Dadaisms

So I fell into the same-old trap of procrastination. Life over the last few weeks, however, has been especially stressful.

For a start, the conference was amazing. I can’t begin to sum up what an experience it all was - truly life changing. We have a few more group meetings this year, so I’m looking forward to those. Isn’t is strange how we take things for granted in our lives? We assume that we have it so hard, but there are always people far worse off than us. But on the other hand, we can’t live in guilt that we are more privileged than others - that’s no way to live at all.

In terms of the whole “moving” thing, I’ve decided to go with Durban. My flat is nearly fully furnished (and is looking fierce in lime green and pink, with splashes of purple here and there), and I’m registered on campus (which wasn’t NEARLY as stressful as undergrad registration). I hope I’ve made the right decision - I still have nagging feelings about flotsam and jetsam in my life, and I’m not entirely savvy as how to eliminate such insecurities. Damn those penguins.

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I went to chat to the head of the Media department in PMB this morning. He was giving me advice on whether to move to Durban or not, and made me aware of the departmental politics that I may encounter should I choose to Durban.

The decision to move away from home, move away from the lecturers you know, move away from all your friends is a huge one. Granted, being on an academic scholarship I have to consider what is best for my academic career. However, surely I should consider my social and personal growth as well? Should one remain in a city that does nothing for one’s personal development, or should one move to a department in which one may encounter academic difficulties?

My dilemma extends to next year. I’m thinking about applying to Oxford to do my Masters Degree. If I suddenly choose to stay in PMB, it means that (in the event that I am accepted to Oxford) I will just from living at home for 22 years, to living “alone” in a foreign country, surrounded by NO-ONE I know. I feel that Durban is by better option, purely because it provides that essential stepping-stone phase. Yes, I would adapt and survive if I didn’t have the opportunity to study in Durban first. However, I DO have the opportunity, and I’ve decided that I’m staying in Natal.

So I ultimately need to weigh up my personal, social and academic interests, and decide what is best for me overall.

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Here is a piece I wrote at the start of last year. As February approaches, registration is on the minds of all students. My prayers are with you all.

Registration Day: two words that strike fear into the heart of even the most determined and disciplined UKZN student. If the term does not conjure images of torment, torture and numerous collapsed bodies, then you must be either a first year student; a stranger to the Premier University of African Scholarship; or a total lack-wit. A combination of these, of course, is also possible. First year students tend to have this absurd notion that their induction into the University system will be “exciting”, “maturing”, or (even worse) “fun”. We should pity such students, not wish them ill. To those students returning from their vacations, the mention of “registration” is likely to result in the need for another three months of intensive psychotherapy. As such, the mention of “registration” on campus during February and March is highly unadvised. That is unless you have a wish for death-by-student of course.

2007 marked the entry into the final year of my degree – my final registration day ever. First year registration was a mess of emotions ranging from depression, to excitement (remember to pity the first years), to hopelessness, to satisfaction. And that was just the walk from Main Campus to Golf Road. As for second year registration: let’s just say that some of us are still recovering from being locked inside the Law School due to the strike action. As a result I didn’t get my hopes up for this year to be any better. I wasn’t disappointed.

For some reason, unknown to any rational person, UKZN squeezes all returning students’ registration into one day. This invariably means that you have all the second years, all the third years, all the backlogged first years and all those doing third year for the fifth time registering on the same day. Why doesn’t the University spread it out over a week? Why doesn’t the University employ more people to hand out the forms? Why doesn’t the University invest in industrial-strength fans?! As a result, the day consists of students scurrying, crawling, galloping and swinging from queue to queue to queue.

My day began with an effort to beat the masses of the great unwashed by arriving at the demarcated pick-up point at 6:30. I was twentieth in the single-file queue. By 8:00 I was fiftieth in the triple-file queue. So much for my attempt at beating the crowds. After a minor temper tantrum I was able to get in front of those who had arrived an hour and a half after me, and eventually pick up my registration form. The next step (as indicated by the massive, idiot-proof signs splayed across every second wall) was to get signatures from my lecturers. As I crossed the threshold into the air-conditioned lecture rooms where the academics were situated, I noticed several students huddled up in the foetal position. They were rocking back and forth, murmuring something about “The queue!” ‘The queue’ was the massive concertinaed line of psychology students spewing forth from the room. I looked to the heavens and thanked myself for not choosing psych as a subject. After beating my way through the poor souls and crossing the swamp that had arisen from the leaking air-cons, I found my head-of-department, looking thoroughly harassed. When he saw me, all I could read on his face was, “Oh no, not him! Please not him! He’s going to ask more questions - he always does!” And that I did.

Signatures obtained, I swam out of the room, and stood in yet another queue (surprised?), this time for the Dean’s signature. To pass the time, I watched other people. Those other people included students who had finished their registration – many of whom (mysteriously) were about fifty places behind me in the first queue. I must have missed that time warp. After standing for 45 minutes in 37 degree heat I was told by the person next to me that I was, of course, in the wrong line. How silly of me. I mean, who can’t tell the difference between a commerce queue and a humanities queue? My mistake. After breathing deeply and singing Abba to myself to keep calm, I reached the Dean. I still fail to understand why everyone else required a twenty minute consultation period.

The administration personnel who completed the next step of the never-ending process were little bundles of joy and enthusiasm. I have always thought that if one is employed in a position that requires constant interaction with students, then one should be tolerant and –dare I say – even friendly with students. Obviously UKZN missed that memo. The administration step required careful maneuvering as not to stomp on any tails of the various dragons positioned throughout the room. I had to hold my breath, as the smell of fire and brimstone was overpowering.

The final leg required an exodus down the road, across the lawns and to the Risk Management Services queue to activate my student card. This was a step that not everyone survived: many became despondent and left to rejuvenate their energies. Others were not so lucky with the dragons. I, however, had packed my box of sausage rolls. Combined with Abba, I had my elixir to last me through the final stages of torment. The road to RMS was riddled with dangers: Christian fundamentalists handing out juice; representatives from every bank in South Africa trying to convince one to join their ranks; and, worst of all, recruiters from various varsity sports clubs. I was lucky – my singing of Voulez-Vous (uh-huh!) and averted eye contact managed to keep the scavengers at bay. The queue was made bearable by the sketches of shade, though the sweat-drenched, booty-short-wearing masses diminished this positive ever so slightly. And so I began counting down the hours.

And then with a swipe of a card, it was all over. Rater anticlimactic I thought: I was expecting applauding crowds.

Nonetheless, after seven hours, my registration was finished. Yes, it was painful. Yes, I was soaked in other peoples’ sweat. Yes, I lost part of my remaining sanity on the journey. But at least I can say that my last-ever registration day is over.

To those having to register next year, I have some advice: wear an extended belt, high heels and a very revealing top. You will be guaranteed a place at the front of every queue. For those who are not able to do so, try not to fail anything. The thought of having to go through another registration day should be motivation enough to pass all your courses.

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I’m meeting with one of my lecturers from PMB tomorrow to discuss Durban…

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I met up with my potential lecturers yesterday…it turns out, I’M MOVING TO DURBAN! I confirmed my acceptance into the Howard College Media Department yesterday. All that remains is to actually register (I must remember to dig up my “Registration Day” piece and post it) and move into my flat.

Speaking of which, I drove past it yesterday. Before I move in, the owners have to paint the walls, block off a wall, and erect a garden fence. There was no garden fence yesterday, so I’m starting to worry about the interior. What if it’s not finished before semester starts?

Amidst my excitement, I am sad to be leaving the PMB department. I’ve come to form close bonds with the staff and my peers. It’s rather intimidating entering an environment where everyone else has formed connections. But there is a wide range of courses on offer, and the lecturers are exceptionally helpful, so I shall survive.

On a more panicked note…I leave for the conference on Friday, and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be taking with me!

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So here it is, my new blog..again. I’m hoping that having my name as an address is going to help me write more! We’ll see if it works out.

Since my last post I have graduated Summa Cum Laude (after much nail-biting and pleading emails to the Dean about the requirements…curse “Writing for the Media”) and been awarded the Mandela Rhodes Scholarship. I’m really excited about it all - the 24 scholars for 2008 are all meeting for the first time on Friday. We have a 5 day conference in Stellenbosch. I haven’t got the itinerary yet, so I’m not entirely sure what sort of initiation rituals there may be. I have a mental image from “The de Villier’s Code” involving Rhodes’ waxen penis. Shudder.

Tomorrow I’m heading off to Durban Campus to chat to the Media lecturer there. I don’t particularly want to leave PMB, as the department there is brilliant. However, I’m really enthusiastic about possibly studying Gender Studies, Cultural Studies and Website design - a combination that sadly isn’t offered in PMB.

On a non-study related note, my best friend Rob is coming back to SA after having been living in England for 2 years!

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I recently applied for the “Mandela Rhodes Foundation Scholarship”, and I was fortunate enough to be shortlisted for an interview. One of the requirements from the foundation was an original essay on:

“What do you see as your own purposes as a leader of the future, and what do the lives of Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela and Cecil John Rhodes mean to you in this context?”

Below you can read my essay. I’m very interested to see what opinions people may have.

South Africa is often described as a land of possibility, a place with overwhelming potential. Our unique history of colonialism, imperialism and apartheid has culminated in the smelting pot of vibrancy and multiculturalism that one can see daily. Our position as a country cannot be equated to any other, despite frequent attempts at the importation of systems and values. The revolutionary progression from an autocratic regime of oppression to a young and energetic democracy is something of which to be proud. However, the climate of global existence is one of constant change, adaptation and negotiation. South Africa can no longer be led under past strategies of unification; to be guided by strained notions of similarity; to be inspired by foreign concepts of identification. Change is needed: people who realise the nature of difference need to be celebrated as future leaders. It is here that I see my purpose.

I have extracted two very significant ideologies from the lives of Messrs Mandela and Rhodes that I apply to my own core beliefs. Mr Mandela has taught me that despite our perceived differences, a common goal of peace and acceptance – not dismissal – of such differences ultimately benefits all. Leaders are not necessarily born into aristocracy, nor is leadership a road that is easy to travel. Mr Rhodes has taught me that it is a mistake to spend one’s life attempting to unify diverse people under one common banner of identity. I have extracted from his life the knowledge that change is a process that happens over time, and that respect and understanding for those around one will propel one further than hostility and irrationality. I take the liberty of weaving my purpose with an expansion on these two ideologies:

I do not subscribe to the belief system that the group is more important than the individual. Until now, the leaders of our country have been following the example of others in attempts to unite the citizens and identities of South Africa under the unified banner of “Proudly South African”. The context of this unification is to set aside our differences and reflect on our similarities. Such a strategy can no longer apply: to be proud of our achievements is one thing, but to be proud of our lack of difference enters the domain of the nonsensical for many South Africans. It is human nature to define oneself in comparison to another, and thus it is nearly impossible to simply “ignore” that which helps form one’s own identity. The meta-narratives of life that defined the past can no longer be applied: an age of pride in one’s unique identity is upon us as a people, and it is necessary for leaders who subscribe to a pluralistic worldview to be in positions of power.

As a future leader of South Africa, I believe that what unites us is our differences: we can find unity through acceptance of the fact that we are not same, and the South African public can take pride in the knowledge that they have set aside attempts to be the same, have acknowledged difference, and managed to live in harmony despite such differences. As opposed to viewing our differences as “dangerous” and tools to isolate, it is my belief that acceptance, honour and respect need to be emphasised to help pursue human freedoms and facilitate both a universal social development and, ultimately, peace and stability.

Education gives one the power to guide, rule and inspire – the power to be a leader. It is through education that one can follow in the footsteps of Mandela and Rhodes and make changes that benefit all. I have been privileged enough to receive Education on many levels. Having been raised in a family of Educators has opened my eyes to the needs of the country, and having studied the influence of the Media has given me insight into the extraordinary power that words, symbols and ideas can hold. My exposure and interaction with so many subgroups, cultures, religions and belief-systems has made me aware of our deep-set differences, yet simultaneously made me proud in the knowledge that I understand how others see the world. It is my goal to extend this maturity and knowledge to a National level: using the power of the Media and the influence of authority I believe it is possible to educate others about the diversity of our country; to instil a sense of pride in their uniqueness; to impress a concept of reconciliation without the need to change one’s own beliefs (but rather negotiate one’s understanding); and to unite the people under a banner of difference, not similarity.

As Mandela and Rhodes illustrate, the path to acceptance and a better future is one filled with many challenges. I believe that it is my purpose to learn from past mistakes, adapt to a changing global environment and show the world how my peers and I exist on a day-to-day basis: in acceptance, difference, tolerance and love. As a leader, I envision this country laying the road for a tolerant and unified human race to mature from the potential that is Africa. Although this road is exceptionally long, Mandela has made it clear that the results and the improvements that follow far surpass the wait and the work put into leading.

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Right, so I haven’t blogged in ages. That’s not my fault though. Well technically it IS my fault, but I’m not talking technically here. The 3rd year combination of Media Studies, English and Classics is not particularly conducive to that idea of “free time” (what is this thing “relaxation” that people speak of?!). Nonetheless, I present another of my random thoughts - this time on the wonderful phenomenon that is SRC Elections on Pietermaritzburg Campus.

Yesterday on campus was “election day” for the new SRC (who the old SRC was is anyone’s guess). What this meant was that the campus lawns were covered in arrows pointing to the “polling booths”, discarded flyers and pamphlets, and candidates surrounded by their recruiting minions. It was impossible for one to quietly sit in the shade of a tree and sip one’s Cranberry juice and read short stories - annoying whistling and “hey hey bru”-’s, followed by shouting and raucous laughing, were relatively minor distractions. I was approached no less than 3 times in the space of 30 minutes by different candidates to try and gain my vote. For each I posed the following:

• What effort has your candidate made to make him-/herself known to me before now?

• What does your candidate promise to do for MY departments?

• How do I know that I can trust your candidate if there has been NO information supplied until now?

• Why should I vote for someone I don’t even know?

• Is there equal representation?

I find it bizarre that someone can approach a complete stranger and ask them to vote for a virtual non-entity. Surely it’s common sense that if you want the votes, you need to begin canvassing to a variety of students BEFORE the actual day of election? I also find it unethical to simply vote for the sake of voting - it’s a toss up in the end, I suppose, of exercising your right to vote and having a say, or keeping silent when you don’t vote.

However, in all honesty, the SRC doesn’t seem to DO anything, so whether or not I vote isn’t a particular issue for me.

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In a recent interview I was posed with the question of whether the government is out of touch with the youth of today - whether a lack of understanding has resulted in the government’s failure in many spheres. After consideration, I answered, “Yes, they are out of touch”.

Despite all my previous criticisms of South Africa, I can still see the country for what it is: a smelting pot of cultures, sub-cultures, identities and social groups. The unique history of the country combined with the liberal Constitution has created scope for the development and growth of a huge variety of groups. This, I believe, is the true nature of South Africa. And this, I believe, is where Youth Culture is located.

I need to briefly define by what I mean by Youth Culture. When I use the term, I am referring to people between the ages of 13 and 30, who are educated to some degree, and who are exposed to both their own “traditional” aspects of South African life as well as an Urbanised, Globalised aspect. I am not referring to isolated Youth Culture that does not frequently come into contact with the media, commodification, globalisation and internationalisation.

As I was saying, I believe that Youth Culture is located in the middle of the smelting pot. We are exposed and aware of the multiplicity of identities that exist, and we are similarly aware of the vast number of differences that exist between them. We have multiple identities depending on which “group” we are associating with, and our own “culture” is defined, as Gee theorises, by our unique exposures to different identities.

Take the following imaginary (yet realistic) individual for example: a white South African male who is “gay”. He has a black adopted sister. His best friend is an affluent white “lesbian” with a lower middle class girlfriend. He subscribes to Buddhist philosophies, but his family is Christian. He attends University, where his circle of friends include a Republican American and a New-Age pantheist.

This single individual is exposed to a huge number of sub-cultures and belief systems, yet he - as part of the Youth Culture of SA - has his own identity with which he is comfortable. Similarly, he may not agree with some of the other views that he is exposed to, yet he does not try to impose his views onto people: he does not believe his “culture” is “right”.

Such is the nature of SA Youth Culture: we are naturally pluralistic.

It is here that the government of the day has encountered a problem: we recognise that we cannot be “the same”. We cannot be like America, and form a “South African way”. The smelting pot does not allow for differences to be set aside - we are too aware of our differences. The government, however, sees difference as a problem: everyone needs to be the same. The fact of the matter is that we are NOT all the same - and the Youth are aware of this. The difference is that we do not see it as a problem.

As a Youth of South Africa, I believe that what unites us is our differences: we can find unity through acceptance of the fact that we’re not same, and the South African public can take pride (if they feel they need it) in the knowledge that they have set aside attempts to be the same, have acknowledged difference, and managed to live in harmony despite such differences.

The government needs to stop pushing a “Proudly South African” campaign under the umbrella of unity through similarities. By doing so, the powers that be are isolating a large percentage of the population. There is no single public sphere: there are multiple identities, and thus multiple public spheres. The government needs to rethink their strategy of unification.

It needs to push a campaign that fits into an evolving world where pluralism is the norm, where the future leaders of the country will feel that it is heading in a realistic direction with achievable goals.

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What gives a girl power and punch? Is it charm? Is it poise? No, it’s Hairspray!

After the release of Dreamgirls I must admit I was slightly depressed. “Oh no,” I thought, “the musical cycle has already reached its end, a mere 7 years after it began”. My momentary lapse of despair, however, was banished when I watched Hairspray on Friday night.

Hairspray is witty, bright, funny, charming, light, insighful, and full of subtle adult humour. The score is incredible, to the extent that the moment I left the movie-house, I walked into the neighbouring CD shop and purchased the soundtrack. The ensemble of talent includes John Travolta, Christopher Walken and Michelle Pfeiffer (who looks as stunning as ever, even more so as the antagonist).

Apart from its surface appeal, Hairspray is layered with much deeper “messages”. Many people consider musicals light-hearted and entertaining - and to this mould Hairspray is no exception.

However, the emphasis that it places on race and the need to “integrate, not segregate” reflects a view that change and acceptance are imminent, and it is useless to oppose. The film acts as a vehicle for social awareness, and the race paradigm can be extended to include “everyone who is different”.

As I write this I’m looking on Take2 for prebookings of the DVD.

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