Swimming with Bluebottles

Last weekend I took the train to the beach for a run along the coast. It was a hot, sunny, spring Sunday. Eager to get some exercise, I put on my running shorts, grabbed my keys and some train fare and took off to a popular surfing town.

At the end of my run, I sighted a man-made tidal pool. I decided to cool down with a dip in the ocean. These tidal pools work well for keen swimmers who don’t want to get washed out to sea and/or be attacked by a great white shark. Giddy, and without examining the pool for anything more than sharks, I dived in and splashed around for about 15 minutes. Exhausted, I sculled my way to the pool edge, looked out towards the bay and clung to the ledge as the waves spilled over from the sea. I let the power of the waves toss me back into the safety of the pool.

With the crash of a particularly powerful wave, I was thrown into the break. I felt the instantaneous pain of what seemed like a simultaneous underwater electric shock and hot blade on my skin. My whole body flinched, and I let out a giant bubbly underwater “yaaaaHHHLP!!!”. I scrambled out of the pool, terrified to discover I was wrapped in 2 meters of bright blue, sticky strings. Some sort of sea web. I picked them off in a panic, and started squirming in disgust, the same way I react when I see spiders.

After examining my body, I noticed one foot long red whiplike line along my left calf. Looking more closely at the tidal pool to find my perpetrator, I discovered an innocent schools of tiny, beautiful, baby blue, translucent jelly fish, floating in the corner of the pool. All around the shore of the pool were countless blue babies stranded and dried up. Their tiny heads the still bloated to the size of small apples, their bright blue bodies popping loudly like bubble wrap under the heal of an angry foot.

South Africans call them bluebottles, but others call them Portuguese man-o-war, after the colonial-style warships. If you’re Sir David Attenborough, then you might call them Physalia physalis. They aren’t technically jelly fish, but they do have a similar carnivore mechanism that use long venomous tentacles to paralyze their prey, usually small fish and plankton.  Their bobbing heads, or sail, are full of gas to keep them afloat, and they have a siphon to release the gas and submerge in case of a surface attack by daring birds or turtles. These animals can be found all over the warm parts of the Atlantic and have even been spotted on rare occasion in the Bay of Fundy.

What’s the remedy for bluebottle stings?  Although incredibly painful at first, I was fortunate enough to have had a pretty mild reaction to the venom.  I dangled my swollen leg in the pool for comfort. The rest of my body lay reptilian relaxed, soaking up the sunny day. From time to time, I turned my head towards my leg to make sure a scene from “Attack of the Man-o-Wars” wasn’t beginning to take place.

September showers bring October flowers.

It’s a wild, windy evening in Cape Town. The days are starting to get warmer and longer here. More sun means stronger winds sweep the cool ocean breeze inland, making most days dabble between the seasons. Table mountain seems to collect and reflect the warm Indian-ocean-meets-cold-Atlantic winds as well, funneling it down through the streets and suburbs of Cape Town. Residents holding onto hats and hoodies as the gusts swirl around them.

For dinner, I made a big pot of lentil, leek, potato and wild nasturium soup to go with a couple of pieces of butter-soaked bread.  I’ve got a cup of rooibus at the ready, a roaring fire on the go, a cat on my lap, wool slippers hugging my feet as the wind houls outside. Drafty, uninsulated South African homes make for chilly evenings.

What have I been up to? Well, work wise, I’ve been busy helping write municipal policy, network and  close the communication bridge between urban agriculture groups. I’ve also been trying to figure out a way to get more young folks growing food because the reality is that it’s not such a cool, viable thing to do. Working for government can be incredibly frustrating. Working for one that you aren’t familiar with takes a lot of patience. There are plenty of meetings, lots of paper and not a lot of creativity. The system isn’t perfect, but you have to understand it if you want to change it. Sometimes I feel like I’m banging my head against the wall, but its learning opportunity I am still very thankful for.

It has taken me some time get used to the work dynamic, understand where I fit in, and how I can assist my host organization, the urban agriculture unit at the City of Cape Town. My supervisor is a pretty intimidating Afrikaans man, with a dry sense of humour and a long career in education, public administration and livestock farming. He has been the driving force for the case for urban agriculture and food systems from the municipal side of things. Not a lot of cities have been able to do what Cape Town has done from a policy perspective, not to mention some really inspiring community based initiatives. I have a lot of respect for the man and I’m thankful that he’s open to including me in the team.  He no longer introduces me as the Canadian intern at meetings, but as a program officer in his department. Today, I really got the sense that he is taking me under his wing. Things are getting a lot better and more satisfying,

Life wise, I’ve been enjoying being disconnected from my usual internet distraction habits. Several websites/blogs/social networks are blocked at work, and my internet connection at the place I was living since July was not reliable, and incredibly expensive. This means I’ve been reading a lot more, borrowing old classic movies from the library and exploring Cape Town and the meeting the wonderful people who live here. I’ve also had the great pleasure of having some special visitors to explore the area with. I’ve had the great fortune of climbing the various heights of Table Mountain national park, awing the overwhelming amount of plant biodiversity, tasting wine from the epicentre of South African viticulture in Stellenbosch, and even had the chance to watch great white sharks swim around me from an underwater cage in False bay.

I’m enjoying a new home in a new neighbourhood, complete with dogs, cats, banana trees, jasmine bushes and a garden beds for spinach. I’ve taken up running along the coast and perfecting my curry and chicken soup recipes. I’ve also submitted an application to coach/volunteer kids and train at a nearby circus school and I’m starting to get more involved with a organization called Soil For Life…. stay tuned for more.

Things are going so well here that I’ve decided to stay longer. My supervisor requested an extension of my contract until the end of March and Rooftops Canada has kindly agreed to support me. Please consider supporting the work I am doing by making a donation to Rooftops. I would be incredibly grateful. Any little bit counts.

Sending some spring sun back to my friends in the global North. Sorry for stealing your sunshine.

Spencer.

South African Spam Mail

A couple weeks ago, I received a piece of notebook paper in my mailbox.

AM LOOKING FOR JOB AS DOMESTIC WORKER

Name _____MARIAM
Age   ______ 25
Contact _______ 0720264797
Nationality_____  MALAWIAN

How many of these flyers were created? How much time was spent making them? How far did Mariam walk to distribute them? Why did she choose Cape Town? What are the odds of someone picking up the phone and dialing her number? I have a lot of question for Mariam.

This reminded me of a man named Sam, from whom I received an email a few weeks prior. Out of the blue, Sam sent me his CV, along with scanned copies of his high school diploma, his training certificates and a copy of his South African identity card. I figured he somehow gained access to the municipal government’s staff address book. Confused, I asked a colleague about Sam to which she replied: “Oh, that’s just spam mail, delete it”. It looks liked a pretty serious job application to me, for an unknown position. I’ve never seen this kind of spam in Canada.

Obviously unemployment is a big issue in South Africa. In Cape Town specifically nearly a quarter of the population doesn’t have formal employment, of which 70% are youth (35 and under). Mix in the stigma of being an “alien”, who will often take lower paying jobs, and things get pretty challenging for folks like Mariam. As for Sam, it goes to show how clever people can be to get their name out there if you have access to a scanner and the internet.

So, as for this tall, white, male, alien, what am I doing in South Africa? Well, to recap, the Canadian international development agency (CIDA) has a youth employment strategy whereby it sponsors organizations to hire new graduates to gain experience so that when they return to the motherland; they’ll have a better chance of finding work.  Hopefully, while they’re away, they’ll make some sort of impact. I think it’s a pretty great strategy for a country like Canada who can afford to do so. I should mention here that CIDA is by no means a saint because this initiative has been cut next year, but I blame that on the rather contradictory leadership of the agency (read more here about Bev Oda, who recently quit her position as leader). Politics aside, I happily accepted a very unique 6 month position I with one of their funding recipients, Rooftops Canada (a housing NGO), which has a partnership with the city of Cape Town.  I am now over a month into my internship at the City of Cape Town’s Economic and Human Development (EHD) department.

In brief, this department is responsible for promoting economic growth, job creation, reducing poverty and monitoring inequalities in Cape Town. The department does this through a number of investment, community revitalization projects and other programs that will hopefully spark more jobs, but I’ll be focused on one of them, the urban agriculture (UA).

First of all, the municipal government has formally recognized, through a policy that was passed in 2007, the overwhelming benefits of growing food in the city in terms of addressing food security, economic growth/ job creation not to mention the social and environmental benefits from growing food in private and public space. This probably sounds like a lot of jargon, but formally recognizing these activities by creating a supportive policy is a big, positive, first step for any government. In doing so we can increase the awareness of food security throughout the city and hopefully engage relevant governmental and non- governmental agencies to see this approach as useful and possible avenue to meet their goals i.e. education, health promotion, crime reduction, environmental sustainability, social development etc. Getting everyone on the same page isn’t going to happen overnight, but needless to say I’m positive about the ability of food to bring people together.

The second thing the city can do is walking the walk. They need to actually do something because jargon only goes so far. At the moment, the city is supporting urban agriculture projects on the ground thanks to a very jolly man named Godfrey. He helps community groups with the long and tedious (hopefully soon to be more efficient thanks to a meeting with the Spatial planning dept.) process of getting the permit to use city land, offers basic inputs such as compost, seeds, shovels, irrigation infrastructure etc., organizes stakeholder meeting with the provincial department of agriculture, and/or can simply answer question on how to plant a crop at which time etc (he has years of experience working in the commercial sector). The city doesn’t just work with groups of people, there is also a big push to support personal backyard gardens in whatever shape or form.

Godfrey is a pretty busy guy, and he could be busier if people knew about him. However, you can’t find his number in the phone book, or on the city’s website.  The city just doesn’t have the capacity to promote UA in a proactive way. You have to be a friend of a UA friend or be referred to him through another city department e.g. if a social worker in a township meets someone who has a backyard garden that could benefit from say, some compost, seeds or knowledge.  The positive side of this approach, in my opinion, is that it creates more quality (focusing on one group or individual at time) vs. quantity (I must deliver X amount of seeds to Y amount of people).  On the other hand, if the city hired more Godfrey’s, it might help create more of a culture of food production for subsistence and economics.

City supported community garden next to the Philippi Market, in Philippi township. Irrigation, compost and seeds are provided by the city for this project.

As far as my work is concerned, I’ll be helping re-work the policy to incorporate some of the feedback received at the urban agriculture summit last year. Specifically, I’m looking to create some concrete targets and find a way to get the input from youth (35 and under) who are involved in UA production or have an interest in food systems.  Youth has become quite a buzzword in South Africa, Canada and around the world but when so many young people having difficulty finding work these days, it’s no wonder. The good news is that I’ve met some inspiring young people here who are “determined to show [their] community that we can be successful by producing our own food”.  The bad news is, there are very few youth who share this sentiment. As the my fellow Rooftops food security intern, working with the UA and environmental action NGO, Abalami, points out in a recent blog post, where are all the young people? Furthermore, how do we get the young people interesting in agriculture in Cape Town, Halifax, Toronto or wherever?

This garden in Gugulethu township is run by a group of lovely, older ladies who sell some of their produce to Abalami, a urban agriculture CSA business, every Tuesday.

I’m on the look out for the agro-philic, foodie youth and get their input on what they think about food systems in their city. If I can’t find them, I’m going to try and inspire a few. I’ve got a few strategies on the go. In two weeks time I’ll be presenting to a group of 350 Junior Councillors. These are representatives from high schools from all neighbourhoods around the city who meet fortnightly in the chambers to discuss issues pertaining to youth and make recommendations to the City Council. I’ll have 30 minutes to outline the current UA policy, introduce them to the Toronto youth food policy council, and hopefully generate further discussion and interest on the topic of food.

Until then, eat your greens.

Spencer.

Cornflakes and Milk

“Excuse me sir”, said a soft voice, far below the shouts of taxis conductors persuading passersby they need a lift. With the sun just setting in my eyes, I couldn’t make out a face. A moment later, it stepped to my right, into the light and a young woman appeared.

 “Can I ask you a question?” she said, hastily. “Listen, I’m not asking for money. I’ve just been staying at shelter not far from here and I’m hungry. Can you buy me something to eat?”

 “What do you like to eat?” I replied.

 “Oh, I don’t know, anything, cornflakes and milk, maybe? They’ll last me a couple days at least”.

 I hesitated for a second, looked around and spotting a convenience store right across the street and said, “Alright.”

 “Really?” beamed the woman.

 “Yeah, sure, let’s go over there”, I said, pointing to the convenience store across the busy downtown Cape Town street.

 “No, no, no… That place is overpriced. There’s a Pick ‘N Pay just down the way.” She grabbed me arm, “follow me.”

 As we crossed the street, I questioned what had I gotten myself into. Where was she taking me? Was this part of some South African scam that I hadn’t heard about? I was still on guard from an event that happened 20 minutes earlier a few blocks away.

 “Hey, can you give me some change please, sir?”, said a rather rough looking man in a baseball hat. He walked with me for about a block, eager to get a few coins out of me. I kept my pace, and refused over again but he kept up with me. As we walked along together, I glanced down at the bright gold metal shining on his wrist and teasingly, yet, foolishly pointed out the rather nice watch he was wearing. “Yeah? You want to buy it from me? I’ll give you a good price for it”, he said. “No,no, I’m not interested”, I said, and we carried on walking together for another block.

 I tried weaving between pedestrians and street vendors to shake him off but he caught up every time to continue the bargaining. We were stopped for a moment behind a large group of people and street traffic, which gave me a chance to get a better look at the guy. He was short, reeked of liquor and was busy using a flat razor to trim what I assume were calluses on his hand. The sight of the razor sent my heart racing and my long legs kicked into high gear. I gave him no more of attention, held my head up high, turned the corner onto a busy main street and immediately lost the guy in the stream of people. 

During the two blocks we walked together towards the grocery store, I learned that her name was Natasha, she was twenty and she came to Cape Town from a city a few hundred kilometers to the east a month ago to look for work. She was recently fired from her retail job and was having hard time finding employment, and consequently a place to live and food to eat. She had been staying in a shelter for a few weeks now, waiting for her Mom to buy her a bus ticket back home. “I think she’s trying to teach me a lesson or something”, Natasha added.

We found the Pick ‘n Pay, but before we entered the store, I asked Natasha to stay near the front while I went in and did the shopping.  “I’ll be 5 minutes”, I said. Navigating the crowded aisles, I began to wonder why I didn’t invite her in with me. She probably knew her way around better than I did. What’s more, I could have used someone to keep me on target because I spend most of my time overanalyzing labels, ingredients and making a product choice based on a calculation of price, quality, marketing, social and environmental responsibility. Had she joined me, we could have kept chatting and getting to know each other, talked about our favorite things to eat, ask for a few recommendations. She could have picked out whatever she wanted, I really wouldn’t have minded.  I guess I was still overly suspicious of her intentions.

 I generally refuse to give people money when they asked on the street, assuming it’s to support some unhealthy habit or addiction. I offer at the very least some human acknowledgement through eye contact and my most sincere smile. Otherwise, I tend to always have a piece of fruit or something on me to offer instead, but most times it’s declined. Meeting Natasha was the first time someone actually asked for food, not money.

 A very softly spoken gentleman with bright green eyes once asked me for some money to buy a meal. I happen to be on my way home from a farmers’ market with a bounty full. I went through my bags and listed off breads, vegetables, cider and all sorts of treats to offer him, but he refused.  I guess the meal he was looking for came in a different form, or maybe he preferred fast food. As for Natasha, I was more than happy to buy her a bagful of groceries.

 I came out of the store with some milk and cornflakes, as requested. I managed to sneak in bunch of bananas, some mango juice and a loaf of whole wheat bread as well for just over 10 bucks. “Here you go”, I said, presenting her with the bag. We left the store and walked the two blocks back to where we met. That gave me just enough time to answer her questions of where I was from, why I was here and what I was doing. “You’re seriously helping people grow plants for food in the city?” she said. I replied with “Yeah, but I don’t mind buying a few groceries when asked”. From there she thanked me again, wished each other good luck, smiled and we went our opposite ways.

 While I was walking away, I questioned why I didn’t offer her a bus ticket, the spare room of my flat, dinner at a nearby restaurant, or anything else to help. I had so many more questions to ask her about her life. I could have at least given her my number in case she needed help, support, and a new friend. I think I was still intimidated by my first trip downtown on a Sunday afternoon, with the sun going down. Having been warned about these security variables, I was eager to get on the bus and head back to my part of the woods.

 A little while later, I got off the bus and stopped the store to pick up some dinner on my way home. Sure, I could have picked up a few things at the Pick ‘N Pay, but it was my first time at the franchise and it would have taken me quite some time to investigate the shelves for the aforementioned reasons.   As I turned into the SOUPS/SPICES/SAUCES aisle, a tall man in a bright orange fleece sweater stopped me. He mumbled something to me I couldn’t understand, which I assumed was in Afrikaans, and begged his pardon. “Can I ask you something?”, he said in English,  “would you help me buy some groceries for some people I know who live on the beach”?

 “Uh, sorry but I already bought someone a bag of groceries today”, I blurted.

“Oh! Good on you!” he replied with sincerity and pushed his cart away. I stood there baffled by what I had just said. Why is it that I was asked to help buy food for two strangers in one day? My superficial-self blamed the way I looked. “Your new glasses make you look expensive”, noted a friend only a few weeks before. Maybe some people can read that I regard food as the tool for change, the most important basic need for life.

 Everyone should have their basic needs met first before they can go on to other things. Food, shelter, water, security, love, respect etc.  Once these are met, we can help each other through positive encouragement, role models, or simply a second pair of hands, eyes, and ears to find a path that makes someone happy.  I’m a firm believer of the give a person a fish, they’ll eat for a day, teach a person to fish, they’ll eat for a lifetime mentality. But then again sometimes you can directly impact an individual with a few small actions or words. 

 Is buying groceries for someone the same as giving them a few coins on the street? Both are just band-aid solutions, symptoms of much deeper, complex issues. Ceratinly giving someone a meal can help fulfill a person’s basic need for a few days, but who knows what magic can happen in that time. Maybe it’s just the boost of energy they need to get back on their feet.

The journey (YYZ-LHR-CPT).

James and I left the house at exactly 535pm, 5 minutes behind schedule. We hit the pavement of Toronto’s financial district and made our way to the King Station subway. An hour and 20 minutes later, I was checked in, tickets in hand.

After discovering a significant amount of Canadian coins in my backpack, I figure I should try and spend them before take off. James and finished our beers at the airport bar, said our good byes and I eventually found myself squished in a middle seat of a British Airways jumbo jet, and feeling pretty charming. I immediately struck up conversation with my neighbours. To my right, a Nigerian woman on way to Lagos for a 10 day visit with her family. To my left, a stern older gentleman on his way to visit his son in London and to see the Chelsea flower show. He insisted that since we were flying a European airline, we should take advantage of the open bar. Being a relatively nervous flyer, I agreed. A few complimentary bottles of airline size wine and the chicken option for dinner and I was put into a nice 37000ft mid-air coma. I landed in London at 9am, sailed through customs and got on an express train to Paddington station. An old high school friend collected me and we marched around the downtown core on foot. Highlights being a visit to G.F. Watts Memorial Park to Heoric Self Sacrifice, St. Paul cathedral and the Tate Modern museum, which included a free look at Damien Hirst’s platinum cast human skull encrusted with over 3000 diamonds. Cheers to Silvana for the tour! Just after 5 o’clock I was back on the train for Heathrow for my 11 hour flight to Cape Town. Byt this time I was feeling much less charming, and far more concerned about my personal hygiene.

It was an absolutely beautiful day to arrive in South Africa. The sweet small of summer-charred grass, sea and barbecue hit me the second I step off the plane. After collecting me from the airport, my colleague, Chris, took me to the Phillipi Food Market to check out a solar paneled borehole the city put in as a means to support further agricultural production (and thus job creation) in the area. The fiscal year is coming to a close in June, and he has to make sure funds are being spent properly. He then takes me to the apartment were I will stay for my first month, just 11km outside the city centre. From the window, Chris points out the walk to my office, a mere 7 minute walk, and the nearest grocery store. He leaves me to unpack and enjoy the rest of my first day in South Africa.

Nearly 48 hours after starting my journey from downtown Toronto, I finally find myself in a horizontal position in my very own apartment with a spectacular view of the city centre.

Nearly gone. Nearly there.

In 48 hours time I’ll be on my way to Toronto Pearson International to catch a flight and in less time than it takes to take the train from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Toronto, Ontario I’ll be in Cape Town, South Africa.

I’ve had some unexpected turbulence in my preparations. This hasn’t helped my already wild nerves after my move from the Maritimes.  A couple of mistakes I made on the extensive visa application and a mix up with the post resulted in a 10 day delay in departure. It wasn’t clear if I would get my visa/passport back in time from the consulate. Fortunately my sending organization, Rooftops Canada, has been very understanding, supportive and offered to change my flight.

With 10 extra days in Toronto, I’ve been able to sink my teeth into this city. I’ve met with the folks involved in Toronto’s food strategy, the past intern whose work I’ll be picking up, a couple community organizations and a few gardens. I’ve been checking out what’s up on the environmental, food and buy local movement front here in Toronto. I’ve also had the time to visit friends, family and bike everywhere in between. I absolutely love the diversity of life here.  Did I mention I’ve been living across the street from the St. Lawrence Market? Easy access to fresh fruits and veggies (see below)! There are also 3 other grocery stores in this dense, downtown area.

I’ve had the good fortune to visit urban and rural farming initiatives in Cuba, Ghana and across Canada. Having spent the last couple years working for an environmental education organization in Nova Scotia, I’ve gained some direct experience in sharing my passions about sustainable food systems through outreach and education projects in my community. I’ve complemented this experience through involvement as a committee member of the NS food policy council.

What will I be doing in South Africa? Officially, I’ll be an Urban Agriculture Project Assistant at the city of Cape Town, specifically working on the community gardening resource guide the previous intern developed. The urban agriculture unit supports a variety of community based initiatives, and has envisioned the city as having a prosperous and growing urban agriculture sector.  I’m incredibly excited to be working and learning about food and housing issues from a municipal level of government.

Stay tuned for my thoughts and experiences overseas. In the meantime, don’t forget to eat your greens!

Much love to friends and family who have supported me on my journey so far.

Spencer.