Tag Archives: Africa

Take Anyone, Just Leave Madiba

I’m really scared that Nelson Mandela’s going to die while I’m out of the country. [Read up.]

If that sounds selfish to you, that’s because it probably is.

I want to be around when South Africa experiences its figurative tsunami. South Africans are an emotional people, and they’ve been through a lot. They’re also an immensely proud people. And no one makes them more proud, and I mean NO ONE, than former President Nelson Mandela.

Madiba is more than just a figure. He’s more than just a hero. He’s the representation of everything South Africa needed to believe in to come out of the hell they were in. He’s the mascot of democracy and hope. He’s the glue that held this nation together for a long time. His passing will be the moment when the fates remove their fingers from holding the porcelain pieces of South Africa’s shell together and, with millions holding their breath, see if it holds together.

To be honest, I know this country’s built of stronger stuff than the nostalgic memory of a man. But man, it’s hard to imagine a South Africa without Madiba. It really is. He is no less than a legend, and to use that word on anyone after him would really be to weaken its power.

So, coming back to my original statement, I want to be there when the wave hits. I want to be part of the mourning. I want to watch a nation fall to its knees with tears and gasps, because I want to watch it pick itself up afterwards. The first staggered steps will be beautiful, because they’ll be unified.

South Africa will have to learn how to breathe again after Madiba’s lungs have failed him.

[My prayers and love to him and his family.]

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How to Speak South African

This is a story told from Canadian and South African perspectives. It should give you a nice idea of the linguistic differences between the two nations. And maybe some other differences too.

Note: ‘South African’ is not actually a language. Don’t go looking for “South African for Dummies” on the bookshelves. You will not find it.

 

I went to a barbecue at my friend’s house today. On my way, I got stuck at a few red lights, plus I had to stop for gas, so I was a bit late.

“What’s up?” Jon said, as I got to the front door.

“Not much, thanks. Let me get the hot dogs out of the trunk, and then I’ll be in!” I responded.

I carried my meat and beer through the house, and my friend ushered me through to the back yard, where the barbecue was already lit.

“It’s looking good. Anything I can do to help?” I said.

“No, everything’s pretty much taken care of. Did you catch the hockey game last night?”

“Yeah. Awesome stuff. An overtime win! So epic.”

“Totally. This food’s smelling so good, by the way. I’m so hungry!”

*****

I went to a braai at my mate’s house today. On the way, I got stuck at a few red robots, and I had to stop for petrol, but I was still half an hour earlier than everyone else.

“Howzit?” Jono said, as I arrived at the front door.

“It’s cool, man! Shot! Let me get the boerewors out of the boot, and then I’ll be in!” I responded.

I carried my meat and beer through the house and headed to the back, where Jono was busy lighting the braai.

“Cool vibes, man. Anything I can do to help?” I said.

“Nah, it’s chilled. Did you catch the hockey game last night?”

“Does anyone even care about hockey in this country?” I asked.

“Field hockey, sometimes,” Jono offered.

“Yeah, but still…”

“Yeah, never mind.”

There was an awkward pause as both he and I tried to figure out why he had mentioned hockey.

*****

As the sun slowly sunk away for the night, the air began to cool. We gathered closer around the campfire, rubbing our hands together to stay warm.

We laughed and talked about Stephen Harper and Rick Mercer and how much we dislike Americans as we ate our fill from the barbecue.

I wiped off my hands after eating my third s’more. I decided it was time to head out for the evening, so I waved goodbye to those still huddled around the fire, and headed back to my car.

It had been a good night.

*****

The food was eventually ready, as the sun sunk away for the night. The air cooled off a bit, and everyone freaked out about how cold it was. Someone lit a fire in a pit in the middle of the lawn.

“Is this legal?” I asked.

“Legal for what?” someone replied.

As the fire started to grow, Thando dropped her wors into the flames, because she was gesturing too much with her hands. A chorus of “yoh!”s and “shame!”s broke out, but luckily there was another one to replace it.

We laughed and talked about Jacob Zuma and Trevor Noah and how much we dislike Americans as we ate our fill from the braai.

I wiped off my hands after chowing some milk tart. I decided it was time to bounce, so I hugged every single person goodbye, and headed to my car. I tipped the car guard even though he hadn’t been there when I arrived and it looked like he had made his ‘official’ vest himself.

It had been a good night.

Just Look

I wrote this poem back in Grade 11 for a slam poetry assignment. I remember writing it over the course of a few days, which is relatively fast for my standards. I wrote it long before I decided to study at the University of Cape Town, and before I seriously started looking into Western views on Africa. But I knew already that something was wrong. I knew that detaching our First World lives from poverty and struggle wouldn’t solve the problem, it would just ease our guilt enough to get through the day. And I knew that wasn’t okay.

So, even though this is a kind of simplified version of some of my views, I still think it has something going for it. Enjoy.

 

Hello, my name is John
I used to live where the sun shone
But if you look now, Just Look
My life, my wife, my hope, they’re all gone
Thanks to a battle of wills of the powerful not-so-strong
That had nothing to do with my wife or my life
But it took everything
A rich man’s happiness comes at too high a price

I’m a human being, nothing more, nothing less
But now that that’s all gone –
Where’s my dignity

What makes you think, when push comes to shove
That you have the right to stand above
And watch while societies crash and burn
You think your status is one you earned?
We’re all human beings, nothing more, nothing less
And while we’re on the subject, please let me address
That the wealth and good cheer that you supposedly gained
Was given to you to not waste in vain

Just Look at the millions of people on their knees
Just Look
Whatever you do, don’t absorb this disease
Of apathetic ignorance that’s spread through the top
You sit and do nothing while economies flop
You say you’re against famine, poverty, war
But you don’t sacrifice anything to give to the poor
You say that every human has the right to life
To be fed, to be loved, to be protected from strife
Yes, you believe all these things, I don’t doubt it
The question is:
What are you going to do about it?

Just Look
The next time you see me on the corner of your giant TV screen
You see the pictures, the stories, and say
“Gosh, that’s obscene!”
But who cares?
Click, it’s gone
Hello, my name is John,
And my whole freakin’ world is gone

I’m a human being crushed under a bigger man’s show
So go ahead, big man, tell me I’m worth less than you

I’m a human being, nothing more, nothing less
I deserve dignity, I deserve respect from you
So don’t Just Look
Get up and do

Stars, Stripes, and Weird Accents (Assignment)

A handful of students sit hunched over the computers in Leslie Social Southside Labs on a grey Wednesday morning, with a typical sampling of hoodies, phones, and squinting eyes. Two students buzz and clang in – one a stocky, smiley, tanned sort of male, the other a petite, Pinterest-cut-out girl. As they deposit their baggage and settle into their chosen seats, they are talking. They continue to talk throughout their stay. And to the aggravated shushers around me, apparently their voices carry a little too well.

But more than just being receivers of harsh glares, this pair gets their fair share of eye rolls.

Why?

“Like, I just don’t know.”

American Semester Study Abroad (SSA) students do not have a great reputation among University of Cape Town students. They’re often the easiest and least controversial targets to laugh at (not with). Their accent sticks out like a sore thumb, they seem to party from Monday to Sunday, and, as student Mosa Ramosa comments, “They stick together all the time and don’t want to make friends with anyone else. It’s kind of awkward. I mean, why come to another country if you’re not going to chill with other people from that country?”

I did some searching on the International Academic Programmes Office (IAPO) website to see if there really are American students everywhere you turn, or whether it just feels that way. In 2012, there were about 26,000 students enrolled at UCT. About 4,000 of them were international students doing their full degrees here, plus almost 1,000 SSA students. So, 19% of the student population is not South African, with over 100 countries represented on campus. One of UCT’s most valued policies is ‘internationalisation’ – bringing the world to Cape Town.

One of those SSA students is Hannah Mould from North Carolina. She came to Cape Town with her school’s exchange program, and is studying in the Humanities Faculty. She had 70 different options of where to study abroad.

“I chose Cape Town for several reasons,” she says. “I knew it was one of the most beautiful cities in the world.” Hannah also liked some of the specifics the city had to offer – teaching in English, summertime, and a very different culture (“aka, not Europe”).

Though she’s received some judgements for her accent, she’s really enjoyed her time in South Africa. And, locals may be surprised to know, she actually knew a bit about the continent before she arrived.

“Most people assume that Americans think Africa is just one big safari, but having been to Kenya, and knowing a lot of friends who have traveled/lived in Africa, I had a pretty good idea about what the city of Cape Town would be like.”

Lesley-Anne Jonathan works for the Council on International Educational Exchange (CIEE) as a Residence Assistant, helping American students settle into Cape Town life for their semester here. She has seen some of the difficulties they face in adjusting to an entirely new culture, something many critical UCT students don’t even take into account.

Jonathan has watched most of their frustrations surface when it comes to service delivery – slow internet and building maintenance, for example – and how apathetic South Africans are when dealing with these issues. Learning to function in a different society is difficult for anyone, not least when locals view you as spoiled.

She says that the 28 students she works with have “learnt that the cultural background of South Africa is less to do with education and knowledge (as it is in America) but more to do with elderly wisdom and being taught how to do or not do things.”

But Jonathan also thinks having the SSA students around benefits South Africa. She finds the American students engage with their school material as a way of expanding their worldview and for interest, while local students simply study in order to get a job.

It’s easy to mock the American students. But, by going on an international exchange in the first place, it looks like they’re making an effort to break out of their cultural box. Some of them do it more effectively than others. Perhaps UCT students ought to embrace this opportunity to learn about a different culture and diversify our beloved campus.

Hannah puts it nicely: “One of the main things I love about studying here is the diversity at UCT, and in Cape Town as a whole. There are so many different cultures, accents, and types of people.” That will be the legacy of the University of Cape Town’s Semester Study Abroad program if we continue to welcome students from everywhere, even the United States of America.

Homeseek

The other morning I had an overwhelming craving for fall.

I was sitting in my Religion & Society class, it was mid-afternoon, I was tired and bored, and I wanted it to be autumn.

It was all there in my mind – the stunning warm colours, contrasted with the cool, crisp morning air; the smell of leaves and pumpkins and hay; the grey skies and brown coats and purple scarves and auburn hair blowing in the wind. The desire was so intense I could taste the breeze and put my hands in my pockets for warmth.

But then the sun was shining outside, and I realised I’m not in Canada anymore, and I sighed.

There is an autumn-type season here in Cape Town. The ivy leaves on the University of Cape Town’s buildings turn red and gold and fall, the air turns colder, and people start dressing in greys and blacks and blues. And there is winter (another thing you should know about Africa). It’s cold and miserable. There’s lots of precipitation (albeit rain). People lose hope. Pretty similar to the Canadian winters I grew up with.

Sure, it freaks me out whenever my brain tries to relate the month to the season. When I think fall, I think Hallowe’en, so the fact that leaves are falling in May is just wrong to me.

And this led me to a juicy moment of self-reflection. [Meanwhile, I’m still in a class I pay to take…]

The four seasons of the Northern Hemisphere aren’t just a way my life can be divided, but an entire way of seeing the world. I lived life in those seasons. They’re the documents, the diary of how I grew up, and I don’t think I’ll ever quite shake that format for organising my experiences.

Then I got to wondering if this means that I’ll never feel comfortable here. Will I never fit into Africa?

But maybe my story is a thread, weaving left and right, and maybe Africa’s story is a blanket of many threads, and maybe her story and mine will interweave and intersect at certain points, but I will never fully be woven into her seams. I will learn from Africa, and possibly she will learn from me, and that will be something.

Perhaps this will never be home for me. But I don’t think Canada will ever be the fullness of home for me either.

Home is where I am the most myself.

I am the most myself when I’m searching for home: behind me, before me, around me.

I am home.

Happy Red Nose Day!

It’s Red Nose Day! Comic Relief’s big fundraising telethon day. From my quick look at YouTube just now, it appears they got every famous British person to do something funny, often with a Muppet or two thrown in. So you should check out some of those sketches as they appear online.
But, first you should watch our friends in One Direction performing their super massive hit single One Way or Another for a good cause 🙂 And read about my opinions on the whole thing here.

Kids are Kids

A friend of mine posted this photography project, called Toy Stories, on Facebook today. It’s by a guy named Gabriele Galimberti, an Italian photographer. It documents kids from all around the world with their most prized possessions, their toys. The photos are stunning, but also quite revealing. Plus, they’re ridiculously adorable.

Maudy – Kalulushi, Zambia

Maudy – Kalulushi, Zambia

Cun Zi Yi – Chongqing, China

Cun Zi Yi – Chongqing, China

It got me thinking what the 5-year-old Janelle from Ottawa, Canada would have been photographed with. Here’s my list, I think:

My pink blanket (made by my Nana when I was born)
Kitty (a stuffed lion that purred when you rocked it back and forth)
Reddy (my red bear Beanie Baby)
Bruno (a stuffed bear, perfect for hugging)
Blue Moon and Sapphire (the two best Hot Wheels cars)
Red and yellow mini car
Tricycle

That list makes me feel extremely sentimental, actually. Now that I’m living away from most of my stuff, I miss randomly coming across those items on a regular basis, and being reminded of… what, exactly? How much I’m loved? How blessed my childhood was? I’d like to think that those items are simply representations of something more significant in my early years, but I also feel like the objects themselves have some sort of value.

What do we really value? What do our kids value? Am I sad that the kids in Port-au-Prince don’t have many toys? Am I mad that the kid in China has too many toys? Should I be? Does it really affect a kid’s life, how many toys they have? These are all the questions that flew through my mind the longer I studied these photos. Would I have turned out different if I hadn’t been flooded with toys every Christmas? I’m afraid of valuing material things too much, but I don’t want to discount the thought and resources that went into providing me with all my stuff.

On the positive side, I think Galimberti did well at presenting kids in developing nations in varied and accurate ways. There was even a white kid named Ryan from Johannesburg! It shouldn’t be that exciting, but a white African being depicted is pretty rare.

In my experience, kids can play with almost anything. Give them a stick, an open space, and a ball-type thing, and they’re good to go. And that’s beautiful. It almost levels the playing field for humanity when you witness a child having as much fun on a beach in Zanzibar as in a theme park in Montreal.

I think we need to evaluate what it is we want our kids to value. This will vary from culture to culture, but to all the ‘privileged’ of the world: you can teach your kids to value shiny, plastic things, or you can teach them to value character and goodness. Be careful how full you fill their stockings, lest they drown in the weight of materialism. If you were living in a village in Kenya, would you be able to show your child that you love him?

Tangawizi – Keekorok, Kenya

Tangawizi – Keekorok, Kenya