Throughout my time here in Cape Town, I’ve learned a lot about the Ubuntu through my interaction with others. Below is a short essay I wrote for a seminar about just how similar my own values are to those of Ubuntu:
The value my cultural partner and I discussed is the African concept of Ubuntu. She told me that in Setswana, the term is “botho” and derives from the expression “motho ke motho ka batho,” which literally means, “a person is a person through other people.” She explained that you are not an entity in and of yourself, but rather that you exist through other people. In all your actions and ways, you should consider other people. If you act badly towards others, you’re considered to be without that virtue and to be without it is bad. Ubuntu, she explained goes into all spheres of life and regulates how you speak to people and how you relate to others because they are the people that you are a person through. She said that Ubuntu covers most values including respect, dignity, humility, self worth, and humanity. Basically, Ubuntu is the concept that everyone exists through others and everything you do affects others.
One of the things I learned was that the values I was raised with aren’t far from those of my cultural partners. I think the biggest difference is the fact that there was never a specific term for the values my parents raised me with. Although I was not brought up hearing the term “Ubuntu,” I was told, “Do unto others what you would have them do unto you.” My parents taught me respect others and myself and to always remain humble. They taught me that no matter who a person is or how they treat me, I should treat them with respect. I learned that I should always look out for those around me, family or otherwise. They taught me basic morals like to never lie, cheat, or steal. My parents brought me up on basic Christian values, which, like Ubuntu, cover a wide variety of values.
While the conversation did not exactly help me to understand why things are the way they are in South Africa, it helped me to feel a connection to my cultural partner. The longer I’m here, the more I’m able to draw transatlantic conclusions. There are certain things that didn’t die in the slave trade and I believe the concept of Ubuntu is one of them. Like Moyo, I was raised to treat others with respect because in a way, we are all connected. I find it interesting that even though we are worlds apart and I am centuries removed, there are still so many cultural similarities between the two of us. I absolutely love the idea of Ubuntu and I think it’s completely relevant for a lesson like this. People exist through other people. There is no culture or language or race that is stagnant. Instead, we exist through and rely on other people. I don’t think this concept could have been more spot on.

Location: Cape Town, South Africa

For a class project, my group created a blog about hair and identity. We each had to write our “hair story.” Here’s mine:

…it’s complicated

The relationship I have with my hair is similar to that of an adolescent girl with her high school sweetheart. At times, it has been so ridiculously complex that I’m shocked we’re still together. Because of it, I’ve had to deal with bad-mouthing, pesky relatives and friends who feel the need to give their input, and resort to advice from my mom when there was nothing else I could do.

I first fell in love with my hair when I was about six. It was the first time my mom had ever taken me to a salon and I was ecstatic. She told me, “a woman’s hair is her crown and glory” (a motto she has repeated an uncountable amount of times in my lifetime) and that I should start learning how to take care of my hair now. I sat anxiously at the shampoo bowl while the hairdresser washed and conditioned my hair. We sat in the salon for hours as I listened to her and my mother discuss the latest news and other topics which my little girl ears were too underdeveloped to understand. When the hairdresser had finished working her magic in my head, my unprocessed, virgin hair blew in the wind like daisy, or one of those flowers we used to make wishes on. She had put little ringlets all over my head that bounced when I walked and shook when my head twirled. It was the first time I remember ever realizing my hair had the power to do something like it. She spun me around in the chair and it was love at first sight.

 Me rockin my natural hair at a young age (middle)

Fast forward to a year and a half later: the second grade. It was my first day at Paul Road Elementary School in Rochester, New York. I remember I had on a yellow dress and my mom had put twists in my hair that were secured at the top with little ballies. I was so proud of my appearance that day and couldn’t wait to meet new friends. After putting my things in my cubbie, the teacher called us all to the mat. I walked over excited to see a few girls who looked like me…or at least I thought. No sooner than I sat down at the mat, one of the girls looked at me and said “Who does she think she is with her long hair and high ponytails?” My tiny heart sunk instantly. It was obvious that I was like them, but I wasn’t. Something about the way my hair looked made me “less black” than them.

I don’t remember whether or not I told my mom that story or not, but the following summer, I received my first relaxer. She said my hair had become too thick to deal with and that was the only way she’d be able to maintain it. I was finding out that the hair I thought was so perfect was only perfect to me. If it didn’t look how someone else wanted it to look, it wasn’t ok. It had to be changed, altered. I started to feel resentment for it and the only reason it stayed primped was because my mother thought it should.

I received relaxers from the second grade all the way up until the eighth when I really started getting into basketball. Prior to that, my mother had never let me put extensions in my hair. She said I didn’t need them because my hair was already long and thick enough. I guess she gave up when she realized that no amount of heat would keep it straight after a rigorous practice. Regardless of how much basketball I played, though, it was still important to my mom that I keep my hair done (as per her motto). The summer after eighth grade I began getting braids. All types of braids…box braids, cornrows, micros…you name it, I’ve worn it. I liked the braids. They didn’t require as much maintenance. I didn’t have to wash my hair as often and after a basketball game or practice, my scalp didn’t feel as gross. Additionaly, they felt more like me. I felt like I could look in the mirror and identify with who I saw. My hair wasn’t straight and flowing and it wasn’t supposed to me. That’s not how it grew out of my head, so why should I take it through all of that work to be something it wasn’t?

After I got my first taste of braids, I decided to go natural. I had seen so many women in my church with natural hair and I loved the look. It was one I could identify with. I started to grow out my relaxer and my hair finally felt healthy. Once sweet sixteens and high school formals started to approach, though, I saw all of my friends with straight hair and felt the need to fit in. I fell into the trap and had my hair relaxed. It felt dirty and after one relaxer, I decided that’s not what I wanted to do any longer. It was back to natural for me.

My hair in braids after the relaxer stage

I stayed natural for quite a few years and I loved my hair and it loved me. I had regained the sensation I felt when I first sat in the salon chair all those years ago.  It could do almost anything I wanted wit my hair in its natural state. I could press it (with the help of a hot comb of course), twist it, braid it, blow dry it, wear braids…whatever. And all without having to chemically process it. The only problem was, I actually had to do it. So, against my better judgment, I decided to put my hair through something else: a texturizer.

My texturized hair sophomore year of college…excuse the messy room

I decided that after my freshman year of college it was time for a new look. I had grown and changed so much, that my hair needed to change with me. I went to the salon close to my house and had my faithful hairdresser texturize it, this way I could get the best of both worlds with the least amount of work. I could wear it straight or curly and the most I’d have to do would be to put a little product in it. I liked the new look, but after I few weeks, I decided it wasn’t enough. When I got to school, I had my stylist cut and dye it two different shades for me. I loved it. I sported the look for about three months until my hair had decided it had had enough.

It was tired of my unfaithful ways and began to fall out. That’s right: my hair was shedding like crazy. I had no choice but to grow out both my color AND the texturizer. For a while, I was distraught, but once my hair was au natural, I realized that’s how it should have been all along.

I’ve been natural for about a year and a half now. My hair and I still go through tough times, but it’s all in my head. From time to time, I still try new things, but I doubt I’ll ever put my hair through something so drastic again. I refuse to let what others say or think shape the way I treat my hair.  Throughout the years, our relationship has grown and matured and we’ve been through way too much for me to give up now. 

My hair in its natural state…as it should be!

If you’re interested in checking out the rest of the blog, here is the link:

http://hair-i-am-cas2001s.blogspot.com/

Location: University of Cape Town, Cape Town, South Africa

A lot!

Hello, everyone! I’m sorry for not sticking to my promise of writing three days in a row. Yesterday was a bit hectic, but I’m back and with a vengeance.

As you can see, today’s topic will be names.

During one of the first weeks of classes, we talked about the importance of naming in African cultures. I have always grown up knowing that my name means something, but I don’t think that until this discussion I actually thought about how it plays a role in my everyday life. This entry will take you on the journey of my personal “name story” by answering a series of questions.

Who named you?

I guess you can say my name was sort of a compromise. I was always told that my mom chose my first name and my dad got to decide what my middle name would be. My last name, Griffin, which is Irish in origin, was obviously passed down from the paternal side of my family.

Why are you named what you are?

In my opinion, the reason for my name is a bit complex. Let’s start with my first name. My mom chose my name for a few reasons, the first of which is because she liked the name. My mom was never supposed to be able to have kids. Before she got pregnant with me, she had a brain tumor the size of a golf ball. When it was removed, the doctors told her she would never be able to have kids; when she got pregnant with me, they told her I would be mentally challenged (I’m the oldest of two and both my brother and me function at full mental capacities). The word “autumn” means a time of harvest and I think she felt like after defying all of these odds, I was her harvest. Additionally, my mom chose the name “Autumn” because it is racially ambiguous. I can walk into any interview or room knowing that unless my potential employers have seen a picture of me, they will not automatically assume that I am black, and in a lot of ways, I’m grateful for that.

My dad chose my middle or second name. The name “Adia” is a Swahili term for “a gift from God.” My dad was with my mom the entire time she had the tumor, the day it was removed, and when the doctors told her she would never be able to have kids. He witnessed the entire journey. He knew what it meant to her to be able to have a baby, and so he chose the name he felt was most appropriate.

My last name is a bit of a mystery to me. I know it’s not the name my ancestors were brought to Africa with. It is a typical Irish last name, but is Greek in origin, as it is the sign we attach to the mythological animal the griffin (half lion, half eagle). Besides the fact that it’s the name my dad gave to me, I don’t hold it in very high esteem. I know that it was most likely given to an ancestor who worked in the fields as a slave after he was stripped of his own surname. It will one day change and I (and my future kids) will adopt another European name, which says nothing of our African heritage.  For these reason, I prefer my first two names to my last.

What does your name mean to you?

My name means so much more to me than most people will ever realize. First and foremost, it’s a symbol of how much my parents loved me, even before I was born. They took the time to carefully think about a name that would shape my destiny and personality.

If anyone who is reading this knows me, they know that my first name fits my personality perfectly. I can’t really explain it. I wasn’t born in the fall, so I know that’s not the reason my name holds significance. There’s something about the fall that’s inherently artsy. It surprises you each time it comes around with different colors, different weather, different scenery. Each year, says goodbye to the unbearably hot days of summer and welcomes you with its crisp air. I can’t quite put into words what I want to say about it, but I’m hoping you get the connection.

My middle name signifies the expectations I have to live up to. If I’m expected to be a gift from God, I’ve got to act in a certain way at all times. I can’t do things that disappoint or God. I’ve got to live up to the standards that were set for me.

What does it mean to other people?

Most people don’t actually know what my name means. They hear “Autumn” and assume “fall” and they’re typically baffled about how they even pronounce “Adia” (a-dee-a – both are short “a”s). To my family, though, it means a lot. My family has always told me that I’m destined to do great things and throughout my time abroad, I’ve been reminded by almost everyone of what my middle name means and that they’re proud I’m living up to my name. In my family, like in many African cultures, my name was something I was always destined to grow into. It was someone I was to become since birth, without question.

 As I continue to grow and learn, my life experiences will continue to reveal to me things about my name. There’s one thing, I know for sure though: Autumn Adia Griffin is exactly what I was supposed to be named.

Location: Rosebank, South Africa

Hi everyone!

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I wanted to take a minute and get my thoughts together before I did so. I know you all like hearing about what I’m doing, but in some ways I think it’s more interesting/thought-provoking/helpful to hear about what I’ve been thinking instead. I’ve decided that for the next three days straight (hopefully) I’m going to write a series of blog posts. This one is going to be about what I’ve been thinking about Cape Town as a whole and a class I’m taking that has kind of inspired these thoughts. The second is going to be about Ubuntu and the third is going to be about my name and what I’ve learned about it since I’ve been here. The subjects aren’t really all that related, but they’re all interesting (at least I think so). For those of you who are interested in what I’ve been doing and not so much about what I’ve been thinking, I’ll post a list of things I’ve done at the bottom of this post and the two coming in the next two days. So here it goes…

I have officially been in Cape Town for almost 3 months and I’ll be going home soon. Time flies…literally! Of course, I haven’t been living here in the world’s #1 vacation spot and not taking note of the “real world” things that are taking place around me. One of my classes has actually been one of the biggest eye-openers for me. The class is called Culture, Identity, and Globalisation in Africa and it’s through the Center for African studies (which is closing down, but that’s another story for another day). Our newest lecturer Nick Shepherd is one of the most interesting individuals I’ve ever met. The past few weeks, he’s been talking to us about all of the things that UCT doesn’t want you to know. For instance, we learned that most of the buildings on this campus are named after racist bigots and the university refuses to change the names. We learned that the university won’t take down the statue of Cecil Rhodes, one of the leading figures of apartheid, because he donated money to the school long ago. We learned that the man who was supposed to be the first black lecturer at the University of Cape Town was offered a job and later it was revoked because he was black. And finally, we learned that next to UCT, there used to be a zoo.

While some of those statements might not sound very important to what I’m going to say next, I promise you, they are. Just stick with me for a second.

The first thing Nick’s series of lectures has me thinking about is secrets. It’s obvious that one of the reasons the university wants to shut down the Center for African Studies is because they are preaching an inconvenient truth that they don’t want others to know about. They are telling students what really happened on campus and making them realize why things are the way they are at the school today.  What’s so interesting about this, though, is that he makes sure the message gets across to us anyway. He wants to make sure that we’re educated and that we know so that we can make a judgment call for ourselves.

His lectures got me thinking, though. What could our home universities be hiding from us? Each student on the CIEE program represents a university back in the states, and each university in the states has some type of racially charged historical story. What is it that we’re not being taught in class about this history? What is it that professors aren’t allowed to say? What is it that they don’t know? What voices are administrators silencing? Now, I am in no way trying to stir up controversy with my home university or any other institutions back home, but I would really like to know, what is it that is being kept from us, and why?

The second thing these lectures have caused me to think about is the idea of an imaginary world. You may recall that I mentioned there used to be a zoo next to the university. It was Rhodes’ idea to put this zoo here and flll it with European and African animals to create a sort of Europe in Africa. We recently got the opportunity to walk through it, and although it no longer exists, I felt like I was walking through Michael Jackson’s Never Never Land Ranch. The idea of a Europe in Africa is so fabricated and seems so completely ridiculous, that I couldn’t really say anything.

In the same way, though, every time I walk down the street and think about my friend, Summer, who is studying abroad in Ghana, I can’t help but think how fabricated the world I’m currently living in is. Cape Town is in no way what we think of when we think of Africa. I’m not suggesting that there should be animals running around, and dirt roads, and bare-breasted women. What I’m saying is that Cape Town is ridiculously Western, and obviously because of its racial history. There are mega malls and the fashion is super European. Although there are eleven national languages, every single class at UCT is taught in English and every sign that’s not in English, is in Afrikaans (which, by the way, is NOT an indigenous language). 

And the characteristic of Cape Town that is most common to western socieities is that there are wealthy, privilieged white people, and there are non-whites living in abject poverty. What bothers me most about this, though, is that the “haves” in society often put on these blinders and pretend they don’t see it. For example, you may remember me speaking about Old Biscuit Mill in a previous entry. While it is nice on the inside, like I said before, it is uppity. And sitting directly outside of the gate, are eonoomically challenged people, begging. But inside, just like The Rodes’ Zoo, people are enjoying their imaginary world where nothing is wrong and poverty doesn’t exist.

I can’t say that I’m not a perpetrator of the problem, as I come from a first world country and a middle-class family. But quite honestly, I can say that I don’t pretend like I don’t see it. I’m aware of it and it bothers me more than you could ever imagine.

This particular entry may not be the favorite of all the ones I’ve written, but it helped me to do what I do best: put my ideas, thoughts, and feelings down on paper (or at least electronic “paper”). For those of you who are interested in what I’ve been up to, below is a list. Enjoy!

Friday, September 30 – Liesbeek Formal: Each year at the end of the year (keep in mind, this is the spring semester for UCT) each residence hall puts on a formal. Though I don’t live in a residence hall, I’m pretty close with everyone from CIEE that lives in Liesbeek Hall.

Saturday, October 1 – Bo Kaap tour: Nursery A (my house) went on a tour of Bo Kaap, a predominantly Muslim community with brightly colored houses, shrines, and mosques. Most of the residents are desendents of slaves who were imported by the Dutch in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It has a really interesting history, and if you’d like to learn more, here is the link: http://bokaap.co.za/.

            Game night: My RA had a bunch of his friends over and I invited over a few of mine. We played a game called 30 Seconds (which is very similar to Tabboo, but with a few minor changes) and spoons. I’m not usually big on games, but it was definitely a fun night.

Saturday, October 8 – Went to “Town”: Instead of calling the it the “city,” here in Cape Town, the downtown area is called “town.” I took the train with two of the girls from my dance class and went for lunch and to walk around Green Market Square (a market much more like I imagined markets to be). 

Location: Rosebank, South Africa