Archive for July, 2010

My laptop has a charging fault which means I have to sit in the most awkward position to write. Just another excuse for the huge delay. I’m writing this 9 days ahead, which sucks, but I guess you’ll understand what state of mind I was in at the time when you read on!

By Monday I had a good idea of what was going to happen – they were going to send me home. I decided to work out my own plan, something I’d started doing a while before. I worked hard that day, having decided that it would be my last day on the project. I helped to dig three potato patches, followed by a large onion patch. It feels good when you can see the direct results of your actions, and I left the garden satisfied.

If you’ve been following the blog, you may be confused by how things could have taken such a drastic turn. I must confess, however, that I haven’t been writing everything. Anyone can read this, including the organisations that put me here, so I couldn’t be very vocal about my concerns with the programme (although it has definitely seeped in a few times). In attempts to remain optimistic about the then coming weeks, I also tried to eliminate my feelings of spite towards the authoritarian structure and the most stringent rules. What happened on Friday, the second time I broke the rules, can simply be put down to my frustrations with unguarded irrationality.

On Monday night I packed my bags for the second time since being here. Ah yes, I might not have mentioned the first time either – my roommate and I moved host families about two weeks prior.

To end on a lighter note, the topic of late comedian Bernie Mac came up: “What was Beanie Mac’s show called?…The Bernie Mac show.” Yes, I realise that most of these are ‘you had to be there jokes’. Too bad. Ok how about this one, one of the volunteers realised how long we’d been on the project for: “6 weeks?! That’s like a month and a half!”

Sunday was a strange day. I stayed in bed for ages in an attempt to escape what I expected to be a day of noise. Instead, it was silent.

We didn’t get up to much, coupled with the fact that I’m writing this so long later that I can’t actually remember. I think we played poker on Sunday; we definitely played on one of those days. For the sake of length, I’ll provide a wondrous quote from the night: “Your shallowness is so deep it’s a paradox.”

This is the shortest blog ever written. Sorry!

Getting picked up by a friend (or “fetched” as they’d say here), we went to ‘the Old Biscuit Mill’ for lunch. No, it no longer has anything to do with biscuits, nor is it a mill. It’s one of those ‘cool’ markets with different types of food at fashionable prices – reminded me a little of Borough Market or something similar. I had a nice stir fry and enjoyed conversing with new people, one of the things I’ve most enjoyed about this trip.

The group increased in size, all heading into town to watch the all important quarter final between Argentina and Germany. Some went straight to the Cape Town Stadium with their tickets. The less fortunate of us joined in the ‘Fan Walk’, a colourful parade of thousands of fans from the fan park to the stadium. Unlike the game I’d been to watch, which had been in the rain at night, the quarter final boasted a beautiful day with people streaming down all the streets. Every possible viewing area was packed out, with groups crowding round televisions wherever they could be found.

As we struggled to find a place to watch the game, someone decided to hail a combi to go to Sea Point. Some of the group seemed incredibly excited in the taxi, others slightly flustered. “The day started with me going out to get a haircut, and now this!” one of them said. It turns out, for at least a few of them, this was their first time in such a taxi. Astounded by my comfort in the vehicle, one turns to me and says “You’re more of a Capetonian than we are, and we’re from here!”

Whilst in the UK the middle-class will have used a bus at some point and almost definitely a train, here it’s less common. I learnt how some have never used any public transport here – neither trains nor buses. “Of course I’ve been in a taxi before. Uh, a metered taxi.” The argument between ‘safety’ and pure bourgeois living rages, as I question many on their methods of travel through the city and country. To watch games in other cities, domestic flights are widely used, and they’re not cheap (irrespective of the environmental cost).
Using your eyes alone, it’s clear that the gap between the rich and poor here is incredibly wide. What worries me is the outlook of some of the affluent people I’ve met, dismissing this gap as being nothing more than ‘the way it is’.

We watched the game in a restaurant with a big screen. It was nice. Later, on Long Street German fans blocked the traffic to celebrate their countries victory. I met some of the volunteers here, they’d already heard of my previous day’s excursion.

I jumped in the taxi with them back to the village, perhaps for the last time.

How does a week pass by so quickly? At least I have 7 days of blog posts to account for those days, which is more than I’d have for a week back home.

The morning was spent in the supervisor’s veg. garden, the glaring sun causing my head to spin. I’ve never seen such a freakish looking caterpillar – furry, spiky and multi-coloured – sparking a debate as to whether they could be poisonous or not. We then went for the second week of Rugby training, which is always fun. I left mid-session to prepare for Jummah (Friday prayer). From Atlantis I made my way to town. The combi journey felt longer this time, probably because I hadn’t travelled in the afternoon before.

I wandered around for a while. I wasn’t sure why I’d come, other than to escape the village and the regrets of the previous wasted Friday. Sat in a park, two young women came up to me and attempted to encourage me to come and watch that evening’s football game at a Church. I was in a bit of a reflective mood, not engaging with them on the level they might’ve expected. Instead I calmly declined. They were relentless, asking where I was from and what I was doing in South Africa. Before they left, one says to me “Can I ask – what religion are you?” I answered “I’m a Muslim”. “Oh, that’s why! You’re the enemy!” I was surprised by the brazen comment, and replied by smiling and stating “I have no enemies.”

Attempting to make the most of the day, I ventured to see something new. This time I went to the ‘Iziko South African Museum’, SA’s oldest museum. It was quite interesting, seeing the amazing variety of creatures this country hosted and hosts as well as their displays of dinosaur fossils and prehistoric animals from Africa. What I found most impacting was a sign [pictured] in the anthropology gallery reading: “Out of touch? This gallery was constructed in the 1970s and since that time approaches to exhibiting African culture have changed. Do these exhibits create the impression that all black South Africans live in rural villages, wear traditional dress and use only hand-made utensils?…African culture is not static. Why, then, are many labels in the gallery written in the present tense, as if time had stood still?”

Friday night had big games. Ghana, the last African nation in the world cup, had almost unanimous support from the locals. Brazil is somewhat like the Manchester United of international football – they receive widespread support for a glamorous game. I was waiting for some friends, so I first watched Brazil getting beat whilst eating my lunch. I then ventured to the roof of the Grand Daddy hotel to watch a cool performance by an artist using a foot loop. He layed down a simple beat and used his harmonica and voice to make some pretty impressive music – reminding me of Dub FX and Joe Driscoll (though increasingly common).

From the Mosque window we hear Long Street growing in excitement for the Ghana game. Vuvuzelas raging, people shouting. I can’t help but smile when I hear a chant “Ghana, Ghana!” followed by a squeaky voice wailing “Gaffana Gaffana!” I meet the others and we look for a nice spot to watch the game. We end up on the second floor of a place called ‘The Waiting Room’, giving a pretty impressive view of the city from the roof terrace. The game was crazy, with Ghana playing fantastically well and without a doubt deserving to win. Not wanting to miss the deciding half of the game, I miss the last bus and stay in Cape Town. Subconsciously then, I’d already made a decision. When the last penalty was scored, the room went silent. Long Street lost its heart that night.

I can feel a big hole in my tooth. I went through all the hassle of registering at a dentist and having a check up before I came out here, only for this to happen. I’m having too much sugar, especially in the form of sugared tea combined with biscuits and cake (discovering the vast difference between cheap and expensive biscuits).

We worked in the veg. garden for the day, the reduced size of the garden group means more time to reflect and work. Initially I’d found the job boring and often pointless but I’ve grown to appreciate the rhythm. I can understand how gardening is often looked at as a form of relaxation, especially through nurturing crops for their entire life cycle. So I’ve decided that when I get back I will endeavour to implement what I’ve learnt. There are so many projects related to sustainable living in the UK and I have friends who are actively involved in the study and application of permaculture, so really there’s no excuse (blame the weather?).

“I’ve always wanted to meet someone mysterious just to say they’re enigmatic, so I’m thankful I’ve met you.” Apparently someone thinks I’m an enigma. I thought I’d do with a better definition, and ironically it seems the dictionary.com example seems to fit me: “a person of puzzling or contradictory character: To me he has always been an enigma, one minute completely insensitive, the next moved to tears.”

Depth is something I miss in conversation, so I enjoy the odd one-to-one chat with some of the group. It’s always enlightening to try and look at life from another’s perspective and having the opportunity to share some of your own experiences. When someone says to me “Oh I never looked at it like that” I feel a sense of attainment. For the knowledge that I’ve helped to offer a different perspective, it’s always worthwhile.