http://ruhavingagoodhairday.blogspot.com/2008/10/selling-saartjie-baartman.html

I live in a brand new residence and earlier this year we were asked to come up with names for it. A friend of mine suggested the res be named Saartjie Baartman. The response was overwhelming; some cringed in embarrasment, some plain and flat out refused, other said the name did not sound 'nice.' This is what I said:

I have never known and hopefully will not ever know what it is or how it feels to be enslaved. I have never known what it means to be so naive, so desparate, and so ignorant so as to allow myself to be used in the manner that was done to Saartjie.

I also have never known the humiliation that she had to go through, the toture of knowing that there is now way of escaping your reality.

What I have experienced though is that feeling of being trapped in your body. How many of us walk these streets with the thaught of rape or assault lurking somewhere in the back of our minds? Is this not the essence of what Saartjie's story is? The fact that, for generations, we as women, have been made to fear who we are. To apologise for our sexuality and shy away from expressing it.

From the corsets and the chastity belts women were made to wear in Europe; being forced to lock away important symbols of their sexual selves, to pretend their sexuality was never important to them Foot binding in China and female genital circumcision/ mutilation on the African continent, women have been distorted and deformed. Moulded and shaped to become what sociey deemed fitting sexually. When does it stop?

The continued existence of sexually degrading words like the "B-word" or the "C-word" and the increasing acceptance of their use in describing women is testimony to the fact that where ever ew go, whatever our race or body sahpe, men continue to see us in the same way that those men, all those years ago, saw Sara: as nothing more than objects.

It amazes me everyday how passively we receive these labels. We have become the hoes and the bitches described in the music we listen to. What does that mean really? Saartjie died a lonely alcoholic, buttered and bruised, her spirit broken. Tormented by the labels given to her. She had no way out.

How dare we, with all our education and technology, accept the very same status they made her hold. How dare we step on the throne and allow ourselves to be pimped as common and easy? I s this the legacy we will leave for our daughters?

Naming our residence after Saartjie, although it may be embarrassing for some, will mean that we are a residence made up of 73 women who refuse to be enslave, who refuse to be seen as mere sexual objects.

When we name our residence after Saartjie Baartman, we will not only be celebrating her spirit and and aknowledging her struggle. We will be telling and affirming our own.

• keep your drink in your hand, and hold your thumb over the opening if you are drinking from a bottle,


• keep an eye on your friends' drinks,


• do not leave your drink unattended at any time, even while in the toilet,


• stay away from situations that you do not feel comfortable with,


• never accept a drink from anyone you do not know or trust,


• do not share or exchange drinks, or drink leftover drinks,


• if you go on a date with someone you do not know, tell a friend or relative where you will be and what time you will be back, and


• try to drink from a bottle rather than a glass when possible, as it is more difficult to spike a drink in a bottle.
  (NHS Direct, Health Encyclopedia)

Hope this helps, keep safe guys


‘SisVic’

5 In Blindsight: Just my liddle opinion.

Firstly, I would like to say well done on a superb piece of writing. But (and here comes the but) I have some serious problems with your argument. For someone who has such a “defined identity”, it doesn’t make sense that you contradict yourself a lot. You say you “want to fit in” and yet you have a problem with people hanging out with others just like them. Is that not what fitting in is about? Another thing is that you yourself put people in categories; “the jocks with the jocks and nerds with the nerds”. Labelling people in this way is such a high-school mentality, and many people at Rhodes fall into this trap. Contrary to high-school, I have found that Rhodes is more accepting. Here, you are ‘you’, and not part of a clique. Sure, you may hang out with people who share similar tastes in clothing, music and mentalities, but unlike high-school you can appreciate that everyone is different, and stereotypes don’t fit. And here at Rhodes the playing field is more level; no-one gets ostracised for what they do or do not wear- everyone is free to make their own choice. For me, Rhodes has exceeded my high expectations and I wouldn’t change places with the girl wishing her time away at home.
Just my opinion!

Cruiser's Lac: taking the trip without trippin': What is all the fuss about????

Part of the reason that Apartheid went on for so long is white South Africa’s refusal to acknowledge the facts of the situation even when evidence lay bare and naked before them.

A few years ago, our then president, Thabo Mbeki refused to believe that there was any connection between AIDS and HIV. Our Health Minister, Manto Tshabalala took her time rolling out antiretroviral treatment to a country in desperate need, because she just could not admit that Beetroot was no good as treatment.

It pains me to see the same denialist attitude expressed in your piece. Despite hard evidence from those in the know, you ask us to look the other way and pretend we do not know that the only reason our friend lost his DP is his hard partying and hard drinking.

Apartheid stole the lives of many innocent men and women (black and white). The denial of AIDS and its treatment from our leadership did nothing for AIDS statistics; they continued to rocket.

Phrases like your “what’s the fuss” while the party goes ahead and the work is neglected cannot be good for neither our reputation as Rhodes students nor our academic performance.

It seems as though you have forgotten that there is never smoke without fire.

Clad in varying shades of brown, they wear suits with no ties and hats that do not quite fit their heads. Very much visible in the first few months of the year, they seem to disappear by May, only to resurface again in June. They are oobhuti abatsha, “new men”. Young Xhosa men, fresh from the mountain, who move silently at the back of most lecture halls, their suits like sore thumbs amongst the array of fashionable clothing.

They are the few of their generation (mostly from the Eastern Cape) who still choose to observe the full six months period during which they are expected to wear a suit as a symbol of their newly acquired manhood.

Many have gone through the same rites, but shed the suit as soon as their feet connect with Rhodes soil. They opt for the shorts that they were supposed to have left behind with their boyhood and the sleeveless t-shirts they should have given to their younger brothers. Some choose to keep the hat, most opt for a cap because it makes less of a statement. They choose to blend in.

I have often asked myself what the difference is between these two kinds of Xhosa men. What it is that the one has that is lacking in the other and I found it out recently in a Politics lecture with Professor Vincent . I will not go into the details about the lecture, just a brief description for the sake of contextualization.

A number of examples of practices were put forth, that could, by outsiders, be considered to be harming the individuals involved. The question was whether or not a person can be harmed when they have consented to the said harm. One of the practices put up was the initiation of Xhosa boys; with a picture of umkhwetha, an initiate.

Several brown suits got up and filed out in complete silence. They did not discuss, plan or plot, it was instinctive. They made no scene, did not shout or challenge. They merely left the room in the same silent manner they had entered it. I finally understood, I had finally found out the meaning of the suit.

Xhosa women do not speak of initiation, they do not have opinions on what goes on in the bush because they have never been there and never will go there. What can they talk about when they know nothing? Young men are saddled with the responsibility of booking any woman who dares talk about initiation. Professor Vincent is a woman. No one tells new initiates anything about how they should react when a white woman whose pen determines their fate, is the one that needs booking.

I have never been a man, but surely the brown suit must be a test of African manhood. It tests one; to find out if their development in the West will lead them to shun all things African. It challenges them to become Xhosa men who pursue the Western dream but never at the expense of their heritage. None of the students who stood up at that lecture are willing to fail politics1, but wearing the suit meant that they had to get up and leave.

There were many other “new men” who, in their shorts and sleeve-less t-shirts, found no offense in the lecture.

So it is no mistake that their elders call them ‘new men’, because they represent a new era, a new kind of Xhosa man that values his traditions and defines his own civilization. That walks away from those he feels look down on and trivialize his culture.

I look at the brown suit now and I liken it to the black American’s use of the word Negro, how they have taken a word that was used to oppress and belittle them and personalised it to fit their new found identity, challenging all the power and shame associated with it. So, the new Xhosa man has taken the suit; a symbol of a Western power that has oppressed his people for generations and stripped it of all its European superiority complexes and instead, wears it as a symbol of respect and of humility. It symbolises the changes in his own culture; him learning and borrowing from other cultures, while acknowledging those things that remain the same.

I finally understand the distinction between those who choose to wear the suit and those who don’t. The suit tests one, it separates the men from the boys, because it takes a man not to be ashamed of being different, simply because he understands the meaning and the responsibility behind it and is committed to it. That is the difference between those who left and those who stayed.

Everyone knows that Rhodes has a reputation for alcohol abuse; when you hear the word ‘Rhodent’ images of rowdy drunken students parading in purple overalls immediately spring to mind. Not only alcohol, but other substances are used (not necessarily abused), leading to the Botanical Gardens (Bot Gardens) being affectionately called the ‘Pot Gardens’. But is this because all students who go to Rhodes would have been the kinds of people to get involved in substance use and abuse anyway, or is it the actual environment of Rhodes itself that leads students down Lewis Carrol’s metaphoric Rabbit Hole?

Being a first year myself, and experiencing the enormous changes between high-school and university I feel I can shed some light on this matter. Firstly, I will start off by saying that everything ultimately comes down to the individual. Putting a cat into water is not going to make it swim. That being said, I do believe that your environment plays a huge role in shaping your choices, behaviour and actions. Many students come from restricted backgrounds where parents, rules and schools are sternly in control. The freedom one experiences at Rhodes is a vast change. The liberty can be exhilarating and prompt first-years to behave in certain ways ‘just because they can’. It is very tempting to get caught up in the use of substances when your physical body becomes the only limit you have, and we all know how resilient our bodies are at age eighteen, nineteen or twenty; sleepless nights, drunken dazes and hash-induced hazes hardly seem to have a lasting effect.

It also comes down to the question of availability. At Rhodes, it is so easy to acquire large amounts of alcohol. You only have to be at Peppergrove on a Friday afternoon to witness the hordes of students walking off with packets of clinking bottles. When I am at home, no matter how much I would like to buy alcohol, it just isn’t as easy. Firstly I live in a ‘dry’ suburb; we do not have any liquor stores and Woolies is not even permitted to sell wine. Secondly, I do not own a car, so to drive to another suburb to buy alcohol is out of the question. But at Rhodes, these ‘problems’ are easily solved. Everyone can get to Peppergrove without a car as it is so close. The bars and clubs are within walking distance too, and there is at least one place open on every day of the week. The question of availability applies to drugs too. If you know who to ask, weed, pills and acid are just a person away. And if you don’t know who to ask, you will invariably find someone who does. There are widespread connections of people who have what you need to transcend the boundaries of your mind. Campus is such a small area that it is not a mission. Chances are the dealers go to your lectures, party at the same places and wear the same clothes as you. Psychologically this makes it less ‘dodgy’ or ‘scary’ to acquire drugs, as it feels safer to buy from someone you ‘know’. This is not always the case in a larger university or town.

Another consideration is safety. At Rhodes, there is an illusion of safety that is hard to burst despite the many muggings and rapes. Where else can you go out, get so drunk that you forget your own name and still make it home alright? With New Street being so close, students can almost crawl home after hitting the infamous ‘Cane Train’. Although the Campus Protection Unit (CPU) does not always come to students’ aid in time, they provide a psychologically comforting presence. And when engaging in more illegal activities, they are equally easy to dodge, you can go to the Bot Gardens if you’re feeling ultra paranoid, or else just keep your distance from the men in blue.

My last and main argument would be the reason for the use of substances. The stresses and pressures of university often find an outlet in what is seen as an easy escape route: the suspension of your mind through the use of uppers, downers, round-abouters. The culture at Rhodes contributes to this as many students have a ‘party-mindset’. A drink comforts after a test goes badly, yet also celebrates achievement. This perception is primarily why I believe Rhodes is conducive to substance abuse.

Therefore, although not a given that every student who comes to Rhodes will be like Alice in a wonderland of drugs, or do serious damage to their livers from binge-drinking (because I do not believe that to be true of everyone) the environment that Rhodes provides is certainly more of a help than a hindrance to substance use.

Rhodes, is by most accounts a small, ‘safe’ community. Much safer then the big cities that some of us hail from, such as Jo’burg: ‘Gangers Paradise’ or Cape Town: ‘Your Mother City’…Right?
No Wrong….

It seems we as students have settled into a false sense of security, where we think “Well, it won’t happen to me”. Snap out of it, apparently we’ve forgotten that Grahamstown is a town, with the same dangers and possibilities as other South African cities. We all gasp in horror at the recent reports of student’s being mugged near campus and our blood runs cold when our fellow students are assaulted, yet within 10 minutes we’re back to planning the night out. In many cases there is absolutely nothing a victim can do to avoid an attack, however, some of us act as though we have some immunity to these horrific experiences.



Here are a few tips:



1. Stop driving drunk! CPU can’t protect you from the police and you do not want to spend a night in Grahamstown prison with real bad guys.



2. If you’re walking, especially at night, try walking as close to campus SOS buttons as possible and if you’re alone ask a CPU guard (nicely) to walk with you. CPU are a blessing, don’t hesitate. Visit their homepage here.



3. Don’t wonder between Union, Equilibrium, the Rat and Friars aimlessly. Choose a destination and get there quick, preferably not alone.



4. I know people don’t feel the need to tell their friends where their going, like they had to tell their mommy’s, but it’s not a bad idea. If you’re going away or even leaving a group of people to go somewhere alone, just let someone know.



Now, for those of us that put ourselves and others in direct danger;



5. Condoms are not ornaments, you can find them around campus, don’t let laziness put your health or anyone else’s at risk.



6. Just because a drink is free, doesn’t mean you should drink it, try getting drinks that you can see haven’t been tampered with. The drink really isn’t worth the possible consequences.
7. Remember, you don’t know everyone at Rhodes, you should be as cautious of people here as you are everywhere else. People rarely turn out to be what you expected.



8. Lock your doors!!! If you’re in digs, remember Grahamstown has thieves and bad guys too, and for those in res, locking your door when you visit your neighbor might sound ridiculous, but you don’t know who’s walking around.

'SisVic'

Just a few days after the renaming of the Student Union building to the Stephen Bantu Biko building, campus awoke one day, to find that one of the pictures had been vandalised.

It is no secret that it is mostly the white students who hang out at the Union. It is a sad, sad truth that it has been over 30 years since Biko's passing and it seems we are still struggling to find common ground.

Most of us assumed that the student who smashed the picture was a drunk white student, angry that the name had been 'imposed' on him and his kind. We assumed that this was an act based on race. An act of anger.

Afront, SisVic, Dave and Hippychick, however, would like to beleive that Biko can still unite us, that there is something we can all take from what the man stood for.

That, is essentially, the basis of our comic; that in our search for commong ground, neither need compromise their world. Thandi can remain as black as she wants because Dave is only interested in learning about her and her world as it is. Love and Biko are their common ground.

Perv party, lingerie party, flirt party, pimps and ho's, shorts and stunners...

Thursday, 9th October; girls brave the cold and dorn their shortest shorts. Word is, the students (male) organising the latest hot party; 'the shorts and stunners party' are offering free tickets to all girls spotted with short shorts on that day. The tickets cost R10.


Visions of girls lined up at the Kaif awaiting inspection and approval by the organisers immediately spring to mind. Something about this picture does not sit well with me.

I found myself questioning the worth of every girl's thighs. If I were for sale, I would like to believe that my thighs would cost more than R10?

It seems every party on this campus has to have some sexual connotation. It also seems as though we, female students, have taken it upon ourselves to become the girls described in the hip-hop music videos; girls whose shorts get them free tickets and the occasional free shots.

The reality is that these dress codes are hardly ever directed at our male counterparts (unless they are being instructed to come dressed as our pimps). I am no expert, but surely not being ashamed to associate or indeed identify ourselves with words like ho (translation: whore) and pervert, is telling of how much value we place in ourselves and our sexuality?

Residence allocation at Rhodes is determined by how early you pay your Minimum Initial Payment (MIP). A source within the SRC recently told me that the system works in the following manner:

There is a list of residences, those closest to campus being the ones at the top of the list and those furthest (i.e the hill) appearing right at the bottom of the list.
Students are then allocated residences using the list as well as the list of MIP made. What this means is that the student who paid first (unless they request otherwise) gets the ‘top of the list residence,’ also the residence closest to campus resources. While the student who pays last lands up on the hill, far from the labs, library and lecture halls.

What is unfortunate about this system is that more often than not, the student most likely to pay first is also the one with the car and the laptop; the one who can actually afford to live on the hill (pun intended).

The fact that he/she struggled to gather plus minus R21 000 together, leads me to believe that it is most likely that the student who pays last has neither a personal computer nor a car. That he, in fact is the one who, unless they request otherwise, needs to be placed closest to university resources.

Perhaps Rhodes should take this in to consideration. Money does not always have to be the deciding factor. Fare does not always make fair.

Laundry is one of those things in university life that has to be done, yet will find itself on the bottom of your list of priorities. Here are 3 essential tips to surviving laundry and being able to wear your favourite outfit looking its best (and not stinking like mold, or spattered with unidentifiable dining-hall stains).

1. Set aside one day a week for laundry
This sounds fairly simple, but unless you do it, you will never find the time to do your washing until it is the day before you need to impress that certain someone and you don’t have a thing to wear. Choose a day where you have the least lectures, and preferably one in the beginning of the week. By the time Friday comes around, laundry will be the last thing you want to do.

2. Have a laundry partner
This is not essential, some people like to schlep alone up and down 3 flights of stairs during the course of washing. For me, it helps to have someone to laugh with when the washing-machine chows a hole in your jersey, or rant to when the fabric softener doesn’t rinse out. Having a friend to do laundry with is also more environmentally friendly, as the washing machines will be fuller. A friend will also reminds you that it’s ‘laundry day’ and make sure you don’t go weeks and weeks without clean clothes. Hippies are cool, and so is the ‘I don’t put any effort into what I wear’ look, but smelling or stained clothes are just a turn-off in any sub-culture.

3. Avoid the tumble drier
Yes, so we all get lazy and end up tossing everything in the tumble-drier, but it does and will shrink your clothes. It might not be a problem to have slightly tighter clothes, but combine tumble-drier shrinkage with first-year spread and you might have a little problem. (Very little in the case of your clothes, and very large in the amount of skin poking out). It also saves electricity (and the environment) if you use natures own drying mechanisms- fresh air, sun and wind. Alternatively, if you are looking for tumble-drier friendly clothes, buy boys clothes from Woolworths (their hoodies are great, too).

Gesturing to the chemistry study notes collaged from wall to wall of his busy De Beers room, Roy Bealey sits at his desk explaining the “hardships a first year Bsc student has to tread through”. With a nervous hop in his low, calm voice Roy explains how he actually arrived at Rhodes University last year, eager to get started on his Ichthyology dream, but like so many other Rhodes students fell prey to the sudden and limitless freedom that university life presents. Looking up and raising one eyebrow, “what I didn’t realise is that with a lot of freedom comes a lot of responsibility”. Roy, with a naughty smirk, describes his first semester last year as “one big party”, which ended very abruptly when his June results were way below his expectations. Getting up to close the window, Roy says “that was my wake up call”.

Roy worked much harder in the second semester, but was not allowed to take any second year subjects this year. “Sure, I’m still in first year, but I know a lot more than the rest” he exclaims with some hint of wisdom. Despite, the fact that Roy was not allowed to do any second year subjects, he only had three half year credits to complete in 2008 to carry on to second year in 2009. Realising that this was a substantially low number of subjects, and annoyed at himself for not working harder, Roy decided to use this year productively.

“I didn’t want to waste a whole year”, he says, taking a file out of a drawer. Deciding that he could use this year productively, rather than just waiting around, Roy picked up an additional subject, management, that he says will help him in his aspirations to run his own fish farm. The true inspiration in Roy’s story, I think, is that he took the initiative to get involved in the Ichthyology department, despite only being allowed to take the subject at second year level. Roy contacted some of the lecturers in the Ichthyology department and offered to help out in any little job or task that they needed done. “Being pro-active and eager gets you places” says Roy, explaining that he was given the task of making gill nets for Ichthyology department which they use in their research. The job allowed him to get to know the people and lecturers at the Ichthyology department, putting him in good stead for when he starts next year, but he also got paid for each net which he calls “a big bonus”.

Roy grins, lifting one of his broad, arched eyebrows, admitting, “Repeating first year is embarrassing at first, but I’ve used it well”. His initiative has paid off so well, that he was asked to accompany two ichthyology students, one doing his masters and the other a PhD, on a research expedition to Addo Elephant Park last month. Roy sits up straight now saying “it’s awesome, because I’m getting to know the top guys in Ichthyology”. Not only has he just enjoyed a weekend at Addo, which is great for learning the ‘tricks of the trade’ and experience, but he’s hoping to help with another study, at the end of November, in Gariep Dam. Roy is adamant that his position is only partially luck and that anyone who shows interest and promise can “climb their way to success”. Roy’s story is unusual, but he assures that any first year who is struggling, even those who have to repeat, can become a success story that all the second years envy.

The Venda have a proverb for those who always seek their own paths; Madzuli, one who is not content with ploughing the fields of others. Madzuli, a first year politics major, must have had prophets for parents, because her entire year has been a constant search for her own ‘field to plough.’

Madzuli’s search for fertile soil began as soon as she reached Grahamstown. She found herself in a strange town with very little money and no residence allocation because she was, in fact, not a student as yet; she was on the waiting list. “Then a lady from the township offered me her keys and directions to her house in the location,” she says. This location house would become Madzuli’s home for the next three months.

Living in the location and being a Rhodes student has its cons, as Madzuli would soon learn. “I missed most of O-week because I did not know about the Oppi-bus” she says, and continues to explain that her troubles did not end when she eventually knew about the bus “I’d have to wait at least an hour for it to arrive in the location and it would take everybody home and then end with me. As though I was not as good as other people,” she says.

Being Venda in a Xhosa house-hold was not always easy, either. “She would blame everything I did wrong on my culture ‘maybe this is how you do it in Venda, she would say’ and swear at me in Xhosa because I could not understand.” Madzuli says even bringing friends over would be a problem, as the woman could not understand why she (Madzuli) was taking friends into her bedroom, “she would shout at me all the time, and I can’t swear at an adult” she says, indignantly “especially because she was giving me a place to stay.”

So she moved to digs; Beurtfort Street and for the first time, the bus would arrive as soon as she called for it and she was amongst the first to be delivered home. For a thousand rands a month, it would have been worth it, had the place not been dirty and rat infested. It was so bad, Madzuli dreaded bringing friends over “They would say, ‘Oh Maludzi, your house is so dirty’ and talk about me behind my back.” In fact, it was the rats the lead to her eventual departure from this second house; a rat crept on to her bed and though she screamed as hard as she could, no one came to her aid. “Venda is not a dirty place and I could not continue paying R1000 to live in a dirty place where I could get raped and no one would know,” she says; her face tense with emotion.

Much to her family’s mortification, Madzuli moved to her third house; a dilapidated RDP house in a notoriously dangerous area in the township. She moved to Extension six. Her Rhodes friends feared for her safety, even the Rhode-trip drivers who dropped her off at night were hesitant to leave. “I do agree, the house was not liveable and it was in a notorious area, but I felt safe. I never felt the danger.” Her township friends helped her with the reparations; installing doors and windows. “We had fun fixing it,” she says, smiling warmly. “I was not scared because I had chosen to be there.”

“Living in the location gave me status, it was as though people looked up to me, as though I gave them hope,” Madzuli says the she became a part of the community and when, one night someone knocked on her door, she dialled her neighbour’s number. “The police would take too long and my neighbour was right next door,” she says. “When you live with them you become one of them,” she says, explaining her relationship with the community.

However, Madzuli would soon learn that being a part of a community means sharing a part in its problems, its struggles. “People seem to think you have money because you are at Rhodes, make you feel like you owe them,” she says people would constantly ask her for money. “Where I’m from people never go without food, so seeing the poverty would make me cry.”

It was the language barrier that would make Madzuli, six months later, move to her next house. “One night, another girl had her door kicked down and she screamed for an hour, I didn’t realize that she was in trouble because she was screaming for help in Xhosa,” Madzuli says this incident led her to question her own safety. “What if I scream but don’t scream in Xhosa? What if I scream in Venda and people don’t know?” All the fears people had instilled in her began to surface and Madzuli was, again forced to move.

“I moved to a residence up the hill; Kimberley,” and although her heater does not work and her friends refuse to visit because it is too far, Madzuli says she is happy. “I wanted a single room and I got it, I love my freedom, my space.”

Ok, so you've probably already heard about the Rhodes Union. It's an awesome setting for frequent, rocking nights out that will form a large proportion of your first year memories, as well as in your later years, but not as much so. Here's a word of advice for any Rhodes newcomers that want to start hitting the party scene straight away, and don't want to be left in the dust like some of the usual University drop-outs.

Know that 'Cane train' nights happen on Wednesday and Fridays, so try to ensure that you have no tuts or important lectures on a Thursday morning. There's nothing worse than having a big night out at the Union (which usually progresses into a full blown Union -> Rat -> Friars party crawl), and then needing to hit a challenging lecture/tut the following morning. If you do, make sure that you have KGB tablets available for hangover prevention, because it really can get pretty bad...

So that is just a quick tip, it may seem unimportant, but I promise you, you will thank me for the whole year long if you manage to land yourself in a 'convenient Thursday morning situation.'

Remember people, diggidy check yaselves before ya wreck yaselves.

Peace.
Damien

Confused feelings of anxiety and excitement are common when starting university life. While I described this feeling as a volcano erupting inside of me, Pink Monkey, felt similarly, posting on her blog ‘Bungee my life’, that feelings emerging before taking the plunge into university is much like the days before going “bungee jumping”. I spoke of the eagerness in which first year’s like to tackle new experiences, Pink Monkey related this to the trip from the “bungee jumping platform to just before the bungee cord is pulled taut”. This weightlessness, I interpreted in my own letter as the lack of thoughts of consequences. Pink Monkey says the moment “before you reach the bottom of your jump for the first time you start to stress slightly”. This was the next morning for me, after we’ve made some regrettable decision, our minds overflowing with the bad odour of guilt, just before the bungee cord yanks us back into the real world, where we have to face the consequences.

‘SisVic’

Ok, it's time to address the devil that isn't in sheeps clothing - but under yours! ;p

It is a phenomenon that has been documented and observed for years and years that still plagues University students all over the world to this day, turning tight buns into thunder thighs, and ripped abs into saggy flab. It is the issue of 'first year spread', otherwise known as 'unwanted love handles' or 'that beer boop that you just can't get rid of.'
Well, the secret is out, and now you have the chance to see an end to the embarassing culmination of rampant first year partying and indulging that has left you body a little worse for wear and not exactly 'summer ready'.

I have spoken to a few fitness/health experts and here are a few tips that will help you combat the fat:

1) The best form of cardio is to wake up in the morning, have a large glass of water, and go for a run, remembering to constantly vary the intensity of your stride throughout. Try speed-walking or slow jogging on the uphills, while supersetting that with 200m sprints on the flats.

2) As you get into a routine, you can try adding different exercises that you stop to do periodically on these runs, such as sets of push-ups, pull-ups or sit-ups.

3) Remember not to stop for too long during any of these intervals. It is essential that you keep your heart rate up so that you can continue to burn fat, so even if you are tired after you are finished a set, get up and continue with a medium-paced walk/jog.

4) DO NOT EAT within 45 minutes before/after your exercise routine. Studies have shown an increase in the amount of calories burnt when food is not consumed within this time period.

5) If running isn't your thing, just try to remain active AT least 3 times a week (preferably 5-6 times.) You can do this with any sort of physical activity. If you find normal exercise mundane/boring, just play some sport, whether its squash, tennis, some fun touch rugby or even a swim (which is brilliant cardio depending on the intensity.)

Good luck with the task ahead. Don't see it as a daunting process, a comfortable pace for permanent weight loss is set at a kilo a week, so it can take a short 8-12 weeks and you can be set towards having that summer body that you've always wanted. Or for some of the more lucky readers, less than a month before you are there!

One final thought : The experts say that its 80% what you eat and 20% exercise, so even if you are exercising vigorously, it is essential that you watch what you put in your mouth too of course! So cut down on the fast food and fried chow, its really best to be avoided if you want to get anywhere with these tips! For more information on this, there will be a recommended dietry suggestions coming up soon.

And lastly, remember - exercising doesn't have to be something to detest, if you can get into it you can really start looking forward to feeling that burn. So stop being lazy, get off your asses and lets get jamming people!

Damien

Most, if not all of us, admire him. We look at his work and think, 'that is the kind of journalist I wish to become' One who charges at the truth and attacks it with all his might. One who has no regard for political persecution, not afraid of South Africa's ability to ostracize and alienate those who challenge popular thinking. One who, without fail, captures the thoughts and opinions the rest of us are too cowardly to express.
But have you ever considered how it feels to be Zapiro? What goes through his mind when he is alone, having drawn yet another shower, facing the wrath of the nation's ruling party? Is he nervous? Is he afraid? What keeps him going back to his sketching pad?
For the first time last night, I found myself wondering how it feels to be Zapiro and whether that is the kind of journalist I want to become. For the first time last night, I found myself questioning the extent of my courage. I wondered if Rhodes alienates its "Zapiros"

Dear Tam

You’re finally on your way to Rhodes. The prospects of university that face you are both so scary and exciting, that the volcano of feelings that are erupting in you right now must be overwhelming! We both know they were for me. Remember when I cried on your bed, sobbing at the very thought of facing the challenges of university life, and then at waking the following morning I dragged you through every leaflet, pamphlet and website mentioning Rhodes, in sheer excitement of this new experience.

I urge you to enjoy all the fresh opportunities that university offers. I do, however, have a word of caution, in that it is going to be hard for you to distinguish between new experiences and just plain bad ones. Don’t be overly cautious, it’s important that you make your own decisions, just remember peer pressure and alcohol distort what you may think are your own choices. My most treasured lesson was in realising that the independence and integrity of your decisions are your most respectable and hopefully unwavering qualities. This isn’t a great responsibility, if anything it’ll protect you from frequently waking up with a heavy heart and the horrible feeling of regret. I’ve told you countless stories about people making poor life decisions and blaming it on their friends’ influence or alcohol, but in truth shifting the blame doesn’t make you feel any better about yourself.

Now, don’t think that this means you’re constantly going to have to worry about everything you do, it doesn’t. Life is all about making mistakes and learning from them. We’ve always laughed at how we feel too bad to say ‘no’, but trust me, ‘no’ is the most valuable word in your vocabulary. I know that you’re a kind, sociable person so I say this with the little wisdom I have, saying ‘no’ wont make you a social outcast or miss out on all the fun, most often people respect you for it and on occasion you get to help someone else.
Always looking out for you

‘SisVic’

Dear Little Dave,

Sitting here, nearing the end of my first year at Rhodes, it really gets me to wondering whether there is anything I could tell you now that might prepare you for the exciting experiences that are to follow. First year of University is full of its surprises, and you will meet an array of extremely diverse characters... to say the least. (Remember to keep your guard up, there are crazies around!) But amongst these crazies you will find some of the most open-minded, free-thinking individuals that you have ever come across, and enjoy many a conversation with them on what will become the rather questionable ‘facts’ of life. From these people will emerge some of the friends that you will keep for years to come, so remember to choose wisely!

It is now nearing the end of 2008, and I have made so many connections with different people this year that I can hardly believe it. Rhodes really is a hub of the intimate social setting that you so enjoy, and it’s a place that will give you many fond memories to hold onto for many years to come. Set aside your insecurities about venturing out into the unknown, there is a whole world out there waiting to be discovered. I know you have reservations about what you want to do with your life, but the only way to overcome these is to place yourself in a situation where you can try new things that arise, and move towards goals that you have set for yourself. In the words of the famous Lao Tzu, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Take these words to heart and you really can’t go wrong. Life, as you already know, is simply a journey – just remember to always enjoy the ride.

Much luck and love,
Big Dave

Dear skinnier self

You will think the meal times are ridiculous, and res will remind you of an old age home; breakfast at the crack of dawn, lunch bang on twelve and supper far too early at five o’clock. But by the second week you will fit into this routine, until your stomach starts growling at 4.30pm.

Remember before you came to university when you were so scared to eat res food? You vowed you would never eat the meat and become a vegetarian. This is probably a good idea, as you will discover when someone sees a truck of ‘F-Grade Meat’ unloading boxes behind your dining hall. The soya sausages may look like turds but really they taste nice, better than meat even and a lot healthier.

Don’t be paranoid about missing meals. You don’t have to wake up early just to have breakfast, rather buy a bag of apples. And don’t keep them in the fridge or try and save yoghurt. People will steal your saved yoghurts out of the fridge. When this happens, resist the urge to steal their yoghurt back, because what goes around comes around, and one day they might steal your bottle of champagne, or leave fingerprints in the vodka jelly.

If there is one vital food tip I can convey it is this: stay away from the toast! Toast is very tempting, especially when there is peanut butter and syrup available, but toast is every skinny girl’s downfall. Especially when the toaster flattens your toast to a crisp slice, it doesn’t feel as though you are eating anything, but five weeks and 2kgs down the line you will wish you hadn’t eaten so much toast. It’s better to be a healthy hippy.

Unbooking your meals is your best kept secret from your parents. You can unbook up to R1000’s worth of food and reclaim it at the end of the term to go backpacking in Transkei or to Earthdance party in Cape Town. Starving yourself for money is not as bad as selling yourself, so don’t feel guilty. Above all, exercise! And don’t drink too much beer.

Your older and wiser food guru,
Caeri

To you
My-fresh-from-high-school-self

I imagine that by now you are well on your way to Rhodes, your mother’s car overflowing with all the things you think you are going to need. It saddens me deeply that you have chosen Rhodes. You, I am afraid, are just not the kind of black that lasts at Rhodes.

Nonetheless, you have already made your decision and your mother has already bought that duvet-set, so I won’t try convincing you otherwise. Instead I will give you my three lessons in survival, in the hope that they help you through first year.

Go through your clothes once more. Have you any skinny jeans? Tight ones, that cling to your hips; in every colour for everyday of the week. Rhodes is no place for the plain; so get yourself new hair, steering clear from any that says:‘ I was not born with straight hair’ Do everything within your power to look like a magazine, (not Drum or Bona! )... everyday.

The second lesson is what you should do as you approach the gates; lose that village accent! Lie
about your family’s finances and your mother must have a profession (maids are not professionals) “Poor” is not a word you associate with on a personal level, the township exists only for community service. Never speak Isixhosa, Zulu, Sesotho, even when speaking to a Xhosa, Zulu, Sotho person. Most importantly, lose the Mandela accent!

Imperative to your survival is that you avoid any talk of race. Colour no longer exists and racism is taboo. Have several non-black friends who shorten your name because they cannot pronounce it; never challenge their pronunciation. Affirmative action is outdated, name-changes are a waste of money; Henry Potgieter will never be able to pronounce Erhini.

It may all seem beyond the perimeters of your upbringing, but, I am afraid, the kind of black your mother raised is not the kind that lasts at Rhodes. I hope you are a fast-learner.

Yours Always
Your –almost-through-with-first year-self