The process of moving to South Africa was not easy. It was logistically challenging. The visa business was frustrating and caused a lot of angst. However, when I think back to that time, right before we left the USA and came to South Africa, my most prominent emotion was excitement. We were about to embark on a new life and I couldn't wait to get started. We laughed off the delays and challenges. It was all a big adventure.
Leaving South Africa does not feel like an adventure. It feels awful. I would love to put a positive spin on it for you and say something like, "onward and upward" or "change is good" but I can't. What I can say is, "I'm sure it will be fine." That's the best I can do. But I'm not a huge fan of fine. I prefer amazing.
Intellectually my sadness about leaving makes no sense. How can it be harder to leave a country where I've lived for just over two years than it was to leave a country where I'd lived my entire life? How can it be harder to leave a place where things don't work all that well for a place where everything works? What could possibly be so difficult about going back to America where everyone will understand me when I speak and where I can eat tacos and drink Starbucks with reckless abandon? Not to mention being closer to family and friends. Side note, what is wrong with me that I listed tacos before mentioning family and friends?
When we arrived in South Africa, our relocation agent gave us a book called "Living in South Africa." Of course I never actually READ this book, but the point is there WAS A BOOK about newly arrived expat adjustment. So where is the handbook that details best practises for expats trying to depart a place gracefully? Because I have a lot of questions.
Some of the questions are trivial, yet real. How will I survive without the constant sunshine, palm trees and smiling security guards who greet me every morning and then ask me to buy them a 2 litre Coke and loaf of bread? How will I manage without my clean house and my perfectly ironed and folded clothes made so by the world's kindest and sweetest person? What about the kids that I teach? Will they forget about me after five minutes (answer is yes being that they are eight years old.) Most importantly, how am I supposed to say goodbye to all the people here who I love...my second family, some of whom, if I'm being honest with myself, I may never see again.
Mr. Deep has gone already. He is in Geneva working on a project for the next few months. While I am here alone for what simultaneously feels like forever and not nearly long enough, he was "ripped out of here." Maybe that was the way to go? To leave quickly. Maybe I should have gone with him? Maybe I should have insisted on being an excellent wife and standing by my man, literally. I wonder what the non-existent expat departure handbook would have suggested I do?
I have watched other expat friends leave over the years. Some were life long expats and some were not. All were very stoic and said things like, "here's to the next adventure" which leads me to wonder, is that how they really felt? Maybe they were ready to leave and could barely contain their excitement? Maybe South Africa was getting to them and they were tired of trying to find spare change every minute for car guards, constantly sitting in traffic because of broken traffic lights, and having to visit three stores each time they wanted to buy kale? Or maybe it was breaking their hearts to leave and in the privacy of their own homes they cried a lot and got drunk every night under the guise of having to drink all of their South African wine before the movers arrived? It's hard to know.
The thing about expat life is when it's time to go it's time go whether you want to or not and conversely for some who wish to leave it's not time to go and they have to stay. This is what we all signed on for. I guess if there were an expat departure handbook, that is what it would say. It would be a very short book.
Showing posts with label Domestic Help. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Domestic Help. Show all posts
Friday, June 2, 2017
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Spoiled in Joburg
Sometimes I write blog posts that cast me in a good light and use the blog to give myself a public pat on the back. This is not one of those times. Recently I noticed some things about myself that aren't all that flattering. If you live or have ever lived in South Africa I am hoping you can relate. Part of me can't help but think that what is happening to me is South Africa's fault. At least a little.
I am becoming lazy and spoiled. Not lazy like I don't go to the gym. I do go. Not lazy like I sit around and watch TV all day. I don't. Not spoiled like I don't appreciate how wonderful my life is. I do. It is not lost on me that I have just written about a young woman who is trying her hardest to improve her life by going to university but that in order to do so she has had to go without food or a safe place to live because she has so little money.
When we first arrived and Christine began coming to clean for us twice a week, I was a little freaked out. Not that I wasn't incredibly excited to have a clean home, as that is all I've ever wanted in life, but I was worried that it would be strange to have someone cleaning while I was home and clearly doing nothing of importance. In the beginning, because I'm American, on the days that she came to clean I would do a little pre-work before she arrived and make our bed. Really, it was just a display (refer to beginning of this post) to reassure her that I was not a useless spoiled brat who couldn't or wouldn't make her own bed. I soon noticed though that Christine was remaking our bed even after I'd made it, so after a few months, I conceded to the power play and stopped.
It gets worse. For about a year I hurriedly washed the blender containing our morning smoothie and the glasses that we used to drink the smoothie before Christine arrived. Sometimes it would really get down to the wire and security would call to say she had arrived and I would have to use the five minutes that it takes her to walk from the gate to our house to wash these items. I did this because after making a smoothie the blender is gross. It's covered in a thick green pulpy film. While very healthy to drink, it's yucky to clean especially if you didn't make the smoothie and you're not quite sure what the green slime that you are touching actually is. But then I heard from other people that they were leaving their dinner dishes from the NIGHT BEFORE for their cleaning lady to wash upon arrival the next day and while this news shocked and horrified me it did make me think that washing a small freshly used blender and two glasses wasn't so bad and that was the end of my blender washing.
As I write this, Christine is on vacation for several weeks and so I am left to clean my own house and do my own laundry. As the best offense is a good defense, my strategy is to make as little of a mess as possible and try to keep the house looking presentable for as long as I can without really having to clean anything. If I see a smudge or an area that needs to be wiped, I will wipe it, but my goal is not to have to break out any heavily machinery such as the vacuum or a mop. When this inevitably fails I will enter phase two of my plan which is to ensure that no one comes over and sees what a mess we are living in. The first two phases of my plan should get me to within a week or so of when Christine is due to return at which point I will either break down and clean the house from top to bottom myself or stick it out for the duration.
This is our second holiday season spent in South Africa and I am now realizing why so many people from Joburg go away during the holidays. It's not because they love the beach or viewing the big five but it's because their domestic staff have left town and it's no fun to sit around at home in squalor for three weeks.
The other task I am handling while Christine is away is our laundry. In the grand scheme of household chores I really don't mind doing the laundry but Christine not only does our laundry...she irons and she irons everything. She irons our sheets, our gym clothes and our t-shirts. She may even iron our underwear. She also perfectly folds every item like they do at The Gap. She stacks the ironed clothing in our drawers and cupboards and the piles look so beautiful that I only want to wear the top article of clothing so as to preserve the perfection of the stack.
When South Africans visit America the first thing they must notice as they get off the plane is how wrinkled every one's clothes are because in America most people do not iron t-shirts or jeans. When I lived in America I didn't even own an iron. If something was wrinkled I would send it out to the dry cleaners. If I didn't have time for that I would take the wrinkled item with me on a business trip and then use the iron in the hotel.
So while the festive season is merry and bright, it is also a hard slog as I wait until January when Christine returns. Mr. Deep by the way is completely oblivious to my struggles. He is not trying to maintain our inventory of freshly ironed clothes. He is taking the approach of wearing as many of his clothes as possible in any given day and then after removing them he is throwing them on the floor to quickly wrinkle. I am running after him trying to catch his still presentable and wearable clothing item in mid-air before it hits the floor but I don't always get there in time. He also doesn't take his clothes from the top of the pile. Instead, he grabs a shirt from the middle painfully disrupting the zen that Christine has created for us. She'll be back on January 9.
I am becoming lazy and spoiled. Not lazy like I don't go to the gym. I do go. Not lazy like I sit around and watch TV all day. I don't. Not spoiled like I don't appreciate how wonderful my life is. I do. It is not lost on me that I have just written about a young woman who is trying her hardest to improve her life by going to university but that in order to do so she has had to go without food or a safe place to live because she has so little money.
When we first arrived and Christine began coming to clean for us twice a week, I was a little freaked out. Not that I wasn't incredibly excited to have a clean home, as that is all I've ever wanted in life, but I was worried that it would be strange to have someone cleaning while I was home and clearly doing nothing of importance. In the beginning, because I'm American, on the days that she came to clean I would do a little pre-work before she arrived and make our bed. Really, it was just a display (refer to beginning of this post) to reassure her that I was not a useless spoiled brat who couldn't or wouldn't make her own bed. I soon noticed though that Christine was remaking our bed even after I'd made it, so after a few months, I conceded to the power play and stopped.
It gets worse. For about a year I hurriedly washed the blender containing our morning smoothie and the glasses that we used to drink the smoothie before Christine arrived. Sometimes it would really get down to the wire and security would call to say she had arrived and I would have to use the five minutes that it takes her to walk from the gate to our house to wash these items. I did this because after making a smoothie the blender is gross. It's covered in a thick green pulpy film. While very healthy to drink, it's yucky to clean especially if you didn't make the smoothie and you're not quite sure what the green slime that you are touching actually is. But then I heard from other people that they were leaving their dinner dishes from the NIGHT BEFORE for their cleaning lady to wash upon arrival the next day and while this news shocked and horrified me it did make me think that washing a small freshly used blender and two glasses wasn't so bad and that was the end of my blender washing.
As I write this, Christine is on vacation for several weeks and so I am left to clean my own house and do my own laundry. As the best offense is a good defense, my strategy is to make as little of a mess as possible and try to keep the house looking presentable for as long as I can without really having to clean anything. If I see a smudge or an area that needs to be wiped, I will wipe it, but my goal is not to have to break out any heavily machinery such as the vacuum or a mop. When this inevitably fails I will enter phase two of my plan which is to ensure that no one comes over and sees what a mess we are living in. The first two phases of my plan should get me to within a week or so of when Christine is due to return at which point I will either break down and clean the house from top to bottom myself or stick it out for the duration.
This is our second holiday season spent in South Africa and I am now realizing why so many people from Joburg go away during the holidays. It's not because they love the beach or viewing the big five but it's because their domestic staff have left town and it's no fun to sit around at home in squalor for three weeks.
The other task I am handling while Christine is away is our laundry. In the grand scheme of household chores I really don't mind doing the laundry but Christine not only does our laundry...she irons and she irons everything. She irons our sheets, our gym clothes and our t-shirts. She may even iron our underwear. She also perfectly folds every item like they do at The Gap. She stacks the ironed clothing in our drawers and cupboards and the piles look so beautiful that I only want to wear the top article of clothing so as to preserve the perfection of the stack.
When South Africans visit America the first thing they must notice as they get off the plane is how wrinkled every one's clothes are because in America most people do not iron t-shirts or jeans. When I lived in America I didn't even own an iron. If something was wrinkled I would send it out to the dry cleaners. If I didn't have time for that I would take the wrinkled item with me on a business trip and then use the iron in the hotel.
So while the festive season is merry and bright, it is also a hard slog as I wait until January when Christine returns. Mr. Deep by the way is completely oblivious to my struggles. He is not trying to maintain our inventory of freshly ironed clothes. He is taking the approach of wearing as many of his clothes as possible in any given day and then after removing them he is throwing them on the floor to quickly wrinkle. I am running after him trying to catch his still presentable and wearable clothing item in mid-air before it hits the floor but I don't always get there in time. He also doesn't take his clothes from the top of the pile. Instead, he grabs a shirt from the middle painfully disrupting the zen that Christine has created for us. She'll be back on January 9.
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
Things That Make You Go WTH
"I'm taking what they giving cause I'm working for a living."
-Huey Lewis
I hope you are not too disappointed to find that this post isn't about our trip. I will continue to share our amazing adventures in Botswana and Zambia shortly.
I once read that one of the hardest parts of expat life is being a "fish out of water." This means that when you live in your home country, you are used to your surroundings. You may not like everything that you see and experience but it's the way it's always been so much goes unnoticed.
When you move to a new country the water that surrounds you (remember you're pretending to be a fish) is different and you notice everything. Living in South Africa a lot of what I notice is sad and puzzling. I often see things and think that I understand the situation but I also doubt my conclusions because I'm not from here and what do I know?
This week, we are having the exterior of our house painted. As it is the outside that is being painted the workers are not in my way but I do feel inconvenienced as I feel I need to be home while they are here working. The reason is the bathroom. I am worried that these guys will need to use the bathroom and I can't leave the house unlocked if I am not here because of the millions of horror stories I have heard about theft and crime. As head of Ops I am responsible for keeping the house safe and secure. Mr. Deep does not want to come home and find that his computer has been stolen because I found it necessary to run out to get my nails done.
It is awkward to have people working at the house and to behave in such a manner that clearly illustrates that I don't trust them. When I want to leave the house I go outside and tell the workers that I am leaving and that I have to lock the door and ask them if any of them want to use the bathroom before I go. I think part of the reason I didn't have children is because I don't find enjoyment in asking people if they want to use the bathroom. It's just not a fun conversation.
Today I was out for three hours and while I was gone I was worried about the workers and the bathroom situation even though I gave everyone fair warning before I left. Also, because I've been on this planet for 45 years I know that most men don't really care if there is a bathroom around if you know what I mean. And it's not like we have a huge garden/lawn where someone could walk a few meters away from the house and use a tree. If someone is "going" outside they are still near the house so my concern is partially selfish.
Back in the USA I did not give two seconds of thought to workers and their bathroom needs. Most of the time when we were having projects done at home I was at work myself and I didn't even see the workers except maybe to let them in each morning. I don't remember if I was concerned about people stealing. Maybe I took the time to hide a few valuables or to lock certain rooms? One big difference is that in U.S. workers would arrive at the house by car so they could come and go as they pleased throughout the day. If they were working outside and no one was home and the house was locked they could get in their cars and go somewhere to use the bathroom or get water or food or whatever. The painters working at my house here are dropped off in the morning and picked up in the afternoon by their boss They have no transportation. My bathroom is their only option.
When I first arrived in Joburg, I assumed that people who had proper jobs were quite fortunate given the high unemployment rate in the country. To clarify by proper job I don't mean Christine's part time job cleaning my house twice a week and I don't mean car guards who work for tips and have to pay for the privilege of working. By proper job I mean guys like painters, full time domestic workers, security guards, etc. However what I have come to learn is that most of these people are still painfully poor even though they appear to have
"good jobs."
There is a security guard who works in our complex who lives in a shack without electricity, heat or running water. Maybe it is his choice to live this way so he can send the maximum amount of money he earns home to his wife and two kids who live in another province but it is shocking to realize that someone with a seemingly coveted full time job finds it necessary to live in such conditions. Also, I am willing to bet I am the only resident who knows where he lives. Because I think I might be the only one who ever asked him.
There is also a gardener who works across the street at a neighbor's house (not the neighbors whose house went to on Christmas Day, another house) and I often see him standing on a garbage pail (the kind with a big lid that is on wheels) to reach the top of the small trees that he is trimming. More than once I thought about offering him a step ladder to use. I have to assume that the people he works for don't know that he stands on the pail for surely they would agree that it is incredibly unsafe. Or maybe they do know and they just don't care.
In addition to the bathroom situation I feel sorry for the guys painting our house because of their equipment. One of their ladders seems to be held together with wire and fabric and their broom, while not unsafe, it just pitiful. Is the painting business so slow that a new broom cannot be purchased?
The reason I am writing this post now is because a few days ago I came home and saw the painters sitting out front taking a lunch break. Only they weren't eating. It certainly could be that they had already eaten but there was no sign of food and I hadn't seen any of them eat or drink anything on any of the days prior. So I offered them some food and they accepted. As desperate and poor as these guys are I think that if they had already eaten they would have declined the food but they accepted it and so I kept bringing out more and they ate it all. And from then on each day I have been giving them lunch because I personally can't imagine going all day without eating.
And because I'm a fish out of water I can't help thinking that I could be wrong about all of this as everyone else is going about their business acting like everything is fine. Does the painting boss not know or not care that his guys don't eat during the day? Does he think the ladder is fine and is proud of the efforts to make it last? Or maybe the guys had already eaten and they were just being polite. Or maybe they eat a big breakfast and like to skip lunch and now they are annoyed because I keep feeding them and they are feeling sluggish all afternoon? Maybe it's fine to stand on a garbage can if you have good balance and have been doing so for years without incident? Maybe the security guard is happy to live in a shack? Or, maybe the workers are starving and scared that the ladder is going to break one day. Maybe the security guard is miserable and freezing. Perhaps the gardener will be injured one day when he falls from the can. I'll just keep swimming.
-Huey Lewis
I hope you are not too disappointed to find that this post isn't about our trip. I will continue to share our amazing adventures in Botswana and Zambia shortly.
I once read that one of the hardest parts of expat life is being a "fish out of water." This means that when you live in your home country, you are used to your surroundings. You may not like everything that you see and experience but it's the way it's always been so much goes unnoticed.
When you move to a new country the water that surrounds you (remember you're pretending to be a fish) is different and you notice everything. Living in South Africa a lot of what I notice is sad and puzzling. I often see things and think that I understand the situation but I also doubt my conclusions because I'm not from here and what do I know?
This week, we are having the exterior of our house painted. As it is the outside that is being painted the workers are not in my way but I do feel inconvenienced as I feel I need to be home while they are here working. The reason is the bathroom. I am worried that these guys will need to use the bathroom and I can't leave the house unlocked if I am not here because of the millions of horror stories I have heard about theft and crime. As head of Ops I am responsible for keeping the house safe and secure. Mr. Deep does not want to come home and find that his computer has been stolen because I found it necessary to run out to get my nails done.
It is awkward to have people working at the house and to behave in such a manner that clearly illustrates that I don't trust them. When I want to leave the house I go outside and tell the workers that I am leaving and that I have to lock the door and ask them if any of them want to use the bathroom before I go. I think part of the reason I didn't have children is because I don't find enjoyment in asking people if they want to use the bathroom. It's just not a fun conversation.
Today I was out for three hours and while I was gone I was worried about the workers and the bathroom situation even though I gave everyone fair warning before I left. Also, because I've been on this planet for 45 years I know that most men don't really care if there is a bathroom around if you know what I mean. And it's not like we have a huge garden/lawn where someone could walk a few meters away from the house and use a tree. If someone is "going" outside they are still near the house so my concern is partially selfish.
Back in the USA I did not give two seconds of thought to workers and their bathroom needs. Most of the time when we were having projects done at home I was at work myself and I didn't even see the workers except maybe to let them in each morning. I don't remember if I was concerned about people stealing. Maybe I took the time to hide a few valuables or to lock certain rooms? One big difference is that in U.S. workers would arrive at the house by car so they could come and go as they pleased throughout the day. If they were working outside and no one was home and the house was locked they could get in their cars and go somewhere to use the bathroom or get water or food or whatever. The painters working at my house here are dropped off in the morning and picked up in the afternoon by their boss They have no transportation. My bathroom is their only option.
When I first arrived in Joburg, I assumed that people who had proper jobs were quite fortunate given the high unemployment rate in the country. To clarify by proper job I don't mean Christine's part time job cleaning my house twice a week and I don't mean car guards who work for tips and have to pay for the privilege of working. By proper job I mean guys like painters, full time domestic workers, security guards, etc. However what I have come to learn is that most of these people are still painfully poor even though they appear to have
"good jobs."
There is a security guard who works in our complex who lives in a shack without electricity, heat or running water. Maybe it is his choice to live this way so he can send the maximum amount of money he earns home to his wife and two kids who live in another province but it is shocking to realize that someone with a seemingly coveted full time job finds it necessary to live in such conditions. Also, I am willing to bet I am the only resident who knows where he lives. Because I think I might be the only one who ever asked him.
There is also a gardener who works across the street at a neighbor's house (not the neighbors whose house went to on Christmas Day, another house) and I often see him standing on a garbage pail (the kind with a big lid that is on wheels) to reach the top of the small trees that he is trimming. More than once I thought about offering him a step ladder to use. I have to assume that the people he works for don't know that he stands on the pail for surely they would agree that it is incredibly unsafe. Or maybe they do know and they just don't care.
In addition to the bathroom situation I feel sorry for the guys painting our house because of their equipment. One of their ladders seems to be held together with wire and fabric and their broom, while not unsafe, it just pitiful. Is the painting business so slow that a new broom cannot be purchased?
The reason I am writing this post now is because a few days ago I came home and saw the painters sitting out front taking a lunch break. Only they weren't eating. It certainly could be that they had already eaten but there was no sign of food and I hadn't seen any of them eat or drink anything on any of the days prior. So I offered them some food and they accepted. As desperate and poor as these guys are I think that if they had already eaten they would have declined the food but they accepted it and so I kept bringing out more and they ate it all. And from then on each day I have been giving them lunch because I personally can't imagine going all day without eating.
And because I'm a fish out of water I can't help thinking that I could be wrong about all of this as everyone else is going about their business acting like everything is fine. Does the painting boss not know or not care that his guys don't eat during the day? Does he think the ladder is fine and is proud of the efforts to make it last? Or maybe the guys had already eaten and they were just being polite. Or maybe they eat a big breakfast and like to skip lunch and now they are annoyed because I keep feeding them and they are feeling sluggish all afternoon? Maybe it's fine to stand on a garbage can if you have good balance and have been doing so for years without incident? Maybe the security guard is happy to live in a shack? Or, maybe the workers are starving and scared that the ladder is going to break one day. Maybe the security guard is miserable and freezing. Perhaps the gardener will be injured one day when he falls from the can. I'll just keep swimming.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Good and Proper
I realize that lately I've written several posts complaining about South African bureaucracy and inefficiencies. Hopefully these rants are not making you think that I am unhappy living here because I'm not at all. Actually I'm quite happy. There are so many things to love about life here and our experiences so far have been overwhelmingly positive. But yet again I am facing a situation that is challenging and at the same time amusing.
When we first arrived a relocation company assisted us in getting settled and provided advice on many practical matters. People from the relocation company took me around to look at houses, helped us figure out how to register our vehicles and more. One of the things they told us was that we needed to pay into the unemployment insurance fund (UIF) each month on behalf of our cleaning woman and our gardener. I would be willing to bet that many (if not most) South Africans do not pay into this fund just like many (if not most) South Africans don't pay e-tolls. But, because Mr. Deep is an accountant and because in America bad things happen to you if you don't follow the rules and pay what you are supposed to pay we thought it best to pay into the fund.
Unfortunately over a year has passed since we moved into our home and we have yet to pay into the fund. And it's not due to lack of trying. The fund seems to be so poorly managed that we have been unable to pay. Yes, we are willing to give money away and yet we have been unsuccessful in doing so.
Step one to paying into the fund is to get an employer registration number from the UIF. Over the past year, I have requested an employer registration number at least six times. I have used various available communication methods for these requests including phone, email and fax. I have spoken to several UIF staff members on the phone but still have not received a registration number. When I do get someone on the phone, they ask me to again email and fax the forms. I comply and resend the information and then the UIF goes radio silent until the point in time that I work up the energy to contact them to again try to obtain the registration number.
I asked two people I know if they pay the UIF. The first person I asked is a fellow expat and she said she tried numerous times to obtain a registration number but was not successful. At least I know it's not just me. The second person I asked was a South African. First, I had to remind her what UIF was and then she kind of shrugged and said she has never paid it.
On the surface it seems like a good idea to pay into this fund. It would be beneficial if hardworking people could have some money set aside for them if they become unemployed. But, I can't imagine that if it is seemingly impossible to obtain a registration number that things are running all that smoothly over at UIF. I really doubt that the UIF is paying out claims in a diligent manner to those poor people who are requesting assistance.
I wasn't going to write about this situation because I hate to admit in writing for all to see that we are not following the rules, even if I have a folder of evidence illustrating my efforts and correspondence. But now, something has occurred which is too precious not to share.
On February 26, I received a customer service satisfaction survey via email from the UIF. The subject line read "Was our Service Good and Proper?" This email text followed.
Dear valued client
At the UIF we are committed to providing you with excellent customer service, and we rely on your feedback to continuously improve.
We would like to find out more about your recent interaction with the UIF. Please take a few moments to complete our brief survey - your participation is of great value to us.
This survey will take approximately 2 minutes to complete.
Yes, the survey will take two minutes to complete BUT you will be waiting the rest of your life to receive any assistance from the UIF. Clearly their service has not been good or proper seeing as over 12 months had passed and I still don't have the employer registration number.
I (naively) thought maybe if I completed the survey with horribly low ratings and explained my situation in the comment box that it might get the attention of a supervisor and maybe that then the issue would be resolved. So I completed the survey checking boxes that rated service as "worst," indicating that my "issue was still not resolved" and noting that service was "taking longer than expected. " I also shared that working with the UIF was "very difficult" and that my needs were met "not at all." I then used the comment box to provide the details of my problem as well as my contact information.
On March 30 I received the same survey for a second time. I diligently repeated the exercise and panned the service that I had received or more accurately not received from UIF and I again submitted the survey.
Last week I received the same survey for the third time. This time I am not going to bother to fill it out as I know I'll have numerous future chances to complete it if I decide to do so.
I have to say the UIF is good at one thing. They are good at sending out surveys.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
The Editor
Recently Justice sent me a WhatsApp message saying he wanted to come to our house with Christine the following day. Although Justice had not been to our house since before Christmas, I'd seen him a few times. One day when I was driving Christine and David home they asked if I wanted to stop by and say hello to Justice at work. I had no idea where he worked but it turns out it's near to where we live.
Justice was our gardener for a few months last year and now he is employed as a security guard but art is his true passion. He told me at the beginning of 2016 he was putting a plan in motion to get serious about his art. His favorite artistic outlet is singing. He and Christine sang a lot while they were working around our house but back then I didn't know it was anything more than a love of church hymns and a way to pass the time. As he executed his plan to get serious, Justice visited a studio to record an African gospel music CD. I am hoping that once it's ready I can purchase a CD for myself as well as some for family and friends. Of course I won't understand the language but I know he has a great voice and I would like to support his efforts.
When Justice worked for us, I never knew about his love for art. I had an inkling into his creative mind through his style of gardening (remember the pine cone decorations.) He and Christine also created a picture for us, but I considered that more of a thank you than a passion. When I found out that Justice loved art, I gave him a bunch of art supplies. As a thank you, Justice made a beautiful painting for us. When I received the painting part of me felt badly because I thought Justice felt obligated to give us a gift to thank us for the supplies. But, I was so excited to own an original and beautiful painting created by an artist who I know personally that after about five seconds I forgot about feeling guilty and I ran out to get a frame for the painting.
The recent message from Justice about coming to the house was, "am writing poems. I need ur help. I will show u the pages." When I read this I was flattered. I assumed that he wanted to show me the poems because I encourage his artistic efforts. But, when he arrived with notebook in hand, I learned that he had other motives.
"OK teacher," he said, handing me the notebook. He pronounced teacher just like the kids at the school in Diepsloot, teach cha. "I want you to correct my English." He handed me the notebook and a red pen that he had brought for my use. I don't think Justice and Christine know that I volunteer teach in Diepsloot. I have never told them about it. So I don't think that has anything to do with the poetry editing assignment. I think as English is my first language, Justice was just hoping I could help.
I know absolutely nothing about poetry and I did tell him that repeatedly. I read poems when I was in grade school (because we had to) and I know the names of some poets like Robert Frost and Emily (I can't remember her last name right now something or other.) I wasn't sure if correcting the grammar and spelling was the right thing to do. Maybe the poems should have been left as they were originally written in his authentic voice as an African man whose first language isn't English. But he was adamant about what he wanted and so I edited the poems using the red pen. And I also typed them up and emailed them to him so he would have them for future use.
I can't say whether or not his poems are what poets and people who travel in poetry circles would consider good. I like them quite a bit but I could be biased. I found the poems interesting to read as they provide a glimpse into his life which I don't know much about.
When I first drafted this blog post I did not include a poem. I couldn't share Justice's work without his permission and I was concerned that if I asked permission he would say yes only because he might not be comfortable saying no. But then I showed Mr. Deep (my editor) the post and he said I needed to include a poem. So I went to see Justice at work and I asked him if it would be o.k. to include a poem in the blog and he said it was fine. You will notice that there is no punctuation. That is because the editor has no idea what she is doing and doesn't know if she should have added it.
Justice was our gardener for a few months last year and now he is employed as a security guard but art is his true passion. He told me at the beginning of 2016 he was putting a plan in motion to get serious about his art. His favorite artistic outlet is singing. He and Christine sang a lot while they were working around our house but back then I didn't know it was anything more than a love of church hymns and a way to pass the time. As he executed his plan to get serious, Justice visited a studio to record an African gospel music CD. I am hoping that once it's ready I can purchase a CD for myself as well as some for family and friends. Of course I won't understand the language but I know he has a great voice and I would like to support his efforts.
When Justice worked for us, I never knew about his love for art. I had an inkling into his creative mind through his style of gardening (remember the pine cone decorations.) He and Christine also created a picture for us, but I considered that more of a thank you than a passion. When I found out that Justice loved art, I gave him a bunch of art supplies. As a thank you, Justice made a beautiful painting for us. When I received the painting part of me felt badly because I thought Justice felt obligated to give us a gift to thank us for the supplies. But, I was so excited to own an original and beautiful painting created by an artist who I know personally that after about five seconds I forgot about feeling guilty and I ran out to get a frame for the painting.
 |
| The painting before I framed it |
"OK teacher," he said, handing me the notebook. He pronounced teacher just like the kids at the school in Diepsloot, teach cha. "I want you to correct my English." He handed me the notebook and a red pen that he had brought for my use. I don't think Justice and Christine know that I volunteer teach in Diepsloot. I have never told them about it. So I don't think that has anything to do with the poetry editing assignment. I think as English is my first language, Justice was just hoping I could help.
I know absolutely nothing about poetry and I did tell him that repeatedly. I read poems when I was in grade school (because we had to) and I know the names of some poets like Robert Frost and Emily (I can't remember her last name right now something or other.) I wasn't sure if correcting the grammar and spelling was the right thing to do. Maybe the poems should have been left as they were originally written in his authentic voice as an African man whose first language isn't English. But he was adamant about what he wanted and so I edited the poems using the red pen. And I also typed them up and emailed them to him so he would have them for future use.
I can't say whether or not his poems are what poets and people who travel in poetry circles would consider good. I like them quite a bit but I could be biased. I found the poems interesting to read as they provide a glimpse into his life which I don't know much about.
When I first drafted this blog post I did not include a poem. I couldn't share Justice's work without his permission and I was concerned that if I asked permission he would say yes only because he might not be comfortable saying no. But then I showed Mr. Deep (my editor) the post and he said I needed to include a poem. So I went to see Justice at work and I asked him if it would be o.k. to include a poem in the blog and he said it was fine. You will notice that there is no punctuation. That is because the editor has no idea what she is doing and doesn't know if she should have added it.
The Burning Heart
By: Justice Makhokha
You can cover yourself
But you can’t hide the smoke
You look very well outside
But the flame is burning inside
You eat hot chilies as sweets
But inside your mouth is too hot
Why don’t you vomit that pain
Why don’t you set yourself free
There is no smoke without a fire
Raise the voice of help
Call the rain to stop the fire
The hand of mercy will help you
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
The D word
"You get what you put in and people get what they deserve
Still I ain't seen mine, no I ain't seen mine
I've been givin' but just ain't gettin' I've been walkin' that thin line
So I think I'll keep a walking with my head held high" - Kid Rock, Only God Knows Why
When you were a kid did your mom have a specific saying or rule for life that she repeated to you over and over? Mr. Deep's mom used to say, "you buttered your bread, now sleep on it." My friend's mom used to say "if you're bored you're boring."
Actually Mr. Deep's mom didn't exactly say "you buttered your bread now sleep on it." But she was known for saying both "you buttered your bread now eat it" and "you made your bed now sleep in it" and Mr. Deep being quite hilarious, even at a young age, changed it to "you buttered your bread, now sleep on it."
I wonder in this day of of bounce house birthday parties are moms are still imparting these one line snippets of wisdom onto their children?
My mom's words of wisdom were, "life's not fair." And of course she was correct.
The thing about life not being fair is that we all know it, but time after time we keep forgetting and repeatedly becoming outraged, disappointed and upset when unfair things happen. Meanwhile, we are more than happy to congratulate ourselves or others when good things happen that we deem fair and well deserved.
I'm not suggesting we all become robots and start muttering life's not fair over and over in a monotone voice. And I'm not saying we should stop caring about the things that are going on around us good or bad, but I am going to start taking a small stand against the idea that good things happen for good people and bad things happen to people who are either bad, not good enough, or worse, don't try hard enough to make good things happen for themselves.
How am I going to make this stand? This declaration? From this day onward I am no longer going to use the word deserve. As I said, it's a small stand but it's an important one because we are all using this D word countless times a day. We are saying it out loud to each other (you deserve better) and silently to ourselves in our own heads (I didn't deserve that.) In my opinion, the D word relieves us of taking responsibility for our own actions, and using it is disrespectful to those who are suffering.
You probably think I have gone off the deep end, so let me explain a bit.
"I went to the gym today. I deserve to have ice cream."
No, I don't. I want to have ice cream and for some reason I feel the need to tell myself and everybody else within earshot why it's a great idea, my destiny if you will, for me to have ice cream. From now on if I want ice cream then I will just eat it minus any large announcement about the efforts I put in throughout the day which led me to my decision. I will just say it, "I want ice cream." Or, "I'm having ice cream." Or even, "watch how much ice cream I can eat in one sitting." The same goes for a new car, a new house, clothes, a vacation, a fancy purse, beauty treatments or anything else. I don't deserve these things and I don't not deserve them. I might want them and if I want them then I will decide if I can afford to get them, weigh how much I really want them and go from there.
I am going to stop using the D word when congratulating others. I am no longer going to send emails that say congratulations on your well-deserved promotion (this will actually be quite easy being that I don't have a job or any co-workers but you get the idea.) Instead I will say, "you worked really hard, it is great to see that your efforts are being recognized by the company." Or, "you'll be great in your new role." But the D word will not be used. Why? Because a lot of people deserve promotions, not everyone gets promotions, working hard does not mean you deserve a promotion and not everyone who gets promoted deserves it.
I am also not going to celebrate anymore when bad things happen to people I don't like. If Donald Trump slips on a marble floor in one of the Trump buildings and cracks his head open because some immigrant didn't mop the floor properly, I am not going to say that Donald got what he deserved. I might laugh, but I will not use the D word. Because if I did say that Donald got what he deserved, then I'd have to go around reminding anyone and everyone who has had a mishap caused by the universe that they either did or didn't deserve what happened to them and that is silly.
"I'm sorry you have cancer, you don't deserve this."
That is a horrible thing to say to someone. The person is likely thinking back over his entire life rehashing every hot dog eaten, every martini consumed, every bit of anger held onto and every dental x-ray taken wondering what he did that caused the cancer. And does anyone really deserve to get cancer? If so, who? Charles Manson? People who prey on children? People who beat dogs? Who are we to decide who deserves what? Even someone who smokes three packs of cigarettes a day for 50 years doesn't deserve cancer. We might be less surprised if that person is diagnosed with cancer, but that doesn't mean she or he deserves to suffer or that his or her family should have to endure heartache.
Moving to Africa has reminded me just how much so many people are struggling. I hope that Christine does not wonder what she did in life to deserve to live in a shack, with no electricity and without running water, surrounded by trash. Because I can promise you she did nothing to deserve it. Did Gift deserve to be born in Zimbabwe and forced to live under Mugabe's leadership? Does he deserve a life where he has to work six or seven days a week yet still barely has enough money to buy food and by food I mean maize meal and some occasional chicken? And I don't deserve the great life I have. Yes, I have worked hard. Yes, I try to be a good person. Yes, I am grateful for all that I have both material and abstract. But deserving? That is where I have to draw the line.
Still I ain't seen mine, no I ain't seen mine
I've been givin' but just ain't gettin' I've been walkin' that thin line
So I think I'll keep a walking with my head held high" - Kid Rock, Only God Knows Why
When you were a kid did your mom have a specific saying or rule for life that she repeated to you over and over? Mr. Deep's mom used to say, "you buttered your bread, now sleep on it." My friend's mom used to say "if you're bored you're boring."
Actually Mr. Deep's mom didn't exactly say "you buttered your bread now sleep on it." But she was known for saying both "you buttered your bread now eat it" and "you made your bed now sleep in it" and Mr. Deep being quite hilarious, even at a young age, changed it to "you buttered your bread, now sleep on it."
I wonder in this day of of bounce house birthday parties are moms are still imparting these one line snippets of wisdom onto their children?
My mom's words of wisdom were, "life's not fair." And of course she was correct.
The thing about life not being fair is that we all know it, but time after time we keep forgetting and repeatedly becoming outraged, disappointed and upset when unfair things happen. Meanwhile, we are more than happy to congratulate ourselves or others when good things happen that we deem fair and well deserved.
I'm not suggesting we all become robots and start muttering life's not fair over and over in a monotone voice. And I'm not saying we should stop caring about the things that are going on around us good or bad, but I am going to start taking a small stand against the idea that good things happen for good people and bad things happen to people who are either bad, not good enough, or worse, don't try hard enough to make good things happen for themselves.
How am I going to make this stand? This declaration? From this day onward I am no longer going to use the word deserve. As I said, it's a small stand but it's an important one because we are all using this D word countless times a day. We are saying it out loud to each other (you deserve better) and silently to ourselves in our own heads (I didn't deserve that.) In my opinion, the D word relieves us of taking responsibility for our own actions, and using it is disrespectful to those who are suffering.
You probably think I have gone off the deep end, so let me explain a bit.
"I went to the gym today. I deserve to have ice cream."
No, I don't. I want to have ice cream and for some reason I feel the need to tell myself and everybody else within earshot why it's a great idea, my destiny if you will, for me to have ice cream. From now on if I want ice cream then I will just eat it minus any large announcement about the efforts I put in throughout the day which led me to my decision. I will just say it, "I want ice cream." Or, "I'm having ice cream." Or even, "watch how much ice cream I can eat in one sitting." The same goes for a new car, a new house, clothes, a vacation, a fancy purse, beauty treatments or anything else. I don't deserve these things and I don't not deserve them. I might want them and if I want them then I will decide if I can afford to get them, weigh how much I really want them and go from there.
I am going to stop using the D word when congratulating others. I am no longer going to send emails that say congratulations on your well-deserved promotion (this will actually be quite easy being that I don't have a job or any co-workers but you get the idea.) Instead I will say, "you worked really hard, it is great to see that your efforts are being recognized by the company." Or, "you'll be great in your new role." But the D word will not be used. Why? Because a lot of people deserve promotions, not everyone gets promotions, working hard does not mean you deserve a promotion and not everyone who gets promoted deserves it.
I am also not going to celebrate anymore when bad things happen to people I don't like. If Donald Trump slips on a marble floor in one of the Trump buildings and cracks his head open because some immigrant didn't mop the floor properly, I am not going to say that Donald got what he deserved. I might laugh, but I will not use the D word. Because if I did say that Donald got what he deserved, then I'd have to go around reminding anyone and everyone who has had a mishap caused by the universe that they either did or didn't deserve what happened to them and that is silly.
"I'm sorry you have cancer, you don't deserve this."
That is a horrible thing to say to someone. The person is likely thinking back over his entire life rehashing every hot dog eaten, every martini consumed, every bit of anger held onto and every dental x-ray taken wondering what he did that caused the cancer. And does anyone really deserve to get cancer? If so, who? Charles Manson? People who prey on children? People who beat dogs? Who are we to decide who deserves what? Even someone who smokes three packs of cigarettes a day for 50 years doesn't deserve cancer. We might be less surprised if that person is diagnosed with cancer, but that doesn't mean she or he deserves to suffer or that his or her family should have to endure heartache.
Moving to Africa has reminded me just how much so many people are struggling. I hope that Christine does not wonder what she did in life to deserve to live in a shack, with no electricity and without running water, surrounded by trash. Because I can promise you she did nothing to deserve it. Did Gift deserve to be born in Zimbabwe and forced to live under Mugabe's leadership? Does he deserve a life where he has to work six or seven days a week yet still barely has enough money to buy food and by food I mean maize meal and some occasional chicken? And I don't deserve the great life I have. Yes, I have worked hard. Yes, I try to be a good person. Yes, I am grateful for all that I have both material and abstract. But deserving? That is where I have to draw the line.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Karma
I don't believe in karma. I also don't believe in feng shui, the healing power of crystals or aromatherapy. I do believe in astrology a bit because I am a Virgo and if you know me you know I am such a Virgo but that's where my new age beliefs end and my practicality begins. Practicality by the way being a central Virgo trait.
I remember when I was a kid I read a Judy Blume book and the main character in the book used to write in her diary every evening and she would grade her day. She only had one A plus day and all the rest were just average and graded as B's and C's. I don't remember much else about the book or even the title.
I mention all of this because I had an A plus day today. It was so wonderful that it almost made me believe in karma.
My day began when Justice, who I wrote about in this post, surprised me by coming to work with Christine this morning. I have not seen Justice since his last day of work for us at the end of September but I have been chatting with him over whatsapp. About a month after he left us, Justice got a job! He is now working security at some type of estate or housing complex. I didn't help him to get the job but I was able to help him with a few things he needed once he had the job. He told me recently that he wanted to come by one day to say hello and I guess today was the day. I was excited to give him some Christmas gifts that I brought back for him from the U.S.A. First, was a Yankees cap which he loved and second were some seashells that I gathered for him on the beach in Florida. Give most people over the age of seven a gift of seashells that you picked up yourself from the beach and they will be like what the F$%& is this? But I knew that Justice would really like them. And when I gave them to him Christine said it perfectly. She said "Justice loves decorations." And as much as he loved the hat, he loved the shells and he spent time looking at each one and said how beautiful they were and I knew that he meant it.
We talked for a while and then he began cleaning my windows. The American version of me would have tried to stop him, telling him it wasn't necessary and making a big fuss about how he didn't need to work for free or running to the ATM so I could pay him, but South African version of American me just let him do it because I know he wanted to repay me for some kindnesses and this was his way and to stop him or pay him would have been rude. When I got home this afternoon and he and Christine had already left so I sent him a note to thank him for my gorgeous and sparkling windows and he replied, "you deserve good things."
Also today, I spent time with Gift. I went to his house and met his sister and his brother in law for the first time. They were so nice to me. I think a lot of cynical relatives in this world might have been confused and wondered what my motives for being friends with Gift might be. Am I some kind of recruiter trying to bring him into my cult? Do I work for immigration? Am I a sad and lonely housewife with wild fantasies about younger African men? If they did wonder these things or had questions about me they didn't let on, instead they accepted me as being genuine and welcomed me into their home, giving me a piece of corn on the cob to eat (called mealies here) and chatting with me for an hour. At the end of our visit they told me I was welcome to come back any time to visit.
I brought Gift some clothes and shoes from the U.S.A. When I gave him these items he acted like those people we have all seen on the publishers clearing house commercials. He was happier than any grown up adult I have seen in a long, long while and possibly ever. Later, he wrote me a note saying he was "so much more than the word happy" and that I was his "first friend of white." And I replied to him much like Justice replied to me, and told him that he deserves nice things.
Finally, at the end of the day and I saw our neighbor from across the street, Brenda, standing outside of her house. We hardly know our neighbors except to say hello or to chat briefly if we happen to be outside at the same time. I needed to talk to her today because I had a timely question concerning what, if anything, we should do for the guards at our estate for Christmas. Mr. Deep had suggested I ask her for input. We chatted for a bit and she asked me if we were going to be here for Christmas and what our plans were. I said we were just going to stay home and braai (grill.) By the way Mr. Deep and I don't really celebrate Christmas and we have have spent many, many Christmas days just making dinner at home and hanging out. We also generally don't give each other birthday presents or celebrate any holidays (except Thanksgiving which only involves making dinner) so it's not like we would be sitting at home sobbing, missing the U.S. and feeling suicidal but she of course doesn't know that. So once she heard we had no real plans she invited us to come over for Christmas. The American version of me would have been horrified thinking this poor woman really doesn't want us to come over, she is just being nice and later she is going to have to apologize to her husband for speaking without thinking and tell him she invited us and he will say, "dammit Brenda, do you even know their names?" But the South African version of American me said, "great what time should we come over" and wondered (briefly) if this is what good karma feels like.
My day began when Justice, who I wrote about in this post, surprised me by coming to work with Christine this morning. I have not seen Justice since his last day of work for us at the end of September but I have been chatting with him over whatsapp. About a month after he left us, Justice got a job! He is now working security at some type of estate or housing complex. I didn't help him to get the job but I was able to help him with a few things he needed once he had the job. He told me recently that he wanted to come by one day to say hello and I guess today was the day. I was excited to give him some Christmas gifts that I brought back for him from the U.S.A. First, was a Yankees cap which he loved and second were some seashells that I gathered for him on the beach in Florida. Give most people over the age of seven a gift of seashells that you picked up yourself from the beach and they will be like what the F$%& is this? But I knew that Justice would really like them. And when I gave them to him Christine said it perfectly. She said "Justice loves decorations." And as much as he loved the hat, he loved the shells and he spent time looking at each one and said how beautiful they were and I knew that he meant it.
We talked for a while and then he began cleaning my windows. The American version of me would have tried to stop him, telling him it wasn't necessary and making a big fuss about how he didn't need to work for free or running to the ATM so I could pay him, but South African version of American me just let him do it because I know he wanted to repay me for some kindnesses and this was his way and to stop him or pay him would have been rude. When I got home this afternoon and he and Christine had already left so I sent him a note to thank him for my gorgeous and sparkling windows and he replied, "you deserve good things."
Also today, I spent time with Gift. I went to his house and met his sister and his brother in law for the first time. They were so nice to me. I think a lot of cynical relatives in this world might have been confused and wondered what my motives for being friends with Gift might be. Am I some kind of recruiter trying to bring him into my cult? Do I work for immigration? Am I a sad and lonely housewife with wild fantasies about younger African men? If they did wonder these things or had questions about me they didn't let on, instead they accepted me as being genuine and welcomed me into their home, giving me a piece of corn on the cob to eat (called mealies here) and chatting with me for an hour. At the end of our visit they told me I was welcome to come back any time to visit.
I brought Gift some clothes and shoes from the U.S.A. When I gave him these items he acted like those people we have all seen on the publishers clearing house commercials. He was happier than any grown up adult I have seen in a long, long while and possibly ever. Later, he wrote me a note saying he was "so much more than the word happy" and that I was his "first friend of white." And I replied to him much like Justice replied to me, and told him that he deserves nice things.
Finally, at the end of the day and I saw our neighbor from across the street, Brenda, standing outside of her house. We hardly know our neighbors except to say hello or to chat briefly if we happen to be outside at the same time. I needed to talk to her today because I had a timely question concerning what, if anything, we should do for the guards at our estate for Christmas. Mr. Deep had suggested I ask her for input. We chatted for a bit and she asked me if we were going to be here for Christmas and what our plans were. I said we were just going to stay home and braai (grill.) By the way Mr. Deep and I don't really celebrate Christmas and we have have spent many, many Christmas days just making dinner at home and hanging out. We also generally don't give each other birthday presents or celebrate any holidays (except Thanksgiving which only involves making dinner) so it's not like we would be sitting at home sobbing, missing the U.S. and feeling suicidal but she of course doesn't know that. So once she heard we had no real plans she invited us to come over for Christmas. The American version of me would have been horrified thinking this poor woman really doesn't want us to come over, she is just being nice and later she is going to have to apologize to her husband for speaking without thinking and tell him she invited us and he will say, "dammit Brenda, do you even know their names?" But the South African version of American me said, "great what time should we come over" and wondered (briefly) if this is what good karma feels like.
 |
| Justice at our house wearing his new cap. And yes, it totally matched his jacket. |
Monday, November 23, 2015
Not for Sissies
First, I want to apologize for my use of the word sissy. I am sure it is a derogatory word that should not be used.
The reason I need to use it is that here there is an actual phrase here, "South Africa. Not for sissies." The first time I heard it was when Gavin, our guide at Madikwe said it. It means just what you think. That in order to live here you need to be patient, you need to be flexible and you need to be strong.
In some ways living here is ridiculously and almost embarrassingly easy. Especially for me because I don't work. I will quickly, to avoid annoying you, list the ways that living here is easy. First, to us as Americans it is inexpensive. Housing, food, wine, hotels and many other things cost must less than what we are used to. I am careful not to go on and on about this because to many people who live here the devaluation of the rand is making it more and more difficult to make ends meet, but if you are from America and you come visit, you will be shocked when you order a glass of wine and it costs less than $3.00 USD. Second, it's warm and the sky is almost always blue. And there are palm trees. Even in winter when it was chilly it was nothing like the tundra where we used to live. Third, we live in a nice house. In fact, it's the nicest house I have ever lived in. And someone comes to clean it for me twice a week and someone else comes to work in my yard/garden once a week. If we were living in America these luxuries would not be possible.
I realize that paragraph was irritating. And the good news is that's the end of the cushy life talk and I am instead going to instead focus on the ways that living here is not easy. Living here is challenging in ways that I've never experienced before.
I wrote before about load shedding. That's when the electricity is purposely cut off to save the entire grid from going down. That's hard. But the good news is we haven't had load shedding in a while, over three months. The latest problem though is a severe lack of water. For two weeks Mr. Deep and I had no running water in our house. About 75% of the time absolutely no water came out of the tap at all. Sometimes, there was enough to brush your teeth or hand wash dishes or flush the toilet. But in two weeks there was not enough water to take a shower, do laundry, run the dishwasher or water the yard/garden. While we are having a severe drought, the reason for this situation is we have very old infrastructure in the underground pipes around our neighborhood. This scenario might push some sissies over the edge, but we dealt with it o.k. It was not the end of the world. We showered at the gym and we drank bottled water. Not to say we weren't annoyed but we handled it.
The other thing that is hard is seeing destitute people every where that you go. South Africa is one of the most economically unequal countries in the world. It is not unusual to see a man in tattered clothing, without shoes, with a bucket hand washing a Mercedes or an Audi that is parked in front a large and beautiful home. It is not unusual, when stopped at an intersection to see people begging in the streets, pointing to their mouths to let you know they are hungry. There are also hundreds of thousands of people who work every day and earn a living yet they are still hungry and many of them live in the kind of place that a lot of us wouldn't want our pets to have to sleep.
But the saddest thing of all is much more personal. I found out last week that the 2 year old granddaughter of Christine, the woman who works for us, might have kidney cancer. That type of devastating news isn't specific to South Africa. Any family anywhere in the world could receive that horrible information. And many have. But the day that I heard it, when I was sitting in my waterless house, having recently returned from a Christmas party where Diepsloot kids in torn uniforms with missing shirt buttons chose to put the Christmas Happy Meals that we handed out into their school bags, because they might need the food more later than now, that was the day when I had to try really, really hard not to be a sissy.
The reason I need to use it is that here there is an actual phrase here, "South Africa. Not for sissies." The first time I heard it was when Gavin, our guide at Madikwe said it. It means just what you think. That in order to live here you need to be patient, you need to be flexible and you need to be strong.
In some ways living here is ridiculously and almost embarrassingly easy. Especially for me because I don't work. I will quickly, to avoid annoying you, list the ways that living here is easy. First, to us as Americans it is inexpensive. Housing, food, wine, hotels and many other things cost must less than what we are used to. I am careful not to go on and on about this because to many people who live here the devaluation of the rand is making it more and more difficult to make ends meet, but if you are from America and you come visit, you will be shocked when you order a glass of wine and it costs less than $3.00 USD. Second, it's warm and the sky is almost always blue. And there are palm trees. Even in winter when it was chilly it was nothing like the tundra where we used to live. Third, we live in a nice house. In fact, it's the nicest house I have ever lived in. And someone comes to clean it for me twice a week and someone else comes to work in my yard/garden once a week. If we were living in America these luxuries would not be possible.
I realize that paragraph was irritating. And the good news is that's the end of the cushy life talk and I am instead going to instead focus on the ways that living here is not easy. Living here is challenging in ways that I've never experienced before.
I wrote before about load shedding. That's when the electricity is purposely cut off to save the entire grid from going down. That's hard. But the good news is we haven't had load shedding in a while, over three months. The latest problem though is a severe lack of water. For two weeks Mr. Deep and I had no running water in our house. About 75% of the time absolutely no water came out of the tap at all. Sometimes, there was enough to brush your teeth or hand wash dishes or flush the toilet. But in two weeks there was not enough water to take a shower, do laundry, run the dishwasher or water the yard/garden. While we are having a severe drought, the reason for this situation is we have very old infrastructure in the underground pipes around our neighborhood. This scenario might push some sissies over the edge, but we dealt with it o.k. It was not the end of the world. We showered at the gym and we drank bottled water. Not to say we weren't annoyed but we handled it.
The other thing that is hard is seeing destitute people every where that you go. South Africa is one of the most economically unequal countries in the world. It is not unusual to see a man in tattered clothing, without shoes, with a bucket hand washing a Mercedes or an Audi that is parked in front a large and beautiful home. It is not unusual, when stopped at an intersection to see people begging in the streets, pointing to their mouths to let you know they are hungry. There are also hundreds of thousands of people who work every day and earn a living yet they are still hungry and many of them live in the kind of place that a lot of us wouldn't want our pets to have to sleep.
But the saddest thing of all is much more personal. I found out last week that the 2 year old granddaughter of Christine, the woman who works for us, might have kidney cancer. That type of devastating news isn't specific to South Africa. Any family anywhere in the world could receive that horrible information. And many have. But the day that I heard it, when I was sitting in my waterless house, having recently returned from a Christmas party where Diepsloot kids in torn uniforms with missing shirt buttons chose to put the Christmas Happy Meals that we handed out into their school bags, because they might need the food more later than now, that was the day when I had to try really, really hard not to be a sissy.
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Diepsloot on Foot
Recently I visited Diepsloot with a group called The Joburg Photo Walkers. This group is just what it sounds like, a bunch of people with cameras who meet up at a specific place or event for the purpose of taking pictures. It was not an ideal day for me to spend walking around Diepsloot. Mr. Deep and I went to a big fancy party the night before and we were out quite late. Also, it was really hot, about 35 degrees. But having the chance to walk around Diepsloot was well worth my personal hardship of being tired and hot.
I have written a few posts about Diepsloot in the past. You might remember that it's a township of about 200,000 residents located near where we live. Our cleaning lady Christine and her family live there and I have been volunteering at one of the schools in Diepsloot twice a week for several months. Even though I go to Diepsloot for school, I have never had the chance to explore the area on foot so I was not going to miss the opportunity to join the photo walkers. You can see past posts I've written about Diepsloot, here, here and here.
It turns out the reason the photo walkers chose to visit Diepsloot that particular day was because a group called the Diepsloot Arts and Culture Network built an arts cafe and it was the launch day for the cafe and something called the Diepsloot Arts Pricint (sic) a place for Diepsloot artists to gather and work. The cafe was built out of a shipping container.
The cafe on the narrow end of the container
The rest of the cafe container. The right hand side was a DJ booth.
I'm not going to say too much more about this photo walk because I am hoping the pictures and the captions can tell the story of the people I met and the things I saw. I will only say that Diepsloot is the land of opposites. There are so many kind and smiling people living there but they are living in and surrounded by horrid conditions. I'm not trying to be too dramatic here but Diepsloot is a triumph and a tragedy all at the same time. It is a most depressing place as well as a most inspirational place. I hope you enjoy the photos.
Love this pretty lady!
This guy was sitting in his car drinking beer while his friends removed one of his tires to put air in it
The guy putting the air in the tire was far less jovial
It seems like in Diepsloot (and in fairness in lots of other places too) Sunday means either drinking beer or going to church
 
The church crowd. Someone told me if you are dressed in a gown like this it means you have been saved
 
Yay! I finally got a picture of a woman carrying something on her head!
Dutch is the name of the man in this photo. I met him at the Artists Pricinct. He said he is an artist. I asked him what type of art he does and he said, "any kind of art I can do it." He and I were walking and found a place where a shack had burned down (a common occurrence because paraffin stoves are often used.) We spotted this sculpture in the ashes and he went and picked her up.
   
Yes, this is weed. Is this the reason people were so smiley?
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About Me
- American Expat
- Hello and thank you for taking an interest in my blog. This blog tells the story of some big life changes. First, my husband and I have just moved to Geneva, Switzerland for a few months following a few years of living in Johannesburg, South Africa. The two places could not be more different. I'm excited to share our adventures, challenges and insights with you! My thoughts and opinions are my own.