Rest areas:

Note to self: when looking for a bathroom here, ask for a toilet. Otherwise you will be stared at for a second and then asked where you are from.

However beyond this trivial little issue, rest areas are an interesting place to people watch. Here you can see class differences, race differences, etc. one day as I got off the bus, I saw something disturbing. Three young black kids went up to an older white man (who literally looked like Colonel Sanders) with outstretched and cupped hands. The man yelled at them, took off his belt, and shook it violently at them. It was as if he was going to whip them.

The kids are okay. Nothing happened after this. They ran about 25 meters away from him and sat there laughing at the old and slow man. It's hard to make comment on what caused this situation. Racism? It's possible, but it could be a million other things as well. It's possible that this man deals with these same kids every day, and they keep coming back to have a laugh at his expense and run away.

This struck me though because the threat of hitting a child in the US would come with serious consequences. But nobody said anything. Not one of the other people sitting in the area corrected the man's behavior. It was hard to know what to do.

I work with kids all year on challenge courses both at school and at the YMCA. When they are under my care, I am supposed to protect them from the world. I'm supposed to help them to just be kids. Those instincts don't turn off. But I'm far from home here and this world is very different.

 

 

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Sam & the bus

One part of our trip that bothers me more than any is our transportation. I love the idea of going into a new place and trying to adapt to the culture and way of life. However, our group moves as one-- on one bus. Everywhere we go, I see the locals staring back at us through the giant picture windows. It sometimes feels like we're scientists on safari studying some alien species.

It is hard to ride through areas that are obviously so underdeveloped and deprived of opportunity in a vehicle that represents the exact opposite. However, our fearless leader, Sam is an amazing bridge for us. Sam is the son of traditional leaders in Zulu society. His father was an Inyanga (herbalist). His mother was a Sangoma (witchdoctor). Due to his position, Sam's father had twenty wives. Polygamy and concurrent partners are common in the Zulu tradition. Sam told me that the first time they were able to count the siblings in his family was when his father died and they all came together at his funeral.

Sam started driving buses at the age of 18. To this day as a 57 year old man, husband of six, and father of many kids, Sam drives his bus fearlessly. He quite literally "floors it" down roads too narrow to safely pass a motorcycle on the other side.

He's tried to teach me some Zulu, but I have to say that I'm pretty bad with it. I would like to think that I am pretty good at understanding languages-- pronunciation, grammar, and tone. However, the language here is more difficult than anything I have ever encountered. The clicks, tones, and other noises are not natural to me and integrating them into a flowing sentence has been less than fruitful.

Sam never went to college, and hasn't been formally educated outside of a high school level. This is a major way in which he and many others are kept from reaching a higher status in the mixed western and indigenous culture which is uniquely South African. Education dictates all here. However Sam is an amazingly smart man. He can speak and communicate in more than 7 languages including Afrikaans, English, Zulu, Xhosa, Shangaan, Venda, and Tswana. Because of this he has carved out a pretty good life for himself (though he spends a fair amount of time away from his family).

Sam continues to amaze me with how frank he is. He is not afraid to say what he thinks. He lived the majority of his life under the system of apartheid here in South Africa. It seems now that he feels free to say those things he would not have been able to as a young man. He has told me that even though apartheid is gone, he still feels it in his life. Yet, every morning he greets me with a big smile and a new phrase in Zulu or Shangaan. He calls himself my Shangaan father now.

 

 

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Changolo dances:

After trying to contact a few different communities, it seemed like we weren't going to find the traditional dances that we were looking for. Changolo dances are communal gatherings that are common here in South Africa. However on our drive to Kruger, we passed a large group of people. They were beginning the dances for the day.

When we arrived, we were instantly the center of attention. One man stepped forward and acted as our guide. Leading us through the crowd and finding us chairs. Timid at first, the locals were welcoming and warm.

I bought a big bucket of the traditional beer. It's a milky and unfiltered liquid with a pungent aroma. It kind of tastes like sour dough bread mixed with water, and left to sit in the shade of a big tree. At about 2% ABV, the beer is a social tool, passed seemingly aimlessly through the crowd. Buy a bucket, take a drink, pass. However another would come back around and be handed to you soon after. It's filling, nourishing, and delicious.

The dances are a Shangaan tradition used to keep their traditional culture alive. Many young men are forced to leave their homes to find work. Some leave and never return. With the loss of individuals, culture too was being lost. The dances continue though to remind and teach the next generation what it is to be Shangaan.

Lasting all day, villages from the surrounding area come to compete against each other and have fun. Each village performs the same six dances over the course of the day and at the end the judges choose a winning group. Women make the music for their tribe with drums, whistles, and anything that makes noise. The dancers are the men (of all ages). Their costumes are mixed between traditional and western clothing, but all that matters is how they dance.

I made a friend Lawrence who has been studying tourism here. He's 26 years old and doesn't look a day over 19. His English is not perfect, but he tries with passion. He could not stop telling us how happy he was that we were there to share in his village's festivities. Lawrence told us that we were very different than he expected-- we wanted dialogue not just photos.

He spent time in Zimbabwe and Zambia studying and traveling. He says that he wants to see the world so that when people come to South Africa he can explain it to them in a way that they will understand. In a way I guess that's why I'm here too-- not just to study and learn about South Africa, but to think reflexively about my own culture.

Although we only stayed for a couple of hours, this was the most memorable experience that I have had here so far.


 

 

 

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St. Lucia

St. Lucia is a really cool place to stay. After a few days in the Bush, it's nice to be in a big room, even though I'm sharing it with three other guys. The place feels in many ways like a small vacation town that you would see in coastal America. Prices are higher, there are expensive restaurants, a grocery store where you really can't find everything you're looking for, and an astranged mix of locals who call this place home and tourists from all over the world.

Our first night here I found a little local bar called The Fisherman's. It has money from all over the world tapped up under the bar, flags from old ships acting as ceiling tiles, big open doorways, and powerful misting fans. Our group had a nice time here enjoying cold (slightly not warm) beer while trying to get a sense of the local culture. Our first evening here, we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. One guy at the bar named Willem even thanked us for changing his opinion of Americans(I won't go into details for descency sake). However, we weren't entirely welcomed by all-- it seems that some of the older white generation have not adopted the new spirit of post-apartheid South Africa. The racism here isn't loud, but it is definitely felt.

I treated myself today, spending more money than I could really afford, to go fishing on the Indian Ocean. I headed out at roughly 4:45 this morning on a little chartered boat with Steve, Rohit, and Will on the hunt for Dorado, Sailfish, Yellow Fin Tuna, Grouper, etc. In all we caught two King Mackerel at about 20Lbs a piece and one Green Job fish at about 21 Lbs. The fillets filled six one-gallon bags. We're going to fire up the Braai (grill) in a little while and cook some delicious food for the group.

The wildlife here in general though has been amazing. Flamingo, hippo, crocs, zebra, rhino, buck, dolphins, monkeys, bullet ants, warthog, and buffalo. They are everywhere. Monkeys here are like our squirrels in some respects. They are mischievous, like to get into garbage, and run away when you come near. Plants are also astounding here though. For instance, the Flame Lilly is the only climbing Lilly in the world.

 

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Bobanango

Bobanango is set in the same flowing green ocean of grass and shrubs. The ancient glacial valleys stand as tall monuments to the land. This truly is the great adventure that I have needed.

We'd spend 5 days there, taking in life in the Bush. Down a five Km drive, down a dirt road, you literally plow through a river with your vehicle. Tents, little monkeys, and a giant fire ring fill the camp. Behind, there's a half hidden by trees and vines, large, one-walled, cabana with a tin roof. Sitting in the hammock, I feel a world away from any wilderness I knew.

From here we took adventures every day out into cultural sites around the region. Most notably we visited the battle ground of Isandhlwana and Rorke's Drift. The Battle of Isandhlwana is the worst defeat of a British or American army by a natives people in history. Stunning vistas marked with white cairns as monument to the dead, the battle ground lies silent now.

Our time at Babanango brought me back to Laura Bohannan's, Return to Laughter. We visited a traditional Zulu holmstead, helped with chores, played games, and learned to stick fight. But after a long hot time in the sun, we headed back in an air conditioned bus, to a camp serving us Afrikaans food and selling us "cool drinks" for 8 rand.

There's an inherent disparity here in South Africa that needs to be looked at. Under systems of Apartheid government non-whites living in South Africa were subjected to roles of poverty. Forced to give up traditional systems of cattle-wealth, and under forced structural adjustments from the World Bank, the room for upward mobility seems dismal.

Schools in the Bobanango town cost about 50 Rand per semester (roughly 8 American Dollars). They are under funded, run down, and jammed pack. I met the principle who spoke beautiful English. He was so happy for us to be here to open our eyes to these educational injustices.

I'm sad to have to left Bobanango, but now we're off to St Lucia on the Indian Ocean. It's South African beach and fishing vacation town. It will be interesting to see some more urban South African settings. More to come soon. Internet has been hard to come by though.

 

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Giant's Castle

We arrived in Johannesburg the evening of December 30th. From there we took the 5 hour drive up into the Drakensburg Mountains to stay at Giant' Castle. The Kwa Zulu-Natal region is striking unlike any mountains that I have ever seen. Rolling hills stretch across the veld in a seemingly endless carpet of grass and wild flowers.

Apartheid ended some 20 years ago now, yet this place still feels segregated-- stuck in its ways. Relics of the time still linger. Sings that read "right of entrance reserved." Society here as I have observed stratifies white from black, coloured, etc. I have yet to see a single Afrikaner working a crappy job.

But the people are vibrant and happy none the less. I have struggled with the clicks and tonalities of the Zulu language, but whenever I try, they want to correct me and teach me more. They move to the rythym of life, surrounded by music from when the sun rises to when the sun sets.

I travel next to Bobanango to spend 5 days in the South African Bush.

First Leg

Just got on the flight to JFK. I met a guy named Josiah who has just sold everything he owns to try and find work in Europe. I must say, I'm jealous. To pick up, leave everything you have, and walk into the unknown is admirable. He's as of yet not sure what he will do, where he will go, or where he will live. But he's taking the leap of faith none the less.

He says he's sick of America, what we stand for, and how we treat our citizens, and how we carry ourselves. I cant say that I blame him. As much as this trip that I'm taking is academic, i think a big part of it is an escape. Not a vacation per say, but my own form of stepping into the unknown.

Take off was delayed as to be expected and this is the shortest of all my flights that I will be taking over the next 30 some-odd hours of travel. As much as I hate sitting on an idling airplane, I think that the guy sitting next to me is a good reminder to not just settle for the norm.

Carol Delaney describes in her cultural anthropology text book, that good anthropologists leave the classroom, library, and lab. They head into the field for an extended period of time. They look, listen, and learn.

This is my goal: Look, listen, and learn.