It's a Mall World After All

When I first learned that I would be transferred to South Africa, I really only had a vague idea of what to expect, most of which was informed by multiple viewings of District 9, and although I do not doubt the authenticity of its depictions of Johannesburg and its residents, I also wanted to get a second opinion.

Shantytowns and Electric Fences

As I was flying to South Africa, I watched a short program describing the township of Soweto, on the outskirts of Johannesburg. Soweto was established shortly after World War II as a place where Africans evicted by the ruling white National Party from designated white areas in Johannesburg were relocated. This was the beginnings of apartheid. But Sowetans became instrumental in the fight against apartheid. In 1976, the government’s attempt to enforce the teaching of Afrikaans, the language of the white ruling class, in schools led to an uprising in Soweto. Hundreds were killed by the government, but the bloodshed brought the horrors of apartheid to the fore, both within Johannesburg and internationally.  It was the beginning of the final stage in the fight to end apartheid.

Impressions of Jo'burg

Last Saturday, I hopped onto a South African Airways A340-600 in New York, and 15 hours later, a more tired, sweatier, more irritable version of me stepped off the plane and into Johannesburg, South Africa, where I will live for the next six months.  I haven't had much time yet to explore the city, but I'll share with you my early impressions anyhow.

Astronaut applications

This is something I wrote for a scholarship application while I was just finishing up film school (we got scholarships for after we matriculated.  I know, it didn't make much sense to me then, either).  Anyway, I found this on my computer, and it's something that helps to remind me that, no matter how difficult the path may be or how discouraging it might get, there is only one thing that I can imagine myself doing for the rest of my life.

Perspective

I took a cab to my friend's apartment the other day, and I had no idea what address to give to the cab driver (I never do.  It's one of the side effects of the Age of Smartphones: forgetting addresses, forgetting phone numbers and brain cancer).  He was clearly agitated with me until we finally figured out where I needed to go, and then he apologized.

"It's one of those days," he said.  It was an oddly defeated note to escape this large, stocky, bald-headed man in his 40s, a man who looked like he could probably bend a steel girder by merely glaring at it.

love is love

If, by one simple act, you could bring happiness and celebration to millions of people at no cost to yourself, would you do it?

The New Yorker

Every so often, my roommates and I wonder whether we look like New Yorkers yet.  After all, we've lived in this city for nearly a year.  In that time, we've conquered the worst winter here in two decades, and we're well on our way to coasting through what I'm told is a relatively mild New York summer (and I'm reminded constantly of how mild this summer is when I still complain about the humidity or the thunderstorms and people tell me about how much worse "last year" was, as though I care).