Life in South Africa is great. It's warm and sunny and now really feeling as it should be: spring. My health has continued to improve and I'm now sounding like myself again (as in, I can hear my own voice correctly).
Until my next great adventure here,
MA
vendredi 12 septembre 2008
I can finally update! Part 3
10 September 2008
Well, what can I say? I can say two things, really: the weather down here is so unpredictable and I’m sick. Actually, I’ve been sick since Monday and decided to see the doctor today. Before I get to that point though, I would like to mention that we’ve had so much Xhosa thrown at us, that it’s interesting how much we (collectively) have retained after only five lessons. Today was our sixth lesson, where we focused much on pronunciation, including clicks. The teacher told me that it seems as though I’ve been here in South Africa for a long time (since I can pronounce the words correctly). I’m quite glad that the practice is noticeable in my speech. In any case, after the lesson, we had a lecture on Langa history and development; on Monday, we had a lecture on the educational system in South Africa. After the lecture, we went to Lelape Restaurant, in Langa. The food was so good; I keep thinking that wherever I eat is the best place I have eaten, yet it seems to be getting better with each new place. I haven’t been disappointed with the food at all. Last night, we ate umngqusho, which is samp with beans; it’s very good. However, perhaps it was because I was sick, but I thought it was very spicy. In actuality, it’s quite tasteless unless you add spices to it. Sasa told me she didn’t add any spices.
So, anyway, I went to the doctor’s after lunch; Martin drove me to Rondebosch. On the way, I checked my temperature with the thermometer I brought. He said that the particular one I have is brilliant. It’s a very simple one to use, with a digital reader. What’s really cool is that it illuminates with a different colour, depending on the temperature: a good reading is green, a cautionary-high reading is yellow, and a high, you-better-go-to-the-doctor kind of reading is red. I got to the office about half an hour earlier than my scheduled appointment, so I had to wait around for a bit. However, I saw him on time, went through the checkup and was out the door in about ten to fifteen minutes. Prescriptions in hand, Martin and I walked to Clicks, a pharmacy store, and got my prescriptions filled within about five minutes. We were on our way back to Langa around 4pm; my appointment was at 3:30pm. Try going through all that in the States!
Part B:
For dinner, we had chicken (which, if my parents are reading this tastes just like the chicken you cook with that light green vegetable and the sabow (probably spelling that wrong); usually cooked with small dark green leaves of some kind, too…), and rice with a soup with tomato soaked into the rice, and some cabbage with carrots. I would have taken a picture of it (naturally), but I had given my camera to Elisabeth to take photos of Langa, as I was at the doctor’s office during the tour. Thanks Elisabeth!
Siya came back from his leadership camp today and told me that he’s got a field hockey game coming up, and will be starting with cricket soon. Hopefully I can see him play either/both sometime before I leave. He taught me how to play Crazy 8’s with a normal deck of playing cards, and he, Bayanda and I played many rounds before dinner. It was cool to see their interaction with each other.
One of the most fascinating things I’ve noticed is the use of the word “Preach.” Hopefully I can understand its use better; it seems like one can use it both when you’re hearing something you know is good for you but you just don’t want to hear it, almost like a broken record, or when you support what the other is saying, sort of like a “keep going” type of encouragement.
After dinner, Bayanda, Siya and I watched Epic Movie. That’s all I’ve got to say about that. Pfft.
Sobonana ngomo.
MA
Well, what can I say? I can say two things, really: the weather down here is so unpredictable and I’m sick. Actually, I’ve been sick since Monday and decided to see the doctor today. Before I get to that point though, I would like to mention that we’ve had so much Xhosa thrown at us, that it’s interesting how much we (collectively) have retained after only five lessons. Today was our sixth lesson, where we focused much on pronunciation, including clicks. The teacher told me that it seems as though I’ve been here in South Africa for a long time (since I can pronounce the words correctly). I’m quite glad that the practice is noticeable in my speech. In any case, after the lesson, we had a lecture on Langa history and development; on Monday, we had a lecture on the educational system in South Africa. After the lecture, we went to Lelape Restaurant, in Langa. The food was so good; I keep thinking that wherever I eat is the best place I have eaten, yet it seems to be getting better with each new place. I haven’t been disappointed with the food at all. Last night, we ate umngqusho, which is samp with beans; it’s very good. However, perhaps it was because I was sick, but I thought it was very spicy. In actuality, it’s quite tasteless unless you add spices to it. Sasa told me she didn’t add any spices.
So, anyway, I went to the doctor’s after lunch; Martin drove me to Rondebosch. On the way, I checked my temperature with the thermometer I brought. He said that the particular one I have is brilliant. It’s a very simple one to use, with a digital reader. What’s really cool is that it illuminates with a different colour, depending on the temperature: a good reading is green, a cautionary-high reading is yellow, and a high, you-better-go-to-the-doctor kind of reading is red. I got to the office about half an hour earlier than my scheduled appointment, so I had to wait around for a bit. However, I saw him on time, went through the checkup and was out the door in about ten to fifteen minutes. Prescriptions in hand, Martin and I walked to Clicks, a pharmacy store, and got my prescriptions filled within about five minutes. We were on our way back to Langa around 4pm; my appointment was at 3:30pm. Try going through all that in the States!
Part B:
For dinner, we had chicken (which, if my parents are reading this tastes just like the chicken you cook with that light green vegetable and the sabow (probably spelling that wrong); usually cooked with small dark green leaves of some kind, too…), and rice with a soup with tomato soaked into the rice, and some cabbage with carrots. I would have taken a picture of it (naturally), but I had given my camera to Elisabeth to take photos of Langa, as I was at the doctor’s office during the tour. Thanks Elisabeth!
Siya came back from his leadership camp today and told me that he’s got a field hockey game coming up, and will be starting with cricket soon. Hopefully I can see him play either/both sometime before I leave. He taught me how to play Crazy 8’s with a normal deck of playing cards, and he, Bayanda and I played many rounds before dinner. It was cool to see their interaction with each other.
One of the most fascinating things I’ve noticed is the use of the word “Preach.” Hopefully I can understand its use better; it seems like one can use it both when you’re hearing something you know is good for you but you just don’t want to hear it, almost like a broken record, or when you support what the other is saying, sort of like a “keep going” type of encouragement.
After dinner, Bayanda, Siya and I watched Epic Movie. That’s all I’ve got to say about that. Pfft.
Sobonana ngomo.
MA
I can finally update! Part 4
11 September 2008
A short entry for today: As people back home commemorate 9/11, I just wanted to note that South Africans are commemorating the death of Steve Biko, an important figure in the struggle against apartheid. After classes, we went to the University of Cape Town’s upper campus and listened to what I consider to be an eloquent lecture that brought forward the realities of living in South Africa. I shall not write about what others thought, but I will write that it certainly got us talking afterwards.
For dinner, I had beef (which, once again, reminded me about Filipino cooking back home in Michigan) along with pap and many “soft” vegetables—pumpkin, potato and another one I couldn’t quite tell in its cooked state. The meat was great (I even had tomato sauce with it!). As for the other foods, they were great on their own. However, try eating a bunch of that at once and eh… but still very good!
MA
Ps/ I’m feeling extremely better than the past few days, and the weather has been cooperating much more!
A short entry for today: As people back home commemorate 9/11, I just wanted to note that South Africans are commemorating the death of Steve Biko, an important figure in the struggle against apartheid. After classes, we went to the University of Cape Town’s upper campus and listened to what I consider to be an eloquent lecture that brought forward the realities of living in South Africa. I shall not write about what others thought, but I will write that it certainly got us talking afterwards.
For dinner, I had beef (which, once again, reminded me about Filipino cooking back home in Michigan) along with pap and many “soft” vegetables—pumpkin, potato and another one I couldn’t quite tell in its cooked state. The meat was great (I even had tomato sauce with it!). As for the other foods, they were great on their own. However, try eating a bunch of that at once and eh… but still very good!
MA
Ps/ I’m feeling extremely better than the past few days, and the weather has been cooperating much more!
I can finally update! Part 2
7 September 2008
Well, just as I thought, I have so much to say about my first South African Mass, and as always, I hope I write down everything I wish to write.
After my breakfast of cornflakes with sugar (which definitely tasted like Frosted Flakes) and leftover chocolate chip muffin from Cape Town, I headed off to Mass at the Catholic church in Langa. Siya, Bayanda and I left ahead of everyone else and through the cold wind, which definitely made me feel as though I wasn’t experiencing a Michigan fall after all, we made it to St. Anthony’s. The structure of the church looked like a quaint little building, but I had eventually witnessed that it holds a lot more than I thought. In any case, there was a raised pulpit with a bit of an enclosure (which I hadn’t expected) and instead of being separate, the choir was a part of the congregation in the front of the church. I didn’t see any choir books in the pews and soon found out that everyone brings their own copy. (Side note: I need to buy a copy.)
The Mass opened up with two songs, both in Xhosa and the second one welcoming the altar servers and priest. Then, I sat in my seat following the order of the Mass, but still equally lost, as everything was said almost entirely in Xhosa. As I was toward the back of the Church, it was a little difficult to hear, but I eventually heard (often too late) a language I recognised and could actually participate in. Seamlessly, the readers, priest and congregation transitioned from Xhosa to Latin to English back and around again. Each section wasn’t translated into each of these languages, but rather, different sections were basically monolingual. For example, the opening greeting was in Xhosa, as well as the first reading, and the second reading was in English. I also caught the Gloria, a few Sanctus, some Ave Marias, a Thixo (God) now and again, Molweni (Hello), many enkosi’s (thank you), and so forth. Luckily I remembered the order of Mass pretty well to follow along. The priest’s homily was delivered in both English and Xhosa; I was able to laugh along with the rest of the congregation to his English stories and jokes, yet remember feeling lost when everyone laughed at a statement said in Xhosa. A statement the priest said stuck to me when he said it: “No one can make you angry. You choose to be angry.” This got me thinking; we all certainly have so many choices to make, and likewise, we may choose to be happy and enjoy life, whether we face good or bad. From the vibe of the crowd, everyone was so lively and happy to be at Mass. I even saw many kids from the community attending and sitting by themselves (at the end of Mass they also went to school; perhaps a Sunday school type of thing?). Though I didn’t know enough Xhosa, the music still very much filled me. As I heard what felt like Gospel/praise music, I was emotionally charged to see everyone swaying and perhaps semi-dancing in the music to the beat of the sounds, a beat that brought to mind a single, controllable heartbeat for the community. Even the priest was quite enjoying the music. Perhaps this may all seem like an odd image, but simply taking it from the context that I couldn’t understand the words, the musical component to it was simply amazing. Cognisant that there is a theological meaning to it, the experience was awe-inspiring. Much more than what we sing at Mass in the States was definitely sung today at Mass here in Langa; unsurprisingly, the Mass in total was two hours long.
For those environmentalist friends of mine who may be reading this, I’d also like to point out that, in the front of the Mass guide, was a very well written article entitled “Environmental Ethics Needs Reverence and Gratitude,” which is part of a larger series called “Greening the Liturgical Green Season: Faith and the Environment” (currently, Catholics are celebrating “Ordinary Time,” a period in the Church calendar that is represented in colour by the colour green).
There are a few things that I’d like to close with. First, during the shaking of hands portion of the Mass, many people moved around to shake hands and share a greeting of peace to fellow congregants. In contrast to what I see as a more or less robotic greeting back in the States, this certainly acted as a confirmation of an observation that I have been seeing regularly here: a great sense of family. In Xhosa culture, one often uses Mama, Tata, Sisi and Bhuti. Regardless of how many people are in a family, or how you’re related to someone else, you’re still basically recognised as one of the aforementioned titles. So, one’s aunt may still be considered as Mama; Cousins interact more closely as siblings. Moreover, there is a holistic sense of community involvement. The priest talked about those coming to St. Anthony’s becomes not one person’s responsibility, but the whole community’s responsibility. Within a Xhosa household, relatives or friends may drop by on a whim and many times without letting you know ahead of time; regardless, they are still welcomed in and are taken care of. This sort of community similarly reminds me of Filipino culture in so many respects. In terms of a sense of “home,” I was also moved to see that each of the altar servers wore the Coptic cross that also is represented of my home parish, the Church of the Transfiguration. Finally, a woman sitting next to me must have seen that I was a bit lost during the responsorial psalm and pointed out to me that the Xhosa version (which was being said, though the English translation was also on the Mass guide) was inside the Mass guide. It reads “Njengokuba namhlanje niliphulaphula ilizwi lakhe! Musani ukuzenza lukhuni iinhliziyo zenu.” I tried to get it right and at the right speed; by the time I was getting the hang of it, the responsorial was finished. I am entirely determined to learn this language as quickly as possible so I can work on speeding up my Xhosa.
Peace,
MA
PART B:
For dinner, we had rice, potatoes, cabbage, beans (as in pork and beans, sans pork), and chicken. As I ate the food, as has been the case with many other things here in Langa, I was reminded of home. The chicken, to me, tasted like adobo, one of my favourite foods, and the national dish of the Philippines. I explained this to Mama, Sasa and Vuvu. Vuvu, in turn, told me how she prepared the food and mentioned Worster sauce. I then followed up by explaining briefly how my mom cooks it; when I said that the chicken is usually cooked in vinegar, the reaction of the three confirmed my tasting ability. Worster sauce, apparently, is majority vinegar.
As a brief aside, Sasa wanted me to try fat cakes after Mass and so we went to a local food stand (although a better explanation on my part is that it looked more like an outdoor cooking stand with an overhung roof, much like what one may find at a sporting event. In any case, this reminded me of the stands I remember seeing in the Philippines as we walked around the neighbourhood. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get the fat cakes (Sasa told me these are very similar to our American doughnuts), but we did get some great rolls (they also top it off with what seemed like a fish paste).
Anyway, after dinner I was given my Xhosa name: Ntsikelelo (Nasal N-tsee-keh-LAY-loh), the shortened version sounding something like ‘Nasal N-tsee-Kay.’ In Xhosa, ntsikelelo means “blessed.” Mama followed up by saying that they feel blessed to have me as their first Catholic home stay student. I certainly feel equally blessed to have such a caring home stay family, as well as this amazing opportunity overall. This has been such an amazing journey so far. It’s only day 10.
Well, just as I thought, I have so much to say about my first South African Mass, and as always, I hope I write down everything I wish to write.
After my breakfast of cornflakes with sugar (which definitely tasted like Frosted Flakes) and leftover chocolate chip muffin from Cape Town, I headed off to Mass at the Catholic church in Langa. Siya, Bayanda and I left ahead of everyone else and through the cold wind, which definitely made me feel as though I wasn’t experiencing a Michigan fall after all, we made it to St. Anthony’s. The structure of the church looked like a quaint little building, but I had eventually witnessed that it holds a lot more than I thought. In any case, there was a raised pulpit with a bit of an enclosure (which I hadn’t expected) and instead of being separate, the choir was a part of the congregation in the front of the church. I didn’t see any choir books in the pews and soon found out that everyone brings their own copy. (Side note: I need to buy a copy.)
The Mass opened up with two songs, both in Xhosa and the second one welcoming the altar servers and priest. Then, I sat in my seat following the order of the Mass, but still equally lost, as everything was said almost entirely in Xhosa. As I was toward the back of the Church, it was a little difficult to hear, but I eventually heard (often too late) a language I recognised and could actually participate in. Seamlessly, the readers, priest and congregation transitioned from Xhosa to Latin to English back and around again. Each section wasn’t translated into each of these languages, but rather, different sections were basically monolingual. For example, the opening greeting was in Xhosa, as well as the first reading, and the second reading was in English. I also caught the Gloria, a few Sanctus, some Ave Marias, a Thixo (God) now and again, Molweni (Hello), many enkosi’s (thank you), and so forth. Luckily I remembered the order of Mass pretty well to follow along. The priest’s homily was delivered in both English and Xhosa; I was able to laugh along with the rest of the congregation to his English stories and jokes, yet remember feeling lost when everyone laughed at a statement said in Xhosa. A statement the priest said stuck to me when he said it: “No one can make you angry. You choose to be angry.” This got me thinking; we all certainly have so many choices to make, and likewise, we may choose to be happy and enjoy life, whether we face good or bad. From the vibe of the crowd, everyone was so lively and happy to be at Mass. I even saw many kids from the community attending and sitting by themselves (at the end of Mass they also went to school; perhaps a Sunday school type of thing?). Though I didn’t know enough Xhosa, the music still very much filled me. As I heard what felt like Gospel/praise music, I was emotionally charged to see everyone swaying and perhaps semi-dancing in the music to the beat of the sounds, a beat that brought to mind a single, controllable heartbeat for the community. Even the priest was quite enjoying the music. Perhaps this may all seem like an odd image, but simply taking it from the context that I couldn’t understand the words, the musical component to it was simply amazing. Cognisant that there is a theological meaning to it, the experience was awe-inspiring. Much more than what we sing at Mass in the States was definitely sung today at Mass here in Langa; unsurprisingly, the Mass in total was two hours long.
For those environmentalist friends of mine who may be reading this, I’d also like to point out that, in the front of the Mass guide, was a very well written article entitled “Environmental Ethics Needs Reverence and Gratitude,” which is part of a larger series called “Greening the Liturgical Green Season: Faith and the Environment” (currently, Catholics are celebrating “Ordinary Time,” a period in the Church calendar that is represented in colour by the colour green).
There are a few things that I’d like to close with. First, during the shaking of hands portion of the Mass, many people moved around to shake hands and share a greeting of peace to fellow congregants. In contrast to what I see as a more or less robotic greeting back in the States, this certainly acted as a confirmation of an observation that I have been seeing regularly here: a great sense of family. In Xhosa culture, one often uses Mama, Tata, Sisi and Bhuti. Regardless of how many people are in a family, or how you’re related to someone else, you’re still basically recognised as one of the aforementioned titles. So, one’s aunt may still be considered as Mama; Cousins interact more closely as siblings. Moreover, there is a holistic sense of community involvement. The priest talked about those coming to St. Anthony’s becomes not one person’s responsibility, but the whole community’s responsibility. Within a Xhosa household, relatives or friends may drop by on a whim and many times without letting you know ahead of time; regardless, they are still welcomed in and are taken care of. This sort of community similarly reminds me of Filipino culture in so many respects. In terms of a sense of “home,” I was also moved to see that each of the altar servers wore the Coptic cross that also is represented of my home parish, the Church of the Transfiguration. Finally, a woman sitting next to me must have seen that I was a bit lost during the responsorial psalm and pointed out to me that the Xhosa version (which was being said, though the English translation was also on the Mass guide) was inside the Mass guide. It reads “Njengokuba namhlanje niliphulaphula ilizwi lakhe! Musani ukuzenza lukhuni iinhliziyo zenu.” I tried to get it right and at the right speed; by the time I was getting the hang of it, the responsorial was finished. I am entirely determined to learn this language as quickly as possible so I can work on speeding up my Xhosa.
Peace,
MA
PART B:
For dinner, we had rice, potatoes, cabbage, beans (as in pork and beans, sans pork), and chicken. As I ate the food, as has been the case with many other things here in Langa, I was reminded of home. The chicken, to me, tasted like adobo, one of my favourite foods, and the national dish of the Philippines. I explained this to Mama, Sasa and Vuvu. Vuvu, in turn, told me how she prepared the food and mentioned Worster sauce. I then followed up by explaining briefly how my mom cooks it; when I said that the chicken is usually cooked in vinegar, the reaction of the three confirmed my tasting ability. Worster sauce, apparently, is majority vinegar.
As a brief aside, Sasa wanted me to try fat cakes after Mass and so we went to a local food stand (although a better explanation on my part is that it looked more like an outdoor cooking stand with an overhung roof, much like what one may find at a sporting event. In any case, this reminded me of the stands I remember seeing in the Philippines as we walked around the neighbourhood. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get the fat cakes (Sasa told me these are very similar to our American doughnuts), but we did get some great rolls (they also top it off with what seemed like a fish paste).
Anyway, after dinner I was given my Xhosa name: Ntsikelelo (Nasal N-tsee-keh-LAY-loh), the shortened version sounding something like ‘Nasal N-tsee-Kay.’ In Xhosa, ntsikelelo means “blessed.” Mama followed up by saying that they feel blessed to have me as their first Catholic home stay student. I certainly feel equally blessed to have such a caring home stay family, as well as this amazing opportunity overall. This has been such an amazing journey so far. It’s only day 10.
I can finally update! Part 1
6 September 2008
Wow. I feel as though I have so much to catch up on since I last wrote of my South African journey. I have decided to write in both French and English, so I apologise ahead of time if you can’t read in the language I write in; I have truly begun to recognise the importance and meaning behind practicing in a language of comfort. For now, it’s the language I can think most clearly in at the time I decide to write. Soon enough I shall translate, should the demand really exist. In any event, here is the continuation of my journey, starting from three nights ago:
We had moved from the backpacker lodge in Jo’burg, and after about a two hour flight, which included a wonderful dinner (I believe I had beef with pasta), we arrived in Cape Town, where we were greeted by Tabisa (the student liaison who will be travelling with us on our journey) and Fika (the third of our daily drivers and the one in charge of arranging transports). We made our way to Sunflower (Backpackers’) Lodge, in Cape Town, by the Waterfront. After a good night’s rest, we were introduced to our home for the next month or so: the SIT classroom and facilities.
The SIT office and classroom is situated in Rondebosch, about a 5-10 minute’s walk from the University of Cape Town’s lower campus. There, we were greeted by Maggie (the Office Manager), Shane (our Academic Director who has been with us throughout our orientation week), and a few messages from previous South Africa: MSC students. We signed a few pieces of paperwork to open up our accounts while in South Africa and had a medical briefing with the programme doctor. Following lunch (I had a wonderful pizza sub and chocolate milkshake at St. –’s… the name eludes me at the moment), we had our third Xhosa lesson, the first course taught in the new classroom (SIT transferred the classroom location, as well as a few offices). After a lengthening of our introductory Xhosa base, we went to a shopping centre; we have our first formal Xhosa class (i.e., with our text book) on Monday.
At the shopping centre, I perhaps bought more than I absolutely needed, but I was very happy with what I found. Among the items is a 2010 World Cup jacket that was very much discounted (I’m guessing it’s because much of the apparel has been produced, but there’s still a bit of time before the World Cup actually takes place). If I’m not mistaken, South Africa is the first African nation to host the World Cup, and everywhere I go the World Cup has a visible presence—from the building of stadiums to renovations and additions of shopping centres to posters. Looking at my list of things I really, really, really want to get, I noticed that I neglected to include something (which I ended up purchasing at the shopping centre): a Xhosa Bible. It’s so cool but there’s no translation, so perhaps I’ll have to read it along with an English Bible; heck, I better throw in my all-French Bible too while I’m at it. Anyway, I also bought a pocket Xhosa phrasebook. Emma, Lara, Jenny, Brittney, Amy, Dyana, Elisabeth and I went to a fabulous Thai restaurant that overlooked the Waterfront. The sky was dark, but the surrounding lights reflected against the water. I ate California rolls and Satay chicken (or is it chicken Satay?). In any event, it was delicious. Dyana and I also got Shirley Temples that ended up tasting like a fruit punch sherbet with Sprite/7-Up type of drink.
On Friday, we all took part in a “drop-off”. I don’t mean to spoil it for anyone that eventually goes on the programme, but this was one of my favourite experiences so far while in South Africa. Basically, imagine “the Amazing Race” crossing “the Mole” multiply it by twenty and realise you’re actually in it, rather than just watching it. That’s how great it was. I ended up having to find my way to the Bo-Kaap Museum. As I approached the cobblestone, I realised that things looked just a bit different. I ended up asking three people for directions, and they helped me without thinking twice about helping. (Ethnographic note: people who seemed to have a better grasp of English were more easily able to help me—obviously—but if I threw in a little bit of the Xhosa I knew, those people were just as keen to helping me.) The Bo-Kaap is the Muslim area of Cape Town, once known as the Malay Quarter during the apartheid era. In retrospect, it took me a while to realise that the Bo-Kaap is where we’ll be having one of our home stays. I can’t wait to go back, primarily for the following events.
I walked to the front of what looked like a house, rather than what I would expect to be a museum, and was greeted by a woman dressed in traditional Muslim clothing. Upon entering, I paid the entrance fee and began the self-guided tour. There was so much interesting information that I shan’t write about all of it here, but in any case, I did come to learn that this museum is meant to represent what life was like for Cape Malays in the 19th century, which would explain why I walked up to a house. As I continued on, I realised that perhaps there was more to this drop-off than met the eye. It was certainly convenient that my research interests and potential direction for my ISP/thesis is on ethnolinguistics and religion. In short, I began formulating questions about the museum itself, but started to frame my thought processes around the sort of work I will soon be doing in a few month’s time. At the end of the tour, I began asking my questions and the lady who had first let me into the museum was so kind as to answer them. Even more so, I began feeling the kind of personal connections that makes me feel as though I really do have a purpose here in South Africa, that I belong here. I suppose semi-unexpectedly, I have truly begun to fall in love with South Africa. In any event, the museum worker told me about her family and the importance of Islam in her life and within the context of South Africa. I also shall not inundate my blog with my research findings per se, but I would like to mention that this first “interview” certainly built up confidence in my research and the direction I plan on taking with it. After our conversation, another museum worker took a great picture of the two of us, and the former provided me some contact info for a city tour guide. Have I mentioned already that South Africans are wonderful resources and so caring and helpful?
After I left the museum, I talked to a black South African sitting on some steps near the museum and briefly talked to her about life in the area. I’m not so sure how much we understood each other, but just sitting next to her and seeing her in her current state moved me. With that said, as I was walking down to try and find a nearby café, I stopped into a shoe shop and asked a guy in there if it was okay to ask him a few questions about life in the Bo-Kaap. He told me that his family is the only Hindu one in the area, and that during apartheid, his family was forced to move out under the laws and regulations; luckily, the business itself was allowed to stay there, and to this day, it is still in operation (and he plans on keeping it open). From what I gathered between him and the museum worker, it seems as though there is a sentiment of sadness/concern that those in the Bo-Kaap may be witnessing the encroachment of wealth and prosperity for those not originally from the Bo-Kaap, especially since that area is considered as “prime” territory. At one point, I heard a phrase that caught me by surprise: “selling one’s heritage”. How true is that today?
Along my way to finding a café, I stopped by an African music store and saw djimbes (at least I now know a price to which I can compare future djimbes). I did buy another Xhosa CD and a really sick bracelet. (I feel I must insert that I’ve recently heard/read the following terminology in the past few days: “sick”=cool, “chick”=girl, “paw paw”=papaya, “relieved”=stolen, “shame”=an expression of sympathy, “okay!”(varying tones)=you’re welcome, it’s nothing.) With that money spent, I then realised that I didn’t have that much money with me, as we were told not to bring our backpacks with us. (I had also been seeking out the Long Street Café for about an hour, with about half a dozen to a dozen people pointing me in so many directions.) After finding a bank and waiting in line for about 20 minutes, I was told that their exchange bureau wasn’t up and running. Pressed for time, I retreated to a nearby café, and ordered from the menu with the exact cost in mind (tax is already included in the prices, which makes for easier math). And that’s when it happened… two guys walked in quietly speaking in a language I thought I recognised. I quietly ate my mocha muffin and drank my fruit cocktail juice as I tried to pick out the accent and random words. I gathered up some courage and after the suspense, I was right… they were FRENCH! French flew out of my mouth so quickly I wasn’t sure if I sounded nervous or just really confident. In the end, they commented that my French is very good (who knows in actuality), which in any case comforted my fears that I would lose my French as I learned Xhosa. After our conversation, it was time to pay the bill and that’s when I found out that it was three rands more than I expected, and ordering based on exact amounts, I didn’t know what to do. Well, I explained my situation and one of the workers (perhaps even manager) explained why the costs were different (a matter of updating the menus); instead of the expected accosting and frustration, she kindly pointed me out to the nearest bank and trusted I would return to pay the bill after I exchanged my money (which I ended up doing). South Africans are so kind here! I can’t stress this enough. With time closing in on me, I decided to head over to my final destination. Along the way, two things happened. First, I came across a Methodist church and realised that it was on the same street as the Bo-Kaap, but just on the other end. Second, I walked upon an outdoor market, which means only one thing: I had to stop and look around. The first and only stall I ended up visiting had a variety of necklaces. For one necklace in particular (one for myself), the vendor took particular time for me and helped me choose a necklace that I ended up fitting me perfectly. The last act of kindness I experienced on this particular journey was on the last leg of my “mission”. I asked a street vendor where the destination was and he told me that he didn’t know where it was, but brought me to a public safety officer because he would be more likely to know. It turns out he didn’t know, but told me to wait a minute while he radioed the other public safety officers, ensuring that he would get me to where I needed to be. Eventually, he got a confirmation as to its location and walked me directly to the destination.
Everyone then met up at the classroom and debriefed this spectacle (okay, perhaps not that extravagant). Nevertheless, we all learned something from this experience and heard amazing stories as to what others experienced. Of the many things I learned, one holds much importance: in South Africa, look right, left, right, when crossing the street, rather than left, right, left, as in the States.
While I’m thinking of it, I’d like to mention that while in Jo’burg, we visited Museum Afrika, the Market Theatre (where Collin bought a bag of caterpillars, and I stumbled upon an office of the Institut de la République Française), the Constitutional Court, Regina Mundi, the Hector Pieterson Memorial and the Apartheid Museum—al of which were excellent, but not of them which I remember mentioned 1984 and/or the Kairos document (both being aspects that are important to my research).
Back to the rest of the story, after the debriefing, we all dressed up and went out to Marco’s, an African-themed restaurant. We met with many staff members and their families, including Martin’s son, and the three Xhosa tutorial leaders. After an AMAZING meal (the pasta and especially the lamb were superb), we all decided to check out Long Street and the night life. Eventually, Elisabeth, Jessica and I broke off from the rest of the group went to Tonic before settling in Jo’burg (the club, NOT the actual city two hours away by plane). We were soon joined by Brittney, and the four of us went to the adjoining club, Pretoria. There, we danced to hip-hop music (though house music is very popular) and met four local guys who were SO nice to us. One of them does stand-up was hilarious and the eight of us formed a dancing circle and had tons of fun (they even got me to dance in the middle a few times). We got a taxi afterwards and the driver (accidentally dropping us off a few buildings away) stayed close by until he was sure we got back to the lodge. I think I need not reiterate again…
Then, it happened: the day all of us were anticipating the most—the day we meet our host families. Today, we had a debriefing session with Mama (Nomawethu) and after checking out of our rooms, went to lunch. Elisabeth and I went to a nearby store and chose our meals (it’s still taking some getting used to the fact that a complete meal costs no more than ten American dollars). I, naturally, also bought some chocolate and a chocolate chip muffin (a common reaction of this being a normal thing for me was finally established within the group). We then drove to Langa and were greeted by a police officer, who filled us in on Langa, the township that is to be our home for the next month-ish. Following this, we went back to our vans (grouped just as we would be during our morning pick-ups), and one-by-one were dropped off at our home stay locations.
Prior to this, we recently (before lunch) received letters from our host families. On the way to Langa, I constantly re-read my letter from Siya, and continuously checking just to make sure that this was really happening; it certainly was. With open arms (just as Siya had told me), his family welcomed me as one of their own. I met Vuvu, Siya’s mother and soon met Mama (Nomalizo), Vuvu’s mother. I chatted with them briefly and easily transitioned to the area I was quite excited about: we (the family and I) are all Roman Catholic. I was so happy at the reaction that followed (not to say I wouldn’t be equally happier elsewhere). I then left the house just as quickly as I had come in, as Sasa, Bayanda and Siya came to fetch me, as we were all to go grocery shopping. Along the way, I spoke with Siya (of whom I had known for just a brief hour or so, based on a single letter), and began getting to know him. Sasa is his aunt, Bayanda being Sasa’s son; both Sasa and Vuvu are Mama’s daughters. Siya just recently turned 17, and though he is younger than me, I certainly look up to him—not only literally—but more so in the sense that he knows the area a lot more than I do. He speaks English, Xhosa and Zulu, and has a wonderfully deep, South African accent, undoubtedly influenced by the fact that he also recently returned from London about a month ago; he’ll be going to Argentina next year. He plays hockey and cricket, and goes to an all-boys boarding school. After our grocery stops, I visited his campus, which to me seems about as big, if not bigger, than Albion’s campus. Bayanda is certainly like a younger brother to me, and is full of so much energy it’s amazing. I also met Victor, one of Mama’s two sons.
When we got home, I helped Sasa cook dinner (and by the time she plated it, she mentioned that I should have had a picture taken of me cooking my first meal in Langa; I at least took a photo of my first meal in Langa). As we awaited the potatoes to be done cooking, Mama, Sasa, Vuvu and I talked about many things: life in Langa, the different priests in the area, languages during any given Mass, families, and so forth. I feel so lucky to be here, especially as reality is certainly matching (and exceeding) any expectations I may have had. Of the things we talked about, two things seemed to surprise them most: the number of guys in this particular group and the fact that I’m Catholic. As Shane had mentioned earlier in the week, guys are always in the minority, with two or three guys in the group; this time around, we have five. I also feel confident in saying that the five of us have bonded quite well in the past week, and I certainly hope we continue to do so. Moreover (and especially good news), of the 15 or more students Mama and her family have hosted, none of them have been Catholic. Apparently, then, I’m the first one, and I’m so excited to go to Mass tomorrow. It’s about midnight as I write this, and will have to end shortly. Mass is at 9:30am, and goes on for about two to two-and-a-half hours. It’s said in multiple languages (including Xhosa and English), and there’s to be a lot of singing. Afterwards, Siya and I are supposed to walk around Langa.
I then presented my gifts for the family. Alongside the book of Michigan that I got for them, I shared some dark chocolate with Mama and the family, and they quite enjoyed it. Moreover, they seemed to be impressed with the Target zip-up red pocket bags I got and gave each of them (Mama, Sasa and Vuvu) their own bag. I then showed them pictures from my surprise birthday party. (They said I look like my mom and my sister looks like my dad.)
After eating dinner (pasta with a homemade sauce that was of Sasa’s creation), Siya, Bayanda and I watched a movie before heading off to bed. I then commenced writing to catch all of you up with what’s been going on here in South Africa. I think I shall read a bit from my Izibhalo Ezingcwele and practice some new Xhosa phrases before I sleep.
Until next time, sala kahle!
M.A.
Wow. I feel as though I have so much to catch up on since I last wrote of my South African journey. I have decided to write in both French and English, so I apologise ahead of time if you can’t read in the language I write in; I have truly begun to recognise the importance and meaning behind practicing in a language of comfort. For now, it’s the language I can think most clearly in at the time I decide to write. Soon enough I shall translate, should the demand really exist. In any event, here is the continuation of my journey, starting from three nights ago:
We had moved from the backpacker lodge in Jo’burg, and after about a two hour flight, which included a wonderful dinner (I believe I had beef with pasta), we arrived in Cape Town, where we were greeted by Tabisa (the student liaison who will be travelling with us on our journey) and Fika (the third of our daily drivers and the one in charge of arranging transports). We made our way to Sunflower (Backpackers’) Lodge, in Cape Town, by the Waterfront. After a good night’s rest, we were introduced to our home for the next month or so: the SIT classroom and facilities.
The SIT office and classroom is situated in Rondebosch, about a 5-10 minute’s walk from the University of Cape Town’s lower campus. There, we were greeted by Maggie (the Office Manager), Shane (our Academic Director who has been with us throughout our orientation week), and a few messages from previous South Africa: MSC students. We signed a few pieces of paperwork to open up our accounts while in South Africa and had a medical briefing with the programme doctor. Following lunch (I had a wonderful pizza sub and chocolate milkshake at St. –’s… the name eludes me at the moment), we had our third Xhosa lesson, the first course taught in the new classroom (SIT transferred the classroom location, as well as a few offices). After a lengthening of our introductory Xhosa base, we went to a shopping centre; we have our first formal Xhosa class (i.e., with our text book) on Monday.
At the shopping centre, I perhaps bought more than I absolutely needed, but I was very happy with what I found. Among the items is a 2010 World Cup jacket that was very much discounted (I’m guessing it’s because much of the apparel has been produced, but there’s still a bit of time before the World Cup actually takes place). If I’m not mistaken, South Africa is the first African nation to host the World Cup, and everywhere I go the World Cup has a visible presence—from the building of stadiums to renovations and additions of shopping centres to posters. Looking at my list of things I really, really, really want to get, I noticed that I neglected to include something (which I ended up purchasing at the shopping centre): a Xhosa Bible. It’s so cool but there’s no translation, so perhaps I’ll have to read it along with an English Bible; heck, I better throw in my all-French Bible too while I’m at it. Anyway, I also bought a pocket Xhosa phrasebook. Emma, Lara, Jenny, Brittney, Amy, Dyana, Elisabeth and I went to a fabulous Thai restaurant that overlooked the Waterfront. The sky was dark, but the surrounding lights reflected against the water. I ate California rolls and Satay chicken (or is it chicken Satay?). In any event, it was delicious. Dyana and I also got Shirley Temples that ended up tasting like a fruit punch sherbet with Sprite/7-Up type of drink.
On Friday, we all took part in a “drop-off”. I don’t mean to spoil it for anyone that eventually goes on the programme, but this was one of my favourite experiences so far while in South Africa. Basically, imagine “the Amazing Race” crossing “the Mole” multiply it by twenty and realise you’re actually in it, rather than just watching it. That’s how great it was. I ended up having to find my way to the Bo-Kaap Museum. As I approached the cobblestone, I realised that things looked just a bit different. I ended up asking three people for directions, and they helped me without thinking twice about helping. (Ethnographic note: people who seemed to have a better grasp of English were more easily able to help me—obviously—but if I threw in a little bit of the Xhosa I knew, those people were just as keen to helping me.) The Bo-Kaap is the Muslim area of Cape Town, once known as the Malay Quarter during the apartheid era. In retrospect, it took me a while to realise that the Bo-Kaap is where we’ll be having one of our home stays. I can’t wait to go back, primarily for the following events.
I walked to the front of what looked like a house, rather than what I would expect to be a museum, and was greeted by a woman dressed in traditional Muslim clothing. Upon entering, I paid the entrance fee and began the self-guided tour. There was so much interesting information that I shan’t write about all of it here, but in any case, I did come to learn that this museum is meant to represent what life was like for Cape Malays in the 19th century, which would explain why I walked up to a house. As I continued on, I realised that perhaps there was more to this drop-off than met the eye. It was certainly convenient that my research interests and potential direction for my ISP/thesis is on ethnolinguistics and religion. In short, I began formulating questions about the museum itself, but started to frame my thought processes around the sort of work I will soon be doing in a few month’s time. At the end of the tour, I began asking my questions and the lady who had first let me into the museum was so kind as to answer them. Even more so, I began feeling the kind of personal connections that makes me feel as though I really do have a purpose here in South Africa, that I belong here. I suppose semi-unexpectedly, I have truly begun to fall in love with South Africa. In any event, the museum worker told me about her family and the importance of Islam in her life and within the context of South Africa. I also shall not inundate my blog with my research findings per se, but I would like to mention that this first “interview” certainly built up confidence in my research and the direction I plan on taking with it. After our conversation, another museum worker took a great picture of the two of us, and the former provided me some contact info for a city tour guide. Have I mentioned already that South Africans are wonderful resources and so caring and helpful?
After I left the museum, I talked to a black South African sitting on some steps near the museum and briefly talked to her about life in the area. I’m not so sure how much we understood each other, but just sitting next to her and seeing her in her current state moved me. With that said, as I was walking down to try and find a nearby café, I stopped into a shoe shop and asked a guy in there if it was okay to ask him a few questions about life in the Bo-Kaap. He told me that his family is the only Hindu one in the area, and that during apartheid, his family was forced to move out under the laws and regulations; luckily, the business itself was allowed to stay there, and to this day, it is still in operation (and he plans on keeping it open). From what I gathered between him and the museum worker, it seems as though there is a sentiment of sadness/concern that those in the Bo-Kaap may be witnessing the encroachment of wealth and prosperity for those not originally from the Bo-Kaap, especially since that area is considered as “prime” territory. At one point, I heard a phrase that caught me by surprise: “selling one’s heritage”. How true is that today?
Along my way to finding a café, I stopped by an African music store and saw djimbes (at least I now know a price to which I can compare future djimbes). I did buy another Xhosa CD and a really sick bracelet. (I feel I must insert that I’ve recently heard/read the following terminology in the past few days: “sick”=cool, “chick”=girl, “paw paw”=papaya, “relieved”=stolen, “shame”=an expression of sympathy, “okay!”(varying tones)=you’re welcome, it’s nothing.) With that money spent, I then realised that I didn’t have that much money with me, as we were told not to bring our backpacks with us. (I had also been seeking out the Long Street Café for about an hour, with about half a dozen to a dozen people pointing me in so many directions.) After finding a bank and waiting in line for about 20 minutes, I was told that their exchange bureau wasn’t up and running. Pressed for time, I retreated to a nearby café, and ordered from the menu with the exact cost in mind (tax is already included in the prices, which makes for easier math). And that’s when it happened… two guys walked in quietly speaking in a language I thought I recognised. I quietly ate my mocha muffin and drank my fruit cocktail juice as I tried to pick out the accent and random words. I gathered up some courage and after the suspense, I was right… they were FRENCH! French flew out of my mouth so quickly I wasn’t sure if I sounded nervous or just really confident. In the end, they commented that my French is very good (who knows in actuality), which in any case comforted my fears that I would lose my French as I learned Xhosa. After our conversation, it was time to pay the bill and that’s when I found out that it was three rands more than I expected, and ordering based on exact amounts, I didn’t know what to do. Well, I explained my situation and one of the workers (perhaps even manager) explained why the costs were different (a matter of updating the menus); instead of the expected accosting and frustration, she kindly pointed me out to the nearest bank and trusted I would return to pay the bill after I exchanged my money (which I ended up doing). South Africans are so kind here! I can’t stress this enough. With time closing in on me, I decided to head over to my final destination. Along the way, two things happened. First, I came across a Methodist church and realised that it was on the same street as the Bo-Kaap, but just on the other end. Second, I walked upon an outdoor market, which means only one thing: I had to stop and look around. The first and only stall I ended up visiting had a variety of necklaces. For one necklace in particular (one for myself), the vendor took particular time for me and helped me choose a necklace that I ended up fitting me perfectly. The last act of kindness I experienced on this particular journey was on the last leg of my “mission”. I asked a street vendor where the destination was and he told me that he didn’t know where it was, but brought me to a public safety officer because he would be more likely to know. It turns out he didn’t know, but told me to wait a minute while he radioed the other public safety officers, ensuring that he would get me to where I needed to be. Eventually, he got a confirmation as to its location and walked me directly to the destination.
Everyone then met up at the classroom and debriefed this spectacle (okay, perhaps not that extravagant). Nevertheless, we all learned something from this experience and heard amazing stories as to what others experienced. Of the many things I learned, one holds much importance: in South Africa, look right, left, right, when crossing the street, rather than left, right, left, as in the States.
While I’m thinking of it, I’d like to mention that while in Jo’burg, we visited Museum Afrika, the Market Theatre (where Collin bought a bag of caterpillars, and I stumbled upon an office of the Institut de la République Française), the Constitutional Court, Regina Mundi, the Hector Pieterson Memorial and the Apartheid Museum—al of which were excellent, but not of them which I remember mentioned 1984 and/or the Kairos document (both being aspects that are important to my research).
Back to the rest of the story, after the debriefing, we all dressed up and went out to Marco’s, an African-themed restaurant. We met with many staff members and their families, including Martin’s son, and the three Xhosa tutorial leaders. After an AMAZING meal (the pasta and especially the lamb were superb), we all decided to check out Long Street and the night life. Eventually, Elisabeth, Jessica and I broke off from the rest of the group went to Tonic before settling in Jo’burg (the club, NOT the actual city two hours away by plane). We were soon joined by Brittney, and the four of us went to the adjoining club, Pretoria. There, we danced to hip-hop music (though house music is very popular) and met four local guys who were SO nice to us. One of them does stand-up was hilarious and the eight of us formed a dancing circle and had tons of fun (they even got me to dance in the middle a few times). We got a taxi afterwards and the driver (accidentally dropping us off a few buildings away) stayed close by until he was sure we got back to the lodge. I think I need not reiterate again…
Then, it happened: the day all of us were anticipating the most—the day we meet our host families. Today, we had a debriefing session with Mama (Nomawethu) and after checking out of our rooms, went to lunch. Elisabeth and I went to a nearby store and chose our meals (it’s still taking some getting used to the fact that a complete meal costs no more than ten American dollars). I, naturally, also bought some chocolate and a chocolate chip muffin (a common reaction of this being a normal thing for me was finally established within the group). We then drove to Langa and were greeted by a police officer, who filled us in on Langa, the township that is to be our home for the next month-ish. Following this, we went back to our vans (grouped just as we would be during our morning pick-ups), and one-by-one were dropped off at our home stay locations.
Prior to this, we recently (before lunch) received letters from our host families. On the way to Langa, I constantly re-read my letter from Siya, and continuously checking just to make sure that this was really happening; it certainly was. With open arms (just as Siya had told me), his family welcomed me as one of their own. I met Vuvu, Siya’s mother and soon met Mama (Nomalizo), Vuvu’s mother. I chatted with them briefly and easily transitioned to the area I was quite excited about: we (the family and I) are all Roman Catholic. I was so happy at the reaction that followed (not to say I wouldn’t be equally happier elsewhere). I then left the house just as quickly as I had come in, as Sasa, Bayanda and Siya came to fetch me, as we were all to go grocery shopping. Along the way, I spoke with Siya (of whom I had known for just a brief hour or so, based on a single letter), and began getting to know him. Sasa is his aunt, Bayanda being Sasa’s son; both Sasa and Vuvu are Mama’s daughters. Siya just recently turned 17, and though he is younger than me, I certainly look up to him—not only literally—but more so in the sense that he knows the area a lot more than I do. He speaks English, Xhosa and Zulu, and has a wonderfully deep, South African accent, undoubtedly influenced by the fact that he also recently returned from London about a month ago; he’ll be going to Argentina next year. He plays hockey and cricket, and goes to an all-boys boarding school. After our grocery stops, I visited his campus, which to me seems about as big, if not bigger, than Albion’s campus. Bayanda is certainly like a younger brother to me, and is full of so much energy it’s amazing. I also met Victor, one of Mama’s two sons.
When we got home, I helped Sasa cook dinner (and by the time she plated it, she mentioned that I should have had a picture taken of me cooking my first meal in Langa; I at least took a photo of my first meal in Langa). As we awaited the potatoes to be done cooking, Mama, Sasa, Vuvu and I talked about many things: life in Langa, the different priests in the area, languages during any given Mass, families, and so forth. I feel so lucky to be here, especially as reality is certainly matching (and exceeding) any expectations I may have had. Of the things we talked about, two things seemed to surprise them most: the number of guys in this particular group and the fact that I’m Catholic. As Shane had mentioned earlier in the week, guys are always in the minority, with two or three guys in the group; this time around, we have five. I also feel confident in saying that the five of us have bonded quite well in the past week, and I certainly hope we continue to do so. Moreover (and especially good news), of the 15 or more students Mama and her family have hosted, none of them have been Catholic. Apparently, then, I’m the first one, and I’m so excited to go to Mass tomorrow. It’s about midnight as I write this, and will have to end shortly. Mass is at 9:30am, and goes on for about two to two-and-a-half hours. It’s said in multiple languages (including Xhosa and English), and there’s to be a lot of singing. Afterwards, Siya and I are supposed to walk around Langa.
I then presented my gifts for the family. Alongside the book of Michigan that I got for them, I shared some dark chocolate with Mama and the family, and they quite enjoyed it. Moreover, they seemed to be impressed with the Target zip-up red pocket bags I got and gave each of them (Mama, Sasa and Vuvu) their own bag. I then showed them pictures from my surprise birthday party. (They said I look like my mom and my sister looks like my dad.)
After eating dinner (pasta with a homemade sauce that was of Sasa’s creation), Siya, Bayanda and I watched a movie before heading off to bed. I then commenced writing to catch all of you up with what’s been going on here in South Africa. I think I shall read a bit from my Izibhalo Ezingcwele and practice some new Xhosa phrases before I sleep.
Until next time, sala kahle!
M.A.
dimanche 31 août 2008
Molweni!!!
Molweni from South Africa! Sorry I haven't updated this thing in forever... even though I've been here for something like two nights. We're currently in Jo'burg right now, and I must say that the transition to this country has been fairly easy for me. Then again, it seems like much of our adventure thus far reminds me of a rather European-esque voyage. Nevertheless, I'm enjoying my time here and getting to know my classmates. There are twenty of us on the programme, our academic director, student liaison, and two drivers, that travel together, exploring, enjoying, and making the memories.
It was interesting at JFK when we slowly came together and met for the first time, as many seemed to recognise me as the creator of the Facebook group for our class. Now, I'm getting the nice vibe that everyone's getting comfortable around each other. I'm being recognised as Mark Anthony, Mark, M.A., Ma, and the occassional Mark Antony (or so it sounds).
Speaking of sounds, I'm really loving the accent down here, or rather, the variety thereof. In an area with so much multiculturalism/multilingualism, there's a heavy sense of diversity in race, ethnicity, and language. I think I'm slowly picking it up; though, I'm levitating just above a Canadian/Australian voice.
We're staying at Diamond Diggers for the time being, a backpacker's place in Kensington, Jo'burg. It's quite nice, and in a rather safe neighbourhood. The cell phone service here is pretty good, as well, as long as I can find the nice cell phone receptors... or whatever they're called.
Yesterday, we went to Museum Afrika and the Market Theatre. En route to the museum, I was so excited to see the Institution de la Republique Française as I walked into the market area. Never did I realise that there was a bit of a French presence. I was told that many folks from the DRC are in South Africa.
This morning, I couldn't make it to Mass (the closest Catholic church was in Portuguese and at 6am). So, I decided read the Mass readings, and pray in Xhosa. It was really nice just sitting in the cool air and relaxing away from the noise, early in the morning. I followed up by practicing some Xhosa phrases I found on an on-line list that was created for a World Youth Day gathering in South Africa. Today, we went to Soweto and Regina Mundi, as well as a local tourist-type restaurant called Wandies. I was sooo excited, as I have been itching to get to Regina Mundi, especially, and after having studied Soweto for what seems like forever. Today at Regina Mundi, we were fortunate to hear many young and adult performers play/sing in the church, in dedication to the Oppenheimer Trust Foundation. It certainly felt like apartheid was a thing of the past; in the back of my mind, I still remained cognisant of the events that affected Regina Mundi a few decades ago. (See Yew Perbi's works.) I told a few of my classmates the story of Regina Mundi, and they noticed the bullet holes in the ceiling. Unfortunately, I couldn't see the statue of Christ from the attack on Regina Mundi, but I did see the Black Madonna. It was very much a bit of an overwhelming experience for me.
There's so much that hasn't been touched upon here, so if I remember anything else, I'll certainly include it in future posts. One last thing: as soon as we landed in our brief layover in Dakar, my mind switched over to French... and a bit too much, I think. Currently, my recorded reflections and a pre-programme reflection are all in French; hopefully I'll remember it all after a semester of Xhosa!
Sala kahle,
MA
It was interesting at JFK when we slowly came together and met for the first time, as many seemed to recognise me as the creator of the Facebook group for our class. Now, I'm getting the nice vibe that everyone's getting comfortable around each other. I'm being recognised as Mark Anthony, Mark, M.A., Ma, and the occassional Mark Antony (or so it sounds).
Speaking of sounds, I'm really loving the accent down here, or rather, the variety thereof. In an area with so much multiculturalism/multilingualism, there's a heavy sense of diversity in race, ethnicity, and language. I think I'm slowly picking it up; though, I'm levitating just above a Canadian/Australian voice.
We're staying at Diamond Diggers for the time being, a backpacker's place in Kensington, Jo'burg. It's quite nice, and in a rather safe neighbourhood. The cell phone service here is pretty good, as well, as long as I can find the nice cell phone receptors... or whatever they're called.
Yesterday, we went to Museum Afrika and the Market Theatre. En route to the museum, I was so excited to see the Institution de la Republique Française as I walked into the market area. Never did I realise that there was a bit of a French presence. I was told that many folks from the DRC are in South Africa.
This morning, I couldn't make it to Mass (the closest Catholic church was in Portuguese and at 6am). So, I decided read the Mass readings, and pray in Xhosa. It was really nice just sitting in the cool air and relaxing away from the noise, early in the morning. I followed up by practicing some Xhosa phrases I found on an on-line list that was created for a World Youth Day gathering in South Africa. Today, we went to Soweto and Regina Mundi, as well as a local tourist-type restaurant called Wandies. I was sooo excited, as I have been itching to get to Regina Mundi, especially, and after having studied Soweto for what seems like forever. Today at Regina Mundi, we were fortunate to hear many young and adult performers play/sing in the church, in dedication to the Oppenheimer Trust Foundation. It certainly felt like apartheid was a thing of the past; in the back of my mind, I still remained cognisant of the events that affected Regina Mundi a few decades ago. (See Yew Perbi's works.) I told a few of my classmates the story of Regina Mundi, and they noticed the bullet holes in the ceiling. Unfortunately, I couldn't see the statue of Christ from the attack on Regina Mundi, but I did see the Black Madonna. It was very much a bit of an overwhelming experience for me.
There's so much that hasn't been touched upon here, so if I remember anything else, I'll certainly include it in future posts. One last thing: as soon as we landed in our brief layover in Dakar, my mind switched over to French... and a bit too much, I think. Currently, my recorded reflections and a pre-programme reflection are all in French; hopefully I'll remember it all after a semester of Xhosa!
Sala kahle,
MA
lundi 28 juillet 2008
Officially: One Month to Go
Well, this is it. Officially, I have one month to go before getting on the plane to New York and then with the group to Jo'burg. My FURSCA research is nearly complete, I've begun learning Xhosa, my thesis is well underway, and the yearbook... well, that's another story entirely.
I've been reading up on the cool things that students I know already in South Africa for their study abroad adventures have been doing, and have seen amazing picture after amazing picture. I can hardly wait for it all to begin for me.
I've been reading up on the cool things that students I know already in South Africa for their study abroad adventures have been doing, and have seen amazing picture after amazing picture. I can hardly wait for it all to begin for me.
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