So it’s my first week in africa. I’m writing this on my tablet keyboard which tends to skip/double a letter now and then and the shift key is a pain so apologies in advance for the lack of capitals. i’ll do my best to edit but i’m also keen to just speak from the heart and make it real.  I’ve never wanted to write a blog. it seems a bit too flashy; too ‘look at me’ but i’ve realised it doesn’t need to be like that. I feel like my time here should be documented somewhere. it is after all a family legacy i’m continuing which goes back to my great grandmother who lived in robertson just outside of cape town. i feel like my parents’ time in south africa was cut short; they left because they had two young girls and were frustrated by the man-made disaster around them that didn’t seem to be changing. little did they know that nelson mandela would be released from prison in just a few short years. i feel like mum and dad could have taken on the world. they are the dynamic duo. german nurse feisty with a new idea around every corner and south african social worker charismatic, wise and, together with strong principles of justice, throwing parties for all sorts of people not allowed to meet and mingle. mum and dad left here at 33 and 40 years old respectively and i now start my time in cape town at just under 31. 

so i’m sitting here in my new flatshare in woodstock cape town. we have no power because the power company didn’t maintain the machines or something (not surprising to my flatmate) and so today the ‘load shedding’ stepped up a level. It’s when electricity is shut off at different times each week to different parts of the city to ensure there is enough electricity. funnily enough i heard about this 6 months ago on a visit here and thought today in the car, gee we’re lucky; looks like we dodged that. then the news came on the radio. so I’ve decided to -as my mum says- make it a feature and use the time to write my blog. (but seriously, where am i? no electricity?? what am i going to eat..?)

so i arrived to the faces of a family i didn’t realise i had here. it’s great how you can reconnect with old friends when you travel. they even had one of those cheesy signs that said my name. wonderful stuff. Sugan knew me when from when i was born up to 3 years old. on saturday i hear the story from his mum of when he and his brother were young and came along with us to a ‘white’ beach. a patrol officer copped it from my mum when he told us the boys weren’t allowed to swim in the water. and when he didn’t budge we all stormed off. go mum! i told you they could’ve changed the world.

i had to reflect in our conversation over dinner that although the airport looks the same as any other, there are many people here in cape town that will never come here to fly anywhere. in fact when we started talking about what happens in the hospitals and trauma clinics here, i learned many people may not even survive because there aren’t the resources. and yet i can jump on a plane and be home in 30 hours. wow.

so i think someone out there wanted to create a good story for me about my first day in africa. my lovely family friends and i arrived at night in woodstock to drop me off at the flatshare i’d found through gumtree back home one night. picture different coloured concrete houses surrounded by concrete or metal bar fences with spikes, tooting horns and commotion and men hanging around on the main street just down from the apartment block. from the outside it reminded me of the one time i delivered food to a government housing complex for a program through vinnies. but it was the 30 something lady a little stumbly, in tattered clothing holding the screeching metal security door open that was meant to keep the ‘bad-ies’ out that gave me the all over hot prickly feeling. the apartment and my flatmate were warm and welcoming, but i couldn’t get over the hairiness of the neighbourhood. that night i stayed with our family friends in their suburbian house and pondered over what to do.

it’s precisely these moments that can make or break a trip. not only where you live, but who with, what they do, where and who with can mean awesomeness or not. it felt like a test to see whether i could leave the niceities of australia and embrace the african lifestyle. what a cliché. but i felt worried. all the metal bars in houses although keeping you safer are a constant reminder of a threat lurking. i felt far from home and the days when i’d head to the gym in the morning and see we’d forgotten to lock the door. so i scoured the internet and wrote my emails to people on gumtree in the hope that maybe something else would come my way.

the next evening i returned to woodstock to have a look around. i felt sheepish, like the spoilt  ‘I’m a celebrity; get me outta here’ type, but i wasn’t sure i’d be able to relax and live in the area. in daylight things looked different. the apartment looked even cuter, humble and cosy with wooden floors and lots of light. My room was huge (especially without all my stuff at home) with a clear view of the majestic mountain that watches over cape town. The inside of the complex had grass and flower beds across a large area filled with the shrieks and giggles of local children which the lounge with a record player and and lie-in-me couches looked out at. although the main street was bustly and filled with the notorious saffa taxis, we saw there were a number of banks and shops that yes, did have severe burglar bars, but nonetheless continued to operate. my new flatmate, jenny, was heading out to an artsy bar in the neighbourhood with some friends that night. she laughed when i told her my goal was to leave SA sounding like a saffa. lekker man! (pronounced ‘mun’). needless to say i moved in the next day.

people are friendly and open here. even the petrol station attendance yusuf became my friend today. I’ve also met laura, maria, zena, diane in my building and had a good chin wag. Laura runs the body corporate so i’ve gone up for a few visits and managed to secure a car space for next week. in the meantime Zena’s lending me hers. People are generous, they share about themselves here; they like to tell their story. people wave when you let them in on the road and move over to let you overtake. yes their load may not be secured, they can stop suddenly in the middle of the road and weave dangerously in and out of lanes in vans that have questionable servicing but they call out to people – do they want a lift?-, people say hello and introduce themselves if they haven’the seen you before, and there’s a general bustle and atmosphere of aliveness. for a place that has little in some ways it has a whole lot of heart and personality. i like it.

interesting fact from jenny today: the minimum wage here is about 7 rand an hour. my parmesan cheese from pick ‘n’ pay cost 48.