When you drive around Cape Town, there are men at the stop lights walking between the rows of cars selling things. Not things like a windshield wash, but things more along the lines of fuzzy dice, beaded and fresh flowers and rugs. I am not a marketing major, but I question how successful this particular strategy is. I can't really imagine sitting at a red light thinking, "What is missing in my life right now? Fuzzy dice. Oh, look, there is a man selling them. How convenient. Let me roll down my window and get out my wallet in the carjacking and rape capital of the world." I guess it must be semi-productive, though, or dozens of men wouldn't be out there risking life and limb dodging cars everyday trying to make a buck. Well, a rand, I guess.
In addition to the strange things they pedal, there are also people selling papers. This actually makes a little sense to me. They hang pieces of cardboard up on light poles with the various front pages of the day's papers glued to them. You can decide which you want, if any. On my way to work the other day I saw a cover that said, "Tutu gets behind gays." I tried to convince myself that the wording was an oversight, but I just know it wasn't.
Work has been going well. Volunteers usually only work until noon or one, but on Monday I stayed all day with Daniel, Fazal, Allie and the other kitchen staff to prepare the food for the homeless. I usually leave while it is still cooking. It was cool to see the whole process for once. When the food finished cooking we made an assembly line to package it into Styrofoam to-go containers. I was in charge of spoons. I had to put one in each container after the rice was dished up, but before the gravy went on top. I am not sure if they give me the easy jobs to be nice, or because they think that dishing up gravy is too huge of a responsibility for me to handle. It could very well be the latter, because when we went to distribute the food under the bridge from the van, some homeless guy opened his and yelled, "No spoons today?" Evidently, I missed one. Our assembly line lacked quality control. Dixon said, "No. No spoons today," and turned his back on the guy. The guy kept yelling about his spoon. I just wanted to tell him to shut up about it already. He probably went through the line eight times like everyone else, and had seven other containers with seven spoons sitting under the tree, which is where they put them while they go back through the line. As if we can't see them.
The refugees want me. Well, actually they want green cards. I was sorting keys the other day, which was the most horrible task ever, because I had to try about a hundred keys in about twenty doors to try to determine which keys belong to which locks. Fazal told me try the key to his heart. I just stuck with the locks. I am not sure what one hundred times twenty is, but I do know that it was the closest I have ever come to going insane. I was in a terrible mood. I was standing at the desk sorting some of the wretched keys, when some guy asked me my name. I told him, and he replied with, "I like you. I like looking at you." I laughed and ignored him until he asked me for my number. Then I decided that I didn't feel like being sexually harassed on top of my already demeaning job of being key detective, so I packed up my keys and told him goodbye. Today, some guy asked me my name, I told him, and then he asked me if I was married. I said no, and kept walking. He told me we'd talk later. Fazal says I should tell them that I am taken, and that my man is downstairs in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Fazal is the potato peeler. Ah, Fazal...that is a story for another day. One refugee actually put it right out there, and asked me to help him get to America. I gave him my apologies, and told him I'd have to add him to my waiting list.
The other day, a vendor at the market asked me where I was from. I told him that I am from the US and he smiled, "The land of Obama," he said. I said "Yes, the land of Obama." As if this wasn't enough confirmation of my support, he asked me who I would be voting for. I told him that I would vote for Obama for both of us. He told me he'd give me a good price. I am going to flaunt my love for Obama at every stand from now on, just to ensure that I get an Obama discount. The refugees love him as much as I do. It's so great.
I like being here so much that I think I am going to stay for an extra week.
In addition to the strange things they pedal, there are also people selling papers. This actually makes a little sense to me. They hang pieces of cardboard up on light poles with the various front pages of the day's papers glued to them. You can decide which you want, if any. On my way to work the other day I saw a cover that said, "Tutu gets behind gays." I tried to convince myself that the wording was an oversight, but I just know it wasn't.
Work has been going well. Volunteers usually only work until noon or one, but on Monday I stayed all day with Daniel, Fazal, Allie and the other kitchen staff to prepare the food for the homeless. I usually leave while it is still cooking. It was cool to see the whole process for once. When the food finished cooking we made an assembly line to package it into Styrofoam to-go containers. I was in charge of spoons. I had to put one in each container after the rice was dished up, but before the gravy went on top. I am not sure if they give me the easy jobs to be nice, or because they think that dishing up gravy is too huge of a responsibility for me to handle. It could very well be the latter, because when we went to distribute the food under the bridge from the van, some homeless guy opened his and yelled, "No spoons today?" Evidently, I missed one. Our assembly line lacked quality control. Dixon said, "No. No spoons today," and turned his back on the guy. The guy kept yelling about his spoon. I just wanted to tell him to shut up about it already. He probably went through the line eight times like everyone else, and had seven other containers with seven spoons sitting under the tree, which is where they put them while they go back through the line. As if we can't see them.
The refugees want me. Well, actually they want green cards. I was sorting keys the other day, which was the most horrible task ever, because I had to try about a hundred keys in about twenty doors to try to determine which keys belong to which locks. Fazal told me try the key to his heart. I just stuck with the locks. I am not sure what one hundred times twenty is, but I do know that it was the closest I have ever come to going insane. I was in a terrible mood. I was standing at the desk sorting some of the wretched keys, when some guy asked me my name. I told him, and he replied with, "I like you. I like looking at you." I laughed and ignored him until he asked me for my number. Then I decided that I didn't feel like being sexually harassed on top of my already demeaning job of being key detective, so I packed up my keys and told him goodbye. Today, some guy asked me my name, I told him, and then he asked me if I was married. I said no, and kept walking. He told me we'd talk later. Fazal says I should tell them that I am taken, and that my man is downstairs in the kitchen peeling potatoes. Fazal is the potato peeler. Ah, Fazal...that is a story for another day. One refugee actually put it right out there, and asked me to help him get to America. I gave him my apologies, and told him I'd have to add him to my waiting list.
The other day, a vendor at the market asked me where I was from. I told him that I am from the US and he smiled, "The land of Obama," he said. I said "Yes, the land of Obama." As if this wasn't enough confirmation of my support, he asked me who I would be voting for. I told him that I would vote for Obama for both of us. He told me he'd give me a good price. I am going to flaunt my love for Obama at every stand from now on, just to ensure that I get an Obama discount. The refugees love him as much as I do. It's so great.
I like being here so much that I think I am going to stay for an extra week.
4 comments:
Please don't consider staying for another week. I worry about you. Should I come over to visit? It sounds promising! They wouldn't make me work would they? Just be beautiful?
Annie, I've been reading your blog. It sounds like a fascinating place although I don't think I could take on the challenge. Stay safe.
your aunt D
Your Safari excursion sounded wonderful!!! I hope someday I can see the whales swimming off shore and stand at the bottom of Africa. I told some co-workers here about the elephants.....amazing isn't it???
I do want to hear about this gentleman that says "you are taken"!! Whats up with that???? Annie?????
I have been on vacation for a week so its back to the grind. We went to Wisconsin Dells for a couple days. All 5 kids, significant others and of course my little poopsy. ha
Annie, can't wait to see the extraordinary pictures when you get back!
Love me.
Hi Annie!!
I have enjoyed reading about your adventure. The pictures are amazing. I believe you have found your passion in life. Your greatly missed at Eisenberg but enjoy your time away. Take care!
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