Grassroot Soccer

My internship has been at Grassroot Soccer, an organization that "uses the power of soccer to stop the spread of HIV." While they use soccer to structure what they do, the focus is teaching life skills and HIV prevention methods to young people. I was able to work on one of their projects recently. I helped with the organization of an event for Youth Day - a national holiday in SA. It took place in Khayelitsha where Grassroot Soccer operates a center that FIFA built in the lead up to last year's World Cup. Despite the rain, over 1,000 people showed up because they wanted to play and watch soccer. The event was designed so that teams not only got points for winning games but also for participating in information sessions from local health NGOs and colleges. Individuals could also earn their team points by getting tested for HIV. An impressive 318 people got tested on the day!

In the lead-up to the event I helped organize partner organizations and did random logistical tasks. On the day, I did anything needed from managing the room full of organizations to giving out soccer balls to putting russians (hotdogs) in buns. (An aside about russians: Was it kinda gross to handle russian after russian? yes. Were russians served at Michelle Obama's recent visit? probably not. Are they as good as Mzoli's meat? nowhere close. Do I still occasionally eat them? yes.) Anyway, russians and rain apart, I had fun at the event. I am continually impressed with the Grassroot Soccer program, and its been great working with all these ridiculously energetic people!

Red Cross Internship

For the past five weeks I have been an intern at the South African Red Cross. The first two weeks of my internship was considered an “orientation”. Everyday we arrived to the office at 10am and the maid prepared Nescafe for us and we waited for the car to be ready in the lobby. We would then go and visit Red Cross sites in different locations and meet workers, volunteers, and people served by the Red Cross. After our site visit we would get dropped off at Cape Town Station and be home by 2pm. After orientation, it was decided that I would prepare therapeutic lesson plans for Orphaned and Vulnerable Children support groups run by the Red Cross in two townships (Nyanga and Khayelitsha). I learned a few things quickly. There were no resources available to do the groups and if I wanted to plan any activity I would need to buy supplies myself. The children arrived everyday to an empty room for the group that had chairs and a few tables. When it rained hard, few children attended the group. Before I began working the children would sing, pray and dance during the group.

One of the biggest challenges to doing the groups was getting transportation to the townships. Even though they were only about a 15 min. drive, the Red Cross has only one driver. Three days a week, I was to go to a township. However, I would arrive to the office and tell the person at the desk I needed transportation and then it was out of my hands. Sometimes transportation was arranged and sometimes it wasn’t. If it rained, transportation was less likely.

As for the children. I was amazed at how easy it was to make them happy. I would bring a simple puzzle or game and they were very excited and thrilled to use it. They also listen to instruction very well. Compared to working with children in the United States, these children were obedient and easily entertained. There were some cultural things that did come up. During one assignment the children were asked to write a positive thing about the other children in the class and one boy wrote that a female student was “nice and big and fat”. I asked one of the other volunteers if this was positive and she stated “oh yes that is a very nice thing to say”. Some of the boys in the group were very aggressive and would hit the other children regularly. However, there was no discipline when they hit and no one but me seemed to think it was a problem. When I did an anger worksheet with them, many children wrote that when they are angry they bite.

In the office things were very laid back and no one cares about time. If you need something you will be reassured it will be done but you will never be told when it will be done. One day my driver was two hours late to pick me up in a township and when I asked him about being late he stated “I am here now, I told you I was coming and I am here”. Deadlines also don’t seem to matter much. The office is a very social environment and we were asked to bring out own labtops and for much of the time only one of the four interns could use internet at a time. This became frustrating.

Overall I have learned a lot from the children and doing the groups but I found it very hard to deal with no set plan of what is happening day to day.

Carolyn Kalvinek

Blogging about... Blogging !!

It might seem weird to blog about blogging. Well.. Not really. After having spent about 4 weeks now, I wonder why it has been so difficult for me and others to blog about something we find interesting. Don’t get me wrong, there are many interesting things that happen daily. Actually, the issue might be that there are TOO many interesting things to blog about, thus we hesitate because we want to blog about the MOST interesting thing.

Because interesting things keep happening, and because I need to blog about something, I decided to blog about blogging !

Technology might also be a factor. IS It ? You may ask, and I answer " Yes It Is !". Not having my BB with me at all times, prevents me from sharing ideas once they occur and creates more space for hesitations and doubts. In my very humble opinion, this whole blogging situation is very similar to bungee- jumping ( Yes! I am bragging about it again ). Because once you hesitate before making the jump, that’s when you know you might never do it.

Ironically enough, people at my office right now are discussing what to blog about rather than simply just Blogging ! Claiming they need more Data uh uh uh !!!

To put this in more general terms and to make my blog more meaningful, all this comes down to human nature. Our fears, our doubts, and our concerns create barriers that delay or even prevent our actions. For some, such barriers limit their experiences, and force them to remain in their comfort zones. The story of our group is very different.

We all were able to face our fears, to live in a different culture, to take “ third-class” train rides and buy “ CHIPSSSSS”, to sit with locals in the “ mini-buses”, to work in challenging environments where some things umm... never get done , to survive despite the local mentality about time in where there is no rush… as my co-worker puts it “ Why worry when the grass is green.. laugh laugh!” , and to be able to dance to “African- house” music. Every day we learn from those who despite their suffering, they continue to laugh, dance, and love. (Corny ?!)

So many things to blog about, so many experiences that will remain with us forever. It was difficult for me to decide on one experience and talk about it. So here you have it, I am blogging about blogging!

P.S.. Listen to Adele !!

Meat and Music at Mzoli's

South Africa is a meat lovers’ paradise. Just ask Mzoli, the proud owner of Mzoli’s Place in Guguletu, one of Cape Town’s largest townships. Mzoli opened his place 8 years ago, and ever since it has been a Cape Town staple. The concept of Mzoli’s is simple: sell delicious meat, cook the delicious meat, and play music while people are eating the delicious meat.

It goes like this: Once you’ve arrived at Mzoli’s after a thirty minute shared taxi ride from Cape Town (just ask for Mzoli’s – no further explanation needed), the first thing you do is visit the Mzoli’s Place butchery. Depending on your hunger level (and budget), you choose between chicken, pork belly slabs, beef steaks, beef sausage, and lamb chops. The raw meat is then weighed, rolled in spices, and thrown into a large bowl. Lastly, the butcher rests a small cup of marinade on the meat.

At this point your mouth will start watering. But wait – what’s meat without side dishes? Your concerns are addressed at the register, where you can order pap (traditional maize dish), chakalaka (spicy tomato and onion salsa), and bread (cheap white bread, a delicacy). This is also your chance to purchase drinks. “Wait a minute,” you’ll say under your breath. “Where are the cold beers?”

Fear not. There are numerous neighborhood venders eager to provide the ice cold bottles of Castle, Black Label, Windhoek, and Hunter’s Dry Cider you’ve been longing for. Mzoli is a smart man. Rather than pay for a liquor license, he leaves the alcohol to others. In the process, he creates business for those around him. And it’s not only the alcohol venders that gain from Mzoli’s Place. Want some sunglasses to block the bright sun that’s making your meat hard to see? There’s a guy for that. How about some cool glasses to hold your beer or soda? No problem. Mzoli’s Place really isn’t Mzoli’s – it’s the community’s.

At this point you’re smiling: you’ve solved the beer dilemma, realized the beauty of Mzoli’s Place, and the bowl of meat you’ve had a part in creating is in your hands. Now what? Recognizing that you’re a tourist (not sure how they’re so perceptive), the patient cashier directs you to the right, down a smoky hallway. Meat bowl in hand, you walk triumphantly into the smoke. It’s a sight for sore eyes: about 10 barbeque (or “braai”) stations cooking up marinated chicken and meat. “Leave the bowl there and come back in 30 minutes,” the sweating braai master says. “Yes, sir,” you reply with a teary eyed smile.

Don’t squander those 30 minutes. This is the time to gather beverages from local venders, buy a pack of napkins (Mzoli lets you get those – and plates – yourself), and fetch the pap, chakalaka, and bread. With the stage set, you become anxious. Thankfully, though, your meat is now ready for pick-up.

It tastes better than you imagined: well-seasoned and perfectly cooked. The lack of silverware might also have something to do with it: Rithwaan, AU’s wise tour guide in Cape Town, once said that eating with your hands makes the food taste better because it releases enzymes from your fingertips. (Apparently enzymes taste good.) Enzymes aside, the meat, pap, chakalaka, bread, and beer are an unbeatable combination. Bopping your head and dancing in your chair to African house music, you are happy to be at Mzoli’s Place (and not a vegetarian).

Internships

We have been in Cape Town for 5 weeks now and have started our internships. I am interning at Inyathelo, where I am completing research on philanthropy and private banks in the US and Europe. I have also had the opportunity to sit in on a meeting of the FPA which is an organization that is holding the government accountable for paying out grant money. I honestly have never been present at such a dysfunctional meeting in my life! For starters, the meeting was planned from 11 until 5 with a half hour lunch break...I have never heard of a small organization of 8 people needing to meet for 6 hours to decide answers to 10 questions! The meeting was recorded so that I could go back and write the minutes later. There was an agenda and there was a facilitator, but apparently neither of those things meant anything at this meeting. The facilitator decided to start off playing some get-to-know-you games when this group has been together for over a year working, and considering that no one involved me, I know that this was not for the benefit of us getting to know each other, but seemed to simply fill the space of 45 minutes. The agenda was then introduced, and then everyone proceeded to argue about the purpose of the meeting and how they felt that they did this big research project and something needed to be done with this research, but they didn't want to do anything!

Next came the time to decide how to do advocacy for the research, to which half the people still continued arguing that they didn't want to do advocacy because they didn't want to do anything, while the other half of the room began talking about all the people they knew and all the vacations they've taken with so-and-so from such-and-such organization.

Finally it was time for lunch, I had 4 pages of notes for meeting minutes, all of which were seemingly meaningless as nothing was really agreed on. Talk continued to be of everyone's connections and who was having lunch with which member of the government and who was going to Europe with which important people...the agenda was pointedly ignored.

Following lunch were more discussions and arguments and people talking over one another. Finally, 3 major decisions were made...the three main points that the FPA would pressure the advocacy group (which was still being contested due to people not wanting to do anything with the research project) to approach the government with. As soon as people started to leave, one of the women from Inyathelo looked at me and said "well that was very productive, I'm proud of what we achieved today." I guess I looked stunned or something, because she looked at me and said, "well, what do you think?" I replied, "I have no idea what just happened here," although I had 6 pages of notes! We returned to the office, I was given the recorded meeting, and on Monday, I spent the whole day re-listening to the 6 hour conversation about nothing and got even less out of it as I heard people talking louder over one another and whoever was loudest was the one who made the final decision!

6 hours...and 3 bullet points ended up being the final draft of the notes I took!

To better understand the dysfunctionality of the meeting I just described, let me just say the office here is like nothing I've ever experienced at home! While Inyathelo is much more organized and professional than other internships here, it is nothing like an internship in the States! On my first day, I wanted to clarify my start and end times, my supervisor said "oh we try to get in around 8:30, but whatever time works for you is fine. And we normally end at 4:30 or 5." I have yet to see most of the office come around 8:30 and it has proven impossible for me to get here at 8:30 with a minibus or taxi, as they all seem to run on their own time. I still have not seen more than 3 people stay until 5, and most of the time people leave between 4 and 4:30. The dress code was described to me as "business casual," however, people wear anything from jeans to full suits...I guess it's pretty much anything presentable is ok.

While I do have a supervisor and a major project that I work on, my supervisor does not really come into the office all that often, and usually works from home. I thought she called in sick or something, so I asked another person where she was and she said "oh, she isn't here today? She is probably working from home." Considering there are only 3 people (myself included) in the philanthropy department, I had no one to really collaborate with and needed to send an email asking details of the research project I was working on. I knew what my project was, but for the first 2 weeks, had to simply peruse webpages of banks hoping I was gathering the right information as I was promised a more detailed description of my project 4 times! I finally received it, but I guess I have been working really fast, so was told to slow down because they didn't want to run out of work for me to do (the last intern they had here ran out of work after her first week and had nothing to do the rest of the time).

At any given moment, there are usually 13 people in the office and 3 are on facebook, 2 are outside smoking, and 4 are texting or taking personal calls. When someone calls the office, everyone has their own desk phone, but they say "let me transfer you" and then take a cordless phone, look around the open-floor-cubicles and then either run with the phone to the person being called or say "sorry, so-and-so is at lunch, can I take a message?" After hanging up, they will yell across, "hey, so-and-so's husband/mom/daughter/son called, can you tell her to call them back?" Now that is some very high-tech call transfer and voicemail system! By the way, I also have a phone, and no one wants to actually get up and walk the 10 feet to the person across the room to ask a question, so they call one another even though you can clearly hear both sides of the conversation without a phone. One day, another person wanted to have a similar conversation with me, but I guess my line is crossed with another, so we then had the complicated switching of phones around cubicle walls.

Trains, Techno, and Tricks

The trek to work is never dull. The commute begins with a mini-bus ride full of gospel music, techno, or if we are lucky, gospel with techno undertones. We crowd in, entirely too close to people we don’t know, but yet, with enough room to dance in place and get pumped for the day ahead of advocating and fighting for refugee rights. From the mini-bus we head to the train, where we are met by unabashed stares. Sure, we all like to stare and people watch, but usually when someone catches you staring, feeling caught, you immediately avert your eyes and pretend you were looking at that object above their head that doesn’t really exist; not here. There is no shame. Eye contact is made, but the eyes aren’t averted, the hard stares continue uninterrupted for the entire 40-minute ride. Then there is the proselytizing. Briefly our attention is taken away from the uncomfortable stares and focused on the promises of the Bible. These guys are good. Everyone on the train gets saved daily. Then we arrive in Wynberg only to start the trek all over again six hours later. This is the standard daily commute; always interesting. Yesterday, though, had an added bonus. Things started out normal enough. Robbie and I got on the train back to Cape Town, accompanied by Uncle Billy (who we named), one of those uncomfortable stare-ers who somehow manages to find us every day on the train. We sat down, started having a good light-hearted conversation about our past failed relationships, when a woman stood in front of us uttering something unintelligible. Assuming she wanted money, we told her sorry, we didn’t have any. She continued to stand uncomfortably close and repeated her self—she wanted to see our train tickets. We pulled out our tickets and showed them to the woman. She told us we were in the wrong place, we needed to move to third class; we thought we were already in third class. Hesitantly, we got up and made the move down the train. She continued to approach others in the train, telling several people they needed to get off the train and move to the appropriate car. The train reached the next stop and some people exited to make the move, while she herded the rest of us further telling us we still weren’t in the right place. And then people started to catch on. We were in third class the whole time. This woman didn’t work on the train. She was just a random woman, bored, finding a way to entertain herself on the long ride home. As people started to deny her she looked nervous; she had been found out. She gave us a side-way glance and she ran towards first class. She ran fast. I couldn’t even be angry, I had to give it to her, it was a pretty creative way to spend her ride home. And that was our commute; never dull.

Canal Walk

As a group we took a trip to the mall last night that turned into an adventure. It started by getting into a minitaxi with several stangers then being dropped off on the side of a busy road in the middle of what looked like a large apartment complex. After walking a bit we could see the huge mall with all of its fountains and nice places to eat inside. The Canal Walk mall (although very expensive) was very nice. We enjoyed a few hours of shopping and then stopped at the food court where several men were enjoying sports games being shown on the large screen television surrounded by lit up signs while thier spouses shopped at the mall. After eating it was time to return home but there was no minibus taxi to be found. After walking around aimlessly we decided to take a cab home. Six of us squeezed into the four door car. Once inside the cab, (which had a broken window on one side) the driver informed us that he was charging us a very high price. We refused to pay what he wanted and he began to say that we had too many people to fit into his cab and that he could be charged a large fine for having us all in the back if the police caught him. He dropped us off at Cape Town Station and then we were able to find a loud crowded minitaxi to take home. The trip home from the mall took 1.5 hours. Public transportation in Cape Town has proven to be always unpredictable. Some days a commute can take ten minutes and others that same commute can take two hours.