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 :]