Mountain Majesties

Several years ago while talking with a South African who was visiting SeattIe I suggested she see Mount Rainier because, after all, South Africa doesn't really have mountains. She looked at me incredulously. She commented that South Africa has beautiful mountains. And it does. But it is interesting how different they are from the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, which accounts for at least some of my ignorance.

The mountains of the Pacific Northwest are striking and majestic. They are a sight to behold as they ascend high into the sky. They have gorgeous, pointed, snow-tipped caps. On the other hand, South African mountains are old and eroded by centuries of wind and weather. They wore but wise. They have a presence that is steadfast and enduring, so indicative of human life here.

In Cape Town you are surrounded by them. No matter where you are, the mountain is there. It is amazing. I am mesmerized each and every day by them. They don’t present themselves with the grand beauty of the Cascades or the Olympics, but they have an air of erudition. It reminds me how beauty, even of the same build, can take so many forms.

Their Ship Came In

I was in rural Eastern Cape visiting friends recently. I sometimes (still) struggle with the accent, particularly in the rural areas. I don’t know if it is because English is used much less frequently there or if the accent is different because they speak a “deep” isiXhosa that hasn’t been as affected by the external cultural influences that urban isiXhosa speakers have been exposed to in Cape Town. Either way, I do find it challenging. At Nolungile’s home, an older woman who is considered an elder in the village, she excited told me that she was awaiting her son who was bringing a ship. “A ship?” I ask bewilderedly. She explains that her son is coming now with a ship that he won. “He won a ship? And he is coming now with it?” I repeat. “Yes,” she says while smiling proudly.

Now I am puzzled. There are no large rivers or lakes that I am aware of near there. Nor can I imagine what he would have at his disposal that would transport this ship to water. Furthermore, very few people have cars and I wonder exactly how he’ll be carrying a ship. I, as humbly as possible, turn to another person sitting with us. I realize that I am missing something, but I’m not sure quite what, and I repeat what I heard. “Her son is on his way with a ship… that he won? And he’s coming now?” I speak steadily and carefully articulate each word to be sure I am understood. “Yes! We must wait for them!” she says. I engage in another conversation until a different person walks in that I know. I discretely, but fastidiously, ask him about the ship. He confirms. He says the village soccer team won their rival team and they are coming here with a ship. I try to conceal my confusion and emulate his enthusiasm. “Well, this should be interesting,” I think to myself. I image a boys’ soccer team carrying a large wooden ship down the kilometers of dirt road riddled with pot holes.

Then I hear it. It is the magical melody of boisterous vocals chanting in celebration. Everybody jumps up and bellows typical undulating African yelps. As they come closer and the chanting gets louder. Others in neighboring houses also come out to chant and sing in victory. I am encouraged to go to the road to get a picture. As the group of boys emerge from the darkness of the unlit dirt road, they carry in tow a prize much more valuable than a ship. A large and lethargic sheep leads the way and attracts the envy of the audience. She is a laudable reward for a game well done.

Cultural Reflection

So I’m researching the discipline of Disability Studies in search of theoretical framework and some smart passages I can site in my research essay. Naturally, the idea of how individuals and groups perceive their surroundings enters the picture; with that, a nice over view of culture. I read it a couple times. By the second time I realized I wasn’t reading it for my research anymore; this was personal.

It defined culture as a ‘purposeful act’ which imposes an artificial order upon social life, calls that order natural, right and desirable, and works to maintain that order at the expense of alternatives which it represents as inferior and disorderly.” It is an activity that imposes “certain frameworks upon the ways in which we relate to each other, to establish boundaries between what is right and wrong, acceptable and unacceptable, proper and improper, normal and abnormal”. Perhaps that is part of the deep sense of loss and intense loneliness I feel. I have in many ways left the safe and familiar confines of my culture.

But it reads to add something else I find apropos and timely. It then goes on to say that culture is “a necessary activity; without culture there would be no guidelines for understanding either who we are, where we have come from, what we should do, or where we are going.” I know where I came from and who I am because of the rich and profoundly important relationships I've had, and continue to have. I am deeply grateful for that. It continues to say that “what distinguishes us from those around us is much less that what connects us.” Even while on another continent.

Dancing African Languages

Language is beautiful, both for its utilitarian benefits as well as its artistic aspects. It’s hard for me to get over all the different languages that are spoken feely here. It never ceases to amaze me when I listen to friends whose Mother Tongue differs.

In such a multi-lingual society the language spoken is nearly as fluid as the words themselves. Conversations don’t stay rutted in one language, confined by the terms and phrases of a single system. A conversation, like any other organic process, moves and flows with the rhythms of the moment. During many times I have been a part of a conversation when others in the conversation will swiftly and seamlessly roll into a different language.

It is even more fascinating to me as I begin to learn the differences between the languages. I am able to at times discern when they change. This is particularly true between Tswana to Xhosa, for which I have several friends who speak both. They are both beautiful, but very different African languages. Tswana is characterized by sweet, soft, rolling tones accentuated by subtle German sounds. In contrast, Xhosa is melodic and dances with tonal inflections with the addition of clicks that provide irregular and exotic drum beats to its tune.

On many occasions I have been a part of a conversation where one individual is speaking Xhosa while another is speaking Tswana. All individuals speak both languages and, if one didn’t know they were different languages, there was no irregular syntax in the conversation. Then, if I listen carefully, I will hear bits of English or of other languages. Sometimes the conversation will switch entirely to one language or another, and then back again to speaking separate languages. It continues to amaze me.

It must be wonderful to have the full grasp of several languages to fully express oneself. Not being bi-lingual it is difficult to fully understand. But I do know that many times I have heard that one phrase or another just doesn’t translate. On a few occasions, I haven’t been able to fully express an English idiom. What a fantastic gift to have the ability to manipulate so many languages.

Neither Red Nor Sporty

I look up on the internet used cars that fit my criteria: under R45,000. I also need something low miles that is reliable, particularly knowing I will be travelling the nine hour journey up the Garden Route from Cape Town to Port Elizabeth and back. One dealership keeps showing up as meeting these fine criteria. I show up later that day in my rental to check them out. I look around. One seems to fit my criteria so I ask to take it for a test drive.

My sales person gets in. I get in. We go. He drives around for about ten minutes while I listen for any rattles or knocks in the engine. Meanwhile, I play with gadgets to make sure the air con (South African’s shorten EVERYTHING), heat, windshield wipers etc are in working order. We pull back into the dealership. Ummmmm… “I would like to take it for drive”. “Unless,” I add with a condescending smile, “you come with the car”.

“Oh!?” he says. He fumbles around reluctantly, then mutters under his breath, “I hope you don’t scare me”. I hold my breath, not to mention my tongue, and only smile. Then he quickly calls to a nearby mechanic and orders him to go with me for a drive. I drive the car around and return. I say I am interested but want to look some more. I ask to drive another car. It’s R10,000 less and the drive proves to me why that is. “Okay, I like the first one”. Although I am nauseous from the comment, I am exhausted of spending money on a rental car. All I need is something that is reliable and in my budget. “I’ll take it”.

South Africa has a service called ‘AA South Africa’. A good friend had cautioned that any car I am interested in purchasing must be reviewed through them. I don’t know what that means, but I am aware that just mentioning it to a dealer will provide me, an obvious foreigner, a little bit of credibility. It is expensive, but I trust it is worth it- particularly because I don’t have any clue about how to purchase an automobile here.

The AA report indicates some good things and some bad things. The car is in generally good shape. It has low’ish miles; it has 130 kilometers. It hasn’t been in a major wreck, only a small fender-bender on the front-driver side. The engine is in good shape. No rust. No structural damage. But there are some things that need to be fixed. I get a final report in six comprehensive pages that describe everything from a shudder in the brakes to a loose screw in the passenger sun visor. I return to the dealership ready to negotiate.

The deal is made. They will fix everything in the report and I will buy the car. Perfect. Unfortunately, that means that I won’t get the car for a couple of days, but that is OK. Finally, I pick up the car. Hmmm… I’m no mechanic but I’m pretty sure that some of the things aren’t fixed. The car still sounds like it has an exhaust leak and the idol still waivers. This could be a problem. I take it back to AA South Africa, and for a small price they review the initial report to ensure the work was done.

Unfortunately, I was right. Virtually nothing in the report was completed. The few things that were fixed, were done improperly. The mechanic at AA South Africa takes a red pen and puts an asterisk by all the things that need to be done. He says I must go back to the dealership and tell them to fix everything with an asterisk for free. He insists I come back to tell him how the conversation went.

I find my sales person. Without the condescending smile I explain what the AA South Africa mechanic told me. He gives several inadequate excuses, which I quickly dismiss. He walks over to his manager and quietly discusses it with him. He returns and agrees to the terms. I agree to drop the car off the following day to get the work done.

I arrive the next day. It’s Friday. I let him know that I will need it back at the end of the day. He shudders. He stammers and says he can’t guarantee it will be done… that there is no way he can do that. I let him know that I won’t be without the car for the weekend and he must prioritize the work that is done and that I will be back at the end of the day to collect it. If more work is to be done, then I will bring it back Monday. Oh, and by the way, he needs to take me back to my flat in Sea Point... and pick me back up at the end of the day to collect my car. Daggers shoot from his eyes. My condescending smile returns. Of course, he agrees.

A staff from the dealership drives me to my flat about twenty minutes away and picks me up at the end of the day. I enter the dealership and sit at the desk to discuss the progress on my car. As I chat with The Sexist Pig salesman, a colleague of his looks over and says something to the effect of “you always get the pretty customers!”. I smile warmly. He, looking nauseous from the comment, glares at him and says “pretty difficult…!”. Then looks at me with a cheesy fake smile and says “just kidding”. My smile returns.

I agree to bring my car back on Monday. Again I insist they drive me to my flat and back. The same for Tuesday. By this time I am exhausted. I’ve spent two weeks purchasing this car between going to the dealership, getting my “traffic number”, licensing, AA South Africa reviews and several additional days at the dealership. Now only one thing is left. A new side mirror. I’ll be happy when it is over.