American Accent

Today I was inspired to post my first real blog ever to update any interested souls on my progress here in South Africa. “Why so moved?” you ask. Well it all started as I was phoning various mobile service providers in the area for my project. I had a sharpie in my hand, ready to check off “speak with Vodacom re: bulk SMS and phones” from my list of things to do. My grip on that sharpie got tighter and tighter as my extremely expensive airtime dwindled down while I was transferred from useless employee to useless employee because, through each person pretended to understand me and know to whom I should speak, what each one actually wanted was to pass my incomprehensible accent into the next poor bloke to deal with. However, just as I was about to stab the thus-far unused sharpie in my eye socket and hope it reached some vital part of my brain, I was put on hold one more time. I listened for a moment and set the sharpie down gently on top of my untouched to-do list with a smile.

The background music: “Africa” by Toto.

I couldn't help but laugh and it was by far the most pleasant 4 minutes spent on hold all day. It also gave me the courage to finally stop cycle of the ritual polite exchange, which would inevitably lead to the brief explanation of my project, then to the confused pause, and then to the transfer. When the next woman picked up, I finally just said “I need to be in touch whoever would be in charge of potential partnerships or the possibility of innovative technology.” Apparently, said in an American accent, “innovative technology” has a certain authority, or maybe charm, to it and I was immediately transferred to a fellow who is going to get the company to help me with my project.

Life is good. I thank Toto.

It has been a full three weeks and I think I can now consider myself “settled.” I am already in the habit of the “How is it?” greeting before any real exchange of information, I drive a manual on the left side of the road in traffic worse than New York, and I found the supermarket with parmesan cheese. (I have since made noodles with butter, parmesan and salt several times, telling people that it is a “traditional American meal.” After everyone tasted it, they thanked me, informed me that they felt thoroughly cultured and were, furthermore, impressed that I could cook. Is it immoral to feel satisfied from this exchange?)

I’ll admit, moving to a new country is frustrating. Nothing can be done smoothly since I have no knowledge of how the most basic stuff works. For the first week or so, there was one road block in front of another. Whether it is “I don’t think that is right,” (like needing South African health insurance to be a University of Pretoria student,) or “how was I supposed to know that?” (like only needing to put in 7 of 8 digits of my regular log-in student number in order to print,) or “that’s just plain confusing,” (like road signs which don’t indicate a cardinal direction, only the township to which they eventually lead... you don’t know the names/locations of townships, you are outta luck. Period.) it all makes everything take a bit longer. But the only time I really gritted my teeth were a few very important things, like getting an I.D. card so I had access to my dorm. For the first week I had to stand in the parking lot, look up at an open window and yell, “Hey. Hey! Can someone swipe me in?” This is where having a "cute" American accent pays off. Luckily, I now have my own I.D. card to swipe in and no longer have to whore out my foreignness just to get into my home.

So I’ve admitted that it is frustrating. However, it is also hilarious. Mostly, it is hilarious.

For example, one of my first quests was to get internet for my computer. The first exchange happened as I walked into a cell phone store where they sell phones, prepaid airtime cards, everything. These stores are quite common and are all very similar. It was a good place to start. After saying hello, I state simply, “I am looking for a modem which plugs into my computer and uses a SIM card to get internet.” They looked at me like I had two heads. I let a good few minutes to go by to allow them to get over the shock of my foreign accent and anything else that may have thrown them into a stupor- like the fact that I have an extra head. Then, one guy leaned onto the counter showing he was now intently focused on my words. I slowed down, “I have a laptop computer.” Head nods. “I need to use the internet on it.” Head nods. “From what I understand, there is some sort of device or modem which will plug into my laptop and allow me to go onto the internet.” More two-headed-girl stares. More silence. Suddenly, one guy’s face lights up. “OH!” he exclaims with eyebrows raised and a smile. He reaches to a shelf behind him and grabs a package. As he is handing it to me, I feel a sudden rush of joy and relief that I’ve connected with a human being and that, furthermore, I might get to have the internet. I grab the plastic and look down. It is a standard computer mouse. Not even the laser kind, the kind with the ball.

This is made even more hilarious by how simple this transaction should have been. I left that shop and walked into similar one a few doors down. They immediately pointed me in the direction of a computer shop who sold then me the modem. It did, however, take me an entire weekend to realize that, No, I did not have to storm back into the store and demand my money back for the bum modem they’d sold me, but that instead, I could just put the SIM card in right-side-up to get it to work.

The humor in these small things blows me away. Literally. My power adapter turned my miniature travel blow dryer into a hand held rocket jet,...complete with fire and the power of combustion. Though I nearly lost my face in the incident, I still laugh as I pick it up, aim it at my open window and dare, in a clicking-like language, the next human to try to get in. ... Ah yes. I’ve also seen “District 9” during my stay here. It is about aliens in Johannesburg. You see, the prawns – the aliens- have these super weapons which are only activated by their DNA. This means, logically, that my blow dryer is probably a prawn weapon and I was unknowingly infected with prawn fuel, slowly turning me into a prawn and, thus, giving me the capacity to turn the tiny hair styling device into a tool of destruction… Whatever. Just see the movie.

http://www.district9movie.com/

So contrary to what it may seem, I have not lost my mind. I am having a good time. I am indeed a little homesick sometimes- intensely when I try to explain that I became an “Auntie” a few days ago and then, at times, have to try the word “Nephew” with a few different intonations and even then sometimes get that look that tells me either (1) that I sound like a prawn or (2) that regardless of how I am speaking, I have grown another head in the midst of conversation. Even in these times of frustration or self-deprecating humor, I am so wildly happy to be here.... and so to South Africa I say, “Its gonna take a lot to take me away from you. Its nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.”