Now What?

I have come to the decision, finally that Africa does not, in fact, look like the central valley, or San Francisco, or the Great Plains, or Santa Paula, or anywhere else. South Africa looks like…like itself, and that’s the only analogy I’m willing to give.

When you first come here, of course, and see brown hills rolling away to the horizon, or acre after acre of avocados, oranges, and mangos, or the very western shop-lined streets in Cape Town, its easy enough to compare this landscape with what you’ve seen before. Hills with cows on them are hills with cows on them, after all, and maybe the biggest geographical distinction the 5* and the N-4 is that on the N-4 you’ll occasionally see a Zebra, while on the 5 you have to roll up your windows as you pass the horrible Harris Ranch slaughterhouse that is the last sight (and smell) that that steak you ate last night probably ever had. I’m happier with the Zebra, personally.

But as I see more and longer, I’ve begun to accept what I’m seeing for what it is, and not for what I bring with me. Hills with cows on them are not just hills with cows on them, the 5 is not the N-4. And as I begin to see that, I begin to wonder how I could ever have thought anything else. The hills here don’t simply go to the horizon, beyond which there is probably another town or another freeway, instead they just keep going. I remember the first time I made that drive from Los Angeles to Sacramento, I was simply shocked that there could be so much land so undeveloped. Where were the houses? The strip malls? The constant movement and drone and mark of people? There were the truck-stops, but where did the people who worked in them *live*? Now of course, I realize that there’s nothing at all undeveloped about the central valley, and that the hum and buzz is always there. There is nothing limitless or unbounded. Its just a little chunk of the state that happens to have a lot of farms instead of a lot of houses, but it is of course surrounded.

Here it’s very different, and that’s why I say now that I can no longer even imagine comparing the rolling hills of Mpumulanga with any others I’ve ever seen. Here there is no limit, there is no boundary. There is not a sense that just over the horizon there are probably towns, and people, and farms, and roads. There’s just a sense that there are…more hills. More Africa.

People talk about the enormity of Africa, and on the whole I think its mostly a cliché that people parrot because….well, that’s one of the things that’s true about Africa, isn’t it? Its very big, and very poor, very corrupt, and the people there all have malaria, or AIDS, or interesting diseases caused by malnutrition that cause swollen bellies or skeletal limbs. That is the vision we bring to Africa, and so that is how we see. But how can you go and really see a place, if you’ve already decided what it looks like?

It’s true, Africa is big. But it is big on its own terms, not on mine. The hills of Mpumulanga are the hills of Mpumulanga, not of Fresno or Ventura. Stellenbosch is Stellenbosch, not Santa Maria. South Africa is always and only itself, and I’m starting to be able to see.


















*That’s right. THE 5. Bring it.

Pink Floyd

Once again I'm in Pretoria -- now on my way back to site, rather than away -- and I can happily report that nothing has been stolen from me this weekend. And really, if I only get robbed once in two years, and its only a pair of shoes (no matter how much I loved them!) and I wasn't even mugged -- well, I'm pretty okay with that. People get robbed, its just the way South Africa works, so I'm mostly over it and still feeling happy. (Though the blisters all over my toes from my new shoes are still a little bitter).

Unfortunately, of course, one of the drawbacks of spending a week at training for a new group of volunteers is that I've been doing nothing all that exciting, and so have no witty, insightful, or in anyway clever story to write up (making the base assumption that any of my posts ever are). I'm sorry to say that last week was pleasant, unexciting, and about as productive as I had expected (re: not very, but the expectations started low). Shame.

All I want to say then, is this: Last week I was angry, and upset, and exhausted. This week I am happy, optimistic, and looking forward to maybe even getting a few things done. Next week...who knows. So is life in South Africa.

But hey, in two weeks -- I'm going pony trekking in Lesotho! Who can be sad on a pony?

Dance Class

There are lots and lots of photos (by which I mean about 20) that I just put up at Snapfish. I also have a lot of really neat videos that I took of a Grade 7 dance presentation, but I have yet to figure out how to post those. But I'll sort it out eventually. I'm sorry thats all I've really got for this week, and last week to come to think of it, but honestly I'm just tired. Emotionally, physically, I just feel exhausted all the time. All I want to do is sleep.

Do you know, two nights ago somebody stole my shoes? My shoes! And the only pair I had with me at the time, too. The only pair I ever wear, and you can't get Chacos in South Africa, either. I was staying in a dorm room at my favorite Pretoria backpackers, and somebody managed to break in, sneak into the room, and grab my shoes. He was bending over my backpack, too, beginning to rifle through things, when fortunately another guy who was staying there woke up and started shouting at him. The robber took off without my camera or cell phone, or wallet, or anything super valuable but -- I really loved those shoes! My poor Chacos. And it scares me, that somebody was so close to my bed at night -- so close to me at night -- and I didn't even wake up.

It just gets so exhausting, to always have to be on your guard. To always be looking over your shoulder, and worrying, and making back-up plans. I hate that I can't hear somebody running behind me without going into instant defense mode. I hate how its just always acceptable for people to stop me on the street and try to get something from me. Why is it okay to ask me for 2 rand, (for 4 rand 60? wtf?) for a sweet, for a drink, for "just something momm-ee...just something" to give me a lewd proposal, marriage or otherwise? I just don't have the patience anymore, or the energy. I understand the poverty, don't I? I live in it, I see it everyday. I don't...I want to say I don't hate the people who stop me on the street, but maybe instead I should say I don't misunderstand them. Yes, I know where you're coming from. Yes, I know the system has destroyed you. I can pity you, and empathize, and resolve to try just that much harder where I am. But I think sometimes its the sheer amount of energy it takes to remind myself of that. To not say "oh, these people..." to always be reminding myself that of course there's a reason. (Obviously, of course, there's a reason. Nobody just decides to live on a street corner because it seems like fun).

It is exhausting to live here. It will finish you. I am exhausted.