An Elephant In The Dark

Monster Mix

2008-10-30T18:54:00.003-04:00

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

David Sedaris Breaks It Down

2008-10-21T05:02:00.001-04:00

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

House party from hell

2008-10-18T04:13:00.003-04:00

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.

THE RAINY SEASON BEGINS!

2008-10-17T11:43:00.003-04:00

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.)

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

2008-10-10T07:27:00.004-04:00

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.

The Smell of Conscientization, Despair, and Happy Birthdays

2008-10-07T06:22:00.004-04:00

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.

You say potato

2008-10-01T17:17:00.002-04:00

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.

A Seaside Holiday or Things Fall Apart Part 2

2008-09-30T15:37:00.005-04:00

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

2008-09-30T07:15:00.002-04:00

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.

Sweets

2008-09-21T09:18:00.007-04:00

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!

(a) Good Night

2008-09-19T03:02:00.004-04:00

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!

We're gonna party like it's 1929

2008-09-16T10:29:00.009-04:00

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?

Radio Therapy

2008-09-14T11:49:00.005-04:00

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.

Fall 2006

2008-09-13T02:37:00.004-04:00

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

Hey, Africa!

2008-09-11T08:35:00.007-04:00

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.

My day so far

2008-09-09T06:38:00.005-04:00

*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.

Yesterday

2008-09-07T08:40:00.007-04:00

...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?

A Very Extended Postscript

2008-09-04T08:23:00.005-04:00

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.

"Apartheid IsReal"

2008-09-03T07:29:00.005-04:00

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.

Honey honey

2008-08-31T09:15:00.003-04:00

(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)

2008-08-28T15:20:00.003-04:00

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

2008-08-26T06:12:00.005-04:00

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

2008-08-14T10:51:00.006-04:00

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

2008-08-13T10:00:00.003-04:00

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

2008-08-10T07:13:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-07T12:03:00.006-04:00

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

2008-08-05T04:33:00.000-04:00

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.

Dance dance dance

2008-07-25T11:11:00.000-04:00

My hand is covered in bandages. Okay that’s a little dramatic. Two band-aids, but still… When I was making chicken piccata I burned my hand with the oil spatter and now I look like the victim of some horrible accident. Worry not, it was worth it; the chicken was incredibly delicious. I will even post the recipe here so those at home can experience its wonder. I have been cooking SO MUCH because ingredients are so comparatively inexpensive and my friends and I have nightly potlucks and I like to show off and experiment. As a result I have been eating very well, but for the next week that has to stop.

Due to a monetary blowout last night, I have to reduce my food budget by half for the next week to compensate for my extravagance. Last night was my friend’s birthday and the celebration was held at a trendy sushi restaurant/bar in the glitzy suburb of Rivonia. What my friends and I did not know was that the cab fare would be astronomical, at least by our standards. When we finally arrived we saw the prices on the menu and flinched, but decided that since we were there, we might as well enjoy ourselves. Out came pizza, sushi, champagne, cheap beer (we were trying to be frugal so we stuck to the beverage of the working class, the South African PBR without the hipster connotations: Black Label) and hubbly bubbly (what we at home call hookah). Next we traipsed past Vietnamese restaurants and strip clubs to enter a club called “Manhattan”, housed in a building that looked suspiciously like a Marriott. Yet again I got in without ID because I am American. I suppose I should carry my driver’s license, but I’d rather exploit my nationality than risk losing such a valuable piece of identification and having to go to the DMV when I get home. Inside the club was filled to the brim with what I assume is the South African glitterati; stick thin, highlighted, tanned, white young folks throwing back expensive liquor and dancing to last year’s pop hits. Scratch that, music from years and years ago. We heard “Stacey’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne. I think the funniest moment of the evening was when the DJ played “Scotty Doesn’t Know” from the film “Eurotrip” and everyone knew every word. The rest of the night was a blur of over-moussed hair and bad music, and I was happy to pay the exorbitant fee to cab home and go to bed. While we were waiting for the cab a few white South African men, hearing our accents, decided to engage us in a conversation about politics. They berated us for supporting Obama, and implied that they preferred the Apartheid government to the current ANC leadership. This caused me to raise an eyebrow or two, and I told them that I disagreed. My friend Sam was a little more forceful. Then they had the nerve to scold us for judging them based on their political views, and one of the jerks said “I hope you’re here for the next xenophobic attacks. And I hope that they choose Americans!” We ran away to the safety of the cab where a girl said to us “Geeze, they were just joking!”. I struggled to find the humor in the system of Apartheid. My bad. I keep meeting drunk racist jerks at bars, which leads me to believe that I am frequenting the wrong establishments.

8 am today: Woke up, made coffee, got dressed, and went to my internship, where I am right now. While I adore the organization, I am frustrated because I have so little to do. I am waiting for my superiors to give me the articles to edit and format so I can make the newsletter, but since none of them are in the office I haven’t really had any tasks to complete. Today I organized some expense reports, wrote my friend Grace an e-mail, worked on a mix cd, and am now updating my blog,

While my study abroad experience isn’t entirely hedonistic, a great deal of it is. My friends and I discovered that a nearby theater has 40 Rand Tuesdays, where for a little more than $5 we can see professional theater. And it’s good. Last week we went to see “10 Bush”, a brutal sort of fairy-tale about breaking a curse set in an African Village. Performed on a stark empty stage the actors stayed on stage for the entire performance, creating scenery using props and their bodies. Fruits, vegetables, and milk were used to create special effects (I ducked a few times. In “Crocodile Tears” (the last play that I saw) they threw pulpy smashed oranges at the audience and so I was worried that they would repeat that practice but luckily the fruit remained on stage). Although the play was long, it was incredibly engaging and compelling. The play was mostly in English but many of the insults or punch-lines were in Zulu, which was pretty interesting because half the audience would react enthusiastically and the other half would sit in their seats, bewildered. This is an interesting characteristic of South African theater, an an art form influenced by its country that has 13 official languages and a diverse population. I can’t wait until next Tuesday when I can return to The Market Theater for another performance. Oooh and tonight we are going to see the movie “The Dark Knight” and I CAN’T WAIT!

Morning, Noon, and Night

2008-07-17T06:33:00.000-04:00

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.

A View From the Van

2008-07-10T10:33:00.000-04:00

The information superhighway now runs through my room. YIPPEEEEE!
These pictures were taken in Kruger National Park and at my homestay in Hamakuya. Unfortunately while in Kruger I had to stay in the vans instead of freely communing with the animals. Supposedly this was for my own safety, but I bet they did it so I wouldn't hug an elephant to death. I can get a little overenthusiastic about those creatures.

Here they are called Zebra (rhymes with Debra)!

This is where my homestay took place, in a village called Hamakuya, in the home of a woman named Phyllis.

The view from Phyllis' house.
These are three of Phyllis's children: Thanzi, Mukhethwa, and Ntungfhadzeni.

When I uploaded my pictures I realized that most of them are elephants, and I ran out of memory before I saw anything else. Since my power animal is the great and wise elephant, I couldn't bear to delete a single shot, which is unfortunate because many of them are crappy pictures. Oh well As soon as my friends make their pictures available I can show you the other animals that I saw.

Elephant love.

A baobab tree. Probably older than the hills.

I have NO IDEA what I was doing. While we were investigating Kruger National park I got to ride in the jeep instead of in the stuffy vans for about an hour. It was lovely.

My favorite beast of all: Baba Ganoush (my dog).

Not part of the massive update

2008-07-06T06:21:00.001-04:00

I'll talk about my week in Northern South Africa when I can upload the photos. This blog will be mega-interactive, just you wait.

So. Classes start tomorrow and I am utterly unprepared. Right now I would give vital organs for an internet connection in my room and a 5 subject notebook, both of which have proven very difficult to acquire. On the bright side, I caught the bus to the glitzy Rosebank mall yesterday and bought the correct converter, as well as an $8 french press, some cheese, and a fuschia towel. Now I can watch my Six Feet Under dvds in my room while drinking coffee. What a difference a few things make. I hope I can find somewhere around here to rent DVDs.

While I am in South Africa I will be interning for an organization called the Khulumani Support Group, and their website is www.khulumani.net. The purpose of the organization is to advocate for those affected by Apartheid era violence.

This block I am taking "The Media and Human Rights", "African Literature and Human Rights". as well as a human rights core course and a course to supplement my internship. I am sure that by the end of this program I will be ready to sell out and work for a multi-national corporation, mining or selling cigarettes to infants, my sensitivity to the plight of man dulled by overexposure to the discourse on human rights. Maybe.

MASSIVE INFORMATION ATTACK part 1

2008-07-05T04:32:00.000-04:00

There is way too much to say.
Due to shennanigans regarding converters or adapters of whatever those magical tools are called that allow me to use my American electrical plugs in the exotic South African outlets, I cannot charge or use any of my electronics. This means no pictures, music, or even computer time for me. I am a slave to the computer lab until further notice.

The Flight (Tuesday, June 24th- Wednesday June 25th):
Was marvelous. I pretty much slept through the whole 18 hours, waking every six hours to be fed remarkably delicious airplane fare. It was too bad I was so drowsy, because the plane had a very posh open bar, which some one my colleagues took advantage of. Hilarity ensued but I missed it because I was fast asleep.

The Hotel Devonshire (Wednesday, June 25th- Friday June 27th) :
For our first two nights in South Africa, the IHRE program stayed in the hotel Devonshire, located in Braamfontein, which is just minutes from the Wits University Campus. The hotel featured an excellent buffet, but a few of my friends found hairs in their sheets, so I would give it an overall negative review. We spent our first days stuck in a conference room being "oriented", which means they repeated everything we had been told at our American orientation, except in South African accents. What I've learned: ATMs are very dangerous places. Do not answer my cell phone on the street. Stoplights are called robots.

To encourage transcontinental communication

2008-06-24T01:25:00.000-04:00

Abigail Huston

c/o Ayesha Kajee, IHRE

Wits International Office

University of Witswatersrand

Private Bag 3, Wits 2050

South Africa

Too tired to come up with a title

2008-06-24T00:49:00.000-04:00

I leave for South Africa in approximately 17 hours, which happens to also be the amount of time that I'll be spending on the plain to get there. Oh jeez. I've been trying to plan how to spend that chunk of time, and i've settled on watching the second season of Six Feet Under, which I purchased from some sketchy vendors outside of Penn Station, and popping a Lunesta or five. Nothing better than soapy HBO goodness and pharmeceuticals. Oh right, I could read, maybe, but I didn't pack many books because my bag is already than the average sumo wrestler, and toting it around is treacherous as is. I'll buy the Economist but that is so wholly depressing that I'll be forced to self-medicate.

Orientation has been lovely. The Bard campus is gorgeous and the people in my program seem pretty nice. While the orientation activities have been monotonous (we played icebreakers, we saw the culture shock graph, we were instructed not to do drugs while abroad), I am incredibly excited about my impending adventure.

I will try to update this at least fortnightly

2008-06-20T16:00:00.000-04:00

Overheard in Adams Morgan

Woman in HUGE sunglasses: It's just I only like men from the waist up...

This morning I woke up at seven thirty and made a detailed list of EVERYTHING I have to do before Sunday morning, i.e. when I abandon my cell phone and family to go to Bard for Orientation before I leave for South Africa on Tuesday. Suffice to say it was a pretty long list, and I felt myself getting a little bit panicked. And then, I honestly don't know what happened, because the next thing I knew it was 11 am and I had just had the strangest dream about riding horses in my basement.

Luckily today I managed to accomplish a thing or two. My highlight was buying a pair of Birkenstocks. Yes. I know. Shocking, But in my defense they are extremely comfortable and not as asinine as the Jesus sandals that have pervaded the feet of fashionistas for the PAST THREE YEARS. Some may cite the crashing economy, the increasingly terrifying examples of climate change, or the decline of Britney Spears as evidence that the apocalypse is near. Let's add these heinous roman sandals to the doom list, for they are the fashion undead, zombie zapatos.

Oh, and I got a new haircut yesterday.

Abby Knows Best

2008-06-08T01:53:00.001-04:00

Chronicling Abby's adventures as the master of the house while her mother is off gallivanting in Miami. With her trusty sidekick Ana she will battle the forces of evil to keep peace on Spruce ave.
Day One

After a harrowing incident with Mr. Baba Ganoush and a jar of Nutella, I know exactly what sort of mother I will be. As soon as I discovered that my dog had pilfered the jar of canine kryptonite, I began to hyperventilate and run around in circles. It was thanks to Danny's level-headedness that my precious dog did not expire on my Mom's first night out of town. As I fretted, Danny called poison control and the ASPCA. Okay, so...confession: I felt like a Mommy and Danny was the Dad. In high school we used to joke about getting married, just to have something to do, just to get our parents to pay attention to us. Last night, our unholy union felt like a reality. Danny, if you're reading this...

Have you ever had to induce a dog to vomit? I have. As per the vet's instructions, I put two tablespoons of 3% hydrogen peroxide in a turkey baster (which must be the most useful tool in that it can produce hydration, impregnation and regurgitation). I don't think I have ever disappointed someone as much as when I squirted that vile liquid into my dog's eyes. If he could have spoken he would have solemnly declared: "Abigail, I love you a little bit less."

So he vommed. Since then I've been closely monitoring every sigh, bark, whimper, and tail wag. Meanwhile he has developed a very intense affection for Ana, and is wooing her with all his might. He will not let her read in peace, instead performing outlandish tricks to try to get her attention.

Day Two
My entire lunch was deep fried. Ana and I went to Ruan Thai where I ordered a dish comprised of deep fried water cress, deep fried squid, deep fried shrimp, deep fried onions, and deep fried nuts. The first bite was incredible. Unfortunately it was downhill from there. Ana ordered my favorite thai dish, Drunken Noodles. Supposedly they are so spicy that one needs to get drunk to eat them. Strangely, every Thai restaurant I've been to prepares it differently.

Books, Family, Weapons

2008-06-02T14:25:00.000-04:00

In the past week I've been in LA, DC, and Boston, read three books
(The Last Chinese Chef by Nicole Mones, The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie),
seen countless fantastic Holden-folk (let me take a moment to praise my glorious West Coast brethren. O holy kinfolk, whose blessed blood flows through my veins, thanks for being so hospitable, incredible, generous, and benevolent. Whew.)
and a few friends, and am now sitting on my porch eating day old sushi (vegetarian) and listening to lawnmowers. My what a turn my glamorous life has taken.

Things that must be purchased in the coming weeks: pocket knife, pepper spray, flash light. Does anyone else's study abroad packing list include weaponry?

California Day 1

2008-05-23T11:59:00.000-04:00

Sunny San Diego is grey and damp and yet I still feel like I've stumbled through a time warp and onto the set of the OC. I have not seen so much pin-straight blonde hair since...well, ever. I must still be wearing Smith goggles of some sort because I am overwhelmed by this valley of the dolls. I like it. Last night I ate at this somewhat trendy restaurant (cucumber water, tiny menus, roasted marrow) called Whisknfork. I know. I spent half of the meal mesmerized by the couple seated next to us, a highlighted emaciated china doll and her tanned hobbit-like companion who could not stop bragging about his many paramours. The girl looked enraptured, twirling her toes beneath the table to lightly brush his legs, nodding in rapt attention when he launched on another tirade about the craziness of the fairer sex. He, in turn, seemed oblivious to the spell he was casting on this woman. Perhaps that was the point, the game, to keep her chasing. Perhaps that was the plan, the game, to keep her wanting as they picked at their $10 ice cream and exchanged not-quite-clever banter over cocktails. I keep reminding myself: We're not on Northampton anymore. Is this a preview of the culture shock to come?

Coconut Custard Pie

2008-05-19T18:27:00.000-04:00

I've been feeling like a failed blogger cos I haven't updated. Why? Because in the persuit of devoting my life to pleasure and solitude, I have relinquished participating in most blog-worthy activities. Like leaving my house. For example today I wrote a letter, unpacked a box, walked to the co-op to buy milk and eggs and pears, baked a coconut custard pie, and started "The Age of Innocence". I couldn't have had a better day, but it must be a bore to read about.

Oh! So my craigslist addiction is starting to spiral out of control. Craigslist is my trusty procrastination pal, the site I turn to when I have a paper to write, of hundreds of pages to read, or just about anything else that I SHOULD be working on. I browse the personals in a specific order: men seeking men, women seeking men, women seeking women, men seeking women, missed connection (my favorite). I am not on the prowl for some NSA (no strings attached, natch) fling or long term cyber love, rather, I am super fascinated that these people, these freaky, lonely, horny, optimistic, creative people, populate my community. Could my former high school principle be "Looking for a hot torrid love affair"? Might "Plus sized pillow princess" be that woman squeezing radishes at the co-op? Honestly, I look because I want to find someone that I know. Seriously. The Harriet the Spy that lives in my heart peruses these advertisements looking for familiar syntax. A couple of months ago I am sure that I spotted a schoolmate on the Western Mass site, describing herself as a young (insert insipid formerly cool middle aged actress here). About a week ago I spotted a girl I went to high school with in a section that I didn't expect with a subject line that I can't help but post: "CUTE FAT CHICK SEEKS SWEET GIRL TO TAKE ON THE WORLD WITH!"

It's strange how the invention of the internet has taken previously public courtship rituals underground, but allowed people to reveal their kinks and quirks to potential mates, not to mention the whole world wide web. Recently Nicole Brydson wrote a pretty fluffy piece for the New York Observer about the difficulty of meeting mates in bars. Have we, as a society, evolved to a point of social awkwardness where we need a forum without faces, without names, without labels, to truly connect?

My pie is ready.

All-nighters make me sentimental

2008-05-16T20:07:00.000-04:00

Right now is a perfect moment. I am living a perfect moment, sitting on my back porch. It's dusky and windy but with spaces of stillness. After a week of rain, Takoma Park is achingly lush and verdant, and I am surrounded by whispering, rippling leaves. Every so often I hear the rush of the trains, or a faint siren, or a car engine sputtering, but I cannot see a single person. If I close my eyes I can pretend that I am alone.

I am eating blueberries with greek yogurt and mint syrup. It's a strangely fragrant and alluring combination, and is equally delicious with blackberries. To make the syrup, pour 1/4 cup boiling water over a mint tea bag and let it steep for a minute, and then stir in a tablespoon of sugar and chill. Then pour the concoction over berries with a dollop of sour greek yogurt. It's divine.

37 days until I leave and I've barely unpacked. Crap. I can't find my copy of "Brief Interviews With Hideous Men" so I will be left hanging, forever on page 103.