When other blogs are better ...

Head over to Bert's blog to check this out.

Pretty wild.

ps - Bizarrely, I've noticed that some people have elaborate front lawns, complete with gnomes and comfortable-looking benches, behind their massive fences. Do they really sit out there to stare at their wall and razorwire, or is it simply a reminder of safer days?

The Rainbow Nation does not extend to my corn rows

"I just think salons are something that should stay separate!" Mandisa, who was sitting one row in front of Mandla and I, said firmly, before turning around and therefore bringing an abrupt end to the disagreement.

Somehow the disagreement between the three of us, which was played out on a kumbi ride into the city, had become ridiculously heated.

Mandla was relating a story about how a hair salon in Grahamstown (a city in the Eastern Cape that's home to Rhodes University) had turned him away saying, "Sorry, we don't do black hair." Mandla was saying that's not cool, and I was agreeing. But Mandisa didn't seem to have any problem with it.

The problem with our disagreement was that Mandla and I were arguing from a big-picture standpoint--from a larger, philosophical viewpoint--while Mandisa couldn't get past the issue of hair.

"Mandla, look at Brendan's hair and look at your hair. Can't you see the difference?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, but it's one thing if they can't do black people's hair and another thing if they won't do black people's hair," I countered.

"See, she could have said, 'I'm sorry Sir, but I don't think we have anyone who knows how to do black people's hair very well, but we're looking into hiring someone,' " Mandla added.

"Mandla, we have [I can't remember the name of the "black" salon Mandisa mentioned], why didn't you just go there?" Mandisa asked.

"But can't you see the bigger problem with them saying, 'We don't do black hair'?" Mandla said.

Still in disbelief, Mandisa asked, "Do you really want a white person touching your hair, Mandla?"

I just thought it was a pretty funny disagreement. I was surprised the other people on the kumbi didn't pipe in with their two cents.

(Mandla and Mandisa are two Rhodes students who worked with me at CMFD during July. We were heading into town to do some surveying or something.)

A funny exchange

So today I was walking through a park near my house and I stopped to watch a bit of a soccer game. "Who's playing?" I asked the guy closest to me. "These two," he said, pointing at the two teams on the field. I stared at him, expressionless, for a full second after he spoke, thinking about what he said. "Cool," I said, and then walked away to ask someone else.

Happy No More Calculus, Nat!

nomorecalc for bloguse
Originally uploaded by BK 14

Yes, I recycle.

Thrillside

Have fun at Hillside this weekend Brian, Jeff, Gord, Rach, Beck, Janet and anyone else who's going.
It's only the second one I'm missing in six years.

ps - And good luck Journal kidz.

pps - The best Hillside performance I ever saw was the Rheostatics vs. Senegalese band, H'Sao, in an afternoon workshop ... they took turns playing each others songs. I don't think I've heard anything more wild than "Dopefiends and Boozehounds" West-Africanized.

Dream of the Dog

I saw a play a few weeks ago and reviewed it for an online magazine called Curtain Rising, which has something to do with some big online theatre operation called Plays On the Net. My friend and former Queen's Journal colleague, Karen Jackson, edits the magazine, I think. Anyway, she enlisted me to be something of a Jo'burg correspondent - for free! Whatever, I'm happy to get free tickets.

Anyway, you can see the review here. Click on the "Magazine - Read latest issue" tab on the left. My review is on page 10. I find it terrible to navigate and I haven't even read the published version yet because my eyes got so tired after the first few graphs.

If you're looking for an abridged version ...

It was a one scene play almost entirely based on dialogue between two characters. It dealt with the trouble with truth and forgiveness in the New South Africa. I loved it.

(The long version is much better. I'm still working on writing more concisely.)

ps - On the cab ride home from the theatre that night way back when, my driver was the most blatant misogynist I've ever met. It was an awful, awful ride. If I was at home, I would've stopped the cab as soon as he started going off; but since I was in the middle of deserted downtown Jozi, I endured it. You know those moments in your life when you feel as if you're actually in the presence of evil? That's what it felt like. (As soon as I got home, I Skyped Natalie and told her to hug as many women as she could find for me.)

New features and future posts

Hey people who read this thing ... I've added a bunch of links on the side below the weather stuff. If you work in an office and need to kill some time, there are some friends' blogs, MySpaces and other stuff to keep you occupied. I'll be adding more within the next couple of days.

I've also got a backlog of things to blog about, but I can't do them justice tonight, so I'll leave you hanging with a list:

- Last week's announcement of the Polaris Prize shortlist
- The Zimbabwe "situation" - Yes, that's what they're calling it now: a situation. It's probably closer to one of the worst economic crises of human history, but I guess "situation" works better when nobody wants to upset Mugabe. I've been meaning to write something for a while, but didn't really have anything to say other than, "It's a fucking mess and, oh, there goes another 100% of inflation." Then I read something on Sunday about HIV rates declining because nobody has any disposable income to maintain mistresses. Have Thoughts Will Post.
- I went to Soweto last week and it was pretty amazing

23 years ago today ...

IMG_0174
Originally uploaded by BK 14

... Raymond Jean Bourque's biggest fan was born.

Happy Birthday Jeff.

Here's hoping Peter Schaefer takes you all the way next year.

Who needs Joe when you've got Peter Schaefer!

But seriously, happy birthday buddy.

ps - I know his birthday is July 20, and as I'm posting this it's still July 20 in Toronto. The reason why I'm posting so late is because I've been trying to call the jerk all day but he hasn't been answering his phone -- and he hasn't initialized his voice mail either. Jerk.

better photos

And you can see much better photos at the Globe's site as well.

A real report on the press conference ...

Stephanie Nolen's report of the press conference.

It sure beats my gushy meanderings.

I think "sprightly and elfin" are perhaps the best adjectives to describe Archbishop Tutu.

And yes, he certainly did do a jig at the end of the press conference.

The Elders

IMG_0157
Originally uploaded by BK 14

Today was kind of surreal.

I sang Happy Birthday to Nelson Mandela, while sitting between Stephanie Nolen and Zackie Achmat, at a press conference hosted by Archbishop Desmond Tutu and featuring Kofi Annan, Mary Robinson and Jimmy Carter, among others.

Peter Gabriel sang "Biko", a cappella, on a whim, because Tutu asked him to.

Richard Branson was there with his beautiful hair, beautiful tan and beautiful money-face.

But I have to say, the biggest thrill was probably having Zakie Achmat make jokes about the press conference directly to me, and me alone. My hands were sweating so much. I could barely say anything back to him. Anytime he said anything to me I was only able to nervously stammer out a "heh heh" or "hmm" or "yeah". I should've hugged him or something.

The press conference was to announce the creation of The Elders, which seems to be a new humanitarian lobby group made up of some of the most influential and popular political figures of the last half-century. Their aim seems a little unclear at the moment, so it remains to be seen how much influence they'll actually have in the world. (Tutu emphasized that anyone of "The Elders" could call up anyone in the world anytime they wanted -- I guess that's something in and of itself.) They made vague references to alleviating poverty, working to create peace, combating disease and fighting environmental degradation, but they didn't specify when or how.

But I must admit, the whole thing was pretty inspiring. There was a lot of heady language about changing the world and that sort of thing, which would've sounded overly precious and trite if it was coming from anyone other than Tutu, Annan and the like.

I have some more thoughts on this, but I'll blog about it later. Enjoy the photos for now.

(I only posted a few because my Internet sucks, but tragically, they're the best of the best. So many turned out blurry which may have been because my hands were shaking because I was so nervous or because I couldn't use a flash.)

Happy Birthday Madiba! ... and I'm invited

I almost forgot to mention ...

After I pick up Erin from the airport and get her settled in, I'm going to Constitution Court on Constitution Hill for some super-special press conference with Nelson Mandela! Tomorrow (July 18) is his birthday and apparently he's using the occasion to announce some new humanitarian initiative. It's being hosted by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and Kofi Annan and Bill Clinton are supposed to be there, too. I think Stephanie Nolen told people I work for the Globe to get me in.

I'll do my best to snag some pics ... and then post them.

I wonder if my social skills have waned ...

So tomorrow I get a roommate. Her name is Erin Pottie and she's from a small town in Cape Breton. I suggest Facebook-stalking her. Her flight from Halifax to Toronto last week was her first time on a plane. Judging by the shock I went through for the first few weeks I was here, I'm guessing her head will be spinning for a while. She's joining the CMFD team as an intern from Toronto-based Journalists for Human Rights.

My place is definitely too big for me, but it might be too small for two. We shall see.

I guess this means I'll no longer be able to see how far I can stretch my falsetto while dancing around to Joni Mitchell songs in my underwear. Shame.

Number 1 ... with a virus

I read here on Friday that South Africa just passed India as the country with the greatest number of people living with HIV--about 5.7 million.

Do you think that has anything to do with this?

Fortunately, Mbeki has since changed his tune, but who knows how long the harm he caused will be felt.

I'm going to see an unauthorized biographic documentary about Mbeki on Friday. I'll make sure to tell you how it is. There's actually a lot of controversy around the film; the BBC commissioned and then refused to air it. That's the simplified version. But anyway, legal wrangling ensued, but eventually the filmmakers got a grant to tour the film independently. So far they've sold out every show. Since one of the filmmakers is a Canadian, I thought I'd pitch the story to some newspapers and magazines back home. So far The Post has said no, but I'm still waiting on Maclean's and The Walrus.

ANYWAY ...

India apparently cut its numbers by more than half, which seems unbelievable. But it's difficult to tell whether it's the result of effective prevention or simply an adjustment in survey techniques.

"The estimates for India were slashed following a survey of HIV infection levels among a group of people representative of the entire population. The previous estimate of 5,7-million people had been based on surveillance of women attending ante-natal facilities and high-risk population groups."

See what I mean? Why was their previous test group so non-representative of the regular population?

Anyway, neither SA or India are at the top of the list in terms of prevalence (the percentage of the population living with HIV). That dubious honour goes to Swaziland where 33.4% of the population is living with HIV.

All of the countries in the top 10, in terms of prevalence, are in sub-Saharan Africa. South Africa is fifth. The numbers are kind of overwhelming: 2/3 of people living with HIV live in sub-Saharan Africa; the 2.1 million AIDS-related deaths in sub-Saharan Africa represent 72% of global AIDS deaths.

Everyone should read Stephanie Nolen's (relatively) new book, 28. You can buy it here.

*This seems like the most responsible time to tell everyone that I've been working as a part-time researcher (about one half-day a week) for Stephanie Nolen, the Globe's African correspondent. I'm sure I'll blog more about it later.

Race and rugby

WHITE
TAUNTS
ALL BLACKS

... is what I read on a lamppost headline biking home from work yesterday.

To me, the words were immediately striking; it took me a second to really understand what was being said. But I probably wouldn't have been so affected if I was more interested in rugby.

See, "White" refers to South African Springboks coach, Jake White, and "All Blacks" is the nickname of the New Zealand rugby team.

But I wonder, if I was South African rugby fan, could those words have been defamiliarized enough by the sport to not illicit some kind of emotional response? Would I be numb to them? Or would I laugh at the cheeky sub-editor? Hmm.

A small thought

It seems that blog posts, like goals, come in bunches.

I resolve to be more regular.

Africa Remix

Africa Remix
Originally uploaded by BK 14

When I first walked into this installation, my very first thoughts were, "Oh my God, I'm walking into my brain during my first two weeks in Jo'burg!" Seriously.

If you click on the photo you'll be led into my Flickr account where you can see a bunch more photos from Africa Remix, a fabulous exhibit of contemporary African art currently on display at the Johannesburg Art Gallery in Joubert Park, downtown Jozi.

But I won't say too much about the exhibit because the Globe's Stephanie Nolen does it a lot better here.

If that doesn't work (it's pay per view, I think), read below.

JOHANNESBURG -- There was drilling and pounding, and acres of bubble wrap being hauled out of crates. The air was pungent with the smell of fresh paint. Crews at the Johannesburg Art Gallery were in a dignified frenzy late last week, installing the most important exhibit the South African gallery has ever shown.

And in the middle of the chaos, Simon Njami materialized, the curator from central casting in a black turtleneck, a black wool scarf with fringe draped just so and, bien sûr, very dark glasses, although it was dim in the hall. "Good morning," he purred, with 48 hours to go before the grand opening, and then turned on one stylish heel to lead the way through the semi-assembled shape of his masterpiece.

Few have done more for African contemporary art than Njami, a Cameroonian-born critic who founded the influential Paris-based journal Revue Noire and who conceived this show, back in 2000, as a way to shake the developed world out of its belief that African art consists of carved wooden masks, woven baskets and beads. There is not, let it be noted, a solitary bead to be found among the hundreds of works that make up the exhibition Africa Remix. There is, however, plenty of video, some sound installations and a piece that incorporates Chinese calendars, razor wire, miles of cable and an inflatable sex doll.

The show has, in the past three years, toured from the Centre Pompidou in Paris all the way to the Mori Art Museum in Japan, breaking attendance records all along the way. But Africa Remix had never come to Africa - most of these works had never been seen in Africa. In fact, a large show of contemporary art like this has never been held anywhere on the continent before.

It took painful fundraising, but Remix is now here, in one of the cities that can claim the title of continental cultural capital. Njami walked through a room or two before halting in front of Zoulikha Bouabdellah's Dansons, a cheeky video of the artist's midriff, as she ties on red, white and blue scarves decorated with a belly dancer's spangles - and then starts to shimmy to the tune of La Marseillaise. Bouabdellah was born in Moscow to Algerian parents, and lives in France. "Is she French? African? I'm sure you take the point," Njami said - that purr again.

It's a recurring theme both in the show and in debates about it: Who gets to decide who is African? Is Njami himself - who grew up in Geneva, lives in Paris and teaches in San Diego - an African? Of the 85 artists exhibited here, a third are living outside of Africa; some were born in the diaspora. Do they count? In whose eyes?

For many of the artists - a dozen of whom flew to Jo'burg for the Remix opening - the question is highly charged. "When people make [contemporary] art, they can't perceive it as being African - they say 'it's not really African,' " said fiery Fernando Alvim, an Angolan with three large, insouciant canvases in the show. "People are thinking that Africa doesn't need sophisticated processes of art and culture" - he threw his hands in the air - "yet America has deep problems of poverty but it has the Guggenheim!"

Remix involves a staggering array of media - from large-format photographs to multimedia futuristic cities painstakingly constructed by Democratic Republic of Congo's Bodys Isek Kingelez to a show highlight, The Room of Tears by Cameroonian Bili Bidjocka. The room has 30 centimetres of water on the floor and a scattering of concrete stepping stones. Video screens along the wall show loops of pained faces muttering indistinguishably. As people walk through the piece, their footsteps trigger different sounds.

Although it is organized around three themes (Identity and History, Body and Soul, and City and Land), Remix lacks an overall coherence. In his desire to show the breadth of contemporary art by African artists, Njami may have inadvertently fallen prey to one of his own critiques, lumping it all together just because it is "African" - when in truth the line drawings of William Kentridge of South Africa have little in common with the projector-and-mirror creation Dancing with the Moon of Goddy Leye of Cameroon.

In the end, what ties the show together is a strong flavour of irony and a subtle sense of being observed. Alvim mocks this explicitly, with a large canvas bearing the words "We are all post exotics" and a mirror that reflects the observer.

Njami, making his rounds through the exhibition, stopped in front of an enormous, curvaceous body imagined for Osama bin Laden, naked but for his turban and his beard, splayed on a patchwork American flag overlaid with Harley-Davidson motorcycles. Great American Nude, by the Sudanese artist Hassan Musa (inspired by La fille allongée by 18th-century French painter François Boucher) is about Africans looking at America, but with a sly poke. The America of flags, Harleys and pornographic terrorists, of course, is no less accurate than an Africa "of people with bones in their noses." Njami, being a Parisian curator, quoted Jean-Paul Sartre on the subject. "It's the shock of being seen."

Yet the intended target for this shock is not just the developed world; Njami aims Remix just as much at Africans. "You have a lot of preconceived ideas in Africa about Africa. Very few Africans travel within Africa - they know very little."

That curiosity may account for the mob scene two days later, when the show opened. The Johannesburg Art Gallery was, in the apartheid years, located beside a park in a graceful corner of the heart of the city - but when the white rulers fled with their money at the dawn of democracy, downtown became the territory of illegal immigrants from across the continent and gangsters.

So the sidewalk barbers and broom peddlers looked on in astonishment on the last Sunday in June as lines of Mercedes Benz SUVs battled to get into the gallery parking lot; eventually most people just gave up and left their cars in the gridlock, pouring in the gallery doors. Inside, heavyweights from the new black cultural elite gave speeches and toasted each other while township mamas with their babies tied on their backs mingled with wide-eyed, blue-haired ladies from the old gallery-going crowd and curious children surreptitiously reached out to finger the art. Half of the works were invisible behind the throng, but

everywhere, there was an electric conversation - "Did you see ... ?"

The gallery's curator, Clive Kellner, looked sweaty and ecstatic. He first saw the show in Europe and vowed he would get it to Jo'burg - but he has an annual exhibitions budget of $4,200, while bringing the show here cost nearly $1-million. Kellner threw himself into a frenzy of fundraising. Njami, meanwhile, had always intended for Remix to be exhibited in Africa, but found that was easier said than done.

"From the beginning, I knew I wanted the show to tour three countries in Africa - one in the north, one in the central [region] and one in the south - but this is a show that is a bit expensive and complicated. You need a big building, a crew, infrastructure and money - conditions that only [Johannesburg] could fulfill," Njami said. There were political considerations, too - a museum in Cairo wanted the show, for example, but he rejected it because the curator is a political appointee of President Hosni Mubarak and, Njami said, he views glorification of the president as his chief task.

For Kellner, there is a transformative value in having the show here in Johannesburg: The gallery has recruited a raft of unemployed young people to train as guides, provided art education to the builders who put in place the exhibition space (and invited them all to the opening) and mounted a large program to bring local school groups to the show. "There's a much bigger cultural process at work," he said.

As Njami muttered as the last works were uncrated, it's about time. "If you want to understand African art history, you go to London, Paris and New York. It would be a pity for our grandkids to [have to] go to London, Paris and New York to understand what is being produced now."

Pervy films and other thoughts

I just came home from watching The Pervert's Guide to Cinema at the Encounters documentary film festival taking place in the swanky northern suburb of Randburg, near Sandton.

I saw Jesus Camp at the same fest last night, which would've been kind of funny if it wasn't so horrifying. I always ended up choking on my laughter as the horrible reality of the scenes sunk in, and then it was upsetting. It also feels kind of uncomfortably smug to laugh at the earnest faith of others. But still, talking in tongues? Seriously?

The Pervert's Guide is an academic exploration of how to use films to psychoanalyze ourselves, I think. Maybe. It was definitely a thinker. The only character in the film is a philosopher and psychoanalyst, with a thick Slavic accent and the archetypal flair of an eccentric genius, who examines 80 years of popular international cinema through a mostly-Freudian lens. Running longer than two and a half hours, in three parts, it's a good thing director Sophie Fiennes has some clever cinematic ideas; it could've been a real bore without the moments of levity. When the narrator is discussing a particular film, whether The Matrix or Solaris, he is actually inside the film, either through CGI or by filming in the actual setting (as he does to discuss The Birds and The Conversation, among others).

Anyway, I definitely recommend it to any film or psychology geeks and super-fans of Hitchcock, Lynch, or the psychological thriller/horror genre in general. And any Freud geeks, too; you sickos.

As I said, the fest was being screened at a big box movie theatre inside a mall in one of Jo'burg's rich northern suburbs ...

The intense inequalities of this city can really get you down. I live in a fairly mixed neighbourhood, in terms of both income and race (at least it seems relatively mixed to me), but if I travel 10 minutes west towards the city centre, there's intense overcrowding; dilapidated homes; stark, visible poverty; and clear desperation. You travel the same distance north, as I did today and yesterday (except it was more like 20 mins - the further north you go, the more affluent the neighbourhoods seem to become), and it's a life of luxury, which seems to be on a different planet - that is, until you drive past a group of black people huddled around a fire on a street corner.

And tonight I realized that my frustration with the city's lack of formal public transport is one tangible expression of this inequality. I'll explain ...

The Pervert movie I went to see was playing at 6:45, so I figured I had enough time to take the cheap minibus taxis (or kumbis, if you're talking to a white person) to get down there, because they stop running around 6:30 or 7. So I took a minibus taxi from my neighbourhood to the main taxi rank downtown. I'd never been there before - I've been told I should stay away from it - but I've been feeling pretty comfortable on the taxis and wasn't carrying much money on me, so I thought I'd give it a shot. When I got to the rank (a massive, multi-level parking lot-type building that is the transport hub for the majority of Jo'burgers; it's where most people head to their homes outside the city in Soweto or neighbouring townships, north or south of the city) at the height of rush hour. The place was packed and I was the only white person. But strangely enough, sometimes I'm more conscious of my backpack than my skin colour; nobody in South Africa seems to carry backpacks and I always feel like I stand out when I'm wearing mine. Anyway, I ask a few people and find the taxi to take me up to the movie mall.

Total travel costs for two taxis to take me across the city = R12, which is less than $2.

Now, it wasn't the most comfortable travel; on the ride up north, I had to lean forward the whole time because although my waist fit snugly into the seating space, there wasn't enough room for my shoulders. (ha, because I'm so fuckin' ripped.)

But since the taxis stop running after dark, to get home I had to call a regular cab, which cost R125, or about $20.

There's no in-between. There's no middle ground. I'd love to be able to pay $5-$10 to get around town, but there's no option to do that.

And the worst part is that there doesn't seem to be much demand to improve the current system. Those wealthy enough drive cars or don't mind paying cab fare. And everyone else seems to be already at their limit paying for the minibus taxis.

Then again, I'm sure they've got some improvements planned in time for 2010, and it's likely that the emerging black middle class will start to demand better public transport from the gov.

And considering that it's only been 13 years, I should probably cut them some slack.

But really, you can check out the Metrobus site yourself. Most routes only have a few buses each day and they all stop by about 4 pm. Outside of people working 8-4, it is completely useless. Seriously, it acts more like a school bus than viable public transport; get people to work, take them home.

Ahh.

I've also got a blog in me about the frustrations of cycling in this city, but I'll save that for another day.

In short, Jo'burg's a car's world ... and the massive wealth gap is depressing.

Temperature rollercoaster

Most of you are just getting the day started, but it's just after 3 p.m. here and I wanted to note that at this very moment, it is just barely hotter in Jo'burg than Toronto or Kingston. These virtual thermometer gadgets from the Weather Network do a great job of illustrating the dramatic temperature changes of a South African winter. As I've already complained to many of you, it's cold here when the sun's not out. There were times in May and June when the temp would drop to -1 or -2 in the night. Then, when the sun was shining, it would shoot back up to 20 degrees. It gives the practice of layering whole new meaning.

It also probably explains why none of the houses are winterized and everybody buys individual space heaters.

Which explains the following ...

I have a new roommate arriving on Wednesday and I spent most of Saturday traipsing around the largest mall in South Africa looking for an electric space heater for her. No luck. Every single store that could possibly have space heaters was sold out of electric ones. So I bought a gas space heater ... which makes me a little nervous. And guilty.

Anyway, the point of this post was to comment on the dramatic daily temperature changes in Jo'burg and how it can mess with both your head and your morning-wardrobe decision.

It's funny: Before I left, lots of people made jokes about how hot it was going to be and would I be able to handle it, but most mornings I wake up shivering.

I left Canada the day after the unofficial opening of summer (Victoria Day) and a few weeks before it really got started; and I'll be in SA long enough to enjoy spring (which is supposed to be hotter than Canada's summer) and about a week of official summer before heading back just in time for Canada's winter.

But officially, 2007 will forever be known as my year without a summer.

What a depressing thought.

Mid-year resolution

I resolve to get better at blogging. Seriously. Stay tuned; I've got lots to talk about.

Yes!

Finally

Live Earth

Was Live Earth a big deal in North America? Like, as big a deal as Live 8?

'Cause the talk on the Johannesburg show didn't really start -- at least on the radio and in the newspapers (I don't have TV) -- until a few days ago. I knew about the show through an MSN ad a few weeks ago, but it didn't seem to draw much popular attention here. I expected there to be more hype around it.

I should check to see what the attendance was for the Jo'burg show.

I was working yesterday, but I spent most of the day at a poetry slam jam in Newtown put on by Sounds of Edutainment. The theme of the day was "Roll back xenophobia and bring back solidarity"; it was to celebrate or recognize World Refugee Day ... which was a few weeks ago (I'm not sure why they were so late).

Anyway, I'm working on a project right now called Musicians Against Xenophobia, which is bringing together Mozambican and South African musicians to produce songs discouraging xenophobia and encouraging pan-Africanism in SA. See, South Africa is the prime destination for migrants from all across Southern Africa (eastern Africa, too), so there are lots of Mozambicans, Zimbabweans, Zambians, Congolese and other African people here. But, like immigrants everywhere, they face a lot of discrimination, both systematically from government and police as well as in their day-to-day life from regular South Africans. Like everywhere else in the world, migrants and immigrants are blamed for crime, unemployment, etc.

Anyway, so I was at this thing yesterday with one of our research students doing interviews and talking to people and that kind of thing. It was interesting to hear people say they wish the artists at the Coca-Cola Dome (where Live Earth was happening) were talking about a local issue, such as xenophobia, rather than climate change.

Funniest part of the day: So the show is a lot about African unity and embracing everyone as African rather than "Amakwerre Amakwerre", which is a derogatory slur that people use for foreign Africans. As the emcee gets started, he says something like, "To all my black brothers and sisters ..." pauses a second, makes eye contact with me, then says, "And everyone else."

It wasn't a small bar and I was the only white guy.

My CMFD partner, Mandla, had tears in his eyes he was laughing so hard. I'm just glad he didn't call me "everyone else" for the rest of the day.

Another note: The only seat available when I went to sit down was in the front row. Yep.

The show was amazing, even though I didn't understand very much; most artists performed their poetry in a mix of African languages (it seemed to be a lot of Sotho, Setswana, Xhosa and Ndebele) and only rarely did they use English.

But I don't know if I'll ever be able to go to a regular poetry reading after seeing these poets perform. It was just so theatrical and musical; even when speaking, there's something about African languages that is so aurally powerful.

Thoughts on Live Earth in North America?

Godzilla vs. Johannesburg

Godzilla vs. Johannesburg
Originally uploaded by BK 14

I found this little guy in my shoe in my bedroom. I have no idea what it is, but it looks like a baby lizard. Lucky I had that CD thingie to capture it.

*No animals or insects were harmed in the making of this picture. After taking the photo, I set him free outside my door ... so he's probably back in my room right now.

(This one's for Kat!)

Look before you walk

July 7 001
Originally uploaded by BK 14

This is a graphic warning to anyone thinking about walking around in downtown Johannesburg expecting not to fall into an uncovered manhole.

Well, that's a little dramatic; it's not as if the downtown core is littered with gaping holes in the middle of the street. I think it was mostly a lucky coincidence for me.

Yeah, so as I briefly blogged about this earlier, I guess I'll elaborate on the fateful Saturday afternoon when I almost became a South African Ninja Turtle

... So I was heading to the Johannesburg Art Gallery to see the Africa Remix (I will post photos right after this) exhibit and, as usual, I was lost downtown. In my defense, public transportation is pretty sketchy, so you sometimes find yourself out of the kumbi and immediately lost. It doesn't help that rarely will a venue provide a map on their website. So most of the time I find myself wandering.

Anyway, it's Saturday afternoon and downtown Jo'burg is bustling with street vendors and tons of people. The streets and sidewalks are completely swamped. But despite the intense busyness and human congestion, I'm the only white person I can see, so any efforts I make to "blend in" are pretty much useless.

So like I said, I'm in Central Jo'burg and it's pretty crazy and I'm trying to find my way to Joubert Park, where the gallery is, without accidentally making a wrong turn into Hillbrow or Yeoville. I try to navigate around a slow-moving crowd on the sidewalk by taking one step into the street when all of a sudden ...

... the street is gone and I've fallen waist-deep into a hole. It seems that nobody saw a problem with leaving a giant hole (about two feet wide by two or three feet long) completely uncovered about half a foot away from the curb.

Upon later inspection, the hole had to be at least 15 feet deep.

It's a good thing I was walking kind of fast (as I tend to do when I'm walking around downtown) because my momentum propelled my upper body forward and allowed my hands to stop myself from falling in.

In the end, I came away relatively unscathed, with only a charlie horse (see fig. 1), banged up knee and rapidly beating heart.

The funniest part: hardly anyone seemed to notice. The only people that seemed notice my fall were the two who were sitting on the curb right next to the hole. All they said was, "Ohh" and "Shame."

I made it to the gallery eventually and had a great time.

And then later that night I heard gunshots coming from the neighbourhood just north of mine, which is, coincidentally (at least for the GTA'ers in the audience), called Malvern. There's not much of a story there except that it gave my heart another jolt.

I promise that there really is a real introduction coming eventually. It just seems that I've left it so long now I don't know where to begin.

BK

Happy Birthday Marko

July 7 003
Originally uploaded by BK 14

I'm eating souvlaki and Greek salad (you can't really see the salad) at Tropical Shwarma and Grecian Foods, a Greek'ish restaurant in South Kensington, to celebrate Marko's birthday. This photo does no justice to Tropical's Grecian decor.

Anyway, happy birthday dude.

BK

He may look kind of dweeby, but he scored 40 goals

I'd just like to take this time and space to welcome Jason Blake to the Leafs.

One of the better free-agent signings in recent years, I'd say. It finally looks like we're going after somebody on the up-swing of their career. And $4 mill for a 40-goal scorer is a pretty good deal.

My favourite was Paul Maurice's quote: "What I liked about Jason is that I really didn't like Jason." What a beauty.

I'm just glad they didn't throw tons of money at Scott Gomez like another Eastern Conference team that will not be named out of respect for Mike McGouran. That's what I would've expected the Leafs to do: throw too much money at an overrated vet.

Having said that, I still think Brendan Shanahan would look great in a Leaf jersey for a year or two. And don't look now, but Danny Markov is still available.

I'm sorry for boring half of you, give or take.

BK

ps - no gunshots or manhole falls today.

pps - Does anyone know if there's a way to open up a side forum on this thing? I'd like to make a space to get ongoing book recommendations and talk about what I'm reading and whatnot, but I'd like it to be an ongoing thing and not just another post. Know what I mean? If you do, holla at ya boy.

So yesterday was a pretty eventful day: I fell waist-deep into a giant uncovered manhole in the middle of central Johannesburg at the busiest time of day; and I heard gunshots in my neighbourhood for the first time. I also went to the Johannesburg Art Gallery in Joubert Park to check out their Africa Remix exhibit and to a great bar in Newtown.

But first …

Happy Canada Day!

I didn’t really do much to celebrate today, unfortunately. I searched online for any Canada Day parties or any kind of ex-pat thing going on, but couldn’t find anything. I also thought the Canadian embassy might host some kind of back-bacon luncheon or something, but I couldn’t find any evidence that they were hosting anything. So then I thought I’d check out the Apartheid Museum; my thinking being that it would make sense, on Canada Day, to learn about a system that was basically the antithesis to the longstanding Canadian dream/myth of multiculturalism. But then I woke up too late and also realized the museum is a lot farther away than I originally thought.

So instead, I put on my raggedy Leaf hat, went for a late breakfast at this Portuguese bakery in South Kensington and whistled “Oooh What a Night”, “More Than a Feeling” and “Sudbury Saturday Night” to myself as I walked, hoping that it might attract some fellow Canadians.

No luck.

But, just as I sat down in the little café, guess what came blaring through the radio?

“I got my first real six-string / Bought it at the five-and-dime”

Yes, this actually happened. And I laughed out loud. I was sitting by myself so I’m pretty sure the other restaurant patrons thought I was insane.

So I felt a little better knowing that I could share my Canada Day coffee with Mr. Bryan Adams.

Other than that, I actually spent most of the day cleaning my house while listening to the following CanCon playlists.

I made three playlists: CanRock of my youth, CanRock of other people’s youths and CanRock of the youth I’m still trying to hold onto (essentially anything post 2000).

“Papa only watches hockey games”
or
CanRock of my youth:

Our Lady Peace – Starseed
The Pursuit of Happiness – Gretzky Rocks
Rheostatics – The Ballad of Wendel Clark Parts I and II
The Super Friendz – Karate Man
Sloan – Underwhelmed
Weeping Tile – Good Fortune
Sandbox – Carry
The Age of Electric – Ugly
Rusty – Misogyny
Buck 65 – Pants On Fire
Change of Heart – Herstory
Chixdiggit – (I Feel Like Gerry) Cheevers (Got Stitch Marks On My Heart)
Eric’s Trip – Viewmaster
Fur Packed Action – Everything
Hayden – In September
hHead – University
The Inbreds – Drag Us Down
Treble Charger - Red
Spirit of the West – Far Too Canadian
I Mother Earth – Not Quite Sonic
Thrush Hermit – The Day We Hit the Coast
The Lowest of the Low – Under the Carlaw Bridge
Matthew Good Band – Alabama Motel Room
The Monoxides – Can’t Get Excited
Plumtree – Regret
The Rude Mechanicals – Coquette
The Tragically Hip – Nautical Disaster
The Watchmen – All Uncovered

*Now, over the course of making this playlist I realized that I haven’t converted a bunch of my CDs (the ones I listened to in my younger youth, mostly), but I thought of a few songs that definitely would have made the playlist if I had access to them.

The Headstones – Unsound
The Odds – Eat My Brain
54-40 – Oyster Pearl
Moist - Push
Junkhouse – Out of My Head
Lawrence Gowan – Dancing On My Own Ground

“There’s a place in north Ontario”
or
CanRock of Other People’s Youths

Tom Cochrane – Life Is a Highway
The Guess Who – Runnin’ Back to Saskatoon
Loverboy – Workin’ For the Weekend
The Diodes – Waking Up Tired
The Nils – Pop Goes the World
Rush – Closer to the Heart
Trooper – The Boys in the Bright White Sports Car
Bruch Cockburn – Lovers in a Dangerous Time
Kim Mitchell – Easy To Tame
Leonard Cohen – Famous Blue Raincoat
Joni Mitchell – A Case of You
Gordon Lightfoot – Alberta Bound
Stan Rogers – Farewell to Nova Scotia
Stompin’ Tom Connors – Canada Day Up Canada Way
Gordon Lightfoot – The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Neil Young – Helpless

“At 3 a.m. they play O Canada, true patriot love and la-la-la-la-la”
or
CanRock of the youth I’m still trying to hold onto

Joel Plaskett – True Patriot Love
Two-Hours Traffic – Stuck For the Summer
The Arcade Fire – Headlights Look Like Diamonds
The Radical Dudez – Girls Who Play in the Snow
Steve McKay – You May Be Dirty, But You’re All I’ve Got
Cadence Weapon – Oliver Square
K’Naan – Smile
Malajube – Montreal -40 degrees
Land of Talk – Seafoam
The Constantines – Young Lions
The Sourkeys – Demon or Deity
Cuff the Duke – Ballad of a Lonely Construction Worker
Elliot Brood – Oh Alberta
The Deadly Snakes – Gore Veil
Final Fantasy – The CN Tower Belongs to the Dead
Friday Morning’s Regret – Wooden Sky
Chad VanGaalen – Wind-Driving Dogs
Great Lake Swimmers – Your Rocky Spine
Christine Fellows – Phantom Pains
Nich Worby – Brown, Brown Fields
FemBots – The City
Wintersleep – Avalanche
The Diableros – Olympic Island
Timber Timbre – Home

Again, happy Canada Day everybody. If you’re near a lake or on a patio, pour a Labatt 50 (pronounced “cinquante”) out for me. To Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

I’ll post about Saturday’s wild stuff as soon as I can (I’m going to figure out how to post photos of the Africa Remix exhibit first).

BK