5 Sweet Summer Days Chicago

Oh, man, to describe the homecoming! From the Korean dinner simmering on Robert's stove at first arrival TO making ice cream in Kim's old pot TO watching vegan Britt eat a hamburger with glee TO playing croquet and eating mulberries in Hulmboldt Park like it's never changed TO communal fires and city skeeters TO bumping into old friends by coincidence at a restaurant TO my brother only being 3 hrs drive away TO finding the grace of flatland at the Heiney family farm....Chicago holds a lot in the palm of its hand. Boy do I miss it. And girl, am I glad I got to go back for a swarm of delights and wonders.

Only 2 years after leaving, people change, people stay the same, people marry, mess up, impregnate, lose weight, gain hair, grow businesses, develop works of art, nest further into their homes, change their paint color and become all the wiser. The pity was it was only for 5 days, short, sweet and packed into the most retrievable part of my memory.

New York in a Whiz

New York New York. Every time I visit this grand city it is tempered by something new. This time was the possibility of landing there for a couple years to study for a Masters Degree. Columbia Teachers College & New York University were the main aims to the visit. Columbia certainly won my heart and has me sore over its costliness and consideration of how to make it work.

But in between interviews were loads of lovely interactions with the New York crew: Erin, Chelsea, Scott, Paul, Claire, Ryan, and Chris. It was the least touristy of any of my visits to New York, thus there was time spent at a bar on a river boat, walking the new train-track greenway park, exploring a crafts festival in an obscure part of Astoria, a house dinner in Brooklyn and a night time film in a Manhattan park.

The prices of New York food felt overwhelming on my South African budget and the youthfulness of most people seemed abnormal. But as always, parts of the city called to me, especially the mosaics and murals of the underground.

Blog of America

After having spent 3+ weeks in the US of A, I am full of many new impressions and reinforcements of old. My first purchase after a 19 hour flight to New York was a cafe latte and a muffin - all for a total of $8.06, the same cost as a nice, full meal in South Africa. My second purchase was a box of Sudafed - also $8 - to alleviate the pounding ears my flight almost busted. These first acts of consumerism on American soil set the precedent for the rest of my trip (so far).

Prior to moving to SA, I sweated over health insurance possibilities, opting for a limited travel insurance policy. When I fell sick in February, I was blown away by the afford-ability of a Doctors visit, a mere $25. In just three weeks in the USA, with one unlucky cold and a plane ride combo to wreak havoc on my ears, I've spent almost $400 on appointments and medication. All this makes me realize even more so, how expensive America is compared to where I've been living.

The falling economy is set to dampen spirits further. I came home to find old high school teachers and teaching friends with pink slips looming over their heads and careers. Some older teachers have gracefully stepped away, whilst class sizes threaten to grow and high quality public educators fight to keep both their jobs and students. It brings Africa closer to home and I'm realizing American public education is about to take a dive for the worst. What is this nation establishing when the crippled economy means prioritizing cutbacks for the education of its young?

South Africans have been asking me about the American economy non-stop, but since Wall Street collapsed 2 weeks after I left the USA, I've had little experience to relate. I have now had a real taste: deserted shopping centers with shutdown business, legendary stores gone, several young people my age out of jobs, government office closings, empty parking lots, cashier job cuts and longer lines, house "for sale" signs lining the streets, radio talk hosts tirelessly discussing the economy and ways to save and survive, the list goes on...

But America is not all doom and gloom. In the midst of this crisis, the people here remain some of the most generous I have ever known. On this trip, I have collected over $1,500 from locals to purchase books for St. Paul's Primary School where I teach. One keep group of the Mt. Holly 5th Grade Safety Patrol is dedicating their summer Saturdays to run a lemonade-stand fundraiser! I find this generous spirit is huge and full of action even in these difficult times.

On a more personal level, I have had a marvelous 3 weeks traipsing across the South East, from visiting my sister in Washington, D.C. to checking out grad programs in Athens, GA. My family is all doing well. Both my parents work like trojans, trying to keep their heads up, grateful they both have jobs. My mother's garden is tremendous - green and full, her shade trees providing me with the most peaceful window scenery. Dad has been busy as the mulch-master, taking on lots of odd gardening jobs with the support of Aunt Lynn to help my other Aunt Teenie with her larger-than-life gentleman's farm. And my grandmother "Grand-Dub", God love her, never changes - she's still mowing her lawn, cleaning her house, protecting her garden from the local bunny brigade and snacking on cheese straws in her down time. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

One of my trip highlights was visiting Mt. Holly, NC where I lived for a full year before moving to South Africa. I received an amazing homecoming, driving down HWY 27 to the vision of Spencer Mtn. hovering above the Catawba River. Crossing that bridge again brought me back into the incredible community this small town provided me last year. Honestly, can life get any better than a strong-armed hug from Cindy Suddreth, Margaret singing at the Farmer's Market, Scott Griffin's candle burning for me in the window, hard core dancing with 8 year old Bailey Kaylor or the pitiful cry of Bob-the-shaved-and-mangy-Cat on return from the dead? Need I mention that Robert, the autistic child I worked with last year, can now say the alphabet and his sister, Rachel, made the all-star diving team?! Life is full back here at home. It has moved on in my absence but it felt so good to return to the nourishment of love in constant supply. It is so good to know I have a home to return to in Charlotte and Mt. Holly, pulling on my heart strings and calling me back, back, back....

D.C. to Takoa Falls and back home again

The messy trajectory of my trip back to the USA was reminiscent of a tourist's jaunt through a new country. From NYC to Charlotte, D.C. to Baltimore, to Athens, GA and back to Charlotte again. Not to mention another leg to NYC, and then to Chicago & Istanbul & the lovely Karoo. But with grad schools in mind, dropping Susannah off at Georgetown in D.C. afforded me the opportunity to visit Baltimore to see MICA. And Charlotte's proximity to Georgia also gave me good reason to check out UGA in Athens.














With all this driving back and forth, I still managed to squeeze in a lot. The problem with visiting is you can never say "no" to anything, so my calendar was choc a bloc full! I managed to trek to a couple of bountiful Mt.Holly Farmers Markets and to feel completely swooned by the response of folks missing me over the last year. I was able to attend the small town wedding of Leah & Josh and dance my heart away with Bailey Kaylor (age 8) and my aunts. I had the opportunity to see Rachel Schleicher's new diving moves and to spend Father's Day with my dad. Any maybe best of all, I witnessed my childhood bestfriend cradling her newborn.

Staying with mom, we were able to make good use of our time together, with picnic lunches at her job. Honestly, even mowing the lawn felt like a beautiful, fruitful activity! And Dad and I managed a good ride on the old bikes. For a first, my mom was able to join some family in Mt. Holly & it made my heart swell to have some of my favorite faces mixing around a table again. Time does heal, but it takes some really furtive effort as well.

It's a proud life people live in this part. Everyone trying to make the best out of what they do, to believe in how they spend their hours, to work towards larger community and to love the families they've created over time. It is a Southern fantasy, an American dream of sorts, all woven with the realities of uncertain incomes, familial rifts, the monotony of tired feet, and the aching need to fill the void left at the end of the day.

"I will never be poor" OR "Ode to cheeseburgers"

After a stable life in Cape Town for the past 5 months, I prepare for Tuesday when I will stradle my two worlds on an airplane. A brief stay in Johannesburg, where I started my sojourn 10 months ago, allows me a moment for reflection.

My students have been excited for my departure to America - excited even more for my return so I can tell them "all about America." "But," I say, "I can already tell you about it, you know that!" And they start with cheeseburgers. "How big are the cheeeese buh-gahs in Ah-meh-rrr-i-ca?" & "Can you bring us one?!" Oh boy! What did I start?

My cousin Leigh asked me yesterday if people treat me like I'm an American here. A multi-faceted answer - yes & no. Many of my well-traveled friends consider me not to be American - or at least a "typical" American. My SA heritage supposedly discounts me from the heavy stereotypes. Meanwhile my students want to know if I've seen Beyonce or Chris Brown & if I can bring them an amazingly huge cheeseburger. These stereotypes that individual countries and continents run on create interesting, yet often times, pointless divisions.

Ask any person in SA who has been to other parts of Africa about poverty and 3rd world conditions and they will tel you "THIS is not Africa." While, in fact, it is. No different from the comparison of 3rd world Rio Grande Valley in Texas where people live in half-built shacks, to the rest of the 1st world USA; South Africa is mostly first world in comparison to the rest of the African continent. Meanwhile, IN South Africa, many of my students come to school hungry. Their parents have enough money to send them across the city, but their education comes as sacrifice to proper nourishment.

My standards of poverty may not have changed as dramatically as they would have had I gone to Ethiopia or Uganda to work. I have not faced malaria, HIV, or cholera on a daily basis. Debilitating malnutrition has not impacted the school community severely. Clean water is an issue in some areas, but my students benefit from higher urban standards (though not always the best). When I started my work in Cape Town I expected I would work in the townships and deal with these issues more regularly. Instead, I am at a school quite privileged in its staffing and resources compared to many government schools. But poverty is still there and these students suffer its consequences.

Which gets one thinking, what is poverty? Having set out to work with underprivileged groups, I am not working with the MOST underprivileged. It's easy to start feeling guilty and to wish to tackle all the worlds problems, which becomes a bottomless pit for the humanitarian soul. But I have had to learn to keep my head above and to find relief in my work rather than guilt. For where do you draw the line with poverty? Who is too rich to deserve your help?

Is is someone lacking one of the major three needs - shelter, clothing and food? Is it substandard access to all three of these areas? Is it a lack of love and a supportive community? What does it take to help one succeed - to have the tools to live a healthy life? Is it a mother sacrificing food to send her children to school? Is it parents sacrificing all free time with their children so they can feed them? Through many long conversations with my Dutch friend Karlijn who worked in a poor, rural area of Ethiopia I have begun to see I will never be poor; I have not even the capacity to be poor.

My first world status elevates me above all else in a world where most standards of living are less than that of the USA. Secondly, my racial, economic, and educational background will always give me reach for opportunity. Even someone from America or Europe of a contrasting background to me will find that their currency will enable them a last minute medical visit, surgery or ticket home in case of emergency. In other words, we 1st worlders will almost always have a way out.

As my life opens here in Cape Town, as an educator, an illustrator, a social worker, an artist, a foreigner I feel as though I have never had so many options spread before me. It is spectacular to behold that my dreams to be here have come true. And that there are even more to be dreamed. It is this beautiful excercise of dreaming that has enabled chance in my life and room to explore multiple avenues. In a "first world" country such as South Africa, where 25% of the population is unemployed, it is the lack of dreams that embitter and entrench many. I have had such privilege, love and encouragement in my life and this is why I will never have the capacity to stop, to allow myself the label of poor or broke. I will always have a way out. Or, better put by a woman I met recently, "You have one leg up girl. You have one leg up." (Incidentally, she was a toothless woman from Asheville, NC living in Hermanus!)

the Oranjezicht Neighbourhood

L-R: Great example of positive, local graffitti; Street sign for where I reside; Lions Head poking through some residential greenery.

I thought it might be of interest to many of you to see the area in which I live. Breda (Breh-Dah) is the name of my street. Oranjezicht is my neigh"bour"hood. It derives it roots from the Dutch word for "orange" and the famous South African Oranje River. It is a lovely, old neighborhood with many Victorian buildings. There are lots of beautiful adaptations of the Cape Dutch style and also a great variety of other architectural influences.














L - R: An example of the many fences required for people to feel safe in inner-city Cape Town; Cape Dutch-style facade with cascading hibiscus; my favorite - the door which goes nowhere (actually, I think it leads to the above ground resevoir, hidden behind the hill.










L-R: Street view of a grouping of Cape Ducth-style houses with Signal Hill poking out in the background; a great example of the gorgeous bougainvillea vines which provide for a great cover of the fences surrounding most houses; tennis blacktop that is falling by the way-side from falling economy and provisions.









L-R: Three different examples of Victorian gingerbread on house-facades.










L-R: Corinthian columns; street view looking up towards an overcast Table Mountain; my street corner view of Devil's Peak.

Passport No. II

Pools of gold & rust tinged grape vines fill the valleys of Franschhoek. Autumn's spectacle, today the vineyards were glowing red while platforms of jubilant farm laborers trailed behind tractors singing loudly for Zuma. They echoed the excitement filling me just hours after visiting the Department of Home Affairs in Paarl.

Successes from my South African citizenship application seem to fall in line with other great markings of democracy. On November 4th when Obama claimed his election victory I finally obtained my birth certificate after 3 years of waiting. Today, on May 9th, I have in my hand my new South African passport concurrent with the presidential inauguration for ZA’s president elect, Jakob Zuma.

As I was standing in line, shifting from hip to hip, I had a couple of hours to weigh in on all this. Dirty floors with large cockroaches making their public debut and small toddlers crawling about, the environment was quite hushed. Standing in line for close to two hours, I mused that lines are rarely this long in America. I thought about the endless hours black, coloured, and Indian South Africans stood in line in previous eras, waiting for their infamous Pass Books.

Nobody is angry or agitated for waiting so long, except perhaps for a few white folk cynical about this government. Most black and coloured people here waited their turns in line for decades and obviously no one sees just cause for getting their feathers in a ruffle. I find this quite astonishing and rather relaxing. I’m taking a course on positive thinking and it’s helping me understand how infectious the relaxed-spirit of Africa truly is.

I often feel challenged in these situations (be it waiting to get supplies, for packages to arrive, the internet to work, etc.) to be more patient. Now suddenly, I cannot imagine the hustle and bustle of New York City or Chicago, the impatience over delayed trains and aggravated people waiting in line. Perhaps I have turned a corner, I see how spoilt we are in the 1st world. Everything is instant and on demand. From having mail delivered right to your front door to decent public education to services that run smoothly most of the time. Direct deposit, self check-out counters, reliable public transit, iTunes, free parking, unlimited cell minutes, free local calls, year round avocados, multitudes of convenience food,… All these things and more, save affordable healthcare - but let’s leave that for another topic!


My new passport designates my nationality as South African - what a step. It is a proud day for me, even as the majority of the Western Cape sits uneasy with Zuma’s arrival. It’s an entirely different citizenship than that I feel and know for the United States. I didn’t grow up here. ALL of my historical attachments have been distantly received via reading, my political perspective is weak; however, my mother breathed it as a child, her parents turned its soil and protected its name in WWII, their parents sweated through depression, their parents fought in civil wars, and on, and on. Today I am here, working through the problems created by past generations - much like in America. Compared to most immigrants, I’ve had it easy in my application for citizenship; but somehow, having had to apply I feel I’ve worked towards it rather than been given it as a hand out. And that is especially rewarding.