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| they call it a coffee headache for a reason |
Money
the
useless proliferation of paper, coin, or electronic currency with the
general assumption that they denote value. Not a system based in
reality.
Where
Americans would usually say “register” or “cashier,” South
Africans say “till.” Another thing South Africans are
particularly adept at saying is strike.
And chanting for change. I did some chanting of my own this past
week before our 4-day weekend. A small group of students, many of
whom are friends of mine, are trying to raise the student body's
awareness of UKZN's flagrant breach of contract with its employees.
Various staff members, lecturers, and tutors have not received their
due payment since the beginning of the year (January). News flash
people: it's APRIL. Adriana, a Russian philosophy professor I keep
randomly running into (I even saw him a music club over the
weekend—ugh!) was telling me, “Oh yes, there's probably some poor
cleaning lady starving somewhere.” That's a philosopher for you
though—a fatalist.
Or in this case, more likely he would describe himself as a realist.
In
response, many lecturers have simply not shown up for the classes
they are supposed to be teaching, until they are paid. The same is
true of tutors—and is the reason our tutorial (the equivalent of a
college discussion or section meeting) was cancelled last week.
Those in the drama department were the first to “get vocal” about
what was going on and, as their just reward, the first to be paid in
full. Three cheers for the drama!
On
a smaller scale, the few students who were aware of what was going on
took it upon themselves to make a ruckus, make some noise. Those
marching carried painted signs and the stragglers passed out flyers
explaining to issue. One of the leaders bequeathed the tambourine to
me—thank goodness
I'd
had those tambourine lessons senior year of high school from my boys
in the band (John Spencer, Jordan Gorenberg, and Vincenzo DeLaRosa).
I quickly put it to good use, playing in tandem with the drummer to
set the pace for our chants, like “A Fair Day's Work is a Fair
Day's Pay!”
I
don't know if you've ever marched in a protest before, or
participated in some other form of political activism but WOW is it
exhilarating. What a high. It's nerve-racking at first; you have to
let yourself break away from that panicky feeling of “I shouldn't
be doing this... now I'm one of them”
and other negative internal dialogue. As the words scrape your
throat in their haste to get OUT THERE you begin to stop thinking how
you might be one of them
and realize that you're one of us.
Who
knows how events will pan out. But at least I can feel that I've
done something. Said something. And hopefully had an impact—the
life goal of a writer and artist.
Whenever
I think about protests, or change, I still hear this song. Thanks,
dad. And now, as the Occupy movement in the States may seem to be
dwindling, I would love for them all to hear this, very different,
song.
Inflation
the thing
physics students hope for desperately with every atom of their being
after a test. Also the thing that caused the pre-Nazi riots of
1922-1923
and still has people pulling their hair out.
As I've
mentioned before, on the whole, South Africa does not feel or look
like a “third world” or “underdeveloped” nation. However,
I've also mentioned the complete lack of governmental/nongovernmental
infrastructure. This has far-reaching and unexpected results.
Specifically, I have to be aware at university (varsity) that I'm
being exposed to a strange cross-section of the country since only
2% of the population ever receives a form of higher education. On
top of that, those who do have the opportunity to attend university
are not of exactly equal caliber or capability. And here's where it
get's messy.
A good
friend of mine in my Comparative Literature and Culture module
(class) introduced to me to my colloquial vocab word of the week:
o-jive. Since so few people even have the possibility to go to
college, the high schools in certain areas (presumably poorer areas)
hugely inflate their high school exit exam pass rates and term marks
(grades). Meaning, for undergraduates, someone with straight A's
from one school will not be academically equal to a student with all
A's from another school*. Result? Academic doctors and masters
recipients are asked to teach class 'normally,' while somehow
accommodating this huge disparity in education between their
students. In addition to creating a course that is digestible for
such a wide array of students, grading those students' work must be
another headache entirely... Unlike my massive home university in
California, the professors themselves actually do the majority of the
grading here.
More about
grading as it applies to my life: because the course I'm taking is
interdisciplinary, about every week or so, occasionally two weeks, a
different professor in their expert discipline will teach that
segment of the course. So, for instance, we just did a
long—two-week—session on Disgrace, a Booker Award winning
novel by South African Nobel Laureate J.M. Coetzee (“coat”-Z-uh).
I'd never heard of the book myself, but I figured that because, ya
know, I'm not South African. But apparently, none of my peers were
familiar with it either. Published in 1999, the work is still quite
recent which may account for the lack of renown. The novel we read was also poorly received by the South African government at the time of publication, which is euphemistic code for they said he was a racist swine. So... He moved to Australia? But then, the author
is the only person to ever receive the Booker
Award twice so he's pretty important! (When he got the Nobel Prize, the government was like, "Haha, just kidding about all those insults, you're totally a South African!!")
Anyways, we did that section
of the course for two weeks, reading, analyzing, and discussing the
novel, its reception, and its literary merits. All our essays and
homeworks were graded by Dr. Darren and now? We're in a new section.
New topic, new grader. The downside: no chance to build a steady
relationship with a consistent grader. Welcome to my life!
Headaches
the
useless excruciating, anonymous attack on the brain by the evil
forces of pain.
Most likely sent by the emperor.
How to fight the
common headache according to moi: therapy cooking, baking, and
eating. Obviously. Lately, I've been dappling with soup as a genre;
it's one of those things I don't make too often but constantly crave
in the winter. Autumn has settled over KZN and it's high time I yank
out my creativity toolbox again and get souping! I've had two
successful pots so far: a potato, celery, carrot, corn,
navy-bean-based stew with lemon and cayenne AND my moroccan butternut soup. Experimentation is the key to success.
