Change In Plans

India and I have moved to Cape Town twice before.  Also, we have been in South Africa for several weeks every year since we returned to the U.S. in late 2000. 

Given this familiarity and comfort, we thought that moving here the third time would be simple and fun, like all of our vacation trips have been.  We thought wrong, particularly around school.  The cultural gulf is huge, between the schools we have been used to (Willow School, home school, PS 3 - the Hippie School, and the Blue Man Creative Center) and the South African system.

Back in August, we were delighted when Tallulah and Zola were accepted to one of the good private schools in Cape Town.  Both kids had friends in their prospective classes, the school was well organized and welcoming, and it all seemed perfect. 

The school does seem to be fine (time will tell), but getting our kids outfitted and equipped has been more confusing and expensive than I could have imagined.  Getting ready to learn has been a huge learning experience in itself.  It has also reminded us how much South Africa is a “figure it out for yourself” culture, like Australia.  No touchy-feely orientations or buddy systems for the new kids, boyo, just get on with it.

We had to buy uniforms at a shop at our school’s sister school, about 45 minutes away.  Along with a dozen other families, we crowded into a tiny shed, which was crammed from floor to ceiling with polyester and polyester-blend school uniforms in khaki and navy.  Lu was easy: three sundresses and a couple of floppy hats.  For Zola, we had to throw ourselves on the mercy of the shop attendant.  She piled a basket high, with shorts and shirts and a tie and a blazer.  The uniform shoes look exactly like brown versions of the big, thick-soled clunkers worn by NYC police officers.  Zola has huge feet, and the clunkers look gargantuan on him (and make him five feet tall).

It took a couple of hours, and required an extra trip to the cash machine (no credit cards accepted), but we got the kids outfitted.  Late that afternoon, they did a fashion parade around the kitchen in their new uniforms, looking terribly smart, and we set photos to grandparents all around the world.

When we were accepted, the school informed us that Zola would need to have his hair cut before starting school.  This part of the preparation led to a traumatic shearing and an angry kid.

 Buying stationery and covering notebooks with plastic (an ancient South African tradition) has been more complicated and frustrating than getting the uniforms.  During the Northern Hemisphere summer, the school sent us an invoice for a crazy amount of stationery that had been ordered on Zola’s behalf.  A few days before school started, we pickd up a huge cardboard briefcase filled with literally dozens of notebooks, plastic folders, special markers, pencils, pens.  The supplies also included 12 tubes of Pritt Glue Stick and a sharp-pointed compass and a protractor.

We thought we were set, until we visited a South African friend on the day before school started.  Our friend, Natalie, has two boys at the same school, aged 12 and 10.  Natalie had received two of the huge stationery briefcases, and had covered every one of the notebooks, tablets, textbooks, in matching colored plastic, organized by subject.  She had bought color-coded zip-up folder bags, in which to store the matching notebooks.  She had labelled every covered book with printed labels, also color coded by subject.  She had even printed tiny labels to identify each boy’s pens and pencils.

I thought she was crazy, bringing anal retention to new highs.  I said, “You’re crazy, bringing anal retention to new highs.”  Natalie responded by handing us a sheet from our school that described exactly what parents were expected to do in terms of stationery and book covering.  Somehow, we literally had not gotten the memo.  The sheet described the requirements as eing exacty in line with what Natalie had done. 

We asked a few other parents, and they all said that it is a 6-8 hour job for each kid.  “It’s a tradition.”  “It’s how we have always prepared for school.”  Natalie is slightly over the top, but had not done much more than the expected minimum.

Since that day, India and I have been wrestling with colored paper and adhesive clear plastic every night.  Read on its own, that last sentence sounds kind of hot.  Actually, we have struggled mightily to get the covers on Zola’s books, and get flip files and zip-up folders all together and matching by color.   Fifth graders take thirteen (count ‘em!) separate subjects, so covering the notebooks and textbooks for all of the subjects is sort of like wrapping about fifty Christmas presents.  nstead of wrapping paper, though, we are using a layer of heavy construction paper, with a layer of extremely sticky clear plastic over it.

Several times our exasperation and frustration (I am truly horrible at handicrafts) has bubbled over into sharp words between India and me.  For example, I say: “Forget this, it’s completely ridiculous.  I suck at cutting and pasting, and I don’ t understand why it is required.”  India responds, “Zola will get demerits or debits for not having covered books.  Hush up and keep covering, Mister.”

This evening we finally broke the back of the great staionery challenge.  We hope that tomorrow, the third day of school, Zola will not get into any trouble for uncovered books.  Seems strange.

Tallulah does not need books yet.  Thank heavens for small blessings.

Happy Martin Luther King Day.

Tonight, no one in the Baird Family has a dream, because no one is staying asleep for long enough. Tomorrow is the first day at Reddam House school for Zola and Tallulah, and nerves are running a bit high.

India and I spent a significant part of the evening engaged in a long-standing South African parent ritual that we did not know about before this week: covering all textbooks and notebooks in colored paper and adhesive plastic. This involves a lot of measuring, cutting, and careful placing/pasting. The colored paper is coded to match each of Zola’s subjects. Apparently, this is how it has always been done here. I’m not sure I see the pedagogical benefit to the elaborate text-book covers, but, like wearing the clunky, brown lace-up shoes with Zola’s uniform, it wasn’t presented as an option.

Tallulah met her teacher, Kim, when we stopped by the school today. We were encouraged when young Kim greeted Tallulah with a hug, but surprised when she introduced herself as “Mrs. Manson-Kullin, that’s a long name” Blue School was so mind-bogglingly wonderful that it will be difficult for any Tallulah school experience to match it. Tallulah skipped and danced all around her classroom like an elf, so excited and happy to be starting her new school.

Zola is being stoic, but is clearly nervous. We are glad that he goes in knowing a few kids. After one day of classes, the entire fifth grade goes away for a three-day camping trip. The trip should give him the opportunity to get to know his classmates. Socially, he will be fine. India and I are having pangs of “our baby!” and “three whole days away from us!”. I’m also feeling daunted by the stacks of textbooks (particularly Afrikaans and French), and hoping we can help him catch up quickly.

Nervous excitement for all four of us.

Completely unrelated to school, but making us glad to be here, early this morning we stood on our deck and watched a group of ten dolphins playing in the surf. They nosed around near the few surfers who were in the water (probably gave the surfers an initial fright, given the publicity around the deadly shark attack last week in Fishoek), but mostly frolicked in the breaking waves. Pretty amazing to watch out out kitchen window.

Life is good. On to school.

We’ve been on the ground in South Africa for two weeks today. Everyone is long past their jet lag, and our initial sun burns have sloughed off in a scaly mess. We are slowly getting ourselves sorted out: mostly a function of new cell phones, electric-plug adapters, and internet access. India and I have been filling out loads of paperwork for insurance, and school, and extracurricular activities and jobs.

Mostly, though, we are in the process of becoming, or rebecoming, Capetonians.

Tallulah had a tea and cupcake party yesterday with all of the girls from the kindergarten class she is joining next week. Her friend, Sienna, and Sienna’s mommy organized it. The little girls bounced on the trampoline, jumped in the pool, ran around in the sun, decorated and ate cupcakes, and repeated the cycle.

After eating three strawberry cupcakes, Tallulah felt very ill, and went and hid in the bathroom. When India found her, Tallulah asked, earnestly, “Mommy, am I pink? Do they have some broccoli for me to eat?” I guess we read the book “Pinkalicious” to her a few too many times. Assured that she was not pink, Tallulah recovered quickly.

Zola had a paintball birthday party with a group of boys from the fifth-grade class that he joins next week. It was a perfect introduction, and fun for him. In two hours, the ten kids shot 4,500 paintballs at each other, scrambling around in the dune grass and scrub of an exposed field near Paarl. I counted about 40 total hits. Fun for all.

The ‘becoming Capetonian’ process is subtle. Tallulah’s face has exploded with hundreds of freckles, a sure sign of progress. After dinner out last night, Zola walked across the parking lot in his bare feet. I asked whether he had left his shoes in the restaurant, and he said, “No, I didn’t wear any shoes.” Another sign of progress.

We have been hiking and boogie boarding and swimming in the ocean. A Zimbabwean man got eaten by a shark near our favorite surfing spot, so we are taking a little break from surfing. Zola starts training with the surf lifesaving club on Sunday morning.

India and I are feeling slightly stressed, getting a lot of administrative stuff squared away while seeing friends, moving house, and entertaining kids. Also, I went to Turkey for a few days last week. We have had a few cross words, but more as a symptom of anxiety than anything serious. I wish I were a better person, and responded to stress with a light heart and a kind word.

Mostly, though, we are feeling very blessed to be here. The location of our rental house is so spectacular as to defy description: waves are crashing onto the beach 50 feet from our living room. Sea and mountains surround us on all sides. We have each other, and our friends, and a whole continent of opportunities and adventures.

Greetings from Cape Town!

Door to door, the trip took 34 hours. Our year of traveling sort of trained everyone, so it was fine. The individual TV screens in economy class make this feasible, even fun, for the kids.

We went to a wedding on our first evening in Cape Town. The bride was a South African woman who we have known since she was four (tempus fugit), and the groom was a South African who had grown up in the US. The wedding was held at Leeuwkop, the Western Cape premier’s official residence. It is the equivalent of the governor’s mansion, but built in the 1690s, and set into the side of Table Mountain, overlooking the city and the port.

The wedding, and the groom’s family, were Orthodox Jewish, which made for an interesting ceremony. There were official contracts in Hebrew, and the bride making circles around the groom, and lots of ancient formality. Tallulah was a flower girl, and spent the whole ceremony chasing flower petals that had been blown off the path by the teeth-rattling wind. Zola was a ring bearer (or ring barrier, as he called it), so he stood in the chupa with the wedding party, holding one of the four wooden poles to prevent the structure from blowing off the mountain. He looked a little shaggy and unkempt, but I don’t think anyone minded.

We saw many old friends at the wedding, which made us feel welcome and at home.

31 December was India’s birthday, so she set the agenda. She ran from our house in Llandudno to the base of Lion’s Head mountain. We met a group of friends there, and climbed up in the morning sunshine. Tallulah climbed the whole way by herself, spurred on by her friend, Sienna, who was climbing by herself for the second time. At the top, we sang Happy Birthday and ate carrot cake. For India, this was nearly perfect.

Although we have gotten a little color, and look healthier than we did in NY, we are all still feeling jet-lagged and out of sorts.

Tallulah has been collapsing at about 7pm each night (the wedding was tough), and getting up with the sun at 5am. She has been calling us “father” and “mother”, and asking us to call her “daughter.” Not sure what type of coping mechanism this is.

Zola got a huge sack of plastic army men, and has been setting up elaborate set-piece battles, with Byzantine rules about what each piece can do. Occasionally, he runs around yelling “Suppressing fire!” and diving for cover into a sofa or onto the floor. He makes a lot of machine-gun noises too.

India has been running long, long distances, soaking up sun and beautiful views. She is overjoyed to be here. I’m happy that everyone else is happy, but am feeling apprehensive about work, and separation from the rest of the world. I will get over it, and we will be fine.

In the meanwhile, we have a lot of logistical and practical stuff to do (cars, health insurance, school uniforms), and we want to go surfing. It is nice to not feel pressure to see people and do things on a rapid-fire schedule, since we are staying indefinitely. This feels like a very relaxing holiday at the moment.

Cape Town is pretty awesome.