Maia Abroad: UWC Waterford

Last night I found out that my father has cancer. My mother, (it almost made me laugh, because it was so in character) accidentally forwarded me an email about it while I was about to sit down at a friend’s music recital. This was immediately followed by a string of texts. ‘Ignore the email.’ ‘Call me.’ ‘Call dad.’ Before I write further – my dad’s prognosis is very positive, he’ll be starting treatment soon, and our lovely socialized healthcare will cover it. (Yay Canada!) Still, it’s a bit of a shock when you’re halfway around the world and you find out your dad has cancer via an email which wasn’t intended for you. I left my friend’s concert hastily, followed by a small pack of worried friends, and managed to get my dad on the line. I stood in the middle of the rugby pitch, the stars bright overhead, with the connection dropping every few sentences. He sounded very far away. I think things like this are almost harder, when you’re so far from home. When I was nine, still living

Most of my weekdays start at 6:30 – the sun rises before I do, which is novel for months that I’m in school. I typically forgo breakfast in the dining hall for fruit and toast in my room – unless it’s French toast day, in which case I’ll go and eat second helpings. School starts at 8 technically, but on Wednesday, we have assembly and on Thursday we have community service, so school really only starts at 8 on the other days. Luckily for me, I have free periods on both Tuesday and Friday mornings so Monday is the only day when I have to start actual school before 9.  On most days I have four or five classes with a nice sprinkling of free periods, before school ends at 4. From 4-5, I’ll typically have some sort of co-curricular – choir, tango, a forum theatre project, ect. From 5-6 I might go back to my room to get a head start on homework, and from 6-7 is dinner. From 7-8 I’ll probably have another activity – SAGA (sexuality and gender alliance) a planning session for the next tim

Joburg smacks you in the face with noise and heat and life. Navigating the streets means stepping over broken patches of cobblestone, and manholes that are gushing water from broken pipes. The sidewalks are packed with vendors selling chilled fruits and beaded jewelry, and hole-in-the-wall restaurants hawk hot chips and curry. It's amazing to be back in a city with so much vitality, but the disparity of wealth is sobering. My friends and I are staying in an AirBnB in a trendy converted industrial building, on a street full of health food cafes and boutiques featuring local designers. Two blocks away, we begin to attract stares and whistles - we are painfully conspicuous. I've been in Johannesburg for a day and a half and I'm already developing complicated emotions about this city. My prior time in South Africa was also full of contradictions and full of things I both loved and hated. The most painful irony was our visit today to Nelson Mandela Square - the huge metal statue