




i won, i won... I managed the costumes etc - ok, well, Monica managed the costumes... Have a look!
fall
So when I got back from the States, I had the plan all worked out in my head - get my masters here then take that knowledge back to Cleveland and study law at Case, hopefully while teaching a class or two re migrants, refugees, etc. We'd move to Cleveland Hts (not Washington DC) and I'd be happy, healthy, wealthy and wise. Steve was very confused in the -I'm sorry where did this law thing come from?-sort of way, but as I had it all worked out, I just wasn't phased.
So I gave myself one week to catch up on sleep and figure out what continent I was on, then I spent the second week figuring out what was happening at work. I think I can be forgiven for waiting until the third week after my return to have a good look at the application procedures for Wits. So Monday I started looking and I couldn't find an admissions deadline anywhere online, so I phoned.
"Yes, the deadline for that programme is the 30th"
"Of this month?"
"Yes"
Shittttttt - "This Friday?"
"Yes"
So thats what I've been doing this week, arranging transcripts and writing an essay and asking other people to take time out of their life to write me references and updating my cv / resume and and and...
And for the past few days it has felt like fall/autumn, so it all seemed so perfect in my head: the stress, the cool breezes, sporting my new KSU hoodie, a desire to drink beers (only from green bottles though - not an overall urge). So I was feeling very confident that it would all work out.
So, somehow, today I submitted my application to obtain a Masters in Forced Migration Studies from the University of the Witswatersrand. Yeh! Being on campus was great and it felt like moving forward again. And it is such a gorgeous fall day.
Later on, I had an email from Monica (of American couple fame) who said she was working on her application to Wits and shes excited because its fall and fall always means school. I wrote back that I was feeling the exact same way.
Here's the problem. Should I be accepted into the programme, classes will only start in February - at the height of summer. Meaning - thats right - its only springtime here and fall is only in my head... I really hope that my lack of understanding re seasons doesn't stand in my way of getting in.
for relaxing times...
When you run out of money and you are still waiting for a replenishment of supply – you just have to learn to make do. I usually switch over to raman as my staple supply of food (called 2 minute noodles here, which of course is appropriate, but I still call them raman). And when it really gets down to the wire, I have a knack for making meals out of nothing. Last night I made pierogies from scratch (that’s right, mixing up the dough myself).
Usually, when we get this poor, Steve switches from cheap Castle beer in cans to 17 year aged Japanese whiskey. What??? Yep. For fiscally difficult times, make it Suntory time. It was a gift and there it sat on our shelf, used only for when we could not replenish the Castle supply. When not pregnant, I usually have wine or girly drinks or gin and tonic. (Don’t ask, I just haven’t developed a taste for beer here – not that there aren’t better beers than Castle – cause there are – I blame it on the altitude or something.)
Well sometime during our last broke spree, Steve finished the bottle of Suntory (so if it sat on the shelf for 3 years, does that make it 20-year-old whiskey?). So this time round, he was probably very concerned as our liquor shelf contained 1 x Malibu (and only I can enjoy that straight), 1 x Cranberry schnapps (again, mine) and 1 x Gordon’s gin (with only a little remaining). Imagine my surprise when a voice from the kitchen asked if I would like a G&T. Um, sure, but do we have any of the necessary T stuff? Really? Ok, I’m in.
As Steve got up to make another, I was standing in the kitchen (desperately trying to avoid my dwindling stash of graham crackers) and he stated that he would have to drink 5 litres of G&Ts to prevent malaria. What happened in my brain was something like this: I was told to drink 2 litres of water everyday when I was getting dehydrated during my pregnancy with Oscar and that was damn near impossible. But I don’t like water, so maybe G&T would be easier. Hold on, 5 litres is a fucking lot of G&T. I wonder how many gin & tonics, measured in litres it would take me to get drunk. And I bravely tried to do that sort of math in my head. Now look, this all happened in the space of about 3 seconds. Then it hit, sorry, did you say, "to prevent malaria"?
He mumbled something about quinine in tonic water and with the levels present in the 1 litre bottle, you’d need like 5 litres to do this. But he had already lost me on the word quinine. I become completely lost. Yeah, people across Africa have been drinking gin & tonic for centuries to prevent malaria. Didn’t you know that? Everyone knows that. But you don’t really need the gin, do you? No, just the tonic water. I was completely baffled, how had this escaped my attention? How did "everyone" else know. Well, I took momentary comfort in believing that it was probably not true. But it is, quinine has been used as a cure or a preventative for malaria for over 300 years. More, it is better than some medications developed in laboratories (please pronounce this as lab-ra-toe-rees, not lab-or-a-trees when reading this aloud – especially useful pronunciation tip for non-Americans) because certain strains of malaria have become mutated and are drug resistant.
Then I opened the fridge and noticed 3 cans of Castle lager just sitting on the shelf, waiting for Steve. I assumed he just didn’t want to mix his drinks. No, he says, Castles are the best, so I am saving them for last. One good thing, despite my lack of alcohol trivia knowledge, is that its nice to know that he doesn’t know everything either. I mean, everyone knows Sammy Smith’s Pure Brewed Lager is the best (unless Killians are going for $1 on draft).
www.straightdope.com/classics/a990813.html incase you are interested in how quinine prevents malaria...
chakalaka
When I was at Erich’s, I noticed the tin of Chakalaka sitting on the shelf above his stove. I sent this tin in response to a conversation we had about what people eat in South Africa. I said people eat chicken. Its not an exaggeration. People here eat a lot of chicken. But chicken wasn’t a good enough answer for Erich, he needed more than a list of one I believe. So I added in Paap (pup), which is also referred to as Mealie Meal (mee-lee meal), coming from mealies which is what I call corn. Here you can say corn, but I think it is predominantly called maize or mealies. Maize I understand and mealies is an Afrikaans word. In any case paap is kind of like polenta. A list of two was clearly rather unsatisfying and I was pressed for more… Um, chakalaka. People eat chakalaka with their paap. It’s a fun word to say so Erich and I bantered it about for awhile and of course a description was necessary. Its kind of like salsa, you know, tomatoes, onions, chillies – that kind of thing.
"What else?" Boerewors (see previous blogs), biltong (also previously mentioned), ostrich, springbok (lion fodder), then I started running out of interesting things to say. Um, there’s naartjies, which is a South African orange (and way better than the oranges available generally in the States). Naartjie by the way is pronounces nar-chi. That "tjie" still screws with me though. A potjie is pronounced poy-key and is (after much household discussion around the subject) a three-legged Dutch oven that is used for making stews at braais and other outdoor eating experiences.
Basically South Africans eat the same things (less my running American shopping list of Taco Bell, Combos, Graham Crackers, Ranch dressing and the like) – some things are just called differently. "And you eat biltong and chakalaka?" Actually no, I eat McDonalds and KFC and Subway (I’ve eaten all three on 4 different continents – suggesting, perhaps, a long-standing issue with American food). And I eat bacon and eggs and ham sandwiches and spaghetti and steak. I still don’t eat cheese no matter where I go though. (Okay, some carefully placed cheddar on tacos is acceptable, so long as it is not melted.)
But I do like Nando’s a lot, a South African grilled chicken chain (which is actually based on Portuguese style chicken). And I always order the Sprigbok carpaccio at Wombles, my favourite restaurant. Ditto that sentiment with the Ostrich burger at Moyo (which certainly ranks within my top 5 restaurants). Although I usually order the Mpumalanga (go ahead – try that one out) Salad when we go there at dinnertime. On the British tip, we often have bangers and mash and (meat) pies. And in line with the things that SA ex-pats miss, I really like Mrs Balls Chutney.
Whatever. I don’t think anyone but Holly spends this much time or energy contemplating food. Yet, I am completely comforted by the little stash I have at home right now. Really, its like a little shelter from everything. I kept the tin of pumpkin Julie gave me for well over a year before I caved. So Erich, keep the chakalaka up on the shelf for as long as you like. I understand. I’ll bring you another tin next time I come home so you can try it. In the meantime, the ladies from "How Clean Is Your House?" suggest applying a coat of clear nailpolish to the bottom of your tin to prevent rust…
vits
When I was 6, we moved from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin (pronounced fond-da-lack wiss-caa-n-sin) to Mentor, Ohio (pronounced men-ner o-hi-yo). I was six, so I don't really remember much of what was happening, except we were moving to a big house in the same city as Garfield's house. Like the cat - wow that was exciting - no like the President. I was six, I didn't care too much about presidents past or present. I do remember being told however, that soda was called pop and bubblers were called water fountains. Just a heads up on that one and when you are six, those things are important.
Flash forward, it has just occurred to me that Cleveland isn't called Cleveland, its pronounced cleve-lin or perhaps cleve-lind depending on the liaison with the next word. And I have discovered that this may indeed be the biggest stumbling block in my objective to successfully promote Cleveland in South Africa.
Q: "Where are you from?"
A: "I'm from Cleve-lind"
Q: "Where?"
A: "Cleve-lind... Cleve-land"
Q: "Oh - Ohio, Cleve-land rocks" (which by the way is pronounced with an "a" not an "o" if you come from the rockin city of Cleveland - consequently this also becomes a problem). "And you prefer it here, hey?" (let me not answer that question)
Now reverse the situation. I'm hanging out with Geoff and he says this is one of my oldest, bestest friends visiting from South Africa.
Q: "South Africa?"
A: "South Africa."
Q: "Where in South Africa?"
A: "Jo'burg"
Q: "Huh?"
A: "Johannesburg"
Q: "Oh, Johannesburg. Do you like it there?" (meaning of course that they have no idea where Johannesburg is located although everyone who lives here is pretty convinced that this is indeed the centre of the universe - the answer is .... Jo'burg, not 42 kind of thing)
Without taking too much notice of the way the stereotypical Q responds when they have narrowed down which two places I belong to, lets go back to the difficulties in communication. I actually have a preference for calling Johannesburg "Jozi" which is quite acceptable here, but certainly an unknown place in Cleveland, just as "shy-town" (phonetically in order to give a better example of the confusion) would be here. In any case, I was a little concerned that Jo'burg was a little un-recognisable. I mean I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have said Jo-han-es-burg in full. Look, I still don't say Durbs, but thats really because I think it sounds lame. It is a much classier city when pronounced "Dur-ban".
So thinking back to a year or two ago, Steve was having an issue with the pronounciation of Kabul as "cobble" - which really is a bastardisation I believe. Look, I don't get offended when people say men-tor or cleve-land, nor do I get offended when people say men-ner or cleve-lin. Its kind of one of those things that isn't important. My sister used to live in Loo-a-vul and Nawr-lins is 50nder water, but whatever. So the actual pronounciation doesn't bother me, what bothers me is having to repeat myself over and over again. I do this enough with the kids, why on earth should I have to do this with adults? I mean, does anything else come to mind when you hear Cleve-lind? Of course not (though please correct me if I am wrong). I think what actually happens is people want me to say I am from New York so they can say that they've been there or that their friend has and so on and so forth. But I'm simply not gonna do it. And thanks to my recent investment into Cleveland t-shirts, I can now say "I'm from Cleve-lind" and point to my t-shirt for proper spelling of the city. This will however pose a problem when I go back to the States with a Wits t-shirt. I mean, "I go to the University of the Witswatersrand" will hardly be an easy one to point at as it is pronounced vits-va-ters-raant. This is why of course it is called Wits (vits) - cause its way easier, just like men-ner.registration situation
In South Africa, your vehicle registration comes in the form of a small circular disc which must be displayed in the lower corner of the passenger side of the front windscreen (windshield – as you will…). This happens in other places as well – Pennsylvania for instance – however, when you are required to affix something to your car in Pennsylvania, the cleverly supply you with that something in a self-adhesive format. But despite the South in it, this is still Africa, so of course the registration disc is not self-adhesive. More, the disc doesn’t even come in disc format – no, it comes as part of a regular sheet of paper and you need to practice your cutting skills to make it in to disc format. Then you have to find a circular sticker larger than the (not un-reasonably sized) disc so that you can affix the much discussed disc to your car.
In any case, the annual change of the vehicle registration disc was due to take place while I was home home (see previous entries for explanation on that one) so I figure I will pick up some circular stickers while there. What is the point of representing the local grocery store when I can in some way represent Cleveland and we all know I’ve got the I-love-Cleveland-bug in a big way? And the sticker has to be there for a year anyway, so… I figure I’ve got a pretty wide range of sticker choices, haven’t I? So I start looking.
The first stop is the Indians store back at the Mentor mall because I’ve got to go there anyway. No circular stickers though. No problem. I go up to Lakeland to visit some friends. No round stickers. Kent State – nope again. Record Rev. No. Big fun. No. High Tide. No. Record Den. No. At this point I start getting desperate because the only place I can really think to go is Ohio Surf & Skate and I really don’t want to have to make that stop because Ultrasound has moved next door. So I try tower city – like 3 different shops. No love. The Rock Hall. No. The Science Centre. Nope. I even went into Hot Topic to have a look and was rather relieved when I didn’t have to purchase anything from them. I went really crazy looking for one, just one damn circle sticker. I was obsessed and time was running out. It had to be done. The Surf & Skate mission was planned. I walk in and as the stickers are pretty much the closest thing to the door, I went straight for them. Oh it was such a lovely sight to see so many stickers all piled up next to each other. But wait, whats this? One and only one sticker that is a circle big enough to affix my vehicle registration to my windscreen. And to top it all off, I don’t even recognise the logo. So I ask Tim, in fact I explain the entire non-adhesive vehicle registration situation to him. Tim tells me it’s a new shoe company. He shows me the shoes (I mean if I’m going to be representing them for a year, I at least want a look at their products). Not my favourite shoes, but at this point I was desperate and I took the sticker (in addition to a few other stickers & a t-shirt to add to my Cleveland collection). Relieved I walked away.
Today I affixed the vehicle registration to my car with my new sticker of a shoe company whose name I have already forgotten. And as I came back in and sat at my desk I realised that the damn sticker doesn’t represent Cleveland in any way at all. Its just a shoe company, despite the fact that it was purchased at Ohio Surf & Skate. A bit of a let down really. So when I got in the car to get some lunch this afternoon, I had a good long look at the sticker. And the crazy thing is that I had memories of the places I had been in the quest for the sticker just flying through my brain and I realised the sticker actually represents ‘my’ Cleveland better than any other sticker could hope to do as it took me everywhere I had to go. So some unknown shoe company is actually representing Cleveland to me for a whole year instead of me representing them. And now I know better. I’m starting now for next year. And I am accepting any and all donations from well meaning parties. In fact I think I will start a sticker chain mail…
stop all the downloading
I found Lee road. A bit backwards of course, I took 271 to Cedar and followed that through. I remembered last minute that Lee road comes off of 480 which is how one goes about getting to Cleveland from Kent. Coventry road intersects Cedar road (meaning of course that coming from Lee road, I would have turned left on to Cedar and taken that through until making a right onto Coventry, from there I would have normally turned right at Euclid Heights blvd and an immeadiate left into "my" parking). Some questions answered. More questions asked. Not quite meaning of life questions but certainly a bit more substantial than "where the fuck is Lee road?".
This week has been the most amazing dream (is this real?) of my life. From the minute I landed in Cleveland, I was impressed. I still look around me in awesome un-belief. For starters, this place is really clean. I mean it, everything looks so fresh, shiny and new. And everyone is so damn friendly, courteous at the minimum. Look, some things have changed, for sure. I can’t seem to find a blimpies to save my life and for some reason paninis Coventry has changed sides of the road. But overall, what has changed is me. Not in a bad way, I just appreciate the place more. I like where I come from. I have a strange desire to read the entire Les Roberts collection, I’m glad I’ve finally spent more time on the Westside than just “passin through” (though believe me, I am still a Cleveland Heights girl through and through), I’ve noticed things I’ve never seen before, I love Cleveland. Really. In a way that only the people who have previously heard me rant and rave will appreciate. I’m really digging the small minutes here – sitting on library steps, remembering whats coming up next on a street I haven’t traveled in over three years, the taste of my beer, the skyline, the airshow, Wade Oval pond with the girls, catch phrases (stop all the downloading), college bookstores, oh the music, (sorry, have I not yet mentioned) Taco Bell, white castle fries only come in one size, looking into a candle on the bar counter, remembering how to fill my own gas/petrol tank, opening my jewelry box, finding my gym bag, MLKJ blvd, old memories, older memories, oldo memories.
landing
It was a little bit strange. I cried when the plane touched down in New York yesterday. I couldn't help it and I certainly didn't fully comprehend it, so I chalked it up to the fact that 18 hours on a plane with a 1 year old will totally screw up even the most level-headed of people. Fortunately, there were two guys sitting across the aisle who were willing to put the carry on up and down as needed in exchange for a share of the cookie supply that Oscar was allocated by the flight attendents which he got just for smiling. Truly, there are worse people to travel with than Oscar...
Eventually, I landed in DC and after the luggage was dealt with, we went straight to Taco Bell. Oscar was not the most responsive to the bites I gave him, but I have decided to chalk it up to disorientation before I write him off completely.
The grocery store was an experience. Aisle after aisle of brands and foods I have dreamt about and had previously decided were probably not real. How can staples like pizza rolls not exist worldwide? And I was carded buying beer at the grocery store. It hadn't even accurred to me to bring my passport with me. And then I was carded trying to buy a lighter. What the hell? I took this phenomenon as normal when I lived here, but yesterday, I finally understood the confusion of every previous international visitor.
Last night it was Papa John's with Pete's Wicked Ale. Lovely. And this morning I saw a squirrel. The heat is overpowering, and I've forgotten the way airconditioning "smells", but everytime I look at Julie, I'm not sure I've ever been away. But for now... off to show Oscar the capitol...
northern shore meets southern africa
I’m not going to lose my accent – either by choice or force of years. It is just too recognisable. It has softened up a bit, I will grant. It now sounds like I come from the middle of Lake Erie – not quite Cleveland, maybe a little more Canadian – but I don’t say the word ‘house’ funny or add eh? at the end of questions. Of course, South African’s tend to use the ending hey? at the end of questions (or more correctly that’s how they actually form the question). And I found out a few years ago that Clevelanders put unnecessary prepositions at the ends of sentences. (Where are my shoes at? – hey?) I of course do the same and had never noticed it and probably still do this without thinking.
However, I don’t think I’ve met any South Africans who have ever been to or met anyone else from
What does disturb me more and more is this question: So you like
A) Yes. It’s a lie, but who cares really. Its not like the “asker” is really going to remember having asked the question 3 minutes on. I would like to note however, that this response is reserved almost completely for the following groups of people: 1. The Elderly, 2. Children (except mine), 3.Various other persons with whom communication is generally a problem (e.g. those who are only pretending they can speak English, those who really have a hard time communicating in any language, etc.)
B) No. It’s the truth, but it’s a really hard answer to give. What can I say, I don’t prefer it, but its where I live. This always leads to more challenging questions though: Q: Whats better about the States (A: Look, I didn’t say I prefer the States either or depending on the mood –service, prices of luxury items, pop culture, access to information, crime rates, but pretty generally the education systems are lacking in both countries, so we both lose) Q: Why are you still here? (A: Because I’ve been too busy having babies and subsequently wiping bums and noses to actually find an option somewhere else and I don’t want to imply that I am lazy, just tired) And so on and so forth. This answer is reserved for people I either really want to engage in conversation or for people I really don’t want to engage in conversation. My friends are supposed to understand and not ask dumb questions like this, but if it comes up – they deserve honesty. The second group of people – well I just don’t care if I offend them as they have probably already done something to offend me (like asking uncomfortable questions).
C) Well, I’m a little homesick right now – you see I haven’t been home in three years and my family and friends have never met - my family and friends. It’s the most diplomatic answer, of course, but I am really getting tired of saying this and it really is just avoiding the question actually.
Perhaps I could learn to fake a South African accent that I could put on and take off when necessary. It certainly would be a step closer to assimilating in to the population. But I think I am going to leave it at knowing: how to pronounce Lesotho and Vanderbijlpark, Ngubane and vd Merwe, understanding Mugabe jokes, spelling words with (the optional) u and ise, pronouncing z as “zed” (which really presents a problem at the end of the alphabet song, by the way), making use of the words queue, serviette, braii and nappy. On occasion I even say chips instead of fries, boot instead of trunk, jersey instead of sweater and I think I may have been fully converted into saying toilet or loo instead of bathroom. Ketchup is fortunately becoming an international word (see, McDonalds does good things) which is handy because no one understands when I say I want tuh-may-toe sauce. And although few Americans can tell the difference between English, Australian, South African accents, I can, and I will be aware of my failures in this regard. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter because most South Africans are too wrapped up in
why am I here? thats a good question...
why am I here? thats a good question...