Thursday, October 30, 2008

Monster Mix

In honor of Halloween I've made an epic spooky mix.

N-joy.

Linda Blair Was Born Innocent- The Mountain Goats
Skeleton Song-Kate Nash
Walking With A Ghost- The White Stripes
Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered- Rosemary Clooney
I Put A Spell On You- Nina Simone
Season of the Witch- Donovan
Things That Scare Me- Neko Case
Scarecrow- Beck
Candy- Mandy Moore
Scarred By the Devil- Madeline
Sympathy For the Devil- The Rolling Stones
Sea Ghost- The Unicorns
Pirate Jenny- Nina Simone
Dress Up In You- Belle & Sebastian
Magic Trick- M. Ward

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

David Sedaris Breaks It Down

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.



"Undecided" by David Sedaris in the October 27th, 2008 issue of the New Yorker

Saturday, October 18, 2008

House party from hell

Last night I attended what was easily the worst party that I've ever been to. The saga of the awful-no-good-very-bad evening actually started on Wednesday when a gaggle of the American students decided to go to a bar called Jolly Rogers for 1/2 off pizza and beer (oh I have a new favorite beer: Hoegaarden!) and proceeded to, well, get our groove on. My friend (lets call her Izzy) flirted with the cute bartender who later sent one of his long-haired lackeys to retrieve her number. Unfortunately Izzy lost her phone a few weeks ago so she gave him my digits and surprisingly the bartender, Brett!, called later that night. He invited her to a house party and Lauren and I were drafted to attend as her wing-men.

I knew from the moment we left that the night was ill-fated. Maybe even earlier than that. I had a weird feeling in my stomach all afternoon, a mix of apprehension and queasiness, but I chalked it up to a weird tuna sandwich I had for lunch instead of to my astute intuition. Brett! and his friend Tim showed up and crammed the three Americans into the back of their car. As we left campus they went too fast over a speed bump, almost ripping out the bottom of the car, and I knew that these boys were utter fools. The ride was awkward as the grilled us with the usual questions "How is America different from South Africa?" "What were you expecting, lions and tigers?" "Who are you voting for?" (the last question was especially awkward because Izzy is the lone republican in our program and we've long learned to refrain from discussing politics in her presence). However when we passed O!Bar (a dingy gay bar that some Americans have adopted as a favorite nocturnal hangout) the Tim made made some off-color remarks about the freaks who frequent such establishments. Lauren grabbed my knee and we choked back our anger. We were determined to support our friend.

After what seemed like hours of drivng we found ourselves in a distant gated suburb. Brett! parked his car on what I think was someone's lawn, and we made our way into a tiki hut festooned with christmas lights. Sitting in plastic lawn chairs was a hormonal and pubescent couple sporting matching braces, and a few guys in their mid-twenties. Some party. Soon we started telling jokes, beginning with innocuous muffin jokes. Soon the humor took a sickening turn as the boys told some jokes that I will never ever repeat. Jokes that made light of hundreds of years of exploitation and subjugation of Africans. Jokes about murder as a hunting sport. Jokes that reduced human beings to game. I announced that I didn't find the jokes funny at all and soon the theme of the jokes changed to "dead babies" which was a welcome transformation. I wish I had spoken out more, but to be honest I was scared. Not of ridicule, but I guess because I was a woman at a testosterone fueled party of strangers. Anyhow, the conversation veered back and forth from mundane to horrifyingly racist for the next few hours as my friends and I desperately tried to plan our escape. Finally we got a ride home, and sat in shocked silence the whole way back. I have never encountered such ignorant and hateful people in my entire life.

The next day Brett! called my phone four times, and once attempted to contact Izzy using a different number. Before we realized their true natures, we had accidentally invited these trolls to my 21st unbirthday and so I guess Brett! was calling to follow up on the details. Izzy forbid to me answer my phone, but I was so tempted to pick it up and say "I regret to inform you that you are disinvited to my birthday party due to your bigotted, ignorant, offensive, and hateful views. I have judged your personality and found it lacking. Please please never contact us again."

Oh well. We're only in the country for a few more weeks. Unfortunately we can't go to the bar again (EVEN FOR THIRTY CENT BEER NIGHT) if we want to avoid these clowns.

*All of my close friends and I share a phone. Due to muggings and carelessness their cellular devices have disappeared one by one until I am the last man standing. I'm pretty shocked given my history with phones. Anyhow, for the purposes of this story it's important to know that my phone is shared by 3 other people, the number given out to potential suitors, friends, healthcare professionals, etc.

Friday, October 17, 2008

THE RAINY SEASON BEGINS!




But I am a rock tumbler
I've got rocks inside my head and just because they come out shining, doesn't mean that they are diamonds.

Kimya Dawson "I'd rather go with friends than go alone"

(It just rained for the first time since I got here. First there was hail, fierce and cold, and then lightning and crashing thunder and soft summer rain. Tonight I am going to be a wing-man, "Goose" to Meredith's "Maverick" I suppose (isn't it nice to hear Maverick not relating to Mr. McCain?) and then tomorrow is my very merry unbirthday. I have am done with classes and my internship. Accidentally slept through the debate on Wednesday. Wish I had more to report.)

Friday, October 10, 2008

If we'd stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time.

Sorry I haven't updated, I can't really write about what I am feeling. Three people that I know have died in the 10 days. The economy is crashing. I can't breath.

Things that make me happy: Avocados, covers*, Edith Wharton, pictures of Barack Obama holding the babies, getting my absentee ballot, eating my weight in smoked salmon at a break fast (not a breakfast), the blooming jacaranda and oleander trees, my impending un-birthday

* current favorites
Electric Feel- Katy Perry (MGMT)
California- The Kooks (Mason Jennings)
I Can't Make You Love Me- Denison Witmer (Bonnie Raitt)
The District Sleeps Alone Tonight- Joanna Lee (The Postal Service)
Young Folks- Dawn Landes (Peter, Bjorn, and John)
So Long, Marianne- Ravens & Chines (Leonard Cohen)
EDIT: Atlantic City- Paul Baribeau (Bruce Springstein)

I can send these files over e-mail, so hit me up if you're interested.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The Smell of Conscientization, Despair, and Happy Birthdays

Today, in lieu of discussing our reading by Augusto Boal in my "Psychosocial Perspectives on Human Rights and Social Justice" class we actually tried out some of his exercises from "Theater of the Oppressed". I was pretty skeptical going into the endeavor, but because none of the pretentious pond-scum suckers showed up for the 8 am class, the rest of us felt pretty free to express ourselves and experiment in the theatrical discipline. We did an exercise that tackled our feelings about our own activism, and for me this elucidated my feelings of impotence and inertia. Right now, when it feels like there is so much that is broken in the world, I feel reluctant to even engage with my community around me. It feels like too much. It feels like a losing battle. I go to my internship, where the 54,000 members of the Khulumani Support Group wait, and have waited for the past 15 years, for some sort of government aid and reparation. Their applications for membership are spread out to dry on every available surface in the office. Two weeks ago a tap was left on over the weekend and the office flooded, ruining all but one computer and basically immobilizing the whole operation. If hopelessness had a smell, it would be the odor of a musty moldy old carpet. I know. I get a whiff of it every time I go to my internship.

On a brighter note, my weekend was filled with joy and wonder. To celebrate my friend Sam's 21st birthday we had a cocktail party with chocolate covered cheesecake, then went to a silly little dance party packed to the brim with hipster scum. Luckily it was free.



Then for some reason they handed out glowsticks and it turned into a rave. Then we escaped and ran back to campus where we climbed the fence around the pool and went swimming.


The dip soon turned skinny. Finally we returned to more cake. I am so lucky to have my friends here. They are precious and rare. And they keep me sane.

Tonight we are going to stay up till 5 am in order to watch the presidential debate. I don't mind losing the sleep, especially since this is my last week of classes. Yes folks, first semester of my junior year is almost over. Just 20 pages worth of papers and 9 hours of exams to go, and then I am free. Just 24 days until my blessed mother arrives on this continent! Just 43 days until I get back to Amerika! Time keeps on slipping slipping. I guess time speeds up as I age, as a week, a month, a year, becomes comparitively a smaller percentage of my overall lived time. Oh, and 42 days until I turn 21.

Okay, so the water is off in my building and I must go find some potable liquid ASAP.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

You say potato

For the past 31 days I've been mispronouncing Palin.
I don't have a television over here. Although I've been perusing the news coverage with fascination and disbelief, I had no idea how to pronounce her last name. Sometimes it was PAH-lin, sometimes it was PAL-in. My friends did the same. Today I saw a clip from "The View" on Jezebel.com and realized my error.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

A Seaside Holiday or Things Fall Apart Part 2

Seven American kids decided to escape the city for a weekend holiday at the beach. We knocked off of work early, filled our backpacks with peanut butter and potato chips and swimming costumes, and hopped on a double-decker bus headed South.





Our destination was Durban, the largest city in the KwaZulu-Natal region and home to the second largest Indian population in the world. We rented a cottage from a hostel called "Smith's Cottages" and had a mediocre supper at a glitzy art-deco style casino. The next day was spent at the beach before returning to our cottage to order mind-blowing Indian food and watch movies. The vacation seemed like the perfect antidote to the feelings of homesickness and malaise that pervaded our program.








The next day we ventured to the Jumah Mosque, which is the largest mosque in the Southern hemisphere. At the Victoria Street Market I bought a large bag of garam masala for less than a dollar and a red scarf to cover my head. The mosque itself was smaller than I imagined, and our tour was abbreviated because it was Ramadan. Afterwards we decided to find the beach but detoured to a bottle store (liquor store) to buy gin and lemonade. After we made our purchase we were walking down the street, a group of giggling Americans, when two men stepped in front of me, one of whom brandished a gun in my face. It was a hold up. All in all there were six men, two guns, and a street full of witnesses, none of whom gave a shit. My wallet and my phone were in Sam's bag, but the men still went through my pockets even though I told them that I wasn't carrying anything valuable. They reached into Sam's purse and grabbed her wallet and phone, but didn't see my possessions. In total our group lost two wallets, two purses, two phones, one journal, one pair of sunglasses, and a heck of a lot of bravado. I lost nothing material. I guess I am lucky.

Afterwards we sought refuge in a McDonalds and called a cab. We were silent on the ride home, but as soon as we got back to the cottage, a violent argument errupted between two of my travelling companions. The proprieter of the hostel scolded us for not screaming, said that we should have defended our possessions, but how does one stand up to a gang of armed men? She made me so angry. Later that night things had settled down so we ordered more Indian food and drank gin until everything tasted like Christmas. The next day we returned to the tacky casino because it felt safe.




Then we caught the bus home.

Things Fall Apart, Part I

My clothes are literally disintegrating; fabric turns to cobwebs, shoes loosen and crack and break. The catastrophes are not due to an expansion on my part as the holes and rips occur in the strangest places. I think that my laundry detergent is highly acidic. Or something.

So far I've mourned the violent death of two pairs of jeans (skinny and loose), my favorite plaid blouse, loafers, flip flops, and a t-shirt that I inherited from Danny.

Currently in critical condition: my favorite pair of jeans, which I received as a gift from my Aunt Andy in 8th or 9th grade, a soft cotton H+M dress that I bought in the spring of 2003, and my black flats.

My mission: to stay clothed for the rest of the semester.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Sweets



6 Scoops of Gelato for R16 or $2! (Friend not included)


Snacking while waiting for the bus.



A wholly unhealthy Sunday lunch of olive bread, sharp cheddar, feta, and black currant jam. Heaven.


I was studying outside and lo and behold, was visited by a duck family! Mama and two babies!

Friday, September 19, 2008

(a) Good Night

I cook to unwind, to decompress, to regroup. Some people run, some surf facebook, some smoke, but I've found the best way to clear my head is through is through careful chopping, measuring, stirring, smelling, tasting, and touching. Yesterday was a little bit stressful; Sam and I were groped in the elevator by a drunk man and no one did anything to stop it, then I spent the rest day in the crowded loud office trying to focus on a task that I didn't fully understand, waiting (somewhat) patiently to be instructed. Anyhow work Sam and I went to Pick and Pay (the local grocery store) where she bought a Lunch Bar (a chocolatey Cadbury confection featuring peanuts, caramel, wafers, and crisped rice) of epic proportions and I bought two small eggplants. Sam relaxes with chocolate. I, on the other hand, had other plans in mind.

I got home and made this recipe for "Quinoa Cakes with Eggplant-tomato Ragu and Smoked Mozzarella" that I found on Epicurious, but of course I had to make substitutions due to budgetary constraints. I omitted the red peppers and swapped the smoked mozzarella for feta cheese and added garlic and a little salt and pepper to the cakes. The results were incredible!


I had to steal the final picture from epicurious.com because as soon as I plated the food, it disappeared. The quinoa cakes were crispy on the outside and tender on the inside and the ragu was rich and fresh-tasting. The salty feta provided a sharp contrast to the soft and subtle vegetables. All in all, it was very very delicious, and I managed to get Sam, who planned on abstaining from eggplant until marriage, to give it up and indulge.

Then, of course, we all piled into my bed to watch Six Feet Under. We are on the 10th episode of the 4th seasons, which, if you've seen the show, means that things are FALLING APART!

Sam, Lauren, and Victoria on my bed

The magic of the neck pillow

Sam, Lauren, Abby.

Victoria and Kristen as a monkey!

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

We're gonna party like it's 1929

I've always wanted to spend my youth in the 1920s. The whole culture of excess, artistic freedom, and the lost generation appeals to me, as do the finger waves. cloche hats, and Elsa Schiaparelli . Somehow I can see myself mingling at one of Gatsby's parties or running with the androgynous Brett and her pack of merry gay men all around Europe. Well, I may not be able to live out my fantasy of flapperdom, but golly I can imagine what it was like to watch the market crash!

I may sound flippant but I can't check the New York Times website without feeling like all the oxygen has left the room. It feels so surreal watching the market crash from across the world, because while I know it is really happening, I am so removed. I imagine that I will come home to shantytowns and hobos knocking at my back door asking for work. Yes, I have to apply to trope of the Great Depression to wrap my mind around this mess.

To get myself in the mood for what might be a few years of abject financial depression for the United States, here are my top 5 movies that take place during the Great Depression and the lessons I can learned from them:

O Brother Where Art Thou? (2002)

Inspired by Homer's classic "The Odysessy" this film tracks three escaped convicts on a quest through the deep South to recover buried treasure. Featuring one of the best soundtracks, ever, this movie gives me hope for music in the future. Maybe sorrow and financial ruin will wake people up from the sugary pop coma that's been dominating the charts for all too long, and the emo poseurs will realize how truly trite their whiny diatribes are, and we'll enter a new era where the Wiyos,

The Purple Rose of Cairo
1985

Reality will be suspended as movie characters walk off the screens to woo lonely movie-goers. If this is the case, I am a bit worried about the January re-release of "The Dark Knight". As much as I would LOVE to resurrect Heath Ledger, I am not sure the world is ready for a real live Joker.

Paper Moon
(1973)

A Father/Daughter con-spree through the Midwest seems like a pretty good option for a girl graduating in 2010 with degree in Anthropology.

The Wizard of Oz
(1939)

If all else fails, I can escape, right? Just wait for a tornado, or more like a hurricane to sweep my house from its crumbling foundations in the US and transport me to a better, brighter land. Accompanied by my trusty pup Alice/Flower (she has yet to be given a definite name) I will sing and dance my troubles away until the devasted, McCain controlled America that I used to call home is nothing but a distant memory.




I couldn't think of a 5th movie worthy of this list. Help?

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Radio Therapy

I made a mix CD.

Underworked and Unpaid

Step into My Office Baby- Belle & Sebastian
Time is On My Side- Irma Thomas
Never There- Cake
Flowers on the Wall- The Statler Brothers
Nothing Ever Happens When You're Gone- The Sad Little Stars
Keep Breathing- Ingrid Michaelson
For the Widows in Paradise, For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti- Sufjan Stevens
Police and Thieves- The Clash
Ghostwriter- Rjd2
Welcome to the Working Week- Elvis Costello
Workin'- The Black Lips
Prove My Love- Violent Femmes
Gone, Gone, Gone- Robert Plant and Alison Krauss
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright- Bob Dylan

If you want a copy of this opus leave me a comment with your e-mail address and I will send a file along!

Sew. In other news I was given surprisingly accurate health advice from a psychic that approached me at the mall. I didn't buy the supplements that she suggested but I did purchase some quinoa and tahini.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Fall 2006


Hey.
Remember when this was my favorite dress?
Thanks for the memories Sartorialist.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Hey, Africa!

The second most frequently asked question I've encountered in South Africa is “What do you think of it here? Were you surprised there aren’t lions and tigers walking down the streets?”

Actually, no. But this question is remarkably astute in its characterization of South Africa, no, Africa, in the Western imaginary. Throughout my history text books, the western literary canon, and of course, pop culture, there are numerous portrayals of Africa as the ultimate opposition to the west; a vast and homogenous place frozen in a state of both savagery and child-like innocence. This standard trope enables a de-politicization of the continent, distancing the viewer or the consumer from the colonial encounter. In fact, I never really learned about African history or European colonialism until I reached college, despite my “alternative” and “liberal” educational background. The brutalization of Africa was a dirty secret which is only addressed through the lens of American history when we atoned for our sins by reading “To Kill a Mockingbird” and celebrating Martin Luther King’s day. My sense of world history only acknowledged the depredative effects of colonialism as they directly pertained to the American, and the rest was ignored and discarded. In fact, I distinctly remember a high school classmate claiming that Africa was itself a country.


God! See, at least me and Regina George know we're mean! You try to act so innocent like, Oh, I use to live in Africa with all the little birdies, and the little monkeys!

My point is that no other continent in the world has remained as mysterious and inscrutable as Africa in the Western Imaginary. While I can’t imagine anyone lumping together all Asian or European cultures, saying someone is simply from “Africa” goes unquestioned. Take the movie “Mean Girls”, where the protagonist, white home-schooled female from “Africa” is introduced going through a ritual that most American kids experience when they are 6: the first day of school. In short, Cady is shown as child-like and innocent, due to her unconventional upbringing in “Africa”. Despite numerous references to her previous home, no one ever asks where exactly Cady is from, which either satirizes or simply underscores the American refusal to acknowledge Africa as a concrete place with multiple histories and culture rather than a vast concept. Due to references in the film to Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Ndebele tribe who reside in South Africa and Zimbabwe, I assume that the Cady is from Southern Africa. For fun let’s assume she’s from South Africa. What bothers me is how, in her analysis of social segregation, she uses examples from the animal kingdom rather than ever referring to the VAST social and racial stratification in South Africa (and I’d imagine Zimbabwe as well). Yes, her parents are research zoologists so of course she’s grown up around animals, but the conflation of Africa with wild animals serves to reinforce “Africa” as a place without people, and therefore without conflict. Moreover the only mention of African people refers to Cady’s mother’s fertility vase, given to her by the Ndebele tribe. Never mind that the Ndebele people don’t make fertility vases, they make fertility dolls. In the universe inhabited by Mean Girls, all Africans are pretty much the same, so accuracy in representation isn’t much of an issue.


Never mind how I ended up on the American Apparel website, I was a little disturbed by their new “Afrika” collection, which features emaciated Aryan models in zebra and “tribal” print leggings and bandeau bras. In this instance “Afrika” symbolizes something exotic, wild, and of course, transgressive but apolitical. While patterned leggings and mini-dresses try to telegraph “COUNTERCULTURE”, no explanation is given as to which cultures the patterns belong to or why most of the models are white. Instead, the trope of “Afrika” is employed to sell. I guess this is commodity fetishization at its most blatant, where what the product is supposed to symbolize has absolutely nothing to do with its reality. Maybe when African cultures can be recognized as legitimate and African history is taught in schools the term “tribal print” will be questioned and viewers of Mean Girls will ask where Cady is truly from, but until then the trope of “Africa” will be effectively used to obscure the connections between colonialism, exploitation of people and natural resources, and me. Or you.


P.S. The question I am asked the most is: "Who are you voting for?". Most South Africans can spout out numerous facts about the American presidential candidates while the average American can't name the president of South Africa, much less the man who will most likely succeed him.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

My day so far

*Gazed at the bluebird on the ceiling
*Painted my toenails

(I tried taking pictures, but they were so mediocre. I guess every girl goes through a photography phase. You know, horses... taking pictures of your feet~ Lost in Translation)
*Listened to Nina Simone, the Dodos and Josh Ritter
*Cleaned my room
*Made a decadent lunch: (Broccoli, avocado, and cherry tomato salad with a touch of olive oil and lemon juice, toast with brie and black currant jam, tea)

*Drank hot beverages (2 cups of coffee and 5 cups of rooibus so far today)
*Wrote letters
*Read the news
*Listened to David Sedaris
*Retrieved some laundry that I accidentally left in the laundry room

I am a procrastinationosaurus and my enemy is the huge and significant paper I that is due tomorrow. Rawr.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Yesterday

...I went to the Apartheid Museum, which is a brilliantly conceived and executed institution which was incredibly educational and emotionally resonant. The doors to the museum are segregated by race, and when I bought my ticket I was given a laminated piece of paper that identified me as non-white, so i entered through the door on the right as several of my friends went left.

After a few minutes of walking through segregated corridors we were reunited and thus began my 3 hour journey through exhibits ranging about the history of Johannesburg, Steve Biko and Black Consciousness, gay marriage in South Africa, and of course a thorough chronicling of racism, Apartheid, and resistance. One of the most horrifying parts of the museum was the section that commemorated the 131 political prisoners who died in detention by having 131 nooses hanging from a ceiling. It was eery and heartbreaking, and immediately after I walked into a cell like the ones used for solitary confinement during the Apartheid regime, a tiny, empty concrete cage. I closed the door and began to cry.

After a few hours in the museum I felt overwhelmed and oversaturated with information, but I find myself thinking about my visit constantly and I will surely return before I leave. In the parking lot outside of the museum it occurred to me that I've never been to the Holocaust museum. When I was about 11 we began studying the Holocaust in Sunday school, and I think I had been previously unaware of its depravity and brutality, despite the many books on the topic that were available to children and "young adults". I started having nightmares and began to panic on Sunday mornings before class. I think I even stopped going for a while. I think I am scared that if I go into the Holocaust museum I will lose composure in the middle of the museum. Why would that be so bad, I wonder. I've decided that when I get home I will go to the museum. I have to. Anyone want to tag along?

After the museum I went with my friend Morwa to Soweto, a township in Johannesburg, for a braai (barbeque). I rode in a kombi (a form of public transportation that is called a taxi. 18 people can squeeze into one of these vans for about a dollar per person) to and from Soweto. At first it was pretty terrifying to be racing through the roads of Joberg at breakneck speed without a seatbelt in a rattling old van, but soon I got used to it. It's a much more economical way to travel, although I don't know how often I will use them since they rely on a complicated system of hand signals to communicate their destination, and the last thing I want to do is get lost and stranded in the city.


P.S. Last night my bee-stung finger began to itch terribly and swelled up again. Why?

Thursday, September 4, 2008

A Very Extended Postscript

I am deeply honored receive a comment from Nozizwe Madlala-Routledge and am taking this opportunity to respond. She wrote:

Your feed-back is interesting. I would have liked to have heard your views at the meeting and to have had the opportunity to engage with you on your thoughts. For me the visit to Israel/Palestine was the first and what I saw was deeply disturbing! I reported on my personal observations. With me were people who have been to Israel many times who saw what we saw together for the first time. They were as shocked as I was. I also saw young Israeli's working together with Palestinians. To me this was the most valuable part of my experience during the visit. How many such initiatives have you heard about? Maybe if you were listening you would have picked this up as the centre peice our our visit - to witness first hand the tremendous joint effort being made at the grassroots level by Palestinians and Israelis. I think the more people can see for themselves the more real it becomes. No amount of posturing or shouting one another down will change the life of the Palestinian child or the Israeli child who grow up to hate each other. It will not help the Israeli who lives in fear or the Palestinian whose life has been taken away by the military occupation. I think if we take the attitude that we have heard it all before, we close our minds to the reality of the people whose human rights are abused on a daily basis. Listening should be on both sides of the divide, otherwise there is no hope. What are you personally doing about the situation apart from observing as you indicate? What is Wits doing? That is my question.

First of all I want to say that my impressions of your talk were positive, and I tried to convey this in my earlier post. What I meant to say was that you, Nozizwe, were preaching to the proverbial choir. I entered the lecture well aware of the devastating human rights abuses inflicted on Palestinians by the Israeli state and army. Through my academic studies as well as my own research I have read several books and articles concerning the conflict; the one which affected me most was "Crossing the Green Line Between the West Bank and Israel" by Avram S. Bornstein which I read for a class called "The Anthropology of Contemporary Warfare". A few days I attended a screening and discussion of a film called "Encounter Point" which chronicled two members of the Bereaved Families Forum, an Israeli woman and a Palestinian man, as they advocated for a peaceful solution. While I certainly cannot claim to be an expert in the subject, I was simply saying that your speech, while moving, did not reveal information with which I was not already familiar. Moreover it seemed that the attendants of the talk were largely involved in pro-Palestinian activism and therefore were also knowledgeable with the observations that you made. Hopefully the meeting served as a launch-pad for activism and action on campus, but I can't really speak to its effect on anyone except for myself. Since I've been in South Africa I've found myself increasingly questioning my political positions and ideas, and am currently exploring and educating myself about the Israeli occupation of Palestine. My journey is further complicated by my identity as a proud Jewish woman and I am currently navigating what it means to be both Jewish and decidedly against the actions of the Israeli state. This is a process that is by no means simple or easily resolved. I definitely agree with your position on listening. To state that "talk is crap", that one side will should not listen to the other, is counter-productive and serves to perpetuate the distance between the Israeli child and the Palestinian child who you evoke in your example.

To answer your questions: I do not know what Wits is doing in this situation. I am an exchange student who has been here for two months and leaves in another two. Judging by the passion of the PSC I am sure that many students on campus are working to raise awareness and affect change. What am I doing? That is more difficult to answer. At the moment, I am not doing much of anything aside from attending meetings and educating myself. There isn't much I can do in the way of activism during my brief stay in this country. I intend on further pursuing the issue when I go back to my college in the United States and getting involved when I am in a situation to work on long term projects and establish myself in an activist community. For now I am doing the best that I can.

I am sorry if the vagueness of my post caused misunderstandings and offense. It was not my intention to be blase and jaded, rather to express that while I enjoyed the talk, it did not expose anything new. Perhaps that should be encouraging, that your audience is well-versed in and compelled by the horrors that you discussed. If you want to discuss this further my e-mail address is AHuston@email.smith.edu. Thank you for responding to my post and I wish you the best of luck in your own activism.


Wednesday, September 3, 2008

"Apartheid IsReal"

One of my favorite parts of being at Wits is my access to their lectures and events. Yesterday I attended a talk called "What I Saw: Apartheid?" given by ANC Parliamentary Caucus Chairperson and anti-Apartheid activist Nozizwe Madlala-Routledge about her recent trip to Israel, giving a feminist critique on the conditions that she witnessed. The event was sponsored by the Palestine Solidarity Committee (PSC), the South African Student Congress (SASCO), African National Congress Youth League (ANCYL) and the Young Communist League (YCL) and began with an impassioned cry of "Amandla!" which means "power" in both Zulu and Xhosa. The crowd then responded "Ngawethu" which means "to us!". The talk itself was interesting but not particularly enlightening; Madlala-Routledge's observations of segregation, denial of resources, and prejudice were pretty well known to most of the audience. What was notable was the political climate in the room, the palpable tension between the passionately pro-Palestinian majority in the room and the few staunch Zionists who attended the rally (for it turned out to be more of a rally than a talk) to confront the speaker and to record the event for their records. According to the Dean of Wits, the Israel/Palestine confrontations are among the most heated on campus, and the two organizations have a rivalry that goes beyond simply their political positions.

The talk ended with the president of the PSC proclaiming "Talking is crap. It is not the way to the solution!" Which troubled me. Up until that point I was pretty supportive of what was discussed in the rally, but once the talk to turned to intolerance of any pro-Israeli point of view, any discussion of compromise, I started to feel uncomfortable. I believe that in conflict silencing anyone is a violent and violating act, and it only perpetuates the cycles of depredation to try to reach a solution through the suppression of discourse.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Honey honey


(How many more accidents must I endure? If I die from the sting of this African killer bee, remember that I love some of you.)

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Atop the Mist That Rumbles (Victoria Falls, Livingstone, Zambia)





I haven't made dinner in a few days because I keep finding myself at events with free food. Last night I attended a lecture given by world-renowned anthropologist Arjun Appadurai on the subject of "Housing and Hope". Tonight I went to a screening of a film called "Encounter Point" about a project of reconciliation between bereaved Israeli and Palestinian parents. Both events were incredibly thought-provoking, inspiring, and nourishing for both my mind and my body. Okay, maybe less so for my body, who probably does not appreciate my consumption of countless samoosas, but all in all my forays into extracurricular academic occasions have been positive.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Give me money and I'll give you back your passport- adventures in Zambia


Unfortunately my holiday in Zambia is over and I am back at Wits staring out my window and avoiding a monster paper on the topic of Utilitarianism and Human Rights. On the bright side now that I am "home" (yup, Joberg, Wits, and my dorm are starting to feel homey) I can freely drink water, eat vegetables, check my e-mail, and sleep alone.

Last Sunday (the 17th) my friend Lauren and I flew to Lusaka, Zambia and had our passports held hostage as we illegally crossed into the country to withdraw money from an ATM to pay for our visas. Apparently the Zambian airport does not take cards. Then we crashed at a hostel called "Chachacha Backpacker's lodge" which we not-so-affectionately nicknamed purgatory. The advertised pool turned out to be a murky kidney-stone shaped atrocity surrounded by drab and aging thirty-somethings with tinny laughs and tired jokes. We gave them names such as "Sparkle Cray" and "Unibrow". Later we met an obnoxious American couple and were overloaded with information about their medical problems. Eeek.

Monday we took a 7 hour bus from Lusaka to Livingstone. If the hostel was purgatory, the bus was hell. Seated in a windowless aisle we were a captive audience to the three toddlers engaged in a screaming contest in front of us and the strange selection of videos that the bus showed. First was a kid's video where a uniformed group of enthusiastic children sang about Jesus while a)flying on a carpet, b) dancing with a bootleg Barney and the red Teletubby, c) outfitted in gangsta gear and rolling in what I think was a Toyota Tercel. Next was a video of a Westlife concert (some European boy band which makes the Backstreet Boys look inspired and spunky) and finally a Nigerian film called "The Games Women Play". By the time we arrived in Livingstone Lauren had her head in her hands and was bleating like a sacrificial lamb while I was in a catatonic trance. Luckily we made our way to "Fawlty Towers Hostel" where we were greeted by Mike, Claire, Kristen, and Jaya, and also Mosi beers and pizza. Success. We had stumbled upon heaven, although our heaven was pretty cramped. For the duration of the trip we slept six travelers to two bunk beds.


The rest of the week was packed with wonder and adventure. Tuesday we crossed the border to the Zimbabwe side of Victoria falls. I was mesmerized by the sight of the falls, at once terrifying and majestic. I will post pictures. That night we ate at a vegetarian restaurant with the best carrot cake that I've ever tasted. Wednesday, led by a mad Welshman named Scotty with flowing flaxen locks and a gold helmet, we white-water rafted down the Zambezi through class 5 rapids. Once the raft capsized and I went through the rapid on nothing but my butt which was such an adrenaline rush that afterwards my skin felt prickly and raw and new. That evening we went on a booze cruise that we nicknamed the "Bruise Cruise" due to our rafting related injuries and weird confrontational moment with an elderly Italian couple who thought we had cut them in line. It was pretty silly. Thursday we hiked the edge of the waterfall on the Zambian side and paid a guide named Phinneas to take us to a secluded pool at the very top of the falls called "Angel's Pool" where we swam in our underwear and picnicked. To get there we had to hop from rock to rock and trudge through the streams that led to the falls, which has to be one of the awesomest things i've ever done. Friday Lauren and I got $10 full body massages and Mike and Jaya bungee jumped from a bridge between Zim and Zam. I guess we both had our thrills. Saturday we returned to the pool although our solitude was interrupted by a British family who found our spot and must have been shocked to discover a gaggle of American girls in candy colored swimsuits sunning themselves on a slab of rock. Sunday we went home.

The internet is pretty slow right now so I will post but one picture, but have no fear, there are many many more to follow.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

International House of Mystery and Pancakes

The Nursery Rhyme Tour of My Dorm



This is International House's front door


My room is on the second floor.

The lobby; accessible only by code

Welcome to my humble abode!

This is my kitchen

This is my bed

Upon which I lay my weary head.

My clothes are kept under lock and key

The view from my desk is so pretty.

I'm off to Zambia. Oh what fun.
Now my nursery rhyme is done.