More funsies please!

^__^  Make sure you say the title of this post the same way the kids say "More ovaltine please!" in that commercial from the 90's

“Let me explain—No, there is too much. Let me sum up...”

     You might'n as well "wish a murrain" upon me for leaving you all in the lurch this past fortnight. Or, at least, that's what Robin would say... Robin who, you say? Why Robin Hood, of course! He and his sevenscore of merry men what that live on in Sherwood Forest. That lot and I have been on many an adventure of late, galavanting through the countryside, stirring up trouble for the Sheriff of Nottingham, restoring the prosperity of the goodly knight Sir Richard, and arranging the marriage of the famous songmaster, Allan a' Dale and his lady through the grand works of the portly Friar Tuck. Even more than their merry jests and songs do I love the way they eat, for every meal is a sumptuous feast and each drink is a canakin of stout March beer! At times, when I begin my own dinners, I am reminded of these noble yeomen, eating “with gusto.” How warmly they touch my heart.

"Come forth, my merry men!  To the great greenwood tree."

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmm.... kay

NOTE: for this post, since I have a strange collection of recent photographs, I've decided to break up the larger sections of text with anecdotes, factoids, and silly-lily captions about the area's cheekiest residents, the vervets. One of the reasons behind this choice lies in an experience I had with the girls this past Monday. On our hot, tired walk back from swimming lessons, swimsuit (which they call a “costume” here) clad and hungering for a little smackeral, I stopped short after turning the corner onto our cross street, as no less than EIGHT vervets scampered out of the road and into a nearby tree. More remarkable still is the fact that they weren't running away from us, but running away to their juvenile offspring! Imagine: tiny, mischievous, cheeky vervets?! AAAaaaahhhh!

     I used South African coinage today, for the first time! Generally, so far, I've gotten myself so flustered at the register that I just fork over some larger bill that will definitely cover the cost, rather than rifling through my smaller bills and change. South Africa is like Spain in that they have physical coins for their smaller denominations (1's, 2's, and 5's) instead of just for parts of a dollar, or, here, a rand. Now that I'm thinking about it I don't even know if they call it “cents” or just “change” or some other third thing.*

But when, the need arose for more toothpaste, and I was actually in the Pick n' Pay—which Maggie has decided is actually called “Pick n' Play” and berates us without fail if we use the wrong name—I said to myself, “If you give a girl some anti-cavity, whitening toothpaste, she's going to want some sugar and cavity-causing goodies to go with it!”

i caN hAz cookiE?

After much discussion and prodding from two random store workers, I ended up forgoing my hunt for a decent chai decaf tea (I know, so specific!) and ended the trip with the first clerk's favorite chocolate cookies, the second clerk's favorite lemon cookies, and a tube of some good-ol'-fashioned Colgate for the chompers. We'll just see if the formula is up to the test of these sweet treats ^__^

       Carina used to keep our bananas in the fruit bowl, like any normal lady from the States might. Not anymore... Not after our first VERVET ENCOUNTER: LIVE. While at home, with the dog around (any she's proven to be a pro-watch dog), the vervets got into the kitchen—probably through the windows somewhere in the house—ate the bananas, left the peels scattered around the kitchen, and left. Needless to say, the bananas have their own special spot in the cabinet now.

*this is a reference to a film about a certain yellow, quadrilateral entity that resides in an abode constructed from a yellow, tropical fruit near Davy Jone's Locker. The reference can be confirmed here

be fooled not by the cute... I am fierce and will throw my 

excrement at you if given the opportunity... mwahahahaha!!

[side note:  is this the face the Harry Potter directors based their goblins off of?]

     I also realized than, until today, about five minutes ago (approximately 9:44, Thursday evening) I'd never eaten rice pudding? It was altogether a startling experience: the first bit felt like oatmeal, the second like cream, and the tertiary like the hint of cinnamon you get from a decaf chai latte. While none of these items are particularly appalling, the combination caught me off guard, to be sure.

our own, more local species of vervets

     Speaking of swimming lessons, I have a bit more to relay in that regard. One of our good friends here, Trudy, whose son Decklan (sp?) has lessons with Maggie, just got a kitten for her older daughter Layla. The adorable ball of fluff is about six-weeks-old (umm, talk about YOUNG!), pale orange, and named Roxy. So let's see now... we've got a puppy, a kitten, and baby on tap tonight. Now all we need is a duckling and we're in show business for a baby-magazine photoshoot. Maybe something attack of the cute would be interested in posting ;]

    

ahh, yes.  I serenely watch the sunrise and admire how it lends my fur that golden glow.  What fools humans are, not to realize that this is the pinnacle of my plotting, the perfect time to concoct their demise...

   Swimming lessons is also the place where I get to chat it up with Lyndle, another au pair/student I'm friends with. She's getting her degree online for a teaching career. The five-year-old girl she looks after, Naomi, is a great playmate for Maggie in the water. They seem to really do well together. Pssssssst... just a red alert real quick here: Maggie's birthday is in a few days [February 27^th] and she'll be turning three. She has requested cupcakes for her party and her crafty mama has planned an entire MEAL comprised solely of cupcakes [savory, healthy, and sweet courses of course]. More details to follow soon!

One of the most tangible benefits to swimming lessons though, besides the massive amount of sweat released (blechk?!), is how exhausted the girls are afterwards.

frantic kicking + social excitement + slight dehydration = MOST SOLID NAPTIME SESH EVAR!!

     If you've got the time and relish the incorporation of anthropology into modern science, be sure to check out this stellar article about sleep my boyfriend Josh showed me. Helped me feel a lot better about the fact that I've been having some trouble sleeping through the night here.

who knows?  maybe if we're lucky, we'll get to be ewoks in our next lives...

     In other news, the cutest recent addition—cough, cough, the only recent addition—is wet and adorable. Carina has dubbed him “Lander” after a town they lived in in Wyoming. He just got a bath. We really need to trim his little old-man-yorkie beard. He's such a dog.Like, he just throws his entire face into his food dish, he licks the floor if he thinks it smells good, and can land a fine round-house kick to perceived enemies*** But yes, he pretty much needs a bath every day for the above reasons. Of course, this is probably the easiest dog bath I'll ever give since he's small enough to hold in the kitchen sink and use the dog shampoo on. Still, he's grown perceptibly and eats like a... well, not like a horse, but certainly like a dog!

***the usual suspects include: towels, Natalie's babydoll, loose tupperware containers, and particulate dust matter

Random: the next grown-up sounding book I'm thinking of reading is entitled The Benefit and the Burden by Bruce Bartlett. Is it just me? Or is that a lot of B's??

Comedy Corner: please note, this is not for the faint of heart or the fickle of faith-- faith in the Force, of course.  Enjoy!

and yes, this photograph made me horribly homesick

College Here, College There, Education Everywhere!

Are you for REAL right now?

First Lecture Series: Introductions

Subtitle: how to think about the course and your own subject position

     These first few lectures were tackled by the dynamic duo, Rowin and Claire, the former being a ridiculously-goodlooking half-Indian, half-Black actor/comedian and the latter being a spunky, slightly chunky, dark-haired, fair-skinned actress/dancer. While their discussions felt elementary to me, it helped frame the course as a tool for self-examination. The instructors continually stressed the idea that they wanted the students to think for themselves and argue their views (even if their views do not represent the majority's), something they seemed dissuaded from in high school and the lower grades.

     Something I have to remember here is that while my exposure and contact-education is valuable, it is also wildly skewed. As Rowin reminded the class, we are the elite and the exception; only 2% of South Africans attend University. Hence, to give more students the grade-point-average-opportunity to go (whether they can afford it in the end or not), many schools have lowered their pass rates for high school or given out A's when they are not really earned. It sounds bad when I say it like that, but, from my experience, we have a lot of the same issues in the States. The quality of public education differs vastly from state-to-state in my own country as well: an “A” in a West Virginian high school certainly isn't the same as an “A” in a Californian one. Heck, and “A” in Alameda County, California isn't equivalent to the “A's” given out in the next county over. There are just too many variables, too many students, too many standards, and too many exceptions to make any kind of true consistency, or so it seems.
     Rowin and Claire focused heavily on the class's understanding of one's subject position, the combination of factors that affect how you read and understand a text.  Most of these factors are outside of your control and include characteristics such as age, race, ethnicity, cultural background, geographic origin, political alignment, fiscal security, level of education, etc.  To demonstrate the importance of this idea, and to keep people on their toes, Rowin went around the room pointing at people and asking, "Who are you?"  With a classroom as diverse as ours, there was no shortage of interesting answers (and attitudes!). He said, "You there, in the blue shirt, who are you?" to the boy seated next to me.  Blue-shirt-boy began speaking slowly, "I am... new to dis cahntry.  Everyting is strange, I've never left home before.  Now... I am at university, I'm sitting next to a white girl?!" Here, Rowin stops him saying, "Oh no [finger wag included], not just any white girl, a foreign white girl!"  At which the entire class, myself included, laughed hysterically for a good two minutes...

     Also during these lectures, I made some of my first, consistent friends (“consistent” as in, I see them more than once for a friendly chat, haha). Ladies: Angelique, Sherilyn, and Sam[antha] are the girls I sit with in class and, coicidentally, we also have the same “tut” group; “tut” is short for “tutorial” and is most easily relatable to the “discussion sections” of the U.S. college system. I plan to write up some not-too-revealing bios at a later time, so bear with me here; patience padawan.

You were the chosen one!

Second Lecture Series: The Trickster Figure in Zulu and Greek/Roman Classic Fables

Subtitle: manifestations of power in narratives—examining the hero and the anti-hero

     As I understand it so far, three professors will be divvying up the teaching for this segment, but so far I have only had one: Elke Steinmeyer. And her name provides an accurate image of the woman herself: an older, blonde, staunchly German lady with a very thick accent. From what I've seen so far, she's an avid reader and writer on the subject of Zulu fables and modern Zulu literature, and is also well-versed in Greek and Roman mythologies. Much like a course in the states, we are each given a manual (a “course reader” in the States) with excerpts and selected readings; this is easily the largest one I've ever had! I still have to buy my books as well, since we're also dissecting two full novels in addition to the readings. So far, many of the readings have been taken from full works by literary scholar Noverino N. Canonici—if I'm not mistaken, he's still associated with the university here and I'd love to meet him if I get the chance. He's been writing since the 80's and really knows his stuff. I love the way he's able to examine huge bodies of work and still draw decipherable, clear patterns, motifs, and themes from among them.

     This past Thursday (February 23) I turned in my first homework assignment during my “tut.” We spent a lot of our period discussing the excerpt the homework was based on from Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. Hannah, my sort of TA, is an absolute doll and I couldn't ask for anyone better. She's actually a completely certified professor who's been contracted to lead the tutorial for this course and a few others. I loved her little anecdote of an introduction about her daughter, half-German (her side), half-Zulu (her husband's side). She told her, “Mum, I want hair like yours;” she inherited her father's curly, African hair instead. Her curiosity roused, she then began to tell us about a documentary she saw called Good Hair, as told by Chris Rock. Definitely something I plan to check out in the near future!

     Something of interest I ran into while typing up my homework... that my German professor, Elke, used the phrase “pretence and dishonesty” to describe one of the common negative characteristics of trickster figures, as recounted by Canonici. So later, I'm at home, being the good kid, doing my homework when I go to type “pretence” and stop myself... Pretence? Isn't it more like “pretense?” This prompted me to open two new tabs, one for each spelling. The s-version brought up a variety of definitions, basically all talking about deceit and other forms of deception. The c-version first gave me some sort of legal definition but, upon further investigation, also listed that it was the “chiefly British” spelling of pretense.**

good grief

>>More about school?

     I've been working furiously, along with Carina, to organise rideshare/carpool/thingies for lifts to and from UKZN (have I mentioned before now how in South Africa, like the rest of the world, they say “zed” instead of “zee” for “Z”? It's all fine and dandy until you try and say a phrase like “x, y, and... oh... Nevermind.” Awkward!). For now, I've got Tuesdays figured out and Thursday afternoons. I pretty much have given up on Fridays (I only have a 45 minute period that day and it takes at least half an hour to get there, and that's without traffic. And by the way, there's always traffic >.< ). Getting there Thursday may work out with someone else, but for now, Carina just takes me down in the afternoon and I get a ride home with my Tuesday ride.

     And whom is this mysterious Tuesday-lady you might ask? Her name is Tracey. She and her daughter, Kirsty, live just up the road from us, which is fabulous. Kirsty goes to a specialized college of graphic design in North Durban and is constantly sketching or cooking; she eventually wanted to go into character design for video games (which, if I'm remembering correctly, is exactly what my best-friend from pre-school, Bron, wants to do). Tracey works as a financial planner/consultant at one of the banks and has an office in Westville (ten minutes from UKZN) and another office in Kloof (ten minutes from home). All in all, it's a peachy situation that I hope blossoms into a cheery friendship.

furious-furry-fury-friendship-high-five!!

     Now, to touch briefly on my last post—you know, the one that you finished reading and started pulling your hair out—I feel like I failed to explain something there that may give the administration at the school a zillionth of an excuse as to why they had so much trouble processing my application(s). On the books, not only am I an international student, but I'm also listed with “NDP” next to my name: non-degree programme. What does that even mean?

     South African Universities, per the previous post, operate a bit differently than their American counterparts. Upon graduating high school (which ends at about age eighteen, but is a five year institution), students either take a year off (the gap year option is much more common here) or continue on to “varsity”—the general abbreviation for university apparently? Even though, you know, the word “varsity” isn't actually in the word university. Besides the point, I suppose. As my friend Benjy would say, “details, Lily, details,” whilst shaking his head waggishly. Anyways, once students decide on a varsity, they are immediately asked to choose which degree they would like to work towards. Don't be fooled; it's not like those American universities where they simply ask you to pre-declare your major. To make this a bit more tangible, a fair majority of my lady friends here are studying law. So, instead of doing a pre-law degree or majoring in political science or international relations as one might do in the States, these girls are simply completing a law degree program. There's no such thing as law school here. On a broader scale, because students already, theoretically, know their future careers, there are no GE requirements or liberal arts curricula for the student body.

     Some people, most likely my engineering friends from UCSD, are reading this and going, “Why don't we do this in the States?! Friggin' literacy and history requirements ruining my finish-in-four plan!!!” But, on the other hand, one could argue that these students aren't getting a well-rounded education, especially when you consider the fact that most of the high schools have heavily inflated pass rates so that more students have the option of attending university. Even at the university level, a 50% is considered passing.

UCSD College Scenario

Dude: OMFG?!  I'm failing physics, I got a 2 out of 7 on our last test!

Dude's Smart Friend: Dude, relax.  Remember the gazillion point curve?

Dude:

** I apologize most sincerely for the absurd amount of quotation marks in this paragraph...and in the rest of the post... Maybe it doesn't look that way, but it just felt like I was typing a LOT of quotes so, yeah. Just thought I'd cover myself preemptively on that one :]

a scroll for the scrivener

Now, now dears, settle down and take a seat.  Alright, that's fine...

     Class [begins]
Today, I have finally finished the universe's most arduous task of registering for class and thought I'd commemorate the occasion with a post all about school so far (and a few other goings-on here). One of the things I've learned about Africa in general, in comparison to the States*, is the complete lack of organization and—more generally—infrastructure**. Seriously, we have it so easy back home in regards to registration, enrollments, and the amenities provided to students. Consider this single fact: I have been on campus a total of nine times so far and have taken steps towards trying to register (and in about half those cases, have devoted full days to the attempt!) and have only just succeeded.


     Explanation? Here's a mini-recap, which you're honestly welcome to skip:


1. Went to the international office (fourth floor of the no-elevator student union building), which I learned was the “international relations office” specifically. They had no record of me as a student because I was accepted by the Humanities Faculty office instead of their office. I was escorted to the faculty office by a PR worker (Preshantha) in international relations and the office there also had no record of me, even though I had an acceptance letter. This meant I had to return a separate day with the hard copy of the acceptance letter (which, thankfully, I did have at home) in addition to filing out another application in hard copy for their records.


2. Returned to the international relations office with the acceptance letter, only to be told that, since I've been accepted, I technically have had all my information transferred to the “international students” office, across campus of course. I also can't enroll for any classes without “pre-approval” (not real approval, mind you!) from the course instructor. To apply for pre-approval, I would need to contact the professor and department chair personally with an official transcript and a list of course descriptions for every course I've ever taken in college (to see if i'm really qualified to take the course in question, obviously). Luckily, I had both these things printed before leaving the States. Did I mention that instructors for courses aren't listed anywhere? I contacted the Humanities office to ask about the class but they still didn't know who was teaching it AND, because it's an interdisciplinary “module” (their word for “class/course”) they had no idea which department would be orchestrating it.


3. I wrangle the personal information of the “course coordinator” out of someone on the faculty staff. I email them. They are on vacation until two days before class starts.


4. I go to the international students office and find out that even though I have health insurance (which you need to have proof of before getting your visa granted anyways), the school will only allow you to register if you are covered by a South African health insurance company. And only one company is actually accepted (Momentum). I go home and figure out how to get a partial refund for my international student health insurance and how to apply for the Momentum student plan. The Momentum representative on campus (conveniently located within the international students office) tells me to bring my passport and the money for coverage when I return.


5. I return to school with the form for health insurance filled out and am told I need a copy of my passport, not my physical passport. There is a copy machine in the corner of the standard variety, which I could easily operate. I gesture towards it and ask if either representative there can make a copy of the passport. Both refuse. I ask if I can make a copy of the passport. They refuse again, saying they don't have the code to unlock the copier.


6. I go to “PostNet,” a copyshop and return to get my health insurance confirmed. They then tell me they don't accept cash or credit and that I had to go to a particular bank and get a deposit slip for the coverage. I return home for the day.


7. There is much gnashing of teeth.


8. I find the FNB (First National Bank), get the deposit slip, and return with all the items requested in tow on the morning of my orientation. I drop the items off with the Momentum representative I spoke with last time and have to catch up with the international student orientation group.


ORIENTATION INTERJECTION?!
     Orientation was totally fun and not totally pointless, as most orientation sessions are. There were four other US students (Vermont, Wisconsin, Philadelphia, and Chicago), a handful of Canadian chicks, three girls and two boys from Germany, and two girls from Norway. Haven't done the math til now so that's... /counting in my head/ ...about sixteen students total? Yeah, that sounds right. Small is better though!


     Orientation was led by two fourth year girls (people here don't say “freshman, sophomore...” etc. They just reference what year they are. More about why this is later), Q and Shanice. They are, in effect, the international students' den mothers, mostly for the kids living in the on campus residences though. The morning was mainly dedicated by talks from different divisions of campus staff—the security office, the health insurance office, Preshantha, and a talk from Shanice about how the modules operate and how “marks” (grades) are earned—and was broken up by a lovely mid-morning tea time! Little triangular sandwiches galore and lots of caffeine options (with their accompanying accoutrements) to choose from. After Shanice's chat, we went on a tour of campus, making stops at the on-campus clinic—which only operates from 9:00am-1:00pm Monday through Thursday and only has a doctor in for one hour on Wednesdays—the library, and the pool/sports shack (literally, a shack where all the sporting coaches hang out and braai). The library is pretty dismal—everything is about ten years behind whatever we have in the States<—this rule can be applied to most things pretty liberally, but especially when dealing with anything tech-related. Despite the scant selection, the library does seem well-staffed and everyone was very kind and helpful. The same is true for the sports shack: not-so-awesome facilities, totes-so-awesome faculty. Did I mention there's a fencing team?


9. I return to the Momentum office after orientation wraps up. They are out to lunch. From 2:00pm-4:00pm. I go home and get an email from the mystery “course coordinator” pre-approving me for the class! Mini-victory achieved :]


10. At orientation, I get the paperwork I need to actually register for class. I find out that, even though I have written (email, but in a hardcopy also) approval for the class I want to take, I still need to get the registration form signed by the professor (who is still a mystery) and the dean of humanities. I get the office to allow me to get the “course coordinator's” signature instead. They have no idea where her office is and there is no directory with the information in list.


11. I hunt throughout campus and eventually find her office. She is out to tea with a colleague and will be back tomorrow.


12. I find the coordinator and get her signature, with another girl in the course (Lu). I hunt for the dean's office. He is out and only accepting students in the Jazz Center. I go to the Jazz Center. There is a note on the door. The dean will be having a colleague sign for him in the Memorial Tower Building (written as “MTB,” and I had a stranger translate it for me). I go to MTB and eventually find the office. There is a note on the door. The professor is having a colleague sign for him in the writing office. I shimmy my way to the front of the writing office queue and sneak to the back offices. I find the professor in question. She doesn't believe me when I tell her she is the one listed to sign for the dean. She makes me walk her to the sign saying so. She still refuses to sign, saying the dean will be back next week. To put a cork in this segment, I eventually do get the dean to sign of on my class.


13. I go to the international students office and find it closed (this is a separate day—many of the task are). I go to Preshantha's office across campus and ask what I need to do next, if I get the medical confirmation. I go back to international students, and find a new woman behind the desk. She says I can search for my medical confirmation letter in a stack two feet high, literally. I hunt. I find naught. I go next door to the medical representatives office and they say they sent the letter. The lady at the desk grants me temporary, two-day, 
clearance so I can attempt to register.


14. I go to the cashier's office and get a deposit slip for the amount listed on my international student orientation information packet for one module. Then I go to the “student fees” office, per the instructions I got from the mysterious lady at the international students office. Have I mentioned that each location has a HUGE queue outside; this means that students wait a minimum of twenty minutes outside each office, usually in the sun, always in the humid.


15. At student fees, when I get to the front of the queue to talk to the ONE person actually on duty, I am told I have to find the “general faculty office” and get a “pro forma invoice” before I can pay and register for class. I ask where the office is. She says “I don't know.”


16. I return, again, to Preshantha's office and ask about the amount of money for the class. She says the amount listed is actually incorrect in that the currency sign beside it says “R” for Rand (ZA currency) but it's actually in U.S. Dollars (USD), which means it is eight times the value listed.


17. Le sigh.


18. I run around campus, asking random individuals for directions and end up at the general faculty office one hour later. I wait in a queue. I speak to the man in charge and ask for the form. He returns ten minutes later with a strange form, saying it is only three times the listed amount. I figure if I still make up the difference, however, that they will eventually make me pay the rest though and so I query the amount at an administrative office in the same building. She checks the records and confirms that this is the correct amount.


19. I return to school a different day and pay the difference in sums at the cashier's office and get another deposit slip. I take both slips to the student fees office and get them approved and am told to go back to faculty for real registration. I go to faculty and am denied entry to the office for twenty minutes. I get inside and wait in a queue for twenty minutes. I present the paperwork to the man at the front desk and, after ten more minutes of identity confirmation, get registered! Nineteen steps to success?? Think again.


20. I get a tiny slip of paper with my student barcode on it that the man ripped in half on accident. I am told to tape it back together and take it to an office on the fourth floor of the David Shepstone building to get my student ID card. I find the office. They closed an hour ago. At this point, I've attended five days of lecture over the course of two weeks. Still, at least now I'm on a real list! WIN.


/Deep breaths/


     After all that rubbish, you might be wondering at my perseverance and, more likely, what the class that I've pushed so hard to enroll in is all about! Comparative Literature and Culture: “Aesop to Hip-Hop” is, as mentioned, an interdisciplinary module. I found out later the reason no one could tell me who the professor was: the class is broken into different sections and each section is taught by someone in that department/field/discipline. So, for the opening section concerning the trickster figure in fables and myths, we are having two lecturers, one from the Classic Lit department and one from the isiZulu (local language of KwaZulu-Natal province of South Africa) department who will teach in tandem. From what I have been able to glean from the course outline, we will be examining several excerpts from our “manual,” aka, “reader” in addition to some complete works, including: Disgrace (1999) by J.M. Coetzee, The Outsider (L’Étranger, 1942) by Albert Camus, many short stories by Franz Kafka, and the comic strip “Tintin's Adventures in the Congo.” Needless to say, it will be quite intriguing, politically charged, and, if I'm not mistaken, appropriately rigorous!


*as with the entirety of this blog, but in particular this post and future posts concerning school, things I tell you will be in reference to their differences from the education systems in the United States. Unavoidably, I will approach most of these moments from an American perspective.


**infrastructure—a complicated, trite term really, but it's the best way to encompass all the bits and pieces of society here that I'm addressing. Something that has really be the thorn in my side concerning school is trying to find a “lift” (they don't call it a ride or a carpool here) to “varsity” (what people call the “university.” The definite article also gets dropped). I'm realizing more every day how spoiled I've been transportation/location wise in San Diego. Here, there is no public transportation system. There are large taxis, commonly referred to as “black taxis” that are notorious for high rates of theft and other incidents one would rather avoid. And yet, many people do not own a car and, for this reason, there are many hitchhikers by the roadside and, oft times, standing in the middle of the street. The lack of government run/funded transport, facilities, and programs translates into immense social value being placed upon one's personal network. Here's what I mean: a week or two before I arrived here, Carina found a Mozambique spitting-cobra (their spit causes blindness in their prey/attackers) in the living room (the dog had barked a warning, but couldn't get in the house). After getting everyone out of the house through the back, Carina took the girls and met up with the neighbors to figure out what to do. Lauren and Charles, a couple who live on the property with their six-month-old baby, Madison, started calling people they knew who might know a snake handler. People they called directed them to other people and eventually, after many such phone calls, they reached Byron, the Snake Handler (how many of you wanted to put a 'Lord' in front of that? I know I did :)). He came over, captured the snake, and took it away to be re-released into the wild at some distant location, the end. BUT, what's critical here is that, unlike the States and many other places, no one said, “oh let's google it!” or, “let's check the yellow pages.” People rely on each other and their networks of support more than any other resource.

last night's sunset from the veranda

keeping it all in perspective :]

the tea, the teeth, and the tasting

    Good'morrow my dearest readers!  Allow me to begin with my most sincere apologies for this appalling delay in posts.  If you want to hear the excuses, a list will be available at the end of this installment.

    I suppose we ought to continue on in a semi-chronological fashion-- by which, I of course mean, chronologically following the title :]  So, to the tea!  (Not, "to the pain;" not everyone is familiar with that phrase...)  One of the kindest coincidences in my time here so far concerns the tea.  Many of you may be aware of my intense, ever-blooming relationship with tea, specifically black tea.  Luckily, not only does Carina treat her tea much the same way I do, the whole country has a deep and abiding respect for "doing tea time right," which is perfectly fine by me.  I'll typically brew a cup in the morning and add the appropriate (or inappropriate) amount of sugar and whole milk (you can't buy half-n-half here; we would have to make it ourselves... work?  No thanks, haha).  During my orientation at UKZN, we had our first break in the day for tea time.  It was a semi-glorious event, with different creaming options, at least three different types of sugar, and tiny triangle sandwiches to boot!

for more information on the proper fixing of tea,

these guys have something to say about it: h2g2

    But anyways, to continue telling you more about my cultural education, I will tell you about an intriguing colloquialism hereabouts: while I might, in the States, ask the obliging barrista for "black tea," here, especially post-apartheid, the word is so racially charged, people must say "normal tea" to be within PC social codes.  Jax was telling me about this when she came over the other day with Zak for a playdate with our girls and I asked her which kind of tea she wanted-- good thing she warned me!  It could've turned into a dastardly faux pas for me later.  

    Another event I have sorely overlooked is the "Bring & Braai" our family hosted a while back.  A "braai" is basically a grill and a "bring & braai" is, essentially, the opposite of a barbeque: at a barbeque, you provide the meat and the alcohol and the guests bring side dishes like potato salad, fruit salad, etc.  At the B&B, we provide the side dishes and the attendees bring alcohol and the selection of meat they plan on eating.

    Our guest list was quite the hodgepodge, with the singular commonality being that everyone worked at Ben's office (except for Jax & Walter, who are good family friends).  One of the night's highlights for me was meeting Tracey (a part-time chef) and having her compliment the fruit salad I made for the night!

    As the evening progressed, I found myself in most amiable conversation with an Englishman named Ed-- probably short for 'Sir Edward' or something.  We came to discussing one another's family, his being mostly in the London and the surrounding areas, and mine being mostly scattered like so much corn seed across the States.  I told him all about my two younger sisters who, regrettably, we're still in California.  

    Well, I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but at some point, I mentioned that my middle sister used to have braces and that I had thought about getting some myself after graduation; I've always had some gaps in my upper teeth and have thought about correcting it for awhile.  At this, he proceeded to guffaw loudly in epic proportions.  This, of course, caught the attention of Jax and Carina, who, when informed of the conversation's abrupt turn, replied, "Oh yes, Americans are obsessed with their teeth."  This semi-seemingly-patronizing answer took me by surprise at first...

    But then I started thinking about it, and it's totally true!  As much as we like to deny our materialism, some of the gossip girl culture seems to seep in and what is the result?  Teeth obsessions!!  A mere facet of perfection obsessions really-- that's a whole genre I think it's best to avoid, if at all possible. 

    Although... I confess I do have some good news in the aesthetics department /guilty cringe/.  Adjusting to the new climate has meant the usual dermatological freak-out, the forgetfulness-born dehydration, and unattractive/unmanageable hair.  And, at last, all three have petered out; personally, I'm most grateful for the hair normalizing again, haha.  I'm actually planning on growing it out!  Though of course, when I ask family and friends on skype if it looks longer, they aren't exactly overwhelming in their assent.

    There is cause for hope though:  Immediately after arriving, my nails started growing twice as fast as they normally do; and, you know, since hair and nails are all made up of dead cells, we can hope the former will take a hint from the latter and grow, grow, grow!  

    And speaking of growing, what marvelous, magical things we're a'growing at this Saturday's Shongweni.  I returned, as promised, and took even more pictures and tried more foods.  The cute guy who runs the bakery gave us a free loaf of white bread after we bought some more ciabatta--obviously, the result of Natalie's incorrigible flirtations.

    Other notable sightings include "the Egg Lady," the snotty coffee shop Colombo, and the animal menagerie with a goat (it's a stand run for little kids by two ladies who rescue animals).  Pictures can be seen in the album "a rainy shongweni" on the left-hand side of the home page.  

    

    And on the eastern home front, there has been quite the hullabaloo lately about baking and cooking.  It all started with some legitimately necessary stress-baking that resulted in chocolate chip cookies

These little buggers required a lot of love... I had to make my own chocolate chips and convert everything from fahrenheit to celsius, cups to grams, et cetera.  But the results were definitely worth it

    Plus, I had a lot of help in the kitchen

    Recent tasty treats also include oatmeal maple scones-- the perfect sidekick to the morning cup of tea and bland enough not to outshine a piece of fresh fruit on the side!  I got the recipe from a friend and, after amending it heavily, sent it out to more people, haha.  It truly was a simple recipe (if you're interested in it, feel free to drop me a line).  

    I also decided to use up some of the butternut squash we had that was cutely begging to be eaten and, in general, I'm not big on orange food items (I don't really care for oranges OR carrots; I know, I'm crazy) so this was a big deal and called for an extra-special recipe. So, I went straight to one of my go-to blog girls and got a fantastic Butternut Squash & Apple Soup recipe that was a raving success with Natalie and myself.  We topped ours with some feta we had in the fridge, but I think any goat cheese would work beautifully. I also recommend this recipe in that, you really can do it all without a food processor, mixer, or blender of any kind; it was definitely all elbow-grease in these parts.  Mostly, I don't mind not having any of those gadgets, but boy, do I miss my blender-- smoothies are just so irreplaceable.

    Carina and I were also able to put those ciabatta loves to good use via some hit-the-spot bruschetta: fresh diced tomatoes, pesto with pine nuts, lemon, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, loads of garlic, and fresh grated parmesan cheese.  Definitely a comforting afternoon snack while the kiddos take their afternoon naps

    For those of you interested in checking out some real foodie blogs with legit, easy to manage how-to's, be sure to check out these two blogs:  The Single Girl's Kitchen and Pizzelles.  Both are totally unique and totally essential, in my book anyway.

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    And now, for what will probably be the saddest part of this blog, ever.  I know I mentioned at the end of my last post (ages ago it seems) that we were getting a puppy.  We did have a puppy, an adorable little ball of fluff named Jock.  He was an eight week old Yorkshire Terrier, full of puppy love and softness.  He got along great with our mama dog, Abi

    But, for whatever cruel reasoning fate decided to employ at the time, it wasn't meant to last.  All our care and kindness couldn't save him and he passed away mid-morning this past Saturday, of unknown causes.  The breeder told us that we shouldn't feel bad and that the dogs are so fragile, that pretty much anything could've happened.  I mean, he didn't even weight two pounds yet.  She even said she had a client once who's pup got hit with a beach ball and died!  We know we can't blame ourselves, but it is strange to think of a dog as being "fragile."  Maggie has been handling it with incredible grace and the rest of us and still adjusting to the sudden change.  I am sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings but, as promised, I have posted some pictures of the puppy in an album entitled Jock of the Bushveld, since that was his namesake.  I can assure you that he had as blissful a puppydom as any dog.  My father said his life was like a shooting star, beautiful and brief.  I think it fits quite nicely

excuses: we had a puppy, which meant we had two people potty-training and two people teeth; Ben and Josh made me promise not to write another post until I finished my scholarship applications for school next year, which also meant I had to endure an exit loans counseling session--talk about boring!; I got into a cooking/baking rant and had to get out my stress-baking; we haven't had enough wine