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.