Until recently my chief encounter with giraffes was reading an obituary for Leo, a resident of the Central Park Zoo who died suddenly in 1946 at age 16.
Last Tuesday we visited a private game reserve about 20 minutes drive from Hilton. Zebras, giraffes, rhinos, Cape Buffalo, hippos, monkeys, ostriches and more roam freely there. Acacia trees dot the rolling plain.
The rhinos seemed to be as curious about us as we were about them.
On Sunday I visited Imbali, a Zulu township in KwaZulu-Natal that was founded in the early 1960s when people moved to urban areas in search of work. I went there with Rachel, a colleague of my girlfriend’s, who volunteers a few hours each week to teach art to kids who live in a section of the township known as Unit J.
Sunday was movie day. About 38 kids showed up for popcorn that Rachel and I popped and bagged in individual white paper bags. Just like a movie theater, which is something most of these kids have never experienced.
Most also have little sense of the world beyond their township. Rachel decided to show them the “Congo” installment of Africa, the television series produced by the BBC and the Discovery Channel. “I decided that even if my class is unable to fully grasp the size of the world, I want them to know that there is more to it than Imbali J,” she wrote recently.
The theater was in a garage where the art class meets. For movie day Rachel brought along her MacBook and a projector, which she aimed at an old sheet that hung inside the door.
While Rachel set up the room, the kids and I took turns introducing ourselves. “Ubani igmalakho,” we asked each other, Zulu for “What’s your name?” I offered some kids my notebook and pen so they could write their names in it. One girl and boy proudly showed me their ability to write the alphabet in uppercase and lowercase script.
Rachel divided the kids into two groups and asked one girl to pass out the bags of popcorn as the kids entered the theater one-by-one.
The girl was a terrific usher. She showed all the kids to their seats. Most of the moviegoers waited until showtime to open their popcorn.
Rachel dimmed the lights and stood at the front of the theater, where she asked some of the kids to help her hold up a map of Africa. “Where is South Africa?” she asked the group. A few kids pointed to the bottom of the continent. “Today we’re watching a video of the Congo,” Rachel added. “Does anyone remember where the Congo is?”
Again, a few kids pointed. “It’s here,” said Rachel. “A big jungle. What animals are in the jungle?” The kids buzzed. “How about gorillas?” Rachel inquired. “Watch the animals. Afterward, I’m going to ask you what animals you saw.”
Rachel started the video. The kids opened their popcorn. “What is that?” Rachel asked as a chimpanzee tried to extract honey from a bees’ nest. “A monkey,” a few kids answered. “What is he eating?” she added. “Honey.”
As our tour of the Congo jungle continued, the kids chattered continuously. Eventually, Rachel paused the video about midway through so they could go outside, where as if on cue a truck from a ministry showed up with lunch. The kids queued in the sunshine for curry over rice that the people from the ministry scooped from a green bucket into clamshell-shaped plastic containers.
The movie resumed with the audience about half of what it was at the start. By the time the video showed a gathering of elephants in the forest, about 17 kids remained. Some disassembled a jigsaw puzzle on the floor while others sat quietly. Some came in and out of the garage. “No more in and out,” Rachel told them.
At the end of the film, some kids took to the blackboard wall, where they drew pictures of elephants and chimpanzees. They had been paying attention. One girl drew a likeness of Rachel, or “Rechel,” as the girl wrote above the drawing.
Other kids streamed out into the late-afternoon sunlight, carrying their containers of curry.
“On the 20 September 2013, we will be slaughtering cows,” read the invitation from the Mbhele family to a Zulu ritual in honor of ancestors. “On the 21 September 2013, we are inviting all members of iTEACH to be with us.”
It was my honor to attend an Umcimbi at the family’s home in Elandskop along with my girlfriend and two of her colleagues. The Mbhele family could not have been more gracious or welcoming.
On Friday night we sat with the elders in the family’s round house, took turns cutting the freshly slaughtered cattle and enjoyed some of the freshest beef you can imagine. The meat had been cooked on the braai and rubbed with coarse salt.
The next day we dined with guests on beef curry and yellow rice, and took part in traditional singing and dancing.
Special thanks to Nhlaka Mbhele for being a terrific guide. I look forward to our continued friendship.
When you go somewhere you’ve never been, you have to learn how to get where you’re going.
This week I’ve been navigating the roads of Hilton, KwaZulu-Natal on my own. On Monday I drove to the gym, about 11 miles from home, down a mountain road. The mountain itself is covered with eucalyptus trees. The air smelled like burning wood.
I disregarded the GPS, which had told me to take a highway that bypasses the mountain. I always like mountain roads more than freeways, especially in a four-wheel-drive vehicle with five speeds.
Here in South Africa you drive on the left side of the road. After 10 years of living in New York City without a car, the left side of the road feels nearly as natural to me as the right.
Team iTEACH notched a second-place finish in Saturday’s sports games at Edendale after winning their semifinal match on a penalty kick.
They yielded in the nightcap to a Richmond team that outran iTEACH while racking up six goals to iTEACH’s two.
Still, the white and green did all right for themselves under the leadership of Coach Sandile and with the support of the team’s cadre of fans.
Both squads deserved trophies for sportsmanship and spirit.
Sawubona, South Africa!
Departure lounge, JFK. See you soon, South Africa!
“South Africa, that’s halfway around the world,” Kelly, the mailman, said to me while I waited on the street for the movers to finish loading the contents of my apartment into a van.
It was an 88-degree day that felt like July. A woman walked by holding a battery-powered fan.
“Tough day to do move,” said a cyclist who dismounted near me, soaked in sweat.
Turned out to be an easy day to move. My girlfriend and I drove the van from Manhattan to Wallingford, Conn., where I rented a 5 x 10 climate-controlled storage locker. We encountered little traffic and arrived back in the city at 9:00 p.m.
Later we headed downtown for a margarita. As it happened, the day marked the 12th anniversary of 9/11. We stopped en route at Engine 24, which has a memorial for firefighters from the company who died at ground zero on 9/11.
“Take care, it’s been great knowing you,” Kelly had said as we fist-bumped. I later overheard him greeting a man at the building next door. “I don’t know the neighborhood very well,” the man said. “I just moved here.”
That’s how it goes in New York. You leave and someone else arrives. That’s part of the rhythm of this great city.