Racial Tensions

            I have spent a good amount of time in South Africa wondering what true race relations are like. Much as described in my earlier post, I am often left confused, and sometimes angry. It is a complicated and long history, and one that would likely take longer than 3 months doing research to understand. Nevertheless, the juxtaposition of viewpoints I have encountered continues to shock me.

I actually wrote this post a while ago, and doubted posting due to its length and my lack of understanding of the many contexts in which race enters into daily life here. But after yet another racist experience today, in which my proclamation that all people are equal resulted in a person simply walking away from me, I took another look at what I wrote and decided to post it. What follows are two stories demonstrating the difficulties this country still faces. I hope they also reflect the amazing nature and resiliency of the South African people.

For my final dinner during my initial safari, I found myself eating alone with the hostess of the lodge. Fortunately, during my time on safari, in only the few days of my presence, I had grown quite close to her. Amidst fears of leaving vacation for work, leaving the countryside for a big city, and leaving a place of surreal comfort surrounded by amazing animals for reality, I decided to learn a bit about the country in which I was to spend the rest of my summer. I knew she was approximately 30 years old, and I knew, therefore, that she had experienced the transition from apartheid to the new constitution of South Africa. I decided to ask her what that was like, and her response is something I will never forget…

            I’m not sure how the conversation began, though I know I had been anxious to learn the reality ever since my visit to the well-done yet almost too composed apartheid museum in Johannesburg. So I asked Pretty, my host, what it had meant for her when apartheid ended. She said, “I remember being little, and thinking that white people were more clever than me. I thought I could not be clever. Then apartheid ended, and all it meant was that I could be educated. So I got educated, and I always cared. Then I still had a piece of my childhood when I started working. I got my job, and I was well educated, but white people didn’t like it. One man took over. He told the boss I shouldn’t be running the place and took my job one day. But he was white, so I thought he would be clever, more clever than me. Then I found he could not even write his name! He was rude to everyone, but could not do anything! So he was fired, and I realized that I could be clever, and that black people could be clever too.”

            We talked a bit longer, and I was astonished at her knowledge of the situation. The girl who once thought that due to her skin color, she was simply not clever, now understood and was willing to speak out against racial payment injustice within her country. She was only 4 years older than myself, yet she had grown to understand how to better herself via education, and how to value herself for her own capabilities and hard work instead of her skin color. She continued speaking of the injustices still at the table in her country, but boasted of the many successes and abilities of South African women. She was proud of her job and her life, (rightfully so as she was likely one of my favorite hostesses ever!), and thankfully, had grown to appreciate herself as a capable human.

            Living in Umhlanga has been interesting. The bars, although having epic music, are quite white. In a sense, it is nice. I fit in, and can dance and dance like nobody is watching. Unlike many parts of Latin America, where ridiculous dancing tends to attract onlookers if blonder hair is involved, here it does what it is meant to do, and wards off unwanted attention.

            But, in a moment of overheating, my friend and I stopped grooving to the beat, and headed to the porch for a breath of ocean air. As we chatted about the week, a man approached us with his friends and asked where we were from. We told him that we were from the US, and he asked what we thought South Africa would be like. “Expectations were few,” we explained, “but people here are very nice, and we are loving it!” we said.

            The man seemed shocked, and asked if we had really been a lot of places (I think he assumed we meant people in Umhlanga were nice). We told him that we spent every day in the townships. (Townships are areas outside of Durban known to be poor, and generally not white). Shocked he asked why we would go there, to which his friend retorted, “White South Africans don't go to townships,” they then quickly walked away.  When I saw them later, I was ignored. Apparently we crossed a line.

            Suddenly, despite being ignored all night for fitting in, I felt like the odd man out. My frustration grew. Summer research is a new experience for me. Previous surveys were my own, done in a language I spoke, and in a country with far fewer historical complications than South Africa, I never felt like I didn't have a place. Townships get excited and want to touch my shoe or my hair, and local bar clientele near my home don’t care to say hello when they find out I have been to the townships. It’s a new place to be, and it’s not ideal. It’s confusing, and complex, with a long, complicated history. I do not know what it means for this country, but I do know that on any given day I would choose the townships.

The prettiest stadium on Nelson Mandela Day

AND THEN WE WENT IN!

Watching Manchester city play!

Maanaa and I out with one of our fantastic enumerators

Working hard! Hiking up a Durban hill to knock on doors for surveys.

Daily debrief in Chestertown.

How Many Cows do you Require??

            After 3 years in Latin America with semi-blonde hair, I am used to the occasional marriage proposal. Mom’s have presented their sons, friends have mentioned a cousin, and shameless men with one to many beers have far too swiftly followed “hola” with popping the question. But today I finally received the local version of the otherwise far-to-typical offhanded proposals I’ve previously received. Sitting down with an enumerator at our 3^rd household interview of the day, she turned to me and said simply, “He wants to ask you how many cows!”

            Fortunately, I knew what this meant, and was prepared to sarcastically overbid his request. When I booked my safari alone, it never crossed my mind that the experience would realize itself as me alone with guides and camp supervisors alike. While this led to awkward bush walks between two rifled guards and limited talking, it also led to lots of learning during dinners at Marc’s Treehouse lodge with the fantastic staff. This is where I learned the local value of a cow.

            In Zulu tradition, men must pay for a wife. Once they have decided who they would like to marry, they must approach the woman’s family and ask for her hand, and they reply with the required “Lobola” or estimated value of their daughter and her future. And the best offer comes in the form of cows. Cows cost approximately 8,000 to 12,000 rands (800 to 1,200$). And considering that this tradition spreads well into urban areas, their procurement may be more expensive, and quite tedious. Nevertheless, cows are the preferred Lobola.

            I asked my favorite staff member how many cows were normal. She said it depended on the value of the woman. On her beauty, her intelligence, her job, and her education. The cows, she explained, represent an investment in the future the couple will have together. Though presented to her parents, their value is usually returned to the couple in the form of a house, or another financial down payment to support their livelihoods.  I also asked this staff member how many cows she expected, “I’m clever, educated, and I have a good job,” she said “whoever wants to marry me better come with a lot of cows!” I tend to agree.

Another of my favorite South African women, one who led us through her neighborhood on our first day chasing Wonderbags told us she got 18 cows for marriage. Clearly proud, she also announced that she was worth every one.

I have asked many women here how many cows they expect and find I am consistently impressed with their answers. Not one has said below twelve yet, and the simple way they say it makes me believe they are worth every heifer. And as I left the house today, I couldn’t help but respect this tradition. For all I can see it has bred generations of extremely proud and respectable woman. It encourages positive choices, and it provides an excellent opportunity for self-evaluations. 

On Monday one of the enumerators asked me how many cows I would cost, to which I responded that I was thinking of a number around 25. He said, “What, are you royalty?” The enumerator on his right said, “Yeah girl, get your Lobola!” Together we reminded the young fellow that every girl is a princess, and I walked away once again impressed by the strength and power of the young South African women I have met here so far.

From the road. A fine example of the extreme contrast of wealth in this country.

We went to the south african version of costco. People here love BRAAI, or BBQ, and they had a HUGE meat section with HUGE meat for that purpose.

Briefing the enumerators after a long day of surveys in Chesterville! The survey is almost complete and we will deploy officially next month!

My friends and I upgraded to a new apartment. Its in the same complex, but has three bedrooms and is about half the price. Also, the view now includes two piece of ocean. The livingroom looks like a bachelor pad with a curtain fit for a stage, but that's another picture. Here's the view from my bedroom!

An Observation on South African Racial Integration

            Doing my research and talking to people about South Africa before my arrival here, I thought I would be prepared for the racial divide. It was mostly economic, I thought, the results of decades of suppression and the somewhat recent lifting of Apartheid. But what I didn’t expect would be the accompanying exaggerated geographic divide that I now notice every day.

            Umhlanga: A fancy beach town bordering the Indian Ocean with delightful bars and a grocery store reminiscent of Whole Foods. About a ten-minute drive up a hill, and there is even a place to learn to surf… on a fake wave, at the mall. In the area around our apartment, everyone is white. There are black security guards, cleaning ladies, and workers everywhere. But the guests, the beachgoers, the diners are all white, with an occasional Indian or Asian guest. When you overhear a conversation its in English. The accent is different, but the lifestyle is very reminiscent of home.

            Then we drive ten minutes on the highway. Suddenly I’m an oddity. Children shout, “Hi white!” and looking around, I find that my fellow Berkeley researchers and I are the only white people in sight. Kids run after us waving, men holler, and women selling wares on the street’s side straight-up laugh at the idea of us walking into their community. All day I struggle to learn bits and pieces of Zulu, and every day I learn something new about a culture, a place, and a society.

            South Africa prides itself on its diversity, and rightfully so. It is a beautiful country, with fantastic landscapes, a wealth of minerals, and influences from multiple native tribes, and various immigrants from around the world. And despite a troubling past, this country now formally recognizes 11 national languages, and people of all colors have achieved many successes.

            And with the great glory of Mandela and the fantastically colorful videos flowing onto my Paraguayan television during the world cup, despite my research, I find that I arrived here naïve. I was not expecting an inter-racial handholding ceremony, but in a country with a fairly substantial white population, I never thought I would be an oddity walking into a city suburb. In a country where black citizens compose the majority, I never thought I would get stares when walking with my Ghanaian colleague in the area around our apartment.  

            This post isn’t a statement, but more of a story. It’s a story of surprise and personal naivety. It’s a glimpse into the constantly evolving story of both progress and limitation struggling to find their balance in one of the most beautiful countries filled with some of the most friendly, clever, and determined peoples I have ever met.