Let her speak!

I’ve been sitting here for about 15 minutes now trying to figure out how to describe my week. I don’t mind the walks to school so much anymore. I feel like when I’m walking back to 11 Bollihope Cresent, even if it is in the rain, I’m going home. I’ve even started to look right first when crossing the road.

It was my first week that I felt settled enough to take my eyes off the mountain and look at the reality of where I am. I almost feel it was involuntary though. It might be better to say my head was turned from Cape Town’s brochure to the reality. I am no longer totally in vacation mode.

On Sunday night, I went to a braai with Suzi, who is in my program but was born and lived here for a bit when she was younger. She introduced me to a couple of her friends from when she was younger and they introduced us to their friends. We were picked up and basically did what I would do back home; went to a market, hung out, and ate good food. After bantering back and forth with some of the guys about how “The Jersey Shore” isn’t actually what the entire state of New Jersey is like (thank you, MTV), I began to realize how much my accent really made me stick out. South Africa has seven different languages spoken in the country. If accents are labels to anyone, it’s these people. Of course I played along when they made fun of us for only speaking American and not understanding English. It brought me back to when I was in Italy. There my professor told us the international perspective of Americans and I have never been able to forget it. We’re loud (yep), gum popping (guilty), people. Despite the awareness of my relocation, it was really fun to hang out with all Suzi’s friends for the day and have them show us around. But after the day, it still wasn’t what I came looking for in SA.

It was my second week of classes and I’m so happy I no longer look like a lost freshman or possibly worse, a lost American. Knowing where your classes are really cuts down on the amount of time one has to waste. It’s great. I have yet to not want to walk up the mountain and hang out with my Scottish professor at 9 AM. My international politics teacher has made it VERY clear that she does not like Bush in any sense of his being. I appreciate that lady, but I’m not here to learn your opinions. Please, proceed on with the lecture. Thursday I had all my tutorials for each class. They’re only 45 minutes long and I felt that they were almost like checkups on notes because every question they asked, my notes from the week could answer. I would say they are a waste of time but since I have a tendency to day dream, I’ll refrain. My international politics tutorial was awkward to say the least. We were given 15 minutes and 5 essay topics. In groups, we were to outline essays for all 5. I was partnered up with a colored girl and white guy both from SA. As if our group couldn’t get any more diverse, I was representing the great melting pot. One question asked what we would invest $10 billion into. The two topics which divided the class were poverty and education. The girl in our group chose poverty, I chose education as did the other guy in our group. She kept stating that education won’t put food on the table. She seemed as if she didn’t come from a family like mine and as if this was a personal subject so I didn’t feel the need to argue with her.

Friday night, Maddy and I went to a “play” put on by UWC students. She told me it was basically a couple people telling stories of HIV and AIDS. I figured it’d be something vaguely like RENT. And it was, but it was true stories told by the true characters. It was called “Freedom at Home” and seven girls told their stories of rape, AIDS, homelessness, and abuse. They said they felt their bodies, the home of their soul, had been taken from them through all these events. After the play we were asked by the director, if we could relate to any of the stories. Obviously I could not relate. I honestly couldn’t even say I could come close to relating.

After the show we went to another braai held at American students’ house. There was a girl from Lancaster who goes to Saint Joe’s. It was so refreshing to hear my own accent and the word “hoagie” used properly. I also ended up talking with some Europeans doing internships in the area. The discussions about the States got even heavier. I wanted to be like “you’re at an American house right now eating! There’s a time and place for these discussions and this is not it.” I wasn’t about to let one person ruin my night though so I naturally, I excused myself and went to get more food.

As much as I wanted it to, my week of awakening didn’t stop there. Waiting at home was a disturbed roommate who had gotten into a fight with an Israeli friend about how she wasn’t American. He kept going on and on about how she’s doesn’t speak proper English because she has a Mexican accent. She doesn’t practice American culture. AND she wasn’t white enough therefore, she is not American. She said the worst part about it was that, despite his friends’ requests to “let her speak,” the guy would not take a long enough breath for her to get a word in.

Don’t get the wrong impression of my experiences in Cape Town though. I still enjoy waking up to the view of Table Mountain outside my window every morning. I love coming home to 11 Bollihope and meeting people from across the world is captivating. If this week’s events are what I have to go through to get this damn “Catholic school bubble” finally popped, I will be more than happy!