There hasn’t been anything to eventful since my last post, but I’ll definitely briefly go over some of the fun/annoying/interesting experiences since the I got back from the Garden Route.
1) First week of school at the University of Cape Town: Where and how do I begin to express my level of frustration with registration and class process at UCT? I started out the week signed up for Xhosa, Environmental History, and Liberation in Southern Africa. Not bad choices. First of all, I am required to take the Xhosa language because Middlebury feels that learning an African language will help me fully be immersed in the culture…the truth is Middlebury that everybody down here speaks English. Anyways, I ended up dropping the two other class immediately after I attended the class. Then I had to wait in the longest line to get a form signed by a random professor. I did this 5-6 times because I really couldn’t make up my mind on what classes I wanted to take, and then at one point I thought I could take Xhosa pass/fail instead of receiving a grade for the class because I know my mouth clicking abilities aren't so hot. So, I added 3 more random classes (including Ancient Mythology and a rando philosophy course…what was I thinking)…but then was told that I couldn’t take Xhosa pass fail.
Damn. Then finally I decided to add Art and Theory and Economies of Feast and Famine on Friday, which was the last day to add classes….so I haven’t been to 2 out of the three classes I’m signed up for. Also, my Xhosa professor keeps changing the classroom venue every day, so I have no idea where the classroom is until I get a text from one of my friends…super confusing! Also, there are about 200 students in this language class…how in the hell are we supposed to learn a language when we outnumber the professor 200 to 1? And did I mention that this language involves clicking (super tribal…Molo Bhuti means Howzit bru? I like this expression). Ndicela amanzi = I politely request some water.
2) Surfing at Muizenberg beach: This past week, right as I get out of class, I’ve rushed home to grab my swimsuit and taken a 20 minute train ride to this beautiful beach in Muizenberg. It has really nice surfing, and it is easy for beginner like myself to learn.
Without taking any lessons, I am pretty pretty pretty proud of myself that I have been getting up pretty consistently on really small waves. I feel like I could go farther out into the ocean to catch larger waves, but this is the Indian Ocean where Great White Sharks love to eat people.
At the beach, which is located to a large mountain, there are shark watchers observing from the mountains that radio down to officials at the beach if they see that a shark that is coming too close to surfers. When this happens, they sound a siren that alerts all people in the water to come to shore. I knew about this before I went out to surf so I felt a little more assured that I wouldn’t get monched by a shark.
But the first time I went surfing, I was with Rodrigo in the water and some of our girlfriends were chilling on the beach. Suddenly I thought I heard the shark siren, so I immediately caught the first wave in that I could find and ran frantically back to shore and back to where the girls were lying on the beach. As I approached them out of breath, they asked me why I had gotten out of the water. I told them that I thought that the siren had gone off…but of course they let me know that there was no noise and that I had made it up in my head. I had created my own shark siren in my head because
I constantly think there is something below me at all times in the water…even when the cord, that is attached to the surfboard, rubs against my leg, I freak out.I’m a wuss and those girls knew it too. I’ve also had a little trouble with sea sickness while surfing…long story short, I got sick in the water and had to take a major nap on the beach for the rest of the day. Damn you sensitive stomach!
(These two photos are of me congratulating Rodrigo for finally getting up on the surf board, and of me running back into the water after I realized the shark siren had not rung).
3) Every Saturday I have been going to this farmers market called Old Biscut Mill. They have all of my favorite goodies there including, coconuts, lemonade, bloody marys, steak sandwiches, bagels, sushi, omletts, flatbread, smoothies (loddy doddy), and cheeeeeeze!!! Yum. Its a very yuppy scene, but I don't really mind.
As long as I'm getting hooked up with the grublicious "niceties" (South African for Yummy treats), then I'm chilling.
While exploring the OBM, Rodrigo, Brooks, and I were walking around in a clothing store that wasset up in the market, and we were trying on these ridiculous floral printed shirts...the designer was there and he was trying to convince us to buy these outrageously flamboyant shirts.
I wasn't interested until he said that he would take our picture and put it up on his website...so obviously that excited me, so we had our photo taken...and of course I bought the damn shirt. I've learned something about myself while I've been here...I am very easily convinced to do things when i don't necessarily want to. Good or bad thing??? I'm not sure. So now I am the "proud" owner of the most attractive shirt in the country...maybe the world.
4) The Super Bowl Bet and New Hair Cut: The Super Bowl played live at 1:30 am here in South Africa, so before we went to Pig & Swizzle (local bar) to watch the game, I took a 2 hour nap so I could manage to stay up for the night. During the game, Spencer decided that he was going to talk shit the whole time to me about how the Colts were going to beat the Saints, so I asked him if he was confident enough to make a bet on the game. He definitely obliged, and we began discussing the terms of the bet. If the Saints won the game, I would win the bet, and if the Colts won the game by more than 3 points, Spencer would win the bet.
As we all know now, I won the bet. The first bet that I offered Spencer was that whoever lost would have to tan naked for 3 hours on the gay beach at Clifton beach. Spencer didn’t find this too appealing. So we finally agreed on winner of the bet being able to control the hair of the loser for a good two weeks. I still don’t understand why Spencer agreed upon this bet because he has a big and beautiful head of curly hair which is signature look, and I really had nothing to lose. So today I went with Spencer to get him corn rolls at this local beauty shop down the street. When we walked in I asked the ladies in the salon if they could give Spencer cornrows. They started touching his hair and said that they could. The women then began to touch my hair because they seemed to believe that I was getting corn rolls as well. I looked at Spencer, I told him that I loved him, and decided that I would join Spencer in this hair style venture.
I didn’t know that they would be able to corn roll my hair because of how short my hair is, but I soon found out that they can attach extensions to make my hair long enough. Never ever thought I’d have hair extension in my hair (those of you who think I’m gay probably aren’t surprised though). Anyway, Spencer and I sat next to each other and the experience was a memorable one.
The two women doing our hair spoke very little English, so when I asked if this look was going to make me look good, she didn’t really respond, she just looked at me with a blank confused face, so I decided not to ask anymore questions and just let it happen. I literally felt like I was a client in the movie Beauty Shop starring Queen Latifa. The woman who owned and managed the salon even looked and acted like Queen Latifa. All of the women were constantly talking in a foreign language that I didn’t understand…they were prolly making fun of Spencer and I, but whatever, they were nice. I kept peering outside the window to people walking on the sidewalk… I saw multiple people walk by and do double takes and start laughing when they saw the scene that was going in the salon. Or maybe they thought we looked super sexy. Also, the process of corn rowwing takes a long time and hurts a lot. It took about an hour and a half, and it kind of torture.
For that whole time period, it felt like they were pulling my hair out. My face and scalp super hurt…it looks like I just go a face lift due to my hair being so tight. I think I look like Sean Paul the pop-reggae singer…what you think? Spencer is going to keep his corn rolls for a week, and then I’m making him cut his hair into a mullet for the next week. I will laugh when that happens. I’m having fun. Check out this website for more photos of Spencer and I getting our hair cornrolled at the beauty shop: http://www.kodakgallery.com/gallery/creativeapps/slideShow/Main.jsp?token=157476685114%3A414205099&facebook=true&sourceId=984136008703
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