Notes From a Sugar-Curled Messenger

This has been, by far, the most exhausting week at the office. Because this time of year is notoriously quiet in terms of volunteer numbers, everyone seems to be under the pump with work to do - both on the legal front, for clients, and on the social justice projects.

Tash and Josie: working hard or hardly working?

On top of having a multitude of documents to draft for various clients (including two new refugee cases allocated to me this week), I spent almost all of today out of the office on various projects.

We spent the morning at Bonnytoun, this time working with boys from the Red Dorm (first or second-time offenders, usually in for lesser crimes). We wanted to do something more creative with the boys today. Because they love rap and hip-hop music, we wanted to find a rap song to play them and then get them to write their own. However, sourcing a "positive" rap song with nil swearing and which isn't an ode to violence is easier said than done; in the end we played them TI's "Follow Your Dreams", which they really liked. Working in small groups, the boys then had to write a rap song (which they may later perform). I was very proud of the boys in my group, who wrote a rap in Afrikaans (and even choreographed some dance moves)! The song is about a boy who spends his days hanging out on the street corner; one day he mugs a man and beats him, then he feels so terrible that he finds the man and apologises to him. The boys have decided that they will write a few more verses - one about being in prison and another about what they want to do with their life after getting out - and sing it for me the next time we go to Bonnytoun. They really are very talented!

From Bonnytoun we went straight to the jewellery sale at St. Anne's (for all those who have been following along at home, this is the one I took the photographs for last Friday). Some of the ladies who made the jewellery were there, and Tash (from PAHRO) organised drinks and snacks. We all went a bit crazy buying up jewellery, for ourselves and family back home.

 Necklace made by the women at St. Anne's

Cute as a button: these rings were very popular with everyone!

It's a great feeling when you buy something and you know that the money is going directly back to people who need it; in this case, the women and children of St. Anne's.

In the afternoon we caught a minibus out to Athlone to see the children who we are training up for the Mock Trial. Tomorrow we will take them to the Wynberg Magistrate's Court where they will run through in front of a lawyer (who will act as the "judge" in the mock trial). So I won't get my Friday afternoon off, but I must admit that I am quite keen to go inside the courthouse and see what it's like.

Because Latifa is in Johannesburg running a tour for the next week, Iris (of the chicken briyani fame from my first blog entry) has been cooking for me and staying over. She really is very sweet; she always brings the food wrapped up in an Australian-themed tea towel (of which she has many, despite never having been to Australia!) and then sits with me and talks whilst I eat.

Tonight she made me butter chicken curry and then told me stories about the 1970s/80s apartheid South Africa. Iris was in her teens during that time, and went to a Catholic school that apparently blatantly broke the law by taking students of any ethnic background. Many of the teachers at the school and other neighbouring colleges were activists and, later, members of the UDF ("United Democratic Front"). In fact, the school labs were often used for making bombs and other explosives. Some of the teachers wound up imprisoned on Robben Island (the same place Nelson Mandela was held), along with other political prisoners. In fact, Iris knew of quite a few people who spent time there, including her older brother (who was tortured, spent 10 years inside and apparently was never the same afterwards).

What I found incredibly interesting, however, was how people would sneak messages to their family and friends inside the prison on Robben Island. Iris told me that she (and other girls) would accompany the priest who used to visit the prisoners. The girls would curl their hair and use sugar water to make the curls stay in place - then people would tightly curl up pieces of paper with messages on them and hide them inside the girls curls. Iris told me that she would usually have about five messages hidden in her beehive! "Of course, I never met Nelson Mandela", she chuckled, "He was locked up far away!"

Iris said that many people don't talk about their stories because apartheid ruined families. Even within her own family, Iris recalled how her fair-skinned relatives were classified as "white" and she and her darker-skinned family members as "coloured". This happened in a lot of families, even between brothers and sisters in some cases, causing them to separate. Apparently on one occasion, Iris and about ten children from her family (brothers, sisters and cousins) were all walking down the street together. The police stopped them, separated them, lined up Iris with the other "coloured" children and whipped them. Iris laughed when she told me this story ("You should have seen the backs of my legs!") but then shook her head when she told me that members of her family moved overseas because of the divisions in the country. The last time she saw some of them was in the 1980s.

Then Iris told me about growing up in Woodstock, of the various characters who lived on her street and how the she was surrounded by black, Italian, Portuguese and other coloured families. "As children, we didn't know colour...we just knew people". Iris said that it wasn't until they were older that they realised the significance of the political climate.

 Woodstock today: view of Balfour Street from St. Anne's

There are so many more stories, but Iris says that people don't like talking about that time period, particularly given the trauma many of them went through. Maybe this is true for Iris - or maybe she was tired, or maybe she is more forgiving than I can imagine - because she suddenly looked exhausted. "Ah, sweetie-pie", she said to me, "it's all history now".

Grey Sky, Blue Sea, Purple Flowers.

Saturday

Bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, Natalie and I dragged ourselves out of the house at 6:30am on Saturday morning. We joined a group of other volunteers on an outing to Hermanus, a seaside town about a 90-minute drive south of Cape Town. The scenery on the drive down was enough to rouse our slumped forms and encourage us to peer out the window - waves crashing along the coastline, the mountains lit up by the sunrise and mist rolling off the top of the Table Mountain Range (known as "the Tablecloth"). We also enjoyed a steep ascent that allowed us views over Cape Town as we left it behind.

Once at Hermanus, we promptly acquired food and wine and then staked out a picnic/whale-watching spot on the cliffs.

Josie

View over the sea (no whales in this shot!)

From our vantage point we were able to view the Southern Right Whales that Hermanus is famous for; indeed, the purpose of our journey was to attend the Hermanus Whale Festival, an enviro-festival to welcome the whales to Hermanus and showcase local food, crafts and entertainment.

After ooh-ing and aah-ing for three solid hours over the whales, we wandered through many of the stalls and exhibits at the festival.

We had to get a photo with this guy (or rather, with his hair)

Despite the gloomy weather, there was an atmosphere of warmth to the whole place, probably created by various acts like these guys:

Make sure you watch the video with the volume on!

Sunday

The clouds had not disappeared by Sunday, but Natalie and I decided to head out nonetheless. We set aside the morning and walked to the Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden (located one suburb over, and about a 50-minute walk). The walk into the Garden was amazing in itself. Our route took us through Wynberg Park, and I felt like I had landed in the Beverley Hills of Cape Town. Picture mansions at the top of long driveways, high walls and a surplus of luxury European cars...we even spotted the Norwegian Consulate (I imagine the area is largely populated by rich ex-pats).

Once at Kirstenbosch, we refuelled with waffles and ice cream and then hit a few of the trails.

 Ah, breakfast of champions!

The Gardens span 36 hectares, so we didn't manage to cover all of it, but we got a decent chunk in the few hours that we were there. We hiked up a fair way and got a great view over the city - and the sun even came out for a while!

 "The most beautiful garden in Africa"

My writing will not do the beauty of the Gardens justice, so I have posted a few photos below:

 The Conservatory of desert plants

 Guinea Fowl in the gardens

At the mouth of the "Skeleton Gorge" trail

Natalie

 Kirstenbosch is peppered with vibrant flowerbeds

After five hours of solid walking, we decided to call it a day. Particularly because it was Natalie's last night at Latifa's house - and we had decided to make dinner. This should have been a simple task, but was complicated by the fact that it was a Sunday (and Cape Town could give Perth a run for our title of "Sunday-Ghost-Town"). The local Woolworths was closed, so we gathered what ingredients we could at the corner store and then bused back up to Claremont to purchase such "luxury" items as balsamic vinegar and hazelnuts.

Cooking that evening was almost as good as being back home again and in the kitchen with my younger sister. We listened to French musicals and the Lion King soundtrack (also in French!) whilst I made dinner (garlic bread, salad and pasta) and Natalie prepared an apple tart for dessert.

Homemade garlic bread, garden salad, tagliatelle & napoletana sauce

Natalie's apple tart - c'est magnifique!

Alas, after our delicious meal, we discovered that all our walking had amounted to nothing!

Simon's Town

Since I last blogged, we've said goodbye to some volunteers and welcomed new ones. On Wednesday night we had our weekly social, at Cubana, and then farewell drinks for a couple of people at Forrester's Pub. In more thrilling news, Wednesday was also the day that there was a shoot-out at the Wynberg Magistrate's Court (which I walk past twice a day) and a shark attack on a British man at Fish Hoek Beach.

On Thursday I visited Bonnytoun again. We did a workshop with the boys about gender issues and inequalities between men and women, particularly in South Africa. When asked about what it means to "be a man", one of the boys in our group said that it meant that you couldn't cry. He then went on to say that he had watched his brother get shot in front of him and in that same week his grandmother died; he said that he couldn't cry because his mother and his sisters needed him. This young man is in Bonnytoun because of seven different convictions, including one of murder. Incidentally, his brother is also inside - he attempted murder because he wanted to be in prison with his brother. After re-grouping with the other volunteers, it disturbed me to hear that a few of them had boys talk about how being a man meant you could force yourself on a woman, especially if she was a "tomboy" and "if she didn't like the penis". This refers to the practice of raping women who are (or appear to be) lesbians - what is commonly known as "corrective rape" - something that is, unfortunately, very prevalent in South Africa.

On a more positive note, today I accompanied Tash (a volunteer from the UK) to St. Anne's. St. Anne's is a shelter for women and children, located in the suburb of Woodstock. Tash is currently working with the women there, and she is helping to facilitate a jewellery sale where the women will sell handmade jewellery that they have been making. I must admit that the shelter was not the dingy, hidden-away hole that I was expecting - it was bright, cheerful and had plenty of space for the children to play:

My task today was to photograph the pieces that will go on sale.

Bracelets made by the women of St. Anne's

Evelyn (St. Anne's) and Tash look at the pieces

Because the office closed at 1pm, Rachel (UK) and I decided to visit Boulders Beach. Boulders is located near the historic suburb of Simon's Town, and is home to a colony of African Penguins. The train ride in to Simon's Town offered us spectacular views, although at times it felt as if we were going to topple off the rickety track and right into the water!

The beach itself was beautiful; in fact, it reminded me so much of some of our beaches in Western Australia (and I hate to admit it when another country has great beaches).

 View of Boulders Beach

Looking slightly windswept!

 The lovely Rachel

The penguins were, of course, the highlight of the trip:

We stopped for afternoon tea at a lovely little cafe overlooking the ocean, and indulged in dessert - deep-fried coconut ice cream and Frangelico crème brûlée:

The area surrounding Boulders really is picturesque, with houses set into the mountainside, hilly streets and sweeping views of the sea and Table Mountain National Park.

I'll leave you with a short video of the train ride into Simon's Town...and those adorable little penguins:

Sisters. Mothers. Daughters. Wives.

Those of you who know me will know that one of my greatest passions lies in the advocacy of women's and children's rights. So you can imagine my excitement at having the opportunity to work in this area during my time in South Africa.

Yesterday I had my first client consultation at PAHRO; today, I went with Maria and a few other volunteers to a legal clinic that PAHRO runs in Lavender Hill, in the Cape Flats area. The clinic is run in conjunction with another organisation - "Philisa Abafazi Bethu" (meaning "heal our women" in Xhosa) - and we run the free legal service in a bungalow on their premises. After today's clinic, I now have another client.

I could give you an outline of the type of legal research and work that I am doing for each client. But what I want to share with you are the stories that have been shared with me. Please note that I have changed all names and omitted certain specific details, including our legal advice. Sadly, however, these stories are representative of what is being faced by a large number of South African women - indeed, women all around the globe.

Elaine's Story

Elaine came to us at PAHRO as she needed assistance in appealing a sentence for a criminal conviction against her. Elaine had been the victim of an attack and attempted rape by an ex-boyfriend (in which she suffered multiple wounds, on her body and even genitals, inflicted by him with a beer bottle). The attack was executed in the presence of her son. In self-defence, Elaine had reached for the bottle and struck back. Because of the seriousness of her injuries, Elaine was hospitalised for a few days. Upon being discharged, she was arrested by the police. Due to certain connections that her ex-boyfriend had within the community (and, therefore, with the police), Elaine was beaten by the police and charged with the attempted murder of her ex-boyfriend. The charge was downgraded to assault, but not before Elaine had spent the better part of 3 years in prison. She is currently serving a 3-year sentence under house arrest, which means she risked a lot even leaving her house to come to our office. I think the image of Elaine lifting her clothes to show us her wounds will stay with me for a long time. Though, I suspect, not as long as her pain and anguish will stay with her.

Charlotte's Story

Charlotte came to the Lavender Hill clinic seeking information about what to do regarding an interdict (injunction) for a protection order, made by her mother, against her. Her mother is alleging that Charlotte, a young mother, is physically and verbally abusive towards her two children; Charlotte now risks having her children taken away from her. Charlotte believes that her mother is making the claim maliciously, due to the fact that she herself was not a good mother to Charlotte. They were constantly moving around and her mother always had relationships with "ex-cons" (in Charlotte's words). When Charlotte was 8-years-old, her mother's then boyfriend sexually abused her. When she told her mother this her mother did not believe her, laughing off the claims. Charlotte admitted to taking "tik" (methylamphetamines) at various points in her teenage life, but said that she had stopped when she fell pregnant. She had letters of support from her oldest child's school principal, neighbours and friends of the family. Her youngest child, whom she brought to the consultation, looked happy and healthy as far as we could tell. "I'll be damned if I let them take my children from me", she told us.

Gertrude's Story

Gertrude was another lady who attended the Lavender Hill clinic. Although one of Rachel's clients, I also sat in on her consultation and found her story (like those of the women before her) incredibly touching. Gertrude is trying to divorce her husband (and father of her children) because he is abusive and controlling. Moreover, he is a police officer (so who knows the extent of the control he exerts). Gertrude is a qualified teacher and manager; yet she has not been able (or allowed) to find employment in these fields. She has been trying to leave her marriage for the past 10 years, but to no avail. Again, Gertrude's tale was not dissimilar to ones I have heard before. But I found her strength and grace inspiring.  Although her manner was soft, her words spoke volumes: "I came into this marriage a poor person, and I don't care if I leave a poor person. I just want my independence". I come from a country where one of the greatest concerns in a divorce is the division of money and assets - and here was a woman who just wanted her freedom back.

I hope you read these three stories and spare a thought for the women in the middle of them. The last 48-hours, for me, have been a reminder of the suffering and abuse endured by women (and children) the world-over, particularly at the hands of men. I hope that, even in some small way, we can help Elaine, Charlotte and Gertrude. But what of the millions of other women and children? I keep telling myself: one step at a time. Unfortunately, on days like today, it seems like there are too many steps and not enough time.

I don't wish to end this blog post on a negative note, as I really believe in the work that various people and organisations are doing. So, as always, I welcome your thoughts, comments, ideas and questions.

Afternoon at Mzoli's

My first weekend in Cape Town did not disappoint. There were a few casualties (including my hair - which still smells of braai, despite two washes), but what a way to end my first week!

On Friday the office shut at 1pm, so a few of the girls and I went for an afternoon drink in the sunshine. I had my first glass of South African wine (chardonnay from Durban), although I will reserve my judgement on this front until after I have done some thorough research in the wine region...

Friday night was my first foray into the city. A large group of us volunteers hit up Long Street (apparently the place to be), starting our night at a rooftop bar at a backpackers. After that it was on to a series of pubs and bars where the music got progressively worse (i.e. better) and we met up with more volunteers. I took a number of hits about the Wallabies from a few Springbok fans, which might have ended in more than one bar fight had I been in a less forgiving mood. Two great things about the nightlife in Cape Town: 1. you don't need to get ridiculously dressed up; and 2. you don't need to spend an arm and a leg. And, because I like lists...Things I learned: 1. don't put cheap mobile phones in your back pocket, as they WILL break when you sit down; and 2. if there are chillies in the bottle of alcohol that they are pouring from, you should probably pick another drink.

So Saturday rolled around and I rolled out of bed sometime in the late morning. I had a pretty lazy day, that involved going for a good, greasy breakfast and wandering around the Cavendish mall. It was National Heritage Day (which meant braai day), but I was saving myself for Mzoli's again, so I chilled out around Wynberg Park and decided to lie low for the evening. That night was Latifa's turn to go out, and she looked amazing in her sari:

That's not to say my night was completely without excitement; a cat followed Natalie home and managed to find its way into our apartment (well, maybe we let it in).

Natalie with our feline friend

Sunday dawned, bright and clear, and I packed myself into a van with Meschak and a group of German and Swiss volunteers and headed to Mzoli's. I think I explained the concept behind Mzoli's in my second blog post, but it is entirely different on a Sunday. It seemed that every man, woman and dog (and I am not merely using an expression) crammed into the restaurant, which meant that it took us 2.5 hours to order and get our food! But that didn't matter, because we had South African cider and good company to pass the time.

 "Backstage" in the braai room: where the magic happens!

Not even at full capacity: this is NOT busy!

Enjoying South African cider

Meschak, Martin & Catherina

With some of the other volunteers

 Yes, that is a bucket full of sausage

Maybe it was the sunshine; maybe it was the hundreds of people dancing to the bass-heavy African beats - but it is as if the restaurant takes on a life of its own. The best thing is that it involves the entire community. There are hawkers touting everything from sunglasses to beer glasses, as well as a very illegal trade of alcohol (in that people in the nearby houses sell it, and I very much doubt they have licenses). If the word "vibrant" ever manifested itself in physical form, it would be Mzoli's on a Sunday.

A typical Mzoli's patron on a typical Mzoli's Sunday afternoon

I was meant to go horse-riding that afternoon, but after a grumpy taxi driver and a few miscommunications, a bunch of us ended up in Heathfield at a pizza place, where we spent the remainder of the afternoon/evening. But no matter; I have decided that I am on South Africa time and am just trying to go with it. Anyway, I have a whole lot of weekends ahead of me - and if this one was anything to go by, I don't think I'll want to leave Cape Town!

The Boys of Bonnytoun

The last two days have been consumed with work, both in and outside of the office. I have also been getting to know many of the other volunteers. Today I found myself on a project where, between the ten of us, we represented seven different countries (Australia, England, Scotland, France, Italy, Germany and America). This has to be one of the best aspects of Projects Abroad - not only am I learning about South African culture, I am also interacting with people from all over the globe.

Yesterday (Wednesday) I was assigned my first two legal files by Maria. The first is for a client who has a number of property-related issues (outstanding from a divorce - go figure); the second is for a client who needs assistance claiming money from a bank (it appears he is owed a sum under his insurance policy, yet the bank is refusing to cough up). I won't go into much more detail than that, out of respect for the privacy of the clients, but it is interesting work (particularly as I navigate the South African legal system and new legislation)!

Today I was out of the office for almost the entire day on various social justice projects. The first was a visit to Bonnytoun, a juvenile detention facility for young men (aged 14-17 years) who have allegedly committed crimes and are awaiting trial (and, in a few cases, for some who have been convicted and are awaiting transfer to prison). The drive out to Bonnytoun took just over 30 minutes, as it is located on the outskirts of Cape Town (in fact, quite close to the winelands). The facility itself was much like the juvenile detention centres I have seen back home: sparse units with dormitory-type cells and equipped with bunk beds, toilet facilities and even flat-screen televisions (possibly the only perk). There are about 60-80 boys at any given time, and they are split into two different dormitories - the red dorm (for the younger boys) and the blue dorm (for the older teenagers). There is a grassed area in the centre of the units, akin to an old-school prison exercise-pen. The boys are given three meals daily - at 8am, 1pm and 5pm. Other than that, I doubt there is much in the way of activities (outside of exercise and watching television).

The purpose of our visit today was to run the first session in a series of workshops called "Peace by PEACE", a conflict resolution program that was developed by the Columbia and Yale Universities. We split the boys into groups and worked through a number of activities with them - starting with ice-breakers, then talking about how conflicts start, how they escalate and what we can do to resolve them in a positive way. The boys were asked to give examples of conflicts that they had been involved in. In my group, two of the boys talked about a fight that had arisen when one had stolen drugs (marijuana) from the other. Although this caught me off guard, it was actually nothing compared to some of the other stories. Afterwards, when the PAHRO volunteers were discussing the session, I heard how one boy showed a volunteer the stab wounds all over his body from a knife fight with another boy (over a girl!) and another boy talked about his father beating him after coming home, high on methylamphetamines (or "tuk" as they call it here).

The boys themselves were a diverse group, not just in their age-range but also in their personalities. Some of them looked too young and innocent to be in a remand facility. Others looked older beyond their years. This made sense, as they are in Bonnytoun for everything ranging from pick-pocketing to murder. However, we were able to hold their attention spans for the better part of 70 minutes, and they in turn provided us with many laughs. One of mine was particularly cheeky, offering to show me his stash of weed (apparently family members will sneak drugs in to the boys, so this is not uncommon). At the conclusion of the session, all the boys wanted to shake hands and even get a hug - something which I was reluctant to do at first (wondering if they were going to try and cop a feel elsewhere!) but which I soon realised was harmless enough. Even the shyest boy in my group, who had barely said two words the entire time, lined up for a goodbye hug!

After lunch, I went back to the community centre I had visited on Tuesday, to assist the children with their debating workshop. Today we organised the children into teams and debated the topic, "That schools should not make students wear uniforms". Some very interesting points were made! From there we visited another community centre (in Athlone, another suburb), where we are helping the children prepare for a mock trial, which will eventually be held at the Wynberg Magistrates Court. The group of kids here was entirely different to our small (and placid) group at the previous centre. This group took a lot longer to settle down, were more interested in dancing and singing than memorising their speeches and seemed to be full of beans. That being said, they really surprised me with how quickly they picked things up. And it was great being around such spirited young people - they certainly kept all us volunteers on our toes!

Tonight, as always, Latifa had a fantastic dinner prepared for Natalie (my roommate) and me. Although this is what she calls one of her "simple" meals, it was delicious: deep-fried salmon patties, creamy potato mash, chilli beans, vegetables and rice.

I love that South Africans eat so much carbohydrate-rich food...especially as I work up an appetite on the 20-minute walk home from the main road each evening.

Tomorrow, being a Friday, the office closes at 1pm. No doubt I will find something to occupy my time with, particularly as I have a sunshine-filled weekend to look forward to.

From Town to Township

I'll begin by saying that, transport-wise, today went without incident. Apparently there is method to the minibus madness, so no big dramas getting to and from work. Today was jam-packed with activities and, as I have no photos, I will try to describe everything in detail.

Upon arriving at PAHRO, I was introduced to Theodore Kamwimbi, a human rights lawyer who heads up the office. Theo is originally from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and he shared his story with us of how he came to be in Cape Town. Unfortunately he leaves this Friday for Canada, to complete further study, so I don't have a lot of time to pick his brains! But he is clearly very passionate about the work he does in South Africa, which was very encouraging.

A few volunteers and Lyndon, the social justice co-ordinator, were going to Gugulethu (one of the townships) that morning. So I jumped on the bandwagon (or rather, in Lyndon's car) and went along.  It was like a completely different Cape Town to the one in which I have been living. In fact, in parts, it reminded me more of an Indian slum than anything else. From afar, it looked like a sea of shanty houses (flat roofs and crumbling walls). Once inside, I could see that the houses were secured dubiously with bits of corrugated iron, the "roads" were poor (and many without signage), dogs roamed freely...there was even a shop unashamedly marked "Ghetto-Tyres" (which, I must admit, elicited a giggle from me). But there were also aspects to Gugulethu that surprised me - such as the Shell petrol station and the large shopping mall, smack in the middle of everything.

The purpose of the visit to Gugulethu was to attend a community forum, on crime and social justice issues, that was aimed at engaging local residents. Other people in attendance included members of the local police force and councillors. Despite not understanding most of what was being said (the majority of the people spoke Xhosa), it was a really interesting experience. The discussion got quite heated in points and it was clear that there was a divide, even amongst residents. Some topics of concern were gangsterism, juvenile justice and family & domestic violence. However, the forum provided the community with the opportunity to express their concerns and put their heads together to reach solutions. The people at the forum were so welcoming and very open to having us (foreigners) sitting in on their discussions. In fact, for a township where there is one murder every two-and-a-half days, I found the people we met to be pretty friendly!

Since we were in Gugulethu, Lyndon took us to Mzoli's for lunch. To fully understand the institution that is Mzoli's, please read the Wikipedia entry. I will limit my description to what we ate: imagine walking in (to what is basically a butcher's shop), choosing a pile of meat, having that meat barbequed for you (here it is called braai)...and paying next to nothing for it. We ordered chicken wings, pork loin, lamb shanks, sausages and a slab of steamed bread (essential for mopping up those delicious braai juices), and paid the equivalent of AUD$4.50 each. And I haven't even described the taste yet. (Just so we're clear, it was amazing.) For me, the biggest difference between a normal BBQ and braai, is not just in the method of cooking, but rather in the mouth-watering spicy marinade. Who knows what these South Africans put in it - but it is bloody delicious!

After lunch it was a quick stop back at PAHRO, and then on to a community centre in another suburb of Cape Town. There, we spent the afternoon with local high school children, teaching them about public speaking and debating. Obviously an area that I do know something about (plus, they spoke English!) so this was a great activity for me to start with. The children will eventually form a mock trial team, so the purpose is to build their confidence and teach them skills that they can use for the mock trial, and beyond.

Although that brings the work part of my day to a close, the action didn't stop there! I had put my name down to take part in the staff vs. volunteers soccer match, held at an indoor sports centre in Claremont. I caught a taxi to the stadium (conquering yet another fear I'd had - catching a taxi alone in Cape Town); my driver's name was Vernon, a man who has lived in Cape Town his entire life ("and wouldn't live anywhere else!"). Anyway, the taxi turned out to be the least of my worries. Little did I know that a) I would be the only girl playing soccer! and b) the boys would be so violent. Maybe that's what you get when you throw an Italian, a couple of Poms, an American and a bunch of South Africans onto a field. I can't say that I really helped my team; my greatest achievement on the field was taking a soccer ball to the head (owch!) but that was purely accidental. I mainly just ran up and down, screaming when the ball came my way and failing to make two goals. On the plus side, I did work off my braai belly!

Having made some new friends amongst the volunteers at the soccer match (or perhaps they just felt sorry for me after witnessing my shambolic performance) I then went with them to Cubana, a restaurant and bar in Newlands (i.e. across the road from Claremont). I met a couple of other volunteers there - one girl from the UK and another from Darwin. Again, I couldn't get over how cheap food and drink was (about AUD$3-$6 per cocktail, and not much more for a main meal). Curse Perth and our exorbitant prices!

I'm back at home now, and ready to turn in for the night. I will share one last snippet with you though: after just three days in Cape Town, I have perfected the South African handshake. No, nothing dirty - just a very lengthy handshake that involves a ghetto-type grip and some thumb flicking. Yep, I'm practically a local.