I feel like I've heard this story before

I've been somewhat disconnected to American news, but "death by firing squad" certainly caught my eye this morning.

Ronnie Lee Gardner was executed a few hours ago by five unidentified marksmen recruited from the Utah police department. Similar to lethal injection, four of the shooters had live ammunition and one had a blank so no one would know who had a "kill shot." Gardner was given a last meal, then a paper target was placed over his heart. He was given the opportunity for last words, then a bag was placed over his head and all five marksmen fired in unison.

Gardner's life story is all too familiar and representative of so many current death row inmates and executions. We can predict the elements of his story without much thought: horrible childhood involving sexual, physical and emotional abuse, poverty, hunger, drug use, and no positive role models. Early crimes sent Gardner to prison where he turned into an even worse criminal.

Cohen writes in politicsdaily.com "that Gardner's home life was atrocious--he was found famished and nearly naked on the street at age 2, but he was not taken away from his hapless mother. When he got into trouble with the law, before he had even become a teenager, no meaningful and sustained attempts were made to rehabilitate him. The criminal justice system did a sloppy job on its inexorable way toward a conviction. The safety net broke."

The debate is clearly not new. Proponents of capital punishment want to brush these childhood and adolescent experiences aside; they want to assure you that Gardner made his own life decisions and needs to be held responsible for his gruesome actions. Gardner CHOSE to kill three people, including a defence lawyer in court the day for a pro bono case when Gardner tried to escape, and he needs to be punished. Which is true. We all need to be held responsible for our actions.

But who is holding the justice system and social services responsible for their actions (or rather, inactions)? I think most of us acknowledge to varying degrees that the systems are imperfect and that it's stressed beyond capacity. In fact, our juvenile systems create criminals, rather than rehabilitating troubled children and providing productive alternatives to crime. Once hardened criminalized adults, the system provides them with substandard (if any) support, throws them back into prison, and kill the monsters they helped create.

We all share ultimate responsibility by not seeing the big picture. We choose to only see a man who mercilessly killed innocent people for his own gain. People want to see ultimate punishment for these horrific crimes--so badly in fact that the chance to be one of the five marksmen at Gardner's execution was so popular at the police department that they had to hold a lottery. Online comments reveal people's satisfaction and joy at his death, and shared desires to also be one of the shooters. One commenter asserted that if Youtube posted the video of Gardner's execution, the site would crash from all the viewers. Gardner "deserved what he got."

But we too deserve what we get when we ignore the starving and abused 2 year old child, the thirteen year old kid who emulates the violence he experiences at home and beats up a classmate, and the teenager who has sold drugs since he was kicked out of school. We take the vulnerable, the abused, the poor, and the mentally disabled and we lock them away; we ignore the underlying problems and we all ultimately pay.

When we see a train heading down a track we know ends in a terrible crash--and we have the power to change its direction--why do we only hold the train responsible when it explodes?

A day in the life

I've been here almost a month, and it's a weird feeling. One part of me feels like I'm still a newbie to this city, and another part feels like this has already become home.

I've (finally) completely unpacked my things (yes, it's really taken this long). Completely put away my suitcases, and organized a grocery list/shopping schedule that complements my tiny refrigerator shelf and small dry goods basket. I've discovered my favorite tea pot from the community kitchen. I've learned the best way to line-dry my laundry with clothes pins without leaving weird folds and "pinches" once they're dry. And I have 10 South African phone numbers in my phone.

The routine of normal life feels...normal. I get up at 6:45, stumble around my room getting dressed in the dark so not to wake my sleeping roommate and head downstairs to eat a breakfast of yogurt, granola and tea (and a scrambled egg if I'm not running late) with another housemate before we leave promptly at 7:10 for UCT.

I get to my office by 7:35 and make the ultimate decision of the day: do I take a nap for an hour, or get to work immediately? Guess which one usually wins.

I like working best in the university cafeteria, which is more like an open lobby area. I buy a cup of coffee and sandwich for lunch for R25 (about $3.30) from a lovely Xhosa woman and work all morning surrounded by sunlit windows and the bustle of other UCT academics. I settle down into work--reading and taking notes from various research articles on related health policy issues, and watching the previous night's Jon Stewart. You didn't think I could part from JS did you? Around 1:30 my laptop dies and I head back to my office to finish my work for the day.

My routine will somewhat change after today because I have new interns sharing my office with me. They're two American (the first two I've met since I've been here...honestly) PhD students. Now that I have company, perhaps I'll be more inclined to work in my office--what a novel idea!

One of my favorite phone calls of the day comes around 5pm, when my ride tells me he's coming to pick me up to leave for home. The rest of my (seemingly never ending) work will have to wait til tomorrow. On the drive back to Blencathra (our guesthouse) we make fun of the ridiculous SA radio, look for zebras grazing on the side of Table Mountain, and try not the stall out on a hill in evening traffic.

The rest of the night is spent either cooking dinner at the house and vegging out in front of the TV watching the World Cup match of the evening, or going downtown to watch the World Cup match of the evening. I won't say I've become an instant expert (or instant lover) of football, but I'm trying my hardest. But it's hard to NOT get excited when you're surrounded by the world's most devoted--and often craziest--soccer fans. I may not have eardrums after the blasts of the vuvuzelas--or a liver after the ensuing celebrations--but you can't be in Cape Town and not fall prey to World Cup fever.

I know I've already bought a return ticket for December, but that may need to be renegotiated.

Why is this headline news?

Yesterday it was on Aljazeera and BBC news; today its on CNN. Some World Cup journalists were robbed in their hotel during the night and their passports, money, and equipment were stolen at gunpoint.

And my first reaction is "...so what?"

Perhaps I've become so desensitized to the whole idea of crime while living in Cape Town. While being robbed here is always described as unfortunate and certainly not fun, and it IS something you need to take precautions against, it's not something completely out of the ordinary.

In a city like Joburg--where stories of carjackings, murders, and theft are not incredibly uncommon--the fact that these journalists were robbed (and not shot mind you) is unfortunate, but surely isn't worthy of making international headline news. In Durham, NC just in the past month there has been 43 reported robberies with a deadly weapon

Cooler as ekke?

So in parts of Cape Town, this "Zef" (Afrikaans for "redneck") rap thing is all the rage. Especially this guy, Jack Parow:

If you're wondering what that ridiculous thing on his head is, thats the brim of an over extended "Pinocchio" style hat. True hip hop has never been more embarrassed.

His biggest hit at the moment is Cooler as ekke, which translates to "Cooler Than Me." And apparently women are going crazy for this guy. Its hilarious.

Since it's all in Afrikaans, I never knew what he was saying (although I was confident it was a multi-layered, poetically complex work of musical expression...). Thanks to the power of Google, I am here to share with you the words of Jack Parow. The Afrikaans slang words are in Bold, with the English equivalent in [brackets].

And as much as I make fun of it---I can't lie, it's pretty damn catchy.

You think you're cooler than me because you smoke Yves Saint Laurent cigarettes

You think you're cooler than me because you've got a tattoo of a snake on you tette [breast]

You think you're cooler than me because you've got a poster of Led Zeppelin above your bed

You think you're cooler than me because you're at the J&B Met each year [A South African horse racing event where people wear crazy outfits]

You're old news, I come with raw beats.

You lie and wait, I go searching for something

You're ice tea, I'm witblits [colorless spirit/alcohol]

You're light beer, I'm spirits

You're the old with the new fresh look

I'm the guy with the Pep Stores pants [generally considered to be a store with cheap pricing and quality]

I watch you, you koekeloer [slang for a (non medical) version of "gynecologist"...you can figure that out for yourself :)] oukes [people, friends]

You still forward Vernon Koekemoer jokes

I'm great, you're spasties [spastic/spaz]

I take poppies [dolls/pretty women] you go on about small kids

You're Tim Vorster, I'm Chris Edwards [both stars on a SA soap, Egoli]

You're innie [in the] bushes, I roll innie fat shit

You're going as campfire songs ommie [?]

My slick style sneaks quietly like a vampire, your style is soft shit like a pink marshmallow

Girls screaming for just "one night in Parow"

You think you're cooler than me because you hang with models and I hang together with slette [sluts]

You think you're cooler than me because I'm a rapper and you sing falsetto

You think you're cooler than me because I travel on the bus and you fly in a jet

You think you're cooler than me because you drive a Peugeot two six zero

You roll with a cellphone in you pen [pants]

I still roll with a 3310 [old Nokia phone]

My style goes sexy correctly

You still wear fucking Mr Price Red [SA clothing store/brand of cheaper prices]

If I walk in, skrikkie the whole fucking bar [the whole bar gets frightened]

You still get fucking money from your mother

I leave the whole jol [party] papnat [wet/dripping wet]

If you enter, the whole party pad vat [take the road/leave]

I'm American, you are Iraq

I bomb you, I make the splash

I'm a Bic pen

You're a Mont Blanc

You walk around with foam on the edge of your fucking mouth

I'm a flash drive you're a floppy

You act as if you have everything, but you're fake

Jack Parow bra, I live like a straatmeit [street mate/friend...a vagrant]

You think you're cooler than me because you drink at Ku De Ta and I drink at De Decks [Cape Town clubs]

You think you're cooler than me because you are the gentleman, bra eksie prette [man, I'm the picture of a gentleman]

You think you're cooler than me because I holiday in Hartenbos

And you holiday in Quebec

You think you're cooler than me because you have the new issue of One Small Seed [SA pop culture magazine]

Jack Parow bra, I'm a poes woes [wild cat]

You eat Caviar and couscous, I drink Klipdrif [SA brand of whiskey]

You drink Peroni

You have friends in Sweden, I have friends in Benoni

I buy all my clothes at the local Pep Stores, save more

You buy all your fucking clothes at a store

You only wear fucking Polo Shirts

Same, you listen to the Dirty Skirts [CT rock band]

My name's Parow, think, heavy uiteskollie [naughty boy]

You look like Jeremy de Tollie [Dirty Skirts frontman]

Jack Parow, the life of the party

You only wear fucking Issey Miyake [a perfume]

You're too cool for school, eks mos kief [of course I'm cool]

I'm Grasshopper

You are Lacoste sports

You let the cake flop, I raise the house

Your girl has a picture of my dick on her Space Case [pencil box]

So there you go! (A really fantastic last line too, don't you agree?)

I think this is about the same level as "Bedrock." Which means the idiocy of the song makes you feel guilty for listening to it...but you can't help but sing along.

The South will rise again

"Tell me the truth-do you think I've lost my Southern accent? I feel like it comes back only when I'm shouting at fights or at baseball games." --Cleo Moore

"I used to say that whenever people heard my Southern accent, they always wanted to deduct 100 IQ points." --Jeff Foxworthy

I overheard someone say y'all today and I almost jumped out of my seat to go give them a hug. A shared American accent amidst a sea of mangled British voices and Xhosa clicks (all of which I love...) is an instant camaraderie; the clear sound of two outsiders finding each other.

But because I've gotten so used to hearing South African (and German...) accents, hearing an American speak gives me a jolt of surprise. My first thought isn't "Oh how nice! The sound of my homeland!" but is more along the lines of "Whoa. You sound funny. Oh wait....that's what I sound like."

Long live 'Merica

This picture has no relevance, but it makes me laugh. I love African signs.

Oh my goodness

SO EXCITED!

http://www.sa-venues.com/events/western-cape-event-description.php?id=1056

All I'm gonna say is, that "2011" thing better be a typo.

I'm on my way

"Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you, but not the one ahead."


My first interview was scheduled today at 10:30...three and a half hours later...she is apparently still "on her way."

Living and working with people who exist "on Africa time," I knew these six months were going to teach me a lot about patience. Which I'm notorious for not having much of.

I've discovered there are a lot of different kinds of patience. One is learning to be flexible; findings ways to entertain yourself while wating for something that feels like it will never happen. (Like the amazing works of breath-taking artistic achievement I created while waiting for my interview...)

Or the kind of patience that accepts that everything won't all get done immediately. That sometimes taking the detours is the most important part.

But being in a field of work where it feels like every accomplishment is met with 10 different failures, I think the hardest patience to learn is the determination to be optimistic when met with every reason not to be.

This isn't stupid, always-sunshine-and-rainbows-optimism, but the patience to persevere when the odds are incomprehensibly against you. When thre seems to be no other way out but to give up.

I wanted to give up a lot last semester. And in many ways, I probably should have. My patience not to give up conflicted pretty terribly with my impatience to fix things immediatly.

To accept that nothing can be immediatly fixed (expect perhaps auto-correct spell check) takes a lot of patience. Sometimes too much.

I will never be a sunshine optimist, but a realist (somewhate dark and twisty) optimist. Which for me means that when faced with the shitty parts of life, sometimes there are no silver linings. Sometimes there isn't a golden piece of wisdom to be gained. Except to pick yourself up and keep going.

But this reality doesn't mean to give up. To acknowledge the hard things isn't to deny the fact that things can get better. That baby steps are sometimes the greatest accomplishment you will have. A tiny improvement in an otherwise overwhelmingly discouraging place can still sometimes be cause for celebration. To be patient; to know that although everything doesn't work out in the end, you have to hold on to the things that do.

...And on another note, I think I'm going to have to reschedule this meeting.