Feels like home. Well, not really.

I’ve been here over a month now. Most of the time, I feel like I just got here though I must admit that I’ve settled in pretty well. And while I love it here, of course I can’t help missing home. No matter how much I feel like I’ve created a comfortable, familiar place here, each day brings new surprises. I thought I’d share with you all some more cultural reflections…

On the day that we went to Hout Bay/Camps Bay, we parked our car on a side street before heading to find somewhere to eat. Here, there are “parking attendants” who literally sit by the curb and “watch” your car while you go off to shop, eat, etc. Usually, you acknowledge them after you’ve parked, and give them a few rand for keeping their eye on your vehicle after you return. During this particular excursion, a persistent man kept asking us if we wanted our car washed. Paul’s car was a rental and not exactly in top form. We kindly declined but the man kept insisting that he would make it shiny and new by the time we got back from our meal. We weren’t about to hand over any money so we left the man with his bucket and rag standing near the car. When we returned, he was finishing up what I must say was a lovely washing job. But now he expected to be paid. Paul – having excellent negotiation skills and a naturally schmoozy persona – bargained with the man for quite some time. He was paid – far less than he had hoped – and kept wiping the car as we drove away. Not exactly the smartest business scheme, doing your work without promise of payment, but anything to make a buck (or a rand), so to speak.

Lessons in speaking:
Howzit? = How are you?
Is it? = Really/you’re kidding? (Added at the end of a sentence for emphasis)
See you just now = Back in a sec/see you soon

Paul and April left last week but for the end of their time here, they stayed in a nicer apartment downtown (much more comfortable than the shared house they had been living in that prompted pregnant April to get sick every time she went into the bathroom). The toilet appeared to have 2 buttons instead of a flusher. We were informed by our South African friend that 1 button is the “half flush” for Number 1 and “full flush” is for Number 2. This is supposed to be part of the water preservation plan here. We just thought it was a fancy toilet.

(On another note, April and the growing baby are doing well. They found out last week they’re having a boy! I’m determined to find a bib or romper that says “Made in Africa” on it.)

More cultural musings to come…

I’m enjoying the balance of work and play. Last weekend I went to the South African Jewish Museum which also included a Holocaust Memorial. The museum was wonderful – beautifully constructed and incredibly comprehensive. I learned that most of the Jewry came from Lithuania only about 200 years ago! My friend, Meg who was born in Joburg but grew up in San Diego, has family here 3 generations back, which is pretty close to the start of the populous. Many of the Jews came here after hearing about the active gold trade. My own Jewish heritage isn’t a major part of my identity but is one I’m cognizant of, and it felt neat to be tied to South Africa even if my relatives ended up in Queens rather than Cape Town.

This weekend we also went to the Cape of Good Hope. This national park includes 2 major points: the Cape of Good Hope, which is the southwestern most point of the African continent; and Cape Point, which is where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans meet. Both are indescribably beautiful, with pristine cliffs and seemingly endless horizons. The ocean is the truest shade of blue I’ve ever seen. It was hard to grasp that by gazing out into the ocean, the next land was Antarctica.

Meg left to spend a week in Joburg with some family she still has there, and then heads back to the States to take some summer classes to finish up her degree at University of Arizona. I’m sad that she’s gone, as she and I had gotten very close; we were eerily alike. As I’ve said before, the bonds shared with people here are unique and it’s a wonderful feeling knowing that I have new friends all over the world now. I’m already planning a trip out to AZ, somewhere I’ve never been. Gotta love the fact that by the time I return to the States, I’ll have racked up almost 2 free airline tickets thanks to Star Alliance miles. Yep, that’s what you get for traveling 16,000 miles. That, a fantastic adventure, and if you're a lucky, a place that feels like home. At least for a little while.

Clicking and Crying

Today was one of those days when I am truly reminded of why I’m here.

I guess it’s more or less been hitting me all week, starting with our strategic planning meeting. On the second day, we ended up just working in the morning, wrapping up project reports and go over logistical stuff. That afternoon, we went for a hike (I use this term loosely, as it was more of a walk) in Newlands Forest, which runs along the base of Table Mountain. As we set out for the hike (after many a joke about fitness levels, or more so the lack of) I found myself feeling very comfortable with everyone. I don’t think I stopped smiling the whole time. There I was, this goofy un-athletic American, enamored with the breathtaking views and feeling proud to be included with such a wonderful group of people who actually make a difference every day when they show up to work. We all went out to dinner to A Touch of Madness, a restaurant 2 blocks from my house where I swear the name refers to the waitstaff. Half the time I never know what they’re saying, but the place is cozy, the wine is plentiful, and the food is indescribably good. It was at dinner that I had my first lesson in Xhosa. Well, sort of. Xhosa is one of South Africa’s 11 official languages and is spoken by many people here (Nelson Mandela’s tribe primarily speaks Xhosa). The language contains clicks, which are quite difficult to actually get right. For those of us unfamiliar with this element, our attempts are usually pathetic. Try as I might, we all ended up laughing as I click-and-clacked my way through basic words. All in good fun though. The staff left the next day to return to Joburg, and I’m sad that I wasn’t able to spend more time with them. I can’t wait for the day when we get to work together again.

So back to today…

CSVR is part of a newly established consortium called the South African No Torture Consortium (SANTOC) made up of 5 different South African organizations that deal with rehabilitation of torture victims as well as preventative policy development. Today was the launch ceremony and was held at the Slave Lodge, a museum about slavery in South Africa, in downtown Cape Town. My colleague Glen and I attended on behalf of our office.

(A note about Glen: he has one of the warmest hearts. He is a jolly, friendly Zimbabwean who is the Regional Coordinator at CSVR and is also working toward a PhD in Political Science at University of Cape Town. He’s a very bright, passionate guy and reminds me of a watchful older brother. He also has one of the best laughs. His family is all back in Zim and he is surprisingly calm about it, despite the chaos that continues there. Such is life in Africa.)

Some of our Joburg colleagues who work in the Trauma and Transition Programme coordinated the event (again, I got to meet more CSVRers who are fantastic). SANTOC’s mission is to work toward eradicating torture, as well as develop the best practices for rehabilitation of victims and establish preventative torture legislation (as none exists).

Today’s launch ceremony included presentations by SANTOC/NGO members, as well as a number of cultural elements, including readings by members of Khulumani Western Cape (see more about Khulumani in my links list on the side).

Now, it’s one thing to read about torture and abuse in books, articles, etc. Even to see documentaries on TV. It’s quite another to watch an individual describe how he was tortured and the pain he continues to deal with, even decades later. As the child of two mental health professionals – one who deals a lot with trauma – I consider myself to be more knowledgeable about issues of trauma and healing. But nothing can prepare you for the feeling you get when you hear someone tell you that they found out their mother, after working as a freedom fighter, was captured and tortured for years. Years. One of the presenters, while sharing his story, had to stop and collect himself for a few minutes. In a room of 50 people, including parliamentarians, human rights advocates, religious leaders, and other survivors, you could practically feel the support and comfort buzzing in the air, yet it was quiet. Never in my life have I felt such compassion for another human being that I did not know. How could you not do everything in your power to make sure that people never have to experience such pain and hardship that it paralyzes them?

This is why I’m here.

Part of the solution

I know I haven’t been talking about my internship that much, but that’s not because I’m unhappy. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. As most of you know, I’ve been interested in transitional justice for a long time, particularly in post-conflict situations with multiple transitional justice mechanisms. South Africa was one of the first cases that I studied way back at the beginning of undergrad, and I’ve been hooked since. They had one of the most widely publicized truth commissions and have been used as a model for other societies.

(A short lesson for those who aren’t so familiar with this field: transitional justice is pretty much like it sounds. In the world of post-conflict reconstruction, it refers to a set of mechanisms that address issues of the past while fostering greater sentiments of healing, reconciliation, and justice. It places the emphasis on nurturing a collective narrative, hoping to build a cohesive society amongst those who were formerly divided, in many cases, between victims in perpetrators. Truth commissions are a commonly used mechanism where participants fully disclose details from the past. In many cases, perpetrators are offered amnesty in return for telling the truth. This is what happened in South Africa.)

CSVR has many different divisions but I work in the Transitional Justice Programme. Today and tomorrow our colleagues from Johannesburg are in town for a strategic planning meeting where we go over current projects and discuss new ones. I’m thrilled that I’m here for this (it happens only twice a year) so that I can meet everyone involved. Everyone has come from different backgrounds and brings extraordinary passion and skill to the work we’re doing. For the first time, I really feel like I’m able to contribute and be part of the general solution of working toward peace.

Here are just some of the projects that we’re working on:

- Violence in Transition: very long term project (has had continuous funding for 10 years now) surveying the role of violence in transitioning and post-conflict societies.

- Gender and Memory: looks at issues of gender in conflict and conflict resolution, as well as how conflicts are remembered. A current project is developing an exhibition and book telling the stories of 8 mother-daughter pairs in which the mothers played a role in the anti-apartheid struggle. We are interested in understanding how they live their lives now, and how they convey their experiences to their daughters. The exhibition is tentatively scheduled for September and I’m so sad I’m going to miss it.

- African Transitional Justice Regional Network: working to establish connections between NGOs, research centers, and practitioners that focus on transitional justice throughout the African continent. A website allows people/organizations to engage and inform.

Today, all the projects were discussed. We also talked a lot about the current xenophobia problem here in South Africa (hopefully you’ve been watching the news and know what I’m referring to). An ad hoc project has been established as we scramble to understand what’s going on. Xenophobia is not a new issue and there is lots of scholarship and evidence out there that allows us to understand a violent demonstration of xenophobia but nevertheless, it still is a frustrating and unpredictable experience. Many people today discussed if we ever can really predict or know why this occurs, which led to a larger discussion of our roles not just as practitioners but neighbors, friends, and habitants. Many people in CSVR are foreigners and can identify with the issues of resettling, but are also in a completely different world than those who are being targeted. It’s upsetting to see a country from which so many fled to the safe havens of other nations become so intolerant of outsiders, many from countries that provided refuge during apartheid. Coming from the United States, a country filled with immigrants and descendants of immigrants (my great-grandparents came over from Eastern Europe in the early 1900s), it’s sad to see people having to flee their homes because they’re not from here. Mind you, I know that the US is not exactly a model society for immigrant treatment, but still…

Switching gears completely…this weekend I was able to get out and about to explore. On Saturday, I went to the Gold of Africa Museum. I’m a museum junkie and heard this one was unique and beautiful. It told the story of the gold trade on the African continent, and the role of gold in many societies. The museum space was indeed incredible and offered an interesting historical lens. We also tried to go to the Jewish Museum but not realizing that it was an active synagogue, found it closed for Shabbat on Saturday. There is a large Jewish population in South Africa (one of my new friends here was originally born here but moved to the US when she was young but comes from 3 generations of Jewish South Africans) and I’m very interested to learn more about them.

On Sunday, we finally had nice weather and took the train down the peninsula to Simon’s Town, an adorable area. It’s the Royal Navy Base of SA and is a big naval area. It’s also home to the Boulder’s Beach community of penguins! There is a colony of about 3000 jackass penguins here, which are indigenous to this area. They’re quite little and funny (and smelly!) and we were able to get quite close to them. They make a funny noise that sounds like a donkey, hence their name. Simon’s Town also has great seafood so we had a leisurely lunch on the water enjoying fish and chips (and wine of course). The train which ran from our neighborhood all the way down was about an hour and allowed us to see the various towns and beaches, especially the big surfing areas. Surfing is done year round here – I don’t even want to know how cold the water is now!

Tomorrow morning we’re finishing up our planning and then spending the afternoon hiking in Newland’s Forest, which is at the base of Table Mountain. Then, it’s out for drinks and dinner which should be fun. Just another day at the office, eh? Wednesday it’s back to (real) work.

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?

She got religion

Well, not really. But she did get a handshake from one of the most influential and kind human beings ever to walk this planet: Desmond Tutu.

Today is World Refugees Day (so take a moment). As someone who considers herself more conscious than the average person of the plight of the less fortunate, I find myself feeling inadequate at times, especially in the presence of those who have literally lived their lives to serve others.

This morning I went to mass. Before you get all spazzy, just relax. No, I haven’t actually “gotten religion” as they say. And yes, I’m still a Jew (who scrambles to remember the high holidays, but Jew nonetheless). But I have always been interested in other religions and the way that faith is able to guide people, particularly those in conflict. As religion is a common theme in healing, it’s not surprising that I would admire those men and women of the cloth who have participated in resolving conflict.

Anyway, back to the whole mass thing. I had heard from my friend that Desmond Tutu was leading mass at a cathedral in downtown Cape Town. At first, I wasn’t too keen on the whole concept, debating whether or not I could respectfully sit through a service. But seriously, who was I kidding: Desmond Tutu could have read the frickin’ phone book and I still would have showed up.

(For those of you who don’t know about Desmond Tutu, please go read up as he is an incredible person. He is the former Archbishop of Cape Town, was one of the leaders of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize.)

So yes, I went to church. An Anglican church. The service started at 7 am. Yes, it was worth it.

While most of the content of the mass didn’t strike a chord (obviously), there was discussion of peace, justice, reconciliation for those living through conflicts around the world. The general idea – as I’ve found with most religious services I’ve attended – is to live your life respectfully and honestly.

Despite being another miserable, winter day here, listening to Tutu warmed us all up.

“He just winked at me!” Agnes exclaimed. Indeed he did.

After the service was over, he said farewell to all those who attended by blessing us and shaking our hands. He may be the only person to truly bless me and for me to feel honored and not offended by it.

And off she goes again to save the world…

TIA

I'm sitting at work, reviewing some articles for the journal. It's a pretty quiet day here, but Main Road is filled with its typical traffic. (This is the main thoroughfare to get from the southern suburbs to downtown and has 4 lanes of traffic, usually occupied by large buses, kombis, and crazy speeding drivers.) In a moment of daydreaming, I realize that a little white object appears to be scampering along the grass next to the hospital. It then jumps up on the bay of public telephones, pauses to look at some people waiting for the bus, then climbs up a tree and appears to vanish.

Yep, it's a monkey. TIA = this is Africa.

Through my eyes