I've mentioned a few times that I've been learning a lot about myself during this Fellowship experience, so I thought it'd be fun to frame this post as lessons I've been learning, followed by the (often embarrassing) anecdotes that prompted them. In no particular order, here are a collection of lessons I've picked up with various degrees of humiliation, importance, and length...
There are multiple levels of "white girl rhythm" and, thankfully, I have some. I've recently discovered group "Kick" classes at my gym. These classes use kick boxing moves for a cardio workout (we don't use actual punching bags or spar with anyone...). The class is led by an incredibly boisterous boxer that delights in making the combinations long and (depending on my level of drowsiness) slightly complicated. This means twice a week before work, I can be found hopelessly jumping around, punching the air, and kicking just far enough that I fear pulling a muscle. I've been pleasantly surprised, though, at my ability to keep pace with the instructor and feel the rhythm of both the music and movement to anticipate the next combination. This doesn't mean I don't look like a fool; it simply means that years of playing an instrument and ballroom dancing have provided me with an internal metronome that make me look less a fool than I anticipated.
In all seriousness, there is something incredibly joyful and empowering in spending an hour learning how to punch and kick with force. Though I don't think my friends will be calling me 'Chuck' anytime soon, I do feel there's a certain strength in the movements that gives me a sense of confidence. And yes, brothers, this does confirm that your globe-trotting, kick-boxing sister is cooler than you.
Red hair is uncommon here, too. But the Ginny reference is just as pervasive.
No matter how humble you think you are, you can always be knocked down a peg or two. By a tree branch to your face. Nothing like heading to the office with a friend and speaking confidently about your morning workout as you walk head-first into a tree that is in no way new, hidden, or otherwise explained away. At least the red mark matched my hair...
If someone intends something as a compliment, just take it as such. Even if it's an elderly man exclaiming about your "athletic build" and "strong legs." Not exactly something every 24 year-old girl with no interest in shot-put wants to hear, but the remark was well-intended nonetheless.
Perhaps some context: From the invitation of one of my coworkers, I've been introduced to a fantastic weekly running club in Pretoria. They're based at the Harlequin Rugby Club and meet every Thursday for time trials, drinks, and fellowship. The club is led by a group of elderly men that could outrun me every day of the year - and have. The age and ability of the runners is wide enough that everyone feels welcome, and it's been a fantastic group of people to get to know. They host a monthly Club Night, where runners are welcomed into the rugby club to enjoy a huge community meal, open bar, and friendly competitive banter about past and upcoming races. It's been a fantastic way to meet people much older than myself, hear their excited stories of their own travels to America, and nod when they repeatedly and excitedly mention auto dealers to show off their knowledge of Detroit. Grandfather, I'm already excited to introduce you in April.
No, making curry for your first time will not set off a smoke detector that evacuates the building. Chill out - it's the cooking alarm you set. Ah, well.
Try to be at least somewhat normal to even random people you meet, because your interests may make you cross paths again. At my first running club event, I thought I detected a slight Irish accent in one of the other new runners. He's South African, but studied in Ireland for several years and was recently in Cork visiting family. Cue my excited account of my own adventures in Cork with Timothy in May. True to my childhood interests, I lost no time in asking if he'd ever heard of the O'Conaill Chocolate Shop in Cork, from which I had the best hot chocolate of my life. He blinked in disbelief and started to laugh. Turns out, O'Conaill is his family's shop and he had gone back to Ireland to help his aunt run it. He was the only person making the chocolate when Timothy and I were there, which means he made every drink and chocolate we enjoyed in May. I obviously lost no time in securing his promise to bring back a bag of this famous hot chocolate when he visits again in November. Friendships have been founded on much less.
My love for ice cream ignores seasons. After a particularly long week at work, I decided I couldn't make it another evening without a carton in my freezer (read: in my lap). Apparently, a girl standing in the check-out line with nothing but a gallon of ice cream and a look of impatient desperation on her face attracts attention, and two guys behind me struck up conversation. Gesturing to the ice cream, "I see worry over a summer body doesn't apply to you." No, sir, it does not. The only summer body I need is one that doesn't succumb to brain freeze.
The Michigan Wolverines are beloved worldwide and can convert anyone into a true football fan. Your first braai (a phenomenon in South Africa most akin to a barbecue) is a big deal. South Africans are all about their braais and don't put much above their importance on a sunny weekend. My first braai happened to correspond to the University of Michigan's opening football game against Hawaii. After finding a way to stream ESPN, I found myself explaining American football to a room full of Afrikaaners who never felt their life needed this "weak version of rugby." By the end of the first quarter, though, several of them were engaged in full conversation about game rules and strategies. I took their interest as a personal compliment for Michigan. The team's greatest victory that day wasn't beating Hawaii, but was delaying a braai by several hours so a room full of South Africans could watch the first half. Being a true alum, they now (rightly) believe that Michigan is the best football team to follow and have little interest in anyone else. In all honestly, seeing Michael Jordan at the game and hearing of Beyonce's support last year may have also contributed to that view.
It's okay to lie to friends if it gets you out of eating fish. This is especially true if the fish has all its bones and is staring at you. Anyone who knows me knows I hate fish, seafood, basically anything that's ever touched water. I've discovered the best way to shut down all the die-hard fish lovers convinced they'll convert me is to pretend I'm allergic. No one wants to mess with that. (Apologies to any friends reading this now that I've recently lied to...)
I took this tactic when two coworkers and I went on a tasting tour of Yeoville. Yeoville is a neighborhood of Johannesburg's central business district that has a bad rep for safety, but a great culture. The tour stops took us to multiple venues to enjoy food and drinks specific to different African cultures. The main course was a full fish served at a Cambodian restaurant. As in, pick apart its skeleton, avoid the eye, and remove thin bones from between your teeth. I was alerted of the menu ahead of time and touted my fish allergy with full force. The restaurant was kindly accommodating, and I've never enjoyed plantains so much in my life. (The vibe of the restaurant itself was really fun, surrounded by people dancing and elderly men playing chess on a board held up by their knees.)
Working in a construction zone is not conducive to actually working at all. Our office space has been under renovation for the past two weeks. For the first week, we were put up in a nice office complex nearby where we were able to continue working, undisturbed. True to form, however, the renovations weren't finished on time and we were forced back into our home offices while they continue. This means common interruptions while men climb large ladders to get into the ceilings above your head, jumping out of the way before unknown debris shower your work space, and sprinting outside to take a call as drilling commences unexpectedly next door. Thankfully, nothing of note has happened so far, but I'm furiously looking for wood to knock on as I type this.
Otherwise, work is going quite well. We're making exciting progress on both of the projects I support and I continue to be energized by my contributions to a cause I feel strongly about. The more I learn about the undue burden of HIV young girls face - through no fault of their own - the more driven I become to contribute in a meaningful way and figure out what my best value-add can be. Though I'm by no means ready for this experience to be over, I'm excited to consider where my next step may take me in this work.
Pringles are a bit different here, but the regret you feel after finishing an entire can is the same.
Some people still wear tie-dye and do a lot of drugs. While searching for something to do, a friend and I stumbled upon an open mic night at a bookstore in Johannesburg. Intrigued, we joined the small coffee-imbibing, finger-snapping crowd and enjoyed some truly talented poets, writers, and musicians. We were impressed enough to go again a few weeks later, and were greeted by a man that embodied every stereotype of someone caught in the sixties and pleasantly surprised to find himself with a microphone and an introspective audience. Wearing a tie-dyed shirt, long shaggy hair, glasses on his forehead, and what can only be described as "Aladdin pants," this dazy man proceeded to read a love poem to his ex-girlfriend that I think would make a men's locker room blush. I've learned this open mic night is the place to be if you want to have absolutely no idea what you'll be exposed to. And if you like really small mugs.
Your health is incredibly important and you must put it first. At the start of the Fellowship, there were two of us working at CHAI. Early on, however, the other fellow began to experience health problems that only continued to escalate. He was eventually forced to make the incredibly difficult decision to terminate his post and return home, where he can receive the care and relaxation he needs. Though I feel badly that he wasn't able to stay, I respect his ability to prioritize his health needs above his pride. We'll all miss him here, but are glad to know he made the best decision for himself.
Afrikaans is an incredibly difficult language to learn. No, your new Afrikaans friends will not be impressed if you start joining the conversation in Italian.
Knowing when to jump up and participate is just as important as knowing when to sit back and enjoy. On another afternoon search of something new to do on a Sunday, a friend and I stumbled into a full-fledged karaoke session at a restaurant in Johannesburg. This was no dingy bar where people throw some back for the courage to sing to an empty table. Rather, this was a full stage with an attentive audience and a line of people waiting their turn. Obviously, we grabbed two prime seats. The karaoke quickly took on a South African vibe, with people singing songs in several languages and accompanying them with full-bodied, passionate dances that were incredibly fun to watch.
As happens with karaoke anywhere in the world, the skill level varied wildly. One man had us questioning if he was indeed John Legend in disguise, and rooting for him to start uploading his own music so we could listen to him whenever we want. If I was ever considering the possibility of getting on that stage (Note: I wasn't), this certainly put that notion to rest. Other participants, though, made all the arguments against a drinking age of 18 and had us wondering whether it was indeed safe for them to be on a stage at all.
The British are wary of grass stains. Also, baseball is way more exciting than I've ever given it credit for. I wouldn't characterize myself as a massive baseball fan, but seeing my first cricket match has given me a new respect for our American pastime. The match we went to was a test match between South Africa and New Zealand, meaning it lasted for five days, both teams wore all white (instead of their team uniforms), and the pace is incredibly slow. We went only to the opening day. It was an incredibly pleasant morning spent picnicking on the lawn and watching children and adults alike get their faces painted and practice their own cricket skills on the sidelines. The team even took breaks for lunch and, later, afternoon tea. You can't make this stuff up. I'm expecting the South Africa v. Australia rugby match I'm attending this Saturday to have a much different vibe...
Kindness will always be noticed. I've discovered that my mid-western traits are ingrained, and I can't pass by someone without at least a quick smile and acknowledgment. Apparently, that's not so common here. After several weeks of greeting the same security guard with a "good morning" on my way to the gym, he stopped me. "You greet me every morning. Do you realize you're the only person who ever stops to speak to me?" I was slightly taken aback and suddenly very glad for my habit. We exchanged names and chatted for a bit, and I learned that people will notice if you take the time to notice each other.
I've also learned that it's important to be conscious of your setting and not appear overly friendly. In an area where people aren't accustomed to innocent daily greetings, smiling widely at someone and speaking to them every day can be perceived as flirting. It's important to know when to engage and when to walk past with your head down to avoid attracting unwanted attention.
(In some cultures) A woman's place is at home, brewing sorghum beer, topless. On perhaps the only rainy day I've had since moving here, a friend and I took shelter indoors at a tour of the SAB brewing factory. The tour itself was entertaining and took us through the history of beer brewing around the world, as well as methods employed in different African cultures. Perhaps the most memorable was a community in which a woman is well known for her ability (or lack there of) to brew sorghum beer. It is something she learns from her mother at a very young age and must learn to do well. Her hospitality is judged by the size of her brewery. A man may never brew it. I think it's safe to say that I didn't miss my calling in life.
American privilege is real, uncomfortable, and usable. Acknowledge it, be sympathetic about it, and then use it. Being constantly confronted with the privilege I've enjoyed as a result of being born into a white, middle-class, American family can be uncomfortable. I didn't earn any of the advantages that come from being born into a high-income country, a genuinely fantastic home environment, and having access to resources that some people can only dream of. I can, however, put that advantage to work. Feeling guilty about it helps no one. But if I acknowledge it openly and use the resources I've been given to better understand the world around me, my place within it, and potential positive impact I may have, it won't be wasted.
You must be at least 18 years old to sign up for a grocery-store loyalty card. I've moved across the world on my own, but the clerk at the grocery store still wanted to speak to my mother for her permission to open a loyalty program account in my own name. The shock on her face when she learned I'm 24 was real. As is my anticipation of this continuing to happen for the rest of my life.
Never, ever forget to pray.
Regardless of how many Nelson Mandela books you read, people here will always know more about America than you know about South Africa. And they will already have formed an opinion about it. American culture is pervasive and marketed through every channel, from Hollywood, politics, and pop culture, to fast-food restaurants. Some of the stereotypes I've heard are quite hilarious. But some of the observations are also quite humbling in either their accuracy or misinformation. One South African was in disbelief that I'd want to leave the States, saying "But America is Heaven. Everyone knows that. We've seen it on TV." That leads to an interesting conversation about the very real challenges America faces, most poignantly with race and politics right now. Some impressions are also quite entertaining, such as the belief that everyone in America travels uphill on bus. Apparently there are a number of movies that feature public transportation in San Francisco...
No matter where you are in the world, You. Must. Vote.
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I'd apologize for the length of this post, but I expect those of you who actually made it this far appreciated the distraction from the work you're supposed to be doing. I've got some exciting things coming up - my first rugby game, a PiAf Fellows' retreat to Lesotho, an HIV prevention conference in Chicago, and my brother's wedding (!!) - and I look forward to keeping you all in the loop.
Here's to hoping I have fewer embarrassing stories to recount in the future...