back to reality

Well, I've been back for a little over a month, and I must say adjusting back to life in the United States was just as difficult, if not more so, than I thought it would be. It has been especially hard sometimes because I am one of the few who did not study abroad at Loyola University's Rome Center. I don't have the same pictures, professors, funny stories.....I only share a bit of my experience with a few people. And even so, there were so many things I did on my own, like be the only American exchange student at the college of music, participate in musical therapy with burn victims, TB and HIV/AIDS orphans, spend a significant amount of time with my families in the black township of Langa, travel different countries and see more of Africa...

It's always difficult coming back and not knowing what to say to people, what is too much and what is not enough. Trying to figure out what people actually what to hear about: walking with lions in Zimbabwe or the huge meals my host mama used to force me to eat (every last bite).

The dreams are weird. I dream that I'm still in SA and have to go to USA for the weekend and then go back to SA. Then of course I wake up and realize I'm home, and on the other side of the world of my former home. My family. My friends. The kids I taught, the kids I treated. Seeing the hospital and orphanage, walking in that first time I remember perfectly just how gut-wrenching it felt to see so many sick children. Now I feel sick all the time wondering what happened, or what will happen to those kids.

Sometimes I feel like the last six months were a dream: because I find it so difficult to talk to people about my experience. So I don't, for the most part. I think that's pretty normal, though. So what's next? Well, I continue to work at my job, finish out school, and then....I don't know. But all the while, fight like hell to try and figure out a way to get back there.

leaving so soon

I cannot believe that I will be in the U.S. in just a few days. It is scary and sad and exciting all at the same time. Out of everyone, there are only three of us left. I am the next one to leave on Saturday. When all of us were leaving, so many people were crying. I cried a little, but I was more weirded out than I was sad. Cape Town has become my new home, the people I have formed relationships with: I consider family, and close friends.

Being in the College of Music completely separated by everyone else in the program, I have become extremely close to so many South African and other African students. I have said my goodbyes to most of them already, which has been really hard because unlike the other Americans I have met, I can't just pick up and visit them for a weekend. The reality is that even though I am keeping in contact, I won't see many of these people again. I'm sure that will really hit me once I am home.

My friends. My family in Langa. The kids with whom I work. The patients I see. The professors from whom I've learned so much. All these people who have shaped my experience here, and myself as a young adult, I am leaving behind.

It is true what people tell you about studying abroad: "You'll come back a totally different person...it really changes you and the way you see the world." Having so many of my friends travel before me, I sort of blew this off, but it is true, really. Especially studying in a place like South Africa, living in Cape Town, staying in the townships, visiting other regions and traveling to other African countries.....it's unbelievably true. I can only speak for myself and my experience but I have learned a lot about the world, the United States, other cultures, African countries, poverty, bureaucracy, HIV/AIDS, crime, beauty, appreciation for everything I have, etc. I could go on, but I think you get an idea.

Time and time again I've been asked by South Africans, "Why did you come to South Africa? Why didn't you go to Europe?" People are always puzzled and interested by my choice. For me there are so many reasons: wanting some place new, always aspiring to travel Africa, volunteering, adventure, somewhere outside of my comfort zone..a chance to miss the Chicago February.

I think traveling is one of the best things any human can do for him or herself. You get the opportunity to apply what you've learned while also educating yourself. I'd encourage anyone who reads this to travel as much as you can. Explore the parts of the earth outside the western world. Embrace and be respectful of new cultures while appreciating what and who is at home waiting for your arrival.

musical therapy with kids

So I have been here for six months and swear I have done more than take jump out of planes and dangle over cliffs and waterfalls...For some time now I have been working with British jazz pianist turned musical therapist, Chris Wildman, at the Red Cross Children's Hospital and Brooklyn Chest TB Hospital. I'll describe each place...

At the Red Cross Children's Hospital I work in the burn victim intensive care unit. These kids have been badly burned in accidents, experiencing horrific traumas. These kids spend all day stuck in the hospital with very few visitors. They see the doctors and nurses as agents of pain and suffering, so when musical therapists engage with the kids and the doctors and nurses, the kids see that they are on our side...especially when they laugh and play with us.

I also work at the Brooklyn Chest TB Hospital, the only TB hospital in the Western Cape. Chris prepared me for my experiences here as best as he could, but the first time I walked in Ward B, I felt like there was a 500 lb weight on my chest. I literally felt physically ill when I walked in. The place looks like a compound or prison of some sort, different wards for adults, children, very sick, etc. The rooms are lined with beds and the adult wards have some people that are there, literally waiting to die. It is the most depressing place I have ever been to. The kids I work with there are in two groups: 4-7 years old or so and babies/toddlers.

The whole focus of musical therapy is empowerment. We don't play music for the kids and let them watch, rather we engage with them, bringing all sorts of instruments. Sometime they'll play the guitar (open-tuned) or the tambourine, blocks, or marimba. We work individually and also in small groups, encouraging the kids to lead one another in group. Most of the kids have never had the opportunity to be leaders, so they enjoy this a lot. We also aim to build their confidence through musical expression. With the 4-7 years old group, we also dance around and do (limited) physical activity, though some are so sick they can only watch.

When we work with the babies, we sing and play guitar, and by singing I mean making primitive noises like "goo goo," "ga ga," "la la," "lee lee," etc. and we watch to see what reactions we can get from them. Remember it is all about empowering and engaging. A lot of the kids are orphans and some are HIV positive, so they have abandonment issues. It is important not to get attached to them, pick them up and hold them, because they long for mother figures.

I made this mistake only once in the baby/toddler ward. We are only supposed to pick them up if they are screaming/crying. Otherwise we sit next to them and rub their backs. I picked up this one little boy and I swear, every time I tried to put him down, he would scream and grip me so tightly. Another boy even called me "mommy" once, which is a completely terrifying word when referring to me.

It is tough work and extremely depressing but I also obtain joy when working at these places. It also breaks my heart and sometimes keeps me up at night as I wonder what the kids do when we are not there...

zimbabwe/zambia

I'm back from experiencing my first natural wonder of the world: Victoria Falls. my computer is officially broken until i get back to the United States, so I can't include any pictures or videos. Once again, my attempt at story telling won't do justice to this trip so here's a brief overview of what we did.

Once we flew into Zimbabwe we went straight to the border into Zambia to settle in. It was nearly 3pm so we thought we'd hop on the sunset booze cruise on the Zambezi river. We met people from all over the world, brought to this part of Central Africa by the urge to volunteer and search for adventure. We saw hippos and crocodiles and giraffes and all sorts of animals as we sailed cruised. Afterward we sat around a bonfire at the riverbank and where there was a bar awaiting us. The next morning we went to the falls with two of our new friends who were traveling the world. We hiked all around, getting completely drenched...it was incredible, how enormous the waterfall is. We hiked down to the boiling pot, the biggest whirlpool in the world, which was also incredible. Later in the afternoon we took a helicopter tour to see the falls from above, the way something with such immensity should be seen. It's a shame I can't post my pictures...google image?

The next day Katie went to Botswana for safari, Caroline went white water rafting on the Zambezi and I walked with lions in the morning and did an elephant-back safari in the afternoon. In the morning I learned how Africa has had a 90% population decrease since the late 70s, and wildlife refuges raise cubs, then release them into the wild. So these lions we walked with were not drugged, like some tourist companies do for people to walk with them. They were really cute and I got to walk and hold their tails, pet them, etc. We also were lucky to see one of the lions stalk its prey. After that, I laid out by the pool before leaving for safari. Because everyone else in the group came as a couple, spanish traveler, Juan, and I were paired on elephant. We rode through the bush and spotted several animals, stopped by the Zambezi river to drink, etc. Was a great safari.

Later that night we hung out with all the river and safari guides from all over, because our hostel bar is the hangout. I went out with them to a couple of local bars which was quite the experience. It was strange and exciting and local and - ah. It was cool to be the only American there. The next day we left to abseil down the gorge, then we did the flying fox over the gorge...which is basically like wearing a harnest (sp?) and run toward the cliff. You jump off like a diving board and fly across the gorge via zip line, hands free. After this we did the gorge swing which is comparable to bungee jumping, but no bungee once you've reached the end of your fall, you are caught in a swing. I did this once stepping forward off the cliff and once rolling backward off the cliff.

We then crossed the border back into Zimbabwe and went straight to the hostel where there were dogs, pigs, cats, warthogs, roaming freely. Lots of elephant poop at the gas station so guess we just missed another herd. We went to the market and traded old clothes, pens, lotions, the shirt off my back, the bag from my shoulder, etc. with the village people for wooden bowls, statues, necklaces, etc. That evening I participated in another drum circle around a campfire with some local Zimbabwean musicians. This was, of course, like everything on this trip, incredible. I know I'm not being descriptive, but I'll just be using the same words over and over again...

That night Caroline and I went out to a concert for the local people at a school field which featured local Zim musicians. I would guess a few thousand people were there. During the second act, the power went out, so people were dancing and chanting and singing. The Zim guys are some CRAZY dancers...anyway, then one of the guys we were with grabbed a guitar from stage and started playing Bob Marley's Redemption Song. We all held each other and sang in the dark. This was one of those moments where I wish I had magical glasses that everyone I love could see what I'm doing.

The next  morning we went to the falls from the Zimbabwe side....which was a way better view than from Zambia. We hiked around again and took some pictures for the parents...yatta yatta. The COMESA conference of 19 African countries was taking place in Vic Falls and at the airport we ended up seeing the Presidents/Prime Ministers from several countries like Sudan, Swaziland (king), Kenya. Sure we saw them, but had no idea who was who. It was still pretty cool though, having them on the other side of the glass while we watched them walk the red carpet to their big jets, delaying our flight. 

I met the most outgoing, brilliant and fun people in Zambia and Zimbabwe and have already been in contact with them. I really hope to get back some day to volunteer and spend a lot of time there. I definitely recommend traveling to Vic Falls if you ever get the chance....

rest in peace

I haven't written for a while for two reasons: final exams and performances AND my computer crashed...so it is in some warehouse being repaired, hopefully. This same thing happened to my laptop exactly two years ago during finals week...weird.

SO last Thursday like every other one before it, I went to Makhulu's aftercare in Langa (black township) to help the kids with homework and teach music. When I arrived there was a large tent pitched in the front yard...I assumed we were doing something nice for the kids but then VooVoo came outside with a distressed look on her face. "I'm so sorry, we forgot to call you! There is no aftercare today...Makhulu's son died."

Okay, I thought. I had just watched my ride drive away, not to return for a few hours. She took me to the garage where members of Makhulu's family were preparing hot cakes and coffee. I passed by the house and peeked through the window and saw the living room was full of family and friends, singing beautiful hymns. I felt terribly awkward in my adidas pants and tennis shoes but walked in the garage and introduced myself to her family. Apparently they heard all about me from Makhulu and the work I do for her, and said I was part of their family and even gave me a xhosa name: Thembisa, meaning "promise."

After a while of helping out, VooVoo said "Makhulu wants to see you." I was nervous and had no idea what to say to this woman who just lost her only son in a terrible accident. When I walked in the house, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at this strange white girl who stumbled in the door. I sat on the cough with Makhulu and held her hand as she detailed what happened to Xolilo in Johannesburg. She offered me life advice and introduced me to the rest of her family in the room, including his wife. Talk about not knowing what to say. Anyway, he was killed in a car accident the Friday before, and they explained to me that in their culture, the mourning of a loved one lasts about ten days. I stayed the rest of the evening talking with everyone about the family, Xhosa culture, etc.

Makhulu's nephew, Mluleki, picked me up at my apartment on Saturday afternoon for the memorial service at their 7th Day Adventist Church. We went from her home, to the Church, to the mortuary, back home. I felt like I was part of the family as everyone was glad to see me: "Come baby, come here with us." "Why do you stay in Langa? You want to make a difference in our community? Will you help the people in this community?" "We love you Nicki," and "Thembisa! Baby Thembisa! Come meet more family.." When we arrived at the Church, there was a group of kids outside playing...they looked at me strangely, like everyone else did who hadn't met me yet. Luckily the only things they said to me in Xhosa I knew exactly how to respond. This excited and puzzled them and they laughed so hard at me. "It's a WHITE SISSY!!" They shouted, still roaring with laughter. I went into the Church, which was filled with about 300 people, me sticking out like a lump on a log..is that the saying?

All in all the evening lasted about five and a half hours and I wish I had hours to write about all of the speeches, music, happenings, but I can't. No matter what I try to write it just won't do the experience justice. I can tell you that I sang Xhosa songs, listened to pastors preach in English and Xhosa, heard the MOST beautiful Choir, cried a little, ate delicious food, met incredible people, and became part of a large family here. Xolilo was buried on Sunday, the final day of the 10 day mourning period. I can't imagine what it would be like to bury my child...and let me reiterate if I've never said this before, black South Africans, I feel, are among the most resilient and admirable people I have ever been blessed to meet.

That's all for now, I leave Thursday morning for Zimbabwe and Zambia but will try to update once more before then. I really hope I get my computer back soon so I can add more pictures...

Until then.

Musica, Musica, MUSICA!

In April I spent many days and nights locked away in practice rooms preparing for performances. On May 5, I had a concert in the Baxter Theatre. It was my first time being on stage in a real concert hall since my high school graduation, and this was a different feeling from then. I always get nervous, but that night the color of my face matched that of the curtains. The brass section opened the concert with a fanfare, which we received 4 days before the concert. With the bright lights beaming down on me, I managed to find 23 of my American friends in the, audience, smiling and taking photos, just like proud parents at a Christmas pageant. 

This put me at ease, and also made me giggle throughout the entire performance. When I get nervous, I giggle uncontrollably, and this made my already rosy cheeks even more rich with color. The performance lasted two hours; afterward I was greeted by my friends and I thanked them for coming: I haven’t had so many friends come to a performance since my jazz concerts in high school. It felt really great to share with them what I’ve been away doing all semester. After the performance, the college of music held a party with an open bar back at school. I shared conversation with my professors and peers over cocktails in the halls we walk each day. Though it was a great night, I had to concentrate on my solo performance, which will be judged, coming up in June. Back to work, I suppose. When I’m not in the practice rooms I can be found nerding it up in the music library, either obsessing over my most recent find in the CD collection or working on my senior thesis for my music degree. I have finished a first draft of my paper on the music of apartheid, which my African music professor is looking over. He is setting me up to interview several musicians who were exiled by the government during apartheid.

 I can’t wait to share my findings with everyone when I return to the states. I have been given so many opportunities and resources in South Africa to explore music in a number of ways I have never before been able to, and I’ve made sure to take advantage of all of them. I’ve been able to develop as a musician, scholar and young adult by studying, practicing, performing, and volunteering. I’ll be writing soon about my musical therapy work with children who have been severely burned, orphaned, and those who are suffering from HIV/AIDS. I also teach music to children in Langa, the township where my host family stays, and I have one private adult student, so I'm keeping quite busy! Though I’m quite certain a blog entry cannot begin to do these experiences the smallest degree of justice, I’ll attempt to put it to words in my next entry. 

P.S. I’ve gotten several emails from those of you who desire to comment on my posts: I think I fixed the problem now. So give it a go if you so choose…

Electioneering and Wine Country

Hey! While the American media was following the life and times of Miss California, South Africa held a presidential election. This historical presidential election was quite different than the one I took part in last November, but very interesting nonetheless. It’s interesting, I say, to study the multiparty system, and in South Africa, one votes for the party and not the candidate. There are 9 provinces in SA, so one votes both provincially and presidentially. Jacob Zuma and the ANC won with over 2/3 majority, meaning he can do basically whatever he wants. The ANC is Mandela’s party that liberated the people from  apartheid. Within the ANC, there are two major tribes: Xhosa (Mandela) and Zulu (Zuma). I’ll keep my political views out of this, but I’ll say I hope Zuma fulfills his promises to the people who elected him. Another thing I’ll say is I am shocked at the poor voter turnout. I thought the U.S. turnout was bad enough, but voting day is a public holiday in SA. I’ll never understand why people living in democratic countries don’t vote…

Now to something totally different. If you didn’t know, South Africa’s wine country rivals those in Europe. Stellenbosch offers tourists excellent wine tasting, and wine tours are popular among study abroad students, so I hopped on the bandwagon with my friends and spent the weekend there. The weather was perfect and the weekend was relaxing , but I realized I know absolutely nothing about wine. We toured four vineyards and tasted an array of wine and cheeses. To someone like me all the reds taste the same, all the whites taste the same, and I can never remember the name or taste of a wine I consumed five minutes earlier. Throughout the day we had the opportunity to taste about 40 wines, but I probably capped at about 8. I felt goofy swirling the wines and discussing the fig, berry, or rose petal tastes, which I couldn’t taste at all. I opted for a tall glass of orange juice at the lunch we were provided, and even though I’m no wine connoisseur, I had a lot of fun venturing though wine country with my friends. 

Some kids are buying bottles/cases to bring back to their families as I opt for postcards. It’s probably better that way because I wouldn’t trust myself to pick out a nice wine. 

Roadtrippin' Southern Africa pt. 2

Mozambique is the strangest place I have ever visited: strangely beautiful but totally outrageous in regard to tourism. I have a new meaning of the term personal safety since my return. Crossing the border took twice as long as it did in Swaziland because we needed a visa for entry. My english was no longer of use to me because the official language is Portuguese. Thank God Diana is mexican because we were able to get by on her spanish

. Once we crossed made it in Moz, we had an idea of where we were going, but there were no street signs. We drove through the mountains, listening to the same CDs we had been for the last several hours. We arrived in the city of Maputo and drove on roads such as Karl Marx Ave and Vladimir Lenin Dr. After getting lost a couple of times on the horribly paved roads, we made it to our backpackers' place. We exchanged money and got dinner at Niko's place. Niko came to our table during our meal and suggested we spend Easter weekend with his friends on their private boat. They would take us to a couple of Islands and let us drink and play in the water. I couldn't decide which was better: laying on a boat cocktail in hand or squeezing my body through tiny cave holes in Swaziland...

We sat outside, drinking and playing cards late into the evening. Caroline and Louise spent the entire next day with food poisoning so Pat, Diana and I explored downtown Maputo. The city is nothing like Chicago, St. Louis, and nothing like Cape Town. Men in all different kinds of uniforms roamed the streets with AK 47s. Vendors were aggressive and there was nothing I could do to hide my skin to even try to blend in and not look like an American. We were all a little on edge because of several warnings my friends had given us. We found our way to an old amusement park where we ate lunch. Afterward we bought tickets for ourselves and a group of young boys to ride the bumper cars and swirly shells. We had just as much fun as our little friends did. 

We then went to the market and Pat went to find us a nearby Church for Easter mass. Pat didn't return for quite some time, and when he did he told us of how he had just talked his 

way out of getting arrested. The police gave him a hard time about not having his passport on him and told him he would have to spend the next two nights in prison. He tried to reason with the heavily armed men and they robbed him, but let him go. We took an open-air taxi back to our hostel after purchasing even more things we, mainly I, don't need. Of course the taxi broke down on the road and I saw myself about to get robbed for the third time. It started back up and we went back to check on our friends. We had dinner and drinks at a famous seafood restaurant and because we were told not to go out alone at night, we stayed in. 

The next day was Easter and we all got up at 6AM to go to mass. The tide was low and there were several groups of people in the ocean baptizing one another (see little specs in photo). This was really cool to see, and I wanted to walk out there and get a closer look, but that would have just been inappropriate/awkward. We arrived at Church to find it locked up: we tried to figure out a way in but the people outside shooting us death glares told us Church was closed that day: Easter. Church was closed on Easter.

We met up with Niko's friends at the dock and headed toward Inhaca Island. Only 7:30 AM, Louise suggested it wasn't too early for gin & tonics. We had the entire boat to ourselves and laid on the front of the boat, listening to music, reading books, journaling and catching warm rays of the African sun. We made a stop to a deserted island called Portuguese Island. No one lived there, there were no buildings, boats, trash, nothing. It was just a big pile of sand and

 trees. We docked and swam around, playing with starfish and splashing around. We then went to Inhaca Island, home to 6,000 residents for the rest of the day. We had lunch and explored the large island, hitting up the market and beach. We saw caught the most beautiful sunset, which was the perfect ending to our day and our adventure. 

But that was too perfect to be real. After docking, we got in our car, headed back to the hostel when a group of policemen spotted us. Damnit. The blocked the road with their car and came up to our car. We were calm and had our seat belts fastened. When we didn't understand him, the cop said, "You don't want to speak portuguese?" Diana rolled down her window from the back and tried to talk to him in spanish. He wasn't really having that either. Long story short we got robbed again but didn't have to go to jail. 

Once we crossed the South African border the next day we were overjoyed and relieved. Though it was stressful and at times a bit unsafe, traveling in Mozambique was an awesome experience. I'd say it was one of those been there, done that, not necessarily on my list of places to return, kind of places, but what excitement. 

NOTE: after emails from concerned friends, I want to clarify about the boat. Niko's friend runs a business taking out people on his boat and he cut us half price...we didn't jut hop on a stranger's boat...rest easily.

Roadtrippin' Southern Africa

Traveling new places is a wonderful sort of experience on its own, but there is something else to say about renting a car and backpacking African countries.

 Five of us decided to spend the second half of our vacation as adventurous backpackers roadtripping across Southern Africa: three countries in ten days seemed doable to us. We picked up our rental car at the Jo’burg airport and headed east to the country of Swaziland: one of the only kingdoms left on earth, and also the country with the highest AIDS rate in the entire world. We were a little nervous about driving, considering it is on the other side of the road, the car and gears being totally reversed. It only took about 45 minutes before we got pulled over by the South African police for switching lanes, but really driving the wrong way down what was the freeway, somewhere along it had switched back to a two-way road. The cops screamed and told us we were “ALL GOING TO DIE!” After a long lecture, they insisted on taking us to the police station but we bribed our way out of that, down 1,000 R by 7:30 AM. 

We took the scenic, and sometimes unpaved, route to Mbabane, the capital of Swaziland. Miles of mountains and not a developed neighborhood in sight, we passed hundreds of people walking along the road, and we stopped for the occasional herd of cows or goats bloc

king the road. We only got lost a few times before reaching the border, which was jam packed with people pushing through one another, eager to cross. Realizing we were getting nowhere in line, I grabbed all five of our passports and made my way to the customs window. We were ecstatic, and I think Pat was so proud he drove us all the way, which is probably why he accidentally hit an immigration officer with the car. Luckily, the guy was fine and just laughed at us. On the way back to the car from the office, (in the most cheesy way) we exchanged high fives and told each other just how excited we were: I threw my long arms in the air, right into the rusty barbed wire I somehow missed, maybe an hour after telling everyone the Tetanus immunization was the only one I forgot to get before coming to Africa...We checked into our hostel and explored for a little. Because the water levels were low, we 

opted to go caving instead of white water rafting. This is where we went wrong. A few weeks prior to departure, I let them convince me to sign up for caving, even though I am extremely claustrophobic. I remembered my friends going caving while abroad last year so I asked them what they thought, but they assured me I'd be fine. Wrong.So we meet up with our man, Sipo, and he drives us to a mountain. It turned out we had to climb a mountain before we reached the cave: great. It was a hot, but beautiful climb as the sun set over the mountains. There was nothing there but plant life, the animals, and us. As we got closer to the cave and Sipo prepped us on what to expect. My heart started to race, attributed to physical exercise and nervousness. All that was running through my head was: "What the hell am I doing?" and "I'm actually paying to put myself through this?" as well as an array of obscenities. We reached the cave and crawled in: I'm fine, I thought. Sipo asked how  claustrophobic I was but I said I'd be fine. Wrong. That was before I saw the first squeeze. Oh hell no. Long story short, I freaked so Sipo told me to wait for the group outside the cave. I was so panicked and I ran as fast as  I could out of the cave. Tears streaming down my face and my heart pounding I ran so far before coming to my senses and realizing one very important thing: I was lost. 

The sun was setting and I was still panicking. Then I stopped and laughed: "What is the use in panicking? No one is here to help me..." So there I was, wondering around the middle of Swaziland trying to find that one rock, or that one tree, before the sun was completely set. I'd cry and then laugh and then thought about how I'd rather die: in a cave 1,000 feet under with my friends or alone in the wild. I'd rather take my chances with the animals. I eventually found my way back to the rock outside the cave and decided to sit there for the next two hours. It was completely dark now and hundreds of bats flew out of the cave, hitting me in the head as they passed. I saw trees move in the distance but told myself it must have just been a cow or something...

I was ecstatic to see my friends again and was so proud of them. Sure I was too scared this time, but jumping out of a plane and diving with great whites were pretty cool, too. Beside, I sort of had my own little adventure. Afterward Sipo took us for pizza and beer, which I did not pass on. We then went to the hot spring which was packed with Swazi folks. We played keep away (boys vs. girls, my team ruled) in the hot spring under the starry African sky. Life is so good to me in Africa. After saying bye to our new Swazi friends, we had a few drinks and went to bed. The next day I blew too much money at the women's market (it's so hard to say no to them!!) and we departed for Maputo, Mozambique...where we spend the next three days. They were exciting and new and terrifying all at the same time...

Soweto, "Ghetto Paradise"

Surrounded by Bob Marley posters and Rastafarian flags, we arrived at our hostel in Soweto, the largest township in South Africa outside of Johannesburg. The temperature was high and so was Edward, the Rasta man playing guitar in the backyard. We arrived at Lebo’s Soweto Backpackers and were greeted by a sign that read: “Welcome to Soweto, Ghetto Paradise.” The girls occupied the entirety of Lebo’s while the boys stayed at another backpacker’s down the street, across from Nelson Mandela’s and Bishop Desmond Tutu’s houses. Completely worn out from traveling back to Johannesburg all day, the girls relaxed around the hostel: playing cards, reading books and playing music with the Rasta man. Our backyard looked like Roots, one of our favorite reggae clubs in Cape Town: completely covered in sand, fully stocked bar, Rastafarian décor, a fire and plenty of sitting space. There was also a cornucopia of African instruments to choose from.A few of us sat with Edward and jammed. We jammed as the sunset and the temperature dropped. We jammed for the next six hours, only stopping to refresh our drinks and to move by the fire. The boys came back all showered to a group of giggly girls going wild on drums, shakers, guitars and a plastic horn. Lull, Diana and I attempted to rap total nonsense. We rapped about everyone in our program: making cheap shots and poking fun, sparing no one. Edward loved this. We rapped, sang and jammed all night long. I think we all needed this time to have fun and unwind after the previous adventurous days.The next day we went on a four-hour bike ride through Soweto: we met the locals and danced with the children. SOME of us ate from a cow’s head; once I stared into the eyes of that bloody thing, I had to walk away. Because Soweto is the site of the 1976 uprisings against apartheid we heard stories of resistance and defiance, of strength and community. Our guide was an incredible storyteller and I learned more from her than I did during my entire history class.

When we returned home, there was a playground full of children awaiting our arrival. We played in the park for the rest of the evening. I hadn’t showered in days and was exhausted but it didn’t even phase me. We sang and danced with them, took them for rides on the bikes, played soccer and ran around with them. When I was relaxing in the grass, a boy came to me, laid with me and held onto my arm. We didn’t exchange words for the next hour; he just held onto me, petting my arm. I shared my water with him and we remained still as the others played. Later, a girl did the same thing to me. These kids just wanted to be shown affection: they weren’t pushy or hyper. I laid with them and really thought about this. After I bid them farewell I laid in my bed and cried a little. I can’t offer any explanation other than that I was caught completely off guard by these kids, and I felt emotionally overwhelmed.
The night ended with a group dinner and a shabeen (bar) crawl through the township. My favorite part of traveling is the people I meet along the way. Before going to bed I went out back and sat by the fire with Edward. We talked about life and music, and he gave me a lesson in philosophy. I said goodbye to him and he smiled through his coke-bottle glasses and lightly pounding his chest he said, “Much love and respect, mah sis-tah. Always.”

Mother Nature's finest

After leaving camp, our safari drivers drove us all around Mpumalanga to view some of the most beautiful landscaping in all of South Africa. We went to God’s Window, Lisbon Falls, and the Blyde River canyon, the largest green canyon in the world. I only wish the photographs I’ve captured and my attempt at writing did even just the smallest bit of justice to the beauty of these places. 
Of course I got carsick, projectile vomiting at our first site, while the others whipped out their cameras with excitement. This wasn’t the first time I was caught on film vomiting during one of our excursions.
Feeling much better, I took the opportunity to walk around and explore Mother Nature’s finest. At the start of the canyon we climbed all over, and because this is Africa, there are no safety regulations: just a warning from the drivers to not be stupid and get ourselves killed. The waterfalls were deep and the rocks were slippery and of course, Suzy fell in, lucky only to get a few scrapes and bruises, losing her shoes. 
Though I can’t recall the Afrikaans names for the rivers, the happy and sad rivers form the canyon. And there’s a story behind their names, but I’ve got a lot to write.

The end of the canyon is truly breathtaking. I haven’t yet been to the Grand Canyon, but I imagine this one to be like just like it, except completely green and blue everywhere. The purest water running through, and plant life all around. I could have sat there the rest of the day. We split up and explored the area, climbing to the tips of large rocks, dangling our legs over the canyon, inches from falling to our deaths. Like I said, there were no fences, no safety regulations. As Leonardo DiCaprio put it the movie Blood Diamond: T-I-A: This is Africa.

The Lion King in Real Life

So I can now say I've experienced real African wildlife on safari in Kruger National Park. This safari is one of the most exciting things I have done to date. Slipping away from my friends to journal, I found myself in total awe of my surroundings: miles upon miles (the size of Israel) of bush with wild animals, the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets with no need of a water for a backdrop, countless stars visible as we camped miles away from any city. We woke up at 4:00 AM to get begin the game drives each day, splitting up into small groups with safari guides. My group lucked out with Helmo as our guide, only the coolest and most knowledgeable of all the guides. My poor writing skills cannot begin to do justice to this experience. We saw lions, cheetahs and leopards, herds of elephants playing in the water, hippos and rhinos, all sorts of birds...we saw a leopard jump in a tree, kill a monkey and drag it across the road to devour. We spotted crocodiles and crazy-looking bugs. Hundreds of impalas roamed freely, before becoming dinner for a number of carnivorous creatures. Giraffes are cute, but rather boring to watch. I am leaving so much detail out of this post as I hope to not bore you, but I really just wish to convey to you how incredible it is to observe thousands of wild animals in their natural habitats. 

Hearing via walkie talkie that GURNEYS (lions) were spotted laying in the road, Helmo pushed down his windshield, grabbed his emergency whip and instructed us to hold onto our hats. Speeding toward the site, the sun shining and the wind blowing my hair all about, all I could think was "This is so ***** cool!!!" (for a lack of more intelligent wording, it's th

e truth) I remind myself daily how lucky I am to be here, but it is exciting moments like these when I can't believe what I'm doing and how I got here. We spend nine hours each day observing animals and enjoying each other's company, having lunch and drinks as a large group...this is when each group would brag to another of the day's sightings (we always won). 

Among the top things I saw:

-the leopard kill and devour that poor little monkey

-lions, lions, and lions after they killed something (too bloody and smeared to identify)

-warthogs at our outdoor luncheon

-baby animals of any kind, especially giraffes, zebras and elephants

-elephant herds traveling, stopping to play in water and mud

-CHEETAHS (an endangered species, our guide was shocked to see them)

-a butterfly drinking out of my champagne glass for a solid three-four minutes

-monkeys doing all sorts of funny things

In the evenings we ate dinner together and swam in the cold springs.

 I couldn't stay up late drinking with the rest of the group because I was simply in shock of everything I had seen during the days. I walked around the camp, one night spotting three elephants that had come right up to our camp. I wrote in my journal and sorted through the

 constellations I remembered learning in my high school astronomy course. I wanted to soak in as much of this as I could, as I thought surely I'd never have this opportunity again. 

 

Things Fall Apart...

is one of my favorite books. And like many things, people, too, also fall apart. I did earlier this week, becoming violently ill about an hour after landing in Cape Town from my mid-semester break travels across southern Africa. The last couple of weeks have been quite adventurous (to make an understatement) and I could write for hours on end about the things I have seen, have experienced. Now Thursday evening, I have been confined (still sick) to my bedroom for three days, and have come up with what I want to write about my trip. So I'll just throw out several posts about each trip within the trip: the safari in Kruger Park, biking in the township of Soweto, driving and backpacking through the countries of Swaziland and Mozambique. So brace yourself for some exciting (edited/watered down for my parents' sakes, they worry) tales from this side of the world. 

Concerning my health: I fell sick Monday evening, waking up by terrifying hallucinations. I spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, seemingly clearing my entire insides of everything but my organs, which I swore I'd lose by the morning. I have gone this far without feeling homesick, but during those hours I wished myself back to Chicago, to St. Louis. I wanted to be with my friends, and really with my mom. I didn't feel twenty-one, and if I did, I still felt it okay to want nothing more than to be with my mom. Being sick has that effect on me. The next day my friends

drove me to the physician and had to practically carry me in. I was treated with two shots and two prescriptions (South African wonder drugs, I swear). I also tested negative for malaria; the areas I traveled through are malaria areas. I also broke my pinky toe getting out of bed. You'd be surprised how much it hurts to break such a little toe. Days later, the hallucinations and vomiting have ceased. I am still weak and in a little bit of pain but am feeling much better, thanks to my friends here. They have taken such great care of me and made me feel okay about missing home. I spent a lot of my internet credits making international calls all week so I want to thank everyone back home for your comforting messages and emails. It made a world of difference, so thank you thank you. 

All of that aside, here comes the cornucopia of posts detailing my latest adventures. 

See you later, See you soon

I'm sorry I haven't written in a bit: I pulled two all-nighters this week to (thankfully) finish up my history class and have been practicing for an upcoming trumpet jury I have, where I play in front of a bunch of professors and have them criticize me (yay).

During my absence from the blogging world, I have been on an African music binge. I definitely urge you to check out some Swahili and east African music, particularly Taarab music - totally unreal. I have also become unhealthily obsessed (if possible) with South African choral music. Seriously, you have to youtube some of this; I guarantee you will be brought to tears. I was.

I've been exploring South African music because I am working on research for my capstone to complete my music degree at Loyola. I am focusing on music during apartheid from township music to the National Party's censorship to western influence to songs of defiance, of oppression and struggle....oh I could go on. This weekend is the Cape Town Jazz Festival and I am about to leave for 11 days to go on a Safari and other adventures in a couple of other African nations. Details to follow upon arrival back in the cape.

Hugh Masekela is headlining the jazz festival, which I will miss the final day of. Masekela is someone I have looked up to as a trumpet player for many years and he is an important part of South African history, being voluntarily exiled during apartheid. In my opinion, he is one of the best jazz artists in the world, and I encourage you to check him out if you are unfamiliar with his music. I've included a link to a CNN interview with him. Anyway, I guess it just isn't in the stars for us to meet tomorrow, but perhaps maybe one day I'll get to see him.

I'm signing off and will be back April 15, so until then I wish you well.

Home Away From Home

It’s good to know if I ever start to feel homesick, I can hop in a cab and be there in 10 minutes. While not forgetting about my own, I have a new family in Africa. This past weekend, we had home stays. Fifteen of us went to a black township, and the other fifteen spent the weekend in a colored township. For clarification, townships are parts areas where the apartheid 

government placed blacks, coloreds, Indians, etc. to shove them out of the cities. Some are more developed than others, and there are all different homes within townships. Some people live in shacks and trailers while others live in houses with electricity and running water. 

When we arrived by bus to the (black) township of Langa, children ran toward our bus, screaming and smiling. At the welcome dinner with marimba band playing, our mothers and fathers wore their biggest smiles, wondering which American they would host for the weekend. I spotted a hyper little girl and she immediately came to sit on my lap and play with me. I had a feeling she was my sister (sissy) , and I was right. After dinner, my new momma Phumla, poppa Sabu and little sister Zonka got in the car to drive home. 

Before my poppa could even turn off the car, my 8-year-old brother (butti), Lizo, threw open the door and gave me the biggest/best hug I have ever received. The house was very nice: 3 bed, 1.5 bath, kitchen, back yard, living room with television. My sissy and butti crawled all over me the entire weekend, crawling in my bed before I went to sleep and the second they woke up, which was usually 7:00 AM. 

There was only one problem with the weekend: I think I was the first vegetarian to ever enter the township. Trying to explain what a veg was, my family asked me, “Can you still eat viennas?” and “Can you still eat burgers?” “Pasta with no meat?” They were as puzzled as I felt awful. I ate a little meat on Friday in a pizza pocket type thing – I don’t know what kind it was and I never want to find out; I just swallowed as much as I could. I was their guest and didn’t want to offend them, even though I had severe stomach pains later that night from the first meat I’ve consumed in five years. 

The next morning was exciting: Jacob Zuma, presidential candidate for the ANC (Mandela’s) party, spoke in the township. There were rallies and parades by the ANC and the PAC. Perhaps I’ll write about the politics and upcoming (April) presidential election another time; it is too complicated to write about now. That afternoon, my other sissy who is my age, Fica, took me to Mzoli’s. It is an outdoor place in the next black township, Guguletu, where people come to get drunk and consume absurd amounts of barbecue. It was really fun to hang out with and get to know my sissy and her friends Even post-apartheid, place

s are very segregated. Mostly black people go to Mzoli’s, but feeling out of place never crossed my mind. There’s a DJ and buckets of meat, coolers and lawn chairs: everyone comes to have a great time. We stayed there for several hours and by the end, I was breaking it down with the best of them with my dance moves.After Mzoli’s, we went to a fish braai (bbq) that one of the host brothers was hosting for the Americans and our similarly aged siblings. I made a ton of new friends there and we partied until late into the night. I was concerned about getting home at a decent hour, but when I arrived home, my family was just pulling into the driveway. I met momma’s sister and her children, as they all just arrived from a wild party themselves!

The next morning I woke up to what I thought was another parade. I went outside and saw nothing, but realized all the noise was coming from the church on the corner. The drumming and other instruments, the singing and beautiful harmonies: I wanted so badly to sneak in the back and watch. Momma had planned on taking me to Church, but I think everyone had partied a little too hard the night before. Nevertheless I laid in bed and listen to the sounds for the next 4 hours.

Saying goodbye to my new family was a little sad, as my little siblings were fighting my backpack off of me. I can’t wait to come back and spend more time with them. Momma wants me to go back to Chicago, graduate and then come back to work in SA, since I have a family here. While that sounds tempting, for now I’ll just have to settle for visits. 

sexism, feminism and falling from the sky

It has been too long since my last post; this is partly due to long hours at the music school and partly due to the fact that I have been trying to figure the best way to write about my field trip. Last week, our history prof took us two hours from Cape Town to a Moravian Church mission site. Feeling more hungover than enthusiastic about the day, we were as positive as we knew at 7:30 AM on a Saturday morning. Upon arrival, we were taken to the first museum, where tea and coffee sat awaiting consumption. In the museum was an exhibit dedicated entirely to women. Wonderful! So I thought before I read the blasphemy covering the walls. 

As (hopefully) you know, I am a Gannon Scholar and the focus of the Gannon program at Loyola is to empower and help develop strong women leaders on campus. Leaving that environment and coming to a place in this world where women have entirely different roles, I had to prepare myself to be an active learner, all the while being respectful of the new cultures to which I was going to be exposed. 

Looking at the exhibit, my stomach turned. Museum guests are greeted by a cardboard cutout of a Barbie-like figure churning butter with a sign that read “Welcome to my kitchen.” Taking a deep breath, I continued to explore the room. I came across a poster of what the Christian Bible says: “Let women learn in silence with all submissiveness. Permit no woman to teach or have authority over men; she is to keep silent, “ 1 TIM 2: 11-12. “Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church,” 1 COR 14:34-35. These were just two of ten displayed. I didn’t think much of this because I learned of this years ago. What I was extremely offended by was the exhibit on feminism and the modern woman. It read:

“The feminist movement of the twentieth century assaulted traditional Christian values for women. Whereas women traditionally fulfilled support roles and gained their greatest joy and sense of accomplishment from being wives and mothers, today many have abandoned their homes for the higher-paying and supposedly more prestigious jobs of the work force outside the home. Traditional sexual morality has given way to promiscuity with women often in the role of the aggressor. Gentle, quiet women have become self-assertive and hostile, boldly demanding their “rights.” Divorce is rampant, with women frequently initiating separation and divorces…”

The images of “the modern woman” were thin, but hour-glass shaped women in flashy gowns with idiotic captions. “I can make a dress out of my traffic tickets,” one read. And another, “Too much socializing left me feeling like a hangover queen.” Some more offended than others, all of my classmates were shocked. This was the beginning of my longest day in what I conceptualized as my hell.

After an hour or so, I broke my silence and respectively attempted to engage in intelligent discourse with the museum manager. I thought perhaps we could learn from one another. False. I was getting nowhere with him and he couldn’t understand why any woman could ever be offended, assuming she knew her true role. As our discussion continued, I felt him concentrating his misogynist eyes into mine so deeply that he might burst me into flames and ash. During and after our lunch, he made several condescending remarks to my female peers and myself. Two o’clock didn’t come fast enough for us to embark on our journey home and never turn back.  

While not my ideal Saturday, I think it was important for me as a Women & Gender Studies student and Gannon scholar to experience this. I did learn a lot that day, and it was actually humbling. I still think about how that man made me feel, and put that into context when examining race relations in South Africa post apartheid. While I have learned of South Africa’s progress since 1994, racism is everywhere you turn. The townships, the night clubs, the schools: segregation seems almost natural to a lot of people here. What I felt that day was not even 1/10 of what people here experience on a daily basis. I believe it is important to remind ourselves of issues like these to put things into perspective. 

On a lighter note, that weekend capped off better than it started. A group of us went skydiving on the most beautiful of days. My friend Diana and I went together with our instructors in the tiniest plane I’ve ever seen. It must have been one of those “laugh at funeral” nervous days because I was hysterical the entire 20 minute plane ride up to the drop point. I couldn’t stop laughing for the life of me for absolutely no reason. My instructor kept asking me if I was nervous, but I wasn’t. I just couldn’t believe what I was about to do: and I found it hilarious. The door opened and he whispered in my ear, “I bet you’re nervous now…” We did a flip out of the plane and even more flips and twirls after. Falling from the sky was as incredible as the view: the mountains, the ocean, Robben Island, the sand dunes…I can’t wait to do it again. 

Villages, Markets, and the Indian Ocean: Welcome to Durban!

After a grueling week of rehearsals, lessons, sectionals, lectures and temperatures over 95 degrees, five of my friends and I flew to Durban for the weekend last Friday. Durban is on the other side of the country, on the Indian Ocean and near the country of Lesotho,. The climate is extremely humid, and the land is very green. I felt like I was in what I imaged as a tropical Ireland, miles of green hills and valleys – only in Africa.  

The first thing we did was go to the aquarium, which is near the beach, surrounded by surf and snorkel shops, restaurants and other boutiques. Think Shedd aquarium x1000. Afterward we had dinner reservations to eat on this ship that had a MASSIVE tank with sharks and other fish in it. As we approached the walkway, an employee stopped me and demanded to know where my parents were. After explaining they were in America and showing her our IDs, she agreed to allow us in. “I don’t believe you, but since you are from another country I’ll let you in. Next time, bring your parents,” she said. Exiting after dinner, I noticed a sigh that read: No one under the age of 16…ok, seriously?! 

The next day we took a private tour of a village in Zululand, far from the city and not westernized. The Zulu people were so friendly and enthusiastic to share their culture with us. We visited a traditional Zulu healer, ate a traditional meal (with our hands) and spent the afternoon dancing with the children. It is excursions like these that allow me to experience the real Africa. I was in a different world: cows and goats roaming all over the place, no one stealing from one another. Self-induced scars to pay tribute to their ancestors and ancient songs, houses made of mud and water pumped from the ground: this is simple living. When it was time to leave, we threw the children on our shoulders and waved goodbye to their parents. We didn’t get too far…

The following morning we went to Victoria Street Market, which I thought was going to be like Green Market Square in Cape Town (lots of tourists). We were the only white people I saw all morning in the entire market and surrounding neighborhoods, which was pretty cool. I’m a big fan of the markets, but am a horrible bargainer. I spotted tons of beautiful Zulu instruments, including the mbira, marimba, drums and this really awesome string instrument. At each stand I immediately searched for the instruments. I just couldn’t help myself: I bought 9 instruments, a painting, and some jewelry – all for $40 US. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the beach surfing the Indian Ocean. We grabbed lunch and made friends with the Rastafarian men who were playing live music. Durban’s nightlife is nice, but not as exciting as Cape Town’s. We arrived in CPT Monday just in time for my drag of a history class. I can’t wait to travel to the surrounding countries to experience more of what makes up this continent. 

Dangling Live Bait

Last Saturday a small group of us went to the great white shark capital of the world, Gansbaai. I must have woken up with a death wish that morning because I thought that if the sharks wouldn’t kill me, surely my mother or grandmother would when they found out what I did. Once we were picked up at 5:00 AM, we were driven two hours away and fed breakfast. Our group (a total of 27 people) was then given a pep talk and then we signed our lives away, literally. The shark dive company took us near Seal Island, which is a five star resort for great whites. I was the first one in line to get a wet suit, but wasn’t the first in the water due to my clumsiness and inability to put on my suit. 

Because it’s off season, we were concerned we would not see any sharks, but it only took about five minutes to attract the first one. Once in the water it was hard to stay under; I kept floating to the top and getting slammed into my friends. I hit my head on the bars several times and somehow switched places with Phil under water. The one thing the skipper stressed the most was to NOT PUT ARMS/LEGS on the outside of the cage. This was extremely difficult to do and I didn’t even realize I was out of the cage until I would go underwater to catch a glimpse of the killing machines. 

My friends Louise, Colin, Phil and I were in the third group to go, which was lucky because we attracted the largest shark of the day, an estimated twenty feet long. My friend Pat (who was on the boat) told me he saw the shark and thought, “Oh ****, that’s Jaws.”

I think it was a combination of the scrambled eggs for breakfast, the choppy waves, and the chum /fish guts that made everyone so sick. Out of the 27 people, I am willing to bet at least 15 threw up. There was a cornucopia of puke all over the boat, and it got funnier and funnier every time another one of our friends projectile vomited. Since I have never been sea sick, I thought I was fine, but on the boat ride back I felt a little action going on in my stomach. I refused to throw up on a speeding boat, but once my friends realized I was feeling it, they surrounded me, capitalizing on my weakness. Their laughter and chanting made me think, “Well, now I have to deliver…” It’s just unfortunate that my vomit leaked down the side of the boat into the window to the first floor (whoops). 

We were given lunch and a ride back home. Despite puking, diving with sharks was one of the coolest things I have ever done, and I have planned more adventurous activities for the next few months, all of which I will write about once I make it back. I need to let my unsuspecting mother sleep at night, you know…

That whole reason I came here

School. University. Whatever you want to call it, I really haven't written too much about it just yet. I'm about to go to African Music, my final class of my second week of school. I'll first give you a brief explanation of how IES (Institute for the International Education of Students, I know, there really should be two I's) works. There are thirty of us in the program and we are all required to take two IES courses and at least two classes at the University of Cape Town. We are taking a "History and Politics of South Africa" class and the elective I chose is called "Social and Economic Development of South Africa." The elective has a field study component to it, so I am paired with an agency to volunteer over the next six months. I complete an extensive research project, take a couple of tests and attend class weekly. My (three) professors for this course are awesome and are from Zimbabwe and South Africa. I like this class a lot because it encourages hands-on learning and it helps me put into perspective what I learn from my history course, and I can see how far South Africa has come since pre-colonial times.

My University of Cape Town courses require a lot of work outside the classroom because I am enrolled in the South African College of Music, which is a big pink castle located on UCT's lower campus (we are on a big hill, thus lower, middle and upper campus). I had an on-the-spot audition with my trumpet (I HATE sight reading) and took a music theory entrance exam, which I breezed through (thanks Gustavo, Bjorn, Kevin SJ and Tom G). I am taking African Music, private trumpet lessons and play in an ensemble. 

Going from a liberal arts music program to a college of music is like taking spanish classes and then moving to Spain. I am intimidated and underqualified and absolutely terrified most of the time. When I talk to some of the other IES students about their classes sometimes I wonder what I got myself into, but I quickly correct myself. Though I'll have to work a lot harder than some of my friends, this is the opportunity or a lifetime. My African Music professor is a gem and is going to work with me on an independent research project to present when I return to Chicago. My trumpet teacher has been instrumental (haha, get it? ok, bad joke) in my adjustment to South Africa, as he is also from San Diego. I haven't gotten the chance to speak privately with the ensemble instructor, but he is really good at what he does and seems to know a lot about music.

I've learned a lot from other students and from my professors as well. Outside of ensemble rehearsal time, we have trumpet and brass sectionals. I also have private lessons two times a week. Add the two IES courses, the African Music class, my fieldwork volunteering and oh yah PRACTICING...well, I'll be keeping busy. Everyone has been so friendly which makes of course helps a lot. Being the only American from my program in the music school has led me to conclude that it is pretty much:

MAKE FRIENDS OR ELSE. I consider myself to be an outgoing person and I love making new friends, so it has been easy to meet people. I've realized that the IES program is perfect for me. Some Americans here only take UCT courses, while others only have courses with the American students in their programs. This way I get the best of both worlds: the experience of being a stranger to 5oo+ students in the college of music, and the comfort of a small group of people who are going through a lot of the same things I am. 

This is also the perfect place for me. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to not only be studying music at such an accredited university, but to be studying music in a multi-cultural African city. Being so active is going to inevitably make my time here fly by, but I am doing all I can to take time out and reflect on my experiences. Sometimes I'll remind myself that I am at the bottom of the African continent, and I'll just get a huge smile on my face (which makes me look totally creepy when I am by myself in a public place). This is so cool and won't get old. 

I'm also excited to take what I learn back to Chicago with me. I've been journaling and keeping little notes here and there; I am looking forward to just sitting down and putting all of this into music. It has been far too long since I have written anything and after talking with Kevin, a good friend of mine from Chicago, I've decided to scratch this creative itch I've got. Speaking of itches, my flea friends bit the hell out of my roommate, too. So here we are: two itchy, American girls covered in little white steroid cream dots unable to lay in our beds. While inconvenient, it's more funny than irritating. We had the place fumigated so things should settle. 

Sleep tight; don't let the bedbugs bite

No really, don’t – nasty little things they are. For those I haven’t told yet, I have fleas (I previously, accidentally wrote lice. I don't have lice, but fleas). Yes, exactly what you don’t want your dogs to bring in the house to give to your children after rolling around in the dirt all afternoon. I first discovered these lovely little red bumps on my right forearm and thought, “Oh, must be nothing.” Well, once they spread to the rest of my body and had me itching insanely in public, I thought I might visit the doctor. I’ve got some steroid cream and I’ve thrown out my bedding (the assumed source), so all is well, or will be. Moving along…

Each day I adapt more and more to my new home, and have still not been too homesick. It seems every time I talk to my mom or sister they ask if I’m eating well so, yes I am still eating well. I mostly “cook” (toast, sandwiches, fruit, anything easy) for myself but every now and then I’ll luck out and my roommate will cook for me. I don’t know what planet she comes from but girlfriend can whip up quite the meal. Used to always grabbing lean cuisines and other quick meals with my friends, I am fascinated with this whole population of student chefs. We also eat out often because it is so affordable.

As you might expect, the cost of living in South Africa is substantially less than that of the United States. When I run to the grocery store I can get out with ten days worth of food for about $15 US. A container of grapes is $.89, frozen pizza is $2.00, loaf of bread is maybe $.59, and so on. On our first trip to the liquor store we purchased a case (24 bottles) of Heineken for $12.00. This is all just to give you an idea of how much, or how little, things cost over here…

Being a vegetarian has been interesting too, because South Africans LOVE meat. Barbeques are common here (called Braais) so when I get to that awkward “oh, I actually don’t eat meat,” some people are shocked. This will be interesting when I venture to the townships during my family stay weekends. Some of my friends have already tried a game reserve restaurant and have eaten: crocodile, eland, shark, ostrich, and other animals, and while I said back in the States that I would try some new things, I haven’t been able to do it just yet, but some time in the remaining five months I will…

It is Saturday morning here and I have just finished my first week of classes (which I’ll write about it my next post – I could write for hours about the music). Take care of yourselves over there and I’ll write again in a couple of days. After my post about my classes you can expect an update every Friday afternoon..ish. I have more time after Wednesdays so if I don’t get to it on Thursdays I’ll surely write on Fridays. Thanks for your continued support and encouragement, and updates as well! 

Rank Noodle

three weeks in

I have been here for three weeks now, and have just only now started a blog. I know it is a bit late, but three weeks into six months doesn’t seem too bad. After trying to send a mass email to about 190 people, I decided a blog would be easier to do, especially since the email came back undeliverable to at least 50 people.

Three weeks in and I only just started classes today. Like I have told many of you already, I have been quite busy with three different orientations, traveling, exploring the city and the townships, experiencing the nightlife, and so on. I have become friends with people from all across the United States, African nations, and beyond. As classes and volunteering progress, I look forward to meeting even more people from the rest of the world.

In my email I wrote a lot about the townships. Though I have been to the top of a mountain, swam in the ocean, and have gone all around the cape the townships have been my favorite part of the trip thus far. We visited two black townships and one colored township. I am amazed at how beautiful and joyful the people are, and also at how they live. The house that stays with me is the house in which there were three families (sixteen members) sharing a bedroom, sleeping in three twin beds. The people of the townships welcomed us and the kids crawled all over us. I can’t wait to start my volunteering. 

This past weekend our history class (everyone in my program) and our prof. journeyed up the coast to explore a fossil park and take a hike through the bush (it was 42 degrees Celsius, which I think is 107 Fahrenheit) to look at pre-colonial rock art left by the hunter-gatherers who lived there many years ago. We also went swimming in the hot and cold springs under the stars, which was astonishing. Going from Chicago to St. Louis, and even to a big city like Cape Town – it has been years since I’ve seen stars like that. 

I feel like I have finally adjusted here, and am exited to finally start my classes both with the study abroad program and my classes at the South African College of Music (I’m very nervous and excited for those). I’ll be keeping busy but writing as much as I can. I haven’t felt homesick yet but there were a couple of times I’ve been upset when seeing the poverty and how prevalent racism and segregation are years after apartheid ended. 

I hope to learn as much as I can about myself, South Africa, Cape Town, other African nations and international perspectives about the United States’ government and people. I also hope to learn about gender roles in society, and I look forward to my Socio-economic Development of Cape Town class. I’m sure I’ll be challenged a lot over the next six months especially when volunteering in the townships, so please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. And email me at nshamel@luc.edu. It is always comforting to hear from someone back home while being away for a long time. That is all for now, check back at your leisure and I’ll keep you updated!