COLOR ME COLOURED/COLOUR ME COLORED...

Race classification and its associated discrimination was one of the most evil manifestations of the apartheid era in South Africa. Some laws were meant to be broken, so the infamous 1950 Population Registration Act, which attempted to identify people according to their "race", was a glaring example of the stupidity of man. In this case, I'm referring to the "stupid white men" who were the architects, the race designers, of such a law (not to take anything away from Michael Moore's best-selling book by that title).

The Nazi's had various methods of determining who was a Jew, what was a Slav, and who was any number of "lesser" examples of humanity--beneath the proud, blonde, blue-eyed Aryan, of course. They measured noses: the width, the length, extension from the face, etc. Their "scientists" measured cranial capacity, arriving at certain conclusions regarding Slavic peoples. They actually learned about eugenics from folks in the United States...adding their potent racist theories to the mix for determining race classification. The Nazi race dogma attracted idealogues from South Africa. Figures, huh?

Way before DNA testing, the apartheid engineers devised a rather simple method to determine the race of individuals in S.A. They took a standard, government-issue HB pencil and ran it through the hair of the person in question. If said pencil ramained in the hair, then it was pronounced that the person was "coloured." Ask any older, so-called "coloured" person today about the "pencil test", and one is just about guaranteed to witness a look of disdain, perhaps horror. You might even find extreme anger.

By the way, the word "coloured" is the way they spell colored here. I've never been able to determine why they do it that way. I am being badgered by people who insist on posing the question to me: "Why are you so fascinated by the coloured thing?" Simply put, I am NOT fascinated by the business of Coloured (it was law that the word be capitalized)--the apartheid, physiological trait-mongers, were the ones who tinkered with race classification.

My interest in the subject is shaped by American history. You know, we identified the Negro as colored/black (or by using other names, much more demeaning/insulting). Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. referred to the colored race; he interspersed the word Negro quite often when talking about his race of people.

It was okay to refer to blacks as colored or Negro when I was a youngster in the late 1940's, into the '50's. The 1960's ushered in the use of the word Blacks (notice the capitalization), when referring to the aforementioned colored or Negro peoples. Sometime during the tumultuous '60's the accepted reference became Afro-American (with the hyphen). Afro-centric language and thinking became vogue, mainstream. Later, the acceptable way to address someone of color was as an African American (no hyphen).

Now there are profound arguments concerning where the emphasis should be: on the African or the American...or both evenly divided, etc. It gets complicated, right? Well, I dare say that someone of my pigmentation had better not ever refer to an African American as a "colored" person. It matters not how light or dark someone is in America...if there is the slightest-lightest bit of color in said individual, then that person is designated African American (Tiger Woods, for example). My students back home refer to classmates as "mixed" if they are not sure about their "race."

Anyway, the "colored" designation is long gone in American life and culture. Not in South Africa, not by a long shot. The population here was classified into four groups: White, Indian, Coloured, and Black (don't forget the capitalization law). The Coloured group included people of mixed Bantu, Khoisan, and European descent (with some Malay ancestry, especially noted in what is now Western Cape Province).

Things got so bizarre with the race barons of apartheid that in some cases, different members of the same family found themselves in different race groups. They even devised tests more complicated than the previously mentioned pencil and hair application to determine membership in various sub-groups of the Coloured "race."

Finally, during most of thed era of legally formalized apartheid (from about 1951 to 1983), voting rights were denied to Coloured folk in the way they were denied to Blacks. Eventually, the S.A. Constitution was amended to allow Coloured and Asian "citizens" a sliver of voting rights. The Black majority was to be granted citizenship in independent homelands--13% of the land in South Africa (the most desolate wastelands, of course). The rest, 87%, was designated for the Whites, Coloured, and Indian population. Some Asian peoples, in particular visiting Japanese businessmen, would be given the "title" of "honorary Whites." This was to facilitate their stays at hotels, restaurants, etc., during the apartheid era.

Remnants of the apartheid era are still painfully evident in South Africa. I've learned that some folks are perfectly comfortable referring to themselves as being "Coloured." Oh, I guess it doesn't have to be capitalized anymore! There are those who do not like the term coloured. Like America, it's a "mine-field" out there for anyone willing to allow their designations fly around with political incorrectness.

My next blog posting will feature a man who refers to himself as a coloured person. His colour has little to do with why I found him to be "fascinating." The gentleman is fascinating because of his personal history, his vibrant personality, and his unique stature as a professional educator of note in South Africa. Stay tuned!

DAMN @+#!!/&#+X`#^*!!! SCHOOL BUREAUCRATIC BULL-CRAP!!!

Like I don't have better things to do, right? Now I'm told when a phone call is made to a parent, the thing has to be recorded in an "official" book in the office of Norkem Park H.S. The large sign-in book is located next to the office phone.

Called a parent at my first "break" hour, which happens to be second class period today. The kid I'm calling about disrupted my last class of the day yesterday--and it took the entire hour to get her, along with another "learner-wannabee", out of the class and to the doorstep of the principal.

There, they were told they were "naughty" by the school secretary. Naughty? No way! They were disruptive, disrespectful, and incorrigible! Besides that, they were "nasty." School folks here, administrators, teachers, secretaries, etc., have a bad habit of characterizing behavior of the really out-of-control, nasty darlings, using the naughty word. I call it the "N" word. ..that's a capital "N", not the small "n" I use for nasty. I despise the use of that NAUGHTY word! Of course, I have never been fond of euphemistic language.

Anyway, after going through the usual hoops to use the school phone (I haven't been given a teacher code to access it), I finally reached the mother of one of the offending 8th-graders. We began with the usual, required pleasantries toward each other and then....a beep, beep, beep. No more connect with the parent! The phone, someone's phone quit.

Get this: I'm supposed to make a call to a parent, sign in, explain the offense, etc. Oh, did I mention that it took three calls to finally reach the mother of the previously mentioned child? Now, where in hell am I supposed to find time (to say nothing about patience), to make phone calls from a (loud) main office? What happens when I have my "usual" number of "naughty" children? That number could be anywhere from ten to twenty on any given day.

Am I complaining? Yes, I am! They told us that it would get to this point sometime, perhaps mid-way, of the Fulbright year in South Africa (teaching in S.A., that is). When I heard that, I just kind of laughed to myself. My thinking then was: that isn't going to happen to me. The Fulbright year in S.A. was an answer to fervent prayer...I finally got what I wanted!

Well, we all have heard that phrase, "Be careful, you might get what you really wanted." In this case, it was what I really, really wanted. Now, don't get me wrong on this...I'm having the time of my life here. It's the demands on my time from the school (bureaucracy), that is weighing me down. There isn't any "wiggle" room here...and virtually everyone just sloshes along, wading through the demands on their time, not complaining out loud, but bitching and moaning to themselves. It seems as though folks here are taught to just take it on the chin.

The parent called the office back. She informed the secretary that her cell-phone went dead. Now they want me to give up my few minutes for lunch and return the call. No way! I'm not giving up my turkey and cheese sandwich for a discussion about a girl that was totally out of control in my classroom. As they say here: N E V --AAHH! Translated, that means NEVER!

Okay, I relented. I'm staring at a few minutes of freedom on my "time-table." I went to the office to use the phone available to staff. Said phone was being used by the secretary; she also had her own phone on her desk! I waited for a couple of minutes, then I walked off toward the computer center--to finish this posting.

Life is difficult here. I heard a colleague say he used a cell-phone to call a parent, doing it in front of the class (a real "no-no" back at Flint S.W. Academy, by the way!). He chewed on the "learner" that was misbehaving in his class, then handed the phone to the kid to explain things to his parent. The teacher had no more problems from the rest of the class.

Fine, right? Not so fine for me...I do not own a cell-phone. And I don't plan on purchasing/renting one while I'm in S.A. I have never (that's N E V - AHHH), owned a cell-phone in my life. Not even in the U.S.A. By the way, did you know that there are more cell-phones in China than anywhere else on earth? When I first read that in a local newspaper, I said that can't be...surely there are more of those damned things at schools in South Africa than in all of China!

Back to the Chinese and their over 350 million cell-phones. Hell, they gotta have one...to figure out how they can get together. You know what I mean, don't you? I'm talking about kissy-face, girl-boy stuff, then what follows after all that lathering up. Having been to China, I can tell you there isn't anywhere to go and do it...discreetly. Too many people. Cell-phones in China just mean more population is on the way. Just wait and see...you read it here first.

Nevertheless, it is getting late here and I have one more class to finish off a fairly relaxed day at Norken Park High School. Oh, crap...I suddently realized it's going to be another 8th-grade class! Please say a prayer for me, okay? And while you have the attention of the Eternal Master, ask Him to forgive my impatience and impertinence toward 8th-graders. Listen, He helped create them, so maybe He'll do something to have them learn respect for adults, specifically for classroom teachers like me.

If that happens, then maybe, just maybe, the bureaucracy crap I am writing about will diminish. Let those prayers flow, please! Otherwise, there might be some bureaucracy here regarding hospital reports, dismissal forms, and possible airplane tickets home!

'"SNOW" DAY IN VAN RIEBEECK PARK, SOUTH AFRICA!!

The banner headline in the CITIZEN newspaper read: THE BIG CHILL! Folks around this part of South Africa have been talking about what was to be the coldest weekend in years...the temperature was going to drop down to about 16 degrees Celsius. People were warned about taking their dogs/cats in for the weekend. Homeless shelters were told to prepare for a deluge of new customers. The talk on the streets was centered on the weather.

I'm having difficulty understanding what all the fuss is all about. Then today it happened. While driving to the local grocery store my Corolla was pelted with hail-"stones" the size of large pieces of salt! I was very much reminded of the salt distributed by trucks back on Michigan roads when a snowstorm had hit. Only this wasn't salt...it looked like the hail was making an attempt to be like little stones of snow.

What made things even more interesting for me was the fact that the "snow" was accumulating along the side of the roads, looking like...well, "snow." I even rolled the window down on my car, extended my open hand, and tried to grab some of the stuff as it smacked against everything in sight. Like a kid, I whipped my hand back in from the cold and pinched a few pieces of the hail together and quickly deposited it in my mouth. It tasted just like Michigan "snow."

The stuff was disappearing as fast as it appeared. Within just a few minutes the dark clouds above opened up a bit and a ray of sunshine peeked through what had obviously been clouds full of some kind of moisture. The "Big Chill" was over before it began!

On the drive back to our home, I saw a few people walking by the side of the road...all of whom were bundled up like they were trudging though an icy storm in far away Siberia. One woman had a colorful, wool blanket wrapped around her head. I could barely see her eyes peeking out through the head-covering. Others had heavy-looking scarves tightly placed against their faces. The smell of burning wood was evident as a street-vendor gathered close to flickering flames set in a metal barrel.

I'm home now. The slippers are on my feet and a cotton t-shirt was added under my usual sweatshirt worn for this time of year. Winter has begun, I guess. But to me, it will be a "real" winter when I see kids making a snowman (or should I be politically correct and say a "snowperson?"). Yeah, I'll need a snowthing with lumps of coal for eyes and a carrot nose. And please don't give it arms made from the fronds of a palm tree!

Look, this is May in South Africa. They tell me winter will really kick in when June comes around. I can't wait. This is all pretty funny to me because the only way I'm ever going to respect a South African "winter" is when the school authorities declare a "snow-day" for the learners and teachers.

So, I'll wait for that day to come, here in South Africa. Yeah, yeah, I know...Hell will freeze over before my school, Norkem Park High School, has a snow-day! My Fulbright counterpart back in Flint, Michigan had two snow-days during her winter. Good luck on me having even two minutes of a snow-day here!

UPDATED WEATHER REPORT:

Now we have "Operation Snowball" in THE STAR Ekurhuleni Edition of the daily newspaper (out of Johannesburg)! The headline reads: 'Beware of frostbite as cold front stings." The South African Weather Service is predicting 1 degreeC today (Monday, May 22). It is supposed to "warm" up to about 10 degreesC.

Well, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary today. Oh, the dried up, brown leaves from the deciduous trees in our neighborhood litter the street and lawns, but where's the snow? When we have snow in Michigan one can always hear the snow plows on the streets/highways. You hear the "beep, beep, beep, beep" of the over-sized trucks as they rumble down the snow-blocked thoroughfares. I'm missing that here.

If anything changes, I'll let you know right here...you can say you saw it first here! The weather folks are now saying we can expect some cold rain. COLD RAIN! How does that compare with a real Michigan snowfall, let's say a foot or two? Clearly, it doesn't. And when it does, well here I go again: "Hell will freeze over before you'll see a REAL winter in South Africa!"

MOTHER'S DAY...SOUTH AFRICAN STYLE!

Every international holiday celebrated here has been special. Mother's Day was no different! The plan was to celebrate the grand day with a teacher-colleague's family (her name is Lynelle Vetter; she teaches English at Norkem Park H.S.).

First, we were invited by one of my students (they call them "learners" here), to attend a Protestant church service on Mom's Day. The church was easy to locate; it's situated across the street from my school. The service was to begin at 9am...we figured it would be for about two hours and it was almost exactly that long. Lynelle was to drive to the church at 11:30am, then we'd follow her in our Corolla to their home.

The church is titled, "Living Stones." It reminded me of some Pentecostal services I'm familiar with from back in the States. We were there because one of my students, an 8th-grader by the name of Thapelo Paul Tedile, invited us. He was proud to see us there that morning; I know it meant a lot for us to be there with him. He was alone. No mom on Mother's Day at the service.

Anyway, Lynelle was about 20 minutes late...we followed her and a brother to their family home. The family home was the residence of her father and mother: Derek and Lucelle Augustus. I was impressed with both of them from the moment I met them.

Derek has white hair. It seems to glimmer against his handsome brown skin. In South Africa Derek is considered "colored." His wife is also a "colored" person. As Derek explained it to me, it all relates to the old apartheid days. That's when there were four distinct racial groups in the uptight, racially-correct, apartheid government and world of South Africa.

The Masters of Racism framed themselves in at the top of the heap...the white group. Next came the "colored" and Asians. At the bottom of the social/racial groupings were the indigenous blacks. It was all very complicated, of course. One's race could be decided simply by taking a pencil and running it through one's hair. If the pencil stayed there, then that meant you were black. If it happened to clearly fall out, then you had to be "white." Hell, I wonder what happened if someone was having a bad hair day that particular day...your race could be changed right then and there!

Anyway, the day was spent with the Augustus clan; we had a splendid time! I learned that Derek, who is almost my age, has been teaching primary-age learners in South Africa for 38 years. I also learned that we have a lot in common. He's from the "old school" of teaching...there's no hesitation on his part to "hide" a so-called learner if said learner resists his lesson on any given day. In other words, Mr. Augustus has a reputation as a teacher will "take no mess" from kids.

Derek called it "hiding" a student. At first I thought he was referring to "hide and seek" games. No way. He meant whopping the hide off of a kid. And he relished talking about how his stern methods brought results. Upon inquiring further, I realized that some of his former learners are now in my 8th-grade classes.

On the Monday following the Sunday Mother's Day fun, I inquired about who was a former student of Mr. Augustus from my classes. The students glowed with wonderful comments about their former teacher...it was evident they loved him and also learned from him. You could see and feel the respect. I realized that the ones who had Derek as their teacher were the ones who were the best behaved in my classroom. Strange. Is there a lesson to be learned here?

There will be more, much more on the life and times of Mr. Derek Augustus in another posting. I want to reveal more about the wierd world of racial classification here. I told Derek that in American society he would be considered "black." Here he is "colored." Or should I say "Cape-Malay Colored?" This is where things get fairly complicated...thanks to the masters of deceit and racial smoke-screening, the architects of the apartheid laws that began with the white empire created by strict laws in 1948.

Baby Derek Augustus was born and raised near Durbin, South Africa. His golden brown skin branded him as a "colored" person, thanks to the white manipulators of apartheid. His world was not a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic, rich diverse planet. His was the world of separation, division, and divisiveness.

One would think that such a world would turn one bitter. Wrong. Derek is a man who can tell many tales about those early apartheid days, but there is no rancor in his voice. He is a happy, well-adjusted man. And why not? Seeing his lovely home, filled to capacity with an extended family on Mother's Day meant the world to my wife, Svetlana, and our 6-year-old, Ivan J.J.

The single-floor, comfortable dwelling revealed a multi-faceted, diverse family to us that day. The only color evident was the joyful color of laughter, sprinkled with a rainbow of colorful conversations as we sat down to hear a family prayer of thanks before consuming a sumptuous Mother's Day feast.

THE FORMER VICE PRESIDENT IS NOW THE PRESENT VICE PRESIDENT!

Hmmmmmm, I smell a rat. Jacob Zuma, the banished, former vice president of South Africa, got off the hook two days ago. Or perhaps more appropriately, should I say he wiggled out of the mousetrap set by the prosecution? Not Guilty! It was a stunning victory for the defense! Now they are comparing Zuma's attorney to the famed Johnny Cochrane, of O.J. Simpson's defense team. Simpson is walking free and Zuma is walking free--and talking free, now.

Jacob "The Rat" Zuma, vehemently defended his bizarre remarks about taking a shower after he bedded down with the 31-year-old accuser--alleged saying it was a "cure for HIV-AIDS." The remark, if he said it, points to the innate intelligence of the man who once headed a national organization pertaining to fighting the dreaded disease. Oh, before you get all bent out of shape by my referring to Big Jake as "The Rat", the moniker is only given by me in jest. It's an American thing...giving politicians nicknames. I'm sure the only folks around here that would refer to him as a rat would be the accuser and her family. And maybe several ANC stooges who suffered from political envy.

Now the public has to endure his latest words of profound wisdom (The Star, Wednesday, May 10, 2006): "But if you've been in the kitchen, my dear, peeling onions, you wash your hands, not so? What was funny about washing my hands after doing something? What's the problem?," he asked. The remarks by Zuma came after being asked by a TV reporter about his taking a shower following sex with the HIV-AIDS positive woman accuser. Zuma protested that the press had misquoted him regarding his saying something about a shower helping to prevent the disease. Here we go with the political blame-game. I was naive enough to think only American politicians used that tactic to hold the press at bay. Not so.

The onion reference is yet another embarrassment for the young "victim." Can you imagine having your body (what, odor?), being compared to a lowly onion. Surely she used a fragrance that would not have conjured up an onion? Oh well, Zuma could have said something about peeling a clove of garlic, right? Nah, let's stick with the onion. Perhaps it was a sweet Vidalia onion (known in America for it's supreme sweetness and non-onion-like smell).

Enough of that. I told my students there is nothing more boring than talking about/arguing about, the outcome of a trial. In other words, the judgement has been made. The judge, Willem van der Merwe's demeanor and professionalism made it clear to the world that Zuma's fate would be based on the facts presented. He did an exemplary job of holding things together and making sure everyone followed the letter of the law.

One learner raised his hand and asked if the same goes for a sports contest (regarding it being boring discussing the outcome the following day). I answered in the affirmative. He then stated, "Does that mean that Zuma "scored", so he won the game?" Hmmmmmh, are we talking logic here? That's One for Zuma...Zero for womens' rights.

So it is over, huh? Not really. Mr. Zuma couldn't keep his big mouth shut when he was asked about the compainant--with whom he conceded it was a "mistake" to sleep with. He went on to state he had no problem with the woman accuser. Okay, here comes the "open mouth, insert foot statement" by the soon-to-be reinstated vice president: he said he would have no problem with contacting the accuser, but would worry about how such contact would be perceived.

Remember my reference to "The Rat?" Well, if it smells like a rat, feels like a rat (aaarrff; don't forget the baby oil!), and looks like a rat, then it must be a rat. "Rats to you" if you disagree with my assessment of one, Jacob Zuma!

"BATHI UMUNTU, NGUMUNTU NGABANTU"--Jacob Zuma, Former Vice President of South Africa

Who is Jacob Zuma, you ask? Better yet, why should anyone pay attention to his quote? In South Africa, the man is the best-known, most talked about, by far the most argued about politician in the country.

You now know he's a politician. Perhaps it would be more accurate to identify him as a possible washed-up, former politician. Is there anyone with less power than a former politician? That might be him. But then again, if we are to judge him by his words, then maybe the 64-year-old accused rapist will be surrounded by literally thousands of his friends...in retirement, I hope.

The title of this posting, the quote, is in the isiZula language. Zuma is a Zulu man (more on that later). Translated, the words in English mean: "They say you are what you are because of other people." I take that to mean you are what you are by virtue of the company you keep--your peers, family, working colleagues. Who you "run" with, and so forth.

There has been a long drawn-out trial here...the Jacob Zuma Trial. For some folks the whole thing has been much like the O.J.Simpson trial in America--it has taken on a (sordid) life of its own. People around these parts have devoted a better part of their lives to watching and listening to the proceedings. The newspaper industry has gained handsomely from the intimate details of the bedroom antics of an older "gentleman" vice president who was canned by the ANC.

It reminds me somewhat of the silly quagmire former President Bill Clinton found himself in with his errant "meetings" in the White House with the dark-haired, sweet-smiling, Monica Lewinsky. Clinton did not rape the young, attractive intern. It was mutual, what occured between them (well, not exactly--he probably got more satisfaction than her, right?). Of course, she wanted the most intimate of contacts with the most powerful man on earth...and she got just what she schemed for.

Wild Bill finally admitted his sexual daliance with her to an audience on national television--with folks watching, smiling, enjoying his shifty eyes and the squirming of his posture. It was theatre, some would say at its best. Really, it was an event watched round the world. Moscovites must have found pity for the beleagured leader of the Free World. Surprisingly, to me, many people felt compassion for him--indeed, they felt he did no wrong. Many felt it was his "business"; he would have to sort it all out with Hillary was their reasoning.

I could not help but recognize the fact that many of the people who were forgiving of the president's indiscretions were African Americans. They prayed for Bill. They wailed for him. They sent messages of condolence to the White House. Throughout all of history--America's tired, racist past, African Americans have largely forgiven whites who managed to maintain their priviliged status (and still do). And they embraced Mr. Clinton because many felt he was "one of them." I've heard folks refer to President Clinton as the nation's "first black president." The man is loved by African Americans, no doubt.

My wife, a Russian, once told me Clinton was not unlike many of the leaders of her former country--during Soviet times, during present times with the man whose face matches the dullness of a rough Russian winter, Vladimir Putin, and in times past, when the czars ruled imperial Russia. The rulers of the former Soviet Union were "real" men...they had many relationships, many lovers. After all, that is what is "expected" by most Russians of a so-called, "real" Russian man. The expectations are probably there with vodka consumption too, of course. Her thinking was that the president of the United States more than likely would also have extra-marital female "companionship(s)."

Well, today is "Zuma Day" in South Africa. His accuser, a 31-year-old woman by the name of "Khwezi" (not her real name, for sure), is expected to move overseas somewhere when the verdict is read. The move is expected because of her safety. To get a real feel for this public, national tragedy, let it be known that over 18,000 Jacob Zuma supporters showed up at the Jabulani Amphitheatre in Soweto yesterday. And most of those supporters were screaming, out-of-control, women. Go and figure.

Getting back to Zuma's own words: If you are what you are because of other people, then the man must be crazy, deranged, and in need of a great deal of therapy. The thousands of supporters paid R25 to see and hear him. The "lucky" ones got to touch him. Oh, the huge throng got 14 traditional Zulu maskandi groups to perform as "curtain-raisers" before the "hero" of the people entered the venue. One would think they would receive some sort of "performance" from Mr. Zuma, but according to my research he possesses no known talents related to performing on a stage. And let's face it, he already gave his premier performance between the sheets of his captivated, darling "daughter."

Imagine your "hero" allegedly having raped a woman that he referred to as "his daughter" before the alleged encounter and then referring to her as "sweetheart," following his sexual act. Try to imagine that this man, who used to speak for the nation of South Africa on the HIV-AIDS pandemic, having unprotected sex with a woman who was the daughter of a deceased best friend (and ally in the war against apartheid). Yes, go ahead and reach for the sky and imagine this "leader" knowing about the young woman's disease and casting that knowledge to his sea of stupidity as he charmed her with his importance.

The judge is dronning on about the evidence as I type these words. I'm told he started at about 8am and it will go on until about 4pm today. The nation is in a frenzy over this trial and the outcome will have unforseem repercussions for South Africa in terms of the national psyche, the situation of females as a result of coming forth with rape charges, the status of women in a male-dominated culture, the health of the nation vis-a-vis HIV-AIDS, the political scene, and whatever sociological, psychological ramifications that manage to somehow impact the people.

The accuser is packing her bags. She has to have a witness-protection unit guide and direct her to a safe haven. Who knows what country will be her final destination. Her father was a man who died while in exile in Zimbabwe--he had to leave the country of his birth because of his involvement in liberating South Africa from the apartheid government. Now this--for his daughter.

"Khwezi's" academic career is ruined. She was a BA student majoring in geography and English at the University of Natal. I read where she is a vegetarian and loves music and the theatre. Good luck with "being what you are because of other people."

More on this sad situation with another posting. Jacob Zuma's twisted logic and bizarre behavior, to say nothing of his warped reasoning regarding his perception of a consentual sexual encounter with the young Zulu woman will all reach a climax today. Oops, a poor choice of words! Okay, it will all "come out in the wash." Oh, darn...another poor use of the English language (Zuma insisted that by taking a shower after the act of sex, he washed away any chance of contacting the HIV-AIDS disease). It is said that with that stated action on his part, he set the HIV-AIDS medical and informational community back twenty years in South Africa.

Anyway, you get the picture. This man would be tarred and feathered by womens' rights groups back in the United States. Zuma would be "toast" in America. Women in America would hang him out to dry. His arrogant, chauvenistic, pompous attitude would be fodder for women I know there. Indeed, HE would be the one who would have to seek asylum somewhere! Readers, let me know what you think, okay? Surely, you don't count this slime-ball creature as one of your role models, do you? Please let me know...

FACE-TO-FACE (SO TO SPEAK) WITH OUR ANCIENT ANCESTOR...

It was an odd moment. There I was staring at my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great (you get the idea), grand-father. He was exhibited in a thick plactic display case at a place called Maropeng (see posted photographs).

Located in what is called The Cradle of Humankind, Maropeng is a new facility offering a fun yet educational attraction near Johannesburg that tells the story of humankind's origins and its continuing journey into the future. It teaches the formation of the earth and all its living creatures through exploration of interactive exhibits, interpretation panels, and audio visual displays--all there to discover who we are and where we came from.

We did that. At the end of the expansive complex is a room that is utilized to display appropriate fossils to explain the story of humankind. Upon walking into the room, we were immediately struck by the fact that all of the display cases contained fossilized skulls. I was drawn to the case because of the size of the skull. It was small.

He's known as the Taung child, named so because of where he was found. With that in mind, one must realize that South Africa is famous for being home to approximately 40 percent of the world's hominid fossils (which means they belong to our human family tree). The fossils are as old as 3.5 million years and come from a time when our earliest human ancestors were roaming the African savannah.


It has been theorized by scientists that the Taung child was killed and eaten by an eagle (I wondered how they could arrive at such a conclusion regarding the demise of my African relative!). The epoch-making discovery was made by Professor Raymond Dart, a young Wits University academic who recognized he had discovered a skull that could be classified as a missing link between modern humans and apes.

For six weeks, using a sharpened knitting needle and a hammer and chisel he had purchased from a local hardware store, the professor chipped away at the limestone that had encased my relative for a little over 2 million years. There, in front of his very eyes, was an almost perfect little face with a full set of milk teeth with its first molars just developing.

Dart was convinced he had found a creature which was daring to vie with man. It's features were startlingly similar to later humans. He knew that in his hands was the first unequivocal, "living" proof that humans had indeed evolved from apes, and also that Charles Darwin's much derided theory that man's early progenitors came from Africa was right, after all.

So, here I was, examining my ancient African relative. Svetlana explained the above information to Ivan. I was proud and happy to watch him learn about his earliest ancestor. Perhaps in future years the lessons he learned that day will have more of an impact on his life. Who knows? Maybe he will disregard what he witnessed, I don't know. But, I am reasonably sure he will recognize an unmistakable truth: Africa is home to humankind. We can all trace our ancestors back to this land.

For this, I (we) thank Professor Raymond Dart for his thrilling discovery. And even more so, we thank him for his scientific work in South Africa. The Taung child was discovered in 1924, but the rest of the scientific world did not catch up with his vision and knowledge until the early 1950's. By 1984 the U.S. journal Science felt confident enough to acknowledge his find as one of 20 scientific discoveries that had shaped the life of human beings in the 20th century.

Our little Ivan John Josef Davidek was born on June 27, 1999. That makes him part of the last century. Dr. Dart's life's work encompasses our little guy who was born in the last century. His life will be lived mostly in the 21st century--a time of extreme change and momentous challenges for humankind.

I hope he will remember his "roots." We will continue to encourage him to accept the fact that the path to humanity today is related to earlier steps taken by our African ancestors. It is theorized the Taung child was terrorized by a stray bird of prey. So-called modern humans are now being terrorized by fellow human beings, climate changes, pollution, genocide, warfare, and worse. Add to that mix, denial and ambivilence, and the future looks rather bleak.

Good luck son. And good luck to my other two children, Erik and Erin. And good luck to their children too. If we must depend on luck...well, good luck world! We're gonna need it...