Today, a local friend that I haven’t seen for a while asked me how I was doing, and the title above was my instinctual response: “Trying to keep up with myself.” Literally, there is just so much going on in this country, that I’m hustling to keep up with all that sights, sounds, smells, and other attractions. I put my blog in list form this time, so that you can read the blog like chapters in a book, taking in one story at a time. So, grab a cup of coffee, sit back and relax; you’re in for quite a ride.
1) Tagging along with the UCT Mountain and Ski Club, I went camping and rock climbing in Montagu, a small town located 2.5 hours North-East of Cape Town. The grape-growing, wine-producing inhabitants can’t help but be humbled by the surrounding gargantuan mountains. I was hoping to get in a few good climbs, but that turned out to be quite a challenge, as the biggest size climbing shoes available were 12s (Remember the 5 shoe store story? Discrimination in South Africa doesn’t pass over tall people). I gave the 12ers a shot, forcing them on, and shuffling myself painfully over to the cliff. With my toes curled 180 degrees, I barely got two feet on the wall before my high tolerance for pain gave in. (I get my cavity fillings done pure- No Novocain, so you know it really hurt.) I then tried climbing in my hunky climbing boots- no success, they were just too monstrous. One last try, I attempted to scale the rock barefoot, but my tender feet quickly alerted me that it was simply a bad idea. Ultimately, I settled for sitting on the sidelines, lazily spending the time watching other people climb. But even this was not without its excitement as I got to witness some lekker (Afrikaners for awesome) climbing from the leader of the trip, Joe, who has the reputation of being one of the best rock climbers in all of South Africa, a country known for its lekker climbing. The past 7 years, Joe travelled around the world, climbing whatever he could get his hands on, as well as making a career for himself by climbing up huge buildings to set up Christmas lights in the holiday season. Watching him climb was like was witnessing an Olympic athlete, live in action. Even when climbing the steepest of overhangs, this specimen of nature scurried up the rock with the swiftness of a startled lizard. But of course, as any good camping trip goes, the highlight is never in the hike or the climb, but rather it’s in the food and the Joel Jokes. (And since Joshie wasn’t here, I had to restrict myself on the JJs.) Having no kosher meat on me, I resorted to a classic Israeli camping trick- take whatever vegetables you have and throw them in an open fire. This included peppers, potatoes, a can of beans, and of course, the sacred eggplant. My South African friends never heard about burning up a whole eggplant, and were quite skeptical about how it would go. Yet, I was confident in my choice and it didn’t take much to convert them to avid fans. Scorched black on the outside, mushy and gooey on the inside, that purple heart of goodness melted in the mouth like a stick of pure butter.
2) The past few weeks I’ve been getting involved volunteering with an organization called hoops for hope (H4H). H4H works with Township kids in South Africa and Zimbabwe, empowering the youth with skills for life in a very clever way. Essentially, H4H runs basketball clinics for Township kids after school, teaching the youth the fundamentals of basketball, such as dribbling, passing and shooting. On my first day in the field, there was one court for over 100 kids, but the over crowdedness was irrelevant for them, as spending an hour and a half of their day in a warm, encouraging environment, chasing balls and performing goofy warm up dances, was enough to lift their cheeks in the biggest of smiles. All of a sudden in the middle of practice, the main coach blew his whistle, and the swarm of kids hustled to form a giant circle in the middle of the court. The children, quickly calmed and collected, listen carefully as the coach told a story about a kid who practiced basketball every day, with the dream of one day going pro. After a few years of working on his game, the kid’s friends were doing drugs asked him to join. Putting the ball in the hands of the kids, the coach turned to the circle and asked: “What should he do? What would you do?” The story continued like this, with the children involved in thinking and responding to these hypothetical situations that are in reality, not so hypothetical for them. H4H’s style of teaching is very effective, because rather than telling the children what to do and what not to do, it gets the kids thinking about these important life questions for themselves. This way, when a situation confronts them and their tempted to follow their friends down a dark path, they’ve already thought it out on their own and are armed with the right decision. So far, I’ve been helping out H4H by selling some slick T-shirts as a way to get some fundraising going. Check out the link:http://www.h4hglobal.org/h4hglobal.org/h4h_Blog/Entries/2010/2/26_Calling_All_Social_Entrepreneurs!Putting_People_Skills_to_work_at_H4H.html
By far, the coolest part about joining the H4H team is that I had the privilege of meeting the single person most responsible for the Celtics 17th Championship banner- a man named Kita from the Democratic Republic of Congo. My first day at the H4H office, Kita came charging into the room, quickly hollered at me, “want to play ball in the Townships?” and whisked me out of my seat before I had a chance to reply. We headed down to his car, a well-maintained, Mercedes Benz from the 70s, stylish on the outside, with lush, comfortably worn-in leather seats on the inside. I sat down, opened my window, and let the breeze blow in, not knowing that I was about to absorb the coolest story I’ve heard since arriving in Cape Town. Kita initiated the conversation, asking me where I was from. After telling him about my Boston roots, he casually replied: “Boston? Oh yea? I’m boys with Ray Allen. Pierce- that’s my man. KG, yea, I got KG’s number.” Being an avid Celtics fan, I begged him to elaborate, and he went on to tell me how every year he works with the Celtics on various drills in training camp, such as shooting with Ray Allen. When he got to Boston after the KG deal, there was an urgency to create some kind of unity amongst the stardom of the Big Three: Pierce, Allen, and Garnett. Burrowing a South African word that has been used to unite the diverse population, Kita introduced the Celtics to the word, “Ubuntu”, meaning unity, as a way to cultivate a sense of togetherness on the court. For those of you that are Celtics fans, you certainly know what I’m talking about. From pre-season to the finals, there has been countless media coverage of Ubunutu, ESPECIALLY coming from KG. Interestingly enough, as Kita tells it, KG was initially very resistant to this whole idea of Ubuntu. He thought it was a bunch of trash and wanted nothing to do with some weird slogan from another continent. Yet, Kita kept insisting that although the word would not yield benefits at first, during adversarial times, Ubuntu would serve as a vital tool in lifting the Celtics over the toughest of challenges through cultivating a deep-found sense of the spirit of unity. Only when the Celtics would be down, would “Ubuntu” reveal its full power. Finally, after Kita’s persistent and stubborn encouragement of Ubuntu, KG adopted the word and the rest of the team instantly followed. For the entire season, Ubuntu was the slogan that the Celtics lived, breathed, and played by. But as Kita prophesized, its full power only came alive during one of the biggest challenges of the season- Game 1 of the NBA Finals. In the third quarter of the game, Paul Pierce, the Celtics star player, went down to the ground, clutching his knee in pain. As he was carried off the court, the Celtics chance at a 17th banner seemed to be slipping away. Without Pierce, the Celtics were demoralized. Yet, Coach Doc Rivers saw it differently, and wasn’t about to lose the momentum of this crucial game due to Pierce’s injury. Somehow, he had to inspire the players on the court to believe in themselves. If you watch the Celtics championship DVD, you can see exactly what he did. Screaming from the sidelines, with a desperate passion, Doc shouted towards his players: “Ubuntu! Ubuntu! Remember what that guy from Africa told us! Ubuntu!” The Celtics heard Doc’s call, and responded with incredible play for the rest of the half, ultimately winning the game. The C’s carried the energy from Game 1 into the rest of the series and went on to capturing the 2008 NBA Championship. Ubuntu worked and “that guy from Africa” that Doc was referring to in Game 1 was Kita. I couldn’t believe it- I was riding shotgun in a classic Mercedes Benz on the way to playing basketball in the Townships on a brilliantly sunny day with the very man responsible for the Celtics 2008 Championship Title- Kita. Man, was I ballin’….
Interestingly enough, H4H is also connected to the local Jewish day school, Herziliyah, as one of the H4H staff members, Thabo, coaches the girls middle school team. One day I joined Thabo, hiking up half of table-mountain to check out the school. The location of this building is just marvelous. When you walk out the front doors, literally all you can see is mountain above, and ocean out in the distance. The school had a great vibe to it, as kids were busy engaging in afterschool activities, involving everything from basketball to water-polo. Wandering around the school, I saw signs of everything you would expect from a good Jewish day school: science contraptions, art projects in memory of the holocaust, and posters addressing discussing Jewish values. It’s nice to travel half way around the world and up a mountain, and see that Jews everywhere are pretty much doing the same thing: using Jewish education to pass on to their children a lifestyle and tradition of community, knowledge, values, and of course, fun. (Mom, you would be proud.)
3) I spent a weekend at Maya’s (amazingly nice girl from Blog 1) beach-house in Hermanus. A small town snuggled against the Atlantic ocean 1.5 hours South-East of cape town, whales migrate here, splashing and mating during the winter months. One of the days, we grabbed some lunch at a beautiful grass park that literally drops into a cliff overlooking the ocean. Just a typical town in South Africa hey.
4) I went to the Soweto Gospel Choir concert at the usual Mecca of music, the Kirstenbosch Gardens. (The word SOWETO, stands for South-West Township, an area located just outside Jo-Burg that is famous for the Soweto uprisings during apartheid.) This was one of the most intense concert experiences of my life (I feel like almost everything I talk about in this blog has been described as a peak moment of my life, but honestly, it’s just the way I’m feeling about many of my experiences here. Hopefully, I haven’t reached the top yet; it would be a shame if it was all downhill from here…). Using only their voices and a single drummer to set the beat, the Soweto Gospel Choir threw their entire souls into every song they sang, smiling during the jolly ones, and almost coming to tears during the solemn stuff. Let me tell you folks, this show was an emotional roller coaster. They played a few of my favorites, including Awimaweh, the namesake of this blog. Many of you probably know Awimaweh as “the lion sleeps tonight,” from the movie the “Lion King.” The Choir did an incredible mix of the original song and the lion king adaptation, going back and forth from singing in Zulu to English. Besides a host of incredible African songs ( which I’m listening to right now by the way) they sang a few international classics such as Amazing Grace, and closing with Happy Day. Boy, and happy day it was! Butterflies flapped so hard in my gut, that I felt like my stomach was internally bleeding.
5) I went to a local shul for Megillah reading for Purim. In contrast to the States in which people Boooo when they hear Haman’s name, at this shul in Sea point, a gang of wanna-be Blue-Man groupies performed a brief symphony on various pots, pans and horns every time the big bad wolf’s name was called out. Interesting twist hey. After the reading, there were celebrations in the back which included beer, boerwurst (kosher!), and some ridiculous stand-up comedy, in which the crowd simultaneously laughed with and at the comedian on stage.
6) The next day, I woke up early to begin my scuba dive training course. I’m going to Mozambique in a few days, which is supposed to have some of the best scuba diving in the world. We’re talking Whale Sharks folks. To say that I’m AMPED would be an understatement.
7) Later in the same day, I joined a group of fellow exchanger students, including Tinker Bell (please don’t be like my parents and assume a romantic relationship- she’s just a very good friend!) on a hike up Lion’s head. Lion’s head is a huge chunk of rock that comes right up in the middle of Cape Town, having its own separate geographical identity from Table Mountain. This particular Sunday, a full moon was in the forecast, and hoards of folks gathered to climb up with the light of the sun, and hike down with the glow of the moon. To give you a glimpse of the beauty of Lion’s head, check out the picture below taken around the Lion’s nose- way short of the crown of the head. Upon reaching the top, I was hoping to have a nice snack session, bringing more wine than water in my backpack. But the hike was more challenging and hot than I anticipated, causing me to wish I had done the reverse. By the time I got to the top, I was just praying that the sun would set before dehydration hit. Just as the sun was setting on one side of the mountain, the moon was rising on other, making me feel like I was in the exact center of the world. Cape Town, the ocean, the suburbs, Table Mountain with its cable car glistening in the sun as it was making its last few trips of the day, boats out at sea, helicopters flying overhead...all of this was part of the panorama view. We hiked down in the dark with a few challenges, including a scorpion in the middle of the path that I had to take care of, but ultimately we made it down safely.
When I got home, I passed out in exhaustion (after passing out in the cab-ride as well.)
8) With a friend name Keletso, another person from the friend list provided by the Great Ezra Waxman (For now on, my frum friend will simply be referred to as GEW) I went to a showing of the famous Mozart opera “The Magic Flute”- adapted to the marimba! Imagine, the complex sound of an orchestra of violins, horns, cellos, drums, flutes and more, all transformed to sounds coming out of a band of vib-a-phone percussion like instruments, the Miramba. What’s more, the actual songs were adapted to various languages including English, Zulu, and Khosa. It was a show marked by its eclectic character. On the way back from the show, I met two people that have close working relations with Desmond Tutu. Wiki his name- he was and still is a very important man.
9) Yet, no matter how fun and exciting things are in this country, I am constantly reminded of the poverty, hunger, and serious challenges that face an overwhelming proportion of the population in South Africa on a day-to-day basis. This is not a place where the poor and homeless are merely pushed to the peripheries, out of sight and out of mind. The haves and the have-nots live side by side, and there is no getting away from being a firsthand observer to some extremely depressing situations. On a Friday morning a few weeks ago, I took out the trash from my house ( There are 22 people in my house. 22 people=a lot of trash.) Only to be greeted by a crew of homeless people, ready and eager to help me carry the trash to the corner. Despite the fact that I insisted on doing it myself, they took whatever bins that I could not handle on my first trip, and brought it over to the corner to be collected. Then, they surrounded the trash bins, and proceeded to open them up and shift through the various bags one by one, hoping to find some half-eaten piece of bread, some half-sour cartoon of milk, or even merely an empty plastic bottle to fill up with water- anything at all that could be of use to them. It was just sad for me to think that we live in a world in which literally one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. It just shouldn’t be that way. They actually gave me a thumbs up and smile as I left the bins behind, and although I politely smiled back, inside my guts turned in disgust, not at them, but at the system, which I myself admittedly am a part of, that allows for such injustice and inequality to exist.
7) On a lighter note, I finally got to do some surfing at Muizenburg, a break that is perfect for beginners, discounting the fact that it’s one of the world’s most popular hot spots for great white sharks. But don’t worry, every time a shark is spotted, a horn goes off, signaling all the surfers to come in. I was half-hoping and half-dreading to get a chance to hear the horn, but for better or worst, it didn’t go off during my surf session. Later in the day, I got my first opportunity to drive a car in South Africa, which was exciting, because due to the continual influence of British Colonialism, South Africans still drive on the left side of the road. Once, I almost forget this (only once, pretty good for me, right?) and came close to a near side-swipe collision, but quickly finagled out of it, and avoided the collision all together. So all in all, I felt satisfied with the day and was glad to be alive, having survived the sharks and the lefty roads.
8) The last event of great importance, this past Friday I debuted in my first Bollywood film! Needing extras on a shoot in Camps Bay for a Bollywood film called Crook, a friend texted me Friday morning, telling me that if I come for the day, not only would I get 200 Rand, be able to chill with movie stars, and act as an extra in a bollywood film, but I’d also be granted a free lunch. Mmmm…. Money, Celeberties, Bollywood and Food? It was a no brainer, and I hoped out of bed, taking the B-line straight to Camps Bay. In contrast to my high spirits at the start of the shoot, by the end of the day, I was tired, exhausted, and sick of Bollywood. As extras, we were supposed to be spectators of a cricket match between India and Australia. I didn’t have much of a choice on roles, as the director ordered all the white people to root for Australia, no exceptions allowed. Every time Australia scored we shouted and cheered and every time India scored we booed and cursed. As time wore on and I was getting increasingly impatient, bored, and antsy, I would have greatly preferred if India had scored more simply to provide me with an opportunity to boo and thus a means to vent my genuine frusturations.. All in all, it was still a worthwhile experience, as I got to meet and chill with Emraan Hashmi, literally the Brad Pitt of Bollywood, as well as get a feel for how the movie business in India works. Now I know I don’t want to be an actor, because there is way too much waiting time, and at the end of the day, the director rules the set. I think I’d rather do something with less waiting, more doing, and the ability to be the captain of my own ship, which is why I’m interested in writing. Nevertheless, being filmed in a Bollywood movie is going to be worth it for the sake of that one moment when I go back home, rent Crook, and show it to my Indian friends, casually waiting for scene of the Australia V India cricket game. They’ll be shocked.
Besides all of that above, there’s been a lot going on with the Township Debate League. We had a beginner’s tournament this past weekend (my kids are advanced) and I had a really productive discussion about celebrity activism with my students a few days ago. Saturday night, I went to a rugby game. I had two tests today (one in Film/Media and the other in Scuba Diving, so don’t worry Mom and Dad, I’m still working hard in school!) And basically, life is full, exciting, and I couldn’t ask for anything else. On thursday, I’m going to Jo-Burg, for a 10 day trip to Swaziland and Mozambique as a way to spend my school vacation. I’ll be out of touch for the entire time, and I’ll try getting around to giving ya’ll an update on my Scuba trip as soon as I can. Honestly, I’m living the dream and so grateful for it. Just trying to keep up with myself…
(Just to Give you guys a feel for what I mean by “just trying to keep up with myself”, when I started writing this, I got a call from one of the Bollywood producers. They wanted me to act as a cop in a full day shoot from 9 am to 9 PM tomorrow. I’ve been acting in Bollywood for one day, and I already got promoted! Even though I had such a tiring experience the first shoot, I was tempted to take on the role, but ultimately couldn’t, because I have too much to do before I head out to Mozambique. Folks, do you understand? I just turned down Bollywood…)
By the way, if you have reached this point of the blog, thank you for being such a loyal reader! I encourage you to submit a comment below, as a formal recognition of your loyalty. Seriously, write something!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
BREAKING NEWS!
This just in. As you all know, the 2010 World Cup will be taking place in South Africa. It is the first time the World Cup is being held on African soil and it promises to be a tournament for the ages. For one month this winter (summer in the States), followers of futball from across the globe will migrate to the Southern tip of this great continent to watch their countries compete in the most glorified sporting event in the world. Like a high school senior waiting to hear from his college of choice, like a young man waiting to hear from a woman that he just proposed to, like a pregnant woman waiting to hear whether it’s a girl or a boy, I have been anxiously waiting to hear a response from FIFA since I applied for tickets a few Tuesdays ago.
The e-mail from FIFA finally came, and the moment of truth could not be delayed. I double clicked, and lo and behold, my ticket application was ACCEPTED! Not just into one game of my choice, but all four of them. On June 11, I will be watching France V Uruguay at the beautiful Green Point Stadium, sandwiched between downtown Cape Town, the Atlantic ocean, and of course, my good ol’ buddy, Table Mountain. On June 16, I’m headed for Durban, to witness Spain V. Switzerland, at the architectural wonder Moses Mabida stadium, which has been compared to the Eifell tower and the Sydney Opera house in its structural beauty. On June 18, I’m off to Jo-Burg, to root for the red, white, and blue, as perhaps the best USA team in tournament history begins its shot at the cup with a game against Slovenia. And finally, on June 20, I will be in Soccer City, Jo-Berg, to watch two of the greatest teams in the world compete in a match that is the ultimate celebration of individual and team talent: Brazil V Ivory Coast. BRAZIL V. IVORY COAST! Nothing else needs to be said.
Now back to reality. Two weekends ago, I underwent a day of training to prepare me for my volunteer work with an organization called Ubunye. A UCT student run volunteer organization, Ubunye does a lot of good work in the Cape Town area, with one of their projects being the Township Debating League (TDL). During Apartheid, the racist government in power forced blacks, colored, and Indian people out of their homes in the city centers, to the townships on the periphery. Although Apartheid ended over 15 years ago, the current state of the townships continues to reinforce the inequalities that were created during the racist regime. Underfunded, overcrowded, and set afar from the Central Business District of Cape Town, the people of the townships face tremendous obstacles in competing with those from more privileged backgrounds. The idea behind the Township Debating League is to improve the situation for the youth of the township by teaching high school students how to debate. (Think The Great Debaters, but just replace Denzel Washington with me. Easy, right? I’ve been told we have similar features…). Through debating, students improve their speech and communication skills, develop a greater sense of self-confidence, learn about the political and social issues facing South Africa, and are overall empowered by experiencing the magical force of words. What’s even more amazing about TDL is that the students get a chance to actually compete in regional debate tournaments. Last year, one of the TDL schools was able to out-debate a handful of expensive all white private schools in an extremely competitive regional tournament, and was second place only to the richest white school in the area. Despite their underprivileged backgrounds, these kids have proved that with the proper training and a push in the right direction, they can compete with the brightest and the best. Personally I think this whole endeavor is a genius idea, and I am thrilled and honored to be a part of the TDL project.
On the day of our training, I woke up at 7 AM and met a hoard of fellow UCT student volunteers at a local bus stop. From there, a caravan of mini-buses took us over to one of the local township schools where the training was to take place. After a quick introduction to the World School debate format, we were thrown into the position of Judges, sitting on the panel of a live debate, with the purpose of declaring a winner and offering constructive criticism to the debaters. 15 year old students, who moments before were goofing around the way kids should be, were all of a sudden transformed into dignified politicians as they entered the room composed, sitting down and shuffling through their notes in preparation for the debate. The range in the communication and articulation skills of the debaters varied greatly. One of the debaters showed exceptional capability, as he walked up to the podium slowly and stood still for a few seconds in complete silence, capturing the sharp attention of everyone in the room, as he gazed at his opponents and the panel of judges before even opening his mouth to speak. Another debater, had the right idea on his mind, but was too eager to say it all at once, speaking as fast as a runaway train, and sticking an unnecessary “ladies and gentlemen” in between every other sentence as an over-the-top attempt at formality. Nevertheless, his enthusiasm and energy was admirable. But perhaps the most courageous student of the day was one girl who barely said anything at all. When she got up to the podium, she was still shuffling through her notes, unsure of what to say. After about a minute of reading off several bullet points from the paper, her mind just went blank. The opposing team began to call for questions as a way to distract her and seize the momentum of the debate, but she persisted in turning them down, attempting to regain focus with determined mental strength. She continued to stand at the podium, beginning sentences, but unable to transform the cloudy thoughts in her mind into spoken word. For perhaps what was the next couple longest minutes of her day, she stood at the podium in confused silence, her mind struggling to seize the floating thoughts out of the air. Finally, after realizing that the words were just not coming to her and with her time limit almost up, she folded her notebook and took a seat. Without a doubt, in terms of actually debating, this girl displayed the weakest performance of the competition. She offered several well-spoken points at the beginning of the debate, but once she unable to regain her focus once she lost it. Yet, in terms of courage and determination, this young lady performed a show worthy of a standing ovation, as she boldly put herself forward in an up-most vulnerable position: standing in front of a critical audience with nothing to say. Despite being put in such an overwhelming situation, she stood her ground for several scary minutes, throwing all her mental energy into that uphill struggle of regaining focus and stability after her mental boat had been rocked. After the debate finished, we told this girl to come up to the Judges panel for constructive criticism. To our delight, she approached us eagerly to embrace any advice we had to offer. After one of the judges provided her with words of wisdom on how to stay focused, she smiled and skipped away, literally bouncing in excitement for the tips she received to help her with her next debate.
On Saturday night, I went to see a movie that was part of a film festival celebrating the 20th anniversary of Nelson Mandela’s freedom from prison. The film exposed the lack of the US involvement in the international sanctions movement against the South African government during the period of apartheid. This was mostly the work of President Reagan, who insisted that Sanctions would cripple the South African economy, and thus would be harming the very people that he was trying to help. Obviously, this was a load of pastrami (mmm…pastrami), and ultimately in 1987 the US joined the international community in asserting sanctions, which was a key move in bringing down the Apartheid regime. The night was a good one, as not only the film was highly enlightening, but in attendance was the previous ambassador from United States to South Africa. I chatted with him for a few minutes after the screening, and currently he is running a leadership program at UCT. Leadership is a big thing these days, not only in terms of leading other people, but also in terms of leading your life to where you want to go. He told me that the key to a great leader is having 4 types of intelligences: Social Intelligence, Emotional Intelligence, Moral Intelligence, and Spiritual Intelligence. He said he worked with Nelson Mandela on creating this paradigm, and the reason that NM was the man was because he was maxed out on all four of these traits. The last one, spiritual intelligence, is not necessarily referring to a specific belief in G-d, a god, or gods, but rather a deep sense of Goodness (“god+o in the middle= good.”-Rav Elisha) that permeates throughout one’s existence. Cool stuff. And on top of all of that, there was free wine, cheese, and other snacks after the screening. But by far the highlight of the night was the fresh juice that I bought before the movie started. I asked the lady selling it several times what was in the juice, and repeatedly all she would tell me was that it was: “nice juice.” She claimed that it was an extra special batch, and was so excited about it that she poured a cup for herself and her co-worker behind the counter before giving any “nice juice” to me. I don’t know what was in it, but I have to say, it was “nice juice” indeed. She told me that if I ever wanted a bottle of my own, I could put in an order and she would get it freshly delivered from the guys at the “nice juice” farm.
On Sunday, I went to a Kirstenbosch concert again. This time it was a collection of performers that did everything from gospel and jazz, to R&B, and soul. I was really feeling the vibe, and I got so into it, that I got up with a friend of mine (her name is Elise, but I like to call her Tinker Bell because she’s got so much energy, it seems like even when she is sitting still she is still flapping her wings) and started dancing wildly, in a crowd of people that were still sitting. Immediately I noticed a dozen or so eyes look in our direction, as we were making quite a scene with our corky moves. I did all I could to ignore the on-lookers, and just threw myself into the dance and did as the music told me to. Finally, when one of the songs finished I took a break and looked up at the people behind me, and lo and behold, the entire crowd erupted in a round of applause straight in my direction. I tried to take advantage of the opportunity and get everyone else up on their feet dancing with me, but after I realized it wasn’t happening, I embraced the applause, threw a couple fist pumps in the air, and turned around embarrassed and excited at the same time. There’s something thrilling about getting all rosie in the cheeks with a crowd of people watching my absurd hybrid dance moves. (I always try to synthesize together as many styles of dance whenever I get going. That includes modern, Jewish (think light bulbs turning), Israeli, latino, Bungra (think more light bulbs turning) and step (BAM!), as well as my signature bow and arrow move. I only shot one special arrow this time, but it was Valentine’s day, so I guess it was only appropriate.). After the round of applause, the music cooled down and I slow danced with Tinkerbell. Made me feel like I was in 8th grade again. I love nostalgia.
On Tuesday, I personally took my relationship with TB to the next step. And as you all should know by now, I am not talking about the disease or any magical creatures from storybooks, but rather speaking of my wondrous soul mate, Table Mountain. After a morning of classes at UCT, I met up with some folks from the hiking Society, and together we embarked on a trip through the kirstenbosch gardens and up a quick, steep, climb to the Table top. As I have gotten to know TB more and more, I just keep falling in a deeper state of love. Just as I reached the top of TB, the dirt ground suddenly turned into a giant beach, with trees growing right out of the sand. I felt like I was in a surreal dream, and commented to one of my hiking buddies as a joke that this place was so out of this world, that I wouldn’t be surprised if all of a sudden I started speaking French. Then, funnily enough, two Mauritius girls whom I was hiking with broke out in fluent French for the first time in the hike! My stomach dropped. Where was I!? French speaking Maurituis girls and trees growing out of the sand on top of a mountain?! What?! We continued exploring the top of TB, which included several lakes, and a huge stone damn which we climbed onto and walked along. After shuffling our way through some of the dense African bush, we came upon a hidden pond, where we discovered a series of rare beautiful red flowers that are only found on Table Mountain, protruding from the banks of the secret puddle. Looking below the surface of the water, we spotted a giant tadpole, a giant tadpole with four legs, and a frog, all swimming/sitting right next to each other. It was a live display of evolution and growth of life right before our very eyes. I took a million pictures!
(By the way, before I get to the end of this blog, I welcome everyone to post comments if you feel like you have something you want to express. It will be nice to hear how people feel, think, and react to anything and everything I am sharing with you. Thanks.)
On a sadder, note. I have some tragic news to report. I have questioned whether or not I should include this story in my blog, worried that this report will make my family and friends at home nervous and worried about my well being (especially my unplug the toaster-oven mother!) But the purpose of this blog is to share all the stories that come out of this country, the good and the bad, and therefore I choose to reveal rather than conceal. There have been several versions of the story going around, and rather than getting into the details of the angles, I will just copy and paste the official e-mail that all the UCT students received from the vice-chancellor of the university, Dr. Price:
“It is with deep sadness as well as anger and frustration that I write to inform you of the death of Dominic (Joseph) Giddy, a third-year student in the Faculty of Humanities, who was stabbed to death near his Observatory digs early Saturday, February 13.
Dominic, who was 21, was returning to his digs with two friends after the trio had participated in a gig at Zeekoevlei. They had been dropped off on the corner of Main Road and Kotzee Road by a charter Golden Arrow bus and were walking to Dominic's digs in Winchester Road.
The trio was confronted by three men who attempted to rob them. An altercation ensued and Dominic was stabbed. One of his friends sustained a small wound to his hand.
Dominic was born in Durban and registered at UCT in 2008 for a BSC in mechanical engineering. He changed degree at the start of this year, registering for a bachelor of social science.”
Observatory, the place where Dominic was murdered, is a 10 minute walk from where I live. It is your quintessential college town, full of corky restaurants, small colorful houses, and bars with Wed. night specials of 2-for-1. What is so unfortunate about Dominic’s story is that it is not uncommon. A reality of life in Cape Town, robberies and murders occur on all too regular of a basis. In the not too distant past, another student was killed by gunshot. Another time, a professor was mugged and murdered in broad daylight. About a week after Dominic was killed, a mass group of students gathered together in the middle of UCT to protest these ruthless killings, demanding the government to take action and tighten security so that students, professors, and all people alike can walk the streets in safety. After several inspirational speeches on UCT’s Jamie Steps by faculty, the student government president, as well as Dominic’s friends and family, the crowd, donned in black shirts, marched down to the Main Road, holding up signs with pictures of Dominic, demanding justice while shouting “How Many More?” In purpose and size, this gathering was not your average university demonstration. This rally of demanding safety and justice on behalf of Dominic was the largest student protest held in South Africa since apartheid.
A few nights after Dominic was killed, I was walking back from campus with Garikaye, a friend from Zimbabwe, who happened to be going to Dom’s funeral. Although I never got the chance to meet Dominic, I decided to go, taking the opportunity to hear about what kind of person he was like. Arriving a little early, I hung out in the yard, and passed the time by talking to a few 12 year old kids. I noticed that everyone that was coming to the funeral was wearing a bandana on their head. Casually, I asked one of the kids what the deal was with the bandanas. One of them looked up at me and calmly said, my brother used to wear them all the time, it was his thing, so people are doing it in his memory. I was shocked and taken by surprise. Besides a deep-felt sorry, I just didn’t know what else to say, quickly shifting the conversation to a place more happy and appropriate for a kid. What can you say to a 12 year old boy that just lost his 21-year-old brother to murder?
During the funeral, Dominic’s best friend rose and spoke before the crowd. He poured out his heart, sobbing and pausing in between words, expressing his love and admiration of Dominic’s character as a warm, all-loving, compassionate, energetic, openhearted, human being. He looked at the casket, and told Dom: “Ever since I knew you, I always wished I was more like you.” He thanked Dom for not only being his best friend, but for also being his role model and hero in life. I never met Dom, but the more I got to know about this person that seemed to have embodied all of what it means to be good in life, the more I couldn’t help but feel like the world was robbed of a genuine source of light and love. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to Dominic’s best friend struggle to weep out a Walt Whitman poem: “We Two Boys Together Clinging.”
We Two Boys Together Clinging
by Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)
We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,
Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving.
No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving,
threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on
the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
The e-mail from FIFA finally came, and the moment of truth could not be delayed. I double clicked, and lo and behold, my ticket application was ACCEPTED! Not just into one game of my choice, but all four of them. On June 11, I will be watching France V Uruguay at the beautiful Green Point Stadium, sandwiched between downtown Cape Town, the Atlantic ocean, and of course, my good ol’ buddy, Table Mountain. On June 16, I’m headed for Durban, to witness Spain V. Switzerland, at the architectural wonder Moses Mabida stadium, which has been compared to the Eifell tower and the Sydney Opera house in its structural beauty. On June 18, I’m off to Jo-Burg, to root for the red, white, and blue, as perhaps the best USA team in tournament history begins its shot at the cup with a game against Slovenia. And finally, on June 20, I will be in Soccer City, Jo-Berg, to watch two of the greatest teams in the world compete in a match that is the ultimate celebration of individual and team talent: Brazil V Ivory Coast. BRAZIL V. IVORY COAST! Nothing else needs to be said.
Now back to reality. Two weekends ago, I underwent a day of training to prepare me for my volunteer work with an organization called Ubunye. A UCT student run volunteer organization, Ubunye does a lot of good work in the Cape Town area, with one of their projects being the Township Debating League (TDL). During Apartheid, the racist government in power forced blacks, colored, and Indian people out of their homes in the city centers, to the townships on the periphery. Although Apartheid ended over 15 years ago, the current state of the townships continues to reinforce the inequalities that were created during the racist regime. Underfunded, overcrowded, and set afar from the Central Business District of Cape Town, the people of the townships face tremendous obstacles in competing with those from more privileged backgrounds. The idea behind the Township Debating League is to improve the situation for the youth of the township by teaching high school students how to debate. (Think The Great Debaters, but just replace Denzel Washington with me. Easy, right? I’ve been told we have similar features…). Through debating, students improve their speech and communication skills, develop a greater sense of self-confidence, learn about the political and social issues facing South Africa, and are overall empowered by experiencing the magical force of words. What’s even more amazing about TDL is that the students get a chance to actually compete in regional debate tournaments. Last year, one of the TDL schools was able to out-debate a handful of expensive all white private schools in an extremely competitive regional tournament, and was second place only to the richest white school in the area. Despite their underprivileged backgrounds, these kids have proved that with the proper training and a push in the right direction, they can compete with the brightest and the best. Personally I think this whole endeavor is a genius idea, and I am thrilled and honored to be a part of the TDL project.
On the day of our training, I woke up at 7 AM and met a hoard of fellow UCT student volunteers at a local bus stop. From there, a caravan of mini-buses took us over to one of the local township schools where the training was to take place. After a quick introduction to the World School debate format, we were thrown into the position of Judges, sitting on the panel of a live debate, with the purpose of declaring a winner and offering constructive criticism to the debaters. 15 year old students, who moments before were goofing around the way kids should be, were all of a sudden transformed into dignified politicians as they entered the room composed, sitting down and shuffling through their notes in preparation for the debate. The range in the communication and articulation skills of the debaters varied greatly. One of the debaters showed exceptional capability, as he walked up to the podium slowly and stood still for a few seconds in complete silence, capturing the sharp attention of everyone in the room, as he gazed at his opponents and the panel of judges before even opening his mouth to speak. Another debater, had the right idea on his mind, but was too eager to say it all at once, speaking as fast as a runaway train, and sticking an unnecessary “ladies and gentlemen” in between every other sentence as an over-the-top attempt at formality. Nevertheless, his enthusiasm and energy was admirable. But perhaps the most courageous student of the day was one girl who barely said anything at all. When she got up to the podium, she was still shuffling through her notes, unsure of what to say. After about a minute of reading off several bullet points from the paper, her mind just went blank. The opposing team began to call for questions as a way to distract her and seize the momentum of the debate, but she persisted in turning them down, attempting to regain focus with determined mental strength. She continued to stand at the podium, beginning sentences, but unable to transform the cloudy thoughts in her mind into spoken word. For perhaps what was the next couple longest minutes of her day, she stood at the podium in confused silence, her mind struggling to seize the floating thoughts out of the air. Finally, after realizing that the words were just not coming to her and with her time limit almost up, she folded her notebook and took a seat. Without a doubt, in terms of actually debating, this girl displayed the weakest performance of the competition. She offered several well-spoken points at the beginning of the debate, but once she unable to regain her focus once she lost it. Yet, in terms of courage and determination, this young lady performed a show worthy of a standing ovation, as she boldly put herself forward in an up-most vulnerable position: standing in front of a critical audience with nothing to say. Despite being put in such an overwhelming situation, she stood her ground for several scary minutes, throwing all her mental energy into that uphill struggle of regaining focus and stability after her mental boat had been rocked. After the debate finished, we told this girl to come up to the Judges panel for constructive criticism. To our delight, she approached us eagerly to embrace any advice we had to offer. After one of the judges provided her with words of wisdom on how to stay focused, she smiled and skipped away, literally bouncing in excitement for the tips she received to help her with her next debate.
On Saturday night, I went to see a movie that was part of a film festival celebrating the 20th anniversary of Nelson Mandela’s freedom from prison. The film exposed the lack of the US involvement in the international sanctions movement against the South African government during the period of apartheid. This was mostly the work of President Reagan, who insisted that Sanctions would cripple the South African economy, and thus would be harming the very people that he was trying to help. Obviously, this was a load of pastrami (mmm…pastrami), and ultimately in 1987 the US joined the international community in asserting sanctions, which was a key move in bringing down the Apartheid regime. The night was a good one, as not only the film was highly enlightening, but in attendance was the previous ambassador from United States to South Africa. I chatted with him for a few minutes after the screening, and currently he is running a leadership program at UCT. Leadership is a big thing these days, not only in terms of leading other people, but also in terms of leading your life to where you want to go. He told me that the key to a great leader is having 4 types of intelligences: Social Intelligence, Emotional Intelligence, Moral Intelligence, and Spiritual Intelligence. He said he worked with Nelson Mandela on creating this paradigm, and the reason that NM was the man was because he was maxed out on all four of these traits. The last one, spiritual intelligence, is not necessarily referring to a specific belief in G-d, a god, or gods, but rather a deep sense of Goodness (“god+o in the middle= good.”-Rav Elisha) that permeates throughout one’s existence. Cool stuff. And on top of all of that, there was free wine, cheese, and other snacks after the screening. But by far the highlight of the night was the fresh juice that I bought before the movie started. I asked the lady selling it several times what was in the juice, and repeatedly all she would tell me was that it was: “nice juice.” She claimed that it was an extra special batch, and was so excited about it that she poured a cup for herself and her co-worker behind the counter before giving any “nice juice” to me. I don’t know what was in it, but I have to say, it was “nice juice” indeed. She told me that if I ever wanted a bottle of my own, I could put in an order and she would get it freshly delivered from the guys at the “nice juice” farm.
On Sunday, I went to a Kirstenbosch concert again. This time it was a collection of performers that did everything from gospel and jazz, to R&B, and soul. I was really feeling the vibe, and I got so into it, that I got up with a friend of mine (her name is Elise, but I like to call her Tinker Bell because she’s got so much energy, it seems like even when she is sitting still she is still flapping her wings) and started dancing wildly, in a crowd of people that were still sitting. Immediately I noticed a dozen or so eyes look in our direction, as we were making quite a scene with our corky moves. I did all I could to ignore the on-lookers, and just threw myself into the dance and did as the music told me to. Finally, when one of the songs finished I took a break and looked up at the people behind me, and lo and behold, the entire crowd erupted in a round of applause straight in my direction. I tried to take advantage of the opportunity and get everyone else up on their feet dancing with me, but after I realized it wasn’t happening, I embraced the applause, threw a couple fist pumps in the air, and turned around embarrassed and excited at the same time. There’s something thrilling about getting all rosie in the cheeks with a crowd of people watching my absurd hybrid dance moves. (I always try to synthesize together as many styles of dance whenever I get going. That includes modern, Jewish (think light bulbs turning), Israeli, latino, Bungra (think more light bulbs turning) and step (BAM!), as well as my signature bow and arrow move. I only shot one special arrow this time, but it was Valentine’s day, so I guess it was only appropriate.). After the round of applause, the music cooled down and I slow danced with Tinkerbell. Made me feel like I was in 8th grade again. I love nostalgia.
On Tuesday, I personally took my relationship with TB to the next step. And as you all should know by now, I am not talking about the disease or any magical creatures from storybooks, but rather speaking of my wondrous soul mate, Table Mountain. After a morning of classes at UCT, I met up with some folks from the hiking Society, and together we embarked on a trip through the kirstenbosch gardens and up a quick, steep, climb to the Table top. As I have gotten to know TB more and more, I just keep falling in a deeper state of love. Just as I reached the top of TB, the dirt ground suddenly turned into a giant beach, with trees growing right out of the sand. I felt like I was in a surreal dream, and commented to one of my hiking buddies as a joke that this place was so out of this world, that I wouldn’t be surprised if all of a sudden I started speaking French. Then, funnily enough, two Mauritius girls whom I was hiking with broke out in fluent French for the first time in the hike! My stomach dropped. Where was I!? French speaking Maurituis girls and trees growing out of the sand on top of a mountain?! What?! We continued exploring the top of TB, which included several lakes, and a huge stone damn which we climbed onto and walked along. After shuffling our way through some of the dense African bush, we came upon a hidden pond, where we discovered a series of rare beautiful red flowers that are only found on Table Mountain, protruding from the banks of the secret puddle. Looking below the surface of the water, we spotted a giant tadpole, a giant tadpole with four legs, and a frog, all swimming/sitting right next to each other. It was a live display of evolution and growth of life right before our very eyes. I took a million pictures!
(By the way, before I get to the end of this blog, I welcome everyone to post comments if you feel like you have something you want to express. It will be nice to hear how people feel, think, and react to anything and everything I am sharing with you. Thanks.)
On a sadder, note. I have some tragic news to report. I have questioned whether or not I should include this story in my blog, worried that this report will make my family and friends at home nervous and worried about my well being (especially my unplug the toaster-oven mother!) But the purpose of this blog is to share all the stories that come out of this country, the good and the bad, and therefore I choose to reveal rather than conceal. There have been several versions of the story going around, and rather than getting into the details of the angles, I will just copy and paste the official e-mail that all the UCT students received from the vice-chancellor of the university, Dr. Price:
“It is with deep sadness as well as anger and frustration that I write to inform you of the death of Dominic (Joseph) Giddy, a third-year student in the Faculty of Humanities, who was stabbed to death near his Observatory digs early Saturday, February 13.
Dominic, who was 21, was returning to his digs with two friends after the trio had participated in a gig at Zeekoevlei. They had been dropped off on the corner of Main Road and Kotzee Road by a charter Golden Arrow bus and were walking to Dominic's digs in Winchester Road.
The trio was confronted by three men who attempted to rob them. An altercation ensued and Dominic was stabbed. One of his friends sustained a small wound to his hand.
Dominic was born in Durban and registered at UCT in 2008 for a BSC in mechanical engineering. He changed degree at the start of this year, registering for a bachelor of social science.”
Observatory, the place where Dominic was murdered, is a 10 minute walk from where I live. It is your quintessential college town, full of corky restaurants, small colorful houses, and bars with Wed. night specials of 2-for-1. What is so unfortunate about Dominic’s story is that it is not uncommon. A reality of life in Cape Town, robberies and murders occur on all too regular of a basis. In the not too distant past, another student was killed by gunshot. Another time, a professor was mugged and murdered in broad daylight. About a week after Dominic was killed, a mass group of students gathered together in the middle of UCT to protest these ruthless killings, demanding the government to take action and tighten security so that students, professors, and all people alike can walk the streets in safety. After several inspirational speeches on UCT’s Jamie Steps by faculty, the student government president, as well as Dominic’s friends and family, the crowd, donned in black shirts, marched down to the Main Road, holding up signs with pictures of Dominic, demanding justice while shouting “How Many More?” In purpose and size, this gathering was not your average university demonstration. This rally of demanding safety and justice on behalf of Dominic was the largest student protest held in South Africa since apartheid.
A few nights after Dominic was killed, I was walking back from campus with Garikaye, a friend from Zimbabwe, who happened to be going to Dom’s funeral. Although I never got the chance to meet Dominic, I decided to go, taking the opportunity to hear about what kind of person he was like. Arriving a little early, I hung out in the yard, and passed the time by talking to a few 12 year old kids. I noticed that everyone that was coming to the funeral was wearing a bandana on their head. Casually, I asked one of the kids what the deal was with the bandanas. One of them looked up at me and calmly said, my brother used to wear them all the time, it was his thing, so people are doing it in his memory. I was shocked and taken by surprise. Besides a deep-felt sorry, I just didn’t know what else to say, quickly shifting the conversation to a place more happy and appropriate for a kid. What can you say to a 12 year old boy that just lost his 21-year-old brother to murder?
During the funeral, Dominic’s best friend rose and spoke before the crowd. He poured out his heart, sobbing and pausing in between words, expressing his love and admiration of Dominic’s character as a warm, all-loving, compassionate, energetic, openhearted, human being. He looked at the casket, and told Dom: “Ever since I knew you, I always wished I was more like you.” He thanked Dom for not only being his best friend, but for also being his role model and hero in life. I never met Dom, but the more I got to know about this person that seemed to have embodied all of what it means to be good in life, the more I couldn’t help but feel like the world was robbed of a genuine source of light and love. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to Dominic’s best friend struggle to weep out a Walt Whitman poem: “We Two Boys Together Clinging.”
We Two Boys Together Clinging
by Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)
We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,
Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving.
No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving,
threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on
the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
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