Thursday, September 6, 2007

Cape Town #1

Billy Says:

When we arrived in Cape Town, our friend Dirk (from couchsurfing) picked us up from the airport, and immediately took us to see some of the most beautiful places in the cape town area. He drove us up to lion's head (and rump) to get a great view of the city down below:




then took us around signal hill, down along the atlantic coast to the beach, camps bay and down to hout bay. we drove from there across the peninsula and south towards Muizenburg, and Simon's Town. Libby and I had to put our feet in the water, to feel the atlantic ocean thousands of miles away from the good ole' Jersey shore, and facing west. It never quite gets warm enough to swim in near Cape Town.

we drove from there across the peninsula and south towards muizenburg, and simon's town. Just south of Simon's Town, we saw African (affectionately named "Jackass") penguins.

Along the way we talked all about South Africa, and differences and similarities between the states and S.A. Dirk, as an Afrikaaner born around the same time as me, has roughly lived two lives. He told us about how he had decided, by the time he was ten years old, to join the Apartheid military and defend Apartheid. Then Mandela was realeased and everything began to change. Now his Black peers tell him about their struggle as youths against that same military he thought to join, and they discuss honetly the different paths that led them to knowing one another. He has adapted much better than his parents' generation, and better than many might, to the new social and political arrangement. Dirk is proudly South African, proudly African, and committed to living an anti-racist life in his country.

For dinner, Dirk, his wife, and friend treated us to a traditional Afrikaaner style braai (BBQ; we supplied the tofu) which was delicious.


District Six Museum
:

The district six museum is a fascinating look into some of the beautiful possibilities of life in South Africa, as well as the grim history of Apartheid. It commemorates a mixed-race neighborhood that was declared for "whites" by the National Party government in the 60s, the residents kicked out, and the buildings bulldozed. Whether for good or bad, the neighborhood has yet to be rebuilt, though plans are underway. As the focus of the museum is on ex-residents of the neighborhood to remember their home and tell their stories, things like these street signs make up much of the exhibit:


Couchsurfing friends:

Our couchsurfring friends really made our time in Cape Town possible. It felt like home, and we were generously given gifts of food, housing, laughter, stories, and trips to various fun places.

Here's Maya, a wonderful young woman who is now studying politics and economics at UCT, and who bent over backwards to take good care of us:

J.P. is a friend of Maya's, and also Londi, who hosted us most of all (and whom you'll meet in "Cape Town#2"). Here we sit on Londi's "air couch" that Libby and I slept on for over a week:

Going Back to School:

Libby accompanied me a number of times out to the University of the Western Cape, and patiently helped me think through what it would be like to spend two years in the History MA program there. We navigated the different transit routes from the city (and suburbs) out to the university, tried the different food choices, checked out the library, wandered various buildings, toured graduate dormitories, sat in on classes and talked with professors.

Transit questions sat close to central in my mind when imagining going to UWC, as the school is 13 miles from the city center. The metrorail takes you directly to campus in a little over 30 minutes, hourly. From the southern suburbs (observatory and rosebank being the two we were hosted in) the trip is longer because a transfer is required. The train has a notorious reputation as being rather dangerous, as security is sporadic, and poverty is high and reliable. Tens of thousands of Africans pour into the trains every day, but we only saw a smattering of other whites on all our trips (and most whites we spoke to had never even considered using it). We found the train basically enjoyable, though near dark we did spend the extra 1 rand ($.13) to go first class and get security in the car with us (of course, with 3rd class you get things like people performing or singing together, which doesn't happen in 1st class. Take a look at a funky metrorail train, with a group of rarely seen white passengers).

More people ride in minibuses, and there's a route that connects mowbray (a southern suburb) with the university directly, and this also takes only a half hour if you're lucky enough to arrive near when the minibus gets full, but costs slightly more (~$.25). There's more frequent and varied connections between nearby belleville (2km from campus) and cape town, but belleville didn't seem to be that hip of a town when we visited.

The campus itself is small, but nice, with a good bit of greenery. Designed by the apartheid government in the 60s to be an underfunded forced alternative to UCT for the coloured community, (the university of cape town is prestigious, english speaking, and never was fully a white university, which angered apartheid planners, so the coloureds needed to drawn out of there) the campus isn't startlingly beautiful or overflowing with granite and ivy. It's a simple place with mostly brick buildings. But the layout is comfortable, there's plenty of grassy areas, and on the margins of campus is a nature reserve.

As for the buildings, the library is my favorite. It has 13 semi-floors, laid out along the outside of the spiral walkway going up through the center of the building. The graduate computer lab is right up top, with a great view of the campus and surrounding country side.

The student center is lively, full of people at all times. Lots of noise from people slamming their dominoes onto the table, and billiards, and a number of snack and food places, mostly with exactly nil vegetarian (or at least tasty vegetarian) food. The coffeeshop is nice though.

The undergraduate lecture halls are all painted with crazy bright colors:
and murals:

The housing situation is also a huge one to figure out. On-campus accomodation is cheap (~$1300 per year) and includes high speed internet. But it felt lonely when we visited the building, and one professor said that living on campus would be, quite simply, "grim." I was also troubled by this 500m of apocolypse looking landscape between the train station and the graduate housing. It really looks so crazy desolate, and one man we talked to said that it's not a safe walk to take at night, despite how short the distance. The university provides an hourly shuttle, but still, such lack of safety is a definite drawback.


Ok, but I've so far told only logistical details. Obviously that's not why I would up and move to South Africa for a couple years. The History program looked quite encouraging. I would be required to take one required course and one (but hopefully i'd take two) elective courses each semester, for two semesters, then write a big thesis.

The core course is called "public and visual history." It sounded boring to me, but when we sat in on it, I really liked it. The class focuses on how people in South Africa are choosing now to publicly hold the memory of apartheid and the struggle against it. I found the class atnosphere relaxed, thoughtful, radical, interactive, and relatively egalitarian as far as the relationship between professor and students.

The elective courses I'm interested in (i would try and take them all) are:
  • Race and Class in the Liberation Struggle: 1960-1994
  • Forced Removals and Land Reform
  • The History of the Dutch East Indies Company
  • The Political Economy of Postcolonial Africa
I'm sure that I would learn a ton in these classes, and be really pushed to produce good, challenging analytical writing. There's only about 5 graduate students in history at a time, which might make me crazy lonely, but would also mean i'd have lots of focussed attention from professors and peers (we saw a professor at an observatory coffeeshop, and he initiated a nice little chat; a good omen for future convivial working relationships).

There's also a weekly seminar, where a guest presents a paper before a large audience and a discussion follows for a couple of hours. The seminar we visited was interesting as far as the subject matter, but socially depressing, as mostly professors and white audience members spoke, drowning out the Black student majority.

The ball is still in my court as to whether I'll begin school at UWC in february '08 or not, but - logistical concerns aside - and mostly enjoyed my time there, and definitely feel that the study would do me a lot of good.

***

for a good map of cape town and the areas discussed, try here (or, to see just the UWC campus map, click here).
for a description of the different neighborhoods, click.

Lindsay and friends





Andrew's brother in Pretoria

Billy says:

Upon landing in South Africa, I had the pleasure to stay with Marc Wegerif (the brother of Andrew Wegerif, from Varmland, Sweden) and his family. It was a great way to get a quick introduction to the reality of the "new" South Africa.*

Andrew and his wife (Theresa Yates) have been heavily involved in Land Reform issues in South Africa for the last decade. Marc participated in the University of the Western Cape's Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies. In collaboration with others, Marc has published a book (which he kindly gave to me) entitled, "Still Searching for Security: The Reality of Farm Dweller Evictions in South Africa." The book is a thorough investigation into the continued attacks on poor blacks in rural areas, despite the "liberation" from apartheid.

Theresa, a Black American lawyer, began living in South Africa in 1996 under a Crane & Rogers foundation fellowship. Also known as the Institute of Current World Affairs, the foundation sends people to foreign countries for two years, on the condition that they write extensively about the social conditions they confront in whatever country they are in. Theresa's focus was specifically the successes and failures of the Mandela government in terms of implementing land reform. Her writing is powerful and tells an essential piece of recent history.

In short, Marc and Theresa expressed grave concern about the direction things are going right now as far as justice for the poor. Theresa put it bluntly, "Many mistakes are being made, and there isn't much indication that the situation is going to change any time soon." Since the ANC came to power, two million homes for poor people have been built, (but they are all in traditionally black areas, therefore not disrupting apartheid housing patterns) but a massive housing shortage (and extreme levels of poverty and unemployment going with it) persists.

Between Johannesburg and Pretoria there are currently over 200 illegal settlements, and some of these have as many as 40-50,000 people living on them. The evictions, and resistance against attempted evictions in these areas are a daily phenomenon. A special team of cops who dress in infamous red overalls (called "red ants") are notorious for brutal evictions and communities of squatters are attacking back, barricading themselves in (the morning traffic reports frequently include news of roads shut down by protestors) and even beating the red ants in order to stay in their homes. Returning to tactics from the Liberation days, angry township residents have killed a number of ANC officials in their areas, for failure to meet the needs of the community.


Upon arrival to the country in 1986, Marc set himself up with radical friends of his parents. And, in that time of militant upheaval and martial law response, the majority of his friends were in jail. Marc has been a white member of the ANC (he ran for city council on an ANC ticket, promising his wife that he would lose, solely to have challenging conversations with his white neighbors in the suburbs of pretoria. About South African whites Marc says, "They are, almost all, arrogant bastards, who have no gratitude, no idea what they have.") for many years, and remains dedicated to the radical potential of that politics. Rejecting totally his parents' christian vision of social change, he sees more hope in the empowering and autonomous tendencies of the Black Consciousness Movement (which he insists failed to take hold of the politics of the society exactly because it formed itself into formal organizations with party lines, and so on).

Marc and Theresa are, as well as can be expected, glad to be in South Africa, and committed to the work there. They have accepted certain basic, and unpleasant facts about the way of life there. Marc jokes about his swedish relatives (most of which he has quite rarely seen in the last 20+ years) that "none of them have a proper job, not a one of them; if i don't have a decent job in this country, my kids won't eat, and won't be taken care of if they get sick." Likewise, he is part of a neighborhood patrol that drives around at night to try and deter crime. This isn't an expression of the typical vigilante mentality that many whites have, just, "a basic precaution that must be taken."

Marc told me, "Maybe I'm a sell-out, maybe my brother is the only one living up to his ideals. He's a very principled man." But the situation is a lot more complex than that. In a very ugly and contradictory "liberated" society, Marc and Theresa are carrying on: pushing, pushing, pushing, bit by bit.


----
* After my first day in Pretoria, I was speaking with Theresa about the bustling African city I had visited, full of thousands of black faces and three or four white ones. She told me, "When I came in 1990, the black friends I made told me, 'see how much has changed, we're walking on the sidewalk now. Used to be that when we walked on the sidewalk, white folks would shove us into the street, so we started just walking in the street, near the curb.'"

Uganda






Back around the first of august, we posted the following message about Africa, thinking we'd have time (and money, given $6/hr. rates at internet cafes) *in* Africa to do more work on the blog...

Hey, it's been a while since we've had good internet access, so this is just a quick note to say soon we'll catch up with photos and stories of Libby's weeklong trip to Uganda to visit her friend Erin, Billy's trip to Croatia, and our eventual reunion in South Africa to meet some incredible new friends and to visit the University of the Western Cape, where Billy's been accepted to a Master's in History program. Now we've joined our 40-person strong group tour of Southern Africa and survived over the past two days 22 hours of bus riding. Our group of folks is a dynamic and funky mix of mostly Chicagoans. Stories coming soon!
Love,
Libby and Billy

Now, mid-september, Libby finally shares her stories of her visit with Erin in Uganda...

When the skies break open, the road becomes a red river, the “matatu” taxi bus a raft, and the bumps in the dirt road turbulent waves, throwing us about. But the dirt road and the countryside speckled with thatch huts are a welcome reprieve from the exhaust, grime, and chaos of Kampala. Somehow Uganda felt immediately familiar, as soon as I landed. I guess the feel of people walking alongside dirt roads, carrying bundles the size of small houses on their backs is the same whether you’re in Uganda, Mexico, or Ecuador. Still, once my friend Erin and I had reached the backpackers’ hostel, we were not in Uganda, or even Africa, but within some secret haven of 18 years of friendship, and it was not until we pulled into Kampala the next morning that my heart thumped faster and I felt awkward and more visible than ever, a pale skinned ‘mizungu’ weaving amongst hundreds and hundreds of dark-skinned Africans, trying not to step on the numerous blankets of vended items crowding the sidewalk, and trying to look the proper direction before dashing across the street between speeding bikes, motorcycles, and minibuses.

I always thought I would be the “perfect type” for the Peace Corps, but the first few days of being in Uganda had me incredulous and unable to imagine myself ever feeling able to “assimilate” into the culture, which seems like a critical component of building relationships and learning from those in one’s village or town. It seemed impossible to escape the attention brought by my racial and socio-economic demographic, and I realized I don’t know how to be a race traitor when all the blacks around me are celebrating my whiteness. Erin and another white female volunteer and I attended “Speech Day” at her village’s primary school, where the various grades of schoolkids sang songs to the visitors, welcoming them and demonstrating their knowledge. We were told Speech Day would begin at 10 am, so we went at 10:30. Tens of kids in bright purple uniforms were drumming and singing as we walked onto the school grounds. Immediately upon spotting the 3 of us, a collective scream of delight rose among the children and they rushed across the lawn, swarming us and laughing and serenading us with songs. There were so many complex layers of feeling in it for me – delight to be surrounded by so many exuberant kids, discomfort knowing they would never rush across the yard to greet a black person, shame that I enjoyed being the focal point of their attention, frustration at a system where white people are cherished because of the stereotype of their economic and social status (Uganda relies heavily on a steady flow of foreign volunteers, so white people are generally recognized as comparatively-rich aid workers)… When Speech Day finally DID kick off around 2 pm, we 3 white guests were asked to take seats of honor in the very front row, ahead of all the Ugandan parents who had come to see their children. Again, I felt the sting of unwanted privilege and wondered how to fight it.


Erin and I talked a lot together about how it figures into her daily life in Ntenjeru, her village of a few hundred. “People will try to walk with me through town, not because they want to know anything about me or want to have a relationship, but because they want other Ugandans to see them walking with a white person and to think they’re important.” Only after she waged a massive p.r. campaign to establish that her name is Namata (the Luganda name given her by her Ugandan advisor) was she able to escape the incessant “Mizungu! Mizungu!” called out by children and adults alike in her village. In the taxi park in the town of Mukono, a full hour away from Ntenjeru, she is recognized by a taxi driver, who calls to her from 20 meters away. Still, nearly every interaction with non-acquaintance Ugandans (and even with many acquaintances) was formulaic and money-related. Though eventually I came to see that with a great deal of time and effort, one could begin to have a semblance of relationship with one’s neighbors and co-workers, in most cases it was obvious that transcending capital relations ranged from extremely difficult to impossible.

An unexpectedly incredible interaction happened on my last day in Ntenjeru. Erin and I walked 30 minutes through the tea-covered hills to the nearest village. A woman named Rachel who wanted Erin’s input on a women’s collective project getting off the ground in the area and had arranged the meeting. We weren’t sure what to expect, as often Ugandans solicit advice or money from volunteers, but we were blown away by Rachel’s outlook and project. They are a group of 48 women who started with 50 chickens and now have 250 chickens, 22 goats, and enough food growing to feed them all. They sell chicken eggs and put part of the money back into animal feed and group expenses and then split the rest for school fees for their children. “We women are a collective force. For what a man can do, so too can we women,” she chuckled. She wants to train young girls on how to work together, take care of each other, and be self-sufficient. Her group would like to expand their business so they have enough not only for them and their children but also other vulnerable children in their care. “In Uganda, it is we women who must take care of the children. We need to feed them, get them school fees, get their uniforms. We women care for the children. But it is not enough to care only for our own children; we must also care for the children our friends have left behind when they died. If I see the orphans in the street, not going to school, how can I ignore them? For when I die, will it not be my own children who are orphaned?” Anyone interested in providing solidarity to the women’s group can contact Erin: elarsencooper@gmail.com


Goats at Rachel's collective demonstration site
Rachel and Erin chat finances on the stoop

Erin buys some staples from a fruit stand in Ntenjeru, her village



18 years of friendship!

Crowded Kampala Streets

Wingman does the touristy hike of Sipi Falls

Lib models Erin's fancy shoes in the house

8 year old students sing Welcome songs at Speech Day

The main drag in Ntenjeru

Friday, July 27, 2007

Budapest Adventure



Libby and I spent five(!) fabulous hours in Budapest -- just one afternoon and then back on the train, all the way to Germany. We had a picnic and played all silly-like in the park...


We stumbled upon the memorial to the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. The memorial is beautiful, a huge set of giant pillars, that are at first disparate and then come together into one.



Then there´s this nice plaque...


And a flag which is reminiscient of the revolutionary days, when people cut the communist emblem out of the center of the flag:


Then I had the tremendous luck to be able to play two fun games of chess with this old man. He spoke no english whatsoever, but was sweet as could be. Oh, and he did say one thing in english. When I had been trying to take one of his pawns for many moves, and then he just stepped the pawn out of the way, he said, "tick, tock. tock, tick." Just like that.


Then we went to these fabulous thermal baths. It was incredibly fun. All of the pools were from natural mineral water springs. Some were 38 degrees celsius, others more like pool temperature, some with jets like a hot tub, others just relaxing. And, in the pool one, there was this circular area with jets coming out of the walls, so you could just float and spin around in circles along with dozens of other laughing kids and adults. Fabulous!


The only down side was that we ended up taking a night train which had no more beds available, so we had a lousy night of sleep in the bike storage car of the train: