More Reunions

All the other students have arrived, so now I am no longer the lone American (although I like to think that I am more South African than American). We are loving being here and it is exciting as we go about and we all learn more about the culture here. So that is the first reunion: with Kristen, Jared, Trent, Matt, and finally Sam.

The next few reunions were even greater. We went to see Mrs. Yoyo. Let me give you some background on who Mrs. Yoyo is. She started an “educare center” or like a preschool (she has kids from 9 months to 6 years at the school) about 13 years ago (I think) in the skwatter camp of Duncan village (again this is an informal settlement; extreme poverty). She started the school because she noticed all the street kids (homeless orphans) and saw they had nothing to fill their time but trouble and starvation (to say the least) and felt she needed to do something to change that. It is basically a place for the kids to get off the streets and into a place that provides shelter, love, and what food she can afford. Some of the 325 kids (yeah it is amazing and only 13 teachers if you can believe it, how would you like to teach there Lindsey?) that attend the schools do live with their parents, so some do pay some school fees, but those that cannot afford it are not turned away. The school is made up of about five shacks made from corrugated iron and other scrap metal and wood. It has burned down (partially) three times, the latest time being last august, but she has rebuilt (with funds that are provided by a BYU professor that is involved with this program and has kind of adopted the school and done fundraisers for it). BYU students have been going and working there in different capacities since 2003, and as a result, she actually joined the church in 2004.

She really is a trooper and is such a great example of charity and true Christianity! I look up to and admire her so much. It was great to go today to visit her and see how she has been keeping this past year. I am lucky because I receive the love and joy that she wants to express to everyone and BYU that has ever helped her because I represent all of that (which I am unworthy to represent yet something that I must represent none the less). She expressed her great appreciation for BYU and its support as well as me and my parents for all that we do for her (I am not so sure exactly what I have done, and I feel inadequate to accept her thanks but I know that she is so grateful for all her blessings and I feel that was her way of expressing that).
I got to catch up with her and learned that one of the teachers passed away last year (I believe it was HIV/AIDS), her son was stabbed (near the spinal cord so that one of his legs is not working properly, but luckily he is alive), and the school has burned, but she is hopeful, joyful, and never complains.

I also took the students to see Nompumelelo Primary School in Duncan Village. I worked at the school last year and fell in love with it. The teachers there are amazing and have such a hard work to do (teaching classes of 65+ students, many of which are orphans, malnourished, among other things) and are underpaid and underappreciated, but they are absolutely inspiring, I know no better way to describe them! It was great because as we walked to the school the school had just let out so some of the students from Nompumelelo walked past us on our way to school and two of them even knew my name and shouted “Hi Adam” which really made my day! When I got to the school I shook hands, got hugs, laughs, surprises, and everything else, it was a glorious reunion and my heart was full! The school is still struggling in many ways but finally got the computers that they were promised (I mentioned this situation in my presentation and the Inquiry Conference at BYU; if you want the link to see it let me know, and I can post it). I hope that I can take some time to work with them some more.

Mrs. Yoyo is amazing, teachers are a vital part of the foundation of a nation, and I am blessed to have these people in my life . . .