in a toyota, it's called a trip

When we last left off, I was car-less. Let’s begin with the story of how I got Manuel back.

Friday, May 8th brought the beginning of Rotary District 9270 Conference in Peitermaritzberg, the capital city of KwaZulu-Natal. I rode up with Andrea and Kayse, two other Ambassadorial Scholars, in Andrea’s automatic Honda Ballade. As we are driving, we hear this chunky, banging sound, like something is caught under the car and is trying to set itself loose. Having no idea what was going on, we pulled over, just a few KMs away from our destination. As it turns out, the front right headlight had jostled itself loose and was hanging by its cables, smashing against the car and the pavement as we were driving. The glass had smashed, but luckily there was no other damage. We detached the sad light from its cables, stashing it in the boot, and we kept driving, making it to the conference, in more or less one piece.

Conference was a blast. We met so many wonderful Rotarians from all over KZN, and I made many contacts and arrangements to speak at various clubs around the province. Friday night, we had a hoedown. Yes. A hoedown. There was a guy hired to come in and teach, oh yes, the electric slide. Yee-haw. Imagine, if you will, a hundred Rotarians—and when I say Rotarians, I mean white-hairs and their spouses—bumping into each other on a small dance floor, laughing and stomping on each other’s feet. It really was classic.

The Saturday was a long day of speakers, but overall informational and mildly interesting. Conferences are always difficult. That evening, we were treated to a lovely formal dinner and dancing accompanied by an oldies band that played all of the classics. Let me just say that many Rotarians were shocked that I, too, knew the words to all the songs.

On Sunday, I awoke at 5am in order to jump in the car with Sharron and Graham, my wonderful Rotarian saviors from Mthatha, to drive back down to that town I know so well. As I clambered into Graham’s 4 by 4 Toyota, I said, “Woo-hoo, time for another adventure!”

Graham said, point blank, “No. In a Renault, it’s an adventure. In a Toyota, it’s called a trip.”

Touché, Graham, Touché.

And so we set off, taking the long and scenic route back to Mthatha, stopping every time Graham or Sharron spotted a bird. Graham is an avid bird-watcher, and so the opportunity to drive along mountainous dirt roads and see birds that do not frequent Mthatha, was nothing that could be passed up. I, luckily, was awake when we passed through Underberg, the site for Splashy Fen, the music festival that I had missed the previous month thanks to Manuel. Well, at least I made it eventually, albeit a month late.

We made it to Mthatha around 1:30pm. By this time, Sharron had arranged for me to catch a lift down to East London with her daughter the same day at 3pm. So after a short hiatus, I climbed into another 4 by 4 (I was noticing a trend) with Sharron’s daughter and grandson. Another three hours later, we arrived in East London and had settled in at Sharron’s daughter’s first husband’s sisters house, or something like that. I was welcomed openly as the “stranded American,” a title that I am quite used to at this point. I crashed into bed early, having been in the car from before the sun went up, until after the sun went down.

Early the next morning—side note: South Africans wake up early, as in, with the sun early; sleeping until 8am is unheard of—we were off, dropping the boy at school, and then headed to the…dum dum dum…Renault dealership.

We arrived, and I introduced myself to the woman at the desk. She immediately said, oh, so you want to pay? Um, no. I want to speak to the man who fixed my car. Des came out, he had been my contact throughout this entire process, and I had the opinion that he was a bit daft. Turns out he was.

As I was looked over my whopping 6500rand plus bill, I noticed a bit of a discrepancy. Over the phone, Des had told me that my clutch was not replaced, but here on the bill, I was paying around 3000 rand for a clutch. I cornered him on it, and he stammered back to the mechanic to ask. As it turns out, my clutch never needed to be repaired. And so it was that I saved 3000 rands.

However, while test-driving my car, after fixing the small disk that needed replacing in my drive shaft, my cam belt broke (yes, cam, not fan as previously thought) followed by my accessory belt. What convenient timing. Perhaps they wanted to get more money out of me after having had my car for a month; perhaps the belt did break, in which case I am glad it happened to them, not me. Either way, my saved 3000rand was good enough for me, and we started the drive back to Mthatha.

Manuel drove well. At the dealership, they warned me that there was a new rattle in my exhaust, and that an exhaust specialist back in Durban could easily look it at. I asked, would the car make it to Durban? I was assured it could.

Well, we made it to Mthatha by midday. And I was quite relieved about that. I spent the afternoon lolling in Sharron’s house, doing some reading for class.

Later that day, I went with Sharron to the Mthatha Rotary Club meeting where I was to be the guest speaker. I figured, why not explain my presence in Mthatha by telling my epic Manuel story?

As I was telling the part about the blue chair and the side of the road, a Rotarian said, “Oh my God. I saw you. I drove past you.” Everyone stared at him, until someone said, “And you didn’t stop?!” “No,” he explained, “my wife and I were driving through to Mdumbi, and there was this white girl carrying a blue chair to the side of the road.” I said, “Was it around 11:30am.” “Yes! And we figured that she must be crazy… Or American.” Apparently, I was then their topic of discussion for the entire drive down to Mdumbi. After the meeting, he calls his wife and tells her that she must come to Rotary now now, because that white girl with the blue chair is here, and she is in Rotary! I don’t know if he will live that one down in the club anytime soon.

I went to bed early that night, and woke up in time to leave Sharron’s by 6am. I had to be back on campus by 1pm to teach my class, and really did not want to cut it close.

Manuel and I started out, after the engine gurgled and spat when I tried to turn him on. But we got going, and I did not look back. My speedometer, which was giving me problems, aka: not working, before the start of the trip in Durban, was now coming in and out, now working and now not. The least of my problems, I just wanted to get back. And, somehow, I did.

Manuel got me home.
In one piece.
And without much drama.

Of course, now I am looking for a buyer for the car. He is still coughing and gurgling and spurting. And oftentimes does not start up on the first try, or second, or third. I have a Rotarian here in Durban who owns a car dealership, or at least owns a share in one, which does certified used cars for students. If only I had known of this before!

In other news, my drama literacy program in Cato Crest has really taken off. I have done a series of workshops now, and have worked with all of the students in Grade 10 at Mayville Secondary School. Nafeesah, the librarian at the Cato Crest Library, is beyond supportive; she has given me my own room in the library just for my workshops. It is a huge room, painted yellow, with a hundred chairs and 4 tables, chalkboards, fans, lights, everything. In this room, I teach 60 students every Wednesday for 45 minutes starting at 10am.

I observed Ms. Bhengu teach her English classes before I began my work. She is an incredible woman, but is stifled by the system and the difficulty of teaching so many students at once. When I observed, the class was on chapter 3 of a book they started at the beginning of the year. Ms. Bhengu, Valentine, would read aloud from the book, while students followed along, one book to two or three students. She would stop in the middle of a sentence to ask the students what a word meant. For example, “Johnny was ablaze… What does ablaze mean?” Yikes! It is word definition, out of context, and to top it off, we are dealing with metaphors, AND second language learners. I cannot even do this effectively, and I am a post-graduate student whose first language is English. Only two or so students were able to participate in class, or wanted to. Most other students sat silently, trying to follow, trying to learn, but clearly overwhelmed.

So, my lessons have tried to break this paradigm. I am trying to break the barrier of English being difficult and scary. Every class, I speak a little IsiZulu, trying to explain that I am learning Zulu, just like they are learning English, so we are all learners. But because I do not speak much Zulu, we will have to speak in English in my class. And so, I have started telling stories. Simple stories. Anansi stories. The first class, I told Anansi and the Moss-Covered Rock, a story that I have been telling for years now, and have created so that it is participatory in small ways. For example, Anansi tricks a variety of animals, and I ask the students what kind of animals they want to see in the story. So, we are dealing with comprehension and question-answering in the moment, as well as participation and confidence. More students answered my question of animals than they did in Ms. Bhengu’s class. After the story, I broke the class into small groups and asked them to talk about “what happened in the story.” Simple. Comprehension. And speaking. I then went around to each small group and asked them what they think happened, and they had to tell me, in English. After that, we moved on to interpretation questions, such as “What is the moral of the story?” and then finally, “Do you know anyone in your life who is like Anansi?”

Who knows how effective this process is, but the students are enjoying it and have said that they would like to continue the work. If nothing else, it puts learning in a whole new context, new teacher, new style, new space, and I do not think that can be bad.

Our other huge event in the past month was the Comrades Marathon, a race from Pietermaritzberg to Durban, a total of 89.3 kilometers, or over 56 miles. Sarah, my roommate, ran this ultra marathon in 11 hours 19 minutes and 8 seconds. Karina, Mattie, and I went out to support her on the road and then met her at the finish line. Needless to say, she was utterly exhausted but on such a high. Her high has lasted for the past two weeks, but unfortunately so has her pain. Muscle soreness, a swollen foot, a deep pain in the hip, and a busted knee have plagued her, but she is such a trooper and is able to talk about the day, and its resulting pain with real fondness. When asked if she would run the race again, her answer is a resounding yes.

Sarah is quite the inspiration. So much so, that I have said that I would like to train for a 5k race. A tiny achievement compared to Comrades. But a huge thing for a girl whose knees never really allowed her to run.

In other other news, I auditioned for a play. Yes, hold your shock, it does happen occasionally. No word yet on the outcome of said audition, but I would be entirely content being a part of the process as I would in seeing the production. From what I know, it is a devised piece based around issues of war, and is collaborative with students from a neighboring varsity. I have also heard rumor of a tour to Johannesburg and Pretoria, but they may just be rumors.

And finally, it is the end of the semester. I turned in, yesterday, an epic 5000 word essay (17 or so pages), after nearly pulling an all-nighter to get it done. I have spent the past day and a half resting and otherwise enjoying myself, because in less than two hours, I will be meeting my mom and sister at the Durban International airport.

They are staying with for a wonderful 12 days, or until June 24th when they will go off to Cape Town and I will head back up to Ndumo to spend a week with the kids. While my folks are here, we will do the necessary safari in Hluhluwe game reserve and go whale watching off the coast of St. Lucia. I am so excited to have them here, and to share a bit of my life with them.