(Otherwise known as the U.S.)

I’ve been back for nearly a month, and in that month I’ve felt all of the South African influences and idiosyncrasies that I picked up slowly slipping away. But every now and then, I’ll feel a pull in the back of my mind, and I’ll realize how different things are here in America with a sudden jolt.

The first time I went to Wal-Mart with my dad, it had only been a day after my return. I’d gotten used to being alone in South Africa, but I guess I was more jittery than I realized. When my dad left me to go look for a particular item a couple aisles over, I felt nervous, scared, afraid for my safety. When I told my dad, he sort of laughed, then said that South Africa had really messed me up.

Which I don’t think is completely fair. I don’t want to make everyone think that South Africa is such a dangerous place that you’re going to go crazy and paranoid if you visit the country, but it’s sure nice not to be stared at all the time. I stuck out a mile, gleaming like a ghost when I walked down the street, walking too fast and carrying too little and looking generally too happy and naïve.

Here in the U.S. I’m back to what I’m used to: being invisible most of the time. I’m not going to lie—I definitely prefer it. But sometimes it was nice to be recognized as a foreigner. Tons of people in South Africa were amazing and offered to help me find my way, walk with me to the store, give me food, let me crash at their apartment, etc. In the U.S., though, I blend in. When I talk, people understand me, and I understand them. I never got tired of giving the “Where I’m From & What I’m Doing Here” speech, but it’s undeniable—I’ve spent 20 years in the United States, and the United States is where I belong. I only just dipped my toes into South Africa, and it’d take a lot longer for me to really understand the country.

Not that people in the U.S. don’t stare at me sometimes. I didn’t realize how chill South Africans were until I was in the airport in Washington. I was trying to put in my contact and these two ladies sitting across from me were staring at me unabashedly. Eventually I put on a huge grin and said something along the lines of, “Hate these annoying contacts!” and they smiled back uneasily. I tried to explain the difference between South Africa and the U.S. to my mom, and she actually managed to put it better than I could.

In the U.S., people put stock in rules. We believe that if you work hard and don’t break the law, you will be rewarded with wealth and a mini-mansion and maybe even a Ford F-150. So when anyone deviates even the slightest from the social code, their peers distrust and discuss their behavior. It makes us a pretty judgmental society, in my opinion. In South Africa, nobody cares what clothes you wear or if your bag is from Mr. Price or Louis Vuitton. If you choose to eat with your hands instead of a fork and knife, probably nobody will pay you any attention. (Imagine that scene in a U.S. restaurant-HA). Moreover, in South Africa the rules haven’t necessary been beneficial for a large segment of the population. The apartheid legacy has had a lasting impact on the country in terms of respect for the rule of law and belief in “the system.” Where you can get a job honestly in the U.S. based on merit, in South Africa, it’s best if you know someone. If you go 90 mph on a country road in the U.S., the police WILL find you and give you a very expensive ticket. In South Africa, if you went 130 k in a residential area, you can probably bribe the cop out of a ticket by giving him 50 or 100 Rand. I guess what I’m trying to say is that in the U.S., the system works, so people believe in it, and society is very well-structured. In South Africa, things are a little more hazy, and people are perceptive enough to know that everything isn’t black and white.

But the biggest different between the U.S. and South Africa is abundance. In my house, we have 2 fridges, just because we can. It has nothing to do with really needing or wanting another fridge—it’s semi-convenient, and we can fill it with more food than we can ever eat. People buy 5-bedroom homes even though their family only contains 3 people, just because they can. When you drive down the street, humongous trucks and SUVs pass you by (keep in mind that this is Texas). Who needs a bush guard and a V-8 engine in the city??? Nobody needs those things. They have them because they can.

Because of all of the advertising and high wages and high expectations, the U.S. is the land of Ultimate Satisfaction. If anything is wrong or if anything is broken, it is your right to have it fixed right away. No discomfort allowed.

I love the U.S. and I love South Africa, but boy are the lifestyles different.

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Written on Monday, August 15, 2011. Durban, Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa. 12:15 PM.

Since today is my last day in South Africa, I decided to eat at Nando’s again. I ate there on the first day I was here, so it seemed fitting to complete the circle. I even ordered the same thing, chicken strips on spicy rice, to see how my tastes have changed. Well, I’ll say one thing—I’ve gotten used to the portion sizes in South Africa, which are much much smaller than their U.S. counterparts. I remember the first time I ate at Nando’s I was horrified by the tiny plate of chicken and rice that they served me, and ardently wished for more food. This time the plate looked huge and when I was done eating I felt absolutely stuffed. However, the real test was to see whether this time the spicy rice would turn my mouth to fire. Alas, it seems that I will never be able to adjust to spicy food.

I’m staying at Tekweni backpackers again here in Durban (“Tekweni” means “Durban” in isiZulu). I’ve been away for over a month, but it was so nice to come back to the same place. The staff all remembered me and greeted me like a long-lost family member. And they even gave me a much-needed discount on the room. Though maybe I shouldn’t say that as it could get a certain Zulu Guru in trouble…

Last night I hung out with a cool dude from Switzerland. The two of us, plus Dan from Duke University and one of the other frequents of Tekweni, basically just played pool all night and chilled for a bit in the Marley lounge. It was a relaxing evening and the perfect last night in South Africa.

My last few days in Port Elizabeth were certainly exciting. On Thursday I went to the Nelson Mandela Museum of Modern Art and saw a fantastic presentation by a female artist who constructs dresses out of cow hide. It was a gorgeous and haunting exhibit, but it smelled like a dog bone. I can’t imagine how bad her studio must smell.

Then, being stupid, I decided to walk alone in the park right next to the museum. (Future travelers beware! Do NOT enter St. George’s park in PE!) It was still daylight, and to me the park looked v. safe with its tennis courts and flowers. What really sold me, though, were the palm trees. When you picture a dangerous place, does it have palm trees? Exactly. Anyway, this kid about 16 or 17 noticed me walking alone and proceeded to mug me. He only got 25 Rand, (about $4) since that was all I was carrying, and my camera. I couldn’t care less about the camera—it’s basically a piece of shit anyway—but I lost all the photos that I’ve taken in South Africa that were on the memory card inside. Luckily I uploaded lots of photos to Facebook already, and saved about 20 more on my flashdrive. Afterwards I mostly felt angry at myself. If only I had bought some pepper spray! Or just punched him in the face and screamed and ran off. But what’s done is done, and I’ve learned from the experience.

On Friday, Mike from Jikeleza lounge offered to drive me down the Garden Route, which I was planning to see before I ran out of money. Mike delivers property newspapers throughout Jeffrey’s Bay and elsewhere, so I rode alone with him and told him how many papers to drop off at each Spar and Mini-mart along the route (I was in charge of the paperwork). The Garden Route is gorgeous, and if I had more time, I would have stayed in Knysna and Jeffrey’s Bay, both of which are fantastically beautiful places. I didn’t have my camera, of course, but Mike promised to email me some photos.

This morning I bought some last-minute gifts for my family. The chocolate in South Africa tastes the same as chocolate everywhere else, of course, but it’s nice to see the different packaging and languages on the candy bars. I’m also going to bring back some of Nando’s famous Peri-Peri sauce, and introduce my family to the best-tasting spice in South Africa.

In just a few more short hours I’ll be boarding the plane to Jo’burg, and then to Senegal, and then to Washington D.C. and finally San Antonio. It’s hard for me to summarize what I think I’ve learned in my 2 months here, so I’m going to give it a few days, turn over the memories in my mind, and then come back and write one last tragicomedy of a blog post.

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Written on Monday, 8 August 2011. Port Elizabeth, Eastern Cape, South Africa.

My last few days in Cape Town seemed to go by in a blur. On Thursday I pretended to be from Cape Town and went with Natalia and Dina to the UCT campus and attended 2 lectures: one on the workplace environment in SA, and another on Foucault. Apparently I blended in very well, because in the Foucault lecture the girl next to me leaned over and asked me about the book we were supposed to read. I mumbled something about it probably being on Google Books for free.

On Friday, my last full day in Cape Town, I went with Wihan downtown, where we walked around for a few hours, marvelling at the exorbitant prices for bracelets and beaded giraffes in all the “African” tourist shops. Before I left the States, everyone asked me to buy them something genuinely South African. Well, I can do that–buy them a ring or a chunky necklace or a ridiculous floor-length dress covered in zebras–and those things would be considered “genuine.” The problem is that nobody uses that stuff. No one walks down the street wearing a headdress or a scarf with a sprinkbok pattern. The mode is Western wear! All of this is to say that gift-buying is v. difficult.

On Saturday I went through my suitcase for the first time in 7 weeks. It’s amazing to discover things you’ve completely forgotten about, and remember that mug you bought here and that scarf you bought there. Then at half past five, after saying goodbye and many thank-you’s to Natalia and Dina, I took a taxi down to the Cape Town station and boarded the Translux bus to Port Elizabeth (I took the overnight bus to save on another night’s accomodation).

While on the bus I befriended Juanita, a sweetheart with 2 kids who’s been working as a nurse in Namibia for the past few years. I’m always afraid that I’m going to be deathly bored on the bus, but between chatting with Juanita about the sand dunes and Namibian currency and the 2 movies they showed (“Fireproof” and “Akeelah and the Bee”) I was happily occupied for the duration of the ride.

At 7 AM the bus rolled into Port Elizabeth (PE, as everyone calls it). Juanita gave me a ride to the Jikeleza Lounge, where I’m staying for the remainder of the week before taking yet another bus back to Durban. It only costs R90/night to stay at Jikeleza, which is the cheapest rate you can get at a hostel here in SA. Because of that, I was expecting Jikeleza to be a bit dodgy. It’s anything but! Jikeleza (which means “to wander around” in Xhosa) is probably the cleanest place I’ve stayed. Everything works–the fridge, the shower, the hot water–and there’s a nice patio out back where I can sit in the sun and chat with Martin from Germany, Helena from Australia, and the group of students from Jo’burg.

PE is nice, but it feels strangely empty. I’m used to crowds now, so when I walk down the street and I don’t see anybody it feels a bit eerie. But there’s always someone to talk to at the backpackers, like I said.

Today I walked down the street and inquired about interviews at the two private hospitals. I’ve been promised interviews on Wednesday. Tomorrow I’m meeting with a journalist from the newspaper here in PE for another interview as well.

It’s hard to believe I only have a week left in South Africa! By this time next Monday I’ll be sitting in the airport, having one last glass of wine before heading home on the 18-hour flight. Texas heat, here I come!

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Written on Tuesday, August 02, 2011, 7:00 PM. Observatory, Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa.

Heh…still hanging around in Cape Town, as you can see from above. It’s very difficult to leave such a beautiful city and free lodging. (Thank goodness for Natalia and her sister Dina—otherwise I would be out of money already, I think.)

I am now a PRO at minibus taxis. I know just which corner to catch them on, and I never ride in ones that are less than half full—that spells trouble and a mugging. I am very efficient and today it only took me 30 minutes to get downtown to St. George’s Mall, where I met and interviewed a journalist named Anso from the Health-e news service at the Vida e Caffe in Greenmarket Square. In fact, I even got there EARLY, a feat which is almost unheard of for me.

After the wildly successful interview (making a good impression by knowing what CD-4 and MSM and MDR-TB mean, check!) I decided to try to get to the SABC (South Africa Broadcast Channel) offices in Sea Point. Unfortunately, after buying the cup of coffee from Vida e Caffe, I had only R6 left, so I couldn’t afford to take a taxi there.

I went to three different “Tourist Information” shops before I finally found one that could give me directions to Sea Point. The conversation went something like this:

(Overly nice tourist information lady): “Hello, how may I help you?”

“Um…are directions free?”

She laughed and replied, “Yes, of course.”

“I’m trying to get to the SABC offices in Sea Point, at 21 Beach Road.”

She starts to pull out a collection of maps and spreads them out over the counter for me.

“Are maps free as well?”

She laughs again and says, “Yes, some things are free.”

So with my three giant foldout maps in hand, I bravely began the trek from the CBD all the way up the coast to Sea Point. I do think I ended up walking about 8 or 10 miles in total, but it was worth it because I got another interview scheduled for tomorrow with someone from SABC!! The receptionist at SABC, a v. kind older man, took pity on me, I think. Another golden conversation:

“Hi, mynameisAlinaDunbar,I’mastudentfromtheStateshereinSouthAfricaonaresearchgrantcouldIinterviewanyofthejournalistshereatSABCaboutHIV?”

(I’ve really got that spiel down.)

“Yes, hello dear. Here is the extension for the lady who works in HR.”

After I called about 5 people on the phone in the lobby (I kept getting redirected) I finally figured out I was getting nowhere after someone in charge told me, “All the journalists are very busy right now with deadlines and really don’t have time call back tomorrow.”

I walked back over to the desk with a sheepish grin and said, “Well, at least I got a good walk out of it.”

But then the receptionist performed a miracle and asked one of the journalists who was standing in the lobby if I could interview her. And that was that!

On my way back from SABC I decided to take the long route around the coast so that I could get a good look at the Atlantic Ocean and at the giant World Cup stadium, since obviously I couldn’t see either of those things clearly unless I was right in front of them.

I ended my sweaty, solitary walk 2 hours later, grumbling to myself as I climbed the stairs to the taxi bay above the station. I was extremely bored walking for so long, so I took an obscene amount of photos. But then I got back to Natalia’s, made a 2-minute noodles, and am now content to type away on my computer.

I MUST go TONIGHT to the backpackers and book my bus ticket to Port Elizabeth for Friday. I can only take advantage of someone’s generosity for so long! (Tomorrow, though, I plan to make Natalia and Dina a chocolate cake—hopefully this will convince them that it was worth it to have me stick around.)

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Written on Thursday, July 28^th, 2011

It’s customary here for them to include a roasted tomato along with your eggs and toast. I’m not sure if this practice is unique to South Africa, or if I just haven’t been eating in very classy establishments in the U.S. Either way, it’s a lovely addition to a morning meal and makes me feel sophisticated, somehow.

Someone—a native South African—read my blog and told me that it was “impressive.” After reveling in praise for a few moments and indulging in some silent self-congratulation (“Alina, you are AWESOME”), I asked him why. He replied that I manage to be objective about his country, that I don’t try to analyze the political situation too much and assume that I know the inner workings of a country I’ve spent barely 6 weeks in. Instead, I just write about my personal experience. (I suppose pure description reveals more than I realized.) But I do have some observations about racism and the apartheid legacy and other tough stuff, and I think it’d be kind of a shame if I didn’t write them down at all. It is a rainy day, after all, and the weather is perfect for reflection. So, here goes:

There’s a lot of anger in this country, but it’s the residual kind, by which I mean that a lot of the people are frustrated by the state of affairs but that the flame of revolution has more or less died down. Of course, that’s not entirely accurate, because from what I’ve heard there are apparently loads of people in the townships and other regions who are ready to pick up a gun and shoot the government bureaucrats and the dik Afrikaaners. What I mean is that the average person you talk to on the street has a lot of complaining to do, and some will even go so far as to predict a civil war, but they’re not about to start a riot. They’ve more or less resigned themselves to acceptance.

Criticism of the government varies widely from person to person, but I would say that there are racial boundaries to the criticism. Some white people I’ve talked to reckon that the country is going to shit. They’ll complain about black people everywhere—I’ve heard horrible things like, “Oh, the reason the Pick ‘n’ Pay is in such terrible shape is because the blacks are running it now and they’re all just lazy and too stupid to re-stock the shelves properly.” Some extend that kind of thinking to the government and claim that the country was better off under apartheid rule. White people tell me these things because I’m white, and figure that because of our shared color we must share the same opinions as well. Sometimes I feel like yelling at them—“No! you can’t just SAY those sorts of things. Honestly, how can you think that?”

But to their credit, most South African white people aren’t quite that backward. Sure, they’re a little bit racist, but reasonably so considering the country and climate in which they were raised. Younger people tend to be less hateful. I think what people want now is just equality, plain and simple. They want an end to Black Empowerment, which stipulates that anyone who falls under the “historically disadvantaged” category (Blacks, Coloureds, Indians) must be given preference in job hirings. Affirmative action, same as in the States.

As for me, I don’t really like the idea of Black Empowerment (BE), but I do understand why it exists. It makes sense from a justice perspective—after all, for years and years only whites could occupy the top positions in companies, and whites held the advantage in every possible way. Even now, traces of the apartheid era remain. All of the taxis I’ve taken have been manned by black drivers. All of the backpackers have been owned by whites. All of the cashiers at the Spar are black, and all the construction workers I’ve seen are coloured. Whites still live in the best, richest and safest areas and have access to much better education. If it weren’t for BE, whites would be more qualified than their black and coloured counterparts in every job interview, every time.

I have met a few black people who won’t say anything bad about the government. They are, I suppose, the ones who idolize Mandela and the ANC, the political party that freed them from oppression in 1994. But I’ve met far fewer of these type of people than I anticipated I would. Most blacks are open and ready to acknowledge the corruption and information scandals that plague the national government. Some people say that the government is trying, that it’s doing its best, and that over time things will improve. Others lash out against Jacob Zuma, alleging that he really did rape that woman. There are also many who dislike Julius Malema, the ANC Youth Leader, and the multi-million dollar homes he has constructed in Soweto.

By far the epithet that’s closest to reaching a semblance of consensus is that the country is young. People of all colors will tell me that South Africa is only 17 years old, and that the United States has had over 200 years to get things right. In other words, bit your tongue, lean back, and patiently wait for the worst to pass. In the meantime, just mutter TIA (This is Africa) whenever something goes wrong.

Now you can see how difficult it is, amidst all these varying perspectives, to try to shape an opinion of a country where there are beautiful first-world shopping malls and millions living in houses of corrugated tin in the informal settlements. The division between the haves and the have-nots in South Africa is enormous, and while social mobility does exist, if you’re born into the wrong household, you’ll be hard-pressed to achieve a respectable socio-economic status. When I arrived in Cape Town, for example, I did a double-take when I walked down the street because I realized that there wasn’t a black person in sight. There are SO MANY white people here in this most beautiful city of all in South Africa. It’s because under the apartheid regime the entire Western Cape was reserved for white settlement, so even now, 17 years later, blacks and other racial groups are still just trickling in.

And of course I understand why some white people claim the country’s worse now that it’s under black rule. “No shit,” I want to say. “Of COURSE you wish apartheid rule were back. You were king of the jungle then!” But it’s true that there is corruption everywhere you turn, and that the ANC has a tight grip over the government. Once the liberating party, the ANC has morphed into something grotesquely misshapen by its own inflated power. As a foreigner, and an incredibly ignorant young one at that, my assessment is that it’s time for the ANC to go away. It’s almost not a democracy anymore—you have no choice but to vote for the party of Nelson Mandela. There’s the ANC and then there’s everybody else.

I need to read a few more of the cartoons by Jonathan Schapiro (Zapiro), who is South Africa’s most famous satirical illustrator. Maybe if I stayed in South Africa long enough I’d come to be as cynical as everyone else and just shake  my  head and whisper “Shame” whenever I read the news headlines.

This country’s racism reverberates in the air.  Not that the U.S. has the best track record when it comes to racism.  I’ve learned to tell people that I’m from Chicago, because then they’ll grin and nod their heads really fast and repeat it back to me as a long, drawn-out phrase that insinuates PARTY! in every syllable: “Ohhhh, Chi – CAH – go!!” Whereas if I tell people I’m from Texas they’ll just tell me how much they hate George Bush.

Yes, I suppose that South Africa is royally fucked up, but so is the U.S. and so is every country in some way or another. It’s not so bad that you can’t live here, and the people I’ve met have all been incredibly welcoming. Maybe they dislike me and whisper things about “that American” behind my back, but in general I’m fairly confident that I make a good impression, so I doubt that too many people hate me very much.

South Africa has a lot going for it. It’s beautiful and vibrant and a cornucopia of cultures & colors. Most importantly, it’s alive. I’ve lived in places that are dying, where the people move slowly and don’t think of anything beyond the next TV show and how they’re probably going to get married to their high school sweetheart in another couple of years. People here move around. Even the street kids who beg for money for their next crack hit weave fantastically improbable stories about homeless shelters and abandoned knocked-up sisters. I wish I could inject some of that vitality into the couch potatoes strewn across the U.S. and the wider world, yell WAKE UP and COME TO SOUTH AFRICA for a healthy infusion of culture shock and shake off that mantle of apathy that you’ve been wearing for far too long.

But I really haven’t been doing a good job of explicitly stating my opinions, other than to say I don’t think much of the ANC. (Or maybe I have been stating my opinions—at this point I’m not really sure). I wish I could transport everyone to the U.S. just for a little while so that they could understand why I don’t find it strange to shove myself into a minibus taxi and willingly allow myself to be surrounded by a sea of black bodies. I wish that no one had to live in a cardboard shack, and I wish I could shoot the people who drive their Mercedes right past those people in the cardboard shacks and then have the nerve to call them lazy good-for-nothings. I wish I remembered every conversation and every bit of information that has passed my way in this country, and I wish I had money to travel forever and continue being a passive observer in every country across the world.

But I’m just an undergrad, a 20-year-old with eyes and ears who uses maybe 10% of her brain and has to fly back to safety, to family, to the States on August 15^th. So I’ll just sit here and admire the sophistication of the roasted tomato sitting next to my bacon and try not to form too many half-informed opinions.

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