Rabat Debrief

Salaam! Okay, now that the greeting-in-language-of-your-country is out of the way, let me try to give a rundown of everything that’s been happening (quite a lot) over the course of the past week. Last Friday, I spent about twenty hours traveling in order to airport hop from Fort Lauderdale, to JFK, to Paris, and finally to Rabat. I was the only student from my program on the flight from Fort Lauderdale to JFK, but when I got to the latter I felt sure I recognized someone in the terminal from the facebook group for my program. Being one of the four guys in a group of 35 (and having the added distinction of being pretty cute) he was fairly easy to recognize, but I was shy and wanted to be absolutely sure. Thinking myself pretty brilliant, I took out one of the required readings and pointedly angled the cover in his direction. He took the bait and came over, and thus my first friend was made. More fellow travelers were discovered thereafter. The pattern got pretty obvious… kids with huge internal frame backpacks, knit beanies, and pierced noses are apparently the prototype Human Rights themed study abroad student. And I thought my gold nose ring was so radical and unique -__- So by the time we all finally made it to rabat there was a veritable tribe of us, looking for all the world like the cast of Hair.

Upon arriving to Rabat we checked into a hotel in the colonial part of the city, outside the walls of the Medina Qadima, or Old City. I guess the same laws we have about wheelchair accessibility don’t exist in Morocco, because after having been awake for thirty hours, I was in no mood to lug 70 lbs. of luggage up four flights of stairs. First world problems. The following day we began our orientation at the Center for Cross Cultural Learning, the main building of our school located inside the Medina Qadima. It’s a three story, 19th century house in the Andalusian style, lots of intricate geometric mosaics and arched doorways. After a few days of emergency Darija (the Moroccan dialect of Arabic, for which two years of studying the Modern Standard have prepared me not at all) and question and answers on the local culture, we had enough of a crash-course to be ready to move in with our host families.

On Thursday, the families came to the school to be united with their new sons and daughters. I’m not sure why but I was incredibly nervous as I sat waiting for my “family” to find me. Probably something as simple as hoping I’d like them and wanting them to like me. My “sister” Iman finally found my face out of the crowd. She’s wonderful and so is the rest of the family, but I have to go buy myself a phone now so I can be more connected to everyone. More on the host family and my new digs later! Also, pictures to come.

Let our hearts be led by mercy

SPEAK UP FOR THOSE WHO CANNOT SPEAK FOR THEMSELVES, FOR THE RIGHTS OF ALL WHO ARE DESTITUTE SPEAK UP AND JUDGE FAIRLY, DEFEND THE RIGHTS OF THE POOR AND NEEDY. PROVERBS 31:8-9

The four dilapidated pieces of scraps merged together serves as a home for a family of five. An open, festering room with a few chairs and tables adjacent to a toilet that doesn’t flush serves as the old age home for the disabled and elderly. Under four wooden posts with a tarp cover sits the shoe tailor- his services greatly needed in an area where buying new shoes is not necessarily an option. The supermarket the size of my bedroom, followed by a few outside stalls of fruits and vegetables serves as the local grocery store. The arrangement of shoes hung from the electric wire indicates the location of the deviant shebeen, where heroine is sold and police are bribed with nothing more than $15 to let the dealers off the hook. Despondently enough, next to the shebeen is the elementary school, comprised of colorful painted crosses, pleasant teachers, and most importantly, wholehearted children lingering in an instant ambiance of a hope for their future: A future that may never exceed the boundaries of this South African squatter camp.

A place where poverty and adversity is so dominate made me wonder how people fight against the melancholy of waking up in the mornings for another day of desperate despair. However, as we traveled to the township, Olievenhoutbosch, on a Saturday morning in a car filled with hotdogs, freshly-made desserts, face paints, and eager hearts, my viewpoint was instantly altered by a day filled with the more joy and sincerity than I ever would’ve imagined. The people welcomed us unconditionally, possibly because they knew we had food, but certainly because they were genuinely friendly people. I realized that the true atmosphere of an impoverished place isn’t necessarily the misery that we see in the movies or on charity commercials. Although these people live with next to nothing, they get by. It’s as simple as that: their life goes on. It showed me that maybe the people are content with their circumstances; maybe this unadorned life is all they really need.

As we made out first stop at the elementary school, the elation of the children sparked immediately. We gathered a few children and started to plant a vegetable garden outside of the old age home.

Seeing as how we had more than enough help, I went on a stroll to see if I could gather more children. I started out chatting with a young girl and her three little siblings, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by over 20 children, covetous for my attention. I suggested a dance-off, which was a bad idea on my part because I was quickly outshined by their rhythmic talent, especially the teenage girls!

As we proceeded to the face painting, I tried my best to properly draw Spiderman and Batman and Superman on the precious little faces of the boys, and crowns and watches and necklaces on the girls.

We handed out hotdogs and I noticed the kids shoving their leftovers into plastic bags to take home to their parents.

I could feel the sense of consideration among the siblings, especially as I watched a little boy taking care of his one-year-old baby brother. As it was time to leave, the kids clung to us with eager faces as we promised we would see them again soon.

The group that I accompanied on the trip, from Moreleta Park Church, has made a commitment to the area, promising that they will come back consistently, to detect the most urgent needs among the people. This made me realize that charity is not just visiting somewhere once or twice to observe the conditions and play around for the day. Charity is rather forming influential relationships with the people, praying for them continually, and finding out their deepest desires.

After all, behind the smiling faces of the little children and hospitable nature of the adults is still a deep need for the things that we so easily overlook and fail to really appreciate as we go on with our own intricate lives. I hope that every time I walk into Publix, every time I buy new shoes, and every time think back on my childhood memories, I think about the children of Olievenhoutbosch; the children who may never know of anything better than the minimalism of what their informal settlement has to offer, but the children who are so happy with so much less than what I have. I hope that I turn my trivial expectations into deeper appreciations, and as I return to the materialistic pressures of America, I will surely never forget the impact that this simplistic society had on my life: for THAT, I am truly thankful.

Four Americans Deeply Hungered for Their Native soil

It’s a distressing and unsettled feeling that it’s already May. Where did the month of April go and why does it seem like only a couple weeks ago that I started at the University of Pretoria? April started with a pinnacle endeavor that I had been anticipating from the start. It started with a reunion with my family- my parents and brother came to visit from the States- and continued with our travels throughout the indescribably splendor of our home country. It was a nostalgic journey down memory lane and a trip that we will surely never forget. Each moment felt like I was stuck in a pile of postcards, and stuck was exactly where I wanted to be. It was that feeling where I just want to pause time and hold on to that postcard forever.

The four of us started out trip driving from Gauteng to the Klein Karroo. Combining the eagerness of four South Africans living in America for the past 14 years made the elation of our trip thriving. The difference between driving through South Africa and driving inland through the state of Florida is this: Florida is one straight flat road of monotony, where the highlight is seeing a few cows on the side of the road (if you’re lucky). South Africa is the contrary of repetition. It’s one of those places where you prefer to drive rather than fly, because the scenery is as captivating as that out of a film. We spent our first night in a quaint guest cottage in a small town called De Rust and we spent the next morning exploring the shops and restaurants and mingling with the locals. We later ventured towards Oudtshoorn, where the Klein Karoo National Art Festival was being held. Now, this whole art festival thing was strictly to satisfy my mom’s requests. Because she was once an actress here, she wanted to come see and support the shows of her old college peers. It ended up being an extremely invigorating few days and my mom even ran into a few old friends.

Our next destination was Jongensfontein, where we stayed at my uncle’s beach house, enjoying its blissful location right on the coast. We spent about a week there, embracing the ambiance of paradise.

The easter weekend was particularly special. A highlight of the week was a hike that we took from Stillbaai back to our house on Jongensfontein: 8 miles of perfection. Overall, early morning runs on the coast, good food, great company and sunset drinks on the rocks recaps our week.

Our excursion down memory lane started when we drove through Kleinmond, the place where I spent every Christmas as a little girl. We drove past our family’s old beach house, the park where we used to watch puppet shows, and the lagoon I always swam in. What a blessing it was to recapture my childhood memories that felt like a distant reverie; to bring a collection of faint memories back to an actuality.

As we drove through the coast of the Western Cape, we came across little ports, each one more impressive and picturesque than the last.

When we finally arrived in Cape Town, we were at an all-time high. That first image of Table Mountain felt surreal (It is, in fact, now one of the seven wonders of the world.)

The weather was a bit rainy the first couple of days, but that didn’t stop us from exploring the highlights of Cape Town that we so urgently longed to see again. We drove down the coast and stopped at every place we thought was worthwhile, eating cinnamon-sugar pancakes and drinking wine and eating pasta and drinking cappuccinos and then drinking more wine.

The next day, we drove through the vineyards of the Western Cape. All I can say is that beautiful is an understatement, and a highlight was wine tasting- not only because South African wine is the greatest of all- but also because I’m actually legal to drink in this country.

We ate lunch at Stellenbosch, the university I have always dreamed of attending. A gorgeous place, but it doesn’t beat the charisma and spirited vibe of UF, I must admit. We were deeply entertainment by a little band, consisting of some Michael Jackson classics. While the locals looked deeply irritated by the three entertainers, we couldn’t seem to get enough.

Our trip was concluded with a 15-hour drive back to Pretoria. We were tired, we were hungry and our legs were sore. Yet, after this incredible escapade, we felt more refreshed and alive than ever before.

-Natanya

A Clash of Cultures

When all else fails, culture prevails. At least, that’s what we think. A serious debate in my criminology tutorial hastened the hands on the clock, and before we knew it, the class was over. Yet with the splurge of diverse opinions and emotions, I feel as though I can speak for the class and say that not one person was ready to leave.

The issue of Ukhutwala, forced or arranged marriages with underage girls among certain tribes in Southern Africa, started the debate and it didn’t take long for opinions to stir.

Tensions rose when a few students contested these practices and saw them as unlawful. I’ll admit that I had the same opinion until I saw the fervor in many students’ eyes when they claimed that there’s a specific reason for each ceremonial ritual and it’s not for the sake of brutality, as many people view it today.

“If you take away part of our culture, you must take away our whole culture,” said Phillip Shekto, first-year criminology student.

“Culture is going to become an excuse for everything,” said Charlene Van der Merwe. “As different aspects of our modern world changes, unethical rituals must also change.”

One of the points presented was that the young girls are so accustomed to these cultural practices, that they don’t know any better, and that what might seem as cruel to us, is preferred and anticipated by them.

However, her argument was strongly refuted by another student who said that the fact that the girls don’t know any better makes the entire idea increasingly worse; there are so many more opportunities out there for them, if they were only given their deserved rights.

We came to the conclusion that there’s a very fine line between the traditions of a culture and the morals and ethics of modern society. The question is where to draw the line. Although some practices are meant for the past and will not necessarily fit in to today’s modern society, it’s essential to first depict the meaning and significance of them. Cultural practices are what makes this country’s background and history unique and therefore should never be overlooked.

In my anthropology class, one my classmates, who is a part of the Xhosa tribe, described one of their rituals where they are taken as young men into the mountains and circumcised to represent maturation and finally “becoming a man.”

Additionally, there’s an albino in our class who shared that albinos are degraded and looked down upon in many groups, and they have become very violent towards albinos in the past. She shares her experience of entering certain towns in Africa and literally feeling afraid for her life.

Never before have I sat in one room where so many backgrounds and languages have come together and where students have felt so passionate to stand up for what they believed in, even if they had to stand alone. South Africa has 11 official languages, including English and Afrikaans, the two main languages. The other tribal languages, including Zulu, Sotho, Xhosa, Ndebele, Tswana ect. each with their own traditions and rituals, are what make the diversity of the country so intriguing.

This debate has undoubtedly been the highlight of my time spent at The University of Pretoria so far. I’ve learned the most from talking with my peers about their distinct backgrounds. I must say, this experience has helped me to be more open-minded and sensitive towards other cultures. Although in the U.S. we may sit and learn through textbooks about the same situations, not many of my peers can say that they experienced a clash of cultures firsthand, and for this I feel truly privileged.

From Foreign to Familiar

First of all, I would like to apologize that I’ve been so scarce. We had our first set of exams the past couple of weeks, and I studied extra hard, just because I really didn’t know what to expect. A new country, new people and a new university probably means new ways of testing.

Anyways, I have a lot to say about my new lifestyle as a University of Pretoria or “Tuks” student. So, bare with me.

I think the most gratifying part about studying at The University of Pretoria is that both of my parents, my brother, and most of my relatives, including my grandparents, all studied there too. It’s not only a connection between my family, but also a bond that ignites a sense of school pride.

When I first registered for my classes at the international students office, I remember sitting there in awe, speechless and dumbfounded at the fact that this whole thing actually worked out. I remember last semester at UF, it was an endless struggle to plan my trip. Because I am on an independent, direct enrollment program, it was complicated and stressful to find equivalent classes in Pretoria, get my hands on every syllabus, summary and textbook used in the class and get each class approved through UF. Some days, I thought this whole idea was downright impossible. Other days, however, when I received an e-mail that another class got approved, more hope and enthusiasm began to elevate.

It taught me that if you really want something, fight for it, because the struggle makes you so much more appreciative.

It taught me that the purpose of life’s little complications are to build up your persistence and faith.

It taught me that God knows your heart’s desires, and he will make the impossible, possible.

So, from football to rugby, hot dogs to boerewors broodjies and from Yankee accents to numerous languages that I can’t even pronounce, my experience at The University of Pretoria thus far has undoubtedly been an interesting one.

For the first couple of weeks, I was that strange new girl who sat on the bench and people-watched between classes, missing my friends and the familiarity of UF. I guess you could have compared me to Cady from Mean Girls on her first day, but at least I didn’t eat lunch in a toilet stall, now that would’ve been crossing the line.

However, starting over in an unfamiliar place actually has a lot of perks to it. Because I knew no one, I was basically forced to make friends. My first few classes were intimidating, but I just sat next to someone random and started chatting with them. The minute they heard my American accent, the questions sparked. I must say, it’s a great conversation starter.

As the weeks went on, I started to make more friends and feel more comfortable at my new college. Some days, I even forget that I’m an international student, because I’ve started to feel so at home.

It’s amusing to hear others’ opinions about America. In one of my first classes, my social work professor said that Americans think they are the first and best at everything. Little did she know, there was a semi-American sitting in her class. When one girl heard I’m from America, she expressed her irritation at the materialistic girls who wear lipstick and heels to school. Clearly she watches too many movies.

When I came across another American girl, I wanted to disappear in my seat when she made a fool out of herself in front of out entire criminology class and stated that she thinks that the area is so dangerous that she has people protecting her everywhere she goes. I’ll admit that it was quite humorous when the rest of the class started shouting at her and demanding that she go back to her homeland. I hope they don’t generalize her idiocy to the rest of Americans.

There are many characteristics about The University of Pretoria that are similar to UF, yet the chill vibe at “Tuks” is unexplainable. For example, everyone sits on the grass between classes and relaxes. It’s different to the hectic atmosphere at UF, where the students always seems to be on such a mission, always on the go to get their next location.

There’s even a DJ on campus every now and then who does promotion work for a local club in the area. I really couldn’t contain my excitement when I heard Deadmau5 as I was walking to my next class.

Seeing people smoking hookah on the grass and watching people grab a drink between classes at “Oom Gerts,” a bar right in the middle of campus, is not something I would see every day at the University of Florida. I’m not going to lie and say that I haven’t been taking advantage of the 18 drinking age in this country. I mean, the whole study abroad experience requires us to follow the laws of the country, doesn’t it?!

Overall, I’ve come to the conclusion that across oceans and hemispheres, the student life of any country is thrilling and unpredictable. So embrace it, treasure it and take advantage of every moment.

-Natanya

Broken Hearts but Brighter Dreams

Happiness doesn’t come from having the best of everything; it comes from making the best of everything.

“Hello, Ma’am, I’m in a very good mood today,” said Shanny Choma to my aunt as she excitedly rolled the wheels of her wheelchair into the room with a giant grin on her face. I’m not sure what sparked the elation in Shanny’s mood today, but it was evident that it was here to stay.

Spending the day at Pretoria School, a school for mentally and physically disabled impoverished children left me with a feeling of twisted emotions. Although it was distressing to see the impaired children in wheelchairs, it was even more enlightening to see the joy and content in their eyes. It was reassuring to see how kids with so little can look like they have so much.

The students thought it was absolutely unreal that I came from America, and they wanted to know everything about it. “Oh ma’am, will you please pack me in your suitcase and take me back with you,” said Elda Radeba, 15, excitedly. “I want to go to America! I want to meet Nicki Minaj!”

I realized that their overall perception of America is that it is one huge paradise filled with nothing but fame and fortune. The first question that they all asked me is which celebrities I’ve seen, and I must say, they weren’t very impressed with my answer. It seemed like out of all the celebrities, they didn’t have enough to say about Nicki Minaj.

I chatted with Elda as she worked on her Valentine’s Day art project. She said that she’s now in 8th grade, but doesn’t want to go on to the Building Tomorrow Program. Because many of the students are not mentally able to continue with a further education, the program teaches them specific skills and then places them in a certain job, such as a domestic worker or shopkeeper. The program gets them acclimated with a work environment and they then determine where the child will succeed and be comfortable. “I’m not ready to start working ma’am,” said Elda. “I want to stay in school and keep studying.” Because their brains function slower and they are behind intellectually, their best option is the Building Tomorrow Program. It’s evident that it’s not very easy for them to let go of their dreams of being doctors, lawyers and musicians.

I also had a long conversation with Celine Mouton, an 8th grader in a wheelchair who started to open up to me about her life and the struggles that she is facing. It seems like she’s had a yearning to share her thoughts with someone, and I came at just the right time.

She said that when she looks in the mirror, she doesn’t like what she sees.
She told me that she just wants to go to the movies and to a party like other kids her age.

She told me that she prays to God and asks him to help her, but doesn’t know why he doesn’t answer her prayers.

I told her that the happiest girls aren’t the prettiest girls.
I told her that just because things aren’t happening the way she wants now, doesn’t mean that they never will.
I told her that her faith should be bigger than her fears.

I later found out that Celine’s real mother passed away and she now lives with her stepmother, who she doesn’t exactly get along with. I later found out that they gave Celine the opportunity to make a wish list for Christmas with her biggest desires. It
broke my heart when the teacher told me that the first thing on her list was feminine products.

Celine told me that her parents don’t let her do anything she wants. I later found out that the reason why her parents are probably so strict is because the rate of rape is so high in the townships where she lives, that they barely let her leave the house, unless it’s for school.

Sexual violence in the townships and squatter camps of South Africa has increasingly become a major problem. According to South Africa’s Medical Research Council, only 1in 9 rape cases are actually reported to the police. Hundreds of thousands of women and children are misused and abused each day and the rape problem is highly influential in the AIDS pandemic that is sweeping the nation.

I pray for little Celine, that one day she will have the same opportunities as other teenage girls her age. I pray that God will give her the desires of her heart, and that she will never lose that joyful smile of hers.

Why is it that we, in America, complain about the simplest things in life, when there are children like Celine and Elda who would do anything to be in our position? It’s truly life changing to meet and spend time with these children; to see how the painful troubles that they face doesn’t hinder their happiness, but instead makes it so influential.

Their world is so simple and small, but the lessons they teach us are intricate and unending. Pretoria School has undoubtedly given me a whole new perspective on life.

I wish there was some way that I could contact Nicki Minaj right now and tell her that her biggest fans would do anything to meet her and hear her sing; that it would literally be the best day of their lives.

Not Just for the Money

After an extensive yet incredible vacation, everyone started to get into their daily work routines. It was then that reality hit: living here will surely not be the same as vacationing here. Because classes have yet to begin, I decided to get myself a job in the meantime. After coincidentally eating at a restaurant called Tribeca Standard one afternoon, I not only walked out that day with a delicious lunch behind me, but also with a new waitressing job. The training for the next few days consisted of memorizing all the ingredients of each meal, learning all the regulations and procedures of the restaurant, and getting comfortable with serving food and drinks.

I was incredibly nervous when I first started. I remember my first few tables would look at me as if I was completely insane when my hand couldn’t stop shaking as I served their coffee. I don’t know what sparked my nerves so intensely but luckily my Parkinson’s tendencies have rubbed off! The biggest difference to me is how long I work for such a small amount of dollars, which is due to the fact that the gratuity requirement here is only 10%. On an average day, I make about R300 after working from 6:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. This is equal to about $38.00, which ends up being $3.75 an hour. At first thought, I decided I was wasting my time. Yet, after getting into a regular lifestyle here in South Africa, I realized that I can do a lot more here with R300 than I can with $38.00 in America. Everything is so much less expensive here, especially the food. When I go out to lunch here, I pay about $5.00 for a meal that I would pay about $12.00 for in the States. Therefore, I’m becoming more and more thankful that I can earn that cash each day for extra spending money.

It’s been quite an interesting experience getting to know all my co-workers. They all have such diverse backgrounds and it amazes me how so many different ethnicities and backgrounds can come together under one roof. Because South Africa has 11 different languages, including English and Afrikaans, you can find someone who speaks Sotho, Zulu, Tswana, Ndebele, you name it. Kyria, the bartender is from Congo and can speak French while Mitchelle, one of the waitresses, is from Zimbabwe and speaks Portuguese. At the beginning, there were many times when I felt out of place, especially when everyone would speak their native language to each other, and I couldn’t understand a word. It was the first time in my life that I felt in the minority. I remember they would all talk and look at me, wondering who this new white girl was with the strange accent. However, over the last few weeks, I’ve really gotten to know and love the waitresses and to me, the opportunity to hear their stories every day is much more valuable than making money.

The first few days, I got frustrated with the competitive atmosphere that would erupt when each waitress would quickly approach the customers to lead them to their specific section. There were even a few verbal fights when one waitress stole the other’s table. Yet after really getting to know most of the waiters, I realized that these few tips is what they need to survive every day that they have to jump at each chance to get extra money, even if they have to fight for it.

My favorite part about the job is when people hear my American accent and want to know everything about the United States. Their first question is usually, “Why would you move from America to here?!” I even got into a political debate one day with one of the customers about Obama. People are dumbfounded at the fact that I’ve lived in the States for the past 14 years and can still speak Afrikaans. That’s when I feel grateful that my parents pushed me to continue speaking Afrikaans, when they told me it’s in my blood, and although our residence changed, our heritage didn’t.

Although some days are long and frustrating, this job is one of those unexpected experiences that I’m sure happened for a reason.

A More Modern Mechanism: The Gautrain

In comparison to the urban areas and small towns of South Africa, the cities in U.S are generally a lot more clean and composed. For example:
Only in Africa will you see little kids running around barefoot in the grocery stores. I’ve noticed that “No shoes, no shirt, no service” doesn’t exactly apply here.
Only in Africa will you see someone using little babies to beg for money at traffic lights. I’ve never seen so many homeless people in my whole life as I have in the past few weeks.

However, when it comes to the newly developed and increasingly popular Gautrain, South Africa takes the gold metal. While the subways of Chicago and NYC are filthy and can at times be unsafe, the Gautrain upholds an incredibly classy atmosphere, both inside the train and at the stations.

It may be because it’s so new, yet the staff is also incredibly strict when it comes to food and drinks, to ensure that the trains remain high class and refined. Fines are even imposed when someone is caught chewing gum, which my aunt and I experienced firsthand.

Originally built to accommodate the tourists during the World Cup in 2010, the Gautrain extends about 50 miles and is an efficient source of transportation for thousands of people commuting between Pretoria and Johannesburg in the Gauteng Province of South Africa.

About 28,000 people use the system daily. The train provides information on the inside screens in Tswana, Zulu, Afrikaans and English and the ride bestows a scenic view of the two cities. The system provides multiple services, including a reliable bus service, park and ride facilities, car rentals and a retail kiosk at each station.

We boarded the Gautrain early in the morning on our way to Sandton City, located in Johannesburg. Upon arrival, we walked through the Nelson Mandela Square, which was built in honor of Mandela’s endless achievements.

The square contains a sophisticated selection of restaurants and borders a refined shopping mall. With its European style, the square uses the popularity of a modern shopping and dining area to highlight the vibrant heritage, culture and history of South Africa.

The main feature of the square is the massive statue of Nelson Mandela that is planted at the entrance of the shopping mall. Nelson Mandela will forever be considered a legendary hero, not only to the people of South Africa, but also to the rest of the world and he deserves nothing less than an area that is designated to honor his courageous and determined character.

Overall, we were enthralled by our adventure on the Gautrain and our experience in Sandton City. The Gautrain is a prominent mark of achievement for South Africa and continues to make transportation among the chaotic roads of Pretoria and Johannesburg much more convenient.

 

Sarah: Spring 2012 in Ghana – Hair

Yesterday, I shaved all of my hair off. Here is that story.

I want you to honestly believe me when I say that for the last few months I’ve toyed with the idea of shaving my hair. This was partly a “carpe diem” moment, but also one about which I talked a big game. I did it. The weather in Ghana is more or less 90 degrees Fahrenheit, and I don’t need to explain to you all about Florida summers. We’re lucky if we’re wearing pants come November. So as part of the longest summer of my life, I had to do what could easily be the one time in my life I take a buzzer to my scalp.

My hair was a good few inches down my chest, and finally at the length where I could braid it nicely. Yet, with all of the walking, sweating and general dirtiness that I dealt with, I never felt like I looked good here. I called up my friend from Idaho that I met here, and he went with me to the nearest barbershop. Coming out of campus, there’s a traffic light, but the main road keeps going into East Legon if you go straight through the intersection. Without even walking a block, I approached “Chill Barber Shop” with a faded poster of Ludacris. This was the place. I walked in, and two men were just sitting on their chairs watching dubbed Bollywood soap operas. I said I wanted to shave my head. One guy explained that the barber was out buying stuff, but he’d call me within the hour, so I left my number and we ventured off.

Walking around East Legon in the daytime was nice. I bought a “hanky” for the sweat, since everyone around here has one. That was a good 50 pesewas spent. I woman was selling bras on the side of the road, bootleg dvds, you name it, you could find it there. I got a fruit cocktail drink to get out of the heat for a little bit, but then just as promised, I got the call “This is the barber. You have to come now.”

This was definitely the experience of a lifetime. I swear the barber looked exactly like a smaller (less buff) version of Lafayette on True Blood. His name is Enoch, and he has nicer nails that I’ll ever have, but that’s beside the point. He first tried to take the buzzer to my head, then tried just hacking away at my ponytail. Neither of which really worked. Eventually he figured out a technique, all while the same Bollywood soap was playing the background. A few people stopped and stared, and I’m pretty sure that they didn’t know I was a woman because I had the cover up over my clothes. Oh well, that wasn’t the only time I was mistaken for a man yesterday. I’m glad Idaho went with me though – at least for moral support. We weren’t really doing much yesterday anyway.

Enoch was really careful, almost to the point that I’m pretty sure that the number of times he’s cut a white man’s hair could fit on his fingers. I asked for a mohawk, and he was a little confused, but I said “just like yours,” and I think he got the message. It turned out great, and I can feel the wind on my head. It’s amazing. I actually put on a jacket when I woke up this morning. The only real shame is that I bought some shampoo before I decided I’d actually go through with it, but that was only 5 cedi.

I asked him how much I owed him, and he said 4 cedi (2-3 dollars). I laughed and gave him 5. Everyone says that he probably sold my hair afterwards, but I don’t mind. Perhaps I should have donated it, but it’s too late now. When I went to the mall, the pharmacist jokingly asked why I didn’t give it to her. I’m pretty sure that the African girls are pretty confused about why I’d chop it all off, but I have my reasons.

I’ve gotten a range of reactions, from a woman in the bathroom at the mall asking if I was a lady, to my fellow obruni saying that he’s proud of me. A lot of girls said that they wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but honestly, I’m sure they could if they really wanted to try.

I’ll take a proper picture soon!

One Too Many Resolutions

The new year calls for many new adaptations. Starting 2012 in South Africa is a dream that I never thought would actually come true. However, New Years Eve left me with mixed emotions; a mixture of excitement, curiosity, apprehension, and wonder. It was strange not being with my parents and best friends on New Years, like every other year. I felt uneasy not knowing exactly what the new year will bring; who I will meet and spend my time with, what my university will be like, and how I will adjust to a whole new lifestyle and country.

Yet, I strongly believe that the moment you step out of your comfort zone is when you truly start to live; that life begins when you reach the end of familiarity and ease and take on a novel situation, something completely different.

The whole picture in my head of studying abroad didn’t completely involve all the tiny adjustments that I would have to make. When you mix all the tiny adjustments into a daily routine, it turns into one major adaption.

Starting with the currency, everything here is calculated in rands. Currently, the rate of exchange is about R8 for $1.00. Every time I go shopping, I need to divide every price by 8 to decide whether it’s worth buying. For example, it felt strange paying R160 for a shirt, yet I had to keep convincing myself, it is only $20.00.

Now for the metric system, that’s a WHOLE new story. I’m starting to wonder why America has to be the one country that works opposite of the rest of the world. I must say, it was quite disappointing when my excitement of seeing a 60 when I got on the scale was crushed by the fact that the scale was in kilograms, not pounds. I was also shocked when I looked at the speedometer of the car and saw 120, until I realized it’s in kilometers per hour, not miles.

I would say that the biggest adjustment that I need to get accustomed to is driving on the left side of the road, while sitting in the right side of the car. Whenever I came to visit South Africa in previous years, I basically just went along for the ride. However, I’m going to have to learn how to drive before my classes start, because I’m not exactly living in an apartment that’s 5-minutes walking distance like at UF. My first driving lesson with my uncle involved a huge white crash helmet and a whole lot of nerves. It didn’t go as bad as I thought, I just keep repeating in my head: left left left left left left left, until I stayed so far to the left that the pedestrians were almost in danger.

The best part of these novel circumstances is that I am finally among Afrikaans people and can speak in my native language. It’s quite a heartening feeling to be surrounded by people who share the same culture, a culture that I’ve thoroughly missed throughout all the years in the United States. I must say, my Afrikaans has improved a great deal since I’ve been here, seeing as how I’ve been speaking it nonstop for the past 6 weeks. In America, my family and I are always so thrilled when we meet someone who speaks Afrikaans, just because it’s develops a connection that no one else can really fathom. I’m sure it’s the same way with people of other cultures in this world. My point is, that same feeling of elation when I can speak Afrikaans with someone in America is everlasting here in South Africa.

It’s just one of those feelings too intriguing to explain.