This is a good article that from Slate about the xenophobic violence that occurred in and around Jo'burg and Cape Town a while back. It's interesting, I don't know what the coverage was in America, but I get the sense that it provides a different perspective. And anything has to be more coherent than my rambling*.
*Mom: I'm STILL FINE**.
**But I'm not going to Greece.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I Hear its Warm in California
I currently have the cold from hell, its been stalking me for at least the last 10 days, and while it makes me feel like kind of a baby for complaining -- its a cold for goodness sakes! -- the darn thing keeps trying to drag me down to a point thats just getting irritating. Fortunately, I happen to be in Pretoria right now, and PCSA has one of the best medical officers anybody could ever ask for. Not only did she stop by the backpackers where I'm staying to see me on a Saturday, she brought a small pharmacy, lots of sympathy, and even a bottle of orange juice. Amazing. So I spent all day sleeping, drugged myself out on anti-histamines and decongestants, and today feel a million times better. Die cold, die!!
I also spent a lot of time watching television, because, well, I was in Pretoria and I could. Something that for some reason has never occurred to me before, but finally did as I spent 4 hours on the couch, vegging out to Mythbusters and the Daily Show, was how much television here is in English. It never seemed too weird to me, after all I conduct most of my daily conversations in the language, almost everybody speaks it at least a little, and english is the only language tv has ever been in for me anyways, but here...it's really nobody's first language. People speak english, they learn it, business and government and school and lots of important things are conducted in it, but its still a foreign thing, it has to find its way through a filter, be translated and co-opted before whatever concept that is being relayed can be owned.
Okay, maybe that sounds a little silly, the concept of a lingua franca has been around pretty much since there have been languages, I can only assume. Maybe its not such a big deal. But it still seems odd to me that virtually 99% of life in the public sphere is conducted in a language that belongs to nobody, that there are always so many translations and shiftings happening in the simplest conversation. The word for English in my village, or rather the slang word, though its the one that everybody uses, is something along the phonetic lines of "Sloo" -- white person. Swazis speak siswati, zulus speak isizulu, white people speak...'white people.' And everybody who wants to get along, they must learn 'sloo' too. The word for Afrikaans is different, as is the word for an Afrikaaner. But the word thats usually applied to British/English speaking white people is derived quite literally from the color white, so thats more of the default, and english becomes the language of the white people.
I honestly don't know what that means, or why it seems to have grabbed my attention so much. Something about everything in the country happening in translation..from afrikaans, siswati, sepedi, nothing is original. Nothing is completely owned, its all coming from 'out there', happening on somebody else's terms, with somebody else's design. The way a language is built says a lot about how a culture thinks, so how odd must it be to have somebody else's thoughts in your mouth? Not that I think its bad that English is used so much. I love the English language, I love how it morphs and adapts and takes so many words from so many places. I love its flexibility and nuance and that you can find 100 different words for the same thing, but they all mean something just a shade different, they all have just a slightly different history behind them. And it is an international language, and it is important for people to know it. But my family and teachers have learned that just like "Mhlungu akusilo ligami lami!" ("White person is not my name!") I hate it when I hear English called Sloo. The learners must be taught in 'white person', 'white person' is the most important language in the world. We must speak 'white' because its an important meeting. That drives me crazy, for all of the obvious reasons.The 'proper' word, the one I prefer, is Singlisi. Which if you say it out loud sounds pretty much like English -- just in translation.
I also spent a lot of time watching television, because, well, I was in Pretoria and I could. Something that for some reason has never occurred to me before, but finally did as I spent 4 hours on the couch, vegging out to Mythbusters and the Daily Show, was how much television here is in English. It never seemed too weird to me, after all I conduct most of my daily conversations in the language, almost everybody speaks it at least a little, and english is the only language tv has ever been in for me anyways, but here...it's really nobody's first language. People speak english, they learn it, business and government and school and lots of important things are conducted in it, but its still a foreign thing, it has to find its way through a filter, be translated and co-opted before whatever concept that is being relayed can be owned.
Okay, maybe that sounds a little silly, the concept of a lingua franca has been around pretty much since there have been languages, I can only assume. Maybe its not such a big deal. But it still seems odd to me that virtually 99% of life in the public sphere is conducted in a language that belongs to nobody, that there are always so many translations and shiftings happening in the simplest conversation. The word for English in my village, or rather the slang word, though its the one that everybody uses, is something along the phonetic lines of "Sloo" -- white person. Swazis speak siswati, zulus speak isizulu, white people speak...'white people.' And everybody who wants to get along, they must learn 'sloo' too. The word for Afrikaans is different, as is the word for an Afrikaaner. But the word thats usually applied to British/English speaking white people is derived quite literally from the color white, so thats more of the default, and english becomes the language of the white people.
I honestly don't know what that means, or why it seems to have grabbed my attention so much. Something about everything in the country happening in translation..from afrikaans, siswati, sepedi, nothing is original. Nothing is completely owned, its all coming from 'out there', happening on somebody else's terms, with somebody else's design. The way a language is built says a lot about how a culture thinks, so how odd must it be to have somebody else's thoughts in your mouth? Not that I think its bad that English is used so much. I love the English language, I love how it morphs and adapts and takes so many words from so many places. I love its flexibility and nuance and that you can find 100 different words for the same thing, but they all mean something just a shade different, they all have just a slightly different history behind them. And it is an international language, and it is important for people to know it. But my family and teachers have learned that just like "Mhlungu akusilo ligami lami!" ("White person is not my name!") I hate it when I hear English called Sloo. The learners must be taught in 'white person', 'white person' is the most important language in the world. We must speak 'white' because its an important meeting. That drives me crazy, for all of the obvious reasons.The 'proper' word, the one I prefer, is Singlisi. Which if you say it out loud sounds pretty much like English -- just in translation.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Father's Day
So here's a cheesy story I like that I bet you've heard before:
There's a little boy walking down a beach, and the beach is covered in starfish, thousands of them, as far as the eye can see. The boy is picking them up, one at a time, and throwing them back into the ocean so that they don't dry out and die. A man comes along and starts laughing at the kid, "Why are you doing this? Look around! There's way too many starfish for one person to save. You will never be able to make a difference." The little boy just picks up another starfish, throws it in the water and says, "I made a difference to that one."
My dad once told me that that story makes him think of me, and it is literally the best thing another human being has even said to me.
Dad, it makes me think of you too. You inspire me constantly, from 400 miles away or 10,000. Happy Father's Day.
There's a little boy walking down a beach, and the beach is covered in starfish, thousands of them, as far as the eye can see. The boy is picking them up, one at a time, and throwing them back into the ocean so that they don't dry out and die. A man comes along and starts laughing at the kid, "Why are you doing this? Look around! There's way too many starfish for one person to save. You will never be able to make a difference." The little boy just picks up another starfish, throws it in the water and says, "I made a difference to that one."
My dad once told me that that story makes him think of me, and it is literally the best thing another human being has even said to me.
Dad, it makes me think of you too. You inspire me constantly, from 400 miles away or 10,000. Happy Father's Day.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Hang Tough Napoleon
Well. I forgot to write up a blog entry this week, I was too busy map-painting. But what I do have for you is...pictures! From Steenbok, and also my trip to Lesotho a few months ago that was very pretty.
My map!! We've been practicing our geography all week. Also, my hands and arms are blue.
The beginnings of a school library at Gebhundlovu Primary.
Me and my horse in Lesotho. The horse was hungry. I was sunburnt.
A National Geographic worthy shot in Lesotho. These are two of the kids who hung out with us in the mountain village where we stayed overnight.
Sunrise and a Marula tree in Steenbok.
My map!! We've been practicing our geography all week. Also, my hands and arms are blue.
The beginnings of a school library at Gebhundlovu Primary.
Me and my horse in Lesotho. The horse was hungry. I was sunburnt.
A National Geographic worthy shot in Lesotho. These are two of the kids who hung out with us in the mountain village where we stayed overnight.
Sunrise and a Marula tree in Steenbok.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)