sawubona

I have lived in Africa for 10 days now.

The quantifiable information is that I have an apartment, a car on the way, a bank account, and a cell phone. I am learning to drive stick shift. I have registered for my classes. I have started to make friends and form relationships. I have found that bookstores are a rare commodity in South Africa.

But I cannot even begin to understand this place and its people.

I stayed for the first week in the home of my Rotary host counselor and his wife. All houses have tall fences around them, to keep strangers out, but also to keep their inhabitants in. These fences have electrical currents running through them or sharp dagger-like points on their tops. Houses are alarmed and protected by big barking dogs. Often streets are patrolled by guards, and if you park your car on the street at night, chances are it will be gone in the morning… or at least that is what I have been told.

My time here has gotten me thinking a lot about the psychology of fear. Every time I told someone that I was moving to South Africa, they said, “be careful, it’s so dangerous.” Now that I am here, I’ve been told where to live, where not to go, where to shop, who to avoid, how to make sure my purse isn’t stolen, how to avoid smash and grabs, told that people will kill you for your cell phone, not to leave anything mildly valuable in the open, and that the value of life is so much less than in the States. Of course people are so afraid here, if these myths and truths are spread so commonly. And there is truth in these statements, constant awareness is a necessity or something might happen. Might. But something might happen anywhere.

Coupled with this fear is a massive separation of the classes. Whereas in Evanston, I learned that people were separated more by socio-economic class than by race, here the split seems utterly racial. There are families that defy these boundaries, but they, too, live behind these fences and gates that keep them separate from their neighbors. It is rare to see anyone white walking down the street; whites drive, even to the corner store; they think it is safer. Blacks and Coloureds are the only people who seem to walk; and they have developed quite a bad rap for it, “unable to cross streets properly, cause accidents.”

I previously thought that townships were entirely separate entities from cities; but here in Durban there are townships and informal settlements folded into the fabric of the city. Townships are different from settlements because they are filled with small manufactured housing structures; informal settlements are filled of shacks built from whatever materials could be found. I have not been to these neighborhoods yet, but I want to.

I live in an area as similar to my home on Davis Street in Evanston as it can be. I live on a street corner, a street where busses sometimes pass by and that is a common walking route. I live down the road from grocery stores, banks, a string of popular restaurants, video rentals, an all boys’ high school, and directly across the road from a primary school. The road bustles during the day, and the shrieks from the school easily enter our windows. At night, we still get the sense that we are part of a city, which is so refreshing.

The house itself is a golden yellow two stories; I live on the ground floor with a fellow Rotary scholar doing developmental studies, Sarah, a professional consultant, Karina, and her wonderfully rambunctious 7-year-old son, Matthew. Upstairs is Greg, a high-end dress designer. We, too, are surrounded by thick brick walls, covered in ivy, and we too have barbed wire on top of the walls. Inside our ivy walls are palm trees, gardens, a swimming pool (all houses have pools), and parking for five to six cars. The rooms all have grey/tan wood paneled floors, and the walls are dry brushed with at least four shades of cream to rust to dirt brown. It is a comfortable and beautiful space, filled with pool parties on the weekends and late nights of board games.

I have spent most days up the hill at the University. The drama department is situated lower down the hill, making for quite the work out as I climb up and down the hill many times a day. There are around ten long brick buildings that make up the department; by their labels, I reckon we have about six studio spaces, some classrooms, a library, a building or two full of offices, an open air theatre, and a large professional theatre. These are nestled into a sea of tall trees and thick brush, down brick and concrete steps. I often find myself getting confused as to where I am going, since I cannot see all the buildings through the trees. The professors in the department are wonderful and helpful, and have made me feel very at home. The graduate program itself has 4 members this year, of which I am one. But the first year undergraduate class has about 130. For this number of undergrads, the department is understaffed, and so I have been asked to tutor and/or teach, to which I, of course, said yes.

In addition to these possible teaching duties, I will also be taking classes. I am required to take 64 credits of class and write 128 credits of dissertation; in other words, take two classes and write 90 pages. This semester I am taking a class called Multi/Inter/Intraculturalism and Performance, a theory class about local and global intersections of culture and how they are dealt with in theatre. Next semester I have enrolled in Theatre of Debate, which is the class that works within the Westville Prison, creating theatre with inmates. But, of course, I would not be me, if I did not take on more, so this semester I am also taking IsiZulu language courses twice a week, and I am a part of the Rural Exchange Program, which does development work and dance education as intervention in Ndomo, a rural area in KwaZulu-Natal up near the border with Mozambique.

I have been tipped off on three possible communities with which to work, for my dissertation, a group of street kids in Durban, a group of child-headed households in a nearby township, and this group of teens in Ndomo. I hope to, as one of my advisors puts it, “hang around” these people as much as possible, and maybe this will sway my project.

The University itself is utterly unorganized, and the registration process is archaic. There has been no singular source of information, and it has been my daunting job to sift through the mire and discover how to navigate the system. I’ve been at it for over a week, and I am still not finished. On my first full day in South Africa, I had to go to the Office of Higher Degrees and beg for a letter of admission, yes, I was not admitted to the University until after I arrived in South Africa. I’ve had to stand in lines for hours only to be told that I did not have the proper paperwork, I have been bounced from office to office, I have been turned away, I have cried and I have yelled. But now, after all of that, I still got the Dean to sign me off and allow my “data to be captured,” meaning that I have registered. Now I have to go back to the line that I was turned away from and get my student ID.

But in these lines and hard times, I have met some interesting people, some that I hope to see again. I even got up the nerve to give my phone number to an absolutely gorgeous Media and Culture Studies postgrad. Got to love socially conscious documentary film.

I have joined a group that plays Ultimate Frisbee every Sunday afternoon; we span all ages, races, professions, and skill levels. We played hard last Sunday, and then went out for toasted sesame seed milkshakes: absolutely amazing. I also went surfing for the first time… well, I suppose I just body boarded, but I plan on moving up to real surfing by the end of the year. I’ve fallen for Cricket as well, and went to my first 20-20 match; basically a shorter version of what is usually a day long, or five day long, game. I’m considering joining some sports groups on campus, if I have the time. I am mostly thinking about cricket and rowing, but rowing meets at 5am, which might prove too difficult to manage.

Speaking of difficult, I am learning to drive stick, which at first was a nightmare; I stalled more times than I care to count. But, today was much better, and I actually went out on populated streets. I was only honked at four times, and passed twice, which I think is fairly good! In addition to the problems of driving stick, and driving on the left side of the road, Durban is so hilly it is almost mountainous. These hills are hard enough to walk up, let alone drive manual. One step at a time, I suppose.

The other day, while walking back from Checkers, a grocery store, I was accompanied by a grey monkey walking along the top of the fences. When I reached my house, one was sitting right on top of the gate, and I had to shoo him away. But more of the troop came down, and soon there were a handful of monkeys sitting in our tree out by the pool, munching on berries. Of course I took pictures and watched as a mother with her baby clambered higher up into the tree to escape my camera.

I often see geckos scurrying up near the ceiling in my bedroom, funny little creatures, but they eat mosquitoes, or mozzis, so that makes them a welcome guest. Malaria is not a concern here in Durban, although it is further north where I will be spending a lot of time with the Rural Exchange Program.

The intricacies of the South African language keep me amused. I’ve had many times where I have had to ask what people are saying. I have found that where I often am confused, the South Africans are able to explain to me by using the American verbage; with American movies and music being so common here, they know about as much of American pop culture as I do. But some of my favorite South African words and phrases are:
I’m finished = That’s too funny, I can't even handle it.
Robot = Traffic light
Ja = Yeah
Shame = Oh, how lovely.
The Boot = Trunk of a car
Mozi = Mosquito

I love how English is a different English wherever you go, and whoever is speaking it. The accents are thick here, and I have to strain to hear sometimes. People switch from language to language, from English to Zulu to Afrikaans, depending on the person they are speaking to.

These are my first week’s impressions. South Africa is a rich, vital place. And I am only beginning to scratch the surface in search of what lies beneath. I am lucky to have a wonderful place to live and wonderful people around me. I look forward to these next days, as I continue to settle in and get ready for graduate school. Eegh?

To wrap up, my address is:
241 Bulwer Road
Durban
Glenwood
4001
My South African cell is: 079 216 7530
My Skype name is: robinmwillis
And, as always, my email is: rwillis2@gmail.com