A LONG ROAD FROM APARTHEID --- OR IS IT?

Before I came to South Africa, I knew there were two things that characterized it: racism and high crime. I never thought much about how those two factors would affect me, but I am learning quick.

When I plan to walk from point A to point B, I want to be able to do it without interruption, without any hindrance. But no --- my loyal fans are at the side of the sidewalk, smart and ready. Ooh- they holler. Take one look at me, size me up and load up on ammunition. "Hello Chinese." "How are you, China?" and even the infamous Jackie Chan yodel "Hiii-yah!" Some of the comments come with choreographed moves (action figures not included). It's only black males who yell at me. A guy who works at the backpackers tries to explain why this is. "They were oppressed during the Apartheid and now they want to target somebody else." This is no excuse, but understandable. Kinda like kids who have been abused might become abusive to their kids.

The thing I hate about it is that it affects my life. I go to Durban to relax for holidays, but instead, get stressed out because people are hurling rude comments my way as I walk down the street. It's unbelievable. After trying to talk back to them for the 10th time, I figure, why bother with the effort. Locals and foreigners are so surprised when they hear about my experiences. I tell them all the people who holler things are black and male. This gets them even more surprised. "They don't know you're Canadian and that you can understand them," my colleague tells me. "It doesn't matter where I'm from," I explained. "That's just rude!"

When I was visiting Durban, a South African asked me where I wanted to travel to in the world. I told him India. "Well you're in India. But I don't like them Indians because they always stick to their own kind." I got angry and told him "Look around you. Black South Africans stick together and White South Africans stick together. Everyone does it, not just the Indian community." And I know why they stick together. If you are with other people who look like you, they can't holler things at you because of your race. You feel safer. I see that in the Chinese South African community. There is a website for the Chinese South African Assocation detailing their history through the Apartheid system, how sometimes they had to go to Blacks only places and sometimes were allowed to go to White areas.

Racism and crime exist in Canada, but not in such blatant ways. This is ridiculous. Maybe it will take generations to change. Maybe when the New Democracy has matured, 50+ years of freedom will finally put an end to old-skool Apartheid attitudes.

RSA- 2010 World Cup Bid Winner

All I saw were the words "South Africa" as the card was being pulled from the envelope. After that, the crowds erupted and I was deafened for the next few seconds.

15 May, 2004 marked the day on which many South Africans around the country did a lot of flag waving, Vuvuzela (horn) blowing and screaming, and I was there on scene. United by big screens, crowds gathered to await the announcement of the country who would host the 2010 World Cup. It would be the first time that an African country would host the games and South Africa proved that "We are the champions".

I didn't participate in the festivities on purpose- I just kind of ended up there. I was intent on visiting the Museum Africa in Newtown, Joburg that day and arrived to find that the entire entrance of the museum was blocked by a big stage where music concerts would start after the announcement of the World Cup bid winners. We decided to stay since we had driven all that way. Watching the big screen with other face-painted South Africans, I could feel the emotions mounting. I was a bit scared that the crowd would turn mob if SA didn't win, similar to the Canucks riots in '95.

When Vancouver was waiting for the announcement of its 2010 Olympic bid, I avoided any celebration at all costs because of all the controversy surrounding potential social problems that might result. Even though there were groups of people eagerly awaiting a Vancouver victory, protests were happening all over the city at the same time. Displacement of people, potential of debts, unwanted hub of visitors and a pulling of social services funding were just some of the reasons facing opponents of the Vancouver 2010 bid.

I haven't figured out the South African situation yet but from the surface, it looks like an entirely different one from Canada. Being a very new democratic country with a high population of citizens living below the breadline, hosting the World Cup means job creation and money into SA for many people. I have a few qualms about this though. On the radio, the announcer was so excited about job creation ("Can you imagine selling 10 000 hotdogs to visitors and how much money that means?"), but how sustainable is job creation once the Cup is over with only temporary service jobs? With only ten years of freedom under their belt, there has been great efforts in creating a South African identity and the World Cup can help foster that. I was told that the presence of Nelly Mandela, Desmond Tutu, Thabi Mbeki and FW de Klerk in Zurich, boosted the votes in favour of SA.

I can't picture the whole of Canada holding thumbs for a Vancouver victory, but the whole of SA seems to deem this victory as an important one. Strangers were hugging strangers, crowds rejoiced and danced in solidarity. It was strangely emotional in a detached way for me. Then I realized that I was happy for them.

Visit: http://www.iafrica.com/pls/cms/cm_show_gallery?p_gid=861&p_site_id=2

FREEDOM DAY

People have said that South Africa has a lot of holidays. It seems like they are all concentrated in April. 27 April is Freedom Day, another national holiday.

I spent the day at the Union Buildings. It was so emotional seeing the crowds gathered there hearing the inauguration of Thabo Mbeki, elected for his second term in office (once every five years). The crowd itself was intimidating, pushing and shoving to sit and watch, jets roaring overhead, and an out of place military parade with tanks. . .Apparently, the SA government spent R80 million on the day's festivities. There was cheering and such happiness on their faces. Not the drunken red and white smirks at the Parliament on Canada Day- but smiles that are so thankful and happy for what the government has done for them.

Of course there is the expected propaganda that comes with every government run day for the civilians- flags of "10 years of democracy" blowing from street poles, free t-shirts, mini SA flags, paper head bands. During the elections, it was the face of Thabo with the ANC logo along the streets and commercials on the radio and TV. We met a guy at the Union Buildings who told us: "I am 42 years old, I was able to vote for the first time in my life ten years ago." It actually means something. Voting is a right. I don't think we do enough of that in our own country because we take advantage of it.

People are actually passionate about a president and government that have changed their lives. I can't imagine a patriotic Canadian who would yell Paul Martin's name with as much genuine passion because he made life so much better.

SAFM, the country's radio station actually stopped myself and a couple friends I was with, asking if we were tourists (my Canadian friend had a huge camera around her neck-how could they tell!?!). They asked us how we felt about the festivities in Pretoria. I have to say that I admire that a government can actually impact the lives of the majority of citizens in a country.

Coming from a country where we have not lived through such struggle and triumphed, I don't think I'll ever understand. Then again, I haven't lived through the days of Head Tax, Chinese exclusion act in Canada. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that South Africans some generations down the road won't have the same feeling towards their government as people today do. They wouldn't have lived knowing what a difference their government had made. The social and political history of South Africa is so emotionally meaningful. Maybe I'm being a romantic outsider, but I think it's time that we appreciate what our own country has to offer us.

BEGGING CULTURE THROUGH FIRST WORLD EYES

I don't know what it's like to be a begger. I remember walking down streets of Hong Kong and seeing dirt-caked people lying on the streets with natural dreadlocks, a plastic bowl in their hands, waiting. And later in life people started approaching me for money. I knew somebody who would give change to every begger he meets on the streets of Montreal. It was ridiculous to me.

CHINA

In China I met a woman at the train station with no hands. I don't know how she managed it, but she held out a bag to people asking them to give her money. My policy is never to give people money, I would rather buy them a burger or something else edible cuz food is a basic need. I had an orange in my bag and I offered it to her. She took it and that was that.

When I saw the woman's hands, I thought about the book A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry about the begger troops in India. There is a ring leader who does his recruiting and do horrible things to their workers such as sawing off hands and legs so they would look more pitiful in the eyes of potential patrons. I know that woman was a part of something similar. If I were to support them, I would be supporting the whole concept of begger troops, so I refuse.


SOUTH AFRICA

Anyway, I thought I was so smart in South Africa. Here, when they give you the bill at restaurants, they always include mints or sweets of some sort, so I would save them in my bag sometimes. Once, when I got off a long-distance bus, a boy came up to me begging and I gave him a mint. Ha! No money, but a sweetie for you, my boy. . .

Then I went to the Wild Coast for Easter and I learned better. The kids there don't have proper dentists when strangers give them sweets. But apparently, tourists have indulged them before because whenever you meet local kids, they would call after you, singing the lovely serenade "sweets! sweets!" You would think whispering SWEET nothing in your ear is lovely until this. . .

The backpackers where I was staying have signs up discouraging travellers to support a begging culture. Kids should be in school. If they want money, they have to earn it such as guiding tourists to nearby attractions or singing songs for a small fee. But the kids bring it to the next level when they stalk you for most of your hike as you take in the view so that you don't even dare to reach into your bag to pull out that camera. You tell them you have nothing for them and you know perfectly where you are in relation to your destination, but they keep trying to convince you that you are in fact lost and that they can bring you to the place.

There is a girl in pink that followed my friend and me singing a local song despite our discouragement and afterwards repeated "finished. finished." The next day we see her again. My friend finally gives her R1 and the girl looks up and says "No. 2 rands." I tell her to give it back to us. Either R1 or nothing. She gives it back cuz she expects R2 or R5. But she eventually takes the R1!!!

I went out for dinner once and was bringing home a doggy bag. On the walk back, a boy stuck out his hand asking for money. I really wanted to have leftovers for lunch but decided I can do without if he was hungry. I offered the bag of delicious Thai food to him and he refused! It's then you know they want rands for other purposes.

It's obvious that a begging culture is not socially acceptable. My colleague who worked on the Wild Coast told me when kids ask her for money or sweets in front of their parents, they get spanked. That's being naughty in all cultures.

Once when I was hanging out at the beach, two kids sat down beside me asking me for money. I give them each a rusk (dried biscuits) and they sit there eating it. I try making small talk and they answer in one sentence. They finish and I asked if they enjoyed it. Then they ask if I can give them R2 to buy bread. I refuse and say I need money for food as well. A man with nice hikers calls to them and the older boys runs up speaking in Xhosa. I ask the younger boy if that was their father. He says no- I had a feeling he was not. They run off and the gentleman approaches me. "those kids take things that do not belong to them. After you give them what they want, they are still there." Later, I see a security guard ushering them away from the bus depot.

CELEBRATING 10 YEARS OF DEMOCRACY

This year, South Africa celebrates Ten Years of Democracy. Ten years ago, President Mandela was elected at the president of the country. Yes, it was open ballot, and in some cases the queues went around entire blocks of the townships. Ten years of freedom later, we are bombarded with ads from banners, to radio to television campaigning that the ANC (African National Congress, majority government now) is not good enough. Look what it did for the country for the past ten years.

Mostly white South African are complaining that the country is going through deterioration. People in their 20s and 30s want to immigrate. Their dream destination: America. They say the crime has risen, there is more violence, and hijackings on the street. A security/burglary culture is capitalizing on the fear of South Africans. And what of Affirmative Action? It's taking jobs away from the competent whites in the country and leaving it to underqualified black people who don't know the first thing about efficiency and bureaucracy.

People have said to me, "It's already been ten years and our country is getting worse." or "Why did you come to South Africa from Canada anyway??" But is ten years really enough for big changes to occur? Look, for example, at Germany. It's been fifteen years since the Berlin Wall came down and the unemployment rate is still 30% in the Eastern part. Somebody told me the unemployment rate in South Africa is 25%.

Okay, but let's not talk about a country or even a city like Berlin. What about the Canadian Federal Government? After 20 years of Affirmative Action, the number of female employees is just starting to rival those of the male employees and even then, males are mostly at the top of the food chain. They started campaigning for visible minorities a few years back and we will probably only start seeing the benefits in another 20 years.

There are so many opportunities in South Africa. During the Apartheid, European countries banned trade with South Africa. Now that's over. Even though the white community in SA do not see differences, do the blacks? They are no longer restricted to live in townships, they are able to have a chance to get a better paid job, some even in high positions. The government is making work for unemployed people and there is great support for the BEEs (Black Empowerment Enterprises), SMMEs (Small, medium and micro-enterprises) and emerging businesses as well.

Being a ten year old democratic country is exciting. Imagine all the possibilities. My friend who lives in Cape Town saw many of his friends immigrate to Australia, the UK, and Canada. He grew up in Pretoria and has now decided that there are still opportunities abound in this country (OK, he's in Cape Town, how can he complain?). There is time to see it grow.

People are so uncertain of the future, from those who remember SA as being "white" to those who dream of earning riches in America. What about people who were scared before Hong Kong was returned to China in 1997 and hoards of families fled to North America, Europe and Australia? Now, seven years later, people are returning to HK because the economy is not too bad and they miss their lives there. I can foresee South Africans who have fled the countries come back when they perceive that things are improving.

14 April 2004 is the day to exercise your right to vote. This year, it's a National Holiday so no South Africans have an excuse not to vote (non-SA citizens such as myself, get an extra day to explore the country!). I'd like to come back after twenty years of democracy to see what the new government has done with this young country.

BACKPACKERS. . .STRANGER AND STRANGER

I had a conversation with my guesthousemate about backpackers and he told me how he hated the whole culture of it: going to a new place, staying where other ex-pats stay and just hanging out with them. Where is the local culture and meaning of visiting a new place and learning about the culture? People arrive there and bombard each other with the same questions: where are you from, where have you been and where are you going? Kinda like the philosophical meaning of life---but not.

I have to admit I'm guilty of this as well, just to form bonds with people, to find people to travel with and to find out the best and cheapest way to get around. But I completely understand why being a naive traveller is negative. Perhaps it's better to go to a place for a purpose: to work to learn, volunteer and learn about the place itself, not to let another foreigner drink you under the table every night.

Yet there is something almost compelling of the backpacking scene---you get to meet all these interesting characters. From two young university student from Victoria riding their bike across Canada in a Halifax hostel to a Scottish man walking across Canada in three stages in Winnipeg, there is a magnetic force that attract freaky people to this cheap and easy form of accommodation. In South Africa, you find mostly Germans there (like you do with the interns and temp workers in general).

A VET IN MPUMALANGA

My weekend road trip to Mpumalanga province I took last week with two carloads of German embassy interns brought us to a backpackers in Graskop, just outside of Kruger National Park. Here, we met an interesting character. . .

His name is Richard from Kansas, Missouri. Born in South Africa, he immigrated to the lovely place of Minnesota, USA at the ripe age of 5. He wanted to be part of the Marine Corp since age 7. Part of the appeal was the uniform. He was able to realize his dream right after high school graduation and signed up for 4 years with them. During last year's War on Iraq, he was on the scene from Feb-May.

The day he got back from Iraq, he met the girl of his dreams. Less than a year later, he has been engaged and broken up with her. He was in Mpumalanga participating in a 30k bike race. He is currently studying opera with his dad's old voice teacher. He wants to do a bachelor's in music when he returns to the states, hopefully in Julliard.

He's pro-Bush and Pro-Republican, doesn't understand why people dislike Bush, dislikes Clinton and JFK, and hates Arabs ("In Thailand, they have this saying that when you face a rattlesnake and an Arab, you should rather turn your back on the snake cuz it will go away"). He told me not to trust the media since all US media is Liberal and anti-Bush, especially CNN.

"They brainwash you in the Marines," he told me. "They teach you that what civilians think is wrong."

Richard is 23 years old. I am v. scared.

WHAT'S GOING DOWN IN CAPE TOWN

I organized my first big event the beginning of the month- FTTSA's first annual stakeholders meeting: one in Joburg and one in Cape Town. It was so hectic trying to get in-kind donations, finding an international guest speaker, doing invites and logistics. But at the end it all worked out, cuz the second presentation was in Cape Town and I took a few extra days off to explore this happening city for the first time!

Watch out. . .they bite

Who knew there would be penguin colonies nearby a hot city with bright clear skies (Boulder's Beach)? I haven't been bitten but if you try petting them, they snap sharp beaks at you. These penguins were originally called Jackass Penguins because of the braying donkey calls they make. But then they realised that other penguins make similar sounds and changed the name to African Penguins as they are the only ones to breed in Africa.

The Vancouver connection

Cape Town is an entirely different place from Pretoria and I'm surprised that it's part of South Africa! The Atlantic Ocean and the mountain backdrop including Table Mountain remind me of home. They say that Cape Town is the Vancouver of SA and Joburg is the Toronto of the country. Cape Town people are laid-back and the living is easy, while Joburg life is hectic with people relocating there for work and money. Of course while I was in Cape Town, there wasn't even a drop of rain. But then again, June/July is the rainy season there.

Climbing up Table Mountain is reminiscent of the Grouse Grind except this stair-climbing exercise provides no areas shaded by trees. There's also a section where it's flat, when you go from one side of the mountain to another. Many trails can take you to the top, apparently. Unfortunately, being lost confined us to the mainstream and less interesting trail. We took the easy way down though--cable car. Hard-core hiking ex-pats that we are, we went up in the middle of the day, scorching sun beating upon our back, 1 litre water bottle weighing us down. 2.5 hours later, we reach the top and got the best view of the city.

I also went to Cape Point, the southern most tip of Africa (and probably the windiest). People like to think that this is where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet, but this phenomenon actually takes place in Cape Arguilas (?). I also stayed two night in Stellenbosch, the wine region of SA. The wine estate is called Spier and it's one of the tourism establishment with the Fair Trade in Tourism SA Trademark (yay for complimentary bednights).

But now I'm back. Gloria in Pretoria. . .

RAIN, RAIN. . .

Usually associated with Vancouver's tempermental rainforest climate, this wet phenomen is now playing in a city near me- Pretoria to be exact. I've never contemplated this as much as I have the past week. It's March next week which means- Southern hemispherically speaking- summer is coming to an end. February is possibly the wettest month in the Gauteng province and on the night that I returned from my wet camping trip, it started to pour. Can't get enough of that sugar rain. . .

With only a flimsy umbrella in head and two sturdy legs, I walked home from work as always. The rain fell like a garden hose switched on high that Tuesday. Ankle high puddles lasting an entire block made me laugh and I finally gave up tip-toeing frog-legged from side to side. I had no choice but to submerge my half-suede shoes in water for the fifteen-minute walk. I had never been so soaked walking from place to place in an urban surrounding before.

Not only does rain bring about fresh blossoms and green stuff, it also seduces flying termites into unsuspecting victim's homes. After the rain, these "ants" with wings flock in, flapping about. They just plant themselves on a flat surface and rub their backs enthusiastically to get rid of those spidery wings. Then they try to burrow a hole in the ground to make nests and mate.

This doesn't work so well on kitchen counters, stoves, or sink drains, but boy do they try. My friend who stayed in Namibia for a year told me that he lived in a room that was swarming with these puppies! I was sitting in my room once and heard a faint rustle at my door. Turning around, I saw two flying termites squeeze themselves into my room from under the door. I heard that they taste like peanuts, deep-fried, or freshly picked. I'd rather get protein from canned tuna. However, ant colonies seem to like the taste of them even though flying peanuts are probably 20 times their size.

Hmm. . .I'm getting hungry just talking about food- er, I mean termites. . .

Rocking in the Mountains in SA

The Rockies may crumble,
Gilbraltor may stumble,
they're only made of clay
but hard core hiking is here to stay.

No Rockies here, but there is the Drakensberg mountain range here. Lesotho, the only country in the world completely surrounded by another country (South Africa) is situated right in the middle of the range making the entire country a mountainous region. I went camping in the Central Drakensberg, outside of Lesotho in a place called Injasuti. Berg means mountain in Afrikaan, German and other related languages.

It's a real rainy area similar to Vancouver- not that I would hike around the grey concrete jungle of Downtown Vancouver with a backpack stuffed with army ration, stoves, powdered food and tuna cans. It's a not easy being green. . .especially when you are full of rivers that hikers have to ford. In wet tackies (runners), cotton socks and zip-away pants I step from one current immersed rock to the next. Next thing I know, I am thigh high deep in water. Not that it makes a difference from walking in the downpour. It just adds 5 lbs to each leg as I continue on my way.

The neat thing about this area are the rock paintings by the San people, or the bushpeople who migrated up to the Kalahari desert. They hunted Eland (biggest antelope), giraffes, turtles and ostriches. They even had signals for each animal. They used a lot of clicking in their language which the Zulu borrowed. Rock paintings the guide showed us included eland, rhinos and a battle scene with local Black farmers.

We slept in a cave the first night (actually more of an overhang) and the sound of rushing rivers lulled us to sleep. This is actually a bit disorienting especially when you get confused with the sound of rain and the sound of river.

A highlight of the area are the marble baths a winding smooth river area that you can use as water slide. However, drastic results from this activity included raw backs and torn shorts.

Cricket in the rain

I was telling my South African family (Stefanie from Germany, Axel from Germany, and Jenny from Sweden who are all living at my Guesthouse) about what somebody I just met is researching. After describing how this man from Sichuan, who was a transplant to Beijing, was doing doctorate work at the University of Pretoria, I tell them what his concentration is in animal ecology.

"He studies cricket behaviour."
"Huh?" Stef says. "They're aren't any here."
"Of course there is," I counter. "You can hear them at night."
Jenny looks very very confused. And then a light switch comes on and she starts laughing.
"Oh. I thought you meant cricket game."

I did go watch a cricket game last Saturday. It was a test cricket match which means its 5 days long and its on an international level. South Africa versus the West Indies. I don't know what the end score was, it had been raining since Sunday night and it was announced that the result was a tie.

The game is not terribly exciting. Just two wickets the two guy batting run between. Kinda like baseball in the way that one team is on the field and the other at bat until they strike out (10 strikes you're out. pitch is called bowling).

I don't understand the game and I was just sitting there on the grass complaining about this fact. All the spectators are well supplied with local beer they spend hours queuing up for (the line must be almost the same length as the one for the ladies washroom). The South Africans around me were appalled at my ignorance and when I admitted that I was a Canuck, they say admonishingly "But Canada has a cricket team."

"We just send them to play overseas," I explain sheepishly.

They finally admit that most SAfricans don't completely understand the game either (must be the booze doing its work). The funniest thing is that right in the middle of the game, all the players disappear. I asked what the reason was.

"Well," my friend says, exasperated, as if it must be the most apparent thing in the world, "it's tea time."

How smashing. . .

The sound of waves crashing into the rocks, a slight sprinkle of rain beating on your cheeks and the sharp scent of sea salt at your nose. . .and you are at the Indian Ocean. The sea reaches out into nowhere, just beyond the half-sunken shipwreck scene- swimming distance from the jagged boulders on the shore.

I never realised how much I missed the ocean until I got to the coast for the festive holidays. White sandy beaches, sparkling blue warm water and hot sand underfoot- it can only happen in a summer December in South Africa (Australia too, I guess). Surfers were abound, kids were shrieking and playing in the ocean water as if they were in nature’s wave pool. Tanned and lazy, I could barely move from my spot just inches from where the tide ends. It was beach after beach for me, Plettensberg Bay, Brenton-on-sea, Jeffrey’s Bay, Gonubie Beach, Summerstrand. . . jumping into the Indian Ocean was so refreshing.

Welcome 2004

New Year’s was spent partying on Jeffrey’s Bay. Crowd came in hoards, trying to be hip and cool, showing off their best spoilers, purple sports car model pumping testosterone dance music. With mattresses and okes (guys) piled up behind a clunky bakkie (pick-up), my group arrived with enough booze to inebriate an entire herd of elephants. People started moving onto the beach area and gathering with their friends. Some were starting bonfires. A South African girl and I started doing the rounds to random strangers, introducing ourselves as Canadians. (“What does lekker mean?” she asks in a perfect South African accent.)

Later on into the night/morning, we join bonfire groups because it was getting cold. Among half-passed out people. a sliver of light begins to shine and we see the sun rise like a raw egg yolk hovering over the ocean.

What I noticed during my holidays is that I didn’t feel like I was in South Africa. All the bodies burning red from the sun were White to begin with. This is the population that can afford to vacation to resort-like pristine beaches. Only on Christmas Day and New Years day do most Black and Coloured South Africans enjoy the beaches. The general White South African response to this that I heard was disguised fear and they wouldn’t hit the beaches on those two days. “Dangerous” and “hectic” were only two of many other reasons why. “The beach is all Black,” somebody explained to me.

If they didn’t tell me those things I don’t think I would even feel a twinge of intimidation when I ventured out into the streets filled with holiday crowds. Would they be so intimidated if the streets and beaches were filled with White bodies instead?

National Holidays

Other than Christmas Day and New Years Day, South Africa has its own unique National holidays. September 24 is Heritage Day, celebrating the diverse African cultures of the country.

December 16 is Reconciliation Day. On that day many years ago, the Boers (Dutch Voertrekkers colonists) waged a battle against the Zulu people. They prayed to God that if they won the battle, they would dedicate and commemorate the day in God's honour. There was indeed a Boer victory and they originally named the day after the Zulu king who was conquered.

Years later, when the walls of Apartheid came down, a Truth and Reconciliation Council formed under the direction of Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Confessions of those who murdered, tortured and committed other inhumane crimes came out during these sessions. The first day of the sessions fell on December 16, so the name of the holiday became Reconciliation Day, a day of new beginnings, and forgiveness for all South Africans.

There is at least one braai (br-eye)- barbeque- every week cuz it's summer and pools are quite common here in South Africa which is nice. But they don't understand the concept of veggie patties here.

"Why not?"
"Cuz we're South African."
As simple as that- welcome to the meat eating country of South Africa.

Last weekend, I went to a Christmas spit-braai. This naive Canadian soon learned that this means, they have the body of an entire lamb on a spit, turning around being cooked. This process begins at 9 in the morning. We arrive at 3 in the afternoon, it's still turning and half of it is gone. There is a huge wok where they are stir-frying marinated prawns. A friend's family owns a butchery and he supplied the rest of the meat. Chicken drumsticks, boervols (Afrikaans sausages), ribs, pork chops, the works.

By this time I'm feeling a bit woozy just seeing all this raw carcass parts (might be the alcohol as well. . .) My favourite food item at the party is fresh sushi that one of their friends is making on site. I made cookies for the event which throws me to the bottom of the popularity rung in the company of these avid meat eaters. I half-expect the head of the lamb to be displayed somewhere in the huge yard, maybe by the pool on a stake, reminiscent of Lord of the Flies. The conch on this scenario is in the form of any of the rampant booze in coolers, deadly shooters and the like.

People are thrown into the pool avec clothes, and they come out of the house in fresh new clothes every so often. I hide in the shadows uncertain of this cultural experience. "So are spit braais normal?" "You mean you don't have this in Canada? We don't have it all the time but it's common." (I heard about a party where they put an entire cow on the spit).The evening dragged on with people emptying their stomachs into toilets, lying in the middle of someone's bedroom passed out, taking final dunks into the pool with swimming trunks. I feel sick so I leave to sleep.

The next day after lunch, we come back. Most of the same people are still there, some had returned and there is still food on the grill- healthy signs of a weekend long braai. They eat hotdogs and drumsticks. We make Don Pedros- ice-cream milkshakes with Amarula (yummy South African Liquor that tastes like fruity Bailey's). And then we have congee for dinner.

Lot's more SA eating adventures to come in the new year but meanwhile. . .have a safe and happy festive seaon everybody!!!

Pseudo-Xmas is a reality in this part of the hemisphere. Remember how novel it was the first year we decided that it would be cool to have xmas in the summer? That's because I was craving Christmas food between the two Christmases. Funny how we had Christmas lights and presents when it was scorching outside, wasn't it?

Looks like my "dream" came true. Even when I explained this "novel" idea to my Australian friend in Beijing last year, she wasn't impressed. Let me tell about a cultural experience I had yesterday beyond any expectations I had before I left the Northern hemisphere.

My friend who works at the Swiss Embassy SMSes me about a concert taking place at the Botanical Gardens with candles where we can bring a picnic dinner. The concert starts at 7pm and I imagine classical music with formal attire and violins. I'm not a big fan- but hey- it's my first time to the gardens and it's an outdoor summer night festival!

We arrive and already, cars are jammed and parked along the road, onto the grass extending far from the entrance of the gardens. We secure a spot and walk towards the entrance when we start seeing people selling santa hats with gaudy lights that flash glued to the white part of the hat. The hats are not all red, there are blue ones too(!) We pay the R5 entrance fee and walk in. We buy a candle each. "but we have no matches." "don't worry," I assure her, "we can borrow light from neighbours."

The garden is jammed when we start hearing . . . Christmas Carols. It is very disorienting to see all these people (mostly whites) crammed together with their picnics. Some look like they brought their entire house with them, chairs, tables, red wine, all they are missing is the bed. It is a familiy affair and we feel very out of place, scared to even turn to people next to us to borrow light. Everyone has their candles lit and they are in tank tops and shorts. The children's choir is on a stage with bright multi-coloured Christmas lights. We did not expect this and start laughing when the brass plays Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. People in shorts of all things, jingle their keys to Jingle Bells. And some Christmas songs are sung in Afrikaans too!

It definitely does not feel like Christmas here. I apologise- but it seems like a joke or else everybody is celebrating Pseudo-Xmas at the same time. Either one. The malls have the decorations up already. This is too much for a sheltered winter Christmas celebrater. . .

PS. Here is a real sordid/morbid Christmas story set in an American consumerist culture.

It was AIDS days yesterday. Nelson Mandela held an AIDS concert featuring international stars to raise money and awareness including U2 and Beyoncee over the weekend. They were playing movies on TV including a local one which features male prostitutes and the American film Philadelphia.

I never really paid attention to AIDS awareness back at home. Even in China, there wasn't much publicity because the government is trying to hide this reality from the public. Apparently, there are high rates of HIV/AIDS there as well, but the statistics have been undergraound. While I was there last year, a local high school at Haidian, the district I was living, was just introducing a sex education component to the cirriculum.

Here, AIDS awareness is a full-blown campaign, from huge road signs on the high way to catchy advertisements on the radio and TV. I heard a really kitsch radio commercial using rap to try to reach the teenage segment of the population. Huge billboards and television featuring young people stress the choice of abstinence over getting laid. In some washrooms, a box of condoms are available for people to pick up and use.

Education on this issue is prevalent in schools as well. The seven year old daughter of a colleague knows about sex and AIDS. In a country where at least some statistics are known about the virus, pre-adolescents are learning the cold facts in the classroom. Apparently, there are 4.2 million HIV-positive people in South Africa (2000), the highest number in any country in the world.

People in townships know about it and close family members and friends fall victim to the virus. When I was in the Southern Drakensberg in the rural village of Matatiele, a tour guide showed me around the area. He bent down over a small leafy plant and began digging around it with a stick. It's a furry bulbous root called the African potato. He told me that sangomas (traditional healers) use it all the time. It was originally thought to be the cure for AIDS and was in huge demand. But now they have realised that it's good for immunization.

Even the tourism industry has picked up on HIV/AIDS awareness. Some souvenirs such as weaving and beading use the AIDS emblem (red ribbon) as design.

Here is an interesting article about HIV/AIDS in South Africa and the accessibility of treatment to affected people. It's a bit dated (from 2000) and although progress is happening steadily, similar situations are still occuring .

I'm waiting to cross the street.

Vertically opposite from where I'm standing, a group of local boys are waiting to cross. They are all staring at me and whispering. Then they wave with amused grins on their faces. This never happens to anyone back at home. I feel embarassed and want to laugh all at the same time because I am a novelty in this South African set. I give them half a wave and look away.

Then the light changes and we cross, too far away to ever initiate conversation or exchange cultural understanding.

PS. I'm having a bit of China deja vu. There, I was surrounded by Koeans and I felt like I was in Korea. Now, I'm surrounded by Germans and I'm in Germany instead.

Current weather in Pretoria
I want fall! It's too hot. . .

Mbeki visits Canada

Canada to help with medicine to Africa

South African Goliath

Diamond ownership

"The sun rises in the east and sets in the west all over the world," a colleague told me yesterday.

No, I'm not gullible.
Really, I'm not.

WORK 2 PLAY

I WENT TO LIMPOPO PROVINCE A COUPLE WEEKENDS AGO FOR WORK. We went to visit one of the places we recently gave the Fair Trade label to and checked out the scene (R & R with yummy food)! It's a 5.5 bus ride there past Polokwane, arriving at Louis Trichardt. And from there another short drive towards the Albasini Dam to Shiluvari Lodge.

Arriving there in the dark, we saw countless stars and I saw some of them twinkling! Twinkling little stars up above the world so high. . . but the next evening it was a bit overcast and only the Southern Cross was visible. Apparently, those in the Southern Hemisphere can't see the Big and Little Dippers. Rumours have it that the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Can somebody please confirm this for me? I find it hard to believe.

The next day, I take a walk a little ways along the huge dam and I can hear grunting and breathing from the hippos underwater. There are footprints on the moist sand. I am scared because they tell me hippos are dangerous; they stay underwater during the day and appear at night. A dog that belongs to the owner of the lodge wandered out one night and the hippo bit its body, almost ripping it in half. After intense surgery, the dog is alive.

WHAT KIDS WANT

MANY ARTISTS LIVE IN THIS RURAL VENDA SPEAKING COMMUNITY. There are pottery co-operatives, textile co-operatives and other crafts sold to tourists. The great thing about co-operatives is that even though all the stores look the same and sell the same things (even same displays), you know that they will all get the fair share at the end of the day.

We were at one of the pottery stops and all the kids were hanging around and gawking at us tourists. I take out my camera for a shot of the surrounding areas and then the kids start giggling. I walk towards them not really knowing what to say. (At the previous stop I attempted to talk to a couple girls but they didn't know English).

I tell them I that I am hot and asked them how to say that in Venda and they teach me (I forget already) and I ask them their names. They laugh at my accent as I attempt Venda and then one boy blatantly says to me "Give me money so I can buy chocolate." I say no because I cannot comprehend the logistic of feeding all of Africa chocolate.

They finally point at my camera, wanting me to take their pictures. So I take it, and they want another one. And then these boys fight for me to take their pictures. A few teenager shyly come to ask me as well. I am running out of film so I tell them no. But I feel bad taking all the pictures so I ask them for their address where I can mail them back. I take out my pen. . . they are all around me.

A sea of outstretched hands, desperately reach for my sole pink pen that is almost out of ink.
"Please. I am your friend."
"I need to write my exam."
"I am your friend."
"Give me the pen."
"Please."
They incessantly try to speak over the other young voices and I am at loss for words. Their pleas are almost demanding as I stand there motionless. I was told about this happening in other African countries but I never suspected this in South Africa.

Somebody points behind me. The bakkie (truck/4x4) I came on is starting its engine. I blindly shove the pen into a child's hand and take off. The emotions are overwhelming.

"There are children who are worse off," my co-worker told me the next day. "At least these ones have food and roofs over their heads."

I tried not to imagine others who do not.

Like a vegetable-lover’s dream come true, blackened asparagus-like plants push out from rough dusty rocks on the dry South African terrain. Short stubby cacti and ones boasting fluffy pink blossoms stick out like stray hairs among other patches of rocks.

Rustling bushes ahead reveal a shy graceful impala that abruptly leaps away with five companions. Squawks from a group of guinea fowls alert others that humans are nearby and they take flight, pumping speckled white spots on black wings, red crown on shrunken blue heads.

As the narrow road turns a soft bend, a clump of brown and black body mass is nestled on dry grass. It’s half of a zebra carcass, bones protruding; gnawed skin is pulled back on broken ribs. A few meters away is a solitary thigh bone and another couple meters more lies its skull with buck teeth grinning blindly.

Upon a rock face, a large clearing is visible: hectares of grasslands with sparse trees. On the right, a small herd of kudus and two impalas dart from their hiding place extending slim hind legs as they disperse in different directions. Movement from further up turns out to be a small group of zebras and a family of giraffes, the young ones racing closing behind. A black wildebeest, looking more like a small buffalo from afar, follows several antelopes to gather under a tree in the middle of the massive land area.

They’re all staring back at us.

Hard to imagine that we are less than a kilometre from a large freeway and zooming cars. The sky is overcast, the wind actually making the usually hot spring weather chilly, and we, clad in jackets and fleece, are hiking a short trail in Groenkloof nature reserve in Pretoria. Being used to hike for free in trails from our respective countries (Canada, Germany and Switzerland), we are shocked to learn that we had to fork out R15 each to walk the trails. We now realize why. Some walking trails go through the same space the animals play and leave droppings. Being so close to wildlife is exhilarating and intimidating at the same time.

We ask a reserve worker if there are elephants and lions in the reserve after we hear an ominous unidentifiable rustle from bushes ahead of us on a trail. He confirms there were none and that it was safe to walk the trails.

Experiencing the wildlife reserves in a car is different altogether. We went out of the car to change drivers in Pilanesburg and were caught by a reserve warden who warned us never to do it again. We’ve also heard of stories where elephants open their ears up in anger and chased a car. Lookout areas where visitors can get out of the car to enter another caged enclosed area have signs cautioning people to get out of their cars at their own risk.

A Walk in the Cradle

Couple of weeks ago, we went hiking on a trail that was part of a lodge in an area called the Cradle of Humankind. The dusty red trail (free for us to use after we ask permission to trample on their property) leads up to a hill that overlooked farmland resembling prairie lands in Canada. We are also able to see impala and boks before we started our ascent.

The Cradle of Humankind, over a hundred kilometres from downtown Pretoria, is where civilization is rumoured to have begun. Arid heat radiating from the hot earth is unbearable after a couple hour car ride. Minutes later, we are enjoying cool air within damp cave walls several feet underground. The dead cave is Sterkfontein Cave where the most complete 4.1 million year old skeleton was found. This is also where Ms. Ples, another famous African skeleton was revealed under careful archaeological digging.

A book called Out of Eden: The Peopling of the World was featured on a radio show in SAfm about people who have migrated from ancestral Africa to other continents and what compelled them to do so. I haven’t read it yet, but it sounds similar to Germs, Guns and Steel.