Paranoia

From the moment I landed in this country it was very easy to see that there are huge differences between rich and poor, black and white, Camps Bay and Khayelitsha and the safety issues have nearly turned into paranoia. When we first arrived we'd happily walk the 20 minutes to uni. It was a quick stroll through some suburbian green areas, then over a footbridge and a few hundred meters next to a freeway. Then one day I was stopped and told not to go there by myself. The black university security guard looked at my milky white skin and said that no, as a white girl this was no place for me. Ok, so I stopped walking there by myself. A few days later Sigbjørn was told by another man not to go that route (he was also by himself) and later that day Kari and me were stopped by two armyguys in full combat gear with machineguns that we should probably start catching the bus. I haven't walked there since.

Then we have the minibus taxies. Rumours has it they like to take tourists on a stroll through unknown areas, but so far we're trying to get into the crowded ones that stay on the road where we're going. This is mostly an issue going to and from the gym, and I'm allright to go here by myself, provided it is daylight and there are other people in the taxi. At night time however, these are a no-no as well.

After dark you don't go out by yourself, and preferably not at all. When we walk home from uni (new, alternative, safer route) we go fast and determined, not alone and there are security cameras and G4s people along the way to make sure things are going ok. The shops are all closed by 6pm so then there's really no reason to go out after that as Mowbray consists of largely banks and hairdressers, but it's still annoying to be trapped inside every night from dusk. If we want to go into town it's taxi to and from, because catching a bus or minibus taxi after hours, no-no.

In addition to the safety issues that are shaping our lives, other little things start emerging, as one might argue, slightly exagerated behavioural patterns. For a starters there are, or have been, loads of coachroaches which is not my favourite animal per se. I've developed routines for opening the fridge (followed by a little backwards jump, in case of falling pests. This was a big problem the first few weeks, they'd drop out of the fridge every time one opened the door. Eeeww!), going to the toilet (always check behind door and around the seat for coachroaches. Again, used to be a bigger problem in the start, but not so much anymore. I had a nasty experience in Esquintla when sleeping in a room with Tonje Camilla, Morten and Andreas. As I went to the loo I noticed a giganormous coachroach half a meter in front of me. I was stunned and quitely removed myself from the bathroom in hope the monster wouldn't follow me to my bed. Needless to say, not a good night's sleep), going to bed (always shake pillow and doona, you never know what bugs might use it as a day time holiday place). But except for these little things reminding me that I'm not safe and sound in Norway, thing are going exceptionally well, and I can always comfort myself with the thought that I'll be home shortly.

Love in the time of cholera

- Do you love him?
- Yes
- Does he love you?
- Yes
- SO WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!

Afra is again source of my wonderful (South) African experience and is extremely surprised by the fact of how long Norwegians can be together with someone without getting married. In Sudan, if a man likes a woman he should ask her family as soon as possible if they can get married, and it can happen in anything from ten days and onwards. I ask Nuha if people won't see such a wedding as a bit rushed, but she rolls her eyes at me with a smile and says "Insha'Allah, insha'Allah." If it's God's will, they will have his blessing.

I haven't told them about the latest romantic news from Scandinavia, but the fact that Crown Princess Victoria, after eights years with the same man, made her engagement to her personal trainer official today have made the Swedes very happy. Good for them, because they will most likely loose the MGP to us after our very own teenybopper Alexander spellbound the Norwegian population with his folk music inspired violin performance and song about his ex. She has been hunted down by the Norwegian media today, and although getting hitched to a totally different guy, at least he can comfort himself that his now famous fiancée's 15 minutes of fame, probably will only last for 15 minutes.

But wait, there is more love news on Dagbladet today (it's not by chance I've referred to them as "the bad" in the link list to your right), they tell of Mikkel Gaup's very short romance to some sexpert, which could have been a PR-stunt from start to finish as well as some TV-show which appearantly have made rural Norwegian women hurry home from their holidays only to get married in a rush. Couldn't have waited just a few days could it?

A quick reality check from BBC tells us, that, phew, other things are happening in the real world today. They report (although less happily) that the US recession will last well into next year, North Korea plans a rocket launch and NASA's first carbon dioxide measure rocket crash landed into the Antartic sea. It was supposed to pinpoint carbon naughty hotspots around the globe. May I suggest a huge red area just over the launching area? Does NASA offsets its greenhousegas emissions by the way?

But as cholera is strucking Zimbabwe in what is the deadliest outbreak since 1853, at the same time as Mugabe is celebrating his 85th birthday with 8000 bottles of champers and Russican caviar, one wonders whether really all is fair in love and war.

Makeover

Why not? Everybody needs one now and then, and while I really should have been writing on my first assignment, alternatively the twelve-page research proposal to be handed in on Friday, I though it a perfect time to update and refresh the blog. The pic is from Kirstenbosch botanical gardens by the way, during a Sunday concert last week. Because that's what we normally do on Sundays here in Cape Town. Peace out.

TIA

"This is Africa, Maria, this is Africa!" Afra looks at me with comforting eyes, tries to calm my irritable nerves and explains that this is Africa, so I better get used to it. If you can't beat them, join 'em. When in Rome, do as the Romans. I know, I know. I must adapt to the local cultures and vibes, but after of have seen the 12th person at the seventh office in four days I'm getting slightly annoyed with the disorganisation of UCT and wonders why they want to spoil our time along with their own, and not just fix our registration straight away.

It all started on Tuesday last week when we were to register. The twelve of us rocked up at the postgrad humanities building, sat through an introductory lecture and stood in line for 15 minutes only to be told that the form we needed to fill out was unavailable. I know I can get far with a smile and a friendly attitude so went into another line and asked the guy there. Not surprisingly he managed to produce the form we were after. Everyone filled it out and stood in a new line. After 15 minutes we were told it was the wrong line and was sent to a new line, only to be told when we finally reached the office that no, really we should have been in the first line afterall. When we reached the lady there we needed another form from an office that was closed, so come back tomorrow please.

Well, "tomorrow" was last Wednesday when Kari and me went on a winetour instead, but Sigbjørn was stuck at a hot office for hours, filling out loads of forms, none of which were necessary, and paying 300 rand, also unnecessary.

Thursday we wanted to try our luck again and went to IAPO, the international office. Here we were shifted back and forwards between three people, taking copies of passports and in general just doing admin stuff until we finally had the required stamps and could go to the humanities undergrad building. IAPO is located on the lower campus, humanities on the upper, but I was in good spirits and dragged the Zambians and Sudanese all through campus in the schorching heat. When we reached the Beattie-building we were met with signs that due to an appeal their office was closed for the day, so come back tomorrow will ya?

Yesterday my limits were reached, but I nevertheless needed to register so headed once again to the Beattie-building. After waiting for one lady we were told to go to another who marvellously enough had the right form. She sent us back to postgrad humanities building to fetch signatures. Rudi signed one place but refused to sign any other and told us to go back. We knew we needed at least one more signature so asked a second guy who sent us to a third lady who sent us to a fourth guy who signed one place and told us to go and see the dean to get the last signature. As I was about to knock on the dean's office, Charity came running and said I better not, as the dean had nearly bitten their heads of as she had nothing to do with the registration. So we went back to the grumpy lady in the Beattie-building, told her the story and finally got the last clearence.

TIFA - This really is f...fantastic Africa!

Norwegian Inherited Stiffness Syndrome

Mama Rosa was sitting on a chair in the corner, and despite her body fighting cancer, her bones fighting the brittleness, and her seventy-plus-years fighting gravity one could not overlook the shine in her eyes and the decire to dance. The tea cup was bouncing up and down on her lap, and the feet, covered in big woolen socks were tripping along with the African rythms on this night of love.

Her daughter, Portia, who is in my class, had invited us all for dinner, and it was an experience I will not soon forget, and probably always connect with Valentin's Day. Portia and her mother are quite good at speaking and were both sharing memories of loved ones lost, and the ones that were still around to experience the ups and downs of ones life. We went through compulsory introduction rounds everytime someone new dropped by for a visit and in the end I realized I've had more hugs from strangers today than what I've had in total since I arrived in the country four weeks ago. Being Norwegian it is fantastic to see that there actually is some root in the old Ringnes commercial from a few years back. Norwegians are terrible in unfamiliar social settings, and we have something to learn from our African fellows. After dinner we were forced to join the dancing and singing and actually had some great fun at it as well.

People who know me knows I think Valentin's Day is a "shameless commercial exploitation of people's insecurities day", and I see no reason why to fill up homes and trollies with toys made in China (although I do like flowers, but that can be any day of the year). And although Portia was dressed in red and jumping of joy for the flowers and chocolate we brought her, she was clear on directing the love towards all people, not just the better half.

Tonight was about having friends and family around you in sickness and in health, for better and for worse, until death do us apart. Cheers.

Picture vs thousand words

This cartoon perfectly demonstrates a person's attention span after a wine tour of Stellenbosch and 25 different tastings.

Three week crisis

Sigbjørn is listening to Joni Mitchell and the melancholic tones of Both Sides Now are entering every room of the house. It's not the first time I've been out of the country for a long while, rather like the tenth, but amazingly enough one never fails to experience what the experts calls the three-week-crisis or the end of the honeymoon-period. As entering upon a new culture (or one you know well from before, i.e. after countless visits to Australia), you are met by new people and places, new cafés, restaurants, pubs, beaches and shops. All this is all new and fantastic for a certain amount of time and then it hits you: Ugh, Norway has nicer food, Norway has better transport system, in Norway you won't get mugged while going for a run, in Norway you can count on the police, in Norway there are no coachroaches and so on. And you end up thinking about all the jolly things about "home", while actually just trying to overcompensate for a slight tingle of homesickness.

When I worked for a high school exchange program sending students to the US, we were very clear on telling the children that not every singe moment during their next year would be all sweet and fantastic, and they assured us they were totally aware of this and would not react by crying down the phone to their mums, blocking their thoughts for their hostfamilies and eating nothing but cheesecake and chocolate. Yet, three weeks after departure we had the first dads on the phone, wanting to fly across the Atlantic to go and fetch Susie or Joe as the offsprings were terribly homesick and would have a disastrous year if they weren't flown back home at once. Luckily we managed to stop most of these parents, and Susie and Joe lived happily ever after.

Nevertheless, I've now spent three weeks in South Africa and can feel the twitching returning to my stomach, an urge to glorify the mothercountry and all things Norwegian, not to mention the lack of a certain better half. It has caused me to do irresponsible things like booking trips half across southern Africa, not to mention that I'm contemplating jumping off parts of Table Mountain (in a paraglider, but none the less).

As a remote comfort the only thing I can say is that the three-week-crisis can at the longest last for a week until I've reached the four week mark and will have a totally different perception of the abroad stay. But just in case of pro-longed depression, I've booked a wine tasting tour for Wednesday and I have every intention to swollow.

Sugar and spice, and all things nice