--from The Rough Guide to South Africa, Lesotho & Swaziland
"The (Johannesburg) inner city suburbs of Hillbrow - with the exception of Constitution Hill - and Yeoville are now de facto no-go zones at any time of day and you shouldn't even think about wandering through them without an extremely savvy local guide."
--from Lonely Planet South Africa, Lesotho & Swaziland
It has been far too long since I've had the time to actually sit down and write a long blog entry; a lot has happened, and I'd like to share a few things.
First off, towards the end of March, I moved to my new site. I said goodbye to Gonani and all of the great people I got to know there. My new village is named Tshamahansi (pronounced "ts-ha-ma-hawn-see"), and thankfully, it is also a Tsonga-speaking village, just like Gonani was. (In fact, the name "Tshamahansi" amusingly translates to "sit down") The similarities between old site and new end there, though. Tshamahansi is a BIG village--to illustrate, I think that Gonani had something like 80 households. Tshamahansi has over 4,000. The village is so big that it has not one, but THREE indunas (headmen). The village is so big that the (dirt) streets actually have streetnames, something almost unheard of in a South African village. (I now live on Chris Hani Street)
At my old site, I served three schools in three villages, since each village was not large enough on its own to have more than one primary school. There was a total of 1,000 primary school students between my schools in my three villages. In comparison, Tshamahansi itself has 4 primary schools. My job duties and responsibilities only afford me to have three schools, however, so the fourth school is left without a volunteer. The 3 schools that I am at, though, have 2,150 students between them. I've more than doubled my student population, and the number of teachers I'm working with has also drastically increased from 34 at the old site to 59 at the new site. I'm still learning all of their names.
Although Tshamahansi is a Tsonga speaking village, the schools are taught in SePedi (Northern Sotho). This might make no sense, so let me explain. Tshamahansi is about 15km north of the town of Mokopane, about three hours driving southwest from my old site. It's in a totally different part of the province, closer towards "civilization," so to speak. Tsonga, the language, was brought into South Africa a long, long time ago via Mozambique, where it is also the spoken language. The Tsongas, in general, stayed in areas of South Africa that border Mozambique. (Mokopane is NOT near Mozambique -- it's closer to Botswana, in fact). Some isolated communities of Tsongas migrated westward through the years, and lived in harmony among the SePedi people, who were (and are) the majority of the population further west.
But then the Afrikaners took over, and instituted the terrible policies of apartheid. One of their policies was to segregate different tribal and ethnic groups; as such, all of the Tsongas living in this area were collected and told to move to Tshamahansi, to a strictly Tsonga village. And then, the apartheid instituted another policy, educational uniformity. Since this is a majority Sotho-speaking area, the government set, as its policy, that all schools in this area would be taught in Sotho, whether or not the inhabitants actually speak Sotho.
You may be asking yourself, since apartheid ended 12 years ago, why are schools in Tshamahansi still being taught in SePedi? Well, for one, all of the teachers grew up under apartheid and learned SePedi; it's the language they know how to teach. And, also, most teachers don't actually live in the village--they live in surrounding villages and, especially, in the local township, Mahwelereng.
For those who don't know what a township is, let me explain. Under apartheid, black people were not allowed to live in many towns; they could come in to work, but then they had to go home. As a result, black townships began to appear on the outskirts of towns and cities across South Africa. The most famous township is just outside of Johannesburg, to the South-West of the main city. This is the SOuth WEst TOwnship, aka SOWETO.
So, back to Tshamahansi. The village is right off of a major tarred road, the N11. On the N11, the township of Mahwelereng is just over 10km away, and the town of Mokopane is about 15km away. It's pretty easy for me to get to town now, as opposed to the difficulties it took for me to get from Gonani to Thohoyandou.
It's funny that I'm back here now; when we first arrived in South Africa nine months ago, we went from Johannesburg International Airport to the Mokopane Multi-Purpose Center in Mahwelereng, where we spent our first few days and nights in South Africa, getting our introduction the country we now call home. This was even before we went to Moletji, our training village. Coming back here is almost like coming back "full circle."
Mokopane is actually a very nice town. It has pretty much everything I need, from an internet cafe to an actual cafe where I can get good food and coffee, to four different supermarket chains (that's a lot for a South African town), two KFCs, and three King Pies. And the King Pies in Mokopane even keep the elusive "apple pie" in stock, in addition to the usual cornish or steak & kidney pies. There is a high Afrikaner population in town as well; Mokopane is known to be a bastion of old-school Afrikaner racism (see quote above), but I have found it to be less racist than Makhado, the city 80km west of Thohoyandou, which would at times remind me of the American south in the pre-Civil Rights days. I remember one day I was at a public swimming pool in Makhado with Eric. The place was such a blatant example of segregation that we felt like we had gone back in time to Birmingham, Alabama, circa 1960. There might be racism in Mokopane, but it isn't the worst I've seen. And, on long weekends, if I want to get away, Mokopane is only two and a half hours north of Pretoria, the capitol.
Another stark contrast between old site and new is the local Masjid in town. In Thohoyandou, the Muslim population is almost entirely composed of Indian and Pakistani immigrants; they have a very insular community, and I didn't feel that I could relate to it. In Mokopane, however, the Masjid is a varied mix of some immigrants, many native-born South African Indians (some of whom have roots in South Africa stretching back many generations), and a lot of black South Africans. Sermons are in English, not Urdu. But, most different, the community here has accepted me with open arms. The first time I went to the mosque, I was looking around, and a black man named Suleiman noticed that I was not from around there. I told him who I was, where I'm from, and why I'm in South Africa. Immediately, he invited me back to his home for lunch; afterwards, he even drove me around as I ran some errands. He took me to the supermarket and even held my shopping cart as I picked up some groceries. And, in a similar vein, every time I've gone to Friday prayers, I have ended up having lunch unexpectedly at someone else's house, always shown the most amazing generosity and the warmest welcome.
The talks I've had with some of these people have been very eye-opening. I've heard another perspective on South African life, but even moreso, I've seen how deeply ingrained certain fears have been implanted into the psyche of this country. The apartheid regime deliberately separated every ethnic and tribal group, as I've already mentioned. Everybody had his or her place, so to speak. The government played on each group's fears and mistrust, deliberately. It's a lot easier to manage control over a lot of separate groups than it is to control one large group of oppressed people. And, unfortunately, the effects of that policy are still felt today. Mistrust, resentment, and fear abound everywhere. Max, my former host from Gonani, is a great guy, but he remains, to this day, deeply mistrustful of Venda peole. He told me once that I needed to be very careful when I'm in Venda; if I'm by myself somewhere, they'll attack me and kill me! Obviously this is an irrational, unsubstantiated fear, as my fellow PCVs who live in Venda would be the first to mention. The apartheid regime encouraged each ethnic group to keep and protect and foster its own culture and its own identity at the expense of finding common ground, a common enemy, a common oppressor.
I encountered this deep-rooted fear at the home of some South African-born Indians. They still have a deep mistrust and fear of black South Africans. When I told them where I live, how friendly the villagers are, and how safe I feel in my villages, they were surprised and incredulous. "But they'll kill you! Those people, they're dangerous!" And how can I argue with such an irrational, implanted fear? I know it's utterly groundless, and therein lies the tragedy; apartheid may be gone and the ANC may be in power, but the effects of the old regime still linger on.
On the same topic, I'm reminded of an amusing anecdote. I was recently in Polokwane with my friends Seth and Caitlin, on our way to Seth's house. We were outside of the taxi rank, buying some fresh vegetables from a vendor. It was a crowded, busy afternoon; we were obviously the only non-black people around. Out of nowhere, I was approached by an Afrikaner male in the middle of the crowd. He asked if we were lost, where are we from, etc. I was a bit apprehensive, wondering who the hell this guy was, when he pulled out a police badge. An undercover cop. He told us that we weren't in a "safe area," and by the way he phrased things, Seth assumed that the cop was telling us to get out of there. So Seth got a bit defensive, saying "We live in villages. I come through here every week. I take that taxi over there every week, we know what we're doing, we've never had a problem here." The cop eventually left, giving us a warning to "be careful," and we found the entire incident to be amusing. But, alas, this is the mindset that prevails; change takes time, and I wonder how long it will take South Africa to achieve some sort of harmony. It's been almost 40 years since the end of segregation in America, and prejudice, fear, and bigotry are still ugly realities that we live with.
I was only in Tshamahansi for a week, however, before the school first quarter ended and we were off on a two-week break. I was away for the entire break; first I went to Pretoria, where I did some work at the Peace Corps office and hung out with friends who had also come to town. I even met some PCVs from Botswana and Togo. All in all, I was in Pretoria for a week before a group of us left for Sabie, and the Longtom Half-Marathon (which I'd mentioned in previous entries). Sabie is a gorgeous town in the eastern Drakensberg enscarpment, with rolling green hills, rivers, and waterfalls. Some of the views there were breathtaking. It was great, also, to hang out with 45 of my fellow PCVs.
When the race began, I had no intention of running it. I had planned to walk, along with my friends Dan, Tom, and Andrew. Andrew and I decided to jog for a half-hour or so, just to get a little exercise, and then walk the rest of the way. So we started off running, but then half an hour later we didn't stop. I just figured I'd run until I got exhausted. I think I was about 8 or 9 km into the race when I decided, what the hell, I might as well just run the whole thing. And aside from some uphill stretches that I decided to walk up, I ran the entire race. I finished with a time of 2 hours and 17 minutes, tired, exhilarated, and sore as hell. I had never run more than 5k before; at Longtom I more than quadrupled that distance. And with my history of asthma, nobody was more suprised than me that I actually ran a half-marathon without any training. My goal now, for next year, is to finish in under two hours.I'd planned on heading home the following day. In the morning I was all packed up and ready to head out, but then my friend Heidi convinced me to go to Durban with her. Some of our other friends were heading down there, and I figured, why not? So, next thing I knew, I was on my way to Durban. We took a taxi back to Pretoria, and then an overnight bus from Pretoria down to Durban, in the southern part of the country, on the Indian Ocean coast.
Durban is a fantastic city; I can't wait to go back someday. It reminds me of Miami Beach or Rio De Janiero. I spent six fantastic days there. We went to the beach a few times, relaxed on the sand and battled the waves in the sea. We ate some fantastic Indian food, since Durban is the center of South African Indian culture. We walked around city streets and fleamarkets, and I even went with Heidi, Mike, Monica, and Hossam to the Juma Masjid, the largest mosque in the Southern Hemisphere.
The highlight of my Durban trip, however, was skydiving. Hands down. Cait, Hossam, Heidi, Mike, and I all decided to do it. We did tandem jumps with instructors; I jumped out of a plane from 10,000 feet in the air and went into 35 seconds of exhilarating freefall. At 5,000 feet, the cord was pulled, opening the parachute, and then I glided down the rest of the way. It was incredible; I had an amazing view of the beach, the city skyline, the ocean stretching far out to the horizon, and the hills of KwaZuluNatal in the distance. It's something that I won't soon forget.
All in all, it was a fantastic and surreal break. I ran down a mountain, jumped out of a plane, and fought waves in the ocean. I went to restaurants, cafes, and large American-style shopping malls. At night I wasn't in bed by 8:30 as usual; instead I was out, enjoying South African nightlife. I used flush toilets and took hot showers. It was almost enough to make me forget where I was, I could easily have been in America for all I knew.
During break, I also had a chance to see some movies; I saw "Brokeback Mountain", "V For Vendetta", "Tsotsi", "Inside Man", "March Of The Penguins", and "Hustle and Flow." They were all great films, but "Tsotsi" is the one that sticks in the mind. For those who don't know, "Tsotsi" is a South African film, and it won Best Foreign Film at this year's Oscars. It's a story about a thug living in the slums of Jo'Burg (nobody calls it "Johannesburg"). In fact, the word "Tsotsi" means "thug." This tsotsi robs and kills mercilessly. One night he carjacks a woman; he shoots her and speeds off in her car, not realizing that her infant child is in the backseat. This turn of events serves as a catalyst for change in his life, as he attempts to take care of the young child, and undergoes a crisis of faith, so to speak.
It was great to see the movie, and to actually relate to the place it's coming from. In many ways, the movie is incredibly accurate. I'd pick up on little things throughout the movie. The slang, the environments, the little things that a casual viewer wouldn't notice. The music in the movie is fantastic; it's an accurate representation of popular Kwaito music in South Africa. And I particularly enjoyed the scene where the tsotsi makes a diaper out of a copy of the Daily Sun (I've espoused my opinion on the "Sunion" before). I wonder if that's the filmmakers' sly attempt at saying that the Daily Sun is full of shit? It was also really cool to be watching a movie in a foreign language, surrounded by people who are speaking exactly that same language.
However, although the movie was incredibly accurate in many respects, it was also watered down in terms of its violence and depiction of how heartless many of these "tsotsis" really are. I recall going to a music store in Pretoria, just a few miles away from Jo'Burg, where the events of the film take place. I was speaking to the young black sales clerk about the movie. He said, "That movie, it isn't accurate. In real life, he would kill the baby, rape the mother, and burn the father alive." And, from what I've heard about the life of tsotsis in Jo'Burg, that sounds more accurate.
So, anyway, now I'm back in Tshamahansi. I've settled back into a routine, and things, in general, have settled down. It's a very different situation than what had happened during the first few crazy days I spent in Tshamahansi. I arrived on a Friday afternoon; my host mother was not at home because she was away with a school trip (she's the Deputy Principal at my "key school"). I was already asleep when she returned home.
At 4am, there was a knock on my door. I woke up, and my host father walked into the room. He said that there had been an "incident" in Jo'Burg, and said that they had to leave. He asked if I'd be okay by myself in the house during the day. I was really out of it; I said sure. I didn't know what was going on. Then my host mother walked in, introduced herself, and spoke to him in Tsonga. Still being half-asleep, I made no attempt to try to listen to what was being said. She told me to go back to sleep, turned off the light, and softly shut the door.
In the morning I woke up, expecting to be alone in the house, but then I saw my host mother outside, sweeping the dirt. I asked her why she didn't go to Jo'Burg; she said that she had been away all day, and I had just arrived, and she wanted to keep me company so I wouldn't be alone on my first day in the new house. She said that Ben (her husband) had gone down to Jo'Burg to find out what exactly had happened, and she said that he'd be keeping her updated as soon as he heard any details. I asked her what had happened; what was the "incident" in Jo'Burg? Whereupon she looked at me and calmly said "James, my son, he was shot."
I was shocked; I was horrified at this turn of events, and oddly comforted by the fact that she chose to stay back and look after me, and yet I felt deeply guilty for being the reason she didn't go to Jo'Burg. As the day went on, she got details on what had happened, and due to the severity
of the situation she decided to leave for Jo'Burg.
It turns out that James had been shot in the neck; the bullet had entered his neck, passed through his lung, and finally got lodged in his back. He ended up having a series of operations over the course of the next few days. He was put into an induced coma. Eventually, after 3 or 4 days, he regained consciousness. His vocal cords had been damaged, so he couldn't speak, but he was able to write a full statement for the police.
I've gotten some details about what exactly happened, but it's obviously a sore subject in my house, so I haven't really pushed the issue. What I've gathered is this: James is the same age as me, born in 1981. He graduated from university with a degree in Civil Engineering and got a decent job with a Civil Engineering firm in Jo'Burg. He moved to Hillbrow, which is a section of Jo'Burg--it also happens to be a very dangerious section of Jo'Burg. If you're not black, you DO NOT go to Hillbrow (see quote above). It's like the "South-Central" or the "City of God" of Jo'Burg.
Anyway, so some of James's coworkers invited him over to their flat that night. Turns out, because he has a university degree, he was getting bonuses, raises, and promotions ahead of other employees who had been working there longer but didn't have degrees. So they resented him, but they didn't show it. They invited him over, proceeded to get him drunk on Jack Daniels, and then kicked him out at 2am. I guess they didn't want to do whatever they had planned in their flat. So as James was stumbling home, drunk, through the streets of Hillbrow at 2am, they ambushed him and shot him. At that's all I know about the situation.
I did get a pleasant surprise when, after I left Durban and returned home after over two weeks away, I walked into the house to find James there, sitting on the couch, discharged from the hospital and home at last. He's doing well; he's still here, getting some much-needed R&R. He has a tube in his neck; he can't talk, but recently he has been able to croak out a few words. I've gotten to spend some time with him; he's a great guy. I think if he was able to talk, we'd get along fantastically. Most South Africans don't really like to read (unless you count the "Sunion"), but James has borrowed, and has been reading, my autobiography of Gandhi. I also played some of my music for him; surprisingly, he wasn't too enthusiastic about my 50 Cent or Jay Z albums, but he really enjoyed listening to Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash. Turns out, his favorite music is country music, oddly enough.
I have to say, the past two months have been incredibly eventful. I've moved sites, traveled around the country, ran a half-marathon, jumped out of a plane, and so much more. After so many months of hardships, I can finally say that I am having a FANTASTIC time.
And so, that's all for now. Take care.
Omar
On a totally unrelated note, I have been trying to keep sort of up-to-date on happenings back home. Here I am in Africa, when back home, my favorite band, TOOL, have released a new album, their first in 5 years. (Who cares if they are an "uncool" band?) They've also started touring; they played the Coachella festival in the Palm Springs desert a few weeks ago. Here is a video of my favorite band, playing my favorite song, "Forty Six & 2", at the Coachella festival. Enjoy!
