Day 1

Back in east London once again. I had an interesting conversation with mrs nduna (our housing coordinator with whom I stayed last summer) on the way home from the airport. A lot has changed since I stayed with them last summer. She has recently overcome a brain tumor of sorts (in South Africa people will go to the doctor for whatever ailment and the most common result is the doctor giving them medicine but not knowing exactly what is wrong with them, yeah much less than effective), so we don’t know exactly what it was but we will call it a brain tumor for simplicity’s sake. She has spent a year trying to get through this and even spent a few weeks (maybe even a month) at a “healing school” in which a pastor encouraged them to seek healing not only through medicine but through the healing power of the savior. She is a woman of great faith. Her husband lost his job with the government and has started working with an NGO that focuses on rural development (I still need to learn more about this NGO). She on the other had quit her job at an insurance agency last summer in light of her illness and has not returned. She is instead focusing her efforts on her church’s soup kitchen in Duncan Village (an informal settlement a.k.a. a skwatter camp) and planning to start a non-profit organization that focuses on building the skills of women that are HIV positive and unemployed gain employable skills so that they might be self sufficient. And finally, on the day I left mrs nduna’s home last summer at the end of august, mrs nduna brought a young lady home with her: this young lady’s name is Memory and she is technically a Zimbabwean refugee. When I arrived at the nduna home today, I was reintroduced to Memory and learned that she has been staying with Mrs nduna this past year. Now I do not go on about this to romanticize these two individuals, but to illustrate how some people here are really trying to give back and build their community; caring, sharing, giving, building, healing, in short being Christ-like; the world needs more of this.

I took a walk through the suburb of Beacon Bay so that I could use the internet at the internet café, and I really learned a lot. Now, in South Africa blacks walk and whites drive cars for two main reasons: the vast majority of blacks cannot afford a car and whites would generally say it is “too dangerous” to go walking around. Therefore, I was the only white person walking, so I felt quite out of place. I walked nearly everywhere last summer and was nearly always the only white, but I was slapped in the face once again with this definition of what I should and should not do as a white person. I noticed some people in their cars watching me and tried not to take notice or allow it to bother me. All of this made me very aware of my skin colour and what is appropriate for me to do and not do. There are huge walls build up between the races here which is something I have known for a long while but again was brought back to the fore front of my thoughts. As I walked I began greeting everyone that I passed because, from my days as a missionary, I learned that in the black culture whether or not you know a person, as you pass by you greet (which is something I have thought about starting on the BYU campus but I know that the only thing that would be accomplished would be a lot of “what are you stupid” looks shot at me and besides the ipods are a huge barrier to that), but the white culture is more like ours at home, you only really greet those you know (although they do greet strangers more often then we do at home) and it is extremely rare that a white person will randomly greet a black person they know let alone one they do not know. So, I was greeting and the responses were not shocked or confused mostly but simply a returned greeting. Maybe I am over-thinking, but I feel that just that simple interaction made me feel more a part of SA again and helped (in a small way) break down some barriers between me and those that I came in contact with.

In short, a simple walk to the internet café helped me think more deeply about where I fit in the mess that is the South African race situation, the need for simple gestures of kindness in order to build humanity and unity.

One final story about gender. Mrs nduna has been housing BYU students for at least 10 years and commented to me about a trend she finds in the married male students. She said that she asks the male students, in a kind of joking manner, “Did you get trained differently?” She said that the married men work hard and try to take care and that the girls are generally lazy and that it is the direct opposite here in SA. The African woman is the truly the unsung hero! As I walked to the internet café, I walked past an elderly woman, and couldn’t help but see how she hobbled along at an excruciatingly slow pace as she clutched the bundle in her hand. It seemed that every step caused her entire body to pain. I could not accurately guess her age, but she was well beyond the age of retirement, and yet she was working either as a domestic worker, raising her grandchildren, or any other number of things. And she does all of this with her own two hands and legs. Let me tell you this is not an uncommon occurrence to see such a woman on a daily basis.

Fear of the unknown destroys humanity and the power of the African woman is great . . .