Hostel Living

I have been staying in a hostel in downtown Cape Town since my arrival.  It’s called the Penthouse on Long st. and I am staying in a room with 15 other people.  It’s actually a great situation because I meet new people so easily.  People here are mostly Australian or English.  I don’t know if you are all aware of this, but our American accent is so boring.  Sometimes I totally zone out the content of what my new friends are saying just to devote my full attention to their accents and how amazing they are.  I don’t think they notice because I am pretty good at looking like I am paying attention; it must be my extensive training in therapy.  It seems like people are visiting Cape Town / Africa for one of three reasons:

 

1. To save Africa – Because Africa is helpless and can certainly be saved, especially by foreigners.
2. To “Do” Africa – Because Africa is cool and cool places must be visited at a neurotic pace, like a hot dog eating contest.  If I don’t cage swim with sharks, climb table mountain, bungee jump, see African penguins, and take a winery tour in these two days I have in Cape Town, I am going to be miserable the rest of my life!
3. To study in Africa – Because maybe I can get college credit, while doing a little number 1 and a lot of number 2.

 

I’d like to think that I am not squarely in any of these categories.  Rather than “doing” Africa, I’d like Africa to “do” me.  I am trying to think of a joke to attach to this sexual reference, but I think I’ll just leave that one up to your creative imaginations.  I’m just trying to breathe in Africa, see what it smells like, and let Her move me.  So far, I have been moved to attend to my logistical concerns: set up a bank account, figure out how to transfer money cost effectively, figure out which car I am going to buy (more on that soon), and try not to get dead.  All of these things have been going very well.  However, I have been losing the battle against jet-lag.  Actually, I haven’t just been losing, I have been getting owned.  Until 2 nights ago, I haven’t been able to sleep for longer than 3.5 hours at a time.  Two nights ago, I slept for 13 hours.  Last night, I slept 0 hours.  I feel like I am wrestling Hulk Hogan (in his prime).  Naturally, I would be inclined to give him the old-fashioned eye poke followed by a flying elbow drop off the top rope.  Instead, I find myself in a headlock, pressed up against Hulk’s sweaty man breast.  It’s not a good situation.

Wittle Stowies

Did you know that when there is a car crash in Dubai that leaves blood on the street, they will block off the section until the street is fully washed to prevent cars from driving over the spilt blood?  I was informed of this by a cab driver, who justified these protocols by saying, “It’s because we are human here.”   I wasn’t quite sure how to take that comment.  Was it the result or his poor English, a comment about how other people are less “human,” or something else?  I still tipped.

 

While waiting at the airport in Dubai, I engaged in conversation with this man who was from Baghdad.  I don’t think I have ever spoken with anyone from Baghdad before.  He was so nice to me.  For some reason this was surprising.  Wouldn’t he hold at least some resentment towards my country and perhaps me by extension?  I couldn’t detect either one.  Not only did we talk for about 1 hour, but a few minutes after I left our conversation, I was walking towards my departure gate and I hear someone yell my name behind me.  I see him running down the crowded terminal holding my cell phone in his hand.  “You might need this” he said.  All I could do was touch my heart in gratitude and smile.  He understood.

 

When I was about to arrive in Cape Town, I was talking with a local and inquired about buying a car.  He explained, “Just don’t buy a car from a black guy.”  This comment just made me stop.  I was speechless, a phenomenon that occurs at about the same frequency as I change residences.  Finally, a real, live racist Afrikaaner.  I have found the type of person where if all people of this variety were just removed from society, things would function a lot more peacefully.  The cities would be safer, black people would like white people, white people would like black people…you know, peace.   So, like a good white person, I decided to intervene.  Minorities can’t be the only people standing up for their rights, reminding the majority of their rank and privileges.  It’s a responsibility, a civic duty.  I could talk about that topic for a long time.  So, to ease my way back into the conversation I asked, “Have you had bad experiences with that?”  He replied, “Well, you see my wife is black and she would never buy a car from a black guy.”  WHAT???  Did I hear him correctly?  I feel like I just got splashed with ice cold Reality Check Gatorade as I see my quarterback fumble the snap with one second remaining.  How do you explain that?  My natural tendency towards dilettantism and verbosity would like to attempt to tackle this monster, but this one just ran me over.  I have a lot to learn.  

Paradox

So, this is my first official blog.  Ever.  Actually, I don’t think I have written something down for purposes other than recording information or attemping to look smart for an academic or vocational pursuit since High School.  To be honest, I wasn’t really sure how often I would want to spend any time on my computer writing while I am in South Africa.  Today however, I find myself awoken at 5:55am by a tune entiteled “entertainer,” courtesy of my new phone that decided to tout its digital song for reasons that transcend my logical mind.  “Why didn’t you go off yesterday when I needed you, you Blackberry imposter I acquired from Craigslist?  Why have you decided to cockadoodle in a room of 15 backpackers without my consent?  Aren’t you considered to be a SMART phone?  If so, there is a grave misunderstanding about who you really are.  You and my jet-lagged self are going to throw down, Cape Town style.”

 

So, I think I am going to be posting different stories and thoughts about my trip on this blog.  Is this already implied?  Damn, give me a break, I am new at this. For me, discussing my general experiences from Time’s high horse is not that interesting to write about, so I’m basically not going to do that unless I don’t have much time and I need to remind you, the reader (family, friend, blog enthusiast…) that I am alive.  Oh, and there might be a way for you all to add comments about my postings if you are inclined.  For now. the responsibility of learning how to do this lies with you.  My Internet is operating at approximately the speed of sloth and I am currently devoting all of its power to opening pictures of a house I might rent in Cape Town.

 

Do you think I should begin every paragraph with the word “so?”  Hmmmm…

 

So, I mentioned I was jet-lagged.  This may have something to do with the fact that I began my journey in Portland, flew to SFO, waited for 2.5 hours, flew for 16 hours over the north pole to Dubai, waited for 14 hours, and then flew to Cape Town, another 9 hours.  I slept for about 6 hours total during this time, and this is not the kind of sleep you write home about (or maybe it is because I just did.  HA.  I love you clever witticism).

 

So, flew on an airline called the Emirates and it was friggin’ sweet.  “Would you like an exit row?” Yes please.  “A warm towel sir?”  Yes please.  “Lamb kofta or other Mediterranean goodness?”  Yes please.  “Another mango juice?” Yes please.  I’ll just take one everything.  Perhaps the greatest thing that happened however is that I was talking with the flight attendants and in-flight neighbors about Dubai and was wondering what I should do there.  At the conclusion of the flight, the cabin hostess said, “I could show you around if you would like.”  Yes please.  After departing I went all over Dubai via taxi and train with her who was originally from Lebanon.  She talked about a lot of different things, but I want to focus on one part in particular.  I know this trip was going to provoke many questions regarding race and nationality, but I didn’t know that it would begin so soon.  To paraphrase the flight attendant, “The Indians and Pakistanis are the worst on flights.  Did you see that bathroom?  They are so dirty.  How can people live like that?”  Upon challenging these assertions, I was met with examples to provide support for these stereotypes, “Flights that go into Dubai that have these people on them are much dirtier than other flights.  I know, I clean the toilets.”

 

Hmmm…  That got me thinking about the ABC’s of racism.  I remember this pneumonic tool from college.  “A” for affect, or the feelings held about a particular race, gender, age...otherwise known as prejudice.  “B” for behavior, or the actions that one takes that are harmful to someone else based upon “A” and “C”.  “C” for cognition, or the beliefs / thinking patterns that are held about a particular race, gender…  I think it’s funny that I learned about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy in the same fashion.  I suppose the intent is that through analyzing and skillfully manipulating one’s feelings, thoughts, and actions one can become less “racist” and more psychologically balanced.

 

So, here’s a Lebanese woman, who gives me a justification based on personal experience for her prejudice against Indians and Pakistanes.  Is she making these conclusions based on faulty evidence?  Is what she says true?  Partially true?  If it is true or partially true, does that mean that there is some fact or tendency present in what she is saying? Does that mean that prejudice may be the child of truth?  Is she a truth teller?  But, prejudice is bad right?  She’s just an ignorant racist right?  Hmmm… this is not as easy as ABC, 123.

 

Who am I to be talking about this?  I am a white man from the United States.  You can’t get much higher on the social rank ladder than this folks.  This analogy implies that I have climbed to the top and know something about the previous rungs and my relationship to them.  WRONG!!!  Try, again.  I’m pretty sure it is the absolute opposite actually.  What is rule #1 when you are in a precariously high position?  Don’t look down.  You could get freaked out about what you see, lose your balance, and fall off the ladder to your certain doom.  It’s the same for the social rank ladder.  If I really look at the people with less rank than me, I could panic and die.  Talking about these issues in an analogical fashion is much easier for me.  The reality is that I am scared to admit how true this is for me.