South Africa Diary #1

Who would have imagined that in four days at the University of South Africa’s lovely Sunnyside campus I would have no access to internet? Ahhh, South Africa, a country that at its high end has as much technological advancement as any in the world can still, on a day-to-day basis fluster and frustrate those of us who, even after years in Africa, quickly grow accustomed to regular amenities of western life. There is actually something cleansing about going a few days without internet, except that the email awaiting me will take hours just to delete.

My arrival in South Africa was inauspicious, though I did not know it at the time. Once I started unpacking the one bag that I checked after getting to my guesthouse on the Sunnyside campus I noticed that it seemed a bit light. It did not take me long to realize that the only jacket that a brought, a quilted flannel hooded zipup, and an expensive and brand new pair of trainers had been nicked from my bag. Given that it was more than a hundred degrees in both texas and Atlanta when I passed through, I have to assume that the theft happened here in Joberg. It’s one of those situations where the material loss is less important than the invasiveness of having something stolen from my bag. Though at the same time it is cold here on the highveld and I wish I had that jacket.  And the trainers were not only an expensive splurge, but were an as-yet unworn pair of special edition Puma’s created in honor of the African Cup of Nations football tournament, and thus not easily replaceable.

The Southern African Historical Society biennial meeting, which occupied my first few days here, was an intellectually invigorating experience. So often those of us who work on Africa in the United States do so in relative isolation. Our conversations, if they happen at all, happen online, through (ahem) blogs and email, rather than face-to-face. I have no idea what the numbers are, but I would assume that the number of colleges and universities with multiple Africanists on staff is infinitesimal, and the number of individual departments, where we spend most of our lives, interdisciplinary ideals notwithstanding, is even tinier. Not one in twenty history departments has more than one African historian. Probablly not one in fifty. So it was wonderful to be amidst colleagues and to see old friends. My paper on bus boyotts in Harlem and Alexandra in the 1940s went well — it even received some mention in the brief but edifying conference wrap-up session yesterday afternoon.

The conference, alas, ended on a sour note, as one of my dear friends, a talented historian of the politics of water and the environment, especially in Zimbabwe, found out that his sister had passed away unexpectedly. I saw him all-too-briefly yesterday and he was, not surprisingly, a wreck, which hurt me to my core especially because he is normally so stoic. He was especially frustrated and angry at the fact that he could attribute his sister’s passing to the fact that the health care system in his native Zimbabwe has, like so much in that country, collapsed. As he told me, if the country had the hospital care that it once had not so long ago, his sister would be alive today. He is heading to Zimbabwe today, and if he gets back in time I will be able to see him toward the end of next week. He is an expatriate working at the University of the North-West on a postdoc, which I pray gets renewed, as he went a long time last year without work, which made providing for his family in Zim nearly impossible. His children are with him now, but his wife remains in Zim, subject to the whims and caprice of the country’s political and economic climate even though she does have a job, which would be unlikely right now in South Africa.

On a much happier note, South Africa is hosting the FIFA Confederations Cup tournament, a quadrennial warmup in which the host country for the next year’s World Cup puts on a tournament for eight international football teams. Bafana Bafana plays in the semifinals tonight in what could well be the most watched event in South African television history (given that last week’s 2-1 Bafana Bafana victory over minnows New Zealand surpassed all previous records and that this game is much bigger and Brazil is much more popular than the Kiwis among the locals). I got to Melville, my usual stomping grounds when I am in Joberg, yesterday afternoon, settled into my guesthouse and took the dreaded, but alas, still unavoidable nap that lasted longer than i would have hoped. I chose to watch the USA-Spain semifinal in my room mostly out of inertia rather than desire, but a fortuitous power outage struck my (otherwise wonderful) guesthouse, forcing me to head up to one of my regular local haunts. I ought to thank the fates of unpredictable South African service delivery for the outage. The night was wonderful. Melville represents a cosmopolitan (and upscale – perhaps at some point on this trip I’ll discuss my ambivalence about my socioeconomic status in this country) ethnic admixture. Several of the patrons at the cafe-bar were Spaniards. A few others were clearly supporting Spain. But the bulk of the clientele, mostly African, were clearly behind the United States as they faced the daunting task of playing the seemingly unbeatable number one team in the world. Yet defeat them they did in what qualifies as an epic upset in world soccer circles. And several of the guys with whom iw atched the game were a hoot. Every time the Americans did something good, they chanted “Yes we can!” (Obama Magic is alive and well so far in South Africa) and “I have a dream!” (Ditto King.) It was a marvelous scene that serves as a reminder of how sport, for all of its problems, can be a uniting force. I will be cheering for Bafana Bafana tonight in a game in which the Brazilians are heavy, heavy favorites. And if, somehow, they can draw from the American win (something my new friends insisted would happen) and win, the finals will pit a most unlikely pairing of the US against Bafana Bafana. My loyalties will not be as torn as you think — I know how much more it would mean for South Africans to win a tournament such as this, and will firmly behind the green and gold if such a meeting comes to pass. If not, I will of course cheer on the Davids of the US against the Goliaths that are Brazil. (And etched into my calendar as sacrosanct is Saturday’s Springbok-British and Irish Lions match at Loftus Versfeld in Pretoria.)

Oh, by the way — my taxi driver told me this topical joke on the way to Pretoria after I arrived (keep in kind that South Africa could only play Iraq to a draw in their meeting to open the tournament): What do the United States and South Africa have in common? Neither one can beat Iraq. 

I have a friend coming in to the country tonight for his first visit to South Africa, so I will get to play tour guide in this country I so love, something I’ve gotten to do a few times before and that always allows me to experience the country in new ways and to see it through new eyes. In the meantime, I have some serious catching up to do. The downside of the holiday from the internet is that the internet never takes a holiday from us.