sticking out

I spent most of my morning at a primary school today waiting for Desmond Tutu to show up. I'm blatantly, shamelessly name-dropping because oh goodness, I think I am in love with Desmond Tutu after only two short media circuses with him. He very distinctly reminds me of my Polish grandmother. A man with a lot of history who can somehow still make jokes and high five small children and not take himself so seriously except when it would help the right cause for him to do so.

So meanwhile, I'm in an art room with about 30 kids, breathing in rubber cement and glitter, and every other media outlet in town has someone there, too. The kids, who were also waiting for Desmond Tutu to show up, still wanted all our autographs and then presented us with hand-drawn cards thanking us for showing up and being great reporters. Have I said yet that this job is making me reconsider everything I ever imagined about journalism involving chameleon-like anonymity? I'm giving my name and number to as many total strangers as possible, and hoping they remember me long enough to drop a note if anything develops beyond whatever story we were initially talking about. So far, mostly only the wine industry is remembering me and inviting me places and offering me free brandy mixing workshops. I'll tell you about the wine industry another time. Suffice to say, I'm trying to up my ass-kicking, story-pitching moxie quotient so I don't have to spend too many afternoons with press releases and communications officers. The sheer pleasantness of the interviews is enough to make teeth rot, diabetics weep, etc etc.

Back to the kids. Because they're a useful tool for really just saying whatever I feel like saying. When it came out that I was American, some of them wanted to know who I was voting for in November. That's the number one question I get whenever it comes out that I'm American. It's often phrased as, "Are you voting for Obama?" When it's not, it's more like, "So, uh, who are you voting for?" "Barack Obama." "Oh good." Considering recent polls have already found that Obama is the world's preferred US President, I'm not surprised, but it is most certainly strange to be living in such a quasi-idyllic political landscape where no one I know disagrees with my voting choices. I sent my ballot request a little late, maybe, and might have to pull some weird emergency-faxing maneuvers around Halloween, but in the meantime it's easy to be excited about the presidential race from here. Ignoring, you know, the big question of whether anything will actually change beyond our national hopefulness index.

It's a little uncomfortable to be an American; it makes me stick out a little when I'd rather just be some girl living in some city, nothing remotely like a tourist. There is also the issue of money (at R8 per dollar, I actually have it) and the way people here really do care who wins in November. It strikes me as vastly unfair. But I'm saving some of that up for another post. Eventually.

Also for later: Small boy asks me over inkwell, "Why is the news always bad?"

I am also making progress on poems, letters, and Spanish verb flashcards. In case you were waiting to hear about any of those.