Have a super cool Yule!

If you didn't get a Christmas card from me, Its probably because international postage is bananas.  So just read the following in my voice, and it is kind of the same:

On the Twelfth Day of Danika’s Christmas, 2013 has brought to me……

»»One snowless Christmas (on the beach!) Things will be very different this year in shorts and flip flops eating Malva pudding on the beach, but somehow I think I will manage. J

»»Two incredible new jobs! 2013 has blessed me with this opportunity of a lifetime!  Five days after walking across the graduation stage, I got on a plane to Port Elizabeth, South Africa where I came to work for Masinyusane Development and Mater Dei Church.  The development agency keeps me busy in  many capacities, but primarily I have been working on self-esteem and future plans 18 teens of New Brighton Township, and teaching English to grade three.  I also have been leading a weekly Life Teen youth group of 30 high school students at a Catholic Church.

»»Three super beautiful roommates!  Life living at the Bullpen was the best decision I could have made for myself, but the worst decision for my GPA!  Gretchen, Savanah, and Andrea taught me a lot of things, but most importantly a Friday spent on the couch watching TLC is never a bad idea; PBR is the only option, especially from the Middy; Cards against Humanity is always a good start to any night; Harry Potter actually can be watched on repeated, daily; the enneagram can explain everything life throws at a person; when in doubt, do it some other time; and maybe most importantly.. Its ok to be vulnerable, but only sometimes J

»»Four years at College of Saint Benedict came to a close!  Hands down, best choice I could have made for myself.  So many lessons, so many memories, so many beautiful people to teach me about the world and how I fit in to it!  In May, I walked across that all important stage and got my BA in History, and whatever that means for the coming years, who knows! But for now, ALUMNI STATUS!

»»Five part thanksgiving dinner THAT I COOKED!  To stand in for missing my family celebrations, I hosted a South African Thanksgiving dinner party.  I cooked two stuffed chickens, as turkey wasn’t available, and all the standard accompaniments.  A friend even brought waffles “because that’s what Americans eat, right.” I only burnt the pumpkin pie as I left it in the oven for an extra hour, but as a testament to my new friendships, everyone told me how great it was!

»»Six new babies: Two cats and four toy Pomeranians.  Yes.. you read that right!  I sort of have fallen in love with animals.  It’s weird.  The South African family that I am staying with is wonderful, but Ozzi, Minky, Sam, Elsi, Toots and Eli are even better.

»»Seven months down, seven months left in Africa! Shout out to all of my new friends and family in PE who have made my life quite the journey.  Jim and Fiks provided an excellent model of how to lead a selfless life, and the Life Teen Core has become true family, with build-in bonding opportunities!

»»Eight supportive family members who all think I’m nuts for moving to Africa.  Probably my greatest family memory came from the Father/Daughter dance where Grampa Dennie and I tore up Sal’s d-floor all night long with ma, granny and Christian all there watching!  A week later, dad, his fiancé Mary, Granny and Pops Lindquist were all able to share in the excitement of graduation. Memories of some authentic love!

»»Nine months since I have heard Piano Man sung, and danced the proper way!

»»Ten amazing kids that I don’t know how I will say bye to!  Neo, Snowball, Athule, Lutho, Solly, Breezy, Madoda, Simon, Pikoli, Anele (and a few more, I just needed to fill in 10..) have blessed my life and taught me so much about life! They make all of the frustrating days’ worth it.

»»Eleven students passed exams! When I came to Lwandlekazi High School, the pass rate was 4% for the ENTIRE school.  As much as I tell myself that I cannot solve all of the problems, I needed some quantifiable evidence that my work is valued.  I just found out yesterday that 11 of my grade 10 learners that I have spent so, so, so many hours passed their boards, and have qualified for bursaries!

»»Twelve too many excuses for procrastinating my thesis! Well, probably more than twelve.. 


Thank you to everybody who has helped make 2013 a great year!

Maddie and I made it to Christmas Mass:

 

I am who I am because of you

On a very non-African-note, I have been doing some life pondering again.  I do this sometimes, and my friends usually got pretty annoyed when I got up to these philosophical, life’s tricky question kicks, so here is your warning; stop reading if you like.

So there’s this girl; her name is Maddie.  What a neat woman Maddie is.  Let me tell you her story, and how our paths crossed:

 

Maddie is a Bennie, two years behind me, but in a very different place than I was when I was 20.  She has spent the last 3 months living in a tent in Namibia working for a conservancy, tracking game, and recording population.  See, Namibia is in a major drought, and life for people and animals alike is difficult.  She showered 10 times, and wore the same outfit.  Her fingernails got sunburned, and she ate only tinned food.  She was almost an afternoon snack for a hyena, and has memorized every bird species on this side of the world.  Basically, she is the pretty dynamic, adventurous, earthy type!

Now Maddie is moving her African journey a bit south, as she will now be starting a program with CSBSJU at NMMU, but since she was just over yonder, it made financial sense to just stay in country with me till her program started.  So, that she did, and now we are enjoying quite a bit of bonding time!  She is good for me; in the 3 days that I have spent with her thus far, she has reminded me of my purpose here.  It is easy to get to get caught up in the material world, but what really matters?  It’s easy to say that, but let me tell you, it’s difficult to live it. 

Ok on to the question that I really want to ask:  Would we be the people we have come to be without the people who have come into our life? 

Maddie and I were talking about paths crossing, and people who have spun our worlds.  For example, she had an orientation leader that introduced her to environmental studies, and PRP, which has really helped her decipher who she is.  I have had a similar mentor, or RA, rather who helped me figure out how I fit in this world.  And all of these people that I am working with now! Wow!  So would I have come to Africa, to work in New Brighton, and meet my kids if I didn’t go to CSB?  Would I have found this path through other people?  Would I have been as content, living a lucid life, in… say fashion design, or nursing?  And what about the people I meet?  Would they be on their own journeys if I never challenged them, or annoyed them, or forced them to have these conversations?  Ubuntu? (google it) Maybe, maybe not.

I don’t know the answers- nobody really does.  But I just find it fascinating.  Fate, Freewill, God? Whatever you may dub it, I am sure grateful for the path that has gotten me here, the people in my life that have influenced my decisions, and the opportunities that were presented.  And I hope that, if even in some minuet way, I am opening that door which were opened for me.

 

PREACH.

 

For now, I'm just happy to have a little MN in my life for Christmas.  We are making Christmas cookies and Lefse this weekend. How American!! 

 

Merriest of Christmases to all of you from the greatest place on Earth!!

 

Madiba passing

So Nelson Mandela passed away a few nights back, and funny enough, I first found out from an American friend who posted an article on Facebook. 

I knew this was coming; he has been in poor health for months.  When the world prepared for his death months back, I was actually quite nervous.  There is this insane rumor that upon his passing, black South Africans would upraise and murder everyone.  The township would be off limits for me, and I should have an evacuation plan.  US army troops were even here at one point to help with crowd control.  Months passed, the media stopped 24/7 Madiba coverage, and it sort of slipped my mind.

So the morning after he left this world, every station had something to add to the conversation.  Every Facebook post was some quote of Madiba’s, and twitter trended #RIPMandela.  The world is watching South Africa, and it was quite neat to see the support that this world showed.  And let me tell you what they saw: There are no riot in the streets; no necklaces of burning tires; no slaughtering of machetes.  There are celebrations!  People breaking out in song on my morning run, and people greeting me with a handshake in the que at the post office.  It really has got me thinking, these people know how to mourn!  Why cry when we can dance?  The world lost an incredible person this week, and what these people are doing is remembering his vision.  Maybe this newfound vitalization is what SA needs?  I went to a rugby tournament this weekend, thousands rowdy fans packed the stands, and when the minute of silence came to show love for the fallen Nelson Mandela, it was eerily silent.  I couldn’t believe it.  Not a peep for a solid minute.  I don’t even have that patience when I’m sitting alone, let alone 1000’s of people, all who have had several beers.

Yesterday I was at a braai with a crowd of Afrikaans speaking, educated white men with little-to-no respect for the current ANC administration.  Lots of brandy got them speaking about Mandela in a way I was very surprised to hear.  No racial condemnation!  Twenty seven years spent in the worst of conditions, and Madiba came out able to forgive.  One of the men, who fully admits that he is a white supremacist, stated that Mandela didn’t liberate the black man, rather he freed the white man from the system that they created.  MIND BLOWN.  It’s unfortunate that the world has lost such a good, good man, but look at the dinner table conversations that are being had all over the world in his memory!  I hope that they continue.

Before his passing, I was forever hearing “they say….this, and I’ve heard ….that,” we should live our lives avoiding the challenges that “the other” presents.  If we listen to the fears that people put on us, I would be living in a shell in granny’s basement for the rest of my life.  Call me naïve if you will, but I think that people are innately good; maybe they just need a chance to prove it. 

Fun fact: Inspirational Mandela quotes is trending on Google. lololololol  Here is my favorite:"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."  Let’s conquer this irrational fear, world!

I am alive and safe.  Nobody has murdered me yet, despite all of the loving messages I have received suggesting that I stay bogged down till his death “blows over.”  Rather, let’s not let it blow over.   South Africa is a beautiful place, full of beautiful people, but at risk of sounding trite, we do have a long walk to freedom ahead of us.  Let’s dance it, not walk it.

A walk in his shoes.

So I try really hard to be artsy sometimes.  I had this super nice, touristy camera with one of those straps around the neck.  It took some magnificent shots.  You could even add sepia tone to make it all the more artistic. Last time I was here, I was on a mission to take the best photos of poverty that I possibly could.  For what?  Because it’s artsy?

Well this shot is not artistic at all.  There is nothing to be desired about it, and i am sure that I am exploiting some ethical boundary here, but such is life I guess.

 

This is a picture of a shoe.  I creepily took it today when nobody was looking.   I don’t know why shoes get to me more than some of the other visible signs of poverty?  Maybe it is because I have such a shoe addiction!  I remember in high school, I was couch surfing for a while, with all my clothes and possessions all over the place.  Some were at grannies.  Some were at friends.  Some were at the Laundromat.  My life was such a mess.  But my shoes, I ALWAYS had my shoes in the trunk of my car.  Imagine this with me.  More than 60 pairs for every conceivable occasion, organized immaculately.   And the winter time was the worst, man!  My toes would be numb every morning as I went out to pick the right pair for the right outfit. 

And here on my African adventure!  I’m here for a year or so, and I brought 9 pairs of shoes.  And naturally that number has grown since I have been here! Obviously I needed something comfortable, and then something dressy.  And well, it’s boot season now, so had to have a black AND a brown option.  And tennis shoes, or takkies as we call them here!  They say one needs a few different pairs if they do some running.  You know, support and such.  Not to mention the 3 color options I have to match each gym clothing option!

Anyway.. back to this picture.  This is a school shoe.  I’ve bought a few pairs for a few favorites over the past few months.  They cost about 13 American dollars.  Not breaking the bank or anything.  So when we go out off on outings, it always kills me when the students wear both their uniforms and their school shoes.  Basically, it means that they don’t have any other option.  And the option that they do have looks like this. 

This boy to whom this foot belongs has a particularly hard home situation, and on top of that, he is subjected to the jeers from onlookers when he shows up in shoes like this.  So what can I do?  Can I buy him new shoes?  Yahhhh, been there, done that. For more than I care to share.  But what does it solve?  He still struggles for food each day.  His mom will still sell off his possessions pocket change.  At the end of the day, he is stuck in this cycle.  And for me, this shoe is his cycle.  No multicolor takkie options, or a trunk full of ballet flats and way- too-high-heels in his cycle.

Ya, there’s just something about shoes, or lack thereof….

Because when you stop and look around, life is pretty amazing...

So I am now a regular at the greatest coffee shop in PE.  I’m sitting here now, on cup number three of pure heaven.  I feel like I’m relapsing.  I was clean!  My headaches stopped and the cravings were almost gone.  Now my fingers are shaking as I sit, and it has taken me 5 minutes to get this far because I keep rewording………

Ah well, such is the life of a caffeine deprived, post grad, African volunteer.

And on to the life of said volunteer:

This week has been full of goodbyes.

School shut down now for the holidays, and I am really missing my kids!  Do all first year teachers feel this way?

I have gotten very close with a couple of graduate interns from Saint Cloud State University.  I know, I know.  More Minnesnowtans in SA.  But they have been really helpful to help me process this whole life I live.   Among many other things, I think the biggest lesson that I have learned from Ella and Danielle is I need to live in the moment.  I need to accept the things that I cannot change, and live a lucid life.  Yolo, I guess.  Last week, the three of us were able to blow doors for a week and head to Knysna; a beautiful coastal city three hours west of PE.  So happy that they came into my life when they did!

 

Blake, the other Masinyusane volunteer from Canada, also left this morning.  When all of the #TIA moments got a bit much, Blake was there, in his deep voice and Canadian accent, and furry, NON-Afrikanner beard, to tell me to shut up and stop being needy.  Not sure who I will make fun of bad haircuts and short shorts with now?

But yesterday was thanksgiving.  At home, I would watch granny cook all morning.  40 or so family members would squeeze in the basement, and we would gorge ourselves with way more food than is necessary.  Then, in 3 hours or so, I would do it all over with the other side of the family.  And it would most likely be snowing, which is pretty neat.  Lots of love.

But, as it happens, South Africa doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving.  Weird? Anyway, somehow my SA family was keen to celebrate with me.  I cooked the meal.

Ya, let’s just all pause and think about that one.  I cooked the Thanksgiving meal. There was no ramen noodles involved, and I cooked the meal.  No turkey in Africa, so we had chicken, stuffing, wild rice, potatoes au gratin, sweet corn, and pumpkin pie.  One of my friends brought waffles, because they are American. J And it was all edible.  Looks like I might get this whole domestic thing someday!
Anyway, life will be different now without some of my support system here.  But I have a very supportive family, who tells me my pumpkin pie is good, even if I forgot it in the oven for an hour longer than it should have been there.  Life is good, because when you stop and look around, life is pretty amazing..

 

Bigger than Race

So every post of mine seems to have some sort of racial undertone.  I just can’t escape it.  There is constantly a reminder that this lingering apartheid exists in every facet of society. 

HOWEVER, this week I had the pleasure of attending two different events where race really didn’t matter.  I can’t fully explain how refreshing it was to see all groups of people coming together, who really do respect each other, and are engaging in a mutually beneficial relationship.  No jargon used about differentiating anyone, just people.  Just people coming together. 

The first was at church down the road from the parish that I work for.  It was one of these newfangled churches with a rock band on stage, and everybody waving their hands in the air.  They serve proper coffee for free!  The priest reads from his iPad, cracking all kinds of jokes.  Less church, more of a social club.  No sin, just road bumps.  Religion made appealing.  Religion made easy?  I was absolutely not was I was used to, or even comfortable with, but it was so refreshing to see race NOT dominating the mood.  There were people from all backgrounds standing next to each other, worshiping together, praising together.  TOGETHER. Not talking about each other, not talking down to each other; talking to each other! It was nice.

And the second event was a bit less expected.  On Sunday morning I read in the paper that Port Elizabeth was hosting a GLBT Pride Festival.  I really wasn’t sure what to expect, but my hopes weren’t high.  I don’t even know the official legal status of same sex marriage here; everybody has a different take on the law.  I would absolutely say that, as a whole, PE and maybe South Africa is a whole lot more homophobic than I am use to.

Homosexuality is very condemned in the Xhosa culture.  Among my grade 10 learners, calling a boy gay is the worst slam you could give.  I have a lesbian friend who faces so much adversity because of her sexuality, and is always referred to as a “he.”  Hate crimes are a daily struggle.  An NNMU campus activist that I met with a few weeks back shared his frustrations the lack of empathy, and even active resistance that he meets every day.

I hear the “I don’t hate the gays, but they…….”  That sort of jargon.  SHeeeshhhH!  Why the groups?  Why the “they?”  Aren’t we all in this life together?  Don’t we all have struggles, and if we stopped thinking of people as them, or the others, wouldn’t things get a bit less daunting?  Ok, end of rant.

Anyway, I tell you all of this because I wanted to preface this Pride Parade with my lack of enthusiasm for a big turnout.  I was wrong!  A few hundred people, allies and GLBT community, came out to show support.  We had the opportunity to BE the parade!  We got some honks of encouragement, some of frustration, and some just of ignorance.  I met some new friends, and was able to hear the stories of some struggles.   My favorite line of the day was “I was born gay, but I choose to be proud!” 

Again, this festival drew people of all races.  People coming together, maybe not to worship this time, but absolutely to praise!  Race wasn’t the issue.  Fear wasn’t the issue.  Hate wasn’t even the issue. 

It really got me thinking.  Here I am writing this, making it out to be some history paper that I got so good a cranking out, trying to find some thread of commonality, or even force some point.  But there is something here.  I haven’t fully worked it out yet, but it seems to me that at this happy-clappy church, and the issue of gay rights have something in common which I have been so hungry for.  Something bigger than race!  Some things are just that: more important than race, or history, or culture.  Some things are human issues.

The Miss Pride pageant

 

 Just a few Minnesotans and a German allies!

Happy to be Different! :)

Enthusiasm felt all down Marine Drive!

Love is a Human Right <3

 

My favorite artsy pic of the day!

 

Divine encounters

This weekend was rejuvenating, in many ways! 

Friday evening, Mater Dei, my parish celebrated a “thanksgiving” evening.  Nothing like my idea of thanksgiving- but the wine was a nice touch!  The parish has been busy renovating our hall space for the past 3 months, and Friday was about celebrating the congregation, and the space which makes the congregation.  I’m not homesick, per say, but I do know that it will be weird to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas in true SA fashion, without my favorite yam dish that granny makes, and no turkey (that I never really like anyway) and no family (well, biological that is).   Friday was such a good reminder how welcoming this community is, and that I am now part of it!  Things will work out J

On Saturday, somehow I got invited to celebrate in Hindu celebration in Malabar, the Indian community of Port Elizabeth.  Diwali, or the festival of lights, would be comparable to our Christmas celebration.    What an awesome experience!

First of all, I am always fascinated by the different cultures and traditions of this nation.  I’m not going to go into it because I have beaten that horse dead, over and over and over…  BUT, I got to chatting about the history of the Indian community in South Africa (weird, right?  Danika getting to talk to the old grannies about their histories..)  Super fascinating.  They have only been in this country for about 100 years, and they came as indentured labors.  So they left India to get away from the colonization, and were greeted in SA with more of the same.  Within 20 or so years, they had worked off their terms of their labor contracts, and began to form businesses and educating their children.

I was picturing Malabar as this dumpy, informal settlement.  Not sure how I got that picture?  Maybe I was thinking that Indians received the same treatment under the Apartheid as colored peoples (pretty crap), or maybe I was thinking of all the oppression and poverty in motherland India?  Well, in any case, I was wrong.  Such beautiful architecture, and warm people.  I had forgotten what it felt like to have a proper conversation about current affairs, which didn’t have a trace complaining about the current government structure!  It was refreshing.

So on to the juicy part.  The celebration was lovely!  We were in temple for quite some time, where I listened to a form of prayer that I was very unfamiliar with.   We lighted lots of candles, burned incense, and made a lot of offerings. Then we got a short history lesson from a community leader about the separation between Northern Indians and Southern Indians, and the different celebrations, and finally we got a blessing with holy water. (Sigh!  Something that I could relate to).  All of this was followed by more sweets that I can remember, and the most fantastic curries. NOMNOMNOM.

 

 

Then last night at mass, it was confirmation Sunday.  I lead my usual youth group through, which by the way is getting better.  I, as most of you know, am all about discussion.  Like probably too much.  I have ripped some limbs off trying to discuss with grade 8 and grade 9 students, but slowly, it’s getting better.  Then we all went to celebrate with newly confirmed.  Makes me think about my own confirmation.  I think I just went through the motions.  Yes, it was a choice to carry on with all the classes, and go to the camp and what not, but I think I was in it because granny made some good food, and I got backrubs from my friend in classes.  Whatever my intentions when I was 17, and whatever spiritual path I took to get where I am- boy am I pleased at where I am now.

The teens here have made this choice for themselves, and it has been very is inspiring, and I was happy to be here to share the fancy cake with them!

 

Rousing Readers

In addition to Lwandlekazi high school, I also have spent quite a bit of time at Ben Sinuka primary, an elementary school just down the street.  I really had some reservations about this because of last year’s fiasco at Pendla.  There was a whole lot of playing with my mlungu hair, and playing hopscotch at recess, but not a whole lot deeper connection.  Lwandlekazi has been the opposite of that this year.  I have 15 or so students who are like my brothers and sisters.  They call me at night to make sure that I’m coming the next day.  I’ve taken them to the doctor when they need to go.  We go to the beach, we go hiking, I visit their families.  I know them, like I really know them.  Their interest in me isn’t because I have blonde hair that they like to play with, it’s because they know me.  Anyway- I was nervous because I just wasn’t sure that I would be able to have that fruitful (and frustrating) relationship at the primary school level.

To some degree I was right, but on another level, the shift is what I needed.  When I started at Lwandlekazi, I was so amped to make this difference, and inspire kids, and change lives!  Whatever that means…..  Ya, so that isn’t realistic.  But at Ben Sinuka, I really am able to see academic improvement.  YESSSSSSS!

Basically, Blake and I have launched this reading program with a grade 3 class to provide intensive, one on one, extra help for each learner.  It’s this well researched program out of the University of Utah that has won all kinds of fancy awards for its success, so we were like, well shoot, let’s try it!  We each have a handful of kids who we meet with every other day for 30 minutes at a time.  We work on the alphabet, then read a few short stories, play some memory games, and work on pronunciation.  The first few times were mediocre at best.  The kids would just stare at me, and hold my hand, and call me mlungu (white person).  They would repeat what I would read, without looking at the page.

We are now in our second month, and I must say, my girls are getting better.  They are less fascinated with me, probably because they are more comfortable with me now.  We can focus on the lesson, which is going swimmingly.  The grade 3 teacher has commented to me that their comprehension is getting better and better. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS tangible success! And it feels good.

Then we open up the library to the other kids, who FLOOD in with excitement.  Literally 50 kids in a small room, all looking to color, or play puzzles, or read with us.  It’s quite entertaining.

 

 

Testing my exam week patience

Ok- two things on my mind this morning.  Well, three.  I want coffee.  My heart is palpitating just thinking about a nice Americano- like I’m not talking anything fru fru; I just would really like some proper caffeine.  Seven years in a coffee shop has given me some sort of notion that the African continent would have some decadent coffee for me, but wrong again.  The best substitute I can find is CAFFEEEEE (yes there really are 5 “E’s”)  It takes 3 scoops, scalding hot water, and a plugged noes to put me in my happy place. 

Ok, back to another pessimistic post.  Here in SA, academic life revolves around standardized tests.  Lots of teachers back stateside have a lot to say on this subject, but I never really understood why this was such a big fuss.  Well I do now, but (I think) in a different way than my fellow Americans. 

So in my hood, teachers haven’t shown up to classes for 3 weeks.  Yes, you read that right!  THREE WEEKS; the students are expected to come to school and sit there for 8 hours a day.  It would be one thing if there was some studying going on, or at least pretend that is the purpose of this laziness.  So, the kids who do come to school listen to a whole lot of Lil Wayne, some games of crazy 8’s are played, and a whole lot of napping.  My hour a day with them is now the ONLY prep work that they get.  And shoot, that’s stressful.

So I asked some of the teachers why there isn’t any lessons going on, and quite bluntly they responded with the kids don’t want to learn.  I have heard the phrase “you can’t teach a kid to want to learn” way too many times.  And yes, I suppose there is some truth to that, but come on, how many high school kids get up in the morning and say HECK YES, PHYSICS EXAM TODAY.  So why has the ENTIRE staff of Lwandlekazi (and lots of other location schools) adapted this attitude that it’s too little, too late.  Clearly, this cycle of poverty is not only draining on the kids, but these teachers, who were pretty great at one point, have lost their passion.

Ok- the third chunk of this morning’s frustration:  I have this student.  His name is Sine(Sn-ahhh).  “My student” is a relative term, because he rarely shows up for classes, and when he does, he sits quietly in the corner.  Anyway, on paper, he is one of the stronger grade 10 learners, and I decided to set my scopes on him. Last week I started to really hassle him about why he is so scarce, and what can we do to prepare for exam week.  We bantered a bit, and it eventually came out. 

*What is the point spending endless time working on trying to teach himself lessons that the teachers don’t understand.*  Ok, fair point.

*There is no way that he can go to university anyway, so what is the point coming to this useless school*  Why can’t you go to university, Sine?

*So maybe I find a bursary (cross between a scholarship and a loan), but the chances that I find a job aren’t good.  Lots of people go to university, get some degree and there is no work for them, then they have to worry about payments.  I can’t do that*  Ok Sine, so what are you going to do instead?  Don’t you see that you have all the capability to make a change to this system?  What are you going to end up doing without an education, be a taxi driver? (quite sarcastically…..)

*Granny Danny, I want to be a taxi driver.  I’ll make good money, and maybe if I’m good, someday I’ll own the taxi.  I can’t take chances and waste my time with this shit.*  HOW DO I FIGHT THIS LOGIC……

 

Education was the given path for me.  It was expected, and I never really questioned it.  Sure, I thought for 15 minutes that maybe I would go to a community college rather than Saint Ben’s, but the question of the value of education in my society never came up for me.  It really is an issue here.  How can I preach that an education is the only way, and its invaluable, and it will open doors, when they know very well that that might not be the case.  Easy money may be the answer for them?  Is there a tangible change in the foreseeable future?  I don’t know?  Does this mean that I change my approach?  I don’t know?  I do know that Sine has put a whole lot more thought about what makes sense for his future than I did in grade 10.  Flip, its confusing.

Showers of support

Well this weekend has been crazy.  And as depressing as my last blog was, I have a few truly remarkable things to report.

The day after I had my vent session last, a few things happened which have reinforced for me how incredible of a community I am blessed to be a part of.

First of all, I work in a parish office, and this particular morning a bride came in and expressed her desire to donate her wedding gifts.  Now this is a young girl, just starting out.  It isn’t as if she has all the mixers and toasters that she needs; it was she wanted to shower people who aren’t as fortunate as she. So what she did was ask her guests to donate nonperishable food items, rather than a more traditional gift.  And wow, did her guest rise to the challenge.  She delivered several boots-full (trunk loads) of food for Masinyusane.  I was able to help deliver the food to the students whose families really did need it.  Now how selfless is this chick!  She was probably my age, choosing to put others before herself on a day that should be all about her.  Makes me renege some of the things I said last week :/

Here is Fiks and Jim showing off the wedding donations.

The other event that I have been busy with this week is twofold, and quite devastating.  A pair of twin girls from Lwandlekazi, my school, suffered a huge loss this weekend as their shack burned down.  Shack fires happen relatively often, as they are often made out of wood, and they are so close to each other.  One goes up, several go up.  Anyway, these girls were already orphaned and living BY THEMSELVES, trying to make it through school, and now absolutely everything is lost.  I mean everything they had, ablaze. Devastating.

We made a plea for support at church on Sunday, and literally I am blown away by the support.  Generosity beyond what I could have imagined.  Clothes, shoes, mattresses, building supplies, wood, blankets, food, other household goods that one needs, and money; showered with support.  My phone has literally been blowing up with people asking what they can do! 

I have included a link to our fundraising site.  Any and all donations go straight to Zizo and Zizipho.  If anybody is able to help, these girls need it!

http://www.razoo.com/story/A-New-Home

So yaahh, the APARTheid lingers, but I’m not the only one who notices.  And I am surly not the only person who wants to help.  Despite the terrible fire that these girls had to go through, it really has been a reassuring week for me.

APART(heid).

I know that I am trying to saddle a dead horse here, but I really just find it so fascinating, so Im going to hash it out again.

So we all know that there is a lot of interracial tension- but I guess I always simplified that in my head by assuming it was blacks vs whites, and somewhere in there, the coloreds have a dynamic of their own. And yes, certainly there is counterculture existing beside each other, but it’s even deeper.

Let’s start with this term colored.  Now absolutely everyone has something different to say about the origins of the colored race, but its unanimously agreed that this is distinctively South African.  Essentially, colored means mixed race, so the closest thing that we would associate is mulatto peoples.  So sometime in the very distant history, there was some intermingling, and this new generation emerged, and became a separate community.  Different traditions, different histories, different language. APART(heid)

Fast-forward, under the old Apartheid regime, the Group Areas Act said that only “like” people could live with each other, so as intended, this perpetuated the separateness.  The goal? Because colored people had slightly better rights than black people, a lot of fairer skinned Xhosa people took up to being reclassified as colored.  They would go in, have their noes with measured, have a pencil put in their hair to check the nappyness, and their complexion tested.  They would give up the Xhosa language, and speak Afrikkans, and claim there has been some mistake.  Families were torn apart (APARTheid).  Heritage was abandoned.  Lots of feelings of non-belonging. So now- 30, 40, 50 ,60 years down the line, these communities as still APART(heid),

Let’s complicate this scene a bit more.  There are people from Indian decent, Malayan decent, and a hundred other nationalities. (And cultures—I’m really not sure what word to use, as each everything is intertwined).    And religion. And language. And employment opportunities.  And education opportunities.  APART(heid).

I think I have adequately complained that this was/is a complicated society.  And the apartheid worked brilliantly!  The goal was to keep people APART, and so it did. Well, South Africa is often called a Rainbow nation.  It is!  But the burning question is how intertwined are these bands of color?  The short answer is not.  So the Apartheid has been over for 20+ years, but funny how APART we still are.

Ok, one more twist to this story.  Xenophobia.  We have become home to lots immigrants from within Africa.  Many are coming from nations where strife is far worse than our issues.  Zim, DRC, Somalia, Nigerian, ect.  And hate crimes! Whoooooohft, the jargon that is used to dehumanize these people is criminal.  Unemployment is absolutely an issue, and lots of these African nationals are working, maybe for less than the local peoples.  So naturally there is battles about employment, and rights.

Well a few weeks ago, in my New Brighton hood, a teenage boy went to a Somalian owned shop to buy airtime for his phone.  There was a scuffle about the product sold, and the boy was shot.  New Brighton was a war zone!  Every shot was looted, and every Somalian was chased out of the area.  Their homes burned, their businesses gone, their lives destroyed.  And this didn’t stop in New Brighton; the xenophobic hatred creped into neighboring areas.  My students even boasted about taking part in the “Toy Toy” to avenge their own fallen.

I’m told that this is by no means the first time that this has happened, and with time, the Somalian businessmen will come back, and the cycle will repeat itself.  So even as the official Apartheid is no longer, we are quite apart. 

So I usually end my blog posts with some sort of uplifting feeling that I am having- or some sort of hope- but Im struggling today.  The only thing that I can think of is comparing this whole mess to the civil rights struggle at home.  It took 100 years after “freedom” for the right to vote to come.  And 50 years later, we battle with disproportionate education levels, and we absolutely are not free from the racial tension.  It will come.  I keep telling myself, it will come.

Seeking a better solution?

As I’m sure I have mentioned before, Masinyusane (pronounced Maa-sin-you-son-nay), primary objective is to better the lives of the New Brighton community through education.  So there are tons of things happening- my grade 10 program is just a drop in the bucket- and one of them came all together this week.  And, of course, me being the annoying devil’s advocate, challenging questioner that I am, have been struggling nit picking. Again..

So real quick- the education system here- township and town schools alike- are completely dependent on standardize tests.  Matric year, or 12^th grade, is CRAZY hectic, as your life is basically dependent on your Matric marks.  Now on paper, education is free and equal, but just like at home, I would guess that a family would rather send their student to an Edina district rather than a North East Minneapolis school.  Same here-  Because of a million financial loopholes, the township schools are by no means offering the same quality of education that the town schools do.  As I have vented about before- school just doesn’t happen at the school that I work at on a regular occasion.  And when it does happen, we offer a whole lot skimpier course than some of the more privileged schools.  Ok- you get my point-  we are at a disadvantage here.

Sooo back the my original train of thought:  One of the programs that Masinyusane works at is finding the top learners from all over New Brighton, Zwide, Kwasakale and helping the get through the hurdles of applying for college, scholarships, financial aid, housing, etc.  So we’ve been doing such.  Out of 20,000 or so kids, we found 128 that have scored the minimum requirements to apply for college.  Ok- let’s just pause here- that’s like 1% of students from the township have even the smallest hope for going to college.  They largely don’t have proper teachers, or course work, or books, or full bellies to study on.  The fact that they have made it this far blows my mind.. 

Ok I digress-  Anyway, so these students are pretty great, self-motivated, dynamic people.  So we got them all in one room, and helped them fill out the necessary forms, and tried to make their applications as strong as they can be.  The financial aid man was there hollering, trying to create the situation that they will have to go through at some official interview.  “Why isn’t your mother working?”  “Where is your father?”  “How many people live at your house?”  “Why doesn’t somebody get a job and pay for you?”  AHHHHHHHHHHH.

So then the next thing was a career assessment.  This is where Danika the challenger/endless questioner comes in.  So they take this test which prescribes for them what field of study would suit them.  So my -7 times changing my major/personal journey/figure it out as I go/take what sounds interesting- sort of path would never fly.  They take these tests which look at the their Matric scores, and what classes their high schools have offered, and generates their career path.  Ok, well I’m being harsh here.  I’m sure there is some famous dead psychologist somewhere that believed that this is the best way to help students from varying backgrounds equal their playing field.  And I’m sure that some of the University level coursework at a much higher standard than Lwandlekazi, for example.. And sure, some of them would drop out because they can’t cope.  But what happens to the student who should make a great doctor, who ends up as a mechanic because that what some career aptitude test told him he would be.  WHEN HE WAS 18!!  Or I guess the other way as well, what about the student who wants to be an artist, but they have scored marks in accounting.  Like WHAT.  Yahh yahh, it takes all kinds to make this world function.  But I guess I just like the idea of taking risks, and making mistakes, and making it work.

**I’m sure my dad is screaming at the computer as he reads this.  We need tradesmen.  We all can’t be doctors and lawyers. Yah I agree- but it makes me so irate that 128 learners who have spent their whole lives overcoming these endless struggles are now being told what they should do, based on what opportunities they have had thus far.  I know every system is in place for a reason- this particular one to help learners cope, to open career paths, and I suppose to fill a need for some understaffed fields.  But it still seems like there could be improvements to the establishment.  Somewhere.

 

Heritage day

First of all- sorry for the lack of updates.  Days just keep passing and the blog just keeps getting shuffled to the back of the list.

This week has been a holiday from school, which I absolutely needed to catch my breath.  Tuesday was a public holiday, Heritage Day, and I was very interested in what celebrations would look like.

At Masinyusane, I was lucky enough to help some grade 11 students implement a festival celebrating their Heritage.  I was a weary of instigating ANOTHER day of school where little learning took place, but I was excited that some of the students were passionate about this project, so in the end, I encouraged them to proceed.

It turned out to be quite the success!  We all filed into the assembly hall down the street from school wearing traditional garb. (I of course wore plaid)..  The community was invited, and the procession started only 2 hours after it was scheduled to start!! I was prepared for much more of a delay.  Each class was responsible for a different skit; many preformed song or dance.  It always kills me how musically talented these people are, and what’s more is the fact that everything is far more participatory than an American assembly.  So while the grade 9 started singing a song, the whole hall joined in, and when the hall joined in, the people outside joined in, and when the people outside joined in, the people down the block came to see what was happening.   I was happy that all of this talent drowned out the sound of my voice attempting to get involved J

Here is one of the dances, a gumboot dance, that the students worked very hard on.

We also invited a local Reverend to speak who was deeply involved in the struggle for freedom.  The majority of his rally was in Xhosa, but from what I gathered, he was saying that God didn’t make a mistake when he made the Xhosa man black.  He didn’t make a mistake when they were oppressed, and he certainly didn’t make a mistake when they were liberated.  He spoke about the need to celebrate their history, the good and the bad, and be proud of who they are.  It’s hard to put into words how empowering of a speaker he was, but it was dead silent when he spoke, except for a whole lot of “Amens!” exclaimed in agreement.

Most of these students are mine doing a dramatic performance about struggling to get water (I think). 

That night, I went to hang out with a crowd of friends of the other side of the train tracks, and the festivities were quite different.  To them, it wasn’t Heritage Day, it was National Braai Day.  (Braaing is like barbequing- but on a much bigger fire, and a whole lot less rushed).  There was no song and dance, no speech about our history.  In fact, lots of the people there didn’t realize what public holiday it was.  But there was a lot of meat, beer, and conversation!  I am still always thrown by the different lives that are coexisting here- sometimes it’s very hard to reconcile, and know exactly where I fit in in this jumble of a “rainbow nation.”  Am a suposto be working to bridge this gap?  Am I suposto recognize that this is absolutely an issue that needs to be addressed in my own country?  Am I suposto accept that this is what the road to rebuilding looks like?  I don’t know…But I’m happy to be here; wearing my plaid, eating my meat, celebrating in Black struggle and perseverance.