Banking Battles... and Blessings.

I miss a handful of things about living in the United States – sleeping in a comfortable bed, topping favorite foods with yellow mustard, and hearing “y’all” sprinkled into conversations, to name a few. After today, I can add a new bullet to my list: convenience.

I know, I know. That’s a terribly American thing to say.

Today’s experience battling with South African systems had me crying (almost literally) for the convenience I had taken for granted at home. After telling the story several times, I noticed a few underlying themes, one being the unique characteristics of South Africa’s banking systems, but another being the complications of a “rootless” life.

What happened, you ask? I attempted to book a one-night stay at Aquila, a nearby game reserve. Seems easy enough. Trust me, though, there are all sorts of setbacks embedded.

From the start, the reservation itself proved to be inconvenient. It required me to print a form to complete with my banking details, which then needed to be submitted via email. Because I’d be close to a printer and a scanner, this wouldn’t have proven to be a problem in my home sweet home. When such a simple process requires downloading the document at home, saving it to a flash drive, walking to PostNet, printing the form, filling it out, scanning the form, saving it to the flash drive, and walking back home to submit via email, the reservation becomes a bit more complicated.

Just as I crossed the reservation off my to-do list and moved on to the car rental, I received an email that the transaction had been declined. Before attending to the email, I wrapped up my conversation with the car rental company. It, too, had been declined. After confirming that I had submitted the accurate details, it became apparent that there was some sort of account error occurring. The solution: call Standard Bank.

False. Calling the bank’s customer service line – successfully navigating the automated options, then sorting the collision of clashing accents – landed me at a conversation with a friendly representative who kindly informed me that I must visit my local branch to sort out the issue. Again, no big deal if you have a car, or even if you walk past a branch often. Today, however, this meant a one-mile walk to the closest branch on Long Street.

The issue was quickly sorted. It seemed that an anti-theft procedure had been catalyzed by my attempted purchase(s), and verifying my identity with my bank card, passport, and ATM PIN sent me on my way with a smile on my face. I made a couple of small purchases on the way back just to make sure the card was functioning, and I was anxious to finally settle my quest.

I called the companies again, asking them to give it another try. Of course, the payment was declined… again. A glance at my watch reminded me that I’d have to wait until tomorrow to return to the bank, as it was closing at 3:30 PM.

This realization spiraled into a full meltdown of frustration, and against no one in particular. I was aggravated by the inconvenience of the chase created by my lack of transportation, which was no one’s fault but my own. I’ve resisted renting or buying a car, mostly based on liability reasoning. Do I really want to own something? Do I really want to take on the risk of renting a car? Do I really need transportation when I have almost everything I need right here? Such a commitment seemed too permanent, too rooted for my liking.

As for the banking system, I was frustrated that Standard Bank was intercepting my efforts to spend my money, but the fact of the matter is that anti-theft mechanisms like the one impeding my payment are there to protect against others from spending my money. Compared to my bank in the US, my bank is South Africa is incredibly thorough in its anti-theft protection.

Successful anti-theft mechanisms!
http://sustainability.standardbank.com/economic-performance/
secure-banking/combating-fraud-and-corruption/

For example, I set maximum amounts of withdrawal and payment from the account at the time the account was set up. Additionally, I receive a text message alert immediately after any transaction, whether at an ATM or at a point of sale. There are always notifications, reminders, and educational materials about common theft tricks on Standard Bank websites, ATM screens, and other correspondence. I’m guessing the red flags in today’s saga were the repeated attempts of transaction, the location of the transactions (outside Cape Town, which is unlike my habits to date), and the volume of the transactions (again, unlike my habits).

I’m left waiting until tomorrow to walk to the bank branch and try again, but my rational self is doing its best to remind my reactive self to calm down and be thankful. For good weather to walk in, for coffee shops and familiar faces along the way, for systems that keep my funds secure… and for the glass of South African red wine that reminded me to slow down and count my blessings.

 

Can You Hear Me Now? Good.

As Rotary Ambassadorial Scholars, we are expected to serve as bridges between our home countries and our host countries. More specifically, we are to foster understanding between our home Rotary district and our host Rotary district. While much of this understanding blossoms informally, one of our responsibilities is to give 10-15 ambassadorial presentations to Rotary and non-Rotary audiences over the duration of our study year.

District map of my host district in Africa

Over the past three months, I have corresponded with several Rotary clubs in District 9350, and I have coordinated several of these presentations. Last week, I visited the Noon Gun Rotary Club, which meets in Cape Town CBD, or Central Business District. The club was incredibly welcoming and extraordinarily friendly, and I really enjoyed the time I spent with them.

One of the Rotarians in attendance explained that he participated in the Rotary Youth Exchange many years ago. He mentioned that because international communication was underdeveloped at the time, he spoke to his parents about three times during the course of his time abroad. This, of course, astounded me, revealing my dependence on communication technology that makes the distance between here and there (wherever one might apply those terms) seem significantly more manageable.

Valentine's Day greetings with my sisters

Even prior to this conversation, though, I was reflecting on the value of such technology. My communication with someone in the United States or another country usually ends with a moment of appreciation for the sheer ability to cross the world with text, photos, videos, or voices, not to mention the ease at which these things are possible. When armed with an iPhone and a MacBook, nowhere is too far away. Curious about communication while abroad? Here are my not-so-secret weapons.

• WhatsApp: For someone like me, who thrives on constant communication via text message, WhatsApp is invaluable. A messenger app available to anyone with an iPhone, Android, BlackBerry, or Windows phone, WhatsApp functions just like text messaging, but it uses the Internet for transmission of data rather than the phone line. Thanks to this simple app, many of my friends and family members are at my fingertips, no matter where I am (or where they are) in the world. Since being here, I've been in conversation with people in the USA, Spain, Jordan, Denmark, New Zealand, England, and South Africa. And, when I part ways with past and current roommates, I'll be able to talk to them in their homes of Australia, Russia, and Germany.
• Skype: Without a doubt, Skype deserves the world’s gratitude. Given a webcam and high-speed Internet access, Skype can connect any two devices anywhere in the world with video chat communication. I chose “devices” over “people” because it’s a great tool for feeling included in group functions from family birthday celebrations to friend get-togethers. The real accolade for Skype is that it’s simple enough for my dad to figure out… and that’s saying something. 

• Viber: This hidden gem of the smartphone app world is incredibly under-utilized. I actually didn’t know about it until just before I started this adventure, but now I’m an avid fan. Similar to WhatsApp, Viber functions off Internet to provide voice call capability between any two phones with the app. When both users are connected to WiFi, the call quality is unbelievably clear, especially in contrast to the international phone call quality I’ve experienced since being here. If one user is connected or both users are connected using a 3G or 4G data connection, it’s a bit less reliable, but that’s avoidable.

South Africa is dominated by the BlackBerry, as the device and its corresponding data plans are much more affordable here. Plus, its BlackBerry Messenger (BBM) service makes communication between BlackBerry users free. In fact, one prominent ad at the end of Long Street boasted this tagline, an obvious jab at Apple’s iconic slogan: THINK DIFFERENT? OR DO DIFFERENT?

BlackBerry ad on the side of a
building at the end of Long Street

Though I tip my hat to such clever advertising, I remain staunchly loyal to the iPhone. Thus, I wasn’t willing to transition to the BlackBerry. To my surprise, therefore, I’ve found myself using WhatsApp to communicate freely with locals (and other international students and visitors, as well) to avoid messaging charges.

Aside from these spectacular resources, there's also the usual communication outlets: phone calls (at about $0.10 per minute for international calls), emails (also available on my phone), postal mail (if you can wait about a month for it to get there), and social networking (Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram).

My iPhone home screen:
Evidence that I'm abroad!

There's no question that without free-flowing communication, I'd feel much more isolated and much farther away from the comforts of family and old, broken-in, and reliable friendships. Communication shrinks the size of the world, as almost every corner is connected in many ways. The "other side of the world," as I so often refer to my current location, would feel much farther away without so many avenues to stay in touch with my favorite people.

Manenberg and Missing My Momma

On March 20, I woke up with a heavy heart. I attempted to wish the feeling away with productivity and distraction, cleaning my room and checking Facebook incessantly. Most of these milestones come and go in my mind. After all, why would one want to dwell on the passing of another month without her mother?

The heaviness lingered, though. I couldn’t shake the overwhelming grief that six months had passed since my mom had passed away – only six months? – and that I was farther away from my family than I ever had been and probably ever will be. In those six months, everything had changed. Once fairly dependent on my mom’s advice, encouragement, and faith in me, I was now finding my way around life in a foreign country. On this day, I was feeling especially lonely, and I was missing my mom more than ever. 

A quick reminder of how far away from home I am

As I sat at my desk silently wondering what to make of my day, my phone rang. Mr. Saxby, one of my host counselors for my scholarship, would be heading to Manenberg to visit and learn about a potential Rotary project site, and he invited me to join him. I had no idea what I was getting into, but I welcomed a distraction. Plus, I always enjoy learning more about Cape Town with Mr. Saxby.

The drive provided enough time to learn a bit about the area we were visiting. Manenberg, a township that is home to approximately 70,000 people, was created by the apartheid government for low-income Coloured families. Though it carries a derogatory connotation in the United States, in South Africa, "Coloured" refers to an ethnic group of mixed race that makes up about 70% of the Cape Town population. 

The project site was a Catholic church known as Holy Family of Nazareth. Like many properties in and around Cape Town, the church's grounds were bordered by a concrete wall with razor wire at the top and an gate for cars' entry. We were let in and asked to pause in the parking lot for an introduction before entering the church. There, on the dusty and desolate lawn, a priest who used to live on the grounds shared his experiences and knowledge about the area.

"Look up at that window. Those are bullet holes."

He went on to explain that Manenberg is home to a tradition of severe crime and gangsterism. Its violence and street gangs are a part of everyday life. One might pass a gang headquarters on his or her way to church or school and think nothing unusual of it. 

The church we visited operates Holy Family Child and Youth Development Centre, which provides a safe place for children to play after school. It developed in 2010, when schools closed for a prolonged time while Cape Town hosted the World Cup. According to the priest, many of the children received their only meal and refuge from the violence of the township at school, meaning the break for the World Cup would leave the community in a dangerous spot. Additionally, most of the children wandered the streets with no supervision from their parents and caregivers, who were often tangled up in gang violence, drug use and alcohol abuse, or domestic violence and child abuse.

As he walked us inside, we passed an older woman sitting with a child in a wheelchair and a toddler. "What are you doing here today?" he asked. "They were shooting," she replied. 

Inside the church, the vibrance of childhood bloomed. One room held a group of children learning hip hop dance moves from a young man. In another room was a gathering of girls playing recorders as a young lady played piano. In yet another room, children were learning basic life skills such as cooking. In the playroom, innumerable small children wiggled around heaps of worn and beaten toys. In the kitchen, three women worked to prepare a basic sandwich meal for the children.

Razor wire in Manenberg
(http://www.unodc.org/images/newsletter/persp_no02/page006_01.jpg)

For just a few hours each day, children come and go as they please. Some of the children have been coming to the centre since its beginning, including the young man who gave us a tour of the facilities. They are each served one meal per day - a sandwich or soup, for example. Here, the children are able to play safely and out of the danger that walks the streets of the place they call home. Or, worse, in the buildings and rooms they call home.

While watching a young boy play with a typewriter that had seen better days, I remembered a typewriter that had been a source of my own childhood entertainment. Mine, though, had a ribbon of ink to be transferred to endless blank pages. His didn't even have all the keys. Nevertheless, interested onlookers huddled over him, as if a fantastic story was spilling onto the imaginary pages. 

Observing the happiness of the children while simultaneously imagining the things they have seen, heard, and endured was enough to move anyone on any given day. But to witness such durability of the human spirit on a day when I was feeling the weight of my own world was quite another experience.

Manenberg
(http://africasacountry.com/2011/09/15/tupac-in-africa/)

It took some time to process exactly what I was feeling that day. There was a collision of overwhelming sadness and encouraging hope. If these children could still smile, I most certainly could. Watching the children play in what could very well be the most loving and caring atmosphere they know shifted my focus from how frustrating and unfair it was to suddenly lose my mother to how unbelievably lucky I was to spend 24 years showered in love from my mother in a caring and comfortable home.

They don't know it, and they never will, but those joyous children changed my perspective for the better. That day, I decided not to heed the 20th of each month with a sense of mourning and loss that fills an entire day. Instead, I shifted my outlook to one of memorialization and remembering the blessing of an extraordinary mother. Of embodying my momma's spirit rather than just missing its presence. 

For the rest of the day, I felt blessed. The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter, the hospitality of my host counselors glowed. It was hard to believe, but on the day that marked six months without my momma, I  felt lucky. And that was an unexpected treasure.

Do Your Little Bit Of Good Where You Are

A quick 25-minute walk separates me from an entirely different human experience, and I make the journey at least twice a week. When I walk down Kloof Street, over to Orange Street, through the Company Gardens, down Plein Street, and over to Commercial Street, everything changes.

Along the way, I pass the Mount Nelson (a famous hotel known for its high tea), the South Africa Museum Planetarium, the Italian and French Consulates, the South African National Gallery and the schoolchildren playing in the Company Gardens, and the juxtaposition of businessmen and beggars in front of the Parliament of South Africa.

Each week, I make this trek to the Scalibrini Centre of Cape Town, where I teach and tutor refugees from other African countries. I teach a Beginners English class of 15-20 students (the roster, or "register" as they say here, keeps growing) on Fridays from 9 AM to 12 PM, and I've just begun tutoring a 16 year old unaccompanied refugee with dyslexia. The youngest student in my English class is 22 years old, and they range in age beyond that. Most of the refugees in my class (but not all) are from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (or DRC), Malawi, Central African Republic, the Congo, Rwanda, and Somalia.

Refugees and asylum seekers may take English courses at the Scalibrini Centre of Cape Town for R200, which equates to about $22. Four levels are offered - Beginner, Elementary, Pre-Intermediate, and Intermediate - and each level is divided into two courses, which last five months each. In addition to the English School, the Scalibrini Centre offers other welfare and development services thanks to a team of 26 employees and about 40 volunteers who are always in and out.

I knew I would enjoy volunteering at the refugee center, but I had entirely underestimated the impact being back in front of a classroom (of African refugees, no less) would have on me as an individual, as a professional, and as a temporary resident of South Africa.

For refugees, English is the language of opportunity - for communication, for employment, for understanding. My students seem to love our frustrating language, and they love learning how to talk about their lives and ask about others' lives. Their faces light up when I plug my own details into our lessons (my mother's name, my hometown, my favorite words, etc.), and I enjoy talking about the home I miss.

Perhaps the most striking contrast between teaching at Scalibrini and my own teaching experience in the past is that these students, unlike my beloved teenagers who practically run out the door at the sound of the bell, reluctantly pack their materials at the end of each lesson. Teaching students who intensely want to learn your material is refreshing and inspiring, especially when it reaffirms your love for your career choice.

At the end of one day's lesson, one student lingered to practice his conversation skills with me. With a few pauses for collecting the right combination of words, he said, "Teacher, nice to meet you. Thank you for teaching me English. I love English and speaking English. I want to learn so much English."

After doing my best to explain to him how much I loved teaching him English, I packed up my things and headed out the classroom door with a smile on my face. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found several of my students gathered there. Their newfound classroom camaraderie had apparently led to collaboration in French. "Teacher, do you like coffee?" one student said. "Do you want to come to coffee with us?" he continued, as the others stood by with smiles of their own.

My heart hasn't felt so full in the longest time. I was humbled by such a small gesture of gratitude and proud of their growing English language skills, even after only three class meetings. I had made a connection with people who come from far different backgrounds and experiences, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to do so.

Desmond Tutu, a South African social rights activist and opponent to apartheid, once said, "Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world." Teaching English at Scalabrini might not be changing the world, but it might be changing some of my students' worlds, and I am extremely thankful for this chance to do my little bit of good where I am.

Two Sides Of The Same Coin

“More than any other nation, South Africa articulates its dreams through sport,” read a recent TIME Magazine article by Alex Perry that went into circulation following Oscar Pistorius’ arrest for the murder of his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp. 

In South Africa, sport has a history of representing hope. With the end of apartheid in 1994, the country experienced extreme unrest. President Nelson Mandela adopted rugby, a traditionally Afrikaans sport, and the country’s home victory in the 1995 World Cup united a very divided nation. In 2010, the FIFA World Cup announced to the world that “Africa was no longer the hopeless continent but a waking point of capability and opportunity.” And in 2012, a man with no legs - yes, Oscar Pistorius - achieved victory in a sport he could have easily written off as out of reach: running. (Perry, 2013)

Nelson Mandela presents the
rugby World Cup to Francois Pienaar
(from the link above)

Invictus, a popular movie that tells of
Mandela's alliance with the
rugby captain to unite the country

During my (almost) two months in Cape Town, I’ve had the opportunity to experience vastly different sporting events: cricket at Newlands Cricket Ground and football (soccer) at Athlone Stadium.

Veeral, a friend I met as I was leaving a braai hosted by one of last year’s Ambassadorial Scholars, offered me the chance to attend the cricket match. He had an extra ticket for a box seat at the stadium, and being a cultural experience I knew nothing about, I jumped on the chance. Prior to leaving the house that morning, I couldn’t have even told you whether I was going to a cricket game or a cricket match.

It turned out to be a lot of fun. The stadium, which is in Newlands, holds 51,900 people, but there were nowhere near that many fans present. Newlands is an upmarket residential area in the Southern Suburbs area, and it has an American suburb feel. The stadium is right in the mix with quaint homes and car dealerships, almost as if it were dropped on top of an existing neighborhood.

Newlands Cricket Ground
(www.southafricatourismonline.com)

South Africa vs. Pakistan
(http://www.nbcnews.com/id/33097505/?q=Pakistan)

I’m still not quite sure of the logistics of the game, but I know more now than I used to know! For example, cricket matches are played on a field, at the center of which there is a pitch. Because test matches last several days, fans tend to leisurely come and go rather than try to catch every single play of the event. South Africa defeated Pakistan in this test match by four wickets.

Matt and Eric, two guy friends we spend quite a lot of time with, get credit for our football (soccer) experience at Athlone Stadium. They work at Chris Campbell Memorial Field in Khayelitsha, a local township, and are avid fans of the sport. With Lindsey already in tow, they picked me up after class on Wednesday and we headed to Athlone Stadium on The Cape Flats, an area with which Newlands has more contrast than comparison. Historically, The Cape Flats have been home to many who were forced out of central urban areas by race-based legislation during apartheid into government housing and informal settlements.

Chippa vs. Kaizer at Athlone Stadium

We watched Chippa United (of Cape Town) play the Kaizer Chiefs (of Johannesburg), which was especially thrilling because of the matchup’s dually South African roots. The stadium holds 30,000 people, and it was quite filled with enthusiastic fans, many with vuvuzelas in tow. Considered "The People's Game" in South Africa, it is football (soccer) that inspires loud cheers from all corners of the city, including a pub just up the street from our house.  Watching the fans proved to be more entertaining than the game itself, as I was amazed by the passion and fervor each person had for his or her team. It seemed that every person was decked in team colors and dancing or singing in support of their pick.

Culture reveals itself in everyday customs and values, and attending these events introduced me to different sides of the multi-faceted culture of Cape Town. In a way, the contrasting cricket and football events were like seeing two sides of the same coin; both experiences represented South Africa's love for sport, but from two incredibly different perspectives. Now I'm looking forward to adding rugby, the third of the country's three most popular sports, to the list!