Last one for a while

I know that there aren't very many people who are still checking this to see if I've written anything lately, but I wanted to put this post up because I think it is a much better wrap up than my other posts, and also because these thoughts just don't come out in normal conversation and I'm tired of trying to make them. And if just one person understands a bit more about what I experienced/learned and why I am still completely uncomfortable being home, then that is one more person that I dont need to feel completely insane and unstable around.

We were required to write up a final paper after we got home that was divided into two parts: the first is a summary of a few questions we got to think about on the plane ride home. The questions were meant to help us come to some solid conclusions about what we learned and help us to wrap up (at least a little bit) all of the jumbled thoughts we had floating around in our heads. The second part was for us to tell a short story about an event dealing with the townships that had a significant impact on us. This part definately helped me to figure out how to describe even just a fraction of the heavy emotion that all of us felt in the townships.


So here it is:

1:
To explain in seven pages the impact which my experience in South Africa had on me would be impossible. To list everything I learned would be equally impossible- not simply because of page limits, but also because I am still processing and developing the outcome of this trip. To say that I am going through a transformation would be an understatement. This trip changed me. It allowed me to learn incredible amounts about myself, another culture and about leadership. It not only taught me about the past and present of myself and others, but reaffirmed where I want to take my future as well. This amazing experience became, and will continue to be, a driving force in who I am and who I will become.

The best and most memorable part of the trip for me was our week in Gugulethu; I fell completely in love with these people and their culture. Something that clearly stuck out to me about them was their pride- pride for their history, who they are, what they have worked for, to be African. I gained a great sense of admiration for everyone we met in their ability to hold their heads high with pride even after the horrors of Apartheid took nearly everything else from them. It is not a boastful or hateful pride, but is much more noble than that. It is a pride which can be seen in their eyes and invokes a great sense of respect. My host mother, Noxie, asked me one night what I noticed about the people in Gugulethu. When I told her this, she got a smile on her face and nodded her head saying, “Yes, it’s true…we are.”

Less visible than pride, but even more present among the people of Gugulethu is ubuntu. From the second I walked into the JL Zwane Center and met my host mother that Sunday, I felt it. It was as though I was seeing a family member for the first time- I did not know her but there was so much love in the hug she gave to Stella and me, I felt like family. This was incredible to me because I grew up in a culture which teaches to suspect the character of strangers, yet here I was with this woman opening her home and heart to me without a single hint of misgiving across her face.

This wasn’t the only time any of us were shown ubuntu. The community at JL Zwane Center went out of their way to make sure we were comfortable, safe and welcome. Every night at our get-togethers, we were invited into our host families’ lives; all of us wanted to share a part of ourselves with each other. Everyone we stayed with has a job, yet they managed to find the time to cook incredible feasts for us every night. Even if one of our host parents had to stay late at work, they still made the effort to spend time with all of us, genuinely happy to be there regardless of how tired they were.

Ubuntu was not only shown to us, but is constantly present in the manner in which members of the community treat each other. When they speak to one other, they truly have interest in what the other person is saying. They honestly want to know how one is doing and if someone is in need, there is no hesitation to lend them a hand. Less than an hour into our first time at the center before church, the strong bond between these people was clear and obvious; I soon realized that the concept of family extends far beyond the boundaries of blood relatives. During our time in Gugulethu, the JL Zwane community taught me the beautiful meaning of ubuntu: to truly live your life for others by giving your all and loving them more than yourself.
The leadership we experienced ties in with the close-knit culture of Gugulethu. An aspect that I really liked was the personal feeling between a leader and those they work with as opposed to the more “professional,” business-like relations that are often built in our own culture. I noticed that relationships in the Gugulethu leadership sector are much more deeply rooted than simple transactions and business plans. It reminds me a lot of our own leadership that was occurring during the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s. Dr. Reverend Spiwo said to us, “Some say that if you walk with dwarves, you will be a dwarf; if you walk with giants, you will be a giant. But leadership is making giants out of dwarves, and you can't do that unless you walk with dwarves."

This resonated significantly with me because it reminded me of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and how he knew his people. He didn’t know the personal stories of each individual person, but he knew them- he knew their struggle and their past, and he also knew a vision for their future because he walked with them. For a leader to “walk” with a group of people is to build a very personal connection because that leader experiences their hardships and triumphs alongside of them and incorporates that group into part of their personal identity. I saw this type of connection every time we met a leader and learned of the work they do. I believe this aspect of leadership is integral to progress in South Africa’s townships because it inspires the leaders to have passion and courage to overcome the countless obstacles they face.

For anyone who experiences a township like Gugulethu, it becomes apparent that the road to positive progress is long and rough, necessitating a strong sense of courage and passion from each and every leader. Dr. Spiwo Xapile gave us great examples to explain this need. In a place where extreme poverty is the norm, success- in whatever form it may be- is viewed with suspicion by many people and can even lead to the point of danger as others become jealous of that success. To literally put their life in jeopardy in the name of success is a scary experience for anyone and often times, someone will not have courage enough to stand in the face of this danger. It also takes courage to oppose authorities who are blocking the way to progress.
Countless times, the Church refused Dr. Spiwo’s requests to undertake a project in the community. Instead of giving up in defeat, he had the courage to adopt a principle which he explained as, “I’d rather ask for forgiveness than ask for permission for something that will never be granted.” The Church was wrong to believe that investment in the community would not lead to any significant progress and the Reverend had the courage to stand up to his authorities to prove them wrong.

Alongside courage, I truly believe that no progress would be possible in the townships without the passion I saw within their leaders. The situation there is too difficult. The JL Zwane Center as it is today was a dream which took over a decade to become a reality. Through learning the history of the center, it became clear that this was no easy feat. Countless obstacles had to be overcome and had it not been for the passion to see a vision through, the community center would not be in Gugulethu as it is now. Passion here it what drives the perseverance to face immense challenges and stick with a dream until the end.

Without passion, it would be impossible for a leader to continue on day to day while experiencing the heartbreaking conditions in the townships. If it weren’t for passion, it would be easier for one to turn their back rather than look into the eyes of a child dying of AIDS. It would be easier to drive along the highway and put blinders up instead of notice thousands of makeshift shanties leaking in the winter rain. The emotion felt while experiencing these sights is heavy; passion is what outweighs the urge to turn a blind eye to them and return to a comfortable life.

Throughout my entire time in South Africa, from Gugulethu to Cape Town to the excursions, I learned a lot about myself. I learned that my heart can hold much more emotion than I ever thought it could. While I am generally someone who is very good at handling and dealing with my feelings, I felt emotions there that I never knew existed; emotions that I still cannot figure out or describe. To my surprise, I didn’t explode. I’m glad too, that I felt (and continue to feel) those things. As uncomfortable as it is, I feel more human for it. It feels good to know that my emotional range extends further than the usual happy-sad-angry-confused spectrum and that I can care for a complete stranger far more deeply than I ever imagined. Since we returned, I have been wondering if the people we met realize how much of an impression they made on me. I wonder if they know I learned a completely different meaning of love because of them.

I learned that I am able to let go of many cares and just live in the moment. I didn’t simply exist during this trip, I lived it. Even to just not care what time it is was a significant step for me because it allowed me to just let go and enjoy the moment as it was. I did not even care how cold and wet I was at Cape Point and I really did not care if I got sick from it later because at that moment, I was at the most beautiful spot I could possibly be at in that place in time. Out shark diving, I drank so much chummed-filled ocean water and smacked my head on the cage more times than I can count, but I could not care one bit because I was living out my dream. Even all the times our group had to wait around with nothing to do, I could not get the least bit annoyed because, darn it, we were in South Africa! I realized life is so much more relaxing when I am able to let go of all the little cares and annoyances to just enjoy and hold onto the good things in that moment.

I rediscovered my passion for people. Living as I do- completing school and working in an area where it is easy to let petty things control my life- I allow myself to forget this passion. I forget my belief that relationships and experiences are far more valuable and important than material comforts and traditional middleclass American successes. I’m guilty of putting my passion on a waiting list right behind “finishing school” and “paying bills”; I do this and wonder why I’m not satisfied. I’m not satisfied because my passion is what truly makes me happy; helping people makes me happy, as cliché as it sounds. I like to make someone smile who otherwise may not have found a reason to. My time in South Africa reminded me of this and, thankfully, made me feel guilty for ever forgetting it.

There was one instance that really made me stop and think: when Zetu Xapile spoke to us about the clinics’ work in fighting HIV/AIDS, she briefly mentioned counseling services that are offered to those who test positive for the virus. Before this moment, it had never occurred to me that I never thought of South Africans receiving counseling. It is not as though I thought that they would not receive it, but I guess I never included that aspect in my perceptions of township life- it was just completely absent from my thoughts. Why did this happen? Why was there some subconscious barrier in my mind that separated the needs of Americans from non-Americans? I know that if I were to contract HIV I would be in need of counseling, so why would they not be? Why would I conceptualize these people as different from myself? It was one of those “aha” moments that actually made me very curious to find out which other subconscious beliefs I am holding that I am unaware of.

The whole trip culminated in the reaffirmation of the desire I have for my future. The further I get along in life, the more I realize I would not be happy in any other job than one in the public service sector. The work being done in Gugulethu that we learned of is the direction I want to go. Before this experience, I knew something along the lines of what I want to do but it was very foggy and ill-defined. Now that I have seen it- working grassroots, face-to-face with marginalized people- I feel like I finally had a glimpse of the future I have been trying to point myself toward. Wherever I end up in the world, be it South Africa, Thailand, etc., I know that it will be someplace where the people are “different” than me. I realized that I’m comfortable and excited to be somewhere unfamiliar because I love differences and I love culture and I love learning about it all.

I have no doubt that my experience in South Africa will continue to change my life. I am not comfortable being back home, and in a way I do not want to be. If I were comfortable it would mean that this trip did not have the impact on me that it should have. I do not want to ever forget the people I met and the experiences I had, but it is a great comfort to know that this trip was so incredible and amazing that I know I will never forget.

I do not know what impression I had on those who I met during those three weeks, but I can say with great certainty that they impacted me far beyond anything I ever expected. A couple times over the last week, I looked back at who I was before South Africa. A lot seems the same: same job, same love of macaroni and cheese and grilled cheese sandwiches, same job, same dislike of doing laundry… But there is something fundamentally different now; South Africa left lasting marks in my mind and heart, and it is strange to step back into someone’s life after this change.

2:
I was so excited to bring rain jackets. Each of us was asked to bring a suitcase of donations as a way to show appreciation to the JL Zwane Community Center for spending time with us. I practically ran over to the clothing racks when I saw that the store was having a half-off sale on kids’ raingear; it was like Christmas shopping, except far more exciting. I stood in front of those jackets for a good forty five minutes, constantly thinking of our instructor, Aaron’s, words,
“It’ll be winter in Cape Town, so it will be cold and windy. You really should bring a rain jacket because umbrellas are completely useless.”

If the kids in Gugulethu, I thought, didn’t have enough money to buy basic school supplies, it would be a far stretch to guess that they had rain jackets either. If I was able to help even just a handful of kids stay dry and warm on a rainy day, well, then that would be one less thing they would need to worry about. The prospect of this kept me stationed in front of those jackets, checking all the liners and reading the tags to make sure they weren’t the equivalent of garbage bag ponchos. I walked out of the store a great deal later with twenty-some rain jackets, absolutely ecstatic.

I was no less excited in Gugulethu the day Yvonne, Director of Ministries at JL Zwane, told us that we were going out to deliver some of the donations we brought from home. All of us piled into the vans and made our way through the township, blaring R. Kelly’s World’s Greatest and 3 Way Phone Call on the speakers. We arrived at a group of town homes that were positioned to create a large open circle; a sort of courtyard. The entire area was filled with pieces of wood, metal and broken furniture. Old worn-out cars were parked throughout the courtyard, only a few of which appeared to be in working condition. The dirt ground was littered everywhere with bits of trash and scraps of debris. Nails and pieces of metal were lying in the same area where people walk everyday and dozens of muddy puddles were left over from the last rain. Every now and then, the strong stench of wet rotten food and garbage would drift by.

As soon as we arrived, a dozen kids ran up to check us out. A few showed off their top spinning skills and others ran around, getting their pictures taken and looking at their faces on the digital camera screen. As I watched the kids I looked down and noticed that some weren’t wearing shoes, they were running through this place barefoot and I wondered how often one of them was cut by a shard of metal or stepped on a nail. None of them at that moment seemed to care, though, they just wanted to play.

While one of the boys was demonstrating how to spin a top, Aaron came over to tell me that Yvonne was giving a family some of the rain jackets. Oh boy, was I excited! I didn’t know that rain jackets were what were to be given out that day, so I was surprised and I could not wait. I went inside the house to meet the family. The atmosphere completely changed as I stepped over the threshold from outside to in. The boys outside were playful and energetic, but this room felt worn out. Not very much sunlight made it inside, making the small room seem even smaller and there was a heaviness in the air that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

The woman we met was introduced as the aunt of the two little boys living here and although she smiled, she seemed tired. It didn’t take long to find out why the woman would be so exhausted. We were told that the two boys lived with her because their parents had both died of AIDS. I nodded my head, not knowing what to say and instead turned my attention back to the little boys who were now wearing a couple of rain jackets. They were young, no older than nine and five. The older boy had some of the biggest and brightest eyes I’ve ever seen and his brother was so shy and sweet.

I took their picture together and asked them their names but forgot what they were five minutes later… I wish I could remember them now. Aaron was standing next to me and as we looked around the room, he leaned over and said,

“The little one is HIV positive.”

I can’t even say that my heart stopped when he told me this because the instant I heard those words come out of his mouth, I shut everything down. My heart was on the verge of breaking worse than it ever had before and I selfishly couldn’t let myself feel it, so I went numb.
But nothing in the world could take that hollow feeling out of my stomach- the feeling that came from knowing that something irreversible had happened to this baby boy and that it would eventually kill him. The most revolting feeling came from being able to look at this boy and know that he was going to die; who am I to be able to know something like that? I felt like I had walked in on one of God’s little secrets and I wanted to give it back because I didn’t want to know.

Then I looked at the older boy. How would it feel to have to say goodbye to your little brother? I thought of my own and knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. Love isn’t different anywhere in the world and I can’t imagine that it is any easier to bury a child in South Africa than it is back home. Why do these people have to live with this? They don’t deserve it. I couldn’t get it straight in my head, and I don’t know if I ever will. As happy as I was that my rain jackets got delivered, I couldn’t help but think that even though the jacket will keep him dry and warm, it won’t keep him alive.