McEdlund, Madcore and Shoeless Jo have an adventure...

We just returned from fall break. YOWZA!

I drove a difficult stick shift with no power steering on the left side of the road for the past week. Christa and Jo don't drive manual, so it was all me, all the time. Driving in Africa can be utter insanity. In big towns, people just wander the streets, there don't seem to be any jaywalking laws or anything along those lines, so you have to watch for traffic and people everywhere. On the highway, there are animals all over the place. I had to stop for cows and geese and sheep, and there were a lot of goats around and occasionally some horses. Sometimes there were people with them, mostly not. On the roads, people pass all over, all the time, and protocol is to drive on the shoulder while they pass you.

I actually got pulled over - although it was more like waved over (my first time, in any country) for overtaking - I started my overtake in the legal zone but then it stopped being legal in the middle of my passing and the cops saw me. They didn't have a good way to ticket me since I am American and basically just asked for a bribe. "Just give me something - a cold drink, just a little something, we'll let it go. What do you say?" I only gave him R20 - about $2.50 and he let me go. The ticket would have been R2000, or $250.

We stayed in backpackers (hostels) R70-90 a night, so around $10. It was weird to drive through Africa, most places we didn't see ANY white people, and then suddenly, a backpackers, in the middle of nowhere, or right next to/in a village, and all the 20-something white people would be there with their tans, their dreads, their surfboards, their Chaco sandals, their books or journals, their big packs, usually holding a drink.

As far as activities:

Coffee Bay:

Surfing was cool - we had an hour lesson on a soft board, I got up about 8 times, so I felt pretty good about myself. Surfing was followed by toasties on the beach - toasties are something they make all the time here: A grilled sandwich of cheese, tomato, and onion.

Horseback riding: kind of scary because my saddle wasn't on tight and my stirrups were too long so I couldn't really keep my feet in them very well. Our guide asked if we wanted to go fast - his English wasn't that great - and we thought we would be trotting, but we took off at a fast canter. That happened twice, and the third time he didn't even ask, he just started galloping across this field. Yes, I have galloped a horse through the Transkei...

Dinner in a Xhosa village: we were taken to the headman's hut (about 10-15 of us) and our guide was also Xhosa, but from another village. He was quite a character - about 18 years old, he translated everything for us, and you could tell he was adding things on all the time. So it started where the headmaster served up some Xhosa beer - maize beer. He poured it into large yogurt containers and we passed them around until they were gone, then, to our dismay, he would fill them up again.

Our guide, Joseph, explained the process of making maize beer and then: "So, once the beer is ready, word gets around the village: 'Joseph has one of the best batches of beer ever made!' and then everyone in the village comes over, they all try the beer, and we drink and get drunk." He said that a lot: "We drink and get drunk." Every time he passed the yogurt container to me or Christa (we were sitting next to him) he would say, "Get in there." Another girl bought a drink from the ones Joseph brought from the backpackers, and he said "A Hunter's for - the Tessa one...Get in there, Tessa."

After we started drinking the beer, "the Mamas" came in and sang and danced for a long time. Joseph kept saying "SHAKE that body!" and he would occasionally get up and dance behind the Mamas, where the kids were sitting, and sometimes dancing.

After the dancing, we ate pumpkin and maize mixed together, then maize and sweet beans mixed together. Both were tasty, not particularly interesting. During dinner we asked questions through Joseph and the Mamas and the headmaster would answer. Then they asked where we were from and our names, so Joseph asked us and told them, one of us at a time. There were a lot of Americans, and every time he said one of us, he said we were from Bush or from "Mr. George", and of course we all kept protesting that we don't like Bush, but he always introduced us that way anyway. I was last, so I had time to prepare, and I said I study in PE, which made me sound a little better.

After dinner they had us get up and dance once with the Mamas, and that was embarrassing for us. Then we hiked back to our minibus and rode back to the backpackers.

The Drakensburg mountains:

Took a Land Rover up the Sani Pass into Lesotho with a crazy guide named Rudy - these tour guides are all a little odd. It was fun.

Lesotho was strange - a totally different culture from what we had been seeing in South Africa. They wear blankets and boots, and herd sheep or goats. We had some bread and maize beer in a woman's hut and our guide told us about their lifestyle.

Lesotho is a little country inside SA, they have their own government - a monarchy. Lesotho (Say Leh-soo-too) is the country, a Mesotho is one person, Besotho is many people, and Sesotho is the language.

A Masotho shepherd sat smiling at me and said "I love you" when Jo and I were eating our lunches, so I considered staying in Lesotho and becoming a shepherd's wife, but before he said that he asked me for money, and afterwards he said he was hungry, so I think he was a gold-digger. Plus I'm probably worth 30 cows in Lesotho, given my level of education, and I don't even think he had that many sheep. We gave him a juice box - it was all we had left from lunch, and we aren't supposed to encourage begging.

We did tip the young man who had created a guitar from some metal and plastic, and played it impressively (I have an 8 second video).

Then we went to the highest pub in Africa and had a drink, but it was cold, so we had hot chocolate after that.

The next day we did a 6 hour hike, it was beautiful, of course. We didn't see a soul the whole time, swam in some COLD water, and forded a river a few times. And we got a little lost apparently, because we came out on the road about 8 km from our backpackers (it was supposed to be 2.5 km away). We walked for a while, until it became clear we had a ways to go, and the road was under construction, and then a truck went by and I jokingly stuck my thumb out, but they saw and backed up, so we got in the back of this couple's pickup and got dropped off a few minutes later.

Then we washed up and had dinner at a nice coffee shop/deli called "The Lemon Tree" in Underberg, about 20 minutes away from where we stayed.

Buccaneers at Chintsa (say sin-sah):

Took out kayaks and went upriver for a few hours. Neither Jo nor I had ever kayaked before, but Christa had, so she took one alone, and Jo and I laughed a lot in ours and got really wet. Jo doesn't know how to steer, but she got in the back, I was trying to teach her how to steer, so we zigzagged up the river. I got hit in the back of the head with her paddle at least three times. There were jumping fish in this river, which we discovered when one jumped into my lap. That was exciting.

We got back and went down to the beach to swim and read all day - I finished a book for our literature class (it was more like a romance novel though - gross).

Both nights at Buccaneers, Jo and I drank cider and giggled for a few hours, which was fun. We had some good talks, and some that we probably shouldn't have had, but it was nice to reconnect one-on-one, away from the stress of the flat and school and all that.

And then the drive home: we had to pull off the road at one point to avoid head-on collision, because someone was overtaking and there was no room for them to get back into their lane. Then they pulled off too, so we went on again... and then I got pulled over, as described above, and we made it back to PE all in one piece.

If you read all that... wow. I'm honored. Don't tell anyone, though, they'll find out you have no social life, and as Joseph would say, "So, sorry for you!"

things I will miss

I think I will miss the things I didn't realize I was adjusting to:

being in the minority

walking around campus and seeing non-white people everywhere

hearing a variety of languages and accents - being at choir and hearing groups suddenly break into Afrikaans or Xhosa, then back to English

crowding into taxis with strangers

running next to the beach at sunrise every morning

moving slowly, having spare time to cook dinner most nights and lunch some days

hugging the kids at Pendla, even when they have lice or ringworm

listening to the teacher I work with make English mistakes: "When did he died?" "Stop noising!"

leaving a stack of dirty laundry and a R20 note when I leave for class, and coming back to find it neatly folded, sitting on my bed

being called "my love" by Zukie, our maid

sitting on the balcony with a guitar in the evening, serenading the street below with Josh Ritter songs

explaining anything with TIA: "this is Africa"

The Way Home

- Gabeba Baderoon

Find an intersection

Turn the map to match

the angle of the street.

This might mean

the book will be upside down.

Find the way home.

Cape Town

7 March
I spend the first day
sitting, reading, and eating
bus ride to Cape Town

8 March
topless tours
shows us the city
in the sun

at the waterfront
our first Robben Island tour
is canceled, re-planned

Mama Africa
my meal served in a cauldron
with four kinds of meat

after our dinner
I go out to drink and dance –
leave early to sleep

9 March
morning at seven
we leave for Table Mountain
soon we are sweating

the boys move quickly
while Christa and I struggle
I feel like a wimp

arriving at the top
we write a postcard and ride
the cable car down



still smelling of sweat
we drink wine at a vineyard
then take a group tour

dinner: eight of us
in a restaurant at which
all diners aren’t white



10 March
it’s back on the bus
we disembark for hiking
and sun-burnt shoulders






at Cape to Cuba
“rugged revolutionaries”
serve us mojitos

we pass plates
trying each dinner
group effort

the last taste
lingers in my mouth:
cigar smoke






11 March
my concrete mixer
is making smoothies today
Mandela's revenge

I brought mousse
but forgot cipro
big mistake

our first rainy day
takes us to a museum
no Robben Island

all body parts ache
fever keeps me shivering
whether warm or cold

exhausted by noon
I’m back at Mountain Manor
sleep all afternoon

a sick day
unprecedented
in its scope

borrowed tylenol
and cipro bringing me back
speech is still slow, slurred



12 March
another bus day
cautiously drinking water
then juice, even bread

stopped on the highway
construction forces us to
take in the mountains





preceding each town
a settlement of bright shacks
laundry on the lines



included
in tonight’s braai packs:
ostrich meat

tomorrow
some have a chance to
ride the beast



13 March
Sally the Stripper:
she has been ostrich-married
for twenty-four years




at the Cango Caves
we shimmy through “the Post-box”
and “Tunnel of Love”

our slow-speaking guide
is patient with us and our
immaturity

back in the sunlight
we each listen to ourselves
tell the same story

my dinner with Jo:
bread, cheese, carrots, last night’s braai,
bottle of red wine



we finish eating
but we stay outside to talk
for one, two, three hours



14 March
bus back to PE:
on curving mountainside roads
we sideswipe a truck

on the drive
I have ample time
for haikus

last minute
I change my mind and
bungy jump

choir camp

Last weekend was choir camp. It was an intense weekend of singing. We stayed at a camp type place (bringing our own bedding, staying in 12 person dorms, but with food provided, etc). It had a challenge course (which we never got to use) and three donkeys which lived in the challenge course. It also had three dogs, with whom Christa immediately fell in love.

A few pictures:

We ate, sang, relaxed, sang, had a braai (grilled meat), and hung out and talked.

My favorite part was the talent show for first year members. I was part of an alright improv skit (the dating game) and I also sang a duet with Peter, a St John's friend, which was tough after a full day of singing. Then Peter played some bluegrass with backup from four or five African men. On one of the songs, they just added some harmonies to the easier parts, but on the other song, one of them starting beatboxing using mostly Xhosa clicks. These guys are incredible! On breaks, they walk around singing together, traditional harmonies as far as I can tell.

Later that night I spent a while talking with a girl who was teaching me some Xhosa words and laughing at my clicks. She also explained some things about Xhosa culture to me. I learned a lot that day. Turns out she has an 18-month-old daughter with her boyfriend (also in the choir). Her daughter lives with the grandmother.

This girl explained the very patriarchal marriage process in her culture: the potential husband has to get his father and all of his uncles together and get approval of his choice of wife so that they can go to the woman's father and uncles and offer a labola or dowry. My friend's would be a little lower than average because she already has a child. Probably a little more than R10,000, or in the range of $1300.

Related to gender: every time we have a braai (we've probably had four now), we are told that men will do the braai-ing. At choir camp, the men were told to go get wood for a bonfire and the women were told to put the tables in order in the rehearsal/dining room. No one seems bothered by these divisions, but our St Ben's/St John's group certainly makes our opinions known, and we remain rebellious about who cooks. Even at Pendla the gender division is prominent in who is asked to do which chores. Boys move chairs and open windows. Girls take roll and do book-keeping. It takes some getting used to for liberals like us.

day to day

This is a group of my classmates studying/relaxing in our almost two hour break between classes. You can't tell here, but it is just a big terraced hill in the middle of campus. It is a very common gathering spot. It's good for people watching. My main observation so far is that white students sit with white students, black with black, Indian with Indian. I have never seen a mixed group sitting together.


Every day we take taxis (a lot of the Americans call them kombis, but I am trying to fit in as much as possible. Therefore, taxi=van, cab=what we think of as a taxi) to get to the university. (Formerly UPE - University of Port Elizabeth - it is officially Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University - NMMU - these days. Naming things after our dear friend Nelson is practically an epidemic in SA.) Taxis are not public transportation. They started as an alternative to overly expensive public transport. It costs 5 rand (less than a dollar) to get to UPE from Langerry, where we live. There are something like 300,000 taxis in PE.

As you can see from the second picture below (I hope), they really load us into these things. Four people squeeze into the back seat, then there is a two-and-a-half person seat plus a single fold-out in the two middle rows, so in each of those rows some unlucky person has to straddle the crack to fit in four. Since it is so squished, maintaining this seat is not too difficult. In the second-to-front row, three generally sit, plus the money-collector. Often, like in this picture, the money-collector awkwardly leans over the people in that seat instead of taking a seat himself. And in the front is the driver and two passengers.

If the taxi is not utterly filled to capacity, the driver honks anytime he sees pedestrians and the money-collector leans his upper body out the window and yells "town town town" as we drive. [note: I am not being gender-insensitive by using masculine pronouns. I have yet to see a female in a taxi doing anything except getting a ride. Gender roles are pretty carefully observed here.]To indicate a stop, we yell "bus stop", often more than once. I have also seen people bang on the roof.

A lot of taxis have pretty intense bass systems. One guy on our trip brings earplugs with him every time, just in case. And they vary in maintenance levels. Some taxis are fairly nice and new, and some are old and decrepit. The door won't close all the way, the sides are dented, the seats are scuffed and torn... these are probably more common.

One of my most interesting taxi experiences happened on the way to choir. It was towards evening, so business was slower, and it was only three of us St Ben's girls riding. There was a driver, his little sister, and the money-collector. We pulled into a gas station and the driver turned around and started talking to us in Xhosa. He did what people always seem to do when someone can't understand their language: he slowed down and enunciated, but of course that didn't bring us any closer to comprehension. Eventually we decided he must be asking if it was okay to make a stop, and we were early so we didn't care, but by then he had given up on us. It was cool to be on that side of things: a foreigner with no hope of understanding the native tongue.



Beach Road, where we live. This picture is taken looking right; if you looked straight ahead you would see trees, the beach and the Indian Ocean.

Feb 23-24

This weekend we went to Tsitsikamma National Forest. The first day was sweet, the second day was not. I don't have any pictures of Monkeyland or Birds of Eden (the places we went to on Sunday) that are worth putting up. I kind of feel self-centered for having so many pictures of me on here, but then I figured, it's my blog, right? And this time, all of my pictures are my own.

This dude is kind of my cousin - my aunt married his uncle. I think this was us demontstrating how much we like being related, or sitting together on the tour bus, or something like that.

We stayed at a Backpackers (aka hostel) for the night, and this was part of the view. We could have been in Montana.

Taking a walk on the trails - there was a picture where we were all looking at the camera but I like this one better.

We found a climbing wall! For kids... and we weren't really allowed to be on it without supervision. But let's be honest: I really put this picture up to show off my tan.

You can see the zipline in this picture, and another view, in the opposite direction of the first one. A zipline is where they put you in a really heavy harness and helmet and you are hooked onto a cable. You have a brake that you can pull down on, but mostly you just shoot across the line. Unfortunately I can't show what that looks like. Use your imagination.

After the zipline we swam in a deep rock pool, which was sweet, because not only could we jump in from a fairly tall board, but we could climb up on the rocks around it and jump in again. A combo of climbing and swimming - perfect. It was the most fun event, and the only part we didn't have to pay extra for.

WHAT ARE THESE THINGS?

After wandering through Monkeyland and Birds of Eden, we arrived at Tsitsikamma National Park to eat lunch and wander. I could have spent a whole day here.