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We are set up. We have our skottel, our kettle and candles but electricity has been on all week. Go figure. I’m not complaining! Last week was politics week with a hint of danger, romance (I saw 50 shades – does that count?) and set to the soundtrack of afro soul. My good friend at home says to be careful to not overschedule myself and at the time I said “don’t worry! I’m fine. I just need to make some more friends here”, but it seems she was right. Today writing this I can feel the delicious exhaustion that comes with seeing lots and resting little. There is just so much to do and see. Early night tonight I think.

Last Thursday was the infamous ‘SONA’ (State of the Nation) which I had heard about all week on the radio. I can’t remember anyone having an opening of parliament party at home to watch Tony Abbott speak, but here it’s the thing to do and with drinking games – two shots for every time Zuma mentions Eskom (to skill up on the rules for next year see http://connect.citizen.co.za/630/how-to-get-through-sona-2015/)- forget Eurovision! This is where it’s at. I set myself up in my pjs with headphones and cup of 4 roses tea on the couch (ripper party hey!).

The first thing I noticed was the bright colours. Melbourne’s propensity for the dalmatian look here was ‘out’. Fluorescent greens and pinks crowned with several pieces millinery glory punctured the thick air tense from an hour of waiting and offered a cheery contrast to the increasingly frowny faces of the speaker(s) and ANC (party in power). It seems the speech was an hour late to start because of a scrambling of the internet in the parliament that had been declared a violation of the constitution and needed to be reversed. who dunnit?! Once President Zuma’s speech began I was almost pleased he was interrupted because of the endless stream of welcomes (was he hoping it would fill half of his designated speaking time?). The interruption was the EFF party always dressed for battle in scorching red overalls raising ‘points of privilege’ (‘why hasn’t President Zuma responded to the issues they’ve raised 4 times now?!). it became a row between speaker and party whilst the President possibly took a nap or had a whisky. Who knows?! The mexican wave of interruptions continued until security and police stormed in to remove them while the camera looked away. This prompted the follow up fight between the DA party (in power in Western Cape) and the exhausted speakers about police and firearms in parliament buildings. so then the DA stomped out. (ummm is there anybody left??) Without any acknowledgement except for a lizardlike smile President Zuma resumed his position in front of a half-empty auditorium. it was as though his whole speech had been filmed in one shot and then cut into pieces, either that or he really had napped in between; it felt like a year 9 English presentation read word for word. At one point he even pronounced apartheid as a-pa-thight (emphasis on the ‘a’). I thought he was saying he was hungry. At 930 my battery died but I didn’t really mind. The circus had ended and the speech had the familiar rattle off of stats and self congratulatory flavour of ours at home. [See http://mg.co.za/article/2015-02-13-an-eyewitness-account-of-sona-2015 for a more politically knowledgeable journalist’s account of SONA and here’s a parody video of the EFF’s removal: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqQ0S36wIF8 (I’m not sure if such an event should have been put to a salt’n’pepper song so apologies in advance for any offence) and here is a hard hitting burn of Zuma re SONA: http://youtu.be/BcDIF8AmcX4%5D

Since SONA I’ve asked people their thoughts and my initial eagerness for a juicy conversation about its dramas, which tends to be the flavour of political conversations at home (what’s tony done now?!), has been met with a deflated sadness. Jenny and the internet (no not wikipedia) tell me the real stats: 87.5% South Africans between 18 and 25 (not studying) are unemployed, 42% if you include up to 30 years and 17% of over 30 year olds. In SA under 35s constitute about 66% per cent of the total population. The current official overall SA unemployment rate is 24.3%. (I hear streaming ABC radio that same week that Australia is fretting because it is at a record high of 6.4%.) The common response to SONA 2015: people are sad that this is the national and international portrait of their new and fragile democracy that they have fought so hard for. They are also tired of the corruption, the talk and the lack of real positive change. I realise for them the soap opera I saw was their homes, their healthcare, their jobs and their children’s lives. I thought about what mum and dad would have been thinking if they had stayed here and were planning their retirement.

On the phone with mum and dad they talk about a doco they’d seen about the Born Frees. They’re the young generation born after the vanquishing of apartheid. Dad particularly liked when the young people said they were taking action into their own hands because “you can’t wait around for politicians!”. Some have decided to turn run down Joburg buildings into cafes. In my month here i have seen smatterings of amazing grassroots action. My Harvest of Hope vege box (delicious, especially the bunch of naturally varied sized carrots freshly pulled from the dirt), a community summit on fighting sexual violence held in Delft held by hard-working NGOs (more on that next time), the #Make.Change campaign as part of the Cape Town Design Indaba expo where creatives make customised flatpack tables to raise funds for the Kannemeyer Primary School in Grassy Park. Even Jenny’s sister’s boyfriend is working on an idea where young people can express themselves on designated local graffiti walls (project called the wall which the poster in the design battle was for). i wonder if people know of others and wish to share in blog comments?

It comes back to the people, people with passion, gusto, opinions, action. It feels like the ‘just chill out!’ laid back way of being from home is an ingredient left out of the African cake. When people in the service tell me a story (it’s constant!) they talk-sing, the head and the arms conduct for emphasis and their opinions are fact. You wouldn’t argue with that tone…unless you’re a taxi driver. Ester at the service tells me she told off her taxi driver for speeding that morning “Hey you driver! Are you mad? You can’t play with my LIFE like that!” to which he turned around and whilst in full flight exclaimed “You messin with my bread and butter!” Shu! She wobbled into the service that day proclaiming her thanks to the lord. But I digress..

I feel like there is an energy, a momentum here because people show energy even in the smallest things. it’s rare that you hear of people spending a whole day veging on the couch. People walk a lot, they take multiple taxis to get to work, lug home heavy shopping bags over kilometres against the hurricane-like Cape Doctor winds; I saw someone two weeks ago pulling along a crate with suitcases on top by a rope attached to a metal spear (yes the spear did shock me but I think dad would be impressed by his improvisation- hey dad?). Some people even get up everyday to beg at the robots for money despite the dejavu of closed windows and shaking heads. To take this in a very different direction I’ve even noticed this difference on tinder and (I did it) okcupid and yes, even the old fashioned face to face way of meeting friends. People thought I was bad at home for occasionally double booking in one night, here that might have to become standard just so I have time to cook! call me miss date-a-rama. I’m wondering what went wrong back home between us gals and guys. Here if online the majority write to you, the majority want to meet you face to face (or at least have a whatsapp flirt), the conversation always covers a double shot (also common here – single shots are out) of politics and saffa issues and I’ve even had my car door opened for me. I told you people have energy here (that’s a fair hike cos cape town can be hilly)! But that’s enough or I’ll be over sharing.. (Did I make this blog public??)

On another note last week I had my first brush with the law; I went to court (just for a visit :)). We walked inside the large grey building of Wynberg court through a turntable to the broken bag scanner and a flurry of guards swiping down people with wands. On another floor we walked past the area with the sexual offence defendants, boys dressed nicely lounging on wooden benches with the ‘what do you want?’ look. Survivors have a separate area to wait with children’s play area (yikes) but they have to walk past the area with their attackers. Wow if my skin prickled at the sight of them, how must they feel?! We visit an open court (sexual offence cases are closed to the public). All in Afrikaans, my trusty colleagues aka translaters helped me understand that the head bowed, fidgeting defendant charged with robbery received a 300 Rand fine and 5 days jail. His protest is his drug habit – he can’t pay the fine. I WONDER how he’ll pay it?! We realise the cells are underneath us, bailed defendants are seated amongst us and the guards have no guns. The marketing lady at work says she went to court for a theft case once and the guy who did it was seated opposite her. Awesome. Even better when a policeman leant across to speak to someone with his gun laden hip in the guy’s face. My supervisor says there have been instances where people have been shot when a perpetrator has stolen the guard’s firearm. Where’s my pepper spray/tazer when you need it?! Our hunger for juicy cases goes unfulfilled; case after case is rescheduled – a witness isn’t there or a defendant’s address is no longer current because his step mother won’t let him live there (yes, there was finger pointing and angry, under his breath, threats thrown at her). Unfortunately the most exciting thing that happened for us was when the severe young judge reprimanded a lady in front of us saying something about “hand” and “mund” when she yawns. I think she was channeling Judge Judy.

The Afro Soul element of the week was delivered courtesy of Francesca my new flamboyant singing teacher. Housed in a building splashed inside and out with artwork in true Woodstock style, I readied myself for the challenge as I walked up the two flights of raw wooden stairs. Before I can say ‘hello’ (I may be exaggerating), I’m thrust the microphone and embarrass my way through a shaky version of jealous by labyrinth- no, not the official version; the karaoke version – for the whole building to hear (did she need to turn the volume up that high??). It’s that moment when you realise that your version sung in duet with the car radio sounds nothing like your solo. I felt like I had been asked to nude up. My voice was like a waterfall, fizzing and drops of water flying in different directions, a wriggling toddler let loose and amplified. She thinks my voice is lovely. a good start. but I must exercise my diaphragm. So we ha ha ha ha ed and tssssssssed our way up and down scales while she asked about Melbourne, and what music I like. Task for next week: sighing while falling down to the ground (maybe not in public) and practising indie arie’s song video. afro soul. yeah! I’m slowly turning into an African.

The final ingredient to the week was a good dose of suspense and danger. Shirley and i headed back to the hospital to run a debriefing with the sexual assault centre counsellors there. 6 women telling the gruelling stories of their day-to-day. I must admit I did derive a little pleasure hearing the story about a counsellor telling a pregnant survivor’s mother to ‘grow up and be a mother’ when she was carrying on. You tell her sista! On the way up to the conference room I’d thought ‘gee this lift looks a bit rickety but Shirley’s going in. Must be fine.’ Well not 2 seconds in on the way back down there was a BANG and the lift crashed to a sudden stop. it took my thoughts another 2 seconds to catch up as the others in more or less time came to the same realisation. we were stuck in the lift. i looked down at my hands in fascination and saw that yes they were shaking. I grabbed hold of bumi (the birthday girl – great present!) whose large motherly hands engulfed mine. no hesitation or weirdness. and i smiled a tight smile. yikes! Over the next 45 minutes we yelled through the crack of the door and a kind person tried to pry it open with a broom. no luck. we called the lift company, the nurses station (who popped up at about the 20 miinute mark to see if we were still there and had oxygen…wtf???), we then moved onto selfies and group photos, and tried to keep the conversation going ‘what are the plans for the weekend?’, ‘what are you doing for your birthday?’. at one stage one of the counsellors who had just come of 12 hour night shift even considered taking a nap on the floor. how long was this going to take?! Another day in Africa they said. When finally the doors opened some of the women threw themselves out the door and onto the floor face down due to the long skirts and the big step from being stuck between floors. Only then did i realise how scared they must have been. Another lady who had been silent throughout the ordeal firmly indicated I should go before her. ‘Ai man’ (pronounced ‘mun’), nothing like a bit of dra (family reference for drama). We hug each other now when we meet.

PS. I’m not going to write about 50 shades. Watch it, don’t watch it. Up to you. All I know it was bloody funny watching it with a guy dressed all in grey for the occasion to my left, a squirming single mum to my right who scoffed Maltesers in the sexy scenes and in an auditorium with lots of giggling (and possible sighing) of ladies (and surprisingly about 20% men). My favourite though was the puffs of smoke hazing the view from a person’s (post coital?) e-cigarette. really?!