A Very Dichotomous Weekend

So with an hour and a half until I have to go volunteer, a room in desperate need of cleaning, laundry that now has complete control of my floor, the first of a mountain of papers due on Friday, and about four novels to be read (including ones by Faulkner and Conrad), I figured my time would be best spent working on my blog.

Let's begin.

I have been putting off blogging for a little while in order to digest the weekend I spent in a homestay two weeks ago. And today I have finally come to the realization that that particular weekend will most likely never be fully digested. It can be shared and described--probably not as accurately as I would like--but it will take a long long time to fully synthesize everything I took in. So, at risk of being terribly politically incorrect, appearing ignorant, and not doing my wonderful homestay family justice, here is a glimpse of my time in Ocean View.

Ocean View is located about 45 minutes outside of Cape Town, towards the Cape Peninsula, and is a coloured community that was created when the apartheid government designated Simonstown (where the penguins are) a whites-only area in the 1950s/60s. All the displaced non-whites living there were then moved to an area about 20 minutes away, which has come to be called Ocean View. I don't think I would call Ocean View a township, at least not in the way that Khayelitsha (where I volunteer) is. I can say with conviction, however, that it is a place just as full of energy, personality, and life as it is with contrasting economic conditions and prevalent social issues.

My narrative of my weekend at Ocean View begins in a large lecture hall at UCT, where all 150 or so CIEE students met for a debriefing about the upcoming weekend. But, as was to be expected by now, not much happened in the way of debriefing. We learned that we would be leaving from campus at 5:00 on Friday, leave Ocean View at 4:00 on Sunday, that we should bring a thank you gift for our host families, and that it would probably be a good idea to pack a bathing suit. I don't know about you, but it seemed to me like that was definitely all the information I needed before spending a weekend in a strange place with people I didn't know and customs I was unfamiliar with.

Reconvening on Friday as promised we boarded the now-familiar tour bus that would take us to Ocean View. I have learned to hate these buses, as they never fail to make me feel extraordinarily privileged and a complete outsider in the worst way possible. I don't think I will ever get used to pulling up to a poverty-stricken area in a large pristine bus full of mostly white young Americans.

Upon arriving in Ocean View my nervousness finally began to settle in. Being a self-proclaimed socially awkward person, fears of long silent gaps between conversation began to awaken within me. Luckily, though, finding my host family in the Ocean View High School gym proved much smoother than expected. And if discovering that my friend Juliana (a particularly non-socially awkward person) would be staying with the same family as I didn't put me at ease, the huge hug and warm smile my host mom gave me certainly did.

Dinner the first night was in the gym with all the families and students. We were able to begin to get to know one another while we were treated to a show of local kids singing and dancing and a delicious lamb curry with rice. Following dinner, Juliana and I followed Thelma and her husband, Lanto (I'm not exactly sure how to spell his name), to their car and we drove the 5 minutes to their home.

In the car Juliana and I got our first taste of the contradictions that would come to characterize this weekend. We were telling Thelma and Lanto how much we enjoyed the performance and just how talented all the kids and teenagers on stage were when Thelma decided it was a good idea to teach us our first word in Afrikaans. In reference to Alvin, the leader of the performing arts group, an apparently openly gay and slightly effeminate man, we learned the word "moffie." Although Thelma told us it simply meant "gay," the chorus of laughter that would follow her usage of it hinted at something a little darker. A little uneasy, I had the feeling that I was witnessing an unwitting prejudice emerge. Thelma's tone was in by no means condescending, hateful, or judgmental, but something seemed a little off. My suspicions where concerned when I got home on Sunday and found the word in the glossary of a book I am reading for African literature. Turns out the definition is: "homosexual (derogatory)."

As we drove to their house, Thelma pointed out the various neighborhoods within Ocean View. There were the flats--low income apartments similar to the Projects in New York, an area she called Lapland due to the discrepancy of houses--a nice-looking home would be right next door to a metal shack, and an area called Beverly Hills, which had large houses complete with sculptures and in some cases swimming pools. Thelma and Lanto's home was bare bones, but comfortable. It was two floors, with the living room, kitchen, and bathroom on the first floor and two bedrooms upstairs. The house had everything you would need for a family of three, and as we would come to hear later, the family was more than happy with their financial situation. However, I had to look past the unpainted walls that exposed cement bricks, the paint-splattered staircase and rough metal banister.

That evening Juliana and I were able to sit down and really talk to Thelma and Lanto about their lives, and share ours with them. With four thriving businesses (two takeaway restaurants, a video store, and an auto shop), their family is able to maintain their house, three vehicles, a satellite TV, and are planning on buying another house down the road shortly. Their plan is to be able to leave one of the houses to their son, Xavier (now 7 years old) when he is older. Hearing Thelma lay out her future plans was at once inspiring and disheartening. Clearly she is a successful businesswoman with a good head on her shoulders and fully capable of taking care of her family, and she is noticeably proud of this--as she should be. But at the same time, I wondered why she wasn't planning on leaving Ocean View, wasn't trying to make a life away from the drug problems and broken homes. Another shock came when Thelma asked me point-blank after about half an hour of conversation, "Are you rich?" Taken aback, I stuttered for a while before attempting to explain how the money my family usually pays for university is being spent to send me to South Africa. Thelma was understanding but skeptical; and understandably so. While she is looking ahead to provide a home and means of living for her son, my family is looking to give me a good education so in the future I can provide for myself.

Around 10 pm we all headed over to their Pastor's (they all called him Pastor as well) house, as their families are good friends. While Thelma's house was largely undecorated, Pastor and Ann's was stock full, from floor to ceiling, with paintings, photographs, and knick-knacks. Reunited with our friends Sarah and Mindy, who stayed with Pastor, we all settled into the living room, sitting on floor cushions when space on the furniture had been exhausted.

Here our conversation again turned heavy. Juliana asked Pastor what sort of outreach work his church was doing to help with the drug problem everyone had told us was so prevalent in the community. Pastor explained how he would welcome those with problems into the church, but if he could not save them their was nothing he could do. Thinking he didn't understand the full scope of the question, we pushed him further. Did he run any programs in the community? Did he help place people in rehab facilities? When these follow-up questions were met with negatives we realized we had discovered another cultural divide. It is a whole other level of separation when you realize that things you take for granted (such as churches handling social problems in secular ways) are not even part of some one else's vocabulary.

When Thelma returned from closing up her takeaway for the night around 11:30 all four of us American students hopped into the back of her bakkie (small pickup truck) for a night tour of Ocean View. Thelma rode in back with us and pointed out the different neighborhoods again as we watched teenagers play a night soccer game, drove through a house party in the flats, and witnessed a Rasta party up near the woods on the outskirts of town. While I felt safe for the whole drive with Thelma there (who knew nearly every one because of her takeaway), I was surprised by all the shouts of "Whitey! Whitey!" that met us everywhere we drove. Thelma laughed these off in a comforting way, saying, "You'd think they've never seen a white person before!" But in all seriousness, having grown up in Ocean View, the residents probably see very few.

After the bakkie tour we went home, where Juliana and I slept soundly in Xavier's bunk-bedded room. And that was Day 1.

I'd rather not go through all the activities we did chronologically because I think that makes for boring reading. And, as I have already highlighted some of the most memorable conversations we are going to fast-forward a bit through the "and then, and then, and then's" of the trip. So here is a list of the things we did on Saturday and Sunday morning:

1. Woke up to a breakfast of ham, eggs, and toast that Thelma had already prepared for us
2. Went to see horses and a crocodile at a nearby farm
3. Met up with Pastor's family again and drove to Fish Hoek beach, a beautiful and lively beach about 20 minutes away
4. Had a snoek braai (fish braai). Best fish I've ever had.
5. On Sunday a large bike race (like a mini Tour de France) was passing by Ocean View's entrance, so we set up camp and had another braai--this time with chicken and lamb

Throughout almost the entire weekend Juliana and my host family stayed with Pastor's family. Included in our activities was Xavier, who, turns out, is the coolest 7-year-old I've ever met, and 6 and 7 year olds Talicia and Tino (again with the uncertain name spellings). Talicia and Tino live in the flats with their mother, who tends to neglect them. Because of this, Pastor and Ann have essentially taken over responsibility for caring for them. They arrive at Pastor's house every day around 7 am, at which time Ann feeds them and gives them new clean clothes. While they go home each night to their families, they have essentially assimilated into Pastor's family. The three children kept us occupied all weekend with the playing that was necessary to satisfy their seemingly insatiable appetites.

As Sunday morning rolled around and it came time to pack up and return to the much-hated bus, Juliana and I exchanged phone numbers with Thelma and made promises to see eachother again soon. As I made a final lap around the parking lot with Xavier on my back I asked him, "So, do you want to go back to Rondebosch (my neighborhood) with me?" Lanto, who overheard me, responded with, "Oh, I'm good friends with the owner of Rondebosch Cafe and Video--I could pick Xavier up later." Briefly I was tempted to accept, especially when Xavier continued holding my hand after I returned him to his feet, but decided it would probably be in everyone's best interest not to separate the child from his parents. Final hugs with Thelma, Ann, and Pastor (Lanto wasn't so big into hugs) were bittersweet, and I think Juliana and I both left uncertain when or if we would see them again.

Quentin, CIEE's director, had told us in that not-so-useful pre-departure meeting that this weekend would be an opportunity to share with us "Positive images of marginalized people," which I think is precisely what transpired. While the differences in our point of views I mentioned above may seen off-putting or negative, I want to emphasize that everything about my Ocean View weekend was positive. I could not have asked for a better host mom than Thelma, who kept the conversation lively with her wit and the tone light with her understanding and acceptance of us. It is difficult to house strangers in your home, and even more challenging to make them feel like part of the family. Thelma succeeded in the latter.

That weekend left me with all sorts of questions: questions that were left unanswered, questions that led to more questions, and questions that will remain with me for a long time to come. I only wish I could have done my experience more justice in my retelling of it, or better yet I wish I could have shared it with all of you. On Monday morning, the day after I arrived home, I received a text message from Thelma. "We miss you! When are you coming back?" it said. Soon, I hope.

Xavier: The Coolest Kid I Know

The Kids (and Mindy) Enjoying their Ice Cream