Adam on lessons learned

Adam

Where has the time gone?  It seems like just yesterday that I was stepping off of that brutal eighteen-hour flight with Marita, Ben, and Vernon there to greet us all.

Ben, Marita, and Vernon

                                                               
Time really does fly by.  I’m going to miss so much about this place.  I’m going to miss our house and living with the people in it.  I’m going to miss Table Mountain and the University of Cape Town that sits in its shadow.

University of Cape Town

I’ll miss my internship and the friends I have made there as well as riding the mini-bus taxis.  Most of all I am going to miss Cape Town and the laid back lifestyles that all Capetonians seem to possess.

Mini-bus taxis

                                                                   

Reflecting back on my trip I begin to see how much I have grown.  What I notice most now is my increased sense of independence.  Balancing an internship, classes, and recreational activities I have had to become more independent out of necessity.  I have learned about issues dealing with race and gender, becoming a more informed person in the process.  Working at the Black Sash National Office I have been able to develop a more professional attitude in the workplace.  I have learned the history of South Africa and the issues that are facing it today. 

           

So what is the next step?  I go home back to America and what will life be like?  I don’t really know until I actually get home.  Will I notice more racial issues than I did before?  Probably.  I will try my best to be an ally and work for social justice as much as I can.  At this point working for “social justice” isn’t really for my resume or for personal satisfaction.  Ever since I have been working and living here I have felt compelled to do the right thing simply because it is that, right.  I couldn’t have asked for more out of my study abroad experience in Cape Town.  I have grown in ways I never thought I would.  One day I hope to return but until then Cape Town will always keep a place in my heart.  

Meredith on yet another lesson from Christel House

This past Friday I had one of the most eye-opening experience of my life.  For the past four months, I’ve had a chance to work with five and six year olds in grade R at Christel House School.  Throughout my time at Christel House, my relationship with the children has slowly developed.  The first few weeks at Christel House I had a chance to meet the kids, learn their names, figure out how to deal with the language barrier, and to find out what makes them tick.  As the internship quickly changed from another notch in the belt of my resume to the best reason in the world for waking up at 7 am, I absolutely fell in love with these amazing little people.  My relationship with the kids has grown to be far more personal then I ever would have imagined it could be.  When I get home every Wednesday from yet another incredible week of the kids, I genuinely miss them.  A lot.  During those four days without them, I constantly find myself thinking about funny things that they do that make my heart melt.  Then it’s Monday again and it’s time for Christel House! Yessss.  Knowing that I only have one more day working with the kids is the hardest thing I have to swallow about leaving South Africa.  I’m trying not to think about it too much because I’ve already cried in a few different places making situations awkward to say the least. 

For the past month, I feel like the relationship I have with these kids has butterflied into something so beautiful.  The only problem is, it was in the school environment.  When I became involved with Christel House South Africa I knew that everything involving the school was geared towards there vision of, “transforming lives by providing impoverished children with education, nutrition, health care and a nurturing environment, and by empowering their families and communities through outreach services.”  I obviously knew that the families that these children came from were considered below the poverty line, but for some reason I could not process the actual state that these families were living in.  I mean, I have been to the townships and seen the unpleasant conditions where a great deal of families in South Africa do reside but was that truly the state that these beautiful children were living in?

Then on Friday I had the most amazing opportunity to have all of my questions answered.  The social work at Christel House offered to take me into the townships and into the homes of the children I have been working with for the past three and a half months.  I was so excited because this was the connection that I had been longing for.  As we headed off to the first home, I was picturing the little girl in my head and couldn’t help but smile.  She is definitely one of the cutest little girls I’ve ever seen.  She is the cuddliest child in grade R by far with two tiny braids in her hair and her thumb always in her mouth.  As the car came to a stop and I looked at her home, it felt like someone punched my heart.  What I saw before me was a shack, no bigger than maybe fifteen by maybe twenty feet made completely out of old scraps of tin and wood, the roof no higher than my head, and incredibly dirty looking.  I felt numb, how could I possibly enter the home of this child whom I knew personally.  I took a deep breath, held back the tears, and entered the house.  I honestly don’t think I could have even moved if the mother wasn’t so warm and welcoming to us.  I looked around the township house.  The floor was made out of black garbage bags, the ceiling was insulated with clear garbage bags, a few old pots and pans were around, a bed that looked beaten with so much use, maybe running water, maybe electricity.  Whoa. It was a lot to soak in.  The mother brought us seats and we listened to her talk about her life.  Abusive ex-husband who still hangs around breaking windows, five children living in this single shack sharing one bed, the government trying to kick them out of there home and move them to an even worse off part of South Africa with gang violence and absolutely no electricity or running water.  Whoa.  Still soaking it in.  One of the daughters was home that day.  When we asked her why she wasn’t in school, she explained that she couldn’t afford transportation to school that day which is thirteen Rand.  Thirteen Rand.  Whoa.  For those in America reading this, that is $1.75.  That’s it.  After the visit was over, we went to two more houses and experienced similar situations in different areas.  I felt overwhelming sadness about what I saw that day.  For the first time in my life I actually understand how completely privileged I truly am.  What have I done to deserve what I have?  It made me incredibly sad knowing how well off I am and how much other people have to struggle for $1.75.  I’m pretty sure a coffee at Starbuck’s is more expensive. 

Though my mind was swirling with all of these hard thoughts, I yet again realized that the lining is truly silver.   Walking into these homes was a hard thing to take in, but after talking to the family members, the love and warmth in the households shines through proving how much more powerful love is than material possessions.  The positive lens that the families look through life with is absolutely indescribable.  One mother who lived in a one-room home with her family of five described how she is so incredibly grateful for everything she has.  She explained how there are people in the world that have much less than she has.  Some cannot even afford to feed their children anything at all so she has absolutely nothing to complain about.  She lives for her family and for her family alone.  There is nothing else in the world that matters.  I cannot seem to get this woman’s words out of my head.  She loves so selflessly and is so thankful for everything she has without any complaints.  When meanwhile I am sitting with the comfort of a blanket and green tea in a spacious room listening to the cold rainy wind press against the window.  Just as I’ve done every night since this experience, I stare out into the abyss of the night and think about the most amazing kids in the World living outside in this.  I cannot shake this feeling.  I don’t want to shake this feeling.  I need to help this. 

Brittany on being radically changed by Cape Town

I am infuriated by the harsh contrast between severely impoverished areas to extreme wealth in South Africa. The racial inequalities have caused the poverty. No inequality is more apparent then gaps in the education system. Only 8% of schools in South Africa have libraries. I have seen the difference in school resource distribution. I believe that education is the key to breaking the cycle of poverty. For this reason, I wanted to volunteer my time at a local high school.

The students at Thandokhulu High School face serious barriers and obstacles that prevent them from graduating.  They have told me stories about violence, drug abuse, gangs, and sometimes the fear of walking around in their own communities.  Thandokhulu needs a counseling, mental health, or therapy program but it is too expensive.  Students have a difficult time focusing on school work when they are trying to manage psychological and emotional trauma.  I am not qualified to run a counseling center but I am qualified to teach an after school art program, so that’s what I did.  Art is a powerful tool for expressing emotions, crossing cultural boundaries, having fun, and building confidence.  It provides a creative outlet, a safe space, and potential source of income if students chose to sell their work. 

The Art Program provided a new experience for some students who had never worked with materials like oil pastels or clay.  The classroom rules were simple; everyone respects the supplies and each other.  Putting down your artwork or someone else’s wasn’t allowed either.  I am not an art expert.  My role was to bring supplies, answer questions or make suggestions.  In the classroom it is the students that proved to be the experts each time they produced more amazing work. 

I want to take a moment and thank everyone who donated money and time to the art program.  You rock!  My family and friends in Connecticut organized an amazing fundraiser called “Feel the Rhythm” where participants celebrated international solidarity and social justice through music.  A special thanks to Rick Liegl of DrumEventsUnlimited.com for teaching everyone how to play the djembe.  Also, I want to say thanks to my mom, Joanne Britton and the other Zumba dance instructors who passionately teach others to love themselves and be healthy. 

                 Connecticut "Feel the Rhythm" funder for art supplies at Thandokhulu Secondary School

I have truly appreciated every moment at Thandokhulu.  Organizing classes forced me to acknowledge how my academic career has been full of more unearned privileges.  I had endless resources in music and art classes growing up.  My native language matched the same language taught in class.  I was never discriminated against because of my identity.  I have learned more from the students then they have learned from me.  I have cherished each conversation with the students at Thandokhulu.  I will remember every shared smile and connection.  When I return home I will think about each memory as I work towards a world free from inequalities and discrimination.  I came to South Africa to make a difference but it was Cape Town that radically changed me.

Brett on stepping out of the bubble and becoming grounded

Brett at Cape Point

Before I came on this trip, my head was filled with many ideas of criticisms of modern American society, but I never knew if I was just struggling with unhappiness and depression, or if my complaints were grounded in reality. Not being an outwardly expressive person, my trouble with modern American society mainly kept me more quiet and subdued than open and willing to talk. I didn’t know if my feelings of uncomfortable depersonalization in shopping malls, and loneliness when regarding the specialization of future careers were merely teenage musings or grounded claims. Growing up, a good deal of my troubles were caused by the biological effects of depression, but coming here has allowed me to Return to list of postssee that the other factors in my society both helped to contribute and exacerbate these problems. 

Coming here has allowed me to step outside the bubble that was my suburban youth, to step outside of the bubble which is my family, to step outside the bubble which is America, and to get a glimpse of the real parameters which hold life between existing and not existing. Maybe it was on the game walk in Kruger national park when I realized I wasn’t the top of the food chain, looking down and realizing I was walking on other living things recycled before me, or in the shark cage looking at a shark and realizing it was watching me. As it passed, without music from jaws or the discovery channel, I could almost recognize a common nature in his eyes, a curiosity. On the other end of the spectrum, there is not much like the feeling when you walk down the street and someone calls out, ‘hey white boy’, whitey, come over here. The feeling is somewhat like alienation, of differentiation, which makes me feel like I don’t belong .  In these situations I feel the sense of powers at work, larger than my own. It is humbling to be tossed down by a wave in the ocean, and spun around like a doll in a washing machine, and it is also humbling, in a sense that one can let down all of their ego when walking through a township. These forces, like seasons of the weather, which maybe we don’t notice in the states because we’ve grown accustomed to or deny the chill of capitalist depersonalization, when they flow around me and through me here, I try not to shut myself off. In the townships, that is not any more difficult than encouraging someone to take a coat off in the summer; the warmth of humanity is contagious, and the urge to dance while walking is not but a small step, which is aided by the house music bumping from one minibus or shibeen. The ease with which people, perfect strangers, drop their present tasks and enjoy an afternoon with you is that which no American I have met has been able to appreciate the freedom of.

This trip has been good in that it has given me first a new perspective, another perspective to compare the world to the one I grew up in. Secondly, it has given me hope. This trip has been very helpful in affirming and reaffirming ideas or questions that I had been toying with for a long time in the States. How will it affect my career goals and life choices? Well, for one, I will be a great deal more conscious of race and gender. Especially as someone who is interested in media and entertainment, even with my small show on UCTV, I can be much more conscious of my decisions. I think the media is one of the leading proponents of the continuation of racism, if not the largest, and to change the tide of that would do much to curb institutionalized racism.

Another thing that I have gained from this trip is that I don’t have to accept the problems of the world as, ‘well that’s just the way it is.’ I think I have learned this mostly from my fellow housemates who have strong views on a myriad of issues. I don’t merely have to personally disagree and go on with my life. All of these issues can be changed and I have the power to change them within the context of my influence. A lot of things are coming together for me now as I am emerging from a confusing sea which was the mixed messages of youth. I am beginning to feel a bit grounded in my life, and will soon be able to carve a niche out for myself and stand for what I believe in.  

Leah questions ethnocentric thinking

In my second week in Thandokhulu, I saw students being punished. They were kneeling in the hallway and a teacher was pacing with a red stick. I began noticing that all of the teachers had the same red sticks. The teachers were not beating the students; they were just giving a little tap here, a pinch there. Even when I went to book club at Sophumelela, in Phillipi, the teachers had the same sticks. At first, I was taken aback. I was upset because this was not the form of punishment that I considered humane or acceptable. However, my time in South Africa has taught me that such a judgment was ethnocentric, imperialistic, and close minded.

           

Imagine this: You are a teacher. The US government suddenly passes a bill that mandates teachers to only use corporal punishment. It is now against the law to punish students verbally or with detentions. Teachers are given no training or resources with which to apply these new methods. Would you hit your students?

           

I know that I would not. I do not think that hitting my students would help them learn. They were brought up in a society that does not, by and large, use corporal punishment. Even within households, it is more and more uncommon for parents to corporally punish their children. Because my students would not have grown up with this kind of discipline, they would not respond positively to it.

           

Now, remove your ethnocentrism. Pretend for a minute that the American culture is not always the right culture, the advanced culture. Now reexamine the scenario in the South African context. Growing up, South Africans, parents and teachers alike, use corporal punishment to discipline children and students. Now, the “New” South African government decides to outlaw corporal punishment in the 1996 constitution. The teachers were provided with no training in alternative forms of discipline and were given no resources with which they may apply such disciplinary tactics. How could they be expected to follow such a regulation? And if they did, would the students respond? They have not been taught to fear a detention or verbal warning.

           

If the South African government wants its school systems to change their disciplinary tactics, it must begin by changing the culture from which the students and teachers come. This is largely impossible – and not really even my point.

           

My point is simply that imposing ideas of what is “right” and “wrong” on other cultures is imperialistic. Judging another community based on foreign standards is ridiculous. Even though it is so easy for everyone to criticize the American government for its ludicrous exportation of “democracy,” it is difficult for those same critics to see their own hypocrisy in trying to export values.  

Michelle's gonna miss many things about CPT

I know that I started my last blog with a count down of how many days we had left, and I still find it shocking that there are only 10 more full days in Cape Town. At this point I’m not even really sure what to write. I have had an incredible, challenging time here, and I’m not really sure how I am going to express everything to my friends and family back home. Even while I am here the constant question that I hear is, “How is Africa?” How do I tell them that the way that I see the world has completely shifted in a concise answer that they so obviously want to hear? I don’t really have an answer to that question. What I can give are a number of stories, experiences, pictures, and new exciting ways to look at the world.

I know that my friends, family and boyfriend are very excited to have me home, but there are going to be a lot of things, a lot of little things, and some big that I will really miss. I’ll really miss the mini-bus taxis. I never expected to love them so much. They are perfect, in their own way, for the city. They evolved to fit the city, and the needs of its people. They snake throughout the city and the surrounding suburbs and townships. They don’t have set times or a schedule. You very well may be the 20^th passenger in a 16 passenger van. You may not end up exactly where you want to go. But they’re fantastic. There’s so much spirit, and the gachee (not sure on the spelling) is my favorite part. He’s a little man (and sometimes woman) who calls out the window advertising where the mini-bus is going. The best part is when they get out and try to convince you to go to, say, Wynberg. I am not going to Wynberg. I will not ever be going to Wynburg. But that man sure will really try and convince me that that’s where I want to go.

I’m going to miss our little house rivalry between the two main grocery stores, Checkers and Pick’n’Pay. Pick’n’Pay is the only way to go, by the way. I’ll miss the fantastic Indian food, Mr. Delivery, and being able to buy wine not only in the grocery store, but for the equivalent of $3.  I’ll miss rusks (kind of like biscotti) and roioibos tea. Copious amounts of nutella and my beloved kinder eggs. I can’t even get started on how much I’ll miss milk tart. I’ve already looked up recipes so that I can make it at home.

I’ll miss seeing the mountain from a million different angles during the day. I’ll miss the great view of Devil’s Peak, sweeping into the Table, down into Lion’s Head and Signal Hill. I’ll miss the Twelve Apostles overlooking Camp’s Bay beach. Also, at Adam’s request I will also write that I will really miss the two adorable dogs that live in our neighbor’s house.

I’m really going to miss Susan and Ciska, Tebogo, Charl, Liesl, and Tatenda, and painfully so, I will miss Vernon. Numerous times in the house, we have talked about naming our children Vernon after the man who introduced us to his beautiful but challenging country wth the utmost patience. I will miss living in this house, with these 11 other people, who I will be bonded with for life. I haven’t really thought about it that much, but hopefully our very unique relationships with each other will hold true when we get home. 

Although I will miss many things about this country, and the people in it, there are a few things about the States that I am excited to have again. Like a good hairdryer, Niko’s barbeque chicken pizza, Chinese food, filter coffee (everyone drinks instant coffee here). As I write this, everyone has started making plans for their first meals back in the States. I have realized that a lot of things that I love, and things that remind me of places are food. It’s a little funny, but it makes sense. Food brings people together, and its certainly bonded us in the house, as many of us truly learned to cook for the first time.

It really has been a great time; even the not-so-great-times have been great in figuring out where I really want to be in life. Now, the only thing I can hope is that I can come back and bring family and friends and really show them the South Africa that I love.

And I want to see their reaction when I jam them on a crowded mini-bus while I smile all the way around Cape Town. 

Sarah learns what she can and cannot do in another culture

Sarah at Cape Town FIFA World Cup Stadium

After almost four months of being in South Africa, It’s safe to say that a lot of things have become much easier for me.  I know my away around the city, I have gotten used to public transportation, I can understand the thick accents of Cape Town natives, even using the rand has become second nature.  One thing, however, that has not gotten easier is teaching in another culture.

Even without taking the language barrier into account, the cultural barrier between me and the students I teach has, if anything, become more discouraging as I have progressed throughout my stay here.  As I have grown used to this country and its culture, the shock has subsided and I have been able to develop a more critical eye.  I have, thus, become more critical of how feasible teaching is outside your own culture.

There are certainly countless benefits of teaching in another country: It’s beneficial for both the teacher and the student to be exposed to different cultures, so as to view their own with a more critical eye.  There is also immeasurable gain from exposing yourself to new and worldly concepts, thereby bettering your own ideas.  The list could go on, quite monotonously, but to keep things brief I’ll just say this: I do say the benefits of teaching in a different culture, at least short term.  The barriers involved in such, however, often convince me that teaching in another culture provides a good deal of conflicts.

Today during lunch a learner got sick (or “fell ill” as they call it here).  Her friend told me, and I immediately told Ms. Bopi.  Something as straightforward as dealing with a student with a stomach ache was simply too complex for me to handle in a foreign country.  I thought about what I would have done if I “fell ill” back when I was in high school.   The teacher would write me a pass, send me to the nurse, where she might take my temperature or have me lay down on some sort of bed.  From there she would call my mom.  If she was home, she’d drive to the school and bring me home.  If she was at work, she would leave work and bring me home.  She’d probably make me some tea or soup, and I’d lie down on the couch and order a movie to watch. 

These thoughts, nonetheless, were useless in this situation.  Thandokhulu has no school nurse.  There are certainly no thermometers or beds and I would be surprised to be able to even get a hold of a Band-Aid.  The sick girl in question was most likely from Khayelitsha, which is about an hour long train or bus ride away.  Both her parents, if she lived with them, most definitely worked, and there was no way they would be able to leave and travel all the way to Thandokhulu even if they did have a car.  Which they almost certainly didn’t. 

The girl sat at her desk with her head on her hands, her eyes glazed and puffy, as Ms. Bopi made her away across the crowded classroom to her side.  I watched her joke in Xhosa with her and a group of her surrounding friends, forcing a feeble smile from the girl and a round of laughter from her friends.  She quickly gave some directions, apparently asking her friend to pick up her backpack and follow the girl out of the classroom.  I’m not sure what I felt, but I think it bordered on jealousy.  I was jealous that I didn’t know what to do with the girl, that I couldn’t speak to her like Ms. Bopi did.  There was just no way to relate, and I was frustrated. 

I have learned there are some things I can do here, and there are some things I simply can’t.  I can run a book drive and provide the students with reading and leaning materials they may have never gotten, I can be enthusiastic to learn about them, thereby boosting their own self-esteem.  I can think they are funny, and smart, and amazing in every way, and they can think the same thing about me.  But there are just some things I will never be able to do.  I will never be able to relate to them like their parents, their teachers, and their friends.  I will always be an American.  The best I can do is come to terms with this, and from there do what I can with my own capabilities.  

Brett on sauntering, soccer, sandwiches, and other things

Today, as many before, was an interesting day. 

Last night, before I went to bed I was reading a book, about various things, when the author began ruminating on the word saunter. Sauntering, a word for walking, but in a particular way of wandering or meandering is originated from the two roots sans and terr, sans meaning without and terr meaning home or dwelling, so to saunter is to walk as if you have no fixed dwelling to which you are heading, or that the whole world is your home which you are meandering about in. To saunter is different than to swagger, as those who swagger generally are aware of the persons in their vicinity, although sometimes, as in the case of the baboon crossing the road at Cape Point, which I now visualize as my definition of swagger, it can be the case that one’s swagger and their saunter are the same. While I was walking down Loch road to Klipfontein this morning, in order to catch a minibus to UWC I was entertaining such ideas, and working on my own sauntering, which takes a surprising amount of self restraint. It is difficult to walk towards a destination with not only that particular destination in mind, forfeiting the opportunity for a little lateral curiosity. 

When walking as much as I have found myself on this trip, one begins to sense the tune of their emotional composition through the manner in which they find themselves walking on a particular occasion, and many times a conscious reappraisal of my motivation ensues.

The minibus ride was not quite comfortable this morning, although better than a few times that I can remember in which my head was cocked down and my knees pushed into the back of the seat in front of me. My height is not minibus friendly, and I find myself slouching and squished on most occasions. At least one would not have to worry about freezing on a minibus, for there is surely always enough body heat circulating. The man who I was squished next to today was fiddling in his pockets, and he pulled out a ring which he showed to the woman next to him, to see if she wanted to buy it. She wasn’t interested. Then he turned to me, and showed me the necklace on his neck, motioning to ask if I was interested. ‘No thank you’ I said, and turned back towards the window.

I played soccer today, with Angelo and his friends from UWC. They are a rowdy bunch, to say the least, with energy like kids on a playground. Half the time they are fighting and the other half joking around, and these two sports are stewed together to make for a soccer match that is at least entertaining for our fans. Having an appreciation for ‘the beautiful game’ is less about tactical ability and more about unfiltered and unabashed passion. The rivalry between the two teams, which comes from a long history of Sunday matches, with lines divided at red v blue t-shirts, brings the glory of victory and the sadness of defeat to a very personal level. The winners have no qualms about telling their opponents just how defeated they are. Today was a difficult day for the red team. After losing our second consecutive match, our leading striker signed over to the blue team after the match. These two loses do come after 12 consecutive wins for the red team, I may add, although I was not in attendance for those.

A Russian Gatsby may rank in the top three most disgustingly unhealthy but sort of addictingly delicious if you can get past the thought of your food foods. It is a massive, maybe two pound sub, about 15 inches long, 4 inches wide and 4 inches tall stuffed with spicy greasy French fries and russian hotdogs. It is then topped with perinaise dressing (peri-peri mayonaise) Try everything once right. Well, for this one, yes, only once, and I don’t feel good about myself after eating it. Brittany and I attempted to go to Golden Dish, the premier Gatsby shop in the local area, and we took a minibus out to gateville to get there. It was closed, such a shame. I didn’t want to go back empty handed, so we walked into a smaller, less popular sandwich shop down the street, Fast and Furious Foods.

Katherine glad she chose Cape Town for her study abroad experience

 Katherine looking back on her Cape Town experience.

“I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in God because if God existed, Khayelitsha wouldn’t look like this.”

One of the employees at the Treatment Action Campaign, where I did my activist project, said this to me when we were discussing the current problems in South Africa.  I was surprised to hear this statement, even though I have frequently wondered how much hope everyone in the townships really has.  Being a realistic person, it is hard for me to grasp and understand why many of the people within Khayelitsha who I have interacted with are such optimistic and hopeful people when they have so little.  I still don’t know how people have been forgiving and strong enough to “start over” since the 1990’s.  While it is true that not everyone has turned over a new leaf, as I have heard many racial comments made, many people have accepted South Africa’s past.  It amazes me that such a recent and devastating past is able to be dealt with so quickly.

Yet, with this forgiveness of the past, comes a need for reflection.  People must learn from the past and not allow it to happen again.  While apartheid is in the past, many strands of this diseased government still exist.  The most obvious is the economical inequalities that are still very present.  A few minutes after you leave the Cape Town International Airport you see the townships of Khayelitsha and Gugulethu as you drive toward the city.  Although these housing areas were set up several decades ago, they still very much exist in an “apartheid free” state.  I cannot completely relate to these people who live in shacks where unemployment rates are at 70%.  I have never felt financially unstable or gone without meals.  These people deserve so much more, their constitution even states that they do, but the government still has not be able to provide for them.

Many of my housemates and I have had trouble coming to terms with our role in South Africa.  We are wealthy Americans coming into a developing country for a few months and then jetting home again.  We live in a big house in Rondebosch when there are shanties right down the road.  We came in with the idea of helping change people’s lives, yet our lives were the ones that changed the most.  While we did help and contribute to our internships, activist projects and in other places, I think we got much more back then we gave.  I have learned so much while I’ve been here and have internalized a lot that I’m sure I will not even realize I’ve learned/how I’ve changed until I return to the United States.  The notion of race and racism has been covered up and not spoken or taught about in the United States as the way I have experienced race here.  Race is openly talked about and acknowledged in South Africa.

Although there have been depressing, conflicting, and hard to grasp ideas that I have been faced with in South Africa, I have thoroughly enjoyed the past fourteen weeks in Cape Town.   When we leave on May 2, I will miss the minibus rides into downtown.  I will miss the Cape Town slang which includes words like “howzit?” “is it?” and “robots.”  I will miss being able to see Table Mountain as I walk across the commons (the large meadow near our house).  I will miss zipping down the N2 highway and being able to have the most amazing view of the Cape Town bay area, especially all lit up at night.  I will miss the eclectic mix of people.  While there are many things I am leaving behind here, I am extremely excited to return home after almost four months away, especially to see my dog, Sheba!  I am extremely glad I chose to study abroad in a place that is not as westernized as a large portion of Europe and North America.  I have been able to experience things that I could not have anticipated and am very grateful for it.

Pamela on being back at Christel House School

Pamela with Grade R Learners at Christel House

I’ve been back to Christel House for a week now after my two weeks vacations. I was and am still very excited to be back with the kids. The first day I got there  they were so excited, as soon as I walked  through the door everyone shouted to greet me and some even got up to give me a hug. I was really emotional to see their reaction once they saw me. I am very touched that the kids have grown to appreciate my presence. I am very grateful that I have been able to work with the children and the teachers at Christel house, each and everyone of them has made these three months a wonderful experience for me and I cannot describe how happy I am that I have been placed there.

At recess I was sitting in front of the classroom watching the kids play and a few came over to me, Melvena one of the little girls I work with came and sat on me and said Miss Pamela, I love you … It was the sweetest thing ever. I feel like everyday that goes by I grow closer to the children and its becoming more of a one on one relationship, I have learned so much about them and grown to like each and everyone of them.

As for the teachers here at Christel House it is always a pleasure for me to go into the classroom everyday. They are very welcoming and really make me feel comfortable. Miss Angela and Miss Phelo are really great teachers to the children, they really care about them and love them. Going back to the U.S I will miss the two of them dearly, because they also have this an amazing experience for me at Christel House by being welcome and very friendly. I still have a few days left to spend at Christel, so I am making the best out of it . I am spending as much time as I can with the children of the grade R because my time now is so limited. It really makes me sad to not know when I will be able to see them again, but now I am just enjoying my time left there.  I’ll think about the rest later!

Sarah on experiencing the country in various ways

Of all the assignments I had in South Africa, I learned most from the “activist project” obligation, or, in other ways, simply experiencing the country in various ways.  While I found it impossible to pick out one social issue and work on it, I do not regret it.  I was all over the place, but I learned so much from such a wide range of experiences.

I had the privilege of spending some time at the Rape Crisis Center.  This was an excellent opportunity to work in a way I had not throughout most of this trip: I was given a set concrete task to complete independently.  The organization had a thick notebook filled with closed rape cases, all occurring in only a year’s time.  My job was to read through a write up on each case and fill out reports on them so as to create accurate data for research.  The stories were often times straight out of a lifetime movie and, sadly, I don’t think I read a single case where the rapist was actually convicted (the cases were from 2007, so I guess there is a chance they have been convicted since).  I specifically remember one unusually thick case report of a man gang raped by the gang known as the Americans.  As I flipped through the pages, the therapist recorded improvements up until the anti-climatic last page.  Only a few sentences long, the report read something along the lines of, “*** has not showed up for any sessions.  He has been kicked out of his shelter for using tic and no one knows his whereabouts.  I hope he is still alive.”  As the report was obviously written from the therapist’s perspective, it was devastating to see his hopes shattered, as his client clearly lost his battle to the right path.  I would say I spent around 14 hours at this organization (throughout my 2 week break from Thandokhulu).

The next organization I worked at was Themba Care.  I actually spent my first day there today and had an absolutely amazing experience.  I remember thinking last night before I went to bed that I shouldn’t get my hopes up, since I had such high expectations for the experience I would have there.  I was, however, please to find that it exceeded my expectations in every way.  Themba Care is an organization that cares for children born HIV positive.  Since I worked there in the morning hours when all the older children were at school, there were about eight babies and toddlers there for me to care for.  They all were sitting on a gymnastics-like mat when I arrived, and I just had to take off my shoes and sit down and play with them.  They were so unbelievably loving, and I became immediately attached as they played with my hair and giggled, crying only when I redirected my attention to another child.  I fell in love with a 2 year old boy named Luyolo, who played peek-a-boo with me for a good hour, constantly speaking in a language of his own.  I gave him his bottle, fed him some sort of oatmeal-like lunch, and held him as the doctors inspected him.  He was so cooperative and sweet for the doctors, smiling and holding my hand throughout, but remaining perfectly still and obedient.  He even lifted up his shirt for one of the doctors so he could check his pulse with a stethoscope.  After, I put him in his crib for naptime, promising myself I would return again.  I was only there for about 3 hours today, but I plan on going back two more times before I leave.

I spent the most time participating in Book Club.  This occurred every Tuesday at Thandokhulu and every Wednesday in a township school.  I was able to work with students more one-on-one, which I found even more gratifying than teaching.  The students were so receptive to what I would have thought was a lame idea if it was introduced to me during my high school years.  Their interest was actually overwhelming at times, as often times we would have over 100 students showing up with simply not enough books for them all.  We organized a book drive at home, and will set up a library at Thandokhulu once they arrive.  One of the most rewarding aspects was when Jackie (a lady from UCT who helped run the book club) said she got a call from the Mowbray library asking her what was going on, since they had a flood of students from Thandokhulu coming in and checking out books.  It truly made me feel like I was inspiring people and actually making a difference.  I was so happy to see my enthusiasm was actually rubbing off.  Every time I go, I am equally as amazed at how eager the students are to learn, in both Philipi and Thandokhulu.  The conditions of poverty are certainly terrible, but the attitudes of the children succumbed to such are able to not just provide ray of hope, but light up an entire room.  I am pretty sure I have gone to four book clubs at Thandokhulu and four in Khayelitsha (each about 2 hours), and I plan on going to two more each at both schools.  

Rachel on learning valuable lessons

For my activist project, I decided to assist Brittany in starting and running an art club at Thandokhulu Secondary School.  This included buying art supplies, making announcements, teaching kids, helping kids express themselves, cleaning up classrooms, and making a video of what we are doing for fund raising. I wanted to do this as a project because I really wanted to work with kids coming from the townships.  I wanted to give them an opportunity to express themselves, I wanted to give them time out of their homes (many of the children seem to lead stressful lives outside of school), allow them to have fun and relax, and just making them smile makes their lives a little bit better.  In the States, I have had art classes since I was in elementary school.  Here in South Africa, they do not offer art classes.  This isn’t an issue in the United States, this is why I thought it would be perfect to help this cause.  I am not an art expert, I wouldn’t even call myself an artist, but I took something that I took for granted as a child and gave it to someone who actually wants it.

I learned several things.  One thing I learned is that just because I come from a more privileged area and schooling, I cannot just come into another country and be able to change it.  I can’t come close to changing people lives, or fixing things that need to be fixed. I cannot single handedly change social issues anywhere in the world no matter how much money, schooling, or power I have.  I know this may sound ridiculous but this came as a big shock to me.  In the states I hear about these kids and these problems that they are having and think that with my magical American powers change their lives forever.  That is not how it works.  This is a completely different culture, a culture I still after three and a half months know little about.  I am upset with myself for thinking that.  I felt selfish and ashamed.  Matters of fact, most of these children have more life experience than I will ever have.  I guess this directly relates to what we are learning about in class, specifically the article “What White People Fear.”  How white people just think that they are better than everyone else, I am a racist, I am white therefore assumed I know more I am better and therefore fix other people’s issues and problems that I know absolutely nothing about.  Now that I know this about myself, I can fix it.  I am happy for that, I do not want to ever think that way again. 

The second thing I learned is how passionate these kids actually are. Kids are kids no matter where you live in the world. They just live differently than kids in other places in the world.  They have different songs that they sing, different games that they play, different issues that they must deal with.  I am pretty sure though, they are more passionate about the things that they talk about and the things they do than I still am today.  They are excited to learn new things. 

I loved talking to the kids.  Everyday, they came in excited asking new questions about me as well as the USA.  They wanted to know if I personally knew Jay-Z.  One of the children (a goof-off) asked me if I knew anyone who designs cars.  “I know someone who owns a muscle car shop,” I told him.  He was so excited.  He handed me his notebook full of car drawings.  Better drawings than I have ever seen.  He asked me if I could show him these and tell me what he thinks.  I think I was more excited than he was for him to ask me that.  Of course I did!  It was amazing.  My friend showed me his website and told me to show the kid.  It was so rewarding.  I made this child so happy, the one kid I thought that didn’t care about anything.  The one that I thought, I could never connect with or make a change.

I would love for this art programme to continue after I leave Cape Town, but it would be difficult since Brittany and I are the ones running it and we will no longer be here.  There is a person that we met who is an artist here in Cape Town, he ran a class for us when we were in Johannesburg.  If somehow we can set something up for him to do this, than I would love to continue raising money in the States and sending it to him to continue this amazing programme. I will do the best I can to keep this running.  If I do not succeed, another way to help is just by spreading my stories back in the States to people who are unaware of the issues of South Africa.  

Michelle on learning about the maternal health plights of South African women

For my activist project, I chose to shadow two independent practice midwives, Susan and Ciska.  They work every day to help women have healthy, normal births and work against a system that has overmedicalized birth to the point of endangering women’s lives. I knew that I wanted to complete an activist project in the field of women’s health, as it has always been a special interest to me. I found Ciska and Susan through the Well Mother and Baby Clinic in Rondebosch. The sister (nurse) there gave me Ciska’s number, and soon after I began shadowing Susan and Ciska during their weekly consultations. I shadow them on Tuesdays, from 8:30 a.m. until early afternoon. I met with them for roughly 11 weeks, giving me a total of about 77 hours, plus a hospital birth and an additional home visit. In total my hours add up to about 80+.

My main duties were small, like filling out paperwork, organising blood work, taking blood pressure, and doing urine dips. In actuality, I probably gained more out of the experience than I gave back to Susan and Ciska. Not only did I learn invaluable information about the challenges of women’s health and maternity care in South Africa, but I also found my personal calling and have decided to follow the demanding life-path of midwife.

In talking with Susan and Ciska about their lives, their jobs, and the births they attend,  I was offered a glimpse into the life of a full-time on-call midwife. Susan and Ciska practice together, and see clients every Tuesday and Thursday. On Mondays and Wednesdays they conduct home visits for future home births. They do this so that they know how to find the house when they are called, and also to make sure that the home is equipped with everything they will need.  Sue and Ciska rotate being on call on a weekly basis. This means that for any given week, one person will be on call and the other will conduct appointments in the office. This is done in order to give each client a chance to meet with both Susan and Ciska a few times before their birth.

I felt that it was important for me to learn about how Sue and Ciska’s practice functions, and what purpose it serves in the greater scope of women’s health care. As a future women’s health care provider, I feel like it is imperative to be able to explain the midwife’s role and how she functions in relation to the rest of the medical community. When I accompanied Ciska at a hospital birth, I was able to see first-hand how midwives are treated within the medical arena. Even though Ciska is an incredibly experienced advanced practice nurse, the other sisters in the ward treated her like she was a witch-doctor of sorts. They refused to help her, show her where things were, or provide support for her in the hospital. Not only was this incredibly mean-spirited, but should she actually have needed medical assistance, it was down-right dangerous.

Ciska also explained to me that the OB/GYNs are very threatened by the midwives. The OBs have horrible statistics as far as c-section and episiotomy rates go (almost 90% c-section rate in private hospitals) and the midwives have lower rates of both, and better outcomes. This means that the OBs themselves see the midwives as a threat, and attempt to work against them instead of with them. This creates a system of competition and back-stabbing instead of cooperation and learning from each others’ strengths. Seeing this dynamic really gave me an insight into the kinds of battles midwives wage every day that they practice.

Even though I feel like I have learned more through this process than I have actually given back, I think that in the long run I will be able to contribute to society and women’s health as a whole because of what I have learned with Susan and Ciska. I have determined that my path lies down the difficult road of women’s health provider. I have also learned valuable information that I have shared, and will continue to disseminate to friends and family about the importance of natural birth and the empowerment natural birth can provide to women.