Dear Chicago,

"Oh my name it is nothin'

My age it means less

The country I come from

Is called the Midwest

I's taught and brought up there

The laws to abide

And that land that I live in

Has God on its side."

-Bob Dylan "With God On Our Side" 

If you are from the Chicagoland area, and of at least a certain age, then there is something you must have come across in your chats with other people from the region.  I first noticed it when I got to University of Illinois, a traditionally agricultural university previously teeming with farm kids, which has now become a place where suburban/rural/urban blends to form the student body.  I speak of the eternal urban vs. suburban struggle AKA Chicago vs. the suburbs.  The urban vs. suburban struggle is not unique to the Chicagoland area, but to be fair, it is the only one I can speak about from a place of knowledge.  I have seen similar debates on Joburg vs. their suburbs (ok, Joburg vs. their townships).  But I’m no player in those debates, just a mere listener.      

Where I’m “from” gets a bit complicated, minus a detailed chronology, but in this debate I guess I am from the suburban side.  On March 18^th 1981 I was born in Waukegan, Illinois USA.  It’s a city of about 100,000 people that is located on Lake Michigan, 33 miles (53km) north of Chicago.  I did not grow up initially in Waukegan, but it was the closest place with a hospital when I was born.  I grew up on a farm.   A few farms actually.  My first years were spent in Wadsworth, Illinois.  Then Bristol, Wisconsin.  Then back to Wadsworth.  Then back to Waukegan to finish out high school.  After leaving my mom’s house I have lived in Urbana IL, Champaign IL, Chicago IL, Pretoria South Africa, and even back to Waukegan. 

So, I am an eventual suburbanite with rural roots.  I have to say that to me “suburban” usually implies some sort of environment that is not like the one I grew up in at all, so sometimes it is hard for me to accept this designation at times.  When I think “suburban” I think of lattes from Starbucks, giant houses, soccer moms, SUVs, and a general whitewashing of all things people.  Minus a few token Asians or Indians.  I think of places like the towns south of me: Lake Forest, Wilmette, Skokie, Libertyville, Northbrook.  I think of kids pushed so hard that Ivy is the only option they have.  I think of towns like Hanover Park, where my dad used to live, that existed merely as a sleeping pod for the workforce of the area.  That place didn’t even have a downtown.  It was one big strip mall that extended into the next mall of the next suburban sleep pod.  I’m sorry, but force “suburban” on me all you want…those images do not jive in Waukegan.  Not even for a second.  When I was growing up, and I have also experienced it more recently, people from the towns surrounding Waukegan were actually scared of coming to our town.  ‘All made out of ticky tacky’ is not Waukegan.    

The Chicago vs. the suburbs struggle plays out like a little brother scenario, with the suburban folk as the younger sibling doomed to always tag along and suffer the onslaught of verbal noogies.  It goes something like this:  The people from Chicago proper (the urban kids) denigrate everything suburban because nothing that doesn’t come from Chicago could possibly have any merit or worth.  “Suburban” is anything outside the city limits of Chicago that isn’t blatantly rural or as far as say…DeKalb.  No suburban kid can ever understand how badass it was to grow up in the city.  No suburban kid could ever be as hard…even if the city kid in question grew up in the most wealthy, disconnected neighborhood in Chicago.  The suburban kids desperately try to show either A) Their home really wasn’t “that” bad or B) that they have plenty of urban street cred cos they have spent plenty of time in Chicago proper.  So they can’t really be considered suburban anymore.  They know the grid of the city (go ahead…test me…what’s at 3200N/1800W???) and will be the first to offer help when people are trying to figure out directions to the club.  Sometimes…I hate to admit…it’s even kind of amusing to see the grappling suburbanite try to prove themselves by bubbling and spewing Chicago knowledge.  If this suburbanite is a hipster then the hilarity of this spectacle may actually know no end.  Many of the suburban kids, in conversations that include “where are you from?,” will proclaim that they are from Chicago when they patently evolved in a space not in the hallowed city limits of Chicago, but rather Palos Park Hills Heights or some other ridiculously named suburb.  A suburbanite must never EVER do this as it is the one thing that is sure to get you a verbal beat down from an urban kid.

In a way I can see this issue from both sides.  I can see how people that grew up inside the city limits of Chicago can get a superiority complex.  Chicago is the shit.  We all know it.  And if I came from something that amazing then it would be hard for me to sit by and let others claim it.  One thing that often gets missed by the urban kids is that ALL have access to their city.  We have been to your city.  We have walked its streets.  Although our experience may differ from that of living 24/7 in the friendly confines…we have still lived for a second in your city and we have our own memories there.  It is not just yours.  It is ours too.  We read the same newspaper and watch the same 6 o’clock news.  We puff up a bit when the skyline hits our pupils too.  Chicagoland is a large, diverse area all anchored to that place called Chicago.      

I have spent time in lots of different places around Chicagoland and it is true that the human experience differs from place to place.  So in a way, it is fair to claim that a suburbanite will not truly understand the urban experience by mere casual osmosis.  A person that grows up in Pilsen (a Southside Chicago neighborhood) will have a way different experience to someone that grows up in Kenilworth (far north suburb) and on and on and on.  But it is also true that people that come from different suburbs have different experiences.  My friend growing up in Downers Grove did not live the same suburban experience that I did growing up in Waukegan.  It is not fair to lump us all together as if we all lived an identical white bread existence outside of your revered city limits.  This is one of the main ignorances of the urban kids, but because of their already superior position it is pretty beneath them to recognize differences between suburbs.

I also understand the frustration of the suburbanite in the face of a haughty urban warrior.  It is not nice to be told that your home is worthless or lesser.  Or to even have it implied.  Most people have no choice over where they grew up.  Your parents just plopped you down somewhere and there you stood until you could leave and do your own thing.  In this way it is very difficult to sit around and allow someone else to bring you down because of something you had no control over.  It is even more difficult if, like me, you actually liked the place that you grew up.  Often the person implying your hometown is inferior has never even been to that town and is speaking from some general understanding they think they have about all things “not Chicago.”  Come to think of it, a suburbanite that can navigate the city is almost at an advantage to an urban dweller that only knows Chicago.  This suburbanite has knowledge of two places (or more) and it has been my experience that an urban kid out in the ‘burbs feels a bit lost.  A suburbanite is often not trying to imply that Chicago and Orland Park are the same.  I think we all know that a city of millions of people will never compare to a city of 60,000 people (or even 100,000 people…like Waukegan).  We know this.  We are not stupid.  We are not trying to compare apples and oranges.  We are just trying to defend our home.  All these parts add to the kid brother phenomenon of always being made to feel lesser (and frustrated by this) when really we are just different.       

I can understand why Chicagoans get pissed when someone that is not from their city, but rather one of the lesser (God forbid) suburbs, claims “Chicago.”  But this part of the struggle has its caveats.  If you are 50 years old and you have lived for 30 years in the City of Chicago, but were originally conceived and raised in Homewood/Flossmoor (a southern suburb), then are you now a Chicagoan?  Or will you always have to identify your Ho/Flo roots in conversation?  How many years does it take to give you “Chicago” status?  I think also that a person coming from another state that sets up shop in Chicago is somehow exempt from this debate.  Which is weird.  I think a person that comes from, say, a suburb of Portland, Oregon will probably be more easily adopted into the Chicago fold than a person that grew up in an identical area just outside Chicago.  And how far away from Chicagoland do you have to be before you can just say “Chicago” instead of parading out the obscure name of a town the person you are now talking to has never heard of?  I sympathize with Chicagoans that meet suburbanites claiming “Chicago,” when they are in the Chicagoland area or even in Illinois or the Midwest.  If you are from Algonquin and someone in Illinois asks you where you are from…don’t say Chicago.  It’s stupid.  The person you are talking to probably knows Algonquin.  So be proud and say “Algonquin” loud.  But how far away from Chicagoland do you have to be to be able to just claim “Chicago?”       

Right now I am typing this in my bed.  This bed is roughly 8,691 miles (13,987 km) away from my “home.”  If someone on the street in South Africa asks me where I’m from then I am going to first start by saying I am from the United States (because I never assume that people just know my accent).  And second I say that I am from Chicago.  I may follow this up with more particulars about the location of Waukegan, if the conversation goes that way.  Some people in South Africa don’t even know where Chicago is on a map, so to say that I am from Waukegan, cos I am, is even harder for a South African to visualize.  For ease of conversation in South Africa, I am from Chicago.  I used to say, that I was from “near Chicago” when people here asked me where I was from.  But that just got confusing because people always thought I was talking of a new town, “Near Chicago,” instead of referring to proximity to Chicago.  And honestly the only reason I used to say “near Chicago” is because if the words “I am from Chicago” came out of my mouth then I could always hear my friend Clara (a diehard Southsider) saying in my head “but Lynsee, you aren’t from Chicago.”  This damn Chicago vs. Suburbs thing goes deep…    

This past weekend I was in a club in Johannesburg with my friends.  I was playing pool with one of them and because he scratched on the 8 ball, I won.  Where I am from, the winner gets to break the next game and the loser has to set it up.  Apparently that is not true in South Africa and my friend, the loser, said he was going to break.  We debated a bit and then went to the folks sitting nearby at the bar for a consensus.  Most people (SAns) said that the loser breaks and then one guy said “I don’t know.  I’m not from here.  I’m from Chicago.”  My face lit up and I drew closer.    

Mostly I hate meeting Americans here.  Especially in Pretoria.  There are not many of us in Pretoria and those that are here are either working for the embassy, the Peace Corps, doing missions work, or studying at the university.  Sorry, but they are usually not interesting people to talk to.  I don’t know what it is, but meeting an American here is often uncomfortable for me.  We are millions of miles away from home and we have nothing to talk about.  There is often no warmth in our dialogue.  I don’t know if other nationalities away from home have this experience, but for me, if I hear an American voice in the sea of South African lilts…I will keep quiet until my American-ness is discovered outright.    But this guy was from Chicago…and I was a little drunk.  I forgot myself. 

So I went up to him, amazed to be facing not just any old American, not just any old Midwesterner, but a real real Chicagoan.  I said to him “Wow!  I’m from Chicago too.”  And that was my first mistake.  I am not used to the American games here in SA cos I don’t have to be.  I don’t need to carry my ID when I buy beer and I certainly don’t have to get mired in a Chicago vs. the Suburbs debate on any sort of daily basis.  So my guard was down.  He identified himself, in a deep Southside Irish “Da bears” brogue, as a Southsider (Beverly) and then asked me where I was from.  At this point I realized my mistake.  I had forgotten my kid sister status.  I had to back pedal.  I said “well, I’m actually not from Chicago proper, but from Waukegan.”  He instinctively took on the role of the older sib and responded “Where the hell is that?  That’s not in Chicago,” as if I had identified a colony on Mars as my home. 

I responded that, indeed, I realized that it is not in Chicago.  I confirmed that, yes, I am from a place close to Chicago that does not fly the 4 red stars.  I told him that around here people didn’t know the USA that well and it was easier to just identify Chicago in conversations with South Africans.  But, oh no.  This was not enough for the Southsider.  He basically went into an extended rant about how I’m not actually from Chicago but some “nameless suburb” and that he would

“pray for my soul.”  Excuse me?  We are thousands of miles away from home and instead of sharing our similarities you are going to crucify me and then pray for my soul.  Seriously, wtf?  Ugh, Americans…

I twisted my lips into a painful smile that you would put on in a car where someone just farted, but you were trying to make the best of it, and tried to figure out exactly how long it would take me to get away from this douche bag.  Luckily we had the pool game to go back to…so my friend and I did. 

However it was not enough for this guy to just bring me down to my face.  I am guessing his friends around him were asking him about the girl with the same voice that was just talking to him.  And he had to proclaim loudly, across the whole bar, that “Oh she’s not really from Chicago.  She’s from some suburb I’ve never heard of.”  Seriously, how rude.  I watched my game and stewed as I heard him repeat this over and over again at top volume.  And hoped that this guy would never talk to me again.  Cos one more beer and I was about to tear him a new A.  Luckily, I could easily ignore him as I passed by his way again.  He didn’t catch me as I walked by cos he certainly was not interested into talking to an infidel from the suburbs.  And because we were there to see some seriously loud growling bands, this old man must have gone home pretty soon after the lights went down.  Praise Jebus…

But this whole scene dredged up something in me.  I was so annoyed.  I am still annoyed.  Mostly I was annoyed that this guy chose to be so obviously rude and negative to me about something that SO does not matter here.  We could have commiserated over so much since we are so far away from the thing that makes us similar, but this guy picked out one lame difference we have and pretty much built our whole interaction on that.  What a waste of time.  I was also annoyed at how deep that Chicago vs. suburbs debate touches me.  I am annoyed to be forced into the kid sister role because I am not ashamed of where I am from.  I do not accept that you are better than me because of geography.  I am frustrated to be pigeon-holed by something insignificant that I cannot change in the face of all the amazing, daring, interesting things that have since been added to my life.  I did not grow up in Chicago, duh.  But I have walked its streets.  And the streets of Johannesburg, Cape Town, Harare, Maputo, Paris, London, Munich, Managua, San Pedro Sula.  Don’t bring me down cos you think I’m some dumb suburbanite from Waukegan.  Don’t do it in Chicago and for damn sure, don’t do it to me when I’m almost 9,000 miles away from home. 

I also thought it was interesting that no matter how far away you are from home…home will always find you.  You will be in a bar in Johannesburg watching an underground Afrikaans industrial band and you will meet a Chicagoan there.  You will be out on a farm (the veterinary campus in Pretoria) smoking a nargile at a St Patrick’s Day party and you will meet a Chicagoan there.  You will be hitchhiking from Santa Rosa de Copan to La Esperanza (in Honduras) and in the back of a truck in the pouring rain you will meet a Chicagoan there too.   It always blows my mind. 

Anyways, I thought this was an interesting topic that would draw together home and South Africa.  Hope it wasn’t too much of an annoyed rant. 

Yes, I am still in South Africa.  Will be until July, hopefully.  Still waiting for my visa clearance.  The short story is that I got my head and wits back a bit and realized what a large mistake it would be for me to go home before the FIFA World Cup happens in South Africa.  Monumentally stupid. 

Hope you are all well.  I should be writing something else here again pretty soon cos I have to admit that although I am spending most of my days at the height of leisure…there are some pretty interesting grumblings arising in South Africa.  Things I would like to talk about more in depth. 

As always, keep the faith and spread it gently

Much Love

Lynsee

On being a “flame of love”

Pisces Horoscope for week of February 4, 2010

I wish you could aim tachyon particles through an inverted positronic array while simultaneously modulating synaptical relays through an anti-matter torque-buffer. This would bend the space-time continuum back to a point before your recent detour began. Then, armed with knowledge of the future, you'd be able to navigate your way more elegantly through the crazy mash of illusions and misunderstandings. But since the high-tech solution I described may not be possible, I suggest that instead you clear your head of theories about why people are doing what they're doing. Slow yourself down so completely that you can see the majestic flicker of eternity hidden in every moment. Be a flame of love, not a swamp of self-justification. And send humble notes and witty gifts to anyone whose links with you got tweaked.

-From freewillastrology.com

       *********************************************

I believe I’ve started this out on a horoscope note before…so nothing new there.  I’m a pretty religious horoscope reader, but only from freewillastrology.com.  I find daily horoscopes to be mundane and filled with useless guidance.  I mean, how can you predict the events of a 24-hour period from something as vast as the stars and the universe?  It just seems like an abuse of one’s galaxy interpreting talents.  Freewillastrology.com mixes the universe with a little quotation, anecdote, science, and anything else handy that is lying around.  I always feel like it’s advice from a good friend as opposed to an astrological mandate I am forced to follow.   

This most recent horoscope has really spoken to me in my current state.  As you all probably know…I’m back in South Africa.  Somehow I can’t stay away from this place, for better or worse.  I came here on a mission of love: to explore a relationship with someone I felt strongly connected to in my previous sojourn to SA.  Unfortunately that has totally gone to pot.  Like before even a month in SA had elapsed…but such is life sometimes.  My email signature ends my electronic correspondences with the quote “A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.”  (William Shedd).  Although this most recent adventure has, with respect to the intended mission, ended in complete failure…I must console myself with the thought that at least I had the guts to attempt what seemed like an impossible and ridiculous undertaking.  A mission to cultivate love.  As many struggle in this life with their own situations, I should be so lucky to be able to set out in pursuit of something so frivolous.  No matter what storm may threaten…my ship must sail. 

Because of how things have played out with this prospective lover of mine…well, I’ve been feeling pretty depressed.  I don’t want to say much about the details.  Not only will it paint this other person in a very dark shade but it also does nothing for me to move forward.  The times I’ve related this tale just seem to make me dwell more on the subject and that’s no good.  Suffice to say it hasn’t been nice.  Dishonesty and cowardice seem to be the legacy that he will leave with me.  But that’s his choice and at the end of the day I just feel sorry for him.  It’s a horrible way to deal with other people and although it seems like you may escape a situation using those techniques…I am willing to bet that those behaviors come back to you in the end.  That bitter taste you leave in another’s mouth will follow you around with the obedience of a well-trained sheep dog. 

I’ve been laying around in bed a lot feeling sad and pondering “Why? Why? Why?”  The astrological words above are just another voice telling me to move forward and for that I am grateful.  This advice has been echoed in the words of comfort offered by my friends and finally, this week, I feel like I can heed the words.  There is no time machine to take me back to redo the recent events of my life.  But I can press forward seeing the “flicker of eternity” in all things while forging myself into a “flame of love.” 

So instead of relating all the sadness and confusion of the past month and 1/2…I’d like to tell you about some of the joys.  Some of the small successes and glimpses of eternity.  These random pleasures have led me to believe, that indeed, I am on a path of light and love in my life with all the benefits it might bring.   

The best part of coming back to a place I called home for 2 years is, hands down, reconnecting with the people I have been able to weave into my spiderweb of humanity.  Ubuntu, baby!  Yeah! There are lots of good stories to tell here, but I will go with the impossible ones to bring a smile to your day.  I know they brought a smile to mine. 

First, Nhawu.  Nhawu is a person I met through someone I am no longer friends with here in SA.  That failed relationship is another ridiculous tale to be buried in SA…but in the end I was left with Nhawu.  I got a good deal.  Nhawu is a guy that one might write off as a bad seed for a number of reasons.  But the strength of his character always shows through to me and never fails to impress.  For that I will champion him until the end, despite what others might say. 

Nhawu rarely has the same phone number.  When I arrived in SA I sent a message to the number I had and some angry stranger replied with a “who is this?” message.  I feared Nhawu to be lost to me.  Shame.  His last residence that I knew of was in my neighborhood and everyday I was looking to the faces of the nameless pedestrians in hopes of resurrecting Nhawu on one of those strangers.

And then one day, out of the blue, Nhawu called me.  He is still in the same place in my neighborhood.  He had some feeling that he must call me, so he dialed my old number.  And there I was.  And there he was.  And I don’t have to gaze at the faces of strangers on the streets of Sunnyside anymore.

Next, Henry.  Henry is a security guard that worked on the street where I lived in 2007.  He’s an old man and we used to chat about life, this, that, and the other.  Some nights I’d pilot my bicycle home from the radio station on campus and Henry would always be there with a kind word and an extra set of eyes to keep me safe.  On cold mornings I would bring him coffee in the jars of Nutella that I used as glasses.  He would often tease me and say that I needed nicer glasses than this.  That he would soon use some of his salary to buy me a nice mug.  Henry used to send me text messages when I would leave Pretoria on the many trips I embarked on out of the Jakaranda City.  After awhile if I didn’t get a message from Henry before I left town then I would start to think that I might have a bad trip. 

The University of Pretoria changed security companies around the end of 2007/start of 2008.  I also changed campuses at this time.  I had lost my cell phone in a wacky 2007 New Years Eve haze, and Henry’s number.  I never saw him again…until this week. 

This week I attended the legendary Onderstepoort Beerfest up at my old campus.  While walking my bookbag to a friend’s car I heard “Hey!  Lynsee?” exclaimed as I passed by two security guards.  It was dark and I couldn’t see nor could I imagine how these two security guards knew me.  Like I said, the Univ of Pretoria changed companies and it’s been a year since I’ve been around.  Many of the guards I struck up conversations with are now gone.  But this guard…I knew.  It was Henry!  Despite the warm feelings and good times soaked in beer that night…reconnecting with Henry will be the lasting memory of Beerfest 2010. 

And then there are the mamas.  Many places here have ladies that clean up and keep things neat.  To most, these are silent figures that sweep and mop, but to me they are usually the most interesting people around.  I have often enjoyed chatting to cleaning ladies (and security guards, as mentioned above) whether they were in a place I was merely passing through or a more permanent fixture in a place I was living.  The mamas of Onderstepoort used to cheer me up each morning as I passed through a long line of industrious cleaning in the corridors.  Greetings exchanged, smiles, and laughs.  It was always just enough to cheer me up after having to wake up early to endure a long day of class in the same windowless lecture hall. 

After a night of abandonment from my prospective lover that ended in my leaving his house…I called my mama.  Mavis.  I just needed to hear her voice and her words of wisdom on the subject.  She said to me “he is like the shit in the toilet and you must flush him.”  Although this wasn’t my intention at the time, after all I flew across an ocean to check this guy, I appreciated her words.  And, in the end, she was right.  I told her that I would come soon to visit her and the other mamas at Onderstepoort.  She said that was a good thing and that when the other ladies saw me that they would become very “noisy.”  When I made it up there the next week…there certainly was a lot of noise made on my behalf. 

It was wonderful to see my mamas.  Although they don’t know much about me and I don’t know much about them…there is an outpouring of love we share that just can’t be beat.  When I left in 2008 I took a picture of all of us and presented a copy to them.  Recently, when I came to their breakroom to chat over a lunch of chicken feet and pap, I saw our picture in a place of honor above the sink where the ladies wash their dishes.  It made me so happy.  I’ve been back to see them a few times now and that love is still there…comforting me in every lunchtime gaze. 

There have been many other most excellent reunions with people that are very special to me: Kenzy, Helen and Ross, all my House 2 brothers, Ramona, Bheki, and many more.  But I think the surprise reunions have put the biggest spring in my step.  A friend of mine once told me that he had never seen a person gather others together they way he had seen it with me.  One of the best compliments I have ever received, ever.  Since he related this to me, I have seen it in action in these small ways over and over again.  It fortifies my belief that mine is a legacy of love on this world, from the smallest to the biggest person.  I am grateful for these reminders. 

My current living situation with Helen, Ross, and baby Nicholas is another blessing I have fallen into here.  I’ve known Helen since my first trip to South Africa in 2002.  Her father is the first person I met here and we have been in touch ever since.  She is originally from South Africa, but studied at the University of Illinois for many years.  Ross, her husband, is from Kansas.  They came here at the end of 2008 to set up shop and we have been strong allies in Pretoria from the moment we began to share the city limits.  Their presence in Pretoria gave me strength even when I was over the mountain in Pretoria North.   

After I left Charlie’s house, I spent a weekend with one of my House 2 brothers and then proceeded to Helen and Ross’s house.  They welcomed me with open arms and I have been here ever since.  I will stay here until I go home in March.  They have graciously shared their home with me and let me know that there is always a place for me in Pretoria…no matter what.  It has been wonderful to be in their house.  We are well matched and I don’t feel like I’m imposing too much on their day-to-day.  I really feel wanted in their house.  Man, I am lucky. 

The best part of staying here is baby Nicholas.  Yeah,  he cries.  Sometimes the “baby alarm” goes off in the middle of the night when he gets unsettled (usually just when I’ve dipped into sleep)…but none of this fazes me.  I mean, he’s a baby.  Sometimes he gets upset.  But when he gets crabby (I call it “crabcakes”), mostly I just feel sorry for him.  How can you be mad at a baby? 

The first day I was left at home with Nicholas was quite an experience.  He just kept looking around and crying.  His frantic glances seemed to say “Where the heck are my parents? And who the heck are you?”  But now that he’s gotten used to me…this baby seriously cannot stop staring at me.  It’s really cool.  I feel like the awesomest thing in the world sometimes.     

The best thing about Nicholas is that my attention is never wasted on this guy…even if he’s crying his head off.  In the days when it was a battle just to get out of bed there was so much joy for me in giving him a cuddle, feeding him, or even changing his diaper.  Your lame problems can easily melt away when there is a baby that needs a new diaper.  Those burdens you carry just don’t matter in the face of a load of poop strapped to a baby’s bottom.  What a relief.   

Finally, another large phenomenon I’ve noticed that must give me strength in the face of all this gloom, is the fact that there are opportunities for me here in Pretoria.  I’ve not worked hard to tease them out of the woodwork, but I have found a few in my days here.  Ultimately, I have decided to come home.  I’m pretty upset still and I feel like if I’m going to be upset and hustling then I might as well be able to play with my friends’ dog, drink a nice beer, meditate on the Metra, and get a 1/2 decent taco.  Simple pleasures of home. 

But in the few weeks since I’ve left Charlie’s home, I have found a number of great leads that could turn into some sort of life for me here in Pretoria.  Volunteer projects that will give me a much needed visa.  Meetings with employees of the US Embassy.  Places to live with friends.  Leads on any number of jobs if I really want to get my hustle on and make this place into a home.  Where there is a will there truly is a way.  But sorry…I just have to go home and see the frozen skyline of Chicago.   

Besides these large patterns I have tried hard to appreciate in my dark days…there are any number of other small beauties unfolding around me:

1.  The Gauteng sky

The sky in Pretoria is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.  Big dark clouds can melt the heat of the afternoon and never drop a single taste of rain.  Maru a pula (rain bearing clouds…in Tswana) whip around the sky of Pretoria in any number of configurations that could rival the most well-crafted meringue.  I’ve spent a lot of time out on the porch where I’m staying just looking at the sky and wandering in my thoughts.  I couldn’t ask for a better backdrop. 

2.  Taxis

Yeah…I love ‘em.  Again, for better or worse.  I’m sure I’ve spouted off about taxis before, but the short version is that they are a minibus form of public transportation here in SA and many other places in the world.  Cheap, flexible, and not operating on a time schedule.  Taxis rock.  Not everyone shares my view…but whatever.  It’s been nice to get back to taxis to get me around.  Looking out at the Magliesberg on my way to Pretoria North with the wind whipping in my hair.  Navigating the hustle and bustle of the South African business districts in search of my taxi.  I’m writing a book on how to use taxis so it’s been good to be back in the thick of things so that I can remember the small details I left out while typing at home. 

3.  Living in Sunnyside

Not always a picnic, let me tell you.  This place is one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of Pretoria.  You just don’t walk alone at night here…and during the day you also look twice.  Helen and Ross live in a relatively calm part of Sunnyside, but still Sunnyside.  I do love that Sunnyside is always heaving with the movements of a bunch of people just trying to get by.  From the students on their way to campus to the prostitutes out turning tricks on the corners.  This place is alive…the beauty and the ugliness of it all.  My favorite part is the constant chorus of vuvuzelas (plastic horns used at soccer matches) that can alert you to the current soccer score on TV.  Who needs network news when you live in Sunnyside?  The victor is being trumpeted from some city block somewhere in the ‘hood. 

4.  Being recognized through the magic of the internet

The other day I was drinking with my friend at the dorm I used to live in and one of the new residents told me that she recognized me.  I was puzzled.  She elaborated that she had googled the name of the dorm and stumbled on my pictures of a braai (BBQ) we had back in November 2007.  She had been nervous about moving from Johannesburg to Pretoria.  She said my pics helped her not feel so nervous.  How cool is that? 

I also got an email the other day asking for permission to use a photo of mine in a magazine.  My photo is going to be published in Geez Magazine (from Canada).  To check out the magazine go to: http://www.geezmagazine.org/  Again…how cool is that? 

PS:  If you are reading this now then you are one of over 1000 viewers to my blog.  Cool!  And thanks for staying tuned to these incessant ramblings…

5.  Reading in Zulu with an elementary student

One of the things I’ve been doing, besides sleeping too much and smoking too many cigarettes, has been to accompany a friend of mine out to a local township to support a library project she has been orchestrating.  A few weeks ago we went out to Mamelodi with some new international students to read books to elementary students at one of the new libraries.  I didn’t do too much reading with the kids, but did get a few words in.  I have been learning Zulu in the last year and, although I pretty much suck at it, I did manage to get a little Zulu reading in with a student.  He read one page and then I read the next one.  The kids were so amazed!  I had kids crawling all over me to check this mlungu (white person) reading in Zulu.  It was really fun and I haven’t really practiced saying words out loud, so it really helped me out a lot.      

6.  The Sun Magazine

Helen, besides quietly appearing and offering me a therapeutic chat on the state of things, has given me another great gift.  The Sun Magazine.  She has about 10 issues laying around the house…score!  The Sun is published from North Carolina and is one of the most compelling compilations of human life (the good and bad) that you could stumble upon.  I started reading it at the Urbana Free Library, probably because of Kai, and have been a devout reader since.  The Sun is a literary magazine that includes an interview with some prominent figure in the progressive world, short stories, black and white photography, poems, essays, Sunbeams (quotes that pertain to the theme for the month), and a section of anecdotes called Readers Write.  Readers Write is the best section because it’s written by regular people about the tragedies and joys that come to us all.  Some of the entries are so heartbreaking, so human.  I’ve always been moved by Readers Write.  I usually flip to this section (at the end of the magazine) and devour it first.  It always reminds me that life is complicated and messy, but sometimes some really cool stuff happens too.  We can only remember this from relating to one another in a forum such as this.  Hollywood and other ways of capturing this humanity just won’t do.  Readers Write is where it’s at! 

For more info: http://www.thesunmagazine.org/

You can find The Sun at some bookstores too.  And don’t think this isn’t for you cos it’s too “liberal” or something.  I got my dad and his wife a subscription for Christmas one year and although my dad claims to be in some conservative camp…he totally dug this magazine.  If you are a human than there is probably something in it for you. 

7.  My friends

Wait...did I mention I have the coolest friends in the world?  Cos I do.  Don't doubt.  I really don't know what I'd do without them.  People stashed in Brasil, the USA, South Africa, and another other corner of the world you could possibly think of.  Folks...you are seriously my reason to live.  Thanks for your continued love and support.  I only hope I can return 1/2 of the favor to you.

          *****************************************

So…I guess those are my daily disasters and victories for the moment.  I still feel a bit lost at the end of the day, but I guess I just have to keep thinking of these little joys that have been happening to me each and every day.  According to the guy that writes my horoscope at freewillastrology.com…the universe is conspiring to shower me with gifts.  He calls it “Pronoia,” the opposite of paranoia.  This is a way of thinking I can get into :) 

I will do my best to try and slow it down…appreciating the flicker of eternity…doing all I can to maintain as a flame of love. 

I hope that you all are well and enjoying life…wherever you might be.  Know that, despite it all, I am safe and doing fine here in South Africa.  I will be home soon.  I fly into NYC on March 17th.  I should be back to the Midwest by the beginning of April.  So you can find me there at that time…plotting for my next great adventure.  As I have said to a few already…turn the heaters on for me…I am not looking forward to leaving the sun. 

As always…keep the faith and spread it gently

Love, Lynsee

Postal Experiment...in pictures!

Greetings everyone!

I decided to post scanned images of the stuff I've received thru the postal experiment. Why should I have all the fun of checking them out!?!? I didn't post the personalized stuff, but these are some of the images on the cards, postcards, and letters.

You can see the images at my picasa site: http://picasaweb.google.com/lynseemelchi/PostalExperiment2009#

Also I have totally messed up the counting of all the letters and the organization. I would say that I care a lot...but really it seems like a small detail to stress over. I just wanted to keep a statistical order to things to give people info about where things came from. Cos I thought that was interesting. But...I just keep screwing up so I'm going to forget about it for now. So far I have gotten 27 things from cards to postcards to letters to care packages.

Most importantly...thanks for those of you that took the time to participate. I appreciate your effort! It's been fun :)

I am going to leave my postal address in the USA in about 2 1/2 weeks for South Africa

BUT

If you'd like to still send me things (hint, hint) then you can send me stuff at:

Lynsee Melchi
p.o. box 11303
Hatfield 0028
Pretoria
SOUTH AFRICA

Enjoy the pics and keep the love coming!
Until next time...
Keep the faith and spread it gently

Love, Lynsee