This one may feel a little like a tourist brochure. It definitely did when I wrote it.
Time Magazine, a few weeks back, had an article in its culture section about the film industry in South Africa – and how Hollywood is starting to take full of advantage of everything it offers. South Africa is jaw-droppingly beautiful, and has every type of scenery imaginable. I wasn’t surprised to read that. What did seem pretty cool, though, was this little bit of information: the South African film industry is already a billion dollar (dollar, not rand) industry employing over 25 000 South Africans. And growing. For a country with a government that, in the State of the Nation address earlier this year, announced that job creation was its number ONE priority, it seems like one industry is really pushing for that.
And where is this based out of, you ask? Not Jo’burg, the biggest and busiest city in the country. Not Pretoria, the capital steeped in heritage and history. And certainly not Manguzi.
Nope, this is the Mother City herself, the glistening tip of South Africa’s Coast. That’s right: Cape Town.
Being in Africa for almost a year now, I’ve gotten to travel a bit around the country. I’ve been to five out of nine provinces, and have seen pretty much every major city, some more than others. And I must say, from at least an attraction standpoint, Cape Town takes the cake.
To the curious traveler, I’ve got to warn you. Cape Town doesn’t always feel very… African. The buildings look a lot like lower Manhattan, although everyone seems to have a more laid back feeling. And not to sound bad, but most of the people don’t really look all that…well, African. It has a lot to do with the rich and often turbulent history of Southern Africa, especially in the days when it was passed back and forth between the British and Dutch. Slaves and indentured workers from Malaysia and the South Pacific were brought into Cape Town (back when it was still the Cape Colony) to work for the colonials. Over the generations, mixing between the native San, and the white and Asian people led to an entirely new and uniquely South African population of Cape Town ‘Coloreds’. And with them came the birth of the Afrikaans language – a mix of Dutch, Malay, Arabic and native African tongues (one thing I learned in Cape Town: the very first written Afrikaans was written with Arabic lettering, to use by the Muslim population). It’s interesting, given the sentiment tied into Afrikaans now as a language exclusively white South African, that it was never really a ‘pure European’ language at all.
And that’s why I like Cape Town – if South Africa is supposed to be the Rainbow Nation, then Cape Town is the city to see it. I love the village, but it is great to see the face South Africa tries to paint to the rest of the world.
And Cape Town’s heritage is famous and infamous. Right in the bay, visible from the hills above the city, lies Robben Island. Robben Island is famous the world over as the prison of former president Nelson Mandela. It had been used as a political prison for decades, acting almost as a training ground for the elites of modern South Africa. And what I loved most about this tour was that the tour guides we had were all former prisoners themselves, at one time or another. Many had met the great revolutionaries that have changed the country completely in the last twenty years. Everyone in the group could feel the connection to South Africa’s past making it one of the most unique tours I have ever been on. After all, it’s not many places where the guide points to a prison cell and says “and this bunk? This bunk was mine.”
The views off of both Table Mountain and the Cape Point were breathtaking. From Table Mountain, you can see the entire city stretch like a blanket beneath you, and the bay curve around the lonely Robben Island sitting directly offshore. And Cape Point, which a large sign proclaimed as the ‘Southwesternmost point of Africa’ (potentially the worst slogan I’ve ever heard…next to the can of Baked Beans that says “It’s the best you can do.”) offered even more amazing views of the entire cape terrain including Hout Bay and Kemp’s Bay.
And the beaches? Well, to be truly honest, I didn’t really care about seeing the Cape Town beaches before I left my village. I have access to the most beautiful and temperate private beach I’ve seen in my life. The Durban beaches were way too crowded for me, and the beaches in the Cape were about the same – although the water coming off the southern tip was MUCH colder. We stopped at a beach for about ten minutes; long enough for me to put my foot in the other side of the Atlantic just to say I had. For anyone who doesn’t live in northern KZN / does not have a perfect private beach of their own, the experience is probably a lot better – go for it. Just don’t stay in the water too long, amanzi ayabandayo.
There’s one thing I did not expect about Cape Town, although I guess I should have: Cape Town is expensive. At least, by South African standards. In Durban, I could get by on about a hundred rand a day, which was definitely not true for Cape Town. It’s more tourist friendly and caters to plenty of international clientele with money to spend. I’ve got no problem with this; tourism brings in revenue to support the growing infrastructure for the impoverished, and tourism is a leading sector in employment in the country. For me, though, spending what money I’ve got – remember, Peace Corps wants you to live in the village at the village standard – can be tough when it runs low. I usually feel like I get paid plenty of money to get by very comfortably in the village, but pretending to be an American tourist again becomes a bit tougher. If you plan on coming to Cape Town, and you want the full experience, be ready to spend some cash.
So overall, what are my feelings on Cape Town? Well, let me put it this way. I spent about a week in Durban over the Christmas break. When the last day came, I was pretty much ready to get back to the village. I felt like I had gotten enough of Durban for at least a few months, and was ready to get back home. But when the last day came in Cape Town, I wasn’t quite ready to leave. I felt like there was still too much to do and possibly never enough time to do it all. If I can go back before I end my service, I definitely will. And if not, when I get around to getting back to ZA, I’ll be sure to make a stop in Cape Town. Even if for nothing more than jazz and yoga again.
I’d recommend this place to anyone who comes out to visit South Africa, although be prepared – Cape Town is distinctively South African while at the same time not South African in the slightest. If you go, mention my blog. Maybe they’ll give me a discount next time I pass through.
Since I’m talking about vacations, I’ve attached a youtube link for a trip with some other volunteers a few months back. We walked from one of the beaches near Manguzi about sixty km south, to a place called Sodwana Bay. It was right at the end of the sea turtle season – we passed about two dozen nests along the way. The beaches were also completely unpopulated; these are the private beaches mentioned earlier.
Anyways, enjoy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTyddWMc1a0
Ryan
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
04-29-2011
About two weeks back, we hit Doppler Effect in Physics. I like the Doppler Effect, especially for my class of 23 rural South African 18-20 year olds. It’s a simple topic, basically one equation with really only two situations the learners have to know. Even more, it’s intuitive – from years of tutoring and classes, I’ve never met someone who doesn’t just get the Doppler Effect. Don’t believe me? Follow my instructions:
1)Stand on side of road. Not TOO close.
2)Wait for car to come.
3)Listen to how the sound the car makes seems to get higher as it gets close to you.
4)Listen to how it drops right back down as it drives away from you.
5)Pat yourself on the back. You are now a Physicist.
So, yeah. As expected, the learners caught the gist of it pretty quickly – like math or music or love, perhaps the Doppler Effect is really just the universal language. And seeing as how it’s good to connect these scientific ideas with applications, I explained that the Doppler Effect is more useful than just watching Mr.Ryan pretend to be a car in front of the room. Wanting to take the lesson a step further, I brought up cosmology. I talked about Edwin Hubble (that guy from the satellite), and galactic redshift – in a nutshell, walking them through how the Doppler Effect explains how the Universe seems to be expanding and offers scientific credence to the Big Bang, something they had never heard of until then. I wanted to get the kids – excuse me, young adults much like myself – talking a bit about the idea of how a scientific theory can have controversial social implications, and when suddenly people started warming up to a discussion…the bell rang. My hour was up, and the next teacher was standing at the door, waiting.
This is a pretty typical (part of a) day in South Africa.
With this post and about five months – crazy that it’s already basically May, by the way – into the school year, I figure I’ll let everyone in on what I’ve been getting up to here. The main focus of my assignment is school development, a vague enough term that essentially allows the volunteer to, within reason, operate as how they and the school see fit. Most volunteers teach, primarily, either with another teacher or on their own in more unfortunate cases. Right now, I’m teaching grade 8 English, and grades 11 and 12 Physical Science. All of these classes are occasionally wonderful – although the grade 8 class has 86 learners. Imagine 86 eighth graders, in a hot African classroom, listening to someone speak in a language they don’t really understand. Pretty scary visual, I bet. The grade 11 and 12 classes are more fun, with only 19 and 23 learners respectively I’ve gotten the chance to get to know most of them by name. Since it’s a subject I feel a little more comfortable teaching than English – I’ve often had to explain to my counterpart English teacher after class that “I don’t know why that sentence is wrong, I just know that it’s wrong” and that “English is really a horrible language to begin with” – the learners and I tend to get a good vibe going in the class. Especially in Grade 11, since Grade 12 is under a lot of pressure to simply cram as much information in as possible before the daunting exams, we can have a lot more fun. Also, we can blow more things up (Zinc + Hydrochloric Acid, anyone?).
With all the stuff that comes with teaching – between grading and lesson planning and evening/Saturday/holiday classes and so on – it gets fairly time consuming, but pretty much all volunteers try to tack on other efforts, known as Secondary Projects, as well. This term, the school garden which another teacher and myself started planning last December, is finally underway. With the help of the Department of Agriculture, nearby villagers and, of course, the learners, we’ve plowed out a sizeable plot to beginning planting some good winter crops. Hopefully, this will help supplement the food scheme for the lunches at school and, if possible, will expand to be fully managed and operated by the students themselves. Still a long term goal though. But everyone, including Mr.Ryan, seems to enjoy plowing barefoot into the weeds (when it’s not hot).
Another project that’s being supported by a local NGO is a Kid’s Club for a small group of OVC qualifying learners. The term OVC stands for Orphans and Vulnerable Children, and these learners are among the neediest of needy. As the social worker at the NGO had once put it, there is even a hierarchy in survival itself. So each week on Monday (only once so far this term, due to holidays), I meet up with about twenty little kids from 6 to 14 years old. After some organizational hurdles, the first meeting we had was terrifying – especially for me. I’m not a social worker, and something about very little kids is just…off putting. Possibly repressed memories of Children of the Corn surfacing. But it went amazingly well – bonding through games and activities, the learners are provided a safe environment after school to do homework and talk with other kids, two grade 12 learners, and myself about any problems they may be facing at school or home. It’s been a great way for me to connect more with the learners in the Primary School, because I feel like I’ve been somewhat absent from there.
The latest project – that has been slower in coming than I thought – has been cleaning and remodeling the school library. The original ‘storage room’ was a nightmare. Piles of books and spilt paint cans three feet high, with rumors of rats (also snakes to eat the rats) living in it like a trash pile out of the Dark Crystal. Over two consecutive Saturdays, the building was not only completely cleaned but repainted as well (some pictures are up on Facebook). It was a great project because it gave an opportunity for the learners that came to help the chance to truly own their school. It was nice because, frankly, I had pretty much nothing to do with it besides some initial pushing – the guys that came out were excited and hardworking. It would not have been done nearly so fast without everyone’s help. Once done, I’ve been working on getting the books back in and (hopefully) getting a carpentry-training NGO I’ve been working with to donate some shelves the trainees have made for practical exercises.
^With this last project in mind, I know I’ve had some people ask if there’s anything I’d like to have sent me from the States. At first, I gave some joke answers – and did, surprisingly, receive quite a bit of Peanut Butter, thanks everyone :-) – but I’ve started to realize that this may be a blessing in disguise. Sending packages doesn’t have to be about me, but offers you the chance to help out the projects directly. I’m not asking for donations, but if people are still thinking about sending boxes or packages, toss some children’s books in there instead. What I’ve seen, especially with the Kid’s Club, is that the books we read as kids – Dr.Seuss, Roald Dahl, etc. – are the same books these kids love to have read to them! Most of them, especially the ones living in the depths of the village and without literate family member, have no access to this. And to live in an environment where books are so rare as to be unknown is heartbreaking. Just a thought.
Well, I hope this gave you a brief overview of what’s been happening. There are a few other projects I’m hoping to get underway, some big and some smaller. For now though, one step at a time.
In one of these posts, I’ll fill in a bit more about travels around South Africa, multiday beach hikes, and croquet with Afrikaner children. Take care until then.
-Ryan
1)Stand on side of road. Not TOO close.
2)Wait for car to come.
3)Listen to how the sound the car makes seems to get higher as it gets close to you.
4)Listen to how it drops right back down as it drives away from you.
5)Pat yourself on the back. You are now a Physicist.
So, yeah. As expected, the learners caught the gist of it pretty quickly – like math or music or love, perhaps the Doppler Effect is really just the universal language. And seeing as how it’s good to connect these scientific ideas with applications, I explained that the Doppler Effect is more useful than just watching Mr.Ryan pretend to be a car in front of the room. Wanting to take the lesson a step further, I brought up cosmology. I talked about Edwin Hubble (that guy from the satellite), and galactic redshift – in a nutshell, walking them through how the Doppler Effect explains how the Universe seems to be expanding and offers scientific credence to the Big Bang, something they had never heard of until then. I wanted to get the kids – excuse me, young adults much like myself – talking a bit about the idea of how a scientific theory can have controversial social implications, and when suddenly people started warming up to a discussion…the bell rang. My hour was up, and the next teacher was standing at the door, waiting.
This is a pretty typical (part of a) day in South Africa.
With this post and about five months – crazy that it’s already basically May, by the way – into the school year, I figure I’ll let everyone in on what I’ve been getting up to here. The main focus of my assignment is school development, a vague enough term that essentially allows the volunteer to, within reason, operate as how they and the school see fit. Most volunteers teach, primarily, either with another teacher or on their own in more unfortunate cases. Right now, I’m teaching grade 8 English, and grades 11 and 12 Physical Science. All of these classes are occasionally wonderful – although the grade 8 class has 86 learners. Imagine 86 eighth graders, in a hot African classroom, listening to someone speak in a language they don’t really understand. Pretty scary visual, I bet. The grade 11 and 12 classes are more fun, with only 19 and 23 learners respectively I’ve gotten the chance to get to know most of them by name. Since it’s a subject I feel a little more comfortable teaching than English – I’ve often had to explain to my counterpart English teacher after class that “I don’t know why that sentence is wrong, I just know that it’s wrong” and that “English is really a horrible language to begin with” – the learners and I tend to get a good vibe going in the class. Especially in Grade 11, since Grade 12 is under a lot of pressure to simply cram as much information in as possible before the daunting exams, we can have a lot more fun. Also, we can blow more things up (Zinc + Hydrochloric Acid, anyone?).
With all the stuff that comes with teaching – between grading and lesson planning and evening/Saturday/holiday classes and so on – it gets fairly time consuming, but pretty much all volunteers try to tack on other efforts, known as Secondary Projects, as well. This term, the school garden which another teacher and myself started planning last December, is finally underway. With the help of the Department of Agriculture, nearby villagers and, of course, the learners, we’ve plowed out a sizeable plot to beginning planting some good winter crops. Hopefully, this will help supplement the food scheme for the lunches at school and, if possible, will expand to be fully managed and operated by the students themselves. Still a long term goal though. But everyone, including Mr.Ryan, seems to enjoy plowing barefoot into the weeds (when it’s not hot).
Another project that’s being supported by a local NGO is a Kid’s Club for a small group of OVC qualifying learners. The term OVC stands for Orphans and Vulnerable Children, and these learners are among the neediest of needy. As the social worker at the NGO had once put it, there is even a hierarchy in survival itself. So each week on Monday (only once so far this term, due to holidays), I meet up with about twenty little kids from 6 to 14 years old. After some organizational hurdles, the first meeting we had was terrifying – especially for me. I’m not a social worker, and something about very little kids is just…off putting. Possibly repressed memories of Children of the Corn surfacing. But it went amazingly well – bonding through games and activities, the learners are provided a safe environment after school to do homework and talk with other kids, two grade 12 learners, and myself about any problems they may be facing at school or home. It’s been a great way for me to connect more with the learners in the Primary School, because I feel like I’ve been somewhat absent from there.
The latest project – that has been slower in coming than I thought – has been cleaning and remodeling the school library. The original ‘storage room’ was a nightmare. Piles of books and spilt paint cans three feet high, with rumors of rats (also snakes to eat the rats) living in it like a trash pile out of the Dark Crystal. Over two consecutive Saturdays, the building was not only completely cleaned but repainted as well (some pictures are up on Facebook). It was a great project because it gave an opportunity for the learners that came to help the chance to truly own their school. It was nice because, frankly, I had pretty much nothing to do with it besides some initial pushing – the guys that came out were excited and hardworking. It would not have been done nearly so fast without everyone’s help. Once done, I’ve been working on getting the books back in and (hopefully) getting a carpentry-training NGO I’ve been working with to donate some shelves the trainees have made for practical exercises.
^With this last project in mind, I know I’ve had some people ask if there’s anything I’d like to have sent me from the States. At first, I gave some joke answers – and did, surprisingly, receive quite a bit of Peanut Butter, thanks everyone :-) – but I’ve started to realize that this may be a blessing in disguise. Sending packages doesn’t have to be about me, but offers you the chance to help out the projects directly. I’m not asking for donations, but if people are still thinking about sending boxes or packages, toss some children’s books in there instead. What I’ve seen, especially with the Kid’s Club, is that the books we read as kids – Dr.Seuss, Roald Dahl, etc. – are the same books these kids love to have read to them! Most of them, especially the ones living in the depths of the village and without literate family member, have no access to this. And to live in an environment where books are so rare as to be unknown is heartbreaking. Just a thought.
Well, I hope this gave you a brief overview of what’s been happening. There are a few other projects I’m hoping to get underway, some big and some smaller. For now though, one step at a time.
In one of these posts, I’ll fill in a bit more about travels around South Africa, multiday beach hikes, and croquet with Afrikaner children. Take care until then.
-Ryan
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
02-09-2011
Warning: This one's a long one.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’d like to take this opportunity to share my longwinded thoughts on something near and dear to my heart – Science Education, or oftentimes, the lack thereof.
Science and Mathematics are two subjects that South Africa and the United States seem to hit about the same intensity – and they both seem to do it wrong. Test scores and general student interest in the subjects, in both nations, are generally low. Interestingly enough, this is true across all racial divides; across socioeconomic levels in both the United States and the even more racially divided South Africa. Every politician, at all levels, in endless speeches and a Ferris wheel of phrasing, has acknowledged that this fundamental problem will reverberate in the next generation’s approach to global issues and challenges – challenges that will require skill and understanding based firmly in the basics of the sciences and mathematics taught to children.
Interestingly enough, both the United States and South Africa have a history of scientific achievement. I’m pretty sure everybody who reads my blog could name by heart at least one scientist from America whose work affect their lives. And in South Africa, you had Dr. Christiaan Barnard, a surgeon who performed the world's first successful heart transplant.
So with all the glory of the sciences blared from every ivory tower…why are learners failing to grasp?
The Physical Science curriculum in South Africa is a horrendous mishmash of various scientific topics, often unrelated and presented in an ambiguous, convoluted or clearly incorrect manner. It is disastrously incoherent – jumping from Newton’s Laws to naming organic molecules, to the Doppler Effect to the diffraction of light to the equilibrium rates of reactions, to electrostatics to AC generators and finally a history of the South African coal and mining industry.
Looking at the work schedule for the year, I felt like the curriculum designer sat at a table, swallowed as many outdated college textbooks as possible, and vomited all over a pile of newspaper; whatever came out and was still partially legible – including the wet newspaper – made its way onto the national syllabus in the order it was found. The National curriculum takes too many concepts without clarity or connection, shoves them down the students’ throats and expects the students to successfully regurgitate them onto the single examination at the end of Grade 12. This is an inane and thorny task at even the best schools with the largest amount of resources in the Nation; try doing it in the rural outposts, where students do not even speak the language the test will be offered in. Is it succeeding? I will say that they are being forced to solve problems in fairly abstract scientific areas, but without knowledge or background of what those numbers they can so easily plug into, or read off of the calculator actually mean.
The class is difficult for difficulty’s sake, not for the sake of the science being taught.
First and foremost, students who come into a classroom need to understand what science is. Science is the study of Nature; it is the study of all we see around us. Science is not Nature itself; it is a process we use to understand Nature. It is not enough to know what Nature is, but how it is: this is the process of Science. It is asking a single question on a phenomena, making a guess to what an answer should be and why it should be, then answering that question with an objective experiment. If your answer was wrong, figure out why it’s wrong. Adjust your thinking, and learn. That is, from what I understand, science. It is organic and adaptive. It is more than just pouring one illegible chemical in a test tube into another illegible chemical in a test tube; it’s asking, “Why does the sun rise only in the East?”and “why do apples fall?”
Simple. Clear. Easy. These words are inviting to the layman, and seemingly, the bane of science. I’m not going to claim that academic science is, by any means, simple and easy; the heartbeat is a beautifully pure concept, which becomes terrifyingly complex when you go past the surface and look at the details. But I think that the scientists driven to these deeper searches of underlying mechanisms and principles are driven by a belief that the work they do expands and enriches the understanding that they fell in love with in the first place. And in order to get these scientists and engineers as adults, you must introduce them as children to these overarching and plain concepts.
Plenty of modern scientist-philosophers, principally those coming from the areas of High Energy Physics or Astrophysics, claim that a true theory of everything – combining all aspects of science – will need to be elegantly simple, concise and consistently true. I think that, maybe, we already have that fundamental theory in its primitive, qualitative form; in my undergraduate Thermal Physics class, Dr. Y. Lee – one of my favorite professors – said that there are two universal truths in physics. These are equilibrium and inefficiency. Equilibrium is the favoring of responses to stimuli that create a system of lowest continuous energy output; inefficiency is that, in these responses, you never get out as much as is put in – a little bit is always lost and irrecoverable. That’s it – that’s Physics! I sure wish that I had learned this, or maybe have been smart enough to figure it out on my own, back in high school.
Physics and Chemistry are riddled with theories (Newton’s Laws, Work-Energy theorem, LeChatelier’s Principle, Lenz’s Law, Gravitational / Electric Potentials and Fields, etc. etc. etc.) where equilibrium is being applied to a novel phenomenon, and nearly the entirety of thermodynamics is the study of the effects of inefficiency on processes. Everything relates back!
So where am I going with all of this? Take a look at a typical tenth grade Physics or Chemistry textbook. It parcels concepts along lines that are growing increasingly imaginary; any scientist or scholar will tell you that the separation between biology, chemistry and physics as well as the subdivisions within each of the three major fields are fading rapidly. I believe the interconnectedness is a story, with the subatomic interactions of quarks, leptons and fundamental forces leading to the atomic theory, organic chemistry, biological structures, and life itself. And along the way, the principles of equilibrium and universal inefficiency guide each step taken in every process by Nature.
That is how a good science class should be – it should be a story. It should go into the details of the various theories and laws, and it should always relate those theories and laws to one another in cause and effect. Throughout all of which, it should relate everything back to the most fundamental principles – so that students will not lose sight of the forest in the trees. This is a science class that is elegant, clear and concise.
Will this turn everyone and their mother into a scientist? Of course not. This is not the only problem that drives students from these fields. But it is one of the problems that is – and here is the key phrase in this blog post – SO SIMPLE to solve: basic, basic changes in the teaching style and approach to the overarching presentation of science. This is what will invite children to study science with rapt attention and genuine love.
And this is unifying – a global concept, that would apply with the same general effect for the systems of Education in the United States as well as South Africa.
That’s my two cents on the topic. Any thoughts or feedback?
-Ryan
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’d like to take this opportunity to share my longwinded thoughts on something near and dear to my heart – Science Education, or oftentimes, the lack thereof.
Science and Mathematics are two subjects that South Africa and the United States seem to hit about the same intensity – and they both seem to do it wrong. Test scores and general student interest in the subjects, in both nations, are generally low. Interestingly enough, this is true across all racial divides; across socioeconomic levels in both the United States and the even more racially divided South Africa. Every politician, at all levels, in endless speeches and a Ferris wheel of phrasing, has acknowledged that this fundamental problem will reverberate in the next generation’s approach to global issues and challenges – challenges that will require skill and understanding based firmly in the basics of the sciences and mathematics taught to children.
Interestingly enough, both the United States and South Africa have a history of scientific achievement. I’m pretty sure everybody who reads my blog could name by heart at least one scientist from America whose work affect their lives. And in South Africa, you had Dr. Christiaan Barnard, a surgeon who performed the world's first successful heart transplant.
So with all the glory of the sciences blared from every ivory tower…why are learners failing to grasp?
The Physical Science curriculum in South Africa is a horrendous mishmash of various scientific topics, often unrelated and presented in an ambiguous, convoluted or clearly incorrect manner. It is disastrously incoherent – jumping from Newton’s Laws to naming organic molecules, to the Doppler Effect to the diffraction of light to the equilibrium rates of reactions, to electrostatics to AC generators and finally a history of the South African coal and mining industry.
Looking at the work schedule for the year, I felt like the curriculum designer sat at a table, swallowed as many outdated college textbooks as possible, and vomited all over a pile of newspaper; whatever came out and was still partially legible – including the wet newspaper – made its way onto the national syllabus in the order it was found. The National curriculum takes too many concepts without clarity or connection, shoves them down the students’ throats and expects the students to successfully regurgitate them onto the single examination at the end of Grade 12. This is an inane and thorny task at even the best schools with the largest amount of resources in the Nation; try doing it in the rural outposts, where students do not even speak the language the test will be offered in. Is it succeeding? I will say that they are being forced to solve problems in fairly abstract scientific areas, but without knowledge or background of what those numbers they can so easily plug into, or read off of the calculator actually mean.
The class is difficult for difficulty’s sake, not for the sake of the science being taught.
First and foremost, students who come into a classroom need to understand what science is. Science is the study of Nature; it is the study of all we see around us. Science is not Nature itself; it is a process we use to understand Nature. It is not enough to know what Nature is, but how it is: this is the process of Science. It is asking a single question on a phenomena, making a guess to what an answer should be and why it should be, then answering that question with an objective experiment. If your answer was wrong, figure out why it’s wrong. Adjust your thinking, and learn. That is, from what I understand, science. It is organic and adaptive. It is more than just pouring one illegible chemical in a test tube into another illegible chemical in a test tube; it’s asking, “Why does the sun rise only in the East?”and “why do apples fall?”
Simple. Clear. Easy. These words are inviting to the layman, and seemingly, the bane of science. I’m not going to claim that academic science is, by any means, simple and easy; the heartbeat is a beautifully pure concept, which becomes terrifyingly complex when you go past the surface and look at the details. But I think that the scientists driven to these deeper searches of underlying mechanisms and principles are driven by a belief that the work they do expands and enriches the understanding that they fell in love with in the first place. And in order to get these scientists and engineers as adults, you must introduce them as children to these overarching and plain concepts.
Plenty of modern scientist-philosophers, principally those coming from the areas of High Energy Physics or Astrophysics, claim that a true theory of everything – combining all aspects of science – will need to be elegantly simple, concise and consistently true. I think that, maybe, we already have that fundamental theory in its primitive, qualitative form; in my undergraduate Thermal Physics class, Dr. Y. Lee – one of my favorite professors – said that there are two universal truths in physics. These are equilibrium and inefficiency. Equilibrium is the favoring of responses to stimuli that create a system of lowest continuous energy output; inefficiency is that, in these responses, you never get out as much as is put in – a little bit is always lost and irrecoverable. That’s it – that’s Physics! I sure wish that I had learned this, or maybe have been smart enough to figure it out on my own, back in high school.
Physics and Chemistry are riddled with theories (Newton’s Laws, Work-Energy theorem, LeChatelier’s Principle, Lenz’s Law, Gravitational / Electric Potentials and Fields, etc. etc. etc.) where equilibrium is being applied to a novel phenomenon, and nearly the entirety of thermodynamics is the study of the effects of inefficiency on processes. Everything relates back!
So where am I going with all of this? Take a look at a typical tenth grade Physics or Chemistry textbook. It parcels concepts along lines that are growing increasingly imaginary; any scientist or scholar will tell you that the separation between biology, chemistry and physics as well as the subdivisions within each of the three major fields are fading rapidly. I believe the interconnectedness is a story, with the subatomic interactions of quarks, leptons and fundamental forces leading to the atomic theory, organic chemistry, biological structures, and life itself. And along the way, the principles of equilibrium and universal inefficiency guide each step taken in every process by Nature.
That is how a good science class should be – it should be a story. It should go into the details of the various theories and laws, and it should always relate those theories and laws to one another in cause and effect. Throughout all of which, it should relate everything back to the most fundamental principles – so that students will not lose sight of the forest in the trees. This is a science class that is elegant, clear and concise.
Will this turn everyone and their mother into a scientist? Of course not. This is not the only problem that drives students from these fields. But it is one of the problems that is – and here is the key phrase in this blog post – SO SIMPLE to solve: basic, basic changes in the teaching style and approach to the overarching presentation of science. This is what will invite children to study science with rapt attention and genuine love.
And this is unifying – a global concept, that would apply with the same general effect for the systems of Education in the United States as well as South Africa.
That’s my two cents on the topic. Any thoughts or feedback?
-Ryan
Monday, January 31, 2011
01-31-2011
I went for a long run through the village on Saturday evening.
On one of the dirt paths far from the tar road, two older men were walking together.
As I made to rush by them, muttering a hasty San'bonan', one men called to me..."Give me money!"
This is nothing new, or unexpected. The village is nestled on the edge of the Kosi Bay lake system - a vibrant, diverse ecosystem culminating in endless expanse of undeveloped shoreline. There are a lot of tourists who pass through.
I paused to say, "Sorry baba, I'm a volunteer at Sizaminqubeko. Anginawo imali, I'm broke."
What he did next has affected me so much that I haven't stopped thinking about it in two days.
He offered his hand to shake and lowered his head, and said "Ah wena utisha uRyan [you are Teacher Ryan], 'fundisa 'bantwana bami [you teach my children]. Ang'thath imali [I will not take your money]."
Bucket bathing, pit latrines, fighting prehistoric insects, no running water and complaining about the heat twelve times a day. Going through the motions, lacking creature comforts because it's what the locals do, it all makes for some decent sentimentality that maybe I'll look back on and laugh about.
But these alone do not a villager make.
I'm coming to think that over time you are offered relatively few honest glimpses of clarity - when you realize that the people who live around you are not pictures from an article on the evolving globalized economies of the third world in Time, and the reed roofs are not props for glossed up shots used in African game reserve advertisements selling Exoticism. They're neighbors, friends, family. And as often as the days come when you feel you are sharing the honest humanity of the world's hyper rich in distant and shimmering, high definition broadcast America, so also do the days come when the village quietly shares its own humanity with you.
Like that old man.
I think that, right there, was when I actually became part of this village.
-Ryan
On one of the dirt paths far from the tar road, two older men were walking together.
As I made to rush by them, muttering a hasty San'bonan', one men called to me..."Give me money!"
This is nothing new, or unexpected. The village is nestled on the edge of the Kosi Bay lake system - a vibrant, diverse ecosystem culminating in endless expanse of undeveloped shoreline. There are a lot of tourists who pass through.
I paused to say, "Sorry baba, I'm a volunteer at Sizaminqubeko. Anginawo imali, I'm broke."
What he did next has affected me so much that I haven't stopped thinking about it in two days.
He offered his hand to shake and lowered his head, and said "Ah wena utisha uRyan [you are Teacher Ryan], 'fundisa 'bantwana bami [you teach my children]. Ang'thath imali [I will not take your money]."
Bucket bathing, pit latrines, fighting prehistoric insects, no running water and complaining about the heat twelve times a day. Going through the motions, lacking creature comforts because it's what the locals do, it all makes for some decent sentimentality that maybe I'll look back on and laugh about.
But these alone do not a villager make.
I'm coming to think that over time you are offered relatively few honest glimpses of clarity - when you realize that the people who live around you are not pictures from an article on the evolving globalized economies of the third world in Time, and the reed roofs are not props for glossed up shots used in African game reserve advertisements selling Exoticism. They're neighbors, friends, family. And as often as the days come when you feel you are sharing the honest humanity of the world's hyper rich in distant and shimmering, high definition broadcast America, so also do the days come when the village quietly shares its own humanity with you.
Like that old man.
I think that, right there, was when I actually became part of this village.
-Ryan
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
01-05-2011
Happy (belated) New Year, Internet. Unyaka omusha omuhle (omu-belated).
It has been raining for almost thirteen hours, and I have watched almost ten episodes of 30 Rock in the last two days. I also invented a new exercise called the Tarzan. It’s a pushup where you see how many times you can beat your chest after pushing yourself off the floor. It’s still in testing.
Christmas in South Africa is…unique. One guy I met in Durban summed it up nicely: (and I quote, because I agree with him) “it’s just too damn hot in Africa for Christmas.” Totally agree, and I’m from South Florida. Christmas at 70 degrees, with A/C? Fine. Christmas at 104 degrees, and a tin roof? Not so much.
I think most people in South Africa realize this; I was invited to stay with an Afrikaner family near my site for Christmas. Instead of Bing Crosby and Jingle Bells, we listened to Neil Diamond and house music. Instead of It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve, we watched Get Him to the Greek. Not…quite the same. But the family was there, so really, it’s the thought that counts?
I had a great time. Mike, his wife Amanda and their two daughters live on the outskirts of town, in a neighboring village. Mike is fascinating, and probably certifiable. Born and raised in Morningside, one of the wealthier residential districts of Durban, he became disillusioned with the rat race of the business world he felt groomed for. He had some choice things to say about “the mortgages and the laptops”; it takes an articulate man to use certain words in the English language the way he did. In the end, he decided to quit his job, sell everything, and carve out his own piece of wild South Africa with what he could fit in his truck. He moved his family into the village, lived with them in a tent for two years as he built – with his own hands – his house overlooking the lakes. And now? He runs a generator repair business in town. He has become fluent in Zulu, and respected by his neighbors (we spent part of the day on Christmas delivering gifts to some of the households nearby). His house is completely off the grid; land purchased flat out from the induna, electricity from the generators he fixes, water from the bore hole he dug, no phone contracts, no cable, nothing. His greatest pride seems to be the fact that, if he wanted to close his shop tomorrow and leave forever, he could. All he needs room for is his family and his dogs.
After dinner on Christmas, we had a fairly in depth discussion on what his take, as a white South African, was on the HIV epidemic and how it’s being addressed by the new government of the country. At one point, he said “for an American, you and I have a lot in common.” I laughed it off. “Not so sure about that, Mike.” The man shoots crocodiles, for God’s sake. But it did make me think about packing up my own life into the Santa Fe in Gainesville, days before flying to Africa. I had donated about eighty percent of my stuff to either friends, Goodwill or the Solid Waste Authority (there’s a joke in there somewhere), and as I pulled onto 13th street from Bivens Cove for the last time, I realized that everything I now owned in this world was packed into my car…strange until I condensed it again, the night before Philly. Everything I needed or thought I might need now in a suitcase, a back pack, a laptop bag and a guitar case, leaving everything else behind. Maybe, at least partially in this way, we had sometihng in common.
Getting back on topic, Christmas was lekker. New Year’s will be another blog post, maybe. I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday and New Year’s celebration. I say this a lot, but know that you are loved and missed.
Happy 2011.
-Ryan
Oh and, total side note while I’m typing about packing, imagine it’s ten o’clock at night, there is a pile of clothes and books around you, and you’re holding a pair of socks trying to picture what walking through a stereotyped African village is like to know if they’re durable for two years. Actually, don’t imagine it; try it. Skip the pile of clothes / books though.
It has been raining for almost thirteen hours, and I have watched almost ten episodes of 30 Rock in the last two days. I also invented a new exercise called the Tarzan. It’s a pushup where you see how many times you can beat your chest after pushing yourself off the floor. It’s still in testing.
Christmas in South Africa is…unique. One guy I met in Durban summed it up nicely: (and I quote, because I agree with him) “it’s just too damn hot in Africa for Christmas.” Totally agree, and I’m from South Florida. Christmas at 70 degrees, with A/C? Fine. Christmas at 104 degrees, and a tin roof? Not so much.
I think most people in South Africa realize this; I was invited to stay with an Afrikaner family near my site for Christmas. Instead of Bing Crosby and Jingle Bells, we listened to Neil Diamond and house music. Instead of It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve, we watched Get Him to the Greek. Not…quite the same. But the family was there, so really, it’s the thought that counts?
I had a great time. Mike, his wife Amanda and their two daughters live on the outskirts of town, in a neighboring village. Mike is fascinating, and probably certifiable. Born and raised in Morningside, one of the wealthier residential districts of Durban, he became disillusioned with the rat race of the business world he felt groomed for. He had some choice things to say about “the mortgages and the laptops”; it takes an articulate man to use certain words in the English language the way he did. In the end, he decided to quit his job, sell everything, and carve out his own piece of wild South Africa with what he could fit in his truck. He moved his family into the village, lived with them in a tent for two years as he built – with his own hands – his house overlooking the lakes. And now? He runs a generator repair business in town. He has become fluent in Zulu, and respected by his neighbors (we spent part of the day on Christmas delivering gifts to some of the households nearby). His house is completely off the grid; land purchased flat out from the induna, electricity from the generators he fixes, water from the bore hole he dug, no phone contracts, no cable, nothing. His greatest pride seems to be the fact that, if he wanted to close his shop tomorrow and leave forever, he could. All he needs room for is his family and his dogs.
After dinner on Christmas, we had a fairly in depth discussion on what his take, as a white South African, was on the HIV epidemic and how it’s being addressed by the new government of the country. At one point, he said “for an American, you and I have a lot in common.” I laughed it off. “Not so sure about that, Mike.” The man shoots crocodiles, for God’s sake. But it did make me think about packing up my own life into the Santa Fe in Gainesville, days before flying to Africa. I had donated about eighty percent of my stuff to either friends, Goodwill or the Solid Waste Authority (there’s a joke in there somewhere), and as I pulled onto 13th street from Bivens Cove for the last time, I realized that everything I now owned in this world was packed into my car…strange until I condensed it again, the night before Philly. Everything I needed or thought I might need now in a suitcase, a back pack, a laptop bag and a guitar case, leaving everything else behind. Maybe, at least partially in this way, we had sometihng in common.
Getting back on topic, Christmas was lekker. New Year’s will be another blog post, maybe. I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday and New Year’s celebration. I say this a lot, but know that you are loved and missed.
Happy 2011.
-Ryan
Oh and, total side note while I’m typing about packing, imagine it’s ten o’clock at night, there is a pile of clothes and books around you, and you’re holding a pair of socks trying to picture what walking through a stereotyped African village is like to know if they’re durable for two years. Actually, don’t imagine it; try it. Skip the pile of clothes / books though.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
11/25/2010
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. By far.
It has been a bit of a culture shock today to meet people, greet them with "Happy Thanksgiving", and hear virtually nothing in return. Obviously, South Africa needs me, if only to teach them about this eating contest every November. Maybe next year I'll write a grant for some turkey and stuffing. At least a can of cranberry sauce.
I had a great day today; I took a day trip to Richard's Bay with a couple other volunteers, exploring a mall (this is a big deal when your nearest shop has goats living in it) and reveling in being American.
Some things are different about the malls in South Africa; for one, you have to pay to use the restroom. (Yeah...I know). It's not much - R2, or about fifteen cents back home - and when I saw flush toilets and sinks with running water to wash your hands as wastefully as your heart desires, I had to smile, step back and wonder how my standards have changed so drastically in a few months. To be thankful - even willing to pay! - for a real bathroom experience again, on Thanksgiving Day, made me wonder about other things of which I'm thankful.
1) I'm thankful to live in a village where being (somewhat) socially awkward is misconstrued as being culturally unaware. I'm really going to miss this back Stateside.
2) I'm thankful for my wonderful learners, the staff, educators, and community of which I am becoming a part of, here in South Africa. It is for them I'm here, and I do my best everyday not to forget it.
3) I'm thankful for Stoney Ginger Beer; it's the strongest soda I've ever had, like drinking ginger concentrate. There are many, many foods I will never miss about South Africa. This is not one of them.
4) I'm thankful for the fact that, even in the most rural stretches of the world, there are still stunningly beautiful women. This speaks for itself.
5) I'm thankful for all my loved ones. The emails / letters/ phone calls keep me through, and sane, more than you realize.
6) I'm thankful for the occasional night occasional night when the shaky power goes out. On those nights I can see the stars clearer than ever.
About three weeks ago, I started volunteering at a local HIV clinic in a neighboring village with another volunteer. Men, women, even children from surrounding villages - often with no means of transport - come here for testing, medication, and counseling on life with a chronic illness. Nervous patients wait for blood tests to learn if they've contracted the disease; others, some visibly ravaged by the effects, wait for hours for free ARV medication supplied from the government to prolong and improve their quality of life. In the ongoing struggle with this devastating epidemic ravaging Southern Africa, these are the front lines: a small, rural clinic resembling a middle school portable on the side of a pothole strewn tar road, run entirely by volunteers, government donations, and faith.
Each day before the clinic opens at 8, the people gather in a semicircle of broken plastic lawn chairs, and sing hymns of praise that are among the most poignantly beautiful songs I have ever heard, a glimpse of the immediacy of human life. Seemingly they have no connection to one another but tribal ancestry and modern ailment. Yet for a few moments each Monday and Wednesday, they sing together, for one another, and - though I do not know the words - I hear no despair in their voices. They smile. They laugh. They still remain human beings. They face mountains I can hardly imagine, and still they climb. Ever hopeful, ever thankful.
Enjoy today, your food, your homes, your loved ones - wherever they are and wherever you are. Always keep learning. Always be thankful.
Power's going out soon. Time for some much needed star gazin'.
-Ryan
It has been a bit of a culture shock today to meet people, greet them with "Happy Thanksgiving", and hear virtually nothing in return. Obviously, South Africa needs me, if only to teach them about this eating contest every November. Maybe next year I'll write a grant for some turkey and stuffing. At least a can of cranberry sauce.
I had a great day today; I took a day trip to Richard's Bay with a couple other volunteers, exploring a mall (this is a big deal when your nearest shop has goats living in it) and reveling in being American.
Some things are different about the malls in South Africa; for one, you have to pay to use the restroom. (Yeah...I know). It's not much - R2, or about fifteen cents back home - and when I saw flush toilets and sinks with running water to wash your hands as wastefully as your heart desires, I had to smile, step back and wonder how my standards have changed so drastically in a few months. To be thankful - even willing to pay! - for a real bathroom experience again, on Thanksgiving Day, made me wonder about other things of which I'm thankful.
1) I'm thankful to live in a village where being (somewhat) socially awkward is misconstrued as being culturally unaware. I'm really going to miss this back Stateside.
2) I'm thankful for my wonderful learners, the staff, educators, and community of which I am becoming a part of, here in South Africa. It is for them I'm here, and I do my best everyday not to forget it.
3) I'm thankful for Stoney Ginger Beer; it's the strongest soda I've ever had, like drinking ginger concentrate. There are many, many foods I will never miss about South Africa. This is not one of them.
4) I'm thankful for the fact that, even in the most rural stretches of the world, there are still stunningly beautiful women. This speaks for itself.
5) I'm thankful for all my loved ones. The emails / letters/ phone calls keep me through, and sane, more than you realize.
6) I'm thankful for the occasional night occasional night when the shaky power goes out. On those nights I can see the stars clearer than ever.
About three weeks ago, I started volunteering at a local HIV clinic in a neighboring village with another volunteer. Men, women, even children from surrounding villages - often with no means of transport - come here for testing, medication, and counseling on life with a chronic illness. Nervous patients wait for blood tests to learn if they've contracted the disease; others, some visibly ravaged by the effects, wait for hours for free ARV medication supplied from the government to prolong and improve their quality of life. In the ongoing struggle with this devastating epidemic ravaging Southern Africa, these are the front lines: a small, rural clinic resembling a middle school portable on the side of a pothole strewn tar road, run entirely by volunteers, government donations, and faith.
Each day before the clinic opens at 8, the people gather in a semicircle of broken plastic lawn chairs, and sing hymns of praise that are among the most poignantly beautiful songs I have ever heard, a glimpse of the immediacy of human life. Seemingly they have no connection to one another but tribal ancestry and modern ailment. Yet for a few moments each Monday and Wednesday, they sing together, for one another, and - though I do not know the words - I hear no despair in their voices. They smile. They laugh. They still remain human beings. They face mountains I can hardly imagine, and still they climb. Ever hopeful, ever thankful.
Enjoy today, your food, your homes, your loved ones - wherever they are and wherever you are. Always keep learning. Always be thankful.
Power's going out soon. Time for some much needed star gazin'.
-Ryan
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
10/13/2010
I've been pretty bored today. I've been working on revisions in math, physical sciences, and English for the grade 12 learners (see my previous post for some info on what physical science is like) alongside my normal observation period...but since I still don't have my own classes yet, I've got a lot of free time on my hands while the other educators are busy marking exams. Free time is bad when you're me. I'm kind of Bon Jovi, minus the hair and voice and money: all I do is think. Want to know about what? No? Well, then skip this post.
I said in a previous post that I wouldn't talk about my feelings during PST until some time had passed. This is only fair. PST was a microcosm of Peace Corps experience as a whole, I'm inclined to believe, although seen through skewed, bloodshot eyes. It's supposed to be a way to dip your feet into the waters of South Africa without the shock of the freezing plunge. And yet, despite their best efforts, we were submerged. You could call it a baptism, admitting and perhaps cleansing the preconceptions you did not know you had. Enough time has passed on this, that I think it's safe to look.
I've been wrestling with a couple ideas since PST that are, I feel, not unrelated; the concept of Who is an African and the concept of Feeling the color of my skin. I can't cover both of these in one post. I can't cover both of these in one lifetime. They are fed by outlooks prone to change, adapt and evolve over the course of my service in South Africa and beyond. So this post is only going to be about Feeling White. About the sensation - never felt so prevalently before - of literally wearing my skin. I remember walking the streets of my village and hearing children yell "kua, kua!" after me. Men and women only cared to approach me - or distance themselves from me - because of my race, and told me to my face. I was seen only for what Being White meant for them. It's not a battle I ever thought I would fight, inside my own head. Coming to my homestay one day after training at the College, I told my host mother (in broken Zulu) "I am not kua. I am Ryan."
One exercise during training was to create an agreement spectrum - two extremes were chosen (I agree or I do not agree) with the statement read, and every trainee walked along the spectrum, distinguishing themselves by how much they agreed or not. When the statement "I'm proud of my race" was read, I was the only white person who agreed.
I suppose I could be controversial...this is the Internet, so why not? I'm proud to be white. There is history and culture, ancestry and tradition, sorrow and love and loss and hope inseparably infused into who I am and where I come from. I am not proud of injustice. I am not proud of segregation, of genocide and discrimination which smears a people's stereotype on a person's inner truth. But I did not come to Africa to turn my life into an apology for racial injustice by teaching English classes; to me, this implies the belief that the people of rural South Africa cannot stand on their own without foreign help. I believe they can. No, in fact, I know they can; I see them do it every day. My job is to help them realize this potential. When all is said and done, humanitarian work should not be about what I do for them; it should be about what they have done for themselves. Africa does not need to be saved. She is far too proud for that.
It's taken my time in South Africa - and what little time it's really been - to even broach this concept for myself. I have heard about it extensively from the African American perspective back in the States; where a black man consciously feels black, and the weight that history and prejudice brings with it. It's not a burden I would choose.
I will never be an African American, and I will never fully relate to that experience. But, as one PCV put it, I am becoming an American African, and I can begin to feel this new weight growing. And I wonder, is it new to me here? Or has it been there, unrealized, all along?
Welcome to my South Africa. Send me peanut butter.
Ryan
I said in a previous post that I wouldn't talk about my feelings during PST until some time had passed. This is only fair. PST was a microcosm of Peace Corps experience as a whole, I'm inclined to believe, although seen through skewed, bloodshot eyes. It's supposed to be a way to dip your feet into the waters of South Africa without the shock of the freezing plunge. And yet, despite their best efforts, we were submerged. You could call it a baptism, admitting and perhaps cleansing the preconceptions you did not know you had. Enough time has passed on this, that I think it's safe to look.
I've been wrestling with a couple ideas since PST that are, I feel, not unrelated; the concept of Who is an African and the concept of Feeling the color of my skin. I can't cover both of these in one post. I can't cover both of these in one lifetime. They are fed by outlooks prone to change, adapt and evolve over the course of my service in South Africa and beyond. So this post is only going to be about Feeling White. About the sensation - never felt so prevalently before - of literally wearing my skin. I remember walking the streets of my village and hearing children yell "kua, kua!" after me. Men and women only cared to approach me - or distance themselves from me - because of my race, and told me to my face. I was seen only for what Being White meant for them. It's not a battle I ever thought I would fight, inside my own head. Coming to my homestay one day after training at the College, I told my host mother (in broken Zulu) "I am not kua. I am Ryan."
One exercise during training was to create an agreement spectrum - two extremes were chosen (I agree or I do not agree) with the statement read, and every trainee walked along the spectrum, distinguishing themselves by how much they agreed or not. When the statement "I'm proud of my race" was read, I was the only white person who agreed.
I suppose I could be controversial...this is the Internet, so why not? I'm proud to be white. There is history and culture, ancestry and tradition, sorrow and love and loss and hope inseparably infused into who I am and where I come from. I am not proud of injustice. I am not proud of segregation, of genocide and discrimination which smears a people's stereotype on a person's inner truth. But I did not come to Africa to turn my life into an apology for racial injustice by teaching English classes; to me, this implies the belief that the people of rural South Africa cannot stand on their own without foreign help. I believe they can. No, in fact, I know they can; I see them do it every day. My job is to help them realize this potential. When all is said and done, humanitarian work should not be about what I do for them; it should be about what they have done for themselves. Africa does not need to be saved. She is far too proud for that.
It's taken my time in South Africa - and what little time it's really been - to even broach this concept for myself. I have heard about it extensively from the African American perspective back in the States; where a black man consciously feels black, and the weight that history and prejudice brings with it. It's not a burden I would choose.
I will never be an African American, and I will never fully relate to that experience. But, as one PCV put it, I am becoming an American African, and I can begin to feel this new weight growing. And I wonder, is it new to me here? Or has it been there, unrealized, all along?
Welcome to my South Africa. Send me peanut butter.
Ryan
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