Settling Into Cape Town

From March 30

After the blur and business and intense learning of the last twenty-four hours, I can tell that the next five weeks of my life are going to absolutely fly by.

After taking a melatonin pill last night to ensure that I didn’t wake up at 4 in the morning (which would be about 11 PM Brazilian time), I conked out and didn’t wake up until… the alarm of somebody else which sounded an hour and a half before I wanted to arise. Awesome. I took advantage of the extra time to delve into Infinite Jest, a thousand-page odyssey set in Boston, Massachusetts that I began two weeks ago and had hoped to finish before coming to South Africa. Tough luck, but hopefully I will finish it quickly now that I have extremely limited distractions—but more about that in a bit.

In every other country to which we’ve travelled, we have been afforded at least eighteen hours of uninterrupted chill and rest before programming begins. Not so with Cape Town. As I said, we were shepherded around town all of yesterday, then given an 8:30 AM call-time with the expectation that we would have “recovered” from jetlag. LOL YA OK.

But, we all composed ourselves and mustered some excitement for the scavenger-hunt-like activity this morning. We were given a one-page list of walking instructions and leading questions then allowed to roam the city center in groups of seven. My group happened upon some fascinating sights, including:

• The former sight of the Racial Classification Board, a governmental organization that decided the designation of “white,” “colored,” “black,” and numerous other sickening labels that would decide everything about the rights and lives of the citizens. I have yet to find out how apartheid differed from Jim Crow in the South—or whether it did at all—but it was still jarring to see the relics of two benches, one with the inscription “Whites Only,” the other with the inscription “Non-Whites Only.”
•  The site of the first public library in South AfricaThe Centre of the Book, an institution dedicated to cultivating a love of reading in South Africa
• The Supreme Court of South Africa—fascinating, as I hope to one day work at (or across the street/town from) its American equivalent *wink wink*
• Cape Town’s City Hall—the site of Nelson Mandela’s very first speech. Actually, the balcony on which he spoke was blocked from the public behind locked gates, but after explaining our identities and situation to a few people inside of the building, we were taken on a private tour by one of the higher-ups through the hallways and out onto the actual balcony. SO cool!!
• We then nabbed a quick lunch (not Indian, phew), then headed to a public library for class. I had to be cajoled through the numerous stacks of fascinating books, as I almost halted in the middle of the library to check out like fifteen novels. We sat through about four and a half more hours of class—which I would have fallen asleep in were it not for the fascinating material and my determined resolution to really and truly make the most of Cape Town

A few days ago, I realized with a start that my time on this study abroad program is almost over and that I have not nearly begun to make of it what I hope to. In India, I was overwhelmed—emotionally, sensorally, psychologically—and it was personally impossible for me to invest my full attention and intellect in the academia and culture. I was simply too exhausted and too busy trying to survive with my sanity intact. In Sao Paulo, I fell in love with the city and with my host family. I visited museums and went to a few nightclubs (okay, only one) and hung out with my host sister and niece. However, I played Sudoku in class and spent too much time rolling my eyes at boring, repetitive lectures. Cape Town, I’ve decided, is my place. I will do every reading (or almost every reading); I will think critically about the issues with which I am presented; I will explore the nooks and crannies of the nature, the museums, the clubs, and the stores of this city with excitement and an open mind. (Starting tomorrow, because I opted for an early night of sleep in lieu of a jazz festival. I’m jetlagged, okay!??!)

After class, we drove a short distance to Bo’Kaap, a Muslim neighborhood in the city centre and our homes for the next ten days. Yes—ten days. We have two homestays here in Cape Town, meaning two partners, two families, two households, two sets of rules, two types of cooking, etc. etc. My homestay mother—whom I call Mama—calls Savannah and I her “darlings” and cooked us a delicious dinner and showed us her stunning view of the city of Cape Town (two amazing views in a row—I’m so lucky!!). My homestay dad, Papa, bought me delicious ice cream from a nearby market, so clearly, they already know me well.

There’s no WiFi in my homestay, which I strangely and kind of shockingly was hoping for. I think that in Sao Paulo, I checked Facebook/Snapchat/Twitter too often; that I thought of who was messaging me or who wasn’t messaging me with an unhealthy mindset; that I obsessed over the mundane and petty back home and back at school too heartily. It made me uneasy. I want to totally devote my attention and energy to Cape Town, and I hope to return to the contemplative, inflective state that I’d acquired in India.

I never would have imagined that I’d forgo WiFi happily and eagerly. I never would have thought that I’d breathe a sigh of relief in finding I had no Internet. And that makes me wonder—have I changed? I’ve attributed all of my new qualities—a recognition of certain inequalities; attentiveness to detail; more intellectual and meaningful observation and conversation; a fiery resolution to stick by my ideals; an invasive negativity that can cloud my shiny, naïve optimism; uneasiness with going out on the town; and many more that I’m just beginning to realize as I actually list them—to my surroundings; I’ve recognized them as temporary, fleeting mechanisms with which to cope with these foreign environments. But what if that’s me now? What if I return to America, to California and Boston, and realize that I’ve carried with me these new outlooks and ideas and ways of approaching the world? Or perhaps, in a potentially scarier outcome, what if I shed these traits and slip back comfortably into the life of the Aubrey that departed for New York two and a half months ago? I feel so in flux, and I wonder if others will think that I have changed when I come back home.

I will be finding out soon, though, because this program really is almost over. I almost teared up today, thinking of saying goodbye to Sally, Jenn, and Caitlin. I honestly don’t know how I’ll function without their constant presence—I already miss Sally’s laugh, and it’s only been four hours since I’ve seen her!!! Excepting one weekend in India, this is probably the furthest I’ve been from her for a period longer than three or four hours, considering we were homestay partners then neighbors then spring break buddies. How absurd that I’ve grown so close so quickly to these lovely people and that we will never be so physically close for such a long time ever again. UGH but wait I have another month and I don’t want to cry on my first night in this homestay!!! So, I think I’ll end this post right about now, and reaffirm my gratefulness for this opportunity, my joy in recognizing how lucky I am, and my determination to make the most of Cape Town and really reflect on what I’ve accomplished so far.

Lots of love,

Aubrey

Swirling Skirts, Slave Ships, and Espanol

A relaxing and fun Sunday to end the weekend. Probably will be a short post since I'm only covering one day, but I want to make sure that I cover all of the awesome events of the day before I'm worn out by the week!

My day began pretty late, since I relaxed with an hour and a half long breakfast this morning. Cake, fruit, and three different types of bread. Izzy, Sally, and I then met up to check out Ibirapuera Park, a really peaceful, gigantic public park only minutes from our home. We visited two pretty cool museums, Museu Afro Brasil and Museu de Arte Moderno.

Here were some of my favorite pieces from the Museu Afro Brasil:

It's a dog, of course I loved it!

Three favorite things: America, Mickey Mouse, and #100 dollah bills

A re-imagining of Frida Kahlo

In fact, I loved the art so much, I decided to join it!

Joining pictures of the swirling skirts!

The museum featured numerous African-Brazilian artists, as well as an incredibly touching and though-provoking exhibit on Brazilian slavery. The exhibit included a large-scale replica of a slave boat from the 19th century. Photographs, paintings, and maps accompanied the gigantic wooden frame. 

Even as a history concentrator, I lose sight of the humanity of the people of the past. I forget that they also worried about relationships, that they laughed at risque "that's what she said jokes," that they had goals for themselves and dreams for their children. They also had more serious problems--slavery, obviously; lack of freedoms; disease; etc. etc. But they were human. And that's who I come from. My ancestors (on one side) came to the United States on boats just like those, scared and potentially hopeless but determined to survive. And because of their fortitude and unwillingness to surrender to the inequalities and prejudices and disgusting mistreatment that they faced, I am here today. It was incredibly moving.

Honestly, I struggle a lot with questions of identity. Despite the misleading look my pale skin (which burns much too easily) and Anglo-Saxon features, I am about a quarter African-American on my mom's side. People tend to be skeptical and may even think I'm a liar, but it's true. I often struggle with how to express pride in and appreciation for my heritage. I don't look black, and because I am able, in a sense, to avoid the blunt of racism and hardships that fall upon African-Americans in the States, I feel guilty attempting to align with my black ancestry. However, to deny or even silently disregard my heritage seems really dishonest and even disrespectful to the men and women whose sacrifices I think of everyday, and whose strength allowed for my existence. I'm caught between these conflicting ideas of what I imagine to be my two paths in accepting and embracing my ancestry, and it's a struggle most people don't even know I deal with. Anyways, all of these thoughts and clashes of ideology were racing through my head as I wandered through this museum dedicated to African-Brazilians. Its ability to stimulate such profound and deep questions testifies to its wonderful material and construction.

The Museum of Modern Art, on the other hand, was not my cup of tea. I'm really not a fan of modern art--it just does not make sense to me. This sums up my confusion on this period of artwork:

I was cajoled into examining the exhibits by the ever-cultural Sally and Izzy, as well as the allure of free admission. I didn't have to grapple with my immature views on art for long, though, because the entire museum took about 15 minutes to walk through.

Sally was pretty disappointed but I happily flounced to the museum's cafe for a cappuccino. We arrived back home around 5 PM and I quickly dropped into bed for a nap and some enjoyment of the falling rain. I enjoyed the rainy sunset with my delightful book--

SO artsy

--and joined my fam for an awesome dinner with some really fascinating political discussion. I commented appreciatively on the political awareness and activism of all of the Brazilians I've met (including the dozens of Paulistas blockading the streets, protesting for the impeachment of the current president), while I was asked about Donald Trump.

Them: So what's going on with Donald Trump?

Me:

I conversed with them in English (because I obviously can only speak "un pequeno" of Spanish and practically nothing else), but their quick asides in Portuguese seemed familiar to me, and I was able to pick up a few words here and there. I'm pretty adept at numbers now, which may seem juvenile but is very useful when trying to buy adorable jewelry at the street markets.

It only strengthens my desire and determination to actually learn Spanish for real this summer with my fam. WE GOT THIS, GUYS.

Now, I'm just chilling out, mourning the end of my weekend and pondering in disbelief the fact that I only have ONE more full weekend here in Sao Paulo.

Time to try to get to sleep before 1 AM!!!!

Toodles,

Aubrey

Back @ It

(From February 16)

After four days of sickness and seclusion, I was itching to re-enter the real world on Monday. I woke up excitedly, feeling too ill to scarf down the gorgeous fruits that my host mother had cut up for me but still determined to brave the bumpy rickshaw drive to the school.

Sally and I greeted each other like long-lost siblings, babbling incessantly and laughing maniacally about the seventy-two hours that had elapsed since our last goodbye. I attempted to catch up on the first half of the group project that had begun in my absence on Friday but focused more on updating my Facebook and blog after about a week without WiFi on my laptop. I caught the gist, though: my group was in the midst of researching real estate developers in relation to the massive development project taking place on the Sabarmati Riverfront, a river which cuts through the middle of Ahmedabad. We had several site visits to make and limited time (and energy) to get through them.

We stopped at a few locations, which are mostly a blur, then made our way to an art-deco café for lunch (reminded me a lot of the beautiful restaurant in Ein Hod, Haifa, Israel!) that served Italian food. I’m not exaggerating when I say that images of pasta had literally been dancing through my mind only the previous day; it can be difficult to crave Indian food when your stomach has decided that it hates you. Of course, in usual Indian fashion, when I went up to the counter and excitedly ordered a pasta dish, I was haughtily told that they had run out of pasta in addition to wraps, pizza, and side dishes. Only sandwiches and omelettes remained.

I squinted with withering disappointment and huffily ordered a sandwich, with Sally hastily reassuring that I could share her pasta, which apparently she had ordered the last of. I ended up stuffing myself with my first full meal since Wednesday, scarfing down pasta, pizza, and a caprese sandwich. I felt slightly sick afterwards but refused to admit it.

After one final presentation, Sally and I rode home on our bumpy rickshaw and collapsed into bed for a nap. About an hour or so later, we emerged to find two English-speaking women our age (!!!!) that happened to be our host mother’s nieces sitting and waiting to converse with us. It was super exciting, but in all honesty, Sally talked with them more while I turned on Discovery Channel’s Belief with Oprah Winfrey (Mondays at 9 PM!!!!!!) and sat riveted to the television.

Knowing that my stomach had been ailing me, my host mother decided to make tomato soup and macaroni and cheese in order to serve a dish mild enough for my raging indigestion. It was such a kind (and delicious) gesture and made me feel way more comfortable.

Today (Tuesday) was our first day back in the classroom since Wednesday. Sally and I had begun to get suspicious of our regular rickshaw driver, who takes us to class every single morning for 120 rupees (or about $2). We’d been able to cajole drivers into returning us home for only about 100 rupees, so we decided to put our driver’s meter to the test in order to detect whether or not we’d been ripped off over the past few weeks. Our driver, a little bit shocked and slightly offended, haltingly agreed to turn on his meter.

Lo and behold—our trip to the school should only have cost 93 rupees a day! We had been swindled!!!!!!!! While I demanded that our driver give us two free rides in order to pay us back, Sally took a slightly less radical stance and simply told him we’d only be paying the correct price from now on. We both stalked away from the cheating driver without a backwards glance.

(These are the times when I really really wish I could use gifs—so many possibilities!!!!! Hopefully Brazil does me better with technology…)

Class today was interesting and flew pretty quickly. We ate one of my favorite dishes today (first Indian food in a week!!!) and walked to get some ice cream (#1 of the day). Our groups then met up to finalize our presentations that make up 30% of our final grade for one of our four classes.

In high school in group projects, I would often take complete control, promising my fellow members that we’d get an A if they’d allow me to do all of the work without interference. The deal was usually accepted without hesitation. I realized in college, though, that I was surrounded by people like me; Harvardians are not usually keen on handing the wheel to a fellow student. Funnily enough, my group this time around had all three Harvardians in it, and the other two, as well as a fellow group member, were jostling for control. I decided to relinquish any semblance of my Type A personality and simply go along for the ride, only copying drawn diagrams into Microsoft Word using lines and text boxes. I felt quite relaxed.

After finishing up our preliminary drafts, we departed, I taking four books from a mini library I’d found in our working space. Sally and I hurried home so that Saba, our host mom’s daughter, could give us a tour of the neighborhood mosque for an observation exercise we had to complete. But first… Ice cream #2 of the day since the first place I’d gone didn’t have the exact bar that I loved.

The mosque was extremely interesting, and I enjoyed comparing my experiences and observations with those I’d had in Turkey at the numerous mosques I’d visited. This one was much more outdoors-oriented because of the warm and hot weather year-around. It also had much more Hindi influence in its architecture and its customs, which I found fascinating. It made me curious to see Christian churches in the area (a religion with which I’m more familiar and on which I’m more educated) to see how they differ from churches back home.

We returned to the home and were visited by two more people, one of whom also spoke English (!!!! In Sally’s words, it’s become a sitcom here! “There’s a knock at the door, and you’re just looking to see who comes in next.”) We’ve been so starved for interaction that we react in quite different ways to the commotion. Sally gladly interacts, firing off questions and engaging in conversation. I usually just sit back in relative silence, letting the intelligible noise flow over me and relishing the delight of company. I get kind of shy with strangers at first and would rather listen to conversation as opposed to instigating it. Nevertheless, I really enjoy the visitors…. While eating ice cream #3.

Our host mom made one of her delicacies tonight of which we’d heard raving compliments but had never tried: CHINESE food!!! Indian Chinese food, what a thought. I think we were a little apprehensive, but our first taste of her Manchurian chicken assuaged any worry we’d had—it was absolutely phenomenal. We gobbled it up, and my stomach only murmured slightly in protest. I shushed it completely with one mini Three Musketeers provided by my host mom.

It’s been a tumultuous week—honestly, a completely hectic month. I’ve been thrown into this insane situation with twenty-nine strangers, and we are simply all making it up as we go along. Being in India has really shaken my sense of identity, though, which has been disconcerting to the point of tears. I’ll try to explain.

I define myself in so many ways, both consciously and subconsciously. I label myself through habit, background, likes, dislikes, and many other things. Everybody does. But being in India has forced me to peel back all of these layers, significant and insignificant, and I’ve been forced to re-examine who I am.

On a light note, for example: I used to think I was someone who used toilets. Yeah, in the occasional moment camping in the woods, I would hide behind a tree, but like 99% of the time, I sat my butt down on a toilet seat and did my business.

No longer the case. I’ve used Indian toilets—aka a hole in the ground—almost every day we’ve been here. Sometimes, even when there’s a choice between an Indian toilet and a “Western” toilet, I choose the former due to the cleanliness.

Another thing—I always thought of myself as a lover of any and all dogs, always. And like I still am… but even I cringe a little when I see one of the mangy mutts here digging through cow poop in the street, and the wince is not always sympathetic. Sometimes it’s in disgust. However, love for canines was one quality that I decided I was determined to retain, which partly helps explain my reckless behavior from Saturday in feeding and coaxing random strays that may or may not have had rabies.

Finally, I’ve always thought of myself as joyful, and prided myself on that fact. I like to say that I carry a little inner flame of joy and gratefulness and appreciation and humility in my belly and feed it constantly with the positivity I find both in the environment around me and within myself. But so many times here, I’ve been reduced to a puddle of tears for no good reason. I complain about things out of and within my control, and I embrace negativity far too often. Am I still joyful? Am I still happy? I don’t know.

I’ve really been struggling with this lack of definition. How can I travel the world and appreciate new things and form opinions and maintain beliefs if I can’t even keep my definition of “self” constant? It feels hopeless. So, a few nights ago, I started listing things that I know for a fact about myself. Like, I love to read. I’ve been reading voraciously since I’ve been gone, and I devour a book every few days. Or, I am obsessed with California, New Orleans, and Washington, D.C. Even things as simple as the fact that I love sleeping with an eye mask, because otherwise the sunlight wakes me up in the morning. Minuscule realities that tether me to the earth, that keep me sane, that remind me that I am still and always will be me, even if that me seems up in the air, or far away, or indefinite. There are still parts of me that I can count on and that I can look for when I’m lost, like flickering candles in the dark murkiness of uncertainty.

Talking to my friends back at school has helped a lot, too, but sometimes I can’t help but fear that they’ve only remained attached to that old Aubrey—the dog-loving (I still am!!!), toilet-using (not so much) joyful human being. I can’t decide yet whether I hope that’s the same Aubrey that returns to the United States in two and a half months. I am scared but hopeful that it won’t be. I think (I truly, truly hope) that I’ll only improve over my journey.

I think I’m getting slightly philosophical, though, and it’s late considering that I’ve got to get to school early for prime Instagramming time—err, I mean, to finish my presentation.

So, toodles for now, from the dog-loving, book-reading Californian who is about to put on her sleeping mask,

The Always Improving Aubrey