People were surprised that we were heading back to South Africa. Weren’t we just there? It was two years ago, actually. And we’re going back to the same places we visited last time? Yes. Yes, we were.
We took a three-year-old to South Africa. Actually, that’s not technically true. Our friends Sarah and Eric took their three-year-old to South Africa. It was our crazy idea to do it, and they listened to us. They listened to their childless friends about how it was a good – nay, GREAT – idea to take a toddler…
– My husband is a beer snob. It’s something I find quite endearing. The guy rarely touches wine, and ignores most liquors (with the exception of scotch because it’s scotch. It’s basically like drinking a campfire, i.e., amazing), but he’s somewhat of a fanatic for beer.
– Rand and I have been talking a lot about entitlement lately. It’s something that comes up a lot for both us. I think we’re both incredibly scared of forgetting just how damn lucky we are. Every now and then, I take a minute think about how charmed my existence is: how every single day…
– After we returned to Cape Town, Rand and I took a township tour. I think, without hyperbole, it may have been one of the most significant experiences of my life. I very much want to tell you about it, but it’s impossible to talk about the townships without first talking about apartheid in South…
– When I first starting dating Rand, during my junior year of college (for those of you keeping track at home, it was approximately a lifetime ago), I lived in a windowless apartment. I may be exaggerating slightly. It wasn’t exactly windowless – it had three, to be precise. But each and every one of…
– In high school, I had to be at school by 7:25. IN THE MORNING. I know, I know. It sounds positively inhuman, doesn’t it? I’m fairly sure that in most parts of Europe, it would constitute child abuse (like Spain. Seriously, next time you have to get up early, think WWTS –What Would The…
On the drive to Bushman’s Kloof from Cape Town, our bus overheated.
– We first arrived at Bushman’s Kloof in the late afternoon. It had been an absurdly hot day, and the sun was now inching back towards the horizon. It was the sort of weather that makes you swear that you will never eat anything again that isn’t presented to you in popsicle form. Still, when…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
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