Friday, June 29, 2007
And another thing…
Not to sound like the people I distain, but damn it why don’t you a t least work for your twenty cents? In Grahamstown the streets were filled with young children in face paint miming on the street for money. The children would be frozen in a pose on the street like a mannequin, when they heard the clink of change in their donation cup they would begin to move like robots into a new pose. There were dozens of child mimes, and each had his/her own flavor. I appreciate the heart and art behind that hustle. Get an empty box and beat the top of it like a drum, sing a song off key, but work for it. A teenage boy begging doesn’t cut it.
Can I get 20 cents?
So after that amazing meal at Nyoni’s Kraal, Marcus and I head out down the street in search an internet café. We crossed the main street and had started to pass a Russell furniture store (kind of like Rent – a – center) when a young colored man/child approached Marcus and asked for some change. There was an older man on the corner and as Marcus was telling the boy he didn’t have any money, another boy crossed the street and walked up on the side of Marcus. From behind Marcus I could see the black boy pull back his sleeve to flash a knife, as the colored boy asked Marcus again for money. The boy with the knife told Marcus to "just give up the money," and we started to pull away and walk back toward the main road. The kid with the knife broke out, but the colored boy continued to follow us begging for money. He said, "look it’s just a torch, it’s a torch" as he pulled back his sleeve to display his flashlight. I said, " yeah, but your friend pulled a knife on us." He replied, " oh come on can I get 20 cents? I wasn’t going to let him stab you!"
What!?! "Can I get 20 cents?" Even on the streets of Cape Town 20 cents won’t get you a hit of whatever it is your smoking that makes you think someone is going to give you money after your botched attempted armed robbery goes bad.
Lesson Learned: follow the guidebook’s instructions and hop a cab after dark in downtown Cape Town.
Side note: I am extremely proud of Marcus, because he didn’t panic, kept his composure, and ultimately kept both of us safe. Love you Babe.
Happy Ending: we walked back to the restaurant and had a bartender hail us a cab. When we got back to the B&B we found out that one of the men staying at Blencathra was approached by a duo matching the description of our would-be- robbers who threatened to stab him as well we he declined to give them money.
What!?! "Can I get 20 cents?" Even on the streets of Cape Town 20 cents won’t get you a hit of whatever it is your smoking that makes you think someone is going to give you money after your botched attempted armed robbery goes bad.
Lesson Learned: follow the guidebook’s instructions and hop a cab after dark in downtown Cape Town.
Side note: I am extremely proud of Marcus, because he didn’t panic, kept his composure, and ultimately kept both of us safe. Love you Babe.
Happy Ending: we walked back to the restaurant and had a bartender hail us a cab. When we got back to the B&B we found out that one of the men staying at Blencathra was approached by a duo matching the description of our would-be- robbers who threatened to stab him as well we he declined to give them money.
Nyoni’s Kraal….
We had dinner tonight at Nyoni’s Kraal, which is a beautiful restaurant and shabeen "bar" that serves traditional African food. The restaurant had soapstone floors and wooden pillars designed like trees spread throughout the restaurant. The centerpiece of the room was a stunning large stone fireplace. Determined to try something new, Marcus ordered Mopane Worms Salad. These worms are found on the underside of tree stumps and logs. And yes, he was thinking of Timon & Pumba when he ordered them. Not to be left out I tasted the Mopane Worms, which were small, grubby worms with short legs and fat black heads. The salad was covered with these crispy whole worms. Texturally, the worms were crunchy on the outside and tough, chewy on the inside (a little like overcooked meat.) They had a strange aftertaste, not particularly bad, but not particularly tasty either. I order the game special, which happened to be Condu, which is similar to a spring bok or an antelope. It was very tasty and reminded me of venison. We also had Samps (beans similar to black eyed peas), Mealie Pap (similar to bland congealed grits), creamed spinach, butternut squash, and an EXCELLENT chicken stew. Every bite of the chicken stew was like a flavor explosion. Hands down it was my favorite dish of the evening. We ended our meal with a special dessert, Malvale, which was a chocolate sponge cake with ice cream and coffee. The entire meal was delicious, and despite the restaurant gift shop, the atmosphere managed feel authentic rather than theme parkish.
Table Mountain….
Nelson Mandela said, "Table Mountain is a Gift to the World." There really are no words to describe the majesty of the view from Table Mountain. Walking the cliffs I found myself whispering over and over again "How beautiful." I walked until I came to a place where I needed to sit and breathe. Trying to take it all in.
Sitting on a stone at the summit of Table Mountain, staring down at Robben Island, I became intensely aware of the beautiful of God’s grace. There were no other words or thoughts. I just sat there staring out, feeling full for the first time in a very long time. There was a tinge of sadness too, when I turned to Marcus and said there are so many people in the world that don’t know that a place like this even exists. This clarity, this beauty, this radiance is beyond the imagination. I wish I could bottle the joy and gratitude I felt on the top of that mountain. I told Marcus looking out at the city beneath a brilliant varied hued sky, "This is a place where God lives… you look out here and know in the center of your chest that God is real."
Sitting on a stone at the summit of Table Mountain, staring down at Robben Island, I became intensely aware of the beautiful of God’s grace. There were no other words or thoughts. I just sat there staring out, feeling full for the first time in a very long time. There was a tinge of sadness too, when I turned to Marcus and said there are so many people in the world that don’t know that a place like this even exists. This clarity, this beauty, this radiance is beyond the imagination. I wish I could bottle the joy and gratitude I felt on the top of that mountain. I told Marcus looking out at the city beneath a brilliant varied hued sky, "This is a place where God lives… you look out here and know in the center of your chest that God is real."
Blencathra…
We are staying at a B&B in Tamboerskloof. This area of Cape Town is extraordinary! The town is built on the hills that rest in front of Table Mountain. The view from our bedroom window is the skyline of downtown Cape Town and the mountains that line the horizon behind it. This B&B is currently being renovated but we have a quaint room with a newly renovated bathroom. The area has a quiet grace, which is just what I need in this morning.
The Road to Cape Town…
We left Grahamstown yesterday evening to head to Cape Town. The greyhound bus travels daily overnight from Durban to Cape Town. We were supposed to be at the bus drop off point 30 minutes before the departure time. Our bus, which was scheduled to leave at 7:20, arrived at Kimberly Hall around 8:15. The central greyhound station was unable to locate our bus or our driver, so we were relieved when he decided roll into the driveway at Rhodes University. The greyhound experience in South Africa was very different than the States. There was no trucker smell, or scary bathroom. The coach was clean, with two drivers and a hostess that offered coffee, tea, and cookies throughout the night. Periodically the coach stopped to gas up, each time at a Shell station, and gave passengers a chance to use a larger bathroom, purchase snacks and stretch their legs. It was not the most comfortable night’s sleep we’ve ever had, but well worth it in that we arrived in Cape Town at 9:30 in the morning awake, ready to shower and hit the streets.
Bunny Chow?
On the flight from Dakar, Marcus started watching one of the in-flight movies, Bunny Chow, which featured a prominent food in South Africa called bunny chow. Bunny chow is half of a loaf of bread with the insides carved out that is filled with some kind of meat or bean mix. For lunch we went to a halal Indian food stand on the boardwalk and Marcus ordered Bunny Chow. His bread was covered in curry chicken. He asked the woman in the stand where the name Bunny Chow was derived from – she said she didn’t know but the food was popular in Durban. He asked the Indian girl in the Internet café if she knew where the name came from and she laughed and said, " You should ask the lady at the stand."
On the ride to Grahamstown, Marcus asked Jill if she knew where the term Bunny Chow came from, and of course she did. She was also the only person we met today willing to share. "Bunny Chow, I believe, came from the time of apartheid. Blacks could not eat in restaurants, so the restaurants created bunny chow, where they take out the center of the bread and drop the food inside. It was a way to sell food to blacks that was cheap and easy. My boys were big surfers and they would often eat bunny chow because it was so cheap and easy to get on the beach, many young white people ate it as well because it was so cheap and accessible. But yes, I think that’s where it comes from."
Bunny Chow = Jungle Bunny Food.
Toss them a bag of bread filled with meat so they don’t have to eat off our plates and utensils.
Can you imagine….
"ah yes, what’s the soup of the day?"
"oh sir, we have clam chowder and nigger stew."
"oh! I’ll have the nigger stew, and please give me a plate of crackers while your at it!"
{SIGH}
South Africa feels like a nation stumbling in its shoes because it hasn’t realized its feet are big enough to fill them.
On the ride to Grahamstown, Marcus asked Jill if she knew where the term Bunny Chow came from, and of course she did. She was also the only person we met today willing to share. "Bunny Chow, I believe, came from the time of apartheid. Blacks could not eat in restaurants, so the restaurants created bunny chow, where they take out the center of the bread and drop the food inside. It was a way to sell food to blacks that was cheap and easy. My boys were big surfers and they would often eat bunny chow because it was so cheap and easy to get on the beach, many young white people ate it as well because it was so cheap and accessible. But yes, I think that’s where it comes from."
Bunny Chow = Jungle Bunny Food.
Toss them a bag of bread filled with meat so they don’t have to eat off our plates and utensils.
It made my stomach turn.
Can you imagine….
"ah yes, what’s the soup of the day?"
"oh sir, we have clam chowder and nigger stew."
"oh! I’ll have the nigger stew, and please give me a plate of crackers while your at it!"
{SIGH}
South Africa feels like a nation stumbling in its shoes because it hasn’t realized its feet are big enough to fill them.
So you call yourself a producer…
In the car one of the two ladies, Jill, introduces herself and is pleasantly chatting away about the weather in Durban and the festival. Her daughter is performing in the fringe festival. Jill is a retired schoolteacher who has come to festival to babysit her grandchildren. Throughout our conversation it became blatantly apparent that the thin veil of bigotry covers everything in this country. Even writing this I find myself cycling back to race in a way that I don’t necessarily in the USA. But back to Jill…. I told her I am a producer for a regional theatre in Connecticut and we talked about books and art. I asked her about integration in the school system and she explained "I taught in a private school so we integrated before the government forced it. We had several colored children in 1990. The president shocked everyone in 1994 by releasing Nelson Mandela and the other political prisoners and then stripping away so many of the laws that were part of our original government, apartheid government." I am sure it was indeed a great surprise. I asked about the quality of government-supported schools and the payment required for primary education in South Africa. She explained, "Well yes, there are many differences in the quality of education within the government schools. The families pay school fees, books, uniforms – but there are some schools where you are not supposed to pay if your family cannot afford it. But you know I still hear of students who cannot get there grades released until they come up with the school fees you know so it is still a problem…. Well the problem with integration is that they offered to let white teachers retire early because they wanted to promote black teachers, and I don’t think they should have done that… I mean they weren’t ready and there weren’t enough of them. I think they should have held on to all of the teachers as long as possible until things were settled."
I described the public school system in America and talked about integration in the states. And she suggested, "It’s different for you because you people were the minority, there weren’t a lot of you. But here they are the majority and they need lots of help." Help. Hmmm…. we stopped talking for a little bit.
At some point later during the conversation, she turns to me and says, "you call yourself a producer – My daughter in law IS a producer. She worked on the movie bunny chow, have you seen it…." Marcus and I look at each other, recognizing she couldn’t have meant to be so condescending, but it cuts just the same.
"You call yourself a producer" – No, the people who sign my checks do.
I described the public school system in America and talked about integration in the states. And she suggested, "It’s different for you because you people were the minority, there weren’t a lot of you. But here they are the majority and they need lots of help." Help. Hmmm…. we stopped talking for a little bit.
At some point later during the conversation, she turns to me and says, "you call yourself a producer – My daughter in law IS a producer. She worked on the movie bunny chow, have you seen it…." Marcus and I look at each other, recognizing she couldn’t have meant to be so condescending, but it cuts just the same.
"You call yourself a producer" – No, the people who sign my checks do.
Five hours and counting
We arrived at the airport at 3 pm, and we both excited and surprised to see three people holding NAF signs. We explained that Ros told us to head come to the airport to catch a ride to festival. Now they were all reasonably skeptical, so Marcus took one of the men, Wilson, to the pay phone and called the transportation office to confirm. After Wilson spoke to Ros, he turned to Marcus and said, "she said I have to take you." Well, now, that’s pleasant… we are paying customers. Each of the drivers had a 6-passenger van and a list of names of people to pick up. Two of the three drivers had at least one vacancy in their vans. Wednesday was a "very cold" day in Port Elizabeth, and it actually snowed for the first time in many years in Durban and Johannesburg, so most of the afternoon flights were very late. Wilson told us at 3:30 we would have to wait until the rest of the people on the list arrived. Fine. Great. No problem. Around four o’clock two older white women arrive for NAF transport and sit to wait as well. Around 4:15 pm a young black man arrives for the NAF transport and sits to wait as well. There are now five of us waiting to go to Grahamstown. Some of us are on one driver’s list; some of us are on another driver’s list. {Our names have been added by one of the drivers to Wilson’s list} Now as we are sitting, I’m wondering why they don’t consolidate the lists and let one of the drivers take this car load of people to the festival while the other waits on delayed flights. Five o’clock rolls around and they have reprojected the flight arrival times and we are all still waiting. I noticed Wilson come in to talk to the ladies and then saw them gathering their bags. I also saw the man walking towards the door. Marcus had just left the airport to go outside, so I decided to follow suit. By the time I got outside I saw a white driver walking away with the 2 women and the man. I approach Wilson, who looks like a guy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "what’s going on?" It is now 5:28. " We are going right now. Right now." Marcus and I go to get in the van and wait. 6:00pm. Wilson comes back, "he says I can not leave and take just the two of you, I have to wait for the other passengers who are coming at half past 6." Who is HE? And, why weren’t we taken in the car that took the three people to Grahamstown that arrived at the airport after us? What aren’t you telling us? Why hasn’t anyone figured out a better way to handle this situation? What are the other 2 drivers doing that requires all three of you to wait at the airport with no passengers? Now there is no way we are catching a 7:45 greyhound bus to Cape Town tonight… and I am not very happy. 7pm rolls around and the more I think about how long we’ve been waiting in the airport and all of the things we could be experiencing in P.E., the more angry I get. 8 pm. The two South Africans from Durban arrive and at 8:30 pm it is Finally time to head to Grahamstown.
South Africa is a complicated country…
The sky is clear. The land is beautiful. The ocean is immense. Standing at the window looking out at this land feels a little magical…. And then you go down to breakfast and the white woman serving eggs at the hotel gives off more attitude the local cashier at the west end church’s chicken (think school daze).
I am finding myself intensely aware of race and the function it plays – most prominently from a distance. I am also clearly aware that the people we interact with (for the most part) view us primarily as American and therefore somehow different and separate from the complicated racial dynamics.
Today was a series of little frustrations, which boil down to one clear fact - South Africa is a complicated country. It is a second world country with the info structure necessary to become an efficient powerful free trade center in the world, but lacks the foresight to make it happen. There were so many times I felt like hitting my head against the wall because there was no common problem solving skills applied to simple situations. For example, we drove for 15 minutes in a van with the interior lights on because a door was open. Before the van left the airport we said, "a door is open, it’s probably the truck with the luggage." We left the airport and a few minutes into the trip one of the ladies offered to turn off the light. They spent the next five minutes looking for a light switch that did not exist, all the while Marcus and I are saying aloud, "The lights are on because a door is open. There is a light on the dashboard that indicates the door is open. It is probably the trunk door." Five minutes later we pull over and Wilson, the driver, moves a piece of luggage to the front seat, closes the trunk door, and the lights go off.
There are customary stumbling blocks of being in a foreign place where you are unfamiliar with the many primary languages… for instance in the mall when I tried to make a purchase using my credit card and couldn’t quite capture initially the cashier’s question "straight or budget?" Marcus and I looked at each other twice and then both said, "credit." There is also a cultural difference in the concept of "far" and "cold."
"You don’t want to go there, it is very very far."
"How far?"
"Oh maybe like 10, 15 minutes."
Or
"It is freezing here today… days like this you just want to stay home."
It is 51 degrees today. It is the dead of winter in South Africa, shortly after the monsoon season and everything is lush and green. It IS in fact chilly; I’ve worn a jacket all day.
The minor frustrations fall in the inconvenience of spoiled American modern conveniences. Perhaps it would be different if I were in a country that didn’t have the internet readily accessibly or a town with very few cabs, I would not find myself so frustrated. Port Elizabeth is a touristy city {once heavily industrial} that boasts (at least in the white sections of town we visited today) of top-notch restaurants, 5 star hotels, beautiful beaches, four mega malls, and hundreds of tours. We, along with ten other people, were at the taxi rank at the airport last night for almost hour waiting for a cab. Three different cab drivers called in for additional cabs to come to the airport, but none of showed for more than half an hour. While waiting we met Mike, an airline pilot, who was extremely kind and helped us find both a cab and a hotel closer to the city centre so we could maneuver Port Elizabeth more efficiently. He had his taxi driver lead our driver to the hotel, then stayed to make sure we were settled. I know he was at least as exhausted as we were after flying all night, but he stayed anyway and passed on his info in case we needed anything else in the city before he had to fly out again.
This morning we waited an hour for a taxi, after the concierge at the hotel called the cab service and assured us it would only be a few minutes. This time our driver, Adel, was at least pleasantly aware we had been waiting. We spent the rest of our day with Adel, calling him when we needed transport around the city, listening to him give the history of Port Elizabeth. Adel was very open about his experiences in South Africa, pre & post apartheid as the father of five. He once worked in the mining industry, but left because of the dangers due to a lack of regulations and standards. An American company he worked for began mining in South Africa in the early eighties and introduced for the first time the type of federal standards we have in the USA. Unfortunately the company ultimately divested from South Africa, Adel believes that if the company had stayed the course in South Africa the rest of the industry would have been forced to follow suit. Looking at the timeline, the company probably divested in the late eighties / early nineties, which fits the political pressures major companies were facing in the USA to financially divest in protest of apartheid.
As we drove down the coast of Port Elizabeth, Adel described the now resort filled section of town, as a once black owned township. "Once the white man came and saw it they moved all of the colored people to the end of town and built these. Now with our new government they are trying to give some of the land back to the original owners – but most of them have died off. They do not give it to the families… it is hard."
Adel described Africa in terms of American television. "Johannesburg… is like New York from what I see on TV. Oh! Cape Town is like LA from what I can tell on American television and P.E. well I don’t know how to compare that… no show I know is like P.E."
We were trying to catch the evening bus to Cape Town, but were lugging around all of our bags and wouldn’t be allowed to take them on the bus. We decided to drop our bags at our room in Grahamstown, where the South African National Arts Festival is being held, and then catch the 7:45 greyhound to Port Elizabeth. After securing an extra night at the Milner house in Grahamstown we called the festival to book transportation. Now Grahamstown is a little less than 100 miles from P.E. on well-developed roads. The festival transport staff told us to head to the airport and look for the drivers with NAF signs, tell them to bring us to Grahamstown, and we will fill the paperwork out when we got to the college. Adel takes us to the hotel to grab our bags and away we go.
Before we hopped out of Adel’s cab for the last time, he said, "you haven’t seen the colored section of town. I will take you there when you come back. If I traveled to different places I would want to see how the poorest and the richest lived."
Inshallah, we will have the opportunity to meet back with Adel before we leave the eastern cape, because that cab ride to the black townships is one I need to take.
I am finding myself intensely aware of race and the function it plays – most prominently from a distance. I am also clearly aware that the people we interact with (for the most part) view us primarily as American and therefore somehow different and separate from the complicated racial dynamics.
Today was a series of little frustrations, which boil down to one clear fact - South Africa is a complicated country. It is a second world country with the info structure necessary to become an efficient powerful free trade center in the world, but lacks the foresight to make it happen. There were so many times I felt like hitting my head against the wall because there was no common problem solving skills applied to simple situations. For example, we drove for 15 minutes in a van with the interior lights on because a door was open. Before the van left the airport we said, "a door is open, it’s probably the truck with the luggage." We left the airport and a few minutes into the trip one of the ladies offered to turn off the light. They spent the next five minutes looking for a light switch that did not exist, all the while Marcus and I are saying aloud, "The lights are on because a door is open. There is a light on the dashboard that indicates the door is open. It is probably the trunk door." Five minutes later we pull over and Wilson, the driver, moves a piece of luggage to the front seat, closes the trunk door, and the lights go off.
There are customary stumbling blocks of being in a foreign place where you are unfamiliar with the many primary languages… for instance in the mall when I tried to make a purchase using my credit card and couldn’t quite capture initially the cashier’s question "straight or budget?" Marcus and I looked at each other twice and then both said, "credit." There is also a cultural difference in the concept of "far" and "cold."
"You don’t want to go there, it is very very far."
"How far?"
"Oh maybe like 10, 15 minutes."
Or
"It is freezing here today… days like this you just want to stay home."
It is 51 degrees today. It is the dead of winter in South Africa, shortly after the monsoon season and everything is lush and green. It IS in fact chilly; I’ve worn a jacket all day.
The minor frustrations fall in the inconvenience of spoiled American modern conveniences. Perhaps it would be different if I were in a country that didn’t have the internet readily accessibly or a town with very few cabs, I would not find myself so frustrated. Port Elizabeth is a touristy city {once heavily industrial} that boasts (at least in the white sections of town we visited today) of top-notch restaurants, 5 star hotels, beautiful beaches, four mega malls, and hundreds of tours. We, along with ten other people, were at the taxi rank at the airport last night for almost hour waiting for a cab. Three different cab drivers called in for additional cabs to come to the airport, but none of showed for more than half an hour. While waiting we met Mike, an airline pilot, who was extremely kind and helped us find both a cab and a hotel closer to the city centre so we could maneuver Port Elizabeth more efficiently. He had his taxi driver lead our driver to the hotel, then stayed to make sure we were settled. I know he was at least as exhausted as we were after flying all night, but he stayed anyway and passed on his info in case we needed anything else in the city before he had to fly out again.
This morning we waited an hour for a taxi, after the concierge at the hotel called the cab service and assured us it would only be a few minutes. This time our driver, Adel, was at least pleasantly aware we had been waiting. We spent the rest of our day with Adel, calling him when we needed transport around the city, listening to him give the history of Port Elizabeth. Adel was very open about his experiences in South Africa, pre & post apartheid as the father of five. He once worked in the mining industry, but left because of the dangers due to a lack of regulations and standards. An American company he worked for began mining in South Africa in the early eighties and introduced for the first time the type of federal standards we have in the USA. Unfortunately the company ultimately divested from South Africa, Adel believes that if the company had stayed the course in South Africa the rest of the industry would have been forced to follow suit. Looking at the timeline, the company probably divested in the late eighties / early nineties, which fits the political pressures major companies were facing in the USA to financially divest in protest of apartheid.
As we drove down the coast of Port Elizabeth, Adel described the now resort filled section of town, as a once black owned township. "Once the white man came and saw it they moved all of the colored people to the end of town and built these. Now with our new government they are trying to give some of the land back to the original owners – but most of them have died off. They do not give it to the families… it is hard."
Adel described Africa in terms of American television. "Johannesburg… is like New York from what I see on TV. Oh! Cape Town is like LA from what I can tell on American television and P.E. well I don’t know how to compare that… no show I know is like P.E."
We were trying to catch the evening bus to Cape Town, but were lugging around all of our bags and wouldn’t be allowed to take them on the bus. We decided to drop our bags at our room in Grahamstown, where the South African National Arts Festival is being held, and then catch the 7:45 greyhound to Port Elizabeth. After securing an extra night at the Milner house in Grahamstown we called the festival to book transportation. Now Grahamstown is a little less than 100 miles from P.E. on well-developed roads. The festival transport staff told us to head to the airport and look for the drivers with NAF signs, tell them to bring us to Grahamstown, and we will fill the paperwork out when we got to the college. Adel takes us to the hotel to grab our bags and away we go.
Before we hopped out of Adel’s cab for the last time, he said, "you haven’t seen the colored section of town. I will take you there when you come back. If I traveled to different places I would want to see how the poorest and the richest lived."
Inshallah, we will have the opportunity to meet back with Adel before we leave the eastern cape, because that cab ride to the black townships is one I need to take.
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