Morning, Noon, and Night

This morning I rolled out of bed, threw on jeans, and went to The Nunnery (really) to see a play called "Crocodile Tears". I was shocked that a 10:30 am show tackling issues of the female experience had a packed house. For a little over a dollar I was able to see a raw, vibrant, dynamic, at time frenetic original piece of theater that addressed universal and resonant issues of feminism, the media, violence, etc in a South African context. Afterwards in a Q and A session with the cast, a man said that he saw parts of himself in a particularly uncomfortable scene about female objectification and sexual violence taking place at taxi stands. He said that in part he blamed the women for provoking his lascivious gaze by wearing mini-skirts, knowing full well that it would attract male attention. At that moment I felt incredibly angry and uncomfortable, but the situation was diffused when a castmember thanked him for his honesty and moved on. I didn't know how to react to this honesty. Part of me wondered how he could have sat through the performance which confronted a lot of situations of female oppression, and still say something so blatantly offensive, but on the other hand, it was interesting how receptive people were to his opinion. Last night I was in a group of people and we were talking about the upcoming US elections, and someone said "All you Americans are so open about how you vote for. I thought it was supposed to be a secret" and I said "Well if I were voting for McCain, I wouldn't tell anyone." As a liberal arts college student I don't really encounter much variation in the political ideologies of my peers. Generally we all consider ourselves "for good and against evil", but described in more PC terms. I would like to be in an environment where alternative opinions are encouraged rather than vilified, but to engage in that discourse I would have to be receptive to opinions that are just....wrong. Like that sexist jerk. Oh well, deep breath. I'm working on it...

So people have asked about my living situation. I will take pictures when my room isn't so...messy. But it's nice.

This awesome little fast food joint called "Sharp Sharp" opened up in the Matrix (the student center) last week. Now, for about 5 rand, or less than a dollar, I can purchase a container of Biryani and Curry. Samoosas (yes, two O's) are about 11 cents and a Bunny (half a loaf of bread, hollowed out and filled with curry) is 4.50 rand. I am eating like a queen. I have also discovered gelato, and since a cone is less than a dollar, I fully expect to balloon out while abroad. At home I've been experimenting with lentils, lamenting the fact that they are never as tasty when I make them as when I get them at my favorite Indian restaurants. Does anyone have a good lentil recipe? Cooking on a two burner hot-plate is a challenge, so my meals have been pretty simple. Chicken with forty-cloves of garlic stew, green onion, cherry tomato, and feta omelettes, lentil soup, various pasta dishes. Finding tomato sauce at my local Pick and Pay (a grocery store) has been pretty fruitless so I've been experimenting with canned tomatoes to make the perfect sauce.

Every day I am confronted with various evidence of my American privilege, but never was it so evident as on Tuesday, when my friends and I were going to a bar called Doors. We got to the front of the line, and to my shock the bouncer asked for ID. I have NEVER been ID'd since I got to South Africa; their legal drinking age is 18 and I don't think I look particularly young. The bouncers informed me that I couldn't get in without a valid ID, even though I had my Wits Student ID on hand. Anyhow, I panicked at the prospect that I might not gain admittance, but one of my friends coolly stated to the bouncers "It's cool...She's American." and with that they let me in and gave me a free shot. My nationality, my accent, my strange ways all have certain cache. People are impressed when I can name the president of South AFrica, much less discuss the upcoming elections. Once when I told someone I was from DC, they said "Oh, right by Daddy Bush" , which is sort of a funny image. Oh gosh. My American friends and I constantly have to debunk the image of Americans as hummer-driving, blood-thirsty Neanderthals.

Oh man. Doors was hilarious. First of all, no one told me it was a Metal bar. Think all black attire, long hair, multiple piercings, and ear-drum lacerating American metal blaring from the speakers as various misanthropes head-bang on a dance floor. Cut to me, wearing a blue cotton dress with hearts on it.

The South African night life has presented me with many hilarious contradictions. The punk club with a "Coldplay" poster on the wall. The gay bar filled with skinny elderly men. The house party where the host insisted that everyone admire his scary picture of a sad vegetable clown. Okay, maybe he was just insane. Anyhow, I've been having so much fun sampling various scenes.