This past week has found me snapped out of the daydream that was my vacation with my family and back to the mundane everyday of my life as a quasi-Capetonian. After two weeks of being in the “tourist bubble” living in luxury among other fairly upper-class and mostly white, American travelers, I think I had mentally forgotten what it was like to simply live among the locals on a budget – going grocery shopping for bargains instead of eating extravagant meals, hitting the gym instead of lounging at the hotel bar, taking a grungy bus in a total of an hour commute to work instead of catching fancy private shuttles.
To be honest with you, my walk to the bus terminal at 6:30 every morning is a little discomforting. I feel like a spoiled brat admitting this, but I feel a little uncomfortable and lonely when I encounter hundreds of people within ten minutes and the only white skin I see is my own. Never have I been so acutely conscious of my status as a Caucasian woman. My discomfort turns to guilt as I arrive at the bus terminal to see the streets littered with unkemptly dressed individuals curled up asleep on the ground and traces of scattered boxes and cardboard, left over from being used as a replacement for a bed overnight. The whole terminal strongly reeks of urine and there’s always a good chance that I’ll come by a man sitting on the curb talking to himself. I never feel threatened or endangered in any way, but it’s a sobering experience, for sure. And hopefully a character-building one, as well.
In makes me a teensy bit resentful of tourists in a strange way, at least those who think they’re practicing other forms of “culture” or paint what they believe to be a realistic picture of South Africa when they’ve only grazed the surface of life in this country. It’s a bit like visiting a zoo or going on a Disney ride and believing that you’ve seen animals in the wild. A trip up Table Mountain and a night spent on Long Street does not a true Cape Town experience make. Don’t get me wrong, I in no way consider myself somehow above other foreigners or deem myself creditable to give voice to legal South Africans. I’m living in a gorgeous apartment and work with incredibly intelligent, wealthy people all day. I merely have realized that I must always remain humble and open-eyed when attempting to understand a culture different from my own, as I’ve witnessed the multiple layers that make up a certain way of life. I feel privileged to have been able to see the country both as a tourist and as a (albeit warped) resident. I have achieved what I set out to accomplish in my journey here: to see South Africa at its best and worst. To witness the ecstatically exciting and heartbreakingly unfortunate; the developed and underdeveloped; the beautiful and the ugly.
On another note, I believe my relationship with general (and to some extent, open-heart) surgery has passed the honeymoon phase. In the last three days, I’ve been fairly unfazed when assisting in changing bandages of burn victims or watching cardiac and neurosurgery. However, my fascination absolutely peaks when I get to watch brain surgery. Seeing a completely open brain pulsing is one of the coolest things ever. I was fortunate today to get to observe a cranial reconstruction on a 10-month-old baby. It was a really big case for the hospital and apart from the three neurosurgeons scrubbed in for the surgery, there were about five or six others that were there simply to watch. Since I was one of the only non-sterile people in the room, I got to control the monitor that was recording and photographing the procedure.
Here’s to March – may it bring you revelations and endless smiles.
xo Em
PS. I’m trying to take advantage of the free Wi-Fi in this café, so here are some pictures of various African sunsets from my vacation. Enjoy.
This is technically a sunrise, on our way to ride elephants
No comments:
Post a Comment