Archive for June, 2010

To make up for a very Sunday-like Saturday, most of the group spent today venturing out. 6 of us travelled to ‘Century City’, to a shopping centre called ‘Canal Walk’ very much like Manchester’s ‘Trafford Centre’. I’ve seen a number of very artificial business-park areas here, and this was no exception. With clean shining brick and freshly painted roads, these places are unseen by majority of the countries inhabitants. Not that they’d want to – for the inside is just as artificial as its surroundings.

The contrast comes as Adnan, our trusted taxi-driver, takes a diversion en-route to show us the settlement known as ‘Whitsand’ (White Sands). This area resembles a picture closer to what I was expecting to see in the townships of South Africa. The shacks are close in proximity, constructed from wooden planks and possibly some masonry materials. Unlike the townships we’ve previously seen, the neighbouring shacks are quite similar to each other. Winter calls for heat, and the streets are laden with iron caskets burning wood. A single climbing frame and slide occupy the sandy street corner, the only recreational place in sight. Outdoor toilet blocks depict the harsh reality of shackdwelling. At the end of the strip we see a handful of small, constructed houses. Adnan tells us these have come about only in the last few months, probably part of a slow rehousing project.

What sets this place apart for me, however, is the manner in which much-needed electricity is supplied to these shacks. Tens of power lines lie low, connected haphazardly from shacks to branches leading to pylons in the near distance. This electricity is being manually taken (one might say borrowed) from the mainline by cleverly attached, undoubtedly dangerous, power lines. The reason? The government won’t supply electricity to these temporary shelters.

I highly recommend these documentary-videos to learn more about this issue, and how some groups have trained locals to take matters into their own hands: Between Worlds and Keeping the lights on [ask me for the password].

In some settlements, the same is done with water – piping it from the system into people’s homes. All of this requires skills and expertise, which Adnan highlights: “Many of the people living here are skilled workers and are qualified. Some worked for the government. After losing their jobs they were forced to move here.” He also tells us of the resistance the shack-dwellers exhibited when the government turned off the electricity. “They burned tyres in the road, completely blocking off the traffic. The buses had to go all the way around to get to town. They didn’t stop until they turned the electricity back on, and everything returned to normal.” He points to craters in the tarmac, showing the damage produced by the burning tyres.

Inspired, I sent a text message to a number of people from the Abahlali group – a movement which aims to promote the rights of the shack-dwellers of South Africa. As their website describes; Abahlali baseMjondolo, together with Landless People’s Movement (Gauteng), the Rural Network (KwaZulu-Natal) and the Western Cape Anti-Eviction Campaign, is part of the Poor People’s Alliance – a network of radical poor people’s movements.

I’ve been planning to meet with members of these groups since arriving here, and this week I’ll spend time trying to work out how. Learn more about them at their website: http://www.abahlali.org/ and the Anti-Eviction Campaign at: http://antieviction.org.za/

Shopping is dread, but it was nice to see the centre and buy a few gifts. “Rabies are us? Haha! Oh…it’s babies.” We enjoyed lunch next to the fake canal, spending a few more hours wondering round before making our way back. We were greeted by a huge cloud of mist which had settled over Mamre and the surrounding areas. Viewed from the road descending into the area, it at first looked very much like the sea. This amazing sight was not dissimilar to the view of clouds from an aeroplane window or from a mountaintop.

Walking down our street later, we heard loud noises and whistling behind us. Turning our heads, we saw some 15 horses galloping in our direction. My roommate literally ran towards the house. I stood to the side and pulled out my camera, perfect video moment!

We spent the evening watching Brazil beat the Ivory Coast, moaning about the poor standing of the African teams in the World Cup. It feels good to have had another eventful and thought-provoking day, though I can’t help but wish we were doing more than just witnessing. And I know many of the others feel the same way.

A largely uneventful day, I slept in (a highlight indeed) for the first Saturday not returning to Cape Town since the first Saturday we arrived here. As previous volunteers pointed out – a weekend spent in Mamre is indeed a dull weekend.

Most of the group got up bright and early to partake in the ‘fun run’ – a 5-15km run around the village. My roommate joined them to give out water. I’ve never been a confident runner, and a 7am start just didn’t cut it for me. Plus, I was miserable about having to stay here to honour my 5pm curfew. So instead I dreamt vividly. As I mentioned on Day 16, the volunteers have mentioned having more elaborate dreams whilst they’ve been here. I do wonder why…

We wondered around, hanging out on the street. As one volunteer described, “We’re like chavs here”. It certainly seems so, although the stigma doesn’t really apply. I have so little to share about today, which makes me feel useless writing this blog. One of the few days I didn’t take a single photograph either. I spent the evening catching up on work, applying for work placements for next year.

Wish me luck, I’m trying to stop any lethargy from creeping up and stopping me from my endeavours of efficiency.

“We should never be unconfident against a nation like Algeria. That’s not being disrespectful.” – Paul Ince, former England Captain.

In case you think I agree with the quote, I don’t, and it is disrespectful. I hate watching England play football. They’re cringeworthy. This evening I experienced my first crazy-curfew, enjoying an evening alone for the first time in 24 days. Going from spending a lot of time alone, to being forced to spend most of my time with people, it’s comforting to once again be with my thoughts.

It was a good day. We spent the morning weeding whilst listening to the supervisor tell us about his sixth sense. We then prepared for the trip I’d helped to arrange with Uncle Yusuf and Aunty Sarah (see Day 11). A trip to Claremont Main Road Mosque for the Friday Sermon (Khutbah), followed by lunch at their place.

Some members of the group expressed reluctance at first and I doubt any would have come had it not been kindly paid for. I was confused, having witnessed the entire group wake up in the early hours of a Sunday morning to attend the Church service. This confusion doesn’t revolve around this incident alone – many seem reluctant to pass beyond the borders of the village in which we’re placed. I’m sure there’s reason, but it’ll probably baffle me till the end.

The sermon was delivered by a 16 year old Hafiz (someone who has memorised the Qur’an). It was excellent, aired in a clear and coherent fashion with a potent message of empowerment and a struggle for peace. He narrated the timeless words of Desmond Tutu: “Don’t raise your voice. Improve your argument.” You should be able to find a transcript and possibly a video of the sermon on the Mosque’s website: www.cmrm.co.za

I felt satisfied that the trip was worthwhile after that, but it wasn’t over yet. We made our way to Uncle Yusuf’s home for a meal they’d prepared. And a wonderful meal it was, with an array of excellent dishes and desserts coupled with engaging conversation. I wasn’t the only one who wanted to stay, but my 5PM curfew forced us to say our goodbyes. On the way back I was cheered for arranging the trip, praise to God. I did very little, but still had felt like not bothering after the gormless reaction of the group when I suggested the idea (yes, I need to give a clearer picture of what we’re doing etc). It was definitely worth the effort.

If you’re reading this, sorry for being excessively honest in this blog!

I’m losing track of days, they’re going incredibly fast. Thursday morning was partially spent at the soup kitchen. We reached the community hall to find kids playing both in and outside, witnessing cricket being here for the first time (it isn’t season I guess). We sprinkled some compost on the veg. garden before being told to return our tools and head to the library to help with the holiday programme. There were lots of activities going on, but they were taken care of. So I returned home to work on digitising the two tapes of video, finally managing to save them despite the numerous problems encountered with my limited resources.

I was disturbed by the presentation being given to children at the community hall by nuclear energy company Eskom. They also distributed branded hats and other propaganda materials promoting nuclear energy. In line with previous observations, sponsorship and merchandise is used in a starkly exploitative manner, particularly in developing countries.

We spent the afternoon lounging in the sun, attempting to shoo Nancy away – our housedog which tags along with all the volunteers who’ve lived here. Another meeting was called, which I knew meant another meeting with me. The group discussed plans for some of the projects and I informed them of arrangements for the following day’s excursion.

“Usayd, can you stay behind please.” I laugh, looking to Aunty Hilda; “Ah, those words are back.” Recalling my days at school, the constant sit downs with teachers, deputies and heads for reducing their authority. I relax back into my seat, waiting to learn of my fate. The words of a friend echo in my mind: “Usayd, authority seems to follow you.” (Strange coincidence, he Skyped me a few minutes after writing this.)
Turns out my venture to the game on Monday was the greatest of sins, at least in the eyes of the organising body in the UK. Tuesday awarded me with a ‘one-to-one’ session, having to sign for my offence and accept a 5PM curfew for today and tomorrow (any earlier and I wouldn’t bother getting out of bed!). That wasn’t enough, and so after hearing the report, the organisation decided to award me with a ‘Final Warning’. The third strike will mean a flight back to the UK.

The cruel irony, which precisely reflects the problem with top-down leadership (something I’ve spent my short life scowling at), is that the reason given for our numerous restrictions on travel and staying overnight is put down to ‘our safety due to the World Cup’. So I present the words of a Capetonian today, who tells me of one positive aspect of the games:

“For the first time in years, I felt safe walking down through town with a couple even older than I. If there’s one good thing to have come out of the World Cup, it’ll be if this feeling remains once it has ended.”
I wonder if they’re reading this. Of course, it wouldn’t make a difference. I once again quote one of my favourites; “Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Fortunately the day didn’t end on a negative note. A few of us went to Peter, the school headteachers house for our first guitar lesson. We were welcomed to a room prepared with stands and sheets to learn the Chords “A”, “D” and “E”. Not only were we equipped with a guitar each, he let us take them home to practise each week! After practising for a while, he played some songs to us and served us soft drinks. I loved hearing Simon & Garfunkel, getting him to play Scarborough Fair and The Sounds of Silence before we ran off for dinner.

I’m lacking in motivation to write, but when I slip I often fall. So whilst watching France vs. Mexico I use my laptop to warm my lap…

Well I gave up that night, so I’ll try again whilst watching England vs. Algeria. As written the day prior, Wednesday was a national holiday – youth day. We had the day off, so I spent the morning productively catching up on sleep. The afternoons are still greeted with ‘good mornings’ which depicts the slow lifestyle of the village. I love the use of (incorrect) pluralisation for groups, with some also saying ‘hellos’ to greet a group (yes, like fonejacker).

I lost a load of skin on my thumb through wringing clothes in the afternoon, so once again I pay tribute. The second birthday we’ve celebrated as a group, we decided to stay local and save money. Matthews’ housemum prepared an indoor brie, which was more a selection of tasty finger-food platters. His housedad did a touching speech, taking the group by surprise (a few tears were spotted), and with a number of sweet dishes, it made for a good party. Munching away on her food, a volunteer offered “I don’t think I’d like me…if I were one of you guys.” A few looks were exchanged.

We walked into our house to another party; it was also our housedads birthday. He wasn’t in sight, but his children and wife occupied the kitchen in a slightly sombre mood. “He never joins us for parties, he’ll just sit and watch TV” his son explains. After more cake (overdose on sugar day) we joined the others at the school to watch South Africa get ripped apart by Uruguay. The horns quietened after the first goal and were deadened by the second. The school was empty by the third.

I seem to like the number 10,000 – as of day 21 – I’ve reached 10,659 words for my blog (over 17 pages). At this rate, I’ll write ~35,000 words by the end of the trip, amounting to a small book! Unfortunately the quality and nature wouldn’t qualify, but I’m glad to hear that a few people are still reading it!

Yesterday was supposed to be our third day at Lief en Leed. Rushing out of the house without breakfast, we made our way to the community hall. 9am arrival, ready to work. We waited for an hour outside – apparently the person with the key was in Atlantis at a meeting. It’s not unusual to wait around here, and we were warned about ‘African time’. What of the disabled group sat outside in the cold? Well, eventually we moved to another hall and waited some more. The reason they didn’t just go home was because their funders – a Chinese group – were coming to visit that day.

Our meeting this week was scheduled from 10.30am, so we left without progress. The weekly meetings are a necessity despite their tedious and sprawling nature. A number of discussions arose, with much of the group giving their opinion on issues from poverty to our favourite topic of ‘group dynamics’. We managed to get a few things underway, including the video project I’m heading up. After a few hours, people became agitated and an argument took place between two of the volunteers, resulting in them both walking out. I also received my disciplinary hearing for my excursion the previous day.

The evening was largely uneventful, with our usual trip for card games and (spilt) tea. I’ve fallen behind on my original plans for writing, reading and drawing, so I spent the evening and this morning trying to catch up.

Today, June 16th, is Youth Day, a National Holiday commemorating the Soweto riots in 1976, which resulted in the deaths of hundreds of young people. The Soweto uprising is said to have been a turning point in the liberation struggle, internalising the fight against the oppressive regime.

Hmm, where do I start. Well, I was offered tickets to Monday night’s World Cup game in Cape Town – Italy vs. Paraguay. Coming to South Africa during this season was completely unplanned, having originally applied to volunteer in Ghana. Of course, when I told people about the trip, they immediately reacted with “Volunteering? Yeah right you are – for the World Cup!” I laughed it off, disheartened that really, I’d never get a chance to see the international sporting event happening on my new doorstep.

The hype around the tournament has undeniably had an impact on us, be it the stringent rules we’re now subjected to, or the fact that I’m sat writing this whilst watching Brazil vs. The People’s Republic of Korea with my host family. And so, when I heard that I might have a chance to go and see a game, I wasn’t about to say no.

I’ve become familiar with town, so immediately I made my way to Long Street (ok, I only really know Long St!) to pray and eat. I walk past a shop playing an Immortal Technique song, I was surprised in the least. “The Jum’ua Mosque of Cape Town” is basically a building site, and I was literally the only person there. Quite different to Palm Tree Mosque just down the road, this one is purpose-built and open plan. Sifting through the rubble I managed to wash and pray before returning to the fan-filled streets of town.

After work, I set off to Cape Town. Read about my ‘South Africa Taxi Experience’.
I sat in Nandos ordering my usual ½ Chicken & Chips. In my defence, I had to try a Nandos at least once, and I wasn’t in the mood for experimentation. It is pretty consistent with the UK, with a few differences (waited on tables, cheaper, less selection of sauces!).

I love meeting new people, and Monday was no exception. It really is the beauty of travelling to always meet different types of people. I was picked up (or ‘fetched’) from the restaurant and introduced to my first Indian friends (in SA). I loved how laid back they were, and we quickly became acquainted. Originally from Durban, the group were affluent – all in employment. When I told one of them about my ‘Taxi Experience’, they sympathised: “When I first came to CT I didn’t have my license – I had to get taxis everywhere. It was terrible!”. Of course, she was referring to private taxis.

The streets to Green Point Stadium were heaving, and we were greeted by lashing rail and hail. We went for a coffee as the people rushed the stadium –one of the guys had figured out that it’s actually better to be there only a few minutes before kickoff. I’m terrible at expressing excitement, but I truly felt it then. Walking up to the stadium, it became more and more real. The best moment was walking in and seeing the pitch, with the 62,000 fans surrounding. I’ve never been into football, but the World Cup is very different to a national league game.

We found our seats and I intently watched the game. Still entirely surreal, there were numerous things I observed – most of all – the massive racket caused by the crowd thanks to the ‘vuvuleza’. I hated the FIFA slogan plastered on the stadium too – “ Celebrate Africa’s Humanity.” I could rant about the million things that means, but hey, another time.

I was driven home after the game, witnessing a beautifully clear sky. I love being able to see the stars, and last night was truly fantastic.

Most of this was written on my phone in a taxi to Cape Town.

I sit in the minibus taxi, known here as a ‘combi’, waiting for it to fill. The driver shouts “Cab to Cape Town!” into the distance, similar to a market stall holder attracting punters. Slowly but surely the cab is filled. People of different ages and sizes occupy the worn seats, each lowering the vehicle closer to the ground. My knees dig into the back of the seat in front, causing a constant numbness in my legs. I spy a set of Hi-Fi speakers under the seat, blasting an array of 90s pop music.

He opens the window by putting his hand through the one behind. No freeloaders here, everyone pays their R20 (~£2) up front. With 16 passengers, the driver will earn about £30 for this journey – minus petrol of course. And when he reaches Cape Town, after grabbing a coffee perhaps, he’ll resume shouting – this time for a return journey to Atlantis.

It’s tough being a Taxi driver but they get by. Adnan, the driver we often use in Mamre, tells me of his experiences on the two single-lane roads to the City. He says he sees accidents almost daily, explaining how the road can become very dangerous on the foggy mornings. The death toll is high, and little has been done to find a solution. He also tells me about the dangers of travelling with dodgy papers, breaking speed limits and being caught for a fine. Here, traffic lights are known as ‘robots’. Much like the UK, they are often mounted with cameras which can reel off R600-1000 (~£60-100) fines.

Other locals explain how the dedicated bus lane on the road to Cape Town was supposed to have been completed by the World Cup. With kick off last week, the lane is still not in use. Railways on these sides were once in operation, but I’m told they weren’t making enough money to remain open. That may once have been the case, but in modern day Cape Town affordable public transport, replacing taxis and massively unreliable buses, couldn’t be more important.

A passenger dismounts at Table View, a shopping centre popular with many in the surrounding areas. The smell of petrol seeps into the van, polluting our lungs. The journey continues – with the beginnings of a rainbow to my left, and a fantastic view of Table Mountain to my right.

The passenger beside me has been quietly observing as I type these words. “Have you got any blisters on your thumbs?” she asks. I turned to her and smiled, “Nope, not yet.”

Those words were enough to spur the lady on, sat with her child on her lap and partner to her left. I attempt to type as she speaks, but she’s in demand of a real conversation. She has very strong views – a self-proclaimed pessimist. She tells me of an inequality that the people who are “not white enough nor black enough” suffer. Due to BEE, or Black Economic Empowerment, a positive discrimination act introduced post-apartheid, she argues that those favoured for work are the black applicants over any others. According to the declaration in 2008, however; the Coloured, Indians and Chinese are now also considered Black. Interestingly the previous day some of the other volunteers also experienced complaints about BEE from a white South African.

This was the most engaging conversation I’ve witnessed thus far, as the lady continued to speak of the realities of living in poverty. She assumed that I had only seen the glamorous side of the country, and gave me a quote in Afrikaans translated as ‘Keep the shining part on top’. “If we came to visit the UK, you wouldn’t want to show us the horrible parts. You’d want us to see the nice, fake things on offer.” I couldn’t argue, instead telling her that we’d visited a number of townships.

She says if she had a job offer here, and was offered the same salary in the UK, she’d pack her bags and leave without a second thought. I wondered why, and she ran it by her partner to who acknowledged the shared feeling. “You know they treat immigrants like trash in the UK”, I tell her. She was surprised; admitting that people always think the grass is greener on the other side.

“Why do you think so many people emigrate from South Africa? They’ll get a fancy job which means an opportunity in America, and they’ll take it. I’d run away too if I could. Why? There’s nothing here.”
The conversation ended as the bus pulled up to the taxi ranks in town. I offered the only words I could conjure up – from a fellow realist – I asked her to keep positive. We then parted ways, looking to my next adventure.

This week has deserved a lie-in so I didn’t get out of bed till midday. Today was a particularly lazy day, seems that the whole group were just bumming around in their houses.

After another scrumptious Sunday meal, my roommate and I went to some nearby volunteer’s house to find them still in their PJs. We played cards (something we do almost daily) and had tea and cake. The day basically went like that, not much achieved but a well deserved ‘day of rest’ nonetheless.

The Germany vs. Australia game was a good end to the day, one of the few I’ve really enjoyed watching so far. Conceding four goals, Australia officially got merked. The advertising is just crazy, with Coca Cola taking credit for the man who apparently started goal celebrations; “This man showed the world not just how to celebrate, but how to live.” (whilst drinking Coca Cola)

Tomorrow should be interesting

Wink wink.