Brett on a scary moment and stark realization

I am sitting in the pool house. There are several things to be done, including a short paper for Vernon, a poster for our end of the semester dinner, and an excursion to the beach for the final time before I board the plane Sunday morning. Let me take a minute to take a deep breath.

 It is a bit chilly now, when you aren’t in the sun, and the steady Cape Town breeze is still present. I woke up late this morning, at 10:00, strolled down to Woolworths, bought some eggs, and returned a dvd from the video store. Last night was enough adventure for a few days, so I am content to soak in the sun today. I bought some decent house music yesterday, and Sizwe gave me some of his, so now I have some good beats to play in my car back home, with words I don’t understand, but a vibe that surpasses language. Cape Town can be a bit rough around the edges. Sometimes that can be exciting, in a daring adventuresome sort of way, but other times I feel like I will be able to let my hair down a little more in the states. 


Before coming to South Africa, I knew that I wanted to stay away from two places, the jail and the hospital, and I have been able to do that. Last night confirmed a bit of my hesitation. There was a house party, at our place. Upstairs people were bumping music, being a bit rowdy, but not unfit for the situation, as an end of the semester cross cultural college party. I was chilling in the pool house, Sizwe was giving me some tips on how to play my new djembe, and after a time we decided to go upstairs. As I was walking past the front door of the house I heard a noise, turned, and saw a flashlight. O boy, I thought. The cops are here to tell us to be quiet. I unlatched the front door and walked out the the gate, which they were standing on the outside of. ‘Can I help you?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ the officer, one of four, replied, ‘open the gate.’  ‘ummm… hold on a sec… let me go talk to my friends and…. The music’s too loud, I know, I’ll go tell them to turn it….’ ‘Open the gate’ the man said again. ‘Hold on a sec… I’ll just go in, and tell them to turn it down.’ I turned and started walking back to the house. I took one step, and the cops starting saying something, another step, and the cops started shouting, so I stopped, realizing I wasn’t going in the house before them. I faced them, asked them if we could figure it out right here, and the officers only insisted that I let them in. From there the officers hopped the gate, and started asking me further questions. They ascertained from me that I was American and renting the house, and then they proceeded to walk past me into the house. Three of them walked by me, and as the fourth did, I said, ‘In the states, you can’t go into someone’s house without a warrant.’ ‘This isn’t the states,’ he said, and walked right in.


It gave me the chills, the un-adultered authority they exhibited, the gravity of their power, and lack of respect for my right, first to know why they were there, and secondly how they were allowed to barge into our house.

In this instance, I did know what we were doing wrong, we were disrupting the neighbors, who were trying to sleep. I was willing to turn down the music, and ease the situation. I cannot, and thankfully will not ever have to know what it means to have to face that kind of authority, and authority a tens of times stronger, for something as simple and natural as the color of my skin.   

Sarah on books and so much more

Sarah with some books from book drive at Thandokhulu Secondary School

I’ve barely had time to breathe this past week or so.  Between final essays, goodbye braiis, and finishing things up at Thandokhulu, I have literally been going non-stop.  Such a frantic rush to fit everything in and make sure I will have some closure in this country has made me realize just how invested I am in everyone and everything I have been a part of here.  What I have found most moving is the culmination of Thandokhulu’s first library.

I have known for some time now that a book drive was going on in the states.  While I was definitely excited to make some sort of lasting impression at this school, I don’t think it really hit me until recently.  To be able to physically touch the books our friends and family have sent over has sparked emotions I never expected.  These are not just books that were found thrown in people’s basement—every single one of the almost three hundred books was selected with immeasurable care and consideration from loved ones back home.  Every book I pick up, I tape a label on it and wonder who read it first, whose life it touched, and who wanted to pass it on to a faceless child, hoping it would do the same for them.  And it’s just because I asked them to. 

No one from home knows the students here, they don’t know their interests, their sense of humor, the things they like to do in their free time.  They just know this school and the people involved mean so much to us.  I can pick up a book and think of a specific student who would love it.  I can pick up the next book and know immediately who it came from.  I picked up Of Mice and Men and couldn’t help but smile.  I knew my Mom had sent that one.  I picked up another with an inscription on the inside that read, “Happy Birthday Dad” and I immediately remembered buying that book over three years ago with my friend from home.  I know its just one book.  And I know if a student reads that one book, their life will still be pretty much the same.  But just thinking about how that one book is connected through so many people, how it was chosen by each person, and how much thought and love has been passed along with it is something I never would have considered up until these past few days.

So I know its sort of lame to thank people through a study abroad blog, and I’m not even sure who actually reads this thing.  But thank you to anyone who had a part in this.  I wish you could be here to see it, but apparently my word is enough.  So thank you.

Kayley learning to act on lessons learned

This past week was spent saying goodbyes and finishing up work for our internships. During all the hustle bustle I found time to sit down and think about the past four months a bit. Through all the conversations, memories, ridiculous stories, hysterical moments, depressing moments, and truthful moments, I have become someone else. Someone who can watch the news and say there is more to this story then we are told, someone who becomes extremely angry when reading Cosmo, watching most TV shows, or listening to the lyrics in most songs played on the radio and someone who asks questions.

I decided to apply for this program because South Africa was a place that I never thought I would go and I wanted an experience unlike any other. Boy did I get that!  I had this egocentric idea in my mind that I would be this great helping/giving back source for people here when really I learned so much more from the people here and in my house than I ever imagined. Coming here literally flipped my world upside down and I love it. Although at times it was scary and sad, what I feel and know is stuck with me forever. 

One thing that I am having trouble grasping is that throughout these four months we see the poverty that apartheid had created, we see HIV/Aids, Tuberculoses, Measles, etc, we hear stories of hate crimes towards different races and genders and we learn about what the terrible white supremacist government did to this country. Yet everyday we come home to a huge beautiful house with a pool, extra bedrooms, a gate around the property and a housekeeper once a week. Some of us are used to this kind of life, but most of us haven’t seen the other side. It is not fair that we can just step out of the hard poverty life and back into our own wealthy comfortable bubble when so many people have to live in shacks without electricity or running water. Nothing makes us better then them!

I have met kids that are working much harder then I did in high school and won’t get, as far as I will because they don’t have the resources I have. It is unjust, unfair and wrong! This is the knowledge and feelings that I will never be able to leave behind, they are ingrained.

So now here comes the toughest part of the journey, returning home and really being the person I have become. Not standing for sexist or racist or any unjust comments, and asking more questions about things I don’t understand and don’t agree with. Some say the journey ends here, but I say that the second half is going home and acting on everything we have seen and learned.

Erica braces herself for the new journey she is about to begin

As this is my final blog entry, my thoughts may be a bit scattered, so bare with me. One week from today I will be back in the United States. In the past week I have hiked Lion’s Head again  (this time in the day light!), I went to the top of Table Mountain, and I went skydiving. I thought that maybe seeing Cape Town from an aerial view (while at the same time doing something exhilarating!) would be the perfect way to say goodbye to this place I call home. I felt like maybe, by keeping busy, and my soaking up all the precious moments I have left in South Africa, that I could have some closure and feel good about going home. But I’ve begun to realize that these last few days will not, and should not, be about closure. I’ve begun to realize that this really isn’t the end. This is the beginning of a whole new journey, possibly an even more difficult journey. While talking to Kayley last week, we agreed upon something that shook us up quite a bit. At one point, we had thought that the hardest part would be leaving the United States. At another point, we had thought that the hardest part would be living in South Africa. And now, at the end, we have realized that the hardest part is neither of those things—the hardest part is returning home. The hardest part is remembering all that we’ve learned here and not letting ourselves forget, even for a second, how this place has affected our hearts and minds. The hardest part is returning back to the United States and seeing it with an entirely new perspective, trying to adjust. The hardest part is adapting our new selves to our old environment. The reality is that returning home is going to be the hardest part of the journey thus far…harder than any other obstacle we’ve overcome. And so, we brace ourselves…

 I thought that in these last few weeks I would attempt to detach myself from my students at Thandokhulu and the babies at Themba Care. However, in fact, quite the opposite occurred. I feel as though I have become even more attached as I try to come to terms with the fact that I will not be seeing these people every day. Last week I gave a number of my students the bracelets that I made for them so that they could wear them and remember me. One of my students said to me this week, “Miss, you are the only person I know in America. So when I grow up and graduate university and make a lot of money, can I come stay with you in the United States?” The students are so eager to learn, to grow, to travel—they have truly inspired me in ways that they may never even know. They have given new meaning to the word dedication.

I’ve been spending a great deal of time thinking about Imange (one of the babies I work with at Themba Care) and how much he’s improved…and how I wish I could continue to follow his progress and see him grow even stronger. This past Friday Imange was strong enough to hold his own bottle. He was even playing with blocks and now Imange smiles more than ever. In a few days, I will have to say goodbye to Imange. He’s too little to know how much he’s changed my life, but it’s truly amazing that a tiny little infant has changed me in ways unimaginable.

Last week, the books arrived at Thandokhulu! The students and teachers were so excited to see all of their new books. Sarah, Leah, and I have spent the past few days labeling and alphabetizing the books so that Thandokhulu can finally have a real library.  As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, Thandokhulu, a school of 1,056 students, only had 30 books in their library. After this week, they will have over 300 books. On behalf of Thandokhulu Senior Secondary School, Leah, Sarah, and I would like to thank everyone who contributed to this book drive. Your contribution will significantly change the lives of the students at Thandokhulu. Again, thank you so much for all of your donations. This couldn’t have happened without all of you.

Tonight we will host our going away braii (the South African word for barbeque). All of our teachers and friends will be coming to 10 Loch in just a few hours to wrap up the year—good food and good people. Throughout the week we’re going to be really busy with “last” things—I keep thinking to myself, “When will my last mini-bus taxi ride be?” “When will I have my last Magnum ice-cream bar?” “When will the last time be that I have to lock (or unlock) the broken gate with my broken key?” Even now as I write this, I realize that this will be my last blog. I can’t even imagine saying to myself, “This is the last time you will see Table Mountain…”

I’m going home and I’m leaving home…

And, as I write that sentence, I feel as though I am back on top of Bloukrans Bridge, about to bungee jump. I’m so scared, but I am so strong, and so ready, to face whatever comes next. This country has forever changed me. I am a stronger, more confident woman for having come here.

I know I will never look at my own country, or the world for that matter, the same way that I did before I came here. Though I don’t think there will ever come a time where I’m not nostalgic for this place, I know that his has been an incredible, life-changing experience and I know that part of the journey is returning back home. I know that I’m not ready to leave, but maybe that just means I’m more ready than ever. Its just time… it just is. I will return back to the United States with a new vigor for life and a new kind of understanding of humanity, and that’s all that I could have ever asked for and more.

Rachel on time spent in Khayelitsha

I just came home from Makazi’s guest house in Khayeltisha.  It is a project that was started in the community that included a guesthouse, a creche, a soup kitchen, and a lecture hall.  It wasn’t finished being built. As we traveled there, I was guessing what this would be like. I had no idea.  I was so excited to be staying in a township.  I was excited to see the real South African way.  I was on my way to be an authentic South African after living here for over 3 months. We squeezed our hired mini bus taxi through two informal houses.  I didn’t think we were going to fit. I was excited.  I was nervous. We stopped in front of the house.  This is it?  I was surrounded by shacks. I looked up and saw a colourfully painted house, two stories. It was beautiful. The ground was sand.  There was a water spigot down the street.  The six of us hopped out of the van, eager to do some volunteer work for the community. We were welcomed inside.  The first thing that I noticed was a saying on the wall written up the stairs.  It said: “sisonke singenza umahluko” together we can make a difference. I was inspired.  We were told by the builder that since it was the weekend, none of the builders were coming in and we couldn’t do volunteer work this weekend.  We were all disappointed.  Now what are we going to do?  


The woman who ruins the house is what we call in South Africa “a big mama.”  She is a big black woman who carries with her an unspoken protection.  She was there for us in whatever we needed.  Her name was Hazel. She gave us a tour.  She brought us all tea and coffee garnished with a delectable muffin.

                              

We all ate our muffins and sipped on our coffee looking at each other with the same look: so what are we going to do now?  We couldn’t just go walk around, it was late on a Friday afternoon and was unsafe; plus we would have needed a black Xhosa speaking South African to come with us.  There were kids playing outside. Ages ranging from about five to twelve.  We decided to join them.  One of us brought a soccer ball.  We gave it to them.   The kids multiplied.  Many of them couldn’t speak English.  At this point there were kids running all over the place.  I couldn’t keep track.  I was a keeper as the kids tried to get the ball passed me.  Brett and Brittany were playing keep away with another group of kids and a smaller ball.  Leah was teaching kids to draw in the sand.  They were all jumping on top of her.  Michelle was holding onto kid’s hands and spinning them around in the air.  “Do again.” She’s going to have trouble to find the words to say no soon.  Sarah was upstairs on the deck letting kids play with her camera.  For some reason South African kids love cameras.  They never see them.  I decided to go upstairs, it was getting cold and my broken foot was starting to ache from getting hit with soccer balls.  I joined Sarah on the deck.  A girl pointed to my shoulders.  I picked her up and she sat on my shoulders, just as I did with my dad when I was her age.  She laughed.  I walked around the porch like that. She started talking loudly, immediately I knew she wanted to come down.  I placed her gently on the ground.  She laughed and ran away.  It was getting dark.  The people who were still downstairs were told they had to come inside or upstairs.  It was a strange feeling.  I compare it to playing tag as a child.  The house was the base.  If you are touching the house, then you are safe.  If you come away from the house, you are unsafe.  It was unreal.  It wasn’t the experience I wanted.  Let me put it another way, Kruger take for example, specifically a game ride.  We are in someone else’s territory to see what it is like.  But we are on a car and safe away from the animals.  We are all staring at them because we want to see what their life is like.  But we are untouchable.  They are untouchable. After a while of playing with the kids, it was time for dinner.  

                                     

I called my friend Sizwe, he is from another township called Nyanga.  He said he would come and hang out with us.  He would stay at his cousins house in Khayelitsha.  Dinner was silent.  The food was unbearably good.  We went back onto the deck to listen to the sounds outside.  I brought a bottle of wine and dominoes.  We were playing dominoes when Sizwe finally arrived.  He brought his cousin with him. They were each given a tour.  Hazel liked them.  I couldn’t understand what they were saying.  They spoke Xhosa to each other. He came and played dominoes with us.  A few people went to bed. He asked us if we wanted to go out in Khayelitsha.  We all looked at each other.  Of course we wanted to, but was is safe?  Sizwe walked away for a minute.  I leaned forward and whisptered: “how cool would it be if we saw what it was like to go out in a Township?”  everyone agreed.  We decided to find out how safe it was.  A few people said no way.  They went to bed.  Sizwe came back and we told him we would go if it was safe. He insured us that it was.  We locked the door and got into his cousin’s car.  “Where are we going?”  

“A shebeen.”   I had read about Shebeens in a book.  Shebeens have a lot of history.  It used to be illegal.  It was a place in the townships where people would gather and buy alcohol that was made there for very cheap price. There would be music and such.  They started because the blacks used to not be allowed into bars and clubs.  In many instances I heard they are very interesting but dangerous.  Again I was so excited.  I was nervous.  We drove by.  It was closed.  I was disappointed.  Sizwe and his cousin argued in Xhosa.  He finally apologized and explained it would be too dangerous to take us to any other one.  He took us back to the house. We sat outside on the deck again.  It was cold.  We were all shivering but didn’t want the night to end.  Someone mentioned how Tuesday we don’t have work.  It is freedom day.  Sizwe’s cousin announced that there shouldn’t be a freedom day.  He said that he doesn’t feel free.  Me and my white friends sat silently as I listen to these two black South African’s the same age as me discuss why they don’t feel free.  I was heart broken. 

Soon after, I was lying in bed.  I could hear music blasting, the wind blowing furiously, and people walking by discussing.  I listened for a long time.  I listened for a very long time.  I feel asleep.

The next morning we woke up, ate another absolutely amazing meal made by Hazel.  Sizwe came back over to take us to a South African competition of dancing and singing.  We took a minibus there.  He told me in the minibus that he was pulled over by the cops last night.  That he wasn’t doing anything wrong.  The cops made him give them money.  He had no money to get home.  I couldn’t believe it.  We went to the play.  We came back to the guesthouse ate lunch and left Khayelitsha to come home.  I sit here in my house with running water, 9 bedrooms, a pool, and two kitchens.  I was upset, but more informed.