Scoot This

Maybe I'm just cranky. 

If you didn't like this post, then bad news for you, you're not going to like this one as it's a continuation of the same rant. I think I've discovered something more annoying and disruptive than bounce houses. There is a scooter epidemic in Geneva. These two wheeled contraptions are choking the streets, sidewalks and parks and let's just say I'm not a fan.

In Joburg everyone likes to complain endlessly about the mini bus taxis. Taxi drivers wreak havoc on the streets breaking every traffic law within a five minute time period. If you are driving and you see a taxi you must assume the driver is going to cut across three lanes of traffic and then stop without warning. The difference between the taxis and these scooters is that at least taxis serve an important purpose. Without the taxis, millions of people would have no transportation and the South African economy would collapse. Scooters however serve absolutely no purpose, they are simply a toy and a most annoying one at that.

Since I'm not sure if the scooter scourge is a worldwide issue or not, let me show you a photo of the type of scooter I'm referring to. 

I haven't taken a formal survey, but my informal research tells me that every child in Geneva owns one of these. 

When faced with a puzzling mystery, one first must ask why. So I have asked myself why do kids (I won't even get started on adults) need scooters? Some quick research on Google indicates that humans have been walking upright for 1.9 million years. Why the sudden need to scoot? Is it that parents think their kids don't walk fast enough? Is it just a phase or a craze? I can't come up with an answer that satisfies. 

Don't think that these scooters are just for older kids either. Yesterday in the park I saw a kid with a pacifier in his mouth riding a scooter. Surely if you are still using a pacifier you don't need your own set of wheels. Your first order of business should be weaning yourself off sucking a plastic nipple when you go out in public. I also saw a parent pushing an empty stroller while the kid scooted up ahead. This situation says just one thing, this parent doesn't want his kid to have to walk, he can either be pushed or he can scoot but walking is frowned upon. 

There is a reason that kids don't drive cars and can't get licenses until they are older. It's because they can't steer. I can't tell you how many times I've been running in the park only to have a near miss collision with a four year old scooting uncontrollably. The parents don't even seem to notice that I've had to jump off the path and into a shrub to save myself from being taken out by their kid. The parents are too busy smoking and chatting away on their cell phones to concern themselves with my safety.

I sometimes like to play a little game of chicken with these scooting kids as I run. I will run toward them and not get out of the way until the last possible minute. While it may seem mean I am trying to teach them an important life lesson which is sometimes you need to %$&!%^ing move. 

But I know the real reason these scooters bother me so much and it's not because I am almost maimed daily or am simply mean. It's because I'm still dealing with culture shock having moved to fancy pants Geneva from South Africa. While there are plenty of wealthy kids living a plush (and bouncing castle filled) life in South Africa there were also a lot of kids who didn't own any toys. Anyone who has visited a township like Diepsloot or Soweto has seen kids playing outside using rocks, string and trash as makeshift toys. Once you've seen that, you don't forget that image easily.

One day Mr. Deep and I witnessed a temper tantrum which took place outside our apartment. A child and his mother were standing on the street corner and clearly the kid was having a meltdown. He threw his scooter into the street while screaming. The mother, calmly bent down and retrieved it. 

Had I been that parent, that moment would have been the last time that child ever touched that scooter. That scooter would have been boxed up and on it's way to Africa before that kid could ask "has anyone seen my scooter?" It would have been on its way to a needy and appreciative child who could ride it the 5km each way that he has to walk to and from school each day. 

Maybe I'm just cranky. 

The Week That Was

This week, I went to see a dermatologist. Going to the dermatologist should be unremarkable and not worthy of a blog post. Should be. 

I visited the doctor because I have a lot of freckles and moles and I thought it was time for a full body inspection to check for irregularities. I also went because I am not happy with my face, specifically the skin on my face. This is a little game I play with myself and the medical profession. If I go to the doctor for something medically important I also reward myself with something quasi medical and less important. So in this case it was go to the doctor to have my moles checked and walk away with a miracle cream or pill that will make my face radiant.  

The appointment began normally enough with me filling out forms and being called in to see the doctor but from there it degenerated into the strangest, longest and least helpful medical experience I've ever had.

The doctor began by asking me where my family was from, not as in America, but before that. I said Eastern Europe and when she asked specifically where, I said Russia...which I then realized isn't Eastern Europe so I felt like an idiot. In fairness to me I wasn't expecting a geography quiz. Mr. Deep, upon his review of this post, informed me that part of Russia, the part west of the Ural Mountain range, is in Eastern Europe, so that's good. I hope the doctor is aware of this. She asked if Russian was the same as Celtic, which should have been my first clue that something wasn't right. She said she had just come back from a conference where she learned that gene therapy is the next big thing and that it's important for me to know where my family is from. Keep in mind she hadn't yet examined me or determined that anything was wrong with me that would require gene therapy so this discussion may have been premature. Also, if medicine is advanced enough and doctors can treat your illness by addressing at the gene level, can't they also "map" your genes? Does knowing what former Soviet town some of your family is from really matter in this case? 

She took me into the exam room. While we were waiting for my gown to warm (it's winter now remember) she said she'd start by examining my face which as I've already explained was my top priority as well. Unfortunately, she couldn't get the giant lighted magnifying glass to turn on. After five minutes she eventually gave up on the light and had me put the gown on. Once the gown was on instead of examining my body, she instructed me to return with her to her office. Fortunately I was still wearing my pants and my bra (and the gown) so I wasn't returning to her office completely naked. Back in her office she used some giant gun like camera to closely examine a spot on my face. She called her assistant in to help her load a close up photo of this spot onto the computer and then they both tried to figure out how to use some software to determine what the mystery spot was. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to know how to use the software and it took quite some time for them to come up with a diagnosis. It was finally determined to be dermal melanin. I don't have any medical training but I'm pretty sure dermal melanin and a freckle are the same thing. However, the doctor didn't seem sure and she removed a book from her shelf...A BOOK FROM HER SHELF! I suppose the reason for the book was to look up dermal melanin but she got sidetracked telling me about pills that contain Amazon tree bark extract that I should be taking to help protect my skin from the sun and she never actually opened the book. She left the room to get the pills to show them to me, not a new bottle because the pills were out of stock, but her own personal bottle. 

Meanwhile, I'm starting to feel nervous that this appointment is taking a very long time and I'm thinking that if we have to spend five minutes on every mole and freckle that I'm going to be there for two weeks. I decided that if she attempted to examine my body that I'd tell her I was out of time. But she never got back to my body...even though I was still wearing the gown.

Remember I'm vain, so I was still holding on to hope that she'd prescribe me some great serum for my face and I decided to stick it out and try to turn the conversation back to my face. Big mistake. 

She looked at my face and stopped just short of declaring it the biggest mess she's ever seen. She asked if I had allergies. Even though I said no she prescribed some kind of blood test to check. She then asked about my skincare routine but as I tried to explain it, she kept interrupting me to advise me that everything I was doing was wrong. She took some lotion and demonstrated how to apply products to the face. She said you press instead of rub. OK press instead of rub could be valid but she also told me that I should only be washing my face with water. I asked how I would remove make up using only water and she said I should use a face cloth, but hadn't she just said no rubbing? The whole conversation was making no sense. When I said that I sometimes use an RA cream, she asked me "what is RA cream?" At that point, I knew for certain that she had absolutely no grasp on reality and that I had to get out of there. What dermatologist doesn't know what RA cream is? She continued telling me all of the things that might be causing my problem face including saying that I had a bad habit of putting my fingers into my mouth. Only I don't think I do have this habit as I no longer bite my nails. She told me I might have streptococcus.   

The real kicker came when she asked me about my mattress and how old it is. I replied that we'd purchased it in 2013. She asked me if I vacuum the mattress. I should have lied and said that I do, because she then told me that she could see DUST MITE BITES ON MY FACE. Honestly, I have never in my life been told something so horrifying. Can you imagine? I couldn't escape this woman's office fast enough. It was all I could do not to go directly to a shop to buy a new mattress and then firebomb my entire house. Even though this doctor was clearly a bit off could I really take a chance on being eaten alive? I pulled myself together though and didn't buy a new mattress or a new bed or have my house fumigated and here's why.

Two days before this medical madness Gift, his sister and his brother came over for dinner. During the course of the evening I became aware that Gift's brother, Wiseman is his name, doesn't own a bed or a mattress. He sleeps on the floor of a shack where he has been living for the past few months. If the shack has a floor. I couldn't bring myself to ask if there is a real floor or a dirt floor. He also doesn't have electricity in the shack. Since then, I have been obsessed with the thought of Wiseman sleeping on the floor of a cold, dark shack.  At night when I am in my recently declared imperfect but still functional bed I am thinking of him and feeling concerned. And no, Wiseman is not an ex-con or a recovering drug addict trying to get back on his feet, he's just poor and he can't afford a mattress or a bed with the money that he earns from his job. It's that simple. 

I decided I am not going to let this doctor lead me down a path of craziness. Even if it's true that sunscreen is rendered ineffective if there is orange fragrance in it, I don't have time for this insanity. I don't need the pills the from the Amazon, I don't have streptococcus, I'm not going to get a full blood test and I certainly don't have mite bites on my face. Dust mites don't even bite. I looked it up. I will not become any more self-involved than I already am and will not start creating personal medical problems where there aren't any. Instead, I will find a bed for Wiseman and even if the bed is used, I think he will be really happy to receive it. Dust mites and all. 

Harsh

In the middle of the Namibian Desert.

Once, I wrote a blog post titled, Not For Sissies. I wrote it a while ago but fast forward to now and I still think life in South Africa can be hard. Electricity and water might stop working without warning and even if there is warning it doesn't help much. Homeless beggars stand in the streets pointing to their mouths to let you know that they are hungry. Sometimes, the beggars don't even stand in the streets, they sit or kneel in between the lanes at intersections. I am not sure if they do this because they are too hungry and weak to stand or because they are hoping to be hit by a car. Mothers also stand on street corners with their young children in tow, begging for spare change or food. The kids at the Diepsloot school come to school with torn uniforms which leads me to think that either no at one home has the means to sew and repair the items or no one cares to. Which is worse? I'm not sure. 

We just returned from Namibia a country I would describe as harsh. While South Africa can wear on you emotionally, whether you're frustratedly trying to renew your TV license or feeling concerned for a person you care about who is barely holding on and surviving. Namibia, wears on you physically. Don't misunderstand my use of the word harsh to mean that I wish I didn't go to Namibia or that I didn't like it. On the contrary I loved it and it would have been a shame to have skipped it. 

Namibia lies to the northwest of South Africa and borders Botswana to the east and Angola and Zambia to the north. It's western boundary is the Atlantic Ocean. I have wanted to visit Namibia ever since someone described it to me as "looking like another planet."

Much of Namibia is desert (both the Namib and the Kalahari) and the desert runs right into the ocean. Our first stop was a place called Swakopmund located on the shores of the Atlantic near Walvis Bay. I'll write about Swakopmund shortly but this post is about our road trip from Swakopmund to a place called Sesrium near Sossusvlei which is a famous area for those who know about Namibia. 

I realized as we began the drive that I haven't spent much time in deserts. I've been to Phoenix and Las Vegas a few times each. Once, I drove from Tucson to Phoenix and another time I drove from Albuquerque to Santa Fe but that's pretty much the extent of my desert experiences. When I think of the desert I think of three things, Chevy Chase running around with his pants tied around his head in National Lampoons Vacation, snakes and dry skin.  

The drive began on a paved road which quickly changed to gravel at which time it became difficult to see where the road ended and the non road began. As we drove, the landscape kept changing from orange sand to brown and flat with occasional small shrubs to dark brown and rocky ground and then back to flat lands with green grass so fine it could barely be seen. We passed areas where trees were growing and other spots where we saw were nothing but rocks. 

If it had been up to me we would have stopped a thousand times so I could take photos of some of the most unique earth I've ever seen but of course that would not have been practical so you will have to settle for photos taken from the car through the window while moving. 

Where does the road end? 

Notice the dark clouds. Who says it never rains in the desert? 

While we did see other vehicles on the road, we passed through only one town the entire trip (305 km/190 miles.) The town is appropriately named Solitaire. Referring to Solitaire as a town is being generous as it's a gas station with a shop and a restaurant. I think the employees live on site as well. As we drove we saw no pedestrians and no houses. There were some fences, so someone owns some land somewhere and we saw a few signs for lodges along the way. But that was all. It was desolate. Not to be overly dramatic but if your car broke down and no one stopped to help you you could die. That's Namibia. And don't worry, I'm sure someone would stop....eventually. 

The other thing I noticed as I stared out the window were lots of used tires (or tyres as we like to say here in Southern Africa) strewn on the side of the road. I began counting them and had just reached number 26 when our own vehicle began to weave and make a funny noise. In an ironic twist of fate we had a flat tyre.

Flat is not the best way to describe our tyre. Shredded would be a better word. It was so shredded that part of the tread was stuck underneath the SUV where the jack needed to be placed. While Mr. Deep and our friend were changing the tyre, the rain started. And if that wasn't all bad enough then the hail started. I told you Nambia is harsh. And while there are times that I wish Mr. Deep cared a little more about fashion or took an interest in properly moisturizing his skin I was never so glad as I was in the middle of Namibia to be married to such a manly man who can and does change a shredded tyre in the middle of a hailstorm. 

Fortunately the tyre shredding took place not far from Solitaire and when we arrived we found out that Solitaire has a tyre shop. Clearly tyre repairs and replacement are very necessary services in this part of the world. The tyre was replaced allowing us a new spare in case we needed it on the remainder of our trip. Luckily we did not. 

The shop in Solitaire.

More to come from Namibia soon. 

A Tale of Two Freezers

While I've only lived in Joburg for two years, some of the things that I used to find surprising I'm now getting used to. I still consider myself to be a fish out of water in this country but the water is becoming more and more familiar. Hosting visitors gives me the opportunity to see things through the eyes of people who are experiencing South Africa for the first time and their comments remind me of the time when I too was new here. 

Recently, I took my friends visiting from the U.S. to Soweto. Because they were on a tight schedule (of course they were) we planned a half day tour. Unfortunately our guide was on Africa time and was an hour late to meet us making the Soweto visit even shorter than planned. We ate lunch at Tintie's, a Soweto must as far as I'm concerned and after Tintie's we went to Kliptown. Kliptown is an informal settlement where people live in shacks with "borrowed" electricity. In Kliptown hundreds of people share one porta potty and residents collect water for washing and drinking in buckets from a central tap. If they need to heat the water they will likely heat it over a paraffin stove or an open fire. This was my third trip to Kliptown and I find it interesting each time I go. While sad, it's also uplifting because the tour includes a visit to a place called the Kliptown Youth Programme, which provides tutoring, sports, meals and more to hundreds of kids who live in Kliptown. 

Part of the tour of Kliptown includes going inside a shack and seeing the conditions in which people in Kliptown live.  It is a strange feeling to venture inside a shack while the residents are there watching you watch them while you look at their home. Each time, I wonder what the residents think. Are they proud of their shacks because they have worked hard to make them livable? Are they hoping if people from the outside see the conditions it will bring about change? Are they just too polite to say no to visitors? I'm not sure. 

Shacks in Kliptown, Soweto

Where people in Kliptown get their water.

Inside a shack with our tour guide from the Kliptown Youth Programme. A young boy is doing his homework in the background.

A tub for bathing and washing 

After we left Soweto, I drove my friends back to our house along a route that I drive almost daily. First, we drove past a Maserati dealership and then a few minutes later we passed a billboard for a company called Doggy Paddle, which offers hydrotherapy for pets. My friend remarked on both sightings saying "we just saw people living in shacks and meanwhile other people are buying Maseratis and sending pets for physical therapy?" And my answer was yes, that's South Africa.

Quick side note, I don't have a problem with pets. I also don't have a problem with people who love their pets and treat them like children or provide them with physical therapy. As you read on, you might think that I do, but I don't. 

The Maserati dealership and the pet hydrotherapy sign sightings reminded me of the freezers, which I have never written about. I live right near a very large Spar, a grocery store. When I tell people where I live they often say, "you live right near the best Spar" and it's true, I do, this Spar is the biggest and the best in Joburg. At the Spar, in the back corner where the meat section is there are two freezers. 

The first freezer, is nondescript. It doesn't have any signage or any markings on it. If I didn't see people crowding around it on a regular basis then I probably could visit the Spar for years without even noticing this freezer. It looks like a freezer that an American who likes to have a lot of frozen food on hand would keep in his basement only it's smaller than that and square shaped instead of rectangular but it does have a lid that opens from the top. 

There is no way to me to explain delicately what this freezer is so I will just tell you. It's the freezer where the poorest of poor shoppers buy their meat. The freezer is filled with clear plastic bags of what look like bones with maybe a tiny bit meat on them. You might be naively thinking that I could easily just open the freezer and take a look or maybe make some nice soup using the bones or at a minimum take a few photos of the freezer contents for the blog, but I can't. White people simply don't open that freezer.  I am too self conscious that if I open it both white people and black people are going to stare at me. I wouldn't be surprised if the minute I opened it a store employee came running over to ask me "ma'am do you need help" which translates into "you must be confused, your meat is over here."

Directly across the aisle from freezer A is freezer B. I have also never opened freezer B but not because I am self conscious, I just don't have a need to open it. Freezer B has clear signage and sells Bentley Natural Dog Food which contains "synthetic vitamins, trace minerals and antioxidants." Their slogan, ironically, is "affordable gourmet dog food so good you can eat it too." The signage on freezer B goes on to state that this dog food is prepared in a kitchen specializing in gourmet human food and that it is balanced by leading pet food nutritionists. 

Freezer A with Freezer B (in green) in the background.

I haven't compared the prices of the contents of the two freezers because to do so, I'd have to open freezer A, which I'm not going to do. Maybe one day I'll work up the courage. 

Shoppers crowding around Freezer A

Confidence Part 3

"They take matters into their hands. That's how Diepsloot is." 

-Confidence 

This is part three of my interview with Confidence. You can find part one here and part two here.

Confidence will graduate with a diploma in accounting in March. Then, she plans to return to university for one more year (her fourth year) to obtain a degree. After that, she hopes to get a job in financial management. 

I asked Confidence about her goals for the future, the old "where do you see yourself in five years" and she replied, without hesitation, that she wants to get out of Diepsloot and that she wants to get her family out of Diepsloot as well. She wants to send her parents to live on a farm because "they love animals." She also wants to make sure her brothers attend university. 

I was a little surprised that she replied that way. Not completely surprised because I have been to Diepsloot and I can't imagine living there, but throughout our talks Confidence has never mentioned anything negative about Diepsloot. In fact, I am pretty sure she had told me once that she liked attending the Diepsloot Combined School and that she thought it was a good school. But in hindsight, it all made sense, how and why Confidence was able to survive the starvation, the rats and the disingenuous pastor, when I am pretty sure most of us would have given up, it's because if she gave up and left school she thought she'd be destined to a life spent in Diepsloot, and she's probably right. With 25% unemployment in this country being a hard worker and a loyal employee is not enough. You have to have skills and education and even with those things it can still be a challenge.  

This is the essence of Confidence, she is not just working hard for the sake of working hard, like a lot of us. She has a plan and even if that plan involves a lot of suffering or giving up hopes of a career in art to instead study accounting she will do it. Whatever it takes. 

Confidence has her learner's permit but she had never driven a car before, so I gave her a driving lesson in a practically abandoned parking lot.

To the casual visitor, like me, Diepsloot is overwhelming. It is a different world, one that is extremely crowded, where there is trash, dirty water and often sewage in the streets. There is also a lot of crime. According to crime stats SA in 2016 there were 68 murders in Diepsloot plus another 70 attempted. There were also 151 sexual offenses, 776 assaults with intent to inflict grievous bodily harm and another 494 common assaults. Also, 169 robberies and an additional 487 robberies with aggravating circumstances. And, there were 22 cases of arson. These are just the reported crimes of course and there are even more crime stats available but I think you get the idea. Keep in mind that in Chicago in 2016 there were 762 homicides, the highest number in 20 years, and Chicago has a population of 2.7 million. Whereas about 200,000 people live in Diepsloot. A better mathematician than me could analyze and translate that information for you.   

But the issue that Confidence told me about and the one that I think she finds the most upsetting is vigilante justice. My words, not hers. 

Confidence said that one morning when she was in matric (grade 12) she heard noise outside of her house. When she went to investigate she saw a mob of people chasing and beating a man. He was hit in the face with a brick and he was killed as Confidence and her brother watched. He had been caught trying to steal a car. 

Another time, there was a rumor that a man was raping children and so members of the community killed him by necklacing. Meaning a tire was pulled over his head, pinning his arms to his body, he was doused in petrol (gasoline) and set on fire. Confidence didn't see this happen but she said she smelled it. 

And then once, after a series of robberies where electronics and appliances were taken from homes in Diepsloot, the suspected thief's shack was burned to the ground with him trapped inside. 

The day after Confidence told me these stories, I was with Gift and I mentioned this mob violence to him. "Oh yes," he said, " I once saw a group of people beat a man in Diepsloot (Gift once lived in Diepsloot.) "In Diepsloot" he told me, "you must not break the law."

Students at the Diepsloot Combined School

More Confidence

This is part two of my interview with Confidence. If you missed part one you can read it here. 

"Sometimes it was hard to listen in class but I always called my crying tummy to order."

- Confidence Tshivhula

Confidence answers my questions thoughtfully, slowly and carefully pausing to contemplate each answer before replying. I can tell that certain topics are difficult for her to talk about. Here is more of her story.

Eventually Confidence got an electrician to reconnect the lights in her shack but she still had to endure the dirt floor, the holes in the walls, the door that she couldn't lock, the rats and the faulty roof. Because she couldn't lock the door and was afraid, Confidence stopped sleeping at the shack, using it only as a place to store her belongings, and began sleeping in the lecture halls at school. After studying at the library until late at night, she'd go to her hiding spot for a few hours sleep. Other students sometimes noticed that she hadn't changed her clothes from one day to the next but when they commented she told them she "didn't like washing clothes."

Confidence had no money to buy food and went days without eating. At night she would visit a nearby market after closing and search the bins for discarded food. Sometimes she'd find carrots and tomatoes still fresh enough to eat. Sunday was her favorite day as lunch was served following the church service she attended. She volunteered for the task of washing lunch dishes so she could eat the leftover food from people's plates. 

I asked Confidence how she was able to concentrate in class and sleep at night when she was so hungry. She said it was difficult at first, but after a while her body adjusted, "I wasn't used to food anymore." Although now her situation has improved she says she cares little about eating and doesn't have the same appetite that she used to.

One night Confidence returned to her shack to retrieve some clothes and her landlord was there waiting for her. He was tired of her late rent payments and he chased her away. Confidence begged him to allow her wait until morning to move out but he would not and so in the middle of the night she went to stay at the home of her church pastor and his family.

Confidence loved and admired the pastor and his wife and she was happy for the chance to live with them and be a part of their family. But instead of treating her like family she says that they treated her like a servant. While she was allowed to live in their house rent free, she was expected to do all of the cleaning and housework. The family had a washing machine but Confidence was not allowed to use it and had to wash her own clothes by hand. They also did not share any of their food with her. When she talks about this time I get the feeling that living with the pastor was a more difficult experience for her than living in the shack as she was so hurt and disappointed by people she thought were nice but proved not to be genuine. After three months Confidence moved out of the pastor's home and she no longer attends that church. 

She was also disappointed and surprised by behavior displayed by some of her fellow classmates. She witnessed students dressed in fancy clothes and shoes that she describes as "breathtaking" being dropped off at school in expensive cars. At first she thought these students were being dropped off by their parents but later she realized that some of them had much older boyfriends who were paying for a high end lifestyle in exchange for sex and younger companionship. 

Since her first year at varsity (she is now in her third year) Confidence's financial situation has improved a bit thanks in part to a monthly stipend of R500 (approximately $35) that she she receives from the Edu Fun Further Education Program (FEP.)  Edu Fun is the same organization that I volunteer with at the Diepsloot Combined School (DCS) helping younger children with their English. Through the FEP arm, Edu Fun supports approximately twenty varsity students all graduates of DCS. The students receive a stipend to help them with food, transport and living expenses while they are at university. Confidence didn't learn about FEP until she was in her second year of varsity. Edu Fun's website seems to be under construction currently but here is a link to the Facebook page.

The Mother of Invention

Charles and me

Yesterday, my flip flop broke. These things happen as anyone who has ever owned a pair of flip flops knows. When you think about it, flip flops are a ticking time bomb. It's not a matter of if they will break but more a question of when.

These flip flops were about three years old. They served a good purpose and I was not particularly upset that one broke because they had a good run, but I was inconvenienced.  At the time of the breakage I was in a parking lot. I had just finished chatting with my friend Charles (pronounced to rhyme with house) a car guard who works in the shopping centre across the street from where we live. I have known Charles since we moved here and I see him several times a week. I know all about his life and his family because of our many chats. I have given him some (nice) old clothes that belonged to Mr. Deep and I have also bought him some groceries a few times. I had just said goodbye to Charles and when I tried to walk away, the plastic piece between the toes broke. It didn't just come out of the hole, it actually broke in two. The flat, nail head like piece that sits under the hole in the bottom of the sole broke off the stalk like piece that goes between the toes. 

"My shoe just broke" I told Charles, mostly because I felt I had to explain why I was stumbling around.  I showed him the shoe and he kindly offered to try to fix it for me so I left the flip flops with him. Luckily, as I mentioned, I was at the shopping centre at the time and I walked (barefoot obviously) to a store that fortunately sold flip flops and I bought a new pair. 

Walking barefoot isn't so strange in South Africa but you don't often see adults doing it.  And, I had two reasons for being in the shopping centre. I was getting a manicure and then I needed to get a few things at the grocery store. I wouldn't have minded going to the nail salon without any shoes. I am in there often enough and I would have explained what happened and gotten a few laughs over it, but the grocery store could have been problematic. Not that there is a no shirt, no shoes, no service rule here, there isn't. But you generally don't see barefoot adults in the grocery store. Barefoot kids are seen all the time. 

When I got back to my car I saw Charles again and proudly showed him my new shoes. I was feeling pretty good that I was at a shopping centre at the time of the break, that in the shopping centre was a store that sold flip flops and that the store was open and had flip flops in my size.

And then Charles told me that he had fixed my shoe. He somehow found a piece of strong wire and threaded it through the plastic stalk. The wire, placed on the bottom of the shoe was now holding the plastic piece in place. "How did you do this?" I asked him, meaning, how did you happen to find a piece of strong wire in the parking lot? And, even if one was lucky enough to find wire, threading it through thick plastic must have been difficult. 

"I used my brain" he said. 

This incident, although kind of silly, perfectly communicates what it is that I love about living in South Africa. I love that I can walk barefoot if I have to and people just have to deal with it. I love that I have a friend who is so kind that he would want to try to fix my shoe for me. I love that he was actually able to fix it. But mostly I love being reminded how many people in this world live differently than we do. They can't (and won't) throw something away just because it is broken and damaged but instead they will try to fix it. 

I will continue to wear my newly repaired flip flops. Granted, I will only wear them around the house because they certainly will break again, but I will wear them until that time and when I wear them I will be reminded of Charles, his life, his brain, and his kindness. 

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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. 

What Have We Learned?

For over ten years Mr. Deep and I both had insanely long commutes to and from work. We lived an hour and 15 minutes from our jobs...each way. For Mr. Deep at certain points the commute was even longer, about two hours each way. I regret these long commutes because a huge chunk of my precious and valuable time on this blue dot was wasted in the car. Not that going to work was a waste of time. But getting to and from work? That was a complete waste of time. 

The only thing that made the commute tolerable was that I spent a lot of time listening to Howard Stern. I know some of you are offended, but I find him funny and unequivocally the greatest interviewer of all time. As an interviewer Howard finds a way to get people to open up about their lives. He asks the questions that we all want answered. What does a fashion model really eat in a given day?  What life experiences cause a person to become a porn star?  Howard used to wrap up a lot of interviews by asking Robin, "what have we learned?" 

Here are a few things that I have learned in the 15 months that we've lived South Africa. 

1) It's all temporary. Intellectually we all understand that everything in our lives is temporary. Jobs, homes, belongings, relationships, people, and of course being alive. Nothing lasts forever. We know this but we really don't know it and so when we lose a job, a relationship ends or we can't find a favorite shirt we mourn the loss. We get angry. We fear change. 

Living in a place that I have understood from the outset to be temporary sometimes feels like listening to a record album on the fastest speed (yes, I just dated myself.) I am acutely aware of the passage of time and there are constant reminders that our life here is not going to last indefinitely. Such as my home here is only my home for a little while and my car will not come with me when I leave.  Living here I've tried harder than I've ever tried in my life to build relationships and form friendships which isn't saying all that much because in the past I never tried at all. I just let friendships come about naturally. But moving to a place where you don't know anyone forces you to make a big effort. And the effort seems to easily pay off especially with other expats who are also making a concerted effort to make new friends. We have formed some close friendships and it's hard to imagine that these friends that will not always be in our lives in such an extensive way. Sure, we will keep in touch when they move away (or when we do) but it will not be the same.

Some of our friends have already left South Africa and moved on to other countries and continents. Other friends will be leaving soon. And we don't know how long we will be here or where we will go next. So I have to live in a manner that allows me to maximize the experience while simultaneously embracing the uncertainty. I have thrown myself, with all of the energy I have, into my life here. I have tried to make it fun, full, memorable and meaningful and all that effort will make it more difficult when it ends. But I think it's worth it.

2) Poor people like nice things. Obviously I can't (and don't) speak on behalf of all poor people. But, just like people who aren't poor, the poor people I've gotten to know personally like nice things. Will a poor person accept and be grateful for a half a loaf of bread that is stale and may have a little mold on it? Yes. And that person will eat the bread and will be glad to have something to eat. Would a poor person also be thrilled to receive a piece of steak or a brand new cool New York Yankees hat? Yes. Just because someone is extraordinarily poor, lives in a shack or struggles to earn enough money to buy food doesn't mean that person doesn't appreciate things that are hip, cool and stylish. I think when you give someone something nice that he or she will use but doesn't necessarily need to survive, that you are giving an even greater gift, the gift of treating them like a non-poor person who has good taste and likes nice things. People are people.

And speaking of people...

3) People notice personalized license plates. Oh how I wish this was not the case but countless times in the past month I have been asked by strangers and friends alike what Schmool means. Seriously, I want to have my car wrapped with text that says, "I'm not a pretentious A-hole with nothing better to do then personalize my license plate. My plates were cloned and this was the only answer. End plate-cloning now!" But that is not practical so instead I launch into a whole long story each time I'm asked. Exhausting.

4) I'm brave. Maybe you have seen the phrase "do one thing a day that scares you?" Scaring yourself daily may be a bit excessive but living here I am scared a lot. Not scared like full on panic can't breathe scared but rather forced to try new things and to push my limits. I have to drive alone to places I've never been before. I have to go to events where I don't know anyone and I have to mingle. I have to talk to people knowing the minute I open my mouth to speak they will know I am a foreigner. Let's also not forget that I slept in a tent while lions roamed nearby, which is either very brave or very stupid, I'm still not quite sure which.

Today, I ate offals or more specifically cow intestines. I didn't wake up this morning knowing this was going to occur it just kind of happened. I went to see Gift and his sister Beatrice. Beatrice was cooking and she asked me if I wanted to try some cow intestine. For some reason that I really can't explain I said yes. I guess it's because of what I said before, that I am trying to experience all that I can while I am living here. Beatrice gave me a bowl - like a fairly large bowl - of food even though I said I only wanted a little bit. When she gave me the bowl I got nervous and sweaty and my heart was racing. I was scared that I might gag or choke. But I ate the whole thing because I didn't want to be rude or wasteful. Nothing bad happened. I didn't choke, gag or die (and it's been seven hours so I think I'm out of the woods on dying.) I will say though that I am not in a huge rush to eat intestines again. Meanwhile, as I was eating the most exotic and strange thing that I can imagine ingesting while simultaneously patting myself on the back for being so open-minded and frankly awesome, Gift was busy eating a simple sandwich of scrambled egg on white bread. He did not seem impressed with (or even to notice) my exceptional bravery. Of course to him the intestines are not a strange dish at all but rather something he's probably eaten his whole life. Beatrice did notice though and after I finished eating she said, "I was worried that you might vomit because you had never eaten this before." "Don't worry," I told her. "I moved to Africa. I'm tougher than you think." 

This is a picture of what I ate while it was still in the pot before Beatrice scooped out a bowlful for me. It's a stew of samp with tomato, chilies and onions. The black (broccoli looking) and grey chunks are the intestines. Yeah, I'm brave.