Jonathan Field - Maker of Random Stuff

Ideas that occur to me Sunday morning in bed as I drift in and out of sleep:

Teaching delayed gratification to people through some type of game: an allowance that goes up the longer you don’t use it; i.e. week one you get a dollar, week two you get two dollars, week three you get three dollars, etc. but if you use the money at all, it goes back to one dollar per week and climbs slowly again. Can delayed gratification be taught in areas with a high death rate? Is there a natural counter effect at work here?

To help businesses break past the risk of employing people in this area, perhaps a credit report type thing: a central tracking system for employees and complaints against them. This lowers risk for the employer and raises the cost of theft and insubordination for the employees. If the risk is low enough for the business and the cost is high enough for the employees, perhaps things would improve? But is this a “scarlet letter” kind of thing? Maybe purge records after three years?

I’m trying to apply my limited understanding of game theory to think how one could build an environment where people would naturally rise to do things that would improve the community. I have this basic faith that things can flourish by creating the right conditions. What are those conditions?

Then I get up, around 10:00, shower, breakfast, and log on.

I catch up on email, almost completely, then I switch to journal writing for about two hours, covering most of Friday. But I’m still falling behind. It’s cloudy outside, and there has been a mist. It’s actually cool enough that I put on the little fleece jacket I brought with me.

I head into town just after noon and go to Dundee Celular to get more time put on my SIM card. Peter is there and he helps me out. I buy 55 rand, which if I’m smart could last the week. But I’m not that smart so I’ll probably burn through it by Wednesday.

After that I notice I’m a little hungry, so I stop by Wimpy’s, which is in the same plaza. Meatloaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love” is playing on the radio as I come in. I get a cheeseburger combo and I sit down to eat it. While eating I read the paper. The front page features, among South African news, a article blurb about Britney Spears’ ass being worth $150K. I skip that and read a bit about Zimbabwe’s problems, South Africa’s new HIV plan, and how ex Deputy President Jacob Zuma is being lampooned in a new art exhibit for espousing such gems like women wearing skirts are inviting sex, (particulaly scary since most South African schoolgirls are required to wear skirts), or showering after sex reduces the risk of HIV infection, or shrouding his homophobia in Zulu culture. The burger and fries are reasonably good. The news is reasonably bad.

Then I head over to Alan & Donna’s. They’ve actually skipped out on things today and have relaxed themselves. Donna is doing some work in her little office (no more than a closet with a computer). Alan is fixing up some of the SEs. I help a bit, and write a bit… trying to catch up with yesterday. I make good progress. We plan to invite over three of the local boys to watch a movie later. We have, on my hard drive, Blood Diamond, Hotel Rwanda, Kinky Boots, The Prize Winner of Defiance Ohio, The Treasure of Sierra Madre, and Tae Guk Gi. Alan decides we’ll put it to a vote and he and donna make up some ballots.

Donna has been trying to coax Alan into going out for a special dinner tonight, to a fish place that she likes. Alan agrees, and so we head over there at about 5:30. I ate lunch late, and a lot by recent standards, so I’m not that hungry, but fish and chips sounds good to me.

We go in and sit down, it’s a nice clean place with a seafood motif (fishing nets hanging from the ceiling and such. The owner is Hank, an Afrikaner who likes to talk. He tells us how he’s going to redo the place with a German theme and Zulu memorabilia for sale. He says that the vast majority of his buisness is tourists. Since the murder of David Rattray, tourism has been way down. A reserved Zulu girl takes our order and we spend time reading the paper. I read primarily about the awful beatings of the protesters in Zimbabwe. It is nightmarish stuff.

I ask them about their thoughts on intervention there, and they agree there’s no easy answer. It’s hard to know when to intervene and how. Iraq has shown us that removing a corrupt leader doesn’t always improve things. Alan tells me that three years ago, in this very restaurant, he and Donna were talking with a Zulu lady who told them that she liked things better under apartheid. She said there were more jobs and it was much safer. She wasn’t happy with the new free South Africa. I figure that’s a minority sentiment, but it illustrates the complexity of things.

Dinner is Hake all around. I get it deep fried, they get it grilled. I get it with chips and beer, they get it with veggies and water. Hey, I’m on vacation.

As we leave, we talk to Hank a bit more. He says that he is looking to emigrate to Canada, or perhaps Germany. He mentions some other people who are as well. He implies there is a bit of an exodus coming for the whites. “We have to face facts: we are in Africa, and it’s getting more Africa all the time. There’s no turning that back.” He seems more sad than bitter. Everyone wishes things were going better.

We head back to the trailer and meet Zenzo, who was waiting. It’s legitamately cold now, and the trailer is unheated. Alan closes it up, and we figure once we’ve got six warm bodies in here it’ll be a little nicer.

I talk with Zenzo a bit as we wait for the others. He asks me if I’ve got a video camera because he wants to make a film. He says he writes a lot; but his mother gets upset because he spends too much time writing. But she is proud, too, and brings his poems to work with her to show her friends. At the moment, Zenzo is unemployed. He’s nineteen years old, graduated last year, and says he dreams of being a security guard. But he can’t get a job right now.

Tabani arrives next. He asks if I liked the CD, and I tell him I did, specifically the song “Making love from across the room”, which I thought touched interestingly on the topic of feeling guilt that you’ve cheated even when you’ve done nothing, but just because you saw a woman that you were attracted to. A situation I’ve discussed with friends many times.

Konalethu arrives last, he is breathing heavy from having run to get here. Alan explains that there are six possible movies, and each person has six points to distribute across the movies. I believe this is called a Borda Count? But I’m not sure. In any case, we do the vote, and Blood Diamond wins by a landslide. Kinky Boots came in a distant second. So we set up the laptop and speakers, manage to cram six of us in across, by using the dining room table bench, a pair of actual chairs, and a stack of Mac SE’s as a stool.

The movie starts, and seems to draw everyone in pretty quickly. It’s an intense film, I’ve seen it before and I love it. Donna, who placed the a full six points for Blood Diamond has to leave after the first 15 minutes or so becaue it’s too violent. It is a very violent movie. We watch the movie and the kids react like anyone else would, but I imagine it’s a very different story to them, being that they live in this “other world”. It is extra intense to watch the racially charged scenes as a white man in South Africa with the boys. The line they laugh the hardest at:

Danny Archer – You’re an American, eh?
Maddy Bowen – Guilty.
Danny Archer – Americans usually are.

When the film is over, they say that they liked it. We talk a bit about how everyone in the movie is exploiting someone else, and that’s the point. The main white guy does redeem himself in the end, after being a jerk much of the time. And Maddie isn’t bad, but is still benefitting from the situation. Only Solomon is totally noble, in his quest for his family. The boys think the movie was pretty realistic. Though I wouldn’t use 16 year olds to be the aribters of truth in media, it shows the film is damn well done if it can pass muster with both American and Zulu audiences.

Alan is a bit worried that it was too violent, but I already know from talking with them that Tabani and Konalethu have seen more violent films (“Saw II” and “Get Rich or Die Trying” respectively) I figure Zenzo has as well. They confirm that the movie wasn’t the most violent thing they’ve seen, which helps Alan feel a little less like he’s corrupting them. He goes off to help Donna, who is trying to print something. I joke “the old folks get worried about violent movies, but they don’t know that everything is like that now”.

Konalethu mentions “Get Rich or Die Trying”, and how 50 cent eventually made it, after selling drugs. Tabani says “I want to sell drugs”. I say, “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”, to which he replies smiling “that’s how you get rich”. I don’t know how serious he is, but I remind them that isn’t very likely, that drug dealers almost always end up dead or in prison. I don’t know if they take that as meaningful advice or if it just flags me as someone who doesn’t “get it” in their eyes. They’ve been dazzled a bit by American gangsta culture it seems. Tabani follows up, “I mean legal drugs”, I say “you mean like a pharmacist” and he laughs, “yes”.

Konalethu says “I don’t do any drugs. But I do drink a little. Hard Cider”. Tabani nods and says “don’t let them know that, though” and motions to Alan and Donna. Somehow I have been flagged as one of the kids, apart from the adults. Probably because of my acceptance of the violent movies. If I’m careful, maybe I can actually give them some helpful guidance that they won’t reject as adult influence. We’ll see.

We all pack in my car, except for Donna, and head off to Sibongile to drop them off. It is actually getting very cold now and we’re all chattering as we wait for the heat in the car to pick up. On the way there they are, all three of them, talking in Zulu in the back seat. At one point Tabani asks “you want to know what we’re talking about?” Alan and I say, “sure? is it about us?”, Tabani says “yes!”. I say “I hope it’s good”, to which he replies, “Yes, it could be very good for you. If you still want to try Zulu beer”.

He had told me a bit about Zulu beer a couple nights ago. He said it is made only by the Zulus (obviously) and that you can’t buy or sell it. So you can’t get it in stores. It is something that people make for themselves or each other only. He said it is the only type of beer he drinks.

I say “it would be crazy for me to come to South Africa and not try Zulu beer, wouldn’t it?” They all laugh. I say “not too much though. Just a taste.” “Or two,” Alan adds, and they laugh again. It will be fun if I do get to try it.

We finish dropping them off. Because they continue speaking in Zulu, I wonder what they are saying about us and how they really feel about us. Do they see us as friends? Are we just a weird resource for them? Outsiders, but more than just a novelty?

I drop Alan off and head back to my place. Since the backpackers section is all full tonight, Evan has moved me into his own house. It’s a little nicer anyways, so that’s fine with me. I get into bed, see Sophie online for a moment and say “hi”. I also bump into Brian Kalma, too, who is trapped in an airport on the east coast. Then I write up the days events and hit the sack.

I remember a story tonight, that Alan told me earlier in the trip, about a friend of thiers who got sick.

I’ll relate it as best I can, but Alan would have the facts straight.

He had a friend here, a young man, who was a musician, and who was known to party pretty hard. One year when he arrived, he went to visit this friend and found him ill; he was in bed emaciated and looking awful, a pall of death around him. Fearful that the fellow was going to die, Alan asked the family what was wrong with him. They told him that they had taken the sick fellow to the doctor, and the doctor had said it was the spirits of the ancestors battling within him.

Alan didn’t find this answer satisfying, and proclaimed that it was fine to go to a modern doctor in addition to a traditional Zulu healer. Alan said he would take the sick fellow to the doctor, and he did.

At the doctor’s, Alan went in with the young man. After only a basic examination, the doctor wrote something on a tongue depressor and held it up so Alan could see it but the boy could not. It said “HIV”.

The boy went back out with the family and Alan talked to the doctor some more. The doctor said that he was sure it was HIV without any tests. He could see the TB, and he could see some other infections that were airtight indicators. The kid was HIV positive and very ill, probably only days or weeks from death.

Alan asked the family if they wanted to know what the doctor had said and they did. So he told them. They discussed the options. First was eliminating the infections, which they did with antibiotics, and second was to get him on ARV treatments. The family planned to do this.

Alan returned much later, not sure if the kid would still be around. He talked to the family, and to his surprise the kid survived and was still alive. In fact he was off on tour again.

It’s a happy story. Except for one thing. Living the way he was, the kid is almost certainly having unprotected sex and spreading HIV further across this already hurting land. Alan doesn’t know how to feel about it.

And on that note, goodnight.