to see a Disjunctive Break where There is just Noise.
Far from harming President Zuma, I think by standing up to COSATU and Julius Malema Esquire, he is asserting the Fact that He is No One's Poodle, which is Political Win for the President.
Plen wrote: Aly-Khan Satchu is right, Zuma is not the poodle of Cosatu or Malema. But watching this whole turn of political events is a disturbing argument between dumb and dumber.
1. On the one side you have a president who’s highest education level is primary school whose actions are disturbing at best. A polygamist who still finds the need to cheat on his 5 wives (has an extra marital child). Besides the stupidity of the HIV shower story, he now believes that the best way to solve corruption is to silence the media. He is a model of incompetence.
2. On the other side you have COSATU who seem admirable in wanting corruption curbed and take to the streets in protest of improved living wages. However, SA’s contribution to civil servants is among the highest in the world and too high for a country with very limited revenue generation. In essence, as difficult as it may be for civil servants to make ends meet, any more increases in salary (above inflation) is outright fiscally irresponsible.
3. Then you throw in Julius Malema (head of the ANC youth League) who openly supports COSATU and angrily shouts down the President. Yet this guy’s statements go beyond outrageous stupidity to down right dangerous. His is the man who openly chants “Kill the White man”, in a country with over 18,000 murders a year and dealing with mending a race divide his chants are very counter productive. But what is the most striking about this idiot is his own level of corruption. He is personally involved in the most scandalous acts of corruption, he wears a cap worth over $1,000 and drives the top of the line Land Rover (he doesn’t have a license) but ironically he joins the COSATU call to decrease corruption and end the government largesse.
All the players in this game cannot for a moment think beyond themselves and fathom the hypocrisyof their actions.
This is shamefully African politics at its worst. When will we see responsible governance take place? Is Botswana (Africa’s oldest democracy) the only bastion of hope?
Lloron wrote: .Vavi has lost control over COSATU. I believe that it has been taken over by hooligan opportunists and anarchists.
One cannot help believing that this is so when one reads about nurses being attacked for attending to their patients. One is in a critical condition in hospital after being beaten by the mob.
Remember Mr Vavi, you have sown the wind and we may be about to reap the whirlwind
mises ghost wrote: .10 years of high tax incomes and the energy system is decrepid. the problem of the anc seems to be not only the endemic corruption, but also the populism: rather than invest in the futuret he leaders seem to buy off voters by populistic measures.
On the other side i do feel optimistic every time I notice the pluralistic view in dominant parties. The ANC might not split up and all the currents might be disgusting, but even so any kind of contest for the power might prove valuble (even if I personally consider the country doomed because of its racial policy)
For lack of time today, an article about the political backlash of the workers' strike in South Africa. It details the relationship between the president and the other major players involved. Even if you aren't interested in the article itself, it is worthwhile to read the comments below.
It's an older article, but it shows the complexity of the situation surrounding the strikes and provides more information about the government than I'm capable of providing (I've yet to get a handle on it although I will say that no one seems to find the government effective. Our big black trash can is labelled with "CAPE TOWN, This city works for you" yet I see the neglect and sense a nagging feeling of abandonment, perhaps especially because of the locations where I'm living and working - the comparisons to Chicago grow in my mind daily yet I'm unable to produce an accurate picture of the state of affairs here and so I'll wait).
You'll remember President Zuma as the man who stated (wildly incorrectly) that avoiding HIV is as easy as showering after sex. You'll also need to know that right now, there is a huge problem of the government attempting to limit freedom of speech when it pertains to criticism of corruption and government. I believe that the vote is happening tomorrow (the 17th of September).
Also, I've posted in "A mile high...and then some" three articles in the past few days about the state of gender affairs both here and in the US. One article links to a New York Times article and the other two are localized to South Africa. I found the two I posted this morning to be especially affecting.
I've included the text to the Economist article below:
With friends like these
"President Jacob Zuma is badly bruised by weeks of crippling strikes"
Sep 2nd 2010
THE public-sector strikes that have paralysed hospitals, schools and other essential services across the country since August 18th have damaged South Africa’s image abroad. They have also undermined relations between the ruling African National Congress (ANC) and the Congress of South African Trade Unions (Cosatu), part of the ruling tripartite alliance, together with the communists. On September 1st Cosatu rejected the latest pay offer from the government, so as The Economist went to press the strikes seemed destined to continue, and even intensify. President Jacob Zuma, who ordered both sides back to the negotiating table on August 30th in a last-ditch attempt to end the strike, has emerged weakened from the fray.
Cosatu, with a membership of 2m, has been feeling increasingly aggrieved since Mr Zuma took over as president 16 months ago. Having helped elevate him to power, the country’s biggest union federation thought that he was their man. Cosatu had expected to play an important role in the new administration. Instead, it has repeatedly found its policies ignored. In June relations reached near breaking-point when the ANC threatened to bring disciplinary proceedings against Cosatu’s leader, Zwelinzima Vavi, for having accused the government of failing to take action against corrupt ministers.
Carrying on the fight against corruption in public life is one of Mr Vavi’s passions. Having already discerned a “tendency” within the ANC that is “hellbent on their agenda of self-enrichment and crass materialism”, he returned to the charge last week, claiming that the whole country was rapidly turning into “a full-blown predator state, in which a powerful, corrupt and demagogic elite of political hyenas increasingly controls the state as a vehicle for accumulation.”
Rows between the ANC, Cosatu and the communists are nothing new. But the rhetoric has become nastier and more personal of late. A meeting of alliance leaders, to try to sort things out, was due to have been convened immediately after the football World Cup in early July, but still has not taken place.
Mr Vavi says that the alliance is now paralysed. Some analysts believe it may break up. But its demise has often been predicted in the past without ever coming to pass. Much of Cosatu’s power is based on its close relations with the ANC. Its honeymoon with Mr Zuma may be over, but it has no credible alternative left-wing candidate to promote in his place as president.
Another of Mr Zuma’s kingmakers, the powerful ANC Youth League, also appears to have fallen out of love with its former idol. It has been incensed by Mr Zuma’s decision to call its leader, Julius Malema, to book, following a series of particularly outrageous statements by the young firebrand. At an ANC disciplinary hearing in May, Mr Malema was fined 10,000 rand ($1,300) and ordered to attend an anger-management course, for “sowing disunity” within the ANC. The League has demanded the whole proceedings be annulled, while hinting that it may not support the 68-year-old Mr Zuma for a second term.
It is time for a new generation to take over, Mr Malema suggested in an interview last week. “The older people don’t know what the current issues are or how to deal with them. Once older people decide to continue with the old way of doing things, they’re going to become irrelevant.” Mr Malema, meanwhile, advocates what he would doubtless regard as more relevant policies, such as the nationalisation of the country’s mines and the expropriation of white-owned farms at a price to be determined by the government. Land reform has been progressing too slowly, Mr Malema says. It is time to abolish the “willing buyer, willing seller” principle.
It is not only the alliance that is in turmoil. Both the ANC and its Youth League are struggling with their own internal divisions and in-fighting. How much of all this huffing and puffing is part of the normal jostling for position ahead of the ANC’s National General Council later this month, in its turn a preparation for the party’s five-yearly national conference, when a new leadership will be elected, is difficult to tell. But it is not making the government or the party look good in the run up to next year’s local-government elections.
(End of article.)
Comments:
Mekuria wrote: .Zuma is receiving the pay for what he did to Mbeki. COSATU was an ally in toppling Mbeki, but governing is way different than dancing and mobilizing the mob. He promised things he cannot implement in a free market economy, and now his promise is haunting him. It is very disturbing to have a leader who believes taking a shower could provide protection against HIV/Aids at a time when South Africa is suffering an epidemic of this disease. I remember Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu saying that he was disappointed that Zuma would come to power with "a question mark over his head". That is exactly what we are witnessing now. He better leave politics to those who can do it better and take care of his five + wives and fifty something kids. "As you sow, so shall you reap."
Aly-Khan Satchu wrote: The Noise Level that swirls during 'Strike Season' is of a Pitch and Magnitude that puts South Africa in the Outlier Category and it is easy to see a Disjunctive Break where There is just Noise.
Far from harming President Zuma, I think by standing up to COSATU and Julius Malema Esquire, he is asserting the Fact that He is No One's Poodle, which is Political Win for the President.
Plen wrote: Aly-Khan Satchu is right, Zuma is not the poodle of Cosatu or Malema. But watching this whole turn of political events is a disturbing argument between dumb and dumber.
1. On the one side you have a president who’s highest education level is primary school whose actions are disturbing at best. A polygamist who still finds the need to cheat on his 5 wives (has an extra marital child). Besides the stupidity of the HIV shower story, he now believes that the best way to solve corruption is to silence the media. He is a model of incompetence.
2. On the other side you have COSATU who seem admirable in wanting corruption curbed and take to the streets in protest of improved living wages. However, SA’s contribution to civil servants is among the highest in the world and too high for a country with very limited revenue generation. In essence, as difficult as it may be for civil servants to make ends meet, any more increases in salary (above inflation) is outright fiscally irresponsible.
3. Then you throw in Julius Malema (head of the ANC youth League) who openly supports COSATU and angrily shouts down the President. Yet this guy’s statements go beyond outrageous stupidity to down right dangerous. His is the man who openly chants “Kill the White man”, in a country with over 18,000 murders a year and dealing with mending a race divide his chants are very counter productive. But what is the most striking about this idiot is his own level of corruption. He is personally involved in the most scandalous acts of corruption, he wears a cap worth over $1,000 and drives the top of the line Land Rover (he doesn’t have a license) but ironically he joins the COSATU call to decrease corruption and end the government largesse.
All the players in this game cannot for a moment think beyond themselves and fathom the hypocrisyof their actions.
This is shamefully African politics at its worst. When will we see responsible governance take place? Is Botswana (Africa’s oldest democracy) the only bastion of hope?
Lloron wrote: .Vavi has lost control over COSATU. I believe that it has been taken over by hooligan opportunists and anarchists.
One cannot help believing that this is so when one reads about nurses being attacked for attending to their patients. One is in a critical condition in hospital after being beaten by the mob.
Remember Mr Vavi, you have sown the wind and we may be about to reap the whirlwind
mises ghost wrote: .10 years of high tax incomes and the energy system is decrepid. the problem of the anc seems to be not only the endemic corruption, but also the populism: rather than invest in the futuret he leaders seem to buy off voters by populistic measures.
On the other side i do feel optimistic every time I notice the pluralistic view in dominant parties. The ANC might not split up and all the currents might be disgusting, but even so any kind of contest for the power might prove valuble (even if I personally consider the country doomed because of its racial policy)
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
American movies and other odds and ends
Projects Abroad's Social Media Manager Emma loved my blog! I'm posting it here in case I lose the link to it later, but I'm hoping you've already had time to read it:
Africa is everything I expected and it's also nothing like I thought it would be. I hear the phrase "you'll get used to it" quite often, but I feel as though the adaptation has gone mostly smoothly.
Coming from the United States, I'm used to seeing flags everywhere. They fill our store windows, our cars, our sporting events and our homes. The flag is used to represent every endeavor that Americans undertake and to misuse or misrepresent the flag would surely be unforgivable, though I feel that the American flag has lost a bit of its meaning somewhere along the way.
Here in South Africa, I have been amazed by the flag. It seems to represent a vibrancy that is nearly indescribable. I see it everywhere: on the backs of jackets, on hats, T-shirts, shops, painted on walls, flying high above the townships and most importantly, on the cars. Many of the cars here have miniature South African flags wrapped around their side-view mirrors. I can already tell you that I'm going to be spending the next three months searching for a set of them to take home with me so that I might have a bit of South Africa with me.
The other night, Projects Abroad organized a boat cruise right at sunset, and as with all boats, the flag was flying high. Looking to the back of the boat and seeing the South African flag set against the sunset, I was reminded of the pure joy of this place and of the sense of potential I feel when I see the bright colors that represent this rainbow country.
The flag isn't just ubiquitous without purpose; here I feel South Africa in the flag and in the way that people fly it. The flag knows the struggle against racism, poverty, HIV/AIDS; it is a symbol of life and a reminder of a painful past and a look toward a hopeful future. The flag is now and it is so very much alive. The flag seems to emanate such a radiance and even seeing it now, I feel as though I too am a part of its hopeful message.
To be here is to know how colorful life can be.Africa is everything I expected and it's also nothing like I thought it would be. I hear the phrase "you'll get used to it" quite often, but I feel as though the adaptation has gone mostly smoothly.
Coming from the United States, I'm used to seeing flags everywhere. They fill our store windows, our cars, our sporting events and our homes. The flag is used to represent every endeavor that Americans undertake and to misuse or misrepresent the flag would surely be unforgivable, though I feel that the American flag has lost a bit of its meaning somewhere along the way.
Here in South Africa, I have been amazed by the flag. It seems to represent a vibrancy that is nearly indescribable. I see it everywhere: on the backs of jackets, on hats, T-shirts, shops, painted on walls, flying high above the townships and most importantly, on the cars. Many of the cars here have miniature South African flags wrapped around their side-view mirrors. I can already tell you that I'm going to be spending the next three months searching for a set of them to take home with me so that I might have a bit of South Africa with me.
The other night, Projects Abroad organized a boat cruise right at sunset, and as with all boats, the flag was flying high. Looking to the back of the boat and seeing the South African flag set against the sunset, I was reminded of the pure joy of this place and of the sense of potential I feel when I see the bright colors that represent this rainbow country.
The flag isn't just ubiquitous without purpose; here I feel South Africa in the flag and in the way that people fly it. The flag knows the struggle against racism, poverty, HIV/AIDS; it is a symbol of life and a reminder of a painful past and a look toward a hopeful future. The flag is now and it is so very much alive. The flag seems to emanate such a radiance and even seeing it now, I feel as though I too am a part of its hopeful message.
To be here is to know how colorful life can be.
****
It was rainy and cold today, not something I was looking forward to. Svenja is preparing to leave on Friday morning but has suffered from an unexplainable ankle injury that has kept her unable to do much of anything for the last couple of days. Yesterday, we had to haul a chair into the tiny shower so that she could wash without having to put weight on her ankle.
This ankle injury has brought together three very different ideas about dealing with injuries. Priscilla has one point of view, I have another and Svenja has still another! I've learned that drinking hot water (plain) can help calm your stomach and that hot water bottles will never go out of style.
Before I leave, I'm going to buy this wonderful sort of small appliance that boils water. We use them at work, we use them at home, I have entirely fallen in love. I
I've been watching classic American movies while I've been here; it's an odd place to rediscover your own pop culture, but I'm always being teased for having never seen certain films. Thus far, I've watched "Dirty Dancing" and "There's Something About Mary" and am currently halfway through "Breakfast at Tiffany's."
I don't find Patrick Schwayze attractive, although I can see his appeal. I loved Dirty Dancing, it was so much perfect America in its most raw and unattractive form but it was also an absolutely adorable love story. It was classic and momentous but not heavy, although the abortion plotline was one I wasn't prepared for at all. I laughed out loud several times at "Mary," something I don't normally do alone.
I do so love Holly Golightly so far, in all of her oddness and her ideas. I'm not usually one who enjoys olde rmovies, but I'm thinking I may have changed my mind about those things.
You're never quite as far from home as you think you might be.
***
Here's a link to a song I can't get enough of; it's all over the clubs and the radio here. The video is weird, though.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgFE5OQbt_g
***
Tonight, in place of the weekly social, we're either going to a place called The Melting Pot in Muizenberg or Chrome, down on Long Street in Cape Town.
***
I've a plan for work! There is hope and a possible solution! We've created a plan and we are going to use next week to put it into action.
Today saw the end of the typing project I've been working on; I'm re-writing the chapter on HIV/AIDS due to my dissatisfaction with the information that was being provided.
We shall see how it goes, hopefully it will all be well-received.
However, the manual at present is nearly free of grammatical errors and this I am pleased with.
***
I'm drinking 2000 mL of tea a day. Hydration at its finest. Sort of. The ladies tease me because of all of the tea in the Nalgene and also because of all the bathroom breaks.
Stay tuned for word on the exercise situation; there was running the other day (not so much running as attempts at running, but it was almost a mile and it was alright) and there will be an explanation of the joke that has become the yoga. Perhaps there will be a jog today. I'm determined.
Africa is everything I expected and it's also nothing like I thought it would be. I hear the phrase "you'll get used to it" quite often, but I feel as though the adaptation has gone mostly smoothly.
Coming from the United States, I'm used to seeing flags everywhere. They fill our store windows, our cars, our sporting events and our homes. The flag is used to represent every endeavor that Americans undertake and to misuse or misrepresent the flag would surely be unforgivable, though I feel that the American flag has lost a bit of its meaning somewhere along the way.
Here in South Africa, I have been amazed by the flag. It seems to represent a vibrancy that is nearly indescribable. I see it everywhere: on the backs of jackets, on hats, T-shirts, shops, painted on walls, flying high above the townships and most importantly, on the cars. Many of the cars here have miniature South African flags wrapped around their side-view mirrors. I can already tell you that I'm going to be spending the next three months searching for a set of them to take home with me so that I might have a bit of South Africa with me.
The other night, Projects Abroad organized a boat cruise right at sunset, and as with all boats, the flag was flying high. Looking to the back of the boat and seeing the South African flag set against the sunset, I was reminded of the pure joy of this place and of the sense of potential I feel when I see the bright colors that represent this rainbow country.
The flag isn't just ubiquitous without purpose; here I feel South Africa in the flag and in the way that people fly it. The flag knows the struggle against racism, poverty, HIV/AIDS; it is a symbol of life and a reminder of a painful past and a look toward a hopeful future. The flag is now and it is so very much alive. The flag seems to emanate such a radiance and even seeing it now, I feel as though I too am a part of its hopeful message.
To be here is to know how colorful life can be.Africa is everything I expected and it's also nothing like I thought it would be. I hear the phrase "you'll get used to it" quite often, but I feel as though the adaptation has gone mostly smoothly.
Coming from the United States, I'm used to seeing flags everywhere. They fill our store windows, our cars, our sporting events and our homes. The flag is used to represent every endeavor that Americans undertake and to misuse or misrepresent the flag would surely be unforgivable, though I feel that the American flag has lost a bit of its meaning somewhere along the way.
Here in South Africa, I have been amazed by the flag. It seems to represent a vibrancy that is nearly indescribable. I see it everywhere: on the backs of jackets, on hats, T-shirts, shops, painted on walls, flying high above the townships and most importantly, on the cars. Many of the cars here have miniature South African flags wrapped around their side-view mirrors. I can already tell you that I'm going to be spending the next three months searching for a set of them to take home with me so that I might have a bit of South Africa with me.
The other night, Projects Abroad organized a boat cruise right at sunset, and as with all boats, the flag was flying high. Looking to the back of the boat and seeing the South African flag set against the sunset, I was reminded of the pure joy of this place and of the sense of potential I feel when I see the bright colors that represent this rainbow country.
The flag isn't just ubiquitous without purpose; here I feel South Africa in the flag and in the way that people fly it. The flag knows the struggle against racism, poverty, HIV/AIDS; it is a symbol of life and a reminder of a painful past and a look toward a hopeful future. The flag is now and it is so very much alive. The flag seems to emanate such a radiance and even seeing it now, I feel as though I too am a part of its hopeful message.
To be here is to know how colorful life can be.
****
It was rainy and cold today, not something I was looking forward to. Svenja is preparing to leave on Friday morning but has suffered from an unexplainable ankle injury that has kept her unable to do much of anything for the last couple of days. Yesterday, we had to haul a chair into the tiny shower so that she could wash without having to put weight on her ankle.
This ankle injury has brought together three very different ideas about dealing with injuries. Priscilla has one point of view, I have another and Svenja has still another! I've learned that drinking hot water (plain) can help calm your stomach and that hot water bottles will never go out of style.
Before I leave, I'm going to buy this wonderful sort of small appliance that boils water. We use them at work, we use them at home, I have entirely fallen in love. I
I've been watching classic American movies while I've been here; it's an odd place to rediscover your own pop culture, but I'm always being teased for having never seen certain films. Thus far, I've watched "Dirty Dancing" and "There's Something About Mary" and am currently halfway through "Breakfast at Tiffany's."
I don't find Patrick Schwayze attractive, although I can see his appeal. I loved Dirty Dancing, it was so much perfect America in its most raw and unattractive form but it was also an absolutely adorable love story. It was classic and momentous but not heavy, although the abortion plotline was one I wasn't prepared for at all. I laughed out loud several times at "Mary," something I don't normally do alone.
I do so love Holly Golightly so far, in all of her oddness and her ideas. I'm not usually one who enjoys olde rmovies, but I'm thinking I may have changed my mind about those things.
You're never quite as far from home as you think you might be.
***
Here's a link to a song I can't get enough of; it's all over the clubs and the radio here. The video is weird, though.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgFE5OQbt_g
***
Tonight, in place of the weekly social, we're either going to a place called The Melting Pot in Muizenberg or Chrome, down on Long Street in Cape Town.
***
I've a plan for work! There is hope and a possible solution! We've created a plan and we are going to use next week to put it into action.
Today saw the end of the typing project I've been working on; I'm re-writing the chapter on HIV/AIDS due to my dissatisfaction with the information that was being provided.
We shall see how it goes, hopefully it will all be well-received.
However, the manual at present is nearly free of grammatical errors and this I am pleased with.
***
I'm drinking 2000 mL of tea a day. Hydration at its finest. Sort of. The ladies tease me because of all of the tea in the Nalgene and also because of all the bathroom breaks.
Stay tuned for word on the exercise situation; there was running the other day (not so much running as attempts at running, but it was almost a mile and it was alright) and there will be an explanation of the joke that has become the yoga. Perhaps there will be a jog today. I'm determined.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
In which things happen
In which I fail the South African driver’s test without even taking it.
I really doubt my abilities. I feel as though this is not the feeling one should feel when they set about accomplishing a task, yet it is the most pervasive between the hours of nine in the morning and four in the afternoon. I usually give up around three and just settle in to some monotonous task to fill the gap between then and the time when the sound of the minibus horn honks to let me know it’s waiting patiently for me downstairs.
Let me rephrase that, lest you think I’m lazy. I don’t give up. I try to go with the flow. I try to stay busy, or look busy, or seem busy. Maybe that’s stretching the truth. Maybe it is giving up. Maybe it’s throwing in the towel, begging for relief, praying for the four o’clock light at the end of the time tunnel.
But either way last Thursday began with “bobbelas” (Afrikaans for hung over) and ended with me miserable, disheartened and terrified to drive on hills.
We needed to go to the police department in Muizenberg to get some application forms for posts seen in some newspaper. Too far to walk. Neither Rochelle nor Brenda has their driver’s license. I do. (In hindsight, mentioning that I’ve only ever driven a manual car in Wisconsin may have been the best decision I could have made. However, I remained silent.) And thus, we get in the Cheryl’s car (kindly remember that she is the boss of all things internship related) and sputter off with Brenda at the wheel. About to turn onto Prince George Road (the big one. Road, not the king), she pulls over and I’m to drive. Oh dear god.
I drive. I did well. I shifted nicely, considering I was shifting left-handed and driving on the left side of the road. Things were going alright. Until we had to stop on a hill. Brenda throws the handbrake up. I chill, foot on the brake pedal. And then the light turns green.
Panic sets in. I go to drive and the car is not going and I try to accelerate, but I’m not doing it enough and we roll back. I slam on the brake. I am afraid to stall it. So I do exactly that. Twice. I turn it back on and then I floor it. Problem – the handbrake is on. Smoke emits from the tires. I can now say, shamefully, that I have “burnt rubber.” Brenda lets the handbrake go and we drive. I’m not even breathing. I turn the corner and we pull over and we park.
Laughter. Peals of laughter. (They easily could have been tears.)
They’re making fun of the way I yelled, “Brenda, you drive! I don’t want this anymore!” and I’m just glad we’re alive.
And we get out. Rochelle proclaims that she needs a smoke. I am going over the whole scenario in my head.
We go to the police station. They are rude. I’ve got a full-on headache now; I could care less about the damn forms. They refuse to give them to us. We leave dejected, but alive.
And thus, I would not have passed a South African driving test (rolling back almost into the grill of a large truck – rolling back at all – is an automatic fail). When I get home, I am determined to learn how to smoothly accelerate up a hill without rolling back so that I never have to feel that fear again. When we rent a car to do the Garden Route, I am renting an automatic for sure.
In which we try to climb Table Mountain and fail
Awake at seven thirty on a Saturday, out of bed by eight and on the train at exactly 8:33 or 8:37 (so not quite exactly after all), we stumbled into downtown Cape Town around half past nine in order to climb the peak that looms above us daily. There was a cab ride to the base and then there was some confusion.
And so we began walking. We found a trailhead and began the hike.
And so we began walking. We found a trailhead and began the hike.
We hiked. It was lovely. Saturday was the first really warm day we've had here (spring started September first). We didn't quite make it to the top due to some trail confusion, but we got a good hike in and were able to see amazing views from the city. I only had 100ml or so of water with me, and Mike had a little less than that, and to get to the top was going to take at least another 2.5 hours, so we decided to attempt to summit (ha) again next Saturday.
After that, we walked back to the train station (at least 10 km downhill - the quads are burning today). On the way we stopped and had some lunch at a cafe. I normally don't like ordering omelets out, because you never can tell if you're going to get a good omelet, but this one was delicious. We walked through Green Market Square and stopped to see all of the stuff being sold. It's the same souvenirs everywhere you go, really, and there are only so many times that wooden spoons with animals carved into them are going to be interesting.
However ---- I found the mirror covers!!!! I found them! The guy was trying to charge me R50 for them so I bailed, but I got them today for R10! They're a little dirty, so I'm assuming they came right off of someone's car, but hey, I'll take them and wash them. So my only goal has been achieved.
More to come later, sorry for the abbreviated post.
Friday, September 10, 2010
More pictures of the boat trip and then some AIDS
http://www.mytripblog.org/pg/blog/kbarry/read/11131/living-color
(I promised I'd blog for them too so that is my first post...I had it all typed out and then I lost it, of course. So that is the abridged version.)
The HIV and TB testing that resulted in me getting a free cup and vuvuzela was interesting. I was leaving at noon or I would have gotten tested, but it was interesting how the excuses flew. I, too, didn't have enough time to do it. I should have found the time, made the time, carved it out and penciled it in. But I didn't. I feel that part of the problem here is the getting tested part. No one wants to do it, and no one who thinks they might have been exposed wants to do it because they're afraid of the answer. Earlier that day, one of the women I work with was late because she had to go to the clinic. No one said anything about it, other than to rag on her because she was late, but I was glad that she went.
Later on, Svenja and I were talking about the kids that she works with. What do you do when one of them gets cut? Since no one tells you which of the kids are HIV positive, you have to treat every kid like they are and be extra careful around cuts and open wounds. And of course you don't want to know because you don't want to take the chance that you might treat one of them differently. But at the same time, it's a slight risk to you and to the other kids.
It's scary here. It's easy to forget that one out of every four or five people are infected. There are condoms everywhere, for the taking. There's no excuse not to have safe sex, but it's obviously not happening. The townships where we work are filled with kids. The streets are absolutely filled with children. Yesterday, a woman left her baby in the courtyard while she went off. Just left her baby in the courtyard. Another woman had to grab it and pick it up because he was crying, but otherwise, he would have been left there until she came back to retrieve him.
Today, I saw a little boy and his baby sister playing in the road. The little boy was trying to pick up the sister, who was nearly half his size. I watched him try to settle her on his hip, and then, once he realized he wasn't going to be able to, he helped her walk (barefoot, of course) across the road. As they were walking across, another little girl came out of a house nearby to meet them. It was so sad to realize that this township is so filled with such a young population.
Every time I get tested for anything else, I get tested for HIV. It's not hard. They take your blood and call you in a week. Everyone should do this at least once a year. Maybe more. Save your own life or someone else's.
However, I do have normal blood sugar and blood pressure, so that was a nice reassurance.
(I promised I'd blog for them too so that is my first post...I had it all typed out and then I lost it, of course. So that is the abridged version.)
I seriously got to steer this boat. The captain went to the front and made hand signals at me. I was terrified.
Mike and I thought Mom would like this picture. Too bad my camera was foggy and everything came out hazy.
This is my bed, with my brand new"Fight TB" vuvuzela laying on it. I got it at an event at work where they were doing road testing for HIV and TB. Since I'm vaccinated for the TB and since I'm HIV-free as of the last time I got tested for it, I let them test my blood sugar and blood pressure and then accepted the free stuff.
My side of the room, complete with peace flags. Svenja's bed is just behind mine. I stood on her bed to take the picture.
This is the view from the front of our house. To the right is the living room, you see the kitchen there on the right and then the stairs and then straight back is our room.
The HIV and TB testing that resulted in me getting a free cup and vuvuzela was interesting. I was leaving at noon or I would have gotten tested, but it was interesting how the excuses flew. I, too, didn't have enough time to do it. I should have found the time, made the time, carved it out and penciled it in. But I didn't. I feel that part of the problem here is the getting tested part. No one wants to do it, and no one who thinks they might have been exposed wants to do it because they're afraid of the answer. Earlier that day, one of the women I work with was late because she had to go to the clinic. No one said anything about it, other than to rag on her because she was late, but I was glad that she went.
Later on, Svenja and I were talking about the kids that she works with. What do you do when one of them gets cut? Since no one tells you which of the kids are HIV positive, you have to treat every kid like they are and be extra careful around cuts and open wounds. And of course you don't want to know because you don't want to take the chance that you might treat one of them differently. But at the same time, it's a slight risk to you and to the other kids.
It's scary here. It's easy to forget that one out of every four or five people are infected. There are condoms everywhere, for the taking. There's no excuse not to have safe sex, but it's obviously not happening. The townships where we work are filled with kids. The streets are absolutely filled with children. Yesterday, a woman left her baby in the courtyard while she went off. Just left her baby in the courtyard. Another woman had to grab it and pick it up because he was crying, but otherwise, he would have been left there until she came back to retrieve him.
Today, I saw a little boy and his baby sister playing in the road. The little boy was trying to pick up the sister, who was nearly half his size. I watched him try to settle her on his hip, and then, once he realized he wasn't going to be able to, he helped her walk (barefoot, of course) across the road. As they were walking across, another little girl came out of a house nearby to meet them. It was so sad to realize that this township is so filled with such a young population.
Every time I get tested for anything else, I get tested for HIV. It's not hard. They take your blood and call you in a week. Everyone should do this at least once a year. Maybe more. Save your own life or someone else's.
However, I do have normal blood sugar and blood pressure, so that was a nice reassurance.
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