Zulu Nation/ KZN

                So I know it has been a while since I have updated my blog, and needless to say, a lot has happened in the past few days! First and foremost, South Africa’s internet connection and I have become arch enemies and best friends simultaneously. Internet here is on a pay per MB usage plan, however, the plan for which I paid decided not to work for most of the time in Durban. Thankfully, with the time that was usually taken up by blogging, sending e-mails, reading CNN, and checking Facebook, I had the unique opportunity to make new friends at the backpackers lodge, brush up on my Zulu phrases, take a long, warm swim in the Indian Ocean, and have time to process all of the new sights, voices, concepts, and people that I met daily, most importantly I feel myself developing meaningful relationships with my Robertson crew, as well as find time to “whyl” with my line sister, Jessica ( I see you 9). Durban was much bigger than I expected, it has a metropolitan population of 5 million, most of who are Zulu or Indian. KwaZulu- Natal is the province in South Africa with the largest population of Zulu and Indian people. “Kwa” means “the land of”, and Natal (Portuguese for Christmas), was the name of the province before and during Apartheid. Sugar cane and pineapple fields cover most of the crop land, 94% of which is owned by the Boers (Afrikaner farmers).

                 

             Most of my time spent in Durban was spent based on our own discretion, needless to say, we spend our few days in town, riding the Peoplemover, the bus started for the World Cup and continued for tourists, dodging Mini-buses (taxi-like vehicles that pick up and stop and every and any time possible), and trying so hard to speak Zulu- ngisafunda isiZulu and ngivela emelika “I am still learning zulu” and “I’m from America” are my most used phrases. Nonetheless throughout my time of hanging out and being mistaken for a Zulu woman every 20 minutes, we did have time to do “touristy” stuff. We began our “tourist” day with a trip to Mahatma Gandhi’s house, which is now a museum and South African historical site where we had an amazing tour of his compound and learned about Gandhi’s views of equality, discipline, discrimination, and racial marginalization. Sadly, I learned that the majority of killings that occurred during apartheid were black on black crime, typically from being accused of scheming with white Afrikaners (which were usually a set up by Afrikaners themselves) or being a “sell-out”. Going to Gandhi’s house made me further critique my own sense of nationalism and how critical (or un-critical) I am to America as an American citizen. Furthermore, Gandhi’s story as was shared by our tour guide, is one that preaches simultaneous criticism and reconciliation (good stuff).

                Of course, after that enlightening tour of Ghandi’s house, we had a chance to visit an “authentic” Zulu village, courtesy of “Zulu-land entertainment parks”, and watch a Zulu dancing show. Needless, to say, I have never been so uncomfortable in my life.   I truly believe that there is a difference between showcase for education and enlightenment, and pure entertainment. Unfortunately, an opportunity to teach those completely ignorant of an amazing, deeply-rooted, and fierce Zulu-empire, were instead allowed admission into a minstrel show. The dancers thought it was a joke (and were winking and making eye contact with Jess and I, as if we spoke Zulu and knew how ridiculous the whole thing was), and afterwards, the dancers/pantomimes/actors were unable to talk and instead a black man with a British accent, dressed in khaki “safari gear” narrated in third person about the “silly” and “backward” cultural practices of the Zulu people, all for a laugh and a buck. After the dance, we were led into huts where the narrator continued to speak mockingly of those who were demonstrated their cooking practices, war-fare strategies, and healing practices. We were unable to ask questions, and those demonstrating were not allowed to speak. Imagine visiting Jamestown where black people are half-naked, chained, while your light-skinned tour guide tells about the perils of slavery? ::Awkward turtle::

                Anyways, enough of my venting (we all know how I can get); the rest of the day was a complete success. We visited Phoenix, the Indian settlement and had lunch at a temple of Krishna consciousness (which was awesome). After of course, was packing for Manguzi and dinner at uShaka World marine theme park, the best marine theme park EVER… which was 100m away from my doorstep!

                As I am typing, I actually come to you from Manguzi, after a 7 hour bus ride of rolling hills, breath-taking mountains, and green plains. We made it to Manguzi! My host mama (who is definitely young enough to be my host sister), welcomed us with open arms. Many of her friends and family thought I was her niece from Jo’burg (cue two Zulu lines) so I had ample time and opportunity to practice my poor Zulu. While on the bus, I met a new friend. A student at University of KZN, who taught me lots of new Zulu phrases and was as interested in black American culture as I was in his own culture and language. Oupa, who is 22, owns an internet café in his home village and gave my insurmountable advice about navigation, not getting mugged, and how to work on my clicks. He was an awesome riding buddy! The bus was like a tap-tap bus, stopping on random spots on the side of the road, fully equipped with traveling street vendors and smart-ass ticket boys, that try to get a few extra bucks out of tourists (not on my watch). We stopped for cows, watched fully uniformed school children walk home, and I actually saw an elephant… just chilling lol. 

                Nonetheless, we got to Manguzi safe and sound. It is a bustling small town with a town center filled with the entire population. A fresh famers market stretches for two blocks on both sides of the street and small business enterprises line the streets behind it; including a KFC, Sparr (like Food-lion), and barbers and salons for days. My host mama owns her own hair salon, so if my braids start falling… she said she would hook me up! Tomorrow is my first day at work, and from the sheer number of girls I have seen in town who are underage and pregnant, I’m sure today (and every other), will be a day filled with learning and new understanding. Wish me luck!