"We Will Succeed"

“We Will Succeed”
(South Africa)

I am not going to lie and say that I was excited for South Africa.  The consensus on the ship was that we were going to be let loose into a giant playground for sort-of-grown-ups: safaris, bungee jumping, shark dives, sky dives, etcetera.  I am by far one of the least fun-loving people you will ever meet, by social standards: my idea of a riot is playing Scrabble, watching a good documentary and socializing with friends over a home-cooked meal.

Because I have become more active over the past year, I tried to get myself psyched-up for hiking and cycling and other outdoorist (outdoorsy-tourist) activities.  I had intended to hike Lion’s Head and Table Mountain, to do a township tour by cycle, to cycle in the winelands, to do a Habitat for Humanity project and to visit the University of Cape Town.  Along the theme of my voyage: “the best laid plans of mice and men and me,” Cape Town saw a lot of changes.  This time the changes were all on me, though.

The day of our arrival, we had to get up early… really, really early.  After getting breakfast and my visa, I took some time to relax and get my feet beneath me; our ship was docked right in the center of what seemed like everything, but wound-up being nearly nothing on an emotional and spiritual level.  We had a spectacular view of Table Mountain, Lion’s Head and Signal Hill from the aft of the ship, while looking out from the forward decks, we could see the V&A Waterfront: a massive and massively affluent mall.  Little boats mulled around the water skirting the ship, and some seals and other aquatic wildlife came to play in the warmth near the hull or bask in the shade between the pier and the ship.

I had signed-up for a Semester at Sea sponsored hike up Lion’s Head; my “extended family” parents, Chris and Jodi (staff-members in their 30’s) were the trip leaders.  I was excited until the bus ride taking us up to the base of the mountain; my ears were popping like crazy, to the point that it was somewhat difficult to hear the conversation I was having with Natascha.  We got out of the bus and began our hike.  Lion’s Head is not that high, but it is very steep, so ascent is rapid.  I began to feel nauseous.  I left the trip early, but had the occasion to talk with one of the guides, Trevor, for an extensive period of time.  That’s when it hit me that I had tried to get into this port against my own values.  Yes, I love nature, and I appreciate physical activity a lot more than I used to, but if I am going to go into nature, I need to go alone or with people I love, and what I love even more than nature is meeting good people.  I told Trevor about Semester at Sea, he told me about South Africa, we talked about Americans and altitude sickness.  I decided to give away my Table Mountain hike ticket.  I spent the rest of the day mildly ill with a headache and nausea that persisted until the next morning.

After waking and showering, I still was not feeling too hot and did heave a bit, but I decided to give the day a shot; I could always go home early.  I got breakfast and then headed down for a trip I’m sure my mother would not have thought I would ever sign-up for, not in this lifetime: “Full-Day Township by Bike and Interactive Soccer.”

We left the port by bus and went out to a community called Masiphumelele (It’s not as difficult as it looks.); in Xhosa (Yes, that’s one of the languages that uses “clicking.”) the name means “we will succeed.”  Positive reinforcement has no linguistic barriers.  In Masiphumelele, we met-up with some local men who run a bike shop and youth cooperative known as BEN (Bicycle Empowerment Network); we got our wheels, and a few of us opted to put on helmets, then we headed out in two small groups.  It had been a long while since I had ridden a non-stationary bike, but I was, firstly, excited that they had back-pedal breaks, which I find more intuitive, and, secondly, quite an adequate rider, despite the fact that we all had to “drive on the left,” try to keep a single file and respect the speeds of those in front of and behind us.  It felt good.

Our first stop was a crèche.  “Crèche” is a French word that means… well, a crib, I suppose, but in English-speaking cultures, like in much of South Africa, it is essentially a daycare center.  We were each invited to sit with a group of about four children and entered into a drawing competition.  I drew a circle, and not much happened on our paper after that: the kids were far too enamored with all of the cameras and had a fun go at wearing sunglasses, too.  Most of the pictures the kids attempted to take did not turn-out all that well, but it was fun for them each to have a turn to try.  Before we left, they sang us a few songs, including a couple in English, even Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
Next, we got back on our bikes and headed over to the local sangoma: traditional healers.  The occasion to meet sangoma was one of my motivators for signing-up for the trip.  When we arrived, we watched them perform a few healing dances.  All of the questions I had wanted to ask vanished, and I just found a lot of answers.  The steady, fast beat of the drums increases the heart rate: the blood rushes around the body; it gets cleaned more quickly.  I did, however, have difficulty containing my laughter at the somewhat humorous nature of traditional healers wearing western clothing.

We visited the home of one woman in Masiphumelele who creates home décor using recycled materials.  I have seen plenty of repurposed objects and recycled artwork, but I actually was impressed by some of the things this woman had created.  It is inspiring, encouraging, phenomenal and disheartening to know that creative, ingenious people are tucked away into Townships outside of Cape Town, fashioning mounted bulls’ heads out of detergent containers and erect elephants from bottle caps.

We hopped back on our bikes, and some kids from the Township hopped on the backs to catch a free ride.  While it made me nervous from that whole motherly “safety” perspective, myself, valuing my noggin, being one of those helmet-wearers, having a young child grabbing my waist, but having little security other than that… I still loved it… because they loved it.  They were having a blast, and they laughed at all of their friends who we passed on the streets.

We visited Charlotte for lunch.  Charlotte is a strong, brilliant woman who runs Nomthunzie Township Tours (website coming in January).  She has two grown daughters; her son passed away from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, but she still has a wonderful tambour in her voice, a fantastic smile and an openness of heart that nobody can be untouched by.  She made us tea and some sort of donut-like thing, but we had packed lunches from the ship.  Our crew deserves ten cheers for everything they do for us.  We talked with Charlotte about everything from her life to her favorite television shows to her hopes for the future.  It was sad to bike away again.

Our next stop was the library, which was nothing short of inspirational.  Aside from being well-stocked, clean, beautiful and tranquil, there was a bulletin board covered with news from various clubs and groups that had formed at the library.  The philosophy club had posted a paraphrase of ye old Eleanor Roosevelt quote, “Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.”  It means a lot to see that in writing on a wall in a South African Township.  Apartheid may be over, but the affluent parts of South Africa are still predominately white and Townships are at least majority, if not entirely, black.  But what a Township, or, at least, Masiphumelele, lacks in financial wealth it more than makes up for with soul.

We loaded-up a few more local children onto our bicycles and pedaled out to the field where we would have our reckoning.  I’ve never been much for team sports, and soccer is far from being an exception.  The fact that we were playing on a dirt field, littered with rocks and a few random, abandoned cement foundations did not improve my outlook.  We played casually with the kids who had become attached to our bikes, but an actual team sat by, waiting and preparing to play us.  Luckily, we had some really avid soccer players on our team, so we only lost by one point, and I think we scored twice.  I even kicked the ball, maybe only once.  How about that!

We gave out another One World Futbol and then clamored back into our little bus.  We made a pit stop on the way back to the ship: we had to pick-up some Hake and Chips.  I do not remember the last time I had Fish & Chips prior to that, but it was just how I remember it: greasy, gooey in the weirdest of ways and totally satisfying.

It was not a good day; it was a great day.  If I had to live one day of this trip over again and again, this takes the cake (and hake!), so far.

Having given away my trip to Table Mountain, I took the next day to relax on a sightseeing tour with Natascha.  In Cape Town, there are two main bus tours: the red line stays in the city, and the blue line goes out to the countryside, after a short jaunt around the city.  It was great to see some more of Cape Town’s beauty, but it was even better to spend a couple of hours talking to Natascha.

The following day, Natascha, Mackenzie and I took the red line.  We saw many of the same stops and got a lot of good chatting in, but we also decided to brave Table Mountain.  I’ll have you all know that we climbed it naked, during a hailstorm, backwards, on our hands, with 90 orphans on each of our backs.  In other words, we took the cable car.  I did feel a bit nauseous, but after a sit at the top and adjusting to the change in pressure, I was fine to explore and enjoy the view.  We enjoyed some room-temperature cheesecake at the top before heading back down to catch the bus again.  We got off at the mall and had ourselves some ice cream.  A few hours later, Carren and Emma joined us for some amazing Italian food.  We were able to discuss a lot of interesting things, including a trip to the Amy Biel Foundation that Emma had participated in, the utter disappointment of Semester at Sea “service” visits, and the ongoing and obvious racism in the area.  I had wonderful squash ravioli and some lamb—let me tell you, good food is one thing, amazing food is a totally different thing.  We were disappointed with the thought that we could not bring leftovers back on the ship, but Emma, being the complete sweetheart that she is, suggested that we bring our leftovers to port security: the on-duty guard was very appreciative.  Having people like Emma around is great.

When I woke-up, I was too tired to stay-up, so I missed my Habitat for Humanity trip.  It was not the hugest tragedy.  I had a wonderful lunch with some of the most mature people on the ship and, later, went out for sushi with Jeanette.  It was a relatively uneventful day, but it was plenty wonderful.  My “extended family” was supposed to meet for dinner, but all of my “sisters” bailed, last minute, except for Natascha, who was only “adopted” into the family on the first day of South Africa.  We decided to go out for dessert; I had Ferrero Rocher ice cream.  I died.  I gained seven and a half pounds.  I loved it.  But really, I loved spending time with my “parents” and Natascha.  I had been lacking the “people” portion of the happiness equation, and South Africa was very healing for that.

On the final day, I took a risk: I did what I wanted to do.  I ditched my FDP to the University of Cape Town, I ditched an opportunity to film for my documentary, and I went on a trip to learn about the Desmond Tutu HIV Foundation: a trip back to Masiphumelele.  We visited the “Tutu Tester” and the “Tutu Treater” and learned about their efforts to test township citizens for HIV, TB and other grave conditions.  We also got to see the new youth center they are constructing, directly across from the secondary school, so that kids and teens can get health counseling without the risk of their parents being in earshot, but also so that they can get tutoring, play sports, learn new things and have recreational activities readily available to them other than the sort that spread HIV.  I knew on the first day I visited that I would return to Masiphumelele: now I know why. 

(To be continued…)