VISA is a Four Letter Word

Sorry for those of you who read our other blog, as you will know some of this information from it...

We have been waiting on a little thing called a TEP.  It's a little ol' visa my husband needs to work in this country. And as I've probably mentioned before, we've been waiting since April. April.

Things are tense on the subject of visas. We arrived in August on temporary visitor status for 30 days. Our passport stamps expired in September, so up until this weekend we spent almost a month being illegal aliens. We've been without our passports for the last two months as things have been processed; we demanded them back and finally got them a week ago.  It was stressful not having them in hand, because we were not supposed to be here, but couldn't get into another country without our passports.) On Friday, we were "escorted" out of the country by the Department of Immigration (19 of us altogether) in a sudden move out of our control.  The intention was to go to South Africa "on holiday" for two days, after which we could get back into the country with another month-long stamp in our passport. Instead, upon returning last night, we all received a 7 day stamp (except for M., who looked at the agent wrong and only got a spiteful 6 days, and R., who chatted it up with an agent about her upcoming wedding and miraculously got thirty days more.... in other words, pretty arbitrary process!).  We had a lovely weekend in South Africa but as the school paid somewhere between 3 and 5 thousand dollars per family, it is not a sustainable solution for more than another time or two.  Hilarious situation we found ourselves in Sunday night.  (Also, we are still living out of suitcases, our stuff all sitting in a storage warehouse thirty miles from us since the day we arrived because we cannot get our things without our visas.  Love it.  My three year old has outgrown every piece of clothing we brought for him, because they are on our shipment!! If I have to smell his sandals for one more day...)

THEN yesterday husband Kurt spent the morning hiding out in a house behind the school after immigration showed up and he was whisked away while the classroom signs with his name on them were torn down.  Hours later, we now seem to be okay for the week we think, Kurt is not working the rest of the week-locked down at home, and we are on a plane Friday night headed to South Africa "indefinitely."  The school will put us up in a cottage/bungalow they are trying to arrange in Johannesburg, where we will stay with other (also visa-challenged) people from the school while papers are being processed.  There are a number of scenarios to play out after that, all of which seem like a better option than what we are currently living in- which is danger of being arrested and a number of other scenarios that are all uncomfortable.  I don't know if we'll ever come back to this country- possible, depending on what happens with paperwork while we are away.  But they are talking in terms of weeks and months, possible flights back to the US, etc, so we will see. So many possibilities. We are packing everything in case we can never come back.

This is all very confusing for a three year old, let alone ourselves.  He has started asking questions like, "Where is home?" ...which drives a stake through my heart. My biggest sadness is when you ask a kid at the international school where they are from, and they hesitate and stop to think, stammering.  We are trying to keep Jonas from being that kid, but our huge transitions this year (I think I've counted 14 places he's stayed in since June) have been difficult for even us to keep up with!

More international adventures to come! ....

UN Day

I am a sentimental  sap on a regular basis, but seriously.  It was moving.

Kurt's school celebrated the 65 countries its students reign from in fine fashion last week, with an afternoon of performances, songs and dance, a flag parade, and 40+ tables of food from all over the world.  It was more than enough to feed the 400+ people in attendance.  

Here students line up to present their countries flags and give a greeting on stage in their native language.

The student from each country who has attended the school the longest gets to carry the flag- an exciting honor for these guys!

 

Flags and more flags

Here the sister school of HIS visits from a local village to put on the most fun of dance displays. The eleventh graders at HIS do frequent community service projects at the sister school and do fundraising for books and equipment to be used there.

European and Indian tables above... My favorites were here, but Jonas's favorite foods were sausages from the South African tables... he may have eaten nine of them...seriously.

Kurt (on drums) and three of his coworkers were (happily) roped into playing two songs during the entertainment afterward... One of their students wrote a song for the occasion, which the teachers helped him to edit in preparation for their performance.  The student introduced them lightheartedly as"Africa's newest boy band!"  The second song they played was "A Little Help From My Friends" by the Beatles.

Tried for over a day to upload the video, to no avail... my technology headache of the week!

Husband Kurt on drums

Though Kurt used to drum all the time in Iowa and NYC, he has not gotten the opportunity during Jonas' lifetime.  Jonas (left) was tickled to watch.

Random Pieces of Learning

-Naked children are everywhere!  It is not at all unacceptable to let your six year old run around naked at birthday parties, teas, etc. here.

-I never thought I'd be a Madame. But manners are huge in this country, and most adults and all school children I pass on the road greet me with that title. The one exception?  White adults.

-Random prices:
A pomegranate here: $18.00 (We have three pomegranate trees- we're thinking of going into business.)
A package of Philadelphia Cream Cheese: $12.00
Box of frosted corn flakes at our closest grocery store: $7.50
Package of butter (500 mL/1 lb): $5.60-$6.00
Loaf of bread: always 99 cents, whether wheat, seed, white or "whole meal"

-The local Zimbabwean English dialect is littered with Afrikaans slang and other strange words that may or may not be part of a legitimate language.
Arvie: afternoon
Bakkie: pick-up truck
Wendy House: children's playhouse
Robot: traffic light
Braai: barbeque

-Things you will often hear a local say: "Shame." and "Fantastic!"

-Meet the chongololo.  When the rains come, they suddenly appear everywhere.  They are a giant millipede that curls up into a swirl whenever touched.  Three year old Jonas loves them.

The Day the Rains Came

Jonas and I were outside when the rains came.  Winds blew and clouds had gathered as we raced around the yard to pick up toys and move furniture inside.  As the sprinkles started, I was taken back to childhood.

I have been destined for Africa since I was a small child; my most vivid memories involve learning about this amazing continent I now get to call home.  I remember the bloated bellies of waddling Ethiopian babies on TV, and my first desire to change the world I suddenly found cruel and unfair. I remember dancing and dreaming of future journeys to Africa while the record player pumped out a crackly version of It's A Small World in my living room. And I remember afternoons with my still heroic father, cuddled on the couch with a bowl of cheese balls watching National Geographic specials about African animals on the TV.

Remembering images of dying animals desperately lying around dried watering holes on those specials made the first sprinkles joining my goosebumps on Saturday pure jubilation.  It hasn't rained since February, and though the largest animals in the neighborhood of our African city involve starving dogs and scavenger birds, I felt suddenly connected to the wildlife of Africa as I paused to feel the deluge come.

The thunderstorm was supposedly tame by African standards.  But the purge of a two hour monsoon was an answered prayer worthy of celebration. Fields are watered, wells are filled, and the burden of dryness has been lifted from the plains.  I've experienced thunderstorms hundreds of times before, but on Saturday we were part of something very special.  Rain.  Finally.

Watch our first African down-pour here:  https://picasaweb.google.com/cherijohnsondesign/20121014?authkey=Gv1sRgCPSo9bDTm8TuCA

Uggh!

The previous post was somehow posted twice, both times without my consent.  It was unfinished both times, and my apologies to those of you who received a crappy post not only once, but twice!  Technical difficulties are, well, difficult.

In the meantime, I had one very angry person confront me about racist attitudes and my opinion that "white colonials were the best thing ever."  It made me sick.  One of the worst  things a person can call me is racist.  I just want to clarify that if you took anything I said to be coming from prejudiced ignorance, you have misinterpreted me.

Terribly.

Horribly.

TRAGIC is my point.  TRAGIC that better services are not accessible.  You have missed the whole point if you think I'm sitting here in judgement against a race or a country. (Because I love this country- so many great things about living here.) And I am CERTAINLY not saying kudos to white colonialism.  I have no skill set to make judgements on that, or most other social issues. The whole point is SYMPATHY and fascination with trying to wrap my head around present circumstances, where they come from, and how they have evolved.  Every day is observing.  Every day is a learning experience.

I live every day somewhere between anger and guilt.  I recognize my privilege and have to deal with it everyday. 

Every day.

Race relations and economic relations are dealt with in very different linguistics than they are where I am from.  They are hard topics to discuss without someone's feathers getting ruffled.  But they are important issues, and are central to much of our experience in a place where we are entering with different perspectives because of our unique backgrounds.   I try to keep things factual and based on the observations I've made, but as I've said before, my human experience is very limited to one place on a very large continent.  You may not always agree with me, but know that my intentions are never, ever, to slight any set of people or this amazing continent we are on.

Thanks for sticking with me, despite the tech issues.

Infrastructure: Part One

I never expected great infrastructure in Africa, but in a post colonial country I knew it would be better than in most surrounding places. The colonial whites that ran the state up until a little over thirty years ago set standards higher here. Paved roads in the cities are expected.  Water systems, electrical grids, parks, etc all set up years ago allowed the city to operate closer to a first world nation status than third.  But the thirty years since with no maintenance of its infrastructure has left a 1970s city crumbling and sent the nation back to the third world.

This past week we visited the only fire station in this metropolitan area of approximately 3 million people. (Note to self, do not require the fire department during your time here.)  In 2011 the fire station had only 2 operational fire engines; this year a wealthy man donated two more.  While my little boy was tickled with the fire engines, I walked around shocked at the overworked operations of a single department for the entire capitol.

We often joke that we are living in the fifties or sixties here.  Driving laws, safety of playgrounds, the use of carseats, etc, are all about where they were fifty years ago in the US.  Above is the "control center" of the fire station.... two telephones sit on a desk, with maps (so old they do not show any of the city's growth from the previous 30 or 40 years) taped on the surrounding walls.  Blurred out some faces for privacy.

Here Jonas poses next to the city's crest, which can be found painted on each fire engine.

Behind the station sits an empty five-story building used for training.  

The fire station is famous for owning one of the oldest fire trucks in the world. From approximately 1920, there is only one other fire truck like it in the world, located in France.  Rumor has it the French have tried repeatedly to buy this truck, but the government will not sell it because it is valuable.  So it sits outside rusting behind the fire station.  

 The firefighters were extremely friendly.  Jonas and I got to take a ride on the street sitting on the front seat of this wailing fire engine.  (There is no such thing as liability here. Carseats, what?)