Reflection from a Famous Perspective

I have always wondered what it would be like to be famous and in a constant spotlight. After visiting rural KwaZulu Natal, I can confidently say I would not enjoy being famous. Being a while person (umlungu) in rural South Africa makes you a sort of “novelty item.” Everyone wants to know you, have his or her picture taken with you, date you, or even just walk next to you. Multiple times a day I would find myself surrounded by people of all different age groups wanting to say sawubona to me.
Men were the worst when it came to celebrity like attention. Men and boys ranging from ages 6 to 80 were telling me that they loved me and wanted to marry me for a very high lebola. One day as I was leaving my home-stay house a young group of boys about 6 to 8 walked by carrying water and goods for their family. One young boy stopped and looked up at me. In the sweetest voice, he told me he loved me and would marry me right away. I laughed both out of discomfort and out of amusement. I could not believe a boy this young had already been affected by the premature idea of love. Even more so, I could not believe he was already taught that it was better and to be white and therefore he should strive to marry an American foreigner for. After a few days, I began to retreat into myself. I avoided walks, the beach, and anything outside of the home-stay. Being a “novelty” began to take its toll on me. Knowing there was nothing particularly special about me, I also allowed my subconscious feelings of white guilt to take over my conscious.
As the attention grew, I started to contemplate the difference between a visitor of a foreign minority group in South Africa and one in America. I attempted to interpret how this “novelty” status made me feel and why. I decided my discomfort with it was due to the difference in treatment black South Africans would receive in my own country. Urban America is extremely used to seeing people from all corners of the world just as urban South Africans are used to it. However, rural America is less accustomed to minority groups. Small towns in the middle of the United States rarely have minority groups live there or visit. These towns could barley imagine an African visitor let alone one coming to help improve their school. I believe that if a minority, like a black South African, entered a rural American town the citizens would do everything in their power to avoid the group. The people would also possibly speak negatively about them.
I tried to compare this complex of rejecting minority groups in the US to the celebrity status rural black South Africa gives its white minority visitors. In the end, I found only partial similarities. Even language barrier was not comparable because Americans believe everyone should speak English. Many Americans even believe it is rude to struggle speaking English when you are in the states. Unfortunately, I could draw no other comparisons of how rural America treats its minority visitors and rural South Africa treats theirs.
Now that I have left the rural area and have had time to reflect I have thought of a few actions I could have done differently to assist my comfort and understanding. Instead of retreating into my home-stay to avoid the popularity, I could have spoken with students at the school, men in the community, or possibly even my Baba and Aunti. With them, I could have questioned why people in the community were so excited to see us. I could have asked the men what made Americans so special. I could have asked if they treated white South African who came to the area the same way. Instead of running away from the situation, I could have worked to understand the people’s behavior. If I took the time to understand then I could have possibly viewed my interactions with the locals differently. Another way I could have changed my reaction to my “novelty” status would be to bring up the feeling of discomfort with the group. If we all took the time to share our feelings and discuss I could have adopted the techniques of other group members.
Although I know there were many things I could have done differently in the rural area, I do not regret my time there. Each experience teaches you something else. I did learn about how rural black South Africans feel about Americans. I also learned about my personal comfort level with being in the spot light. The week home-stay in Dokodweni was a great experience both for my own personal reflection and for my understanding of the relationship between rural black South Africa and the western world.

Poetry Session

As a part of our internal seminar and in an attempt to get to know each other better we all spent five minutes writing short poems/ haikus about each other

Turquoise
A come of silence
Fire burning in her dark eyes
Through the night gliding- from Dan

Your cute hats, cute skirts
Your pillow, crinkle crinkle
Yay! Suitcase was found- Love Jaclyn

Kathlyn
Eager embracer of culture
She yells her Zulu
Wears only jewels

Max
Loves the shoes,
The Ray Bans too,
What a laugh
He is classy and kind too

Sarcastic, witty, long, refreshing
The head is more than the body
You make me laugh
hahaha

Curly hair sarcasm
Living cool shades of the south
Your shopping will get better- love Whitney

Annie
Like a child, she is joyful in the moment
Rolling in the water
Like an old woman she reflects
Asking all the wise questions
Some how she manages to be both

If I were a seed
At last I’d be free
Smile with glee
Grow up big- from max

Lauren (me)
Nature girl at heart
Speaks strongly and with banks
Buys shiny art- love Stephanie

She comes undone now
Spill red laced with silver gems
Shola, I need help!- love Rachael

Elias
An encourager
Always making me smile
An awesome twirler – Turquoise

Jaclyn
Always so perky
Please show that sexy face
Eats her weight in size- love Turquoise

Luxurious hair
Likes to make fun of her mom
Zulu class all-star- <3 Jillian

Daniel
He’s got the beats
Takes care of the crew
I have so much love for you- Josh

Stephanie
Drawing all the time
She sees the beauty in all
She’s a free spirit- love Jaclyn

Josh
Been rockin’ a hat
Likes to have crazy voice time
Often in the morn- From Caroline

Hits head on ceiling
Huggable like a teddy bear
“oh is it my turn”- Lauren (me)

a shattered illusion

When I decided to travel to South Africa for my first semester of junior year, I believed I would be entering a newly enlightened country. I thought that it had thrown the past aside and was only moving forward. Once I arrived, I realized my idealist perspective was just that, ideal, and that South Africans were just beginning to change apartheid ways. Since studying at SIT and living in Cato Manor, I have encountered multiple situations where I was unsure whether apartheid really had ended. These situations have been in both white and black context and each has seized to shock and amaze me.A few of these events have left a lasting impression on my optimistic mind. One of thee events took place on our group trip to the south coast. We stayed at an amazing little hostel situated right by the ocean. The atmosphere was incredibly calming from both a mix of the smell of the sea to the silence of the night. A man named Eric ran the Hostel. Although he was a French migrant to South Africa, he had lived in the country during the apartheid era. All the staff besides Eric where black South Africans. The main staff members name was Musa. He worked with his head down towards the ground and spoke so softly it was nearly impossible to hear him. Eric would summon Musa with a wave of his finger and expect Musa be at his side in seconds. Eric acted as if Musa was his servant.

On our last morning, I was sitting alone inside on the couches. I was peacefully reading my book “Coconut” trying to get some space from the group. While I was reading Eric stormed into the living room walked over to the kitchen door and summoned Musa with his usual hand wave. Startled by the loud footsteps, I looked up from my book. Musa, being busy, did not see Eric. Eric, once again, waved his finger and yelled Musas name. “Is a wave not enough Musa? Must I now also you to me as well,” yelled Eric in a demeaning tone. “ Are you a child Musa? Must I work with imbeciles who embarrass me and upset my guests?” Being his only guest and far from upset I had no clue why Eric was so angry. However, I was to afraid and shocked to come to Musas aid and his behind my book until the scolding was finished and I could scamper outside unnoticed. I could not get the conversation out of my mind for the rest of the day.

This final event showed me how attached South Africa is to its apartheid ways. I believe Eric considers himself superior to his staff both because he owns the hostel and is white. Being shocked out of my naivety and into reality has left me to feel scared thatchange will never come to this nation. I know I have come to South Africa to witness the change first hand but I currently feel no hope for the older generation of this country. I also fear for the younger generation such as Musa. He could not have been older than 25. Meaning Musa only spent 9 years of his life under true apartheid rule. If he is treated by whites as nothing but the trash that sweeps the mess of the floor than he will be destined to a black inferiority complex. This complex is detrimental to black South Africans and is passed from one generation to the next. After such an emotionally startling event, I have misgivings about the ability for South Africa to leave its past behind.

After experiencing an event such as this, I am stuck wondering what I could have done differently. Should I have stopped Eric? How would Musa have felt if I told him, I was not angry? Where was my place in this interaction and should I have takena more critical role in it. After analyzing my feelings and having time to reconsider the situation, I believe I did the right thing. It is not my place to try to change South Africa. I am here to understand the conflict and hypothesize about the bright future of South Africa. I have come to the country to learn about the social and political development of the country so I can go on to help assist countries in the future with their own development. Maybe one day I will come back to South Africa and tackle the apartheid racism from a structured social context. However for now, I am hear to be an observer and understand as much as I can about the good and bad South Africa has to offer.

Transportation

Address

Lauren Sakin
School for International Training
Postnet Suite 151
Private Bag X04
Dalbridge 4014
SOUTH AFRICA

Teaching Abilities in a Developing Nation

-Image of the world cup stadium in Durban

Finally having met my home stay family, I am pleased to say they are as normal as expected and quite. I spent most of the weekend either home alone, eating or watching the bible channel. The house is nice with a living room kitchen/dinning room and I have my own bathroom. There is full electricity and running water. No shower but there is a tub (pictures coming soon). I have a little sister names Lipuma, a mama Alice, and Baba Albert.

The neighborhood is safe in the day but is not the best at night. Basically, we have to be escorted places or stay inside. My family is a bit paranoid it seems in comparison to other families. They don’t want me to have my windows opening. Uhh huh sure… not when it is fucking hot and there are bars on the window. Needless to say, at night it usually smells like someone has lit a joint in my room because everyone in Bonela (our township) and South African townships smoke weed. They don’t call it the cape of good dope for nothing!

Days have been so busy I have had very little time to journal think let alone get online. I try to sneak in a facebook peak in between our 2 HOUR LONG lecture and zulu classes. Zulu, well it is going… but that is about all I think I can say about it without ranting!

A NOTE ON AFRICAN TEACHERS

I have noticed there is a clear distinction between the capabilities of American teachers vs. those here in South Africa. I know education in the country is poor and there are constant struggles and strikes around the education system. Many of our readings we receive are written poorly with many typos. They also are poorly organized and that translates into the lectures in class. I know you may be thinking, “what is a dyslexic girl thinking when she is evaluating peoples writing abilities.” All I have to say to that is, if I notice than it is definitely a problem. It also presents a problem when I am attempting to learn something in class and we jump around from topic to another and then back to the old. I do not mean this in a tangent kind of way but in a clearly disorganized writing ability. I believe this shows the level in expectation between the US and other nations. Going to a very good liberal arts school I know my teachers hold a very high expectation of me and even higher of themselves. After seeing the difference, it is not surprising to me that the government in this country is struggling. If the most educated people are still having trouble teaching about their chosen profession then how good is their own working ability. This must be a problem many westerners encounter in South Africa as well as in other developing countries. Long story short, the struggle with education in this country is apparent and shines through when looking at the abilities of teachers and their expectations of themselves as well as their students.

Enter, the Post Apartheid Zone...

After traveling for 3 weeks with the family my program officially started about a week ago. We have moved to Durban and will move in with our host families on Friday. Durban is a beautiful city. Yesterday we had our first day to explore the city. We rode to the top of the soccer stadium where we could have a view of the city. The Indian ocean is magnificent. (besides the sharks that is!) The city is wonderful looking and is much more African than say Cape town. We are still all adjusting but its going so well. I am so pleased to be in an eclectic group of kids. Not everyone would choose this program and I am really beginning to see that.

We also started are Zulu language program which is full of clicking. We have learned three clicks. They are quite fun but also distracting and challenging. My tongue has to learn to move and build up new muscles. Yes is yebo and how are you in unjani. That’s all for now maybe Ill post more Zulu language skills so we can all converse together!

Finally, please everyone send me addresses so I can send postcards. I will not be sending mass emails but rather having frequent posts. Feel free to respond but I am just to busy here to individually reply to everyone all the time. Please don’t take it personally I have created this blog so I can keep the love ones in my life aware of how I am doing both emotionally and physically.

Note on the hoop:

I have had a lot of time to practice with the hoop and almost have leg hoping down. I thankfully have had a fellow spinner in the group. Elias is a poi and staff spinner and is wonderful. He has been teaching me poi, which I will hopefully translate into my hooping and meanwhile I have been showing him the joy of the hoop! I hope that this weekend I will be able to get out into Cato Manor township and practice and show my sisi’s and bhuti’s how to hoop.