Life Imitates Art

While I was writing Chasing AllieCat, life kept imitating art. I wrote Sadie's crash in the MTN bike race, and later that week, I crashed. A body in the LeHillier/SouthBend woods was found in the last year...the list goes on...

Anyway, next week, I am undertaking an intentional imitation of art. I have mountain biked plenty of times in my life, but have never ridden a mountain bike race. I think I've felt like a fraud in some ways to write about mountain bike racing without actually racing.

I have raced enough and watched enough that I don't think there was any lack of authenticity in the story, but I'm finally, actually undertaking a mountain bike race next week at this ripe old age. I have hardly told anybody about it because it makes me nervous, and it's one of those fears that I have known I "need to do this sometime." It's been hanging in my brain, taunting me, but now I am going to do it.

Next Saturday: Chequamegon 40, part of the Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival from Hayward, Wisconsin to Cable, Wisconsin. Wish me luck. My last big training ride is tomorrow at the Jesse James ride. Then I'll ride David Hanel's mountain bike (he was so generous to loan it to me; it weighs about twenty pounds less than my mountain bike) all week to get used to it.

While we're on the subject, David is doing the Wisconsin Ironman Triathlon tomorrow, Sept. 7. So is my buddy Danielle Mitchell. So wish them luck and all the spirits of endurance.

Wish me: no broken bones and that I don't come in last. 

Summer is zipping past

I haven't felt like much of a writer this summer. With all the traveling I've been doing, my writing energy has been focused on composing the proposal for the NEH Grant "Bridging Cultures" which we are calling "South Africa as a Metaphor for the World: Stories that Help Eliminate Apartheid of the Heart." 

I'm excited about the grant, and we are on the last legs of building it. 

However, there remains the fact that I have written almost nothing of my own fiction this summer, which is sad.

Inspired by my buddy Kirstin Cronn-Mills trek to Nebraska to gather research, and feeling as if I weren't really a writer this summer, on a whim, I went to Mitchell, South Dakota, and visited the prehistoric Mandan Indian Village dig and museum, went through the George McGovern library, and the Pipestone Monument on the way back. I sort of felt immersed in my Slider's Son story again, and can finally edit and fix, I hope. I found info about the Mandans in the first half of the 20th century that I hadn't been able to find anywhere else. Now that I know where to look, there are books I can use at MSU. But they didn't rise to the surface the way I was searching.

I do love research. And in some ways, this was a spiritual quest as much as anything. Now I'm home, and I don't want to go anywhere ever again. Just kidding, but feeling that way today.

Below is a picture of the stone "Oracle" at Pipestone. See the profile on the rockface on the right? 

The famous TABLE, the famous house

I took an illegal photo (cameras forbidden!) of this picture (imagine that--me?) in the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, just so I'd have it to compare with the photo below. SEE? It's the SAME TABLE.

This is the table where Nelson Mandela and F.W. de Klerk sat to hammer out the terms of Nelson Mandela's release from prison, and the eventual end of Apartheid!

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These two pictures probably depict the serendipitous nature of our entire trip to South Africa better than any other pictures could.

Because of winter storms, Table Bay at Cape Town was kicking up twenty-foot swells, and all boat excursions to Robben Island were canceled. As a result, we scrambled for activities to replace that long-awaited trip (and the cable car trip to the top of Table Mountain, also canceled). Our most spectacular bus driver, William, asked Scott and me if we wanted him to call his cousin, a warder at Drakenstein Prison in the Stellenbasch region.

Most people have heard of Robben Island, and Nelson Mandela's 18-year imprisonment there (the largest portion of the 27 years he spent in prison) for leading the African National Congress, and trying to undermine the system of Apartheid. Few, however, unless they are students of South African history, know that Mandela was moved from Robben Island for the last 18 months of his prison term to the prison now known as Drakenstein. There, he was imprisoned in a four-bedroom house with room to move around and a big dining room table where President de Klerk and he could sit and negotiate.

De Klerk would be spirited into the prison by an little-known back road. He was wise enough to realize Apartheid had to end. Sanctions by the United Nations and many parts of the free world were making the legalized racial oppression impossible to maintain.

Here, Edgar is pointing out the route used by the President's car coming to visit Mandela in prison.

And here in the living room of the Mandela house in Drakenstein Prison, Tyler and Logan reenact the famous de Klerk-Mandela handshake.

The amazing thing about this whole situation is that this prison is NOT open to the public. This is not a place that tourists EVER get to go. It has been maintained, but out of honor to the man, not as a public place.  The fact that we got to go inside, sit in Mandela's chairs, touch his countertops, and be in the place this great man lived inspired awe in all of us. In fact, we all decided that if he had to choose between Robben Island, that all tourists see, and this nearly hallowed place, we would do the same again.

Edgar, the warder who has been at Drakenstein since before Mandela was imprisoned here with his cousin William, our wonderful busdriver who became our dear friend. Their faces depict the way we all felt here. And we owe this amazing experience to the willingness of these two men to stick their necks out and allow a group of American college students an intimate look at the significance of South African history.

Kandi, Danielle, Taylor, and Caroline...

Flower bed outside. Thanks for this pic, Caroline K!

Edgar told us that Mandela had been in prison so long that he had never seen a microwave oven. When we walked into the kitchen in this house, he asked why there was a TV in the kitchen.

Edgar was a "coloured" warder. The coloured warders were NOT allowed to watch the day that Mandela was released.They were secured in one of the prison's other buildings, even though 10,000 people lined the streets to witness the event. How did they know about it? F.W. de Klerk said that Mandela could be released on a Friday. Mandela wanted to be in charge of his own destiny of release, and declared that instead, he would wait until Sunday. In actuality, it gave him two days to contact his underground communication system so the word spread around the world in the two days before he walked free--11 February, 1990. This day in history: Mandela walks free

As we left the home, I asked Edgar to read the poem "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley ( the poem that supposedly buoyed Mandela's spirits during his 27-year incarceration.
Morgan Freeman reads "Invictus"

This statue, on the Boulevard leading into (or away from) Drakenstein commemorates Nelson Rohilala Mandela's Long Walk to Freedom.

Did you know: Rohilala was given the name Nelson on his first day of school, by his teacher?

Can you see why I believe the stories of South Africa can inspire us all to be better human beings?

The Lion Farm, a post from June in South Africa (when I had no internet)

June 15,  Glen Garriff Lion Farm near Harrisburg on the way to Barberton.

We drove through four locked gates, and in the first lion pen, we were this close...see this big guy reflected in the car?

The next day began with the pleasant sound of lions roaring at about 4 a.m. it was certainly loud enough to wake us all, and let me tell you, lying on a snug bed in Africa with the sound of lions roaring in close proximity to the guesthouse where you are staying is an experience.

I drifted back to sleep and was wakened by my alarm at 7.

One of the interesting tidbits of traveling off the beaten path is not knowing protocol and plunging ahead anyway. The bathroom which had been assigned as mine had a taxidermied  blesbok  (I think it was...it might have been a springbok or an bontebok, but it as something very small with horns), a bathtub with a spray shower that shot water every direction except straight through the nozzle, a toilet back in a corner, and louvered glass doors through which anyone outside can see in-- and see everything but the tiniest details that goes on within.

Hence was my confusion about protocol. Should I hang a towel over the door and window? Rush through the fastest shower in history and hope nobody happens past the door? Rising at seven and heading straight to the shower seemed like the best plan. As it turned out, investigating while nobody else was awake, I discovered an exterior door that closed off the entire end of the house where my taxidermic bathroom was located. Case solved. If anyone watched me, I was blissfully unaware. It was awkward anyway, trying to steer the water over my head and body instead of all over the room, so the sooner I was finished, the better.

After breakfast and coffee, Scott, Ann, and I walked with Andi Rive, the lion farm manager, on a walking tour to see eight-week old cubs with their mom Sabrina, and on out farther to see the 860 hectares from a higher vantage point. The expanse of Glen Garriff reaches to the closest mountain.

There we saw, from a distance, a dazzle of zebras, a flock of ostriches (did you know that South African male ostriches are brilliant black and white, while the females are brownish gray?), a herd of wildebeest, and a herd of blesbok.
Also on the property, that we did not see, are meerkats, jackals, and bontebok.

Anton Leach, a South-Africa- born Australianfilm-maker, was also staying at Glen Garriff, making a documentary about the lions. Andi, along  with Traci Page Wood, whose father Patrick Shannon owns the farm, is fighting hard for the land and the lion reserve. Lions are a commodity in South Africa: for safari hunts, and for poachers who sell lion bone as a powerful aphrodisiac. How sad and ridiculous is that?

The lion farm has to provide meat for the lions, of course. There are lots of natural prey on the land, but it's illegal to let confined lions kill their food placed in the confinement for that purpose. So there are quite a few flying body parts (into the pens) when feeding time comes.

South Africans have a penchant for ending town names with "Fontein" which probably obviously, means fountain. 

When we saw a sign for a town called Blesbokfontein, we said, "That's where we just were. Blesbok fontein." Flying blesbok heads...a veritable Blesbokfontein!

 Some of the lions were very sweet and friendly. Sky, here, became my buddy. There are NO wild lions left in South Africa, by the way. All of them have been poached or hunted, as mentioned above. So a conscientious lion reserve, where lions are extremely well cared for and healthy, with room to play and run has become their ideal habitat.

From there, we got back into the car to put on some more miles.  It was tough to leave Glen Gariff. It was one of the many places in Africa where I felt like I belonged...and I felt as if I could just stay forever.
But once more, we piled in the car...
Then our drive to Barberton!

Robben Island

Robben Island.
Scott, our friend, Mzukizi, and I visited Robben Island about two weeks before PResident Obama and Michelle did. Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 27 years or the crime of being a member of the ANC (African National Congress) and protesting against the system of Apartheid. 18 of those years were spent at Robben Island, working in the stone quarry and in this cell.

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Now, at 95 years of age, he has become an international icon of peace, hope, and the fight against oppression everywhere. 

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Here is Scott in the stone quarry where the inmates worked. Note the small cave in front of Scott and the group? In that cave, Nelson Mandela and other imprisoned ANC members would meet or leave each other messages.  I guess you can say that small cave is partly responsible for the overthrow of the Apartheid government!

Here are some more pictures. I tried and tried to include photos of the Obamas in the same places, or at least links, and this blog crashed every time. So I guess if you want to see the Preisdent and Michelle in the same places we were (only two weeks later), you'll have to google Obama in South Africa or Obama at Robben Island.


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 This is the view of the the view of the bay from Robben Island.

 Mzukizi contemplating the cells, where names, pictures, and statements from the inmates were posted.

 Mzukizi and me on the boatride from the island. He was not a big fan of the rough-water ride.

 Scott and Mzukizi outside Robert Sobukwe's house. Sobukwe died in solitary confinement. He was considered one of the most dangerous brilliant minds of the resistance to Apartheid, so died in prison without ever having contact with any of his compatriots. He is immortalized in the book, How Can Man Die Better, by Benjamin Pogrund. This one has moved high on my list of "To reads."

Mzukizi and Scott as we prepare to leave the island.

 

A last view from the bay, looking back at Robben island.

Last reflection: Scott and I work amazingly well together. Maybe we're too much alike (on Africa time even when we're in Minnesota, not exactly the most organized folks in the world, etc.), but we made very compatible group leaders and research-fellow travelers. 

Students, take note: do as we say, not as we DO. We were admonished on the big-group tour of the prison to STAY together. Um, suffice it to say that we did not follow directions. The group exited the building where Mandela's cell was, and Scott looked at me and said, "Come on!" We ran back into the building or we would never have gotten any photos of Mandela's cell. We had the place to ourselves...for a bit. We finally got to "feel" the place and take some pictures. When we went back outside, we had lost our group. Another group joined us, however, and the new tour guide took us INTO the stone quarry (ours hadn't, and Scott had never been there on his four previous tours), and also took us into Robert Sobukwe's house. Nether of us had heard of Sobukwe before. 

Serendipity. All of our trip was laced with happy serendipity. Things would go wrong, and every single bad thing led to something better than we could have planned or anticipated. Getting lost and joining a new group was only one tiny example of that on this trip. And did I mention that Mzukizi, who has lived in the Cape Town Area his whole life had never been to Robben Island? It was one more magical picece of an unbelievable month in South Africa.

"We are not African because we live in Africa. We are African because Africa lives in us." --AfroVibe

South Africa, NEH Grant, Townships, the power of stories, and other dreams...

I just realized I haven't blogged since June 1. That is partly due to the fact that I could NOT blog in South Africa. I barely had internet, and when I did, the blog clogged the airwaves and crashed, so after multiple attempts, I gave up.

Let it also be known that every night now, I dream of South Africa.

My only week in Minnesota since May 18 was a bit hectic. Now I am in North Carolina at Nikki, Tom, and Alec's house, but Alec is sleeping, so here goes.

Yesterday morning, Nikki, Alec, and I had a delightful short morning at Noelle, Tony, and Maren's house in Arlington, Virginia, before we headed to Pennsylvania Avenue.

There I met Julia Nguyen, Senior Program Officer, Division of Education Programs, at the National Endowment for the Humanities Office in the historic Old Post Office complex. (Nikki and Alec went to the National Museum of Natural History).


Julia was entirely helpful and supportive of the ideas Scott Fee (Construction Management, MSU,M, now newly appointed Interim Assistant Dean in the College of Science, Engineering, and Technology) have cooked up. We want to apply for a big NEH grant for "Bridging Cultures" at Community Colleges...which also requires a Community College to be in collaboration with another institution. Seems as if this might have been written for what we are working toward.

I won't belabor all our plans here, but they do include bringing Prof Kobus van Wyk (below) to Mankato to speak at a conference at South Central College. Kobus is the endowed chair of the brand-new department of Human Settlement Development Management at Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. This department has a focus of somehow revamping the rebuilding the townships while giving full consideration to human needs (safety, education, health, transportation, etc., etc. which all relate to Humanities).

Our approach to this grant is that stories are the medium that move information from our head to our hearts and move us to action.  Stories are what the Humanities convey--through art, music, literature, film, history, architecture, etc., etc. Stories about South Africa all end up leading us to the townships. THERE, in the townships, the Humanities converge with the Built Environment.

If you don't know, townships exist in every urban area of South Africa, and a version exists in most rural areas, too. Townships are the legacy of apartheid. Apartheid means "separateness" in Afrikaans. When segregation was forced because the Afrikaner government under the Nationalist Party believed that races could only thrive while separated (I can't even begin to comment on this outrageously horrific idea), non-white citizens were forced into specified areas and couldn't leave without passbooks...similar to passports but necessary for traveling outside the neighborhood.

Now the townships still exist, with vast overpopulation and poverty. BUT look at the joy and sense of community. As we walked through Vlei ("Swamp") Township on the edge of Cape Town, these kids were dancing their hearts out. The oldest boy drummed with amazing skill on an old washtub. The mamas were busy cooking. Joy and hope and community have NOTHING to do with affluence.

We all know that the one thing that can break down prejudice is meeting a specific person from the group against which we hold a prejudice (Think about the movie American History X). Stories do the same thing. STORIES help us meet individual people, help us empathize,  force us to understand oppression and misfortune; stories change our attitudes about "others."

We believe that South Africa is a microcosm that is a metaphor for the world.  South Africa is the site of one (not unlike the Holocaust) of the worst legalized systems of oppression in the world. There is racism of every type, and not only black/white conflict but between the "White tribes" (Afrikaners/Boers and English) themselves, East Indians, many other Asian groups, "colored," and more. There is also some of the most joyful, colorful hope in the universe, despite oppression.

When "Madiba"--Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela retired from the South African presidency, President Clinton said the following:

"In every gnarly, knotted, distorted situation in the world where people are kept from becoming the best they can be, there is an apartheid of the heart. And if we really honor this stunning sacrifice of twenty-seven year, if we really rejoice in the infinite justice of seeing this man happily married in the autumn of his life, if we really are seeking some driven wisdom from the poser of his example, it will be to do whatever we can, however we can, wherever we can, to take the apartheid out of our own and others' hearts."



That's what we want to do with this grant. Present some opportunities to explore how learning about South Africa can help us all eliminate APARTHEID OF THE HEART.

District 6

Today we went to District Six Museum.

I didn't have a clear idea of what District Six actually was until today. It was a Municipal District of Cape Town that was actually integrated and full of color and life. It was considered a "slum" but only because it was a lower-income area. It was a happy place where races coexisted as friends, peacefully. 

The apartheid government couldn't allow such a thing to exist. Apartheid means separation ("apartness") and the Nationalist Party government that instituted it could NOT allow such mixing of races, especially in light of the fact that it was a SUCCESSFUL area--living TOGETHER happily and peacefully. Such success flew in the face of all that apartheid stood for. SO....though Black resettlement had been in place for awhile, the blow came in 1966.

From the Museum website:

"In 1966 [District Six] was declared a white area under the Group Areas Act of 1950, and by 1982, the life of the community was over. 60 000 people were forcibly removed to barren outlying areas aptly known as the Cape Flats, and their houses in District Six were flattened by bulldozers.

The District Six Museum, established in December 1994, works with the memories of these experiences and with the history of forced removals more generally."

We had the privilege of walking through along with a tour guide for part of the time. She was taking a group of five eager twelve-ish-year-old girls and her talk was so inspiring, it moved everyone within earshot to tears.  I felt tears running down my cheeks before I realized I was crying. I looked up to see Marti Benson in the same state. 

If I can at some point post the video of her talk, I will, but the point where I started crying was something like this:

"You can write poetry. You can say whatever you want. You can sue Zuma [President] if you want, because you are free. Under apartheid, we couldn't criticize the government. If you wrote a poem against apartheid, you would go to jail. I did. I went to jail." 

Reminders are everywhere, but as the girls responded to this talk, they said "We can't ever let that happen again." 

World, are you listening?