Sounds like...

It is late Sunday night and my usually quiet neighborhood has been taken over by some sort of drumming extravaganza. Or it may just be a DJ, but it sure sounds like drums. No, tomorrow isn’t a day off (so Sunday night partying wouldn’t be so strange) nor is today a holiday. I have no idea what the occasion is, but there’s definitely some celebrating going on. Cars are cramming our tiny street, facing all different directions as here that doesn’t warrant a parking ticket (in fact, I doubt parking tickets are ever issued as that would be a sign of a regular police presence which is certainly not the case here).

I find myself constantly aware of the sounds – or lack of – here. Many of you are probably laughing as I am known to usually be the loudest person in the room (or the restaurant, or the entire building) but I’m telling you, this place is LOUD. It’s almost as if my sense of hearing has become heightened. Or maybe it’s just that I’m paying more attention to unfamiliar surroundings. Whatever it is, I’m feeling constantly bombarded by sounds – many languages (there are 11 official ones in SA), music, traffic, people yelling from kombis, creaky buses lumbering down Main Road, horns honking (usually for fun), someone digging through the garbage outside my window, some sort of construction, etc. And let’s just say this – I’ve met my match: one of my housemates is actually louder than me. One of our friends who lives next door says she can hear my housemate from her room with her window closed.

Enough about noise…

On Friday after my very early morning religious experience, I had to go to Parliament to drop off the letters for the Pardons Reference Group members as well as other Parliamentarians. This is the first major step in my project. My roommate Brandon doesn’t have to work on Fridays and wanted to tag along. Thank goodness he did: upon arriving (after asking 3 different security guards how we actually entered the whole complex, all of whom gave us bizarre looks), I realized that I didn’t have any identification on me and was therefore not able to go into Parliament. I needed to get the letters in and Brandon stepped in to save the day. He had his driver’s license, confidently took the letters, and dealt with the difficult and cranky woman who sat in the mail room as she stuffed the letters in the boxes and threw the ones of people who didn’t receive mail there back in Brandon’s face. He wasn’t sure what to do and told the lady he needed to call his “boss” (me, sitting in the waiting area for visitors) to check in. We figured that some of the Reference Group members may not be MPs so it was no problem. Mission accomplished. Stay tuned as I await a response…

The party outside seems to be breaking up and this little peacemaker needs to get her beauty sleep. Tomorrow all of the people from CSVR’s Transitional Justice Programme begin our 1.5 day long strategic planning meeting. Our colleagues from the Jo’burg office will be attending so I’m excited to finally meet them. It’s going to be an interesting but long day (no worries, in true Africa fashion lunch and 2 tea breaks are already scheduled in, plus a half-day of TBD fun and drinks/dinner on Tuesday).

I had another fun-filled weekend but am getting sleepy. Will write about it all soon. For now, I’ll leave you with some hints: gold, surfing, bare feet, penguins, scarves. You’re curious, aren’t you?