C is for Cookie...

As indicated below, I spent this past weekend in the township of Oceanview on the outskirts of Cape Town. I stayed with a family of four - Cookie, the mom, John, the dad and two adorable sons Lincoln and Lester - who were gracious enough to let two American students stay with them for two nights.

A preface before I get into more detail:
I am taking an African Studies course entitled "Thinking Africa Differently" that is making this post particularly difficult to write. At present we're studying travel writing as it concerns Western perceptions of Africa from the pre-colonial era to present day. The genre of travel writing (in which this blog is included) is problematic for many reasons.

One element we've discussed in class and important to this entry, and all my posts for that matter, is to understand that I am writing for an American audience. This means that whether I do it consciously or unconsciously I am including or excluding information, using particular adjectives or descriptors, and positioning myself in relation to the people, places and things I am describing so as to both gain approval from my audience while also keeping you entertained and stimulated. As Americans we have certain perceptions about Africa (as virgin land, natural beauty, wild animals, abject poverty, starving children etc. If you've ever read a National Geographic, it's in your brain somewhere) and my writing is necessarily going to be scrutinized according to that 'checklist' of "This is Africa...". I am not asking that you fundamentally change the way you think about Africa, just that you try to understand where I come from, who I am writing for and how that shapes the style and content of my writing. Now that I've thoroughly confused you or lost you along the way, I present to you my unbiased, unfiltered, objective and definitive account of my weekend in Oceanview:

Oceanview is a coloured community that has grown from the 1960s into a decent sized town. The original residents of Oceanview were coloureds forcibly removed from nearby Simonstown when it was designated a whites only area and many residents have lived there ever since. Most of the homes are formal settlements that the owners have built up over the years into more comfortable abodes. There are of course some informal settlement bordering the township, but the majority of residents live in what seemed to be fairly sturdy homes or flats with basic services.

Upon arrival, we had a brief introductory dinner at Oceanview High School, at which we met our host families. Right off the bat Cookie and I got into a serious conversation about Oceanview (of which I would have many this weekend), its problems and what is being done about them. The biggest problem she identified was the use of "tick", or meth, and the accompanying crime and gang culture within the township's youngest, starting as early as 10 years old. Tick is dirt cheap in Oceanview, cheaper than weed she told me which makes it highly accessible even for children. She also told me there is very little being done to fight it, only noting some of the local Rastafarians (one love) who fight the gangsters that sell tick and peddle weed instead, but noted that some sell tick too.

On a lighter note, the weekend was a long party with Cookie, John and Cookie's brothers and sisters (of which she has ten, over half of which live in Oceanview). Friday night was spent at Cookie's chatting over a bottle of whiskey, sharing knowledge about each other's home cultures. Their house was small but comfortable with people popping in and out at random, just to say hi and greet us. The sense of community was unlike anywhere I've been in the States (or elsewhere for that matter) and made me feel at home immediately. Saturday, after a drive to nearby Fish Hoek to buy fish (go figure), we had an all day Braii (South African barbeque) which consisted of sitting in the sun, napping and watching rugby and cricket over a few beers. The Braii slowly turned into a party with more food and drinks, dominoes and more family and friends (including a Rastafarian who I unfortunately didn't get a chance to talk to).

People were more willing to talk at the party (with the juices flowing and all) and I had a very interesting (and sobering) conversation with a coloured guy who told me he had it better during apartheid. During apartheid he had a job, he told me, whereas now he was jumping from job to job. I couldn't muster the courage to question his reasoning (which is by all means valid) but was nonetheless introduced to a new way about thinking about apartheid. Speaks volumes to the socio-economic leagacies of apartheid. Unfortunately with classwork I haven't had enough time to reflect and explore this any further.

Anyway, at the risk of being short (and there's really just too much to write about in one sitting), the homestay was an unforgettable experience. I have never felt such hospitalty and warmth from people who have to go through so much shit (pardon my xhosa) to live a decent life. I have a few pictures that I will be posting shortly. If you have any pressing questions and want a more personal response, just e-mail me. One love.

Hooray! Pictures!

I've posted Jeffreys Bay pictures - just click the link on the right.

Good, Good, Good, Good (Island Vibe)rations

Monday, August 20, 2007

Well, it’s been a while since I posted anything of substance, so it’s gonna be a long one. Since my pictures are refusing to bare it all on the internet (what prudes) what follows is a brief summary of the J-Bay trip (I have to leave you some incentive to look at the pictures after all) and a brief update – enjoy:

J-Bay I was told is a six to seven hour drive from Cape Town so we figured it would be a good four-day weekend trip, and being poor college students opted for the disgustingly cheap (and surprisingly not disgusting) overnight bus. Little did we know the bus ride would take a full twelve hours, enough time to watch Lindsay Lohan’s Unlucky, Hitch, and The Nutty Professor 3, which I was shocked to learn has nothing to do with a nutty professor!, on the bus television. It was painful and terrifying sitting on the bus knowing that these movies were influencing South African perceptions of American culture, one talking farm animal at a time. Anyway, aside from the movies the ride was mostly painless and we arrived in Jeffreys Bay in the wee hours of the morning.

We stayed at this incredible little backpacker that sits atop a sand dune with a 270 degree view of the beach, a nice little beach break on the doorstep, a full service bar and restaurant all decorated to make it feel like an island oasis – it was heavenly. Surfboards were lying around between people drinking beers, taking naps and reflecting (or maybe just nursing a hangover) over a panoramic view of the ocean. Everything about staying there was mellow - it was called the Island Vibe, after all. People left their clothes and wetsuits lying out all day, no one worried about the thieving ruffians so common to South Africa’s large cities. On top of it all it only cost 70 Rand (about 10 bucks) a night.

The city of Jeffreys Bay is a true surf town and really could be anywhere in southern California. There’s the Billabong village that’s basically a huge surf shopping mall as well as a ton of local shops and shapers. I picked up a board for pennies at a shop that advertised itself as having the largest board selection in Africa (Wise would put it to shame). The town was rather sleepy, I think because it’s winter (even though it was 75 degrees out) but it could just be hung-over from the two weeks of partying for the Billabong Pro. All the restaurants and bars led me to believe that was indeed the case and we just came at the wrong time.

And now a random story: I met this kid out in the water who couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old. He was absolutely thrilled when I told him I was from California, so thrilled in fact that he followed me back to the backpacker and “adopted” me as his “brother from San Francisco”. In between stories about getting surf lessons from Kelly Slater and hanging out with Andy Irons (the kid could talk your booties off - oh, and I didn’t believe a word he said) he’d be introducing me to random people, at the backpacker, mind you, where he didn’t know anyone, as his brother from San Francisco. It was cute for a while but eventually enough was enough and we had to send him back home. I don’t know why I included that. Oh well.

Two days at Jeffreys went by in a flash and we were on our way to Addo Elephant Park. The park was small which made it feel a bit like a glorified zoo, especially driving around in huge safari buses. My favorite part of the game drives was during our night drive when the ranger killed the engine and lights of the truck, allowing us to just sit still and listen to the sounds of the bush at night. I won’t bore you with a description of how fascinating the animals were, especially the water buffalo at night roaming the park in a herd of twenty. You could hear the clunk clunk of the hooves and the heavy nasal breathing of… bored yet? Thought so. Seriously, just wait for the pictures – they’ll do it more justice than I can, and honestly I feel weird about the whole notion of a safari anyway.

To make a fourteen hour story short, the next day we took the bus back to Cape Town.

The end.

Sorry to be so curt, I’m just bitter about having to actually do work. It’s all interesting stuff, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m on vacation.

Dreariness aside, I had a fun weekend. On Friday I went to my first South African Indian restaurant which was fantastic (minus the fact that everyone except myself got sick – all those meals at Naan N’ Curry must have fortified my stomach). Saturday was a rugby day (and let’s be honest, night too). We destroyed our opponents with some beautiful, punishing rugby and then, well, some Castle Lager tall johns (South African tall cans) had their turn with us. It was an odd scene actually – twenty grown men (boys?) standing around a mountain of beer on an empty rugby pitch in the middle of the day wearing matching blue dress shirts singing and yelling (for pictures and an exposé in the worst (best?) of rugby culture, Facebook search “Ikey cubs”, a group should pop up and under the pictures section there should be some gems). Anyway, I recovered at a beautiful seafood dinner on the waterfront only to end up at a party at one of the American houses which was fun, but not terribly exciting and not to be done again. Sunday, as you can imagine, was a day of mind, body and spiritual cleansing. We went to a fabulous lunch at the house of one of our Solmates in the township of Oceanview, which I mentioned in my first post. The food was fantastic and the family members and neighbors were jewels of human beings. It’s always uplifting to see and feel energy, optimism and joy in people who have historically been so marginalized by society and government. I'm looking forward to our homestay in Oceanview next weekend.

Greatest Post. Ever.

Twas a great weekénd as expected. Not a ton of surf, but enough to keep me satisfied for a while. The pictures will really tell a much better story than I can (or maybe I’m just lazy – that’s for you to decide), but unfortunately the internet has not been cooperating and I haven’t been able to post them. I should have them up shortly and will let you know when they are online.

More rugby and the usual post-match ("hey Farva, what's that place with all the weird shit on the walls?") shenanigans on tap (actually in cans or bottles) for the weekend. I also have to start doing school work (can you believe it!!!!).

A note upon rereading the latest post:
*Was this post amazing, or what? I mean, it has all the elements of a great blog entry: a cop-out of telling a story, an excuse for not putting up pictures, a lame, overused movie reference, way too many parentheses, and a homework reference... truly, magnificent stuff! Perhaps some of my best work yet.

Oh, if you needed yet another reason not to read my blog anymore, I installed this really creepy site traffic monitor that tells me the city from where everyone accesses this site, gives me their contact info and displays their (your! HA) mugshot. Okay, the last two aren't true, but I still think it's kind of creepy.*

Dude, I Got So Stellenbosched Last Night...

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Great weekend and looks like another one to come. Had our first rugby match on Friday night against a Dutch Afrikaans club. We played on a beautiful field sitting above the city bowl, just under Table Mountain with a view of downtown and Table Bay in the background. The match wasn’t particularly well played, but certainly better than any of my games back home. The Cubs remain undefeated, but added a draw to our flawless record. I was pleased to have scored a try in my first South African match – a try in the corner off a grubber from the scrummy that I tapped a few extra yards with my foot and touched down for the score. Afterwards we had a drink-up on the UCT rugby fields while watching the A and B sides (some of the best live rugby I’ve seen). The guys are a lot of fun (as ruggers tend to be) but clearly represent a white elite, primarily of British descent (which explains how they immediately had it out for the Dutch club we played). Last week for instance we had a "practice"(you wanna talk about practice?!?!?!) in the rain for fifteen minutes, followed by beer guzzling and chain smoking with our coaches at the on-campus pub - what a great sport!

Saturday I went to Muizenberg beach to go surfing for the first time here. The surf was junk but it was great to get out in the water. I’m really excited for this weekend though. We’re going to Jeffrey’s Bay for a couple days (for those of you that don’t know, it’s one of the premiere surfing spots in the world!) and then spending a day in Addo Elephant park – all for dirt cheap. I’ll make sure to take a ton of pictures.

Sunday we went to the Stellenbosch wine festival in neighboring Stellenbosch. Stellenbosch (that's a lot of Stellenboschs) is a very cute and very Dutch town (city?) about 45 minutes from Cape Town and reminds me a lot of Napa, probably because of all the vineyards and not much else. Ten dollars got us a full day of wine tasting, bread, cheese, pesto and all the wine-o bullshitting you could handle. I actually learned a thing or two (certainly no more than three) about wine but mostly the day was spent trying all sorts of wines and pretending to know what I was talking about to the wine salesmen, which wasn’t too difficult after enough sampling. Can’t say I feel any different about wine after the festival except that I think I’d probably much prefer a beer festival.

I also added a link to pictures on the sidebar over there -------->

Visitation Hours: Mondays10-11 am

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Long post today, I have much to cover.

Went to the first rugby practice last night. I’m sore as hell, but alive with all organs intact. I should have expected as much, but man, South Africans are good at rugby. And they’re huge too. I was placed in the under 20 yr. old squad and I’m still one of the smallest five – nothing new for me I suppose. Size aside, the skill of the players is sublime. They keep the ball flowing with offloads and no-looks, precision pops and perfectly spun misses all running at a pace I have never seen back home (apologies for the rugby jargon. I’ll be done in a minute.) Luckily, there are several under 20 teams, of which I made the last. I am proud to officially be a UCT Cub, the pride and joy of UCT under-twenty B-sides (there’s only one) that doubles, or so I am told, as the varsity drinking team… should be a gong show of a semester. I’m happy though that I’m on a squad that more closely approximates my size so that I no longer must fear for my life and because it is also clear I’m at an extreme skill disadvantage. The coaching, thankfully, is superb and I anticipate coming back a much improved rugger.

Now, a subject I’ve been e-mailed about endlessly (not once) by adoring fans of my blog (myself) the world over (my dorm room) - my living situation. I live in a UCT residence hall that we’ve affectionately come to call Oz, after the HBO prison drama. Once I get the pictures up you’ll understand, but for the meantime words will have to do. The dorm is a giant rectangle, six stories high with a concrete ‘yard’ in the middle. This arrangement makes it so that from one corner of the building you can see all the way up and across the dorm. If you watch people walk across the other side of the building during the day the place looks kind of like an ant farm. The manager of the facility is appropriately titled the “warden” (no joke) and on the bulletin boards around the halls we are constantly reminded that there are nightly squatter raids, to ensure we aren’t housing any vagabonds. I’ve never experienced one, nor have I heard from anyone who has, so my guess is that it is mostly scare tactic (as if they needed to frighten us more.) The cleaning crew wears convincing blue jumpsuits and you can often in the middle of the night hear shrieks coming from inside the yard (whether of laughter or the unbearable pain of being shanked in the gut with a sharpened spatula for screwing up the latest package, I don’t know.) Despite its crude appearance and management, I’ve come to really like the place. Well, maybe not really like the place, but every day it starts to feel more and more like home.

It helps that I get along well with my roommates, even if we aren’t best buds. I live with one American from Virginia who is really nice, but runs with a different crowd so I don’t see much of him. My two other flatmates are girls, Tammy from East London, South Africa, and Pamela from Botswana. They are both very sweet, Tammy a little less so than Pamela, but Tammy has an attitude that makes her oddly both fun to be around and teeth grindingly irritating at the same time. Luckily I’ve made it on to her good side by doing a few loads of dishes and cooking every now and again and have thus far escaped Tammy’s wrath. I expect to be in her doghouse shortly however, as I am a notorious fridge and pantry raider and have yet to find a cure that doesn’t involve buying my own food (can you imagine!)

Tammy loves to blast American R&B at odd times of the day (like early in the morning and late at night) and likes to sing along with all her friends. She makes up for it by being a fantastic cook even though she rarely does the dishes (all the while barking at me for not helping out around the flat). Luckily, Pamela is the neutral force between the American males and Tammy and keeps any beef between us to a simmer. For the most part though, we all get along well. Just the other day in fact Tammy and I had a long icebreaking conversation in the kitchen about her many boyfriends of which I’ll spare you the details.

Anyway, they’re fumigating our rooms today which should be fun.