Blog fail

Sorry, all. I've been a bit disoriented the last couple of weeks. I guess I could blame it on the malaria meds (I'm on the hallucination-inducing ones), or perhaps the fact that I actually have work to do for my classes. In fact, after an entire semester of doing, well, nothing, it's hard to just accept that I need to write a single-spaced eight-page paper today or else I'll die.

Last weekend, I went to Robben Island -- where Nelson Mandela stayed in prison for 20-plus years, along with other anti-Apartheid activists -- which was interesting. The staff of the museum lives on the island, which is a good 30-minute boat ride from Cape Town's Victoria and Albert Waterfront. All the tours were led by ex-Robben Island prisoners, so they told us about their experiences. The cells were pretty small -- Mandela didn't have a lot of room to spread out, for sure -- but other than that, there was a little garden in the middle, meals were provided to them, they were on an island and away from Cape Town... I mean, not to be blasphemous, but it seemed like a pretty sweet deal. Except for the physical labor business: Mandela got so much limestone in his eyes over time that he can't handle glare. Photographers are forbidden from using flash when taking his picture.

The same day I went to the District Six Museum, which I found a little more emotionally exhausting. My main complaint about Cape Town has always been how, for such an old city, it feels so modern. I'm not saying modernity is bad, but I was expecting a more historic feel along the waterfront. Instead, the waterfront is so touristy and shiny and new: in short, completely fake and un-African. I feel like I'm in some suburb's supermall rather than on the Cape Town waterfront. Except for the Bo-Kaap (the primarily Malaysian/Muslim area of the city, with plenty of mosques and delicious Malay food), Cape Town isn't really too iconic. Except for the Houses of Parliament and the Dutch East India Company's Gardens in the center, it's kind of a faceless metropole.

But after seeing the museum, I realize this could just be a result of apartheid. During the 1970s the city government eradicated this vibrant (albeit poor) community: the Africans (blacks) were forced into the townships (shantytowns outside of the city) and the others were forced into different neighborhoods in accordance with the Group Areas Act which segregated areas of town by race. The museum was not geared toward an international audience but rather the ex-inhabitants of District Six, so at times it was hard to follow, but it was really affecting. To this day, it seems few people actually live in Cape Town; if they're rich they live in the rich, white suburbs, and if they're poor they live in the poor, black suburbs. It's unfortunate, though, to think of how the whole character of the city could have been so different. Worst of all, the city claimed it was demolishing "unstable" buildings -- which most of the time just needed a fresh coat of paint but were otherwise intact -- and saving money by driving out the members of the community, but it spent millions of dollars and failed to erect what it promised. In short, all that money was spent for nothing.

On a somewhat lighter note, last night was the AIFS farewell, end-of-semester dinner. At least, that's what my pounding head tells me. I think I finished almost an entire bottle of wine. My tolerance is really increasing this semester. We went to Five Flies, this semi-snooty restaurant/cigar bar where the average two-course meal was R185 (about $20; though to put this in perspective, you can get a normal meal in town for less than R40). And for all my attempts to be cultured, I always feel out of place in fancy restaurants. There were at least four knives, and I kept forgetting I'd already used one and ended up using all of them to butter my bread. Then, of course, there was the R114 bottle of wine. The meal was delicious: I ended up ordering smoked snoek (fish) with pesto for a starter, then springbok with port sauce for dinner. The sauce was delicious, the springbok (in European/African style) was basically rare, but it was amazing. I don't even like red meat that much, but it was wonderful. Plus, I have a feeling I might not be eating springbok for awhile. Or rhino. Or ostrich. Or kudu. I guess I have had a fair amount of game meat since I've been here...

As always happens whenever I pound down a few (two? three?) glasses of wine, I start to get a little tipsy and a lot sentimental. So even though I wasn't in love with everyone in the program, by the time our program director, Hestea, said a few words and congratulated us on our "unique decision" to study in Africa, I must say I was touched. Not as much as Stephanie, who looked like she was tearing up, but it was a nice way to end the semester. Also, since I realized how much last night's dinner cost, I appreciate it even more. AIFS is kind of cheap sometimes (always) but it was a classy place. There was all sorts of artificial nostalgia: a 12-minute PowerPoint chronicling our journey since January and the lifelong friends we've made (or not!), tzatziki sauce and potato chips, randomly inappropriate pictures of shirtless men that will haunt my dreams. It was swell.

Okay, to the people from my program who I love (you know who you are, and chances are we've had fairly long conversations in the very recent past), ignore the previous two sentences.

But really, with Kruger National Park and Mozambique looming in the not-too-distance future (three days), I'm pretty excited. But I'm also ready to come home. I miss the U.S. I miss broccoli-cheddar soup, hot dogs and chicken fried steak. And a country that wouldn't appoint a rapist president. So I'm thinking I'll be sort of ready to leave, when June 12 arrives. But we'll see.