Jonathan Field - Maker of Random Stuff

Only 2000 words…

Slow start… forgot to disable the alarm, and my cell still went off at 8:30 even though the phone itself turned off! Tried to sleep, but couldn’t. Hung in bed until almost 10. Then I did a couple hours of catching up and tying loose ends with email and posting to livejournal.

Didn’t really get up until noon. Nice.

I called Donna on the cell phone; Alan and her were working at Thalani. He came over to pick me up. We drove straight there in we went in. Thalani again, is the first school they worked with, and one that they have some ongoing trouble with. Last Wednesday we worked with the staff computers, today they’re in the lab.

On the way up, Alan points out a few things. Like all the schools here the doors are covered with steel grates and locks, and the windows are barred up. Risk of theft is just a constant. He shows me that between the classrooms they have storage rooms, with just a grate. The storage rooms are just piles of trash… discarded boxes, candy wrappers, etc. It is a bit sad that noone sees fit to clean things up. The lab is on the second floor and I look down over the open air walkway to the yard below. Directly underneath me is a huge pile of broken discarded desks that have probably been there for months.

The machines are already working, and so most of the time is spent adjusting software and settings and cleaning up. I also get to look at many of the papers that the kids wrote; and also some from parents who come at night for adult education. There’s a variety of stuff, some interesting poetry and short stories, many of which I save on a “stiffy”. That’s what they call floppy disks here. And it makes a lot more sense: the old 5.25″ disks were literally floppies. So the 3.5 inch disks with their hard case are most definitely stiffies.

We also take a peek in the PC lab next door. Someone put a lot of money into the lab, with nice new chairs, desks, and the modern machines are all networked to a server. However they have told us that they have a lot trouble and that things don’t really work. I can’t stress how critical it is to have training, support, and the money to hire quality full time staff. Without that these programs don’t take hold.

A little later on, a visitor comes by. His name is Konalethu (KO-na-LAY-too). He’s in school still, 12th grade, I think. He is one of the kids who was involved in the break-in and theft of computers here a few years ago. He was the one who says he was tortured by the police until he told them who else was involved. He has become friends with Alan and Donna, and has since stayed out of trouble. “Wow, this place has some bad memories” he says as he comes into the room.

One thing we discover as we tidy up the machines is that someone has figured out how to record music from CD’s into the System’s “alert” sound. This has the effect of playing a :15 clip of music every time the machine would normally beep. It’s extra amusing because you can’t stop the sound or turn down the volume once it’s started and you can’t do anything else until it’s done. So one errant click and the whole lab is treated to the soothing sounds of Bob Marley’s “No Woman No Cry”, the Black Eyed Peas’ “Where is the Love?”, or even James Blunt’s “Beautiful”. It takes us a while to undo all this, and I mention to Alan that we should find out who did it and invite them into a computer club. It’s those mischievous ones that are most valuable… if I do say so myself.

Once that’s done we head out, but before we go Donna mentions to Alan that there’s a toilet stuck running in the girls restroom. Alan, ever the conservationist, can’t let that go on so we run over to check it out. I figure this will be interesting.

First we go into the boys’ restroom because we’re not sure where we are. There’s no door, and as we walk in I’m hit my the strongest urine smell I’ve encountered in ages; far worse than the trashiest restroom in New York’s Penn Station that I was in a couple weeks ago. These are real restrooms, with running water, unlike many of the rural schools that have camping style pit toilets. But this is actually worse. The floor is grimy and looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in months. There are piles and piles of plastic wrappers and snack bags washed up in every corner. It is honestly hard to breathe it smells so bad. We peek around and then leave, since the toilets here are not running.

Then we go to the girls’ room. It smells marginally better than the boys room, but looks about the same. Alan identifies the broken toilet, but the lid is welded shut with a steel cage around it, and jiggling the handle doesn’t help. Alan points out that the toilet paper roll, which is empty, is secured with a padlock. It’s sad to me that things are allowed to sit at this level. I suppose it’s not high on anyone’s list, and perhaps the kids are just used to it. Still I can’t help but feel it lowers their personal standards in a way that is unhealthy. I also note that Konalethu doesn’t react to the restrooms at all, so I figure this is not at all surprising to him.

We leave the restrooms behind and give Konalethu a ride home. On the way we bump into another friend of theirs; Zenzo (sounds just like it looks). He graduated last year and they ask him if he’s found a job. He has not, so they offer to include him in some of our trips to schools next week.

We get to Konalethu’s home, and his grandmother, sister, and neice are sitting out in the front yard relaxing. Their house has a pleasant look to it. It has corrugated tin roofs like all but the richest buildings here, and is made from masonry. I meet Konalethu’s father as well, who comes out to greet us. We sit down in the yard and chat for a bit.

The grandmother is a traditional Zulu healer, and she practices in the room behind where Konalethu and his father are sitting. We ask if we can see and she says no. I suppose it isn’t appropriate for whites, or perhaps any non-Zulu to dip in there.

However, a moment later Konalethu shows me around the house, including the Zulu healing room. It is dark, and the roof is thatched unlike the rest of the house, in a more traditional style. There are animal skins hanging from the walls, and a drum. The skull of some goatlike animal is hanging as well. Konalethu says she quit practicing a while ago; people prefer to go to regular doctors now.

The rest of the house is nice for a small place. His bedroom is a generous size for these parts, and he has it to himself. It is neat, with a double bed, and includes posters of 2Pac, a pretty fancy looking stereo, and a computer which only recently stopped working. Because of his history, I wonder if any of the goods are stolen. But it may be that he learned his lesson and has refrained from such activities. It is also possible he bought them from someone else who stole them.

I also learn that the father built the place himself. This is pretty common around here. Aside from a hall section where there is a gap in the roofing, it is pretty nice, with it’s own sense of style. Konalethu says when it rains they just put a bucket there. When I go back outside I shake his father’s hand again and compliment him on the house. I take a picture of Konalethu and his dad.

On the way back from Dundee, a very pretty young girl calls out to “Uncle Alan” as we drive by. We stop and say hi. Her name is Sane (SAH-nay). She is in grade 11 now, and Alan and Donna don’t remember her, but she remembers them. She talks with great enthusiasm, bright eyes, and a smile. While we chat, a friend brings by a baby, which she takes: it is hers. After we say goodbye I wonder what the chance is she has HIV, considering we know that she had unprotected sex in the past year. 30%? 60%?

On the way back we stop at one of the local cemetaries. We get out and walk around. The majority of the graves are just dirt mounds with a number stamped in tin and stuck at the head. Several do have stones, though, some quite elaborate. The place is pretty much unkept, though there are fresh flowers and other signs of recent activity here and there. Alan points out that the place was just started 15 years ago from the dates on the oldest stones, and it is already filled. This is a large cemetary. There are many twenty and thirty year olds interred here.

Before we leave, Donna and Alan reminisce about the many people they’ve known here who have died. They tell the story of how on one of their early visits to Joburg, they met a group of people, probably 5 or so. And now every one of them is gone.

We head into town and stop at Spar’s market, the local competition for Pick-n-Pay. Donna buys a few items, and Alan and I bump into and talk to Muzavele (MOO-za-VAY-lee). Alan describes him as being just a really sweet kid. I pick that up. He has his hair in tiny dreads. He has been working at the market for a while; he started bagging, but recently moved to the bakery where he makes bread every day.

On the way home I talk with Alan about how one might make use of all the human resources they have here, how one could jumpstart a real economy. He tells me how several years ago the Chinese came in to do just that: they built factories in the nearby town of Newcastle and employed and trained hundreds of people in making clothing. However they had so much trouble with workers, and theivery was so common that they eventually shut the whole thing down and abandoned the project.

This story saddens me greatly, and sets me thinking hard about how people are smart, how they will adapt to serve their best interest, and how this can lead to a flourishing economy. I don’t know enough to know why it hasn’t happened here. Perhaps it is my misunderstanding of what “best interest” means to the locals.

Donna prepares a lovely dinner as we snack on apples and almonds, a favorite combination of mine. We eat left over grilled chicken from last night’s brai, plus corn on the cob, steamed broccoli, a tomato cucumber salad, and wash it down with a cold beer.

Alan talks about his one time experience racing a car in California back in the day. He entered a race where anyone with a car that was worth less than $500 would qualify. You just had to weld the doors shut, break out all the glass, and fit a five gallon gas tank. His engine caught on fire after a few laps, but he said it was quite a thrill. Sounds like something I’d love to try. I wonder if they still do that kind of thing anywhere.

After dinner we plan to have a movie night tomorrow, and we test out the laptop and speakers. Seems like it would work quite well.

I head back to the backpacker’s inn. Another guest (the first I’ve seen since I’ve been here) is there: a Brit named Kevin. He’s been touring Africa for four months and looks it. He’s only here for one night.

I chat with Sophie a bit. I must take back my snide comments about US cell internet access. Though my recently acquired modem certainly does the trick and is very convenient, it drops connections from time to time and has pretty poor ping times. The connection is only a bit better than dialup. But it is very convenient being anywhere-wireless and all.

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