Erica with two grade R learners from Christel House School
Landing in Cape Town was truly one of the most surreal experiences of my entire life. After a 15 hour plane ride to Jo’burg and a 2 hour plane ride to Cape Town, I thought that my exhaustion would override my excitement—but I was wrong. While the plane landed, I looked out the window at the incredible mountains and clear blue water and I sighed a breath of relief. It was instantaneous—the minute we arrived in Africa, I could feel myself breathing differently, I could feel my body relax, I could already feel a change within myself—I felt like I was home. When we arrived at the house and took a walk through the commons, I could not stop looking at Table Mountain. Seeing something so vast and so powerful amazed me every time I looked at it—was it its massive size? Its shape? I couldn’t figure out what it was that I was feeling—I just knew that it is impossible not to look at Table Mountain and feel the air escape my lungs as I gasped to comprehend the reality of the beauty that is Cape Town.
One of our first nights out to dinner as a group, Marita began to explain her tattoo to several of us—the word “ubuntu” runs across her wrist, which in Xhosa means: “I am because we are” or rather the concept of compassion for all humanity, and above the word there is an outline of Table Mountain. While I had obviously seen her tattoo before, and even had heard her explain it before, this was the first time I really began to understand what her tattoo meant. She explained to us that when she came to Cape Town, she found home. She found strength. She found peace. She said that when she looked at Table Mountain it symbolized this country and it’s people and their incredible resilience. In so many words she told us: “This mountain has been here for millions of years, its weathered incredible things and it still stands so beautiful and so strong. The people that have lived here have suffered incredible pain—through colonialism, war, violence, apartheid, imprisonment, racism—but they’re still so strong. They still stand like the mountain, resilient to everything that has made them suffer, and they continue on.” I thought that was so beautiful. The mountains here shock me, awe me, amaze me every time I look at them. But now, as I begin to realize the truth of what Marita told us at dinner, I will never look at the mountains the same—Table Mountain is this country, it is these people. It has been 10 days, and I want to cry for the beauty I have seen, not just in the landscapes but also in the people we have met and in the friends I am making. I feel like we are infants and we are soaking in so many new things and we just want to cry for it all—cry for the good and sob for the bad. I know that when we start our internships these feelings I’m having will be even stronger, but I am so ready. I have fallen in love with it here and it has only been 10 days.
When we visited the Slave Lodge and District 6, I began to understand the resilience of the South African people even more. The Slave Lodge is where slaves were held in Cape Town to be sold, raped, beaten, and killed and District 6 is an area in South Africa where 60,000 "classified colors" and blacks were taken from their homes and put into townships under the apartheid government. Our tour guides were more than tour guides--they were incredible, incredible people. The man at District 6 actually lived at District 6 before he and his family were forcefully removed and taken to the townships. Talking to Lucy and Joe made me realize how recent apartheid is in South Africa, and what that will mean for me as white person visiting their country.
Lucy at the Slave Lodge said a few really beautiful and powerful things:
"10 years ago I didn't know where I was from. Ask me where I'm from today. Go ahead, ask me. I am from everywhere. I am Africa."
"We are all mixed. We are all each other"
"From human wrongs to human rights"
At District 6, Joe said some really powerful things as well:
"They didn't use guns to remove us from our homes, but instead they psychologically convinced us that we were less of a person than they were, and that the townships were where we belonged"
"Not until we bleed different colors do we have a different race. Until then we are all one race--humans"
"We are the only species with ornaments on the sides of our heads instead of ears. We do not listen."
"The destruction of the homes in District 6 can only be called ethnic cleansing. It was the break down of everything that is black and the build up of everything that is white."
"The signs from apartheid all say "white persons" and "non-whites, Indians, coloreds, etc." The word "persons" was dropped after every race but white in order to psychologically beat it into our heads that we were less than people."
After really being moved by everything Joe said, I began to explore the museum and observe some of the poetry that was on the floor of the museum. This was a poem was on one of the tiles at the museum:
"Where the rainbow ends
There's going to be a place, brother
Where the world can sing all sorts of songs
And we're going to sing together, brother
You and I, though you're white and I'm not.
It's going to be a sad song, brother
Because we do not know the tune
And it's a difficult tune to learn
But we can learn, brother, you and I
there's no such tune as a black tune
There's only music, brother.
And it's music we're going to sing
Where the rainbow ends."
-Richard Rioe
Leah said the other day: “I feel as though everything I thought I knew about myself and my beliefs is up for evaluation”. I thought that was really telling of how we all feel here in Cape Town—we recognize that there is still so much for us to learn and comprehend and that, for many of us, that involves reevaluating our former selves (i.e. the self that was before we came to Cape Town just 10 days ago). Coming to South Africa has been an incredibly eye opening experience because for the first time I am really comprehending what it means to be a minority and what the term "white privilege" represents. What does my skin color indicate, especially here in South Africa? Money? Power? Privilege? The word apartheid echoes in the soul of this place and its people--suffering and healing, pain and recovery, injustice and justice. I knew this experience would change my life, but it is these people we are meeting and talking with that are changing me the most. How do you describe white privilege and really understand what it means? Come to South Africa. Hear their history. Listen to the people. My soul aches. When I walk the streets here it is not even that I am a minority that makes me feel so deeply. Instead, it is what my skin color means and represents here in South Africa--that here, I feel as though I carry shame for my skin color more than anywhere else. I know that shame is not a progressive emotion, but I cannot help but feel that way when I hear about the oppressive white regime that attempted to break the souls of the South African people. I am beginning to understand how difficult forgiveness really is and how strong a nation has to be to really, REALLY move past racism--to move past a government that not only turned blacks against whites, but turned "blacks against blacks", by not only giving privilege to "whites over classified coloreds and blacks" but also privilege to "classified coloreds" over "blacks". There are racial tensions among South Africans that are so deeply rooted. Recently at the museum, Lucy (a so-called “classified colored” person) and Abongile (a black Xhosa speaking South African from the largest township in Cape Town) had an extremely touching moment when she said to him, "You are my brother. We are not colored or black. It is time we move past this." She put her hand next to his and said, "See, look at our colors, they are not all that different after all".
Abongile with kids from one of the soccer teams he coaches in Khayelitsha.
Forgiveness is a struggle. Racism, all over the world, has yet to be overcome. Here in South Africa the journey has really just begun—to have a progressive constitution is one thing, but to make the laws a social reality is another.
When we went to the National Baptist Church in Guguletu, a black township here in South Africa, the reverend talked about this journey that all humans—in particular those who are suffering or less fortunate—are struggling through. He mentioned that sometimes we have to crawl to get where we want—that the journey is not easy—but that we must keep going. As the people listened, they began to sing and shout with joy in their beautiful language, and even though I didn’t understand exactly what they were saying, I could FEEL what they were saying. I could feel their strength, their spirit, their faith, and their resilience. This embodies the soul and the spirit of the South African people who have struggled through so much, but continue to be resilient.
Coming to South Africa was one of the best decisions I have made in my entire life. Everyone has been endearingly making fun of me because every so often in the middle of a really good conversation or while we all sit outside underneath the beautiful South African night sky, I sigh and say: “I’m so happy!” Whenever anyone feels that rush now, they say: “I’m in an Erica mood!” I can’t explain how good that made me feel. Even though we are all experiencing extremely emotional things, I feel so happy and so blessed that I was given the opportunity to come here and to learn and grow as a woman. I know that when I start my internship I am expected to be the teacher—but I also know that I have so much to learn from my students and from the amazingly beautiful people I encounter here in Cape Town. I know I am here to teach, but I also know that I am here to learn.
Our professor, Vernon Rose, said to us on our first night here: “There is a wave in Cape Town—ride it.” I know those words really spoke to a number of us and we will continue to follow his advice and continue to learn every single day we spend in this beautiful country.
Amandala awethu. Power to the people.
Amandala awethu. Power to the people.
Erica petting a cheeta at Moyo.
