Erica free falling into a new reality

On January 15 I boarded a plane to South Africa, and in doing so I bungy jumped. There is no doubt about it—when I got on that plane I dove into a beautiful abyss, having no expectations whatsoever. The bridge I jumped from was made out of my former self—it was built from fear, misunderstanding, passivity, apathy, confusion, and failed attempts. But when I jumped off of that bridge, and took a risk, I found myself in South Africa, learning more than I ever have from sitting behind a desk in a classroom. When I boarded that plane, I dove into the issues of racism, poverty, inequality, injustice, hate, and fear, all the while strengthening myself and bracing myself for the recoil of the realities I would have to face here. I think that’s why we, and every other UConn group that has come here before us, decided to take that 6-hour drive to Plettenburg and throw ourselves off of that bridge. It’s because bungy jumping is, without a doubt, a physical manifestation of everything we’ve been doing from the moment we arrived in Cape Town. For me, bungy jumping was so much more than a thrilling adrenalin rush that left me breathless and wanting more. In a larger sense, it was a moment of personal strength that represented everything I’ve been doing thus far—free falling into understanding, compassion, self-love, love for others, healing, reconciliation, and hope.

            When I got to Bloukrans Bridge the reality of what I was doing there began to sink in. They told us we could not choose who went first and that they would choose for us. When he said that, an overwhelming feeling came over me. I thought to myself, “You’re going first.” I just knew that I was. When the time came for him to announce who was going to be the first one off of the bridge, I already knew what he was going to say, “Erica, you’re up.” But I was so ready. Loud techno music and the support of my wonderful new friends certainly helped me to dance my way to the edge of that bridge, but it was also a strength inside of myself…a kind of strength I had never really felt before. The man helping us said to me, “Do you have any last words?” With a huge smile on my face, I replied, “This is awesome!” I hopped and danced my way to the edge and then they counted down. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1…bungy!” And then I dove. I free fell with my arms spread out wide, into a beautiful abyss of green mountains, blue sky, and rushing river water. And then—silence. Nothing but the sound of my own breathing. I lost all sense of time and space and, forcing my eyes open, I saw a beautiful landscape spinning beneath me. It was the most peaceful moment of my entire life. There were no words, but words came to me still—I spoke aloud to myself, “This is so beautiful”. I felt connected, spiritual, emotional, strong, alive. In fact, it was the most alive I have ever been.

            I told myself before the jump that there were things I wanted to leave behind on top of that bridge forever. I wanted to leave behind insecurity, weakness, sadness, anger, and my past. I wanted to leave it all behind me and dive into an endless abyss of peace, calm, and beauty. The reality is, I cannot leave all of those things on top of that bridge. The reality is that they will stay with me because they are a part of me. However, I can ALWAYS bring myself back to the moment I jumped—the moment I let go of those things and dove into a future of self-love, self-esteem, power and strength. I can always bring myself back to the feeling that I really am on top of the world, with no fear and no weakness. I can always bring myself back to that moment of pure strength where I felt like I could change the world. Whenever I need to, I can go back to that moment in my head and feel just as free as the moment I first jumped. And that’s all I could ever ask for in life.

            The reality is, that I began my jump the moment I boarded the plane to South Africa. When I return home, I know I will take with me all of the lessons I learned from jumping into this and facing it head on. I will take with me all of the lessons I’ve learned from my friends here in South Africa. I will take with me all of the lessons I learned from taking risks and opening my mind and becoming a stronger person. I will take with me all of the lessons I’ve learned about this country and its people and how they’re strength and resilience is a true testament to the good of humanity.

  Being in South Africa has been a thrilling, rushing, loud, quiet, peaceful, calm, crazy, hectic, educational, emotional, spiritual, powerful, brave free-fall. I don’t think I’ll ever come back up. 

Michelle applying valuable life lessons while connecting the dots

It has been a wild week since I last wrote my blog about finding my calling as a midwife. Things have been picking up at my internship, I have continued to shadow Ciska and Susan, the midwives, and we have traveled to Plettenburgbaai to hurl ourselves off the highest bridge used for commercial bungee jumping in the world.

When I think about bungee jumping, I like to think of it as a metaphor for pursuing this trip to South Africa. I have always been terrified of heights, and often get nervous on our hikes, in elevators, or simply being in a tall building. We watched Ben’s bungee video and I almost wished that I hadn’t. The bridge was so high, and he fell for so long. I was convinced that I would get to the edge of the bridge and freeze. I knew that they couldn’t push us, so I had to continually tell myself that it would be me and me alone getting myself off of the bridge.

When I transferred from Smith College to UConn I had my eye on this program, and from the get-go was sure that I was going to go to South Africa, no matter what. As the date of our departure got closer and closer, I began to feel nervous. Would I fit in? Would I like it? Would I miss my home and family too much? The night before I left, as I said goodbye to friends and my boyfriend, my brother and my mom, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I thought, “What the hell am I getting myself into? Why am I flying half a world away from everything and everyone I love?”

 As I sunk into the hostel bed the night before our jump I had many of the same sentiments. “Why would I jump off a perfectly good bridge when I don’t have to, and kind of really don’t want to? What am I trying to prove?”

When I stepped off of solid, well-supported ground and onto the rickety, see-through walk-way that would surely bring me to my sudden death, I felt surprisingly at peace. I was boarding the plane to South Africa all over again. I was embarking on a new, exciting journey that would leave me forever changed.  I was literally enacting what I had metaphorically done a little over six weeks ago. I was plunging into the great unknown. In this abyss I would confront my fears and anxieties not only of my new surroundings, but also confronting the flaws and strengths of my own character.

I reached the edge of the platform and knew I was ready. I was going to jump, of my own free will, into the unknown. I feel that I have learned, over the past few weeks, that I was also ready for this jump, both the literal and metaphorical. I think back to all the people that have taught me valuable life skills, and how each one prepared me for this huge leap. Conflict resolution, critical thought, and map-reading from my mother, a broad base of wonderfully immature humor from my brother, cooking and a sense of direction from my boyfriend, and finally my knowledge of music, composure in tense situations, and talking out problems and obstacles from my father. All of these qualities and traits have helped me tremendously and have prepared me for this journey, as well as for my adult life.

This week we were really gearing up for Cape Town Pride and a strategic planning meeting for Gender DynamiX. This weekend, GDX will have the first float to be devoted to transgender individuals in Cape Town Pride history. It has been such an honor to be able to participate in such an historic event, and can’t wait to march, with extreme pride (excuse the pun), alongside these incredibly courageous, strong, men and women.

I also have the privilege to take minutes for the strategic planning meeting this weekend. GDX has invited over twenty transpeople, from all over the country, to participate in a meeting that will help GDX determine its programming and focus for the next two years. It is an incredible opportunity not only to see how NGOs function and take cues from their constituents, but also to meet people who have such a diverse set of experiences, thoughts, and dreams for what GDX can achieve.

On the other hand, I am also gaining valuable experience shadowing Ciska and Susan, independent midwives for Birth Options in Plumstead. This week I sat in on a few appointments, and also learned how to identify which way a fetus is facing, and thus, where to find the heartbeat. I have learned so much about pregnancy, midwifery, breastfeeding, and by extention, the amazing and wonderful things women’s bodies can do. I also accompanied Ciska on a post-natal home visit. Ciska helped the new parents work through breastfeeding issues, sleeping arrangements, co-parenting, as well as the numerous fears and trepidations that come with the territory of being new parents. It has been amazing to see the many roles of midwives: as nurse, counselor, mother’s aide, friend, coach, sister, and mother herself.

Sometimes I wonder how my two experiences are compatible: half the week I am Michelle, intern and activist for trans issues, and for one day a week I am Michelle, apprentice midwife. How are these worlds connected? One of my co-workers at GDX asked me that the other day. He asked me what I wanted to do, and after replying that I wanted to be a midwife, he thought for a minute, and then asked, “Well, that’s nice, but what the dickens does catching babies have to do with trans issues?” I was caught a little off guard by this comment, and it really made me think about how I can connect these two seemingly separate realms. I have thought a lot about it, and I have decided that first and foremost, as a feminist, trans issues are by and large ignored. I am excited to take back what I have learned and share it with my co-workers at the Women’s Center. Secondly, I truly believe that this work could someday be integral to my work as a midwife. What if, someday, a transman or woman comes to see me with their partner? Trans people face unique reproductive rights battles that cannot be separated from the battles of ciswomen (women who are born biologically women and identify their gender as female).

I am completely exhausted, but in a good way, and can’t wait to wear a shirt that I made for the Pride Parade tomorrow. It simply reads: TRANScend Hate.   

Leah on the rewards of teaching

So the other day, Rachel put it most concisely when she said, “Leah’s life is Thandokhulu.” It is true. I have fallen head over heals, irrevocably, and unconditionally in love with my students at that school. The school itself, its administration, and my fellow teachers may have their faults, but the students are just so amazing.

Before everyone stops reading my blog and labels it as the typical, “Rich white girl goes to Africa and thinks all the little kids are wonderful and try so hard even though they’re poor and blah blah blah,” I want to add a disclaimer. I am not presuming any of this in my blog. Yes, most of the students are from Khayelitsha, a poor township comprised of informal settlements within Cape Town. Yes, most of them are extremely driven and focused on their future. I mean, which American high schoolers ask their teachers for extra English grammar worksheets?! Which American high schooler would EVER in a million years attend something called Book Club?! We had 100 students come after school just to read and learn! When asked what they wanted to read, many responded, “Just anything English…” The disclaimer here is that not all of the students are like this. This is most of the students, the majority I would hope. But many of them too are just going through the motions, like American teens. I have definitely had to discipline the students for talking in class, not listening, etc. (This has benefited me in my future teaching endeavors in that I am learning how to be strict). With that said, many of the students are truly interested and excited about learning. The disclaimer that I am trying to describe is that even though many are dedicated to their work, they’re still teens. Sometimes they’re tired or preoccupied with their love life or social scenes. They are excited and they are interested, but they are also human.

For a little over a month, I had been the sole teacher of two Grade 10 classes because their real teacher was sick. I had gotten extremely used to these students and they had gotten used to me. They expected to see me, expected to learn an American slang phrase or word everyday, expected to take notes in my class. I was regularly making lesson plans and grading essays and tests. The other tenth grade English teacher constantly worked with me to put together exercises, essay topics, and exam questions. I was loving every second of it.

However, there was this constant potential disaster looming in the background. Mr. Tsoli would indeed eventually return. I knew that this dream world could not continue forever. I am a young, American, University student who is leaving this country in May. I could not provide for these students as a full time teacher. As February 28^th approached, the day that Tsoli’s medical leave would expire, I grew more and more nervous. I did not want to lose all of these responsibilities that I had gained in his absence!

Finally, he arrived. Because I still had not finished teaching the poem On Aging by Maya Angelou to my students, he sat in on both of my classes to watch me teach. After my first class, he said to me, “That was really impressive! You were great in there. You definitely have the voice for it…” and that was it. I loved him. Not only did he like my teaching skills, but he saw my loud, out spoken quality as an asset.  Back at the office, he went on to tell me about how he was a teacher when Thandokhulu was taken over! The people of Khayelitsha had been petitioning the government for a school, but they were constantly rejected. Then, the petitioned to use an abandoned school in Mowbray (which is present day Thandokhulu), but were rejected because Mowbray was a designated white area. So in 1992, students, teachers, and supporters from Khayelitsha all rode into town on the buses with the intention of taking the school. The government had sent police, officials, and even helicopters in to stop their seizure of the school. When the students broke through the gate, the dogs were let loose on them! Finally, the teachers were able to negotiate with the officials to obtain the school and ever since then, we’ve had Thandokhulu, “much love.” Anyway – the point is that Tsoli, once an omnipotent fear, has transformed into one of my idols.

On Wednesday, Mr. Tsoli was teaching a poem to the classes and I was just sitting on the side lines, watching. It is never my favorite position, but I now share my classes and I am re-learning that Kindergarten lesson about sharing nicely. So Mr. Tsoli asked the class what literary device was used in the first stanza of some specific poem. Immediately, a boy at the back of the class (the boy at the back of the class), raises his hand and answers, “Personification.” Dead on. Mr. Tsoli was so surprised! He said he was only looking for metaphor, but personification was even more specific! The boy just looked at me and smiled, I had taught them about these different poetic devices a couple of weeks ago. I could not contain myself!! The boy at the back of the class, the one you never think is listening, IS! Then, Mr. Tsoli asked the class what irony is. Almost in unison they recited the definition that I had taught them, looking over at me the entire time. I could not wipe the grin off of my face.

I was so incredibly rewarded.

All I could think was – how can I not teach? How can I not pursue something that makes me feel so good? I want nothing else in life. I just want to feel rewarded. 

Brett on the pattern of life that is emerging

So, on life. Here’s my blog. We have now been in Cape Town a month and a half. The idiosyncrasies are beginning to sift themselves out and a pattern of life is emerging.  We had Marita’s class this evening and last weekend we went to Plettenberg. The honeymoon portion of the trip is over, and the realities of the situation, of my colleagues, and my expectations are becoming more visible. But I prefer whole grain bread to white bread, so while I am adjusting to the grittiness of my situation, I appreciate it with a wholesome quality more than taste alone provides. To hike Cape Point as opposed to looking at it from the window of a bus goes beyond the beauty to the gravity of the environment.

Schoolwork is not very fun, and seems like a hindrance to the wealth of experiences that we have and could have more of, as well as an insult to my own desire to learn, but my frustration with formal education goes far beyond this trip, and compared to a traditional education this trip is far more liberal and progressive. It just seems that I have gotten a taste of a truly liberal education, and now I no longer want to be, or at least pay to be, in school. Maybe if I find what I want to study, then I will have a better time, but for now I’m still struggling with motivation, and justifiably so.

Our days are just packed, I must say, with full days of work and class and events of different sorts. I’m a bit tired at present, and backed up on laundry, as I haven’t done it in the past two weeks. Food, I cannot complain about, as I take time for food first, both eating out often, and affordably so, as well as experimenting with cooking. On my way home today from work I stopped and got a styrofoam bowl of rice and curry, a good sized portion for $3. Here, I feel like the price that I pay for food is worth the quality and the quantity. As far as cooking goes, I have become a little less enthused, as of lately, since I got both a guitar and more homework assignments.

The refugee center took a turn for the better today, as we had a long staff meeting in which we discussed a better strategy for dealing with the number of refugees and variety of their problems. Instead of listening to the refugees and trying to problem solve on the spot, as we have been doing (I gave a man food stamps on Tuesday after he explained to me how he lost his job and wife just had a baby), we decided, as a center that we would simply gain information during the initial interviews, and then talk about them with our colleagues before calling them back. This way, it takes the pressure off of us to come up with solutions on the spot, as many cases are difficult to assess. We also brainstormed the idea of creating email addresses for the refugees, which may lessen the number of refugees in the office on a regular basis if they can simply email a question instead of having to come in. They can access computers at internet café’s throughout the city. An email address can also assist them with job application and networking in the city. So, I think that the center will slowly become more efficient than it has been.

Other than that, I have been so busy, and yet I feel like I could be doing so much more. Three months is a very short time, I am coming to find out. I do miss my family at home, and yet, the longer I am here, I am beginning to grow roots in the African soil as well. But, this is not my home, although it is quite interesting to experience.

 

Meredith on finding confidence, inner strength and ability to take action

As I walked into the Grade R classroom at eight o’clock this morning I was just waiting for Mrs. Loren to ask the burning question.  “Well did you go through with it?”  I confidently replied that indeed a few days before I bungee jumped off of the highest commercial bridge in the world.  I laughed as Mrs. Loren explained to the kindergarteners what bungee jumping entails.  “A long rope is tied to your feet and you jump off of a huge bridge and spring back up.”  It wasn’t until it was translated to the kids in Xhosa with hand motions that they really understood the insanity behind physically pushing yourself off of a bridge.  “Would any of you ever like to do that?” As they looked at me shockingly with their mouths opened maybe about two students raised their hand half-heartedly.  The fact that six year olds seem to have more common sense than me was humorous.  I laughed.

This weekend all twelve of us packed up our bags and headed for a weekend trip out of the city to Plettenberg with the main intension to go bungee jumping at the Bloukrans River Bridge.  After a grueling eight-hour car ride, we arrived at our youth hostel for one last night of sleep before the big event.  It was such a relief that we planned the jump early in the morning the following day because it really did not give any of us time to think about what we were about to go through with.  I got out of the van and immediately looked at the bridge.  As my stomach started to turn, all of my emotions suddenly rushed through me.  I was frightened, eager, nervous, and so confused as to why I was about to voluntarily fling my body off of a bridge.  Before we made our way across the bridge, we took our last Loch Road group huddle where we had the chance to as we call it “throw it into the bag.”  Everyone shouted words such as courage, strength, self-determination, and power with the hope that we could all take in these things for the next few moments of our lives. 

Next thing I know, I’m walking across a metal bridge where all you can look is down and all you can think is: Shoot, this is where I will be in a matter of a few minutes.  As we trudged across the bridge on what seemed like the longest walk of my life, I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of determination.  I knew I was ready to jump.  Finally we reached the platform in the middle of the bridge and I glanced over the edge.  It was finally time to push myself.  The loud techno music playing in the background helped all of the unsettling thoughts exit my mind.  Erica was the first one up.  It felt like I was watching a magic trick or something.  She was standing on the edge and then all of the sudden she vanished.  My mind chose to treat this scene as an illusion as if it wasn’t really happening.  Next up, Leah.  I think okay I know can do this.   She steps up to the platform.  Arms out and she is gone.   I watch as the rope frantically unravels off of the platform.  It is Brittany’s turn now.  We cheer her on as she prepares to dive into the abyss.  I’m called up to be the fourth jumper.  Brittany places her arms carefully in the sky and is gone.  As my legs were getting tied and I was being told the safety rules, I just couldn’t bare to pay attention.  My mind was trying to wrap around the extent of what I would be doing.   Something that my body physically knows is a huge red flag.  All the sudden before I knew it my feet were at the very edge of what felt like the whole entire world.  It was time.  I lifted my arms as the workers shouted FIVE…. No way I’m backing out now…FOUR…. breathed one last deep breathe …THREE…closed my eyes and said a prayer…. TWO…opened my eyes and looked into the blue sky around me…ONE BUNGEE!  I jumped off the edge and it was nothing like I thought it would ever be.  It felt like the world stop around me and I was just floating there.  Just the Earth and I together in harmony.  It was the most surreal feeling of my life.  I never would have thought that jumping 216 meters off of a bridge would be the most serene experience of my life. 

I hung there upside down and realized for the first time in my life that I am literally capable of anything.  When I say anything I mean anything.  When I jumped off of that bridge I left all of my insecurities and fears on the platform all the way at the top.  Hanging there with me was confidence, inner-strength, and the ability to take action.  In the future when I’m faced with a situation where I tell myself I can’t, all I need to do is remind myself that I jumped off of the highest bridge in the world.  

Katherine on city life

 As I have become more used to living in Cape Town, I have become more comfortable with my surroundings.  The three days a week when I get off the minibus at the taxi rank to go to my internship, I try to be conscious of those passing by me.  The minibus taxi rank can be an intimidating place if you do not know where you are going.  There are many people around who you come in close contact with. 

In the mornings I usually feel safer because there are less people in the taxi rank and at the bottom of the stairs that lead down from the taxi rank.  The majority of the people walking in the crowd I travel in are headed to work and do not waste time idling around the premises.

In the afternoon, around 3PM, when I leave Black Sash to journey back to Rondebosch, the taxi rank area seems to be less safe.  There are many more people around and most are not travelling home from their jobs but instead just walking around, selling items, shopping, heckling, and many other things.  The first few weeks at my internship I was slightly nervous when I got close to the taxi rank because of the plethora of people pouring out of every place.  It is hard to keep track of every angle of your surroundings.  Yet I began to feel more confident as time went on.  I have become very good at keeping an eye what is going on in front of me as well as on either side of me.  What lies behind me is still a challenge.

It has been difficult to decide what type of bag I should carry when I go into downtown Cape Town.  A shoulder bag is easier to carry in front of me so that I can see if anyone tries to pickpocket me.  Yet a shoulder bag is also much easier to grab and run with if someone wanted to rob me.  A backpack is more comfortable to carry and allows me to but heavier things including my computer inside.  However a backpack is behind me and I cannot see who may be directly behind me when I am in a crowded area.  I have resorted to carrying a backpack and usually it is extremely hot so I treat it is more of a shoulder bag. 

Today I was almost pick pocketed while walking to the taxi rank.  Thankfully two men saw what was going on and alerted me.  I was very surprised that I had not been paying enough attention because I am usually meticulously careful the closer I get to the minibuses.  I had been carrying my backpack with just one strap on and walking at my usual brisk pace.  I did not even notice that the man behind me managed to unzip the lower pocket to my backpack.  Sadly for him there was only hand sanitizer, deodorant, and tissues to take, but he did not get far enough before being spotted even if he had wanted those items.  I was very grateful to the two men who alerted me.  At first I thought they were trying to heckle me because they approached me quickly and started speaking loudly.  If they had not said anything, the man behind me probably could have forcefully yanked my bag away from me and ran.

While I do not deem Cape Town to be a dangerous place, as many Americans perceive it to be, it is a city with similar issues to that of New York City, Paris, and London, including pick pocketing.  As Ben, Marita, and Vernon warned the twelve of us, it is most likely only when you let your safety guard begin to slip will anything happen to us.  I guess mine had begun to slip after enjoying an adventure filled weekend in Plettenberg Bay which included bungee jumping, an elephant sanctuary, tubing, and travelling to the southernmost point of Africa. 

Kayley asks some tough questions

I am currently writing this blog entry in a little café in down town Rondebosch called Cocoa Wawa. There is free internet access as long as you order one of their amazing drinks. I usually get green tea. As I look around I have never been so aware of my privileges. My privilege to order what ever I want, to call a cab and have the money to pay for it, to have a really nice house to go back to, to have a computer to use while I sit here, and there are so many more privileges. The point is that I can no longer be anywhere without thinking about the people around me and the different socio-economic situations that each person comes from.

The poverty left from apartheid is blatant and in your face wherever you go.  For example, in the burn unit at the Red Cross hospital, most of the children there are Xhosa speaking. This is because burns are much more prevalent in the townships due to the stoves they use and the paraffin which is the fuel for the stoves. The poverty is even quite prevalent in the research I am doing. In each of the files there is the space for the mother’s name and a space for the father/boyfriend’s name. Many of them are unemployed and are receiving social grants from the government.  This is the reality here and it’s frightening. Especially coming from a wealthy mostly white suburbia in America.

In the past month and a half I am beginning to understand the history behind apartheid and why there is still a strong reminisce of it after it was abolished. As the weeks go on I start to see the big picture instead of the present moment. This has caused a controversy for me. Each week I see the burn unit packed from wall to wall with kids, I can’t help thinking that no matter how many burns are healed the burn unit will still be packed each week. To really help these kids in the long term, the poverty needs to be stopped. 

Last week I accompanied Prof into Khayelitsha. We were in the maternity hospital there. Child after child came in all with different smaller problems, but one of the overriding ones was nutrition. I can’t get the sight of this 8-year-old boy who was skin and bones with a belly full of worms out of my head. His mother was unemployed and an alcoholic. Again you can put the mom into rehab and find the boy a new home, de-worm him and start giving him the proper nutrition, but all of this will still not solve the overriding poverty that all of these families face. The route of the problem needs to be the main target.

One of the informal settlements in Khayelitsha

I am not writing this to make everyone guilty or depressed. I am also not saying that these problems are only in South Africa because America is confronted with them too.  I don’t even have a solution to these problems, I am just identifying them and drawing parallels back to America. That is the first step, looking outside yourself and understanding the people and places around you, then putting them into the bigger picture. It took me coming to South Africa and understanding it’s problems to really understand America’s. I guess the message that I am trying to get out is that you can’t just accept things the way they are. Ask questions.

Two weekends ago a couple of us went to Camps Bay (a really pretty touristy beach), I felt uncomfortable there. Everyone that was there looked just like me. This one image won’t leave my mind; I was walking along the beach and I saw this white women laying in a rented beach chair while this black man was on his knees displaying his handmade crafts to her. Normally, I wouldn’t give this scene much thought but it made me mad. I wanted the women to ask him where he is from what his story is and why he has to walk around the beach in the sweltering sun selling crafts instead of relaxing with everyone else. I’m not trying to make the assumptions that he is automatically poor but that is usually the case.

The first step is recognizing these differences and the next step is to ask questions. Why is he selling crafts? If you understand the big picture you will know that most likely this man didn’t chose to sell crafts, he probably lives in one of the townships and can’t get a better job because he wasn’t able to receive the proper education. Next question, why can’t he get a better education? Maybe during apartheid he and his family were forced to move from their home and they were placed in a township. Maybe he was born when apartheid was outlawed but he still was born and raised in a township where they don’t have equal opportunities for education. There are plenty more maybes, the point is to ask yourself the question. Next question, why if apartheid is illegal are there still so many people living in poverty, without jobs and without enough food for their families? When South Africa’s new constitution was being discussed and written, everyone was given equal rights and discrimination was outlawed but economic and social redistribution was not fully addressed. It was said that everyone is equal, but it was also said that it is illegal to take money away from the people that already have it. So if you can’t redistribute the wealth how can everyone be equal? Those are just a small handful of questions that should be asked. Now there could be a possibility that the man doesn’t live in poverty, but most likely he does. The point is ask to hear his story. Ask to hear anyone’s story. These stories can help change views, open people’s eyes and slowly start the mind numbingly slow process of changing the world.