Jonathan Field - Maker of Random Stuff

I wake up at 9:00 to the alarm. I’m more tired than I want to be, so I remind myself to catch up on sleep tonight. I drag myself over to breakfast, the same yogurt mixture I had yesterday. I am pleased with it, and it keeps me full for a good while.

Alan comes over to pick me up in the car. I can see him approaching the gate through the kitchen window, so just before he touches the buzzer I click the gate remote and the door opens for him. He looks a little surprised.

We go back and pick up Donna, who was taking a shower. Peter’s gardener is assembling some miniture motorcycles in the garage. Alan introduces me and asks whether he prefers his Zulu name (which I forget) or his Christian name, which is “Enoch”. He says he prefers “Enoch” and shakes my hand. I wonder if that is just because I’m white, or whether he really prefers it. The mini motorcycles are apparently part of some promotion going on at Dundee Cellular, and if you buy a nice enough cell phone you get one. They look fun and incredibly dangerous.

Donna comes out, the car is already packed and so we head off to the first school.

As we’re leaving town Alan points out a sad sight. There’s a very thin boy, probably between 10 and 14 years old laying on the sidewalk in a heap. An older lady, probably his mother, is standing over him saying something. He reaches up and she pulls him to his feet. They walk a few steps together, but he is very wobbly, and eventually falls back into a heap again. We turn the corner and he’s out of sight. It’s fairly horrific. Alan says that you don’t really see that too often. It’s not clear what the problem was, but it could have been HIV, though he looked too young for sexually contracted variety. The mother wasn’t that thin, so it’s unlikely it was starvation. I guess we’ll never know.

We drive out a ways to an area called Wasbank. The area is pretty rural, like the schools we went to yesterday. But the first school we go to is pretty well maintained. The buildings form a courtyard and inside there is grass and shrubbery, and a fairly clean look.

We meet the deputy principal, and Indian man. He tells us that this school used to be a mix of Indian and Black, but all the Indians have moved away and now it is 100% black students. He seems a bit disappointed that his fellow Indians have chosen to leave rather than pitch in and improve the area. He says this is where he grew up and he’s going to stay and work here.

We go to the computer lab, where they have 20 little Mac SE machines. Most of them are working, but the school doesn’t have enough desks, so they are crammed in so tight they are nearly unusable. The keyboards and mice are on top of the machines as there is no table space.

The deputy principal says they don’t have any more tables or desks, and are unlikely to be able to get any. He says there was another school that borrowed some of theirs, but they don’t think they’re likely to get them back.

Alan and I scan around the room and find some odds and ends… after a few minutes of this we have a plan: there are some wooden beams without a usable surface, and there is a smooth particle board surface that is too flimsy to hold anything. But combined, with a desk at each end, we are able to make a large impromptu table. The deputy principal approves the plan and we go about setting it up. As we work he brings us three bottles of soda, one Coke, one Sprite, on Orange Crush. They’re cold and they’re in glass bottles, so they taste better than soda back home. An hour later and the lab is transformed; most of the machines have a usable, if tight, work area for the mouse and keyboard. We feel we’ve made an improvement, and we head off.

On the way out we breifly meet the principal and one of the higher ups from the district, two older, heavier build Zulu men. They are busy, but take the time to shake our hands before we go. Alan and Donna think those guys are pretty good; the district guy actually visits his schools and gets a sense of what’s going on. Some of the district people just drive by.

I also learn that they have strict limits on how many students there are per teacher. But the main motivation is not, as in the US, to make sure the classes aren’t too big, but rather as a cost saving measure to make sure they aren’t paying for any extra teachers. All classes have to be at least 32 kids, and if they can’t meet that number, a teacher is removed from the payroll. This is especially troublesome in the small schools where an entire grade may be less than 32 kids, so classes are mixed grade. Which means you’ve got maybe third, forth, and fifth graders in one math class.

We head over to another school, further out. This is a school that didn’t have any power until a few months ago. When Alan and Donna first came by with computers, they only had a gas powered generator. It could only run five computers. Over the years they’ve learned that generator schools just don’t work out with computers; they can’t run enough for a classroom, and because of the generator setup and moving around what items are plugged in, the computers just end up not being practical.

So Alan and Donna started taking the computers our of generator schools. But when they went to take the computers out of this particular school, the principal, a black lady, begged tehm not to. She said that even though they couldn’t make good use of them, just having the computers had raised enrollment and had allowed them to survive. She pleaded with them to let her keep the computers there. So Alan and Donna decided it was okay.

Just last year, they got wired up with electricity finally. But even then, the power didn’t actually work. Ironically they were paying for an electricity account but didn’t actually have any elecricity. Alan and Donna helped them last year to work all that out, and now, they have regular power. So it’s time to see if we can bring things up to be actually functional. Alan and Donna joke that they might just station me out here for a week to figure it all out. I’m actually open to that.

We meet with the principal and an older fellow who I think is the deputy. Also the principal’s son is there. He’s in his mid twenties and is here as a temporary teacher. As usual, everyone is well dressed except for us. Actually Donna is well dressed too. It’s just Alan and myself that look like hobos.

The meeting is about how to set up the room for maximum chances of success. Alan explains to them that it works best if they have a dedicated room, and if they build a permanent countertop around the perimeter. He explains that if they don’t do that, it is likely that the desks, which are always in short supply, will get removed and the lab will go into disarray. I just saw this at the previous school, so I understand.

He shows them some pictures of what other successful schools have done. And asks if they know any way to get that done. The principal laughs. She says “We’re a district 21 school, not a district 20. We don’t have any budget, we can just ask the school board to send us supplies.”. Alan asks if they might be able to get the school board to send a builder. She says that would be impossible. But we talk some more, and consider the idea of getting local parents who may have some building skills, to volunteer. Alan says that we will be happy to set up the electrical portion, so they just need to provide the countertop. They all agree to brainstorm and come up with a plan by next week.

They have six computers, and three of them are not working. I dig into the repairs, and the principal’s son observes. His name happens to be Tabani as well, and even has the same last name as the younger Tabani that has been hanging out with us in town.

One machine has a bad motherboard (ADB ports are dead) and one has a bad hard drive. By mixing and matching parts, we’re able to repair two and then Alan replaces one with a fresh machine. Working on the little SE’s is fun; there are only a handful of components, and they’re all compatible. Once you know the basics they’re pretty easy. And because they’re so simple, they seem more robust, too. Considering the treatment they get, and the fact that they’re mostly 15 to 20 years old, they run amazingly well.

I explain what I’m doing to Tabani, and he gets it. He tells me that he has a certificate in IT, but only for PC’s, he’s not seen the Macs before. I ask what is plans are, if he wants to continue teaching here. He laughs and says “no”. He wants to get a job in the IT field soon. I can respect that, but at the same time it’s sad that a more educated fellow like this is just going to leave the area. It makes me wonder how an area like this could ever get ahead if anyone sucessful wants to leave.

A strange connection: that’s the only argument against open immigration in the US that I give weight to. I think that in general, immigrants are more ambitious people than average, and therefore we (the US) benefit from letting them in. However, that just decreases the health of the other nations, which just end up being abandoned by their most valuable resource: smart ambitious people. And it happens within South Africa on a smaller scale.

After we finish up, we leave, with the plan to return next week and see about the counter and electrical work that is needed. We stop by another couple schools on the way back, but none of the educators are around any more as it is after 2.

When we get back to town, we drop by to visit some white friends. The couple is Bill & Wendy. They provided a place for Alan & Donna to stay on one of their very first visits here. We pull up to the house and come through the gate. They have two small dogs and two small kids. The kids run up and greet Alan and Donna with cheers and big hugs.

I meet Bill, a burly guy with a love of car racing and working on cars. He’s a outgoing Dutch fellow who’s father immigrated here from Holland. He shows me some engines and transmissions in various states of assembly in his garage. He shows me how he rebuilt the exhaust system on his riding mower to increase the horsepower. He says if you pop the clutch on it now it does a little wheelie.

Wendy greets us as well, and plays gracious host, bringing us some bottled water. Donna had noticed a run on bottled water yesterday at the market, and I had heard people saying not to drink the tap water (advice which I ignored). Wendy tells us that they found a corpse in the resevoir a couple days ago, and that’s why everyone has stopped drinking it. I shrug it off and say “yeah, but there’s always dead stuff in the resevoir, once they treat it it’s fine.” I think this wins me some man points with Bill, who laughs and agrees.

One of the kids is making a bracelet or something with beads, and the other is showing Alan how he can play the recorder. Bill tells us about how the Black Empowerment laws have just been redone. Last year he was in big trouble, because he runs a small business, owned just by him and his wife. He’s only got a couple employees. But there was a law on the books last year that he had to have some percentage of black ownership. It made little sense for him to have to invite a partner in to his home business, but that was the law.

Luckily, the government saw that the law wasn’t having a positive effect, namely that it didn’t help poor blacks at all. Instead, it caused rich blacks to be able to get ridiculously low buy-in prices with companies so the company could meet the Black Empowerment guidelines. Bill was very annoyed with this.

But the new law, he says is reasonable. It provides just that you have to have a percentage of black employees, and that you offer them training to move up in the company. He’s happy with that.

He works as an independant contractor for larger companies, doing work audits on other types of contractors. He’s the head of the association and he was pushing the companies to pay more. He is upset that they pay other types of contractors, who do unskilled labor, more than they pay him: “these guys are really rough guys, right out of the trees, knuckles still dragging. Gorillas. People you would not socialize with.” Though he’s not explicit, I feel I’m picking up a racial implication here and I’m uncomfortable. I lamely say “Oh, I don’t know… I socialize with some pretty strange people.” He picks up my concern and waves his hand, “No, no, that’s fine. I’m just saying these guys are rough.”.

We’re sitting in their living room at this point. They have a pretty nice house with a large yard. The house is a bungalow type, with the windows and doors always open. Though I imagine they’re pretty well off for the area the carpets and furniture are still pretty low end. Most goodwill stores in America could furnish the place. But I also remember that people judge their position by what’s around them, and this is the nicest place I’ve been in since I got here.

Bill invites us to a “brai”, a traditional Afrikaner barbeque that they’re having at a local social club tonight. “Just bring whatever you want to grill”, he says, “there’s a cash bar and salad will be provided”. He is a very friendly guy.

Wendy comes by and suggests we take a swim. She gives Alan and I trunks. Donna declines. The two of us, plus the kids and the dogs head out to the in-ground pool they have and jump in. The day has been a little hot, and the water is a perfect 80 degrees, refreshing but easy. We splash around and play for a while. Then I hop out and let myself get a little sun. But not too much.

Alan tells me that they bought this place for 200,000 rand, which is about $30K. But it was a mess and Bill has worked very hard to fix it all up. It’s a pretty great little life they have worked out for themselves. The house is probably worth four or five times that today.

We depart, and promise to see them at the brai tonight. I’m looking forward to that. Alan and Donna have provided much of my food so far, which is delicious and healthful, but a big red steak sounds excellent about now.

On the way home we spot Tabani walking home from school with his bag. We flag him down and he jumps in. He has another paper to type up and so he comes back to the trailer to type things up on the computer.

At this point I take off on my own for a bit. I walk to my place to pick up my car and laptop, then I head over to Dundee Cellular to see if Peter can hook me up with some kind of modem. Using the dialup on other people’s computers just isn’t going to afford me the kind of connection to the world that I want.

Looking over the options, it sounds like a Vodafone HSDPA/USB modem will work, and along with a cheap cell phone, will actually be cheaper than getting a phone that supports HSDPA anyways. Peter cuts me a deal off of the advertized price (because I’m a friend of Donna & Alan? Because I’m white? Because I’m buying expensive stuff?) and together the devices cost 2650 rand (about $350 dollars) and includes 29 rand of airtime. The airtime is tied to the SIM card, and so until I buy another, I’ll have to swap the card between the modem and the cell if I want to use either. At the current rates, 29 rand of airtime works out to about 18 minutes of talk or 14 mbytes of internet. Nicely, the internet is measured by data and not time, so as long as I stick to text it should last a good while. I can put more rand on the card whenever I want, as Dundee celular is open 7 days a week. I don’t, however, get a free mini motorcycle.

Interestingly Peter doesn’t have a credit card thing in his shop, but he walks with me over to the Pick ‘N Pay supermarket at the other end of the plaza, where a cashier lets him use theirs. I’m not sure how the money for that works on the back end, but he seems happy and I’ve got my stuff. I thank him and he heads back to his shop, while I go to the meat department.

I look over the goods and decide on a good looking .3 kg of prime rib for the brai. I buy my meat and head back to my place to play with the modem.

It comes with installation software and within 15 minutes or so I’ve got the thing running. I quickly chat with Sophie, and tell her she should come out. I really want her to visit, to see her, and for her to experience this. I catch up on a bit of mail, too. By the time I sign off it is dark, and just about 7PM. I then I head off with meat in hand back to Alan and Donna’s trailer by car.

Donna has prepared a cucumber and tomato salad, and also purchased and marinated a chicken. We all pile into my car and head over to the social club. It takes us a bit to find it in the dark, as it is set back from the road, but soon we do and Justin and Anthea are beckoning us around the back of the building where the fires are heating up. There’s only about six people at the moment, all white. Alan assures me that it will be an all white party.

I shake hands with a huge moster of a man, “House”, but the “H” is actually pronounced by clearing your throat. House is at least 6 foot 2 and his arms are almost as thick as my legs. He’s a farmer, with a full head of reddish blonde hair and a moustache, he smiles and squints at everything. Bill is there too and he gets me a West African beer, his favorite. Although many would call Bill an Afrikaner, House says Bill is just Dutch. House is a real Afrikaner, with roots here for six generations or more.

A cricket match, for the world cup is on. Wendy brings by some neat bread with ham and cheese baked into the top. We snack on this as we wait for the fire to heat up. An amazing event occurs in the cricket match; a South African player gets six 6′s in a row. A “6″ in cricket is sort of like hitting a home run in baseball, it means you knocked the ball out of the park (or in this case, beyond the rope) and you get 6 runs. This fellow hit six of those in a row, and no one has ever done that before. In cricket, Bill jokes, they don’t let you leave just because you hit the ball, you have to stick around and keep working. I don’t know how many you have to hit before they let you off the hook.

Bill tells me about how this club has been robbed several times. They have metal grates over the windows, and a motion sensing alarm in the corner. He says “these folks aren’t dumb, you see, they’ve got plenty of brains, they just use them for the wrong things”. There’s a sense without him saying it that he’s basically talking about blacks here, but perhaps I’m projecting? Maybe he really just means generic burglars? Somehow I doubt it, given the social climate and various realities.

He tells me how after they installed the motion alarm, the burglars did the following: they pulled the entire window and sill, with bars, out of the wall without breaking it. Then they tripped the motion sensor, removed it, then left quickly and put the window sill back in place. When the police and guys came to check it out, everything looked fine so they just locked up and took off. Then the burglars came back in but with the motion sensor gone they had all night to rip the place off. They even cracked open the safe and took all the liquor.

Then he tells me of the best “panel beater” in all of South Africa, a black fellow named Softie. A “panel beater” is what they call a body shop guy over here. He could rub out a dent like nobody else, according to Bill, and he’d follow the hailstorms around South Africa and make a lot of money. Eventually he had enough money he bought himself a farm and retired.

He also tells me how he’s seen a car get stolen late at night and when you find it first thing in the morning, it’s stripped down to nothing but the body. “That’s a lot of work!” he says, “If they worked that hard at a regular job, they’d be top employees!”

You should know that Bill and his wife Wendy are involved in doing major charity work; donating much time and money to help local orphans. Because of HIV there are a lot of orphans in the area, and they’ve seen that as a way they can best help. Nearly all the beneficiaries are black. It is a common theme here to see concerned whites simultaneously helping and complaining.

I think one has to take the people in their context, both black and white. Judging the irritated whites here simply as racist is no better than judging the poor blacks here simply as lazy. These are just people, in both cases, dealing with a complex and harsh reality and trying to make sense of it.

House tells me how the local black radio commentators are telling people that the condoms that are being distributed to blacks are already infected with HIV, and not to use them. He shakes his head and shrugs. What can one do? I think everyone here, no matter their color, wants to make things better, but nobody knows how.

I move out to the grill itself as it nears cooking temperature. I talk with some other folks, another six or so have arrived, mostly couples. They bring kids who go off and play together elsewhere.

The night is clear and comfortably warm, and with no mosquitos, everyone hangs outside. The sky is clearer than at home, save for trips to the mountains, and you can see the distinct stripe of the Milky Way across the sky like I haven’t seen in ages. Even with all the negatives, it is little moments like this, which I’ve had each day with different people, that remind me what a good life there is here.

A fellow recommends I visit Drakensburg park, a great place to camp and hike in the mountains that’s only a couple hours drive from here. I throw my steak on the grill, next to a wonderful assortment of other goods, including pork, chicken, beef, sausage, and mushrooms. An electrician named Kevin is in charge of the grill. They have a shaker with black pepper and salt which I sprinkle on the meat lightly. This brai would pass muster even with Lisa Vagge.

As it cooks I talk a bit with Wendy, Bill’s wife. She grew up a couple hours south of here, and her family is still in those parts. But she is in love with Dundee now, and says she’s staying here for good. She, like many others, mention the crime problem and the poverty, but this is their home and she will keep on, holding out hope and putting in effort to make things better.

The steak is done and I put it on a plate, after which, I can no longer see the plate. I go to the dining area and Kevin gets me another beer, my third, actually. There are some salady things, of which I take a pinch to cram on the edge of my plate. The steak now hangs off one side. I sit down with Bill, Wendy, and House, and eat to the sounds of U2, The Cranberries, The Who, and INXS. Bill and House tell me about all the pranks they’ve played on each other over the years.

I go back to the bar area and Kevin and Alan are talking about electrical wiring. Kevin seems a bit concerned that we are planning to do some unlicensed work at the schools, but shrugs and accepts the realities of the situation as well. As I have my fourth and final beer, Bill and I talk about different nasty drinks we’ve had. I tell him about the cement mixer, which in these parts is called the “blowjob revenge”. He tells me about a drink that involves filling a condom with various liquors and a banana.

Things wind down and we take off. As we leave I think how different the the mood is hanging with whites vs. blacks here. Back home I’ve been to diverse gatherings, and no matter the racial makeup, the mood was more or less the same, and much like what I went to tonight. We may see divisions in the US, but fact is we are much more similar to our neighbors that people here seem. There is talk of going to a Zulu party at some point, so I’ll think more about it then.

I’m a bit drunk so Alan drives and drops me off at my place. I go in and log on. I chat with Sophie, Cindy, and Thomas. It’s just almost midnight for me, but mid afternoon for them. It’s great to catch up; I don’t think the contact with home lessens the impact of being so far out here much, though it comforts me a little.

Sophie and I plan her trip; she is going to come out April 8 through 19th. I’m very excited to see her; we’ve been trying to work things out even after we had already started divorce proceedings a few months ago. I’m feeling good about us now. We’ve each worked out a lot of demons and there is an amazingly strong force that pulls us to share our lives even at these distances. There must be a word for that?