The word 'between' is becoming noticeably everywhere. It's hard for me not to notice. I saw the following sign up in a winery on Tuesday:
Also, the quote of the day delivered to my inbox yesterday was: "If you enter this world knowing you are loved and you leave this world knowing the same, then everything that happens in between can be dealt with." - Michael Jackson, 1958-2009
And, THEN walking through Pretoria today, a sign beside a block of flats which read: 'In Between'!
(I take these 'signs' as flag posts which tell me I'm on the right path. This familiarity gives me faith and a sense of affirmation.)
This got me thinking about Cape Town's in 'betweens'. It was quite obvious to me who the elites were bustling about the city - those driving fancy cars in their fancy clothes with their fancy accent drinking wine spritzers...very Parisian. Men with their sweaters wrapped around their shoulders and women in their high riding boots. I also noticed those who were at the opposite end of the spectrum - those who live on the fringes of society. Those men and women who desperately beg on street corners and followed me a few blocks, those who watch over parked cars on the street ('job creation' the locals call it), those who live in shacks along with highway, electricity poles (a recent addition) openly draping above. Yet what about those in between? What about those South Africans? Your average working class South African citizen? Who are they? How do they live? Are they happy? Do they believe their society has improved since Apartheid ended? Do they have pride? They often are not as noticeable, going about their own business, yet they do make up the dominant group of people I will meet and come across in the next few months. I will be asking them these questions, among others. And where, more importantly, do I fit in? Am I in between all of this?
I was on a very crowded plane headed for Johannesburg last night. I believed it could be an accurate representation of what is on the ground below. Loud. Mix or colours and ethnicities. Languages galore. Aggression. The pilot kept coming on the intercom updating us on a rugby score. Reminded me of what might happen on a WestJet flight during a gold medal hockey match. The flight was incredibly rocky actually and I was terrified for a few minutes.
Our last few days in Cape Town were excellent. Hard not to fall in love with that city - even in the rain. We visited a museum called District Six on Thursday. It is a tribute to the area of Central Cape Town that was declared a 'White Group Area' in 1966. By 1982, over 60 000 African people were forcibly removed, their houses flattened by bulldozers, to a barren outlying area known as the Cape Flats. The museum is a tribute to those who were affected by the forced removals and is a good example of community development. The community museum was organized by and for the people it is paying tribute to - a good example of how intimate stories of personal lives can uplift spirit, bring people together to triumph in overcoming marginalization. There was nothing fake about that place whatsoever - all the artifacts, the people working, the art, etc. were all donated by those who suffered the most. I left feeling incredibly moved. The land of district six, to this day, remains barren.
Saturday was spent driving along the coast...embracing the sun that had finally graced us with its presence. They week ended all too soon. Cape Town is magnificent.
I have a lot to say about my first impressions of Pretoria and how I feel about living here. I've done a lot of processing in the past 24 hours and still trying to make sense of it all. Let's just say I am feeling a bit like I live in a prison cell. I know it's for my own benefit but feels over dramatic right now.
I have to get up very early for the start of my practicum tomorrow so I really have to get to bed despite my longing to write forever. More about this later.
Brianna (along with an obnoxious cricket which sounds like it's in my room)
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