Jo-burg part 1

Cultural Lesson #4:

People from Botswana are called Batswana. Here they pronounce Botswana more like Boh-TSWA-nah and Batswana more like we pronounce Botswana (Bah-TSWA-nah). I still slip up once in a while and refer to them as Botswanans, but, like my other American habits, that is slowly fading. The language and culture are referred to as Setswana (or just Tswana for short), as in ‘Setswana culture is prevalent among the Batswana.’

27-person bus

So I just got back in town from a weekend trip to Johannesburg (Jo-burg), which was a blast. We headed out right after class on Friday and piled 26 people into a 27-person bus, which in the states would have been for 20 people, maximum. The seats were wide enough for about three-quarters of a person, and the back row of five people had to alternate people leaning forward and back, because five pairs of shoulders literally wouldn’t fit in the width of the bus.

The bus put everyone to sleep

When we crossed the border, it was clear that immigration wasn’t a priority for Botswana or South Africa. I got my passport stamped, but it was more or less for sentimental value, because as I walked across the actual border, none of the three or four guards asked to see any paperwork. I could have been a walking case of yellow fever with an expired visa and no one would have known.

The ride was a little bit longer than expected, and we missed our tour of the Origins Museum in Jo-burg, but I don’t think it was too sorely missed because everyone was hungry and looking to relax after the five-hour ride. We stayed at a backpackers in Soweto, which is a township of Jo-burg (but still has its own population of 4.5 million!).  The backpackers turned out to be a fantastic find. All of the staff members were eager to help and make you feel at home and the place had a great atmosphere. In the back they had set up a tropical oasis with palm trees, hammocks, bamboo huts and lofts, a sand floor, reggae music and even a Rainbow Lorikeet (a small, rainbow-colored parrot). They served a hearty dinner and we got to enjoy the tropical setting all night.

Backpackers oasis

Rainbow Lorikeet

They had darts, pool, foosball and a fire pit. One of the local guys and I played darts for most of the night, and all around kids were laughing and smiling as we enjoyed a beautiful night in Jo-burg.

Ambience of backpackers

Foosball, darts, bamboo hut

Tour guide introducing the sour milk

The next morning we took a bicycle tour of Soweto. We went all around the city and the guide gave historical and cultural lessons along the way. Our first stop was a hostel where black men used to stay during apartheid. There we got to try more of the traditional sorghum beer that we had on the cultural excursion, and they passed around a carton of sour milk, as well. Sour milk is a traditional drink common in southern Africa, and it tastes more or less like it sounds, though they usually mix it with some kind of meat, which apparently makes it go down more smoothly.

Derek trying the traditional sorghum beer

Robin, Derek and I with the half-finished housing
complex in the background

We passed through a slum-type village on the way to our next stop. As we biked along, everyone came out of their houses (especially young kids) and greeted us, looking for high fives. The next stop was a local butcher who specialized in cow heads, and so we each got a bite of meat from the face of a cow with, of course, nothing to wash it down. As we ate, the guide pointed out a housing complex that was being built and explained that the construction had started during the campaign of the current president as part of his promise to provide suitable housing across the country. As soon as he won the election, however, the construction stopped and the local people, realizing the emptiness of the promise, became frustrated and would throw rocks and such at the half-completed structures.

One of the tour guides explaining the history of the student
revolt in 1976. Behind him is the iconic photo of
Hector Peterson being carried after he was shot.

Our next stop was the sight of the student uprising against the apartheid regime in 1976. The government instituted a curriculum in black schools that was designed to keep blacks behind whites in their education, and students rebelled against it and against apartheid in general in Soweto. One boy named Hector Peterson, who wasn’t even actively protesting, was shot and there is an iconic photo of the uprising where a boy is carrying Hector with Hector’s sister running hysterically along side. Hector was pronounced dead at the medical clinic, and his sacrifice has become the lasting symbol of that fateful day.

Giving our full attention. From left to right, Senani, Molly,
myself and Derek

"Bunny chow"

We then went for lunch across the street and everyone had the “bunny chow.” It was an open-faced sandwich consisting of a bed of French fries topped with a fried egg, summer sausage and cheese. There was some curry powder mixed in somewhere as well, and I thought it was delicious. I helped finish my neighbor’s and washed it down with Fanta (have I talked about how perfect Fanta is when you’re abroad? In places where you can’t drink the tap water you have to order a drink and Fanta outside the U.S. is made with cane sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup and every country I’ve been too always has Fanta. It’s ideal).

Tour stop at one of Mandela's houses. Who's that
stud in the #4 jersey?

We finished the tour with a stop at one of Nelson Mandela’s houses. It is a museum now, so he no longer spends any time there, but it’s where he stayed with his second wife when he was released from prison in 1990.

We got back to the backpackers shortly after and the sun and the biking had taken its toll. It was four in the afternoon and the place was a ghost town because everyone had fallen asleep. I was on the couches with a group of people and we had sat down to watch a soccer match, but two minutes into it we were all dead asleep. Derek was curled up next to the bus driver, Robin was curled up next to one of the local students, and another boy and I had tipped straight back.

As people peeled themselves from beds and hammocks and couches, dinner was ready and we spent another night with good food in the pseudo-tropical jungle. A group of us stayed up late playing cards (a couple of people had heard of 500 but we stuck to simpler games) and telling stories around the fire. I could get used to these kinds of weekends.

Steak and corn-on-the-cob on the grill with pop (a white, sticky maize meal) and a pepper-bean salad all lathered with hot sauce and washed down with peach juice for dinner…

p.s. On the way down to Jo-burg I asked if anyone had heard the song “Johannesburg” by Gil Scott-Heron. People looked at me like I was crazy, so I thought I’d share the song with you below. Gil Scott-Heron is a singer and spoken word artist from the 70’s and 80’s whose songs and poems were laced with political and social commentary. He is considered one of, if not the, father of modern hop-hop and he’s one of my heroes because my all-time favorite artists (like Talib Kweli, Common, Kanye) all cite him as a major influence and sample his tracks all throughout their work.

"Johannesburg" refers to the struggle of the black people in South Africa during apartheid. If you listen close to the lyrics, Scott-Heron touches on a lot of the key social aspects of apartheid. The chorus ("Have you heard from Johannesburg?") highlights the tight hold the South African apartheid government had on the media and the small amounts of news that actually reached the U.S. regarding the oppression of blacks.