flying fox

After our adventure, Kase and I clearly hadn't had enough. We felt the need to jump off of a cliff, superman-style on a zip-line type device.

There was a black out at night because Zambia doesn't have enough electricity to always support the entire country. Plus, now because of the World Cup, Zambia has been sending electricity to South Africa. So half of the country will alternate once a week or so to not have any electricity and then they switch. We ended up at a hot, ghetto Chinese restaurant run out of a house. With a group of about 15, we took over the entire restaurant. It was lit by candlelight, and while the food was (expectantly) pretty awful, it was really cool. Returned to the hostel for a late-night dip.

End to the spring break of a lifetime.

story designed to scare my parents

Here were go again. Another border-crossing adventure (this one’s a doozy):

On our way back to Zambia from Zimbabwe, we were supposed to get picked up for free by the Jollyboys hostel. But would have to wait 40 minutes at the border. So the five of us (Kase, Talya, Emma, Anna, and I) hopped in a cab instead. The driver first seemed uncomfortable taking five but agreed to drive us on the condition that Talya ducks when we pass the police checking point.

After driving for 3 minutes, he pulls over to the side of the road. He didn’t want to get fined for having extra people, so he thinks the most logical solution is for two of us to get out of the car. Driver's plan: drop of two now, pass the police, drop the rest of us on the other side, come back to pick up those two, cross the police again, and then pick everyone up so we can go on our way. We yell at him about how this was not agreed upon originally, but Emma and Kase nevertheless get out of the car at a viewing point of Victoria Falls.

Now it’s me, Talya and Anna driving past the checking point. Evidently, the police couldn’t care less and aren’t even paying attention to us. Our driver starts chuckling to himself, while I mutter a string of audible objections, including “this is absolutely ridiculous,” “this is actually not funny,” and “there’s no way you can expect us to pay full price for this shit." He keeps driving and driving further away from our stranded friends, with the justification that there isn’t a safe. By safe, he meant far enough away that the police wouldn’t catch onto his scheme. Talk about irony.

Finally he pulls over to the side of the road. This is when Talya aptly realizes we can’t leave this guy alone with all of our bags in the trunk. I volunteered to stay. So Talya and Anna are on the side of the road, while I return with the driver to pick up the friends we had left behind.

The driver and I return back towards the border, the entire time stressed because now I’m alone in a taxi with all of our bags and have no way of contacting my friends (our SA cell phones don’t work there). We stop at the point we left Emma and Kase, only to find three Zambian men in their place. They speak Tonga to the driver, while I yell at him to tell me what’s going on. Apparently, the police picked them up. The men don’t know where they went.

Before I know it, the taxi driver is off on the side of the road once more, talking to a man in a yellow pick-up truck in Tonga, and begins to shuttle our backs into the back of his "friends" truck. He tells me to get in, that he’s going to look for my friends with the police. I’m confused, angry, and now a little scared. But it doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. So I get in this car, now driving back to the second spot, not knowing where any of my friends are, with a stranger in a yellow pickup truck, and all of our valuables in the back.

I strike up some conversation with Gabrielle, the yellow-pickup-truck-driver. Gabrielle was an innocent bystander who had never met that cabbie before, but wasn't too surprised about the ordeal. I joke about how this is extremely dangerous and how for all I know he’s a serial killer…Okay, so it’s not really funny. We drive back past the police check point and keep driving to the spot we left Anna and Talya. Then we pass it with no one in sight again. So now I’m really freaking out. Alone and have no idea where any of my friends are.

We’re driving along and in the distance I see too figures walking towards us: Emma and Kase! They had been picked up by a taxi cab full of police(?!) who said it wasn’t safe where they were and were dropped off at the next look-out point. After I’d transferred to the yellow pick up truck, they saw the first taxi driver pass them alone and were convinced that he had all of our stuff and was escaping back to Zim. They soon realized that we wouldn’t have been able to find them at another point, so they started walking back to the first, which is when Gabrielle and I found them.

Anyway, we flag them over, they hop in the back of the truck with all of our bags. We keep driving, I’m still freaking out in my head because I still don’t know where Talya and Anna are. We turn around and the Jollyboys van is behind us with Anna and Talya inside! They’d hailed the free ride we were all supposed to have taken, and could have taken if we'd just waited. Anna's face is pretty representative of all of our reactions. We spent the rest of the drive back rehashing how crazy it all was. Two baboons also happened to casually run by during this time.

So all was well. But it could have gone a million times wrong. Safe and sound at the Jollyboys pool. Mosi was needed and well deserved.

in honor of falls girl

We ventured to Vic Falls today and trekked through the rain forest. Before long, Emma was beside us, looking down and saying, “No, no, no, no, nooooo, no, no.” As soon as we thought these no’s would stop, another string of “NOOOOO, no, no, no, no” would chime in. Ems sliced her foot open. So we wobbled back to a hotel/casino to get some first aid attention for the poor girl. After leaving the pharmacy that happened to be in the casino, there was a torrential downpour. Taking my parent’s usual thinking that there is ALWAYS one day per vacation that gets completely screwed over, I wasn’t too stressed. But we all were a little skeptical about actually making it to the Falls.

Thank you, weatherman. Because the rain soon cleared, Emma was a trouper, and we continued on our way. We finally made it to the Falls to see the most beautiful Lucky Star rainbows suspended in the mist, and cliffs with the most powerful surges of water. For Anna, it was absolutely love at first sight. As soon as we turned around, “Falls Girl” was off exploring, getting lost in her passion and new-found obsession. We walked around for a bit and returned to the entrance, only to realize we just saw a tiny portion of the Falls. So while Emma passed out on a bench and watched our stuff, and while Anna was off on her own, Talya and I walked the rest of the way to see the main Falls. Some great people-watching ensued. Including a younger couple who hired a man to carry their umbrella and take pictures of them making mirror faces. We were convinced that they were Croatian (no offense to all of those Croatians out there)--until we heard their American accents. Shame.

We ate at this touristy Disney world of African culture. It’s usually how I’ve been trained not to travel (my family is relatively cruise-phobic, and I’m pretty phobic of looking and feeling too much like a tourist), but it was a really fun and definitely worthwhile. We were able to pick out warthog, impala knuckle, buffalo, crocodile, etc. for them to cook for us and it was all delicious. We wore some Zambian fabric (not nicer than the ones we bought ourselves at the market, however), people painted dot-designs on our faces, you can have your fortune read, Emma got her hair braided, and we were sung to by our amazing acapella African waiters as a thank you.

When we got back to Shoestrings, we met our friend, Kase! Kase decided to leave his group of traveling friends to go off on his own in Zimbabwe. He was randomly chilling at the hostel’s bar when we walked in. To bolster the random excitement of the night, I saw my first major fight! I definitely never need to see anything like it again. It entailed two big men throwing punches drunkenly over a girl. Chairs were thrown, women were shoved, and one too many plumbers cracks were shown (one is immediately too many, in my opinion).

spring break: welcome to zimbabwe

We soon left Botswana to venture into Zimbabwe. Predictably, there was border-crossing drama. We didn’t have enough money to get past the border ($50 each). So we were given a choice by our driver. We could either spend another hour driving back into town and an hour back to the border to take money out. Or, we could use the black market to change rand into US dollars. We chose the black market. I thought the black market was a shady market with illegal goods all laid out for trade on tables and in tents. Little did I know it is nothing more than under-the-counter trades with random people very much in the open. With a complicated exchange rate, a fee for this black market exchange, and our feeble attempts to simultaneously understand three currencies (rand, US dollars, and kwatcha), we somehow still didn’t have enough money to get across. So we hired a cab—as negotiated by the all-mighty-Emma—to front us the cash and drive us across. We drove forever to the hostel while random elephants popped up right next to us on the side of the rode. We stopped at a police checkpoint when our cab driver got out of the car to slip the policewoman a 5. He told us that it happens all the time. Then we stop again a little while later and begin to back up quickly while I’m passed out in the back. Apparently, we just missed another cheetah, which walked across the road while we were all sleeping! Oh, Africa. Anyway, we finally get there to go to an ATM to find that none of them are working and they are apparently the only ones in town. Eventually, we figure it out that we have to use “universal” account (whatever that means) and we are able to pay this poor man after all.

The cab dropped us off at the Shoestrings Backpackers, which is more like a bar that happens to have some rooms in the back. Feeling like we had drained our funds after safari and exhausted after a long day of travel, we spent the rest of our afternoon having ghetto high tea at the Victoria Falls hotel and hanging out by the pool pretending to be guests. After a nice African dinner, all of us walked back in the dark to the hostel—which we only did upon the encouragement of many Zimbabweans. It was so surprising and cool because, as four girls, it’s something we would never feel comfortable doing in South Africa.

One of the things I found really intriguing and confusing about Victoria Falls was the acceptance and embrace of colonialism. Here it was, these white men come into Africa, claim to discover Victoria Falls, despite obviously being taken there by natives who have lived there their entire lives. And this man is applauded--to this day--by the tourist industry in Zim. This fancy hotel had framed pictures of white men in colonial gear, on top of having black men wearing old-fashioned colonial garb. When I asked this Zim man at a bar later that night, he said it was catering towards the older generation and will likely end when the generation fades out. I'm not so sure. He also had a more nuanced take than my previous all-negative one. He explained that because Livingstone brought over whites who now help their economy, there is an acceptance of the good (of colonialism), as well as an acknowledgment of the bad.

I don't know how much you know about Zimbabwe, but they are politically and economically a MESS. All of this land was distributed amongst the black (unskilled and uneducated) people by president Mugabe and taken away from commercial (mostly white) farmers. So now there is nothing for their economy to really stand on. In addition to corruption, rigging of votes, and violence, there is an insanely high unemployment rate, and hyperinflation (the highest in Africa - as in, a meal costs about 46,000 kwatcha, which is equivalent to about 10 US dollars). Just nuts. And yet, people from Zimbabwe seem to define themselves as being uniquely Zimbabwean because of their immense about of hope and optimism. Emma questioned whether this was an unhealthy form of denial, or a helpful tool of survival. I leaned towards the ladder.

lions, impalas, and elephants.. oh my.

To our great surprise, a group of our friends happened to be at the same safari company as us. So we went on our merry way, joined by Danny, Becca, Brett, Ellen, and Will on a journey into Chobe National Park.

First we took a boat tour. Stuck with inedible food and with no more animals in sight than a couple of birds, we were a little disappointed. But then the ball started rolling. We saw a couple hippos. Which become a huge group of hippos. Then a herd of elephants. Then hippos and elephants. Some more birds and hippos. Even a few birds on hippos.

Fun fact: adolescent male elephants practice mounting each other in the water as preparation for the real deal. Saw it with my own eyes. And after seeing a couple of tiny baby elephants, I’m pretty sure it’s effective.

We soon set off to go on a game drive. Perfection: the nine of us perfectly fit into one jeep. After filming a rendition of “In the Jungle” to soon realize that the sound on my camera is broken, we came upon some more animals. Giraffes. Elephants. Impala. Birds. More elephants. Buffalo. Baboons. All of these animals would hang, run, fake charge, graze, eat, care, or couldn't care less about us, as close as 2 feet away from our jeep.

After some snacks we departed for a sunset drive. Soon after we left the camp, our driver hears something on his radio and starts to disregard the strict speed limits in Chobe. Till we come upon a group of giraffes in a field in the distance. We see them looking at three lion cubs and a mother. We waited and looked for a while--all forgetting that breathing is a good thing to make sure you do. The mother lion creeped up and walked closer and closer towards us, and crossed right in front of the car  into the bush. Our attention returned to the cubs, who pitifully tried to catch some impala (not that I could do any better). After another radio call, we sped again—this time off of the road—zig-zagging in between bush and trees. Just as we turn the bend, we see the mother lion holding an impala she just killed in her mouth, carrying it off to her cubs. Extremely rare for Chobe. We were some very lucky ducklings. One of those times you need to sit back and say, “Yep. I am in Africa.”

After camping there, we went on a morning tour. Stumbled upon the impala’s corpse, which was soon to be eaten by hyenas. And almost caught glimpse of a cheetah (missed it by literally 30 seconds). The best part was that our entire safari just kept getting bigger and better, one serendipity at a time.

We were planning on staying an extra day. But since we couldn’t see how it could possibly get better than that (it really couldn’t) we departed early and hit the road.

P.S. For your viewing pleasure: You can see the joy in our faces. And that was just the beginning of our Chobe experience.

border crossing to botswana

On the way to the border the streets are lined with commercial trucks taking metals across. The wait takes up to seven days because, obviously, there is only one boat to take one truck at a time across the river.

When we were waiting for our own little boat to pick us up, I struck conversation with one of the border control guards. We were talking and I asked him about the gun on his back and if he’d ever had to use it. He informed me that he had killed five men last night that had tried to take his gun from him and then buried them in the bush (as in the African bush, not a single shrub). Immediately my jaw dropped and I thought he was joking. I (true to character) continued with a battery of questions and was told that he had killed about 25 men in his life (he has lost exact count). 15 since being a guard, 10 before. After he asked me what I enjoy doing with my free time and I returned the question, he told me, "Besides killing people? Going to church....and singing." Then asked me if I wanted to be canoed across the border by him--and him alone--in a wooden canoe that had some dead fish chilling in it. I still wasn’t sure (and still am unsure) if he was being serious about the nonchalant murders. So I half-jokingly told him, pointing to the gun, “With that thing on your back, I think I’m going to have to pass. Maybe next time." Better safe than sorry…He made me promise that I'd come see him when I returned and wanted me to leave him something to ensure it, which I refused. He told me he'd practice a song so when I returned it would be perfect and he'd sing it to me. Unfortunately, I came back to Zambia through Zimbabwe, not Botswana and will never see him again.

We then got on a relatively small motorboat onto the turbulent water. This petrified Emma and Anna, but after the earlier possibility of crossing with a murderer in a mokoro canoe, a motorboat with life jackets seemed luxuriously safe. And Talya, as usual, was chill as ever.

natural zambian viagra

 We were taken around for a food/cultural tour of Zambia today by this awesome guide, Kennedy. We walked around the local market with thousands of Kwatcha (Zambian money that’s 4,500 to the US$1) picking out and paying for ingredients. This included handfuls on handfuls of these tiny dried sardine-like fish. We were literally the only tourists.

Bought meters of BEAUTIFUL printed fabrics and were shown how to correctly tie them around your waste like true Zambian women. We then picked out a chicken, carried it around the market by its wings for a bit, tossed it in the back of the car and headed back to town to watch it’s head get cut off. Its bodiless eyes really did keep blinking and its headless body actually kept flapping around. I knew that was coming, but watching it in person for the first time is really bizarre. We then helped cook a feast of totally traditional Zambian foods. Kennedy told us a bit about Zambian politics (read: corruption), and, for those interested, that ground nuts (peanuts) are thought to make men “more reproductive.” Ate a lot of pap (like grits), which is what you use to scoop up the other food. Definitely no utensils were allowed. Chicken was too tough for me, but the roasted ground nuts made everything taste delish.

It was our last night with Julie, who left to meet her parents at Kruger, so we ended the night by splurging at a beautiful hotel on drinks and a fancy dinner. We watched the sunset sipping on cocktails, ate amazing duo of crocodile, and had long and wonderful bonding conversations.

spring break: welcome to zambia

Stayed behind in Cape Town a couple extra days to be with the matriarch of the Blumenerios. Woke up very, very early (as in passed out for an hour on a couch, before getting up at 3:30am), cabbed it with Will and Ellen to the airport. Happily got switched from a later flight to sit next to Will in the exit aisle, where I was given unnecessary but very welcome extra leg space. In the emergency instructions guide no one was wearing shoes! Got really excited and inspired. But quickly found out the one minor drawback of emergency-exit seats when I was scolded soon by a flight attendant who didn’t share my enthusiasm for barefooted cartoon figures. Still, having Will’s shoulder next to me to drool on made it worth it. Left Will and Ellen in Joburg and continued to Zambia by my lonesome.

I was nervous that I wouldn’t find my friends, but as soon as I made it to the Jollyboys hostel I knew I’d be fine. Sat by the pool. Chilled in the one of the many “chill areas” which are covered with African floor pillows. After a couple of hours alone, in walks Emma, Talya, Julie, and Anna! We soon departed for the helicopter flight over Vic Falls. Not enough room for me, but I elected to do “microlighting” instead. In not much more than a motorized tricycle with wings, the pilot and I flew over Victoria Falls with nothing in between me and the air. They tried charging me $20 for a dvd of the same picture 100 times. So the one on the left isn't a picture of me, but it might as well be...except that it's a man...But the picture below was taken by Emma at the same time from their helicopter ride. This is exactly what I couldn't tear my eyes away from. Lucky us, the ride was during "click"! When we were flying the pilot pointed at a herd of elephants crossing the road and three cars stuck without anywhere else to go. He seemed pretty used to these kinds of occurrences.

mama (in) africa: part 2

Mama Shapiro (as incorrectly referred to by Will) was independent as ever and had no problem taking screaming taxis everywhere. Screaming taxis (or mini-buses) are old vans that run up and down the main road into town and are really only used by (mostly lower-class) locals. You pay about a dollar and can get in or out more or less whenever you like. One man hangs out of the side and screams “Cape Town, Cape Toowwn” or “Weinberg!” while they stuff people in along the way, tighter than a night at Marvel (double whammy: tight as in crowded, as well as tight as in cool). She even braved them a few times on her own! Woo woo.

We visited the District 6 museum. We were a little disappointed, though it’s on everyone's must-see list. Wandered Green Market square, where mom got African bowls and little animals made out of tin. We also saw the Spier contemporary exhibit, a biennial which consisted of 100 artists in South Africa who were chosen out of almost 3,000. And went to this reallllyyy cool neighborhood called De Waterkant, which is right near Bo Kap (the place with all of the different colored houses). It has a big gay population and we were possibly the only non-couple there. I've never seen a nicer, classier shopping complex. Definitely no Mall-o'-America. There was a music festival on Long Street and we watched this awesome band, fronted by the most charismatic, hilarious, young Indian man.

The night ended at the Fugard theatre, where we saw a play called The Train Driver. It's about a man's struggle after he inadvertently ran over a black woman who jumped in front of his train with her baby. The entire play takes place in a township graveyard and tells the story of his friendship with the grave digger there. Deals a lot with death, recovery, reconciliation, redemption, and racial and social issues of South Africa. There was a Q&A after with the director and playwright and the two actors. I got to ask the last question of the night: "You mention hope in the play, and you just identified yourself as an optimist, yet the ending is one of great despair. Where do you see and situate hope in the violent realities of South Africa today?" To paraphrase, Fugard explained that he clings onto a hope for the future that he can't honestly find in the present.

We spent the next two days on our own little wine tasting tour of the winelands of Stellenbauch and spent the night in Franschhoek. Mom had to drive, so I spent the days getting tipsy off of both of our tastings. To both of our surprises, didn’t pass out in the back seat, as we predicted…just in the front.

Mom: miss you already. Thanks for casually flying across world to see me. Dad and Mo: wish you could’ve joined. You were here in spirit. Love and miss you guys so much. (Shout out to extended fam as well. Don't want to leave anyone out of the love-fest.)

mama (in) africa: part 1

Finally! Mom touched down in Cape Town and spent 10 days here. It’s so hard to explain everything, so it was really amazing to have her see what it’s like here and what my life is like in this crazy-different place. She’s staying (completely coincidently) around the corner in my hood, Rondebosch, at this beautiful b&b, Little Scotia. Didn’t go to class once all week, so it was a mutual vacation really.

Obviously, I made sure the trip was planned around food. For those considering visiting Cape Town at some point, keep these places in mind: We went to Muizenberg to (1) Knead on THE windiest day with friends, Peter and Kosa. And she met and hit it off with the girls (Anna, Julie, Emma, and Talya) at (2) Café Ganesh in Obs. I also took her to (3) Old Biscuit Mill on Saturday, (4) a Greek restaurant in Little Mobray named…wait for it…"Greek,” (5) an amazing Indian restaurant, Bukhara, (6) a hidden high cuisine gem in the neighborhood, Cargills, and (7) a hip tapas restaurant on Long Street, Fork. My stomach is always a fan of parental units.

We went to the Gardens to high tea at the most beautiful hotel, Mount Nelson. This place is insane! It’s really more like a town than a hotel. There was a “tea ceremony” and we sat, British-style, under a little tree in the garden, munching on all-you-can-eat pastries and cucumber sandwiches.

Her exercise instructor’s neighbor (…random…) who is getting a masters at UCT and who is getting married in a couple of weeks is here. In exchange for hand-delivering his wedding suit, we were treated to a perfectly low-key Italian dinner one night and hanging out at Clifton beach #2 at sunset with his friends on another. I think it was a pretty fair trade.

ocean's view

This past weekend was spent in a homestay in a coloured neighborhood called Ocean's View. For those Park Slopeans who are now pulling out their hair, hold on. Just in case you didn't know all of this already--because I definitely didn't--I'll BRIEFLY try to explain the little I've come to understand about "Coloured" (it's really quite complicated and varied). I'm sorry if this gets lecture-y. It's just some necessary, very simplified background info.

During apartheid, those of a separate mixed-race ethnicity, which makes up over half of the South African population, were segregated and removed from their homes--just like Black South Africans. Unlike America, which, due to the economic and political incentives of slavery, equated mixed-race individuals with "Black," mixed-race individuals in Southern Africa have a separate racial/ethnic identity. Coloureds occupied and still occupy a complicated place in racial politics. Though they were oppressed by the white Afrikaaners, were forced to leave their homes, received inferior education, and were given less job opportunities, they were regarded as slightly better than Black South Africans and were given a few more privileges. Of course, mixed-race individuals already existed, however, apartheid's labeling of "Coloured" and relocation to what were called "Home Lands," really solidified a unique Coloured identity. Because of its history, some embrace the term as a culture, while others completely reject it. Some view Coloured culture as separate and choose to identify with it, while others feel more culturally tied to other races and ethnicities (which also has to do with socioeconomic status).

Funny tangent: Dicky is one of our bodyguards at the house (yes, we have bodyguards; this is South Africa). Dicky is a proudly self-proclaimed "Cape Coloured," which is a subculture of Coloured that's tied to Malay culture in the Western Cape. In addition to wrestling my friends, Will and Brett, and having late-night educational sessions on the dirtiest words in Afrikaans (one of the 11 official languages in South Africa), Dicky occasionally talks about what it means for him to be Coloured. One of the intriguing things I've learned is that "bling" is a big deal. So much so that it's considered fashionable to lose teeth and have them replaced with fake ones (gold's the best). Some people actually pull out their own teeth to do so, but thank goodness (!) his daughter's teeth fell out naturally. So apparently, the THANG to do is to french kiss people who take their false teeth out. Dicky spent a good 30 minutes radio-ing the other security guards at the other houses, who all told us that it's "Lekka, bru" (cool, bro). And "see-rrree-us-lee," you really haven't had a real kiss until you've tried it.

So, anyway, one of the areas that Coloured people were relocated to during apartheid is called Ocean's View. We were paired with another study abroad student and randomly assigned a family to stay with for the weekend. It was a really amazing, unique experience, and one that I found to have a lot of confusing contradictions. There was a lot of pride and a great sense of community that was constantly displayed in Ocean's View. When we first got there we were greeted with a variety of performances in the local school's auditorium: from amazing little kids who danced exactly like Michael Jackson, to church songs, to a mother-son amateur waltz to a song that was a little too romantic to sit comfortably. Parts of Ocean's view feel like very nice suburbs, while other sections are completely run-down. "Tik," a drug like crack, is a big problem in the area. And though the government occasionally sends people to help with drugs, rehab centers are really too expensive.

My family was incredibly hospitable. Diana (the mom), Abe (her husband), and her daughters, Tamara and Andrea, were all really welcoming and warm. They took us in with open arms. Abe showed us around a nearby beach town, Fish Hoek, and talked to us about his family's experience with apartheid. Then we checked out the charity shop that Diana worked in, went for a wine tasting festival, and ended up back at their house for a braai. Their cousin and Diana's mom came over for some karaoke afterward; they insisted I sing some Celine Dion--though I'm sure they immediately regretted it. Then we went to their family friends' house for a high-school style house party. We all sat around the living room in a circular formation, while an older man danced half-disco, half-house in the center. We then went to a local bar/club, called Suzie Q's. On Sunday we woke up early and went to Catholic Church. It was my first sermon, so that was cool, but it was much too fire-and-brimstone for me. Then we returned to the house and watched Lovely Bones, which is Abe's favorite movie, and ate amazing chicken curry he cooked for us.

Outside of some uncomfortable culture-shock events that occurred (including a few around money, a couple around discipline, and another around the bathroom) it was a really enjoyable, and--more importantly--a very interesting stay.

it's in the little things

NEON-VEST-WEARING PARKING ATTENDANTS: There are tons of people who wear neon orange vests and try to “help” you park places. I can’t tell you how many times people in this attire have ushered us—airplane style—into a parking space we were already entering, and then expected some form of a tip. There are a couple homeless men in Mobray (a sketchy neighborhood next to us) who have the same vests. They have definitely has lost its credibility.

PIGEONS: There are all over campus. They fly in all of the buildings and waddle around with the students. Somehow they seem cleaner than the ones in New York. [Please don’t burst my bubble.]

BARE FEET: No one here wears shoes. I’ve walked barefoot around campus a couple times now. But have recently been called a poser by a fellow American. So what? It’s liberating and feels very South African (everyone here’s reallyyyyy laid-back). I think I’m going to keep it going. Pretty excited for some calloused, strong, poser feet.

WEAVE: I have no idea how they’re getting there, but I’ve seen seeing bits of people’s weave (fake hair) randomly all over the streets. It’s five and counting. Question to ponder: “What do women do when it falls out? Would it be more or less awkward to pick it up after?” – Bianca.