I've been here how long?

Well I did it. I managed to all-go, no-quit myself into a head cold. I type this just having downed some Nyquil and relentlessly chugging some South African Puma cough syrup. It tastes like black licorice, my least favorite flavor of all time. Pity me. I will henceforth elaborate on the events that led up to me becoming a walking petri dish of disease…

As the previous week had put me firmly in my place as office “bitch” for lack of a better term, I returned to work this week rested and better prepared. I completed interview after interview, helping Fwamba as much as I possibly could. I did it with a smile and at the end of the day I left relatively unstressed. That was Monday. Tuesday was a completely different story. I think our security guard Stanley has a special radar, one that beeps whenever I get hungry and am contemplating going out to get food. I think this radar exists because he never fails to bring me the hardest cases, after meeting hours keep in mind, whenever I’m at my grumpiest during the day.

Tuesday brought me a case of a woman from the DRC who does not speak English. We brought in an interpreter for Swahili for her, not an actual interpreter, but another refugee in the waiting room who could speak both Swahili and English. As I was just getting her basic information, it slowly came out that she was living in a container that was being locked, from the outside, at night. The people who owned the container had apparently brought her in so she could get assistance from us to pay for her rent… in the container… locked in with her child… away from her belongings… and at a completely different address than the one she had given Home Affairs. I mean, I know I’ve only been on the job 3 weeks but HOLY CRAP! Her story screamed abuse, it screamed human trafficking! I can complain all day about how my boss is disorganized, how she’s this or that, but when it comes down to it, Christina will step in tough when it comes to crazy situations. She made the call right then and there to take the woman and child into our care, to send the man bringing her in back home, and to set them up at a shelter. She did this all while dealing with her own cases, defending my roommate to a woman who was accusing her of short-changing her, and yelling at the guy to stay away from this woman. She is tough!

The rest of my week at work was pretty relaxed. I was able to go on a few field trips to Athlone, Phillipi, Mitchells Plain, and Retreat. Another intern, Andrew, had to conduct home visits in order to determine whether some of the small business proposals submitted to the Empowerment/Self-Reliance Department were actually feasible. The trip to Retreat was just to get out of the office with Wandile. He needed a CTRC Board Member’s signature as he is in the Finance Department, so we just took a drive. He told me about life in South Africa, how he had offers to play professional soccer but he chose school instead.

Everyone at work is really intent on showing us around, I absolutely love it. Wandile offered to pick me up and take me out for a night on the town. Fwamba volunteered himself and Stanley to pick me up and take me to a real African club in the Northern suburbs. Also, they want to show me and Samantha around the beaches one day. These guys are absolutely amazing and have incredible stories. Stanley is ex-military, and will constantly tell me how living in Obz is dangerous. He is #3 on my speed dial and I trust him to show up with a shot gun if I ever need him to. Fwamba is originally from the DRC, came to South Africa much like most of the refugees we see daily, and is now a citizen, living what he terms a “simple life.” I have so much respect for everyone that I work with, they all have something unique about them and I hope I never forget them.

In addition to the full-time internship, there is something to do every night as I elaborated last post as far as the weekly routine. Add in two potlucks and a meet and greet, other than that my week stayed true to form. Friday brought along another trip to the garden. I woke up that morning feeling a sore throat coming on, my indicator that a deathly disease is on it’s way. My half-day at work was absolutely pointless, me and Samantha were so exhausted from a hard week that we just kept getting the giggles. Thus, my three hours of work that day were spent hiding in Phaladi’s office crying from laughing so hard. We rushed home to get some proper food before setting off for Nyanga. It was a much smaller group that went this time. Our task for the day was also a bit more hard labor-oriented than it was the previous Friday. We mowed, raked, mowed, and raked some more. We cleared a patch for some vegetables that will most likely be overgrown much sooner than we can actually plant anything. Two and a half hours later we retired for the day to a job well done beer and frolic in the field with Ivy’s son Thando. This kid is the most rambunctious 4 year old I’ve ever met, his energy is endless! He was helping us clear fields, he was making racecar noises whenever he pushed the wheelbarrow, and he was constantly climbing on us like we were jungle gyms. I love the kid! The best part is that he speaks maybe 3 words of English so getting Andrew (his uncle and VAC staff member) to translate for him is absolutely hilarious!
Saturday was spent lounging at the beach in Camps Bay. Camps Bay is the really swanky area of Cape Town. If I wanted to spent all my money in an hour shopping, drinking, and eating, I would come to Camps Bay. My amazing friend Shelby drove us down to the beach and we just laid out in the sun, amidst the wind pelting us with sand and leaves… You can really tell who the tourists are as no one goes in the water except the people not from Cape Town. In order to look local we also avoided the water, I mean, winter JUST ended here!

Sunday brought the big adventure! Me and Samantha ventured down to the V&A Waterfront to catch the ferry to Robben Island. On the island sits a former prison (and leper colony) where Nelson Mandela spent 18 of his 27 years of incarceration. The correspondence and work he did while on Robben Island laid the groundwork for the end of Apartheid. The ferry ride showed us an amazing view of Cape Town with Devil’s Peak, Table Mountain and Lion’s Head looming above. Once we arrived, we were ushered onto buses that took us on a brief tour of the island. Then came the amazing part… The last half of the tour includes a walk through the prison led by a former political prisoner. AMAZING! Our guide explained to us the layout and daily life of the prison. He then shared his own personal story, including the events leading up to his being labeled a terrorist and sent to Robben Island. The way he spoke was so eloquent and expressive that I could spend a lifetime listening to all of his stories. When he led us through the prison, the folding of his hands behind his hunched back just spoke volumes about what this man has done in his life. That is an image I hope to never forget and I was so proud to shake his hand at the end.

So here’s to next week and all the crazy new adventures it will bring!

Stressful jobs 101

The few days have been the biggest whirlwind of my 2.5 weeks so far here in South Africa. I have gone to bed extremely tired every single night from work, stress, fitting into daily life, etc. If this pattern holds, my time here will have flown in front of my eyes without me ever having taken a step back to realize it. I thought I would have time. I mean, there exists this concept of Africa time, that things are relaxed and that 5 minutes late is 10 minutes too early. I have yet to see this. Work is all go, no quit from the minute I step into the office. Life has become so exciting and eventful that I find myself running around to get somewhere the minute I get off work. Weekends are spent gaining first experiences, like Signal Hill last weekend, my first rugby game today, and a soccer game in the Nyanga township tomorrow. Where is my time to relax? Probably when I’m dead, but to be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My week started with an extreme change. I am now a social worker at the CTRC. Intern just doesn’t accurately describe what it is I do so I have changed my title. I spend my days doing intake interviews, assessing peoples’ need, filling out requisition forms, and generally photocopying my life away. I can now add Namibia and Mozambique to the list of origin countries of people I’ve interviewed. Is it bad that I have a preference? I do not like speaking to people from francophone countries for the sole reason that I have to speak in French! It is extremely difficult to express to someone “I’m sorry, I’m just getting your information, we cannot give you any money today,” in English, but French is absolutely impossible! I want to convey actual remorse at not being able to help them but all that comes out is broken Franglais (yes, French-English) that I’m not even able to understand. This is how work is 3 days a week.

Wednesday was an strategy planning meeting at the Palms House Hotel (think fancy-shmancy) where we discussed the budget for the next year. My initial thinking was that I really did not have to be there, I served no purpose other than to eat free food and take up space. Midway through the meeting, roughly around hour 3, I realized how cool it was that I was there. We were discussing problems with the CTRC, how to resolve them, and the budget to be proposed to the UNHCR. I got to see how, with such a tiny budget, the CTRC is able to help thousands of people. I’m talking something around $700,000 helping thousands of people start small businesses, pay rent, medical expenses, funeral costs, get food, transport themselves, all in addition to building costs and employee salaries. Some days I just can’t help but think about how disorganized the CTRC is but then this blows my mind.

I would like to share how my day at work went Thursday. I feel it accurately portrays the ups and downs of my days at the CTRC. We got slammed with people coming in for transportation aid. Luckily I didn’t have to deal with this, instead, I received a massive stack of papers on my desk of people to interview. I did several of these in French and then a man from Namibia came in and absolutely broke my heart with his story. At around 12:30 pm I was getting ready to grab some lunch when in pops Stanley our security guard with the papers of some newly arrived refugees. When I say newly arrived, I mean newly arrived. They had been in South Africa for a total of 8 days, mostly in Pretoria but had spent the night before on the streets of Cape Town because they couldn’t find a place to stay. Apparently someone in Pretoria had told them that they could easily be helped in here… This speaks highly of the facilities in Cape Town but at the same time, the CTRC cannot handle a huge influx of refugees coming because someone said the grass is greener in Cape Town, as you will see in just a little bit. Truthfully, I was annoyed at having to deal with this as I had no idea what I was doing. The main social worker had left for the day and Christina was doing her own interviews thus this fell on me, a girl with 3 days of actual experience and feeling the crankiness that lack of breakfast and lunch brings. The main initiative was to find shelter for this man, his wife, and 9 month old child. I had to call a minimum of 10 shelters. No one would take them. They were either full, or they didn’t take children, or the phone number was wrong, or the wife didn’t speak enough English for the program. Then we moved onto mosques as at least the man was a practicing Muslim. Mosque after mosque would not take them. The couple agreed to separate and we still couldn’t find room for them. The couple agreed to stay in a church and still we couldn’t find room for them. I felt so helpless, as I’m sure they did. As the time drew nearer to tell them that their only option was another night on the streets, a womens shelter in Athlone called and said they had room for the wife and child. Christina told me to go with Stanley to transport them to the shelter, return, and find a place for the husband. Again I felt annoyance at having to do this, why did I have to go along and serve absolutely no purpose??? My entire attitude changed once we got there and I got to see the shelter. I really just took up space but it was so beneficial for me to see where a lot of our clients have to go when they first arrive in Cape Town. I was also able to talk to Stanley about life in South Africa on the drive. He served for 22 years in the South African Military as well as in the police force so he has a lot of stories to tell (quite a bit about how Observatory, where I live, is one of the most dangerous places…) When we passed Youngsfield Military base where a lot of Somali refugees work and live, he told me about his training there and pointed out some of the buildings. When we got back, Christina had already made arrangements for where the man was to go and Stanley took him right away, I didn’t tag along. I left work extremely drained, hungry, fulfilled at having “helped” and frustrated at not having been able to do more.

Outside of work, life in Cape Town is starting to fall into place. I’m discovering a routine and packing in as much as I can. Margarita Mondays are celebrated almost religiously, Tuesdays are for Xhosa, Wednesdays are for whatever plans get made, though they usually involve buy 1, get 1 free pizza at Babbos. Thursdays are for soccer with 3 people I know and 13 Euros, all from Norway, Holland, and Spain. I am the worst of all the players in addition to being the only girl. The cute boy from Holland kept apologizing to me when he’d knock me out of the way and I had Brandon there to encourage me, even when I gave the other team the ball… Oh gosh.

And finally, fridays usually consist of a planned activity with VAC. Yesterday we went to the Nyanga township to work on a community garden project. While others cleared fields, planted trees, started seedling pots, my job was to help paint a mural of a tree with hand prints as leaves. We got 4 or so kids to help us out and we made it a really fun experience. I can always be counted on to start a paint fight, so why should Nyanga be any different? After running around and around with the kids, I finally called time out due us being covered and to it being absolutely horrible paint that doesn’t wash out in water. The remedy to get this out? Soaking in paint thinner, lathering in Ammonia bathroom cleaner, and scrubbing like hell! I’ve showered 3 times since and I still can’t get it all off. It was such an amazing experience being there, working hard, hanging out with kids, I could probably do that every Friday afternoon. A mandatory beer was had at Scrumpy Jack’s upon return to Observatory, though we were all tired and dirty (and covered in paint that rubbed off onto the bar in the case of my roommate!) Fridays also tends to be the night to go out on the town. Me, I don’t enjoy this really as it means dressing up, getting a taxi, driving far, not knowing where we’re going, and staying out late. I am not so secretely an 80 year old woman at heart, so anything past 9:30 pm and I’m not a happy camper!

Last night we went to Long St. in Cape Town and I was able to see the massive party that it is. Just imagine club after bar after street food joint after club, stretching for blocks and blocks. Driving through or by it you see how empty the rest of the city is, everyone goes to Long Street! I would say the coolest thing about the night was sitting on the balcony of Dubliner just people-watching. I could have done that all night if only the wafting of street meat and mediterranean food hadn’t called our names from below.

Today I experienced a first. MY FIRST VIEWING OF A RUGBY MATCH WOOOOOO!!!! Me and Samantha met up with the other two interns from the CTRC to see Vodacom WP crush the Boland Kavaliers. As spring is officially here, the 85F temp brought us some rosy cheeks and color on the arm. I am not complaining! I was a complete novice before I entered the stadium, now I am a pro rugby spectator. Just don’t ask me the names of the positions, the scoring terms, the purpose of the scrum, or why these extremely large men stand behind each other and hike each others’ shorts up. The best part? The stadium is only 3 stops on the train away and the tickets (10th row back) were R50!!! Amazing! Cricket season in South Africa starts soon so I’ll be sure to go see one, or two, or a ton of those matches as well!

I will conclude by stating that I absolutely love my life here in Cape Town. The past summer I worked hard to become comfortable in my own skin. I feel that this is really paying off now as I have never felt more comfortable with who I am, as I have here. I am so glad that I made the choice to come here, and if I can find a way to stay in Cape Town indefinitely, I will. BUT, I will qualify that by saying it will be done legally. No being payed under the table or marrying anyone for a visa… yet. J