Dumelang!

This is a Sotho greeting that I learned from my urban homestay in Johannesburg!  I spent only three days with my host family, but it was a fantastic experience and nice to be in the comfort of a family even if they weren’t my own.

When we got to our home in Ormonde our host-mother, Nthabiseng, along with some neighbors were outside to greet us.  It didn’t take long to get in the house, begin our first meal (lamb and rice Mmmm) and jump into conversation.  Our mother was open and invited our questions immediately.  She was also really interested in our stories and culture, asking questions about previous things she had heard and images from television.  She works in school administration and her husband, Sifiso, at the Hilton in Sandton (a very wealthy area that we visited later that weekend).  They live in a small, one floor, gated house like all of the other people in that neighborhood.  The house reminded me a little of my home and their family has two Volkswagens just like mine—a “South African Polo Blue” as their little three year old boy (Sandile) likes to call it.

The father had to leave the first evening to help with the funeral of his cousin, which we learned are slightly different from funerals in the United States, much larger.  People from all over come in support of the family, even if they are only acquaintances and after large meals take place at a relative’s house, but are never catered.  Neighbors and friends pitch in and cook enough for everyone to eat and this is a lot of food when you are feeding hundreds.  They also have ceremonies called tombstones three or four years later and like the funerals they are much more uplifting than the funerals I know.  It is a celebration of that person’s life. For the celebration people purchase new, very formal, clothing and even paint their houses sometimes as rejuvenation.

The funeral practice seemed to transcend tribes, but throughout the homestay I found that there were some things that didn’t and distinct differences between tribes.  The relationship between our host mother and father was interesting because of their different backgrounds, the mother being Sotho and the father Zulu.  The mother ultimately adopted most Zulu traditions including the clothing and wedding ceremony, but still speaks her mother language and has taught it to her children.  The children are incredibly smart.  They know three languages fluently: Sotho, Zulu, and English and study Afrikaans in school, but more impressively they toggle back and forth between these languages depending on the person they are talking to.

I found this is common among people here, the switching between languages (there are eleven official languages).  It’s really amazing and they seem to do it with ease.  We had a host-sister in the house and she taught us some basic terms and patiently went over the pronunciations and spellings with us repeatedly.  Some of the languages have “clicks” or snaps with your tongue and I found it very difficult.  It was easy to connect with her though—she was excited about having students from the United States in her home, was a fan of the same music that we like, and broke the ice by taking funny pictures with us on her phone.

On our second day there we visited an old age home in Soweto that the mother goes to on weekends.  We helped out with the dishes and got to join in on a Bible study with a couple of the women that lived there.  They gave us their advice for life and were happy we were here to study.  We also went to church on Sunday and this had to be one of the best experiences ever!  It was so lively, even though my host-mother claimed it was boring compared to her usual service. (I can’t imagine how exciting her Catholic church must be.)  The service was entirely in a tribal language so I couldn’t understand anything, but I felt connected with the people.  They included us and encouraged us to get up and dance.  While watching them, I felt like I was surrounded by a strong community, people who enjoyed being there on Sunday morning with others they loved.  Each person would lead the congregation in a song (with loud and really beautiful voices) and then as everyone else chimed in they would stand and dance and smack the Bible for a beat.  A smile was plastered on my face.  We even danced our way to the alter to leave our donation—absolutely a euphoric moment.

Besides these outings, we watched a lot of TV during the day and even through meals—soap operas or “sopes” are extremely popular here, both American and South African shows.  They also watch some American football on the sports channels, South African Idol, and Madea’s Family, which I told my host-family that my brother and sister also love this movie.  It is women’s month here right now so there were tributes to women on the radio and TV with traditional dances and singers too.

We broke this time up with conversations about the miners’ strike that happened in August and about the chief in Swaziland that has 20-30 wives, and I learned more from our host-mother about the characteristics of a “Soweto woman” which she was.  She told us that Soweto girls are not passive and polite like rural women, but liked their short skirts, wild nights and had attitudes.  Our mother liked to joke with us and tell us stories about her trips to Durban with friends where they would say, “the women have grown up to drink like their fathers and the men have grown up to cook like their mothers,” pointing out that their husbands were more home-bodies.

She also shared with us some family stories, like their visits to the zoo, things the kids like to do, and their belief in Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny, so I asked if she also had to play tooth fairy every so often.  Yes, she still slipped money to her children for their tooth, but into their shoe instead of under their pillow.  In households here you put your tooth in your shoe.  During the night a little mouse comes and take your tooth, in its place he leaves money, and then he throws it on top of the roof.  While on the roof your tooth grows until he brings it back to your mouth (as your adult tooth).  I may consider telling children this version instead—I liked it.

We talked about going to Kliptown (the township where I felt like an intruder earlier that week) but I felt very comfortable now.  The idea of going to grab some produce from a stand there or the sheep intestines she wanted to cook didn’t bother me at all, but I did ask her how people living in that community feel about tourist that come and stare at them.  Her opinion was that they would be very excited to have us. She said many would even like to have white students stay in their house so that they feel special and respected within the community.

I am baffled by this phenomenon, this elevating of white people and people from the United States.  I asked our guide, Nespect, about it and he explained a couple of different reasons, one being that white people are the ones with power and people here (and I’ve noticed other parts of the world) that in order to get closer to that power they must get closer to white people.  He also encouraged me to continue asking people that I meet about things like this.  Regardless if this confuses me, my experience in the neighborhoods that we have been in, is that people are unbelievably welcoming—they smile and hug you, say they are happy to see new faces, and ask you if you are eating well (they really like to feed their guests…really).

The first morning in our home we went and got Amugwinya “fat cakes” and they have been given this name for a reason.  It is a fried dough served with thick slices of a meat (sort of like pepperoni) and dried fish that is heavily salted.  The fish tasted like the smelts my family has at Christmas time.  We were offered pies too, but these aren’t sweet pies, they are flaky crusts filled with meat inside.  Then, for lunch we had a Kota.  This sandwich puts Wendy’s baconator to despicable shame.  It is a tower of four slices of bread, with layers of cheese, avocado, bacon, a burger in between and “chip dip” a creamy sauce like thousand island dressing.  This also comes with a not-so-modest side of “chips” which are really thick french fries.  After this, I had had enough food for the entire week, but we still hadn’t eaten dinner.  For dinner that night we had lasagna, but it wasn’t my Grandma T’s.  Though nothing can beat that, this came really close.  It was layers of flat sheets of noodles (unlike the crimped ones we use) a spicy sausage, cream sauce, and then sweat and sour sauce on top.  All three of the sauces were homemade and it was delicious.  There were also dozens of homemade cookies for dessert, but it took me a couple days before I could even try one because the meals were so large.

So we sat around the television, wandered around some places in town, and ate… a lot.  I got to go through their normal routines and it felt good to be around those familiar things in this unfamiliar place.  Overall, the weekend was wonderful and I feel so lucky to have been a part of their family for a very short time.

Salang Hantle

Though toward the end of our first week in Johannesburg we were a little exhausted from touring and visiting museums, the Apartheid Museum kept strong hold of my attention.  The images I saw were astounding, heart-wrenching and inspiring at the same time. Combined at the Apartheid Museum was a tribute to Nelson Mandela and a walk through the history of South Africa, its journey toward democracy and its aspirations as a country. There were art exhibits, video clips of Nelson Mandela’s fight against aids, South Africa winning the world cup, and the day that Nelson Mandela was released from prison, along with remarkable stories of triumph and also of devastation. The walk through this museum was a roller-coaster of emotions and it began when you received a ticket that labeled you either Blankes or Non-Blankes (white or non-white). The moment you passed through your designated gate you were in awe.
Learning about life under the apartheid is hard to stomach in general, but one exhibit in particular left me numb. I turned into a room of nooses hanging from the ceiling. As you can imagine, this stunned me. I began reading about the people who were executed because of their opposition to the government—131 in total. There were personal stories about a few men and records of others. Many exhibits and stories left me just as emotional, but I turned around and there was a picture of where these men were hung and you could see how the floor was dropped from beneath them. I was truly overwhelmed.

Once you found a way to move past this exhibit, you were uplifted by the displays that follow. You learned about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, led by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, which promoted forgiveness among victims and their perpetrators through disclosing truths about the apartheid. Really, it is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen established.

Finally, there was a wall of quotations of Nelson Mandela that were written in different colors. You chose your favorite one and placed a reed of the same color along a walkway. I’ll leave you with the ones I chose:

“The first thing is to be honest with yourself. You can never have an impact on society if you have not changed yourself.”

“Overcoming poverty is not a gesture of charity. It is a protection of a fundamental human right, the right to dignity and a decent life.”

(You aren’t allowed to take pictures at this museum, so the ones that I have included are from the Apartheid Museum Website that you can take a look at here: http://www.apartheidmuseum.org)

We visited our U.S. embassy to speak with two foreign service officers, both in public relations.  They serve as a resource to citizens abroad and do tours in different countries, but also interact with locals and influence foreign policy if they disagree with something.  The position interested me for a moment, but I think I’ll stick to the non-governmental side of things.  I’m skeptical about how much exposure they actually get while living here and the female representative admitted that they could become trapped in a U.S. embassy bubble, but she tried to avoid that.

The embassy was located in a wealthy part of South Africa called Pretoria, which is the reverse to much of what we had been seeing.  We visited a few other monuments in this city: Freedom Park and the Voortrekker Monument.

These two were ironic partner sites connected by “reconciliation road”.  Freedom park is dedicated to all those that have fought for freedom and the Voortrekker Monument was raised for the Afrikaaners (architects of the apartheid).  The Voortrekker museum shared their history and side of the story and the guide drew attention to the fact that in any museum the people that it represents are depicted in a favorable light.  I wondered if there was backlash from the citizens here concerning this museum, but I think if this country is going to move toward accepting allof its people than this monument has a place here—after all, history cannot be changed and the Afrikaaners are a part of South African history, good or bad.

Freedom Park was a very serene place—thus far, my favorite place.  They are in the process of building the five parts to the monument, but the parts that we got to see were incredibly moving.  You make your way through a wall of names (S’khumbuto) of those that have died in the eight conflicts that have taken place during South African history (Pre-Colonial Wars, Slavery, Genocide, Wars of Resistance, the South African War, the First World War, the Second World War and the Struggle for Liberation.) and then through a large natural amphitheater.  There was a sanctuary and eternal flame which invites people to remember those who have fought for freedom and in the hall of leaders some are memorialized for their significant contributions.

The last part and most symbolic is called Isivivane and is a resting place for those who died in their struggle for freedom.  When you enter the stone cul-de-sac you remove your shoes as a sign of respect and in front of you stands eleven boulders that represent each of the nine provinces of South Africa, the national government and the international community.  In the center of these a mist rises to represent purity.

We had lunch in the park and I wandered around a little on one of the many trails (the park is enormous).  It was peaceful, humbling, and the views are really breathtaking.

We got the chance to visit representatives from the two dominant political parties in South Africa.  Really, there is only one—The African National Congress—which grew out of the liberation struggle and who Nelson Mandela represented.  The only significant opposition is the Democratic alliance.  Though the ANC has been in power for 18 years it isn’t clear if this is because people actually agree with their policies and have seen affect from their implementation or if they are simply scared that the Democratic Alliance will reinstate the apartheid.  Most people have resigned to not voting at all, so though the ANC may win the percentage every year by a large amount, the actual number of votes is decreasing.

I won’t go into large detail about the platform of each group, mostly because it didn’t interest me.  I wanted a real view of these parties, not their propaganda   You can see that there is a large amount of corruption in both parties and that neither is really putting people at the forefront of their goals.  However, the ANC is a very interesting group.  It is a democracy within itself and is made up of several groups including communist and capitalist.  This presents some concerns about how quickly and efficiently they are able to get things done with such diverse debates.

We asked each group about prevalent issues we had seen in their communities, but I felt like both representatives danced around the answers or root causes (one of the many similarities between here in South Africa and the United States).  The ANC claims to be the voice of the people, but I worry that with their lack of competition that they could (or have) become complacent.  And the DA seems to think it is acceptable to exploit workers who have no choice but to accept extremely low wages when left unemployed.  They worry that demanding fair treatment of workers will discourage investors from coming to South Africa.  Overall, they gave us a refined and politically correct overview of their parties beliefs

Later on in the day, we went to Nando’s again (the South African chain that sells portugese food).  This place is apparently going to be one of our favorites.  It beats KFC, which is extremely popular (though slightly more upscale than in the US) and a place called Chicken Lickin which is comparable to the KFC that we know.  There are countless other chicken restaurants—meat is extremely popular here, particularly poultry. These restaurants are all located in malls that we have been visiting (there are a lot of them).  I’ve noticed that their grocery stores are connected here, unlike home where malls are mostly clothing, electronics, and food courts.  It’s like Wal-Mart (or here Pick ‘n Pay) is a department store.

We also visited a migrant workers museum and saw a South African play in the evening at a place called Market Theatre.  The play was really interesting with funky tribal music and dancing, but many of us struggled with figuring out the symbolism.  I think our brains had checked out at that point—we were cramming a lot of information into them.

We continued our tour through a part of Soweto, called Kliptown, one of the oldest parts of the formerly black township.  I felt a little uncomfortable “touring” here, like an intruder. People were welcoming and politely smiled, but as we entered their township, we heard a man yell stop exposing us.   We were unsure whether the man had issue with us or our tour guide, but this made me uneasy.  As we walked through the village, I felt like we were treating the people there as if they were in a museum, even if unintentionally. I was invading their privacy and homes, without getting to know them. I kept wondering how I would feel if the tables were turned.

We (including myself) justified this by saying we are trying to educate ourselves and exposure is necessary to advocate for people in poor situations, but I’m unsure how much good has come from this exposure.  After all the failed efforts the people in Kliptown have been victim to, I expected a little animosity toward tourists like myself. Nevertheless, we walked through and gawked at their poverty. My group has the best intentions (I truly believe), so my criticism may seem harsh, but I think we need to think deeper about how we try to educate ourselves. Staring at people doesn’t provide you an understanding, it emphasizes a stereotype, but I look forward to digging a little deeper on this trip.

In this town, our tour guide explained to us the many things that these people need and the disappointments from the government. Non-governmental groups have offered some hope for change, but many of my classmates wondered if the requests of the residents were unrealistic.  Their problems might be more easily solved if they were willing to move from their community, but their resistance caused complications.  On one hand, I thought these people shouldn’t have to move after being forced there in the first place, but also grappled with the fact that that may be the only viable solution. Being that our guide was a member of the community, he could only offer his perspective about this issue.  At times his arguments were circular, perhaps because this issue struck him emotionally.  We found this somewhat confusing and frustrating, so later on we got clarification and heard from a man that I can refer to only as brilliant.

Dale McKinley is an economist that works partially in academia. He was enthusiastic, articulate, and could simplify concepts so that we could wrap our heads around them. He emphasized the need to build societies through the lowest classes, investing in communities like Kliptown. This was the only way to redistribute the huge accumulation of wealth found in the majorly white cities of Pretoria and Northern Johannesburg. Though he admitted there was so “silver bullet” to fixing South Africa’s economy, he did suggest that in order to shrink economic disparities the government needed oppose further privatization.

Our discussion of privatizing water companies sent my mind reeling. He made the very good point that water is being taken from where many of these people live and then resold to them through private French companies. They provide no other benefit or maintenance to the community and so the people feel they are deserved free water.  I realized that in the United States we expect things like these. If you have a well, you don’t pay for the water that you use and if someone took that water and offered to sell it back to you that would be outrageous. However, when living in a town you pay for sewage to be disposed of, water to be cleaned, and facilities to be kept up. We don’t object to paying for those services and Dale emphasized that if the people of Kliptown were receiving similar treatment they would be willing to pay also.

He then talked about the relationship between government and large business owners. He mentioned things like the rate that water is sold to people in communities like Kliptown is almost 6 times what is sold to the government. So while people in government may complain about the financial responsibility of providing water to people who are dying in these communities, the government is receiving a discounted rate.

Ironically, located directly across the street from this impoverished neighborhood was a monument in dedication to the Freedom Charter, a document that encompasses the core values of the’ new’ South Africa.  It addressed the rights of all people emphasizing equality among race, gender, and class.  It even states: “The mineral wealth beneath the soil, the banks and the monopoly industry shall be transferred to the ownership of the people as a whole”

For our first few days in Johannesburg, South Africa it remained really cold!  My roommate and I resorted to huddling near a hot place in our room at night and in the morning, but during the day it wasn’t so bad and we were kept busy with speakers, tours, and group discussions.

We started with a lecture from a man named Molefi Mataboge on the liberation struggle in South Africa. He gave us a timeline and a good foundation to start with but also shared his personal testimony—particularly his struggle to overcome his anger and learn to speak. He then accompanied us on a visit to a township called Soweto (standing for South Western Township) and he explained that townships were created to push blacks out of the cities and into these settlements to be kept away from the Whites and Afrikaaners (descendants of Dutch immigrants) and their occupations. Soweto is the largest of these townships and it has been the site of intense uprisings. It is also the home to leaders Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu, but faces devastating economic hardships, astonishing rates of crime, and inadequate education. Molefi was patient and humorous as he answered questioned after question from us. He is incredibly knowledgeable and shared his passion for education with us. I felt honored to have learned so much from him in just a few short days.

We visited the house of Nelson Mandela and coincidentally were in a tour group with his daughter and grandson. Though a little ‘star-struck’ some of my group members managed to ask for a picture and struck up a conversation with his grandson.

Then we visited The Hector Pieterson Museum, dedicated to a passionate young student who marched among his classmates to stop the forced teaching of all subjects in Afrikaans in their schools. Here is a little background that I had learned and that was shared by Hector Pieterson’s sister, Atoinette Sithole (who we were lucky enough to hear speak): Afrikaans is a derivative of the Dutch language. The language of the people who brutally pushed blacks into townships, made them prisoners to the apartheid, and the people who are responsible for many deaths of blacks. In other words, the language of these students’ oppressors. Many of the teachers could not effectively teach in this language and this law would only further benefit Afrikaaners and marginalize black students. This was the last straw for the unfairly treated students. After long planning, hidden from parents, they organized a march, but were met with police force who opened fire on students. Hector Pieterson, a 13 year old boy, was the first to be reported dead and the image captured of him being carried alongside his confused and horrified sister has been an iconic symbol of the liberation struggle. Atoinette does not view her brother as a hero or matyr, but appreciates the museum as it gave her an opportunity to cope and comfort that he did not die in vain.

Finally, we visited the Maponya mall, named after the man that owns it and adorned with an elephant (the symbol of his tribe). He owns other car dealerships and ensures that they all stay in Soweto. We had lunch here at a South African chain called Nando’s, which had Portugese chicken and mealie (grilled corn).

This was just our first day!

Hi everyone!  For my first couple blog posts, I am going to go back an update you on what we’ve been up to for the past six weeks in Southern Africa.  We’ve gone to so many interesting places and learned so many things that I couldn’t leave it out.  I hope you enjoy and I hope these get your mind going!

Let’s start from the very beginning with the seventeen hour flight we had to take to get to Johannesburg, South Africa.  It was actually more enjoyable than expected.  Between the company of the people in our group, the entertainment system on the plane, and the constant flow of food, I kept busy (the time that I was awake).  Before I knew it I was lugging off all my luggage into the incredible airport of Johannesburg.

We were greeted by Janessa, our resident advisor, and Nespect a professor and guide for Augsburg College’s Center for Global Education.  It was a group effort to make it out of the airport and I must say I was the weak link.  (When they recommend you pack light, you should listen).  But, we finally made it outside and were hit with a surprisingly cold air.  It was still winter in South Africa and just days before we arrived it had been snowing!

We piled into the vans and headed to St. Peters Place—our home for the next week, an old brick building with dorm style rooms, a center court yard, library, and dining area.  It was really cute, but had no heat.  That night, we settled in wearing several pairs of socks, huddled together under blankets and clinging to cups of hot tea.  Not at all what I expected , but an extremely intense game of “mafia” helped keep our minds off the cold and I was happy to find that our group felt very natural and we seemed to “click” immediately.