V&A Waterfront, Cape Town

V&A Waterfront at night.

KFC -- I won't even go there.

This kid was really good. He played the same dang song all day, though.

More photos from the Youth Day Rally (June 16, 2009)

Ron, our Professor, was kind of a superstar at this rally. A white, American liberal is always super popular in South Africa. He knew all of the ANC anthems and could do some of the traditional tribal dances. And he shouted, "Amandla Awethu!" (Power to the People!) with a voice that sounded like someone other than the relatively soft-spoken professor I had come to know. It reminded me of my first evening in Johannesburg, when he lamented the direction the new radical leftist (black nationalist) government was taking South Africa. Then, his eyes expressed a sadness and frustration one usually expresses when speaking of family matters. And it was a family matter for Ron. South Africa had become his second home, and the South African people -- his family.

Some high school students goofing around at the rally. This guy is in drag.

These ladies are wearing the colors of the ANC (African National Congress -- South Africa's ruling party).

Ah, the vuvuzela -- South Africa's weapon of choice for celebration. These blasted horns are so loud, they considered banning them from the World Cup this coming summer. Vuvuzela banning is obviously not a popular idea in South Africa, as the vuvuzela is deeply rooted in their soccer tradition.

Last Nights in Johannesburg

Me and Jonathan, the program co-director and my Human Rights Advocacy professor. He is American-born, but has lived in South Africa since 1989. This guy can toi-toi like a pro! If you are unfamiliar with toi toi, click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPdxOYYR5os.

Me and Ron. I really, really miss this guy.

Me and Edwin, one of my legal writing professors. He's from Kenya, but taught in Seattle for a year. I want to bring him to Las Vegas, and he wants to discourage me from teaching. LOL!

I am flanked by my French buddies, Clement and Mathieu. They made me eat snails.

David, a student from the Univ. of Wisconsin Law School is presenting the lovely ladies. This was our very last night in Johannesburg.

Who says law school study abroad is just a glorified vacation?

That person obviously was a slacker. Not me -- I did my work. (But I did make sure I went out of my way to experience South Africa, because being there was a once in a lifetime experience. As you all can tell from my posts, I didn't keep my nose in the books ALL the time.)

Hmm . . . an A+, an A, and an A-. Dang -- too bad these grades transfer only as pass/fail credits. Stupid transfer credits . . . Oh well. I really wanted to learn this stuff, so I'm glad my hard work paid off.

Home again

Well, I've been in the States for several days now, and I feel the way I often do when I return from a trip overseas. A little relieved, a little sad, and a little more focused. I had an amazing summer -- I learned more than I've learned in all three years of law school combined (sorry, profs); I made new friends; had life-changing experiences; and paved the way for various future opportunities (should I decide to return to Africa). Oh, and I might have found a home for my currently homeless law review note: in a South African journal -- where she belongs. Keep your fingers crossed.

Thanks for tuning in, everyone. I'm currently in the process of producing and editing a slide show of pictures from my South African adventure, which I will hopefully post here within a few weeks. I've had to hit the ground running upon my return to the States -- there are jobs, fellowships, clerkships, and LL.M. programs for which I must apply; a major life decision I had to make; sick family members I had to visit; and a new school year (my last for a while) to begin. So -- the slide show will take some time. Check back from time to time. It will be worth it.

Best regards,

Kareema

Here are the penguins . . . (yes there are penguins in Africa)

Cape Town

As my cab driver headed away from the airport and toward Cape Town, my body buzzed with excitement as I was face-to-face with the world-famous Table Mountain. I was completely awed by the seaside city that is guarded by the mountain -- its demeanor was completely different from that of Johannesburg. Cape Town is a laid-back, friendly town where hospitality is king. Johannesburg is tense, congested, and comparatively cold. Not to mention extremely dangerous. I felt every muscle relax as we drove into the city, past the colorful corrugated tin roofs of the temporary settlements, and along the coastline.

Forty minutes and ZAR 300 later, I arrived at my hotel in Bantry Bay. It was a boutique hotel with a view of the ocean from its popular new restaurant. It was still early in the morning by the time I got into my room and flopped onto the bed. I lay very still, eyes closed, as I listened to the waves crashing against the shore below. Cape Town was heaven, or at least as close to heaven one could get without having to die.

Later in the afternoon, I awoke from my nap and explored the area around my hotel. There was a pharmacy, run by a friendly and knowledgeable white couple (they really helped me out later in the week when I was stricken with a mysterious fever); an Irish pub; a shopping district; and, of course, a boardwalk. I walked about half a kilometer down to the boardwalk, then another two or three kilometers along it, watching the waves come in and waiting for my perfect snapshots.

Of course this experience, like any other, was a learning one for me, and I learned that sometimes you find what you want precisely when you want.

Sometimes you find what you think you want until you use hindsight and realize that what you had was a big mess.

But sometimes, if you are patient, you wait and wait and wait, and you get exactly what you have been waiting for.

Apparently, I have been waiting for Cape Town. And she was waiting for me.

"Welcome home," she said.

Cape Town

Hi Everyone!

I'm in Cape Town right now, but my days have been so action-packed I haven't had time to update the blog. Having a BLAST!!! I'll update on Saturday. Be on the lookout for a million posts. Well, maybe just two or three . . .

Kareema

South Africa loves MJ

Last night, I had just clicked "send" on my final brief for my legal writing class, and called a taxi so I could join my friends in the Melville section of Jo'Burg. After waiting 20 minutes in the blustery cold, my cabbie, a young Masters student at Wits, pulled up in front of my dorm. After a brief discussion about law and politics in the U.S. and South Africa, my cabbie's phone began lighting up with text messages and phone calls.

"No way. Don't tell me that! It isn't true," he said forcefully to the person on the other line. He hung up, looked at me, and cleared his throat. "Michael Jackson died."

WHAT????

He jammed his finger on all the radio buttons until he found a talk radio station. "CNN has not yet confirmed, but other news outlets have reported that Michael Jackson has died."

OMG. WHAT? Dead? As in -- DEAD?! I was speechless. My cabbie and I listened to the radio, silently, hearing all of the calls of condolences and MJ song dedications. We missed our turn. We didn't care. I didn't believe it. So I said to myself: "I won't believe it until CNN confirms it."

The driver and I parted ways, he looking solemn and I feeling a bit deflated, but still in denial. Michael Jackson didn't die -- he's the freaking King of Pop! So I went into the bar where I met up with my friends, who were already drinking and having a great time. And I didn't know whether to say anything about it, so I didn't for a while.

Until a good friend of mine from the States texted me: "Michael Jackson died of a heart attack." Say what? Heart attack? Damn. And then -- another text: "Michael Jackson is dead. :(" That was from my professor, our program coordinator. So, I looked to the South African-born, Mississippi-raised friend of mine and whispered: "Not to be a downer, or anything, but Michael Jackson died tonight."

And as word spread, both through my group of friends and throughout the clubs in Melville, the voices became a little lower; everyone began to talk a little slower and the hush of sobriety seemed to blanket my adopted home. It wasn't silent or even quiet, mind you, but there was a heaviness that lay upon all our shoulders, and likely on our hearts. But life goes on, and we all continued our celebrations: of life, of love, of an old chapter's end and a new chapter's beginning, of friendship and camraderie among people from all walks of life. And it seemed a fitting tribute to a man whose music and performances seemed to celebrate those very things.

But the point that the events of last night really drove home is that, all our superficial differences aside, we are all mortal, and we all share in our common humanity. That's a theme Michael Jackson often highlighted in his work, and we are all better for the message that his music conveyed. I hope that he will be remembered for the gift he was to world, rather than for the poor choices he made as a man. Because we are all human, and none of us is immune from the trials and tribulations of life. I think we recognized that last night -- in South Africa, in America -- worldwide. For all the things people may say that Michael Jackson was, I think that after the response to his death, we can all agree that he was indeed one thing: a uniter.

When I arrived back at my dormitory (around 5am), I passed my security guard, who was listening to the radio news coverage of Michael Jackson's death and shaking her head. "He had so so many problems and so so much heartache. That must have been what caused his heart to give out. Your heart can only take but so much." I reflected on her words as I lay in bed. And I fell asleep thinking: "May he finally rest in peace."

**South Africa/Michael Jackson factoid: Michael Jackson's last live performance on tour was in 1999 in Durban. South Africans have been proudly touting this fact all day, as well as the speculation that he had been watching the South African soccer team play Brazil before he died. South Africa loves them some MJ. So do I.**

In the presence of greatness

One thing that I've not mentioned since being in Johannesburg is the countless opportunities I've had to meet and interact with important figures in South African law, politics, and civil society. A few weeks ago, my group had dinner with Justice Arthur Chaskalson, the former Chief Justice of the Constitutional Court and one of the architects of the South African Constitution (who was also Nelson Mandela's attorney in the Rivonna trial and has been part of a commission that has been investigating the use of torture in the wake of the anti-terrorism movement). He was a fascinating man, who engaged all of us in discussions about the use of torture in the U.S., as well as polled us on our opinions of President Obama.

During the last week of the program, we had the honor of having Judge Daniel Nsereko, the President of the Appeals Chamber of the International Criminal Court in The Hague, Netherlands. A tall, soft-spoken man, Judge Nsereko is nevertheless a commanding but graceful presence. One day, in the middle of lecture, his cell phone began to ring. "I must take this, ladies and gentlemen. That is The Hague calling." He hastened out of the classroom, and we all began to laugh as we realized just how wet-behind-the-ears and inconsequential we all are in the world of international law. I guess you have to start somewhere.

There are a host of other great figures with whom we spent time -- far too many for me to mention. However, all of them were amazing, not just because of who they were and what they were accomplishing, but because they had taken time out of their busy schedules of saving the world to help train the next generation of human rights attorneys. They shared their time with us, and our experience was enriched one hundred times over as a result.

What an amazing program this has been!

June 16

Today was National Youth Day, a day which commemorates the Soweto Student Uprising of June 16, 1976. On June 16, 1976, students from all over Soweto protested the new government policy of instructing students in Afrikaans, the language of the apartheid (Afrikaner) government. Armed only with a passion for their cause, students walked out of their schools and took to the streets, demanding that they be instructed in their native languages. Unfortunately, the government, in an unprecedented show of force against civilians, opened fire on these primary and secondary schoolchildren, killing or wounding over 1,000.

To commemorate this somber occasion, we went to a Youth Day rally in a nearby township. I took pictures and video, which I will post next weekend when I have a more reliable internet connection. It simply takes too long for video and pictures to upload.



These guys are doing a dance that is, I believe, a traditional Zulu dance. Look at them KICK! The Rockettes got nothin on them.

When you're at a refugee camp in Jo'burg, try not to fit in.

I'm back from my brief hiatus just so I can share this little bit of advice: if you are black and touring a refugee camp in Africa, try your best to NOT fit in. Especially if said camp gets raided by the police and military.

Here's the story:

1. Blessed are the merciful
My classmates and I were touring a refugee camp that is set in a downtown Johannesburg Methodist church. The bishop, a kindly and passionate advocate for the poor, gave us a talk about his work at the camp and the challenges they face (including having been sued by a posh law firm located a few doors down to shut the camp down). Then, he invited us to tour the facility, meet the over 3,000 residents, and play with the children.

2. Blessed are the pure of heart
We started on the church's fifth floor, where we entered a small nursery through a dimly lit hallway. The floors lined with mattresses and blankets, the walls were painted with cartoon characters. I was greeted by a young boy, about two years old, who was wearing a blue corduroy shirt and waving to me from an open shower stall. He smiled as I waved back. A little girl in a pink windbreaker ran and hid in a crevice between the bureau and wardrobe. She was a bit overwhelmed by the 22 strangers who had interrupted her mid-morning nap.
---
As we continued downstairs, I shook hands and spoke to the church community's residents, many of whom were well-educated professionals in Zimbabwe, but had abandoned their country in the wake of Robert Mugabe's autocratic grab for power. Again, a few of my new acquaintances attempted to strike up a conversation with me in their native tongues. And again, I clumsily explained that I am an American, and I don't speak their language. Yet others mistook me for being a Coloured South African, and asked whether I spoke Afrikaans. No, I'm American; I speak English.

3. Blessed are the poor
I joked with a gentleman who was making a sign that read: "13 wives, 16 children, 7 goats, 3 cats." I asked what his sign meant, to which he replied: "These are all my responsibilities." "Really? 13 wives? You must be a wealthy man!" I smiled. He shrugged as his lips parted, exposing a row of white teeth. "Noooo, my sister. I have too many responsibilities -- that's why I'm poor!" He and I laughed together, he heartily and I uneasily. My life is a freaking cakewalk.

4. Blessed are the meek
We continued downstairs into the lower levels of the church, which housed the orphaned, older school-aged children. There were two boys in the dormitory, who were probably about fifteen or sixteen, cooking some sort of stew on a hot plate. They did not want to talk, and they hovered over the hot plate, seeking warmth and looking too busy to interact with the strange intruders.

5. Blessed are they who are persecuted
As we continued toward the basement of the refugee camp, the hallways became darker and colder. Then, we heard loud shouting and chaos. We couldn't see what was going on until we were greeted at the bottom of the stairs by heavily armed police officers and soldiers holding machine guns. They were yelling and shoving refugees up the stairs, as we were trying to make our way toward the exit. Suddenly, I felt several pokes in my side, but I could not see from where they were coming. Then, my arm was being pulled, and I stopped in my tracks.

"Who are you?" A white woman wearing a yellow windbreaker marked POLICE asked me.
"I'm uh, I'm an American"
"No you are not. Where are you from?" (At this point, I realized I had no ID on me. Well, they told us to pack light . . .)
"I'm from Las Vegas, in America. I'm a law student."
By this time, my fellow students (who were white) chimed in, just as a soldier holding a machine gun glared at me, gun just barely pointing past me.
"She's with us, Officer! She's a law student from America on a winter program at Wits." I turned and looked behind me, squinting and trying to see if I could find my professor, an American ex-pat who has made South Africa his home since 1990. The officer let go of my arm, then gruffly told us all to leave the building immediately. I was happy to have literally dodged a bullet, but I couldn't help but think of my new acquaintances, and whether where they had fled to (South Africa) was any improvement upon their troubled homeland (Zimbabwe). Here, they cannot participate in the formal economy. Here, they live in deplorable conditions and survive off of hope, faith, and the charity and compassion of others. Zimbabwe must be a real horror show.
----
So, we found our way out of the chaos. I calmly, but quickly, headed for the exit. As we exited, a crowd of people had gathered by the front gate of the church. And then, there were the soldiers, menacingly tapping their machine guns. And the police, who glared at each of us as we were shoved and pushed onto the street.

My adrenaline rush permitted me to laugh and joke about my brush with an automatic weapon. But, after I parted company with my colleagues, I sat in my room. And I cried. Mostly because I realized that my new acquaintances could not use their nationality as a shield. They had no white American friends to hide behind. So, they went through this sort of thing quite regularly. Sure -- it is necessary to have security sweeps within a refugee camp. There are many dangers that come along with the desperation of a people with no home and no comfort: drugs, alcohol abuse, rape, disease, and violence. But I wonder whether those rather aggressive police sweeps aren't motivated partly by racism and xenophobia.

Because when it came down to it, those police officers and soldiers saw me as black, but my white colleagues gave me credibility. And that made all the difference.

Brief hiatus

Hi folks.

I'll be busy for the next few days playing catch-up (from the two days of class I missed being sick with swine flu -- not really swine flu, but sick nonetheless), writing my Heads of Argument (like a brief), performing community service at an urban refugee camp, and visiting Soweto. So, I'm taking a brief hiatus from blogging. I'll be back next week.

Thanks!
Kareema

Pata Pata (My Safari Video)

Enjoy!

Heffalumps and Woozles

These are the elephants playing (or maybe fighting -- I can't tell) at the Pilanesberg National Game Preserve, South Africa's only malaria-free game park. Yes, people. Malaria free, which meant I didn't have to take those awful malaria meds. You have no idea how happy that made me!

I also have some pictures to share, but I can't upload them until this video finishes uploading. I'll put them in another post. Enjoy the video!

"I love the nightlife, " but please don't talk to me if you're not willing to invest 6 goats upfront.

We do not have class on Fridays, which allows us an opportunity for study, recreation, or pre-planned field trips. This week, we did not have any trips planned for Friday (although we have our mini-safari tomorrow), so Thursday night was like a Friday to us. So -- we went out with our South African friends.

The nightlife in Johannesburg is very similar to that in the States (save Las Vegas, which is like going from the farm team to the big leagues two weeks into the regular season). There are various bars, taverns, clubs, coffee houses, music venues, and after-hours restaurants to fit anyone's fancy. Last weekend, we ventured into Melville and went to a bar called Six, which is a relatively new venue with a young, upbeat crowd. We also went to a restaurant in one of the more, uh, lived-in districts (I don't want to worry my mom) which had live music by an Afro-Arab-Spanish fusion band, followed by a DJ who spun until about 4 am.

Back to this week (more specifically last night), we decided to head into the Newtown district and check out a place called Sophiatown (pronounced: Sef-eye-a town), a restaurant/lounge named after a famous racially integrated neighborhood that was tragically bulldozed by the apartheid government back in the early 1960s. [And now, a brief history lesson: Reminiscent of the village of Harlem in New York City, Sophiatown the township was very much a cultural center for blacks and coloreds (including the very few Chinese in Jo'Burg) -- a place where jazz, art, dance, and political resistance intersected. In its place, the government built a white suburb called Triomf (Afrikaans for "triumph").]

Anyway, the restaurant Sophiatown had a sort of bohemian atmosphere and was smartly decorated with photos and memorabilia of the fallen neighborhood, and the sounds of jazz and lively conversation wafted through the air. One of our South African classmates brought his old law school chum, who is now a clark (law clerk) for one of the Justices of the Constitutional Court. So we all were talking and enjoying our beverages, and I wanted to pick this guy's brain. So I did. And I found out that the Con Court accepts applications from foreign students to clark for their justices (for one 6-month term). AND at the end of the term, those clarks get scholarships to the LLM program of their choice. Food for thought.

I ended up getting much more information than I bargained for. After we talked about the different justices on the Court, their personalities, and their zany antics during oral argument, my new friend decided to tell me his life goals. The first of which was to have children within the next 3 years. This confused me, because he wasn't wearing a wedding band, and he didn't bring a girlfriend to the bar with him. And -- yes -- I'm nosy, so I asked: "Do you have the woman yet? I mean, babies don't get dropped onto your doorstep by the stork." Yes, I ALWAYS have to be a smart-alec. I was prepared for him to give me a snide reply, but instead, he said to me: "Well, I am looking for a wife. Maybe you would be interested in this job?"

Uh, no thanks, sir. I'm just here to break stuff. Talk about a buzzkill -- he was only talking to me because he wanted to drop that completely lame marriage proposal. And, unlike the men who wanted to marry me in Turkey, he didn't even offer any livestock in exchange for my hand! Shoot, I'm American, sucka. As a public service announcement to all South African men: I am not interested in making a love connection. And even if I were, your average Joes could not afford me. My bride price needs to be paid in U.S. Dollars, and it WILL be steep!

Let's figure out Kareema's bride price by engaging in a simple calculation:
Attributes
Years of schooling: 22
Excellent cook: +5
No children from a previous thing: +5
Not hard on the eyes: +5
American = bratty: -2

So we add up the attributes: 22+5+5+5-2= 35
That's the number of goats I get as my bride price. Then, you must convert to cash, because my parents aren't farmers. I think one goat = approx $2,000 USD.
Thus: 2,000 x 35 = $70,000 USD

That's enough to pay off most of my student loans! Maybe I CAN afford to go into Human Rights advocacy . . .

Anyway, I decided to stay in my freezing cold dorm room tonight, mostly because I have a cold and want to be well enough to go on the safari tomorrow. But partially because I cannot hack another goatless marriage proposal. Come correct, brothers!

A word about the 2010 World Cup and cleaning up Johannesburg

If you haven't any interest whatsoever in soccer (football), you may still have heard that Johannesburg is the host city for the 2010 World Cup tournament. This is a big deal to South Africans, largely because of their love of the sport, but also because they are anxious to showcase their country to the world. Every time I meet a local, they ask me whether I know anything about soccer, then proudly tell me about the upcoming World Cup. I quickly learned that the easiest way to make a friend in South Africa was to mention how exciting it must be for the World Cup to be coming to Jo'burg.

The country is already abuzz with anticipation. Of course, there is much to do in the next year. Currently, there is an effort to "Clean Up Jo'Burg." A group of young people have taken it upon themselves to mobilize the community and clean up the city. Here's an article from The Times:
Big Joburg clean-up for 2010
Nkosana Lekotjolo Published:May 11, 2009

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------





Article Tools
Print E-Mail
Save and Share




An ambitious group of youngsters is sweeping clean the streets of Johannesburg for the 2010 soccer World Cup.




2010 Special Report


The group of about 700 young volunteers, organised by the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God, has embarked on a massive clean-up campaign under the banner “New Vision for 2010.”

They want to ensure that Johannesburg, and its surrounds are spotless during the biggest sporting event to be held in this country.

The spokeswoman for the group, Nametso Mofokeng, said the volunteers were hoping that soccer lovers and tourists would be greeted by a ‘ ‘clean and fresh host city”.

‘‘Litter is a big problem in the city centre and young people are eager to make a difference,” said Mofokeng.

‘‘The city [council] is trying its best to clean up, but the problem is too big. That is why we are coming on board.”

She said the project wanted to recruit more than a thousand people, plus the homeless and hawkers.

‘‘We are also educating the community about the importance of keeping the city clean and [having] a healthy lifestyle,” said Mofokeng.

The clean-up campaign was launched on Workers’ Day, when the group cleaned up Park railway station, and the Noord and Bree street taxi ranks, where littering is a big problem.

Mofokeng said the group would ask businesses for sponsorship.

‘‘We will continue cleaning the city every month,” she vowed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the other hand, it's going to take a lot more than a few extra trash pick-ups to clean up this very troubled city. Johannesburg is one of the most dangerous cities on the planet, in terms of violent crime, police corruption, and motor vehicle accident-related deaths. A few days ago, our professor warned us to keep our dorm room doors locked at all times, as a young man was robbed at gunpoint across from the dorm where the other American students are staying. I know how to keep myself safe in a crazy city (uh -- New York, Newport "Bad" News, Las Vegas), but many of my colleagues do not. Lucky for them, they have me around to look crazy enough for nobody to want to mess with us. :)

The other thing I have going for me is people always mistake me for being one of them. It has happened to me more than once that someone will sit down in front of me and attempt to strike up a conversation with me in their language. And I just smile and feel like an idiot before I inform them that I'm American. Which totally blows their minds. One guy's face lit up and he said: "You know Obama?"

Yeah, I know Obama. And lions and elephants roam freely in downtown Johannesburg.

But, back to soccer, I think it is worth mentioning that sports in South Africa were also played according to race. Rugby was for Whites; Cricket was for Coloreds; and soccer was a black man's game. That division has definitely loosened up a bit since the end of apartheid. Although cricket is still vastly Indian and Colored, white nd black South Africans have joined the game. Rugby has been greatly integrated, with several star players on the South African team being black. Most South Africans love soccer -- watching and playing. So it is truly a big deal for this country to have its home sport return home. Hopefully, soccer will be able to return to a clean home in 2010.

The Professor and Moodle

My professor is a mess! We have a reading assignment that the university was supposed to photocopy and provide us with in class today. But that, like many other things on this program, didn't quite happen the way it was planned. So our prof uploaded it to this strange coursework site called Moodle. MOODLE?! What the heck is that, I wondered.

I wondered it in an email to my prof (which had asked him to send an e-copy to the class), to which he responded:
Moodle is a name coined by those who are dedicated to eradicating the world of noodles. As pasta are not protected under the genocide convention, Moodlists are not considered genocidaires. But are they pastists?

Now, there is nothing I can say to that. I am not quite as clever as he, but I was not to be outdone, so I wrote:

Some movements are so transcendent they defy all attempts to label them. Perhaps Moodle is one such movement.

Nerds, the lot of us.


(From left to right: Ron, my prof; Yours Truly; hallmate, Jen)

Back to Constitution Hill (Or, the pictures I promised)

Welcome to Constitution Hill, the site of South Africa's highest court of appeal -- the Constitutional Court. The complex is situated on the site of a notorious prison which held many political prisoners during apartheid.

The Constitutional Court building was built using many components of the Old Fort prison, which is intended as a metaphor for the rule of law being the bridge between South Africa's dark past and hopeful future. The metaphor is spread on pretty thick; bricks that are used within the building are loosely laid to signify the freedom of all South African people from the rigidity of apartheid, there are windows in the main courtroom, which signifies transparency, and four of the original prison towers were maintained and incorporated into the building -- two towers have stairs which signify how far the country has come and how far it has yet to go. Actually, the metaphors are a bit overplayed. But it is still pretty cool.

By the way, those words on the Court building are "Constitutional Court" all 11 official languages of South Africa.

That's the week's court roll (schedule of arguments). We watched an argument regarding their freedom of information law, and administrative procedures.

Old Fort Prison:

"No one truly knows a nation until one has been inside its jails. A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens but by how it treats its lowest ones."
- Nelson Rolihlala Mandela

Apartheid: Legacy and Lessons

That apartheid museum was heavy. I didn't make it past the first 5 minutes of the tour without crying. I entered the building through a door that said: "Non-whites Only." After watching my white colleagues enter through the White-only door, I was overcome by a sense of grief, as though this museum had singlehandedly taken something away from me that, until then, I did not know exsisted. The feeling was indescribable.

It is amazing how similar Jim Crow (American apartheid) and South African apartheid really are. The biggest difference is that whites were the minority in South Africa, which maybe was a blessing and a curse for non-white South Africans. The fact that they outnumbered whites made them even more threatening to the Establishment, and perhaps caused the apartheid government to be even more heavy-handed in their repression of non-whites. On the other hand, it didn't take several generations after the fall of apartheid to have a non-white president of South Africa. (But I wonder whether there will ever again be a white president, or a president of Indian or Chinese descent? If not, what does that tell us about South Africa and her quest for equality?)

Another recurring theme I have encountered in South Africa is the willingness of South Africans to reckon with their past. It is not something you see in the United States, and I believe it has everything to do with the fact that white are the minority, so they cannot simply withdraw and hide themselves from discussions of race. They cannot be oblivious to issues of race; this is a luxury afforded mostly to white Americans, some of whom have adopted a hysterical colorblindess in order to avoid such discussions. This inability to avoid rekoning with racism (instead of having a moment of "oh, that's terrible" then going on with life) makes me hopeful that, unlike the United States, South Africa will be quickly on its way to reconciliation and to honest engagement between all South Africans.

On the other hand, maybe having a black President will help us do the same in the States. I think issues of race will be raised within the American dialogue much more often. Even hearing the vitriol expoused by the rabidly racist fringe can be part of the medicine this country needs to cure the disease that has plagued it since the first African slave stepped foot on American soil.

Back to the Apartheid Museum, I have some photos (which, I found out, we were strictly prohibited from taking). I didn't take many pictures because there is no way photos taken with my crappy camera could do everything I saw and experienced any measure of justice. But here are some pics:

The South African Constitution contains a Bill of Rights that consists of some 37 rights. Although there are "only" 37 rights, most rights are "read in" to the very broad right to human dignity. I like it . . .


Nelson Mandela's given name was Rolihlala, which means "to pull a branch of a tree," or, more colloquially, "troublemaker" in his native tongue, Thembu. His English name, Nelson, was given to him by his teacher at primary school so that he could better assimilate. I think his people knew what they were doing when they named him Rolihlala.

War,dictatorships, refuge, transition, and hope.

My African colleagues are absolutely amazing. They are all a million times smarter than the Americans, and have endured so much in terms of having to live under the most severely restrictive circumstances. One is a refugee from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (formerly Zaire) who is living in South Africa. He was a student political protester, was kidnapped and imprisoned by his government. He came to South Africa in 2001 seeking asylum, bringing his wife and children with him.

At first he was denied the right to work and study in S.A. pending his asylum application. But now, he is a candidate for his attorney's license (he has his law degree but has not passed his boards) and works for the Ministry of Home Affairs. The South African government no longer generally restricts the ability for asylum-seekers to obtain work or receive education, as the Constitutional Court held (in 2003, Minister of Home Affairs v. Watchenuka) that the right to work is embodied under the right to dignity in the South African constitution and is therefore a fundamental right of all people. Therefore, any attempt by government to impose a broadly applicable restriction on this right is unconstitutional.

Anyway, Jean-Paul (the refugee) told us about how difficult it is to prove the requisite elements in support of his asylum application. Makes you want to rethink our asylum requirements. Jean-Paul probably would have been killed with his family had he not been granted asylum in S.A.

There are other students in my program who are from the DRC, and because they have engaged in political opposition against the Congolese government while in South Africa, they will likely have to seek asylum as well. But -- and here's where the hope comes in -- they have chosen to study law as a means to bring about social and political justice to their home country.

Apology

I now have a reliable internet connection; however, it is slow. Please bear with me -- posting pictures takes FOREVER (and it eats up my data allowance for the month). I am really beginning to appreciate how easy technology is in the States!

When I have a LOT of time to post pictures, I will post the pictures from the Wits campus, Constitution Hill, and the Apartheid Museum (today's field trip).

Meet the Jo'Burg Crew (Well, the ones who live on my hall, anyway.)

Katlego, an LLB graduate from Botswana who likes to grab stone figures' butts.

Angela, a third-year student, is desperately trying to remain a vegetarian in a very carnivorous country. She is the "den mother" for the younger students (Angela is about my age, but everyone else is at least four years younger than we are.)
Sean, a first-year Seattle U. student from Singapore, has a penchant for saying very the wrong thing at the right time.

Brad is a first-year student at Kentucky who has traveled throughout East Africa (which makes me extremely jealous because here I am, nearly 30, and this is my first trip to Africa). He's one of two men on the program, and by far the most adventurous. I'd say he's adventurous -- he's the only man living on a hall with 6 women (and sharing a communal bathroom). Brave soul, he is.

Liz, a spritely Christian Scientist with a Midwestern quirkiness about her, is a second-year student at Oklahoma. She and I immediately took to each other, perhaps because we were the first people in the dorm on Saturday, but more likely because she and I are both like wild horses. When someone suggested that she settle down and start looking for a husband, she replied: "I'd rather chew my leg off." My kind of girl.

Welcome to Witts!

Hiccups, Awesomeness (that's right -- I wrote awesomeness), and Related Musings

So I had to purchase a 3G modem in order to get internet access. We moved into the dorms on Saturday, and everything they had promised we would have ended up not coming through. The good news: I am getting an $800 Rand refund (about $200 US). The bad news: I live in the housing project from "Good Times." DYNOMITE!!!!!

Anyway, we went on a field trip to Constitutional Hill, which is the site of the Constitutional Court of South Africa -- their highest court. In terms of the oral argument, I immediately noticed that the lawyers’ style of argument is much less formal and deferential than in the United States. It seems to be more of a conversation between the justices and the advocates, rather than a formal presentation of a subordinate to his/her superior (as in the U.S.). I think perhaps this has something to do with the concept of complete equality under law, that not even justices of this most high court are treated differently than others in the courtroom. Even the bench is not positioned in a manner that seats the justices higher than the advocates or others present in the courtroom. It seemed to me that respect is due the court, the bench, and all those who enter -- equally.

The part of our visit to Constitution Hill that was most moving was the tour of the Old Fort prison complex. Not only was I moved by the mere fact that I was standing under the same roofs that once housed great freedom fighters such as Nelson and Winnie Mandela, Mohandas Gandhi, and countless others; I was moved by the extreme humiliation and deprivation of human dignity particularly non-white prisoners were forced to endure.
As I wandered through various parts of the prison, reading the historical placards and reconstructed exhibits, I stood back and observed my colleagues. Each of them were profoundly affected by the horrible images before them, and I could imagine the scenes that were playing in their minds’ eyes. Each of them were lost in their thoughts, likely feelings of tremendous grief for the human tragedy that was apartheid. Each of us was affected: American, African, Asian, male, female, black, white – all human. And I believe that, in that moment, we were acutely aware of our own humanity, and how dignity is an integral element of that humanity. In that moment, we each of us silently promised ourselves that we could never be bystanders.

I also thought about the concept of prison itself, and whether incarceration itself is dehumanizing, and, if so, whether it is an acceptable trade-off to subject other human beings to even the slightest indignities in the name of order. Prisons everywhere, free societies or otherwise, have dehumanizing aspects. Are we correctly balancing the rights of members of society to be safe in their persons and property with the human rights of criminal offenders? I do not purport to know the answer to that question, I only pose it as starting point for discussion.

Pictures soon. I promise.

2 A.M. Ramblings

My internal clock is all messed up, which was probably not helped any by the fact that the folks on the block decided to have a big party. I was awakened by the sound of firecrackers and "Blame It" (song by Jamie Foxx) and very, very loud yelling. I'm not as adventurous as you all might think, so I did not go outside to investigate. I figured there is a reason my guest house sits behind guard-protected gates.

I slowly pulled back the curtain (because, look -- I wasn't 100% certain as to whether those were firecrackers or gunshots. It was 2 am, and I have lived in some rough places) and peeked outside. The street was lined with cars and people and booze. My kind of place. I would have joined in, but I was sooo tired. And my hair was, well, slept in.

Unfortunately, I could not return to sleep. So here I am, sitting on Blogger, rehashing my first day in Johannesburg.

I had a walkabout around Melville, a swanky neighborhood that is a few miles away from Wits University. There are coffee shops, bars, restaurants, guest houses, and shops that are reminiscent of any swanky neighborhood in any large American city, only these all have a uniquely African flair. Gentlemen sell multicolored crafts on the street corner (in fact, they will run out into traffic at an intersection and try to sell you various other items while you wait for the light to change).

I went to the corner store to purchase a SIM card for my phone, and the store owner was a lovely Muslim Indian man who apparently spends a lot of time in Las Vegas. He talked about the casinos and the "filthpeddlers" and the delicious food. His name was Ahmad, and I when I introduced myself, his eyes lit up: "Yours is a beautiful Muslim name!" Thank you, sir. (And thanks, Mom and Dad, for giving me such a great name.)

I cannot say enough about how friendly and hospitable South Africans are. When my ride (my program coordinator) was late picking me up from the airport, a kindly gentleman from Pretoria offered me his phone so I could call him. And then he offered me a ride (which I did not accept) into Johannesburg, which would have taken him an hour out of his way. The guest house keeper offered to give me a tour of Melville on his scooter. Everyone you pass on the street greets you with a smile. The fact of their affable demeanor did not completely disarm my city girl defenses; I was polite and I smiled, but I never made eye contact. Which made me wonder -- are Americans less friendly than everyone else in the world?

At 5, I went to dinner with my professor -- an expert on South African, international, and comparative law. He is a dry-witted New Yorker, who has, after spending the last ten summers in South Africa, become intimately familiar with South African culture, politics, and -- most importantly -- wine. We drank a bottle of a local varietal (I don't remember the name) over dinner and conversation. He was impressed that I had decided to write my note about the Chinese being declared black as a matter of law. "I didn't think anyone in the States even paid attention to that decision," he told me, smiling.

(Oh my -- this party crowd just got a little rowdy. I think it may have descended into the inevitable after-party fight. I can't really tell, however, because the yelling is being done in another language. )

Later today, I will go exploring beyond Melville before it is time for me to move into my dorm room. Hopefully, I will shake my self-consciousness about looking like a tourist and take some pictures. FYI, Johannesburg is 9 hours ahead of you Las Vegas folks, and 6 ahead of my east coast peoples. I've been in all 3 time zones this past week. Oy vey . . .

Winter in Johannesburg

Some of you may not know (or know and just didn't realize) that Southern Africa, being in the Southern Hemisphere, is in its winter season. So here I am, wearing my long-sleeved pink thermal shirt and a pair of comfy sweats, sipping English Breakfast tea in my room at a lovely bed and breakfast guest house. The guest house kitty is purring at my feet, as I look outside my window at the groundskeepers speaking their native tongue (not Afrikaans, certainly not English) as they prune the rose bushes. At least, I think that's what they're doing -- I don't know a whole lot about gardening. I always killed everything in my yard, which is why it's a good thing I moved to the desert.

Anyway, it is such a beautiful day in Johannesburg. 65 degrees, and not a cloud in the sky! The first thing I saw when we touched down in O.R. Tambo Int'l was -- green. Beautiful green grass and trees, and as my driver took me through the city on the way to my guest house, I could see the changing leaves. This was in stark contrast to the gloomy grey I left in Virginia; the arid red of the desert in Vegas; the pale beige and deep carbon of the concrete and asphalt of New York City, where my 15-hour journey to South Africa began.

Otherwise, Johannesburg is much like any American city. There are highways, buses, fine restaurants, et cetera. Also like most American cities, Johannesburg is scarred by its past -- apartheid. Before I left, I did some research and learned that the unemployment rate among blacks in Johannesburg is nearly four times that of whites. I thought to myself, "that can't be true." Until we drove through the city. Unemployed blacks line the street corners, almost as if they are waiting for something. Were they waiting for jobs like my driver explained? Perhaps. But I think it may be deeper than that. Perhaps they are waiting for the promise of the post-apartheid era to fully materialize. Perhaps they are waiting to finally emerge from the winter of racial disparity. I don't quite know, nor should I presume to know -- I've only been here for a few hours.

But it is intriguing. Maybe winter in Johannesburg will be colder than I originally expected.

It starts . . .

Hi everyone!

I just wanted to thank you in advance for joining me on my South African adventure. When I was in the seventh grade, I woke up early one Sunday morning to watch Nelson Mandela walk to freedom and forgive his jailers. That moment left an indelible impression on my life, and I knew I would one day walk upon the same ground as did that great man. This trip is the culmination of 17 years of dreaming, thinking, and doing. I am so excited to be on my way!

Over the next 7 weeks, I will have to navigate the treacherous seas of swine flu, 15-hour flights, jet lag, foreign food, street crime, and the dreaded communal bathroom. Just kidding, folks. I feel humbled and truly blessed to be on this trip. I hope you all will enjoy my posts (almost) as much as I enjoy my trip.

(Hi Mom and Dad!)

Very truly yours,
Kareema

PS: Good luck to all of you who are preparing for the Bar exam (wherever you are). I hope my travel journal is suitable break time reading. I'll be thinking good thoughts for you all!