Oh the minibuses

You learn a lot about people by the way they travel. Tell me about your new H2, Hybrid, mountain bike, or walking shoes and I can already make judgments about the kind of person you are. In Cape Town, one of the most popular form of transit is the minibus. These are basically big VW Microbuses with enough seats for 14-16 people. When you cram people in, as they always do, its more like 16-18.

I am a huge fan of the minibuses. Yes, they aren't always comfortable. Yes, the drivers drive like madmen, disobey just about every traffic law, and most drive minibuses that aren't exactly - let's call it - well maintained. In spite of this, however, I love riding on them. First all they make so much sense. Each ride is about 60 cents to a dollar, they go across main streets and to townships, you just flag them down to get on and say "enkosi driver" (thanks driver) to get off.

Being jammed in with people is a double edged sword. First you expect it so its no big deal. Second, after our American notions of personal space, one must quickly abandon this if you want to get anywhere fast. Unlike American transport, there isn't a fare box and anything like that. Sometimes there's a guy with a bag of change and everyone just passes their stuff forward. Everyone helps out getting people the right change and all. I also enjoy the lack of personal space because it reminds us of how sheltered we get in America, especially in public places. We have this image of everyone wanted their own privacy that rarely do strangers strike up conversations.

I don't know about you guys, but I love those random chats with strangers. The minibuses are perfect places. It's just amazing to meet people and hear about their views and life. Also, people on the minibuses are soo willing to help people out. You really feel the communal nature of the country. For instance, one time I was riding back to Observatory and I didn't know the cross street, so I was frantically looking outside the foggy windows for something that looked familiar. Suddenly, without me asking or soliciting his help, this nice guy asked me where I was headed (in English, goodness knows how he picked me out as a tourist) and told me where to tell the driver to stop. I don't think something like this would take place as often in America. There people are very willing to help when you ask. But our notion of individualism and minding our own business prevents a lot of human to human interaction and helping.

A few times I've yelled to the driver to stop but b/c I was in the back he didn't hear. People closer to the driver told him to stop. They didn't do it because I asked or because they had any interest in me getting to the right stop.

Another time, in line for the minibus to Langa, some lady asked me very nicely"ummm are you in the right line, because you know this minibus is going to Langa. Again this was without my prompting but she was trying to be helpful and make sure I got to the right place.

Another ride, I started talking to this woman next to me in isiXhosa and all these ladies around got so excited that I was learning and speaking isiXhosa very, very poorly.

The minibuses just reflect a lot about the culture here. It's communal and you share a lot (in some cases 3 seats between 4 or maybe 5 people). It's something that I think American culture can learn a lot from. So, to everyone reading, promise me next time you're in public transit, you'll lean over and ask the person next to you how there day is going or some trite comment about the weather. It might just be small talk but it's some of the smaller human to human moments that remind us how connected we are (or should be) to each other.

As always, comments are welcome,especially stories or interactions on public transportation.

Escapism, for better or for worse?

There are two types of vegetarians.

There are the quiet, "I just don't like the idea of eating meat" for whatever guttural reason (pun intended) type and mind their own business.

Then there are the militant "I'm morally opposed to being vegetarian to such an extent that I will disregard the boundaries between my stomach and yours to make sure every ounce of pleasure that that oh-so-supple pork chop supplies is completely annihilated the mounds of guilt I will heap upon you for participating in the circle of life, you souless bastard."

After 3 weeks of a pretty intense learning experience at our township home stays, this weekend we had the amazing opportunity to go to Cederberg, a secluded nature reserve about 4 hours drive north of Cape Town. It is a place far from most of modern man's influence, for better or for worse. Honestly, it was a more than welcome reprieve from seeing some of the worst of modern man's influence: the segregation, the poverty, the desperation, the insecurity in Langa township. It was more than welcome to wake up to the sunrise over a beautiful lake surrounded by sparkling red rock instead of that very same sunrise over teetering one room shacks. What was welcome was an escape from the realities of our imperfect world.

In Cederberg, we were privy to a landscape of immense natural beauty. Saturday we hiked through a Mars-like red rock landscape (that is, if I mentally erase the trees, brush, birds...and water...well pretty much everything except for the rocks). Our day trip ended by a ...let's call it refreshing25 ft jump into a freezing river. It was certainly enjoyable but I'm not gonna lie, after I hit that bitterly cold water, I imagined those Martians had life pretty good on Mars without water...

Anyway, Friday and Saturday nights we (and by we, I mean Zed, our group leader) cooked out. Sitting out in the crisp, beautiful nights with good friends and good food, life seemed pretty simple. Strolling under the many stars that filled the night sky unpolluted by articficial light was something I particularly enjoyed. I feel very humbled looking up at the stars. It reminds me not to sweat the small stuff; seen from any of those stars in the beautiful expanse of our universe, complaints about imperfections in our lives and petty arguments seem insignificant, to say the least..

While you should have already drawn the connection to vegetarians, let me explain the link in my twisted mind, if you will indulge me. The striking juxtaposition of untouched natural beauty in a land of so many problems is not something I had to go to Cederberg for. I saw it on (or rather around) Table Mountain. I saw it in the beautiful tourist beaches in camps bay. In Cederberg, however, the contrast was so much more vivid because it was a trip specifically designed to get away from it all.

In everyday life, however we make efforts to get away from our problems. The oft used phrase out of sight out of mind seems to fit this build. I so often do my best to stay on the "right" side of the train tracks because it is so much easier to not confront the poverty of DC, for instance. My beautiful, mainly white middle-upper class corner of NW DC sure is an escape from the poor SE corner. The difference, however, is that this is a pretty permanent one.

However, the question that those vegetarians lead me to is where the balance lies between truly enjoying the finer points of life and remembering all the injustices and inequities of the world? Should your knowledge of the outside pain and suffering spoil the taste of escapist pleasures? Are those who relentlessly remind us of all that is wrong with the world ruining the wealth many enjoy? Are guilt tripping vegetarians are evil as I put them out to be?

Ubuntu is a culture in African communities that asserts that all human beings are connected and reminds us of our responsibility to treat everyone as a brother and sister. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with retreating to a simpler less worrisome life. I just think we, myself included, need to be sure to remember that there are those who do not have the option of retreat. They must be battle ready and charge in the face of injustice every day.

We must remember that as we escape from some of the realities of our planet, our sympathy, empathy and sense connectedness to those less fortunate should never be allowed to escape us. Most importantly, we must make sure we acknowledge that we are escaping from the realities of the planet. Cederberg was a retreat but an acknowledged one.

So yes, you can enjoy your lamb shank or pristine waters and crimson rocks over cloudless blue skies. Just don't forget where these opportunities came from and just because they are away from the realities of the Townships and heart-less meat-packing conglomerates, they certainly are not connected to them.

A different kind of life...

Poverty is something I have read about. It is something I have seen on TV. It is something I have discussed passionately. It is not, however, something I have ever experienced.

In my homestay, I certainly have had this experience. Certainly not myself. I still have my ATM card to fall back on. Yet, Langa -- one of the richest townships in South Africa -- is a very poor place. My family is very well off by Langa standards. We have a TV, stereo, dog, washing machine (no dryer though), an old Mercedes -- hell we even have a fishtank! Yet, money is not something that flows freely in the house.

Two examples come to mind. First, our mom has said she has a tough time sending her cute granddaughter, Sinu, to preschool because its experience. "How expensive is it?" I ask. Oh 80 Rand per month. For those not up on the daily Rand-$ exchange rate, that's about $12. It has been pretty depressing comparing that to my daily spending.

That's about a good sit-down lunch.

That's about four drinks at a pub in downtown Cape Town

That's about 1/2 and ounce of cocaine... just kidding -- but you get the point, it's peanuts in my books. In fact about 2 bags of them at a ballpark.

Example two is ice cream. Mama one day mentioned she liked Ice Cream. So, being a good guest I went out and bought her some. As the container was nearing its end, I asked Mama to remember me next time she eats ice cream. She didn't, however respond with the standard sarcastic OK. Instead she said "But what if I can't afford it?"

I had no answer.

Living a poor life makes you more creative. Once something is broken or you find you don't have something, you can't just by a new one. That is what we do in the States and I certainly have taken this freedom to buy more or less whatever I needed for granted. Yet, the tattered clothes, the poor dog's torn and broken dog house are testament to this lifestyle.

This weekend, I also was taught a lesson by a kid of about 10. Cooper and I were outside trying in vain to teach Sinu to kick a soccer ball. We soon realized that 3 years old might be a little early. But, some kids came along and wanted to play with us. They suggested we start a game. I thought this was a great idea. In my mind I wondered how far the nearest soccer field is or where I could get cones for goal posts. Little did I know the kids were already making the field. The sidelines were the sidewalks and the goals consisted of 4 well placed bricks. They didn't need a fancy field or even a wide open park to have a good time. They made do with what they had even far away from the grip of materialism.

I've been learning a lot in my homestay, perhaps the most valuable lesson is the value of experience. I have felt this before in my international travels and living. Yes, it is great to study something academically. Yet sometimes, you just need to live like someone to really understand their point of view. As one of my all time favorite books says:

"You never know someone until you step inside their skin and walk around a little."

Yet, what I have learned as I take pictures of shacks with my $300 digital camera and listen to my $300 iPod in bed while Mama's surrogate son lives in a one-room shack with only a kerosene lantern is that I am far from stepping inside someone else's skin. Yes Langa is outside of my comfort zone and a foray into a community I would otherwise steer clear of. At the end, however, the comforts I have gotten accustom too and do not want to give up prevent me from really understanding what it is like to live a different kind of life.

I would love to hear comments and advice on how to balance trying to experience the lives of those who are disadvantaged while at the same time having many comforts to fall back on that these disadvantaged people just don't have access to. Can you really emphasize with people if you haven't really lived like them? If not, is sympathy enough?

A Couple Thousand Words...

Don't worry I won't subject you to anything that long, title was figurative. In fact this will be very brief. Yesterday I had a chance to tour Langa again and take picture of the sites with Kenneth. I think the pictures are much more eloquent than I am so I will let them do the talking.






Kenneth and a friend with brewing beer.

Zimbabwe in Cape Town

America has the great luxury of having two huge Oceans isolating it from the strife of the developing world. South Africa, as the most developed nation in Africa is not so lucky. It faces massive unemployment, rising inequality that is even worse that the US (an impressive task), and rampant crime; all of these worse since the end of Apartheid. Meanwhile it has to deal with an influx of immigrants from even more impoverished nations hoping to fight for the bottom rung of the South African ladder. Because it is hard enough for South Africans themselves to get employed; unemployment is 40% (to put this in perspective, the peak of the Great Depression saw 25% unemployment), there seems to be much xenophobia and fear of immigration. Luckily this is nothing a soaring nation like America ever has to deal with.

Oh, wait.

More on that later. But I had first hand experience of this yesterday as I attended a chic Cape Town Press Club lunch with my family's good friend, Peter Soal. He invited me to this great event hosted at a beautiful hotel at the Baltimoresque V&A Waterfront, hardly Langa. Speaking was an asylum-seeking ex-opposition MP in Zimbabwe's Parliament, Roy Bennett. He had been thrown in jail and treated horrendously for bumping another MP from Mugabe (Zim's authoritarian "democratically elected" "President") party, ZANU-PF. It's probably not a coincidence Bennett has been extremely vocal in criticizing Mugabe.
After finally being released last year, he has been seeking asylum in South Africa because of his legitimate
fear of further persecution. Much to his (and the Press Club's) chagrin, he was denied asylum by the government. The reason for this is not the merits of his case. Instead, it seems it has to do with the precedent this would set for the two million or so refugees from Zimbabwe seeking asylum in South Africa.

During his speech, he made a impassioned plea for South Africa to stand up to Mugabe and not only open its warm womb of stability to not only himself but other Zimbabweans fleeing oppression. This was a plea well received by Cape Town's intelligentsia, myself excluded -- well not from the fact that I received it well...you get the point. To me it was great to hear about Zimbabwe -- a country I lived in for two years when I was a little tyke of about 6 or 7 -- first hand and it reminded me of how a country I had know only for its immense natural and human beauty had been driven into a ditch by Zimbabwe's ruling government.

Yet, what it also reminded me of was what I was told by a sweet old lady on a minibus to Langa: "All the countries in the world have so much to learn from each other." People often seem to think problems with immigration, poverty, education, unemployment and destructive regimes (I'm looking at you, Canada) are issues that only afflict one country in the world, their own. Yet, these are all issues countries across the globe struggle with despite nationalistic pleas insisting that each nation is an island, with nothing to learn from others.

I have a cheap pen bic pen in my hand right now.

The need for a writing instrument is a common affliction. There is a perfectly good reason why everyone in the world doesn't have to manufacture one for themselves. Yes, I know what you are thinking, heartless capitalist rational self-interest. Touche. But the point is that capitalism does the same thing that global citizenship does. It looks at our common problems and addresses them so that our common desires (be it cold hard cash or less human suffering) are met.
I'm not certain how to deal with immigration and instability issues be they in Mexico or Zimbabwe. Perhaps it has to do with recognizing the human cost of the immense poverty and instability. However, there this is not easy when your own country must deal with its own problems. Yet, being in a Catch-22 when you want to help other nations while simultaneously needing to provide for your own people is something every nation has in common.

When we pool our resources together and learn from each other as that sweet lady on the minibus suggested, it seems the pen is mightier than the sword.*

*Sorry, anyone that knows me certainly is aware that I can never resist a bad pun.

"Adventure" on Table Mountain

Interesting fact: more people die every year on Table Mountain than on Mount Kilimanjaro. With that in mind, we began our trek up Table Mountain bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and full of energy, hope and fluids. We aimed to hike all the way up, approximate 2 1/2 hours according to the guide book. About a half hour into our journey, and as we glared at a sign post on the main trail, we ran into a hiker who appeared like he knew what he was doing . He had the hiker look going with the thick hiker socks, cut off t shirt and sunglasses which screamed "I know where I'm going". What's more, he casually and amicably asked us if we knew where we were going in a thick South African accent.
At this time, we were following the main path, which seemed clear enough. Yet we answered honestly that we didn't exactly know as none of us had hiked up Table Mountain before. Little did we know, answering him honestly was a poor decision.

"Oh, this way is much faster," he asserted as he pointed up the steep slope, away from the trail we were following, "the trail gets a little faint at times but its easy to follow."
Yeah, right.

About three hours later we ran into that sign post again, thankfully -- for the sake of his health -- he was nowhere to be seen. No, we had not made it up the mountain. Instead, we had spent hours trudging through prickly bushes, climbing up and down rock formations and bloodying ourselves as we tried -- and failed -- to make it up Table Mountain.
Before we reached the sigh and that damn hiker, we saw the pictured sign which has a pretty clear message. Even men can follow those simple directions to stay out of Blinkwater Ravine. Little did we know that just a few hours later we would find ourselves going down that very ravine to try to save ourselves from, what I will euphemistically call, fertilizing a national park.
Alas, we made it back down to that sign and after much false hope on my part that we could make it up before sun down following the real trail, it was crushed by reality and we decided to head home. As we descended Table Mountain we were distraught, thirsty, tired and sore. We were only left by three small consolations.
First, I don't recall any of us saying we wanted to hike to the top of Table Mountain. As I recall, the semantics were "hike up" Table Mountain. Certainly, and I think you will agree, we had done that.
Second, we were certain that hiker who gave us horrendous directions would burn in the firey pits of hell.
Third, by the time we made it back down to the cable car station, we realized that any dignity or pride we wanted to salvage was heavily outweighed by our desire for some ice cold water.
So, we ended our journey with a SUCCESSFUL trek to a neighborhood supermarket, thankful to have our health and that "adventure" under our belts.

Turning Langa Inside-Out

Crossing the threshold of my home stay house in Langa, I had no idea what to expect. All of the township I'd seen before was the shanties, AKA informal settlements, that line the main highway from the airport into Cape Town. Coming into our comfortable lodging in Observatory on the outskirts of Cape Town, the dilapidated shacks of Langa and other townships were merely a blur, footnote or asterisk on our journey.

Having the opportunity to live in Langa allowed us to actually take the time to examine this footnote and really see how the poverty of wealth of township life shapes the way people think, act and live. Little did I know I would be thrown head first into this my second day in Langa.
Last Sunday, I met Kenneth a wirey man of 40, visibly aged to what seemed to be 55 by life with a big smile thrown off balance by a missing front-left tooth. He was firmly planted in a chair in my home stay living room as Cooper and I returned from church. I plopped down on the couch adjacent to it and introduced myself in broken, mispronounced Xhosa. As we got into a deeper discussion, he passionately told me about the changes in his country and how much hope he had for the younger generation.
The most notable moment of this conversation came as he stated that he thought South Africa was the best nation in the world. As he said this, my mind immediately went to GDP figures, international acclaim and other sorts of measure that we often use to justify such claims. Instead, he simply asserted that the spirit of his nation was so welcoming, so kind, so communal oriented that knew he was part of the greatest people on the planet. In his eyes, any poverty of wealth in South Africa is certainly counteracted by a tremendous wealth of spirit.
After hearing him say that he was a man of little means who simply worked odd jobs to stay alive, he offered me something that I will never forget, a chance to experience how people live in Langa. I accepted, slightly unsure what he meant. I certainly am glad I did. He took us all through Langa, from old apartments with 6 people living in 3 beds in 1 room to the new apartments the government is not building fast enough to, reluctantly, his own, dilapidated shanty to a dark, drab shebeen (informal bar rife with an African beer made of sorghum (however you spell that) and milk). It was an incredible, eye opening experience that I only now am beginning to process.
What made it so difficult to do so was not the dire poverty - I expected this. What made it so difficult to process was the stunning contraction between the absolute, bitter poverty and the amazing openness, magnanimity and friendliness of those I met, especially Kenneth.
Throughout our journey, I carried the baggage of being white. I was repeatedly approached for money, money that I could certainly afford to give away. However, Kenneth was our buffer, repeatedly telling those who approached us in isiXhosa that we were her to see, to experience and not to give. This gracious attitude pervaded as we approached his dull, one room shanty. We sensed his reluctance to show it to us, but he did so and invited into his shack consisting of a chair, a bed, and a small table with an oil lamp on it. This was an immensely emotional moment as I stared eye-to-eye with someone with twice the kindness, compassion, magnanimity that I will ever have yet without the very basic means of survival that I have come to take for granted, take as human essentials.
Yet, part of why this was so hard to process was the moment as he dropped us off at our home stay. As we were saying thank you and good bye, he quietly asked us if we could give him some money. I was happy to do so as he had given me a priceless experience, but this moment showed that despite his desire merely for us to learn, he had to eat too. This is something I certainly cannot fault him for.
The view of Langa I was given is not what most outsiders see. Yes they see the shacks. However they see them as inanimate objects lumped together as a "shanty town." They don't usually have the amazing opportunity to really see how people live, to really see how America's obsession with dialectic materialism completely loses focus of what happiness is. The stark contrast between poverty of wealth and enormous wealth of spirit is something I still am processing and something I will surely not soon forget.