Blog #1 about South Africa

He who learns, teaches

-African Proverb

It is nothing other than luck that we are born where we are born on this earth.  Even though I was born in Canada, I could have been born somewhere else in the world.  So could you.

I have been home from South Africa since Tuesday. I am still processing everything I saw and experienced during my month-long stay in Cape Town.  When I got home and was talking to my father in the car on the way home from the airport, he asked me: "So, after everything, was it worth it?"

I saw SO much, from the richest of the rich to the poorest of the poor... and whatever is more poor than that.  And then I saw the most beautiful landscapes, mountain ranges, wild animals, and breathtaking sunsets.  I got to talk to travelers from around the world, people who haven't been home in over a year and do not intend to go there for a while longer yet.  I heard horrific stories of abuse, rape, and crime, yet met people who would have given me the shirt off their back if it meant I'd sit comfortably for the short time I was talking with them.  I was in a dynamic class of grade 7's who taught me more than I taught them, and inspired me even more profoundly than I expected. I became amazing friends with three girls whom I shared living space with, laughed uncontrollably with, cried with, complained with, and planned with. I challenged fears and anxieties I have had my entire life. I climbed a fucking mountain.

Our second Friday brought us to GAPA.  GAPA stands for Grandmothers Against Poverty and Aids.  On this day, we met 55 Grannies, all of whom are raising their young grandchildren because their parents have passed away from AIDS or HIV.  These women have absolutely nothing, and they have awful stories of rape, illness, displacement, and rejection themselves.  And even though they have nothing, they gave us so much.  Despite their tragic circumstances, these women and the children they are raising gave us the gift of music, dance, LOVE, and an infinite - untoppable- degree of PASSION and SOUL.  We gave them donations of wool, clothing for the children, blankets, and materials to make jewelery, and yet we all still felt indebted to these people.  No material things we can give them will EVER come close to matching the love and acceptance they showed us.  If you are interested in this organization, you can learn more here: http://www.gapa.org.za/ .  It is absolutely worth your time to check it out.

There isn't even a debate about what my favourite day in South Africa was.  The children at the orphanage stole my heart the very second we drove up their small stone driveway and they began waving uncontrollably at us while we were still in the van.  We stepped out, one by one, and the moment our feet hit the ground our hands were picked up by one of the children, leading us to play somewhere on the grounds. The most simple of things... blowing bubbles... was especially wonderful to the group of 2-3yr olds who luckily befriended me.  "Teacha, Teacha!  BUBBLES!".  I would put the wand in the container and the anticipation rose.  Their eyes widened and they literally held their breaths.  I pulled out the wand and began to blow bubbles of all sizes, but lots of them, and so high that the children had to look to the sky to see where they had to go to clap their hands to break them.  Their giggles were brilliant and warming.  How do we ever lose this innocence?  Or the ability to see so much in the smallest things?  We donated several soccer balls to the orphanage as a whole, but to the children we had for each a simple squishy ball, like the kind you can find at any dollar store in Canada.  It was worth $1.25 to us.  To them it was worth a million dollars.  "Teacha.... For ME?!?"  Something so insignificant to any kid I've met in Canada, but so HUGE that the children at this South African orphanage in the poorest of the poor communities we visited.... they got their own ball.  To keep.  It was extremely hard to say goodbye to them that day.

I had the opportunity to visit several informal settlements, where many of my students lived.  Shanty's cover the land, row upon disorganized row, metal boxes that did not have the luxuries of running water, an indoor bathroom, and, sometimes, electricity.   Standing in the small space a family of 6 called home, I could not contain myself.  I shed tears over the guilt I felt for having so much and taking it for granted.  I felt guilty that my closet is ridden with so many articles of clothing that sometimes look almost identical to one another, yet this family had the clothes on their back and perhaps just one more outfit.  I felt guilty for the plethora of food I had in not just my fridge, but my kitchen cupboards, freezer, and fruit cellar, too.  In this home, I saw just a bag of rice and some bread.  I couldn't imagine how this family survived from day to day not knowing what there will be to eat (IF).  And suddenly a wave of humility came over me. How dare I complain that I do not have some of the things I want when there are people who don't even have some of the basic things they NEED.  I was lucky to be born in Canada.  But one has to accept that they should not feel guilty for that.  I didn't ask to be born there, just as this family (and the millions of others) did not ask to be born in this desperately poor community.  But, as a person of privilege, with so many luxuries and abundance of things that make my life comfortable, it is my obligation to recognize my position in the world, and to NOT take it for granted.  Nobody can save an entire population themselves. But individually we can use or point of privilege and recognize how lucky we were to be born here.  I think it is our obligation to do our small part to help those who need it, without carrying the burden of "saving" them.  All we can do is help.  I believe that is part of the reason why we are here.

I taught grade 7 in South Africa.  Specifically, 7B at Heatherdale Primary School (http://heatherdaleprimary.com/index.asp).  I am a primary teacher.  I know that now more than ever after this experience.  Still, I was very successful teaching intermediate, and learned more from them than they did from me.  A class of 31 was new to me... I had only 20 grade 2's and 24 grade 5's prior to my coming to Heatherdale.  And if you know me personally, and you've seen my presence and heard my voice, I have little doubt that you will agree that I am neither scary nor intimidating in stature and volume.  They didn't buy the "Meese Creesteen" that the students in Canada did.  Maybe most because I was white.  I had to prove myself to them in another way.  I eventually learned that that would be.... soccer.  I was asked to plan a phys. ed. lesson during one of my first days in Mr Joemat's class, and on a whim I decided to take one of our many soccer balls to donate and plan a 7B match that would last 2hrs in length.  "Meese Creesteen!  You like soccer?!  You play soccer?!" (Haha, yes, but not "well").  From then on I was in, and loved every bloody second I got with them.  I taught them about human rights and freedoms, gender stereotypes - how to counter them - and sexism, European trading systems, population growth patterns around the world, and fun phys ed. lessons of cooperative games and, of course, soccer.  They taught me how to relate to students of an age I have never taught, how to survive in South Africa, and the language of Afrikaans (only a few words of which I can recall now). They made me laugh every single day.

But on my first day in 7B, I was let into the world they lived there.  Mr. Joemat opened the floor to the class to ask me anything they wanted to know about Canada.  At first, the superficial questions ... about what T.V. shows we have, or how cold it gets, or what sports we plan.  And then.... "Meese... do they have gangsters in Canada?  Do they have rape in Canada?  Do they have AIDS in Canada?  Do they force you to have sex in Canada?"  These questions led me into their lives.... to experience what they or someone they know (in their family or community) has gone through.  My students were 12-years old.  Questions about gangsters, rape, and aids  don't even cross my mind at the age of 29.  My heart began to feel very heavy as I learned more about what begins to happen with children the age of my students....  They begin to involve themselves with gangs because, somehow, they see it as something that could help them bring money or something to their struggling family.  I had heard a statistic during my time in South Africa that 1-2 girls in grade 7 across the country becomes pregnant before their year is over and they head to high school (which starts in grade 8).  12-yr old boys are known to become the escorts for prostitutes in the area, who disguise a woman on her way to a "job".  The young boys can also serve as drug traffickers between sellers and buyers, reaping zero benefits for themselves or their families.  Think of any 12-yr old you know in Canada.  Maybe it was a student, maybe it's your child or sibling, maybe you think of yourself at that age.  What do you feel?

And not 20 minutes away is Camps Bay, with the most stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean and Table Mountain.  Multi-million dollar properties line the coast for miles, owned by rich white people, or else those token blacks/coloured who have had success with challenging the system and breaking barriers to achieve a good life.  Camps Bay is alive with tourism, bars and restaurants with delicious meals and lively entertainment.  The bigger city of Cape Town booms with youthful energy, with travelers from around the world and locals alike, all appreciating the beauty of the landscape and a young spirit.  Here, there is no evidence of the poverty and desperation that exists just a short car ride away.  Instead, wine is shared around a happy and laughing table, as an abundance of food is eaten and remains wasted.  This paradox defines the country of South Africa.  You are either very rich or very poor.  It makes no sense to me.

It's weird to be home.  My first day back, I went to the grocery store and the mall.  So many things.  A pyramid of oranges.  18 of the same shirt on one rack. No mountains.  No oceans.  But still my family.  My friends.  My own bed.  My running shoes.  Seems to be a paradox of my own.

So many more thoughts are swirling in my head about my month in South Africa, but I am struggling to organize them into a comprehensible fashion for you.  So many more things happened and were seen during my time across the world and as I find a way to logically present them to you, I promise to document my thoughts here to fill (bore?) your time.

Yes dad.... it was absolutely, no questions asked, worth it.