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.)

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.

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.

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.

Dear Hair

Please grow.

p.s.
In four days I am going to Zambia, and then Zimbabwe, and then possibly Botswana. Also Colorado Kitchen is moving into where Taliano's used to be? i.e. two blocks from where I live? YESYESYES!

Woman's day

I was informed that yesterday was National Women's day in South Africa when one of my co-workers gave me a stapled computer print out with a picture of a tiny puppy frolicking among gigantic rose petals wearing a heart around his neck that said "wuv me?". On the second page it said:

Respect A Woman Because...
You can feel her INNOCENCE in the form of a daughter
You can fee her CARE in the form of a sister
You can feel her WARMTH in the form of a friend
You can feel her PASSION in the form of a beloved
You can feel her DEDICATION in the form of a wife
You can feel her DIVINITY in the form of a mother
You can feel her BLESSING in the form of a grandmother
Yet she is so TOUGH too...
Her heart is so TENDER...
So NAUGHTY...
So CHARMING...
So SHARING...
So MELODIOUS...
She is a WOMEN
AND SHE IS LIFE!!!


To all the wonderful women that I know, I hope you have a fantastic woman's month and woman's day on Saturday hope you won't forget how special you are!!!

So while I don't know how I feel about how the poem reinforces antiquated gender roles, I think it's pretty kickass that there is so much enthusiasm for a day devoted to women. Apparently International Women's Day is a US holiday that falls later in August, but I've never heard of it. Here at the University of the Witwatersrand the week was devoted to women's day festivities (I heard that the joint (!) Rasta/Women's day party was a blast). It wasn't just my co-worker who gave me glad tidings, but even the security guard at my dormitory wished me a happy women's day and told me to remind my daddy or boyfriend to take me out. So Dad, you, me, belated woman's day celebration when I get back?

I celebrated in my own way with a coconut samoosa, which is pretty much heaven in a tiny fried shell.

The Revolution will not be blogged about

I've become ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE. Yes. One of those who makes promises but never delivers. Well, faithful readers, you will not be getting my homesick for DC mix tape because I decided that it was an indulgent and kind of pointless exercise. Instead you'll get a "SOUTH AFRICA ROXXX" album, coming to a store near you. Or a computer. Because seriously, I am happy here, and I'd rather listen to tunes that make me gleeful than those that make me blue. Capisce? (also here is the Chicken Piccata recipe that I promised a few entries ago. Try this at home!)

Meanwhile, this has been a somewhat eventful week. On Tuesday evening I went with a few friends to a Buddhist center that organizes a sort of mobile soup kitchen. We then drove around the city with a small group of people and stopped at designated street corners to hand out soup and peanut butter sandwiches. There were block-long lines of men who brought take out containers, cut-off soda bottles, milk cartons, and paper cups so that they could have soup. While the soup was welcome, they hot items were the sandwiches, which were more portable and less perishable. This operation runs on a shoestring so my friends and I are going to hold a bake sale to raise money so that they can supply more sandwiches. In South Africa I feel cloistered within the heavily secured, luxurious confines of the International House on the Wits Campus. I spend my evenings indoors, eating, watching tv shows, socializing, occasionally doing homework. Sometimes I feel so useless I could scream. As great as it was to do something for "good" and to feed the homeless, I feel guilty because I also benefited from the exchange. For the evening I felt free. Free-er.

Yesterday was a nation-wide strike organized by a labor union called "The Congress of South African Trade Unions" or COSATU (an ally of the ruling political party, the ANC), calling its 2 million members to mobilize . The strike was organized to protest the rising costs of food and fuel and the lack of government aid to deal with these problems. One of my professors joked that this is what we paid for, being Americans who set out to study abroad in search of adventure. She said that the revolution would not be televised, but we would get what we paid for. She's hilarious. I sort of expected more, but Braamfontein (the neighborhood where Wits is located) was completely undisturbed. Although the strike called for people to skip work and take to the streets, shops were open and the streets were crowded not with riotous protesters but with peaceful people going about their business. Dear Professor, I did not get my money's worth. I've heard that in other areas of the country had a strong showing of support leading to the disruption of the public transportation system as well as several industries such as mining and gold, and the ramifications of the strike are even further reaching as the value of the Rand fell against the Euro and the Dollar due to the political action coupled with the uncertainties regarding Jacob Zuma and the upcoming election, making investors nervous.

Should I feel lucky that I chose to study in a country where the dollar is still strong?

Also yesterday I was lucky enough to attend a lecture given by Justice Richard Goldstone, international war crimes prosecutor who served as the Chief Prosecutor of the United Nations International Criminal Tribunals for the Former Yugoslavia and Rwanda. His lecture, titled "The Future of International Criminal Justice" was riveting and piqued my interest in international law, a subject that I know very little about. Not only was the event highly educational, but they also gave out free juice, and if I haven't already told you, juice in South Africa is awesome.

A little sick, home and otherwise

When I miss Takoma Park, I close my eyes and it's a steamy June morning and I am walking barefoot on scorching asphalt sidewalk of some side-street like Tulip avenue and the air is almost too thick to breath, pregnant with the perfume of flowers wild and tame, a bouquet of roses, honeysuckle, lilacs, and fresh cut grass. My feet find a cool spot, shade beneath a poplar tree, and I hear the distant exclamation of a train whistle above the whispers and sighs of the leafy old trees.

For some reason when I miss the city, DC, I imagine it on a rainy Sunday afternoon. I picture the immaculate museums, temples to culture, science, and civilization, sacred despite their daily invasion by tourists making pilgrimages to the mecca that is the capitol. I miss the basement of the National Gallery, where I can spend hours in the Alexander Calder circus. I miss walking between the two wings of the National Gallery through the bland and overpriced cafe, the expansive gift shop, the window that is constantly rained on by a fountain. I miss walking for hours through neighborhoods old and new, past fried chicken and seafood restaurants with fake Chinese names, past the army of civil servants in navy blue suits, through construction sites and shiny new condos, monuments to the imperialist gentrification. I miss the syphelletic fountain at Dupont Circle, "The Awakening", which is no longer there, Amsterdam Falafel Cafe (and of course cute falafel man, whose true identity I do not care to know), pupusas and horchata, CakeLove lemon coconut cake, waiting for the last red line metro at Fort Totten when it's dangerously near midnight, and crossing the line from DC to Maryland as I walk home.


There are songs that I associate with home. Songs that when I hear them on my iTunes, I am instantly transported to the Mid-Atlantic land of my birth. I am working on a DC-metro mix tape, complete with liner notes. Just you wait, I'll post it in the middle of the night when I have enough bandwidth.

Aside from occasional pangs of missing my city, I am pretty happy. Oh, and sick. I've had a lingering sore throat for the past week, coupled with exhaustion and a bit of a headache. I am going to health services today, I think. Honestly I am scared that they'll laugh at me for being such a wimp. I am not in pain, just chronically uncomfortable.

Highlights of recent days include:

Seeing Wall-E, a fantastic and melancholy story of robot love set 800 years in the future. Highly problematic considered using race or class theory, but then again what isn't these days. Sometimes I wish I could just watch a movie without pesky thoughts of social theory that impede my ability to just be entertained. I find that I can watch old movies without a problem, as if film makers from days of yore are somehow abdicated from social responsibility, but jeez, I can't handle most of these modern popcorn flicks. Even Juno, the indie darling, got me down.

Hosting/Attending a braai at my friend Andrew's house. Basically an orgy of food, it was nice to relax with most of the people in my program and debate issues of philosophy and politics on Andrew's tennis court and to polish my South African accent by mimicking his friends. Luckily they thought it was cute (i think) rather than a nuisance. My plan is to affect a flawless South African accent so people will stop pestering me about American politics when I am out. We danced, played cards, made a beer run to a nearby Shebeen (one of the many idiosyncrasies of Joberg: the way the city can shift from plush gated suburb to a less economically privileged neighborhood that would house an illegal bar in two minutes. Another example: Sandton and Alexandra). It was so nice to spend the night in a home instead of a dorm, but the absolute best part was having access to an oven.