Saturday, January 5, 2008

Meeting Thomy

Today we went to Sowetho, the township where Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela were born (two nobel prize winners on the same mothafuckin block). As we were driving through the townships, a small dust storm erupted out of nowhere by the side of our car. There were hats, shirts, and shoes flying through the air and people were running for cover. Thomy, our guide and one of the advisors to President Mbeki, barely batted an eye. He was too busy bobbing his head to Mariah Carey's "Heartbreaker" which was blasting over the radio. I started humming along, too. I think it's funny that so many of the songs on the radio here are gay club staples; super emotional female-driven club type songs.

There is music everywhere in South Africa. The music in the grocery store is not muzak (soft uninteligable dentist waiting room style) but really good South African and American music...like the kind that was played in my high school gymnasium in 10th grade. I'm talking Beyonce , Usher, Salt n' Pepper. And it's not played softly, not at all. It's blasted through the speakers. I feel like my life has a soundtrack, finally.

Thomy has a swagger to him. He knows everyone in the townships and everyone knows him. He is constantly honking at cars and shouting at people. He knows seven languages and half the time I have zero idea what he is saying.

But anyway, I am at his home now and I can hear crickets outside and a dog is barking somewhere in the distance. It's hot and humid in my room, but not unbearable. The heat actually feels very natural.

There's something very relaxed about life here in Thomy's house. I am not going to make any cultural assumptions because really, I just don't feel like I have a grasp on the culture yet, but I will say that I feel very comfortable here in Thomy's house. Comfortable saying what I feel like saying, comfortable talking to the guests in his house...just comfortable. Perhaps its because I have been traveling around with a local celebrity, but Jo'berg seems very open and inviting.

Melissa, Maddie and Mary are all passed out in the room next to me. I'm the only one still awake. I feel like I snorted glue or something because I'm writing furiously, trying to organize my thoughts, trying to document this day (which felt more like a week). The soles of my feet are burning and I'm beginning to wonder if I stepped in battery acid or something. It feels like I slathered my feet with Ben Gay.I am sitting on the bed in a beautiful room in Thomy's Jo'berg house. Thomy is part of the African middle class...less than two percent of the population in South Africa, where 17% of the population controls 83% of the wealth. Thomy is one of only three black men in his suburb. Everywhere we walk with him, white South Africans stare at us.

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