One week down....
I’ve hardly had access to Internet throughout my first week here, but I have had time to type up my impressions every few days. I think it’ll be easiest if I just post them all in one post.
Tuesday, Feb 7
So during my 2-day flight to South Africa, I had a 10-hour layover in London- what a great chance to explore the city! I found the underground and took it into the city. At Piccadilly Circus, I got off and after a little searching, found the open-top double deck bus tour (with live English commentary!) Not wanting to pack too much, I was only wearing a jacket, which wasn’t so bad until I climbed to the top of the bus and it started moving: luckily, it was not raining, but the icy winds forced me to put up my hood and wish I had a scarf and gloves. The commentator on the bus was very friendly, and made sure to ask everyone where they came from so that she wouldn’t leave out anything of interest. Apparently, American accents are easy to guess because she knew where I was from after I had only said “hello.”
I found myself trying to blend in and pretend I was English, especially when walking on the streets and in the restaurant. I’m not sure why, and it’s sort of a paradox really because I wanted blend in and feel like I was part of the country (which I felt that I could easily do, as long as I wasn’t talking). But I also found myself intensely proud of my nationality, and if anyone asked where I was from, I was very proud to say America. I feel the same way here, in South Africa.
Every building in England is so charming; my favorite part was on the bus ride out of Heathrow airport (the underground line was being worked on so they had bus shuttles set up) and all the little houses with their steep roofs and chimneys. And the street signs: instead of yield, they said “give way” (and the exit signs in the underground station said “way out”).
The bus tour was lovely, most of the history and the building names went right through my head, but the sights and buildings, mostly the architecture, fascinated me. We went by all the main sites (Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, Tower Bridge and London Bridge, and a million others I can’t remember right now). About 1 ½ hours into the tour, at Trafalgar Square, the cold was enough for me and I decided to navigate the streets on my own and find somewhere to warm up with some food. I stopped in a few shops, just to see what they were like (pretty basic, but in a convenience store I noticed that there were no doors on the refrigerated shelves with pop and drinks: I don’t know if this is common, but it was interesting). After wandering the streets and the shops, I found a small, inviting restaurant across the road (but I can’t remember for the life of me what it was called). Wanting to get the full English experience (and scared of the other things on the menu which I have never tried), I ordered fish and chips and hot tea. Nothing against the Red Brick’s food, but the fish here was incredible.
After lunch, it was around 4:00 PM and I was starting to feel tired (oh and remember I still have this stupid head cold) so I decided to finish the last leg of the bus tour and head back to the airport.
On the way back, jet lag hit (the jet lag pills didn’t work so well, Lindsay!) and it was a struggle to stay awake through the train and bus ride. I finally stumbled onto the plane and didn’t even stay awake for the safety instructions. It was a nice flight to Jo’burg, South Africa, as nice as 11 hours can be, but since our plane had been delayed I missed my next flight, to P.E. The next one was at 4 PM, so I had about 4-5 hours to enjoy the Jo’berg airport, which I did by figuring out the phones (it took a while!), getting some money, fighting a nosebleed in the bathroom (that was an adventure), and having some lunch.
Finally, I made it to Port Elizabeth (or P.E.), and my host family was there to meet me. Linda, my host mom, drove me past the township (where black Africans were forced to live under Apartheid), which was basically a bunch of leaky, falling-down shacks made out of flimsy sheets of wood. They seem to be randomly thrown together with different types of scrap wood, so the sides of the houses are different colors. The “roofs” (tin sheets) are held down by tires or large rocks. They were tiny, as well: from the outside, they look like the size of my bedroom, or maybe twice as big as mom’s chicken coop. Standing alone, one would look like one of the abandoned buildings on a farm, but there were hundreds, with maybe 5 or 10 feet between each one. In another area, the government has started to rebuild the houses so that everyone has a nice stone house, but these houses are still appallingly small and close together. I will have to get pictures soon, because you can read all you want about them, but until you actually see the townships, you have no idea how bad it is. The most astonishing thing was that right across the road were very nice, large houses, with driveways and gates.
We live only 5 minutes away, and although there is not violent crime, theft happens very frequently. You cannot leave anything unlocked for even a minute. They lock the stickshift in place in the car, as well as locking the car. The gate to get into the yard (which is all fenced in) has a remote control, as does the garage door. There is a burglar alarm system in the house, bars on all the windows (but they are attractive looking bars, which match the frames in the windows), and the doors are kept locked at all times, even if you are only in another part of the house. For me, the precautions seem silly because I haven’t seen any of this occur, and I do feel safe in the house. But I have heard stories of things being stolen right out from under their nose.
All the nice houses in the area are made out of stone. They all have fences or walls surrounding them, and gates at the driveway. The house we live in is nice, with beautiful hardwood floors and wide doorways (apparently the wood for the floors has to be imported, because they don’t have enough trees for wood here in S.A.). Almost as soon as I arrived, Rob (host father) had to take David (host brother, 18) to play practice- they are putting on Shakespeare in an open-air theater in the park. I went with them, to get a sense of the area and see the park. Everything is gorgeous, it’s green and there are exotic plants and trees everywhere.
The parrot, Murphy, is the most babied pet here. He has a personality and I might be growing more fond of him (I really don’t like birds). There are also 2 dogs, another (very loud) bird, a cat I have seen once in the window (he’s terrified of Rocky, the new dog), and snakes and geckos I have not met yet.
I arrived Monday, and spent all day Tuesday sleeping. I woke up for dinner and spent the evening on the back porch enjoying the view and chatting with Rob. Sitting outside feels just like home- there’s a pool in the background, and bright green trees and plants everywhere, absolutely gorgeous with a beautiful view. It’s very private even though we are in town. The air was still warm, although it was starting to cool, and I could hear crickets and other insects chirping. It felt just like sitting on the porch at mom and dad’s house.
Tomorrow I am going to school with Beauty, the girl who rents the flat from my family (it’s attached to the house). On Thursday, Rob’s school is taking a trip to a campsite near Addo Elephant park, and he has invited me to go along. They are using me as another pair of eyes and ears to keep the students in line, but I’m okay with that. It should be nice and relaxing. I come back on Saturday.
Wednesday, February 8: My first day at school.
The first thing that struck me about the school was that it was very casual. There are about 6 other student teachers there: most of them grew up here and went to high school at Alex (short for Alexander Road High School). And then there is the one student from OU. They were all very friendly, and so were all the other teachers. We gather in the lounge for a morning meeting, and they have coffee and tea for us. We then go off to our classes. The bell rings every half hour, so there are 11 periods in addition to 2 breaks, but most classes last for 2 of the periods (about an hour long). As soon as I sat down with the other student teachers today before the meeting, one of them, James, asked if I could cover a class for him. I was a little nervous, but I said yes, and he had the first 2 periods free so he took me on a tour of the school. It looks small from the outside, but it is large. There are 3 hallways with grassy spaces in between. There are windows and doors everywhere to see and hear the outdoors. There are about 1,200 students at Alex (grades 8-12). Period 3 began in James’ classroom, and he introduced me, passed out the test, and went off to his meeting. I wandered around the room and watched as the students worked on the test. It was easy: I’ve given tests before, and the students were well behaved.
I observed 2 of Linda’s classes during the rest of the day. The class is very unlike those in the US but so far I can’t really put it into words. Again, it was very laid back, and she does not grade homework. She asks about questions over the homework, goes over some examples from the book problems, has the students work on the rest, and then checks on them during the period.
There seems to be much less administrative work during the class period. No taking attendance, collecting papers, grading, and no discipline problems that I saw.
The best thing about the school is the community of teachers. We have the staff room, where the morning meeting takes place, and where everyone hangs out during free periods and during the 2 breaks. It’s so nice to have a place to just sit and relax with the coffee or tea made for us, and talk. At Alexander (back in Athens), the teachers were so isolated and stuck to their classrooms.
I had a pie and chips (fries) for dinner. The pie is kind of like a pot pie (but a million times better!), but looks more like a calzone. It’s basically some type of meat (I got steak) baked in a pastry like crust, and smothered in gravy. Really delicious.
Saturday, February 11
On Thursday I left for a trip with Rob’s school. He teaches at St. Georges College, a private school for students in grades 8-12. There are only 7 full time teachers at the school (part time teachers only teach, with none of the administrative duties), and about 100 students.
We took a bus to a campsite on a citrus farm near Addo elephant park. The site was beautiful, nestled in trees, right on a river, and reminded me a lot of camping in Ohio. We spent a lot of time relaxing: reading in the shade, swimming or boating on the river, or laying in the hot African sun. There were several structured activities (team building things) for the students, but the staff didn’t usually need out help. I spent a lot of time getting to know the teachers, and, during breaks, the students.
I shared a cabin with the 2 other female teachers. It was a very rustic cabin, with open doors and windows, so we shared our room with plenty of insects (particularly those pesky mosquitoes, who had a feast on my legs). The insects didn’t bother me so much as the small creature who slept with us. Debbie, one of the teachers, saw a small rat or squirrel-like animal running along the rafter in our cabin one night. I came back and sat on my mattress, talking, when suddenly we heard a loud series of squeaks (and I mean LOUD) that sounded like it was coming from right next to me. I leapt across the room, and we searched the cabin with our flashlights, but couldn’t find him. Finally, I gingerly climbed under the covers, hoping he was gone, but throughout the night I could occasionally hear him scuttling around.
The students in the camp were absolutely wonderful. They were incredibly polite, and were very nice to me. They call all the teachers “ma’am” or “sir” (I really enjoyed being “ma’am” for the weekend), and they are more than happy to sit and talk with us. The school is also very racially diverse, with a large black population, some Indian students, and others of mixed background who are called colored. I noticed that the students would often make jokes about race, or about Apartheid. They seemed perfectly content with the racial comments, but I’m unaccustomed to it and it made me slightly uncomfortable. These were statements that would not normally be heard in America, referring to one team as the “black team,” or jokingly accusing others of racism.
One ethnic group that I was happy to encounter for the first time was Afrikaans. To be honest, all the accents are new to me and I can’t tell the difference between the English accent and the Afrikaans accent. However, one of the teachers, Johann, was Afrikaans, and was very proud of it (when he couldn’t manage to stay on the paddle-ski without falling in the water, he blamed on being Afrikaans). I’m sure some of the students are Afrikaans as well, but, like I said, I can’t really tell the difference and I’m hesitant to ask. In case I haven’t written about it, Afrikaaners are descendants of the very early Dutch settlers, and so the language Afrikaans is very similar to Dutch.
I am so thankful for Harry Potter: without the books, I would have had no idea what prefects and head boy and girl are. The prefects really helped out the teachers in relaying messages to the other students and keeping them quiet at night.
Oh, one more thing worth mentioning: on my first night there, we had a braai, which is the South African version of a cook-out. Everyone brings their own meat, or braai-paks. Rob and I had porkchops and sausage made from a deer-like animal, kudu. You build a fire in a huge round area, with coals underneath the burning wood. As soon as the wood burns down, the coals are hot, and you use a shovel to move them to the edges of the circle. Each person has a triangle stand which you then rest a small grill (with a handle for holding) on. I will try to get pictures, because I can’t really find the right words. Anyway, it’s tradition to eat with your fingers, and to have potato salad and a green salad along with it (I did use a fork for the salads). They also make this delicious bread over the coals, called rooster koek. It’s actually more like individual rolls, but it tastes like the most delicious homemade white bread I’ve ever had. At the camp we also ate potjiekos, kind of like a stew or roast: lots of veggies and meat cooked in a big pot, and served over rice.
And now, some of the amusing comments/questions I have heard in the last week:
American houses are so flimsy looking. (The houses here are made out of stone)
I thought all Americans chew gum all the time.
In such a rich country, how is there any poverty? (speaking about America)
Do you know any celebrities?
Actually, the last question makes some sense, because the majority of the movies and TV shows here are American. It’s so weird to me that they see Americans all the time on the television screen, and yet Americans know so little about South Africa.
Tuesday, Feb 7
So during my 2-day flight to South Africa, I had a 10-hour layover in London- what a great chance to explore the city! I found the underground and took it into the city. At Piccadilly Circus, I got off and after a little searching, found the open-top double deck bus tour (with live English commentary!) Not wanting to pack too much, I was only wearing a jacket, which wasn’t so bad until I climbed to the top of the bus and it started moving: luckily, it was not raining, but the icy winds forced me to put up my hood and wish I had a scarf and gloves. The commentator on the bus was very friendly, and made sure to ask everyone where they came from so that she wouldn’t leave out anything of interest. Apparently, American accents are easy to guess because she knew where I was from after I had only said “hello.”
I found myself trying to blend in and pretend I was English, especially when walking on the streets and in the restaurant. I’m not sure why, and it’s sort of a paradox really because I wanted blend in and feel like I was part of the country (which I felt that I could easily do, as long as I wasn’t talking). But I also found myself intensely proud of my nationality, and if anyone asked where I was from, I was very proud to say America. I feel the same way here, in South Africa.
Every building in England is so charming; my favorite part was on the bus ride out of Heathrow airport (the underground line was being worked on so they had bus shuttles set up) and all the little houses with their steep roofs and chimneys. And the street signs: instead of yield, they said “give way” (and the exit signs in the underground station said “way out”).
The bus tour was lovely, most of the history and the building names went right through my head, but the sights and buildings, mostly the architecture, fascinated me. We went by all the main sites (Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, Tower Bridge and London Bridge, and a million others I can’t remember right now). About 1 ½ hours into the tour, at Trafalgar Square, the cold was enough for me and I decided to navigate the streets on my own and find somewhere to warm up with some food. I stopped in a few shops, just to see what they were like (pretty basic, but in a convenience store I noticed that there were no doors on the refrigerated shelves with pop and drinks: I don’t know if this is common, but it was interesting). After wandering the streets and the shops, I found a small, inviting restaurant across the road (but I can’t remember for the life of me what it was called). Wanting to get the full English experience (and scared of the other things on the menu which I have never tried), I ordered fish and chips and hot tea. Nothing against the Red Brick’s food, but the fish here was incredible.
After lunch, it was around 4:00 PM and I was starting to feel tired (oh and remember I still have this stupid head cold) so I decided to finish the last leg of the bus tour and head back to the airport.
On the way back, jet lag hit (the jet lag pills didn’t work so well, Lindsay!) and it was a struggle to stay awake through the train and bus ride. I finally stumbled onto the plane and didn’t even stay awake for the safety instructions. It was a nice flight to Jo’burg, South Africa, as nice as 11 hours can be, but since our plane had been delayed I missed my next flight, to P.E. The next one was at 4 PM, so I had about 4-5 hours to enjoy the Jo’berg airport, which I did by figuring out the phones (it took a while!), getting some money, fighting a nosebleed in the bathroom (that was an adventure), and having some lunch.
Finally, I made it to Port Elizabeth (or P.E.), and my host family was there to meet me. Linda, my host mom, drove me past the township (where black Africans were forced to live under Apartheid), which was basically a bunch of leaky, falling-down shacks made out of flimsy sheets of wood. They seem to be randomly thrown together with different types of scrap wood, so the sides of the houses are different colors. The “roofs” (tin sheets) are held down by tires or large rocks. They were tiny, as well: from the outside, they look like the size of my bedroom, or maybe twice as big as mom’s chicken coop. Standing alone, one would look like one of the abandoned buildings on a farm, but there were hundreds, with maybe 5 or 10 feet between each one. In another area, the government has started to rebuild the houses so that everyone has a nice stone house, but these houses are still appallingly small and close together. I will have to get pictures soon, because you can read all you want about them, but until you actually see the townships, you have no idea how bad it is. The most astonishing thing was that right across the road were very nice, large houses, with driveways and gates.
We live only 5 minutes away, and although there is not violent crime, theft happens very frequently. You cannot leave anything unlocked for even a minute. They lock the stickshift in place in the car, as well as locking the car. The gate to get into the yard (which is all fenced in) has a remote control, as does the garage door. There is a burglar alarm system in the house, bars on all the windows (but they are attractive looking bars, which match the frames in the windows), and the doors are kept locked at all times, even if you are only in another part of the house. For me, the precautions seem silly because I haven’t seen any of this occur, and I do feel safe in the house. But I have heard stories of things being stolen right out from under their nose.
All the nice houses in the area are made out of stone. They all have fences or walls surrounding them, and gates at the driveway. The house we live in is nice, with beautiful hardwood floors and wide doorways (apparently the wood for the floors has to be imported, because they don’t have enough trees for wood here in S.A.). Almost as soon as I arrived, Rob (host father) had to take David (host brother, 18) to play practice- they are putting on Shakespeare in an open-air theater in the park. I went with them, to get a sense of the area and see the park. Everything is gorgeous, it’s green and there are exotic plants and trees everywhere.
The parrot, Murphy, is the most babied pet here. He has a personality and I might be growing more fond of him (I really don’t like birds). There are also 2 dogs, another (very loud) bird, a cat I have seen once in the window (he’s terrified of Rocky, the new dog), and snakes and geckos I have not met yet.
I arrived Monday, and spent all day Tuesday sleeping. I woke up for dinner and spent the evening on the back porch enjoying the view and chatting with Rob. Sitting outside feels just like home- there’s a pool in the background, and bright green trees and plants everywhere, absolutely gorgeous with a beautiful view. It’s very private even though we are in town. The air was still warm, although it was starting to cool, and I could hear crickets and other insects chirping. It felt just like sitting on the porch at mom and dad’s house.
Tomorrow I am going to school with Beauty, the girl who rents the flat from my family (it’s attached to the house). On Thursday, Rob’s school is taking a trip to a campsite near Addo Elephant park, and he has invited me to go along. They are using me as another pair of eyes and ears to keep the students in line, but I’m okay with that. It should be nice and relaxing. I come back on Saturday.
Wednesday, February 8: My first day at school.
The first thing that struck me about the school was that it was very casual. There are about 6 other student teachers there: most of them grew up here and went to high school at Alex (short for Alexander Road High School). And then there is the one student from OU. They were all very friendly, and so were all the other teachers. We gather in the lounge for a morning meeting, and they have coffee and tea for us. We then go off to our classes. The bell rings every half hour, so there are 11 periods in addition to 2 breaks, but most classes last for 2 of the periods (about an hour long). As soon as I sat down with the other student teachers today before the meeting, one of them, James, asked if I could cover a class for him. I was a little nervous, but I said yes, and he had the first 2 periods free so he took me on a tour of the school. It looks small from the outside, but it is large. There are 3 hallways with grassy spaces in between. There are windows and doors everywhere to see and hear the outdoors. There are about 1,200 students at Alex (grades 8-12). Period 3 began in James’ classroom, and he introduced me, passed out the test, and went off to his meeting. I wandered around the room and watched as the students worked on the test. It was easy: I’ve given tests before, and the students were well behaved.
I observed 2 of Linda’s classes during the rest of the day. The class is very unlike those in the US but so far I can’t really put it into words. Again, it was very laid back, and she does not grade homework. She asks about questions over the homework, goes over some examples from the book problems, has the students work on the rest, and then checks on them during the period.
There seems to be much less administrative work during the class period. No taking attendance, collecting papers, grading, and no discipline problems that I saw.
The best thing about the school is the community of teachers. We have the staff room, where the morning meeting takes place, and where everyone hangs out during free periods and during the 2 breaks. It’s so nice to have a place to just sit and relax with the coffee or tea made for us, and talk. At Alexander (back in Athens), the teachers were so isolated and stuck to their classrooms.
I had a pie and chips (fries) for dinner. The pie is kind of like a pot pie (but a million times better!), but looks more like a calzone. It’s basically some type of meat (I got steak) baked in a pastry like crust, and smothered in gravy. Really delicious.
Saturday, February 11
On Thursday I left for a trip with Rob’s school. He teaches at St. Georges College, a private school for students in grades 8-12. There are only 7 full time teachers at the school (part time teachers only teach, with none of the administrative duties), and about 100 students.
We took a bus to a campsite on a citrus farm near Addo elephant park. The site was beautiful, nestled in trees, right on a river, and reminded me a lot of camping in Ohio. We spent a lot of time relaxing: reading in the shade, swimming or boating on the river, or laying in the hot African sun. There were several structured activities (team building things) for the students, but the staff didn’t usually need out help. I spent a lot of time getting to know the teachers, and, during breaks, the students.
I shared a cabin with the 2 other female teachers. It was a very rustic cabin, with open doors and windows, so we shared our room with plenty of insects (particularly those pesky mosquitoes, who had a feast on my legs). The insects didn’t bother me so much as the small creature who slept with us. Debbie, one of the teachers, saw a small rat or squirrel-like animal running along the rafter in our cabin one night. I came back and sat on my mattress, talking, when suddenly we heard a loud series of squeaks (and I mean LOUD) that sounded like it was coming from right next to me. I leapt across the room, and we searched the cabin with our flashlights, but couldn’t find him. Finally, I gingerly climbed under the covers, hoping he was gone, but throughout the night I could occasionally hear him scuttling around.
The students in the camp were absolutely wonderful. They were incredibly polite, and were very nice to me. They call all the teachers “ma’am” or “sir” (I really enjoyed being “ma’am” for the weekend), and they are more than happy to sit and talk with us. The school is also very racially diverse, with a large black population, some Indian students, and others of mixed background who are called colored. I noticed that the students would often make jokes about race, or about Apartheid. They seemed perfectly content with the racial comments, but I’m unaccustomed to it and it made me slightly uncomfortable. These were statements that would not normally be heard in America, referring to one team as the “black team,” or jokingly accusing others of racism.
One ethnic group that I was happy to encounter for the first time was Afrikaans. To be honest, all the accents are new to me and I can’t tell the difference between the English accent and the Afrikaans accent. However, one of the teachers, Johann, was Afrikaans, and was very proud of it (when he couldn’t manage to stay on the paddle-ski without falling in the water, he blamed on being Afrikaans). I’m sure some of the students are Afrikaans as well, but, like I said, I can’t really tell the difference and I’m hesitant to ask. In case I haven’t written about it, Afrikaaners are descendants of the very early Dutch settlers, and so the language Afrikaans is very similar to Dutch.
I am so thankful for Harry Potter: without the books, I would have had no idea what prefects and head boy and girl are. The prefects really helped out the teachers in relaying messages to the other students and keeping them quiet at night.
Oh, one more thing worth mentioning: on my first night there, we had a braai, which is the South African version of a cook-out. Everyone brings their own meat, or braai-paks. Rob and I had porkchops and sausage made from a deer-like animal, kudu. You build a fire in a huge round area, with coals underneath the burning wood. As soon as the wood burns down, the coals are hot, and you use a shovel to move them to the edges of the circle. Each person has a triangle stand which you then rest a small grill (with a handle for holding) on. I will try to get pictures, because I can’t really find the right words. Anyway, it’s tradition to eat with your fingers, and to have potato salad and a green salad along with it (I did use a fork for the salads). They also make this delicious bread over the coals, called rooster koek. It’s actually more like individual rolls, but it tastes like the most delicious homemade white bread I’ve ever had. At the camp we also ate potjiekos, kind of like a stew or roast: lots of veggies and meat cooked in a big pot, and served over rice.
And now, some of the amusing comments/questions I have heard in the last week:
American houses are so flimsy looking. (The houses here are made out of stone)
I thought all Americans chew gum all the time.
In such a rich country, how is there any poverty? (speaking about America)
Do you know any celebrities?
Actually, the last question makes some sense, because the majority of the movies and TV shows here are American. It’s so weird to me that they see Americans all the time on the television screen, and yet Americans know so little about South Africa.
posted by Katie | 2:52 AM
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