Sunday

This past Sunday, I started wandering up the street. I found a catholic mass in session, but the parishoners crowded the building so much that they were seated to the end of the curb. I came in time to do the whole 'shake hands with your neighbor' and I awkwardly walked off.

I continued down the road until I saw a police officer.
"Do you know where a church is?" I asked.
"What kind?" he returned.
"Any." I replied.
"Let me walk with you." he said.

We walked up to what turned out to be an Anglican church. I was squeezed into a wooden pew between a young girl and a man. I loved the service, it was like jumping into the Nile on a hot day. They sang both traditional hymns and contemporary songs like "Everyday." I knew 99% of the words. Then, the sermon was delivered by a visiting evangelical pastor on Joseph & his brothers re: repentance.

And I saw Justice Kirabwire there!

Nile River

I went whitewater rafting down the Nile this past weekend! It was wilder than I expected. I don't know how Class 5 rapids rank on the spectrum, but for me, it was pretty serious.

Our raft flipped multiple times and I consumed copious amounts of Nile water. It was surprisingly clean and warm to swim in. I loved it!

Heroes Day

Today was a Ugandan public holiday on which a list is published of the celebrated heroes: Heroes Day! Hence, we were left to our own devices; we wandered the city and ate chicken, chips (the British kind), and ice cream.

The most amusing part of the day was a new nickname. Usually, the men on the street yell out "Mzungu!" meaning "white person." And then, as I mentioned before, they yell out "Chinese! China!" to make sure that I feel welcomed as well. One very clever man today came up with "M-China."

"Ni hao" count: 14.
Ugandans are working that Mandarin! Quite impressive.

Tomorrow, if all goes well, we will move from our hotel on William Street to more permanent (and much nicer) accomodations on Kampala Street. Evidently, we were living in a sketch part of town. When we went in to meet Justice Kirabwire on Monday, he asked us where we were staying. When we mentioned William Street, his eyes grew bigger than I thought they could ever be. He immediately asked his right hand man, John, to move us to another part of town - as long as it was above Kampala Street.

We later learned that other students had asked to be taken on a "field trip" to the local markets. Justice K sent them there with armed guards, etc. We actually live in that area right now. Are we gangsta or just ignorant? You decide.

Uganda

I spent my first full day in Kampala today. I love it so far!

I can't help but contrast it to Johannesburg, my last stop:
1. Rather than winter, it is perpetual summer here - no more sleeping with electric blankets and hot water bottles! Even at night I'm walking around in shorts.
2. It also feels like one of the safest places I've ever been. Whether or not that's true is yet to be determined...

Today, we walked around the city to find water, soap, and the courthouse where we will be reporting tomorrow morning! All missions accomplished.

I'm impressed by the Mandarin that is spoken here - I counted the number of times that "Ni hao" was yelled at me on the street: 4. I'm pleased to be a novelty. As my classmate said the last night we were out in Joburg, he's pretty sure that I'm "the only Chinese person within a 10 mile radius."

Nobel Laureates & Apartheid

It's interesting how nice things can be paired with such horrid things. Today we visited Vilakazi Street and then the Apartheid Museum.

First, we went to an area referred to as Soweto (the official name given to the "South West Township"). There, we visted Vilakazi Street, famous for being former homes of two Nobel Peace Prize winners: former president Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

Next, we stopped at the Apartheid Museum. At the entrance, they gave us cards that assigned each person as either "white" or "non-white." Based on our identity as given by the arbitrarily handed out cards, we had to go through a particular door. I was given a "non-white" card and walked through the right-hand door.

The awful thing was that my Liberian-Canadian classmate had been telling us that circa 2007, she went to a nightclub in a small German town where she was required to use a seperate entrance to the club, solely based on the color of her skin.

The apartheid exhibits were fascinating and disturbing. I've been to such exhibits before ie: World War era and holocaust museums, but the strange thing about this one was that such unconscionable treatment of humans occurred so recently, even during my own lifetime.

There were, of course, pictures with antiquated clothing and hairstyles, but there were also pictures with permed hair and awkward trousers from the 80s and 90s.

In fact, during our last class, one of our South African classmates brought in his pass book to show. He had been required to carry this as proof of documentation during the apartheid era, or else risk being brought to prison or worse.

I realized how little I know about South Africa, apartheid, and Mandela - and how much I would like to know.
Therefore, next on the reading list: A Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela.

Law Clinic

Today, our Communication class got more than we bargained for. We were told to meet at 8:30am so that we could go together to observe graduates as they counseled clients at the school clinic. The vast majority of clients that come to the clinic, according to the Wits students, are black and indigent (which is why they come to get free legal advice).

I came prepared with paper and pen to take notes on verbal and nonverbal communication. As I was walking through the door of the clinic, we were told that we would actually be the ones interviewing the clients.

Seeing as I have the most elementary knowledge of US law, and none whatsoever of South African law, I really wasn't in a position to assist clients. Nevertheless, a classmate and I sat down with three different women individually to discuss their property issues including eviction and title deed transfer.

It was fun! I didn't realize how much I would enjoy having face-to-face contact with clients. And they each certainly had some wild situations going on. The supervising attorney was awesome; she was smart, quick on her feet, and direct when we brought her clients' muddled facts and stories. I hope to be that fantastic someday.

Constitutional Court

We went to visit the Constitutional Court, South Africa's highest court (equivalent to the US Supreme Court) which rules on matters of constitutionality. It was a breathtakingly beautiful, modern, and meaningful structure - and that's saying a lot because I typically prefer classical to modern architecture. I think the main point of interest, it is probably safe to say, was that it looks unlike any other courthouse/courtroom in the world. I don't think I can fully describe what it was like.

Inside the courtroom, the 11-judge seats had animal skins hanging over the front, each with a different pattern to show the diversity of the judges. There were one-way windows from which a person can look to the outside world while weighing matters of law. There were glass booths for interpreters to sit since South Africa is a nation with more than a handful of national languages, and in this country, it is a right to be heard in your native tongue. I loved it.

The carpet was uniquely patterned; it represented the shade of a tree which connected the past times when African leaders would hear complaints of their people under the shade of a tree. This was also the theme of the court lobby.

Outside the courtroom, in the court lobby, there was a wall of bricks. These old, red bricks were salvaged from the old prison which used to stand beside the existing court. We toured the now-closed prison grounds which have been made into a museum.

The exhibits showed the extremely degrading, dehumanizing conditions of the prison during the apartheid era in remnants of the edifices showing what the prisons were like on the inside. Many prisoners were put there for such crimes as not carrying a "pass book." During the apartheid regime, black and coloured individuals were not considered to be South African citizens although they were (as the British say) "born, bred, and buttered" in SA. Instead, if they lived outside of the regions to which they were arbitrarily assigned by the government (although having no connections to the area or culture), they were required to carry "pass books" to show their status.

It was a strange experience for me. In some ways, the prison cells appeared to be quite sanitized. I couldn't help but compare them to the ghastly equivalents which I visited in Phnom Penh, Cambodia and Dachau, Germany. I remember the strange parallels in human cruelty I drew when comparing the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge camps and the Nazi internment camps. What I saw in the old Johannesburg prison was similar in some ways, but also different somehow. I'm not sure if I can explain the difference I felt.

I also learned that Gandhi was held there for a time - I had no idea that he was initially a practicing lawyer in Johannesburg.