For five months now at 8 Groeneveld Road, we have had an unwelcome squatter on our premises. Nope, it's not a bergie, a mooching fellow college student, or Leslie Reynolds. It is a small, black, androgynous feline. At first he-she (gender remains ambiguous) was cute. He-She was loving and cuddly and--unlike 99% of the species--seemed to want love more than food. So, we (I) took pity on the little guy and gave he-she milk, attention, and a bit of leftover chicken. Big. Mistake.
It soon became clear that Cat had an unnaturally acute awareness of when we were home and specifically, when we were on the porch. Anytime we were studying or skyping outside we would undoubtedly hear the pat, pat, pat-swish of Cat trotting over the neighbor's roof and leaping into our bushes. Before we knew it, he-she would be in our laps, oblivious to the collegiate productivity that was previously taking place. At first it was cute, but after 3 wine glasses and a coffee cup shattered upon the concrete due to the shoving of a tail and after several instances of "hjhsdkjgsjfkjdk" being added into essays by ignorant paws, boundaries had to be drawn.
So, we--the residents of 8 Groeneveld--tried the "ignoring" method--meeting hopeful "mews" with apathetic glances and bitter grunts. But the little sucker was persistent. Apparently, an acute awareness of social signals was not included among his-her other abilities. Next we tried the "okay we're getting stern, now" method, speaking in unfriendly voices and giving little pushes when Cat came to the table. Still, Cat kept coming back. Finally, I (to the scandalising of my female housemates) resorted to the "we really mean business, this isn't funny anymore" method of soaking the little fellow with water every time it dared to enter our property.
Surprise, surprise. Cat is still coming back. Sometimes, it leaves us presents--dear Cat, oops I forgot to thank you for that giant dead rat you left in our yard last week. it was lovely--and sometimes it just sits there sulking, hopeful, waiting for our love for it to be re-kindled. It's not going to happen, buddy.
Upon further thought, I think the mystery of Cat's gender is not so mysterious after all. Let her fate be a lesson for women everywhere.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Hi my name is Jessica, and I am a Tea-aholic.
Today, April 18th 2010, marks the day when I stopped caring about my daily level of caffeine consumption. Last semester I diligently went cold-turkey, a mean feat for this coffee-addict. Well, at least I switched to decaf. After a few days of killer headaches, the shakes, mild narcolepsy, and general grumpiness, my friend Starbucks and I crossed the barrier into the next dimension of healthier living. However, my resolve was shaken up quite a bit, when 'normal' tea re-entered my life in Cape Town.
I don't ever remember a time in my childhood when 'hot tea' wasn't part of the picture. It should be noted that the concept of non-iced-English-breakfast-mixed-with-milk was and is near-heresy in the minds of most Arkansans, but for the child of a quasi-Zimbabwean, it was a staple in the diet. Some children go from the breast to the bottle, but I went for the breast to the bear-(that is to say, the recycled bear-shaped honey container that became the vessel for my beveragal comfort). (Side-note: I'm pretty sure that 10 out of 10 pediatricians would recommend NOT giving your child caffeinated drinks at infancy, but Mark and Angie Schleiff were still youngsters then and thus, shall not be blamed for my current self-destructive habits.)
After a few years of mere acquaintanceship, I am proud(?) to inform you that Hot Tea and I are going steady once again. Just to put our relationship in perspective for you...on a typical Sunday (like today), I wake up in the mornin, and I'm drinkin tea. I go to church, and I'm drinkin tea while I wait for worship to start. Church ends, and I'm chattin with friends with a nice warm cup in hand. What better way to follow lunch than with a cup o' tea? I am homeworking in the afternoon, and check my watch only to discover that it is 4:00. What time is it? High Tea time!! 6 o'clock church, and..well you get the picture. Like the pringles people say, once you pop you just can't stop. It is a slippery slope my friends, a slippery slope indeed.
'Why is she writing this ode to a beverage?', you might ask. Whelp, apparently 6-plus cups of tea in one day isn't conducive to sleeping. Imagine that. So, here I am, jittering through this message--too jazzed to rest but too intelectuallazy to hang out with William Faulkner. Such is the life of a tea-aholic.
I don't ever remember a time in my childhood when 'hot tea' wasn't part of the picture. It should be noted that the concept of non-iced-English-breakfast-mixed-with-milk was and is near-heresy in the minds of most Arkansans, but for the child of a quasi-Zimbabwean, it was a staple in the diet. Some children go from the breast to the bottle, but I went for the breast to the bear-(that is to say, the recycled bear-shaped honey container that became the vessel for my beveragal comfort). (Side-note: I'm pretty sure that 10 out of 10 pediatricians would recommend NOT giving your child caffeinated drinks at infancy, but Mark and Angie Schleiff were still youngsters then and thus, shall not be blamed for my current self-destructive habits.)
After a few years of mere acquaintanceship, I am proud(?) to inform you that Hot Tea and I are going steady once again. Just to put our relationship in perspective for you...on a typical Sunday (like today), I wake up in the mornin, and I'm drinkin tea. I go to church, and I'm drinkin tea while I wait for worship to start. Church ends, and I'm chattin with friends with a nice warm cup in hand. What better way to follow lunch than with a cup o' tea? I am homeworking in the afternoon, and check my watch only to discover that it is 4:00. What time is it? High Tea time!! 6 o'clock church, and..well you get the picture. Like the pringles people say, once you pop you just can't stop. It is a slippery slope my friends, a slippery slope indeed.
'Why is she writing this ode to a beverage?', you might ask. Whelp, apparently 6-plus cups of tea in one day isn't conducive to sleeping. Imagine that. So, here I am, jittering through this message--too jazzed to rest but too intelectuallazy to hang out with William Faulkner. Such is the life of a tea-aholic.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Easter in the Western Cape
I find it harder and harder to think of stuff to write about as the novelty of day to day life fades and a sense of home replaces it. Now, I am throwing back an embarrassingly high number of cups of tea a day, I have long sense given up the rising tone at the end of my questions, and I no longer shudder as I pass each potential mugger on the street. :) Because of this shift, I find it hard to think of uniquely South Africanish anecdotes. So instead, I will just tell you about my awesome weekend.
For Easter weekend, our church went away to camp in Stellenbosch, where we lodged in a boarding school. My fellow American friend Audrey and I both chuckled at how differently something like this might have gone down in the U.S. of A. We all kind of just rocked up in the afternoon whenever we wanted to and never really had a schedule. It was wonderful! The days consisted of chilling/chatting together, some set aside times of worship and teaching, more chilling/chatting, drinking lots of tea, and watching the guys of the church compete to see who would win the much-sought-after title of "manliest man on main".
On Saturday night, after worshipping for a while, we had a time where everyone encouraged and called out things in each other that they felt the Lord laying on their hearts. It was truly one of the most joyful and encouraging times I have ever experienced. Sunday, we had some more wonderful worship in the morning and the evening, we ate some hot cross buns, and we got to see one of my friends who had given his life to Christ over the weekend get baptised. The whole weekend was filled with just this overwhelming sweetness as everyone enjoyed fellowshipping with each other as well as with the Holy Spirit. It was such a blessing to communally share such an excitement over the fact that Jesus conquered death!
Best. Easter. Ever.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Uncle Sam says, "I Want You, Schleiff!"
As we are approaching the two month mark of my time here in Cape Town , I realize that I have failed miserably in my goal to update this sucker at least once a week. Major apologies to my whopping 7 readers. :)
This week I had my first tests. In the grand scheme of Jessica Schleiff's life, these three exams are small potatoes, but in the grand scheme of the American International Reputation, these tests carried some major patriotic obligations. Yes, that's right. It was my duty as a self-respecting Amurhcan to break down negative stereotypes inspired by LA and biased media abroad. I felt the weight of the call to prove to my scary lecturers and tutors with their hoity-toity British spelling and obscure comma usage that I do indeed have a brain, and neither Laguna Beach nor Beverly Hills 90210 have successfully eradicated that fact--in spite of their spirited efforts!
I am sorry to tell you, though, that this little patriot did not rise to the call of duty but instead, embraced the Cape Townian Spirit, opting for a spontaneous hike up the mountain rather than the wiser, more honorable decision to spend Sunday afternoon pouring over notes. (On my way up Skeleton Gourge, I did give Arkansas some mad props, though. So I have not completely turned my back on my homeland. Woo pig!).
But wait! Not to fear! I embraced the also ever-so-American skill of merging intrinsic knowledge with major B.S.-ing. That process, in combination with lingering memories from past lectures by Drs. Amy Sonheim, Johnny Wink, Mary Beth Long, and Mrs. April Counts, helped me manage to come out OK in my task. Maybe I will indeed walk away from these 3 tests bringing some glory to my country's name. Only time will tell. Until then, I will continue to whistle Dixie on my way to class and talk in a really really loud voice all around campus, just to get our name out there.
This week I had my first tests. In the grand scheme of Jessica Schleiff's life, these three exams are small potatoes, but in the grand scheme of the American International Reputation, these tests carried some major patriotic obligations. Yes, that's right. It was my duty as a self-respecting Amurhcan to break down negative stereotypes inspired by LA and biased media abroad. I felt the weight of the call to prove to my scary lecturers and tutors with their hoity-toity British spelling and obscure comma usage that I do indeed have a brain, and neither Laguna Beach nor Beverly Hills 90210 have successfully eradicated that fact--in spite of their spirited efforts!
I am sorry to tell you, though, that this little patriot did not rise to the call of duty but instead, embraced the Cape Townian Spirit, opting for a spontaneous hike up the mountain rather than the wiser, more honorable decision to spend Sunday afternoon pouring over notes. (On my way up Skeleton Gourge, I did give Arkansas some mad props, though. So I have not completely turned my back on my homeland. Woo pig!).
But wait! Not to fear! I embraced the also ever-so-American skill of merging intrinsic knowledge with major B.S.-ing. That process, in combination with lingering memories from past lectures by Drs. Amy Sonheim, Johnny Wink, Mary Beth Long, and Mrs. April Counts, helped me manage to come out OK in my task. Maybe I will indeed walk away from these 3 tests bringing some glory to my country's name. Only time will tell. Until then, I will continue to whistle Dixie on my way to class and talk in a really really loud voice all around campus, just to get our name out there.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
20 Fun Facts About My Life in Cape Town
I have been in Cape Town for one whole month. As with most things in life, I came in with a lot of presuppositions about what my experience might be like. Some of them have been accurate, some blown out of the proverbial water, but no matter how ignorant or educated I might have been on January 23rd, I can honestly say that I have a few fun facts under my belt that were not there before (a few extra kgs there too. I mean it's inevitable with all the sugar I'm drinking in my 4+ cups of tea a day). I would like to take this time to enlighten you, my few and faithful readers:
Things I have learned...
1. Rondebosch is an area of Cape Town and the place where I and the the University of Cape Town dwell.
2. UCT is about a 25 minute walk from my house, and one making this journey via main road will pass about 15 restaurants/bars, 3-7 beggars/homeless people, 5+ suspiciously aimless characters, 4 self-proclaimed car watchmen, a mini mall, an Anglican and Methodist church, a Pick N Pay, and Jacob Zuma's house.
3. South Africa has not yet embraced the 21st century when it comes to bandwidth.
4. In spite of fact #4, the Chinese teenage boy community still manages to pride themselves on their DOTA skillz.
5. The neighbors' baby has some serious pipes.
6. If you go to a braai, you should allot more time than you would for your stateside barbecue and should likely bring your own meat and maybe a sleeping bag (just in case).
7. "Shame," "hey," "Cheers," "is it,?" and "hectic" are indispensable parts of the Cape Townian vocabulary.
8. Safety is a constant priority, but one has little real control over it.
9. "Necklacing" is not a fashion statement.
10. South Africans are just as uncomfortable with Zuma's polygamy as the rest of the world.
11. The beach is beautiful, but the water is cold and the wind can be brutal.
12. 1 in 4 (need to check this statistic) people in Cape Town are HIV positive. To help combat this problem, free condoms have been placed in toilets all around the city and campus for your personal convenience.
13. Hot Chocolate is not just for wintertime.
14. Bar Ones and Nik Naks are where it's at.
15. Students are not adults and thus, should not expect to be treated as such.
16. Most things do not happen on time, but it's chill, bru.
17. Teachers have no shame in calling individuals out in front of the other 200 students in the class.
18. Southern friendliness translates into getting hit on by creepy, middle-aged men.
19. As an American, you can expect to have all kinds of conclusions formed about you before you even open your mouth.
20. There is a bird that sounds like a possessed goat and frequents our neighborhood in the wee hours of the morn.
I hope these fun facts help illustrate the context of my current 5-month stay. Happy reading!
Things I have learned...
1. Rondebosch is an area of Cape Town and the place where I and the the University of Cape Town dwell.
2. UCT is about a 25 minute walk from my house, and one making this journey via main road will pass about 15 restaurants/bars, 3-7 beggars/homeless people, 5+ suspiciously aimless characters, 4 self-proclaimed car watchmen, a mini mall, an Anglican and Methodist church, a Pick N Pay, and Jacob Zuma's house.
3. South Africa has not yet embraced the 21st century when it comes to bandwidth.
4. In spite of fact #4, the Chinese teenage boy community still manages to pride themselves on their DOTA skillz.
5. The neighbors' baby has some serious pipes.
6. If you go to a braai, you should allot more time than you would for your stateside barbecue and should likely bring your own meat and maybe a sleeping bag (just in case).
7. "Shame," "hey," "Cheers," "is it,?" and "hectic" are indispensable parts of the Cape Townian vocabulary.
8. Safety is a constant priority, but one has little real control over it.
9. "Necklacing" is not a fashion statement.
10. South Africans are just as uncomfortable with Zuma's polygamy as the rest of the world.
11. The beach is beautiful, but the water is cold and the wind can be brutal.
12. 1 in 4 (need to check this statistic) people in Cape Town are HIV positive. To help combat this problem, free condoms have been placed in toilets all around the city and campus for your personal convenience.
13. Hot Chocolate is not just for wintertime.
14. Bar Ones and Nik Naks are where it's at.
15. Students are not adults and thus, should not expect to be treated as such.
16. Most things do not happen on time, but it's chill, bru.
17. Teachers have no shame in calling individuals out in front of the other 200 students in the class.
18. Southern friendliness translates into getting hit on by creepy, middle-aged men.
19. As an American, you can expect to have all kinds of conclusions formed about you before you even open your mouth.
20. There is a bird that sounds like a possessed goat and frequents our neighborhood in the wee hours of the morn.
I hope these fun facts help illustrate the context of my current 5-month stay. Happy reading!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Awakening the Cape Townian Spirit
Uptight. Anal. Pannies-in-a-Wad. 80-year-old-woman-in-the-body-of-a-20-year-old. These are all descriptions my friends and family have lovingly bestowed upon me throughout my life. But it's alright. I have accepted it and vowed to use my compulsiveness for good and not evil. After all, it's endearing right? However, my inner perfectionist has finally met its match in an adversary called Cape Town.
Day by day (and queue by queue) during orientation week I began to slowly accept the fact that my schedule and business were totally out of my hands. Whether or not I had brought the necessary paperwork, fulfilled the necessary requirements stateside, or done every little thing asked of me while jumping on one foot blindfolded with a monkey on my back was all irrelevant. Something would inevitably go wrong, each activity would inevitably take 5 times longer than expected, and I would inevitably get sassed by some person in authority. I realized after about a week or so that this was the way things operated in these parts and I could either roll with it or develop hypertension.
However, though I was slowly relaxing, classes had not yet started, and I held onto the hope that lectures/seminars would be my sweet spot, a place where I was prepared and ready for action. Think again, Schleiff. Think. A-gain.
Yesterday saw the official commencement of UCT undergrad courses. After our previous tardiness on Friday, Dana and I decided that we would not take any chances for our 8:00 class, opting for the 7:10 jammie instead of the 7:50. We confidently left the house at 6:55 AM (I know, hold the phone, fellow college students. This is not a joke), expecting to be chilling at the coffee shop on campus by 7:30, with muffins, espresso, and joy. So, when the bus didn't come at 7:10 we began to get ancy. But we resolved to wait thinking "surely it will be here soon. It must just be running late."--Let me just pause here to say that the word "surely" is quickly becoming endangered in my vocab. It's like "jou keep using dat word. I do not tink it means what you tink it means."--When it hadn't come by 7:35, we had reached that precipice where we had to decide to either put our faith in the jammie or give up and just walk. Opting for the narrow road, we decided to stick it out. We had come this far, we had already made friends with fellow disgruntled jammie-riders, and we had consequently journeyed farther away from school to get to this blessed bus stop.
Surprise, Surprise. 7:50, still no bus.
At 8:05, after class had definitely already started, a man drove up to the stop to reprimand us on our impatience with the jammie. "It is out of our hands," he said. "Please stop calling, and please don't give us any attitude." He then proceeded to turn to a middle-age woman also waiting at the stop to offer her a lift to campus. I have found that there have been rare moments on this journey when my American patriotism has suddenly risen up out of nowhere, and at that particular point in time I longed to go freedom-of-expression all over the man. However, like a good southern lady, I stored my anger within, letting it simmer to a slow bitterness, resolving to only fantasize about throwing myself onto his car rather than actually following through on it.
Let's just say I am not so proud of my attitude at this point. And at 8:30 when the jammie did finally come and we met our 9:00-class-attending roommates boarding the bus, I decided to ignore my previous resolution to not be another "loud American" as I lamented to my friends about how this whole thing would have gone down differently in say New York (I reveled in images of deaths by stilettos, international lawsuits, jammie station bombings, and college students chaining themselves to stationary objects. Can I get a witness?).
But, alas, I am finding in these experiences (although I think I might have read it somewhere before) that anger is a dead-end road. You can't get mad, you can't get even, you've got to get Cape Townian. Shoelessness in Arkansas may be an unwanted stereotype but here it is a badge of honour. Missing you jammie, missing your lecture, or missing the birth of your first child is small potatoes, bru. It's also alright not to know and it is ok to be ok with not knowing.
I have yet to understand how homework works here, I am not sure I am attending the classes I am registered for, I have not signed up for one of my mandatory seminars, I haven't seen my passport since I loaned it to my new friend, Sikote several days ago, and I have forgotten my middle name, but I am dealing with it. (Before anyone panics, only joking about the middle name).
Who needs Marijuana when you've awakened the Cape Townian Spirit, hey?
Day by day (and queue by queue) during orientation week I began to slowly accept the fact that my schedule and business were totally out of my hands. Whether or not I had brought the necessary paperwork, fulfilled the necessary requirements stateside, or done every little thing asked of me while jumping on one foot blindfolded with a monkey on my back was all irrelevant. Something would inevitably go wrong, each activity would inevitably take 5 times longer than expected, and I would inevitably get sassed by some person in authority. I realized after about a week or so that this was the way things operated in these parts and I could either roll with it or develop hypertension.
However, though I was slowly relaxing, classes had not yet started, and I held onto the hope that lectures/seminars would be my sweet spot, a place where I was prepared and ready for action. Think again, Schleiff. Think. A-gain.
Yesterday saw the official commencement of UCT undergrad courses. After our previous tardiness on Friday, Dana and I decided that we would not take any chances for our 8:00 class, opting for the 7:10 jammie instead of the 7:50. We confidently left the house at 6:55 AM (I know, hold the phone, fellow college students. This is not a joke), expecting to be chilling at the coffee shop on campus by 7:30, with muffins, espresso, and joy. So, when the bus didn't come at 7:10 we began to get ancy. But we resolved to wait thinking "surely it will be here soon. It must just be running late."--Let me just pause here to say that the word "surely" is quickly becoming endangered in my vocab. It's like "jou keep using dat word. I do not tink it means what you tink it means."--When it hadn't come by 7:35, we had reached that precipice where we had to decide to either put our faith in the jammie or give up and just walk. Opting for the narrow road, we decided to stick it out. We had come this far, we had already made friends with fellow disgruntled jammie-riders, and we had consequently journeyed farther away from school to get to this blessed bus stop.
Surprise, Surprise. 7:50, still no bus.
At 8:05, after class had definitely already started, a man drove up to the stop to reprimand us on our impatience with the jammie. "It is out of our hands," he said. "Please stop calling, and please don't give us any attitude." He then proceeded to turn to a middle-age woman also waiting at the stop to offer her a lift to campus. I have found that there have been rare moments on this journey when my American patriotism has suddenly risen up out of nowhere, and at that particular point in time I longed to go freedom-of-expression all over the man. However, like a good southern lady, I stored my anger within, letting it simmer to a slow bitterness, resolving to only fantasize about throwing myself onto his car rather than actually following through on it.
Let's just say I am not so proud of my attitude at this point. And at 8:30 when the jammie did finally come and we met our 9:00-class-attending roommates boarding the bus, I decided to ignore my previous resolution to not be another "loud American" as I lamented to my friends about how this whole thing would have gone down differently in say New York (I reveled in images of deaths by stilettos, international lawsuits, jammie station bombings, and college students chaining themselves to stationary objects. Can I get a witness?).
But, alas, I am finding in these experiences (although I think I might have read it somewhere before) that anger is a dead-end road. You can't get mad, you can't get even, you've got to get Cape Townian. Shoelessness in Arkansas may be an unwanted stereotype but here it is a badge of honour. Missing you jammie, missing your lecture, or missing the birth of your first child is small potatoes, bru. It's also alright not to know and it is ok to be ok with not knowing.
I have yet to understand how homework works here, I am not sure I am attending the classes I am registered for, I have not signed up for one of my mandatory seminars, I haven't seen my passport since I loaned it to my new friend, Sikote several days ago, and I have forgotten my middle name, but I am dealing with it. (Before anyone panics, only joking about the middle name).
Who needs Marijuana when you've awakened the Cape Townian Spirit, hey?
Saturday, February 6, 2010
For Everything Else, There's Cape Town
I would at this point like to exert my prerogative as a female and totally contradict my myself. Please humour me as I relay two pleasant, sappy anecdotes from the past week...In the profound words of Walgreen's commercial writers, "There are some things money can't buy." There are some moments that are so spontaneously wonderful that they could seemingly exist only in a "land called perfect."
Last Saturday my housemates and I decided to ride the train to Muizenberg beach. Now there is something especially romantic about the idea of training to the beach in itself, but this day was especially perfect. The temperature was in the upper 70s, the breeze was blowing, the sun was shining, and our spirits were high. Suddenly, in mid-journey, we heard music coming from one end of our car. Just as we realized that a fellow passenger strumming his banjo was the source of this background tunage, we heard the sounds of an accompanying jazz ensemble join the spontaneous chorus. Now from where said jazz musicians appeared was a mystery, but who has time for irrelevant questions when you're tappin' your toe to the beat of a tambourine? After several miles of melodious travel, we hopped off our train car and into the sand with the echoes of these Cape Townian troubadours trailing in the distance. A perfect beginning to a perfect day.
The second spontaneously wonderful moment occurred yesterday when my housemate Dana and I were on our way to our first day of UCT classes. Our first class, Modernism, started at 8:00AM sharp, and although everything else in Cape Town runs on African time, apparently class schedules do not. Now, at OBU if I had an 8:00 I could easily roll out of bed at 7:40, throw on a hat (to cover unshowered hair), brush my teeth (maybe?), leave my dorm at 7:55 and be comfortably in my seat by class time. However, in Cape Town getting to class means walking 20+ minutes to lower campus, catching a jammie bus to upper campus, and then missioning to your class from there. Naturally, as is generally the case for those who are unfortunate enough to travel with me, we got on our way a little too late. In addition to this bump in the road, there was a intense queue (oh how I love that word) for the jammie. So at around 8:05 we were still jammie-ing, and I was super stressin'. Meanwhile, as we were embarking on our first of many UCT days to come, Bob Marley was celebrating his 65th birthday (well in Spirit, anyway). And at 8:05 as my blood pressure was on the rise, the words of Ras-Bob's prophetic "Three Little Birds" strolled their way over the radio into all of our jammie-ing hearts with "Don't worry about a thing...cuz every little thing's gonna be alright." Now Bob may have needed cannabis to fully live out this worldview but his lyrics were enough for me. In fact, the entire jammie of previously stressed-out first years and I took these words to heart, and though the minutes of our tardiness were ticking ticking away, we were totally chill as we bobbed our heads to these Jammie Jam Jams. Singin' "don't worry about a thing"...Thanks, Bob. You're a real pal.
Last Saturday my housemates and I decided to ride the train to Muizenberg beach. Now there is something especially romantic about the idea of training to the beach in itself, but this day was especially perfect. The temperature was in the upper 70s, the breeze was blowing, the sun was shining, and our spirits were high. Suddenly, in mid-journey, we heard music coming from one end of our car. Just as we realized that a fellow passenger strumming his banjo was the source of this background tunage, we heard the sounds of an accompanying jazz ensemble join the spontaneous chorus. Now from where said jazz musicians appeared was a mystery, but who has time for irrelevant questions when you're tappin' your toe to the beat of a tambourine? After several miles of melodious travel, we hopped off our train car and into the sand with the echoes of these Cape Townian troubadours trailing in the distance. A perfect beginning to a perfect day.
The second spontaneously wonderful moment occurred yesterday when my housemate Dana and I were on our way to our first day of UCT classes. Our first class, Modernism, started at 8:00AM sharp, and although everything else in Cape Town runs on African time, apparently class schedules do not. Now, at OBU if I had an 8:00 I could easily roll out of bed at 7:40, throw on a hat (to cover unshowered hair), brush my teeth (maybe?), leave my dorm at 7:55 and be comfortably in my seat by class time. However, in Cape Town getting to class means walking 20+ minutes to lower campus, catching a jammie bus to upper campus, and then missioning to your class from there. Naturally, as is generally the case for those who are unfortunate enough to travel with me, we got on our way a little too late. In addition to this bump in the road, there was a intense queue (oh how I love that word) for the jammie. So at around 8:05 we were still jammie-ing, and I was super stressin'. Meanwhile, as we were embarking on our first of many UCT days to come, Bob Marley was celebrating his 65th birthday (well in Spirit, anyway). And at 8:05 as my blood pressure was on the rise, the words of Ras-Bob's prophetic "Three Little Birds" strolled their way over the radio into all of our jammie-ing hearts with "Don't worry about a thing...cuz every little thing's gonna be alright." Now Bob may have needed cannabis to fully live out this worldview but his lyrics were enough for me. In fact, the entire jammie of previously stressed-out first years and I took these words to heart, and though the minutes of our tardiness were ticking ticking away, we were totally chill as we bobbed our heads to these Jammie Jam Jams. Singin' "don't worry about a thing"...Thanks, Bob. You're a real pal.
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