French Fries for Breakfast

Hello from the epicenter of all things hot and humid! These past few days have seen temperatures rise above 34 degrees (C) with very high humidity and less than no air conditioning (not even a fan plugged in because of the extra electricity costs). I have successfully moved into my homestay, and I am rapidly beginning to appreciate the luxuries that I have to live without here (a shower, air conditioning, salad, just to name a few). I have a mother and a 15 year old sister, and my own room (thankfully). Ever the environmentalist, I cringe at the family’s propensity to leave the TV on from the moment someone wakes up until they go to bed, even if no one is watching it, sometimes with the radio on in competition (I do, however, relish the fact that we play the South African version of the top 40 station and every once and awhile I get to hear “Bad Romance” or “Halo” among the Zulu songs).

Homestay started on Thursday evening when myself and my belongings moved into 17 palace place (yes, it seems I have packed the most out of everyone in the group despite my best efforts and my conclusion that I was underpacked). My mama loves me so much and she thinks it’s hilarious to hear me speak zulu (which it is). I have reverted to my vegetarian roots as advised by the program director, although it is very foreign to my mama and makes for some pretty redic meals ( read: French fries for breakfast). The thing is, vegetarianism just doesn’t exist over here so I have settled for telling people I am allergic to meat, because they understand allergy. My mama then went through some of the stuff in the kitchen “judy, you eat rice?” “judy, you eat millie meal? (sort of gritz, and yes, I guess I do eat that now, so call me southern.).

All the poverty has really started to sink in, and I am certainly feeling it in more ways than one. My hair, for instance, has found some serious volume given the humidity and bucket showers… there may be no further pictures of me taken in south Africa due to this unfortunate situation, we shall see. Also, as my 15 year old sister is trying to understand what America is like, she asks me a lot of questions such as, how much does your school cost for a year. It was pretty hard for me to tell her that school probably costs around 400,000 rand per year, compared to the 800 rand for her school. I’m not sure she has ever even known anyone with 400,000 rand. Ugh.

In the sweltering heat of Saturday, myself and two other students on the program took our sisters to the beach, partly because we needed a break from the heat (I have never been in such hot weather without AC) and partly because where else would you want to be on a hot day. During that outing I was lucky enough to receive a mini surf lesson from one of the lifeguards and yes, I did stand up (although I might add, the wave was maybe 1 foot high). In addition, I added some much needed pigment to my skin, although I could have settled for a little less (read: I’m bright red).

Yesterday (again 1 million degrees) I went to church, in a tent, with concrete walls and let me tell you, if that wasn’t hell, I don’t know what is (ironic, eh?). Fact: almost passed out in church it was so hot… I ended up having to sit down because things were spinning and black. Never have I ever fainted.. in my life, so this was something special. Also, those TV church things where the pastor puts his hands on you and you’re healed kind of thing… been there, done that, had no choice. Yay church. Things got exciting in the afternoon when some SITers and I went to the world cup stadium to watch a football match. Luckily we were sitting on the shady part of the stadium and got to enjoy the game in fashion of true Americans we are (peanuts and beer). So maybe we missed the super bowl but NBD, we were just in the world cup stadium.

Life is pretty grand down here although I am certainly missing some parts of home (friends, AC, showers, 30 rock, the office). This week we will be fighting our way through more Zulu and learning and experiencing more of the political culture here. It’s very different in that as a result of race classification, people have no problem saying something about “the Indian people,” or “the black people,” in a way that would NEVER be okay in the US. For instance, we had a professor the other day, teaching us about Zulu who said “and yes, black people are very loud.” That would never fly in a classroom in the US. Also, anyone who is not black, white or Indian is considered colored… that is their race, very foreign.
Missing you all,
Judy