From the past - South Africa

As I sit in my new office (we moved...or rather, I moved, with the help of a hired truck owned by Jesus. Who knew that being a volunteer required so much manual labor. At least I can tell you first hand that Jesus came to the rescue. :) ) in the Indian part of town, where you can buy a samosa on every street corner, and there are too many different kinds of curries that purport to be from the motherland, I realize that I have less than 1 month left to enjoy the South African summer before my visa expires, and I have to declare political asylum in a third world country for fear of returning home. (that's the politicized part of my subject...) Political leanings aside, I'm sure all of you will be embarrassed to know what is being said here about the result of our illustrious elections. In the cities, the newspaper headlines are posted on street poles to entice people to buy the paper. On Nov. 4, 2 prominent headlines read as follows: "Bush Wins - Guns, Gays and God Swung It" "US Gives World Finger" I have been having a fabulous time travelling lately.

For 3 weeks inAugust and September, I travelled to rural Mozambique (wheremosquitoes outnumber people, deadly snakes abound, and I was given atent to sleep in), the most popular holiday town in South Africa along the Indian Ocean coast, and Cape Town, for work. I have been interviewing our fellows, people who have innovative and highly impactful social development projects, to assess the possibility of partnerships with the private sector to benefit the poorest of the poor. And, I got to go to some pretty cool places to do it!

And then, Mom and Dad Shah came to visit, and in less than two weeks,we managed to visit relatives, lions, baboons, whales, penguins,dolphins, Nelson Mandela's prison cell, the Indian and Atlantic Oceans and, because for some unfortunate reason I felt this was important, various social projects around the country, the grime and dirt of Johannesburg's inner city, a single parent with HIV, and the ritziest shopping complex in South Africa. After nearly 30 years of marriage, at least I know they will have something to talk about. :)

As a last hurrah for my roommates and I who have been living together since January, we took a weekend trip to the Kingdom of Swaziland, hoping to meet the king and his 17 wives. Instead, we amused ourselves at a "foam party" held at 1 of 2 clubs in Swaziland (which, incidently, is one of the best venues I have ever been to... go figure) and had a run in with a busload of french tourists who insisted that the Swazi craft vendors speak to them in french. The obvious language for a rural swazi woman to know. The upside to that was that when I negotiated with them in Zulu (very similar to siSwati, their language), they were so excited that I got some real bargains! Luckily for us, with 5 people in a Toyota Tazz (about the size of the old hatchbacks), there wasn't enough space to take stuff home.

Otherwise, I have been applying to graduate schools for next year, planning a trip to and around India this winter with some friends,and generally running amuck.

For those who celebrated this past weekend, Happy Diwali, Sal Mubarakand Eid Mubarak. Enjoy the winter. Don't worry, although it is summer here, it is ridiculously hot most days, with no air conditioning, fans, and cold water that never quite gets cold enough.

From the past - South Africa and the Police

[Letter sent to the editor of The Monitor newspaper in Johannesburg]

On Saturday evening, I was informed by a squadron of 15 police officers from 4 different units that it is a crime to be clever. In fact, my inquisitive demeanor regarding the nature of my alleged crime prompted these officers of the law to verbally threaten me, threaten to break down the gate to the house, and, once I unlocked the gate, roughly handcuff me behind my back and instruct me to climb into the back of the police van. The initial reason for their arrival was due to supposed excessive noise, as a small party was underway, thrown by my housemates and myself, all of us volunteers for South African non profit organizations. Although all music was turned off after the police informed me of the reason for their visit, this did not satisfy them, and they demanded that I open the gate. I asked them what the reason was, and was informed that merely wishing to understand their rationale constituted obstruction of justice. We suspected that they wished to confiscate the music system, something we did not want to occur since it had been borrowed from a friend. As I continued to ask them what reason they had for wanting entry to a private home when the reason for their presence had been dealt with, they became increasingly belligerent, threatening to break down the gate, and calling for backup.

What transpired was a quiet street in Melville, filled with police cars from Brixton Murder and Robbery, Hillbrow, the Flying Squad and the Dog Squad standing down a woman who merely wanted to make sure her rights were not being violated. As they began to take a crowbar to the gate, I realized that as unpaid volunteers, the last thing we would be able to do is pay for a new metal pedestrian gate. My roommates and I made the decision to allow the police in, but only after we would record their names, units and badge numbers.

Alas, this proved to be another bit of cleverness that went unappreciated. I was told, “You watch too much TV. This isn’t New York. We don’t have badge numbers.” As I was unsure if this was true or not, I proceeded to ask for their names and units. Only after a further several minutes of wrangling, with more threatening comments from the officer (who turned out to be from the dog squad) displaying his prowess in front of our party guests, many of whom work at other local non profit organizations such as Lawyers for Human Rights, IDASA and even a guest from the SAPS, were 2 of 15 names given.

Unfortunately, this introduction into local law enforcement did not end once they saw that all music equipment was disconnected, the guests numbered no more than 20 adults, and no illegal activity was occurring on the premises. Many of the officers loitered in the house for a further 30 minutes, while I was arrested for “having attitude” and waited at the station, handcuffed, trying to understand the nature of the crime I had committed and the procedures which would follow. These entailed 4 separate officers continuing to threaten me and tell me I was too clever, and that this would show me that the police in SA had power. I was told that even though I was educated, the officer was the one with the gun and the one in control. My compliant actions and genuine questions meant that I didn’t respect the law, and now that he would show me his power, threatening to lock me up for the night, I would respect him. I was also told that this wasn’t 10 years ago as I would be in much worse shape, and that I was keeping them away from people who really needed help. I do not recall in any way, seeing the need for officers from 4 different units, including Hillbrow, where surely a Saturday night would not be dull, to descend on my house. While I was being held at the Brixton station, a man walked in, bleeding profusely, seeking help. He was told that he must return when he is sober. There were at least 8 officers in the station chatting. Surely, one of them could have taken the time to speak with him or even give medical attention.

There is no doubt in my mind that my rights were violated. The police took advantage of individuals who were not aware of all of their rights, and, through an intimidating show of force, gained entry into a private home without a reason or a warrant. The verbal abuse liberally dished out as I asked polite, simple questions such as their names and units, or the reason for why they might break down a gate was not only uncalled for, it will prove to permanently impede my ability to respect the officers of the South African Police. Perhaps after sensitivity training to deal with xenophobia, the police must be taught that respect cannot be demanded, but must rather be earned.

From the past - South Africa 6

The dangers of elephant dung, and other stories from the bush…

Some could say that I’ve been ‘bushwhacked’. While the connotations of this unfortunate term during US election season may be one thing, the African meaning is something along the lines of someone who is completely taken by being in the ‘bush’ – out where the (large, and often dangerous) animals are, and the humans are the intruders. I was lucky enough to go on a 10 day budget camping safari to Botswana and Zambia a couple of weeks ago. You might wonder – budget camping… shouldn’t all camping be budget? Alas – not in Africa, where, like in many places in the third world, there is ample inexpensive labor available, and so, for a tidy sum, you can ‘camp’ in such a way that you have furniture in your tent, 5 course meals prepared for you, and served on china, and possibly someone to swat the mosquitoes away while you sleep. Certainly, you will have armed guards, (armed because of the animals…because, after all, you’re in the bush, not in Johannesburg!) I, however, chose a different approach. Budget camping meant that I traveled in an old minivan with no a/c or (as it is winter here) heat, listened to the bad music of Francois, my guide, cooked the food, tended the fire (which, as you will see, is of utmost importance) and slept on the ground. It was fabulous. Oh yeah – there were no armed guards either.

The fire – there is a reason that once the cave man discovered it, we evolved. It is because lions and other large, carnivorous animals may also like to sleep in caves… but they don’t like fire. Nor do elephants, which won’t eat you, but may step on you, skewer you with a tusk… same with the rhino and hippo. I was up close (sometimes too close) and personal with many of these. So – the fire keeps you safe, and you better make sure it is going all night long. There is a downside to sleeping near fire – well, there are a few, but one is that while it keeps away the large animals, snakes and scorpions are drawn to the heat. And, believe me, the snakes out there are not your average garden snake. Luckily, it is winter, and I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing a black mamba(the deadliest snake in the region), python, cobra or scorpion.

In 10 days, I visited 2 game parks, a rhino sanctuary, Victoria Falls, and spent 3 days in the Okavango Delta. Vic Falls was absolutely stunning – check out some of the pictures. It is 2 km wide, between Zambia and Zimbabwe (although the borders of Botswana and Namibia are very close by), and is spectacular because all of that water is dropped into a very narrow gorge. In at least 1 of Zambia’s 72 languages, it is called ‘Masi-o-tunye’ or ‘the smoke that thunders’. You can see the spray miles away, and although the area near by is a kind of scrub-savannah, immediately downstream of the falls is a rainforest…from the spray. If you haven’t heard from my aghast parents yet, I bungee jumped from the Victoria Falls bridge – an awesome, although highly frightening experience. Don’t worry, I have a video to prove it. I stayed on the Zambia side of the falls – in fact, we avoided Zimbabwe like the plague, to the extent that rather than driving across the very nice bridge, we took a ‘ferry’ from Botswana to Zambia…this lovely excuse for a boat takes 30 minutes to travel less than 1 km each way, and only takes 4 cars and 1 truck at a time. Yet, truckers will wait for days at the border to take the ferry, rather than deal with the hassles of Zimbabwe. In Zambia, I went on a walking safari, with a guide who sounded remarkably like the crocodile hunter. We followed tracks, identified animals by their droppings, and came upon the only 3 white rhino in Zambia. I was mere feet from these animals…amazingly large, prehistoric looking creatures. We also skirted a herd of buffalo, (didn’t want them to charge!) and had a snack on the banks of the Zambezi river, with some hippos in the distance. Incidentally, hippos are responsible for more deaths in Africa than any other animal – and they are vegetarian!

The highlight of my trip, and the part that resulted in the most entertaining stories, was the 3 days in the Okavango delta. This delta is one of the most dense natural concentrations of animals in Africa, and is stunning both in its beauty and its wilderness. It is a river delta, but it doesn’t empty into the sea. It comes out of Namib desert in Namibia, and disappears into the Kalahari desert in Botswana. Unlike our other nights, where we camped in proper campsites (with toilets, etc.), in the delta, we were truly in the wild. We traveled to our site by mokoros – local canoes – to a place where our local guides felt we would be safe. The water near us didn’t have any crocs in it, we were assured! They said the same about the hippos, but we soon learned that you can’t control the animals, although one of our guides tried to talk to them (to tell them to stay away from us). This was our protection – no weapons, only a thin log shell between me and the hippo – and a guide that thought he could talk to animals. Royale (that was his name) did the same when we came upon an angry young male elephant, as we were walking in the bush. He spoke Zulu (he had worked in the mines in South Africa), and so I asked him what the heck he was doing, and if it worked. It seems that he alone had the powers to talk to animals, and while animals may ‘speak’ a number of languages, he chose some Zambian language to talk to them. At night, we would sleep beside the fire, surrounded by more stars than I’ve ever seen, accompanied by the musical symphony (cacophony?) of hundreds of frogs, punctuated by the distant (thank god!) roar of the lion, and the (very close) crashing of the elephants through the bush. The scariest part of the night was when ‘nature called’ – going to the toilet pit in the dark, I’d get visions of a green mamba dropping from a tree, or worse, thought I might see a leopard. We were under strict instructions not to stray too far from the fire – especially due to the leopards, which are a nocturnal animal that live in trees. I managed to come out of the delta, and the trip, with only a few scratches and mosquito bites, although I did narrowly escape being burned, when my sleeping bag caught on fire (with me inside). Unfortunately, this was not because I stupidly slept too close to the fire…alas, it was due to some poorly placed elephant dung, which the local ladies had set alight during the evening to keep the mosquitoes away from us. It turned out that I put my sleeping bag right on top of it (in my defense, it was no longer smoking, and it was dark!), and it wasn’t quite done smoldering…

The lesson to be learned: the next time one is faced with a choice between being pounced on by a leopard, chomped by a hippo, gored by an angry rhino, or stepped on by an elephant – choose none of the above, and rather choose to jump out of your sleeping bag screaming expletives, due to some unfortunately placed elephant dung!

From the past - South Africa

Sanibonani abangani! (Hello friends!)

I hope you are doing well, and enjoying good weather. It is very sad to hear about President Reagan's death, but I've been reading that it is going to be quite an event this week in DC. How long has it beensince a president last died? And was given such an eventful funeral?I wonder if "Gorbi" will be attending.

At any rate, life for me has been pretty good, and as always, full of entertaining and absurd experiences. It is the dead of winter here now… very cold, in our homes and outside. So last night, I went tothe opening of a new restaurant. It was a most incongruous time, as I was sipping wine and having French cheese, at a new sushi restaurant in South Africa listening to an "irish" duo playing downhome southern fiddling, all the while being huddled around a little fire – the same kind that the homeless people use to keep warm on the streets. I suppose the only real difference was that my wine was in a glass, and not a brown bag… :) Go figure.

Speaking about the homeless, I've been continuing to go once a week to a mobile soup kitchen and medical unit, which goes around the city center helping people out. The purpose of the evening is not to give out soup and bread, which we do, nor to supply them with some basic medical care, but to "restore dignity" to the homeless, by talking to them, finding out how their situations have changed recently, etc. But, last week, I joined the medical team for the first time, as I have the same skills and qualifications as those who regularly do it. It was a really difficult experience, because I had to come to grips with the fact that we weren't giving any kind of preventative treatment, nor even really treating the ailments they had, but justbeing compassionate and palliative. To give someone who has brokenher foot a few Advil and an ace bandage doesn't really cut it,but that is just what I did. A walking cast would have cost R1000, and even suggesting it is absurd, but even the homeless here do not trust the government hospitals to help them.

On a lighter note, about 3 weeks ago, before it got really cold, my housemates and I threw a party. But this wasn't just any party– itwas a proper, American style, house party with DJ's, a club quality sound system, chips and dip, and it lasted until 5am! For South Africa, it was a huge event, because I think we threw the most multicultural party many of the guests had seen in a long time. Granted, they only realized that once they got over the fact that "This is not a braai, It's a House Party." The title wasnecessary, because in SA, people expect meat at a party. (A braai is a BBQ). It may be 11pm, but they still think the grill will be on. Now, we cannot afford to provide beverages for the 80 guests, let alone meat… but that took some getting used to for our hungrier guests. It was, however, hands down the most successful house party I have ever thrown or attended!

You might wonder why I'm so excited about a party, but the thing is, it was a goal that my roommates and I had had for some time, as we were having trouble meeting people and making friends. Our goal was to make 1 friend a week, and throw aparty when we had a critical mass of invitees! :) With that in mind, 80 people dancing outside and in until 4am to the musical stylings of my friends E Plus, VS, G Sparks and "Jam Master" J ain'tbad. To prove that I do work, sometimes, I'll have to show all of you my South African TV debut, which occurred this Sunday. A few weeks ago, I organized a workshop for 40 young people from around the country,who have the potential to become social entrepreneurs. (I work forAshoka, the big daddy of all Social Entrepreneurship). One of our fellows is a TV star, so she brought along a film crew, and proceededto put the young people, and the workshop, on her show: "Spirit Sundae". So, yes, my TV debut was on a pseudo-religious Sunday morning talk show, that no one except old people probably watches. Unfortunately, the program was all about the soft stuff – the dreams and goals of the youth, etc… and failed to capture the intricacies of organizing a self-catering workshop at a camp in the mountains in Africa.

See, Africans don't think of camp food as sandwiches and hotdogs. No, sadly, they see camp as a chance to eat things like chicken curry, stew, fried chicken, and meat with every meal. Even more sad (or funny, depending on how you look at it) was that by an unfortunate turn of events, I was in the kitchen for every meal, cooking, supervising, and generally being a nuisance, since I wanted to make sandwiches, but others decided that we would be having pap and stew. The end result – I definitely broke and scrambled 120 eggs each morning for breakfast, spent 4 hours one afternoon fryingchicken, and was unsuccessful in convincing the (self appointed) camp matriarch that it would be much easier to have a meal of hot dogs and potato salad, than to defrost and hack up 10 whole chickens, make it into some kind of soup, and put the hot dog rolls on the side. :)

In order to fully embrace the non-profit experience, I went to an event a few nights ago where we talked about the "corporate game" –or the rules that are present and played by in the corporate world,and what changes each of us would like to see. The idea is to spur people into creating the change they want to see. One of the presenters was a young guy who is the head of "Corporate Social Responsibility" for Anglo-Gold/Debeers conglomerate. But, his path to such a fun, Santa Claus like position was a really interesting one. After he finished university and got a BCom, he worked for a mining house for a while. But he was wracked with all kinds of moral dilemmas and stuff. So, he decided to move to London, and explore the 3 stereotypes he had heard regarding `success'. His momma told him, when he was younger, that if he didn't do well in school, he'd end up as a street sweeper. So, he decided to try it out, and see how bad it really was. When he was in university, the running joke was that all of the social science students would spend a livingsaying `do you want fries with that?', so he then decided towork at a McDonalds. And lastly, when he was in the mining industry, all of the bosses used to say that they had worked their way up from the mailroom. Seeing as how this must have been the seat of power, he decided to check it out, and took a job in a mailroom of a large building. The only thing he found out was all of the gossip in the office… maybe that is the way to power. :) Well, I don't want to bore anyone with the adventures of Nirali,b utI hope you got a chuckle or two. Keep emailing me when you can –I really enjoy getting your messages, even if I can't always respond back very quickly. And, for those who are getting ready to plan vacations, I've become an expert at driving on the wrong side of the rode, and am getting good at my Zulu (although my English is certainly suffering!). Just food for thought. :) Peace!

From the past - South Africa 5

Sanibonani! I hope that the arrival of spring is a welcome thing, and that the government isn’t making too much of a mess of our lives and relations. Well – at the least, I can hope that the weather is warming up.

At the end of March, I spent a week in what is possibly the sleepiest capital city in Africa. Gaborone, Botswana, or “Gabs” as the locals like to refer to it, is only about a 4 hour drive from Jo’burg, and I went there with my boss, a co-worker, and my boss’ friend for the CIVICUS World Assembly. The theme of the conference was “Acting together for a just world” and it was, just as it sounds, a gathering of do-gooders and government haters from the 4 corners of the earth. As I am neither a do-gooder nor a government hater, I was in charge of manning the exhibition stand for Ashoka (my employer), where we (Nicole, my co-worker, and myself) found a strong correlation between the length of our skirts and the number of visitors we received! One of the real goodies that we were distributing was a new book by David Bornstein, called “How to Change the World”. Ambitious as the title is, it is a really good book, and talks a lot about the power of a social entrepreneur to change an entire system. The highlight of my visit to Gabs, however, was a toss-up between hanging out with the president of Botswana (he just decided he would stay for the cocktail party after he gave his speech) and watching the faces of the many conference participants as they realized that one of the snack foods being served at the party was Mopani worms. Yes, they really are. And, no, it doesn’t taste like chicken.

In case you are feeling slighted at not having received mail from Botswana, or, for that matter, Mozambique where I was over Easter, be assured that there is not a post card or post office to be found in either country. I looked.

Mozambique, perhaps so named because of the extreme prevalence of ‘mozzies’ (mosquitoes), is an absolutely stunning country. It is really large, and has a huge coastline along the WARM Indian Ocean, full of coconut trees and remote and deserted beaches. But, if you have any thoughts of ever vacationing there, be sure you have enough money to fly, because if not, chances are high that your story will be a lot like mine. We took the night bus from Jo’burg to Maputo (the capital) last Wednesday, and although the trip is only supposed to be 8 hours, ours took about 14. The reason? A 5 hour delay at the border, due to some enterprising bus passengers who wished to engage in the import/export business without paying their customs duties. Yes, my bus was carrying several dozen cheap Chinese VCRs, tons of produce, eggs, pots, pans,… even plastic washbasins. The obvious question is “can’t you find eggs in Mozambique?” The less obvious answer is probably “yes, but if you buy them in Mozambique, then the border guards on both sides, the bus driver, bus attendants and damn near every other passenger except us don’t get a cut of the action.” Indeed, many palms were greased during that 5 hour rest stop in the blazing sun. In fact, probably every palm except mine and my travel mate, Kelly. No worries, though. We got to Maputo, and walked around for a while – all the streets are named after dead communist leaders, or random dates in Mozambican history, while we tried to figure out how much Mozambican money we needed to withdraw. When the exchange rate from $ to Metacais is 1: 23,756 that takes some time. Eventually, I decided to withdraw 2,000,000 Metacais… I think it will be a long time before I’m a millionaire again, so I enjoyed it.

The following day, I woke at 4:30 to get to the bus station, so that we could take the local bus north to a town called Inhambane – gateway to our final destination of Tofo beach, just as easily refered to as Paradise. When we arrived at the bus station at 5:15, for the 6:30 bus, we realized that some folks had spent the night out on the pavement. But, lucky for us, lines don’t mean much in Mozambique, and while some of my party guarded our luggage, I took the money and tried to make my way to the ticket counter. Mob scene doesn’t even begin to describe the situation when the ticket counter finally opened. Women and children be damned – if you are small, weak, or in any way incapable of using your body weight to hold of 3 to 5 other people, then you were crushed. I used my public school basketball skills, however, and boxed out like a champion, throwing elbows where necessary, and stepping on toes when it wasn’t, and eventually held off the mob while my roommate Eissa thrust her hand through the jail bars and demanded tickets in some kind of Spanish/Portuguese combination. It was worth it, however. Tofo beach was gorgeous – remote, although it had 2 hostels and a hotel, they were spread over 2 km of coastline. We got there by dirt road in the back of a pick up truck, which became the preferred mode of transport for the next few days. My hostel was a collection of grass huts, like the locals live in, surrounded by coconut trees, and on the edge of the Indian ocean, where some of the best scuba diving in Africa is to be found.

Although I’m rambling, I want you to fully appreciate the absurdity of my travels. 3 days after we arrived in Tofo, it was time to go, so again, we rose at 4:30 in the morning. This time, there were no lights in our grass huts, so we fumbled and stumbled in the dark, and gathered together by 5, waiting for the hostel owner to drive us to the bus station. The hostel owner never woke up, and hence, never came to get us, so the night manager, a 19 year old british girl in her gap year, was saddled with our problem. She found an enterprising solution. Pile 10 hostel dwellers in the back of a pick up truck, and tear down the road trying to catch the bus. We eventually did (or so we thought), and hopped on – only to find out that it was not the express, but the bus that stopped every 5 feet. Soon, it was packed – with people, coconuts, cashews, eggs, cassava roots – all jammed into seats made for toddlers or amputees (my legs certainly didn’t fit…). In fact, there were even goats on the roof. 11 hours later, we got off the smelly bus, not having eaten or drank a thing (because this bus certainly didn’t have a bathroom, and if you got off, you got left), and ran to find another pick up truck that would take us to our final bus, which was supposed to leave Maputo at 7pm. We barely made it, after trying to make the Portuguese speaking driver understand that he had to step on it. And back in Joburg we soon were – at 4:30 in the morning, a full 24 hours later.

After riding with the goats, the dogs and cats in my office are almost acceptable. Welcome to Africa, right?

And in case you were curious, you’ll be happy to know that there is a thriving Gujarati community in Inhambane. What I want to know is why my family chose to settle in Louis Trichard, an Afrikaner farm town in the middle of a hot, dry region, when faced with the option of joining this community near what is quite possibly the most beautiful beach there is. J

I hope you had some laughs. I try and make sure that you are all entertained. Please take care – and for those of you who have exams coming up soon… GOOD LUCK, and for those of you getting married soon… Best Wishes – I’m thinking of you. Keep in touch, and let me know what’s going on in your world.

Until the next absurd occurrence,
Nirali

From the past - South Africa 4

Hello hello,

I hope that life “on the other side” is well, and that you are healthy and happy. It seems like I’m communicating from a completely different dimension – I have no idea what is really going on in the rest of the world, because news here is very locally focused, and has been consumed by Charlize Theron of late. So, I hear snippets – the gay marriage issue is blowing up, Anay is safe but there is havoc in Madrid, March Madness…St. Joes? Who would’ve thunk it.

For me, however, adventures abound. From food to transport to conversation and even work life – in short, nothing in Africa is easy. I have, amongst other things, spiders, dogs and cats at work, parrots at the gym, and here, they eat monkey gland sauce on burgers and Mopani worms are a local delicacy. What’s up with that? But we won’t get into food…that could be dangerous for your digestive systems.

I’ve told you a little bit about the public taxi transportation system here, but it is completely ludicrous. It is cheap, though – that is a plus for a non-income earning person like myself. For example, I went to the airport via public taxi, to receive some very good friends who were passing through for the night. The trip there cost me R6.50 (about $1), vs. the ‘metered’ taxi (private car for hire) which cost R260 (about $38). There are certain disadvantages however. One of them is being squeezed in amongst 3 other people in a seat made for 2, often on a folding seat, or in the crack between the folding seat and the fixed one. And then, there is the fact that the door could fall off. Many seats (including…actually most often being, that of the driver) are broken, so you are in a sense reclining into the mass of humanity behind you. However, when the taxi driver decides to spend his money on outfitting the Combi with a sound system, (instead of a proper door, of course), it’s always fun. Oh yeah, and often, the drivers are high. But hey – why travel if you can’t travel in style!

On Wednesday, however, I did have a truly meaningful experience here. A roommate and myself passed our evening ‘restoring dignity’ to homeless people (not my words, but those of the program organizer.) through an organization called Paballo ya Bantu – Caring for the people. We were in downtown Jozi, at night. I say this because it is something that is virtually unheard of. Leave aside the fact that many non-black South Africans won’t even think of driving through, many locals are scared to be there. But this visit, under organized conditions and with a truly good purpose served to help erase some of my fear of downtown Jozi at night. Don’t get me wrong - I don’t think I would go if I weren’t with this group, but we spent several hours offering soup and bread to those who aren’t living in proper housing, talking to folks, and, well…getting a few marriage proposals. At our last stop, however, we were confronted by a truly disturbing scene. There were large fires going, and we were a bit surprised, because it was not a very cold night. And then the people (who expect this group every week) were very angry to see us. When we began to talk to them we learned that the Metro police had come by, and burnt all of their belongings – blankets, clothes, and even identity papers, with the intention of scaring them off so that they can ‘clean up’ the center of town. Why were the city police burning the blankets given by the city shelters? Who knows. I do know that without identity papers, however, one cannot vote. So, those affected by some of the outrageous policies of the government cannot retaliate democratically.

The thing was pseudo religious, so at the end, there was a reflective session. I was not struck as much by the poverty I saw as by the reaction of the young black students who were with me. They were my age, and what surprised me was that they said they did not know that people lived in such poverty. While I was saddened by what I saw, I can’t say that I didn’t know it existed. I suppose this shock stems from my innate… I hesitate to use the term prejudice… regarding Africa – residing in the fact that every American child is told not to waste their food because of the starving children in Africa. All in all, it was a powerful experience – especially seeing the hypocrisy of the government. Coupled with what I have been learning about how the ANC government regards the AIDS crisis in this country, I can’t say it surprises me, but it does really anger me.

We’ll leave the AIDS crisis to another email, however. To heavy for this one.

In other news – I’ll be headed to Botswana at the end of next week for a conference called the CIVICUS World Assembly. I’m psyched. I will consider it a recognizance trip for my future plan to visit the botswanian bush. :) And, luckily, I’m making friends. My housemates and I had set a goal for a new friend a week…and while I’m not sure I’m making that quota, I do my part in meeting interesting folk – all, of course, so that when we have a party, we’ll have people to invite!

It’s good to have goals.

Keep in touch – let me know of any fun or important news, and I hope that life is treating you well. On a reflective note, even if you don’t feel that it is, know that it is much better than some other possibilities.

Until next time,
Nirali

From the past - South Africa 3

I have once again returned to being a “productive” member of society. Since I’m sure all of you were sitting in your homes and offices thinking about how I’m loafing about Africa, I’m sure you’re relieved! J A bit of loafing has occurred, don’t get me wrong. After living the rural life for a weekend, our last week before work was spent going south, to Durban and the Indian Ocean. Durban is a very interesting city – the beaches and hotels there are touted as being very luxurious, but it didn’t look that nice to us. Perhaps elsewhere along the coast, the beaches are cleaner and nicer. However, I’m not going to complain when I’m near a nice warm ocean, so we did a bit of frolicking. The lighter skinned among us got positively crispy in just a few hours of African sun…it’s strong! Shaila, the other Indian girl in my house, and myself escaped from the beach to go and see what we could see about the Indian community in Durban. The Indian community there is probably one of the oldest Indian Diaspora communities in the world – long before England or America came into fashion, and possibly even before the emigration to East Africa.
We successfully found the Victoria Market, which is where many of the Indian shopkeepers are, where the largest mosque in the southern hemisphere is to be found, and where many of the buildings are named things like: Singh, Bannerjee, and Patel. It was pretty wild. However, once we got to talking to some of the shopkeepers, and just observing the area, we found that these people are clearly so many generations removed from India that they have scarcely any ties at all with their homeland. Aside from the prolific curry shops, we realized that this is probably our destiny in America in a generation. Many of the Indians came to South Africa in the late 1800’s, as slaves to work on the sugar cane plantations. Along with Malaysians, Sri Lankans, and blacks from Madagascar, they were isolated from their roots, and later classified under the apartheid government as either Indian or Colored depending on the whim of some government functionary. Due to the influence of Mahatma Gandhi, the Indian community became quite strong and spread out, and we even saw one of Gandhi’s homes in Durban, which also included a printing press where he printed the banned Zulu and Indian newspapers, and a sugarcane plantation. This home is now located deep in the heart of one of Durban’s townships (where all non-whites were sent so that city centers would belong to the white people), and during violence in the late 1980’s, was razed to the ground. It has since been rebuilt, and is in the process of being turned into a museum.
Aside from Indians and the beach, we also took a trip into Zulu country, into an area known as the Valley of a Thousand Hills. It is a beautiful area, where, interestingly enough, tin shacks have just as great of a view as the million rand homes perched on the cliff sides. However, much of the area is inaccessible to cars, and if you want to visit your friend in the shack down the valley, you first shout to them, and then start your trek, avoiding chickens, goats, and the occasional cow along the way. The local crafts are beautiful, and no one (read: my parents) should be surprised if I come home with a good collection!

Since then, I have found a place to work for the next year. It is an organization known as Ashoka, an international NGO, which has made it its mission to provide support and fellowships to exceptions ‘social entrepreneurs’ around the world. I will hopefully be supporting those fellows working in economic development and helping those who aren’t find ways to make their organizations more self sufficient. But that’s not the fun part. The fun part is the fact that my organization’s offices are located in what can only be described as a commune. There are 2 offices in this incredibly large mansion, complete with outbuildings. In addition to the two offices, there reside many people, and many more just come and go. Currently, there is a Canadian, a Brazilian, a Peruvian, a Dane, a few token South Africans, an artist, a writer, a masseuse, 3 dancers, 2 kids, 2 dogs and 3 cats. It’s pretty crazy. In addition, my daily adventures are seeming to continue, because getting there is no easy task. I have to take one taxi from near my house, and hope it drops me somewhere useful. I then have to walk 10 –12 blocks through the center of town (the center being the most crowded), and stand on another street corner, making the appropriate hand signal and waiting for a taxi to acknowledge it… this is because the ‘taxis’ are really minivans, which are supposed to seat 9, but which will not travel anywhere until they are filled with 15, often large, people. I’m telling you – the adventures don’t end. Yesterday, I had to walk for an hour and a half on my return trip, from my office to the point where I can take the taxi back to my home, because all of the taxi’s that passed by me were either full, or empty but cannot take passengers due to their union laws. And if you think the teamsters are bad, the Joburg taxi union has the harshest enforcement policies of any I’ve ever heard of. Should one of these empty taxis pick me up while they are going to their next destination, another driver may very well shoot them for picking up a passenger he wasn’t supposed to… all over about 50 cents.
I’ve rambled on enough. I hope all of you are doing well. Take care,

Nirali.


Housemates: At dinner for my birthday. Starting at the left and going around the table, we have Brandi from New York, Tizeta from California, Heidi from England, Eissa from California, Me, Shaila from South Carolina, Lauren – a new friend from Utah, Kelly from Maine, and Laura from Boston. Brandi and Laura have already been here for 6 months, and I just met Lauren that night, although she comes with good references!

Thousand Hills: A picture of the Valley of a Thousand Hills in Kwazulu-Natal. Note the fact that there is really only one tar road that descends this valley.

Exxon Camel: A picture of a partially shaved camel, found at one of the roadside rest stops on our way to Durban. This rest stop also had a peacock, a few ostriches, rabbits and some goats.

From the past - South Africa 2

Hi Friends,

You would think that after the adventure of the Rhino, it would be hard to top. And, granted, I have yet to be chased by any other wild animals. However, adventures come in all shapes and sizes, and, for me, languages.

After the rhinoceros adventure, me and the other new volunteers each spent a week in a homestay in Soweto. Soweto is the largest black township in South Africa, and was built during the 40+ years of apartheid rule, when black South Africans were not allowed to live in the city center, nor in any of the more desirable (read “with trees”) suburbs. It was the center of the resistance, and the site of famous student protests in 1976, which began the process of breaking the back of the apartheid government. Well, to say the least, there are still no people living in Soweto who aren’t black, so walking down the street, I got a lot of stares, and comments. Mainly, people would ask my host sister what I was doing with her, but they didn’t mind my presence. You can hear good ‘ole hip hop blazing everywhere, in addition to the local “kwaito” music. However, everyone in Soweto has a very neighborly attitude – they help each other out, share food, responsibilities for the children, without question – one of the major reasons that the more well off Sowetans don’t want to leave now, but would rather just expand their 4 room government issue houses into more comfortable and efficient homes.

The stay was capped by a braii (barbeque) at one of the homes, where all kinds of fools showed up – mainly to see the white folks, I think – and get their grub on. In fact, as the night went on, more and more people who at first were standing on the street watching, began to filter into the yard, and get jiggy. The beat was pumpin, and the highlight was a little 10 year old boy I’d like to call Mr. Bootie. This kid could shake what his momma gave him like no other (and it had to be his momma’s, cuz no 10 year old should have a bootie that big!). I have something to aspire towards, during my stay here.

We’ve had a week of zulu lessons, seen some local non-profits, including one based in a shantytown on the outskirts of Soweto, and then decided to go on yet another adventure. This time it was into the bush…seriously into the most rural of rural areas. (Note to family: I haven’t seen Vidisha, but the home, and village where I stayed are what I would picture Vidisha to look like.) We pumped water from a borehole, food is made over an open fire, all bathing and washing is done in tin tubs of various sizes, and to get anywhere, you walk down the dirt road. For dinner, we grabbed (the momma of the house, that is) one of the chickens which were in the yard, and, well, plucked and gutted it. Hey – it’s free range, all right. I don’t want to bore you, but I must tell one last story.

One of the neighboring homes had a TV, so we went there to watch a South Africa – Nigeria soccer match in the afternoon. Aside from the fact that all the little kids hid from me, and the (often drunk) old folks yelled at me in Afrikaans, this was the highlight. As we approached the doorway, I could see a framed picture of Jennifer Lopez in the room, and my host brother, Alex, was happy that I knew who she was. Then, from left to right in the room, we had framed pictures of The Cruxifiction, Jesus, 2 Pac, Ja Rule, J. Lo, Snoop Dogg (in a tribute to 2 Pac), and 50 Cent. Viva America.

From the past - South Africa 1

Hi!While I've only been here for 5 days now, it seems like I havelearned all kinds of things. To start with, my suburb is as Americanas you can get - I am actually embarrassed to say that I am avolunteer, when I have such plush accomodations. I won't elaborateon how plush, because you will start to hate.Unfortunately, I discovered that it is the rainy season here... it'sbeen raining for 4 days, and since I have to exit my room, gooutside, and back into the main house to use the facilities, it is anadventure. Now I know why I didn't live on the lawn... :)As far as highlights are concerned, I will give you the quickrundown. Sharp sharp is local street speak for 'ok' or 'it's allgood'. Quite a versatile phrase, really. The favored form oftrasport here is a 'combi' - a rickety minivan where you fit 4 to abench seat, with a few foldable seats so that people can get in andout, and it just drives where it wants. To get out, you have tosay "after the robot" (obviously, right? :) ) and inevitably, 6 otherpeople will have to move in some way to let you out. It only moveswhen it is full, so if you have the bad luck of catching one empty,you'll just hang out until the driver is ready to go.The real highlight, however, is that on Sunday we went up north alittle ways to the Pilanesburg game park - a small one by comparisonto famous ones like Kruger National Park - where, in my first safariexperience, I saw Giraffe, Hippo, Impalas, Baboons, Wildebeasts,and "PUMBA" (from the Lion King - a warthog to the non-disneyinclined) and... we were chased - yes really chased in our vehicle -
by a 5000 pound rare white Rhino. Welcome to Africa.Always an adventure.We are currently spending a few days with a family in Soweto. It isa mindbogling experience, considering that until a few years ago, noone would consider going to Soweto unless they were black and forcedto live there. It is the largest 'township' built by the apartheidgovernment, and most of the black people in the Jo'burg area weremade to live there. It is a place pulsing with history, and everyperson has a story to tell. I will let you know how it goes, andwhat I learn.