A Vegan's Worst Nightmare
This is the library at Ukhanyo - still a work in progress, but I'm totally depressed that I accidentally deleted the "before" picture, so you could see that I really HAVE been working these past weeks, and not JUST going to the beach (though I've done my fare share of that too!). Anyway, the shelves were packed with old books that I assume were donated by well meaning but ill-informed folk and about half the collection had to be gotten rid of, to make room for books that kids will HOPEFULLY, read some day. Casualties of war included lots of books about dealing with eating disorders (not a real issue in a place where the majority of the population has one meal a day), the Complete Works of Shakespeare (kind of ambitious for a non-English speaking primary school) and the biography of John Lennon (did anybody get that this was a PRIMARY school?)
Another thing you can't see in this pic, is the freezer in the right hand corner. After a few days of stacking mountains of books on it and around it, I began to wonder WHY there was a freezer in the library, so I lifted the lid to find - a FREAKING GOAT. Well, actually the goat was not freaking, because the goat was very dead, but I was definitely freaking. In case you're wondering how I KNEW it was a goat, let me just say that there was absolutely no doubt, and leave it at that. I shut the lid and went off to ask Mr. Muzulu, caretaker, - and owner of the racist, rabid dog who has already feasted on my very white arm, once this year - to ask him WHY there was a slaughtered goat in the freezer. He looked at me quizzically, kind of like "Why WOULDN'T there be a dead goat in the freezer in the school library?" and then relented, to explain in broken English to my ignorant soul that it was the main course for the Brai that evening. "Brai" is Afrikans for barbecue, and evidently it is the national past time of South Africa. This particular brai was being held in honor of 7th grade graduation, which in Masi, is a cross between the Academy Awards and the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. The goat was just the tip of the iceberg.
The goat has me thinking though. In the brief time that I've been in South Africa, I have realized how utterly and completely URBAN my upbringing has been. In my experience, cows graze contentedly on Colorado grass, munching there until they eventually die - happily - of old age. These cows have absolutely NOTHING to do with the hamburgers that I eat weekly at Sonic. And fruit actually falls from the trees shiny with wax, unblemished and utterly perfect. Culture shock South Africa - where fruit looks like - well - REAL fruit, the fish on sale at the Pick 'N Pay have bones and EYES that stare accusingly at you, and beef looks a lot like it came from a cow. In Masi, it's even more blatant. It is virtually impossible to imagine that grilled chicken feet are anything other than chicken feet, and the decapitated cow's head next to the barbecued beef makes any further clarification unnecessary. While I'm on a roll, I will point out that margarine is labelled FAT in big bold letters on the plastic container in the refrigerated section. Nothing takes the wind out of your sails like smearing a knife full of fat on your whole wheat toast first thing in the morning.
Africa is a very different place; I can say with certainty that I have never driven down any Main Street in America to see a very large, very pale woman, clad only in a bathing suit, riding a camel on the side of the road. I love this country.
Another thing you can't see in this pic, is the freezer in the right hand corner. After a few days of stacking mountains of books on it and around it, I began to wonder WHY there was a freezer in the library, so I lifted the lid to find - a FREAKING GOAT. Well, actually the goat was not freaking, because the goat was very dead, but I was definitely freaking. In case you're wondering how I KNEW it was a goat, let me just say that there was absolutely no doubt, and leave it at that. I shut the lid and went off to ask Mr. Muzulu, caretaker, - and owner of the racist, rabid dog who has already feasted on my very white arm, once this year - to ask him WHY there was a slaughtered goat in the freezer. He looked at me quizzically, kind of like "Why WOULDN'T there be a dead goat in the freezer in the school library?" and then relented, to explain in broken English to my ignorant soul that it was the main course for the Brai that evening. "Brai" is Afrikans for barbecue, and evidently it is the national past time of South Africa. This particular brai was being held in honor of 7th grade graduation, which in Masi, is a cross between the Academy Awards and the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. The goat was just the tip of the iceberg.
The goat has me thinking though. In the brief time that I've been in South Africa, I have realized how utterly and completely URBAN my upbringing has been. In my experience, cows graze contentedly on Colorado grass, munching there until they eventually die - happily - of old age. These cows have absolutely NOTHING to do with the hamburgers that I eat weekly at Sonic. And fruit actually falls from the trees shiny with wax, unblemished and utterly perfect. Culture shock South Africa - where fruit looks like - well - REAL fruit, the fish on sale at the Pick 'N Pay have bones and EYES that stare accusingly at you, and beef looks a lot like it came from a cow. In Masi, it's even more blatant. It is virtually impossible to imagine that grilled chicken feet are anything other than chicken feet, and the decapitated cow's head next to the barbecued beef makes any further clarification unnecessary. While I'm on a roll, I will point out that margarine is labelled FAT in big bold letters on the plastic container in the refrigerated section. Nothing takes the wind out of your sails like smearing a knife full of fat on your whole wheat toast first thing in the morning.
Africa is a very different place; I can say with certainty that I have never driven down any Main Street in America to see a very large, very pale woman, clad only in a bathing suit, riding a camel on the side of the road. I love this country.