Umkhonto we Sizwe
Umkhonto we Sizwe, known as the MK, were the military wing of the African National Congress (ANC) during apartheid. They were, of course, outlawed and pursued heavily by the South African military (the SADF) and so they existed almost exclusively outside of South Africa, training and preparing for war on bases in Angola, Mozambique, Lesotho, Zimbabwe and even as far as Russia and Cuba. Their operations in South Africa were generally sabotage-based missions aimed at crippling the apartheid government. Their first commander was Nelson Mandela. They have a long and interesting, and complicated, history that Steve told me in the car on the way home today. (In fact, it took so much concentration that I managed to lock the keys in the car on when we arrived home). Basically, they were training to come back in and seize power through military struggle. Negotiations happened first, and they came home in 1991 and some were absorbed into the SADF and others were left to their own devices. Steve's research is on these guys and one of them passed away last week so I went to the funeral with him today.
The Funeral
We got to Zwelathemba at 10 this morning and went to the guy's house where they had set up a tent in the lawn and we could hear voices singing. In the tent it was close and warm. The coffin was up front with a preacher standing next to it speaking a sermon in Xhosa. There were mainly women in the audience at the time, and they sat close together, dressed up, in plastic chairs facing the coffin. We sat down (I felt really uncomfortable at first - saying out of place would be a gross understatement - I suddenly felt like this was a bad idea and that I shouldn't be there. After all, I didn't even know the guy) and listened. The preacher would stop for what seemed like a breath only, and one or another woman in the audience would sing out a sad tune, loudly, and you could palpably feel the hearts breaking. The rest of the women, and some men, then responded and picked up the choral part of the song. The call and response went on like this for a few rounds and then the preacher would be able to speak again. It was haunting, and beautiful, and extremely sad. You get the feeling that these women are carrying an enormous weight, and weights beyond just this one, and mourning not just for themselves but for all the men who were stoically silent. I felt at once bedraggled, and lifted.
At one point when the preacher was speaking there was a man next to him and he began to speak another language. Steve nudged me and told me they were translating into Afrikaans for us - most whites in this area are Afrikaners - but once they realized who Steve was and why we were there that stopped. They never did translate into English though, except for a few snippets later on.
The Community Center - Fiery Speeches, Further Mourning, Toyi-Toyi
After a number of speeches at his house, we followed the funeral procession to the community center where they positioned the coffin in the front and people sat in wooden chairs throughout. The space was much larger, and at first there were only those of us at the home funeral, but as the service went on the place nearly filled up with various members of the community, including many youth and former MK soldiers who had come.
I feel at a loss for words to describe what this was like.
The people, there were a number of groups that were there, each of which deserves much more than I can describe: the family, the ANC Women's League, the Veteran's Association, friends, teenagers and youth from the township, former MK and current SADF soldiers, elected officials, and us. The ANC women's league were dressed in bright, ANC green and many had yellow and black as well. They led many of the songs and orchestrated the whole thing, it seemed. They are older ladies, mostly over 60 by sight, with some younger recruits in there. At times, they held up the salute to relieve the men.
Oh yeah, the salute: when the coffin was in place in the community hall six men surrounded the coffin and held the MK salute (very similar to the black power salute although the fist is lower) and maintained it. They were all veterans to start, but when one man got tired another would come up and relieve him. The result being that the coffin was never alone, and always saluted.
The different people there all came up to speak. As the room filled, there were probably about 10 speakers who spoke about everything from his days fighting in Angola, to his life in the township, to the current situation for vets in this country. Many of the speeches got pretty animated, there was a lot of anger in the room - anger about how things were, about losing someone, about how the government is treating vets now, and a lot of old patriotism.
A teenager flew an ANC flag above the room. During some of the speeches a man would shout out the beginning of a song (just as the women were before) and the men would join in, then dance the toyi-toyi at the front of the room. The toyi-toyi is a military dance - often used to train and keep legs fit in the camps - and the men would stand in a circle and dance while the flag flew above them. It was a scene from years ago, a scene from so many protests and marches, I felt like I was adrift in time for a second.
One veteran, who was particularly vehement in his speech and was obviously extremely distraught, spoke twice. His speeches were filled with shouts of Amandla! (a Xhosa and Zulu word for power that was a rallying cry during the anti-apartheid struggle). We followed him and many of the other vets out to the graveyard next. The community center part was very long - about 4 hours. The men did the toyi-toyi all the way to the graveyard - an image I will never forget.
Graves, Gunshots and Feasts
At the graveyard the mood continued to be frantic, mournful and celebratory all at the same time. Perhaps I haven't made that clear - the whole thing felt that way. We were there to mourn, but we were also there to celebrate, and that was invariably tied into politics, war, culture, singing and family. (Am I being overly dramatic? Possible - then again, I have no way to show you this - and it was dramatic) We were shuffled to the front, with the family and the veterans around us. Steve went close - I tried to stay back a bit - I was still feeling strange about not know him.
The dancing and singing continued, but now there were gunshots along with it. They had started right after we left the community center but they were going off more now. One veteran (the Amandla guy) was right behind me and fired his gun twice into the air about 10 inches from my ear. I couldn't here out of my right ear for a good couple hours.
After the coffin was lowered and the bulldozer had buried it almost completely, we went to the man's house again for a big feast that had been being cooked since the morning. Steve had paid for a sheep to be slaughtered in his friend's honor, and so we went to wash our hands (a ritual after any funeral) and stood in line. People tried to get us to go ahead of them but we said we'd stand in line. After only a moment or two, the man who died, his brother came and got us. As we walked past the line a teenager kicked dirt on me - I think he thought I was cutting the line because I was white. I may have been naive about this, but I don't think so. I felt horrible, but then realized what was happening. We were brought in to eat with the family and dignitaries there. It was an awkward meal as I didn't have anything to say to anyone at the table, but everyone was friendly.
Afterward, we left. I still am having trouble processing this, days later, but it was unbelievable. I'm sure I'll write more soon.
Sorry this has taken a while - I have been away from a computer for a while and in Jo'burg and Khayelitsha - I will write about those places tomorrow.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Guguletu
Comfort
Tonight I drove into Guguletu with Steve and Siviwe to plan out our trip to the Eastern Cape. Guguletu has a bit of a dubious history - one that's not so savory at times. But tonight it was a lot of fun. We went to a BBQ place where you choose your cut of meat in the front, ask some guy to grill it in the back, and grab some beers out of a shipping container (store) across the street. Before I knew it the place was turning into a huge party - guys with big sound systems were backed up to the awning and blasting house music (different than american house) and women were dancing everywhere. Steve, Siviwe and I backed up against a wall and enjoyed our beers and watched the happenings.
In the middle of this township, where I would never expect it, I met a BT Global Challenge sailor. This guy had these amazing stories about sailing around the world, cutting his crew mate's foot off to save the boat, weathering storms. No joke, it was crazy. This guy has been in the toughest sailing race in the world, and he's at this BBQ in Guguletu. Unbelievable. Gave me faith in humanity.
Tonight I drove into Guguletu with Steve and Siviwe to plan out our trip to the Eastern Cape. Guguletu has a bit of a dubious history - one that's not so savory at times. But tonight it was a lot of fun. We went to a BBQ place where you choose your cut of meat in the front, ask some guy to grill it in the back, and grab some beers out of a shipping container (store) across the street. Before I knew it the place was turning into a huge party - guys with big sound systems were backed up to the awning and blasting house music (different than american house) and women were dancing everywhere. Steve, Siviwe and I backed up against a wall and enjoyed our beers and watched the happenings.
In the middle of this township, where I would never expect it, I met a BT Global Challenge sailor. This guy had these amazing stories about sailing around the world, cutting his crew mate's foot off to save the boat, weathering storms. No joke, it was crazy. This guy has been in the toughest sailing race in the world, and he's at this BBQ in Guguletu. Unbelievable. Gave me faith in humanity.
A Couple of Mellow Days
Teaching
Steve and I went back to Langa yesterday morning to help Sipo, the teacher I met the day before, teach about Social Darwinism. Okay. I know very little about it, but I did some research online and threw something together (sound familiar?). It was raining, and when we got there Sipo and the other teachers were just hanging around the teacher's lounge. About 10 minutes after school had started the principal came in and told the teachers to go to class. Kind of an odd change in roles. When we got to class it turned out that Sipo had told me the wrong thing and that actually the class was a 9th grade class learning about the Holocaust. I say learning in a loose framework. Sipo himself didn't realize it until the kids were there, and as I was introducing myself he was flipping through the chapter.
I'm sorry. I need to step back here. I'm painting a pretty dismal picture, and in terms of education this was pretty dismal. The teachers had to be told to get to class, the students were unengaged, the teacher was preparing pretty goddamn late (even for my loose standards - but all joking aside, I have never done that). When I was sitting there I was just shocked. These kids are getting the short end of the stick (and sometimes the broad side of it - Sipo calls it his "stimulator") and it was hard to watch. I spoke with Steve about it afterwards and he pointed out that during Bantu education (the educational system put in place by the apartheid government that limited educational options for black to domestic work and some professions) being a teacher was the highest professional level available for black South Africans. So many people went into teaching for a paycheck - much more so than we have in the states, where sometimes people complain of the same thing. For Sipo, this was the highest level he could reach, so he reached for it and now he is waiting for the ability to finish another degree and move on. The Bantu system has created what exists there today. At the same time, these are children, and they deserve our best. The boy second from the right could anything - he was so curious and inquisitive.
So for this description, please take a grain of salt and remember the context. After Sipo made it through some discussion on the Holocaust that was only generalizations and broad, somewhat illogical connections with South African history, Steve got up and made a quick connection with the kids. I wish I had pictures of that - he was a natural, and they loved his Xhosa. In the next class I taught about Social Darwinism as best as I could - kind of a straight lecture but what could I do? Then I asked the kids about what they might want to know about the US. The girl in this photo all the way on the right asked the most heartbreaking question:
Poignancy
She raised her hand and asked me what kind of students I taught. I told her that they were very similar to her. She asked if they were black or white and I answered both. She looked at me with amazement and asked if they got along. I said well, in a way yes and in a way no. In class, yes, and most of the time, yes, but sometimes they didn't. She was amazed and kept looking back at her friends. After the class was over, she came up to me and said that she was amazed that what I told her was possible. She said, (and I paraphrase)
"I don't know why we don't do that here. I mean, we try, but people are really mean to each other. I try, but they are so mean to me and they never look me in the eye or hear what I am really saying. They just walk by and don't look at me, unless they're saying something mean. It's hard."
I didn't know what to say, I just said that it sounded hard, and that people should be mixed together so that it didn't happen that way. I don't know if she agreed. My heart was in pieces. What do you do with that?
The Rest of the Day
Steve and I had some deep fried township treat, the name of which escapes me. Then we drove back to the city and hung out for the afternoon in a pretty mellow way. In the evening I went out with Jobey and we chatted about everything, but mostly about how we felt here, how much neither of us could handle too much of South Africa at times. How the country kind of makes you paranoid, racist and scared a lot. It does. But it's also beautiful, in a way. The townships were even beautiful, in a way.
Reality Check
This morning, I found my car had been broken into and someone had stolen my rain shell from the back seat. The window was smashed and some empty cigarette packs were one the back seat. I told Steve. "Welcome to South Africa," was the first thing he said. Shit. I switched the car out at the rental place and we drove to Kirstenbosch Gardens for the day. Deep breath. Cloud being held at bay by Table Mountain. Guinea Fowl, flowers, green. It was nice.
Steve and I went back to Langa yesterday morning to help Sipo, the teacher I met the day before, teach about Social Darwinism. Okay. I know very little about it, but I did some research online and threw something together (sound familiar?). It was raining, and when we got there Sipo and the other teachers were just hanging around the teacher's lounge. About 10 minutes after school had started the principal came in and told the teachers to go to class. Kind of an odd change in roles. When we got to class it turned out that Sipo had told me the wrong thing and that actually the class was a 9th grade class learning about the Holocaust. I say learning in a loose framework. Sipo himself didn't realize it until the kids were there, and as I was introducing myself he was flipping through the chapter.
I'm sorry. I need to step back here. I'm painting a pretty dismal picture, and in terms of education this was pretty dismal. The teachers had to be told to get to class, the students were unengaged, the teacher was preparing pretty goddamn late (even for my loose standards - but all joking aside, I have never done that). When I was sitting there I was just shocked. These kids are getting the short end of the stick (and sometimes the broad side of it - Sipo calls it his "stimulator") and it was hard to watch. I spoke with Steve about it afterwards and he pointed out that during Bantu education (the educational system put in place by the apartheid government that limited educational options for black to domestic work and some professions) being a teacher was the highest professional level available for black South Africans. So many people went into teaching for a paycheck - much more so than we have in the states, where sometimes people complain of the same thing. For Sipo, this was the highest level he could reach, so he reached for it and now he is waiting for the ability to finish another degree and move on. The Bantu system has created what exists there today. At the same time, these are children, and they deserve our best. The boy second from the right could anything - he was so curious and inquisitive.
So for this description, please take a grain of salt and remember the context. After Sipo made it through some discussion on the Holocaust that was only generalizations and broad, somewhat illogical connections with South African history, Steve got up and made a quick connection with the kids. I wish I had pictures of that - he was a natural, and they loved his Xhosa. In the next class I taught about Social Darwinism as best as I could - kind of a straight lecture but what could I do? Then I asked the kids about what they might want to know about the US. The girl in this photo all the way on the right asked the most heartbreaking question:
PoignancyShe raised her hand and asked me what kind of students I taught. I told her that they were very similar to her. She asked if they were black or white and I answered both. She looked at me with amazement and asked if they got along. I said well, in a way yes and in a way no. In class, yes, and most of the time, yes, but sometimes they didn't. She was amazed and kept looking back at her friends. After the class was over, she came up to me and said that she was amazed that what I told her was possible. She said, (and I paraphrase)
"I don't know why we don't do that here. I mean, we try, but people are really mean to each other. I try, but they are so mean to me and they never look me in the eye or hear what I am really saying. They just walk by and don't look at me, unless they're saying something mean. It's hard."
I didn't know what to say, I just said that it sounded hard, and that people should be mixed together so that it didn't happen that way. I don't know if she agreed. My heart was in pieces. What do you do with that?
The Rest of the Day
Steve and I had some deep fried township treat, the name of which escapes me. Then we drove back to the city and hung out for the afternoon in a pretty mellow way. In the evening I went out with Jobey and we chatted about everything, but mostly about how we felt here, how much neither of us could handle too much of South Africa at times. How the country kind of makes you paranoid, racist and scared a lot. It does. But it's also beautiful, in a way. The townships were even beautiful, in a way.
Reality Check
This morning, I found my car had been broken into and someone had stolen my rain shell from the back seat. The window was smashed and some empty cigarette packs were one the back seat. I told Steve. "Welcome to South Africa," was the first thing he said. Shit. I switched the car out at the rental place and we drove to Kirstenbosch Gardens for the day. Deep breath. Cloud being held at bay by Table Mountain. Guinea Fowl, flowers, green. It was nice.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Langa
Townships
The history and story behind townships is too long and complicated for me to tell "rightly" so I'll settle for "simply" and try not to make too many generalizations. Townships are neighborhoods outside of the city that are made up of either black or coloured residents. The townships were initially planned to be separate housing for non-Europeans in Cape Town and every major city. They were relatively close to the city, but separate from the resident there so that white residents, if they were careful, never had to know that they existed. It's part of the system of apartheid. They were started in the 1920s with the urban areas act, which forced blacks to live in certain areas. When the apartheid government took over they created more and filled the existing ones to beyond capacity. Langa, the township I visited today, was initially built for 5,000 people, now nearly 15,000 people live there. The philosophy of apartheid said that if people were separate, less conflict would happen between the races. Of course, we know this was entirely flawed. Langa is one of the oldest townships in the country and the oldest in Cape Town. I think it might be best to let the pictures, and Siviwe (my guide), tell the story. First of all - plug for Siviwe - he is the best tour guide ever. He knows everyone, his tours are like a conversation, and he helped me out a lot. Let me know if you're coming down here and I will give you his contact information. So here we go. (They're WAY out of order - sorry - can't figure out blogger pics)
Here I am teaching about segregation in the US. How did this happen? No idea. It was something like: "Do you know about segregation?"
"Um, sort of... but I teach world history."
"But you are from the US?"
"Yeah"
"Can you tell us about the history of segregation?"
"Um, sure."
"Okay, Sean will tell you about segregation!"
"Yeah, so there was this 'separate but equal' idea..." etc, etc... Brown v. Board, Montgomery Bus Boycotts, Rosa Parks later...
Totally different high school now, this is where I saw the Cool Ideas play put on by the Nelson Mandela foundation - it focused on the issue of HIV/AIDS through short skits. More later.
Some students from the second school - they really want a print of this picture so I have to get some tomorrow...
Langa High School is the oldest - and probably the best funded - school in Langa. They actually have a working computer lab, school colors, some sports teams. This is Siviwe and some students.
The yard at Langa High School.
Outside (well, sort of) the township there are settlements - these are homes that were made from various scrounged materials on unclaimed land. These are called the Joe Slovo settlements. People have electricity (the government put it there to prevent fires from the paraffin lamps that were here before) but no running water in their homes. These women are washing clothes at the communal fresh water source.
When people move out of the settlements into the township, they often rent space in people's backyards to put up their homes. The peaked roof in the background is the home, the tarped homes are former settlers who are helping pay for power.
A street in the township.
Many businesses are housed in these shipping containers. They are easy to secure and cheap to establish. You find many cell phone distributors, barber shops, restaurants, etc. in these.
The empty school classroom (before the students I would teach arrived).
A very active gospel church on weekends, pretty shut down during the week. Just outside the Joe Slovo settlements.
Many people in Joe Slovo are starting to run small businesses catering to the tourists (like me I guess) by selling nick-nacs outside their homes. Later pictures show the inside of this woman's home.
Because there is no running water, bathrooms are on the bucket system. This is a row of toilets. The govt. comes by once a week to empty the baskets in there and put in new ones.
This is the childrens' room of the woman above's house. Her walls are made of salvaged wood and cardboard.
A street in Joe Slovo.
This is Siviwe in one of the hostels in the township. These were built for workers in the 1930s, and originally housed only men. In the 1980s women and families were allowed, but the hostels were not developed or expanded.
The following three pictures are inside a room in the hostels. Today, as in the 30s, three people live in this room and pay about R30 per month. They basically have the space of their bunk and above it. The electric range is all of a kitchen that is available, and there is no space I did not photograph here. In the 80s, there may have been two or three families living here - small children on the bed with the couple, others on the floor of the common room you saw above.
They call this the "Beverly Hills" of the township. It was built on the outer part of the township near the highway because people were uncomfortable seeing the hostels and settlements from their cars.
I needed a haircut, but Siviwe didn't recommend this place.
The next four pictures are the hostels from the outside.
This building has a dubious history. It was where people needed to register for their passbooks. There were thousands in line every day.
Langa is commissioning some street art to commemorate the past - this is a mosaic that depicts hostel life for the workers.
A feared sight during apartheid. The police were the primary enforcers of apartheid and they would use these to disrupt protests. At first, it was tear gas and rubber bullets. Eventually, the police merely sat inside the van and stuck their guns out the holes you see here - and used real bullets to break things up, kill, and "control" the uprisings.
This is Patricia - she sells sheep heads. In Xhosa tradition eating a sheep's head is important. There is a somewhat complicated process, but it is primarily communal and everything is shared. I didn't get a chance to have any, maybe later.
I mentioned the play earlier - this is where it was held.
Here is the play - a situational drama about a woman being taken advantage of - that was meant to teach people about safe sex and good decisions. It was interesting to see how much like our assemblies this was (different subject matter of course).
These are the guys from Cool Ideas and the Nelson Mandela foundation - very amazing, very nice people. Siviwe was an incredible help with getting pictures.
We went to a traditional healer. Some people have fully bought into western medicine, but many still believe in traditional medicine. This healer often treats newborns actually, as his remedies for small ailments like colds and flus seem to work much better than the pharmacy. You're seeing a seal's carcass here.
Various other parts of animals - used for anything from good luck to cures for diseases. The healer learns through dreams and continues to learn today.
I guess you would call this BBQ alley. It's where you go to get meat. Everyone sells the same thing, but you are only a regular in one place - people stick with their friends and favorites.
As a meat eater... and most people here are of my ilk... this looks damn good.
Too many pics... um... a street in the township.
Another pic of the traditional healer's. If you can identify any of these things, let me know. I was really astounded by all of it. The healer can name it all though, and he knows which ones do what.
One of the biggest problems in Africa, of course, is HIV/AIDS. Many people were initially coming to traditional healers for cures, and they were dying. So there was a concerted effort to educate all healers about the disease and now they all carry these.
This is the school I taught in.
The students writing down their addresses for me.
Coolest kid, really smart, made a great connection with apartheid and the US and segregation. Wish I could get all of their names.
This is a program of the cultural center - these women are learning how to make pottery to build job skills and make money from tourists and others. They make beautiful stuff actually - I want to go back and get some more.
How do you say Mr. Gass has a sweaty back in Xhosa?
Superstar! I think these guys were excited I was there - not sure if it was because of learning, or because they got out of regular class:)
That's it for now... I go back tomorrow to teach another class (I thought I was on vacation!)
Some more thoughts on this later.
The history and story behind townships is too long and complicated for me to tell "rightly" so I'll settle for "simply" and try not to make too many generalizations. Townships are neighborhoods outside of the city that are made up of either black or coloured residents. The townships were initially planned to be separate housing for non-Europeans in Cape Town and every major city. They were relatively close to the city, but separate from the resident there so that white residents, if they were careful, never had to know that they existed. It's part of the system of apartheid. They were started in the 1920s with the urban areas act, which forced blacks to live in certain areas. When the apartheid government took over they created more and filled the existing ones to beyond capacity. Langa, the township I visited today, was initially built for 5,000 people, now nearly 15,000 people live there. The philosophy of apartheid said that if people were separate, less conflict would happen between the races. Of course, we know this was entirely flawed. Langa is one of the oldest townships in the country and the oldest in Cape Town. I think it might be best to let the pictures, and Siviwe (my guide), tell the story. First of all - plug for Siviwe - he is the best tour guide ever. He knows everyone, his tours are like a conversation, and he helped me out a lot. Let me know if you're coming down here and I will give you his contact information. So here we go. (They're WAY out of order - sorry - can't figure out blogger pics)
Here I am teaching about segregation in the US. How did this happen? No idea. It was something like: "Do you know about segregation?"
"Um, sort of... but I teach world history."
"But you are from the US?"
"Yeah"
"Can you tell us about the history of segregation?"
"Um, sure."
"Okay, Sean will tell you about segregation!"
"Yeah, so there was this 'separate but equal' idea..." etc, etc... Brown v. Board, Montgomery Bus Boycotts, Rosa Parks later...
Totally different high school now, this is where I saw the Cool Ideas play put on by the Nelson Mandela foundation - it focused on the issue of HIV/AIDS through short skits. More later.
Some students from the second school - they really want a print of this picture so I have to get some tomorrow...
Langa High School is the oldest - and probably the best funded - school in Langa. They actually have a working computer lab, school colors, some sports teams. This is Siviwe and some students.
The yard at Langa High School.
Outside (well, sort of) the township there are settlements - these are homes that were made from various scrounged materials on unclaimed land. These are called the Joe Slovo settlements. People have electricity (the government put it there to prevent fires from the paraffin lamps that were here before) but no running water in their homes. These women are washing clothes at the communal fresh water source.
When people move out of the settlements into the township, they often rent space in people's backyards to put up their homes. The peaked roof in the background is the home, the tarped homes are former settlers who are helping pay for power.
A street in the township.
Many businesses are housed in these shipping containers. They are easy to secure and cheap to establish. You find many cell phone distributors, barber shops, restaurants, etc. in these.
The empty school classroom (before the students I would teach arrived).
A very active gospel church on weekends, pretty shut down during the week. Just outside the Joe Slovo settlements.
Many people in Joe Slovo are starting to run small businesses catering to the tourists (like me I guess) by selling nick-nacs outside their homes. Later pictures show the inside of this woman's home.
Because there is no running water, bathrooms are on the bucket system. This is a row of toilets. The govt. comes by once a week to empty the baskets in there and put in new ones.
This is the childrens' room of the woman above's house. Her walls are made of salvaged wood and cardboard.
A street in Joe Slovo.
This is Siviwe in one of the hostels in the township. These were built for workers in the 1930s, and originally housed only men. In the 1980s women and families were allowed, but the hostels were not developed or expanded.
The following three pictures are inside a room in the hostels. Today, as in the 30s, three people live in this room and pay about R30 per month. They basically have the space of their bunk and above it. The electric range is all of a kitchen that is available, and there is no space I did not photograph here. In the 80s, there may have been two or three families living here - small children on the bed with the couple, others on the floor of the common room you saw above.
They call this the "Beverly Hills" of the township. It was built on the outer part of the township near the highway because people were uncomfortable seeing the hostels and settlements from their cars.
I needed a haircut, but Siviwe didn't recommend this place.
The next four pictures are the hostels from the outside.
This building has a dubious history. It was where people needed to register for their passbooks. There were thousands in line every day.
Langa is commissioning some street art to commemorate the past - this is a mosaic that depicts hostel life for the workers.
A feared sight during apartheid. The police were the primary enforcers of apartheid and they would use these to disrupt protests. At first, it was tear gas and rubber bullets. Eventually, the police merely sat inside the van and stuck their guns out the holes you see here - and used real bullets to break things up, kill, and "control" the uprisings.
This is Patricia - she sells sheep heads. In Xhosa tradition eating a sheep's head is important. There is a somewhat complicated process, but it is primarily communal and everything is shared. I didn't get a chance to have any, maybe later.
I mentioned the play earlier - this is where it was held.
Here is the play - a situational drama about a woman being taken advantage of - that was meant to teach people about safe sex and good decisions. It was interesting to see how much like our assemblies this was (different subject matter of course).
These are the guys from Cool Ideas and the Nelson Mandela foundation - very amazing, very nice people. Siviwe was an incredible help with getting pictures.
We went to a traditional healer. Some people have fully bought into western medicine, but many still believe in traditional medicine. This healer often treats newborns actually, as his remedies for small ailments like colds and flus seem to work much better than the pharmacy. You're seeing a seal's carcass here.
Various other parts of animals - used for anything from good luck to cures for diseases. The healer learns through dreams and continues to learn today.
I guess you would call this BBQ alley. It's where you go to get meat. Everyone sells the same thing, but you are only a regular in one place - people stick with their friends and favorites.
As a meat eater... and most people here are of my ilk... this looks damn good.
Too many pics... um... a street in the township.
Another pic of the traditional healer's. If you can identify any of these things, let me know. I was really astounded by all of it. The healer can name it all though, and he knows which ones do what.
One of the biggest problems in Africa, of course, is HIV/AIDS. Many people were initially coming to traditional healers for cures, and they were dying. So there was a concerted effort to educate all healers about the disease and now they all carry these.
This is the school I taught in.
The students writing down their addresses for me.
Coolest kid, really smart, made a great connection with apartheid and the US and segregation. Wish I could get all of their names.
This is a program of the cultural center - these women are learning how to make pottery to build job skills and make money from tourists and others. They make beautiful stuff actually - I want to go back and get some more.
How do you say Mr. Gass has a sweaty back in Xhosa?
Superstar! I think these guys were excited I was there - not sure if it was because of learning, or because they got out of regular class:)
That's it for now... I go back tomorrow to teach another class (I thought I was on vacation!)
Some more thoughts on this later.
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