So here I sit, resting after Sunday lunch while Mama Nomsa naps in her room. I arrived yesterday to her humble but warm home on Mendi Ave. in Langa, which is the oldest black township of Cape Town. Nomsa welcomed me with open arms, informing me that my Xhosa name is Nombulelo (meaning ‘thanks’), or Buli for short. We sat together and got acquainted, sharing photos of family and friends and drinking hot tea (which I just might learn to love). Nomsa told me a little bit about her family: she has two children who live in the Eastern Cape, and a sister from Langa who is away for her son’s celebration as he comes home after several months in the bush. She showed me around her two bedroom house: the front room with couch, table, stove, sink, refrigerator, and small TV on which we’ll be watching “Generations”- the local favorite soap opera. At the back of the house, there are two small rooms: one with toilet and bathtub, and the other with a shower. I have my own bedroom, complete with bunk beds and a chest of drawers. It’s been nice to finally unpack after living out of my suitcase for the last week and a half! Nomsa told me a little bit about the area, lamenting the shebeens (pseudo-legal establishments that sell alcohol) and the activities that occur there. Several times since I’ve been here she’s mentioned the problem with drugs and alcohol that exists here, wishing that her neighbors would accept God into their lives and be healed. She belongs to a gospel church in the nearby township of Nyanga and is strongly committed to her faith.

Noise is constant here in my little corner of Langa. Day and night, people shout, sing, and laugh. Last night I fell asleep to fast-paced music and loud expressive voices that sounded as if they were right outside my window. I awoke to praises being sung in the street, which have gradually given way to laughter, music, and slamming doors as the day drags on. Despite the concerned responses that we have gotten from people in Cape Town when they learn that we are staying in Langa, I feel very safe. Apparently even the taxis refuse to come here at night, fearing the worst in this area that is known for its crime and poverty. One of the most common problems is theft of cell phones, which are then sold on the street for several rands. Both Nomsa and Shane (the SIT Academic Director) have given warnings about using cell phones on the street. We are not supposed to carry bags, either, or give any obvious sign of wealth. With vigilance and common sense, I’m sure I’ll be fine here.

So I’ve skipped about a week and a half of my time in South Africa, most of which was spent in Johannesburg, and some in Cape Town. After the 18 hour flight here, the group (22 of us, plus Shane, Nomewethu (“Mama”), Tabisa (“Sisi”), and driver Joe) spent five nights at the Diamond Diggers backpacker’s lodge just outside of Joburg. We went into the city several times, beginning to orient ourselves as well as educate ourselves about the history of South Africa. Among the places we visited were MuseuMAfrica, Constitutional Court, the Hector Pieterson Memorial, the Mandela House, and the Apartheid Museum. Visiting Soweto (short for South Western Townships) was incredibly eye-opening, as we learned about the Soweto uprising of 1976. Under the apartheid mandate of “Bantu Education”, it had been authorized that Afrikaans be the language in which school was taught—even though very few black South Africans spoke it. Even the teachers did not speak Afrikaans, and were forced to attempt to teach using the language of oppressive white South Africa. On June 16, 1976, over 15,000 schoolchildren organized a march to protest the forced use of Afrikaans in secondary schools. Police panicked and opened fire on the children, the first of which to die was 13-year-old Hector Pieterson. The chaos spread to every town and township in South Africa, resulting in countless injuries and deaths of children, police, and anybody who got in the way. I felt completely ignorant to the struggle of this country, as this was the first time I had ever even heard of the Soweto uprising. It got me thinking about the U.S.—what injustice, if any, could trigger such a massive response amongst the youth of America? Anyway, learning about these tragic events was just the start of my education about the struggle against inequality in South Africa.

So much could be said about the Apartheid Museum…but I don’t think I can write about it just yet. It was an emotional day for all of us.

“The shadow of a mighty Negro past flits through the tale of Ethiopia and of Egypt the Sphinx. Throughout history, the powers of single blacks flash like falling stars, and die sometimes before the world has rightly gauged their brightness.”
-DuBois

Every afternoon, thunderstorms rolled across Joburg. Rain, thunder, and lightning pounded down upon the city for just a few hours. On our second night, the power went out and we all sat in the small pub that was part of the lodge and ate our stew by candlelight. [As I sit here and write this, the rain picks up outside and Nomsa comes out of her bedroom – “Ah, it is raining cats and dogs!”] That was the first night that the group really began to bond, and we have since become good friends. Shane, the scatterbrained little Irish man in charge of our academics, provides us with a lot of entertainment. Nomewethu, who insists that we call her Mama, really is our mother. She is warm and loving, and always a comforting presence. And Tabisa, the student liaison, is adorable. She is forever laughing at us, especially when we try to speak in Xhosa.

Classes have sort of been going on since we’ve been in South Africa, although the real routine starts tomorrow. I will be picked up around 7am by Desmond, who will be gathering 8 of us to go to the SIT classroom in Rondebosch, where we meet the rest of the group. Xhosa class starts at 8:30, followed by a lecture on the political economy of South Africa. We have a break in the middle of the day for about 3 hours, then Xhosa tutorials before we head home at 5pm. Every weekday for the next month will be set up like this…then we hop on a plane and head to East London for the rural homestay.

That’s enough for now…if you’re reading this, please know that I miss you and love you and hope that all is well. I’ll try to update fairly soon. Feel free to email- I would love to hear from you!

Usale kakuhle,
Cari

P.S. I’m now posting this from the little internet café near our classroom in Rondebosch – Cocoa Wah Wah. Mom, Dad, and Joel – miss you and love you!

written by  CariLeighAnn on February 11, 2008 from Cape Town, South Africa
from the travel blog: Semester Abroad: South Africa
tagged Joburg and Langa
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That being finished, we ate some breakfast, packed up our bags one last time, and got our cab to the airport around 11:25am. The flight to Jo’burg was pretty uneventful, although it was an easy one, only being 2 and a half hours. We were preparing for a 4-hour layover before our next flight at 9:15pm. Naturally, there was a bit of a snag. We attempted to get a VAT refund, as South Africa allows tourists to recoup the 14% tax on goods costing more than ~$30 that are purchased while in the country. We had a few such items that we could claim, so we took them to the counter to have the receipts and goods inspected. Easy enough, right? Not quite. The officer there approved the receipts with a stamp, and told us we needed to go to another stand inside security to get the money. Ok, no problem.

We went to go check in for the flight, only to find an absolutely massive line. There seemed to be a much shorter line for people who had already checked-in online, which we hadn’t done. However, having this trusty netbook on hand allowed us to do just that. Except, of course, that the free internet was in the other terminal. Deciding that it would be faster to trudge to Terminal B than wait in the line, we headed that way to get some internet and then check in for both the flight to London as well as the flight to Chicago. After 45 minutes, we managed to pull that off, and headed back to the check-in area, which now had an even longer line. Luckily, Rocio and Ryan both had status with British Airways, so we were able to bypass most of the line and got our bags checked in quickly.

After passing through security, we went to find the place to get our VAT money. Of course, the line was out the door. There were roughly 40 people ahead of us and only 4 counters, and for some reason, what seemed to me to be a very simple task was clearly the opposite. There were a ton of Algerians in line who didn’t speak very much English, and the South African staffers were really not being very helpful, because whenever they would ask for something that the Algerians didn’t understand, they would revert to the tried-and-true solution of saying the same thing louder. It worked as well as you think it would. After nearly an hour of waiting in line amongst people who don’t understand the concept of personal space, along with some rising tensions amongst others from people perceived to be cutting in line, we finally got the money. Just kidding, no we didn’t. We got a check in Rand that was “Non-transferrable, non-negotiable” – basically funny money – minus a fee somewhere in the neighborhood of 10%, which could only be cashed at the special money-changing place conveniently located just next door.

Meanwhile, it’s now less than an hour before our flight is supposed to leave. Thankfully, the bank line is shorter, and when I got up to the agent, I asked if I could get the money in US dollars. She said, no, it’s too small an amount. Granted, I was only set to get $10 back initially, but she said it was going to be a roughly $15 fee to give out US dollars. Instead, I got money in Rand, except that I noticed she took out considerably less money than what the check read. This, of course, was because the bank took out a freaking THIRD of the money due us as a fee. So, in the end, I wasted over an hour of my time for $5. If you are ever in a country that offers this, do not waste your time unless you’re expecting to get back a few hundred dollars. Talk about a scam.

After that fiasco ended, I’m sitting here at the gate awaiting departure to London. 11 hours for this flight, and most likely very few of it coming in sleep form for me. Oh well.

written by  nucappy on June 25, 2010 from Johannesburg, South Africa
from the travel blog: London and South Africa - World Cup 2010!
tagged SouthAfrica and Joburg
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