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!