"Brother, sorry brother. Can you help me?" The Bergies

“Brother, sorry brother. Can you help me?”

“Two rand for milk and bread?”

I look at him, the beggar with a bright neon security vest guarding cars. Shake my head. And walk into the 7-11. Looking for skim milk, which doesn't really exist here. There's only whole and 2%. Damn it.

“I live on the streets. You and me, when we die, we all go to the same place.”

I turn the corner back to my home here in Cape Town, South Africa. Another bergie comes up to me. “Hey brother, sorry brother. I just want to talk brother. Can you help me?” They all say the same thing. You become inured to it.

Every day it's the same thing. The same route home. The same bergies follow you twenty feet begging. Sometimes, though, it's a bit different.

Walking into Shoprite, looking for skim milk again. A Canadian comes up to me. He asks, “Can you help me? Give me $20? Me and my 3 buddies just had our wallets and passports stolen on a minibus taxi. We need to get to Stellenbosch to get to my embassy.” He still has his cellphone. So they stole everything but his cellphone? Why would the Canadian embassy be in the town of Stellenbosch, over an hour away from the city of Cape Town?

Bizarre things happens. Theft is rampant. My friend Dan Huntington here had his cellphone stolen on a minibus taxi. He was the last off, and the driver asked to borrow his phone. Dan ended up running down the street with his hand still on the phone as the taxi drove away.

Or it's the refugee. One day I was followed home twice for a kilometer by the same man. The first time I see him he asks for money for food. When I see him again he has a shopping bag full of food. I don't ask how he got the bread and milk. “I'm a good man. I'm a Christian man,” he says. “Can you help me? Let me tell you my story. I'm from Zimbabwe. I need money to get an identity photo for work...”

There's a drug here called tik. It's like meth, but mixed with household cleaners. I was on a train to see the Jackass penguins in Simonstown. There was a man tripping. He made a pass at me, grabbing for my bag. Another man behind me kicked him down the train car, shouting in Afrikaans.

People see you, an American. They see dollar signs. They wonder how to get the dollars out of 'this one.'

Last weekend, thieves murdered a UCT student after he refused to give up his wallet in a mugging. His two friends received stab wounds as well.

My homestay mother relates the story of how her daughter's fiancée Brett was kidnapped with his then girlfriend and driven around the city by a group of blacks and forced to withdraw maximum from his ATM. It was only after he started openly praying to God hours later did they let him go.

I don't mean to paint a picture more dangerous than reality. This country is beautiful and has great areas. Theft is not the norm. Murder is a freak occurrence. Poverty, however, isn't. Crime here, if anything, is out of desperation.

There are xenophobic attacks on refugees, mostly Zimbabweans. The Zimbabweans will work for lower wages and work hard. They're not unionized. I've joined an organization called Passop, which works for the betterment of refugees here. Many Americans studying abroad here have joined other organizations like Chosa or Leap, which both help kids in townships.

I guess we all do our bit to help. But what are the limits? Do I give bread to those on the streets? Do I volunteer? Or does it make the situation worse?

South African Time

South Africans have a peculiar sense of time. They've two versions of 'now,' and the Cape Townies especially love lounging around not doing very much in the beautiful weather. If they say "I'll be there 'now now'" that means they'll probably be there soon. If they say I'll do it 'just now,' it means maybe 45 minutes, maybe tomorrow. You have to listen to their inflection. The longer and more hesitantly they say the word just, the less likely it will get done anywhere near on time.

Last week, I had a group meeting for a presentation in a politics class here at UCT. There were five of us in the group, two Germans, two Americans, and one South African.

We scheduled our group meeting at 1pm. The two Germans arrived at precisely 1pm. Us two Americans showed up at 1pm, too.

And when did the South African get there?

He didn't even show up.

South African Bike = South African ER

I bought a bike on Gumtree on Nelson Mandela's birthday. It's essentially been the bane of my existence so far.

It currently resides in my friend Matt's room. To buy the bike, I walked 3 miles from UCT to 9 Pineland drive in Rondesbosch. Bought the bike from a british soldier for 400 rand. Bike turned out to have two flat tries which I figured I could inflate, otherwise it was in great shape. Walked another 3 miles to my homestay in Mowbray and went to two different gas stations to inflate my tires, neither of which could do so since their air pumps are designed for cars. Walked to Liesbeeck and took the Jammie to Claremont where I walked another mile to the bike shop. There I was told that not only had I overpaid but one of the tires had a puncture. 255 rand later I got a u-bar bike lock and fixed tires I rode the 3 miles back to Liesbeeck.

While taking the last tie on the u-bar package off with Matt's knife I cut my right hand in the fleshy bit between my thumb and forefinger down to my thumb bone through my muscle. Blood started gushing out in spurts. Plup plup, plup plup. Haley quickly helped me, rose my hand above my heart, bandaged up. Was driven to a public hospital ER by Quinton. Waited for an hour or two and there was only one doctor, an off duty resident in a zip up hoodie there. So the bike cost me from 12 noon to 1030 at night, stitches and an extra 1420 rand for the hospital visit (South Africa having privatized healthcare and public hospitals requiring payment before treatment.). Stiches are out as of Sunday, courtesy of Haley. I realized I can't shake people's hands yet, as blood tend to come out of the wound when I do so.

Now here's the kicker. The tire the bike shop fixed is flat, again. Back to the bike shop...

Cape Town’s beauty and chaos

Written for the Campus Times

By Andrew Otis

Published: Friday, February 5, 2010

In Cape Town, you cannot walk on the streets alone at night, especially if you are white or look wealthy. Murder and rape rates are among the highest in the world. HIV/AIDS prevalence is near 20 percent. Huge disparities still exist between whites, blacks and coloreds, considered an ethnicity in some African countries. Clubs and bars are largely self-segregated. Blacks go to one place, whites to another and coloreds to a third. What was once a nation divided by race is now one divided by income. Nevertheless, most of the wealth is still concentrated in white hands, so race and wealth are largely synonymous.

In fact, almost every difference and almost every conversation has some type of racial implication. I’m in a homestay, which I didn’t particularly choose (but that’s a long story). There’s a 12-year-old son named Andrew, who plays a lot of competitive chess, and a mother, Margot, who works as an executive assistant. They have two pugs and live in the middle class neighborhood of Mowbray. On Tuesday, I met Margot’s ex-husband, the son’s father. My conversation, all five sentences or so of it, was enlightening.

Margot: This is Andrew’s father.
Me: It’s nice to meet you.
Homestay Father: Did you vote for Obama Nobama?
Me: What?
Homestay Father: Obama Nobama, the black man?
Me: Yes, I did.
Homestay Father: He’s going to ruin your country. It happened to us.
Me: Oh...

(Author’s note: This probably does not reflect the views of most South Africans).

Townships are located on the Cape flats, a most desperate location. It is a barren sandy wasteland about one hour away from Cape Town. People live in the most depraved conditions. Some curiosities:
Every 500 feet there is a Vodacom phone store or hair salon business in a shipping container. Very sketchy.

Townships truly give meaning to South Africa being both first and third world.
There is absolute chaos in the streets. Pedestrians generally don’t have the right of way. Red lights are often ignored. When crossing a street or highway, for instance (crossing highways does happen), South Africans totally disregard walking signals and will stand in between lanes or in the middle of the road as traffic whizzes by. Minibus taxis, which fly up and down the main roads, have a wingman whose job it is to yell and whistle out the window. These minibuses will frequently stop in the middle of the road to unload and load people, blocking traffic.

The beaches are beautiful. I went to Muizenburg, a beach renowned for its waves. It was the first time I’ve ever surfed and I was totally shown up by my homestay brother. Later that day I went to Camps Bay Beach, the most majestic beach that I believe could ever exist. The peaks of Table Mountain in the background were stunning when the clouds formed a tablecloth that draped over the mountain’s edge.

Finally, I went to the first game ever played in Cape Town’s grossly over-budget Green Point Stadium built for the World Cup The stadium is monumental to say the least. But probably not as monumental as Table Mountain, which is where I’m headed next.


Otis is a member of
the class of 2011

Language policy stifles intellectual curiosity

Article written for the Campus Times. It looks like I might be able to actually get credit, after receiving an email from the Director of Study Abroad, Jacqueline Levine. Still a bit in limbo, so we'll see.

By Andrew Otis

Published: Friday, February 5, 2010

South Africa has 11 official languages, and I cannot get credit to study any of them.

Why? UR’s language department will not approve credit for any of these languages. I am currently studying abroad at the University of Cape Town where I wished to take a course in Afrikaans (classes start Friday, Feb. 5).

I cannot get credit because the UR language department’s policy is to not approve credit for languages it does not offer. I could get credit for a Spanish or German course at the University of Cape Town, but why the hell would I want to do that? That would be like traveling all the way to Paris and never once stepping into the Louvre or eating a crêpe.

It makes no sense. I’m in South Africa, and I want to study its languages. Of course, I could take Afrikaans, not get credit and thereby graduate a semester late. My intellectual curiosity does not go so far as to fund an extra $25,000 semester at UR. Nor should it be required to do so.

The whole point of studying abroad is to learn other cultures and to experience their way of life. Language is arguably the most important aspect of many cultures. South Africans who speak Afrikaans, particularly the Afrikaners, are very proud of their language, which is closely related to Dutch (the Dutch were the first European colonists of the region).

Afrikaans is the most commonly spoken language in Suid-Afrika besides English. It is, for example, spoken at home by approximately 60 percent of people in Western Cape, the province I am studying in.

Students from other American universities can study South African languages at the University of Cape Town, and most do. I have friends here who are taking Xhosa, Afrikaans and Zulu. Other students, like those from Middlebury College in Vermont, are even required to take a foreign language as part of cultural immersion.

What makes us different? A UR student studying in Romania, for example, should have the option to receive credit for a Romanian course, despite our department not offering courses in that language.

Thirty percent of our student body currently travels abroad, so this problem affects UR students studying all over the globe. There are literally hundreds of languages — who is to say we can only study so few of them?

As a general recommendation, the Students’ Association should meet with and actively encourage the administration and language department to amend the rules on credit approval for language courses overseas. Moreover, the University itself should take the initiative to change this backward nonsensical policy.

An education is worth nothing if it does not broaden the mind. For a university that prides itself on academic freedom, it is a travesty that it is so difficult to study that which drives our intellectual curiosity and satisfies our willingness to learn.

Otis is a member of the class of 2011.

And I even got a comment. Woohoo! (Someone not calling me a vacuous ignorant slut!)

Thu Feb 11 2010 10:51
Mr. Otis, thank you for this insightful article. I, along with many others, have had issues getting our study abroad courses approved by the study abroad office. It took 3 attempts of professor letter writing and arguing to get them to finally approve my courses. I am lucky because I got this sorted out before going abroad, but it isn't uncommon for students to come back and not have their classes apply.

Hiking Lion's Head and Hitchhiking

Today, I hiked from 9:30 in the morning to almost 7 at night. Intense. From UCT we took the contour path around the north side of the Table Mountain. It was Jake, Tom, Matt, Howie, Nick and I. Howie and Jake stopped at the Cable Car while the rest of us continued across kloof nek road to Lion's Head. Wonderful trek! You can follow it on Google Maps (From 7 Durban Road, Mowbray to the UCT campus and then to lion's peak)

We were so tired by the end that we started sticking our thumbs out the old hitchhiker way, not expecting anything until two Black South Africans going to the airport in their truck pull over (they're on the other side of the road) so we have to cross 4 lanes of traffic) and drive us to Rondebosch. Crazy.

Hitchhiking is illegal in South Africa. That's not to say no one does it. Like many things here, the rules are optional and frequently broken.

Pictures to Follow!