Jazz, Smoke, and People.

Blogging has been really fun. I like capturing each of my experiences and I enjoy (probably more so than normal) trying to be witty, as well. But it's starting to stress me out. Every time something cool happens I think to myself, "I really want to absorb this and I don't want to forget anything about this moment, so when I get back to the flat I have to blog about it in vivid detail."

And now I'm back at the flat after a fantastic day and I'm happy tired. I sort of just want to take a shower and go to sleep, but I'm committed to documenting my time in Cape Town.

Yesterday I got to sleep in until 11am. Ten hours of sleep not only helped me avoid jetlag, but I'm happy to report it essentially solved the cankle problem. After my normal-sized-ankle excitement subsided, Marita and I walked down to Main Road in Rondebosch (a 20 or so minute walk) and walked around, got my bearings, and hit up Clicks, the post office, and Pick n' Pay (think: CVS, umm, well, the post office, and Stop and Shop). I got a feel for the little town area and think I know my way around for the most part.

I also got my first taste of the minibus taxi! I haven't yet been in one, but it's quite a site. Minibus taxi is the cheapest form of public transportation in Cape Town. They're similar to 15-passenger vans, but more often than not twice that number of people are stuffed in. The vans are old and rickety and sometimes have spray painted graffiti on the side. There are two employees per minibus - the drive and the hawker. The hawker yells and hollers and clicks on the street and tries to get you in their minibus. Depending on how far you need to go, fares vary; but on average a ride is usually R7 (I'm not telling you how much that is in US dollars, you should now know how cheap that is!). Minibuses are only for the daytime, definitely not safe after the sun goes down. And I hear you have to pay close attention, because they don't care if you miss your stop. I don't yet know when, but I'm sure I'll experience a minibus or two before I leave Cape Town.

When we walked back from town we passed a few schools just as classes were being let out. The little 9 and 10 year old boys in their uniforms playing cricket may have been one of the most precious things I've seen since I got here. I thought of you Mark, finally getting your MBA, then moving to Cape Town to teach little shits in teal colored knee socks how to play soccer.

Anyway. Last night Vincent picked Marita and I up to go to Swingers for jazz night, where we also met up with Vernon. Vincent is another colleague of Marita's. He currently does work researching the migration patterns of both documented and undocumented immigrants. Like Vernon, he was also involved in the struggle in the 70s and 80s. As a student he started some of the first youth organizations that were organizing against the apartheid rule. Later, he played a role in the underground movement - smuggling ANC soldiers in and out of the country for training, and hiding arms in his home. The dinner conversation was amazing and I learned so much about the history and politics of South Africa... the stuff you can't learn from a text book.

Then for about 3 hours we listened to fantastic jazz. There was a small stage with many musicians crammed in. The bar had exposed brick, hardwood floors, low lighting, and black and white photos of South African jazz musicians on the walls. Vincent's son, Nick, is in the house band. They played for about an hour, and were awesome! For the next two hours the stage was a revolving door of incredible musicians. Just one big jam session by young, old, locals, foreigners, black, white, singers, pianists, drummers, bass players, regulars, and first-timers. Just a big ol' jamming session! And so much fun! Except for the smoke. Establishments are supposed to be only 25% smoking. That is, 25% of the floor space, which is required to be a separate room, is permitted to be the smoking section. But at a dive bar like Swingers, that's not exactly regarded or enforced. So I left with dry eyes and smelly hair. Next to the table where we were sitting there was a large plexi-glass booth that locked from the outside. It was about the size of a phone booth, maybe a bit bigger. Big enough for three slender Russians to dance in (it happened); with a roof and all. No one really knew what the booth was for, until I asked Nick and with a chuckle, he told me that it was the non-smoking section of Swingers.

Oh, and the Americans. There was a group of American college students at the bar that were, well, pretty obnoxious. I was embarrassed. They were loud and rude and taking away from the show and wouldn't stop snapping pictures of themselves. They attracted so much attention to themselves; they were in peoples ways and ten of them tried to sit in a small corner booth for just a handful of people. And it wasn't just me. Vincent and Vernon thought so. I felt uncomfortable with them around and didn't want to be associated with them in any way. I don't like the U.S. being represented like that. In my head, they were Bush Americans and Marita and I are Obama Americans.

Marita and I hopped in a cab with our favorite Elite Taxi driver, Romeo, this morning (after a short night sleep, having returned to the flat from jazz at 2am). After the short ride into town, I gave Romeo R120 for a R93 cab ride. Tipping is not common in Cape Town and tipping more than 10% for anything is even more unheard of. I kid you not when I tell you that the color fell from this kind man's face when I handed him the cash. It's like he had just won the lottery. It makes me feel unappreciative for what I have when $2.50 truly makes someone's day while that same amount of money couldn't even buy me my daily dose of Starbucks chai.

Marita and I spent the morning walking around downtown Cape Town. We walked through some of their public gardens, saw Parliament, experienced my first street beggar, and enjoyed some Rooibos tea (a South African tea). I also was introduced to the wild world of street vendors! Holy madness! It was fun negotiating, that's for sure. And we met some very cool people. If that's the one thing that I take away from Cape Town, it's the ease of which people will open up and have the most interesting conversations with you. People share their stories and want to know yours. They ask where you're from and then congratulate you on electing Obama (yay)! Marita and I have had political conversations with the man behind the counter at the post office and talks about education with Paula, the woman selling bags and jewelery on the street. Jared, who was selling art, told me about how, although he originates from Malawi, he considers himself South African.

In the same vein, there is Jeremicia. Marita met Jeremicia when she was in Cape Town last year. The three of us met up for lunch today. Jeremeicia is a lawyer, probably about my age, and, damn, is she passionate. She works for the Office of the Chief State Advisor. Essentially, her office determines whether legislation and potential laws are constitutional. She is so smart, warm, engaging, energetic, willing to teach, and eager to learn. Within meeting her for five minutes, I felt like I had known for ages. Halfway through lunch she looked at me and said she felt like she had a new friend in me. She told me she wants to take me to Table Mountain and she's going to kidnap me and get me fitted for traditional African dress. She answered our questions about the upcoming South African election and the corruption charges that Zuma is facing. She asked us about Obama and the political climate in the U.S., and really, what the deal is with our controlled and biased media.

After lunch with Jeremicia, we headed over to the District 6 Museum, passing the City Hall on Darling Street, which is where Nelson Mandela made his first speech after being released from prison in 1991. The museum was intense and wonderful. I learned so much and got angry and sad and hopeful. District 6 was a particularly vibrant section of Cape Town back in the 70s. It is best known for the forced removal of 60,000 non-white residents by the apartheid regime. The resident's were forced to move to the Cape Flats (aka the townships) so the neighborhood could be completely demolished, only to be rebuilt as a whites-only part of Cape Town. I spent some time talking to Joe, who works at the museum. Joe was a resident of District 6, and left on his own accord before he was forced out. Joe is tall and lean; he looks incredible for his 70 years and called me "my love". Joe spoke about the hope and the "hanging on" - knowing that after the forced removal and during apartheid, he knew things would bounce back and it was just a matter of time. That's how he raised his kids. So then, when it happened, they were ready. He, coincidentally, is also a jazz singer and was a joy to watch singing his heart out the previous night at Swingers (and guaranteed us a reserved spot with the jammers next time we're back for some jazz).

Alright, folks, I'm blogged out for now. But, I want to have a little talk with all of you. I know you're reading, I just know it. I'm smart like that. So, you damn well better start commenting. Peter gets a shout out for leaving me a comment! So, please learn from Peter's lead and leave me some love. :)