We have been here for almost 5 days and it is evident to me that Ace (mom) has her own agenda–to find me a husband here. She must be out of her mind! I noticed her smile and stare whenever she noticed an African couple walking together; she smiled and stared even more whenever she saw them with kids. I’ve never heard of a biological grandma clock, but if one exists, them my mom’s is ticking.
After returning from our trip to the township, we returned to the waterfront for dinner and ate at Belthazar. Mom was very friendly to the waiters and asked all of them the same questions: (1) how old are you? (2) do you have any kids? (3) where is the rest of your family? I’m not sure of the significance of these three specific questions, but I sat in my seat embarrassingly staring down at my food. One of the waiters was from Ghana and the other was from Zambia. A third was South African who was studying law at University of Cape Town. We were the last customers to leave the restaurant and by the end of the night mom and I were taking pictures with her new friends.
The next morning, we relocated to an oceanfront flat and returned to the waterfront to purchase our New Year’s Eve tickets for later that night. I had been researching and asking what most people do on NYE. The consensus was that most of Cape Town would celebrate at the waterfront. For those with money, they could celebrate while having a 5-course dinner at one of the amazing waterfront restaurants. However, many others would converge on the waterfront and walking around listening to the music blaring and preparing for the fireworks show. People walked around, some with their families, others with their friends. Mothers carried their children around on their backs secured by towels used as makeshift baby slings.
Mom and I had dinner at Tasca. We dined on a prix fixe dinner of some of the best seafood, wine and champagne I’ve ever had. At close to midnight, we joined the others outside of the restaurant and watched the fireworks show as we extended a “Happy New Year” to those standing around us. It took a moment, but I had to remind mom that we were blessed enough to ring in the new year on another continent. In one of the most amazing places on earth–a place where some of our family and friends would never have the opportunity to visit. In that moment, in the beginning of the new year, we were thankful. It was an enjoyable experience to celebrate with so many different people.
After leaving the waterfront, we were determined to stay awake to celebrate the new year with those in the U.S. Thus, we had seven more hours to go! We navigated through the bumper to bumper traffic and headed to Long Street. As we walked up the street, we joined a group of people who were marching behind a band. The band sounded similar to a New Orleans band. Spectators on the sidewalk watched as we walked by. Then I realized—we had jumped into the middle of the parade! Mom had no desire to find the nearest exit so we followed the band up the parade route as people stared. We eventually exited and were stopped by a group of men sitting on a stoop. They shouted, “you must not be from around here!” Mom stopped and asked, “why do you say that?” And one of the men responded, “because this parade is usually for Coloureds; we never see Africans here.” “Oh you’re American!” another man shouted after deciphering our accents. We stopped and spoke to the men for a few minutes who informed us they were Muslim, but as South Africans, they respect and celebrate everyone’s religions. After leaving the men, we headed farther down Long Street, where the crowd changed. No longer were were marching up the parade route, we were now standing in the middle of the street with young South Africans of various ages. They yelled and screamed as many drunkenly stammered down the streets in search of a taxi. We walked around until close to 5am and headed back to the flat in time to see the sun rise and to wish our family and friends in the States a Happy New Year!
New Years Day in Cape Town is unofficially known as Beach Day. On this day, hundreds of thousands of people converge on the beaches around the country. Mom and I geared up to head to Camps Bay to hang with the natives. The traffic was bumper to bumper and it was hot. To get to Camps Bay we must drive along and up a cliff. As I soaked in the magnificent view of the city and the ocean, mom clenched the handle of the door fearful to look over at the ocean. Sigh. Mom has a MAJOR phobia of heights (although she has no issue with flying). We could not descend from the hill fast enough for her. When we finally arrived at the beach it was crowded with residents (and tourists—most of whom were black). Some were located on the hill right above the beach. They were not in bathing suits (beachwear appeared to be optional), but had arrived at the beach to have a picnic with their friends and family. Sprinkled among the thousands of people were a few whites who were sunbathing on lawn cheers underneath umbrellas.
When mom and I arrived on the beach, I looked around at how we could obtain lawn chairs. I noticed that the only beach goers who were utilizing them were all white, but I know mom was not prepared to lay on this sand and burn underneath this hot African sun. So I found a gentleman who was carrying around an umbrella and bargained with him to obtain two chairs and an umbrella. As he set up our chairs, he asked mom where she was from (a question we got often and one that mom insisted on answering honestly). As she told him that we were American, all I could think was that the price of these chairs and umbrella just quadrupled! After telling me the chairs would cost ZAR 220, I was able to bargain him down to ZAR100 ($10). Paying the “local” cost for items was becoming a challenge with mom who was unwilling to understand that we looked African. But, the moment we opened our mouths and people realized we were not “African” they would automatically charge us more for items (she would eventually understand this lesson). As we laid on the chairs and soaked in the ocean air, I could feel the stares coming from those around us as people walked by. As Americans in South Africa, we were an anomaly–stuck in two worlds. If we were Africans, why were we sitting on these lawn chairs pretending to be white? I’m sure the impression was we must have been Africans with money. It is a similar struggle that some African-Americans face in the U.S.–not feeling black enough for black people, yet we were not white. Mom and I took turns going into the water. I barely got off the sand because the water was ice cold. Yet, many people (especially kids) enjoyed jumping around in the water. The vibe was awesome. You could not help but to feel as happy as they are as they jumped and cheered in the water and celebrated the beginning of the new year. We stayed at the beach for hours soaking up the great energy. Mom continued to have mini panic attacks as I drove up the cliff toward our flat. When we arrived, she was exhausted so we decided to forgo dinner.