Hannah's Reflection #3 on bungee jumping!

As everyone has probably heard already, over the weekend our entire group went bungee jumping from the highest commercial bungee jump in the world (http://www.faceadrenalin.com/). To be completely honest, bungee jumping was never something that I was exceptionally interested in doing. When the house decided that this was something they really wanted try, I thought to myself: “ok, why not”. After agreeing to participate in this activity, I decided to not think about what it would be like and most importantly, not to get nervous about it. This train of thought was similar to how I felt before coming to South Africa: it’s going to happen and it will be a new and extremely exciting experience and whatever happens will happen. I thought this way for number of reasons: to be practical, to keep myself calm and to not create unrealistic expectations that could not be met.

The last two nights before the event, however, I started to realize that I was actually going to be jumping, willingly, off of a huge bridge to be caught by nothing but an elastic cord. I woke up in the middle of the night before the morning of the jump and realized that standing on at the edge of a high platform was actually a recurring nightmare I had had many times before. I tried to ignore these fears as I got ready the next morning.

As we made our way to Bloukrans Bridge, and as the people on the bus got more and more nervous, I thought to myself, “should I be nervous too?” As I approached the bridge itself, reality set in and I realized exactly why my friends were so scared. Prior to seeing the bridge, my biggest fear was thinking about how I was going to convince myself to willing jump off without the secure feeling of being caught (because this action is something that completely goes against all common sense). After a few minutes of deep breathing and seeing that I was not the only person, nor the most nervous, I decided to not think about it as being scary or a challenge, but rather something new and thrilling.

After being weighed and harnessed up, we headed for the bridge. We had a quick instructional presentation and headed across the catwalk. We were instructed to not look down (because the catwalk was completely see-through) and I think that most of us heeded this sound advice. On the bridge, we were given our jump order. I was very comforted to find out that I was third (because 3 is my lucky number). I took this to be a sign that I was supposed to jump and that I would be safe doing it. The energy level on the bridge was extremely high. About 15 or 20 men jumped and danced around, as loud techno music played to pump us up.

Immediately, the first and second jumpers, Michelle and Ben, were sat down and outfitted for their jump. Watching Michelle disappear off of the bridge, truly made me lose my stomach and begin to feel uneasy. Watching her return, safely and ecstatically, however, gave me the confidence I needed.

As I was strapped up, I asked the instructor if I should just fall or try to jump. He looked at me with wide eyes and exclaimed, “There is no falling here! You jump!” I double checked the exact procedure (of pushing off the bridge with your toes) nevertheless, I still felt tense and apprehensive about doing everything correctly.
I was escorted to the edge of the bridge: probably the scariest part of the entire process. I glanced down the valley far below and before I knew it, the countdown began: 5..4..3..2..1 Bungee! And I jumped. The countdown and two men who were right behind me were what compelled me to jump (I was scared for what complications might occur if I were to freak out and not jump at the last minute).

The first few seconds were somewhat of a blur. I remember screaming involuntarily for the first few seconds of the free fall. The next thing I remember is dangling hundreds of feet above the ground, feeling extremely exhilarated. My legs slipped out a bit as I dangled in the valley. I flexed my feet while thinking of the “what ifs” (what if I slip out, what if this cord were to break, etc). I decided to dismiss these scary thoughts and breath deeply, focusing on the beauty around me. I savored the moment of freedom, independence and the incredible feeling of vitality. I had just made a huge jump- by myself and for myself, with a minimal amount of doubt or fear. I felt proud and very excited.

After about a minute, I thought to myself “I wonder where that man is who is supposed to come get me”. Immediately after this thought passed through my mind, I heard a man calling out my name. I struggled to look upwards, but all I could see was the bridge and bright sun. I felt such a rush was I was pulled into a sitting position and could process and enjoy what I had just done and how I had gotten through it safely. I looked below me at the incredible distance and beauty, realizing that I was no longer scared at all and how strange it felt to be suspended at such a height without any sense of fear.

I could have never expected or prepared for that jump. The way it made me feel was incredible and impossible to properly articulate. I have watched the DVD of my jump about 20 times already, every time wishing I could be back and do it again. I would defiantly recommend bungee jumping to anyone and everyone and the only advice I would give is: savor it and enjoy every second of it (because it doesn’t last very long)!

Dan's Reflection #3 on class mini excursion

I’ve never taken a vacation on a vacation. It’s a surprisingly enjoyable and refreshing feeling to step out of the routine, however terrific, and experience something ultimately novel and different. This is what all 16 of us did for our 9 hour drive to Plettenberg Bay. We were all nicely cramped in the ‘Quantum’ which held 14 comfortably. Yet, after some high tensions and lots of sweat we finally arrived at our destination late at night. Although we were all pooped from the drive, the stars immediately caught our attention. Even though Cape Town has a pretty darn lovely view of the stars, it was incomparable to the totally dark environment the Tub N’ Axe hostel had to offer. I think this was our first real opportunity to prove that we weren’t in Cape Town anymore but a different place entirely.

The next day began with a tasty yogurt, cereal, and fruit breakfast. We then suited up for our black water tubing and took pictures resembling GI Joes, Teletubbie’s, and gladiators with our wet suits, life preservers and big colorful bulky helmets on. We got on the river, which was exceptionally low due to the lack of rain, and walked and paddled our way through it. We stopped several times at spots to cliff dive and they all involved a careful climb up the rocks. The second jump was about 5 meters and this was where the first casualty happened. A knee on the rock caused Julie to be dragged away in the water but she was a trooper and continued on with an excellent battle wound. The third jump was the most intense. It was about 8 meters high and the only way to get to the small slippery ledge was to hug the side of the mountain while reaching for branches. I raced over and jumped off quickly and then got in line to go again. I waited near the end and helped Jill stretch over a ledge to get in position. After a lot of anxiety from Jill mixed with some confidence boosting talks from me, Jill finally went to jump. However, my strategy of telling her the ledge wasn’t slippery somewhat backfired when right as Jill went to jump she lost her footing and plummeted down sideways. After some good use of her helmet and a few gasps from me and the group, we were ready to continue on our way. Afterwards, we returned to the hostel and enjoyed the rest of the day either walking around or napping in the hammocks. I chose the latter.

(back row) Kevin, Faina, Rachel, Hannah, Emily A. Jordan, Julie, Michelle (middle) Jill, Emily G, Stephanie Y, Cassidy, Dan (front) Ben, Steph O, Chelsea

The next morning was the big bungee jumping day. There was quite a bit of tension in the van as we ventured over to the highest commercial bungee jump in the world. We all harnessed up and walked over via the cat walk. The cat walk is a narrow enclosed walkway directly below the bridge. The best part about it was the floor was made of wiring so the valley and dried river far below could be seen. After the first jump a few girls cried, but regardless of the jittery nerves we all accomplished jumping off the ledge and bungee jumping. I was overly confident and when it was my turn I readily got suited up and waited for the two men to scoop me up and hop me over to the ledge. I did a nice swan dive off but within those 3 seconds of complete weightlessness and free fall I have to admit that I became quite panic-stricken. It was a feeling I had always wanted to experience but was completely unready for. However, once the bungee kicked in it was smooth sailing. Despite my initial free fall reaction I would eagerly bungee again and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a rush or to get over their fears. It was a truly awesome experience.

After bungee jumping we squished back into the van and made our way to the city of Plettenberg. It was in Plett that I realized that there could be an even more laid back town than Cape Town and Muizenberg. Many of the girls planned on shopping but to their dismay the shops closed at 2 pm on a Saturday. This ruined my chance to finally get a well needed haircut but I quickly got over it. While everyone split up to either visit the elephants or relax at the beach, Jill, Chelsea, and I decided to wander about. We found a completely enclosed alcove that resembled the Little Mermaid according to Jill and Chelsea. Of course this resulted in some fancy mermaid pictures that I was more than willing to capture. However, the mood swept over me and afterwards I did a few merman poses on the rock. We continued to venture onwards and I became very fond of the town that resembled a section of Southern California. The fact that the town was primarily people from around the immediate area and not tourists made me feel like this was a pure bred South African moment but in a completely different realm than I have grown accustomed to. It’s obvious to believe that culture and lifestyles differ across a country. Yet, after fully partaking in this certainty it makes me a lot more aware of the multitude of aspects that make up South Africa as a whole. To finish quickly, we enjoyed breakfast the next day in a hotel restaurant and followed it up with some intense sea kayaking. Seven of us ventured into the Indian Ocean despite the rough waves. However, I once again jinxed the scenario when I jokingly said to my co-kayaker that this would be bad for someone who gets sea sick. Of course, 25 minutes later, my partner was sea sick. Luckily I’ve never minded a bit of vomit so I just continued to paddle and munch on my apple. It was a good day and a grand trip!

Stephanie Y's Reflection #3 on Domestic Violence Shelters

The Cape Town hourglass continues to drain, and as it does, I find myself feeling less and less like my old self – an expected occurrence, but I hope an interesting topic nonetheless. One of the key contributors in this shift has come from my experience studying and interning abroad as it has given me the chance to leave a monotonous life at home to explore and an entirely new way of living.

One aspect of this study abroad program in particular is the internship experience. I have been fortunate enough to intern for a short period of time at two domestic violence shelters, first Saartjie Baartman and now Place of Hope. Each woman and child has separate needs and by working at both I have seen various ways of operating and approaching similar issues. I intend to describe these methods in hopes of finding commonalities; I do not mean to determine which center is better but rather what role the shelters play in the lives of the women and children.

The women who stay at the Saartjie Baartman Center for the first time are allowed to stay for three months. At the end of the three months they can apply for transitional housing—if it is available—at the center or they must find some where else to go. The transitional housing allows the women who have stayed at the shelter for three months to continue to rent out an apartment for a small monthly fee. I think that the transitional housing is a great aspect of Saartjie Baartman; however the number of apartments is limited so only a few women can live there. About two weeks into my internship at SB I sat in on a house meeting. Some of the women expressed their concerns about the three month time period. Those who spoke up felt that it was not enough time to search for a job and a safer place to go. One woman in particular, openly admitted that she would go home to the source of the abuse. This is a major problem for the women at Saartjie Baartman, however different places have different time limits. The residency policy at Place of Hope for example, allows the woman and her children (if applicable) to stay up to six months, which can be negotiated as there are women who have been at the shelter for longer.

Two other topics discussed at the Saartjie Baartman house meeting were empowerment and employment. Many women in the shelter left situations where they were provided for financially so when they go in search of a job they feel overwhelmed. The center has a number of programs that are meant to address these issues including: card-making, jewelry-making, pottery, and soap-carving. Each project gives the women a source of income, which can also serve as a source of empowerment. Unfortunately, at the time, the women did not feel that these projects were enough, which is why there are also counselors and social workers on duty working with the women to find alternative empowerment options. The counselors are there to give the residents a safe, private space to talk one-on-one. Ideally, Place of Hope would have a similar setup, however it has been difficult to make ends meet.


At the moment, POH is understaffed and can use all of the help they can get, which makes me feel that I’m contributing immensely. If someone doesn’t show up, everyone else has to make up for them where they can. Some days I’m in the crèche exercising my subpar babysitting skills while other days I’m typing notes for the social worker. From my days working in the crèche I have learned that I’m good with the children to the extent that I can play games, pick them up and make them laugh. However, when it comes to actual caretaking, I’m not exactly the best candidate as I cannot change diapers properly and I have little to no backbone when it comes to being an authoritative figure. At the end of the day, tasks need to be completed so the best I can do is lighten someone else’s load.

Rachel's Reflection #3 on "The Human Factor"

It started as a normal Wednesday night. Nothing out of the ordinary happened: come home from Christel House, eat, take a short nap, procrastinate, do homework, and talk to Ben our RA. As usual a few of us were hungry enough that we did not want to make our own food, so we decided to turn to our good friend Mr. Delivery. We decided to order some food, and Ben and Steph Yacenda were craving chocolate cake and decided to order some from Cocoa WaWa (it is a very delicious restaurant that also has real iced coffee, which is a staple in the house).

It was no more then five minutes after Ben placed our order when he received a call from Mr. Delivery saying that there was no more chocolate cake left at Cocoa WaWa. Ben and Steph were devastated. They were counting on some delightful chocolate cake to satisfy their sweet tooth. Another alternative needed to be found quickly, or the house would erupt into sugar-craving madness. The decision was promptly made that a magnum bar run was necessary right after we finished our food. Magnum bar’s are ice cream bars from heaven, and can solve any issue that you are having as soon as the chocolate touches your tongue.

So, we finished our food and Ben, Steph, Julie, Jordan, and myself set off to find magnum bars. We quickly found that we could not drive down the road necessary to acquire said magnum bars, due to a police block. Naturally, we decided to find a second route to the gas station that had our ice cream since a silly little police block could not stop our urge to stuff ice cream in our mouths. We turned down a side street and found yet another block. Okay, we need to find out what is so important that it is interfering with our mission. We asked a woman who was standing next to the block why we could not go down the street. She informed us there was a movie being shot. To those who do not know, Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon are starring in a movie called “The Human Factor,” with director Clint Eastwood. The movie is about Nelson Mandela’s first term as President and the 1995 Rugby World Cup. As you would expect, after finding out there was a movie being shot down the street, all five of our mouths dropped and demanded to know who was in it. The woman informed us that it was the Morgan Freeman movie. OH MY GOD. The car immediately exploded in squeals of joy. Immediately forgetting about magnum bars we decided that we were going to try to sneak up to the set and watch. Ben parked his car down the road and we walked, very stealthily, to the street – not realizing that we were still very far from the actual set and were whispering for no reason. We then proceed to walk up the street to the set, giggling and excited the whole way.

We get up to the street corner where the fancy equipment was set up, joined the crowd that has formed and saw Clint Eastwood! Clint Eastwood was 20 feet away from the five of us, and we all struggled to control our star-struck screams, with the exception of Julie, who could not even form sentences, only names of movies Clint Eastwood had been in.

Ben, Julie, Steph Y, Rachel, Jordan reenact their sighting of Morgan Freeman & Clint Eastwood

Somehow we ended up at a corner store and fulfilled our original plan, eating magnum bars. We bought the bars and walked back to the set and waited for about 15 minutes and then Morgan Freeman rolled up in a Mercedes-Benz, and swaggered to the set. Mo-Free, as we affectionately nicknamed him, did not do much unfortunately. There was a lot of standing around and make-up applying. Finally, the camera was rolling, and they filmed a scene. Granted it was only Mo-Free walking down the street, all of us were so excited to see such amazing actors.

The irony of the story for me is that during my time here I have been asked many times if I knew or seen any famous people and my answer was always, “no.” So, the first time I’ve ever seen an American celebrity is outside of the United States and in South Africa. What are the chances of that happening? It was an ordinary day that turned into an extraordinary night.

Last night was special not only because we got to see huge movie stars that I would never be able to see again in my life, but also because of the movie they were shooting. The movie is about two things that I love and are dear to my heart: rugby and South Africa. The movie is trying to show how Nelson Mandela used the rugby world cup to unite a previously divided country. South Africa, having just recently ended the apartheid era needed a common goal to bring the people together and I like the idea that Mandela used rugby to do so (especially because I love the sport). There are many examples of sports teams uniting a country, take the Olympics for example, so why not use rugby to help a struggling country.

I am very excited to see how this movie turns out and if it can live up to the expectations I have placed on it. Also, I am excited to see if the scene that I saw being shot will actually be in the movie, so I can tell everyone I know that I was there when it happened.

Cassidy's Reflection #3 on Etafeni Day Care Center

As many of you probably know by now, part of our coursework is taking on an activist project. Since we arrived in January I have been contemplating what type of project I wanted to partake in. At first I was going to volunteer at TEARS with some of the other people from our group, but that didn’t work out. So I began to think what else I was interested in doing. I decided that I wanted to focus on children since my internship does not allow for any interaction with them. There were a few orphanages that I discovered but soon realized would be difficult to get to by public transportation. Finally, I found a day care center for children with HIV/AIDS called Etafeni located in Nyanga. I was not sure how to get to this location either, but decided to call and see what would be feasible. I spoke to a nice man who told me that, at least for the first day, he would be able to pick me up in Rondebosch and bring me to the day care. I was so excited. I would finally be able to work with children and donate some of my free time to a good cause. I told my roommate Jill about it, knowing that she had yet to find a place, and she jumped on the chance, for she too was not working with children on a regular basis. Last Friday was the day. We eagerly waited on the sidewalk ready to see what was awaiting us.

Once we arrived we were given a tour of the facilities and told about the various programs that they are involved in. The building was almost majestic compared to its surroundings. It was amazing to see and hear about the great things they were doing in the township. They were actually making a difference in their community and the lives of those who lived there. I was already feeling good about being a part of this organization and I hadn’t even done anything. After meeting some of the faculty we were led to the actual day care where the children were. As we walked closer to the building we could hear little voices singing. Once we entered the room the children turned to look at us but continued their harmonious activity. The kids were between two years old and five years old. They were at the stage where all they want is attention. It was play time and they all wanted to give me their toys. One boy tried to teach me a game similar to our bubblegum game. He, like the rest of the kids, spoke Xhosa and was attempting to teach me how to properly say the words. I was failing miserably and all the kids laughed. I am pretty sure that if I could have understood what they were saying I would have heard myself being made fun of. This made me laugh with them. How ridiculous I must have looked. But it was fun being accepted so wholeheartedly.

Now it was time for recess. One little girl wanted to be carried outside so I picked her up. Next thing I knew I was surrounded by ten other children who all wanted to be carried. I picked up another little girl who was closest to me and proceeded to walk outside. For anyone who has never carried two children at once, let me tell you, it’s not easy. Once outside I was relieved to have my arms back now that everyone wanted to play. Most of the girls had hula-hoops and were showing me all of their moves. Someone would say “Sista” to get my attention and right as I would look over someone else would be calling me. Soon it became a chorus of “Sistas”. After standing for a while Jill and I decided to sit on some steps to watch the children play. Before our bodies even touched the cement we were bombarded by little girls wanting to sit on our laps. Those who didn’t make it in time to get a good seat resorted to playing with our hair. There must have been at least five people playing with my hair at one time. Often they would poke me in the eye while trying to grab every strand. I found it very interesting how enthralled they were. Every now and then Jill and I would glance at each other to make sure we were still breathing. Even though this may sound terrible it was actually a lot of fun. The children found such strange things fun and it was quite heartening to see their little faces light up.

It was now time for lunch and it was amazing the transformation from playtime to lunch time. As soon as they walked through the door they were silent and sat down in their respective seats. They quietly ate the sandwiches and juice provided to them seeming content the whole time. I could tell they were winding down and sure enough it was nap time. Since the children left after their naps we were told that we could leave whenever we wanted. We found the man that had given us a ride there to inquire whether or not he would be able to give us a ride home. Graciously he ensured us that it would be no problem. We climbed into his white Toyota and heading back towards Rondebosch. We thanked him and began to walk home, talking about the children the entire way. We were both amazed how loving and accepting they were of new people. There was no judging, no fear, only happiness. It was a truly great experience that I look forward to repeating as the weeks go on.

Jordan's Reflection #3 on an upcoming excursion

So today will mark the start of our first group vacation. All 15 of us (plus ben!!) are going to Plettenberg Bay for a long weekend. Apparently this is a very popular trip with study abroad groups, and we are no different.

We are leaving in the afternoon with our absolute favorite driver in the world, Parks. We are also bringing along our absolute favorite RA, Ben.

We are going to packing the van in the minibus style, and by that I mean that we are putting two more people in the van than there are seats. Its a 5 hour ride, so we should all have gotten to know each other pretty well by the time we get there. (Better than we even do now, which is saying something)

We are going to spend the first two nights in a hostel in Tsitsikamma National Park which is run by South Africa National Parks, and NOT CapeNature, for all of those who know where I work. 

We are going to be waking up very early tomorrow so that we can go “black water tubing” . None of us know exactly what the entails, but, we are told that its a good time. As it would appear, we have to wear helmets. Judging by the fact that safety requirements here are far less stringent than in the US, this leads me to believe that things are getting serious, haha.

I would also like to officially take this moment to thank my parents for the waterproof camera I got for christmas. I know we all bought it because im just clumsy, but, it's officially being useful in the context that it was built for.

Once we are done tubing we are going to either...all go bungee jumping or just have a bit of a free day in the park. Don't take that to mean that we aren't all going off the bridge, because all 15 of us (plus ben!) agreed that we are going to do it. So if anyone hears from their person here that they didnt do it... it means they chickened out on the bridge.

Yes, I am just saying that in hopes that no one will chicken out for fear of their family. Yes, I am also saying that as encouragement for myself to jump off the stupid bridge.

If we don't have time to go Friday, we are all going to just Saturday off of the Bloukrans Bridge, which, for those who don't know... is recognized as the World's Highest Commercial Bungy Jump, according to Guinness I believe. There are pictures at the website, here (http://www.faceadrenalin.com/), but I haven't seen them, since I am refusing to know anything about it until afterwards. All I know is that there have been zero deaths and zero injuries there.

The rest of Saturday, for those of us who are still capable of doing anything after jumping off a bridge is a free day at the bay. There are lots of things to do, like ride elephants, go to a monkey park, a bird park, as well as a few other things. So we shall see what happens. That night we are changing hostels and we are going to say in downtown. When I booked the hostel I was told it was close to the nightlife, but there are suspicions that nightlife in Plett might be something like... night fishing. Once again, playing it by ear.

Sunday we leave Plett early in the morning so that we can go visit Cango Caves, we are all signed up for the “adventure tour” and it will ideally be an adventure. Then we have another 5 or so hour ride home, and then back to our real lives and internships.

So everyone at home can just read this, and every morning while you are shoveling snow, you can think about us, and know exactly what we are up to. As always, we all wish that all of you were here to share this with us, except of course when we are too busy having adventures and we forget for a little bit.  

Emily G's Reflection #3 on white privilege

Julie, Hannah, Ben, Emily G, Steph O

In Marita’s class we have had many lively and spirited (to put it nicely) discussions and debates about issues such as race and gender. One of the topics we inevitably end up coming back to is the idea of equality and what this word really means. We had to read an article at the beginning of the semester titled “White Privilege” by Peggy McIntosh in which she lists a variety of privileges she has in the United States because she is Caucasian. Examples included being able to use cash, checks and credit cards counting on the fact that her skin color would not work against her financial reliability, or how she is never asked to speak on behalf of her entire race. I know I come from a very privileged background and rarely have been discriminated against for my race, while many others struggle with this on a daily basis. In my response to the article, I questioned how we could help people who are disadvantaged, while still keeping others relatively happy. Then it dawned on me that equality not only involves helping aid the disadvantaged, but it also simultaneously requires taking away from the advantaged.

I have always been interested and involved in community service and helping others, whether it is helping build houses with Habitat for Humanity, tutoring middle school students or interning here in Khayelitsha. However, I am eager to help as long as I can eventually go home to the life I am used to, a life that includes attending college, having access to a car, and going on family vacations. So many privileged Americans are content writing a check for charity or volunteering a few times a month at a local non-profit organization. However, this is not nearly enough if we are trying to work towards a world of equality. In the capitalist society we live in, consumerism and the importance of money is so deeply embedded in the mentality and values of Americans that we tend to forget that money isn’t everything. There is no doubt that living comfortably with three meals a day and a means of transportation is something we all want, and I am not proposing we all become communists. However, Americans are so attached to surrounding themselves with televisions, nice clothing and other material items, that they often too strongly correlate living a live of luxury and comfort with success. Spending time in the township where most of my coworkers live in shacks, is a blatant reminder that even if we give a lot more to help others, we will still be at a huge advantage. Being successful involves more than material items; it involves the idea of ubuntu and that one person’s suffering is everyone’s suffering and everyone is inextricably connected because we all are a unique part of a community. Therefore, by enjoying one’s own advantages and ignoring those who are suffering, this person is hurting the whole community.

Khayelitsha

In order to overcome the inequality in places like Khayelitsha or Hartford, we must take a more active and assertive approach to fighting poverty and discrimination. I thought about the example of affirmative action, and how I support the policy, but know I would be angry if someone I considered “less qualified” got into a school or got a job instead of me because of their race. Then, I thought about who even determines which people are most “qualified” and how the person who theoretically got the position instead of me very likely had nowhere near the amount of resources during their education or the money to participate in other experiences that would enhance their application or résumé, as a white kid like me who attended private school.

This is just one example of how people of privilege must give up more of their advantages and feelings of entitlement in order to work towards equality. My mom is a minister and during one of her sermons, she recalled that when she and my dad were younger, they were trying to decide how much money to give as an offering to the church and other charities. They settled on giving an amount that they would noticeably miss. This idea of giving really resonates with me in a broader sense, whether it be with money, labor or time; we should give enough that we will miss the time or money we did not get to enjoy or spend on ourselves. This way we know that we are making a valid effort to sacrifice some of our advantages to help those struggling. I am aware we live in a world dominated by corporations driven by a capitalist system where the economic goal of the rich is to get richer which leaves the poor poorer. As long as there is capitalism, there will be “haves” and “have-nots” and total equality is an idealist and unrealistic idea. However, if we can’t achieve this, then we can do our best to work towards the goal of closing the gap and improving overall equality.

“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” – Winston Churchhill
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Faina's Reflection #3 Assemblies at Thandokhulu High

Thandokhulu High School runs on a seven day rotating schedule of classes. Every first day there is an assembly first period. When I picture an assembly I picture a mass of students sitting, facing a stage at front, some talking, some daydreaming. I also picture teachers coming out formally to the microphone, making announcements which feel completely irrelevant and uninteresting to the blank, unmoved faces staring up at them. This is because this is how I remember my assemblies.

At Thandokhulu, this process is very different. At 8am the learners, knowing there is an assembly, stream to the back of the school to a cement area the size of a basketball court. They line up by grade, with the youngest Grade 8 learners to the very left: closest to the school. The learners are expected to take orders from the teachers, which are their elders, and obey them with respect. For this reason there are learners carrying the microphone stand to its place, and adjusting the large speakers to face the crowd.

During this time a teacher stands in the front and leads the learners in song and dance. All she has to do is sing the first four words of a song and instantly, the learners join. It is interesting to see teachers and learners dancing to songs they all know. It was often my image when I was in high school of the teachers as a different species coming from a different generation, liking different music and television, living very separate from us. At Thandokhulu the teachers appear more as parents. They live in the same neighborhoods as the learners, travel the same way to school, listen to the same songs, and buy the same fat cakes (maguena), boiled eggs (xhanda), and fruit from the back of the school.

The music is lively gospel and teachers and learners dance and sing excitedly and enthusiastically. That is, the first half of the learners do. For some reason this consists mostly of girls. The entire first row, save 3-4 learners, are all female. Most of the gentlemen stand in the back; many of them not singing, not moving, not swaying side to side as the people in front do. This section of learners who stand in the back – mostly boys mixed with some girls – look forward blankly, lips unmoved, faces untouched and blank. Their minds must be elsewhere I imagine: thinking about things outside of Thandokhulu, telling themselves that to dance and sing is not for them. I see in some faces that they want to, but shy away because the learners around them do not dance, do not sing, so they stand silently – maybe dancing and singing in their minds.

Soon the speakers are working and music blasts out and the learners dance even more passionately to the tune of their favorite songs. Some wail their hands in the air, some do a two-step with their feet, and many are smiling and moving about as are the teachers. It is extremely uplifting to see them so overjoyed and enthused at school – something I can never imagine seeing in a high school in the United States.


When it is time a speaker comes out to begin – today it was a female teacher who led the learners in prayer. Religion in school is very much practiced and encouraged among the learners. A verse from the bible is read and learners and teachers bow their heads and close their eyes. The day was cool and misty, with light rain drops falling slowly on us. Learners who were nominated for class positions such as president were also shown recognition, and learners cheered and yelled loudly as each name was called to stand in the front.

The principal also came out to speak and many of the topics were real and directly relatable for the students. He began by saying that “we love you. We love all of you, and that is why we might be strict at times. But it because we love you.” He talked about picking the right sort of people to spend your time with and that when those around you engage in high risk behavior that “you are… at risk.” A common way of speaking seems to be to pause before you say something important, as if you are waiting for others to finish your sentence. He also talked about risky behavior in terms of sexual activity and that “although I would like to imagine that all of you will wait until you are 21 to be sexually active and that all of you are innocent I know that this is not true. I cannot think of any advantages of having sex as a teenager. I cannot think of one advantage, but I can think of dozens of…disadvantages.” He talked about how he did not want to see any teenage pregnancies this year, especially because there were 8 last year.


Around this time, for other assemblies I have seen, there would be a group of learners in the field collecting trash. This is the consequence for late comers. Today, however this did not happen because there was a special performance from an anti-gambling organization. Two people did a lively skit on the dangers of gambling. Their show had costumes showing different situations where gambling may become a problem such as throwing dice and thinking it is not chance, and gambling on sports games and slot machines. After this was finished the learners scurried off to their classes at 9:20am.

Steph O Reflection #3 on Racism

Racism is such an interesting topic, especially in South Africa. Many of class topics have focused on the history of apartheid and racism in South Africa, and it always amazes me how we can study history and yet somehow neglect to see that history is repeating itself at this very moment. Because race segregation was so blatant in South Africa, it is easy to critique it and question how a society could ever get to that point. But, my question is how we can fail to see that, more or less, the same thing is happening right now in the United States, and all over the world.

Here, we have learned about the segregation that takes place in education, and how that perpetuates one’s socioeconomic status and makes it incredibly difficult to get out of the impoverished conditions in which they grew up. Recently, we were able to talk to a documentary filmmaker who made the film Testing Hope, which is about education in South Africa. The film focuses on a few students who live in a township and struggle to do well in school with such limited resources, support, and time to study. In the film, one of the students talks about how she hasn’t had anything to eat since the previous day, and I have to wonder how anyone can complete any tasks or maintain any real sort of motivation when there is not even food to eat.

In one of our last classes, we also watched a movie that talked about one theory of how racism began (Race the Power of an Illusion, part II), and also one about how, in the United States, whites and blacks are treated differently and unequally in identical situations. It was so crazy to me to hear how we have, throughout history, used science to justify everything we do. It is so clear how this still happens today, but we are just unaware of it. We talk about how blatant racism was in the past, how blatant it is in other areas of the world, but never how blatant it is in the United States.

Segregation within the educational sector in the United States is almost identical to that in South Africa. People who live in impoverished areas have ridiculously poor opportunities in their schools, next to no resources, and are pretty much disregarded in the rest of society. In the United States, we always talk about how if one just works hard enough, we can create our own opportunities and those who continue to live in poverty do so because of their own lack of motivation. This concept infuriates me, and I just do not understand how people can still believe this, when it is so clear that the reason there is such a gap in income and socioeconomic status is because of the systematic inequality that exists, and that it is in no way a reflection of the individual.

For the most part, people who are rich are rich because they were offered opportunities while they were growing up, had a good education, and had the opportunity to go to college. They also came from a family that already had money, and as we all know, people ra rely drop below their original class status. Spending time in South Africa has just made me more aware of how easy it is to critique racism in other areas of the world, and how hesitant we are to see it in our own country.

Kevin's Reflection #3 on Porcupines

I’ve been on two porcupine relocation trips with Cape Nature so far. The way it works is that when a porcupine decides it likes to hang around a person’s yard or a community space then the residents can decide to call Cape Nature to move the porcupine to a nearby nature reserve for free. Cape Nature brings this cage structure to the area and lays it there overnight. 

Usually by morning the next day a porcupine will be in the cage because they are curious and love to explore. What now? Now the porcupine is relocated to a nearby nature reserve space where consensus has allowed is to roam about. The two experiences have put the key into my creativity ignition which incited a poem to flow into the here and now. I call it

“Holler back Porcupine.”

Porcupine you are a rebel without a case,
Crawling through sewers and chillin’ under storm drains,
You go foraging while your baby stays safe,
Watch out for everything, especially the rain.

Ring Ring. Cape Nature receives a call,
Porcupines are around us, oh dear they must go,
Please do something, they are so prickly,
Porcupines are not creatures that we can go and hug.

A trap is set; just watch your step,
You curious creature, explore your way into this,
The community has spoken, you are not welcome,
Leave everything behind; your time to go has come.

Porcupine here is your new home,
We call it a nature reserve; it’s where we want you to stay,
Run now porcupine, stay away from people,
Run now porcupine, you’re on your own.

A porcupine will roam, the lone creatures they are,
They cannot be hugged so they will go far,
Through fences, through drains, their path always goes
Where they will be relocated, nobody knows

Porcupine did you leave a family behind?
Porcupine will you have food to eat?
Porcupine will the man-made fences hold you in?
Porcupine, Porcupine what is your consensus?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Julie's Reflection #3 on being a teacher

I've said it before and I will say it again: There's never a dull moment at Thandokhulu. From the very first day of my internship until now, my days have been occupied to capacity with the work my fellow colleagues have been kind enough to "loan" me during my short stay at the school. I grade papers, make photocopies, proctor exams, create assignments for class, and generally assist students (and Ms. Bopi) in class in any way I can. Most importantly (to me, anyway), when given the opportunity, I've attempted, to the best of my ability, to teach the learners what I know (and love) about literature and poetry.

As of late, I've given a lot of thought (as opposed to just toying with the idea as I've done in the past) of applying for a post with Teach For America after I graduate from UConn. The frighteningly inconsistent nature of the job market is incentive enough to pursue a position teaching for this highly regarded NPO, but this fact is hardly my only motivation for applying (nor should it be). If accepted to the program, I would get the opportunity to share my academic passions with my students on a daily basis and have it qualify as work. Sounds great, doesn't it? I thought so, too.

And yet, in thinking on my experiences with teaching at Thandokhulu, I've forced me to ask myself if I'm really prepared for weathering the high highs and low lows of teaching in an underprivileged school. On one hand, you get to see the progress each student makes, the positive impact your efforts have on their lives, and the look on their eyes when they really "get" what you're trying to teach them. At the same time, you have to be prepared to face how poorly organized and under-resourced the school is, how hopelessly ill-suited some of your co-workers are for their jobs, how much potential the learners have that they just don't use, and how much you could accomplish if you had just a bit more time to work, more energy to expend, more money to spend, more…

In reading some of the experiences of former TFA teachers (and in speaking very briefly to Testing Hope filmmaker Molly Blank about her own experiences with TFA), I've found that my conflicting emotions about teaching at Thandokhulu were echoed in the their stories and advice. In these personal accounts of their experiences, I found that there wasn't a single person who claimed that their stint with education wasn't rewarding, at least some of the time. And yet, a common thread in the posts I've come across was the plea to potential applicants not to apply if they weren't in it for the kids. Having opened this Pandora's Box, I continued to read, and came across this higly discouraging little gem of advice:

"The chances are good that, if you become a TFA teacher (or any teacher, really), most of your students will have little to no initial interest in what you teach. They will not bring to the study of lipids or the analysis of novels the same enthusiasm and energy that you do. Many of them may regard school as a prison, your classroom as a cell, and you as their warden. Your lessons? Just more instruments of oppression. Some students will take pleasure in deriding the subjects that you obviously find most interesting… If you love a particular subject above all else and don’t care as much about kids, consider grad school. Reconsider TFA. "

Without ever having participated in TFA, I can honestly say I know exactly how the person who wrote this feels. There is nothing like the feeling of sharing something you love with students and having them openly mock you for your passion. There is nothing worse than having to wake a student who fell asleep when you were flailing around in front of the classroom in an effort to convince them of the importance of themes in poetry or iambic pentameter. And there is nothing worse than coming to the cold, cruel realization that maybe, just maybe, what you're teaching them isn't important in the grand scheme of things. You start to wonder whether interpreting Sonnet 104 is necessary when the kids you're teaching go home to an impoverished township and deal with things that you've never had to even contemplate, let alone deal with on a regular basis. When the warm, cozy blanket of Academia (the same one that allows all of us English majors to aspire to having careers that are rewarding AND pay well waiting for us when we graduate) gets yanked away, it isn't any fun, let me tell you. The trials and travails of teaching could turn even the most optimistic, energetic human being on the Earth into an eternally miserable pessimist. Anyone who really knows me will tell you I've been cynical since birth, so it's not much of a stretch for me to imagine me reaching the figurative end of my teaching rope in frustration.

There is still time to decide whether or not I could "hack it" for two years at TFA, and I still have a lot of soul searching left to do before I'll know if I'd be doing it for all the right reasons, but the short time I've spent at Thandokhulu has taught me a great deal about myself and my capacity for the teaching profession. For every reason I have to feel frustrated, there are at least one hundred instances where I know I've made a difference here. It is those times that I rely on for strength when I feel discouraged or frustrated at Thandokhulu. There are reasons to hope that what I'm doing will make a difference someday, and at this moment in my life, that is what is important.

The time I have left here will continue to try my teaching endurance in ways I never imagined it could be stretched, pulled, prodded, and otherwise abused. I've always had a grudging respect for those unshakably tough veteran teachers I had in school, but in my time student-teaching, that respect has evolved into something akin to hero worship. On that vein, I'd like to take the opportunity to figuratively bow down to every great teacher I've ever had. If you've managed to stand the test of time in the field of education, and more importantly, to inspire your students to want to learn while you were at it, you are worth your weight in pedagogic gold, and I salute you. As a pseudo-member of your ranks, I'm begging you: teach me!

Emily A's Reflection #3 on Thandokhulu Secondary School

During the apartheid regime people were separated on the basis of race and were not permitted to work or venture into other areas without a permit. This meant that the schools were also completely segregated. At one point there were only three schools in Cape Town despite the fact that the majority of the population was completely uneducated and more than 50% of people were unemployed. Therefore, there was overall no development for impoverished people.

In the 80s the government had a sudden zeal to build more schools. At the same time, there was an influx of people toward white areas as there was more money to be made. The white areas were typically developed and close to the city. This created a problem as there were consistently far more children than the government could keep up with and the government could not keep up. This once again put poorer students, families, and communities at an even greater disadvantage.

Thandokhulu was founded in 1990 in Khayelitsha but had no building to operate out of despite the government promising to construct a schoolhouse for it. In the mean time, Thandokhulu shared facilities with another school operating in Khayelitsha. The most orderly way to run both schools on the same grounds was through a platoon system in which the eight to twelve year olds went to school in the morning while the older students attended class in the afternoon to early evening. This system did not work partly because it took away learning time from all students as well as the inconvenient system of keeping children as late as five P.M. The classes were also completely full with a terrible ratio of students to teachers.

As conditions worsened, the government continued refusing to build another schoolhouse despite constant pestering by the community. Meanwhile, there were four well known white schools on the Cape Peninsula that had been vacant for over five years. The fact that the space was readily available while Thandokhulu and other Xhosa speaking schools had no place to operate angered the community. When discussed, the white communities in Mowbray and surrounding areas “could not entertain the idea” of having a ‘black’ school near them (Mr.Tsoli of Thandokhulu).

In 1992, left with no other viable options, Thandokhulu got the support of community organizations such as UDF and SANCO and it was decided that on a certain day they were going to invade the white school grounds. Parents were notified and readily got involved and the learners were all beyond excited. On the day of the raid, students, parents, teachers, and even the general public squeezed into buses that were organized by the community and drove to the site. Mr. Tsoli said that the were people hanging out of windows and climbing on top of the buses, all trying to be a part of this mini revolt against the current inequalities.

The police had been notified that they were coming and were ready and waiting for the mob of people to arrive. The principal and teachers tried to negotiate with the police but they would not let them onto the grounds. By this point there were so many people involved that all of Mowbray and surrounding areas had come to a standstill: shops were closed and there was at least one helicopter scoping the scene. All of a sudden, the learners began uprooting the fence and poured into the school; there were people everywhere in complete chaos. The police then let loose dogs on the mob, students and young children included. They ran, ending the day’s events but they came back again the next day.

This blatant defiance was an embarrassment to the government as everyone knew what was happening as the story was being covered in the news. The common public knew the reason for the uprising and saw the plea of the school as a legitimate cause. The government then said they would not pay the teacher’s salaries and would remove their pensions. Despite this threat, the Thandokhulu staff and students organized their school in Mowbray. They went to other schools to get enough supplies and furniture in order to hold classes in the new building which originally only had two classrooms.

At this point, the government realized how out of hand the situation had gotten and, “had a change of heart," deciding that they did in fact deserve a school of their own and began building one in Khayelitsha. Their reasoning as to why they could not stay in Mowbray was that there was too much lead for the children in the area due to the freeway and that it was too far for learners to travel everyday. Despite a new school being built for them, Thandokhulu refused to leave and demanded to keep their current location in Mowbray. They stayed there for the rest of the school year and the Matric pass rate in 1993 was as low as 13%.

Throughout the move from Khayelitsha, Thandokhulu had received a lot of exposure within the greater community and at the same time, racial issues were beginning to get slightly better as the ADESO negotiations had begun. A lot of individual people began donating supplies and money to the school. A TV presenter built another building, creating more space for classrooms. A woman from the US wrote to many people and companies asking for money in support of the school. She raised enough money to build a library and got over 25,000 dollars worth of books donated. This raised awareness and another R 10,000 was given to buy books and enough money was donated to build two more classrooms as the old ones were falling apart.

Slowly, the Matric results began to increase and with it, the government was more and more willing to fund the school. When the school hit an 80% pass rate, the government gave R 100,000 which paid for the computer lab. These rates steadily continued to rise and reached an all time high of 95% two years ago.

Michelle's Reflection #3 on treatment of animals

Since being in South Africa, the topics of racism, sexism, classism, progress, capitalism, and human nature have all been in the forefront of house conversations. Although I try to stay away from labels and categories, I can comfortably call myself a feminist, a vegetarian, and an activist and know that these aspects of my life help dictate every decision I make.

Before I came here, I said that I hoped I could somehow maintain some ability to distance myself from what I saw, sort of as a form of self-preservation. I have always been the kind of person who is deeply affected by things around me, and knew that some of the things I would see in South Africa would be things I would not know how to deal with. I realized after I got here, though, that I would not only be unable to distance myself from the things I saw, but also unwilling to even try to. For me, a huge part of this experience is learning to accept who I am, and more specifically to accept and embrace the fact that I will never be the kind of person who bases their decisions on logic or fact, but rather on what I believe is possible, and what I feel is right.

I do not believe that humans are innately selfish, or insensitive, or disconnected from the world by which they are surrounded. I believe these attributes are a consequence of patriarchy and of capitalism, and overall a product of the system. We often talk about the idea of progress in relation to innovation, economy, and technology, but I personally measure progress in relation to morality. Whenever I hear the word, I always think of the quote by Mahatma Gandhi which states that “the greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be measured by the way its animals are treated.” I could not agree with this quote more.

I have always struggled with the hierarchy that we place on life, and the idea that animals were placed on this Earth for humans. Recently, someone I work with made the comment that the reason he is a vegetarian is because he believes that the animals of this world are also his brothers and sisters; that comment struck a chord, and has continued to stay with me. I believe that everything and everyone in life is connected, and that watching another being experience pain is the same as me experiencing that pain myself.

Because of this, seeing so many stray and starving animals every day has been so, so difficult. I understand that so many people here are also living in terrible conditions, but I do not think that is a justifiable reason to turn my head to the other injustice that is taking place. In an effort to feel more proactive, I decided to do my activist project at a no-kill animal shelter called TEARS, located in Fish Hoek, right on the edge of a township. From Rondebosch, it takes about forty minutes by train, and then another ten or so minutes by mini-bus; however, the long ride is completely worth it, and if I could, I would spend every day there.

The shelter has dogs, cats, puppies, and kittens. We get there at about 9:00 and begin by walking the many dogs, who are all so friendly and just want attention and affection. The employees and volunteers at the shelter seem extremely grateful to have our help, and we are more than happy to be there. I think many of us miss our “pets” back home, and spending time with the shelter animals is more than helpful. No offense to those of you back home, but I miss my dog, Monte, more than anyone!

Missing my dog and cats, though, is not my only reason for wanting to volunteer at the shelter. As I said before, I believe that everything and everyone in life is connected, and similarly, that the oppression, inequality, and injustice that occurs in this world is all interconnected and stems from the same source. As ecofeminist theory argues, there is a strong parallel that exists between the male oppression and subordination of women in families and society and the degradation of nature by similarly masculine attitudes and methods. As stated in the wikipedia definition, "while feminism is a primary entry point, women and men also come to ecofeminism through environmentalism, alternative spirituality, animal rights, and other progressive affiliations. The kaleidoscopic lens of ecofeminism includes a prepatriarchal historical analysis, an embracement of spirituality, and a commitment to challenging racism, classism, imperialism, heterosexism, ageism, ableism, anthropocentrism (i.e. human supremacism), speciesism and other forms of oppression."

Michelle & boyfriend Dan after a day of volunteering at TEARS

I genuinely believe that progress, in it’s most simple form, is defined by morality. I believe that every day we can all do something, no matter how small, and that it will make a difference. A few weeks ago, most of the house watched the movie The Constant Gardener, a movie that I had already seen. There is a line in the movie, though, that really touched me. The two main characters are arguing about trying to help a young boy, and one character says, “Tess, you can’t save everyone.” She then says, “no, but I can save this one.” Every time I pass a stray animal or a child who asks for food, I think of that line. I may not be able to take home every dog or cat that needs a home, or feed every starving child, but I can do small things, every day, and in the end, I believe that will bring about a lasting and substantial change.



"You must be the change you wish to see in the world."
-Mahatma Gandhi

Chelsea's Reflection #3 ANC Rally

Chelsea surrounded by her new friends at the ANC Rally

In the middle of a township on the Cape Flats lies a broad stretch of withered grass, surrounded on four sides by cement walls and barbed wire. It bears the name “Khayelitsha Stadium” and is used, presumably, for soccer matches or other sporting events, but contains no more than a single stand of wooden bleachers. Our first encounter with this otherwise unremarkable place came after an hour-long, music-filled ride on a Golden Arrow bus – a ride that was strangely reminiscent of a trip to summer camp, with all of the spirited singing, chanting, and animated camaraderie. (The passengers had even referred to one another as comrade.)


We disembarked the bus in a littered lot not far from our destination, joining a throng of jubilant ANC supporters also bound for the stadium. They bounced up and down with their arms beating the air above them, as the hum of a rally chant rose from the centre of the pack. Our presence drew curious glances as we shuffled in a tight group along the crowded street, past hordes of local residents, vendors, and barefoot children. But the colour of our skin did not deter those we passed from greeting us with toothy grins and ANC greetings, to which we responded in kind. Our South African friends – the day’s guides – ushered us past the police and security guards at the side gate and into the crowded stadium, where thousands of Cape Town residents gathered and milled about in ANC colours (black, yellow, green) waving patriotic flags. As the thumping beat of a pre-rally song pulsed over the shouts of energetic supporters, the sun beat down on the masses packed in front of us for yards and yards to the far end of the stadium.

Beyond the sea of flags and hats and heads there stood a temporary event stage, flanked by ANC slogans touting the benefits of working together. At first, we clustered in our little group, inside a bubble that shielded us from the controlled chaos of the stadium. But as we began to understand our place within the lively atmosphere, we wandered out a bit to immerse ourselves in the activity around us. We’d learned enough from the bus ride to be able to start our own chant praising the event’s honoured speaker, ANC President Jacob Zuma, and this public display of political solidarity provided the necessary invitation for questions and conversations with the locals who surrounded us. Camera’s snapped continuously as we threw our arms around friendly ANC supporters who revelled in the novelty of our visit to the rally. We were told that most locals assumed we were white South Africans, and that even as such, we were very visibly atypical supporters of the ANC in Khayelitsha.

For the majority of the event, we wound up at the front of the stadium, sitting in the parched grass on the empty-side of the crowd-barrier fence. But we weren’t alone for very long, as children squeezed their way under the fences and quickly filled in every inch of spare ground around us.


Little boys scampered unsupervised on the small dirt hill behind the stage, and VIPs stood in front of the stage, obscuring most of our narrow view of the speakers. Several older women and hundreds of wide-eyed children remained squashed up against the other side of the fence, with their legs poking out on our side in a line of oddly disconnected limbs. Our proximity to the fence-scramblers provided a number of opportunities for conversations as the speakers rallied the crowd for Zuma’s speech. The cheers and chants elevated to a fevered pitch when the ANC president finally emerged, launching into an address in Xhosa, with occasional English segments. The sound system hummed along with the supporters, who collectively shouted in agreement as Zuma cited improvements in access to resources and housing over the ANC’s 15 years in power.


Because of the language barrier, we experienced most of his speech through the reactions of the crowd. We squinted through the bright afternoon sun towards the stage and watched as Zuma led his supporters in a rally song at the end of the speech. His charisma was exemplified best by his joyful participation in the dancing that followed his address, after which the audience stormed the stage-front to dance along with a selection of other performers.
By then we’d been readily accepted by the groups of small children who’d shared our grassy seats during the event, and many of us were dragged by the hand into the bobbing swarm of supporters near the stage. The energy was infectious, even for those who might not support all of the ANC politicians and positions. We hoisted our new little buddies to our shoulders to get a better view of the stage and joined in the jovial celebration with arms raised and feet tapping.

Making our exit during the waning hours of the afternoon, we were once again swept up in the frenzied rush by the exit gates. The temporary sense of inclusion – of participation and engagement in the rally celebrations – was replaced again by the passive reserve of observation, which reflected our return to the status of “outsiders looking in” on the event. This subtle withdrawal from the energy of the crowd was probably exacerbated by the wave of fatigue that overtook our group, much of which had had little to eat or drink since breakfast and was running low on energy. But even as we made our way back to the bus through the bustling streets of Khayelitsha, we were conscious of the magnitude of the rally we’d just experienced. The nature of the event had exceeded the simple purpose of garnering ANC support; it had engendered a spirit of hope and promise within the struggling township community. Within the cement and barbed-wire confines of Khayelitsha Stadium, it had served to reinforce the bonds that unite a population of long-disenfranchised South Africans. Zuma had connected with the crowd, as a “man of the people”, in a way that most politicians could not. And even those of us who don’t share the vision or condone the leadership of the ANC could not deny that the political rally had had an overwhelmingly positive impact on the morale of one of Cape Town’s most impoverished and politically overlooked communities.