Signal Hill Sunset

Signal Hill = Very Pretty Views. ‘Nough said.

We had a very nice picnic in the sun this afternoon while enjoying the views from Signal Hill and studying for the SAEP Winter School. Lovely afternoon.

Always,

Sarah

South African Springboks

Yesterday, I experienced my first live rugby game. It was phenomenal. First off, rugby is easy to watch. There really aren’t so many rules or strategies that you can’t follow the game on your first try. Secondly, South Africa is a particularly good place to start a fascination with rugby, for two reasons. One, they are damn good. They won the Rugby World Cup last year and have a long history of having a strong team. Two, (please forgive me, but it’s so true) the South African Rugby team is the most attractive group of men in one place I’ve ever seen. Really. They kept me focused on the game rather than talking through the whole thing. Those of you who know me well can appreciate this.

I’m certainly not going to bother giving a play-by-play of the whole game, but the highlights are:

1. We beat Italy 26-0. Woo Hoo!

2. There was a player nicknamed “The Beast” and when he scored, everyone yelled, “BEEEEAAAST!” Sanford now runs around the house doing this…

3. We watched most of the game in the pouring rain. Not a light drizzle—hard, heavy, cold rain. Thank god for L.L. Bean. My vital organs stayed plenty dry and I really wasn’t all that cold. However, my jeans were completely drenched and denim gets heavy when it’s wet!

4. We saw a guy get Knocked Out Cold. The other players were coming after him and we saw his head snap back. I was seriously worried he was dead. Sanford is going to assault me for saying this, but American football really does look like a bunch of wimps out there with all of that padding after seeing this. Also having said that, I will not have a son that participates in either sport. Period. I thought the guy was dead.

5. We met two very nice gentlemen from South Africa who taught us a lot about the history of the sport in South Africa and the personalities of the players. It was a very nice chat, and I am reminded so much of the motto of the Fulbright program: The best way to destroy prejudice and stereotypes is to be a positive ambassador from your home country. I feel safe is saying that we have been good ambassadors for the USA, in spite of our current leadership.

I guess that wraps it about up!

Always,

Sarah

You Can Send Me Mail!

I haven't bothered giving anyone my address, because I thought that anything would take too long to get here. Well, it turns out that it only takes months to be delivered if so much is shipped that it has to go through customs! So I can receive mail (it takes about a week)!

To mail to our house, the address is:

Sarah Argue
12 Cambridge Road
Observatory 7935
Cape Town, South Africa

To mail to SAEP (a little more safe), the address is:

Sarah Argue
c/o Jane Keen
10 Surbiton Road
Rosebank 7700
Cape Town, South Africa

Always,

Sarah

The Medical Miracles of Dr. Ryan Lewis

This would be a far more interesting post if I had before and after pictures, but it will suffice to say: Ryan Lewis is the man of medical miracles here in South Africa. Quite seriously, he can work some magic with a first aid kit!

So all the story is, is that I had a wicked bad hangnail that got really sore. Some fluid built around it, so I tried to perform home surgery on it with some scissors. That did not really help the situation. So this evening, Ryan did his own brand of surgery with the kitchen knife and some tweezers (everything was sterilized and disinfected with alcohol, I promise.) First he punctured the blister and then dug the hangnail out. I am now healing quite nicely and will be able to keep my finger.

I should also give a shout out to his very helpful staff, Mr. and Mrs. Sanford Johnson. With all the interest this hangnail generated, you would have actually thought that we were performing surgery in our bathroom. If we can get by with this being our only medical emergency, I think this trip will be a success!

Always,

Sarah

The True Story of Boots or How I Adopted a Cat in South Africa

I have two cats. They are fantastic. Their names are Harriet and Millifred, but they go by Harry and Millie. Harry and Millie are my babies and I am very protective and slightly irrational when it comes to them… it is a true test of friendship whether or not one makes a good faith effort to tell them apart. I miss them terribly, mostly at night when the wind is howling and I’m cold. Two cats can keep you very warm. Trust me.

As I have previously posted, we have adopted a cat at our house on Cambridge Road. We’ve named her Boots, in spite of a tag that says otherwise. Today I learned the true story of Boots and have officially adopted her and begun the process of finding her a home for when we leave.

Her story is this:

Once upon a time, Boots lived in the little house at 12 Cambridge Street in Cape Town, South Africa. She was loved and well cared for by a little boy who lived there. The boy played with Boots and rubbed her belly when she would roll over. He scratched her under her chin and behind the ears until she purred.

Then one day the little boy got terrible news. He had to move from 12 Cambridge Street and could not bring Boots with him! The little boy cried to his mom and dad, but alas the decision had already been made. So the boy set about finding a new home for Boots. After many doors had been knocked and bells rung, the little boy’s neighbors across the street (with the freaky monkey gargoyle-uck!) agreed to adopt Boots. The little boy was so relieved and trusted that his sweet and wonderful cat would be well looked after.

But the little boy was wrong! The neighbors disguised as kind hearted folk were really quite thoughtless and uncaring! Shortly after the boy moved, the neighbors went on a long journey. They would be gone for six months! They left instructions for their housekeeper to leave a bowl of food for Boots once a week, but made no provisions for her to be loved!

Boots was sad. She loved the little boy and missed her nice warm house where she was protected from the cold and rain. She was confused and distressed. Then one day three Americans moved into the house. Two of these Americans were quite fond of cats; the third accidentally stepped on her with his big Mississippi feet. Soon the Americans grew fond of Boots and allowed her in the house when they were home and even sleep overnight when the weather was really bad. Boots had hope that when these Americans left, they would leave her in the hands of someone who would love her as much as the little boy had. Until then, she would snuggle deep under the covers and keep the girl American’s feet warm at night.

And that is the true story of Boots of Cambridge Road.

Always,

Sarah

Constantia & Robben Island

This weekend was yet another one filled with fun adventures. Our original plan for Saturday was to climb Table Mountain, but the weather forecast threatened rain. We’ve been warned to only climb Table Mountain when the forecast is good, because the weather can change very suddenly and become dangerous. This left us with a wide open agenda for the day. After much debate and a little hand wringing, we decided to have lunch at the restaurant at Kalk Bay that we’d wanted to have lunch the week before. It was so good. Ryan and I are both prepared to go back for the mussels… we were both staring down the gentleman at a table near ours who had ordered them. I’m sure that he thought we were nuts, but those mussels looked so good!

Following lunch, as a very sleepy and sedate crew, we headed to Constantia, where the oldest winery in the “New World” can be found. This vineyard first began in 1685 and is particularly famous in the annals of time as the producer of Napoleon Bonaparte’s favorite sweet wine, which he had shipped to St. Helena’s during his exile. These wines were quite popular during the nineteenth century among the aristocracy and very wealthy, and for just R22 (~$3) we got to taste five of them! They were really quite good and I was introduced to a new kind of wine, the blanc de noir. It’s kind of a white wine weight with a red wine flavor. I also really liked the dessert wines, although I could never drink them regularly… simply too sweet!

The vineyards were beautiful, even in their dormant winter state. I was reminded of how beautiful I thought the vineyards were in Italy and it made me really want to see the vineyards in Napa. There is something so peaceful about the rows and rows of vines. I imagine sitting on a porch in warm sunshine with the sun going down and a nice glass of wine… yep, that would be nice. I thought this vineyard was especially nice with the mountains rising behind it. Do mountains and vineyards go together? Is there something about mountains that make them good for growing grapes? Hmm, must research…

Sunday, we headed to the waterfront to go to Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for eighteen of his twenty-seven years of captivity. The island is about 10 kilometers off the coast of Cape Town and the ferry ride is about thirty minutes, from coast to coast. We arrived at the launching off site with plenty of time to read the history of the island from its prehistoric days to its present, which some of us did more thoroughly than others.

Of all the various tidbits of history (outside of the political prison history) that we learned, two stand out: First, for many years, Robben Island was a lepers colony that housed several thousand people with the disease. In the 1930’s, when the ‘hospital’ was finally closed, they burned all of the buildings except the church for fear of the buildings being contagious. Secondly, during World War II, the island was fortified with cannons, only the cannons weren’t finished until after the war was over!

Clearly, the greatest significance of the island is its use during apartheid as a political prison. Beginning in 1959, the island was used as a maximum security prison. Over its thirty year history, the prison housed over 3,000 prisoners in harsh, violent conditions. The cells for men identified as ‘leaders’, of the ANC or merely listened to in the court yards, were cramped and isolated in an attempt to break the spirit of the strong. As a more than six foot tall man, Nelson Mandela could never fully stretch in his small cell. The island is now a World Historical site and the Robben Island Museum provides tours of the island and prison throughout the year. These tours are all given by men who were incarcerated on the island.

We had two tour guides; one on the bus that drove around the island and one for the prison itself. Our bus tour guide was a rather gifted story teller and was able to bring to life the full history of the island. The gentleman that gave our prison tour, however, truly kept me spell-bound. His commentary was both personal and political. He began with a discourse on language. There are eleven national languages of South Africa, all given, in theory, equal weight. Our guide made this observation: when someone asks what languages you speak and you begin with Xhosa, Zulu, Sotho, or Swati, peoples’ eyes start to glaze over as they nod, ok ok, but if you begin with French, Dutch, German, English, all of a sudden you are remarkable. In truth, many South Africans have many languages in which they are fluent and it is certainly not the case that they are all treated equally. As an American with no viable second language in spite of five years of French and four college-semesters of Italian, I am constantly amazed by the ability of those able to keep multiple languages in their heads. It is a shame that this is not more celebrated, but as I understood our guide’s point, it is our responsibility especially as English speakers to respect equally the cultural background that language represents. For me personally, I know that I respect language, and I know that it is tied to greater cultural meaning, but I am also aware that I secretly hope everyone can speak English. Not because I don’t want to learn other languages, but because I’m SO bad at learning them myself! (I’ll sometime talk more about Xhosa—THE most difficult language I’ve EVER tried to speak!)

Once we got into the prison, our guide began to tell us his personal story from Robben Island. He was arrested for involvement in youth protests and he was imprisoned at 16. He was released shortly after his 19^th birthday. In the three years that he spent on Robben Island, this young man was tortured and brutally beaten on several occasions. The cruelty that this man described was no less horrific than the Nazi concentration camps. And yet, this man spoke of nonviolence, of reconciliation, and of peace. I have thought a lot about nonviolent movements since I’ve been in South Africa and their power and influence—more on this later.

All in all, another eventful weekend full of thought provoking and beautiful experiences.

Always,

Sarah

This one’s for you, Mom!

Of all the interesting and exciting adventures that I have been having, every other email from my mother asks for the details of my existence here in South Africa, so here goes. I make no promises for riveting stories or amazing insights… merely a description of my daily life on the opposite side of the world from home. I love you, Mom!

I live in a house. It’s a little one story abode with five bedrooms, a bath, and a kitchen. If I were feeling generous, I would include the bathroom out the back, but I’m not. It’s just a toilet with a light bulb and the “shower” is a faucet out of the wall with a tree stump to stand on. I’ve been here two and a half weeks and I have yet to go to the bathroom out there. My plan is to make it another eight weeks! We each have our own bedrooms, which are virtually identical. Sanford’s is just a titch larger, but that’s because Amanda will be here for two weeks. (I say, with all love for Amanda, she brought more luggage for two weeks than any of us did for ten, so Sanford was probably smart getting the larger room!) We have comfortable beds, although we had no sheets initially, and the shower—one of the best I’ve had in the world, bar none. We have very hot water, I’ve actually scalded myself, and terrific water pressure. I am in shower heaven! The kitchen has all of the necessary appliances for us to cook our own food, which has been terrific. We are eating well… and generally pretty healthy. We also have a cat, Boots, who loves Ryan to death and is keeping me from being totally lost without my kitties.

Our house is in an area of Cape Town known as Observatory. In 1820, the Royal Observatory was built in this area of Cape Town, hence the name. We are very close to the University of Cape Town and consequently, the area has always been known as a “gray,” in which all races have commonly mixed. Obs is generally a pretty safe part of town, and our street is nice in particular. There are, however, four layers of locks between the street and our bedrooms: a locked, exterior gate/wall, a gate on the front door, the front door, and our bedroom doors all lock. I’ll post another time regarding our experiences with security… It’s been interesting.

We shop at a pretty common grocery store… It is arranged differently and, of course, all of the brands are different, but we can usually find, eventually, what we are looking for. We do our laundry at a laundromat up the street on Mondays. And there are a variety of other shops pretty close by. In addition, the Porter House office in Rodebosch is in the middle of a business district. I work at the Rosebank office, which is actually Jane and Norton’s house, but I can walk pretty quickly from one office to the other if I need anything.

I am posting pictures of our house, but I don’t have pictures of either office or the city, yet, but I will put them in this set of pictures, so check back again if you are curious.

Always,

Sarah