the Adventures of a Type-A Nomad

[type-a-nomad]

April 16th-- flying home

I am on my way back home.  I am going to write a summary of my last few days and then move on to broader thoughts.  Saturday I spent most of my time walking around and at the beach.  I was supposed to go to the Old Biscuit Mill with Rowan, but for some reason he never showed and he doesn’t have cellular data so there was really no way for me to get ahold of him.  For this reason, I didn't just leave and go to the Old Biscuit Mill with my friends, because what if he showed up at the house and I wasn't there?  Anyways, he didn't show.  He sent me a rather bizarre text saying that he had been waiting outside my house for me for three hours, but I was there and he just wasn't there, so I don’t know why he would bother lying.  I think he either was with his friends or something with his family or money came up that meant he couldn't get to me.  Either way, I would really just prefer the truth.  It’s a shame I missed my last Old Biscuit Mill, but for some reason the world is still turning just fine.  Saturday night, everyone wanted me to go out with them but I stayed in and packed and had some emotional space to myself.   I wrote letters to three of my kiddos.  The ones I feel I have made the largest affect on.  I am almost certain I’ve really shifted the trajectory of their lives.  I convinced a 7th grader, Damien, that he should practice art more and go to art school and his mother agrees.  This is very rare because when you live in Dunoon, survival is the priority and art is not seen as a way to survive. You need to be a sophisticated thinker who has a lot of exposure and appreciation for art to let your oldest son go to art school.  I’ve never met Damien’s mom but she seems like a very cool lady.  An excerpt of Damien’s letter is as follows: “You have talent, skill, and the most important factor of all: dedication.  Without dedication, you could be the most talented artist in the world and it wouldn’t really matter.. The more effort you put in, the luckier you will get.  Don’t give up.  It won’t be easy, but nothing is worthwhile if it isn't worth time and a little struggle.  Sometimes, it will feel like nothing is going right.  That’s life testing how much you care… Never let anyone dim your shine.  Kindness and creativity are your greatest weapons.  You got this.” The second was to Danroy.  I taught Danroy about kindness and vulnerability.  I told him “If I can leave you with one thing, it is for you to realize your kindness.  You have amazing kindness inside of you and it takes far more bravery and strength to be kind than it does to be mean… You are unique, nobody else in the world is like you.  Be the best, kindest, most compassionate you that you can be.  Be strong through the kindness and friendliness you show the world.   Smile.  Laugh.  Give hugs.  Find Your Happiness.  I believe in you.” That’s just a tiny bit from the end, but generally I was trying to emphasize vulnerability and tenderness without using those words because I knew he would be entirely averse to that idea.  Danroy is a hard kid.  He doesn't smile a lot, and when he does it’s usually when he’s causing somebody else pain.  We’ve worked a lot on that over the past two months. When he sees me, he clings to my side.  The boy needs more tenderness.  He needs to be reminded of kindness and affection.  He is so desperate to be hugged and praised, I hope my letter reinforces those ideas, even though I am no longer there to hold him and make him giggle.   The third letter was to Brooklyn.  She’s in 5th grade and more mature than most of the kids I’ve met in the whole program— including the volunteers.  In her letter I focused on making her realize how special she is and that she needs to push to use this specialness because Dunoon can steal her from the world if she isn't careful.  I didn’t say that directly at all, but focused on creating ambition and inspiration that she can focus on and use to reach farther and higher than she ever imagined.  An excerpt from her letter: “Challenge yourself, even when it’s uncomfortable.  Show Kaitlyn and Katheryn that they can be anything they set their minds and hearts to” (those are her younger twin- sisters) “It’s a big world and it awaits you… Take risks.  Try hard.  Always go all the way if you decide to go at all… You are capable of exactly what you believe you are.  If you believe you can do anything.  You can.  If you believe you can’t change anything.  You won’t.  Your future is exactly that: yours.  I’m beyond excited to see you change the world.  Be brave.  Be kind.  Be passionate. “ Sunday morning I woke up at 6am to get ready and make a grilled cheese before I hiked Table Mountain.  I had been living in South Africa for 2.5 months and I still hadn't taken the time to climb the damn thing, so I thought the day of my leave fit well because I was about to sit on a plane for 27 hours.  Everyone usually does this route called Plaatklip Gorge that goes directly up the front of the mountain facing the sea, but my dad told me about this one that on the back of the mountain that starts in the Kirstenbosch gardens and I wanted to check it out.  It was phenomenal.  The route was called Skeleton Gorge and was much harder than the one that goes up the front in terms of physical risk, but I actually suspect it was more comfortable because we were in the shade for the majority of the hike.  It was spectacular.  I was surprised how hard it was.  My heart hasn't been under that kind of stress in a very, very long time.  I’m extremely out of shape because I don’t work out here or eat well, and I felt it.  On top of that, the trail was straight up, like a steep stairmaster.  Things got a little treacherous when we had to literally scale a waterfall.  It wasn't as dangerous as it could have been because of the draught it wasn't rushing down, but it was definitely a waterfall and the large rocks we had to climb up were very slick and many were actually loose, so you had to be very careful of where you stepped and with how much weight.  By the time we got to the top, everyone was exhausted.  We thought we could get to the top, walk about 45 minutes across and then get to the cablecar. If you haven't already noticed my use of the past-tense.   When we got to the top, there was a trail map and it informed us that the cablecar was 3.5 hours hike away.  I didn't have time for that, I had a plane to catch and I had to leave at 5pm, meaning that I wanted to be back by 2pm.  That means I had to go directly down from where I came.  Going down a waterfall is even harder and scarier.  By the time we got back down the waterfall to the steep ladders, stairs, and boulders we had scaled to get there, our legs were shaking, and badly.  I got down the rest of the steep part well, but once we got back to the more stable path, my legs decided to be way less stable.  They were cramping and shaking violently.  Because my muscles were so weak, it put a lot of pressure on my joints.  My ankles have a history of problems and, thus, they were the first to go.  The started rolling very easily.  I’ve sprained both of them so badly at this point that I don’t really feel them when they act up like that.  Then, my left ankle gave out entirely.  One second, my leg was underneath me.  Next second, it wasn’t and I was face down on the path.  As I write this, I have large welts and bruises on my legs where I fell— they resemble little eggs buried underneath my skin and colored purple.  I don’t bruise really ever so this is a big deal— nothing like a couple battle scars to legitimize a hike.              Now that I am on the plane ride home, I find it suiting to write some reflections upon my time in South Africa.  Right now, the most notable feeling in my heart is numbness.  I am almost in shock.  I haven't registered that I’m actually going home.  Not only am I leaving South Africa, but this is the end of my world- traveling for the time being.  This was the last adventure.  Now it’s back to the United States and all that awaits me there.  There are a lot of question marks in terms of how things are going to go when I get back.  I don’t know how much I’ve changed in South Africa, and that’s anxiety producing.  Not because that I feel afraid that people won’t like me as much, I just don’t know how my relationships will change because of what I’ve experienced in South Africa.   What if nothing in my life at home changes? In my eyes, that would be the worst possible outcome.  That would mean that I didn’t internalize enough of my very different experience to be changed by them.  It is very easy to fall into the same groove I was in before I left.  That is what awaits me at home.  That pre-made groove.  When I land, I’m either going to fall back into my old groove, or figure out how to carve a new one with what I have experienced and realized during my intense stay in Africa.  There has been a lot more living in the past 2 months than I think I’ve had in any 2 months ever.  Things were so saturated.  Life was overwhelming.  Days had enough going on to last a year.  I feel aged, exposed, and more aware of everything in my brain.  I’ve become more mature in that I can handle and address my inner sensitivity in a way I couldn't before without being overwhelmed or controlled by it.  I am still in the process of working on that, but I’ve come a long way.  In Africa, there wasn't room to be overwhelmed.  There wasn't room to be self-possessed to the point of reclusion.  I had to be there for the kids.  I think this lead to my weekends being very lazy and my writing being extremely important for my mental health.  I wasn't there to be able to take care of my mental health, but in being in a place that challenging and having to figure out how to cope when I was that isolated, made me develop and strengthen my own mind.  Moreover, the way I process things is very external.  Art, music, writing, talking, it’s all outside my own head.  It’s almost like my thoughts are so crowded that you can’t actually see what’s going on until I give everything a little more space and take it out of my brain to process and interact with it.  If I really want to know what’s going on, I need to externalize.  Writing has been that space of externalization in Africa, and it means the world to me because without it, I would have lost so many thoughts and memories and nuances of my experience.   I knew about my need for externalization before I moved to Africa, but I’ve never had to deal with the level of isolation I had in Africa and the need to get my thoughts out of my head.  Writing was perfect because it was private, but still outside of myself.  That’s a really tricky thing to find.  In some ways, I prefer speaking out loud.  I can really think out my ideas when I’m speaking.  Writing just doesn’t get me to the same brainspace.  That being said, when I write, I keep all of my ideas.  I don’t lose anything.  When I speak, a lot of what I throw out is lost because once it’s out of my brain, I have a lot of trouble remembering what was there before.

Before the plane took off, I heard from Rowan.  Saturday night, he was beat up.  He was with his friends and a guy came over and started causing trouble with one of this friends so he stood up for him.  Next thing he knows he's on the ground getting beat up by the guy and his whole group of friends while Rowan’s group abandons him.  This kid was been through more than anyone should ever have to go through.  Right now he is still living with his Grandma in Durbanville, looking for a job.  I hope he finds one soon because his Grandma drinks a lot and is in no way supportive of him in any sense.  It doesn’t help that there isn't any extra money to go around.  Rowan is kind and a quick learner.  I have a feeling he’s going to be okay eventually but the world is an incredibly unfair place and seeing somebody I know go through what he is going through right now makes me chest tight.  It’s hard to reconcile the amount of comfort and privilege I have relative to him with the knowledge that I helped as much as I could when I had the chance-- that last part just feels like moral licensing to me and I don’t think anyone deserves to get off the hook that easily.  When you’re born with privilege, it’s your life’s work to pay it back to the world around you.  

Currently, I am flying over the North Pole, which kind of trips me out.  Particularly because it is really the fastest route from Dubai to California— really reinforces the idea that the earth is round.  It’s a little trippy to think about.  To pass the time, I’ve been watching movies and doodling all over my arm.  I can’t sleep anywhere but a bed unless I take sleeping pills and I forgot my Benadryl on the first plane, even though I didn't even take it on the first flight apparently it seemed like a bright idea to take it out of my bag.  Irritating.  So, I’ve been awake for 24 hours and counting.  It’s a challenge.  The hardest part is that I don’t have any snacks or water because I didn't have time to get any from the airport in Dubai because I was so nervous about making sure I had my ass on the plane when it took off.   I’m sitting here in an airplane, hurtling through the sky over the North Pole.  I can’t help but wonder what my kids would think about all of that.  Flying is unpleasant for me.  I don’t like sitting down.  The recycled air makes me sick.  I’m exhausted and unable to sleep without Benadryl.  Yet, my kids would think this is a miracle.  Air-travel is something they know of and they see airplanes flying overhead, but they don’t ever think of that as part of their reality.  Honestly, it would feel like a small miracle to me if they end up living outside of Dunoon.  I would give anything for them to have the experience of leaving South Africa, but that is so far from their realm of possibility that they don’t even know to dream it.  Access to the rest of the world is not something you think about when your day-to-day focus is survival.  It shows the limits of the imagination and how dreaming is actually a privilege in some ways.  The ability to dream comes with a degree of optimism.  You dream that something better can happen to you.  That there is a future, probably a long one, in which this dream can happen.  I’ve always taken that for granted.  I won’t anymore.

Realizations I had and little stuff I’ve picked up:

I need to be near a beach if I’m going to be able to live somewhere long-term.

I love teaching and explaining concepts successfully is fulfilling in a way little else I’ve discovered in my brief 18 years of living is.

I have a treasure-chest of my favorite humans on this planet and once I find a treasure I never will let it go from my heart.  My treasure-chest has become very international and I’ve picked up a couple gems from each place I’ve lived this year.  

I prefer having friends who compliment me instead of replicate me.  Yes, it’s nice to have somebody grasp exactly what you’re trying to get at— but having somebody push you a little further from a different angle is even better.  

Turns out time travel is totally possible (only to the future though— unless we can harness infinite energy to break the speed of light) because of the theory of relativity that I didn't understand before but now I have a crude grasp of astrophysics and what space and time mean.  

Every time I see parents with kids under 2 years old on a plane I am more and more sure that I won’t take my children on planes until they're at least 4.  They can walk.

Almost everything in my life is a result of luck.  My intelligence, financial situation, access to education, optimism towards the world and my trust in the opportunities that I will have: it’s all luck.  There’s hard work that helps the luck.  It pushes it all along in the right direction.  But, even the information and knowledge I have is based on the luck of me having a certain IQ and curiosity, and then having an outlet for it.  

Music is amazing and a song that’s fantastically written is one of the most beautiful creations a human can make— way past visual art.  

I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man called “bossy”— it’s a very feminine word.  Think about that one for a second.  (How bossy is it for me to tell you to do something?)

Water actually activates prehistoric neurons that still exist from when we were all amphibians and that’s why you feel so alive when you get out of the sea— it’s like charging a piece of your brain you never use.

The majority of my brain is subconscious/completely out of my direct control and is just trying to digest the ridiculous amount of ramen and ice cream I’ve eaten while breathing at the same time.  

When I’m excited about something I am possibly the most impatient person in the world, but it’s just because I care and I’m not sure if I’m going to work on this because I don’t want it to take away from the excitement— it all feels very closely related.  

I love letters.

In Belgium, when somebody is easily offended, they say the person has “long toes”, as in it’s easy to step on their toes.  That’s pretty brilliant.  It almost sounds like a kind of snarky Native American: Coyote Long Toes— or something.

I am very clear on what money means to me and what is worth spending it on.  For example, taking a friend out to dinner in Italy.  Going on a road trip.  Things not worth spending money on: purses, cars, anything surrounding affecting the way other people will perceive your status.  

Inaction is extremely dangerous.  When people don’t take action to educate themselves, or understand the full picture.  When people settle for something less than the complete truth, it’s a disaster.  Example A: Donald Trump.

I have absolutely no idea what I want I want to be doing in 10 years, but if I’m not making a observable difference somewhat singlehandedly I have a feeling I’ll be disappointed in myself.  

The more people I meet the more different I feel.  This feeling makes me think I am going to do something big and I don’t know what it is— this has been something I’ve felt more and more this gap year.  I’m not trying to say I’m better than others, but I definitely feel that I’m different, so I should be doing something different too.  

Things I’m still working on:

I want to help people and I haven’t figured out if Top-Down or Bottom-Up is more rewarding.  That is to say: is politics really the answer to helping the earth and the people who are suffering and going unheard?  To me, it seems like people at the top are incredibly out of touch.  

Balancing humility, bravery, and believing in myself.

Seeing weaknesses as something to make stronger instead of faults.

Patience in time-sensitive situations— anxiety doesn’t make the line move faster.

Getting in shape and staying in shape— for Lord’s sake I only have one body and it wasn't created out of the molecules that used to be a million different living things to be then fed with ramen and sugar.  I’m pretty sure my atoms are going to start boycotting, looking longingly to their past beings as flowers, deer, fish, and clouds.   Read more— my brain can always use more words and ideas.  

Songs I’ve been listening to a lot this year:

Aphasia by Pinegrove

Song for Radio by Shoos Off

All Too Well by Taylor Swift

Getaway Car by Taylor Swift

Romeo and Juliet by the Killers

Fu-Gee-La by the Fugees

m.A.A.d city by Kendrick Lamar

All of the Lights by Kanye West

Never Ever- the Rubens

There’s a Reason - Wet

Mansion Door- The Shakey Graves

I Know Places by Taylor Swift

Bloodshot Red Eyes by  Everything Is Recorded

Love Galore- SZA

King Kunta by Kendrick Lamar

If I Ruled The World by Nas, Ms. Lauryn Hill

Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day

I’m Ready To Move On/ Mickey Mantle Reprise- Bleachers

Raw- Sigrid

My Church by Maren Morris

Talia- King Princess

Tell Him by Ms. Lauryn Hill

Runaway by Kanye West

OKRA - Tyler the Creator

You Got Me- The Roots

Also, I have a question.  If you’re reading this you have a duty to respond.  Is this it? Is this the end of the blog? Or do I continue into college.  Looking for a poll— not sure if it’s going to actually influence my behavior but just ease my curiosity.  Also, I have no idea who actually reads this thing.  Let me know.  

- Q

[type-a-nomad]

Of course it’s Friday the 13th.

Friday the 13th lived up to it’s stigma, in a way.  The true horror occurred on Thursday the 12th but it was close enough to midnight that I think it’s the 13th’s fault.  I’ve been a mess today.  

Thursday night started off great.  We had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and I got thirds of everything.  Then, I sat on the couch in my PJs with my white wine and wrote the last post you read.  It was very nice and I was sleepy. The meatballs really took it out of me.  Then, I got a text.  From my friend Sebastian.  He was apart of the old crew of friends that has all left by now.  He’s still in Cape Town though, studying for an English certificate.  He said that he’s surprising everyone tonight and coming back.  This was so comforting and an absolute rush of energy went through my body.  I threw on pants and was so happy to see him.  We went to the Thirsty Turtle, the place we always go on Thursdays because its 2 for 1 and nobody has any money.  It was a great time for the first two hours.   A little bit in, that girl Danni showed up which I was a little surprised about because she's not on project any more and has had some drama with some girls she screwed over.  Basically, at dinner on Monday, Lucy was telling me that Danni told her they had plans to rent a house together and she was ready to do so but then she just bailed and didn't even tell Lucy to her face, she just found out through the grapevine that Danni was going off project and doing something else entirely.  I told her that I wasn't at all surprised because her behavior towards me has been nothing short of appalling.  She would be so snarky when she spoke to me and sometimes just pretend that I don’t exist, even when the conversation is at a table of 4 people and she’s directly across from me.  She would come in our room and ignore me when I asked her how she was or what she had done that day.  I have no idea why she was so horrible to me.  I think she was jealous and upset that I was so close with Tim, Lucas, and other people at Dunbar instead of being interested in following her and her group around.  If it matters that much to you, be more interesting, smart, and/or funny,  and I’ll spend my time with you.  Until then, no thanks. Back to Thursday night.  I knew Danni would ignore me.  Honestly, I didn’t even really think about it.  I want nothing to do with her so good riddance.  People started leaving around 11 but my friends were still hanging around.  I went to the bathroom.  When I came back, people had kind of shifted around the table so my old spot was taken and I found myself standing next to Danni, no big deal I don’t need to talk to her.  Within moments, I feel a hand grab my arm and turn me around.  Of course, it’s Danni.  Panic floods my stomach.  “You know that I am fûcking pissed at you”, she shoots at me.  I don’t even blink.  “Alright”, I respond.  I am sober and she is clearly not.  I don’t want to engage.  I have no interest in how she feels, especially not about me.  Not my monkey, not my circus.  I try to turn away but she physically holds me in place.  By the way, did I mention she’s literally a linebacker? I’m tiny.  This is not a position I want to be in.  My back is literally against the wall and she is standing in front of my only exit to the other side of the table.  I try to move around me, and she steps in my way.  “I’m talking to you”.  “I can see that”.  “Im so fûcking pissed at you, you bįtch”. “Danni, stop.” “Im so angry” “I don’t care” “You don’t care that you’re a fûcking bįtch?” “No, I don’t, please move out of my way” She doesn’t move and I can tell she has no intention of moving, so I turn to my friend Parker who is sitting on the bench against the wall behind me.  She pushes me from behind so I fall forward a little.  “You little bįtch” she sneers at me, loud enough that I’m pretty sure the whole table heard.  I hate confrontation.  I’m panicking at this point.  I don’t know how to handle this.  I turn around and try to move past her again and, again, she blocks my way and puts her hands on me.  “Take your hands off of me”. “You fûcking bįtch.  When I have a problem I just say so. You talk behind my back. You lying bįtch” “Danni, stop it.  Let me past you” “Let’s talk outside” “Danni, no, move.” By now I’m really panicking.  My fight or flight instincts are kicking in, thats how terrified I am.  I can tell I’m either going to punch her in the face or start sobbing right there.  My natural default is always sadness over anger.  I feel the tears coming on.  I turn back to Parker.  “Parker, help me.  Help.  Me.  Help Me. Please”.  He tells Danni to back off, but she’s still screaming at me even though my back is turned.  More and more people around me are noticing.  She pushes me again from behind.  I turn, leave the only jacket I have on the continent of Africa, and sprint away.  I sprint all the way home.  It is super dangerous for me to have left alone.  Like beyond risky.  But I couldn't stand it.  I felt entirely broken and so overwhelmed.  By the time I got home, I was breathless and sobbing from sprinting and the absolute terror the situation had caused me.  I can’t remember the last time I was that upset.  I have nobody here.  Nobody stood up for me.  Nobody helped me even though I was freezing and panicking.  I could barely walk to the wall next to the pool.  I was shaking head to toe.  Sobbing alone on the dirty, stone ground, next to an empty pool in the middle of South Africa, far away from anyone who cares or loves me.   I started hyperventilating from the amount of pain, stress, and panic the entire interaction had cost me.  Next thing I know, I am face down, laying beside the pool, having a full-fledged panic attack.  I was entirely alone.  The world was spinning.  I lost where the sky was.  My lungs were burning and grabbing for air entirely on their own accord.  After a while, I have no idea how long, somebody from the house heard me.  It was this really shy, sweet British guy named David.  He called out to me, asking what was wrong.  I gasped out that I was having a panic attack and needed space.  I was sobbing on the ground, clutching my sides.  I have never been so vulnerable and so alone at the same time.  Somehow, I called Lucy who was back at the main hostel and told her it was an emergency and I was at Dunbar.  Within minutes (I think) I heard the main gate slam.  I am generally not religious, but I was praying at that moment that it was help coming.  My entire body was convulsing and I had no control over anything.  I couldn't feel anything.  Even my lips were shaking.  I couldn't use my eyes to understand the reality around me.  Next thing I know, Jenine, Lucy, and Luisa are around me, turning me around and laying me down.  My entire body is shaking so hard they can barely get me to lay right-side-up so I could breathe properly.  They’re holding my head so it doesn’t hit the concrete.  My lungs still are opening and closing faster than I could think to close them.  My head feels like its rolling around, completely independent of my body.  I can’t find reality.  I can’t find gravity.  I am entirely alone.  Then things slow.  The spinning becomes less incoherent and more dizzying.  I start crying hard again.  Sobbing.  I probably was so loud that all of the new volunteers got to wake up to the end back-end of my panic attack.  When they can get me to sit up, I do, and start to explain, through my sobbing, what happened.   This entire experience was beyond traumatic. Firstly, I have spent almost an entire year on my own, in countries that are not my own, surrounded by new and stressful experiences and I have been fine.  I haven’t had a panic attack like this in at least two years.  And now, four days before I am due to end my adventure and go home, I lose control.  It felt like such a failure. Like such a regression.  A loss.  A humiliation.  A display of my weakness.  It broke me.   I couldn't sleep all night and have been recovering all today.  There were riots in Dunoon, so I didn't have project, which was in the end actually a good thing for me.  In the afternoon I started feeling good enough to drink water and eat something instead of just being in bed filled with anxiety and sadness.  I needed somebody who loves me.  And I had nobody.  I have never felt so alone.  So helpless.  So vulnerable.   I went to the ocean around 3pm with this new guy from the UK named Simon.  He seams great.  Definitely someone I would be friends with if I was sticking around longer.  That being said, I have never been more ready to leave than I am now.  I told him briefly about last night and he was appalled by the situation.  I told him it’s okay, just scary because it’s so far from how I view humanity.  I would never dream of seeking conflict and hatred that way.  It makes me scared of what humans are capable of. How can somebody have that much violence and harm in them and actively try to drag people into it? What does that say about the human race? I feel like an Elephant.  I am a big personality.  I don’t mind taking up space in a room.  I like to feel noticed.  But at the end of the day, I eat leaves.  I don’t attack, I don’t kill, I just live my life in a bold way, but entirely avoiding conflict.  The only way to get me to attack is if you threaten my loved-ones.  If you encroach on their territory and wellbeing, expect me to push back.  But the second the threat leaves, I am back to munching my leaves and letting little birds chill out on my tusks.  At the end of the day, even though I am huge, if a lion really wants to take me down, it can.  That’s exactly what happened with Danni.  She sensed that I’m an elephant.  She could see my aversion to her attacks and knew she was the lion and she loves the hunt.  I felt like prey.  I’ve been thinking about this all day unrelentingly.  I don’t care what she thinks of me.  I am broken though.  She shouldn't have done that.  She shouldn't have pushed me this far.  Now, I am in a defensive mood.  If I see her tonight and she attacks again, I’ll end her.  Mom, Dad, Grandma, Mitchell, anyone back in the States, I love you and, if she assaults me like that again, I might break her nose.  Please be on stand-by in case I need to call somebody from Capetonian jail.  

[type-a-nomad]

April 12

This week has been bumpy.  I am feeling as much pain and unease emotionally as I felt when I first moved here.  All my close friends have left.  My best friend here, Tim, was the hardest loss.  On top of that, the program itself shifts when the personalities in it are different.  The way the kids respond is different and I take on a lot more responsibility because I am outgoing and also know how things are supposed to work.  To add to the emotional strain, it’s my last week.  I feel very out of place.  I don’t really recognize any of the new volunteers and the vibe is entirely shifted and unfamiliar.  I feel like I woke up in a different program.  It’s extremely unsettling.   My body is very sensitive.  Further, my emotional and physical state are tightly related.  Thus, when I’m not doing well emotionally, my physical state reflects this almost to an extreme.  From all the emotional strain, I got really sick Monday night, and alternating between puking and crying is super dehydrating.  I had pasta for dinner and it tasted way better going down than coming back up.  It breaks my heart when people I love are separated from me and that combined with being left in a place I am not comfortable is all too much at times.  Tuesday morning I felt like crap and took the day off, even though it’s my last week.  I needed a mental and physical health day to myself— I was at a bit of a breaking point.  My main form of exercise was rolling from one side of my twin bed to the other.  The most creative thing I did was finding more positions to lay in bed when my butt started hurting from being on my sides for too long.  I ate lots of pasta directly out of a huge container in the fridge.  I stood in front of the fridge, fluorescent light glowing on my exhausted face, fork in hand, shoveling the pasta out of the middle shelf into my mouth.  That situation encapsulates the general mood of my day.   In a way, my friends are the reason I felt like crap, but they also are what got me out of it.  Firstly, my boyfriend, Mitchell, stayed up past 2am his time on the phone with me comforting me while I whined and wallowed.  He was so supportive and got me to take care of myself as best I could in that moment.  Then, one of my best friends in the world, who is really more like a sister than anything, Lola, had made plans with me to call that afternoon.  I was not feeling up to talking to anybody but I still called her because it was the plan.  She could immediately tell I was feeling really low and icky.  She knows exactly how I get because we lived together for 5 months.  She knew I was just moping around in my bed all day with the curtains drawn.  She knew I had probably eaten but there was no way in hell I had walked outside.  By some miracle, she got me out of bed, into a bikini, and walking my butt down to the beach at 5pm.  It was windy and not very warm.  I got energy just by feeling the sea breeze on my face.  The wind at the beach was incredible.  The sand was whipping against my legs so hard it stung.  The water was completely filled with kite surfers.  I put my purse and towel on the beach, giving it a 3/10 chance that the wind blows them away and a 1/10 chance they're stolen while I ran in the water.  Luck was on my side with this one.  I went in the water, dived into the frigid waves, and ran out completely reborn.  It was an emotional baptism.   Wednesday I woke up early and did yoga while on the phone with Mitchell.  This ended up being me screaming at my phone whilst in downward dog, next to the empty swimming pool that has a healthy coating of algae sludge at the bottom.  I went to school and it was wonderful.  All the kids were asking where I was the day before.  The entire place is a bit shaken from Lucas and Tim not being there anymore. I’ll never be able to describe how central they were to the energy of the entire project.  It was to the point we were all the cell and they were the nucleus. I am the next-in-line in terms of nuclear power, leadership skills, and relationships with the kids— even though I’m not an intern and it’s not even close to my job description— but I just don’t have the same amount of gravitational pull that Lucas and Tim did that kept everything running and centered.  I’m trying my best, but it’s a lot of pressure.   The new volunteers assigned to the project don’t have enough personality to really inspire the kids and it’s very obvious.  You need to be full of life almost to an extreme.  Your energy needs to radiate towards the kids, and these volunteers are timid and soft-spoken.  Yes, they are new.  But, in a program like this, you don’t get to be new and scared, you have to jump right in.  I did.  So have others.  But this fresh batch really isn’t, and the intern that runs it all is also very soft-spoken so the entire system is lacking a lot of sparkle that the old team had down almost to a science.   Clearly, Tuesday had been somewhat of a disaster.  The kids swarmed me when I came in and it was clear they were panicked that Lucas, Tim, and I had all left at the same time.  At the end of the day, the new volunteers were saying how much better Wednesday had gone in comparison with the day before, this worried me a lot.  I leave Sunday.  They need to get it together, fast.  Drink some coffee, do some jumping jacks, chug an energy drink.  I don’t care what it takes but these kids deserve sparkle and joy.  That’s our job.  Inspiring energy necessary for growth and hope.  No excuses.  It’s not about us or how we are feeling.  It’s about them.  That is another reason I didn't go Tuesday.  I knew I just didn't have that in me.  The kids would instantly feel that and I’m afraid it would let them down or see me as less of a consistent source of happiness. I just can’t let these kids down.  There isn't much they can hope for or count on in their lives, I owe that to them.   Wednesday afternoon I had surfing.  The volunteers went out and surfed from 1:30 to 3:30.  Then at 3:30 the kids joined us for the first time.  I was paired with Shamarin, and she was the best.  She was so excited and actually pretty decent at surfing.  My timing by now is spot on, so I can actually be a pretty decent surf instructor for beginners.  With a little help from me (she didn’t know I was timing her waves for her and pushing her into them) she caught almost every wave and stood up on most of them.  She was so excited about it and the smile on her face was worth the exhaustion of 5 hours in the water.   Given the rough start to my week and my friends’ ability to pull me up a bit, I called one of my best friends, Sam.  I love hearing the voices of the people I love.  It is so beyond comforting.  It puts me on a high for the rest of the day and, to me, someone’s time is the most telling and meaningful gift somebody can give.  They have a life and a day and they are hitting the pause button to talk to you.  I don’t have a large circle of friends or people I give my time to, but those I do have my whole heart, dedication, and I will drop anything and do anything for them.  It’s a jump-in-front-of-the-bullet kind of love.  Talking to Sam put a smile on my face the entire time I was talking to him, and for a solid hour after.  I went to the grocery store and bought some brie cheese, rosemary crackers, and pesto.  At home, I had a bottle of white wine.  I untwisted it (I live for twist-off wine bottles) and ate cheese, crackers, and pesto while writing the previous post you read.  There was a social Wednesday night which was fantastic because it meant the entire house cleared out so I could have my own antisocial in the living room with my thoughts, wine, ramen noodles, and cheese.  It was a fantastic night, the first truly happy moment I had this week.   Thursday was nice at school, as always.  We did an exercise that Tim came up with, brilliantly.  He found rap songs that we could analyze as poetry, but the kids would find cool— namely, Tupac.  I also printed out some of the Ed Sheeran songs the girls like a lot.  I ended up directing the whole day, pulling the kids out of class and organizing what the volunteers were doing with the kids.  The whole time I was a little irritated because the job was way above my pay-grade.  The intern is supposed to do all the organizing and I’m supposed to do the tutoring once I’m told the activity.  I didn’t struggle with it, I just want people to step up and do their fucking jobs— pardon my French.  I leave in a week, the program can’t afford for me to be pulling this much weight.   If you can’t already tell, I am disappointed in and frustrated with the new volunteers.  It gives me anxiety about leaving because I don’t trust them to hold up the role we play at the school.  I just want things to function because the kids deserve it.  There isn't a lot of well-functioning things in their lives, so when something actually works they appreciate it and it really stands out to them.  Thus, if that is lost, they’ll really feel it.   I have a lot of mixed feelings about leaving.  The vibe here is just different than it was with the last group of volunteers.  The personalities aren't as wonderful as they used to be.  I am ready to leave, but I don’t trust handing off the torch to people who don’t sparkle as much as the others did.  My time here is at an end.  Whether I want it or not.  Socially and personally, I’m alright with it.  I just want there to be more Tim’s and Lucas’s coming for the kids, they deserve it.  Today, afternoon project was cancelled because of more riots and I started writing letters for some of the kids I’m closest with, giving them advice and encouragement for the future.  I’m going to have the intern of my project hand them out on Monday after I leave.  More writing to come soon.  

- Q

[type-a-nomad]

correction

I have been notified that it actually 5000-6000RPMs, not 500-600.  My engine-ignorance has been corrected and I am sorry for any confusion.  

[type-a-nomad]

April 10

April 10

Last week I went on a road trip and it was an incredible way for this adventure to come to near its end.  

I left for the road trip at 8am on Wednesday morning, packing my clothes in a trash bag I found under the kitchen sink.  It was decided that I was going to be the driver for the road trip and, therefore, I would be renting the car in my own name.  That process really hit me as an adult thing to do.  The only time I’ve seen a car be rented is by my parents.  Now, I’m the one signing the release form and grabbing the keys. To say I was nervous was an understatement.  I was flooded with anxiety about driving.  Firstly, I didn't know where we were or where we were going because I am entirely unfamiliar with the area.  Secondly, in South Africa, you drive on the left side of the road and the steering wheel is on the right.  This means the usual mindset I have of where I need to check for space is entirely thrown off and I need to re-calibrate the way I think of a car when I drive it.  Thirdly, I had never driven the car we were about to take off in.  Most cars here are manual— but I can’t drive manual so I paid extra for an automatic.  Calling the car an automatic is a drastic overstatement.  It was more like an automatic that had the brain of the car taken out so you cant change the gears, and it doesn't know how to either. Moreover, when it would accelerate if I really just floored it, the engine would hit 500-600 RPMs.  That’s not supposed to happen in a Toyota Corolla.   The first stop after getting the car and camping gear was Hout Bay.  This is on the other side of Table Mountain from where I live.  It’s secluded and smaller than the other alcove-like beaches around Cape Town.  There was a long pier and a dock that was filled with little fishing boats that looked like they were off of a postcard from the 1970s.  The entire scene was beautiful— except for one thing.  There was an obese seal.  Now, the image of an obese seal is kind of funny in a ridiculous way.  But the reason it’s so fat is that a man sits with a huge bucket of fish and feeds it constantly so it’s more human-friendly and dependent on him.  This seal is so fat it can’t hunt anymore. This is an animal that a human has taken out of the wild and essentially ruined it’s life through isolation from its own species and overfeeding.  It was so fat it could barely move.  I got over it though and got a large tray of fish and chips with salt and vinegar.  It was fried heaven.   Hout Bay is surrounded by mountains.  When you’re there, it feels sort of like it could be God’s fish bowl.  It’s so contained and observable from above, a little biome all by itself.  We started from the bottom of the fishbowl and drove up the side along the mountain, eventually coming to Chapman’s peak, which looks down on all of Hout Bay.  It was so surreal to see the tiny little dock where I had been 20 minutes before as a little speck and simultaneously knowing how many people with stories and families and dreams were sitting there, munching on fish and chips.   After Chapman’s Peak, we headed down to Cape of Good Hope— the most Southwestern tip of the African continent. If that definition is confusing, it basically means there is one other place that is farther South than it, and it’s in the Eastern Cape.  So, their claim to fame is the farthest Southwestern tip. The view was so incredible and expansive, that it actually looked like you could see the curve of the Earth on the horizon. On one hand, that makes sense because the slope of a sphere would be steepest at the poles.  On the other hand, maybe I was just overexcited. There are two ways to describe what happened at the Cape of Good Hope.  One is that we were adventurous and unconventional and hiked on a ledge to a cliff nobody else dared to go to.  The other is that we lost the trail to the main peak with a lighthouse and just went with it.  You can choose which narrative you like better-  full reader’s discretion.   We finished up the first day by driving to the first town we were staying at.  It was night by then.  We bought a cooking pot and pasta supplies for the rest of the week.  I was absolutely starving even during grocery shopping, so by the time we pitched the tent and were lighting the fire it was not only pitch black outside but I was also getting grumpy.  I made the responsible and courteous decision to curb my hunger with white wine instead of being snippy until I had finished cooking.  The pasta was heaven by the time I finished, even though the mushroom cream sauce was out of a plastic bag container we had bought for approximately $1.50.  We ate directly out of the pot of pasta with forks and were asleep by 10pm. The next morning was magical.  I woke up to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach that was 50 yards from where I slept: in a tent, on a lawn, under a tree with a little fire pit near it.  I walked down to the beach after eating leftover pasta for breakfast and it was breathtaking.  I was so calm.  Sand between my toes, watching the waves crash on the shore at 7:30am.  That is me at my calmest.  The second day was a long day of driving, so we pulled out of the camping grounds around 8.  We drove up towards the Eastern Cape coast.  The highway was mainly empty.  For lunch we pulled into this little farm stand with a cafe and got amazing cheeseburgers.  I don’t like driving for extended periods of time, especially on the opposite side of the road in a place I don’t know for more than 5 hours.  But, the company and music in the car made it more than tolerable— I was blissed-out behind the wheel of a 2005 Toyota Corolla.  Past that, I bought a huge bag of peanut M&Ms.  The blue ones are my favorite.  The right company is everything.  I’m not sure if I’ve ever laughed that much in a single car ride, whether you measure that by straight time or percentage of time laughing, the statement holds.   The best part was that I got to go to Myoli Beach again.  This is my heaven on earth.  This is me in my element.  This is what bliss looks like and feels like to me.  It is a sacred space.  I will only go there with people I love.  I also know that when I am an adult, if I ever need time or an escape, that’s where I am going to go.  I don’t care about the flight time.  I don’t care about the distance.  I am going to make it happen.  When we got there, I almost sprinted into the water.  Soon, the lifeguards were screaming at me because apparently the currents are so chaotic and powerful that you have to swim between two cones they set up.  I was mildly irritated by this because I wanted to just be alone, but I didn’t let it cramp my style.  I was too happy.  I was so proud.  I did it.  The first time I was there, I promised myself I would go back, and I executed.   I think execution is one of my strengths.  I am very creative and I dream a lot, but I also make the dreams happen.  I don’t allow myself to be overwhelmed to the point of being paralyzed by all of the options and ideas my brain can create.  It is really wonderful to live that way.  However, there is a slight drawback and that is that I don’t really believe in just “letting things turn out the way they should”.  I don't buy a laissez-faire mindset.  I don’t think things just work themselves out.  You make things turn out the way they should and I don’t really cut people slack around that, because I know that you can make things happen because I do all the time.  It’s hard.  It takes a toll on me.  There’s pressure and sacrifice, but I am always trying my hardest to execute and a lot of the time it happens.  I think the harder you try, the more things fall in your direction.  Effort generates luck.   The camping grounds we went to next we were staying at for two nights, so the drive was efficient and worth it.  We pulled in and my jaw dropped.  In front of us was the Indian Ocean.  When I mean in front of us, I mean the tent was maybe 30 feet from the sea.  Huge waves, crashing on the rocks that were the only thing in between us and the most beautiful thing in the world: the ocean.  The other day, a friend asked me if I thought the ocean was conscious.  I said I think it’s more complicated than that and I don’t really see it as a united, conscious being per say.  I was then met with a brilliant observation: foam.  There is so much yucky foam from the ocean that is filled with the pollutants of the sea.  The ocean cleans itself.  If the ocean wasn't conscious, why would it clean foreign objects from itself? Food for thought. Now onto the real food.  For dinner that night I made an absolutely stunning pot of spaghetti and meatballs.  I really was proud of myself for this one.  I made it out of various ingredients and cans of meatballs all from the OK-minimark.  It irritates me that it’s not called the mini-mart, but instead the minimark, like market.  Why not just use mart? C’mon now people, I can’t be the one supplying all the good ideas.  While the pasta cooked, I went and took a super quick shower in the facilities graciously provided by the camping site.  I was walking out of the bathroom, towel securely turban-ed in my hair, and I saw the ocean light up in front of me.  I thought I was hallucinating.  Then I remembered that my friend Tim told me about seeing bioluminescent waves on one of his road trips, and I started sprinting towards my tent.  I was completely out of breath upon arrival because I am in literally the worst shape of my life.  I just said “bioluminescent… waves *gasps*” and pointed towards the ocean.  Then, miracles took place in front of my eyes.  For the next hour, the ocean was alive.  The waves were lighting up.  Millions, maybe even trillions, of plankton were crashing against each other and lighting up the waves as they curled and crashed in front of us.  It was magic.  Every time, it felt like my brain was glitching, but it was real.  This was really happening.  Then Mother Nature decided to test whether or not she could give us a heart attack and the clouds above us parted, revealing the Milky Way.  In front of us, bioluminescent waves.  Above us, the Milky Way.  In our tummies, amazing spaghetti and meatballs.  If this isn't what life is about, what is? The next day was quite lazy.  It was raining and super windy.  To the point where we were afraid to leave our little tent all alone in the storm in fear it might be blown away.  Thankfully, as we went and got breakfast at the restaurant that was on the nature reserve we were camping at, it held it’s ground. It was not completely out of the question that the tent could have blown into the sea. I’m not sure what we would have done.  That would have been no bueno.   Because it was so rainy and cold, we decided to forgo the hike we had planned and went to a vineyard instead.  No complaints from my end.  Give me a tapas-style restaurant and a wine tasting and I am, literally, a happy-camper.  The food was delicious and we were so full that we ended up just heating up the leftovers of the spaghetti that we had negligently left in the pot and eating that for dinner.  The next morning, we packed up fairly early and hit the road.  We stopped at a gas station for breakfast and I got a grilled cheese with tomato and a large cappuccino.  This was the second to last day and I was in no way ready for this magical adventure to be over.  The route to get to the last site was so incredibly scenic.  We drove through ravines and over the mountains of Africa.  The ground here is incredibly red and it contrasted with the green of the plants growing on it.  The scientific reason for the redness is because there is a lot of iron in the soil.  The locals say that the reason the earth is so red is the blood that has spilled over it.   The last place we went to was in the mountains, our first venture inland away from the beach.  Naturally, I was a little hesitant about this because the beach is my happy place.  Oh, how wrong I was.  And happily so.  We stayed at an amazing hot springs in the middle of the South African Mountains.  The pools each varied in temperature.  It was all outside and directly out of the mountain beneath us.  There was iron in the water, naturally, so it was a little reddish-brown.  I loved it.  I was so at-ease.   Africa has pushed me to grow in many ways.  One of the biggest, most important ways, is the groundedness I feel here.  I am not a laid-back person.  But the closest I get to that is feeling rooted and calm within myself.  I don’t look for other people to tell me that I’m doing the right thing as much as I used to, I just know what is right and I pursue it.  That’s how I feel here.  Feet on the ground, heart in my chest, lungs full of beautiful air, eyes staring directly ahead: I am here.  I am here.  I am hopeful and present at the same time.  I am settled in my own body and mind.  I am centered in my own existence.  I am ambitious without being discontent with my own reality.  I am seeking and finding and accepting balance in my life.  Namaste, motherfucker. That night, we made the most complex dinner yet.  It was the last night of the road trip, so the special occasion warranted extravagance.  We made fish and pasta.  I made the pasta, naturally.  It was all delicious and wonderful.  The stars were so clear.  It blows my mind to look up and think about the infinite expanse of space that we are hurtling around in like a little speck of dust carrying over 7 billion individual realities.  It was freezing.  Even when we were cooking dinner, I was shivering.  The wind was impressively strong, blowing anything under 5 pounds at will.  I felt a little annoyed at Mother Nature for that kind of treatment, given the amount of appreciation I had for her during the rest of the road trip.  I thought she might do me a solid for that, turns out she really just doesn’t care.  It’s alright.  My feelings were only a little hurt.  I can bounce back with pesto pasta.  And I did.  That night we stayed up late.  Talking about the universe and morality and politics.   It always amazes me when people say they don’t like politics.  I understand not liking conflict.  That’s one thing.  But not “liking” politics doesn’t really seem like an option to me.  Politics is your life.  It’s your education.  It’s your job.  It’s your health.  It’s your rights.  How can you not “like” politics?  That being said, I generally don’t like conflict.  It feels like an attack and takes a lot of energy from me.  Talking about conflicting political views taxes me a lot (no pun intended).  When I hear about political issues, I want to do something about it.  I want to take the steering wheel and fix all of the unfairness and damage that the world is doing to itself right now.  I am usually an empathetic person, but when people don’t have that same urge, I find it really hard to understand.  I think a large aspect of this is immaturity.  My passion blinds me to an extent.  I get carried away.  I get overwhelmed by how necessary the issue is.  I am unable to moderate my tone or conversation points to make what I’m saying digestible.  This is somewhat of a pattern for me.  It makes me feel very immature, embarrassed, and like I lack self-control.  I know that if I really wanted to convince people of my views, if I wanted to really get the outcome I want, I would actually moderate what I’m saying.  People don’t respond well to accusation and conflict.  If I defend somebody or a view of mine, the natural response for the other person is to either take the offensive or see what I’m saying as the offensive and take the defensive of their (wrong…) opinion.  It makes me think of an Albert Einstein quote: “insanity is repeating the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”.  I go into arguments with the same amount of stubbornness and passion and intensity, and expect it to sway people.  I get tunnel-vision and let go of what I know is persuasive and just unleash my feelings and views in one huge Tsunami Quinn.  I am very evangelical about what I believe.  When I really care, I suddenly become a Mormon with a picket sign screaming at girls in skirts that God hates them.  When I think I know I’m right, usually because I’ve done extensive research I assume most people are way too lazy to even do a fraction of, my words slap people in the face like a verbal picket sign. This is one of the things I’m working on this year.  I think I’ve become significantly more aware of it and it’s going to take time, but I’ll get there.  I know I can execute, this goal will just take some more time than is ideal.   Another point of self-improvement I am working on is self-image.  That is, I don’t balance confidence and self-assurance well.  I am either entirely confident, set in my views, plowing forward with full force and self-righteousness, or I am entirely insecure and see myself as the problem of a situation.  Neither of these is ideal.  The goal is to moderate.  To find a point of confidence and humility and implement that into the way I approach the world.  To be assured in my values and who I know I am, without being so confident that I have a closed-mindset and, therefore, close myself off to more improvement and learning.  I have a very complex mind and am able to see a lot of nuance in the world.  I am also empathetic.  I can see the different elements and viewpoints of any situation.  For example, I see why ISIS would be a persuasive institution to join in a desperate, isolating, and unfair situation.  That being said, there are some absolute truths that I believe that I am not sure if it helps or harms me to see as absolute truths.  The main of these is that I don’t believe in cutting others more slack than I would cut myself.  I don’t think anyone who is persuaded to join ISIS is a good person.  I think a bad person can regret and then move towards becoming a good person.  I think a bad person can become a good person.  I don’t think there is a fixed state of goodness or badness.  Your goodness or badness hinges entirely on your actions and beliefs.  That being said, if you are convinced that the right thing to do is kill others in an act of Jihad because they are Shi’iet Muslims instead of Sunni Muslims, or because they are of Western Culture, you’re a bad person.  There is never a “right” reason to kill people you don't know.  Those people are stories.  They are families.  They are lives and experiences and relationships and heartbreak and loss and happiness and complexity in the same way anyone else is.  It is so selfish and entitled to claim a life that is not your own.  To intervene in somebody’s path like that.  To step into a family’s reality forever.  To influence hundreds of people in an act of destruction.  There is no information, persuasion, or excuse that justifies that mindset.  That is an absolute badness to me.  I hesitate to say evil because it is weighted by the connotation of Satan and religion and I don’t want this to be about that.  It’s about goodness and badness.  Killing people is bad.  That is an absolute truth to me.  Stealing from people is bad.  That is an absolute truth to me.  Whether that is robbing people of objects, of experiences, or of honesty, it’s all stealing.  Material stealing is the least important.  Money, objects, material, it’s all societally constructed and most of the time doesn’t destroy somebody’s wellbeing or happiness.  Not to say that’s never the case, but *usually* it is not the case.  However there are more dramatic versions of stealing.  Lying is stealing the truth from somebody.  Cheating is stealing a natural, right sequence of events from somebody.  It’s all stealing, and it is deceptive, and selfish.  Nobody has the right to change what should happen.  Nobody has the right to pretend the truth is something it isn’t.  That’s an absolute wrong to me.  How am I supposed to live in a world where I have to doubt what the people around me say?  That is an incredibly exhausting existence.   That mindset towards lying and trust is another thing I have recently realized about myself.  When I begin a relationship with anyone, friendship, professional, romantic, etc., I give that person my trust.  I am vulnerable.  I am open.  I am true and I don’t hold back unless it will cause damage to somebody other than myself.  However, if that trust is exploited, it is taken away by me in an extreme way.  I withdraw entirely.  It hurts me deeply to be betrayed, and it has happened many times.  Yet, I would rather be hurt many times, than not keep my heart as open as I do.  I feel everything so deeply and connect with people in an honest way on a daily basis, because I am brave enough to open myself to betrayal and pain.  Often, I feel that pain.  But, the worst pain and biggest loss of all is if I would let that betrayal make me close my heart off, and I need to have the courage to preserve that.   A sort-of example of this is making dear friends here in South Africa.  The wise thing to do is to keep my heart to myself.  We all live on separate continents.  Why would I get attached? I don’t accept that.  I’ve thrown my heart to people here and, when they leave, it breaks.  But I would rather feel love, loss, and pain than nothing at all.  

- Q

p.s. I haven’t written yet about april 10+11 but that will come when the time is right.  stay patient.  

p.p.s if you haven't listened to the Fugees seriously, do it now.  You might die tomorrow without hearing this genius.  

[type-a-nomad]

April-- how time flies when you’re growing.

We haven’t heard from Rowan since Thursday.  None of Tim’s messages are delivering and it’s very concerning.  I don’t think I emphasized enough in my last post how much Tim has done for him.  It’s very rare to meet people in the world who really understand how to change a life.  You can’t do it quickly.  You can’t do it with many people.  But with time and focus, you can completely change the life of a single individual.  In Tim’s case, over the course of the last 7 months, he has changed a handful of kids’ lives.  Give a man a fish and he won’t go hungry that night.  Teach a man to fish and he won’t go hungry for the rest of his life.  Most volunteers are giving fish.  Tim has mastered teaching kids to fish. On Wednesday, I had project in the morning and it was wonderful.  The school had a sports day because it was the last day before school break and nobody had classes.  We just sat outside and chilled with the kids and helped set up for the sports day.  When the sports day started, it was so adorable.  All of the kids are on different color teams.  It’s all mixed ages and it seems like once you’re placed on a color team, that’s your team until you graduate from the primary school.  All the teachers were on different teams too.  Each team was singing songs and doing dances.  The yellow team was particularly spirited.  The little kids started with races.  That means they sent one 4 year old girl as sacrifice to run around the sporting area four times.  By the last lap, their little bodies were so tired they were all close to tears.  This was then repeated with a different set of 4 year old boys sacrificed to the games this time.  They were all clearly very confused as to why they were made to do this.  My fellow volunteers and I were appointed as the judges and we handed out the prizes for the first second and third places of each race.  This means we sent an exhausted, sad, and scared four year old away with nothing while the three other tiny humans in her race got to stand on literal pedestals while the principal read out their names and their team color while everyone else cheered.   Thursday we had Holiday Club.  Holiday Club is my new day-project.  The kids are in between school terms and there is a break until April 10th.  That means, until then, we take the kids out each day to a different activity.  It’s totally amazing because you get to really bond with the kids in a way tutoring doesn’t allow you to.  The actual activity is socializing with the kids— whatever plan Holiday Club has that day is entirely secondary.  The planned project for Thursday was a huge beach day for the kids.  I was really excited because I love the kids and I love the beach— so saying this was ideal is an understatement.  Sadly, Mother Nature was not on the same page as the rest of us and decided to rain.  What are the odds of that happening.  We are in the worst draught possibly in recorded history and the one day it rains is our super cool beach day.  This was probably bad karma from all the times I take my friends food when we are out to lunch and they go to the bathroom.   The SAVE Foundation is fantastic in many ways— organization is not one of those ways. Planning and logistics fall under the umbrella of organization.  Planning a beach day for 50 12 year old kids is already a stretch.  Re-planning a day that now is rained out but the 50 kids are still coming anyways is like asking a miniature pony to carry Shaquille O’Neal: it’s so unrealistic it’s almost rude.  The kids show up at my house.  This is not an exaggeration.  I walk downstairs at 10am ready to volunteer and there are 50 12 year old children staring back up at me on the equivalent of our lawn.   Our back up plan was arts and crafts.  This was a shitty back up plan.  First of all, 12 year olds are way too old to be looked in the eye and told that they’re about to spend their day doing arts and crafts.  Second of all, where the hell are we going to do said arts and crafts.  The answer to the latter issue was my living room.  The kids were split into four groups and we put each group in one of the living rooms in the adjoining houses at Dunbar.  The arts and crafts went less poorly than expected, which amazed me because the arts and crafts weren't just arts and crafts, they were bad arts and crafts.  The first thing we made was paper mache balloons.  They weren't even paper mache, we used newspaper and water mixed with flour to glue them to the balloons.  It was very soggy.  The point was that we were going to paint them when they dried.  This never happened.   On top of the bad plan, it wasn't even executed well.  I found this very annoying.  The way that the SAVE operates is that there are two types of volunteers: normal volunteers and interns.  The majority of us are regular volunteers.  Interns lead more and pay less to be in the program.  This is all fine and well except that you don’t have to be more qualified than a volunteer to be an intern, there isn't even an interview.  Moreover, a lot of the interns are actually more introverted than the volunteers.  That makes no sense to me because if these kids smell any kind of weakness or timidness, they will eat you alive.  I am an extrovert and even I need to be at the peak of my game and outgoing and measured self while I’m working with the kids.  During the crafts day, the interns honestly failed.  There was very little communication.  The supplies weren't distributed.  The interns weren’t stepping up to get the situation under control.  I ended up organizing the group that I was with, while the interns were pretty quiet and watched it happen.  This is not to say they are lazy or bad people— they’re just the kind of people who are easy to walk over, and if the kids sense that they will take advantage of it immediately.   While we were all waiting for the crafts to actually be organized and the supplies to be distributed, I organized a dance competition to keep the kids busy so they wouldn't just destroy the house to keep themselves occupied.  Then, I sat around and talked to the kids who didn't want to dance.  One of them is this kid Damien who I know well from tutoring.  He’s 13 and much taller than I am.  I think he might have a little crush on me, but not to the point where he is too nervous to hang out.  He is an artist and his mom said he can go to art school at 16.  This is a huge deal for a kid out of Dunoon where the unemployment rate is through the roof.  We made a pact last week to make each other drawings and so I went and grabbed drawing supplies and made him a little drawing.  Then some of the other kids wanted drawings too.  I spent the rest of the day making them drawings while they did various activities.  It was so cute because whenever I finished, I saw the kid run around and show everyone, including the volunteers, their present.  In South Africa, a barbecue is called a Braai.  At the end of the day, I told Shannon about the problems with the interns and basically Braai-ed them.  That is to say, I turned on my fire and charred their work— or lack thereof. A while ago I talked about a kid named Danroy who was very difficult but I got him interested in the material we were working on and it ended up being very rewarding.  He was there are the crafts day and was very attached to me.  He gave me so much affection and hugs.  It was amazing to see how my softness and kindness made him less hard.  He’s a really tough and aggressive kid—to the point where he has been kicked off of the program before for several months.  On Wednesday he was the sweetest kid.  Whenever I saw him getting aggressive or violent, I could catch his eye and he would back down.  It was so moving to inspire kindness in somebody, because I don’t think you can be unkind to other people if you are kind to yourself.  This means that when he is causing pain for other people, it is because he is in pain.  So, when he backs away and is kind to people, he is easier on himself too.  Or at least I hope that’s the case, because I can tell that his hardness is trained. His natural state is vulnerable and a little scared.  He just needs a hug, a grilled cheese, and to be asked how his day was.  I told him that I was so proud of him when he was kind to people and the look on his face when he felt believed in made my heart so full.   Thursday night I went out with my friends.  It was fantastic.  We went out dancing and when we got back we stayed up outside on the lawn and had a dance party with all of the music the kids showed me during the dance competition I had organized in my living room earlier that day.   The next morning I was supposed to go surfing, but I didn’t even finish my dance party until 3am and needed a grilled cheese after to recover from all the exercise, so I didn’t even get into bed before 4am.  Needless to say, I was in no mood to surf at 8am.  I decided to try and sleep instead.  That didn’t happen.  I ended up making a nice breakfast instead.  I’ve learned how to make scrambled eggs in the microwave here and it’s very handy.  After that, I felt kind of crappy all day from lack of sleep and took a nap. After my nap I still didn't feel great so I decided to go run and jump in the ocean.  Everyone thought I was crazy because the ocean is freezing and it was already 5pm when I made this decision. I was so tired I could barely even feel how cold it was, but it did wake me up. We went out again Friday night and it was awesome.  We went to a dancing place near my house called Medleys and I found a group of locals who came together and were obviously trained hip hop dancers.  When you’re a trained hip hop dancer it’s kind of hard to screw around on a dance floor because to you it’s a medium of art, not just something to do on a Friday night.  I went over and actually started dancing with them.  Not just standing around dancing-with-your-friends dancing, but actual choreography.  We had an amazing time.  They were way better than I was, but it was still a great time because I don’t really care about that.  I was dancing so hard I drank 3 bottles of water while I was out because I was dripping sweat.  My hair was genuinely wet by the end of the night.  The top was wet because my scalp was sweating, and the bottom was wet because my back was completely soaked.  It looked like I had taken a shower by the time I got home.   One of my closest girlfriends here is named Lies (pronounced L-EE-s) and she was leaving on Sunday.  The Old Biscuit Mill was basically a requirement for our last Saturday together because it’s so delicious and unique to Cape Town.  On 3 hours of sleep, we all piled into an uber and went on Saturday morning.  Lies does not take very good care of herself when she goes out.  She’s generally the person who gets kind of annoying because she drinks too much and is 90 pounds.  It gets to the point where we are all out feeling great and just hanging out, and she just blacks-out with no warning and we have to carry her home.  For some reason, she has no problem with this pattern of behavior, but it annoys me because it’s really just not that hard to drink less.  She drank a lot on Friday night, but she seemed to just be hungover so I thought maybe food would make her feel better.  

When we went to the Old Biscuit Mill, she refused to eat or drink anything even though I insisted.  It was very crowded and we were in the very back room of the entire Mill and it was hot.  I was waiting for my steak sandwich (I actually believe it’s the best sandwich in the entire world) and drinking a smoothie and she turns to me and my friend Tanya and says “I’m going to faint”.  She was sitting down and as far as I could tell, looked fine.  I said “Alright let’s get outside to get you some fresh air”.  She refuses to move.  Next thing I know, her entire body seizes up, and she spasms backwards onto the table behind her.  Her eyes were wide open and she was staring right ahead of her.  It looked like an exorcism.  People quickly notice something is very wrong and start freaking out.  She sort of spasms back to sitting, with her eyes still open.  At this point I’m trying to hold her body in one place so she doesn't injure herself. Her head is completely limp and rolling around.  Then she actually collapses and her eyes roll back in her head.  Tanya and I are trying to hold her up, but there are some men around us who grab her and carry her to the floor so she’s laying down in a circle that’s now been cleared in the large crowd.  Now she passes out, actually faints and is completely still.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Fainting is one thing, but the entire episode looked more like a stroke or a seizure than fainting.  I was shaking head to toe.  A woman runs up and says she’s a doctor and soon Lies is covered in cold compresses because the doctor says she is very dehydrated and overheated.  That may be the case, but none of this would have happened if she didn't drink so much.

  I was very gentle and caring when she woke up, but inside I was actually kind of angry.  It’s so worrying and upsetting to be with a friend who doesn't take care of herself to a point where other people have to do emergency cleanup to make sure she’s okay— this isn't the first time she’s done something like this.  It’s unfair.  The doctor said she just needs sleep and water and some food.  Funny how I had actually insisted on her eating and drinking earlier and she refused to do it until she was literally having a seizure in the middle of the Old Biscuit Mill.  I’m relieved she was okay though.  I took her home immediately after she got her blood sugar up and put her to bed.  I spent the rest of my day sitting outside napping in the sun and talking with Lucas and Tim.  Lucas and Tim were just as annoyed at the situation with Lies as I was, because they’re always the ones who end up carrying her home.  This made me felt less heartless for being a bit upset with her for being that irresponsible. 

On Sunday I had a Township Tour.  This means that a company takes you into a township and shows you around.  The first place we went is called District 6.  District 6 was the first township and now is an area of empty hills covered in litter.  It was an inner-city community and in the 1970s, the residents woke up to the sound of screaming and bulldozers, as the apartheid regime came in and completely destroyed the entire area.  Everything was lost and only 3% of the residents were able to reclaim the land under Nelson Mandela because they didn’t have enough legal paperwork as all of their possessions were bulldozed and then set on fire.  The township we went to next is the oldest surviving township and it’s called Langa.  I was very surprised with what I saw.  I went to Langa a month or so ago for a so-called music festival, and I didn't really remember much.  I forgot how much better Langa is in comparison to Dunoon.  When you drive into Dunoon, the entire place is made out of shanties constructed out of metal and wood scraps.  There is sewage and trash covering the dirt roads that weave through the haphazardly placed shacks.  There is no layout or order.  There are maybe 20 permanent houses in the entire township.   When you drive into Langa, the streets are wide and paved.  The houses are permanent.  There is some litter on the street, but no more than you see in the United States in a poor neighborhood.  We went on a Gospel Tour, which means they take us into a church in one of the townships. 

 It was Easter Sunday and we pulled up to the Langa Methodist Church.  The service had already started and it was absolutely packed.  People were standing in line outside the door waiting to move seats into the aisle so they could fit.  One of the men who worked at the Church came out and greeted us and, miraculously, found space for us in one of the aisles.  There were about 400 people tightly packed into the church.  For the entire time we were there, there was singing.  The choir was behind the pastor and they were absolutely beautiful.  It sounded very similar to the choirs I heard in Italy except they were singing in Xhosa instead of Latin.  Sometimes, the entire church would sing hymns.  It was so beautiful.  People were singing and dancing all in unison.  I looked around and thought “money and religion should be as separate as possible”.  Here I was, in a township, at the most beautiful and spiritual church service I had ever been to and there were no frescoes, no gilded walls, no stained glass windows, nothing.  Just a plain, white church filled with people who could sing and dance with their souls.  When people can do that, it doesn’t matter if it’s a different language, you’ll feel it.  The air in the room was so happy and the people were so spiritually connected to what they were saying that they projected the meaning wordlessly in sound for me.   After the visit to the Church, we went on a walking tour.  Our guide was a local named Sakhe.  At first, I thought he was a little too mild to make a good tour.  I was so wrong.  He was one of the most interesting and articulate people I’ve met here over the last two months.  He showed us how people actually live in Langa. All of my original impressions of it actually being a decent place to live were completely incorrect.  I was right about it being way nicer than Dunoon, but the living conditions were still breathtakingly unfair.  I say unfair instead of bad because the history of the situation makes it so.  Langa was first established as a township for black people under apartheid.  There are four different classes of race during apartheid: black, colored, indian/asian, and white, increasing in status and human right in that order.  The difference between black and colored is whether or not you are somewhat white.  One method they used to differentiate between the two was called the pencil test.  During job interviews (because colored people were more desirable), they would stick a pencil in the person in question’s hair and make them shake their head, if it fell out they were colored if their hair was coarse enough to make it stick, they were black. It’s incredibly fucked up.  Another element of apartheid was Bantu Education. This was the education system all black and colored people were subjected to.  When the system was explained to me, the two parts that really stood out were: 1) The students were only allowed to be educated up until the 10th grade, making employment close to impossible, 2) They could only speak Afrikaans.  The latter did not bother me at first, Afrikaans is the main language spoken in the townships.  As it turns out, this is only because of Bantu Education.  The reason this was is that it is what the Dutch slave masters actually used to speak with the slaves and not what the slaves actually grew up with.  So, the entire language essentially is a reaffirmation of their oppression.  Thus, a lot of people are extremely resentful of it and I didn’t realize this fact until Sakhe told me.  There are about 5 other native languages that are spoken in the townships that some people prefer over Afrikaans because of the historical baggage that comes with it.   When Langa was first created, it was entirely dormitories for black men who worked for white people.  This is not an exaggeration.  The entire township was made out of barracks where 3 or 4 men would sleep in a 10’x10’ room.  In each barrack there are around 16 rooms and a small area with a table and a fireplace.  They were all built in the 1940s and they are still standing almost exactly how they were then.  Now, families live in them.  Each family gets a single bed in a 10x10 room.  Imagine 3 twin beds crammed together so tightly you can barely walk between them in a tiny room, and each family only gets one bed.  That’s how these people are living day to day.  What’s more, they're paying the South African government to live there.  Even further, the South African government said in 1995 that they were going to renovate all of the barracks, but then in 2006 the construction crews literally stopped showing up and nobody in Langa knows why even though they've been reaching out for the past 12 years.  Imagine that, the government abandons you and your quality of life with no explanation.  How ignored would you feel? How disenfranchising is that? Sakhe says that he thinks a large part of it is that, until 1991, white kids were taught in school that black people are sub-human.  That they are closer to apes than white people.  If those kids are now grown up and running the government, why would they care about black peoples’ housing? By the end of the tour, I was so outraged I might go to law school, and I still feel that way.  People need somebody to fight for them, and I am in a position to do that, so hand me the boxing gloves.  

-Q

[type-a-nomad]

Tuesday March 27.

March 27 2018 It’s Tuesday, and I already have a lot to say.  I’m going to start with my stuff and then move on to the actually important stuff.  Firstly, I have moved to Dunbar.  I am so so so excited and relieved and happy about this transition.  I also am very surprised it happened as quickly as it did.  On Monday, at 8am, I walked into reception and asked if I could move housing.  They said they aren't really supposed to just let volunteers choose where they live, because the logistics are too complex to cater to everyone’s preferences.  I say that I really want to move and that it’s for personal reasons.  The attitude shifts and they start looking for a different room.  I stop and say “is there any way I could live outside of 22.  It’s not an emergency, but if it’s possible that would be amazing”.  They made it happen.  While they were finding my room, I explained about the drama and tension I’m not even involved with but don’t want to be around and they completely understood. I packed and moved all my stuff out of 22.  That was a bit of an ordeal because I have way too much stuff to fit in my suitcase at this point, even when I gave all of my laundry to the reception to have it washed.  Somehow, I tetris-ed my way into zipping my bag shut.  Robyn stopped me before I dragged all of my things over to Dunbar and asked if I had 2 minutes to talk, “I actually have 5” I replied.  She told me that she had spoken to all of the girls that morning and cleared the air and asked if I was okay.  I told her I was entirely fine I just don’t want to be around that energy and that I still wanted to move.  Realistically, there is no way that a forced clearing of the air is actually going to clear the air.  That’s like duct-taping your bumper back onto your car so you can drive home— good luck with that.  It was awkward leaving because the news that I asked to move spread like wildfire (of course) and so all the girls from that group were creating a bit of a weird vibe and asking me about it.  I didn’t really know how to explain leaving, so I didn't even try.  Now, I live in Dunbar house 2 room 2.  It’s fantastic.

I think the most important reason I needed to move was that I am very sensitive to what other people think about me.  Even if I don’t like somebody, for some reason I am still uncomfortable with the idea of them being upset with me or disapproving of me in any way.  This doesn’t make any sense.  Firstly, you can’t please everyone, especially if you're as opinionated and outspoken as I am.  Secondly, if I don’t like somebody’s values, why would it matter if they disapprove of me? I’ve already recognized that they misjudge things.  Moreover, my discomfort or sadness from other people’s judgement doesn’t change how I behave.  I will still continue behaving in a way that upsets them, because I know that I am living a life that I approve of and I am comfortable in my decision making.  So, why the hell would I continue to worry about what other people think about me if 1) their opinion doesn’t actually matter 2) I disagree with all of their other opinions and for some reason this one now matters 3) am not going to adjust my behavior to feel better?  I’m really struggling with and working on this.  I think I’ve made a lot of progress and am continuing to make that progress here.  However, when I am already upset about peoples’ judgement, it’s hard to take a step back and work on it then.  It’s easier to be in a calm state of mindfulness and, when confronted with something a little uncomfortable, I can see it clearly and process it in a way that makes me grow emotionally.  I think, in house 22, I didn’t have enough room to do this, because I was too stressed out by the seeming proximity of criticism and judgement.  

The rest of my Monday was very chilled-out.  I went with some friends down to Clifton beach and then walked from there to Camps Bay, another beach with more restaurants and bars around it so we could get something to eat.  I am still very pale and have given up entirely on tanning, but going to the beach for me is about those 5 minutes I take to go in the water.  The water here is freezing.  Legs-go-numb-heart-beats-fast-feet-and-hands-hurt-freezing.  But when I get out, I feel healed.  It’s almost like, when I dunk my head in the ocean, I am bathing my brain in ocean water.  Everything becomes so clear and vivid. I feel most alive right after I come out of the ocean.  At Camps Bay, I got a nice caesar salad with a poached egg and chicken.  Whenever I go out, I don’t look for what sounds like the best thing on the menu, but instead look for something that won’t be cooked for dinner at the volunteer house.  That salad fit the bill, and it was delicious. We went out to Buckley’s, a very mellow, local bar, to watch the Portugal-Netherlands soccer game.  I didn’t really care about the game, but it was fun to see my Dutch friends here care about it.  Also, my best friend in the whole wide world, Ruthie Dewit, identifies as a dutchy.  That being said, when I’m with my actual real-life-from-Holland friends, I can’t say that to them with much legitimacy.   To people in Europe, where you’re from is where you’re born.  In the US, people will say they’re French, Spanish, Colombian, Dutch, Irish, English, etc.  If you were to say this to an actual person from those countries, they would stop you and say “No, you’re American”.  It doesn’t count to them if you aren’t living there or speaking the language.  Further, my friends in Europe who have friends who's parents are immigrants see them as the country they were born in.  So, if my Dutch friend has another friend, born in her town, who has parents from Morocco, she’s still Dutch.  That’s not actually the case in the United States.  People are very attached to their histories, and I think a lot of that comes from our lack of history within our own country.  Respectively, we are a blip on the length of Western Civilization. A period at the end of a book.  The End Notes.  The last flower to bloom in Spring.  So, if your great-grandparents are from Ireland, you’re Irish.  If your grandparents are from Mexico, you and your family are Mexican.  If your mother is from China, you’re Chinese.  This is not to say that we don’t all identify as American.  But, American culture is really just as strong as the sum of it’s parts.  A large part of American culture, is the practicing of global cultures and traditions, because our own identity is breathtakingly undeveloped in comparison. Anyways, back to Buckley’s.  I met some locals, who were in their mid to late twenties.  Their names were Nikola and Gary.  They were very cool.  I talked to Nikola for a very long time, because she really liked talking.  When I explained that I teach kids from the township, she was blown away.  She grew up in Cape Town and is getting her teaching degree right now, and she has never been inside a township.  Further, she would never really consider going into a township.  This was not particularly surprising.  It makes sense that locals would distance themselves from the most painful parts of their society.  Dissociation is the easiest route, instead of confronting the hardships that are nearly inherent to your community.  What did surprise me was how amazed she was that I would ever think of doing it.  That people thought of helping the people struggling.  I’ve been to two townships, Dunoon and Langa.  Langa is particularly dangerous and you really just DON’T go in there.  Because of my own ignorance, I did, and everything went just fine.  She saw me as a combination of naive and brave.  I think a lot of locals would think “If they REALLY knew how dangerous these places were…” when they see foreigners going into the townships.  I don’t buy that.  How could they possibly know better than somebody who has had hands-on experiences in these townships, regardless if they're actually from Cape Town or not.   I am always surprised at the human brain’s ability to tell itself that it’s right.  To be a local in Cape Town and have this stream of thought: Townships are struggling and there is a lot of poverty.  I am very privileged and could probably help a lot from my position.  It isn't really my duty to go help. That’s very uncomfortable.  I think I’ll pass on this one.  I’m from here and I know this place, even though I haven't actually seen it, I just have an idea about it from what other privileged people say about it.  It’s dangerous.  I’m just one person, how much of an impact could I really have? These people and places are different and scary.  Obviously, nobody really thinks those thoughts, but subconscious logic has to go somewhere along those lines.  While that was an extremely crude reading of what happens, the general idea of people reacting based on their own morals, and then not actually wanting to help deep down, so they find excuses to justify their non-action, is a global pattern and it could kill us all.  What could I possibly do in an election? I’m just one vote.  Why does one more plastic bottle matter? The damage is done.  This is a very bleak observation, and it’s not the whole world.  I am pointing out a trend, but please don’t read this and then let your mind run with it and expand it into “this is Quinn’s worldview”.  As I said earlier, I am very sensitive to other people judging me.  

Okay enough about me.  There are very serious things happening here that I haven't been writing about but now I am going to.   This is a story about a boy named Rowan.  Rowan is 18 years old, from Dunoon, and is one of the kids the SAVE foundation has mentored in various ways.  He loves music and can DJ and produce.  I met Rowan my first weekend in Cape Town.  He came to an event that SAVE ran with the WINGS foundation, and all the kids and volunteers went surfing together.  He was very clever, and funny.  He has black earrings, two silver teeth, and radiates *cool-kid vibes*.  Rowan isn't afraid to smile and was the first one to go in the ice-cold water.  He wasn’t particularly loud, or bigger than the other boys, but he was still clearly the leader of the group of boys he was with.  Rowan has been especially affected by my friend here, Tim.  Tim has been here for over 7 months now and, at this point, they’re like brothers.  They went on a road trip together, and hang out independently of the program.  They text and call and are very involved in each others’ lives. Tim functions as Rowan’s role model.  From what I can tell, there are no other male examples in Rowan’s life that he looks towards as an example of what he wants to be like.  Thank god Tim is the man he chose to look up to.  It saved his life.   When I was in Muizenberg last weekend, Tim was telling me how Rowan was living in the area.  I asked why.  Muizenberg is in the Cape Flats, a solid 45 minutes away from Dunoon and even more dangerous.  There’s a cemetery in the Cape Flats.  The grass is dead, and there are so many wooden crosses stuck in the ground, there’s barely room to walk in between them.  It doesn’t make sense he would just up and relocate over there.  The reason is that Rowan’s uncle is very high up in one of the Cape Town gangs.  Here, there are around 5 gangs that all have very specific territory and feuds.  When you drive through the Cape Flats, there are two men standing at the end of every street corner, on look-out for threats to their gang’s territory.  You can tell just by looking at them that they are both armed.  Even if you don’t see the guns, a gun is a weapon so threatening and powerful that you just know when somebody has one.   Rowan’s uncle got out of jail a couple months ago.  Immediately, he got himself into deep trouble again.  He killed a few guys in a rival gang.  When gang’s want to avenge deaths of their members, they don’t target the rival gang member, they target the families.  They know that destruction of the soul is far more powerful than any gunshot wound.  Rowan’s entire family is being hunted.  Because Rowan is a young man, he is a particularly clear target as most of the gangs are composed of young men.  All the gangs are used to tracking and killing other young men, it’s what gang fighting is: the killing of young boys over an artificially constructed “identity” that they were roped into just a few years prior to laying on the street in a pool of their own blood, worrying about their mother finding money to pay for another funeral.   These young men are victims as much as they are the perpetrators of this extremely painful and destructive cycle.  The craziest part is that it traps the entire community.  If the values of the community are stuck in surviving the violence of the gangs, finding your identity and purpose by joining them, and killing other gang members, why the hell would anyone stay in school? How does an education help you in that environment? It doesn’t.  The gangs don’t give a shît if you graduated high school.  They care if you will put your life on the line for the gang.  The gangs discourage finding jobs in skilled-labor, outside of the townships.  How is the community supposed to rise out of the desperate situations they are living in, if the gangs are keeping them in this tight of a circle— it strangles the community and they are unable to grow.

The law enforcement doesn’t help in the slightest.   It seems to me that the police only intervene in the townships when they are trying to take away their land or control riots against the government’s treatment of the residents there.  The townships have “their own justice system”, as Tim put it.  When somebody is caught stealing, they are dragged out into the street, thrown under a tire, doused in fuel, and then burned alive.  People go to watch.  It’s like the Middle Ages in Europe.  People are still stoned to death as a punishment in these townships.  The level of violence is unimaginable and, thus, indescribable. Rowan is running from these guys and they are hunting him down.  He is entirely on his own.  He has nowhere to go.  

On Sunday, Tim gets a call from Rowan saying that the gang found his location.  He escaped from the house he was staying at in the trunk of a car.  The car then dropped him 20 minutes away, and he got a taxi from there, spending the rest of his money.  He had nowhere to stay and nobody to call. His parents aren’t even remotely there for him.  

His mother lives in Dunoon and, from what I can tell, is an alcoholic.  His father is actually well-off and a movie producer, but entirely MIA.  Imagine your parents being so detached from you that your life is on the line and they are nowhere to be seen.  The last time Rowan needed money, the father wired it to the mother to give him, and she took it for herself, leaving him nothing.  Sunday night, Tim spends hours sitting on the couch, figuring out how to get money and shelter for Rowan.  The kid has nothing.  Nothing is a very ambiguous word that is hard to picture until you actually see situation in reality.  The absence of everything.  The incredible pain and danger that Nothing causes.  

Rowan turns up at Dunbar a little after 8:30 in an uber Tim called for him.  Even getting the uber was difficult, because uber drivers often don’t accept pick-ups near the townships because it’s so dangerous.  Rowan is a tough kid.  He’s seen hardship, violence, pain, and loss from a very young age.  He is not unfamiliar with gang violence.  When he gets out of the uber and Tim asks him if he’s okay, he looks in Tim’s eyes and just starts crying.  Words will not do the situation justice but try and imagine what a broken spirit looks like.  A broken and lost soul.  Think about that.  Think about what that looks like in somebody’s eyes.  Imagine what Rowan had to go through to get to the point of breaking.  I have never, until this point in my life, encountered a broken spirit.  If you have ever read the Golden Compass, it seems similar to the children who were separated from their Demons.  If you haven’t read the Golden Compass, read it.  After a long hug, Tim gives him 300 rand and Rowan goes to an Air B&B back near the township, because that’s where it was available, immediate, and cheap.   On Monday, there’s no word from Rowan almost all day.  This is extremely worrying, for obvious reasons.  At 5pm, he gets in contact and says that he was robbed outside the Air B&B.  They took everything, his only sweater, his phone, his backpack, the few things that he still held onto— all lost.  They ripped the silver teeth out of his mouth.  How do you take away something from somebody with nothing?  Rowan is now staying in Durbanville with his grandma, but she says he can only stay for a week.  I don’t understand this at all.  People are looking to kill her grandson, and she won’t safely shelter him unconditionally? This child needs unconditional love and safety.  How many other children have gone through this? How many people have been hardened and broken by stories like this one?  How do you save them? - Q

[type-a-nomad]

[type-a-nomad]

ah, to be young.  Alternative Title: sometimes I’m a little crazy but only when there are no consequences whatsoever.

It’s March 23 and I don’t understand how the world is turning so fast that the days are just spinning by.  The thing that’s really drawing my attention to the days passing is that Tim is leaving very soon.  For me, he is kind of the person that sets the energy for this place.  He has been here longer than almost anyone and it shows.  He works as a kind of center for people.  A role model.  An example of the kind of person who volunteers at SAVE.  He was supposed to leave in a couple weeks, but things changed a bit and he decided to leave early to go visit friends in Germany on his way home.  It’s going to be a very sad goodbye, especially because the end of his stay here came as a bit of a surprise.   In terms of interesting things that have happened in the last few days, there haven't been that many.  We have had a lot of issues here with protests and riots in the townships that shut down our projects because it’s either too dangerous for us to be there or too dangerous to get the kids in and out.  It means I’ve had a lot of free time because project has been cancelled for two days already and could possibly be continued next week if the pattern of rioting continues.  Generally, what happens is there is a protest because of lack of resources and lack of understanding between the government and the people in the township.  Then, during the riots, people drink a lot.  The next day everyone is still drunk and the destruction continues.  The following day there are no protests, but the day after people start drinking again and the whole thing repeats itself.

One thing I’m very tired of here is drama and gossip. I’m in house 22 and it is getting so bad and generally stressful for me that I want to ask to be moved just so i don't have to think about that energy anymore.  The current issue has to do with Danni (again).  Basically, she was drunk on a beach and got in a fight with another drunk girl who went and told Robyn and Shannon that she feels threatened and now it’s a whole drama and Danni wants to leave the program and is a perpetually dangerous move.  She’s honestly a bully and it scares me to deal with her because she has no problem being mean to people.   Usually, bullies root their anger in their own insecurities and lash out at people because it makes them feel better about themselves.  Danni isn't this way.  She’s confident and sure of herself and doesn’t attack people for no reason, she just is amazingly aggressive if you push her buttons.  And, she has a lot of buttons.  She has very long toes, they’re easy to step on.  I’m scared of her, especially because a lot of my friends live in Dunbar and she has been obviously irritated and cold to me since I’ve been hanging out with her “group” less and less.  I have no problem standing up for other people’s rights and morals, but when it comes to person situations for me, I avoid confrontation at all costs.  Confrontation stresses me out and, even if the person in question doesn’t actually matter to me in any other situation, my brain has a real problem with thinking that people are upset with me.  I am tired of this feeling like middle school and I have an entire 3 weeks left, so I am just going to walk over to reception and say my problem and hopefully they transfer me (fingers crossed super hard). The people I actually like are at Dunbar anyways.  The only downside to Dunbar is that the wifi is horrible, but who cares.  I didn't come to Africa for good wifi.   Excluding that negative energy, I had a really really nice weekend.  I spent most of my time eating and dancing.  On Friday, I went to Big Bay and sat around on the beach with a smoothie with my friends.  The water was absolutely freezing and I loved it.  That night, we went out dancing and I had a fantastic time.  One thing I notice whenever I’m in public and music is playing is how obnoxiously bad pop music has become.  On one hand, there’s a brilliance to it.  People have found a formula that you can follow perfectly and get your song on the radio.  Further, they’re figured out that people don’t mind if all of your songs sound the same and only have about 20 repeating lyrics in them.  On the other hand, I have to listen to the shît these people are making and it drives me crazy.  The pop music industry rakes in millions of dollars a year.  There are actually talented artists that this money could be going to who give a shît about their composition and hooks and time signature and have actually done their research and turned on their brain before stepping up to a microphone.  In my eyes, it’s incredibly insulting that people listen to Selena Gomez or over people who make their own beats and have original thoughts that they then turn into music that actually sounds good and complex, even if you don’t understand the lyrics (e.g. Shoos Off, Kyle Bent, the Roots, Bleachers, Soccer Mommy, Mos Def, Samuel Larson, M.I.A, Abhi the Nomad, BROCKHAMPTON, just to name a few).  That being said, I can dance to anything that remotely resembles “music” if I really want to.  After we all got back, I sat with my friend Lucy in the kitchen drinking tea until 5am.  I felt like such a *youth*. We talked about life and why we came to South Africa.   I think I came here to travel and do good, but mainly to isolate myself from the familiar.  I wanted to see if I could find calm within myself and balance that with the ambition I already access easily.  It’s easy to feel calm and satisfied with where you are and stay there.  It’s hard to stay calm while still learning and improving.  That was the goal.  I think, with every day that passes, I get closer to realizing that goal.  I am becoming more sure of myself and my capabilities.  Further, my values are clarifying.  I am passionate about fighting for people who are in situations that make it very hard for them to have a voice.  That is to say, if you are poor African-American in Oakland, being an activist and arguing with people about causes like Black Lives Matter is most likely not the first on your list of priorities.  Safety and security are first.  If you feel like even law enforcement is a threat to you, why the hell would you have time to try and improve that situation— you’re just looking to survive it.  I think it’s too much to ask those people who are focusing on survival to try and make their general situation better on top of fighting their personal battle, whether emotional or physical, every day.  There are incredible people out there who are doing both, and that blows my mind.  Moreover, because I don’t have to go through a situation with that intensity, I think there is a certain responsibility that comes with, entirely by chance, being born into a situation as comfortable as mine.  That responsibility is to fight for and help those who were, entirely by chance, born into a less comfortable situation.   I will fight tooth and nail for those people.  I feel deeply that it’s my duty, because my own shît is generally taken care of.  I get to go to University and study something I love.  I feel comfortable calling 911 for help.  I get to marry somebody I love without worrying about the legal and social consequences.  I can kiss my boyfriend in public without others being offended and grossed out by my display of affection.  I don’t have to think about my race and how it affects my life.  I can open my fridge and choose something I want to eat from multiple options of food.   This brings me to another point: the privilege of diversity.  Until I started living alone, I didn't realize how luxurious variety is.  To have enough wiggle room in your life that you can do different things every weekend or night.  To have enough wiggle room in your bank account that you can buy two different kinds of bread and cereals at the supermarket without worrying about wasting food I can’t afford to.  When I live on my own, I eat the same thing for breakfast every day.  When I go back home to Berkeley, I get to choose whether I want granola or Honey Nut Cheerios, and that blows my mind.  When I go back home, Honey Nut Cheerios encapsulate luxury for me, and that’s not something I will ever fail to appreciate ever again.   On Saturday, I was functioning on 3 hours of sleep and my body went into full survival mode.  It was brilliant because I felt 100% fine, sort of how people who are about to die supposedly feel right after a car crash.  Like I had a pole shoved through my abdomen, but was walking around and saying that everything is peachy keen, because it felt that way.  I was invited by my new friends Leis and Tanya (both super cool girls who live at Dunbar, unfortunately Leis leaves at the end of the week) to go to the Old Biscuit Mill.  Because I felt totally fine, I pulled on some clothes and went.  I had the best steak sandwich of my entire life and it was fantastic.  Even though it was 11am and I had gotten no sleep, I still got my favorite watermelon mojito.  To justify this to myself I kept in mind that they put very little alcohol in it, it’s my favorite drink in the whole world, and it’s only sold on Saturdays (when the Mill is open) in Cape Town, South Africa.  Might as well capitalize on the opportunity.  After a few hours the other girls were super tired, even though I felt great, we decided it was time to go home.  Before we called the uber to go back, I asked if we could stop in this artsy jewelry shop that looked really cool.  When we were poking around in the store, we noticed they did piercings there.  I asked if I could get some new piercings, but the woman who was working at the register said she needed to get her boss to com in for that and that would take at least an hour and a half.  Now that I was in the piercing mindset, I turned to my friends and told them about a piercing studio in the city center that I had heard about.  For some reason, this really appealed to a group of absolutely exhausted 20-year-old women.  We got into the uber and went straight there.  

Today, was Sunday.  I hiked a mountain up to a cave on the other side of Table Mountain called Elephant’s Eye.  It overlooks the Cape Flats, which is gang land and the crime and murder rates are off of the charts.   It was absolutely gorgeous.  The walk up and down were a bit treacherous because it is way less popular than other tourist-y hiking spots, so it’s not as well groomed and the rocks have sand everywhere around them so everything is very slippery.  After the hike, I went into Muizenberg, which is like the cool surfer cousin in the family of the Cape Flats.  I had an amazing burger with lots of cheese on it, fries, and a chai latte.  After I had fully started my food coma, I took an uber home and started writing exactly what you’re reading now.  For dinner, I went over to Dunbar to get takeout with my friends because I’m super exhausted from the bad vibes in house 22.  It’s to the point where I genuinely don’t want Danni to be in the room when I get home.  

While I was hanging out at Dunbar, Tim turned to me and said “I have some bad news”.  Immediately I panicked, because the last time he had “bad news” he told me he was leaving over a month earlier than expected.  Also, whenever there is “bad news”, I get a feeling that I’m about to get in trouble.  I get kinda nervous and say “alright what’s up”, and then he has the NERVE to say “I’ll tell you later”.  I’m sorry EXCUSE ME?? Why the hell would you tell me that I don’t get to hear bad news NOW.  I was irritated to say the least.  I might do yoga, but patience still is not a particularly strong aspect of my personality.  When he finally tells me, it turns out he was messing with me the entire time.  The news was that he extended his flight and is now leaving on April 9th (my baby sister’s birthday!!!!).  This was the best thing that I had heard all day and I did a happy dance for several minutes.  Things are getting complex here, but I think that’s natural when you start living somewhere— the more you engage the more details and complicated things get.  I can handle it.

things I need to work on:

not eating so poorly ALL THE TIME.  I really need to teach myself that ramen and grilled cheese is not sufficient for breakfast and lunch. learn more kids’ names. plan a road trip get back to doing yoga every morning and just getting more exercise in general.

things i’ve been doing well:

enjoying life here going to the beach lots creating space in my mind. planning for university and this summer when I have time

- Q

[type-a-nomad]

March 21

This weekend I went on a Safari.  The trip was with a travel group called Hotspots and it was marketed as a Safari but that was very misleading.  It was so much better than a single safari.          A week before, my friends Dani, Lucy, Sydney, and Jenine all signed up to go on this trip with me.  That Friday, we were picked up at 6am by the hotspots van. We drove for 4 hours, only stopping once at a really cute little roadside cafe with an amazing gift store that I spent way too much money at.  Only stopping once was really problematic for me because it appears I have the smallest bladder on the planet and my body loves to remind me of this fact during 4 hour car rides.  We finally arrived at a place called the Cango Caves, which is a UNESCO Heritage Site and almost exactly what you would expect.  The caves were massive with gorgeous limestone stalactites and stalagmites.  The coolest thing that happened on the tour was that they had this tiny little light installed next to all the huge lights they have lighting up the different chambers.  The guide then turns off all of the illuminating lights and only leaves the tiny tiny light on to simulate what it was like when the first person came into the caves with only an oil lamp.  It was terrifying but in a fantastic way.  I love being put in historically empathetic situations because it’s hard to imagine an experience so different from your own reality without any real example.               After the caves we all piled back into the van and drove to our first hostel.  We were only staying one night so unpacking was completely unnecessary and we quickly used the time we would have spent doing that finding the hostel’s bar.  There are very few things more satisfying than sitting around a fire with your friends in Africa, drinking an African cider literally called Savannah, and talking about life and why socks with cool patterns on them are the best.  About an hour passed and we decide we cant put dinner off any longer because we are simply too hungry to function.  We ask the hostel’s front desk where we should go and they give us vouchers for free wine at this local restaurant called the Black Swan.  I am still in my hiking clothes from the cave and assume that, because it’s recommended by an African hostel who's bar is bigger than the kitchen, it will be casual.  Half of our group didn't even wear shoes because we only had to walk down the street and we’ve collectively realized that bare feet are just better.  

      We show up to the Black Swan and all I see are white table clothes and well dressed people.  The carpet was classier than us.  These people still seated us even though we weren't wearing shoes and were clutching our wine vouchers like it was a golden ticket to Willy Wonka.  The food was excellent and the service was even better.  We asked the manager of the restaurant where the closest ATM was so we could walk there after dinner and he took out his car keys and DROVE us there.  The waitress was so cool and funny.  By the end of the night the restaurant workers gathered around our table and took a picture with us because we all got along so well.           When we got back to the hostel everyone went to the bar and I went to bed. This is somewhat of a pattern here.  We had to leave at 7:30am and, per usual, I wanted my full 8 hours.  I don’t know what happened at the bar or what time they got back, but when I woke up it was pretty clear that it was a good time.  The 7am alarm was incredibly brutal, though, and hauling everyone out of bed and into clothes was possibly the most challenging part of the trip.  Breakfast was great because they had cinnamon buns for $1.              Our next stop was the elephant sanctuary.  It was even more amazing than I ever could have expected.  Elephants are huge.  Not a surprising fact, but it’s really rare to actually experience a living creature of that size.  You can try to imagine it, but the shear energy of these beings was amazing.  They were so powerful and so calm.  The thing that struck me the most was the way they walked.  For some reason, I always expected elephants to have hard feet, kind of like horses.  When I imagine an elephant, I picture the large toenail sort of things they are often depicted as having.  This is simply not the case.  Their feet are like slippers.  When they walk, it’s almost silent.  They’re so impressively graceful.  We went on a bush walk with them and I was inches away from the massive creatures.  They were rescues and lived in the sanctuary because they were found as babies because their mothers had been poached.  They live in a way very different from the wild, but it’s humane.  I’ve heard of places where elephants are sedated to be around people and it was very relieving to see that this was not the case.  The elephants were so obviously happy.  They loved giving hugs.  Whenever I was close to one, they would wrap their trunk around me and give me a cuddle, which is sweet but so forceful sometimes I almost fell over.  My favorite was the female of the group, Malaika, which means angel.  When elephants walk, they walk single file, and the female of the group always leads.  The male elephants would wait for Malaika to walk and then they would follow.           One thing that particularly stunned me when I was with the elephants was the honesty of their existence.  You can tell when you're with them how intelligent and emotional they are.  And yet, they clearly have no concept of lying.  They are so raw and straightforward in their existence, not because they are simple creatures, but because their honest ones.  Humans spend so much time trying to be something else than exactly who they are where they are.  We could learn from the animals around us if we opened ourselves to it.   Elephants are not only matriarchal but also very family-oriented.  They usually live in family units and that’s why it’s so horrible to poach them, because elephants mate for life and experience sever grief when they lose a member of their family. It amazes me that somebody could look at these creatures and it would occur to them to kill them for their tusks.  That’s such a bizarre idea— that somebody’s reaction to seeing these beautiful animals would be to take what they see as most pleasurable for them materially, instead of experiencing how incredible life is.         My friend Tim told me this a few days ago and I think it applies to everything, but is especially fitting in this situation.  There are two kinds of humans in the world and they break down in this story.  Once upon a time a man was walking in the forest and he sees the most beautiful flower he's ever laid eyes on.  He spends hours staring at it and decides to pick it and take it back home with him.  He puts it in his favorite vase next to his bed and it dies in a week.  Another man is walking in the forest and sees the most beautiful flower he’s ever laid eyes on and he stops and stares for hours.  After the sun sets, he walks back home.  The next day he returns and waters the flower and feeds it with rich soil so it grows even larger and more beautiful and more alive than ever before.  This not only applies to poaching elephants or settling for short term gratification, but also to relationships.  There are people who see certain things they like in you and want to take them for their own, and after they capture that part of your beauty, they can discard you.  There are other people who see things they like in you and see your potential and will do anything to build that and help you reach your most developed, beautiful self, even if it comes at some emotional cost for them.  Emotional investment and selflessness in relationships is so important.           Now more than ever this story resonates with me.  I am in South Africa, far away from all of my loved ones at home.  I only know the people around me for the two months I am here.  I could make relationships with people I find fun and easy to be around, and then leave South Africa and that relationship in my past as I return home.  The other option is to seek deep relationships.  To invest myself emotionally in other people who live halfway across the world and, even though it is not easy or emotionally convenient, realize the preciousness of really fitting with somebody.  I choose to do the latter.  I have lived in two separate continents in the past 8 months and I have met a lot of people.  The more people I meet, the more I realize how rare it is to find that beautiful flower of a person and how important it is to invest in that relationship, even if it’s in a forest very very far away.           The rest of Saturday was a whirlwind.  We drove from the elephant sanctuary to the wetlands and went kayaking in a river for about an hour.  Then we went to a food market in the middle of nowhere onto our next adventure: bungee jumping (sort of).  Saying it was “our” next adventure is putting it strongly.  It was a couple of our group’s next adventure.  There were two options, either go bungee jumping off of the highest bridge in the world into a steep canyon between two mountains, or go see a 1000 year old tree on a nature reserve.  You don’t need to be a rocket scientist to guess which option I opted for.           The tree itself was underwhelming, but the nature reserve was brilliant.  It was so untouched and I was able to really experience an African forest/jungle for the first time.  It wasn't a tropical jungle so it didn't look like the image that popped into your head when I said that, but it was humid and dense.  There was very little sunlight that could penetrate through the trees.  There were animal tracks everywhere and, even though it was the early afternoon still, the cicadas were incredibly loud.  To my great relief, I didn't interact with many bugs.  South Africa has some crazy spiders.  First of all, they're huge.  Second of all, they JUMP.  This is not an exaggeration, these motherfuckers can leap like their the track star on the high school varsity team.  That scares the shît out of me and I have absolutely no tolerance for it.  I can cope with moving to a different hemisphere, alone, with little to no information about where I’m staying or what I’m doing, but when it comes to jumping spiders, I hit my limit.  A good catch phrase for my attitude is: I’m not a physical risk-taker, I’m an intellectual risk-taker.           We all piled back into the car and I tried to sleep and failed miserably.  I decided to just blast my music through my headphones and dance in my seat while taking time to myself.  We pulled into the hostel about 2 hours after we started driving and it was 6:30pm.  The sun was setting and the sky was magnificent.  Our hostel was right on the beach and we all ran out of the car to catch the last of the sunset on the water.  Nothing could have prepared me for this.  I ran up the sand dune and when I saw the beach my jaw dropped to the floor.  In front of my was the most spectacularly turquoise ocean, entirely consuming the horizon, the clouds looked as if they had been painted into the sky by JMW Turner, the water was reflecting the pink of the clouds and the sand was fluffy and white.  Everything stood still.  Everyone else went to take photos and play around and I just walked off by myself.  I had to take it all in.  It was my first experience with the Indian Ocean and I am positive it will not be my last.  The entire beach was so beautiful, peaceful, and energetic all at the same time.  I was so overwhelmed I started to cry.  I felt so at home and in love with my surroundings.  I was in the same clothes I wore hiking in the nature reserve, but I really just didn't care.  I ran into the water and swam.  It was so warm and welcoming.  The waves were beautiful and I watched the sun turn red on the horizon, surrounded by salty water and rhythmic currents.  I wanted the world to stop turning. It’s called Myoli Beach and it is heaven on earth.  A couple days later a friend asked me what I would do if i was told I only had 4 weeks to live. Without pause, I responded that I would live on Myoli.  I’ve never connected with a place so incredibly.  Leaving that beach felt like meeting your soulmate and having no choice but to go separate ways because of circumstances.  This beach was in the middle of nowhere.  It’s 5 hours from Cape Town by car.  Even so, I promised myself I would go back at least once before I leave South Africa.         Saturday night dinner was gross so I didn't eat much, so I compensated with a milkshake.  We went to bed fairly early and got up at 7am again for a 7:30 breakfast.  By 8:15 we were on the road to the Safari.  The Safari was what you would expect.  A huge savannah and rolling hills, lots of animals, driving around in a 4x4, the whole shebang.  My favorite animals to see were the elephants because they were massive.  Elephants can live around 90 years and don't stop growing until they're 40.  It’s amazing.  There was a family of elephants lead by a single dad because the mother had passed away after getting very sick when she gave birth to her second son.  Usually, the males don't stay with the kids and the family unit is just the mother and the children, but the father has been with the children for 10 years now and I thought that was amazing.  

We saw rhinos in person and they were very chubby.  They kept taking mud baths and rolling around, as rhinos do.  If rhinos were humans, they wouldn't be able to see their toes.  It’s amazing to see an animal that large and that different.  I also think it’s really interesting how the first people came from Africa and the more dinosaur-like animals are all in Africa.  It seems like the place that has stayed closest to the history of life on earth.  Rhinos, elephants, wildebeests, and water buffalo all remind me of dinosaurs— or whatever we have decided dinosaurs would have looked like.  Here’s a fun fact: water buffalo are called that because they are always close to water because they sweat so much and, thus, need to drink hundreds of liters of water a day.  So, you know that you're in the vicinity of freshwater if you see them.  The most beautiful animal we saw were the lions.  They were so small compared to all of the other animals and so cuddly.  I know they’re wild animals so that sounds ridiculous, but they were so feminine and strong at the same time, I really wanted a big lion hug.  The lionesses were so beautiful and fluffy, I completely understand why somebody would want a pet lion.  One of my favorite colors in the world is that glowing gold color of a lion’s eyes.            The rest of the day was pretty much non-eventful.  We went to another market and I got my close friend Tim a perfect birthday present which was exciting because I love finding perfect birthday presents. Sunday night was interesting because I was exhausted and I would have just gone to bed if I had not promised my friends I would go out for a drink that night.  So instead of sleeping I popped into a freezing cold shower to wake myself up and put on pjs that could pass as clothes so I could go straight to bed when I got home.  I had a fantastic time and I’m glad I rallied.  I find the nights where I’m in between going out and staying in are the nights I end most happy that I went out and had conversations with people I would have missed out on otherwise.   Monday morning was fine.  Mainly uneventful.  On Mondays we use the day to plan the week’s lessons and clean and organize our resources for the week.  Monday afternoon and evening were fantastic.  In the afternoon I went to an amazing beach called Camps Bay.  It’s my favorite beach in Cape Town.  Behind the beach, there is a part of Table Mountain called the “12 disciples”, which are 12 hills that stick out.  It’s dramatic and magnificent.  One of my friends said the most amazing thing when we got to the beach: “This place is special because you have a view both ways”, meaning in front of you, there is the expansive Atlantic Ocean and a white sand beach, behind you there is an amazing mountain range, and you're sandwiched tightly in between the two shockingly beautiful displays of the natural earth.  From there, the night only got better.  After the beach, I changed in the bathroom of a bar across the street into nice clothes because I was going out to dinner.          Tim’s parents are in town and his birthday is Wednesday so they had an early birthday dinner and I went with our other friend Lucas to a great Italian restaurant called La Perla.  His parents (from Belgium) found it very ironic that they were sitting and eating at an Italian restaurant in the middle of South Africa.  The food made me miss Italy because, really, nobody will ever come close to Tuscan cooking.  His mom and dad were fantastic.  It never fails to shock me how meaningful it is to see somebody’s roots when you have met them in a context outside of where they call home.  You learn so much just by meeting somebody’s parents.  His mother in particular was impressive.  Every time she spoke, you could pick out an epigraph out of her point.  Something small, catchy, and spot on.  One of the ones that particularly stuck with me was when she said “Everyone wants to live long, but nobody wants to age”.  That seems very applicable to a lot of people in my life right now.  She talked about wrinkles and other parts about getting older and how she welcomes it and just tries to take care of herself as best she can and I think that’s really the best way to go about it.  After dinner, Tim, Lucas, and I were exhausted and we all went straight to bed.   Tuesday was very interesting.  The morning was more or less normal.  We went to Vissershook for tutoring.  This time, we had the same kids over two separate 30-min blocks.  My girl was named Felicity and she was so sweet.  She had a short attention span and didn’t think that she was as bright as she was, which is always a challenge but also why I’m there: to empower through encouragement and learning.         During break, I hung out with Brooklyn (the 5th grader) and her squad.  Last week, she wasn't at school at all and this was really concerning to me.  There were fires in Dunoon last week, 500 people are displaced.  Many of the teachers and kids we work with were among those 500.  When Brooklyn didn't come to school for a whole week, my mind immediately thought that she was in that group.  I pulled her aside the second I saw her in the morning and asked why she wasn't at school last week.  She said she had missed the bus.  This didn't sit right at all.  Missed the bus?? 5 Days in a row?? I find that extremely hard to believe.  I knew I shouldn't press her because it’s a sensitive subject and she clearly doesn’t want to get into whatever made her miss school, but I decided that it was actually worth asking because I can maybe help whatever is going on, even if she is afraid to seek that help.  She still wouldn't give me a straight answer, so I dropped the subject, but it was very worrying and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.  Brooklyn is so smart, kind, sweet, funny, and mature.  I talk to her like a peer.  Her and all of her friends are very curious about what it’s like in the US.  They have very little access to information about other countries and the combination of little information with large, young imaginations, means they draw a lot of false conclusions.  For example, they thought because Danni is from the UK, that she lives in a castle.  

       This Wednesday, March 21, is a national holiday (beside’s Tim’s 21st birthday).  This national holiday is Human Rights Day.  When we left Vissershook, everything was fine and normal.  One thing I did notice was that, as we passed Dunoon, on the farm land opposite the township, people were putting stakes in the group and marking off areas where they could put a new house.  This was not particularly unsettling because of the amount of homes that had been lost in the past week, it makes sense people would be claiming new land to build new homes.  However, when we got home, it was clear that not everything was fine or normal.  Many people were home from their projects, which means they got back two hours early.  Apparently, people were starting to protest and demonstrate for national human rights day.  The people planting stakes in the ground were actually protesting by marking the amount of land they needed the government to give them to actually live in a house instead of on the streets.  I’m not sure exactly to what degree the riots got to, because the volunteers were bussed out ASAP when things started to develop.  From what I gathered, it was actually the teachers at the schools that could tell something was wrong and that it wasn't good for the volunteers to be in the townships anymore.  We couldn't do afternoon projects because we couldn't get the kids in or out of the townships without risking their safety, or our safety.  This was a huge bummer, because project the next day was already cancelled for the national holiday.   With my free afternoon, I went to the beach for a bit.  It was beautiful, as usual.  But past the visual beauty, something really cool happened.  There were seals in the water maybe 10 feet from the shoreline and they were surfing the waves.  It was amazing to see because the water here is very clear so you can find the seals in the waves very easily.  Further, there were also surfers in the water, so there were people and seals surfing the same waves maybe 10 fee from each other.  The seals clearly had their technique down.  They would swim into them and kind of ride it into the crash zone, almost until I was a little concerned they would be stuck on shore, and then they would somehow materialize back to where the waves were building seconds later.  Other animals amaze me, and humans don’t appreciate the genius of our fellow animals as much as we should.           That evening, I went up with some friends to a hill in front of Table Mountain called Signal Hill.  You look down over Camps Bay and the ocean just extends into a vast, infinite horizon.  The sky was lit up with color.  I couldn't help but think during the sunset how precious every millisecond was.  I love sunsets because of their impermanence and how they remind me to appreciate the present instead of trying to cling and preserve something I find beautiful.  Instead, I try to feel the depth of each moment, even as it slips away.  Moreover, I never see the exact point of change as the sun sets, but I can feel the colors and energy changing even though I can’t put my finger on the specific moments of shifting.  The only downside of the evening was that I am entirely out of clothes because the laundry hasn't come back, and it’s two days late. I was forced to wear my PJs out to hike up through thorny bushes to the viewspot we went to, and it shredded my cute sweatpants.  But hey, I’ll take shredded sweatpants for a beautiful African sunset on a hill overlooking Cape Town, while sitting and talking with friends, any day.  That seems like a pretty great trade off to me.         All my friends got tattoos today and I did not (you’re welcome Mom and Dad).  Danni’s is a contour-line drawing of a penguin on her ankle.  I think tattoos are great if you have something you need to be reminded of every day to train your mind to get somewhere.  However, you don’t actually need a tattoo for that.  This weekend, I bought a lot of jewelry and I’m wearing it every day.  The most important piece was a hand made ceramic piece on a black chord that I wear as a necklace.  The symbol means “purity”.  This reminds me of my new years resolution that I decided to simplify into one word so I would actually remember and follow it: CLEAN.  I need to clean my brain.  I need to find the clutter and the swirling thoughts and give myself more brainspace so I can actually see what’s up there, instead of just feel the weight of all of the thoughts without being able to untangle any of them.  The other jewelry I got was all handmade in South Africa as well, because I really believe in supporting local economies and, if I’m going to be materialistic and collect more objects for myself, I would like the history of that object to be honorable.  I bought a jade necklace, that symbolizes the release of negative thoughts and energies, and the attraction of love and wealth.  When I think of wealth, I’m not thinking about money, but instead richness of relationships.  I also got a turquoise bracelet, which is a grounding stone that is very strong and protective, as well as something that balances male and female energy, which I think captures the duality of the universe.  My last acquisition was a bracelet made out of amazonite, which is a light blue-grey stone that reminds me a bit of my own eyes.  This stone is for creative people who have a lot of thoughts and passions, and sometimes need a little boost to have the same strength of mind as they do for new ideas as they have for their self-worth.  I love having little reminders to be strong, grounded, creative, supportive of myself and others, to act with integrity, and also release bad energies and the extra things that crowd my brain and cloud my thinking. When I make a goal, I try to have an element that’s negative and an element that’s positive.  That is to say, a non-action and an action.  You can tell somebody to stop being so quiet, but the better way to say it is to tell them to talk more.  To the same end, I try to make sure I have positive, action-based, goals, instead of just things I need to NOT do anymore.  Because, it is very easy to see what I’m doing that’s bad and try and get rid of it, but it’s harder to look for something that isn't there and grow and build in an undeveloped direction. It’s all about balance, one day at a time. 

That’s all for now.  I have way more thoughts, but am lacking energy and I know I will be able to give more tomorrow.  Still trying to work on posting more than once a week.  I’ve been getting a bit swept up by life here and find it more and more difficult to find time to check my phone or write down my thoughts.  The time is slipping through my hands and it absolutely blows my mind that it is March 21st already. - Q

[type-a-nomad]

March 14 2018

Wed. March 14

Today it is due to rain, which is very exciting.  So far, it’s just been bright and overcast but we are all crossing our fingers.  The bad thing about rain is that the kids have no consistent way to wash or dry their clothes, and no warm place to go home to because most of their houses are made from scrap metal and have no gas or electricity.  This means that we can’t really ask them to play activities in the afternoon with us because, if it starts raining, they could get really sick and it takes them a really long time to recover from illnesses because most of them are malnourished.  So, we had to cancel all of the afternoon sports and activities which was really disappointing for both the kids and the volunteers.  

Tutoring was fantastic today.  We had second graders for the first period because we couldn't get the 5th or 6th graders.  Danni and I paired up with two little girls named Denay and Jessica.  We played this matching game where they had to take letters from the alphabet and find the piece that had an image of something that started with that letter, e.g. C and Cat; Y and YoYo.  It was so cute.  Then we split up and did color-by-numbers.  I took an extra sheet of paper and drew “Jessica” and big pretty bubble letters and colored them in with hearts and swirly shapes.  At the end I gave it to her and she was very pleased.  When I walked out during break, she was showing it to all of her friends— it was very cute.  I hung out with some of the 7th grade girls during the break.  As usual, Jocelyn the little 4 year old found me and I held her the whole time.  The 7th grade girls taught me words in Hosa, which was more challenging than it sounds.  Hosa is one of the African language that uses clicks in most of the words.  I can’t make the click sound.  It’s so hard and your mouth has to practice making that particular sound from a young age to really “get” it.  They were very amused at me trying, so it was fun.  

The second group we had was from 6th grade.  My girl was named Fatima.  She grabbed my hand the second she walked out of class.  We did a lot of creative writing, which I loved because so often we need to teach them more concrete ideas and just drill them because they're behind in class and need to catch up a bit.  This time, they were just dreaming and writing about it.  We talked about her favorite foods and activities.  She said she liked shopping and I asked if she could go anywhere and get anything what would she get and then draw it for me.  She drew a bag of groceries.  The thing she wants most in the world, the biggest and wildest dream she could think of, was having enough groceries and foods that she enjoys eating.  That was so far from what I expected her to draw.  If you ask a kid in the US what they want if they could have anything, they’ll draw a Prada bag, or a basketball hoop, or a Ferrari, or a fancy dress.  Fatima just wants enough food. 

Then we talked about what she wants to be when she grows up.  She said she wants to be a policewoman. I asked why.  She said so she could stop men from hurting each other and help people.  I asked why she thought people hurt other people.  She said because they're jealous of each other.  Then I asked why else and she paused for a minute and got a bit uncomfortable, but I pressed her.  I asked if she thinks its because of unfairness.  And she said yes.  And I asked her to give me an example of unfairness, and she said some kids get to go to school and others don’t.  Then I said some kids have enough to eat and others don’t, she agreed.  I told her that another example of unfairness is that some people feel safe and others don’t, and that’s why its important that people like her are policewomen.  I told her some people can’t protect themselves and they need people to protect them.  She was very quiet for a while.  Then the bell rang and she had to go back to class.  I gave her a hug and she squeezed so tight and long, it was like she was never ever going to let go.  There was so much emotion poured into that hug I just wanted to hold her forever.  

There are a lot of moments like that at school, where you just want to press pause so the kid is allowed to have the time they need to feel what they need to feel.  Here, the culture doesn’t allow anyone to express or process feelings.  Generally, they are glossed over, moved on from, and overtly discouraged.  I think this is the root of a lot of the tension and frustration in the townships.  Teaching emotional suppression as the norm doesn’t mean people stop having emotions, it just means things don't show above the surface until it’s a full-on volcanic explosion.  When I can get a child to express emotion and really connect with me on the deeper level that they have never really been taught to access, it reminds me how precious a moment is because that’s generally all they get to feel it.  Really, I know they need more time to register and process the feelings to heal and grow from any emotional experience.  Often, that’s not an option, and reconciling that with the benefits of feeling any emotion at all, even if it doesn’t get resolved, is a hard situation to balance.  It really illustrates how long and short a second can be all at the same time and how time is relative to how deeply you feel a moment instead of how long it lasts according to the second hand of a clock.  Time is a rather crude measurement for reality outside of scientific experiences and general logistics.  As helpful as it is, it’s incredibly unhelpful when trying to describe the human experience.  Further, quality and permanence are not always related.  Sometimes, loss leads to appreciation for what is left; and missing something adds to the value of what once was.

Just some musings from this afternoon.  Time for a walk.

- Q

[type-a-nomad]

March 12+13

Mon. March 12 2018

My friend Sofia left this morning, which was sad.  Every Monday morning we have a huge volunteer meeting outside for about an hour.  Ever since Danni got here, they’ve been very entertaining.  She is very loud and outspoken in a way only northern British people are.  The light in our living room is green because there was no normal bulb to put in so we used the only one we could find.  At the meeting when Shannon asked if there were any things to call attention to in the houses Danni called out, without raising her hand: “can we change the green light in the living room, because I feel like I’m living in a crack den”.  I died laughing, but everyone else was silent because they thought it was kind of disrespectful.  If they're so offended by the comment, maybe have basic things around like non-green lightbulbs.  Danni isn't wrong, our living room looks straight out of Breaking Bad right now.  Currently, there are 70 volunteers on project.  I like some of the newbies but some are problematic.  Danni is not one to shy away from conflict and she got in a very loud argument with one of the new British girls who was snarky to her.  I can’t really describe the way she speaks, but when she’s upset her accent is so heavy that I can barely understand her, even with my strongest listening ears on.           I’ve been reading a lot this week and I have some quotes that I want to share and talk about from the two books I’ve been pouring through.  The first is apparently supposed to be a children’s book, but given the decline of the English language and education system in recent years, I doubt kids under 13 would be able to keep up with it.  It’s called A Little History of the World.  My dad got it for me when I was 7 and there’s a little note in the inside cover from him that was undiscovered until I got to South Africa.  Now, that book is one of the most important treasures I brought with me.  The quote goes “What I have always loved best about the history of the world is that it is true.  That all the extraordinary things we read were no less real than you and I are today.” It’s the opening line of one of the last chapters in the book and I think could be easily overlooked, but that idea is so profound to me and resonates deeply.  It is entirely true.  Sometimes I wonder what history books will say about our time now, what truths today will become stories later on.  What events now or changes are we overlooking that are, in hindsight, going to be looked at a time of great consequence.  We can guess.  We can point to wars and political shifts.  We can point to technology and the Age of Plastic that we have seemingly entered.  But the reality of it is, we don’t know until it is no longer reality.  Until we have experienced enough of the future to see what parts of the past actually made enough of an impact to be seen as relevant to the future situation.  My guess of how this period of time will be looked at is the paradox between the push for constant innovation and new technology, and the regression to the past with populism and tightening of social, racial, and cultural boundaries.  How we love new things and stuff, but we can’t tolerate new people and ideas.                     Another book I’ve been reading, quite slowly, was given to me by my therapist/life advisor Ariel.  Before I came here, she gave me a book of Billy Collins’s poetry, and a book by Pema Chödrön, called “When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times”.  It’s brilliant.  One of my favorite parts is that there is no fat or pretension.  None of it is trying to sound smart or important. It is straightforward and spiritual in the most honest way.  It is so realistic and profound at the same time that I spend several minutes with each sentence.  The entire book is written by a woman who has mastered the Buddhist mindset of acceptance, non-attachment, and nowness.  I am extremely far from that mindset, so some of the ideas can’t really resonate with my extremely preoccupied mind, but I hope I can learn to internalize them.  An example of some of the really valuable teachings in the book is: “Sticking with that uncertainty, getting the knack of relaxing in the midst of chaos, learning not to panic — this is the spiritual path.  Getting the knack of catching ourselves, of gently and compassionately catching ourselves, is the path of the warrior”.  This is so important.  The idea that gentleness and ability to choose the path of nonfiction, to sit without adjusting that strap that’s slipping off your shoulder, not scratching the mosquito bite, not smoking that cigarette the nicotine in your brain is begging for, sitting with the little parts of your brain that make your stomach tight and make you want to get up and walk around, that’s real strength.  That’s finding peace and self control and wisdom and really using it.  Indulging in action without really sitting with the decision of that action is a mindless and unconscious way to exist, really.  I want to fully exist in my being in the present.  To let my consciousness exist as fully in the now as I can.  To see the beauty in impermanence and not hold too tight to the metaphorical sand slipping through my hands into the bottom half of the hourglass.  Before you write off this entire paragraph as super hippie-dippy and hocus-pocus-y, really think about what it means.  How consciously are you living?  When’s the last time you weren't thinking about the future or the past for a full 10 minutes?  When’s the last time you didn't feel discomfort in acknowledging and releasing an impulse?  

Tues. March 13 2018

       Today was normal for me.  Tutoring was nice for the most part.  I’m on my period which is the worst when you need to work with kids.  My cramps were terrible and I felt so badly I didn't even go out to play with the kids during break.  Besides that, the morning was standard for me.  However, for about 20 volunteers today was quite turbulent.  There’s been a bit of drama down here in Cape Town.  To preface this story, we have rules of living for the volunteer program.  Sunday-Thursday we are not allowed to go out past 11pm and are not allowed to show up to project hungover or unrested.  The crucial part of all of those rules is the hangover part because in the townships there is a lot of alcohol abuse and so most of the kids associate the smell of alcohol with physical and emotional abuse from mom, dad, or other family members.  Thankfully, that rule hasn't been broken as far as anyone can tell.  However, a lot of volunteers go out and party and return quite late at night.  The hostel has security cameras for obvious security purposes and, until now, have never really been checked to the extent of my knowledge.            Last week, a lot of people missed curfew and were really loud about it, so it woke up the interns and they had to tell the managers.  At the morning meeting, the managers asked everyone who violated curfew to stand up.  About 6 people did.  I know that at least 15 people violated curfew and probably more at the property down the street, Dunbar, because they have no supervision and party a lot more than my house. Everyone who stood up had to spend their Friday washing the cars SAVE owns.  Fairly, they were annoyed everyone else didn't stand up.  One of them told Shannon it was unfair to enforce it only on the people honest enough to admit they broke the rules.  So, today, Shannon looked on the security cameras, which are positioned so you can see everyone’s face super clearly.  Tons of people were caught red handed and had lied about it because they didn't stand up.  Shannon was livid and posted part of the video of people coming in late to the group chat.  It was wild.  She’s generally a go-with-the-flow person who also gets things done.  But she brought the whip down. Everyone who lied wasn't allowed to go to project today and had to clean the entire hostel and then the other property that’s under construction, that we call 83, and organize the entire storage spaces.  It turned out to be pretty beneficial because last night there was a huge fire in Dunoon and because everyone lives in shacks so close together, over 500 people are displaced and homeless.  The extra hands from all the people in trouble meant SAVE could make lots of care-packages.  Three of the teachers at one of the schools we work at are homeless now.  I can’t imagine going through that.  Losing everything in one night.  On top of that, there’s no way they can just buy things again.  There’s no insurance (obviously) and most people live hand-to-mouth, so once you lose everything, that’s that.  It’s horrible.           I had rugby this afternoon which was interesting because I have no idea what rugby is and everyone kept telling me it’s basically american football without the pads.  Everyone lied.  It really isn't anything at all like american football, the balls just look similar.  It’s more similar to netball or basketball than football.  There weren't that many of us and the boys that did play we kind of had to corral into playing because everyone wanted to play soccer, which was a little sad, but we tried our best to make it fun.  Obviously, it was touch-rugby instead of tackle.  There was this one 11 year old boy on my team who was tiny.  He was clearly malnourished and not growing like the other boys.  His name was Melvin.  I noticed that he had some kind of burn on his hands, but he was wearing a long sleeve shirt and a sweater over it because it was a bit chilly today, so I couldn't really tell what it was.            When we took a water break, one of the boys came up to me and told me that Melvin had horrible burns over his arms and down his back from boiling water, and that we should only touch his legs during the game.  I took and distributed the information and we kept playing, but it was so troubling to think about.  The burn was clearly severe, as far as I could see.  His skin was entirely discolored in the surrounding are and I noticed there was a similar shaped scar from an incident on his other hand, but it looked like something that had happened maybe even years ago.  My immediate thought was that it was domestic abuse.  It is not far from the range of possibility for a parent to pour boiling water on their child out of anger or as a punishment.  After rugby, I went straight to Shannon to tell her about what I saw.  She already knew. She said two weeks ago Melvin had an accident at home and it was an accident.  She said that the families live in such close quarters, these incidents aren't as uncommon as they may seem.  Moreover, he had to go to the hospital for 2 days because they were 2nd degree burns and was out of school for a week.  For some reason, this doesn’t sit right with me.  How does that much boiling water go on just his back and arms?  I can’t really imagine a situation where an entire pot of boiling water accidentally falls on a child without that child getting at least somewhat out of the way.  Further, what about the similar scar on the other hand? Was this a repeated incident?          At the end of the day, even if it is abuse, there’s nothing I can do and that’s extremely upsetting.  All I can ensure is that the kids feel safe and happy when they're with me, but when our time is up, I have to send them back to potentially dangerous situations.  That’s so heartbreaking to me. These kids are so normal at the project and just happy to be there.  They come from entirely different backgrounds and situations than kids who are friends with my own brother in California, and yet they act so similarly and are really just as much of a kid as anybody growing up in a first world country.  The hardship they experience seems so incredibly undeserved I just want to swoop them up in my arms and save them from any hurt in their lives.  They’re just kids and I wish they had the room to live that way without thinking about it.  Around 12 is when that shift towards hardness really takes place and I’m making it my duty lead with love and kindness to delay that hardening of their youth as much as possible.  

- Q

[type-a-nomad]

March 5-11

This week has flown by and I am completely slacking in keeping my blog up to date.

Tuesday, we spent the first part of our day in the office at the school planning lessons to do with various classes.  The entire system we use is disorganized because there is no regularity nor pattern in terms of which classes we get.  Last week we finally got a class schedule so we know what lessons the kids are in, but there are no assigned times as to when we can take them.  We teach 5th and 6th grade.  Those two grades are split up into two classes each, 5A and 5B and 6A and 6B.  Each class has 35-40 kids and the class assignments within the year are entirely random.  Each day is divided up into 30 minute periods.  The teachers rotate through the classes every 3 0 minutes.  This means that, once we ask a teacher if we can take 6 kids out of class to tutor, we only have 30 minutes from then on until a new teacher counts them as missing from class or sees us as disrupting their class without permission.  There is a certain tension with some of the teachers and I feel that it largely hinges on their protection of their authority.  The teachers like seeing themselves as the teachers.  What they say goes.  Nobody can just come in and take kids out of their class.  Further, why would we be able to teach them better than them? I’m not sure exactly what goes on inside their heads, but when we show up at a class to tutor kids, what comes out of their mouths is: “if you must”.  Clearly, personal tutoring is a great inconvenience to them.  It’s as if they forget that we are all here to support these kids in their education.              Recently, when teachers say they wont let us take out kids during their lesson, we all walk over to the second graders.  The teacher is more than willing to hand over 6 tiny-humans for us to teach the alphabet to.  These sessions are cute but not nearly as productive or rewarding as the older kids because a lot of the 2nd graders are just learning to speak English.  Further, they’ve been taught all their basic skills in Afrikaans, so trying to practice the alphabet or counting to 20 gets really confusing.  The Afrikaans alphabet is more or less the same as the English one, they just say the letters as the sounds.  Instead of “A= AY” and “B=BEE”, as we say in English, in Afrikaans they say “A=Ah” “B=Buh”, etc.  Simple enough to mimic and help them start to spell words.  Afrikaans is simpler because spelling makes more sense because they don't need to go between the name of the letter and the sound it makes, because they're the same.  My guess as to why Afrikaans is more logical and simple is because it is an amalgamation of local languages, global languages, and Dutch.  The local and global languages got mixed in because of the slave trade, and the new language everyone decided to speak to communicate, Afrikaans, had to be simple so people could pick it up as a second language quickly.  Further, Afrikaans is an extremely new language.  Mandarin and Latin have ben around for thousands of years.  Romantic languages many hundreds of years.  Afrikaans originated around 1700 and wasn't published in print until the 1910s.  Now, everyone here speaks it along with English and often the signs in public spaces have both.  Afrikaans is to language as energy bars are to food, quick and easy to package and digest, and a fairly new concept.               On Tuesday I tutored two girls, Ghiselinde and Kayla.  When Ghiselinde introduced herself I asked her to repeat her name and she said “You can just call me Sarah”.  A lot of the kids do this.  They will have a traditional Afrikaans or Hosa name and have a “backup” Western name they give instead of calling attention to their different-ness.  I never take the Western name.  On principal, I never learn the Western name.  The kid was named something and I have the time and respect to learn something as important as a name, even if I don't recognize it.  I believe that deserve that much attention and recognition as a minimum: just learning their real name.  And these kids don't even expect that much.   The girls I tutored were both very quiet and nice, but not open enough to ask questions, so there was not the rewarding exchange that happens sometimes in kids.  

      During break every day, I usually am tackled by the little kids, around 5 and 6, and carry them around for 30 minutes.  They love hugs and kisses and are walking germ buckets.  I really like the girls from Grade 5.  When I had netball last week, I met them more personally and we clicked well so we hang out and walk around during break.  One girl in particular, Brooklyn, and I are getting pretty tight.  She says hi to me whenever she sees me and finds me at every break and every morning.  She is the oldest of 3 girls and is very bright, kind, and elegant.  When you meet her, you can tell she has her shit together.  She isn't a perfectionist, but she conducts herself with an incredible grace for a 12 year old girl.  If she were born in a different place, teachers would know she was going somewhere.  Here, it just means she doesn't need attention because she isn't disrupting anything.  Time, resources, and attention are stretched so tightly here that there just isn't room to give positive encouragement.  When discipline is needed, it’s harsh and negative.  “Get the message to the kid in the shortest amount of my time possible” seems to be the attitude of a lot of the adults here.                 On Wednesday, we started working with the second graders and I had a little girl named Caitlyn.  She was very graceful and mature for a second-grader and was a quick-learner.  When I told her my name was “Quinn” she said “You know my sister Brooklyn!”.  Her whole face lit up and mine did too.  It meant so much to hear that Brooklyn had gone home and told her family about me.  Caitlyn and I practiced spelling and had a great time.  We filled out the worksheets and then played a game where she could pick any word in the English language and we could spell it together.  Then, we practiced spelling her name and her sisters’ names.  She has a twin sister named Catheryn.  Her mom is named Isabelle, and her grandma is named Margret.  I didn't ask about her Dad because it was clear when we were spelling all the names of her family, that he was not apart of that picture.  Later, I drew her a map of the United States and showed her where I’m from.  She said “My Dad is in America!” and I said “Wow! That’s so cool, where is he?”, she responded “Nigeria”.  I didn't have the heart to tell her where it was, so we just moved on.   During break, I met up with Brooklyn and her friends per usual and she was so excited that I knew all about her family and remembered everyone’s name.  She told me how her grandma bakes muffins and sells 2 for 5Rand, which is 5 cents in the US.  She says her grandma makes great food and her little sisters are really funny but a lot of work because they're twins.  Every day after school Brooklyn makes them all a snack and they talk about their days.            I love working with the 5th and 6th graders because they really rise to the occasion of the maturity if you give it to them.  If you don’t condescend they don’t act younger than you.  When I just talk to them straight, they respond the best.  The biggest issue I’ve had in communication with them has been surrounding violence.  I am so much more sensitive and controlling against violence than any of the teachers or kids.  It’s normal for two kids to be punching each other on the floor, or kicking each other in the stomach, without any intervention or punishment.  They don't understand why I get so upset and intervene when kids are hitting or choking each other.  They look at me like I’m crazy and tell me that this is what “playing” is.  Their exposure to violence is so striking and keeping that violence to a minimum is key to me.  I can’t keep them safe at home, but I can keep them safe at school and I’m going to try my hardest to follow through on that.              On Thursday I had a surf lesson in the morning and in the afternoon because somebody gave me theirs that they didn't want, which meant I was excused from tutoring to go do that.  I was very excited and was getting ready as usual in my bathroom.  The handle on the outside of the door fell off last week but it had been working fine.  Key word: had.  When I went to open the door, it didn't open.  My bedroom door was closed and almost everyone was already at their project.  Nobody could hear me banging on it so I was frantically calling people for 30 minutes while I sat on the floor of my 5ftx3ft bathroom floor (measurements not an exaggeration in the slightest).  Finally I was released and went surfing.  It was a good time.  I had bought blue zinc, which is this kind of paste that makes sunscreen sunscreen.  Surfers wear it because it doesn’t come off.  That being said, it’s basically entirely opaque so you can either wear the white paste as white paste, or you can buy the stuff that’s died and have fun colored paste.  I chose the latter.  I looked like a smurf in a wetsuit, but I didn't get sunburned.  

        There was a huge swell Thursday which meant the waves were not only massive, but a lot of cold water came into the Cape and it was even more freezing that usual.  My feet entirely lost feeling within being in the water for about 3 seconds.  It felt like an ice bath.  At the end of the day, even when you're in a wetsuit, an ice bath is an ice bath.  The waves were the biggest I’ve seen so far and they were really messy, which means that they aren't evenly spaced or controlled but instead erratic and rough.  This means that if you get stuck where the waves crash, getting out is nearly impossible until the set of waves passes.  I got stuck in the crash zone once and the waves were coming down so hard that even though I went under the water when they crashed, they would flip me over under water.  The water was so incredibly cold that my skull hurt from being underneath for so long.  At certain points, my arms were so tired from paddling to get out of the crash zone that I had to mentally push myself through it to make myself paddle out farther.             By the end of the three hours, I was so exhausted that I skipped my extra lesson and just went out with my friend Sofia, who leaves Monday back to Denmark, and walked on the beach.  Ironically, I still jumped in the water, without a wetsuit, to wake myself up.  We talked about politics and art and the future and our personal goals.  I’m very grateful to the American education system for allowing college students to choose their major in the Sophomore year.  Most European systems require you to pick your discipline or profession by the age of 17 and then entirely specialize though university.  That’s why so many Europeans take gap years, because when they choose what they want to do it’s permanent; and if you ever decide you want to change you have to drop out of school, reapply, and start over from the beginning.   When I got back from the beach, people were getting back from project and it seemed like something was wrong.  I went up to Danni and asked what was going on and she said that there was a riot in Dunoon (the township).  I asked around and figured out more or less the whole picture.  On Thursday morning, busses of armed police were sent to Dunoon in full riot gear to destroy an illegal settlement.  This means that people were living in an area that was not a designated part of the township.  Why they had to remove the illegal settlement is beyond me.  It wasn't encroaching on any actual residential areas, the townships are more or less isolated.  Dunoon is small to begin with so it makes sense that there would be some overflow with population growth.  Also, why does it matter that they are slightly outside the boarders of a township? Who does it affect? Further, the people in townships don’t know or pay attention to “laws”.  Nothing is enforced there anyways and nobody is aware of their civil rights.  So deciding that this is the law they're going to enforce in the township seems incredibly unfair.               Anyways, around 4 busses of police went in and burned down the illegal settlement.  Everyone who didn't leave willingly was forcibly removed and arrested.  This started a riot.  When riots happen in the townships, the destruction is breathtaking.  The sociological term “threshold” describes the situation pretty well.  It basically means how much it takes for somebody to be coerced into following the herd.  The more self-control and discipline a person has, the higher their threshold is.  The fundamental question that outlines the concept is: How many people need to be throwing rocks before you start throwing rocks too? In Dunoon, the threshold of the people is unbelievably low.  Nobody needs to be throwing rocks to get somebody to throw a rock, somebody just has to say the word “rock” and, all of a sudden, everyone is throwing them.  This makes sense.  They don’t have much to lose if they gather in destructive behavior.  Further, the low quality of life and sense of daily competition in the townships for basic resources creates a lot of anger frustration, creating a predisposition for aggressive behavior to release those feelings.           The timeline of the riot is as follows: 11am, the police roll in with 4 busses of heavily armed officers.  12pm, my friends who work at a daycare that looks over the township saw a huge black cloud over Dunoon.  12:30, everyone working in Dunoon is picked up immediately as the riot starts and it becomes clear that it will soon be so dangerous we will be unable to enter or leave the township.  1:30pm everyone is home from their project.  2:30pm all the sports projects start with the kids at Vissershok, who all live in Dunoon but the school itself is around 15 minutes away.  At 4:30 the riot has grown to the point where houses are being burned down, any car getting close to the entrance of Dunoon is being stoned and/or set on fire, it’s absolute chaos in the streets, and because of the police around 150 families are displaced.  At 4:45 we need to figure out how we are going to get the kids back to their families.  It was way too dangerous to drive into the township, we couldn't get within 100 yards of the entrance and the big white van we drive around in might as well have a huge red target painted on it.  Wellington, the driver of the van, had to pull a U-turn in the middle of the highway because he saw the cars in front get stoned and their tires slashed.  

       My gut-reaction is that it would be insane to send the girls from the athletic program back into the school.  But there’s a riot going on and their families are expecting them home.  Further, there is no way to contact their parents because we don't have their contact information and the likelihood they even have a consistently functioning phone is slim.  We end up sending the girls to walk through the riot back to their families.  It was terrifying.  And we couldn't even watch to make sure they got through because it was way to dangerous to stay in the area even a second longer because the fires were growing and the mob would have come towards the van if we stayed watching.  Windows up, doors closed and locked, the van sped away.  Everyone was extremely upset.  A lot of the volunteers came back crying because the violence was so breathtaking.  It is not uncommon for people to be murdered, stabbed, robbed, or trampled during the riots.  It was almost cinematically dramatic to see the black cloud of smoke over Dunoon.  

      All projects on Friday were cancelled because the busses the kids ride to go to school were stoned and one was set on fire.  We still have no word whether or not project will start up next week.  We have no idea if the kids are safe and okay.  We have no idea what the township is going to look like when we re-enter it.         Desperation and chaos are close friends.  And, to that end, regularity and predictability are somewhat of a privilege.  Having the infrastructure to ensure a general pattern of life indicates a certain level of livability.  These townships aren't livable, they're survivable.  Every day is different because the unemployment rate is so high that getting food on the table is a new level of challenge every day that people take somewhat random and various approaches to.  Theft is obviously quite common, so is prostitution to a degree.  In the US, when a band comes to town, people plaster notices over poles and empty walls or buildings.  In Dunoon, they do the same, but for abortions and AIDs clinics.  The abortion signs read “Safe, quick, painless” and then there’s a 1-800 number underneath.  I counted 27 the last time I drove out of the township.             All of this being said, I want to make it clear that Dunoon is not a spectacle.  It’s a place people life.  It is shocking when described because it’s different than “we” are used to. This is a community of lives with stories and families.  This is their reality.  It’s not something to be looked down upon or seen as a “charity case” of a situation.  Yes, there are tons of places where they need a little extra support.  Yes, it is poverty-stricken.  Yes, there is a lot of behavior that middle and upper class Western culture would see as uncivilized.  And, at the end of the day, we have absolutely no right to pass judgement on somebody’s life who’s day-to-day is so much more difficult than ours.  The last thing they need is feeling like they're looked down upon or seen as “unfortunate”.  These people are just trying their best.  They deserve dignity, independence, and respect as much as any other person.         A lot of the problematic situations in Dunoon result from ignorance. There is very little access to information and nobody really understands their rights or how the government of South Africa can help them.  How are you supposed to get food stamps if you don’t know they exist?  My first week there was a riot of this magnitude and the projects were shut down.  The cause of the riot? There was a rumor that the government was going to turn off the water to Dunoon.  That’s terrifying.  Of course people would be angry.  What they didn't know? That’s entirely illegal and even in the most severe draught the world has seen in decades, the water will run until the dams are empty too all of the townships.  A rumor caused houses to be burned down, vehicles to be demolished, kids stranded and unable to go to school and receive the information that is the first step towards helping their individual futures and their community.              Friday was more or less normal.  It was overcast, so we went into town to go to museums.  I used to not like heat, but since being here I’ve loved the sun and the beach so much that I look forward to super hot weather.  It’s transitioning from Summer to Autumn here so it’s getting colder, which is a bummer.  Danni wasn't feeling good on Friday but she insisted that “you can be sick anywhere” and came into town to the Slave Lodge museum and lunch with Sofia and me.  She puked before lunch, after lunch, and then after the museum.  It’s really shitty to have a stomach bug between the ages of 17 and 25, because everyone just assumes you drank too much the night before.  Moreover, I don’t understand why Danni doesn't mind puking at all.  She just thinks it’s totally fine and not a big deal.  If I puke, I’m down for the day.  That is the line of me being too sick to function at all and I absolutely cannot be bothered to leave my bed.  After the third projectile-vomit, I called an uber and hauled her home.  She died in her bed for the rest of the day. 

      Friday we always have a big BBQ party.  On Wednesday my friend Tim tried to get me to go out with the big group going out and I almost laughed because I never go out and love my 10 hours of sleep.  When I refused his invitation, he made me promise I would go out Friday to Cape Town, but I kind of figured he would forget.  He didn’t.  Because I don’t have many friends here and he’s so cool and is here the entire time I’m here, I tagged along and had a really great time.  The downside was that we didn't get back until 3:30am.  I had a nice cup of tea and ate some biscuits when I got home and wasn't fully asleep until around 5am.  I felt like such a young adult.  Usually I feel like an elderly adult in comparison to my peers because I sleep at 9:30 and love yoga, reading, music, and being alone for at least a couple hours a day.            On Saturday I hauled myself out of bed at 8:30 before we went to the Old Biscuit Mill, the amazing food market in town.  I ate my way through the whole place and it was fantastic.  I was a little nauseous because my body really does not handle sleep deprivation well at all.  I didn't even feel tired because the sleep deprivation was beyond that, I was just super sweaty.  This is not based in science at all, but I think my body doesn't have the energy to internally regulate my temperature well when I’m exhausted with my horrible circulation, so I just sweat incredibly to compensate for it.  I had these incredibly South African doughnuts called Koeksisters.  They have all kinds of cinnamon sort of spices mixed with the dough and they're rolled in syrup and coconut flakes.  Best mouth-party I’ve had in a while.  I also had a very disappointing Gyro.  Guess I’ll just have to go back every weekend and try something from all 60+ vendors. When I got home, I read and then took a nap for an hour.  Dinner was curry which was very nice.  I eat 99% vegetarian here and honestly might go full veggie because it’s better for the environment and animals have feelings too.  A pig has the same level of sentience as a 4 year old human child.  I know bacon is good, but not torturing a 4 year old child good.            Sunday was very laid back.  I set aside the whole day to write what you are reading now and then went off to the beach to frolic and read.  It was Sofia’s last day today which was sad.  There is no schedule to when people can come or leave here so it’s sad to make friends and have them leave so quickly.  We went to a really cool hipster burger place for dinner that’s right down the street from us, but nobody knew it existed.  That was exciting.  They stuffed my burger with jalapeños and cheddar.  I was very pleased.  Here are some music recommendations for the week, they're all super different so try ‘em all even if you don’t like one.  

I’m ready to move on/ Mickey Mantle Reprise- Bleachers   Rotten Apple Seeds- Kyle Bent Cool- Soccer Mommy Gold Lion- Yeah Yeah Yeahs Television- Ya Ya Ya Songs for Radio- Shoes Off  *** this one especially ***

If you're still reading this, congratulations! I miss everyone from home and would love to hear from anyone.  I also miss burritos, cheeseboard pizza, and really good indian food.  I read the news all the time, but so much of it is bad news, some reassurance that the Western World isn't a complete shît-show would be nice.  

peace out, girl scout. Q

Things I’ve been doing well: Less social media use Yoga at least 4 mornings a week for around 20 minutes a morning Eating my own rye bread instead of the white bread that’s dyed less white and called “whole wheat” that we have provided for us Meeting some cool new friends named Lara and Devyn who want to hike Table Mountain with me and maybe even do a road trip beach walks and reading on the beach alone  I’m going on a Safari next weekend.   Drinking at least 3 cups of tea a day I’ve written almost 30,000 words for this blog, which is a small book and I still have a month left (30,000 words is a lot of thinking and I’m glad my brain has enough to say that I actually follow through in externalizing it— if not for anyone else, at least for myself)

Things I’m working on: Finishing 3 books this month Longer yoga practices in the morning more music listening more dancing getting the door handles in my room fixed planning a road trip up the coast because my friend Tim has done 6 and it looks so fantastic, the biggest issue here is that I don't drive manual or on the left side of the road, would have to rent camping supplies, and getting a group of girls who are as excited about the idea as I am. Being more brave during surfing even when I’m scared of the waves

[type-a-nomad]

Welcome to the Shit Show, you’re in the front row, seat #1.

March 3-March 6 2018

It’s Tuesday and I have so many stories about the weekend.  Everyone buckle up.  

    Friday afternoon was nice.  I read outside for a bit in the sun in my bikini.  Getting some sun.  Then I toweled myself off with my shower wipes.  I am going to try and see if I can get down to one shower per week.  Hygienically I can get away with it because I have my shower wipes, but you just don't feel nearly as clean as you do after a shower.  Every Friday we have the Braai which was nice.  I sat with Danni and Jenine as we waited for the food to cook.  When you’re sitting and watching a BBQ, it really amazes you how long food takes to cook. By the time we got the food, we had been sitting around for 2 hours and I was very hungry.  Hungry Quinn is not a fun Quinn to be around.  Everyone else wanted to go out and we had all gotten ready before dinner, but waiting so long ruined my mood to the point that I didn't want to go out anymore.  So, I went back to my room and, with some resentment, took off my meticulously applied makeup.  I so wanted to feel like going out but I just crashed while waiting and had no patience for anything besides laying in my bed and falling asleep.  Danni and Jenine went out.  They’re British and I am honestly impressed for their ability to ingest alcohol at the rates they do.  Sometimes I wonder if the British are born with 2 livers.             When I woke up on Saturday morning, it was fairly early because I was supposed to go out with everyone to this market they have in town every Saturday called the Old Biscuit Mill.  I rolled over in bed, still very sleepy, and saw that Danni’s bed was still made, meaning she didn't sleep in it last night.  This was really concerning and my tummy got all tight.  I walked outside the room to see if Jenine had gotten home and found them both asleep on the couches in the living room covered in bath-towels for blankets.  They woke up and said they had gotten home at 5am.  The original plan had been to go to the Old Biscuit Mill and then to this music festival in one of the townships called Langa.  I could tell pretty immediately that I was not going to get them out of the house before 10am and I had promised Thora, who was still in town but staying somewhere else, to meet there at 10:30.  So I went solo while they died for a little while on the couch.              The Old Biscuit Mill was fantastic.  It’s really big and a bit maze-like in its set up, so there’s really no large open space just long spaces of vendors set up in a narrow oval and walking room down the aisles in the middle.  There was live music and the man playing was playing some kind of electronic beat machine and then looping it while he took out his didgeridoo for the melody.  He was really into it.  I was amused for about 50 seconds and then went on with Thora to get food.  It was all very artsy, clean, and trendy in a way.  Each vendor was specialized and really gourmet.  There were so many options that I did 3 laps of the whole place before I decided what I wanted.  Everything looked amazing.  I wish I had the metabolism of a growing teenage boy so I could try it all.  Thora convinced me to get a blended watermelon mojito at 11am, which I thought was insane but since I hadn't gone out the night before and I was going to spend the day at a music festival, I thought “what the hell” and got it.  I am so grateful for that watermelon mojito.  It was actually fantastic.  Not as a cocktail, because there was basically no alcohol in it, but it was so fresh and cold and it was 90 degrees so I was sweating really badly.  The combination of being bailed on by my friends immediately upon waking up, sweating the entire uber ride to the Mill, not having a big breakfast, and the Mill being super crowded so there was really no air flow or breathing room, this drink was actually a god send.  I think they blended and froze an actual watermelon and put mint and cucumber in it.  Seriously, one of the best things I have ever tasted in my life.  I also found a burrito stand so that was fantastic.  I think the watermelon drink was a bit of a scam because I had 4 and I might as well have been drinking a smoothie because I was dead sober.  Think about that.  Small girl with not much in her stomach has 4 cocktails and feels nothing. That’s called a scam.  I didn't mind though because it was the best damn smoothie ever— even if it was priced like it had alcohol in it.                 My one regret is that there were so many cute little shops and so many things I wanted to get but I only brought 400 Rand in cash.  Thats basically $35.  I didn't bring my wallet or any of my cards because I was going to the township later and the fewer things of value I had, the better.  I ran through the 400 Rand pretty quickly.  Those smoothies didn't pay for themselves.  I also had to buy a small purse to keep my stuff for the festival in (unassuming and cloth so I could hide my phone and cash while still having them on my person) that I had planned on paying for with my budget, but I thought it would be around 5 rand and it was 300 Rand, so I borrowed that from Thora.  I got one with Nelson Mandela smiling on it, which felt appropriate and it’s the one that Thora liked the best so now every time I see it, I think of the first good friend I made in South Africa.  Thora and I had a great time.  She got 3 new tattoos over the last week and they all looked fantastic.  I really love line-work tattoos. I hope in the next 4 years somebody figures out how to make temporary tattoo ink so I can get tons just for a few months.  I don't want a big black spot on my body forever, but some art for a good time (not a long time) would be nice I think.   The festival we had tickets for started at 11am, so we thought heading over at 1:30 once things had kind of started up.  Also, it’s South Africa so you kind of have to assume the first hour of whatever organized event is attempted at is going to be an absolute mess.  The girls showed up at the Old Biscuit Mill at 1:30 so we could all head over together.  It was completely out of the question for me to meet them there, because Langa is too dangerous to show up in alone.  We all piled in an uber and when we said we were going to Langa the driver’s reaction was “are you SURE?!?”.  We were sure.  20 Minutes later we are pulling into the township and Dani turns to me and says “I can’t here music” I didn't really think much of this because I assumed we were still too far to hear anything.  3 minutes later we are there and we still don't here music.         Imagine pulling up in a township, clearly out of place, expecting a festival to be going on, and being greeted instead with a big park/lawn that was mainly just dust because of the drought, some of it covered in rented seats and sofas, others in picnic tables, some pretty large tents and a stage with speakers, but nobody on it.  There were some men near a grill making chicken and some women hanging clothes on a clothing rack, clearly in the idea of a festival where there are artisans and vendors, except there was just one stand with about 10 pieces of clothing on a rack that was clearly meant to be indoors.  Bizarre feels like an understatement of a description.  Nobody was there.  This is really not good.  We all stay in the car and send Jenine to go see whats wrong with everything.  The man says that the first performer comes at 3pm.  We say okay and go directly back to the Old Biscuit Mill.           None of us have more that $20 on us and nobody has a card and we have 2 hours to kill.  Lots of sitting around.  Lots of sweating.  Time passes and at 3:30 we call an uber back to the festival with our fingers crossed that this isn't a complete scam of an event.  We show up and the park is, again, empty, but there is at least some electronic music playing.  It was so hot and so uncomfortable.  We are in a public park so all the people in the community could see a group of 5 white girls showing up to a completely empty festival dressed like they were going to a concert.  We had VIP tickets, which were only $5 more than normal tickets, so we got to sit on the nice couches instead of on the picnic tables.  Two hours pass and around 5pm others start showing up.  Everyone is dressed to the 9s and all of a sudden instead of the over-enthusiastic and under-informed tourists coming to the festival, we look like homeless people who snuck into the VIP area.  Everyone was from the township and dressed in bright colors and heels and jewelry and beautiful makeup.  It was very clear that this was one of the biggest events of the year, if not the only and the biggest.  People were talking about how amazed they were that the festival came back for a second year and how exciting it was to have an event in Langa.  We are now still out of place, but in a completely different way.  The shift in perspective was quick.  I felt privileged to be there.  It was a huge deal for everyone who was there.  For us, it was 200 Rand (around $15), for them it was 2. HUNDRED. RAND.  And you could feel it.  We stayed until the sun started going down at 6:30, still nobody was dancing and things weren't really filling up.  It was all very mellow and I was really excited to dance but then nobody did.  We ended up leaving before it got dark because it would be super unsafe to try and get out of Langa once the sun went down.  It was a shame we had to leave when we did because I had a feeling it was going to pick up at night.  Our VIP tickets got us 5 free beers each and we all cashed those in and walked out with obnoxious amounts of cheap beer.           By the time we got home, it was about an hour later.  Danni really had to pee.  She still had her bottles of beer clutched in her arms and the second the Uber pulled up, she sprinted out of the car towards the bathroom.  She got a bit overexcited and clearly was panicking about peeing her pants so, when she got the bar on the way to the bathroom, she dropped all 5 glass bottles of beer she was holding and they shattered.  She sprinted away without looking back because her bladder was clearly creating a very dangerous situation.  It was pretty funny to watch.  Not so fun to clean up, but you know the saying: “Don’t cry over spilled beer” (ha).         I am all ready to go out immediately, but for various reasons we end up sitting around at the hostel and by the time everyone wanted to go out, I had lost the energy I had and decided to just stay in and rinse off all the dust that was clinging to the dried sweat on my body.  Danni and Jenine went out again, which I thought was risky given the fact that “going out” for them means staying out until 5am.  I like a solid 9 hours of sleep so I’m not sure if I'm ever going to “go out” with them, but that’s besides the point.  They were going out and we had a wine tour the next day that departed from the hostel at 8:30.  Given their hostility towards moving before 11am that morning, I was surprised they were up for a nice of 2 hours of sleep but I’m not going to tell them how to live their lives.             As expected, Danni and Jenine stayed out until 4am.  This time, Danni came in the room and woke us all up.  She was extremely intoxicated.  Her northern british accent also pierces the air every time she talks so sleeping through her speaking is all but impossible.  I wake up to her saying “Quinn Quinn” and shaking me awake.  I am not pleased.  She shines her phone light in my face and proceeds to show me how she tripped and ripped her jeans and she got a scrape on her knee.  A gripping story.  Truly.  Watching her try to get her skinny jeans off was one of the funniest things I’ve seen once I’ve been here.  If you've never heard a northern english accent say “fûckin’ ‘ell”, you should.  She fell into the wall as she hopped on one foot trying to get her jeans off her ankle.  Then it took 3 tries for her to get into the top bunk.  At the time I didn't find it at all funny, I just wanted my sleep, but I laughed in the morning.   I woke up at 8 and ate some bran cereal.  Post-bran Danni was still asleep so I gave her a little shake.  She was so disoriented when she woke up that she almost fell out of her bed.  I caught her, but still.  She looked like death, but she insisted on still going to the wine tour.  She couldn't eat anything and was sipping water as we walked to the car.  The tour was run by a man named Julien, who is usually pretty rowdy and one of those men who never really grew out of college.  Another employee of the hostel, Craig, was also joining us.  He apparently had been at the bar that Danni and Jenine went to until 5am.  He’s probably 50.  Again, never grew out of college.  I climbed in the car with Jenine and our other British friend Lucy.  Danni goes to get in the care but then turns around.  She walks on the neighbors lawn, apparently getting fresh air.  I didn't blame her, she must be so nauseous after not sleeping and apparently drowning her liver.  Next thing we know, she's leaned over the neighbor’s garden, puking. Everyone froze, and all jaws fell to the floor. The neighbor was outside getting his mail, Danni didn't know or care.  As she walked back to the car, everyone was frozen.  She drank some water and sat down like everything was normal.  Guess that’s how they do it in England.             The wine tasting was great.  We went to 5 vineyards from 9am-4pm.  My favorite vineyard was the first.  Not only was the wine the best, but they showed us really detailed behind-the-scenes on how the wine making process unfolds, down to making the bottles and outsourcing labeling.  It was all so interesting.  They picked all their grapes by hand, which under the African sun must be crazy hard work.  It was quite a long trip, but we had a really nice lunch stop and I had chicken curry.  The British girls I went with were a riot.  At times, it’s easy to feel a bit left out because they're all British and I’m not, so there’s a bit of a club that I’m not a member of.  But they're so funny it’s pretty easy to just get over feeling like a sort-of outsider.            On the trip there was one problem: Craig.  His presence proved to be incredibly problematic. Firstly, we are all pretty sure that he showed up at 8:30am drunk.  Things went downhill quickly from there.  Between the first and second vineyard, he drank an entire bottle of wine with one of the girls in the other van that Julien wasn't driving.  At the second vineyard he was incredibly rowdy.  We were in a wine cellar so the echo was really bad and he was just screaming and making so much noise that basically every other table couldn't have a conversation because nobody could hear over it.  He was absolutely drunk by then and it was embarrassing to have somebody who is not only an employee but kind of looked at as one of the authorities on the trip to be incredibly intoxicated around a bunch of 20-year old girls.  We all got back in the vans to go to lunch and this is when things got bad.            My roommate from Denmark, (let’s call her Cara for her privacy…), is an incredibly sweet, mild girl.  She doesn’t show much emotion or opinions but you can tell she means really well.  I think part of the reason she is so quiet is that her English is not the best and it takes a lot of effort to have a conversation in English and actually communicate the ideas she wants to.  The second we got into the van to lunch, Cara starts crying.  Not silent tears but just weeping.  Obviously this is extremely alarming because none of us have seen her really express any dramatic emotion, never mind crying on what is supposed to be an enjoyable trip.  When she calms down a bit she explains that she was talking to another girl in Danish after lunch and Craig came up and said “YOU’RE SO RUDE. YOU’RE SO RUDE SPEAK FUCKING ENGLISH” in her face.  Then he flipped her off aggressively close to her face and said “FUCK YOU FUCK YOU”. She kept repeating this and mimicking the gesture, in a way that it was so obviously harassment that it was almost breathtaking that a grown man would talk to anyone like that, never mind an employee of the hostel we are all staying at.   After she told this story, Danni and Jenine exchanged looks.  They started talking about how drunk he was at the bar last night and how he was really aggressively pursuing young girls in the early hours of the morning.  They said he didn't even show up at the bar until 2am, and was so obviously predatory that the bouncers came up to the girls he was talking to and asked if everything was okay several times.  In South Africa there is a culture of being somewhat demanding of women and so to get a bouncer’s attention like that, I can only imagine what it looked like.  Further, why did he show up to the bar so late? Jenine said it felt like he was scouting for girls to be really drunk and say they needed somebody to walk them home. So.  Creepy.  And if you met him, these stories honestly fit with his entire vibe.               We get to lunch and Cara is so upset still that she doesn't even want to see Craig.  We sit far away from him.  At this point, I have to go to the bathroom and so do a couple of my friends.  Jenine, Lucy and I walk to the bathroom.  It’s down this narrow hallway in the back that’s maybe 3.5ft across.  Craig is walking out of the bathroom as we approach and when we pass, he takes his wet hands that he had apparently just washed and wipes them over Lucy’s face.  Then he does the same to me except continues all the way down my neck and front of my dress.  It was so quick and we were so caught off guard that there was no time to react.  Even if there had been time, where would we go? Run in the opposite direction? Hug the wall? I’ve never experienced something so inappropriate and invasive.  I collected myself in the bathroom, and kind of ignored that it happened.  We got back to the table and the rest of lunch was fine. After lunch, we were walking back to the car and we saw Craig and another girl (around 23) running back to the bus completely soaked.  Their clothes were dry.  This plainly meant that they had hopped the fence to the hotels pool, skinny-dipped in broad daylight, put their clothes on and come back like it wasn't a big deal and nobody would notice.  Julien pulled Craig aside, but I don’t know what was said.            Then, we were on our way to the fourth vineyard.  This one was really old and a little more pretentious that the others.  The sommelier was nice enough though.  Halfway through I noticed that several of the girls who were at Craig’s table had moved outside.  I’m fairly certain his behavior caused this.  The port was great and I got a bottle of it, even though I have no idea why I would drink port here.  Basically all wine, even the fancy stuff, is under $10 a bottle here, so I didn't overthink it too much.  At the end of the tasting, Jenine, Lucy, and Danni vanish.  Everyone is getting into the cars and I cant find them anywhere.  Then, I see them kind of huddled in a back garden.  When I walk out, Danni is bright red and crying.  This was so  disturbing.  Danni is a linebacker for an American Football league in norther England.  She’s a football and rugby coach and doesn’t take shît from anyone.  She’s tough and outspoken and blunt in the funniest way.  She is also clearly one of those people who hasn't cried since the age of 2.  When I ask what happened, she says that she heard Craig refer to her as fat several times to the other table of girls.  She is so athletic and has a bigger build but calling her fat, even if she was 200 pounds over weight, behind her back to girls she is living with is so incredibly out of line I didn't even know what to say.  She said that she had gained weight because she took steroids for her lungs last year because she has bad asthma.  He had touched a nerve.  When we walked back to the cars, Julien and Craig were talking again outside of the vans.  We make for the second van past them and almost right after walking past them, Danni spins around and starts screaming at Craig.  It was terrifying and entirely deserved.  She was so confrontational and ballsy and at that point I was so grateful for her gusto.  She tells him if he has a problem with her or her weight he can either keep his mouth shut or tell her to her face and that he is incredibly disrespectful and disgusting and how almost all of the girls on the trip are either made uncomfortable by or mad at him. It was so deserved I almost started clapping at the end.  We piled in immediately and Julien had her sit in the front and got us all really excited for the last vineyard with jokes and good music.  The last vineyard paired their wine with cheese and I ate three other people’s cheeses besides mine because cheese is the best.  I ended up buying 3 cheeses and no wine, maybe I need to go on a cheese tour.  Craig was made to sit outside like a child in time-out the entire tasting.  On the way back, Julien stuffed the larger van with all of the girls who hated Craig, and then took the smaller van with him.           Upon our return, we immediately called one of the managers of the SAVE project.  When she arrived, she asked if it was just Danni who needed to talk or if we all did and we said we all did.  We went out to the driveway and sat in a circle and recounted how awful he had been.  When I talked about him putting his hands on me I started crying.  I don’t know where it came from but I couldn't stop.  It was so disgusting and violating and embarrassing.  I just kept thinking: Do I tell my parents? Do I tell my boyfriend?  He lives in this hostel can I even handle that? The absolute nausea I felt in my stomach is almost indescribable.  He managed to harass, molest, and insult so many girls in the trip it’s almost impressive.  At the end of the meeting Robyn told us to have a cup of tea and that she would handle it and that he would not get away with this.  She also told us not to tell anybody, which I sort of understand because it would cause a scandal and he isn't even a SAVE employee, he works for the hostel.           We wrote all of our allegations down on paper so Robyn ha a copy of exactly what we were upset about.  After all that crying, I had a massive headache, but we still all went and got pizza.  I should have stayed in because at the end I was dying at the dinner table and had to get home immediately to go to sleep and just take time to myself.  I debated whether or not to write about him in my blog, but I decided that it was to central to my day, my wellbeing, and my life not to share.  Also, why shouldn't I? I did nothing wrong.  And, if SAVE handles it appropriately, it shouldn't be a problem that I tell people what happened.           On Monday night Jenine, Cara, Danni, and I went to dinner in town at the waterfront at a great restaurant.  Jenine is older than all of us (28) and is here for a grad-school assignment and her lecturer tutors here and checks in on-site.  She was telling us how her and her lecturer were sitting at the table and both Robyn and Shannon went over at separate times and walked around the table.  She thought they were clearly trying to see if she was telling her lecturer about what happened with Craig. And that wasn't the only shady behavior of the SAVE people.  Earlier that day, Robyn was outside talking to Craig about something.  Jenine heard Craig say “It’s only fucking one girl” . When Robyn came in she saw that Jenine looked a little irritated and she went up to her and said “Did you hear what I said?” and Jenine hadn’t, so she told her that, and Robyn said “Are you sure?” and Jenine said yes, and Robyn made her pinky promise she hadn’t.  She made a 28 year old woman pinky promise.  Weird.  Jenine’s tutor said that he would sleep on it and if nothing happened he would take it straight to the founder of SAVE because he didn't really talk to any of the direct managers like Robyn, the program Jenine’s in is too important for that.   Robyn didn't do anything with the paper we gave her.  Robyn’s boss and the founder of SAVE didn't even see it or know there had been a problem.  Jenine walked into reception this morning and Craig was there, looking smug because he clearly thought nothing was going to happen with the complaints.  I need to know why he feels so safe.  Why he thinks he can get away with this.  Jenine thinks he has personal connection past being a colleague with either Robyn or Shannon, maybe they're family or old friends or something.  I think he must have gotten away with things like this before and nothing happened. He clearly was incredibly comfortable with his behavior and employment.  Jenine’s tutor talked to Robyn’s boss and the founder of SAVE.  There’s going to be an investigation now and Robyn is clearly mad at Jenine because she went against what Robyn instructed us to do and it made Robyn looked like she was just going to let it go and smooth it all over.  Jenine’s tutor told her that it will probably be awkward with Robyn for a few days.             Basically entirely because of Jenine, there is going to be a full investigation and he is not allowed to be on the premises until the investigation is fully resolved.  I heard all of this from Jenine who is basically in direct contact with the people at the top-top of the company.  She’s fantastic.  I don't know what we would have done without her.  She was so badass and methodical and saw right through what was happening.  Jenine told me that she works with lots of charities and this behavior isn't entirely uncommon.  That charity workers can be the most evil humans who are seeking out dependent, vulnerable people.  Obviously, it isn't always the case, but it’s a really interesting observation.  I think SAVE is going to handle it now.  They seem to understand the severity of the situation.  I’m not terribly upset or scarred by any of it, mainly just surprised and disgusted when I really think about it.  I feel safe here for the most-part. That being said, I never want to see Craig again and if I do I might go apeshit and pull a Danni.  

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Another post! So soon? I know, my brain had an ambitious day.

March 2

I forgot to say one thing about Thursday.  We have been having a lot of issues with girls in the netball program.  Issues is a nice way of putting it.  The girls are all in middle school and these kids can be mean.  This whole week, the girls at netball have been really catty and ganging up on certain girls.  On Wednesday it escalated to one girl actually dragging another girl to the ground by her ponytail, which is obviously way out of line and against all of the rules we have for them.  The kids aren't allowed to laugh each other, much less physically attack each other.  Dani was running the project and she was so good with the situation.  So good, that the staff at SAVE appointed her as the leader of netball until she leaves.  She is SO British and brilliant.  British people here are so self-aware and reject vanity thoroughly.  Even if some of them aren’t the brightest bulbs, their basic attitude towards values and what deserves their attention is admirable.  I think being around that energy, which is almost the exact converse of American vanity and consumerism, is really good for me.  I feel the full affect of it because I’m so removed from my culture so it’s a pure influence and it makes me feel lighter.  Taking yourself too seriously is really no way to live.  Further, it’s hard to actually adjust to that value if people around you aren't already like that.  But when the general energy of the group has momentum towards non-vanity, it’s a fantastic wave to be swayed by.         Today was my most rewarding tutoring day.  The first girl I had was named Kayla and was pretty shy.  We read Amelia Bedelia which I loved when I was at her reading level (since English isn't their first language, they aren't at the “normal” reading level for their age).  This was a mistake.  I got overexcited when I found it in the school library and didn't skim before we started.  The reading level was fine.  The words weren't too bad and the text was large and simple.  The issue was the humor.  Then entire book is based on double-entendres and double-meanings of words.  If you aren't a native English speaker, keeping one definition of a word straight while you're reading is hard enough, never mind connecting the two meanings and finding the book as amusing as 7 year old Quinn did.  She got through it okay, and giggled when I explained the humor, but it’s just not the same as actually getting the humor the first time.            The second kid I tutored was the first boy I have tutored over my two weeks here.  His name was Danron and he’s 12.  Last week I wrote about boys being really violent and disturbing before we played netball with the girls on Thursday.  Danron was one of the boys.  Moreover, he was the boy who was most problematic and had one of the girls in a chokehold.  When I got him, I was so nervous.  I assumed he hated school and would probably be super difficult.  I was entirely right.  He barely knew addition and subtraction and didn't really want to hear me explain how to learn it.  He would just guess around what he thought might be the answer.  It was to the point I would ask what 100-97 was and he would tell me it was 100.  He had no concept of what the math was supposed to be saying.  Keep in mind he’s in the 6th grade at this point.  This isn't a second language.  This isn't an extracurricular.  This is basic, 1st grade level arithmetic.  And, at what most people in the area  consider to be one of the better public schools in the townships, he has completely slipped through the cracks in an extreme.  I was getting frustrated but didn't show it.  He was bouncing off the walls, beatboxing, getting up and walking around, yelling over to kids walking by, and generally being as disengaged as he could be without straight up leaving.  I tried to put the problems in literal context.  I drew out 25 pencils on the back of the paper and told him “if I take 19 pencils away, how many do I have left?”.  This worked, to an extent, and we finished the rest of the worksheet in this manner.  Dividing groups of pencils fairly to people, adding in groups of pencils for multiplication, taking away and adding individual pencils for arithmetic.  I told him he was a fast learner and that I knew the material was hard and that he needs to listen to me and stick with it.          After the first worksheet, he ran over to a different table and broke up another tutoring session with a very nice, quiet, little girl.  He opened her folder and went through all of her papers until he found the filled-in version of the next worksheet we were going to do.  I told him to put it back and he ignored me.  I just let him sit and be disruptive because I knew that giving him attention for it would only exacerbate the situation.            When he returned and I got him to hand the answered sheet back to the girl, we started on a worksheet with a bunch of clocks, filling in the times for the corresponding hands.  For example, there’s an image of a clock with the hour hand between the 4 and 5, the minute hand at the 9, then he has to write the time it’s telling as the answer.  Easy enough? Right? Nope.  He had no idea how to tell time.  With these kinds of worksheets, I usually draw out a huge clock for them (the full extent of my use of art-school education here) and explain how each hour has it’s own “territory”, so even though the hour hand is closer to the 8 than the 7, it’s still in the 7’s territory and therefore it’s still the hour of 7.  I didn’t let him get away with anything.  He got frustrated and stopped listening.  Telling me “I know this I know this”.  I said “Alright show me”.  He had no idea, instead he just filled out all of the colons for the digital time he was going to answer later.  Fair enough.  I got him to start listening. I was super careful to talk to him like I would a peer.  No baby voice, no excitement or over-emotional congratulations.  Just straight forward “Listen to me, look at this, understand?”.  He started to get the hang of it.  Once he started to see the patterns and the way it worked, his face lit up.  You could tell he doesn't succeed in the classroom often.  Why should he? There’s 40 kids in a class to one teacher, and he barely pays attention in a one-on-one tutoring session.         His ADHD was so clear and I think the frustration from the normal education system and general behavioral codes being written for somebody who doesn't have that kind of brain causes him a lot of anger.  By the second worksheet, he actually started liking me.  I’m not sure if he’s ever been told he’s smart or a quick learner.  Once he thinks he has the potential to succeed, once he has hope, he engages, he lights up, he get’s excited.  You see the spark go on.  It was really overwhelming to light that spark in a kid.  It’s flooring, really.  I had to try and keep my calm and just keep working with him and giving him high-fives and cheering him on as he got quicker and quicker at something as simple as telling time.  But just seeing positive energy come out of this kid felt like a huge victory.  He has so much anger and aggression that seeing education and encouragement change that brought tears to my eyes.  At the end, he went to give me a high-five, and I said “C’mon I want a hug”.  He was so embarrassed but gave me a super brief hug and then ran to his classroom.  I smiled the entire way home.  

       More updates to come after the weekend.  Life here is just getting better and better every day.  Sometimes I feel like the African sun charges me and I radiate positivity because of it.  My energy here is really healthy.  This all sounds very hippie and against Western science and culture, but when you think about it we have energies and we acknowledge them.  God forbid we say something as crazy as an “aura” or “energy”, but we do say “she has a nice air about her” or “she makes everyone around her happy” or “her laugh is infectious”.  Maybe we need to stop looking entirely at the more tangible aspects of a person, such as what they say and other things that feel secure and logical in our Western mindsets, and look more towards the way the entrance of somebody shifts the feeling in the room.  The way silence feels around somebody.  The lack or presence of negativity and tension during a conversation with them.  Auras are real and we all feel them.  Just because something hasn't been proved or disproved by science, doesn't mean feeling it shows that you're ignorant to science and, if you only knew better, you would direct all of your attention to what we have organized and proved logical.  Food for thought.  Granola for thought.  

- Q

[type-a-nomad]

IT’S MARCH!

feb 28

It’s hard to believe that it’s been 3 weeks.  I feel like I haven't done anything.  I haven't hiked table mountain.  I haven't gone on Safari.  I haven't seen the penguins.  A lot of this is because I feel like I don't have people to go do them with.  You kind of just have to cross your fingers that the people in your room are cool because that’s kind of your group.  The social scene here is very cliquey.  Nobody really asks you to go out if you aren't already in the group, which is generally sorted by where you live because you see those people the most.  It makes me feel antisocial because I don’t have the energy necessary to join whatever social group I think is “cool” or most appealing.  My room is small on top of that so it’s exhausting to try and force myself into others’ spaces.  At the end of the day, it’s not a big deal.  I am not here to go out or have a huge social circle, but it is limiting when I don’t want to sign up for things alone but no groups ask me to join when they're going.  Dani, the new girl in my room, pointed out the cliquey-ness and it’s really true.  The groups feel fixed and I’m not in any of them.  People know my name and I am closer with some people than others, but I don’t really have friends here.  I haven't clicked with anyone personality-wise, and no group has really absorbed me.  A huge group of Danish girls arrived together and it exacerbates the issue because they only speak Danish to each other (even though they can speak english) so a lot of the volunteers have no idea what’s going on with them.  

          Despite my initial feelings that we wouldn't be close, Dani and I have been hanging out a bit.  We are on the same project and she’s really funny.  Also, I don’t really have anyone else.  I am still under the weather, but feeling better than I was this weekend, which is a low bar but still a bar I have cleared nonetheless.  I went to the doctor on Monday and she diagnosed me with a sinus infection even though my head doesn't hurt that much.  I was so nauseous, which is apparently from a post-nasal drip.  My fever has gone down and I went to work today.  I couldn't just sit around all day while I’m here.  I would rather be at one of the schools.  They have set up a new tutoring system because the principal of the school got mad they we sent different volunteers for tutoring each time.  Now, they assigned 5 volunteers to go every day.  I’m one of them and it feels like a gift from God.  Social stuff and physical stuff is not going that well, but my assignments are so fulfilling and that’s ultimately why I am here, so I still feel quite optimistic when I wake up in the morning.              Because I was so nauseous for so long, I didn't eat much at all.  It’s taken a huge toll on my energy.  I am totally wiped and I still need to go to swim lessons.  For lunch, Danni and I went to my favorite falafel place and I ate my whole pita.  That was really good because it’s my first decent meal since Friday (and it’s Wednesday).  I hate not eating on schedule.  It was so bizarre to have my body just reject food in an extreme like that.  My energy is so low and my mental state is really cloudy.  If I just listened to my body, I would fall asleep right now (3pm) and sleep until tomorrow morning.  However, I have swim lessons to teach so that isn’t an option.  I don’t want to let the kids down, especially because they pair us 1-1 with them.              Swim lessons were just okay.  The girl, Jessica (13), I was paired with was in a bit of a bad mood and was really scared of the water.  It didn't help that the waves were huge and the water down here is freezing.  Also, the wind was blowing which makes the 80-degree weather feel like 70-degree weather.  On top of all of that, my energy levels were way down.  The pre-teen condition is global.  It doesn't matter if you are the daughter of a millionaire in Malibu or living hand-to-mouth in a township in South Africa, there’s a certain kind of attitude that 13 year old girls have that remains unmatched by the rest of the human population.  Jessica was really really not feeling swimming and sometimes would just say she was done and walk up to the beach.  I let her and would just follow her, but it is so much more rewarding when the kid is having a good day and wants to be there.  I understood why she was not feeling it and so I didn't give her a hard time.              On the bright side, I got her to float on her back in the water for about 5 seconds which was a huge achievement given that I couldn't get her to put her body in the water at all for the first 10 minutes.  She doesn't know how to swim (none of the kids do), and the ocean is incredibly terrifying when you can’t swim.  Usually, the program I work with runs the swim lessons in pools, which makes sense because the waves here are wild.  Because of the drought, all the pools in Cape Town have been drained.  I’m not sure if it’s a legal thing but saving water is orthodox here it might as well be.  Teaching kids how to swim in the ocean is as hard as it sounds.  The ocean here is still scary as somebody who is a strong swimmer.  The waves in Cape Town are kind of unbelievable sometimes.  They can get up to 10 feet tall.  When you hear the word “10 ft.” you think of a wall, or maybe a tall sign.  A 10 foot tall wave and a 10 foot tall sign look radically different.  Because the mass and starting point of the wave is already at sea level, which makes it look taller for some reason.  I’ve tried to remember a beach I’ve seen with bigger waves but I don’t think I can.  While the waves are big, they aren’t particularly thick and the undertow isn't horrible, so I don’t feel too threatened by them.  In Spain, the waves would look fine, but they were so thick and powerful you could be hit by a 3-footer and be knocked off of your feet.          When I got back from swim, I took a shower (more like a rinse, you only have 90-seconds of water and I try to use less because I’m a guest in this country).  Then I laid on my bed and thought about my brain and my worldview and how I can shift my mindset to treat myself and the world around me better.  That was nice, and calming.  My mind felt very fluid after such a thorough check-in.  Wednesdays we have Potjie (pOI-kie), which is a braai but instead of just BBQ-ing meat, you use these big cauldrons on the fire to make different kinds of stew and then serve it over rice.  It’s very open and social.  Even though I was tired and not feeling well, Dani asked me to get a drink and hang out in the bar so I joined her.  She had a beer, and I brought my ginger-lemon-honey potion that I sip religiously since I got ill.                Dani has bonded with the other girls from the UK here and they came over and started talking with us.  If I have a group, this is it.  They were so funny and cool.  I love British humor because it’s so dry and nobody takes themselves seriously.  From the people I’ve met, it’s amazing how vain Americans seem in comparison.  It’s a fantastic energy to be around.  We decided we are all going to a music festival in one of the townships on Saturday, and then doing a wine tour Sunday, which is fantastic because Thora cancelled on me on Monday so I still haven't done a wine tour (I was super fricken bummed about that, I hate being cancelled on— it hurts my feelings).  That was all reassuring and warm and fuzzy for me for a bit, then I had veggie stew with rice because I don’t really eat meat here, I don’t know why I just don't like it that much/ want it ever really.             I decided instead of staying up and having tea with the English girls, that I should go to bed and recover so I’m at 100% for the weekend.  Plus, they have tea every night, there will be plenty of tea-time once I’m not physically struggling to make it through the day.  It is such a bummer for your physical state to be out of sync with your mental state, really.  It’s so noticeable and frustrating, because you know what you want to do but you also don’t want to do what you want because you're so tired.  I’m very excited to feel better.  

March 1

I woke up not feeling nauseous which was awesome.  I’m starting to eat at normal meal times which is such a good sign.  I am so happy to not be nauseous anymore.  I ate my usual bowl of dark bran cereal with sugar (lots) and milk (skim).  It is Shannon’s birthday today which is great for her and absolute shît for the rest of us.  Shannon is the only mildly organized person in this entire fûcking program.  She got the day off and the interns surprised her with a whole day planned, which took two of them away too.  So we were down 3 drivers/organizers, something we already don’t have enough of.  Saying this morning was bumpy would be an understatement.  The vans that usually drive us were driven by people who have never driven them.  Further, my project didn't even go in the vans (I don’t know why today they suddenly didn't have the room? Weird? Nothing is ever logical or explained to us ever).  Robyn, another coordinator who is very enthusiastic and optimistic but breathtakingly disorganized, drove us in a tiny blue car.  There are 6 of us and we all piled in.  For some reason, there were two rows of seats in what should probably be a four-person car, so we squeezed and the clown-car took off towards our school, Vissershook (pronounced Vissers- hook, not even the names of the schools really “work” here according to normal rules).  

       Tutoring went well.  It’s very rewarding, but the language gap is still proving to be a problem.  During break these boys got in a really serious fight.  I’ve never seen anything like it in person.  They must have been around 10 or 11 years old.  They were tackling each other and punching and kicking each other in the stomach.  My co-volunteer, Lucas (super tall and super French), and I had to pull them apart.  If Lucas hadn't been there I honestly don't know what would have happened because these are no longer little kids.  They're almost my size, and I probably wouldn't have been able to stop them and could have gotten hurt myself.  One of the boys was bleeding, but nobody got seriously injured as far as I could tell.  Other than that I played with the little girls and let them do my hair.  They LOVE my hair, but they turn it into one huge birds-nest.  Sometimes I feel like I'm going to find half a sandwich in it when I finally get home and wash/brush it.  Theres this one little girl who is so full of love.  Her name is Jaslin and she always comes and finds me during break.  She is 5 is absolutely tiny.  I can pick her up with one hand very easily.  Most days, I have a kid in each arm and maybe one on my back.  It’s the closest thing to a gym I have here.             I was supposed to go surfing this afternoon, but there were no waves, which is a bummer but I think I am going to go to the beach and then continue writing when I get back.  Tonight I’m eating vegetarian again and for lunch I only had pasta, so I need to figure out how to get more protein in my diet.  The yogurt here is just sugar and has very little protein in it so that’s a no-go.  I’m not making meat that’s too much work, and it’s just too hot to want to eat cheese.  Maybe I need to start eating nuts or something..... 

- written later in the afternoon- 

            I switched my dinner to normal instead of vegetarian, which we aren't supposed to do, because Coll let me taste the chicken and it was all white and boneless and tender and nice.  Hopefully that gets me by for protein today.  The beach was really windy so I only stayed for 45 minutes and then went and sat in the sun with an american girl here named Sydney.  She doesn't believe in feminism and likes Trump so that was interesting.  It’s hard for me to not be intensely evangelical about my ideas, especially when I see all the harm the ideologies Trump promotes does to other people.  If it hurts me that’s one thing, but if it hurts people who's lives are already significantly harder than mine, that’s something I’m going to fight tooth and nail against.  I was born into a really fortunate situation that gives me enough comfort and distance from the pain of issues like affordable health care, racism, immigration, poverty, and access to education, that I feel a duty to make those issues better.  I have the time and the resources so there’s a responsibility that comes with that.  Yeah, it would be nice to just be a painter and travel the world and have a family and think about my little circle, but I believe that when you’re born into a situation that allows you to do that, you owe it to everyone else to choose not to.           I’m very excited for this weekend and am feeling much better physically.  My appetite is back and my energy level today was not as awful as yesterday.  Still not at my full capacity but the battery is charging and retaining that charge steadily.  Things are getting better and better each week here.  I love how much time I have to sit and think and need to really use it for sitting and thinking instead of screwing around on my phone or on the internet.  Journaling is one way, laying on my bed and trying to mentally sort my thoughts is a good challenge though. I have such a deep need to externalize what’s going on in my brain (writing, talking, art..) to understand how I’m thinking, learning to fight against it will probably only make my brain that much stronger.  It’s spring time! (and my sinuses feel it) 

- Q