Theresa's reflections upon leaving Cape Town

Wrote this a while ago when all my feelings were still fresh but haven't had internet on my computer/memory stick to get it to an internet cafe, but here it is! 

Nellie & Theresa

Having left Cape Town over two weeks ago, it seems that some self-reflection and pause is necessary in order to truly understand the novelty, wonder and joy of my time (our time?) in Cape Town.  I am lucky that I have not ended my adventures in Africa; in fact, I still have much time left on this wondrous, diverse continent, with 3 months left in East Africa, first in Tanzania and then in Uganda.

At present, Nellie and I are staying with family friends in Arusha, Tanzania.  We are lucky enough to be in the shadow of another great mountain; Mt. Meru.  But with the semi-awkward timing of our trip, we have landed in the depths of Tanzania’s rainy season and the mountain has barely made its presence known.  Hiding behind a curtain of rain clouds and trees, Mt. Meru seems bashful and timid compared to Table Mountain. 

I miss the silhouette of Table Mountain, the omnipresence of dichotomy; the reminder that we are part of something bigger, a grand scheme, of some type of wonderful oneness with the earth and its creatures; but also the reminder of our individual insignificance, of our fragile transience, of being just a blip in the big bang of creation. 

In class and with my co-educators, we spent much time talking of the clean-cut relief that dichotomies can provide; bad and good, black and white, rich and poor.  We discussed on numerous occasions, the desire of Western culture, of our culture, to organize everything, so that we can have tidy, neat packages that can be presented to the masses.  But the more we talked through/about poverty, capitalism, feminism, racism, democracy, plutocracy, education, inequality, philosophy, generosity, greed, self-indulgence, appreciation, righteousness, religion, morality, community, individuality, the more we realized that we would come to a bypass (using Western standards).  That no easily deliverable, well packaged campaign stances came out of our conversations.  That after hours of charged debate, thoughtful pauses, confident stances and retracted statements; we had nothing to show for it, other than the empty bottles and cigarette butts strewn about our feet. 

Then came the difficult part.  Sitting on the porch, with Table Mountain and the stars for company, came the self-reflection, self-loathing, forgiveness, confusion, celebration.  The reaching into the depths of my humanity, my mind, my soul, and my heart. No longer having the solid ground of my thoughts, I had to find some peace within the chaos of my mind; a sole survivor in the shipwreck of my being. 

My time in Cape Town was truly wonderful.  My co-educators in Cape Town were inspiring, energetic and people I trust to take care of the world.  My teachers were knowledgeable, stimulating, and people I am thankful for having paved the way for younger activists to join the celebration of human rights.  I emerge from my time in Cape Town blessed with the gift of Table Mountain’s dichotomies, that due to the inherent limitations of being a sole person I cannot and will not solve the problems of the world; but also more importantly with the understanding and wholeness that comes knowing of our unity, of oneness, of ubuntu, that I cannot exist without the we, that my existence has no meaning without the existence of the soil, and the mountains, and the animals, and the air and the people who inhabit this wonderful earth. 

Theresa's 21st birthday

I had the fortune of celebrating my 21^st birthday in South Africa.  In South Africa 21^st birthdays are a big deal, because it is considered your coming of age, your welcoming into adulthood and as part of this tradition you are given a key, symbolically showing that you are responsible enough and grown up enough that your parents trust you to explore the world.  And I had the most spectacular birthday weekend because of my friends aka co-educators on this trip.  My birthday started off with mimosa’s (hey, we are from the US where the only reason your 21^st is a big deal is because you can drink legally-so we celebrated that a little bit as well) and a large breakfast in bed, and the house decorated with streamers and lots of inspirational quotes about birthdays and appreciating life.  We took a cab to class (which started the embarrassing trend of everyone telling everyone it was my birthday all weekend long), went to classes all day and then hurried home for our weekend away from our “home” here.  After a few delays, we were finally on a very crowded 8-hour bus ride to Plettenberg Bay.  We arrived early in the morning at Al Bergo’s Backpackers Hostel, (an adorable, eco-friendly, fair trade, super well thought out place) and immediately tried to get some sleep for our next days adventure.

We woke up from our very comfortable beds early in the morning and 12 of us started our journey to go kloofing (derived from an Afrikaans word 'kloof', meaning 'gorge' or 'ravine').  We arrived at the park, paid, and suited up into wetsuits and life jackets.  We were driven by a small bus up into the mountains and dropped off at the most beautiful farm.  After about another 30 min walk/hike (it was so hot because we had our wet suits on) we finally got to start travelling in the river.  Kloofing consists of following a ravine down a mountain, and jumping off cliffs along the way.  The water that we were in was very cold, but freshwater that we could drink along our journey.  This might have been the most beautiful, exciting thing I have ever done and being able to share it with my co-educators was lovely.  Part of Kloofing is the opportunity to jump off cliffs (from 5 meters to 11 meters) and with that comes the much-needed encouragement.  Being able to cheer on my co-educators and having them in the water to encourage me was so nice and a bonding experience.  We stopped with a few hours to go to have the most delicious meal of cookies (here they are called biscuits) and coffee.  We finished the adventure with a 30-minute swim, got out of our wetsuits and celebrated the finish with a beer that was provided through the company.  Overall, it was one of the most exhilarating and invigorating things I have ever done.  That evening we all went out to dinner to celebrate my birthday, and food has never tasted so good because we were all so tired and hungry. 

The next morning we woke up after a restful nights sleep to jump off Bloukrans Bridge, the Highest Commercial Bungy Jump in the World at 203 meters high.  The drive to the bridge was beautiful as it is part of the Garden Route, an especially pretty part of South Africa.  When we got to the place, we were weighed, harnessed and corralled onto the bridge.  Fear was quickly replaced with adrenaline when we reached the center of the bridge, music was pumped through the loud speakers and the workers were full of adrenaline.  Watching the first few people go off the bridge was terrifying, but hearing them talk about how wonderful it was when they came back up, was encouraging.  When it was finally my time, I tried to remain composed and made the decision to try and jump off, not get pushed off the bridge.  The first moment off the bridge was the scariest, but after the moment of pure terror, it quickly transformed into one of the most peaceful and serene experiences of my life.  After back up it was fun to continue to cheer on my co-educators and some of them even went off the bridge a second time backwards (that was scary to watch).  Overall, it was a fun, adrenaline filled morning.  We then continued our adventures by going to Kynsna Elephant Park and spending time feeding and petting elephants.  Lemons are my favorite food, so imagine my delight when I saw my bucket of elephant feed was full of lemons and I got to feed lemons to elephants.  This was a fun silly experience, the elephant’s skin was so dry and they acted like over-sized puppies, and were just adorable.  That evening, we were so exhausted we decided to all stay in together and spend time together, which was really fun.  The hostel was very conducive to talking, hanging out and watching movies. 

Overall, my birthday weekend is one that I will never forget.  Every birthday when I blow out my candles, I wish for contentment.  We are so quick to judge ourselves and our experiences against what others appear to be feeling and experiencing.  This birthday, and everyday I am working on contentment, knowing that what I did and choose to do was the right decision for me.  However there is also a fine line between being fine with the status quo and contentment, and this requires a fine balancing act.  If South Africa has taught me anything it is that I will constantly be working on balancing; privilege and enjoyment, contentment and compliance; and only through knowing I need to balance and working very hard to do so will I get the most out of life. 

Theresa: The Joy of My Activist Project

Theresa & Siphokazi at Waterfront
Peace Signs from all!

For my activist project, I have had the pleasure and joy of getting to know my little sister Siphokazi through an informal “Big Sister/Little Sister” program.  In the United States, one of my main roles is being a family member, and very importantly a big sister.  I have two younger sisters who I love dearly and being away for them has been especially difficult, so I jumped at the idea of being able to have a little sister on this side of the world.  Having little sisters is a special experience, you have someone to challenge you, to tease you, to share with, to learn from, to teach you, to be silly with and I am so fortunate to be having that experience here in South Africa.

My little sister here is wonderful, she is kind, she is intuitive, she is witty and she is smart.  We have been very lucky to see each other about once a week since the program started, this is always a treat (and we always get fast food so it’s an extra treat).  So far, my favorite things that I have done with her are participate in our large group activities mainly, the Two Oceans Aquarium, the movies and the sleepover that we had at our house in Rondebosch.

Nicole & Theresa with little sisters at the Two Oceans Aquarium

At home, my extended family has many females, and that has lead to wonderful bonds with me and my female relatives, whenever we can we jump at the chance to have a “Girl’s Night,” so the idea of having a sleepover with all our little sister’s (and one brother) from the program overjoyed me.  Meika and I helped to coordinate the sleepover, from planning dates to making permission slips to buying groceries to cooking the food. We had so much fun.  The girls arrived around 4pm, and even though it was a little bit chilly, they all went swimming in our pool.

We then ordered lots of pizza and ate dinner and then headed up stairs to hang out with each other.  In true sleepover manner, we painted nails, did hair, did Henna tattoos, watched movies, talked, and barely got any sleep.  It looked like everyone who was at the sleepover was having lots of fun and I know that the other big sisters and I really enjoyed ourselves.  Leaving Cape Town will be hard, but really leaving the people will be the hardest.  I am excited to stay in contact with Siphokazi and hopefully one day (she’s really ambitious and wants to be an optometrist and go to school in the US) she will actually get to meet my other little sisters in the US. 

School holiday sleepover.

Theresa: On Being Part of Such a Wonderful Team of Co-Educators

One of the most inspiring and heart warming things about this journey has been getting to know the most wonderful group of 21 that UConn has to offer. Of course, we have our moments, where pettiness and frustration over dishes and other housekeeping matters makes us want to pull our hair, but overall we are so lucky to have each other as a support system here in Cape Town. 

Meika, Theresa, Alex, Nellie, Maria, Brandi, Kristin, Nicole, Sam

This non-homogenous group of people, with interests from indie music to Justin Bieber from gymnastics to politics from meat based to vegan diets, has the common thread of all having good intentions and loving spirits.  Another thing we all have in common is that we all came here to grow or change in someway, and for some of us to expand our comfort zones.  My own growth has been frustrating, at times overwhelming, but rewarding and worthwhile.  Participating and watching the growth of my co-educators has been my favorite part of being in Cape Town though. 

Theresa, Brandi, Kristin

 I was lucky to take a Women’s Studies’ class my first year at UConn with a wonderful professor and I’ve been surrounded by some pretty cool people at UConn who have talked to me about race, gender, class, sexuality, etc so some of the things we are learning in class here has been slightly redundant and things I’ve already “learnt” but being able to talk these issues over with my co-educators has been a rewarding and a growing experience for me.  Being able to grapple with some of the world’s largest problems, and having people who are just as interested in trying to think about them and then hopefully solve them one day in the future has been wonderful.  

Nellie, Meika, Alex, Theresa

 What I love most about my co-educators though, is the love they are so willing to share with everyone they encounter.  From celebrating Ryan’s birthday on top of Table Mountain to organizing to go to Ocean View to tutor to planning an adventure to go bungee jump together to sharing the fear and sorrow that comes when thinking about leaving to running in a half marathon and being their to warm their cold, wet bodies at the end to organizing to go to a football (soccer) game to inviting lots of young teenagers into our home to meeting Capetonians and foreign nationals out and about to truly loving and caring about the people we are all working with.  I hope my co-educators know that even when they have left, and our beds on Loch Road no longer are warmed by our bodies, just like we will always carry Cape Town in our hearts, the love that we have spread here will always remain.  Leaving, growing, changing are all inevitable parts of life, but if we go throughout our days with the best intentions, spreading our love, and good energy at least we will know that our presence for that moment in time was worthwhile and we cannot ask for anything more.

Alex, Theresa, Nellie, Brittany, Becky, Meika, Rebecca

Theresa grows in understanding

My favorite part of the excursion was seeing the things I’d only read about in books and learnt about in classes comes alive.  One of the joys of being on excursion was the traveling time that we had, which also meant that I had copious amounts of time to read, do crossword puzzles and catch up on any missing sleep.  During this time I was able to read Kaffir Boy; A true story about a young boy who grew up during apartheid South Africa in a black slum or ghetto (he refused to call it a township thinking the term sounded too quintessential and charming).  The book was the first that I read that really painted a picture o the daily struggle of blacks; the violent brutality at the hands of the police, the injustice of the pass laws, the laws and systems that were impossible to negotiate (especially when they were not in your first language), the bitter cold of a winter in an informal house made of corrugated metal, the wrenching pain of starvation and malnutrition, the fear of gangs, and so much more.

One of the things that fascinated me the most when reading this book was the pass laws In class and thru reading other books, they had talked and I had learnt very matter of factly about the inconveniences of the pass laws and passbooks.  For some background information, the pass laws were introduced in South Africa and were designed to regulate the movement of black Africans.  Essentially, the passbooks were internal passports that were compulsory for all black South Africans over the age of 16 to carry within white areas.  The passbooks contained information such as the pass holder’s fingerprints, photograph, the name of the employer, address, and other information.  From what I have gathered, an employer could only legally be a white person and the pass also documented permission that was either granted or denied to be in certain regions.  All people in South Africa had to carry passes but one of the essential differences was that if a black person was found without a passbook or a valid entry they were arrested on the spot and if a white person didn’t have theirs they had seven days to present it. 

It wasn’t until I read this book that I truly could understand that they were not just an inconvenience, that is too tame of a word, and how impossible of a system they created; to get a job you had to have a pass that was in order, but to have a pass that was in order you needed to have a job.  The book documented how the police would do raids of the ghetto in the middle of the night; breaking into houses, smashing down doors and faces, looking for people who didn’t have their pass books in order.  The people lived in a constant state of fear and terror, knowing that at any moment they could be arrested and taken from their families for an indefinite amount of time because they were not able to negotiate the intricacies and contradictions of the pass laws.  One of the most famous anti-apartheid protests is the one that happened in Sharpeville on March 21^st, 1960, famous because the peaceful anti-passbook protest, was violently ended by police brutality leaving 69 dead and many more wounded, a day which is now referred to as the Sharpeville Massacre. 

One of the most meaningful parts of our excursion was visiting Sharpeville on March 19^th, two days before the anniversary (which is now commemorated by Human Rights Day) and seeing the memorial of the protest and the massacre.  After we left the memorial we walked about Sharpeville and an elderly man came up to us and shared his story of being at the protest, and out of his pocket, almost 20 years after the official end of apartheid, he pulled the hated passbook.  I was overcome with emotion, as were many of my co-educators, the fact that he still carried the passbook something that represents the oppression, violence, and bigotry of the apartheid system.  What is so poignant about being in South Africa is that the people who were greatly affected by apartheid (both the people who benefited from it and those who suffered) are still very much alive and well.  Many people have spent the majority or more than half their lives living under the rule of apartheid, and we are so privileged to be able to talk to and learn from them. 

Theresa contemplates the intersection of race and class

First thing we did when we arrived in Johannesburg was go to a Steak House in Nelson Mandela Square.

Theresa at Trump's Grill House, Mandela Square, Sandton

 In class and with my co-educators we have been constantly talking about race, class, their intersection and the very apparent disparities that exist between the white, upper class and the black working class in Cape Town.  Cape Town, a city fondly referred to as the Mother City by South Africans, is famous for the inequalities that persist and remain and endure almost two full decades after the end of Apartheid (This is a hotly contended, highly controversial statement; with the government and ANC insisting that dramatic and important improvements have been made, while much academic literature shows that income inequality may have actually gotten worse in the past twenty years http://www.yale.edu/macmillan/apartheid/seekingsp2.pdf.)  Don’t worry though I see that mirror, and as a reality check just want to remind of the huge academic achievement gap between whites and blacks, and whites and Hispanics in my home state of Connecticut, it’s easy to point out others short comings and didn’t want us to start thinking to highly of ourselves, we have a ton of work to do as well.

Theresa in search of reasons to be optimistic

Partially coming here, has disheartened, exhausted, disparaged me; the tasks seem insurmountable, the goals seem unattainable, and for the first time in my life my optimism seems naïve and childish.  I have had to do a lot of growing, and reflecting and deep breathing exercises to deal with the harsh realities we face as a human race about the future, about what my future holds.  Then in a Steakhouse in the suburbs of Jo’burg part of my optimism was restored.

Downtown Jo'burg

In class we have talked about how the media’s presentation of this Pan-African, homogenous “country” really does Blacks, Coloureds, Indian, etc a disservice by just showing them in squalid poverty, carrying rifles and Machetes, with malnourished children hanging off their mother’s exposed breasts.  I’ve found that social media and the internet does a lot to sustain this thinking (See KONY 2012) but also works to dispel a lot of the fallacies we hold.  On the internet one day, I found a project called “Middle Classes in Africa” (http://www.classesmoyennes-afrique.org/en/) which combines photojournalism and academic research looking at the growing middle class in Africa. They traveled to five different countries to get a glimpse at what it means, what it looks like, to be a middle class in Africa.

Maybe it is the spaces I spend my time in or the inevitable limitations that exist as being a short term visitor, but in Cape Town I haven’t been able to see or find an apparent middle class or the spaces that they occupy.  Recently a Capetonian shared with me the frustrations that she holds with the government and private sector for building spaces for short-term tourists that are expensive and not accessible to the common public.  She lamented, an entire city built for the rich and tourists, the most desirable city in the world  (as long as you don’t live here). 

When I mentioned this to Marita and some of the other adults I have met on this trip, some replied that my observations held some validity (some also challenged me and said that I was just not seeking out the right places, and that there is a vibrant, middle class- I was thankful to be challenged) and many responded with wait until you get to Jo’burg there you will see a lively, eclectic middle class.   And in Jo’burg, on our first night, in that Steakhouse, I saw it. I saw the middle class space that I haven’t been able to find in Cape Town, I saw black couples and families in those spaces, and I let go of the breathe I had unbeknownstly held the entire time I’ve been here, maybe been holding since I really became aware of the intersection between race and class.  In my town in middle class America, there is almost no presence of black people, so growing up I’d never really gotten to see black middle class.  I’m grateful to have this opportunity to be in Cape Town, along with the opportunity to be surrounded by people who are willing to talk to me about, race, class and gender; because the first step for me, and all of us is recognizing and acknowledging that wealth distribution in both the United States and South Africa, has a pretty clear color divide.  The second is celebrating when spaces, areas are non-homogenous, bringing together many different people.  We need to have a vision for the future; everyone being fabulously wealthy is implausible, and everyone being meagerly poor is inexcusable, so there must be some middle ground, some way for us to co-exist in strength and cooperation, and that might just be in the middle class.

Theresa: Organize or Starve

 The past two days, I have been able to experience Cape Town at it’s finest. On Wednesday, despite concern about the ability to find transport due to strikes, one of my co-educators Meika and I ventured into the city to participate in a march held by Cosatu (The Congress of South African Trade Unions.)  As we ventured down into the train station, we immediately saw marchers and protestors with their signs, shirts, banners and tangible passion and energy. Immediately we were swept into the crowd and joined the ranks of laborers, teachers, nurses, store clerks, textile workers, union leaders, NGO workers and many more who were there to lend their support to the march.  We walked through the city and met up with the larger crowd and found ourselves in the dead front of the march. As we stood and waited for the command to surge onward, the organizers sat on a truck and worked to rally the crowd with protest songs, chants and calls to action.  Meika and I were unable to gauge the amount of people gathered for the march, but reports afterwards say that 13,000 Capetonians and people from the Western Cape joined in the protest, half the amount the organizers were expecting.   The crowd was surrounded by police in riot gear, their arms, chests, and legs covered in shell-like protection with large clear shields and guns in holsters.

            

As we swelled forward, I was overcome with emotion. The people surrounding us were mostly black, mostly ANC supporters, and all just asking to be treated with the respect and dignity that they deserve as human beings.  The struggle is not over, this post-apartheid government is not fulfilling the needs of the people.  Fair wages, decent work, education, reasonably priced transportation, basic health care- the necessities and basics of life, nothing extravagant, nothing excessive.  One of the sentiments expressed on shirts, buttons and hats was- Organize or Starve.  How poignant but an expression. Let us work together, collectively organize ourselves and we can be powerful beyond our wildest imaginations. What cannot be ignored is that the phrase is also wrought with urgency, we have no choice, it is imperative for our survival that we work together, we need to push past whatever differences we may have, whatever dissenting opinions exist, embrace our oneness and understand that if we don’t, we my cease to exist.

            

As a foreigner, as one of the only white faces in the crowd; there were times I felt like an imposter and an outsider.  Who am I to be riled up with passion over living wages, when I spend most of my life living in the lap of luxury.  When I go to an ATM, I could easily and repeatedly pull out the average monthly salary of a person here.  But my guilt, my discomfort do nothing unless I use it as motivation, to feel, to empathize, to use my privileges to make someone else’s existence more comfortable.  As the speeches wrapped up, and we, along with the crowd started to disperse, and everyone began their search for water (we had all been standing in the sweltering midday heat, crowded together for hours).  As we hastily looked through coolers for beverages in a minimart, a man noticed our placards and bodies covered in bumper stickers, and he approached us, “Thank you for joining us comrades.” And  there it was, the affirmation for our attendance, for the presence of everyone there. We are comrades, we are all comrades, working for the same aims of a just, peaceful world.