Ramblings and things.

Another week in Mthatha. Another couple of words learned in Xhosa. Another project at the museum. I certainly can't say that this isn't a dynamic experience for me.
Most days, I do my thing at the museum, I walk home, I am tired enough to want to veg in the evening rather than pick at the school work I've scheduled for myself this semester.
This is the closest thing to a real 9-to-5 routine that I've had in years. If I didn't like the work, the people, and the atmosphere at the museum, it would be a real drag.
This week at the museum I began to put together photographs for a catalogue of artwork done by artists in residence of Qunu over the last few years. I got to work with a Nikon D300. It is the sex (at least compared with my own camera). Next, I get to actually compile the info for the catalogue and then design its layout and stuff. I really like that I was given this project. I get to feel in charge of it and creative and stuff. And when it is done, I can grab a copy of it for my CV! So that's fun.
The schoolwork I mentioned consists of trying to figure out the best angle of attack for making a database of data from sites excavating in the Sowa Pan area. I want to have a solid foundation on which to base my future research. So far I have begun a database for the list of sites documented and published by Mike Main in 2008. Unfortunately it is not a very detailed list and inconsistent in what it contains for each entry. It is, however, a start, and I am hoping that the information I can glean from the photographic record of the National Museum collections (literally photos of the fronts of the boxes that contain the artifacts), that I spent so much time and money downloading this week, can supplement the database as it is. I need to have something to show for myself at the SAfA conference in November, and something to write about for the Wenner-Gren by Nov. 1. I also need to figure out what to do about Botswana... I know what I want to do there, but I don't know what kind of permission I will need from the powers that be. I guess I could try and make contact with them.
Such are the exciting details of the life of an archaeology student moonlighting as a museum intern. Aren't you glad you're reading this blog?

As for the more pithy experiences of this week, the drama llama reared its diva head at the offices but I wasn't directly involved. I guess I am surprised it took three weeks.
It was a relatively small llama, though, and the drama seems to have passed already. Still... awwwwwkwaaarrrd! I wouldn't even mention it here but it was remarkable how awkward it made me feel. I was told about it by one of the parties involved, and this person seemed to want me on their side, and as I also know the other person involved, I couldn't help but feel like running away. As a representative of MSU and a total outsider I felt put on the spot. For me, it just reinforced the fact that my position is an odd one. The expectations and responsibilities for me are not quite the same as for other museum staff.

While this was going on, the museum had a power outage and I learned an interesting thing: a lot of people here buy electricity in pre-paid bundles just like they do phone minutes. I had no idea this was possible. This is just one of the many ways in which daily life here differs in minor, hidden ways from that in the US. We have the same needs and wants, and - at least for the equivalent of the working and middle classes - we get most of the same services, goods, and whatnot, but the way that they happen are just a bit unexpected for me. Taxis are another example. Taxis here are not taxicabs - they call those cabs. 'Taxi' refers to a big van with a fixed route that works essentially as a bus - you hop on at a dedicated taxi rank, pay 5 rand, and the taxi drives to the designated area. To get off anywhere along the route, you just yell for it to stop. You can flag down a taxi from anywhere too, and often they will honk as they drive past you to see if you want them to stop.
Taxis intimidate me, what with their lack of signage and the incredibly overcrowded state they always seem to be in. But Isabel, my research buddy at the museum, rides them to and from work everyday, and she says we should take a taxi together to East London to hang out there.
I ought to be game for that, given what I did today, which was inadvertently take a walk through a shantytown north of my neighborhood. Mom, if you're reading this, you can stop freaking out. It was bright daylight out and most people I encountered were kids, and everyone I encountered was friendly. They ALL were sure as hell wondering what I was doing there, but no one said as much as boo to me. Well, they did say "Molo", which means hi. The kids were highly amused, especially when I asked to take their photo. I am not sure I have ever met a kid who doesn't like having their photo taken.
Friendly or no, I didn't actually mean to walk through that area. I decided to go out for a walk this afternoon, and since I live right by a golf course, I thought I would walk around it. It is fenced off, as are most things here. So I walked outside the fence, and the dirt path along the road next to the golf course led eventually to, well, a bunch of tin-roofed houses and gardens, some of which were in better repair than others. It seemed safe enough, so I figured I would keep on the path, which eventually must lead to the other side of the golf course and back to the road near my house.
It did.... eventually. I might have gotten very awkwardly lost in the makeshift settlement had it not been for a nice young woman and her toddler sister who walked me out of the place once I asked which way Mandela Drive was. There were only two paths, but still - maybe safe, but super uncomfortable. Hell, I was uncomfortable as it was. It wasn't just the settlement or the obviously impoverished people.
It was the fact that this was literally on the other side of the fence from the (north end of) the golf course - a status symbol of an upper-class life if ever there is one. I cannot imagine going golfing on that course and seeing people living in this settlement just outside the fence. How do people - on both sides of the fence - deal with that juxtaposition and abrupt reminder of the income gap?
I was all smiles while passing through the settlement, but once beyond it, taking the path towards the hospital (closest obvious landmark), I was shaking. It is very easy to get comfy in my cozy little apartment in the nice part of town, working at a government-funded institution in the center of town. It is easy to forget that people are barely scraping by, literally just across the street, or golf course in this instance.
I am very glad I went for that walk (even if I did take the wrong way home and walk an extra couple of miles). It reminded me why I am here. It also forced me to be OK with being not just in the familiar, nice parts of town. People live in places like that settlement; they make their livings (or not) every day and some of them, the kids at least, even do it with a smile. If they can do that, I can step outside my comfort zone once in a while to try and connect with - maybe even help - them. Maybe put some action behind all those noble sentiments I have made in the past.
But that's for another day. I can't deny that I WAS glad to see my cozy apartment upon returning from the walk. It's Saturday night, after all, and I'm gonna have some fun.