The Harsh Light of Day

The sun is setting on a Friday evening, and the Cape Town elite are running for cover. Commuters are on the road, safe in their cars. Students are leaving the library, the gym, the coffee shop, in pairs. I am longing for Montreal, where the dark never deterred me from leaving our apartment. Here, my gallivanting ends at 6:45 pm, unless a group of us have planned an activity. I resent it fully and completely.

The unfreedom ate away at me all weekend. I stayed in on Saturday night to work on a paper because the complications of ride co-ordination had me exhausted before we had even finalized our destination.

On Sunday morning, when I was out for a safe jog in the daylight, the city still seemed ugly to me. My route took me through a nice neighbourhood, where pretty homes are concealed behind security gates taller than I am and protected by guard dogs. There is no open property, anywhere, in South Africa’s suburbia. I don’t even think neighbours here can wave to each other. I toured on, and at the edge of this upper middle-class neighbourhood found a massive stretch of undeveloped grassland, dotted with tree stumps, right in the middle of the city. Under apartheid, these empty areas served the purpose of physically separating the residential areas of different racial groups, and many have not been touched since. It’s all nonsense, and totally impractical, and sickens me.

I always feel slightly better on Mondays, after an afternoon teaching in the townships. When the busload of volunteers pulls up, the kids are waiting, jumping up and down, to catch their first glimpse of their teacher and give him or her a high-five or a hug. It’s very sweet and I’m growing very attached to my kids – 15 nine- and ten- year olds – whose names I’ve finally learned!

I do worry that the lessons we teach them are substandard, or invaluable altogether. (Should they really be learning multiplication, not the dangers of joining a gang?) One poorly designed/culturally insensitive activity was an English dialogue that they read aloud, which introduced them to new words like “costume party” and “vacation” and “park” – none of which they can conceive of. It is under these circumstances that I really want to throw out the lessons and talk to them about gangs. Seriously, this is already an issue. Even in their clapping games – Stella-ella-ola style – their songs touch on themes of police brutality and gunshots.

Last week I was thrilled to get to talk to the kids about South African politics. The opportunity presented itself while we were making collages of things we like out of magazines (the most elaborate resource we’ve seen), and one girl found a picture of Nelson Mandela. She identified him as “Madiba,” which is the affectionate term by which he is often called here. I seized upon this opportunity to ask the kids about their opinions on Mandela, President Mbeki, and who they think will be elected the next ANC leader in December. Their knowledge of political leaders was definitely passable.

Mahle: "I like Thabo Mbeki because he is a BUSINESSMAN!"

Luleka: "JACOB ZUMA IS A LIAR!"

Oh, South Africa. It is strikingly open – in terms of free speech and free press. And yet closed - when strangers eye each other up and down in the streets and families hid themselves behind locked doors.

View of Cape Town from the very top of campus

A mural on campus that I like

Into the Woods

Every morning, I wake up and find myself in South Africa, and it doesn’t cease to amaze me – whether it’s going to be a regular school day or the start of a rambling road trip, I’m stoked.

Although I’m really enjoying school here, it’s the latter case that deserves elaboration right now.

Last weekend’s road trip along the Garden Route was stunningly successful. Four of us set out on Thursday morning with a map, a guide book, and no experience driving on the left-hand side of the road, and returned Sunday evening with stories of ostrich riding, our new Rastafarian friends, and a cracked side mirror. (No worries – insurance covered this blunder, and it presented me with the unique opportunity to confess to a crime I did not commit, which sounds good on a Life’s To Do List.)

Our travels took us through everything from snow-capped mountains to farmland to seashore, with roadside sightings of monkeys, ostriches, and very few street signs. We stayed a day and a night each in the towns of Oudtshorn, Knysna, and Mossel Bay.

Some highlights:

They really like their ostriches in Oudtshorn. The town is something of an ostrich capital, with ostrich on every restaurant’s menu and in the name of every business. My favourite example: the Cyber Ostrich Internet Café. We spent the day exploring nearby caves in Indiana Jones fashion, and touring an ostrich farm, where we had the opportunity to feed and ride the ostriches. This both delighted and scared me, as the picture below illustrates.

Someday, I plan to spend much more time in our second stop, Knysna. Perhaps my retirement. It’s a picturesque seaside town, situated around a turquoise lagoon that leads into the deep blue Indian Ocean beyond twin cliffs. We ventured into the neighbouring township as well, and had a vegetarian lunch and an illuminating community tour with the local Rastafarians. No kidding, I knew we had arrived at our destination when I saw toddlers running around in dreadlocks. We talked about peace, love, Bob Marley, and played soccer with some dreadlocked kids.

Our final day, in Mossel Bay, we took an early morning boat cruise (i.e. 11 am) out to Seal Island. We thought we were being clever by taking the seal cruise, because the whale cruise was three times the price and we figured we could just keep our eyes peeled. But it didn’t quite work. We saw lots of seals, lots of seals, but only seals. Apparently their most fearsome predators are Great White Sharks, but I’ll be honest and say that we didn’t see any of them either. Nevertheless, speeding across the Indian Ocean on the bow of a boat was highlight enough.

All this time outside the city – which I hope to be a recurring theme – reinvigorated my green sense.

My sociology professor (who, on an unrelated note, weirdly refers to himself in the third person all the time) declared to our class the other day that he is a red, or a humanist, in contrast to a green environmentalist. Of course I see this as a problematic statement because humans can’t survive without a healthy environment…

But I will concede that the human problems are so great and immediate here that I can feel my ties to environmental causes loosening, feel my outrage at having to throw away recyclable materials subsiding. It’s harder to think long-term here.

However, in spite of lacking recycling facilities, South Africa is in some ways far greener than Canada – out of necessity – which I find striking. At the individual level, there are small incentives, like fees for obtaining plastic bags for purchases. More broadly, because electricity is pre-purchased from a meter within your home, everyone is far more conscious of their usage. Of course, because homes and buildings aren’t equipped for heating or cooling, people dress for the weather and although it’s not always comfortable, it drastically reduces energy usage. In addition, every evening over the TV, the media requests electricity users to turn off all non-essential appliances and lights in order to moderate usage of the power grid and avoid a brown-out. At the municipal level, I read that the city of Cape Town is switching to low-voltage bulbs in city streetlights for cost-saving purposes. Necessity is the mother of invention, it seems.

Ahead of me is a week of regular school days, but I’m sure they won’t be too regular anyway and I’m quite looking forward to waking up again tomorrow.

Me, Hilary, Sara, and Zach, with Hazel, whose home we stayed at in Oudtshorn.



The ostrich wants the food, but I'm pretty afraid of him.



I think I'm almost ready for bull riding now!



Looking back at Knysna from the Heads, across the Lagoon.



Zach and me with Rasta Paul, who showed us around the community.



Driving through this scenery alone was a highlight.

Teacher's Pet

I feel back on track.

My first week of school went well. After a bit of shopping, I’m enrolled in three courses, worth a lucky 13 credits:

Afrikaans Intensive I

This class happily reminds me of kindergarten. We started with the alphabet, and have progressed to greetings, descriptions, and some verbs. It’s true that you can get around most parts of South Africa with English alone, but every little bit more helps with cultural understanding and communication. Plus I was able to find the cookie aisle at the grocery store in Stellenbosch over the weekend before anyone else.

South African Political Thought

South Africa? Politics? Count me in. We’re starting with primary documents from the Anglo-Boer War and ploughing through to modern issues. The professor quasi-shot down something that I said in class yesterday; I’ve decided he looks a bit like a zebra anyway.

Workers, Trade Unions, and Rights

At the risk of being disowned, I’m taking this course for insight into labour relations here and especially into COSATU, or the Congress of South African Trade Unions, which forms part of the country’s governing coalition. When my American friends and I speak in this class, the professor “translates” our accents to be funny. I think he’d go easier on me if he realized that I’m from Canada, land of universal health care.

Outside of school, I’ve gotten involved in two volunteer projects through SHAWCO, or the Student Health and Wellness Centres Organization, which was one of my draws to Cape Town. They are:

STEP (Student Tutors Education Project)

On Monday afternoons, this program transports student volunteers to a black Xhosa-speaking township called Khayelitsha on the outskirts of the city to teach an after-school program. I share a class of eleven Grade 4 students with another girl and we cover a range of academic and life skills subjects, mainly math and English. The kids are cute and their English is better than I’d expected. When I had everyone introduce themselves on the first day, I greeted them with the African handshake, which got them excited.

Masizame Project

I don’t start on this one until next week, but on Thursday evenings, I’ll be going to a children’s home with other student volunteers to organize an evening program of fun, games, and life skills for the young girls who live there. I’m sure I’ll feel strong Angelina Jolie-type impulses. Many of the girls do still have parents who they see on weekends or during holidays, but are unable to take care of them on a regular basis.

So all of these things have put some structure and meaning back into my trip and I’m very happy about it.

I'm also very happy about the awesome weekend I spent with seven of my American friends in Stellenbosch, a small Afrikaner town about 30 minutes from Cape Town. Firstly, it put me at ease to be back in a place where the buildings don’t block the horizon. And our destination, the Stellenbosch Wine Festival, was a worthy one. What a brilliant concept! Booth after booth of representatives pouring glasses of local wine. Some glasses coming with crackers or chocolate to complement them. And in the middle of it all, like an oasis, a conveyor belt – yes – bringing fancy cheeses and meats around and around and around for you. At closing, and after much bonding, we made our way back to our hostel – the appropriately named ‘Stumble Inn.’

In fact, we all bonded so much on that first trip that we’re arranging for a second one this weekend, which is a holiday weekend here. The holiday, on Thursday, is for Women’s Day – I’m telling you, it’s a great country – and our destination is the Garden Route, a scenic area that runs east along the coast from Cape Town towards Port Elizabeth.

Now the only problem is regaining my voice, which I mysteriously lost at the wine festival…

New purchases in hand, ready to head out!

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

One full week in Cape Town later, I’m still trying to warm up to this new locale. Given the constant torrential downpour and the whipping wind, it’s taking a conscious effort. I was told amazing things about this city, ‘the most beautiful one in the world,’ but arriving in the middle of winter and harbouring my own general apathy towards cities, I’m currently – dare I say it – unimpressed.

I understand that I am not in Canada, and I’m very tolerant of things like our apartment having a bath but no shower, and a stove but no kettle or toaster, and an electric blanket but no indoor heating. What I can’t stand is the insecurity. (And, I can’t stress this enough, the weather.)

It starts when I leave our place in the morning. I have to lock the door to my bedroom, then the door to our apartment, then the gate to our apartment, then the door to our apartment building, then the gate to our apartment complex. Needless to say, being in a hurry sucks and realizing that you’ve left your umbrella in your room after you’ve made it all the way outside sucks even more.

For that matter, walking doesn’t get me very far because, unlike McGill, the University of Cape Town is not in the centre of the city, but in a more suburban area. I fear that I’ll never know the city well, because I can’t walk around most of it.

It gets worse after dark. Going out then involves calling one of the drivers that has been recommended to us and requesting to be picked up. He will work us into his own busy schedule and we will be picked up, dropped off, and retrieved at a time that is possible for him. Walking at night is just not smart, so whether we want to go to a dance club downtown or just down the road to visit friends, we are required to wait, sometimes up to an hour, for a driver.

Having gotten that all off my chest…

There are elements about life here that I adore. I love the view from my window, which boasts a lemon tree and Devil’s Peak, part of Table Mountain, pictured below. I love UCT’s massive, green, beautifully architected campus at the foot of Table Mountain. I love the view of the ocean from the top of campus. I love Sundays, which are still a ‘day of rest’ with almost all shops closed and the roads and sidewalks void of crowds. I love the ‘cultural experiences’ of hailing a crowded mini-bus for a lift, being assigned a seat at the movie theatre, and realizing just how little rhythm I have compared to the predominantly black African crowd at the clubs.

I love how closely my living conditions resemble the set-up on Friends. The apartment building I’m living in is a four-plex, with four sets of roommates living in separate apartments of the two-story building. My roommate Alberta (so very Rachel) and I have our own rooms and share a kitchen, bathroom, common room, and balcony. Our neighbours, guys and girls, all gather at a nearby coffee shop on a regular basis. Pre-arranging it is not necessary.

And there are awesome benefits to living in a city, like finally seeing the new Harry Potter movie and going to see a professional soccer game between a South African and an English team at the nearby stadium. (We lost; I loved it anyway.)

I’m furthermore really excited for school to start tomorrow. I’m registered for a beginner’s Afrikaans course, two sociology courses, and a political science one. I hope to be able to start some volunteer work this week as well. I feel reasonably well prepared for the semester after spending all week participating in UCT’s orientation (far more practical and tame than McGill’s).

The best part of orientation – and the least serious – was on the first day when we took a bus tour of the greater Cape Town region, stretching out to the Cape of Good Hope where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet. I’m posting pictures of our hike along the Peninsula below.

So Cape Town is home, because I’ve chosen it, and instinct tells me that I’m going to like it better with each passing week.

Table Mountain and Devil's Peak as seen from the top of our road.

Some of the UCT orientation crowd pose at the Cape of Good Hope.

Neil, Luke, and I pause during our hike.

Some Assembly Required

Well, I guess this is civilization – I’m sipping filter coffee in a wireless-equipped café above a busy shopping plaza in Cape Town. And I’m confused. Shell-shocked, even. Only a week ago, I was staying in New Bethesda, which didn’t even boast a bank machine, let alone a grocery store. And now I’m smack in the middle of a busy city with a soccer stadium and movie theatres. Which is the real South Africa? Will I like this one as well as the last?

Without hesitation, I can say that the month-long program at Rhodes was one of the most interesting and important things that I’ve ever done. In particular, the two weeks conducting field work was exactly what I was looking for, in terms of practical experience in international development. And now, anti-climatically, I’m starting a semester at a university in a metropolitan city – which is not dissimilar from the past four years of my life. I hope that I can reinvigorate myself and my stay by starting volunteer work with a school in the township.

But for now, I’m nostalgic for small-town South Africa. I split last week between New Bethesda and Graaff-Reinet, mountain towns in the rural Eastern Cape. We spent our days interviewing the owners of small businesses and our nights playing cards, telling stories, and wandering beneath the vast Southern sky. Just imagine how many stars you can see when a town doesn’t even have streetlights. Also imagine how hard it is for you to find your own darkened house.

As a group, we conducted over 100 interviews in total, the objective being to record data and opinions about the region’s business environment and the support structure that is (not) available to entrepreneurs. We interviewed anyone and everyone, from owners of toy stores and beauty salons in the town to the owners of bars and cab companies in the township. One intense experience was getting through an interview with a paralyzingly frightening apartheid-era South African police officer who refused to give his name (because people are still looking for him) and who actually chased non-white people out of his store, barking in Afrikaans, while I was present.

On the final day of the program, we hosted a Local Economic Development meeting with the business owners and city councillors to discuss the problems that small businesses face and ways in which the municipality can assist them. I’m directly divided between enthusiasm at all the simple yet effective ideas that were tossed around and cynicism as to whether anything will actually be accomplished. Is international development anything more than an exercise in guilt alleviation?

As I see it, the problem in small-town South Africa is marrying the first-world town to the adjacent third-world township. Apartheid catered to the needs of the town and now that enclave needs to expand. I believe that an expansion of the town’s industrial/ manufacturing sector (to create unskilled jobs); investment in the township directly (such as the establishment of a gas station, small plaza, and a proper school); promotion of racial mixing (by, for example, building a unique attraction like a movie theatre in the township); and providing mentoring for new business owners (because the entrepreneurial spirit is present in young people, but the means to do something with it is not) would make a world of difference in levelling the playing field.

I love all the food for thought here.

The four remaining shacks in New Bethesda - government housing has significantly improved living conditions but more are still needed to accomodate new families and alleviate overcrowding.

My interviewing partner Jolanda with "Auntie Evelyn" who runs a (very delicious) restaurant out of her kitchen.

Sitting pretty above Graaff-Reinet.

Lie To Me

This stuff is getting heavy. I don't want to be one of those people who returns from a developing country and is sickened by the excess of Christmas lights. But it's getting heavy.

I've spent the past week in Philippolis, a tiny town in the semi-arid south-west corner of the Free State. This area is known as the Karoo, which I think is akin to Australia's Outback. When I say "tiny" I mean that it has two tar roads, no traffic lights, and the dogs outnumber the people. What's more is that the nearest neighbouring town is 60 kms away! A conversation with the cashier at the butcher sthop sums it up:

Cashier: You're American, aren't you? What are you *doing* here??
Me: I'm Canadian, actually.
Bruce: We're studying economic development at the Karoo Institute through a program at Rhodes University.
Cashier: Then why did you come to a place with *no* economic development??

In addition to our morning seminars, where we nine students and two professors discuss land reform, tourism, entrepreneurship, and other avenues towards local economic development, we have been conducting interviews in the afternoons as part of a study our professors, Doreen and Mark, will publish. (With our names on it!!)

For such a tiny place, it is burdened with many horrors. Perhaps it's the isolation that has prevented the end of apartheid from having any significant effect on the landscape or customs here. Our interviewees talk about hunger, cold, racism, domestic violence, alcoholism, and HIV/AIDS. It's very quieting. I find myself lost for something to contribute when talking with Godfrey, a failed entrepreneur from the black township who is trying to feed his entire extended family with $35 / month and yet organizes soccer games to keep the township youth engaged; and with Rev. Carin, a white minister with heavy bags beneath her eyes who buries AIDS victims in back-to-back-to back funerals on Saturdays. You lose words.

And yet I don't hate it here, at all. I'm still very happy. At the risk of sounding like a World Vision commercial, when Godfrey took us to his township and all the curious children ran over to play with us, I had a great time, interacting with them in Afrikaans and showing them pictures of themselves on my digital camera.

Another positive experience I've had here was a visit to John Vardy's tiger reserve. John Vardy (think Crocodile Dundee) has initiated a novel project here, breeding wild tigers as protection against their possible extinction in their native Asia. The tiger sightings are bringing in tourists, including some American celebrities, and so the project is also creating jobs in the area.

Our rural South Africa exploration continues next week, with stops in New Bethesda and Graaff-Reinet.


Me and a tiger!


Ah, our days in the country. (Please note the river that our car is traversing.)


Kids pose for the camera in the Philippolis township.

Out of Mind, Out of Sight

I’ve been scratching beneath the surface a little more during my second week in South Africa. A city tour, attendance at various arts festival functions, and more conversations with locals have illuminated some negative and positive things about the state of the country.

I think that the city tour has proved to be the most important thing that I’ve done since my arrival. Guided by one of our professors, we visited the different neighbourhoods in the city and learned about its long history, from colonial battles, to its apartheid divisions, to the government housing that is now being erected to replace informal housing.

The time we spent in the township (shantytown) was the most interesting to me. The idea of observing a neighbourhood as if it were a zoo initially made me uncomfortable, but it was actually a very positive experience. I was somewhat prepared for the substandard living conditions, but the graveyard extending from the main road into the township of (mainly) AIDS victims shook me. In light of all this hardship, I surprised by how friendly everyone was! Little kids shyly observed us, then called out, “Hello! How are you?” practicing their English. Adults would wave, or respond to our waves. It was especially interesting to see the improvements that the new government has been making, like paving the roads and extending electricity lines. I actually felt safer during our time in the township than I typically do in Grahamstown’s city centre. This observation may have been tainted by the fact that I was accompanied by 30 other people. But nevertheless, there was a greater sense of community there than downtown, where people clutch their purses and regard each other suspiciously.

I am puzzled by the South African upper-middle class. I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t be content sitting on my front porch with a full view of an impoverished shantytown. Not to mention the fact that the front porch would be situated behind a locked iron gate, enclosed by a fence looped with barbed wire at the top, and displaying a large yellow sign announcing that my home is protected by an armed security service.

More positively, the National Arts Festival is pretty spectacular! We’ve seen dramas, comedies, concerts, and films. My favourite performance has been “Evita for President!” a one-man comedy written and performed by Pieter-Dirk Uys, who is a famous political satirist in South Africa. His material was very bold, shocking, in-your-face stuff, mocking stereotypes and South African leadership and the like. It was well-received by the audience, which leads me to believe that South Africa has transformed into a very open country.

Besides shows, my friends and I are spending a lot of Festival time wondering around the streets, which are lined with food and tourists and vendors. On my meanderings, a few things have come to amuse me. One is how you see the same people over and over again. There are a lot of tourists in town for the festival, but you can still spot the locals, because they are the same few members of the upper-middle class over and over again. For example, the nice lady who served us all wine samples one afternoon at the Pick and Pay was the same lady we saw that night having a drink at the Rat and Parrot and again the very next afternoon at the gym. This made the whole concept of a vibrant middle class as the key to economic growth very clear. There aren’t enough people with money to spend here, stunting Grahamtown’s growth, and ultimately the whole country’s.

There are some very interesting jobs being innovated, though! One example is how women and children walk up and down the streets selling newspapers, rather than having them available in boxes at street corners. Another example is men and women in orange vests, watching cars parked in public areas, to deter thieves, for tips.

More negatively, conversations with seemingly cute locals at bars are leading me to believe that racism is still very much alive here, beneath the surface of reconciliation. I suppose I should have known that such deeply entrenched racism wouldn’t have been eradicated overnight, but it still sickened me to listen to some of the extremely derogatory remarks being made by white guys my age about the black population. I think this goes back to the problem of teaching South African history – no one in their right mind would blame the black population for the current state of South Africa if they understood how apartheid transformed the black population into a permanent underclass and how long it is going to take to rectify the situation and achieve a more equitable distribution of wealth and power. The encounter was almost enough to ruin our wild Fourth of July celebrations – almost.

In a few days, our course will divide into elective modules. I signed up for “Poverty and Development” which is focused on the economic development potential in rural regions – which also happens to have been the subject of my undergraduate thesis. The first of our two-week program will be spent in Philippolis, a town in the Free State. I’m really excited to see how the experience changes or confirms what I wrote.

The RISS group, heading out for our city tour.


"First World" South African housing.



Just down the road, the "Third World".


On a lighter note - Fourth of July cocktail hour!

{Note new pics below as well}