Chicken Feet

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  Barberton, South Africa
Thursday, March 1, 2007

I am going to back track a bit to this weekend. On Saturday Binki and her friend Banthatha, also called Susan, picked me up at around five in the afternoon. Susan had a car, and we went to her house where she lives with her husband and son. The girls and I sat around in the living room, talked, and watch the E channel, I guess they thought it would make me feel more at home. I also ended up getting into a conversation about how not everyone in the United States owns several cars, washing machines, and has maids do work for them. I suppose if my main intake on American culture was the E channel I would have the same assumptions.

As a side note I am seriously concerned about the pop culture we end up exporting out of the country. I have watched Jerry Springer on the basic channels here, they also have KFC  here in Barberton, and the movies at the house include Elizabethtown (easily one of the worst movies ever), and Cellular. If you don't know either of those movies that is a good thing. I also often get questions like, "Do you know Snopp Dogg?"

I had a good time on Saturday night, and as the three of us drove into the location at night I had this clear moment of looking around me and realizing where I was and how crazy it was. Here I am sitting in the back seat listening to these two African women chatter away in Setswatsi, while they are playing re-mixed versions of American music, and I had a chicken foot I was suppose to est in my hand. That's right, after we went cruising, we stopped out in the middle of the location and I bought myself my first chicken foot. On Saturday nights it's really lively in the location ("the location" I believe is the name that still lingers from the apartheid era, it's where all the black people or "Bantu" people had to live, and now it's where most of them still live). Music is blasting on every corner, people are grilling meat, and gathered in circles around fires drinking. You'll find people just dancing on the corners and making fires on the sides of the street to grill their own meat. It's a fun atmosphere, although everyone just leaves their empty glasses on the ground, so there is a lot of broken glass. But I guess that is what happens when there isn't an organized way to throw away your trash. It's either on the ground there, or on the ground somewhere else. 

So back to the chicken foot. It's exactly as you would imagine it, just the foot of a chicken cut off, grilled, and covered in spicy sauce. It still had the nails on it, and since I was in the back seat in the dark I was experimenting with bending the toes. So, of course I ate my chicken foot, and it doesn't taste like much. The foot seems to be mostly skin, fat, and tendon, so you have to really dig in for the meat. I thought that I was doing pretty good with my little chicken foot, until I looked up an Binki, who just bit off a whole toe, chomps on the bone even a bit, and then spits out the left over bone. It's sort of like sunflower seeds I guess. I guess I sort of failed at eating it African style, but next time I'll do better. Chicken feet isn't something at the top of my list to try and mainstream at home, I would still put chicken feet in the throw away category.

On Sunday Binki showed up at church late to ask me if I wanted to go to Matutu, I said sure even though I had no idea where that was, what we were doing or when we would be getting home. So I got in the car with her and Susan again and we drove to Matutu for a jazz festival. Again music, dancing, grilling, and drinking. I felt a little strange since I was one of the only white people within miles, and I got a lot of stares and a couple of people just touched my hair and hands when I would pass. I didn't feel threatened, people were always kind when they meet me, they just find it peculiar because they assume I am an Afrikaaner, it always makes more sense to them when it comes out  am traveling from the U.S. And while I am not a fan on the culture we have been exporting into South Africa, everyone here is a fan of it, which is nice.

It would pour off and on all day. The climax of the night was when the big band came on, and I went up to the front with Binki and Susan. It started to pour rain harder than it had all day. This was another moment I am not going to forget on this whole trip. There isn't much light and everyone around me is dancing in the pouring rain with this live band who were dancing as well just feet away. There was just so many people, glass bottles everywhere, and I was drenched in about two minutes. It was spectacular.  I was wearing on of my Auntie Ellen's dresses that I had borrowed for church since I left straight from church. I am counted the dress as clean now because it was sopping wet. Since I am doing my own laundry by hand I have new definitions of clean clothing. But I'm sure once I take it home and get it dry cleaned it will be fine, don't worry Auntie Ellen.

So that was my weekend.

This week working at the creche and the disabled center have been wonderful. I am really starting to connect with the kids and it seems that we know enough of each other's languages now to communicate alright. I have started to teach them how to write their names. And I introduced the hokey-poky (I have no idea how to spell that) to South Africa, and it was genius. The kids love it, they just laugh the whole time. I don't remember the hokey poky being that awesome as a kid, but there is something about about being able to jump around to a song that is apparently universally appealing to children under six.

I enjoy the Disabled Center more everyday. I am learning a little bit of sign language, and I have started to get Brian, this 13 year old boy engaged in doing math. He use to wonder around the yard just kicking the ball, which I think is fine, but I think he is having a lot of fun counting with me. What I love about the Disabled Center is everyone who comes there seems to be interested in doing something, so wherever their capability might be I'm there trying to give them something to do. More girls are starting to come now, which is exciting because that means I can spend my day with just three or four people and get more done.

I have also decided that teaching is an art. Being a great teacher is so hard. Not only do you have to engage your students with the work, you also have to think how they're thinking, and be patient as they work, and on top off all that you have to be correct- as in I don't want to be teaching them how to spell wednesday wrong.

Again I am out of time.

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