Halfrican Dreamer and Confused Ramblings

“Yebo, amabutho kaJoji waseNgilandi aqotho impela. Okwempela uJoji nami singabanawe; usebanqobile bonke abamhlophe njengoba nami ngibanqobile abamnyama. Akenisho, uJoji lona muhle njenganmi na?” Inkosi uShaka kaSenzangakhona (1787-1828) “Yes, the armies of George IV of England are strong indeed. In fact, George and I are brothers. He has defeated all of the white people whereas I have defeated all of the blacks. But tell me, is King George good looking like me?” King Shaka (1787-1828) Yes, that was what I had to translate today. The Napoleon of Southern Africa, one of the greatest military strategists of all time, and one of his first questions was whether or not he was hotter than King George. [By the way, you be the judge. Shaka: http://www.whsliberalarts.org/zulu-king-shaka-zulu.jpg George: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d7/George_IV_van_het_Verenigd_Koninkrijk.jpg I know, I know.] But this is a typical day in Pietermaritzburg now: I get up at 6 am , go for a run, shower, grab a cup of coffee at a local cafe while reading Zulu, then head to class at 830, where I either do grammar, read Zulu literature or stories, and learn tons of new vocabulary and tenses (remote past progressive, anyone?) before a tea break and then a lunch break at 12:45. From then it’s either Zulu writing or Zulu history from 2-4, then tutoring in speaking Zulu from 5-7, then homework from about 7-9. That is, when we’re not watchign the surprising successes of both the U.S. and the South African (bafanabafana) soccer teams! This past weekend was a definite break from routine, however. Saturday we all tramped out for a visit to Ecabazini, which is a traditional Zulu farm run by a white man (*i know*) who speaks fluent Zulu and has been accepted by the local community and even is in training to become a sangoma, or a traditional herbal healer. The farm has two components, a real, self-sustaining farm populated by rural Zulus that make a living off their products and that is green and self-sustaining to the point that they make their own electricity and produce their own propane (from cow dung–which was pretty dang amazing), and the other part is a ’show’ kraal or umuzi (homestead), that demonstrates rural Zulu lives, traditions, and cultural values. It’s a pretty amazing place. We fumbled in our Zulu for words like cattle raising, government plans, and the verb to milk, but then we got hands on experience doing everythign from milking Zulu cattle to cleaning a traaditional Zulu homestead. Zulu traditional homes (izindlu) are made with packed dirt floors often taken from termite nests for added strength. And in order to clean these floors, after they’ve been muddied by rain or excessive tracking, you have to resurface them. With cow dung. Guess whose job that was? Yep. For those of you who have seen the film “Amelie,” remember the early scene where she thinks records are made like pancakes? As in they’re spread on in a thick shiny coating that is then thinned and made even? You don’t? Well, that’s what T.J. did on Satufday, except using wet cow shit in his hands over a dirt floor. And yes, it was awesome. DOnt’ be jealous. We also had a fantastic day trying Zulu steamed bread (ujeqe), and roasted beef (inyama yenkomo yosilwe). We then were tricked into attempting Zulu dancing with everyone. Mercifully, I do not believe there are pictures of this. I will be including pictures of me spreading poop on a floor to clean it in the next email, however. So be excited! Finally, Sunday dawned bright and clear, our first free day of the trip. Even more coincidentally, my advisor at Illinois was in Durban (40 miles or so away), and we made plans to hang out, because, quite frnkly, nothing is more awesome than meeting your academic hero/life coach/friend/life-urger whilst sitting on the Indian Ocean. I took a khumbi, a tightly packed taxi (that in the past five years since I was last here are now officially regulated vehicles, interestingly enough), that took an hour to drive to eThewkini, the coastal city of Durban, at the amazing price of 40 rand (approx. $5). Professor Burton had her entire family in tow, and we frolicked along the boardwalk and aquarium of uShaka Marine World, the very South African complex of tourist spot/odd historical statement, named after both the Zulu king and the loan word for ‘Shark.’ We then dipped our toes in the Indian Ocean after a day filled with manata rays, sharks, and lengthy complex conversations on postcolonialism and positionality. It restored my energy for anotehr week of learning. I think that wraps this update up, but next week I’m leaving for a weeklong stay in Imbali, the Zulu township outside of Pietermaritzburg, where I’m staying with a local Zulu family. I won’t lie. I’m nervous. And excited. Your poop smearing comrade in arms, T.J.

Sanibonani abangane bami, umndeni wami, futhi umuntu omuthandwa,
(Hello there, my friends, family, and people I love):

For those of you who might not know, I am currently in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, for the next two months, on an intensive Zulu language program, sponosred by Fulbright-Hays, the University of Pennsyvlania, and the University of KwaZulu-Natal, Pietermaritzburg (where I studied abroad for six months in 2004).

I left the U.S. on the morning of Thursday, June 11, and began a ridiculously long cavalcade of flying, missed connections, getting lost, and racing to places. I spent a week and a half or so in Los Angeles before leaving, saying goodbye and hello to friends and family, and then began this crazy ride. I nearly missed my connecting flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg, and then endured the fascinating reality of fifteen hours spent traveling in one single plane flight with no stops. Gah.

I emerged, disoriented, on Friday night with nine other students whereupon we discovered we’d missed our flight connection to Durban, and would have to spend the night; the plane company put us up for free at a local hostel, and we landed on Saturday afternoon in eThekwini (Durban in isiZulu). Meeting us at teh airport was Doctor Audrey Mbeje, a professor at UPenn and our instructor here, a bright bubbly woman with a halo of curls and a piercing, warm laugh. We spent the weekend tryign to make sense of our extreme jet-lag and our new location in South Africa by exploring the city, practicing our tentative Zulu, and rejoicing in the plethora of mistakes we made with a new language adn a new country.

The minute we arrived at the motel we were staying at for the weekend, the staff (informed that we were isiZulu students), greeted us entirely in isiZulu and stressed that they would be helping us practice. Nothing helps you learn words like key, door, flight, wake-up, juice, help, and pillow like a full immersion hotel stay .

Also, one of the waitresses at the hotel restaurant asked us all eagerly what our Zulu names were. I hadn’t received one in class, so I said tentatively, “Anginagama lwesiZulu” (I don’t have a Zulu name), to which she responded, “Ngifuna ukuqamba wena.” (I want to name you.)

So she did. Zulu naming is often based on immediatley visible physical traits, which can be a bit distressing, so I was a little nervous. However, Phumuzile looked at me, sized me up, and pronounced: “uS’dudla.” Which literally means…. The Thick One.

I am a winner.

So, my Zulu name is basically “The Thick Guy.” I prefer to think of myself as a brick house, mighty mighty.

Sunday saw us taken around on a tour by a woman named–I kid you not–Shiny Bright, a sixty-odd British woman who doubled as a tour guide and had lived in South Africa for over three decades. Her white skin was wrinkled and threaded with laugh lines like a crinkled piece of paper, and her frizzy red hair stood all around her looking ever so much like the mane of a rogue lion. Shiny’s eyes darted back and forth like goldfish in a bowl as she energetically explained and itemized and discussed every facet of KwaZulu-Natal, Durban, apartheid, and race relations—not without her own awkward commentary, such as “The Zulus are such a happy people, it’s so good to see them working!” (what the hell?) Still, her royal Shiny Brightness won points for effort and heart, and it was hard to not be won over at least partially by her (somewhat misplaced) good cheer.

Monday we left Durban and headed for Pietermaritzburg, which made me feel entirely confused and delightec to see the city and university I called home for six months in 2004. I realize now that I was very much changed by that experience, adn the research goals and life path I have now is in part due to what I saw and experienced in ungnumndlovu–The City of the Elephant, the Zulu name for Pietermaritzburg.

Life here has been utterly surreal so far. We have class from 8:30-4:00 every day, with a break for tea, and a break for lunch. Then we have Zulu language tutoring from 5-7 with language tutors Monday-Thursday. Fridays are rest days, although we do have writing practice in the afternoons. Saturdays are generally marked for cultural trips, and Sundays may or may not be for resting (or more travel).

My brain feels stretched to bursting each day, like I’ve had a heavy heavy meal, and then I must process, file, consume, and extract all the information as necessary in order to continue to the next day. We’re breezing through tenses, learning Zulu songs, and rehearsing and repeating Zulu folktales. It’s a lot, but damn is it worth it. I’m glad to be doing this, and I’m really looking forward to seeing how this changes my research. I’m also fortunate enough to be in a place specifically hosting much fo the nineteenth century archival research I want to get my hands on, so you know I’m goign to spend a day or two poking through archives with a nerdy cackle of glee unknown by sane peoples.

It’s been an utterly surreal year so far. I find myself at a strangely circular point after having finished a year of graduate school and launched into another adventure that takes me back to a life-changing location in my personal history. Yet more than ever I find myself grateful to be able to study the topics I care so much about, and I feel encouraged as a student, scholar and friend by those of you I’m writing to. Thank you for your love, and your support, and yoru friendship, and the ridiculous times you’ve helped me through or listened to me relate. I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop with all my madness as time goes on.

Hamba kahle, (Go well)

T.J.