Durban farewell

With the clock ticking on my time in Durban, I began the process of saying painful and much-despised goodbyes. All day on Thursday and Friday I ventured around the city, visiting hangout spots and homes, saying farewell to the places and people that adopted me so warmly over this past month. After an exhausting day of adventure throughout the city, my farewell practice with the UKZN rugby club, and a night out with Lauren and friends, I received a golden ticket in true Willy Wonka fashion. My friend had invited me to watch Bafana Bafana (South Africa’s national soccer team) play a friendly against Zimbabwe on my last night in Durban.

Held at the Moses Madhiba stadium, Durban’s World Cup venue and one of the Cup’s primary architectural achievements, I walked from the beach to the nighttime game, crowds of people flooding the sidewalks, all drawn by a centripetal force towards the gigantic orb of a stadium. The energy was palpable, overwhelming: everyone had an instrument of some sort, a noisemaker, at the very least a flag or an article of national apparel. Entering the stadium, I was immediately lost in the excitement, drowned in the enthusiasm and high spiritedness. This was not only South Africa’s first real test on their home turf in the lead-up to the World Cup, it was also a rare meeting with South Africa’s dissimilar northern neighbor. Hundreds of thousands of Zimbabweans live and work in South Africa (often facing intense and sometimes violent xenophobia) and they too showed up in impressive numbers at the brimming venue.

When South Africa drew a penalty within striking distance around the 40-minute mark, Bafana cashed in on the opportunity, the perfectly placed ball sending the crowd into a roaring state of euphoria. When a well-conceived cross was deflected by a Bafana striker into the back of the Zim goal midway through the second half, the crowd again erupted with energy, shaking the foundation of the sturdy structure and leaving me again in awe of the power of football in this country.

With the World Cup fast approaching, I can’t help but regret the fact that I’ll most likely not be in South Africa during the contest. In light of the Togo incident at the Africa Cup of Nations, there has been increasing global concern, some of it justified, over the safety and security of teams and tourists coming to South Africa during the competition. Having stayed here for the past month, however, I think that security should not be a major issue during the event itself. As long as tourists are able to use common sense and adopt many of the same precautions that would be expected in other international cities, like New York, I think that all will go without a hitch. Considering the energy and positivity that I perceived at Moses Madhiba, and the intense national pride that the country has taken in the World Cup, I have no doubt that the competition will be truly spectacular.

Returning home that night – Bafana having won 3-0 – I took a deep breath and inhaled the city one last time. The buildings, the streets, the homes, the faces. I breathed in Durban’s signature hot, humid air, warm wind blowing against my cheeks through the car’s open window. Past Steve Biko campus of DUT, up towards Durban High School (DHS), past Jack Rabbits on my right and later Davenport Square to my left. Finally I climbed the steps to 286 Lena Ahrens. Home, sweet home.

Different faces of race

It’s almost impossible for me to have any prolonged conversation here in South Africa without unconsciously thinking of the issue of race. In such an incredibly young country – a country that only less than two decades ago began the long and difficult process of healing and reconciling after apartheid – it should not come as a surprise that almost all in-depth discussions I have with people relate either directly or indirectly to race and racism. A couple of ruminations on some of these discussions:

First, while it may seem easy for me to claim that I come from a much more racially equitable society than the one I’m encountering in South Africa, I need to remember that historically this was far from true. Apartheid, which literally means “the state of being apart”, can in many ways be compared to “separate but equal” conditions in the United States, a state of affairs that was enforced legally via Plessy v. Ferguson until as late as 1953. While the constitutional amendments that laid the foundation for black legal equality were laid in the aftermath of the Civil War a century earlier, it wasn’t until Brown v. Board of Education that the concept of separate but equal lost its legal acceptability in the United States. It then took over a half century for a black politician to rise to national prominence and eventually seek and ascend to the office of the Presidency. This is all to say that change comes slowly. In the case of the United States, it took over a century and a half to achieve some measure of racial equality. But even despite these superficial indicators of America’s racial progress, the U.S. is far from the post-racial nation that it sometimes is portrayed as.

While obvious differences exist – from the degrees of economic development and historical backgrounds to the racial and demographic breakdowns of the two nations – I’m convinced that for profound and deep-seated societal change to take root in South Africa, the same ingredient that the United States has experienced will be necessary – time. South Africa has managed to take sweeping strides in the right direction; while I’m often distressed or enervated by things that my friends say – both black and white – I can only imagine how much more fair and equitable today’s South Africa is compared to the pre-1991 society. Taking its recent past into account, it is nothing short of a social miracle that South Africa is as stable, democratic and multiracial as it is. But the older generations, many of whom lived the majority of their lives during the apartheid era, cannot simply forget the past and erase it from their collective memories. Younger generations too face obstacles in overcoming racial divide; for one, enormous wealth and education disparities persist along racial lines. These disparities serve to perpetuate de facto neighborhood segregation, causing youth to be socialized and brought up in communities mainly composed of people of like race. Drawing cross-national (and admittedly incongruous) comparisons, I still believe that only time will be enough to heal the wounds of the past, remedy persisting inequality and secure a better future for this “Rainbow Nation.”

Another observation: When I first arrived in South Africa I was shocked to hear that people of mixed race are still referred to as “coloreds”. During apartheid, it wasn’t only blacks and whites that were separated from each other – so too were “coloreds” and Asians, both of whom comprised significant percentages of the population. Asians and “coloreds” were kept apart via formal and informal neighborhood zoning, the remnants of which can still be seen widely in South Africa’s cities. I swallowed the references to the “coloreds” uncomfortably, finding the continuation of the term upsetting. But why was the appellation causing me such discomfort? I think it’s mainly because of the political incorrectness that the term carries in the U.S. But on further reflection, I’m left wondering if our own labeling tendencies in the U.S. are not perhaps even worse. Most Americans tend to call people of mixed heritage (black and white) black, even if their skin complexion is lighter than that of many so-called white people. Americans will often look to indicators such as hair texture in their attempts to define people of uncertain racial descent (growing up I can recall having countless discussions with friends about whether or not NBA point guard Jason Kidd was black or white). People of mixed race in the U.S. are oftentimes not even recognized as such, forced to adopt one single racial identity. To bring the point home on the national front – I can recall countless times hearing President Obama being referred to as a black man, the first black president, a model black leader, etc. But Obama isn’t black; he’s half black. He’s also half white. Why is it that we often ignore that fact and simply box him into the category of “black”?

In light of this problematic tendency in the U.S., I must apprehensively ask whether a term like “colored” (with its South African meaning of someone of mixed racial background) might not in fact be more just and accurate of a term. Classifying someone strictly as “colored” admittedly has its problems in South Africa – the population has always had immense difficulty being accepted by either whites or blacks, trapped in between by their racially heterogeneous make-up. But at least South Africa has a space in between where coloreds can in fact belong, whereas in the U.S. it seems that persisting notions of white purity lead Americans to classify people who aren’t 100% white as black, latino, or whatever else they may be, forgetting or excluding their other racial ethnic heritages.

I’m inclined to say that both the U.S. and South Africa have considerable ways to go in accepting and truly coming to terms with the identities of people of mixed race. Rather than feeling compelled to box people into simple and homogenous racial categories, we as a society need to accept a deeper diversity than mere superficial color, recognizing and respecting the distinct ethnic and national backgrounds of all individuals.

A toast to the eastern coast

With just over a week left before I return to the cold northeast, I elected to spend my last full weekend in the southern hemisphere on a road-trip along the eastern coast, visiting and staying in three small waterfront villages north of Durban.

At the first stop – Salt Rock – I stayed with my close friend Justin’s uncle and aunt, former Johannesburg residents who relatively recently moved to the coast. Their home, which was a mere kilometer or so from the ocean, was nestled in thick layers of plant growth, trees reaching directly over their front porch and animals at times seeming to share the abode with its human inhabitants. On the first night, we roasted chicken outside, the sounds of unfamiliar creatures crowding the humid night air. Talking late into the night, I was so exhausted when I retreated to my hut that I didn’t even notice the legions of lizards that scurried around the wall and ceiling.

The next day marked my arrival in Ballito, the eastern coast’s wealthy, resort-like seafront town. Waking early in the morning, I had my inaugurating surf experience, paddling my newfound friend’s board far into the ocean before trying to imitate other surfer’s techniques – pick up speed, ride the wave, get your feet on the board, balance – and make my return to land. I managed to get my knees on the board (and for a brief moment, one foot), but all in all the experience left me further in awe of the athletes who manage to compete in this exasperating sport.

At night, I ventured inland with some friends from the Netherlands to Karibu farm, a livestock farm that serves scrumptious, home-cooked/raised meals on weekend evenings. The whopping plate of ribs that I devoured, with a tall glass of Namibian “Windhoek” brew, left my stomach and mind in delight. I arose the next morning to catch some more of the sun’s rays at Shaka’s beach, a renowned waterfront area that covers most of Shaka Town. Named after Shaka Zulu, the famous Zulu conqueror, Shaka Town was a pleasant little seaside village, presenting a nice and cheap backpacker accommodation as well as a couple of delicious and economical seafood restaurants.

Returning to Durban on Sunday night, I was perfectly refreshed for my last week in my new South African home. I was graciously welcomed back to my lovely home on 286 Lena Ahrens, spending a pleasant night catching up with housemates and taking in the still-stunning view of the city.

A rugby white lie

After an exciting day of exploring Durban’s Indian quarter with my friend Happiness, we took a taxi bus back to UKZN and proceeded to walk home. Passing the Kwazulu-Natal varsity athletic field, I stopped dead in my tracks: there was a full-sided, well-supplied rugby practice going on. I tore down towards the pitch and approached the man who I knew, without asking, was the head coach – his presence and voice exuded an unquestioned sense of authority and charge. With a couple of harmless white lies, I convinced him that I was studying abroad at the University and he subsequently invited me out to have a trial practice.

Sprinting back home, Happiness laughing at my childlike glee in getting a chance to play formal, contact, South African rugby, I picked up my gear and was back at the pitch in minutes. Again, and perhaps much more so than in my previous South African touch rugby experiences, I was blown away by the sheer talent and knowledge on the players assembled on the field. On defense everyone advanced in a perfect, gap-less line, making swift tackles that were immediately followed by efficient two-man rucking. On offense, the line was spread the width of the field, players cutting and shifting positions as the ball swiftly traveled between players’ hands. It was truly a sight to behold, such incredible power and speed combined with unmatched organization and structure. I was definitely below the talent bar of most of the players, but the coach appreciated my effort and invited me back out to practice on Wednesday. Looking forward to it!

AIDS: Trying to see beneath the surface

In the West, it is tragic but true that South Africa – and sub-Saharan Africa as a whole – is frequently associated with the expanding HIV/AIDS worldwide epidemic. South African government long drew attention for its denial of the virus’s severity, promoting traditional herbal medicine as treatment; recently, under the presidency of Jacob Zuma, other problems have come to the forefront. Zuma, who was nearly convicted of raping a teenage girl, has obstinately refused to have himself tested for the virus, setting a distressingly bad example for the country’s legions of sexually active and at-risk young men and women. In a country where the disease is so heavily stigmatized that only a fraction of those who have contracted HIV are tested and diagnosed, the president’s irresponsible refusal to be tested is ensuring that nothing changes too quickly. To make matters worse, Zuma stated in court that after having relations with the significantly younger girl, he simply took a shower and “cleansed” himself of the virus.

I’ve continually heard from friends here that the situation is improving, that government policy is beginning show signs of amelioration and increased awareness. Nonetheless, a number of occurrences and phenomena have managed to seize my attention.

First, while over one in four South African adults are believed to have HIV/AIDS, I am yet to meet or hear of someone who has the virus. I’ve met an impressive amount of people here, made a considerable number of friends, but not once have I heard of anyone I know having HIV. Centering myself around the University of Kwazulu-Natal, this could certainly be one way to account for this – being a prestigious institution, it would most likely cater to a wealthier and more educated population, one that is in general less likely to contract the virus. Secondly, this could be because I’ve spent most of my time in large cities, rather than in the townships where the disease is supposed to have the highest degree of prevalence. Lastly, however, I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with the intense stigmatization of the virus. Maybe people are just less likely to get tested and in turn know that they have the virus. Obviously, it is similarly possible that stigmatization causes people who know they have the virus to not disclose this fact, while still acting responsibly and not putting others at risk.

This morning, on my way to the coffee shop, I witnessed a troubling incident. Walking past a schoolyard, I stopped and overheard a teacher yelling at a number of students for teasing a fellow student – it had not been your average tease, however. The teacher was yelling at three boys for making fun of another boy for having HIV. “Why would you say that he had HIV? That’s ridiculous!” the teacher had yelled. I stopped dead in my tracks, not believing my ears. As I observed, I wondered what could possibly have caused the boys to say such a thing.

Was calling someone HIV positive a common insult amongst the youth, like being “gay” or “retarded” used to be when I was in elementary school? I’m inclined to believe that what I heard was a serious aberration and that such occurrences are very uncommon, but I have little way of actually knowing. As an outsider it’s difficult to tell, to get beneath the stigma and understand how the virus is seen here.

The Circle of Life

Walking to the Univeristy of Kwazulu-Natal early this morning for a rendezvous with a professor, I found my regular path obstructed – not by construction, traffic or inclement weather. Rather, it was a force of a different sort that left me dead in my tracks – monkeys. In the middle of my accustomed route to school lay at least a dozen monkeys dancing and frolicking, teasing each other from treetops, swinging from branch to branch with breathtaking nimbleness. Frozen in place, I contemplated my next move. Do I brazenly walk straight through the middle? Turn around and find an alternative route? Try to sneak my way through the bushes unnoticed? Finally, I decided on a course of action and stealthily tried to drift past them unperceived. Foolish thinking on my part. Taking no more than a few steps, the monkeys became motionless, eying me suspiciously. Petrified, I looked up into the sky – at least another dozen were now scrutinizing me from the branches above.

Having had no prior experience with monkeys, aside from gaping at them through zoo bars, I was clueless about how to react. Reaching slowly through my backpack, I located a large bag of peanuts and gently tossed them onto the road. Intrigued, the primates diverted their attention away from me, one after the other scrambling towards the dispersed nuts. Seizing the opportunity, I cautiously reversed out of their midst into a clearing a slight distance away, exhaling with relief. After calming down, I sat down on the grass to watch the impressive creatures. While monkeys to me represent something utterly foreign, the peak of exoticism and mysteriousness, locals here live amongst them as we in North America live amongst squirrels. In fact, I wonder how people here would react if they came across a crowd of squirrels blocking their road – would they too stop and stare in wonder?

Personally, from my biased North American perspective, I’m inclined to believe that South Africans would not harbor any fascination for America’s most prevalent rodent. The little, ugly, grey nuisances litter our trashcans, pester our picnics and nibble on just about anything they find. Monkeys on the other hand strike me as brilliant ad formidable animals – sprinting on all fours, leaping from branches to faraway treetops, clinging easily with one small hand to plants towering meters above the ground. Perhaps it is their human resemblance that captures my attention most; it’s easier for me to imagine monkeys conversing, drawing affection, possessing some degree of higher intellect. The breed that prevails in this part of South Africa – the Verved – is distinct for its thin physique, incredible quickness and impressive agility. The males can be distinguished from the females in a rather easy manner. The females have ruby-colored genitalia, while the males have large, conspicuous, bright blue testicles – veritable blue balls.

After my morning monkey excitement, I had a pleasant afternoon at the beach where I encountered yet another type of unfamiliar species. Littering the shores, almost as numerous as the post-noon swimmers, were hoards of transparent jellyfish, some extending over a foot in diameter. Washed onto the sand, the ones I observed looked as if they were struggling to survive out of their natural habitats, their tentacles falling limp and droopy under the dry, burning heat. Swimming out rather far, I had the not-so-unique pleasure of suffering my initiating jellyfish sting – a sharp bite that pricked my left ankle above the heel. Returning home that night, my flatmates laughed at my interest in the strange sea creatures – again, something that was entirely foreign to me was a regular spectacle in their daily lives.

This morning I struggled out of bed at an ungodly hour to accompany Justin to the pre-sunrise beach. As a hardcore surfer, Justin regularly wakes up as early as 5:00 a.m. to catch the early morning waves and beat the noontime crowds. Arriving at the deserted beach, I dove into the waves, treading water as the sun peaked its beams over the horizon, flooding the seaside city with first light. Watching Justin cut and swerve through the powerful waves, navigating their currents with spectacular agility, I too wished that I had grown up surfing. I lazily floated back to shore and lay half submerged, allowing the powerful waves to rush towards me and throw me under their powerful cover.

As the sun grew increasingly prominent in the distance, I walked along the beach to take in one of Durban’s premier tourist attractions – uShaka Marine World. Containing impressive collections of seals, penguins, sharks and all sorts of fish, I spent my morning observing their movements, watching them swim about. I was even selected to pet and take a picture with one of the older male seals, a distinctly amusing experience. Around noon, it was time for the main event – a spectacularly orchestrated dolphin show. Having never visited any of the States’ premier aquariums, the show left me breathless, in awe of the elegant marine creatures’ remarkable synchronization and rapidity.

Oftentimes, countries diverge not only in their natural climates but also in the types of life forms that their local environments can sustain – the animals I’ve come across in the past few days all strike me as incredibly alien and peculiar. Having never lived by the ocean or shared a path with a primate, I never cease to be amazed by things that locals here find completely unexceptional.

Without Africa's "Blessing"

I arose unhealthily early this morning (to say “I arose at the crack of dawn” would be a lie, for the Durban sun rises at 5:00 a.m.) and ventured downtown to meet with Blessing Karumbidza, a renowned scholar of China’s influence throughout Africa. At 7:30 – our meeting wasn’t until 8:00 – I’d already arrived at our rendezvous spot when a man in a long, colorful dress approached me and furtively asked if I needed any drugs. Playing the part all too well, I shook my head and was about to go sit elsewhere when I heard a loud cackle erupt from the supposed drug dealer – Blessing had been bluffing.

The successful practical joke was a suitably atypical introduction to an equally unique intellectual. Trained as an economic historian with a research focus on rural agricultural sociology, Karumbidza grew up in Zimbabwe but has been living in South Africa for the past decade. Last year Karumbidza had his contract discontinued at the University of Kwazulu-Natal for attempting to organize campus workers and demanding that they receive more equitable wages, but he’s managed to remain remarkably active in Durban nonetheless, conducting research and taking part in various NGO initiatives. Fluent in Zulu, Shona (his native language) and with an eloquent command of the English language, my interview with Karumbidza lasted several hours and got to the very core of my research question of how South African’s view Chinese presence and influence in their country.

Prior to arriving in South Africa, I’d suspected that perceptions of the Chinese here would be determined largely by factors such as occupation and socioeconomic background. I conjectured that while perceptions of the Chinese might take on a degree of ideological and political grounding among the higher rungs of society, among lower and middle class South African’s, direct economic impact would be the main determinant in conceiving of the Chinese influence. Karumbidza listened intently as I explained my thesis before describing his own views and research observations. He argued that because of China’s pretext for being in Africa – that it is here to help lift likewise developing nations out of poverty – and because of China’s lack of a bad track record and historical guilt on the continent, only a tiny portion of South Africa’s population would chose to frame Chinese influence in South Africa in any sort of ideological way. Unlike the West in Africa, the Chinese carry none of the historical baggage of past failures and exploitation. Thus, South African’s perceptions of the Chinese depend almost entirely on how their individual economic livelihoods have been influenced by Chinese engagement on the continent.

Recognizing this differentiation, many of the seemingly aberrant interviews I’d conducted in the past made considerably more sense. When we wrapped up the interview, Blessing provided me with an extensive list of contacts relating to my project, offering to provide an introduction to anyone I wanted. He then proceeded to personally drop me off at the SATWU (South African Textile Workers Union), introducing me to the director so that I could set up an interview. South Africa’s textile industry is currently only a fraction of what it used to be and China is largely to blame. In a number of interviews I’ve conducted, people have mentioned the crippling effect of Chinese imported textiles and clothing, and it will truly be a “blessing” to be able to meet the current director of SATWU.