This blog site predominantly features writing based on a variety of my global experiences at Boston College.
The blog starts with several entries including essays and reflection topics from classes and the 4Boston service organization.
There are a couple of entries, such as the Anthropology Fieldwork essay, personal profile, and protest music essay, which incorporate aspects of my personal reflection with academic exercises.
The rest of the writing consists of reflections, stories, and thoughts concerning my experience living in South Africa for 5 months during my junior year. This experience living abroad has been a very meaningful and formative experience for me. These entries (in reverse order, as they were initially written chronologically) represent many of the highs, lows, joys, struggles, and learning experiences in South Africa.
I hope this web site provides a window into my experiences, both in Boston and South Africa, that contribute to my widening perspective about the world around us.
16 March, 2009
Jackson-Mann Adult Education
During my senior year I have been volunteering at Jackson-Mann Community Center in Boston with the adult education program. I coordinate a group of volunteers through the 4Boston program at Boston College who also serve as teaching assistants and tutors. I also facilitate weekly reflections with the group of volunteers around issues of community, spirituality, and social justice.
My experience with the students at Jackson-Mann has been a fascinating ‘global’ experience. I work in a pre-GED classroom with about 12 students. In my classroom alone there are people from the United States, Brazil, Panama, Ireland, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The most fascinating aspect of working with these adult students and building relationships with them has been learning about where they are from and why they came to the United States. There are so many unique experiences that have brought all of these people together in this classroom. The environment is also very positive and welcoming for everybody no matter where they come from.
One particular story stands out to me. One student in the class I have very much enjoyed getting to know is a 28-year old man named Piyna from Cambodia. Piyna came to the United States 3 years ago not knowing a word of English and not knowing any family or friends in this area of the United States. Piyna had graduated from a 4 year college in Cambodia and had been working at a bank for 2 years when he decided to leave for the United States. He was not making much of a living, even when working at a bank, and left for the United States with hopes of finding more vocational success. Piyna now works at a café in Brighton and lives with several members of his family who have come to the United States in the past couple of years. Piyna has made much progress with his English grammar and speaking, though he has much more work ahead of him if he hopes to pass the GED. Piyna’s story is not uncommon among many immigrants to the United States who are seeking to find productive work.
Working at Jackson-Mann and getting to know many of the students has been a very enriching experience for me. I have the tremendous opportunity to meet interesting people from all over the world right here in Boston. In many ways we are able to develop reciprocal learning relationships where I am able to provide tutoring in English, Math, and Social Studies, while many of the students teach me about language, customs, and their life experiences in many countries around the world. This community that I am a part of provides an interesting integration of my global understanding with my local service.
My experience with the students at Jackson-Mann has been a fascinating ‘global’ experience. I work in a pre-GED classroom with about 12 students. In my classroom alone there are people from the United States, Brazil, Panama, Ireland, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The most fascinating aspect of working with these adult students and building relationships with them has been learning about where they are from and why they came to the United States. There are so many unique experiences that have brought all of these people together in this classroom. The environment is also very positive and welcoming for everybody no matter where they come from.
One particular story stands out to me. One student in the class I have very much enjoyed getting to know is a 28-year old man named Piyna from Cambodia. Piyna came to the United States 3 years ago not knowing a word of English and not knowing any family or friends in this area of the United States. Piyna had graduated from a 4 year college in Cambodia and had been working at a bank for 2 years when he decided to leave for the United States. He was not making much of a living, even when working at a bank, and left for the United States with hopes of finding more vocational success. Piyna now works at a café in Brighton and lives with several members of his family who have come to the United States in the past couple of years. Piyna has made much progress with his English grammar and speaking, though he has much more work ahead of him if he hopes to pass the GED. Piyna’s story is not uncommon among many immigrants to the United States who are seeking to find productive work.
Working at Jackson-Mann and getting to know many of the students has been a very enriching experience for me. I have the tremendous opportunity to meet interesting people from all over the world right here in Boston. In many ways we are able to develop reciprocal learning relationships where I am able to provide tutoring in English, Math, and Social Studies, while many of the students teach me about language, customs, and their life experiences in many countries around the world. This community that I am a part of provides an interesting integration of my global understanding with my local service.
4Boston Reflection: Liberation Theology
Liberation Theology: Lens of the Poor
Story
Roberto’s family was fairly well off by Nicaraguan standards: they owned two modest houses, two cars, and ate meat with their meals at least two times a day. During the time of the Somoza regime, he had worked in a private hospital and had maintained a medical practice for those patrons who had the ability to pay for consultations. Of course, that select group only included perhaps 15 percent of the Nicaraguan population. Nevertheless, Roberto was free to carry out his career in those ways he determined beneficial.
With the triumph of the revolution, health care was nationalized throughout Nicaragua. Doctors and other health care professionals were required to devote a large percentage of their consulting hours to popular clinics, and for their services they were compensated with a fixed salary which was considerably lower than that which they had previously earned. Roberto was livid about these changes, and regularly vented his anger with me: “Can you believe the totalitarian system which we have in this country?! You wouldn’t allow this to happen in the United States. You wouldn’t let your government tell you where to work and how much you are to be paid for doing it. The Sandinistas have taken our freedom from us!”
When I was not listening to Roberto’s diatribes in the evenings, during the daytime I was traveling to the city barrios and the countryside of Nicaragua in conjunction with the Protestant relief agency CEPAD. Everywhere I went, campesinos and workers were sharing with me the thrill of receiving medical attention for the first time in their lives. No longer did they have to face the inexpressible tragedy of sitting back and watching their children die simply because they did not have the money to buy medicine for them. “We now have the freedom to see a doctor,” they repeatedly exclaimed to me. “We thank God that the revolution has given us the possibility of life.”
To give yet one more perspective on how we view reality from the place where our feet are planted, it would be of interest to note the response I have commonly received when I retell this story to churches in the United States. In an adult Sunday school class held at a Baptist church in Oakland, I was sharing how we more often than not read both the Bible and our own history through the grid set by our social and economic commitments. To illustrate that point, I recalled the story of Roberto, who, consciously or not, held his rights of individual gain over the freedoms of the vast majority of the poor people in his country. At the end of the story, I was mildly shocked to hear one of the class members, the wife of a bank executive, respond: “No, Roberto was right! That government must be acting as a dictatorship; no one has the right to take away what he has worked so hard to earn!”
Once again it is clear that the perception of reality is never self-disclosing. Though neither Roberto nor the Baptist woman from Oakland would likely dispute the objective fact that poor people exist in society, they firmly resist any explanation for that condition which might challenge the privilege which they personally gain from that system which creates poverty. Assuming that their response is illustrative of a whole series of values which legitimates their place in that world, it would be safe to say that the poor should not expect any change in their situation to be initiated from those sectors which hold economic and social power in the society. More realistically, the poor should anticipate a forceful opposition, both ‘moral’ and rational, to any alternative rendering of that world to which they might arrive grounded in their own experience of history.
Quotes
“There is only one point of departure – a reality of social misery – and on goal – the liberation of the oppressed.”
“To know God is to do justice, is to be in solidarity with the poor person…as he or she actually exists today – as someone who is oppressed, as a member of an exploited class, or ethnic group, or culture, or nation…Thus, in order to know or love God, one must come to grips with the concrete life situation of the poor today, and undertake the radical transformation of a society that makes them poor.”
“Jesus Christ is precisely God become poor. This was the human life he took – a poor life.”
“A prior meditation takes place which empowers the poor to be the creators of their own reality, a process which is known throughout Latin America as conscientization…This awareness permits the poor to move beyond a dense, enveloping vision of a world from which there is no escape in order to acquire the ability to intervene in their reality as it is unveiled.”
Story
Roberto’s family was fairly well off by Nicaraguan standards: they owned two modest houses, two cars, and ate meat with their meals at least two times a day. During the time of the Somoza regime, he had worked in a private hospital and had maintained a medical practice for those patrons who had the ability to pay for consultations. Of course, that select group only included perhaps 15 percent of the Nicaraguan population. Nevertheless, Roberto was free to carry out his career in those ways he determined beneficial.
With the triumph of the revolution, health care was nationalized throughout Nicaragua. Doctors and other health care professionals were required to devote a large percentage of their consulting hours to popular clinics, and for their services they were compensated with a fixed salary which was considerably lower than that which they had previously earned. Roberto was livid about these changes, and regularly vented his anger with me: “Can you believe the totalitarian system which we have in this country?! You wouldn’t allow this to happen in the United States. You wouldn’t let your government tell you where to work and how much you are to be paid for doing it. The Sandinistas have taken our freedom from us!”
When I was not listening to Roberto’s diatribes in the evenings, during the daytime I was traveling to the city barrios and the countryside of Nicaragua in conjunction with the Protestant relief agency CEPAD. Everywhere I went, campesinos and workers were sharing with me the thrill of receiving medical attention for the first time in their lives. No longer did they have to face the inexpressible tragedy of sitting back and watching their children die simply because they did not have the money to buy medicine for them. “We now have the freedom to see a doctor,” they repeatedly exclaimed to me. “We thank God that the revolution has given us the possibility of life.”
To give yet one more perspective on how we view reality from the place where our feet are planted, it would be of interest to note the response I have commonly received when I retell this story to churches in the United States. In an adult Sunday school class held at a Baptist church in Oakland, I was sharing how we more often than not read both the Bible and our own history through the grid set by our social and economic commitments. To illustrate that point, I recalled the story of Roberto, who, consciously or not, held his rights of individual gain over the freedoms of the vast majority of the poor people in his country. At the end of the story, I was mildly shocked to hear one of the class members, the wife of a bank executive, respond: “No, Roberto was right! That government must be acting as a dictatorship; no one has the right to take away what he has worked so hard to earn!”
Once again it is clear that the perception of reality is never self-disclosing. Though neither Roberto nor the Baptist woman from Oakland would likely dispute the objective fact that poor people exist in society, they firmly resist any explanation for that condition which might challenge the privilege which they personally gain from that system which creates poverty. Assuming that their response is illustrative of a whole series of values which legitimates their place in that world, it would be safe to say that the poor should not expect any change in their situation to be initiated from those sectors which hold economic and social power in the society. More realistically, the poor should anticipate a forceful opposition, both ‘moral’ and rational, to any alternative rendering of that world to which they might arrive grounded in their own experience of history.
Quotes
“There is only one point of departure – a reality of social misery – and on goal – the liberation of the oppressed.”
“To know God is to do justice, is to be in solidarity with the poor person…as he or she actually exists today – as someone who is oppressed, as a member of an exploited class, or ethnic group, or culture, or nation…Thus, in order to know or love God, one must come to grips with the concrete life situation of the poor today, and undertake the radical transformation of a society that makes them poor.”
“Jesus Christ is precisely God become poor. This was the human life he took – a poor life.”
“A prior meditation takes place which empowers the poor to be the creators of their own reality, a process which is known throughout Latin America as conscientization…This awareness permits the poor to move beyond a dense, enveloping vision of a world from which there is no escape in order to acquire the ability to intervene in their reality as it is unveiled.”
4Boston Reflection: Global Village
4Boston Reflection, November 19, 2006 – The Global Village
If we could reduce the world’s population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all existing human ratios remaining the same, the demographics would look like this:
81 non-whites, 19 whites
57 Asians, 13 Africans, 12 Europeans/Soviets, 9 Latin Americans, 6 Americans/Canadians, 3 Others
49 Female, 51 Male
89 Heterosexual, 11 Homosexual
33 would be Christian, 67 would be non-Christian
21 would be Muslims
15 would be Hindus
6 would be Buddhists
5 would be Animists
6 would believe in other religions
14 would be without religion or atheist
7 would speak English, 93 would speak another language
15 would speak Chinese or Mandarin
6 would speak Hindi
6 would speak Spanish
5 would speak Russian
4 would speak Arabic
3 would speak Bengali
3 would speak Portuguese
51 would speak Indonesian, Japanese, German, French or some other language
6 would control 59% of the entire world’s wealth and all of them would be U.S. citizens.
74 would control 39% of the wealth, and 20 would share the remaining 2%
74 would live in substandard housing
40 would not have access to modern sanitation
79 would have access to clean drinking water, 21 would not
67 would be unable to read
1 would have a computer
1 would have a college education
45 would be malnourished with 1 dying of starvation and 15 overweight
1 would have HIV
In the village, there would be:
7 Teachers
5 Soldiers
3 Refugees driven from their homes
1 Doctor
The budget for the village would be around $300,000. Of that budget:
$18,100 would go towards weapons and warfare
$15,900 would go towards education
$13,200 would go towards health care
In the period 1990-2004, the (inflation adjusted) income of the bottom 90% of taxpayers (yes, 9-0), rose by 2% overall (not 2% per year). The income of the top 1% grew up 57% and the income of the top one tenth of one percent (.1) grew by 85%.
If we could reduce the world’s population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all existing human ratios remaining the same, the demographics would look like this:
81 non-whites, 19 whites
57 Asians, 13 Africans, 12 Europeans/Soviets, 9 Latin Americans, 6 Americans/Canadians, 3 Others
49 Female, 51 Male
89 Heterosexual, 11 Homosexual
33 would be Christian, 67 would be non-Christian
21 would be Muslims
15 would be Hindus
6 would be Buddhists
5 would be Animists
6 would believe in other religions
14 would be without religion or atheist
7 would speak English, 93 would speak another language
15 would speak Chinese or Mandarin
6 would speak Hindi
6 would speak Spanish
5 would speak Russian
4 would speak Arabic
3 would speak Bengali
3 would speak Portuguese
51 would speak Indonesian, Japanese, German, French or some other language
6 would control 59% of the entire world’s wealth and all of them would be U.S. citizens.
74 would control 39% of the wealth, and 20 would share the remaining 2%
74 would live in substandard housing
40 would not have access to modern sanitation
79 would have access to clean drinking water, 21 would not
67 would be unable to read
1 would have a computer
1 would have a college education
45 would be malnourished with 1 dying of starvation and 15 overweight
1 would have HIV
In the village, there would be:
7 Teachers
5 Soldiers
3 Refugees driven from their homes
1 Doctor
The budget for the village would be around $300,000. Of that budget:
$18,100 would go towards weapons and warfare
$15,900 would go towards education
$13,200 would go towards health care
In the period 1990-2004, the (inflation adjusted) income of the bottom 90% of taxpayers (yes, 9-0), rose by 2% overall (not 2% per year). The income of the top 1% grew up 57% and the income of the top one tenth of one percent (.1) grew by 85%.
Class: Perspectives on War, Aggression, and Conflict Resolution
(This is the text of letter regarding the conflict in the Darfur region of Sudan. It has been sent through general mail to President Bush, leading presidential candidates Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, John Edwards, Rudy Giuliani, Mitt Romney, and John McCain, and congressional representative James Walsh.)
“Remember: Silence helps the killer, never his victims.”
- Elie Wiesel
To Whom It May Concern (which should be EVERYBODY):
Darfur is sexy. Posters, t-shirts, stickers, and maybe even a television spot here or there. Save Darfur. Stop the Genocide. Not On Our Watch. People supposedly care to end a vulgar injustice thousands of miles away and seemingly worlds apart. I try to tell myself that I supposedly care to play some role in alleviating suffering. I see the posters or t-shirts, I read the news clippings, I hear the empty promises of political leaders, and I wonder to myself, “What is actually being done to stop this? Is this person or this promotion really doing any good?” I catch myself after that instinctively critical thought and turn the question back on myself. “What do I do to contribute to stopping the atrocities?” Sure, I sign the petitions. I click and send the prewritten emails. I go to events on my college campus that serve to inform people about the conflict. Can I do more? Yes. Will I do more? I do not know. I suppose this letter is one small step in trying to shape the conversation that takes place in politics and policymaking. You (whether you are the person this is addressed to or an office aide) could very easily toss this letter aside citing a book you have written an introduction for, or a bill you have co-sponsored, or some event you spoke at. I guess I am just asking you to hear me out as a concerned member of the world we share, as someone who holds the pursuit of social justice and the promotion of the world’s common good as a high value, as someone who took a little bit of time to write a letter.
The conflict in Darfur comes out of a long history of civil war and cultural, geographical, and agricultural conflict between peoples in Sudan. The most recent conflict—the genocide in the Darfur region—comes along ethnic and geographic lines of tension. Estimates vary, but the most consistent numbers from different reports hold that almost 250,000 people have been killed and approximately 2.5 million people have been displaced and forced to flee their homes. The people who have been displaced are forced into crowded, unsanitary, and vulnerable refugee camps in other regions of Sudan and neighboring countries Chad and Kenya. Although the lines of conflict are blurry, generally the black African population of the region has incurred tremendous suffering and death at the hands of government propped militias and military aircraft.
However, talking about the bad news will not make positive action any more realistic. You have heard the bad news, the deaths, the rapes, the villages destroyed, and the tremendous suffering. I hope that this letter is an opportunity to make some of the good news real. In their collaborative activist work Not On Our Watch: The Mission to End Genocide in Darfur and Beyond, John Prendergast and Don Cheadle write, “The good news is that these horrors can be stopped. It is in our hands: citizen action in the United States and around the world can make a huge difference to the protection and survival of entire communities and peoples.” I hope at least in some small way to take what is in my hands and pass it along to your hands. You are in a unique position to change the conversation of national politics from division, slander, and big business interests to the pursuit of justice and promotion of the common good.
For individuals it is easy to be called to action in the form of spreading awareness, signing petitions, sending emails, and writing letters. The question of what we petition for is much more complicated and difficult. Awareness will not make change. Misguided activism has the potential to do more harm than good if promoting a possibly destructive solution. Pushing forward conflict resolution policy and social change has three pillars: field research to learn what is really happening in the conflict zones and what needs to be done, legal advocacy to influence determinations of policy, and widespread political pressure from a citizenry seeking to force an issue into the relevant political conversation.[1] This research, policy impact, and mobilization must be done with a positive energy. It is too easy for the tragedy of Darfur to be overlooked as a pit hole of the usual African conflict as opposed to a beacon of hope for peace and reconciliation.
The United States has led the world in providing emergency assistance to displaced peoples and refugees.[2] Emergency assistance may provide needed base goods to aid survival of displaced people but it does nothing create a social, political, and economic atmosphere for ending the conflict. Now, if the injustice is researched and acknowledged and the citizenry becomes increasingly concerned and outspoken about the issue, what should the policymakers (also known as YOU!) do to end the conflict and encourage productive reconciliation? This letter, combined with the mobilization of the citizenry, is working towards establishing the political will. Once the political will is established, what do the politics need to do? It has already been proven that the government in Khartoum will respond to intense punitive measures. In the 1990s, economic sanctions from the United Nations Security Council led the regime in Khartoum readily and actively renounced its ties with Al-Qaeda and other terrorist organizations. This same pressure must be applied. Some people argue that economic sanctions will only hurt the poor and ravaged of the country more, but the poor and ravaged have already hit rock bottom. They have been slaughtered, raped, pillaged, and displaced. Punitive measures must be taken to force the government regime to respond.
The U.S. government can support this pressure on the Sudanese government through divestment, cutting business ties with Sudan, pressuring China to cut its huge business ties with Sudan, and being active in the United Nations Security Council response. The government should support university, church, and local and state government divestment campaigns. The huge United States divestment during the international anti-apartheid movement was a significant pressure against the white minority regime in South Africa. That same pressure must be applied to Sudan. Big business and government are so closely tied that business failure will force the government to respond by intervening to end the violence and killing.
We must reject the notion that one person, one letter, or one action is irrelevant to change. We exist as individuals but we do not exist alone. We live in a human community that must move. I, as an individual, have the ability to strive for social justice because WE exist together. Change is not inevitable as we learned from the struggle against apartheid. Let us recognize the injustice in our world and begin to take at least small steps to challenge its existence. The manifesto of the original Students for a Democratic Society reads, “We are the people of this generation, bred in at least modest comfort, housed now in universities, looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit…If we appear to seek the unattainable, it has been said, then let it be known that we do so to avoid the unimaginable.” A perfect peace might be impossible to achieve in reality, but we can certainly acknowledge that we can make the broken peace in which our world exists a little more perfect than it now stands. Our failure to speak out and act out against this war against humanity will leave us—as a nation and as individual people—on the wrong side of history. RISE UP!
PEACE & ACTION,
Jeremy R. Marks
“Remember: Silence helps the killer, never his victims.”
- Elie Wiesel
To Whom It May Concern (which should be EVERYBODY):
Darfur is sexy. Posters, t-shirts, stickers, and maybe even a television spot here or there. Save Darfur. Stop the Genocide. Not On Our Watch. People supposedly care to end a vulgar injustice thousands of miles away and seemingly worlds apart. I try to tell myself that I supposedly care to play some role in alleviating suffering. I see the posters or t-shirts, I read the news clippings, I hear the empty promises of political leaders, and I wonder to myself, “What is actually being done to stop this? Is this person or this promotion really doing any good?” I catch myself after that instinctively critical thought and turn the question back on myself. “What do I do to contribute to stopping the atrocities?” Sure, I sign the petitions. I click and send the prewritten emails. I go to events on my college campus that serve to inform people about the conflict. Can I do more? Yes. Will I do more? I do not know. I suppose this letter is one small step in trying to shape the conversation that takes place in politics and policymaking. You (whether you are the person this is addressed to or an office aide) could very easily toss this letter aside citing a book you have written an introduction for, or a bill you have co-sponsored, or some event you spoke at. I guess I am just asking you to hear me out as a concerned member of the world we share, as someone who holds the pursuit of social justice and the promotion of the world’s common good as a high value, as someone who took a little bit of time to write a letter.
The conflict in Darfur comes out of a long history of civil war and cultural, geographical, and agricultural conflict between peoples in Sudan. The most recent conflict—the genocide in the Darfur region—comes along ethnic and geographic lines of tension. Estimates vary, but the most consistent numbers from different reports hold that almost 250,000 people have been killed and approximately 2.5 million people have been displaced and forced to flee their homes. The people who have been displaced are forced into crowded, unsanitary, and vulnerable refugee camps in other regions of Sudan and neighboring countries Chad and Kenya. Although the lines of conflict are blurry, generally the black African population of the region has incurred tremendous suffering and death at the hands of government propped militias and military aircraft.
However, talking about the bad news will not make positive action any more realistic. You have heard the bad news, the deaths, the rapes, the villages destroyed, and the tremendous suffering. I hope that this letter is an opportunity to make some of the good news real. In their collaborative activist work Not On Our Watch: The Mission to End Genocide in Darfur and Beyond, John Prendergast and Don Cheadle write, “The good news is that these horrors can be stopped. It is in our hands: citizen action in the United States and around the world can make a huge difference to the protection and survival of entire communities and peoples.” I hope at least in some small way to take what is in my hands and pass it along to your hands. You are in a unique position to change the conversation of national politics from division, slander, and big business interests to the pursuit of justice and promotion of the common good.
For individuals it is easy to be called to action in the form of spreading awareness, signing petitions, sending emails, and writing letters. The question of what we petition for is much more complicated and difficult. Awareness will not make change. Misguided activism has the potential to do more harm than good if promoting a possibly destructive solution. Pushing forward conflict resolution policy and social change has three pillars: field research to learn what is really happening in the conflict zones and what needs to be done, legal advocacy to influence determinations of policy, and widespread political pressure from a citizenry seeking to force an issue into the relevant political conversation.[1] This research, policy impact, and mobilization must be done with a positive energy. It is too easy for the tragedy of Darfur to be overlooked as a pit hole of the usual African conflict as opposed to a beacon of hope for peace and reconciliation.
The United States has led the world in providing emergency assistance to displaced peoples and refugees.[2] Emergency assistance may provide needed base goods to aid survival of displaced people but it does nothing create a social, political, and economic atmosphere for ending the conflict. Now, if the injustice is researched and acknowledged and the citizenry becomes increasingly concerned and outspoken about the issue, what should the policymakers (also known as YOU!) do to end the conflict and encourage productive reconciliation? This letter, combined with the mobilization of the citizenry, is working towards establishing the political will. Once the political will is established, what do the politics need to do? It has already been proven that the government in Khartoum will respond to intense punitive measures. In the 1990s, economic sanctions from the United Nations Security Council led the regime in Khartoum readily and actively renounced its ties with Al-Qaeda and other terrorist organizations. This same pressure must be applied. Some people argue that economic sanctions will only hurt the poor and ravaged of the country more, but the poor and ravaged have already hit rock bottom. They have been slaughtered, raped, pillaged, and displaced. Punitive measures must be taken to force the government regime to respond.
The U.S. government can support this pressure on the Sudanese government through divestment, cutting business ties with Sudan, pressuring China to cut its huge business ties with Sudan, and being active in the United Nations Security Council response. The government should support university, church, and local and state government divestment campaigns. The huge United States divestment during the international anti-apartheid movement was a significant pressure against the white minority regime in South Africa. That same pressure must be applied to Sudan. Big business and government are so closely tied that business failure will force the government to respond by intervening to end the violence and killing.
We must reject the notion that one person, one letter, or one action is irrelevant to change. We exist as individuals but we do not exist alone. We live in a human community that must move. I, as an individual, have the ability to strive for social justice because WE exist together. Change is not inevitable as we learned from the struggle against apartheid. Let us recognize the injustice in our world and begin to take at least small steps to challenge its existence. The manifesto of the original Students for a Democratic Society reads, “We are the people of this generation, bred in at least modest comfort, housed now in universities, looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit…If we appear to seek the unattainable, it has been said, then let it be known that we do so to avoid the unimaginable.” A perfect peace might be impossible to achieve in reality, but we can certainly acknowledge that we can make the broken peace in which our world exists a little more perfect than it now stands. Our failure to speak out and act out against this war against humanity will leave us—as a nation and as individual people—on the wrong side of history. RISE UP!
PEACE & ACTION,
Jeremy R. Marks
Class: Liberation Christology
Gandhi, King, Mother Teresa, the nameless saints--they are
all irritants, challenging the careful, comfortable ways we have organized
our lives. Yet we love them. Why do we love them? It is only partly
because of who they are. They give flesh to what they believe and thereby
awaken a spirit deep within us. By their words and deeds they call forth
that part of us that yearns to give life, to love mercy and to do justice.
By living their lives the way they do they reach for what is deepest and
best in each of us--pulling, organizing, putting our love for justice to
work in practical ways that serve the poor.
- Reverend Chris Hartmire
Liberation theologians in Latin America have attempted to use their modern day contextual understanding of Jesus’ significance to develop a church of the poor standing in solidarity with the marginalized and oppressed peoples of the world. This liberation theology comes from a third world context where poverty and violence causes millions to suffer. How can Jesus’ life and significance be understood in the context of a wealthy first world nation? How can a liberation Christology be articulated in the United States? How does this articulation influence our interpretations of Jesus Christ’s life and message? The writings of Volker Kuster, Rosemary Radford Ruether, Josè Ignacio Gonzales-Faus, William Herzog, and Raymond Schwager offer insights into how one might articulate a liberation Christology in the United States today.
Kip Tiernan, a long-time hunger activist in Boston, offers some reflections regarding a North American liberation theology. She writes, “What is needed is a North American Theology of Liberation—a renewed consciousness around the social needs of poor people. A Theology of Liberation for North America would consist of radicalizing the privileged, however, and this would not be easy.” She argues that the United States is increasingly a “third world” country because of the growing gap between rich and poor and violence. Liberation Christology in a United States context requires a preferential option for the marginalized and oppressed in this country and an acknowledgement and reconciliation of the poverty and frustration caused by this country’s wealth and military and economic foreign policy. We must come to understand the context and significance of following Jesus’ liberating praxis in the United States today.
The Significance of Culture and Context
The context of interpretation is central to any understanding of the Christian faith. The cultural, social, political, and economic environment in a certain time and place plays a very important role in determining the significance behind certain actions, beliefs, and messages. First and foremost Jesus’ life must be understood within its own context. Jesus was human on this earth and lived in a specific sociopolitical context that influences how first world people should interpret his message in following Jesus in our own lives. Volker Kuster, author of The Many Faces of Jesus Christ, argues that the process of enculturation is intrinsic to Christian faith. Culture permeates all faith because faith exists in this world, and each part of this world has its sociopolitical and historical context. This leads us to certain questions about Jesus’ message. What was Jesus’ culture? His context? What is culture today? Context today? So, in seeking to develop a liberation Christology in the United States, we must first understand Jesus’ liberating praxis entailed during his life, work, death, and resurrection and then apply that praxis to our lives in a different environment.
This notion of culture, however, makes it difficult to balance truths of the gospel with the relevant social context. There is one extreme line of thought that holds that the truths of the Christian faith must be completely universal, and thus removed from normalized culture. This is dangerous in that all culture might be lost, and the supposed universal truth might suffer with a variety of perspectives to challenge it and maintain it. There is another extreme line of thought that holds that the adoption of contextual cultural values is necessary because Christianity is enacted locally. The danger in this philosophy is that Christian identity may be lost and being a good Christian may become indistinguishable from being a good citizen. Most liberation theologians would put themselves in the conversionist realm, advocating that there is something distinct and profound about being Christian, but Christians should seek to transform their surrounding sociopolitical environment by participating in it and engaging it. Kuster notes, however, “Just as the kernel of a nut is brought to light when the shell is removed, so too the gospel can be extracted from its cultural covering” (Kuster, 21). Essentially, Christ can be revealed in any culture. The goal in developing a liberation Christology in the United States is to reveal the “kernel” of Jesus’ praxis for today in this country.
The Context of Jesus’ Life
Understanding the significance of Jesus’ life, work, death, and resurrection requires an awareness of Jesus’ life and surroundings. First, the significance of Jesus requires an understanding of his context as a Galilean Jew in the first century. Jesus lived as a human in a specific social environment and that environment must be interpreted. Liberation theologians focus “first on the historical Jesus, specifically on his ‘liberating praxis.’ It is these deeds of Jesus that reveal the meaning of his person and message” (Ruether, 20). These deeds are expressions of complete solidarity with the poor and directly entering into the structural social conflict of his time. Along with his deeds, Jesus’ origins from Galilee are essential to an understanding of the significance of his life and work. “God has emptied himself in the cross of Jesus Christ: ‘He established his centrality by going to the periphery’” (Kuster, 125). At that time, Galilee was the home of a number of social and religious outcasts, people who were generally rejected by the Jews. In terms of interpreting scripture, God’s love is demonstrated by the fact that Jesus became human as an outcast. Jesus worked with the outcasts and thus became an outcast. He was a political subversive who challenged the existing social orders and he was murdered on the cross because of it. As Jesus is abandoned on the cross and killed, he understands what it means to be abandoned and can thus identify with those abandoned by society.
Also, the resurrection of Jesus has implications for a scriptural understanding of a preferential option for the poor. According to the gospel of Mark, the risen Jesus appears in Galilee. In Christ the Liberator, Jon Sobrino writes, “Whatever may have happened geographically and historically, Galilee is the place of the poor and the despised. And there, according to Mark, the risen Christ will be found.” (page 14). First, Jesus’ body and soul are resurrected, symbolic of the call for the resurrection of the “bodies” of the crucified of our world. Second, Jesus appears among the poor and despised of his world, demonstrating a preferential option for the poor. Also, the first to see the risen Christ were women, a group that was and is oppressed by society.
Following Jesus in a United States Context
In attempting to understand Jesus’ significance today, we must interpret the context of our social world today. As Jesus lived as a human in a specific context, we too live in our own context in the world. It is possible to practice liberation today. William Herzog, author of Jesus, Justice, and the Reign of God, writes, “We are not faced with a new story altogether, but with a new moment in the same story” (Herzog, 65). In order to understand better how to follow Christ and take down from the cross the crucified of our world today, understanding Christ in our own context is important. Reverend Hartmire passionately describes several people who have attempted to hold on to the memory of Jesus’ resurrection in their own lives. Gandhi, King, Mother Theresa and others found their own way to follow Christ while living in a certain context. “The cross and the resurrection are contextual to a particular historical community. These are breakthrough experiences which found our people, that mediate hope in the midst of adversity for us. But this does not mean that these are the only ways that this may happen, or that other people may not continue parallel struggles on different grounds” (Ruether, 43). Though the contexts and time periods are different, there are ways to engage in liberating praxis in the United States today.
The three essential aspects of Jesus’ liberating praxis are a preferential option for the poor and outcast, solidarity with the marginalized, and an entrance in the structural social conflict of one’s time. “Following Christ basically means to follow his kind of way of life in the concrete contexts of the social conflicts of one’s time” (Ruether, 21). It is important to identify outcast, marginalized, and oppressed of contemporary United States society in order to understand the significance of Jesus’ message today. These outcast, marginalized, and oppressed people include women, people of color, the homeless, people who identify as GLBT, the economically poor, the sick, the mentally disabled, and immigrants. Marginalization takes on almost infinite forms, but people who embody some of these characteristics suffer from widespread discrimination in obvious and subtle ways. These marginalized people are part of a structurally unjust system that is sinful. People are inherently sinful not necessarily because of the original sin of Adam and Eve, but rather because people are born into a situation of conflict with sinful structures. “For liberation theologians sin means not only alienation from God and personal brokenness in life, but also the structural evils of war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation which allow some people to dehumanize others” (Ruether, 19). Unfortunately, war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation exist in the United States, both internally within our own borders and externally in our foreign military and economic policies.
Spanish theologian Josè Ignacio Gonzalez-Faus identifies three aspects of following Jesus’ message today in the first world by addressing the structural injustices. First, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that Jesus reveals the evil that lies beneath the accepted social norms. In the United States today, this could be manifested through creating systems of education and awareness in our communities about systemic injustices that marginalize our brothers and sisters. Second, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this revelation of injustice is part of the tension that comes with the proclamation of the kingdom. Revealing the debilitating effects of poverty, racism, corporate greed, and other social practices that are anti-fraternity, will be combated by those in power because of its inherent challenge to existing structural norms. Third, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this tension lead to Jesus being judged, outcast, and opposed. So, present-day prophets entering into the social conflicts of our time in support of justice will be opposed by many.
Martin Luther King, Jr., for example, followed Jesus in his own mid-20th century United States context. He called for justice and rallied millions to reveal existing evils, condemn these evils as wrong, and promote human equality by standing with the marginalized. Then, King was assassinated by someone standing in opposition to his calls for justice. Ruether writes, “Lay catechists, nuns, even some bishops join the ranks of the imprisoned, the tortured, the assassinated. It is from this reality that Latin American Christians speak to Christians of the First World, of Europe and the United States, about what it means to hear and preach the good news of God’s preferential option for the poor” (Ruether, 26). As Kip Tiernan notes, it will take the radicalizing of the privileged in the United States to address issues of systemic injustice that keeps society further away from the kingdom of God.
On a more individual level, a liberating praxis involves personal identification with the poor and marginalized. The United States today has structural barriers in place that hinder the development of the human community. One goal of a liberating praxis should be to break down these barriers and build relationships. “Jesus was well received by the common people, villagers, peasants, rural artisans, and the more destitute as well” (Herzog, 59). An example of at least a semblance of the breakdown of social barriers between the privileged and the poor in my personal experience is the time I have spent at Haley House, a soup kitchen in downtown Boston. At Haley House the line between kitchen and dining area is blurred, so often patrons work in the kitchen and help clean up after meals and volunteers and staff eat breakfast and chat with all members of the community. Human connection and identification with the poor and outcast of society is important to understanding the call of Jesus in our current sociopolitical and cultural situation.
Conclusion
Jesus entered into the suffering of the marginalized and oppressed people of his time by standing in solidarity with them and entering into existing social conflicts. We must not only understand Jesus’ message, we must enact it in our own context in the United States today. In his work, Jesus the Liberator, liberation theologian Jon Sobrino poses this thought: “Jesus asked us to follow him and we ended up worshipping him.” It is our call now to follow Jesus in our own communities. “In our present world, when we see a society where a few rich families own almost all the land, where they suppress all protest with guns and tanks, where they manipulate religion and education to justify this exploitation, there we are far from the kingdom. But when we see the vast majority rising up against these evils, overthrowing the police state, beginning to create a new society where the hungry are fed, and the poor are able to participate in the decisions that govern their lives, there the kingdom has come ‘close’” (Ruether, 22). The central tenet of liberation is not theology, but liberation. When doing theology in the United States, we must situate ourselves in the reality of oppression, practicing a theology that is a reflection of a liberating praxis.
all irritants, challenging the careful, comfortable ways we have organized
our lives. Yet we love them. Why do we love them? It is only partly
because of who they are. They give flesh to what they believe and thereby
awaken a spirit deep within us. By their words and deeds they call forth
that part of us that yearns to give life, to love mercy and to do justice.
By living their lives the way they do they reach for what is deepest and
best in each of us--pulling, organizing, putting our love for justice to
work in practical ways that serve the poor.
- Reverend Chris Hartmire
Liberation theologians in Latin America have attempted to use their modern day contextual understanding of Jesus’ significance to develop a church of the poor standing in solidarity with the marginalized and oppressed peoples of the world. This liberation theology comes from a third world context where poverty and violence causes millions to suffer. How can Jesus’ life and significance be understood in the context of a wealthy first world nation? How can a liberation Christology be articulated in the United States? How does this articulation influence our interpretations of Jesus Christ’s life and message? The writings of Volker Kuster, Rosemary Radford Ruether, Josè Ignacio Gonzales-Faus, William Herzog, and Raymond Schwager offer insights into how one might articulate a liberation Christology in the United States today.
Kip Tiernan, a long-time hunger activist in Boston, offers some reflections regarding a North American liberation theology. She writes, “What is needed is a North American Theology of Liberation—a renewed consciousness around the social needs of poor people. A Theology of Liberation for North America would consist of radicalizing the privileged, however, and this would not be easy.” She argues that the United States is increasingly a “third world” country because of the growing gap between rich and poor and violence. Liberation Christology in a United States context requires a preferential option for the marginalized and oppressed in this country and an acknowledgement and reconciliation of the poverty and frustration caused by this country’s wealth and military and economic foreign policy. We must come to understand the context and significance of following Jesus’ liberating praxis in the United States today.
The Significance of Culture and Context
The context of interpretation is central to any understanding of the Christian faith. The cultural, social, political, and economic environment in a certain time and place plays a very important role in determining the significance behind certain actions, beliefs, and messages. First and foremost Jesus’ life must be understood within its own context. Jesus was human on this earth and lived in a specific sociopolitical context that influences how first world people should interpret his message in following Jesus in our own lives. Volker Kuster, author of The Many Faces of Jesus Christ, argues that the process of enculturation is intrinsic to Christian faith. Culture permeates all faith because faith exists in this world, and each part of this world has its sociopolitical and historical context. This leads us to certain questions about Jesus’ message. What was Jesus’ culture? His context? What is culture today? Context today? So, in seeking to develop a liberation Christology in the United States, we must first understand Jesus’ liberating praxis entailed during his life, work, death, and resurrection and then apply that praxis to our lives in a different environment.
This notion of culture, however, makes it difficult to balance truths of the gospel with the relevant social context. There is one extreme line of thought that holds that the truths of the Christian faith must be completely universal, and thus removed from normalized culture. This is dangerous in that all culture might be lost, and the supposed universal truth might suffer with a variety of perspectives to challenge it and maintain it. There is another extreme line of thought that holds that the adoption of contextual cultural values is necessary because Christianity is enacted locally. The danger in this philosophy is that Christian identity may be lost and being a good Christian may become indistinguishable from being a good citizen. Most liberation theologians would put themselves in the conversionist realm, advocating that there is something distinct and profound about being Christian, but Christians should seek to transform their surrounding sociopolitical environment by participating in it and engaging it. Kuster notes, however, “Just as the kernel of a nut is brought to light when the shell is removed, so too the gospel can be extracted from its cultural covering” (Kuster, 21). Essentially, Christ can be revealed in any culture. The goal in developing a liberation Christology in the United States is to reveal the “kernel” of Jesus’ praxis for today in this country.
The Context of Jesus’ Life
Understanding the significance of Jesus’ life, work, death, and resurrection requires an awareness of Jesus’ life and surroundings. First, the significance of Jesus requires an understanding of his context as a Galilean Jew in the first century. Jesus lived as a human in a specific social environment and that environment must be interpreted. Liberation theologians focus “first on the historical Jesus, specifically on his ‘liberating praxis.’ It is these deeds of Jesus that reveal the meaning of his person and message” (Ruether, 20). These deeds are expressions of complete solidarity with the poor and directly entering into the structural social conflict of his time. Along with his deeds, Jesus’ origins from Galilee are essential to an understanding of the significance of his life and work. “God has emptied himself in the cross of Jesus Christ: ‘He established his centrality by going to the periphery’” (Kuster, 125). At that time, Galilee was the home of a number of social and religious outcasts, people who were generally rejected by the Jews. In terms of interpreting scripture, God’s love is demonstrated by the fact that Jesus became human as an outcast. Jesus worked with the outcasts and thus became an outcast. He was a political subversive who challenged the existing social orders and he was murdered on the cross because of it. As Jesus is abandoned on the cross and killed, he understands what it means to be abandoned and can thus identify with those abandoned by society.
Also, the resurrection of Jesus has implications for a scriptural understanding of a preferential option for the poor. According to the gospel of Mark, the risen Jesus appears in Galilee. In Christ the Liberator, Jon Sobrino writes, “Whatever may have happened geographically and historically, Galilee is the place of the poor and the despised. And there, according to Mark, the risen Christ will be found.” (page 14). First, Jesus’ body and soul are resurrected, symbolic of the call for the resurrection of the “bodies” of the crucified of our world. Second, Jesus appears among the poor and despised of his world, demonstrating a preferential option for the poor. Also, the first to see the risen Christ were women, a group that was and is oppressed by society.
Following Jesus in a United States Context
In attempting to understand Jesus’ significance today, we must interpret the context of our social world today. As Jesus lived as a human in a specific context, we too live in our own context in the world. It is possible to practice liberation today. William Herzog, author of Jesus, Justice, and the Reign of God, writes, “We are not faced with a new story altogether, but with a new moment in the same story” (Herzog, 65). In order to understand better how to follow Christ and take down from the cross the crucified of our world today, understanding Christ in our own context is important. Reverend Hartmire passionately describes several people who have attempted to hold on to the memory of Jesus’ resurrection in their own lives. Gandhi, King, Mother Theresa and others found their own way to follow Christ while living in a certain context. “The cross and the resurrection are contextual to a particular historical community. These are breakthrough experiences which found our people, that mediate hope in the midst of adversity for us. But this does not mean that these are the only ways that this may happen, or that other people may not continue parallel struggles on different grounds” (Ruether, 43). Though the contexts and time periods are different, there are ways to engage in liberating praxis in the United States today.
The three essential aspects of Jesus’ liberating praxis are a preferential option for the poor and outcast, solidarity with the marginalized, and an entrance in the structural social conflict of one’s time. “Following Christ basically means to follow his kind of way of life in the concrete contexts of the social conflicts of one’s time” (Ruether, 21). It is important to identify outcast, marginalized, and oppressed of contemporary United States society in order to understand the significance of Jesus’ message today. These outcast, marginalized, and oppressed people include women, people of color, the homeless, people who identify as GLBT, the economically poor, the sick, the mentally disabled, and immigrants. Marginalization takes on almost infinite forms, but people who embody some of these characteristics suffer from widespread discrimination in obvious and subtle ways. These marginalized people are part of a structurally unjust system that is sinful. People are inherently sinful not necessarily because of the original sin of Adam and Eve, but rather because people are born into a situation of conflict with sinful structures. “For liberation theologians sin means not only alienation from God and personal brokenness in life, but also the structural evils of war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation which allow some people to dehumanize others” (Ruether, 19). Unfortunately, war, racism, sexism, and economic exploitation exist in the United States, both internally within our own borders and externally in our foreign military and economic policies.
Spanish theologian Josè Ignacio Gonzalez-Faus identifies three aspects of following Jesus’ message today in the first world by addressing the structural injustices. First, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that Jesus reveals the evil that lies beneath the accepted social norms. In the United States today, this could be manifested through creating systems of education and awareness in our communities about systemic injustices that marginalize our brothers and sisters. Second, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this revelation of injustice is part of the tension that comes with the proclamation of the kingdom. Revealing the debilitating effects of poverty, racism, corporate greed, and other social practices that are anti-fraternity, will be combated by those in power because of its inherent challenge to existing structural norms. Third, Gonzalez-Faus acknowledges that this tension lead to Jesus being judged, outcast, and opposed. So, present-day prophets entering into the social conflicts of our time in support of justice will be opposed by many.
Martin Luther King, Jr., for example, followed Jesus in his own mid-20th century United States context. He called for justice and rallied millions to reveal existing evils, condemn these evils as wrong, and promote human equality by standing with the marginalized. Then, King was assassinated by someone standing in opposition to his calls for justice. Ruether writes, “Lay catechists, nuns, even some bishops join the ranks of the imprisoned, the tortured, the assassinated. It is from this reality that Latin American Christians speak to Christians of the First World, of Europe and the United States, about what it means to hear and preach the good news of God’s preferential option for the poor” (Ruether, 26). As Kip Tiernan notes, it will take the radicalizing of the privileged in the United States to address issues of systemic injustice that keeps society further away from the kingdom of God.
On a more individual level, a liberating praxis involves personal identification with the poor and marginalized. The United States today has structural barriers in place that hinder the development of the human community. One goal of a liberating praxis should be to break down these barriers and build relationships. “Jesus was well received by the common people, villagers, peasants, rural artisans, and the more destitute as well” (Herzog, 59). An example of at least a semblance of the breakdown of social barriers between the privileged and the poor in my personal experience is the time I have spent at Haley House, a soup kitchen in downtown Boston. At Haley House the line between kitchen and dining area is blurred, so often patrons work in the kitchen and help clean up after meals and volunteers and staff eat breakfast and chat with all members of the community. Human connection and identification with the poor and outcast of society is important to understanding the call of Jesus in our current sociopolitical and cultural situation.
Conclusion
Jesus entered into the suffering of the marginalized and oppressed people of his time by standing in solidarity with them and entering into existing social conflicts. We must not only understand Jesus’ message, we must enact it in our own context in the United States today. In his work, Jesus the Liberator, liberation theologian Jon Sobrino poses this thought: “Jesus asked us to follow him and we ended up worshipping him.” It is our call now to follow Jesus in our own communities. “In our present world, when we see a society where a few rich families own almost all the land, where they suppress all protest with guns and tanks, where they manipulate religion and education to justify this exploitation, there we are far from the kingdom. But when we see the vast majority rising up against these evils, overthrowing the police state, beginning to create a new society where the hungry are fed, and the poor are able to participate in the decisions that govern their lives, there the kingdom has come ‘close’” (Ruether, 22). The central tenet of liberation is not theology, but liberation. When doing theology in the United States, we must situate ourselves in the reality of oppression, practicing a theology that is a reflection of a liberating praxis.
Encounters
I could not even tell you the boy’s name now, but my encounter with him in a rural village along the Wild Coast of South Africa is firmly etched in my memory. For the purpose of telling the story, let’s call him Bongisani. Bongisani and I were in a field along the eastern coast of South Africa with the Indian Ocean on one side of us and seemingly endless majestic rolling hills on the other side of us. We were playing soccer with a partially deflated plastic soccer ball, passing or juggling the ball with no specific end in mind other than to kick the ball around with each other.
Though I was delighted at having this chance to meet and play with Bongisani, some of the even heart-wrenching disparities between us were aesthetically apparent. I am a 5’9” white male with red hair who speaks fluent American English as my first language and only conversational Xhosa (the African language in this region of South Africa) as a partial second language. I was wearing a t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts, both of which were probably made in China or southeast Asia, and what I considered an older tattered pair of Air Jordan sneakers which were probably also made in China or southeast Asia. I had a wallet with cash and a debit card in my back pocket and a working cell phone in my front pocket. Bongisani is a 4’3” black South African boy who speaks Xhosa as his first language and only a handful of words in English. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt with holes in both of the armpits and a pair of brown shorts that had a long rip through the crotch. He did not have anything on his feet.
As much as I tried to remain focused on the present moment and just enjoy playing soccer with my new friend, I could not help but to become internally overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and shame. My initial reaction was to feel guilty and ashamed of my wealth and social privilege. In the short term it made my backpacking travels and financial expenses—hostel, food, rental car, clothing—seem frivolous. Thinking outside of that specific context it also made some of my other life experiences, such as an incredibly expensive university education and my travel expenses for a semester in South Africa, seem frivolous as well. My thoughts matured, however, so as not to feel guilty about who I am or where I come from, but to question how I use those privileges. In the longer term, this encounter serves as a poignant moment that I can reflect on—in thought and action—regarding the ethical implications of how I spend money and how I choose to dedicate my life to service.
The playful encounter simultaneously managed to tear down the barriers separating us and to illuminate the tremendous barriers that will always separate us. Even my semi-intellectual engagement of this experience in my head is driving a wedge between our already disparate identities. In one sense, the simple desire to play soccer brought Bongisani and I together. On paper, our differences were almost infinite, but in reality, we both enjoyed kicking a soccer ball around and running through the fields. This very specific and small interaction still gives me hope that despite the greatest barriers between our humanity, there are common values capable of bringing people together on a very concrete, personal level. In another sense, however, this interaction served to highlight the immense differences—some of which are locational and cultural, others of which are indicative of inequality, privilege, and oppression—between the circumstances and identity of Bongisani and myself. My feelings of guilt and shame and my acknowledgement of the frivolity of many of my experiences in the midst of poverty and racial and economic injustice in South Africa could potentially be debilitating. In acknowledging that I can not change where I come from or that specific experience, however, I can appreciate that encounter as one that has raised my consciousness. It reminds me of the importance of using my privilege—perhaps by breaking it down—for a just cause and of finding common ground with any person I encounter in my life.
This experience alone does not speak to my entire motivation to do service, but it does capture many of the joys and struggles I have experienced through service. For me, I feel the most intense connection to something bigger than myself when I am challenged and when I form meaningful relationships through service. To be challenged is to be forced to grapple with common conceptions, ideals, and morals and to have questions about life raised that do not necessarily have clear answers. Essentially, I feel most alive in the midst of service. My encounter with Bongisani, though maybe not even service, highlights two dualities of service. The first duality is between joy and struggle. In my experience, a commitment to service, whether with friends or neighbors or people who are homeless or people far away, presents the joy of relationships and conversation and community, but also presents the struggle that comes with the spiritual, social, and economic injustice that affects so many people. Bongisani and I were both enjoying a game of soccer with each other, but I think we both realized, perhaps in very different ways, the unjust disparity that exists between our lives. The second duality is between interpersonal relationships and structural despair. I am drawn to direct service because of the power of relationships and community. I firmly believe that no injustice and no despair can be healed without the presence of community. But I also acknowledge that there are very powerful systems of politics and economics that create disparity and suffering. Acknowledging the power of presence, I was incredibly moved by my encounter with Bongisani, but I understand that a history of racial and economic disparity in South Africa has been instrumental in dictating his life experience whether or not he knows it.
Though I was delighted at having this chance to meet and play with Bongisani, some of the even heart-wrenching disparities between us were aesthetically apparent. I am a 5’9” white male with red hair who speaks fluent American English as my first language and only conversational Xhosa (the African language in this region of South Africa) as a partial second language. I was wearing a t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts, both of which were probably made in China or southeast Asia, and what I considered an older tattered pair of Air Jordan sneakers which were probably also made in China or southeast Asia. I had a wallet with cash and a debit card in my back pocket and a working cell phone in my front pocket. Bongisani is a 4’3” black South African boy who speaks Xhosa as his first language and only a handful of words in English. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt with holes in both of the armpits and a pair of brown shorts that had a long rip through the crotch. He did not have anything on his feet.
As much as I tried to remain focused on the present moment and just enjoy playing soccer with my new friend, I could not help but to become internally overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and shame. My initial reaction was to feel guilty and ashamed of my wealth and social privilege. In the short term it made my backpacking travels and financial expenses—hostel, food, rental car, clothing—seem frivolous. Thinking outside of that specific context it also made some of my other life experiences, such as an incredibly expensive university education and my travel expenses for a semester in South Africa, seem frivolous as well. My thoughts matured, however, so as not to feel guilty about who I am or where I come from, but to question how I use those privileges. In the longer term, this encounter serves as a poignant moment that I can reflect on—in thought and action—regarding the ethical implications of how I spend money and how I choose to dedicate my life to service.
The playful encounter simultaneously managed to tear down the barriers separating us and to illuminate the tremendous barriers that will always separate us. Even my semi-intellectual engagement of this experience in my head is driving a wedge between our already disparate identities. In one sense, the simple desire to play soccer brought Bongisani and I together. On paper, our differences were almost infinite, but in reality, we both enjoyed kicking a soccer ball around and running through the fields. This very specific and small interaction still gives me hope that despite the greatest barriers between our humanity, there are common values capable of bringing people together on a very concrete, personal level. In another sense, however, this interaction served to highlight the immense differences—some of which are locational and cultural, others of which are indicative of inequality, privilege, and oppression—between the circumstances and identity of Bongisani and myself. My feelings of guilt and shame and my acknowledgement of the frivolity of many of my experiences in the midst of poverty and racial and economic injustice in South Africa could potentially be debilitating. In acknowledging that I can not change where I come from or that specific experience, however, I can appreciate that encounter as one that has raised my consciousness. It reminds me of the importance of using my privilege—perhaps by breaking it down—for a just cause and of finding common ground with any person I encounter in my life.
This experience alone does not speak to my entire motivation to do service, but it does capture many of the joys and struggles I have experienced through service. For me, I feel the most intense connection to something bigger than myself when I am challenged and when I form meaningful relationships through service. To be challenged is to be forced to grapple with common conceptions, ideals, and morals and to have questions about life raised that do not necessarily have clear answers. Essentially, I feel most alive in the midst of service. My encounter with Bongisani, though maybe not even service, highlights two dualities of service. The first duality is between joy and struggle. In my experience, a commitment to service, whether with friends or neighbors or people who are homeless or people far away, presents the joy of relationships and conversation and community, but also presents the struggle that comes with the spiritual, social, and economic injustice that affects so many people. Bongisani and I were both enjoying a game of soccer with each other, but I think we both realized, perhaps in very different ways, the unjust disparity that exists between our lives. The second duality is between interpersonal relationships and structural despair. I am drawn to direct service because of the power of relationships and community. I firmly believe that no injustice and no despair can be healed without the presence of community. But I also acknowledge that there are very powerful systems of politics and economics that create disparity and suffering. Acknowledging the power of presence, I was incredibly moved by my encounter with Bongisani, but I understand that a history of racial and economic disparity in South Africa has been instrumental in dictating his life experience whether or not he knows it.
Class: Ethnomusicology
Music as Expression
By 1970, the apartheid regime had been in place for over 20 years. There had been forced removals, continued economic exploitation, development of townships, and legal segregation. At this point, different musical styles and protest songs had been used in the course of the anti-apartheid political struggle and township life. Not all music necessarily had a specific identification with politics. Very often the music that developed during this period was not sung with a specific message to challenge political structure, but simply to express the musical part of a culture and to appreciate and embrace a person’s identity. One of the most oppressive and disheartening effects of the policies under the apartheid regime in South Africa was the dismantling of identity. Government officials, police, and the overall socioeconomic structure stripped away the identity of Africans, Coloureds, and Indians through forced removals, cultural dominance, and economic exploitation. Whiteness, in all its complexities, was deemed normal, appropriate, and desirable, while anything besides that was deemed less valuable and secondary. Despite so many restrictions on the lifestyle and livelihood of so many people, song served as an expression of identity that could not be eliminated. The identity expressed through music also came in the form of affirmation of a black identity. In the midst of spiritual and material suffering that tarnished ‘blackness,’ people would use songs to celebrate their identity. During the student protests of the mid-1970s in Soweto, an iconic song of the time had the simple and powerful lyrics, “You are strong. You are black. You are beautiful” (Amandla! 2002) The song was directed at the students involved in the youth movement affirming their identity and the validity of the cause they were fighting for.
Music, whether it was directly political or not, was an influential part of peoples’ lives during the struggle. Often unintentionally, music by itself could be resistance to the regime. One musician interviewed in the film Amandla! says, “How do you stop people from singing? They tried everything, but how do you stop people from singing” (Amandla! 2002). This sentiment was echoed in conversation by Grace Ngcete, a lifetime Grahamstown resident, member of the National Organization for Women, and manager of Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown. “They [whites] stayed on their side of town, we [blacks] stayed on our side of town. That’s how it worked,” she said very bluntly. “Maybe we didn’t always have much, but we could sing. Maybe not in public all of the time, but sure, in church, in our homes, in the township.” Grace acknowledged that certain songs in certain parts of town could get her arrested, but singing in general could not be stopped. Though it may not have always been specifically oriented towards the politics of the day, singing for Grace and others could be a rejection of limitations. Joseph Madolo, a current Grahamstown resident, self-ascribed singer and performer, and member at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown, finds inspiration in song no matter the time of day or depth of struggle or physical environment. “Yes, man! Ukucula! [Xhosa word for “to sing”] To sing! What a good song, man. It is very good to sing. It’s what I love to do. Sing. I won’t be stopped from doing what I love.” Mr. Madolo then broke out into an improvisational tune, half in English and half in Xhosa. Song, no matter the magnitude of its politicisation carried a powerful message of celebration and affirmation.
By 1970, the apartheid regime had been in place for over 20 years. There had been forced removals, continued economic exploitation, development of townships, and legal segregation. At this point, different musical styles and protest songs had been used in the course of the anti-apartheid political struggle and township life. Not all music necessarily had a specific identification with politics. Very often the music that developed during this period was not sung with a specific message to challenge political structure, but simply to express the musical part of a culture and to appreciate and embrace a person’s identity. One of the most oppressive and disheartening effects of the policies under the apartheid regime in South Africa was the dismantling of identity. Government officials, police, and the overall socioeconomic structure stripped away the identity of Africans, Coloureds, and Indians through forced removals, cultural dominance, and economic exploitation. Whiteness, in all its complexities, was deemed normal, appropriate, and desirable, while anything besides that was deemed less valuable and secondary. Despite so many restrictions on the lifestyle and livelihood of so many people, song served as an expression of identity that could not be eliminated. The identity expressed through music also came in the form of affirmation of a black identity. In the midst of spiritual and material suffering that tarnished ‘blackness,’ people would use songs to celebrate their identity. During the student protests of the mid-1970s in Soweto, an iconic song of the time had the simple and powerful lyrics, “You are strong. You are black. You are beautiful” (Amandla! 2002) The song was directed at the students involved in the youth movement affirming their identity and the validity of the cause they were fighting for.
Music, whether it was directly political or not, was an influential part of peoples’ lives during the struggle. Often unintentionally, music by itself could be resistance to the regime. One musician interviewed in the film Amandla! says, “How do you stop people from singing? They tried everything, but how do you stop people from singing” (Amandla! 2002). This sentiment was echoed in conversation by Grace Ngcete, a lifetime Grahamstown resident, member of the National Organization for Women, and manager of Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown. “They [whites] stayed on their side of town, we [blacks] stayed on our side of town. That’s how it worked,” she said very bluntly. “Maybe we didn’t always have much, but we could sing. Maybe not in public all of the time, but sure, in church, in our homes, in the township.” Grace acknowledged that certain songs in certain parts of town could get her arrested, but singing in general could not be stopped. Though it may not have always been specifically oriented towards the politics of the day, singing for Grace and others could be a rejection of limitations. Joseph Madolo, a current Grahamstown resident, self-ascribed singer and performer, and member at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in Grahamstown, finds inspiration in song no matter the time of day or depth of struggle or physical environment. “Yes, man! Ukucula! [Xhosa word for “to sing”] To sing! What a good song, man. It is very good to sing. It’s what I love to do. Sing. I won’t be stopped from doing what I love.” Mr. Madolo then broke out into an improvisational tune, half in English and half in Xhosa. Song, no matter the magnitude of its politicisation carried a powerful message of celebration and affirmation.
Language in South Africa
Language in South Africa - Xhosa
11 Official Languages (in order of highest number of mother-tongue speakers): Zulu, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Tswana, North Sotho, English, South Sotho, Tsonga, siSwati, Ndebele, Venda
Xhosa is the indigenous language of the Xhosa people of the Eastern Cape province of South Africa and is the mother-tongue of approximately 7 million people in the country. It is mutually intelligible with Zulu.
I’m currently taking the introductory level Xhosa course at Rhodes. I’m also trying to pick up a little bit in town and up at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in the Joza township in Grahamstown. Fluency is way out of reach for my time here, but I’m working at it a little bit.
Greetings and whatnot:
Molo bhuti/sisi!
Hello brother/sister!
Molo mama/tata!
Hello mother/father!
Unjani?
How are you?
Ndiphilile
I am fine
Molo hlobo wam!
Hello my friend!
Ungubani igama lakho?
What is your name?
Igama lam nguJeremy
My name is Jeremy
Enkosi
Thank you
Uthando
Love
Uxolo
Peace
Ethembeni
Hope
11 Official Languages (in order of highest number of mother-tongue speakers): Zulu, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Tswana, North Sotho, English, South Sotho, Tsonga, siSwati, Ndebele, Venda
Xhosa is the indigenous language of the Xhosa people of the Eastern Cape province of South Africa and is the mother-tongue of approximately 7 million people in the country. It is mutually intelligible with Zulu.
I’m currently taking the introductory level Xhosa course at Rhodes. I’m also trying to pick up a little bit in town and up at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre in the Joza township in Grahamstown. Fluency is way out of reach for my time here, but I’m working at it a little bit.
Greetings and whatnot:
Molo bhuti/sisi!
Hello brother/sister!
Molo mama/tata!
Hello mother/father!
Unjani?
How are you?
Ndiphilile
I am fine
Molo hlobo wam!
Hello my friend!
Ungubani igama lakho?
What is your name?
Igama lam nguJeremy
My name is Jeremy
Enkosi
Thank you
Uthando
Love
Uxolo
Peace
Ethembeni
Hope
Personal Profile - Thandeka
In the course of our daily lives, we are not necessarily explicitly aware of the actions of strangers around us. Not only do we not necessarily observe specifics about a person’s mannerisms or clothing, we do not observe the actions of strangers for an extended period of time. For an exercise in participant-observation, one of the central components of fieldwork in anthropological study, I approached someone that I did not know and observed their actions over the course of a couple hours. My process for finding someone that I did not know was not totally random, as I picked a specific location in Joza that I am familiar with. I approached a woman that I did not know at Ethembeni Senior Service Centre. For this exercise, I will refer to her as Thandeka. Thandeka is a member at Ethembeni, which is a day centre for elderly people in the Joza township in Grahamstown. The biggest challenge in this exercise was the language barrier. My first language is English and I have only a limited proficiency in isiXhosa, while Thandeka’s first language is isiXhosa and she has only a limited proficiency in English. Though in some ways this was a barrier to conversation and interaction, it also forced me to be keenly aware of Thandeka’s mannerisms, movements, and interactions with other people at the centre.
Thandeka is a 70 year-old Xhosa woman who has lived in Grahamstown her entire life. She is the youngest member of the centre, which serves as a day home for approximately 30 people Monday through Friday each week. Though this is a very specific environment in which I observed Thandeka, it is a major part of her daily routine as she spends five hours a day for five days a week at the centre. Thandeka also does not have full use of her right hand and walks with a limp as a result of a physical disability.
On the day that I observed Thandeka, she was wearing a baggy beige jersey and long brown skirt. She also had a brown fabric head covering and plain black sneakers. I first began observing Thandeka while she was playing a card game with several other members from the centre. She held the cards in her disabled right hand out of the view of any sneaky adjacent card-players, and when it was her turn played the cards with her left hand. There is a consistent low level of chatter in isiXhosa amongst the card-players throughout the games. During the first game, which lasted about ten minutes, Thandeka mostly kept to herself, but took part in friendly banter during the second game. Though I was not able to pick up exactly what was being said, I gathered that the conversation was lighthearted and friendly. After the first two games I was invited to play along with everybody else. The game was reasonably simple to follow, quickly-paced, and relied more on the luck of the draw than on experience and skill. The card game, whose name I was not able to get, is played every morning during the week as part of Thandeka’s and other members’ daily routine and social interaction.
The card playing ended just before the start of the lunchtime prayer that precedes the midday meal at the centre. Thandeka took her place sitting at a bench along the wall on the right side of the centre with all of the other female members. The men sat around two tables on the other side of the room, still near to the women as the only function room at the centre is not very big. The prayer lasted for ten minutes and included song, chant, and spoken prayer in isiXhosa by one of the members in between songs. During lunch, Thandeka sat at a table with two other women near the kitchen at the back of the function room. At this point, after a couple hours of observation, I had to leave the centre, but was able to gather a few more details about Thandeka’s daily routine at the centre. Very often after lunch, Thandeka will do beadwork and sewing with a couple of other female members of the centre. Despite her physical disability, she is able to put together beautiful quilt work, stuffed teddy bears, and beaded jewelry. Thandeka also said she often spends time sitting and chatting with other members outside in front of the centre on more pleasant days. A mini-bus taxi takes Thandeka and other members to their homes in the township a little while after two in the afternoon each day when the centre closes. Thandeka was very welcoming and friendly towards me, and despite our language barrier, I was able to participate in and observe a number of her daily activities.
Thandeka is a 70 year-old Xhosa woman who has lived in Grahamstown her entire life. She is the youngest member of the centre, which serves as a day home for approximately 30 people Monday through Friday each week. Though this is a very specific environment in which I observed Thandeka, it is a major part of her daily routine as she spends five hours a day for five days a week at the centre. Thandeka also does not have full use of her right hand and walks with a limp as a result of a physical disability.
On the day that I observed Thandeka, she was wearing a baggy beige jersey and long brown skirt. She also had a brown fabric head covering and plain black sneakers. I first began observing Thandeka while she was playing a card game with several other members from the centre. She held the cards in her disabled right hand out of the view of any sneaky adjacent card-players, and when it was her turn played the cards with her left hand. There is a consistent low level of chatter in isiXhosa amongst the card-players throughout the games. During the first game, which lasted about ten minutes, Thandeka mostly kept to herself, but took part in friendly banter during the second game. Though I was not able to pick up exactly what was being said, I gathered that the conversation was lighthearted and friendly. After the first two games I was invited to play along with everybody else. The game was reasonably simple to follow, quickly-paced, and relied more on the luck of the draw than on experience and skill. The card game, whose name I was not able to get, is played every morning during the week as part of Thandeka’s and other members’ daily routine and social interaction.
The card playing ended just before the start of the lunchtime prayer that precedes the midday meal at the centre. Thandeka took her place sitting at a bench along the wall on the right side of the centre with all of the other female members. The men sat around two tables on the other side of the room, still near to the women as the only function room at the centre is not very big. The prayer lasted for ten minutes and included song, chant, and spoken prayer in isiXhosa by one of the members in between songs. During lunch, Thandeka sat at a table with two other women near the kitchen at the back of the function room. At this point, after a couple hours of observation, I had to leave the centre, but was able to gather a few more details about Thandeka’s daily routine at the centre. Very often after lunch, Thandeka will do beadwork and sewing with a couple of other female members of the centre. Despite her physical disability, she is able to put together beautiful quilt work, stuffed teddy bears, and beaded jewelry. Thandeka also said she often spends time sitting and chatting with other members outside in front of the centre on more pleasant days. A mini-bus taxi takes Thandeka and other members to their homes in the township a little while after two in the afternoon each day when the centre closes. Thandeka was very welcoming and friendly towards me, and despite our language barrier, I was able to participate in and observe a number of her daily activities.
Class: Anthropology Fieldwork
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre
Joza, Grahamstown, South Africa
The Physical Environment
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is located in the Joza area of the township around Grahamstown, South Africa. I hop off the mini-bus right next to the Joza Petrol Station and look across the street to Ethembeni, my home for two days a week. A six-foot high concrete wall, painted an almost orange beige color, encloses a small open area. The wall does provide a certain amount of security and privacy, but its bright color and lack of razor sharp edges along the top make it less intimidating. A gap in the wall is filled with a white painted metal gate. While the centre is open the gate remains unlocked. I step through the gate and see the small open space enclosed by the exterior wall. There is a brick patio that includes two wood benches placed against the inside of the exterior walls. The bricks are a variety of bright shades of red, orange, yellow, and everything in between. Next to the brick patio is a patch of green grass with two sapling trees beginning to grow in the middle. At the far end of the patch of grass are a few sections of dirt designated for gardening. There are carrots, tomatoes, heads of lettuce, and onions in their early stages of growth coming out of the dirt. The garden is not very tidy, as dirt spills over the edges and weeds litter the garden patches.
The main building itself is a small one-level square-shaped concrete building painted the same color as the exterior wall. Right beneath the peak edge of the triangular roof is a brown sign with white lettering announcing to visitors that they are about to enter “Ethembeni Service Centre.” The two large rectangular windows on the front side of the building by the entrance are covered on the outside but a white metal gate so as to prevent unwanted intruders from breaking the windows. The white, orange, and brown pattern curtains just inside the windows are closed. The white gate on the exterior of the main entrance door to the building is held wide open by a rock. The door itself is brown wood with a silver-colored metal handle. The wooden is also held open on the interior of the building by a rock.
The interior of the building is divided into four sections with most of the area being taken up by the main social area. In the back of the building there is a narrow kitchen and a bathroom. In the front left of the building, immediately to my left as I walk in, is a small office for Grace Ngcete, the woman who runs the Centre. The main social area has grey tiled vinyl flooring with five rectangular folding tables with white table covers and black plastic chairs arranged around them. On the walls there are windows running along each side of the building, several collections of pictures from past landmark events at the centre, and two cork bulletin boards with news articles, information on medical care and tuberculosis, and calendars. Just based on the physical environment the Centre is very clearly a simple and small place. Though the pictures on the walls do speak to some of the character of the Centre, the physical environment in no way tells the story of the interactions, relationships, and lives of its members.
The Place and the People
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is a day centre for elderly township Grahamstonians. The people pay 15 rand per month for membership at the centre. The practical services offered by the Centre include two meals a day—breakfast and lunch—for Monday through Friday during the week, transportation to and from the Centre for those who need it, and in certain cases extra help organizing medications and pills. The more spiritual services include community, friendship, interaction with other elderly people, and a welcoming and relaxing place to stay during the day. The Centre is run by Grace Ngcete, a 65 year-old lifetime Grahamstonian, who is compassionate, engaging, and loving in all that she does at the Centre. She does not have 35 “members” at the centre, but rather, she has 35 friends there. Also, Connie, a boisterous woman with a big laugh, runs the kitchen with a little bit of help from a few local older women. About 2/3 of the regular members of the Centre are women. And then there is me. A 20-year old white male from the United States who spends Mondays and Fridays at the Centre as a guest and friend.
Though each day is different in small ways I will attempt to capture the atmosphere of the Centre through a description of everything going on at one moment. At the table furthest to the left, seven people are gathered around a table playing cards. People are chatting and laughing as they play. At two separate tables right of center in the main social area, several women work on knitting and beadwork mostly in silence. Two women are laying down along built in bench style seating against the right wall. Four women, including Connie, stand in the kitchen cooking, washing, dishes, and talking with much enthusiasm. Grace is at another table left of center, clipping an older man’s fingernails and carrying on three conversations at once with various people at the Centre. Mr. Madolo, an 82 year-old regular at the Centre is standing in the doorway singing and improvising songs, half in Xhosa, half in English. Several women sit quietly outside on the benches on the brick patio in the shade. Several men and women are sitting in plastic chairs outside at the right edge of the building at the end of the vegetable garden smoking cigarettes and chatting. Most of the men are dressed in slacks, some shabby, some newer looking, and a button-down shirt. Most of the women are wearing full covering dresses and sweater blouses and hats with a variety of colors and patterns. There is a reasonably consistent level of noise and chatter with the occasional interjection of a boisterous laugh from the kitchen or the card table, or a bellow from the full voice of Mr. Madolo.
Conclusion
Generally during our daily interactions and activities we do not have a heightened sense of awareness in regards to specific details about anything from the sounds of birds to the color of someone’s clothing. In order to truly appreciate and articulate the dynamic atmosphere of an environment, we must heighten our awareness to very specific details about the people we see, the colors of buildings and structures, the collection of sounds we hear, and the ways in which people interact with one another. These observations are valuable not only for trying to describe a certain environment or group of people, but also to understand better issues of socioeconomic status, race, class, gender, language, religion, and other social structures affecting society. This exercise in field work is a reminder that an explicit state of awareness is necessary to make the best attempt at describing a particular environment. It is also a reminder that being specifically observant in the course of our daily actions, whether in field work or not, is a valuable practice to understanding our community and identity.
Joza, Grahamstown, South Africa
The Physical Environment
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is located in the Joza area of the township around Grahamstown, South Africa. I hop off the mini-bus right next to the Joza Petrol Station and look across the street to Ethembeni, my home for two days a week. A six-foot high concrete wall, painted an almost orange beige color, encloses a small open area. The wall does provide a certain amount of security and privacy, but its bright color and lack of razor sharp edges along the top make it less intimidating. A gap in the wall is filled with a white painted metal gate. While the centre is open the gate remains unlocked. I step through the gate and see the small open space enclosed by the exterior wall. There is a brick patio that includes two wood benches placed against the inside of the exterior walls. The bricks are a variety of bright shades of red, orange, yellow, and everything in between. Next to the brick patio is a patch of green grass with two sapling trees beginning to grow in the middle. At the far end of the patch of grass are a few sections of dirt designated for gardening. There are carrots, tomatoes, heads of lettuce, and onions in their early stages of growth coming out of the dirt. The garden is not very tidy, as dirt spills over the edges and weeds litter the garden patches.
The main building itself is a small one-level square-shaped concrete building painted the same color as the exterior wall. Right beneath the peak edge of the triangular roof is a brown sign with white lettering announcing to visitors that they are about to enter “Ethembeni Service Centre.” The two large rectangular windows on the front side of the building by the entrance are covered on the outside but a white metal gate so as to prevent unwanted intruders from breaking the windows. The white, orange, and brown pattern curtains just inside the windows are closed. The white gate on the exterior of the main entrance door to the building is held wide open by a rock. The door itself is brown wood with a silver-colored metal handle. The wooden is also held open on the interior of the building by a rock.
The interior of the building is divided into four sections with most of the area being taken up by the main social area. In the back of the building there is a narrow kitchen and a bathroom. In the front left of the building, immediately to my left as I walk in, is a small office for Grace Ngcete, the woman who runs the Centre. The main social area has grey tiled vinyl flooring with five rectangular folding tables with white table covers and black plastic chairs arranged around them. On the walls there are windows running along each side of the building, several collections of pictures from past landmark events at the centre, and two cork bulletin boards with news articles, information on medical care and tuberculosis, and calendars. Just based on the physical environment the Centre is very clearly a simple and small place. Though the pictures on the walls do speak to some of the character of the Centre, the physical environment in no way tells the story of the interactions, relationships, and lives of its members.
The Place and the People
Ethembeni Senior Service Centre is a day centre for elderly township Grahamstonians. The people pay 15 rand per month for membership at the centre. The practical services offered by the Centre include two meals a day—breakfast and lunch—for Monday through Friday during the week, transportation to and from the Centre for those who need it, and in certain cases extra help organizing medications and pills. The more spiritual services include community, friendship, interaction with other elderly people, and a welcoming and relaxing place to stay during the day. The Centre is run by Grace Ngcete, a 65 year-old lifetime Grahamstonian, who is compassionate, engaging, and loving in all that she does at the Centre. She does not have 35 “members” at the centre, but rather, she has 35 friends there. Also, Connie, a boisterous woman with a big laugh, runs the kitchen with a little bit of help from a few local older women. About 2/3 of the regular members of the Centre are women. And then there is me. A 20-year old white male from the United States who spends Mondays and Fridays at the Centre as a guest and friend.
Though each day is different in small ways I will attempt to capture the atmosphere of the Centre through a description of everything going on at one moment. At the table furthest to the left, seven people are gathered around a table playing cards. People are chatting and laughing as they play. At two separate tables right of center in the main social area, several women work on knitting and beadwork mostly in silence. Two women are laying down along built in bench style seating against the right wall. Four women, including Connie, stand in the kitchen cooking, washing, dishes, and talking with much enthusiasm. Grace is at another table left of center, clipping an older man’s fingernails and carrying on three conversations at once with various people at the Centre. Mr. Madolo, an 82 year-old regular at the Centre is standing in the doorway singing and improvising songs, half in Xhosa, half in English. Several women sit quietly outside on the benches on the brick patio in the shade. Several men and women are sitting in plastic chairs outside at the right edge of the building at the end of the vegetable garden smoking cigarettes and chatting. Most of the men are dressed in slacks, some shabby, some newer looking, and a button-down shirt. Most of the women are wearing full covering dresses and sweater blouses and hats with a variety of colors and patterns. There is a reasonably consistent level of noise and chatter with the occasional interjection of a boisterous laugh from the kitchen or the card table, or a bellow from the full voice of Mr. Madolo.
Conclusion
Generally during our daily interactions and activities we do not have a heightened sense of awareness in regards to specific details about anything from the sounds of birds to the color of someone’s clothing. In order to truly appreciate and articulate the dynamic atmosphere of an environment, we must heighten our awareness to very specific details about the people we see, the colors of buildings and structures, the collection of sounds we hear, and the ways in which people interact with one another. These observations are valuable not only for trying to describe a certain environment or group of people, but also to understand better issues of socioeconomic status, race, class, gender, language, religion, and other social structures affecting society. This exercise in field work is a reminder that an explicit state of awareness is necessary to make the best attempt at describing a particular environment. It is also a reminder that being specifically observant in the course of our daily actions, whether in field work or not, is a valuable practice to understanding our community and identity.
23 December, 2008
South African Conclusion
Two of the most meaningful communities in my time in South Africa have been Ethembeni Senior Service Centre and the After-School Program at the monastery. I have written about both several times before but the updates and reflections continue. I really came to like the guys I worked with at the after-school program. The Brown Bread Boys, as we dubbed the group, included Bongisani, Nyongayethu, Thembalani, Buzwe, as well as Matt (the regular teacher) and myself. Though there was the obvious teacher-student relationship in many ways, it was really a cool group and we were able to break many of the barriers that often come with that teacher-student relationship. From joking around with eachother to going horse riding at a local farm to doing homework to painting rocks, we had a good time. The kids are in a really loving and supportive environment (supported by the teachers and the Brothers at the monastery and themselves). I’ll miss them a lot, even if they give me their sass a lot of the time.
Over the month of June I spent 3 or 4 days a week at the senior centre in Joza. I know I’ve said it before, but that place is my South African family in so many ways. I could never fully articulate what all of the meaningful, awkward, educational, or funny experiences here meant to me and the community there, so I’m not really going to try. On my last day we had a whole lot of fanfare with an special lunch, gifts, lots of singing, and some very moving offerings of thanks and blessings. And yes, I cried a lot on my last day throughout the goodbyes. Somehow, I managed to find a home in a South African township, whether it was the oldies at the centre, the crowded mini-bus drivers that I befriended, or the preschool kids who occasionally shouted “Umlungu!” (white person) at me as I walked past them every day.
And now here I am, sitting at the airport preparing to fly home after 5 months here in the RSA. I am very excited for Bryan’s wedding, seeing my family and some friends, and finally getting to spend some time with Danielle. At the same time, I really want to be in South Africa. This country and its people have really sunk their teeth into me. With all the beauty and all the crap, I want to be a part of it. At the closing performance we had with the after-school program, one of the Brothers had this to say to Me, Matt, and Sarah (all from the US). ‘If you stay in Africa long enough to take off your shoes and touch the ground with your bare feet, the roots have already taken a firm hold in the ground.’ I don’t know how deep my roots are yet, but I know my feet aren’t coming up that easily.
Over the month of June I spent 3 or 4 days a week at the senior centre in Joza. I know I’ve said it before, but that place is my South African family in so many ways. I could never fully articulate what all of the meaningful, awkward, educational, or funny experiences here meant to me and the community there, so I’m not really going to try. On my last day we had a whole lot of fanfare with an special lunch, gifts, lots of singing, and some very moving offerings of thanks and blessings. And yes, I cried a lot on my last day throughout the goodbyes. Somehow, I managed to find a home in a South African township, whether it was the oldies at the centre, the crowded mini-bus drivers that I befriended, or the preschool kids who occasionally shouted “Umlungu!” (white person) at me as I walked past them every day.
And now here I am, sitting at the airport preparing to fly home after 5 months here in the RSA. I am very excited for Bryan’s wedding, seeing my family and some friends, and finally getting to spend some time with Danielle. At the same time, I really want to be in South Africa. This country and its people have really sunk their teeth into me. With all the beauty and all the crap, I want to be a part of it. At the closing performance we had with the after-school program, one of the Brothers had this to say to Me, Matt, and Sarah (all from the US). ‘If you stay in Africa long enough to take off your shoes and touch the ground with your bare feet, the roots have already taken a firm hold in the ground.’ I don’t know how deep my roots are yet, but I know my feet aren’t coming up that easily.
Friends
My updates and reflections have not been nearly as detailed or frequent over the past month or so but the time has certainly been packed with experiences that were uplifting, heartbreaking, exciting, fun, challenging, and interesting. The month of June consisted of final exams, an adventure to Hogsback, much time at Ethembeni and the After-School Program, goodbyes, time with friends, and many interesting conversations and encounters with a very wide range of people.
Exams went over without a hitch. Right after my last exam I went on a three day weekend trip to Hogsback with a group of 5 other South African friends. It was an absolutely AMAZING weekend! We stayed with a friend, Helen, in two clay huts across from a farm in the middle of the woods in Hogsback. There were great conversations, many laughs, fantastic hikes, camp fires, singing, and encounters with some local kids who came along for our hikes. The free time of the exam and post-exam period allowed for much time spent at Ethembeni and the After-School Program (see next entry for more details). The past couple weeks has also been a steady stream of goodbyes to a wide range of people, from guys in res, to other US exchange student friends, to other local friends, to Ethembeni and the after-school program, to local street kids I had befriended. Goodbyes really suck. A lot. Anyway…I also had many opportunities for the exploration of Grahamstown and further connection with the community. I had thought about planning a cool trip for right after exams, but besides the fact that I am no good at logistical planning for that sort of thing, I really wanted to spend more time with local community. Though it may seem like a small and sleepy place on paper, the greater Grahamstown community has many interesting experiences to offer. One of the more moving parts of this for me was getting to know a number of the local street kids who are often in town hanging out or begging. Some are sincerely hungry and just honestly trying to put some food in their stomachs, some hang out in town because it’s what their friends do, some are trying to get enough money to buy their next fix. I definitely met some interesting kids. Though incredibly obvious issues of disparity and also suffering come up, I very much enjoyed establishing to at least a small degree a mutual friendship with these kids. The last 10 days of my time in South Africa I stayed with friends at their off-campus home. The six girls I stayed with have really become some of my closest South African friends and I have been incredibly blessed to have adventures with them, laugh with them, and talk about faith and justice and all that jazz.
Bread
Something I have come to realize in my time in South Africa is the importance of bread on so many levels. It can be important on a very small scale in that some people’s day to day existence is largely dictated by the pursuit of bread or any substantive food in general (though the scale of importance of bread in this case is huge to the people who pursue it). In my own personal experience, from eating bread and toast in the dining hall every day on campus to eating just bread as meals while traveling, bread in and of itself has taken on greater value. I suppose I always took bread for granted and generally associated it with sandwiches or with rolls before dinner out at a restaurant. Also, my own constant encounters with ‘beggars’ and people who were hungry (children and adults alike) made me more keenly aware of the value and necessity of bread. Very often people would ask for a few Rand (South Africa currency) to buy some bread or the bread itself. Often I would go into a store with someone I had met on the street or someone I knew from various conversations on the street and buy some bread. Whether or not this is the best immediate response to encounters with hunger I am still not sure. There were also many instances of my own avoidance or denial of people who claimed to be seeking only bread. The issue is also much more complex regarding issues concerning substance abuse, conflict, as well as more structural issues of hunger and poverty. The symbolism of bread also extends to the global scale in light of the recent sharp price increase in staple food items like bread. This has a direct impact on the daily survival of so many people around the world, including those in and around Grahamstown who seek bread for their daily survival. I guess bread is little more than something to make a sandwich out of or hold your appetite while waiting for a restaurant meal.
Beautifully F****d Up
My Anthropology professor described South Africa as “beautifully fucked up.” I think that’s a pretty good way to sum it up. There is an incredible amount of beauty and diversity and community activism and cool people. At the same time there is a lot of conflict and suffering and things that are not so beautiful (note: see news on recent Xenophobic and economic violence and the thousands of people displaced). I’ve been pretty blessed to experience some aspects of both of these sides of South Africa first-hand.
I’ve been spending more and more time up at Ethembeni in Joza in the township around Grahamstown. I know I write/talk about it all the time, but the place is SO formative for my entire South African experience. I was talking to Connie (aka Nobantu), the woman who is one of my ‘mamas’ and runs the kitchen, about what Grahamstown was like during Apartheid. For some reason, I would like to think that little old Grahamstown would be more peaceable that other places in South Africa during that time, but I guess I was wrong. Connie said that kids from a secondary school near her home would run to her house and change clothes quickly to avoid being harassed by the police. Connie would cover for them and tell the police that there weren’t any school kids around there and that they should stop bothering her. I’ve also talked with Grace about activism and apartheid and whatnot a bunch of times. One really striking thing she said to me: “We would sing and sing for hours. In big crowds of people all around town. I’d come home afterwards and my husband would say ‘Ya know, some day you’re going to get arrested and not come home after that.’ I told him it didn’t matter. We were fighting for freedom.” It is amazing to really know people who were involved so intimately in that history of South Africa. Since all of that apartheid nonsense, some things have obviously changed for the better. But at the same time, unemployment, increasing economic inequality, some corruption and inefficiency in government, and HIV/AIDS are creating a whole host of problems even since 1994 when apartheid ended and Mandela was elected. Oh yeah, and a side note on Mandela…his first name is not ‘Nelson,’ it’s ‘Rolihlahla.’ The name ‘Nelson’ was given to him by an English school teacher who probably couldn’t pronounce his real name.
I’ve become further distraught and confused over the ‘issue’ of street kids. I have befriended a few guys who are regularly at different points around town begging or trying to do random odd-jobs to make a few bucks. I’ve also learned more about the intensity of the drug problems with these guys. It’s pretty rough. Some 14, 15, and 16 year old guys are already at addict status. I always try to do my best to learn names and get to know people a little bit, but I think I’m really coming to believe that hand outs—especially when a bunch of the guys are looking to get high—don’t do the trick. As much as my conscience is strained, there are outlets at City Hall and a couple local churches for meals that can provide some food. But also, there’s nothing wrong with a good conversation and the occasional orange or some bread to share.
This is long….but on a quick note, I’ve also been blessed by meeting some really cool people and developing some pretty sweet relationships, some South Africans and local folks as well as people from the US. There are good conversation partners, taco night friends, and travel buddies who don’t always get the most mentions in my blog entries, but have been a major part of my experience here. So yeah, holler if ya hear me.
I’ve been spending more and more time up at Ethembeni in Joza in the township around Grahamstown. I know I write/talk about it all the time, but the place is SO formative for my entire South African experience. I was talking to Connie (aka Nobantu), the woman who is one of my ‘mamas’ and runs the kitchen, about what Grahamstown was like during Apartheid. For some reason, I would like to think that little old Grahamstown would be more peaceable that other places in South Africa during that time, but I guess I was wrong. Connie said that kids from a secondary school near her home would run to her house and change clothes quickly to avoid being harassed by the police. Connie would cover for them and tell the police that there weren’t any school kids around there and that they should stop bothering her. I’ve also talked with Grace about activism and apartheid and whatnot a bunch of times. One really striking thing she said to me: “We would sing and sing for hours. In big crowds of people all around town. I’d come home afterwards and my husband would say ‘Ya know, some day you’re going to get arrested and not come home after that.’ I told him it didn’t matter. We were fighting for freedom.” It is amazing to really know people who were involved so intimately in that history of South Africa. Since all of that apartheid nonsense, some things have obviously changed for the better. But at the same time, unemployment, increasing economic inequality, some corruption and inefficiency in government, and HIV/AIDS are creating a whole host of problems even since 1994 when apartheid ended and Mandela was elected. Oh yeah, and a side note on Mandela…his first name is not ‘Nelson,’ it’s ‘Rolihlahla.’ The name ‘Nelson’ was given to him by an English school teacher who probably couldn’t pronounce his real name.
I’ve become further distraught and confused over the ‘issue’ of street kids. I have befriended a few guys who are regularly at different points around town begging or trying to do random odd-jobs to make a few bucks. I’ve also learned more about the intensity of the drug problems with these guys. It’s pretty rough. Some 14, 15, and 16 year old guys are already at addict status. I always try to do my best to learn names and get to know people a little bit, but I think I’m really coming to believe that hand outs—especially when a bunch of the guys are looking to get high—don’t do the trick. As much as my conscience is strained, there are outlets at City Hall and a couple local churches for meals that can provide some food. But also, there’s nothing wrong with a good conversation and the occasional orange or some bread to share.
This is long….but on a quick note, I’ve also been blessed by meeting some really cool people and developing some pretty sweet relationships, some South Africans and local folks as well as people from the US. There are good conversation partners, taco night friends, and travel buddies who don’t always get the most mentions in my blog entries, but have been a major part of my experience here. So yeah, holler if ya hear me.
More Grahamstown!
It’s been a while since my last official reflection/update, so here’s the logistical update for the past few weeks. I’ve finished up my courses for the semester. Ethnomusicology was somewhat interesting but kind of dry, except for the performance component where we learned Shona (Zimbabwe) songs and dances and performed them. That portion of the course was awesome. Anthropology finally got really interesting as we’ve spent the past few weeks learning about the political economy of Black Johannesburg and Soweto and really getting into some issues in South African society. And the class is a really diverse and interesting group of people. Xhosa has been fantastic. The teachers are very engaging and enthusiastic and I enjoy learning and using the language SO much! It has been incredibly valuable and interesting for talking with people in town, on the public mini-buses, and at Ethembeni. I’m just sad that once I leave South Africa the language will not have any relevance, but I think it has inspired me to want to develop other more relevant language skills. I went to an incredibly sweet church service at UMariya Mama weThemba Monastery just outside of Grahamstown. Beautiful music, interesting mix of people, and lots of hugs. I also took a weekend trip to Cintsa, a very small coastal town just outside of East London/iMonti. I went with PJ, Robin, Matt, and Sarah (PJ goes to BC, Robin is a US exchange student, Matt and Sarah are full time teachers/volunteers from the US) and we had a great weekend of outdoors beach fun and good conversations.
I’ve also really come to feel connected and integrated into the Grahamstown community. I’ve met so many cool and interesting people in town and around campus, from street kids to university students to the mini-bus drivers. I’ve also connected with people that I feel I would be very good friends with if I were here longer. Hey, I’ll make the best of it while I’m still here. And I’ve become more comfortable with the kids at the After-School Program. The most moving and loving community I feel a part of now is the senior centre, Ethembeni. I don’t know if I can accurately or appropriately convey what that place continues to mean to me in terms of relationships, conversations, learning about township life, being involved in the local community, and finding a home in South Africa. Abantu apho ngusapho lwam eSouth Africa. “The people there are my South African family.” Mantshibile aka Connie, the woman her runs the kitchen, referred to me as “Mtwana wam,” or “My child” the other day and I almost teared up. I was also given a Xhosa name, Sipho, which means “gift” in isiXhosa. And, with some money from BC, I bought a stereo and some CDs for the centre. It has been fantastic. Mr. Mabindisa, a 97-year old legend, offered a blessing and thanks in Xhosa (which was translated for me) that was very moving. I put in one of the gospel CDs that had been requested but a woman told me that they wanted to “jive” so, of course I popped in some Earth, Wind, and Fire and we had a senior centre style dance party. It was SO fun! I was so glad that people enjoyed the stereo and the music. Grace also stressed that it was good to have people up and moving to get some more exercise and stay active. That place is really something else. Though I don’t think I could have ever predicted it, I’ve managed to find a place I can call home in a senior centre in a township in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Sweet.
On another note, I was sad not to be around Boston for the end of the year festivities and graduation with Danielle and many good friends. It’s weird, especially from such a distance, to have people and places that I feel so close to go through such changes. I think I’ve found a pretty good balance of staying connected to home as well as staying active and engaged here, though, so I guess I’m just going with the flow.
I’ve also really come to feel connected and integrated into the Grahamstown community. I’ve met so many cool and interesting people in town and around campus, from street kids to university students to the mini-bus drivers. I’ve also connected with people that I feel I would be very good friends with if I were here longer. Hey, I’ll make the best of it while I’m still here. And I’ve become more comfortable with the kids at the After-School Program. The most moving and loving community I feel a part of now is the senior centre, Ethembeni. I don’t know if I can accurately or appropriately convey what that place continues to mean to me in terms of relationships, conversations, learning about township life, being involved in the local community, and finding a home in South Africa. Abantu apho ngusapho lwam eSouth Africa. “The people there are my South African family.” Mantshibile aka Connie, the woman her runs the kitchen, referred to me as “Mtwana wam,” or “My child” the other day and I almost teared up. I was also given a Xhosa name, Sipho, which means “gift” in isiXhosa. And, with some money from BC, I bought a stereo and some CDs for the centre. It has been fantastic. Mr. Mabindisa, a 97-year old legend, offered a blessing and thanks in Xhosa (which was translated for me) that was very moving. I put in one of the gospel CDs that had been requested but a woman told me that they wanted to “jive” so, of course I popped in some Earth, Wind, and Fire and we had a senior centre style dance party. It was SO fun! I was so glad that people enjoyed the stereo and the music. Grace also stressed that it was good to have people up and moving to get some more exercise and stay active. That place is really something else. Though I don’t think I could have ever predicted it, I’ve managed to find a place I can call home in a senior centre in a township in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Sweet.
On another note, I was sad not to be around Boston for the end of the year festivities and graduation with Danielle and many good friends. It’s weird, especially from such a distance, to have people and places that I feel so close to go through such changes. I think I’ve found a pretty good balance of staying connected to home as well as staying active and engaged here, though, so I guess I’m just going with the flow.
Xhosa Cultural Tradition
I was given an incredible honor and opportunity when Grace Ngcete, manager of Ethembeni and surrogate mother for me here in South Africa, invited me to a 3-day traditional Xhosa ceremony at her home Grahamstown. Grace’s husband died a little over two years ago. These ceremonies and festivities are a formal send-off for his spirits to be with the ancestors, according to Xhosa tradition. In addition to the large gathering of family, friends, and neighbors, the central focus of the tradition is a cow that is sacrificed. Let me just say…WOW. Though I did stick out just a little bit (aka stuck out a lot) as a white, English-speaking foreigner (though my Xhosa is improving and several people complimented my speaking ability), people were very welcoming and had me participate in everything as a friend.
We were in the backyard of Grace’s modest township home and the cow was tied to a post in the ground. Pretty much everyone gathered around and after several preacher-like proclamations from several men, including Grace’s son, and some herbal blessings, the men got to work on the cow. In the process of tying it up and taking it down, everybody waits for the cow to cry out. “Thetha! Thetha incomo!” Speak! Speak cow! The cow did let out a long and sorrowful groan much to the pleasure of the crowd as everybody began cheering. This crying out from the cow is a signal that the spirits are being sent up with the ancestors (I think that’s how it goes, please forgive my cursory and possibly inaccurate collection of these events. It is a very moving and exciting spiritual experience that I’m still trying to absorb/remember). Then the killing begins. I’ll spare the details for now, but let me just say it was intense. I’ve never seen anything like it before. And long story short, barely 45 minutes after the initial tie-up, we were eating cooked chunks of meat with our hands. They cook the meat right on the wood in a fire next to the cow body being sliced and diced so that every part is used well. Over the course of the three days after the killing of the cow, there was a whole lot of meat that was cooked and eaten, Umqombothi (traditional Xhosa beer), Brandy (still haven’t figured out where brandy fits in to the equation in the traditional sense), conversation, many blessings and proclamations from community and family members, and a celebration of Mr. Ngcete’s spirit being with the ancestors.
The whole ceremony over the course of a few days was a truly moving, interesting, sometimes awkward, and very educational experience for me. Though I was an outsider for obvious reasons, I was warmly welcomed and given the opportunity not only to observe, but to participate in a Xhosa cultural tradition. I was able to practice speaking Xhosa much (including a very brief half-English, half-Xhosa speech in front of a room of Grace’s family members as I left on the last day…yikes! It actually went well and garnered smiles and small applause for my efforts), meet so many interesting people, visit my first shebeen (township pub), eat a whole bunch of meat (including some parts that I still don’t think I could identify on the cow), and bear a little discomfort to take part in a totally memorable experience. And I was even given an official South African clan name: Thakwenda. Sweet.
We were in the backyard of Grace’s modest township home and the cow was tied to a post in the ground. Pretty much everyone gathered around and after several preacher-like proclamations from several men, including Grace’s son, and some herbal blessings, the men got to work on the cow. In the process of tying it up and taking it down, everybody waits for the cow to cry out. “Thetha! Thetha incomo!” Speak! Speak cow! The cow did let out a long and sorrowful groan much to the pleasure of the crowd as everybody began cheering. This crying out from the cow is a signal that the spirits are being sent up with the ancestors (I think that’s how it goes, please forgive my cursory and possibly inaccurate collection of these events. It is a very moving and exciting spiritual experience that I’m still trying to absorb/remember). Then the killing begins. I’ll spare the details for now, but let me just say it was intense. I’ve never seen anything like it before. And long story short, barely 45 minutes after the initial tie-up, we were eating cooked chunks of meat with our hands. They cook the meat right on the wood in a fire next to the cow body being sliced and diced so that every part is used well. Over the course of the three days after the killing of the cow, there was a whole lot of meat that was cooked and eaten, Umqombothi (traditional Xhosa beer), Brandy (still haven’t figured out where brandy fits in to the equation in the traditional sense), conversation, many blessings and proclamations from community and family members, and a celebration of Mr. Ngcete’s spirit being with the ancestors.
The whole ceremony over the course of a few days was a truly moving, interesting, sometimes awkward, and very educational experience for me. Though I was an outsider for obvious reasons, I was warmly welcomed and given the opportunity not only to observe, but to participate in a Xhosa cultural tradition. I was able to practice speaking Xhosa much (including a very brief half-English, half-Xhosa speech in front of a room of Grace’s family members as I left on the last day…yikes! It actually went well and garnered smiles and small applause for my efforts), meet so many interesting people, visit my first shebeen (township pub), eat a whole bunch of meat (including some parts that I still don’t think I could identify on the cow), and bear a little discomfort to take part in a totally memorable experience. And I was even given an official South African clan name: Thakwenda. Sweet.
To the Wild Coast
I have become further convinced that South Africa is an incredibly diverse place. Last weekend we traveled up the Wild Coast towards Durban and spent some time in very rural regions. Traditional homes made of thick mud covered with various brightly colored exteriors and usually a thatched roof were scattered over the breathtaking countryside. These areas stretched for kilometers and were truly in the middle of nowhere. Much of the region, formerly known as the Transkei, was part of the forced removals and limited land distribution to blacks during colonial rule. We stayed for a couple days in a coastal rural area known as Mdumbi at a Backpackers. We were clearly wealthy outsider tourists, but it was a beautiful and interesting area to see, and the backpackers has a local education centre and non-profit in attempts to engage the community rather than close off from it. I got the impression that many people in the area live very materially simple lives and live one illness or bad crop away from tragedy. We met some interesting people, had a sweet drum jam session around a fire, kayaked along the beautiful Mdumbi river, and enjoyed the scenery.
I also played some soccer. At first I was just kicking a ball around on the dirt path outside the backpackers with a young local boy. It was really fun. He was shy and didn’t really respond to my conversation prompts in either English or Xhosa. I was wearing sneakers, cargo shorts, and a reasonably new t-shirt. The boy, whose name I never got, was barefoot, wearing a ripped and dirty shirt and ripped brown shorts. In one sense it was pretty cool because no matter the fact that he and I came from incredibly different places in life, we were both just enjoying kicking a soccer ball around. In another sense, it was like socioeconomic disparity slapping me right in the face. It was a very striking and memorable experience. A little later that same day I began kicking a ball around with five other local boys, probably all around 9 to 11 years old. PJ came out and then the seven of us went to a nearby field that was reasonably flat and had wooden goal posts standing freely in the field. We played barefoot soccer for a solid hour and a half. It was SO fun. And I was not slacking during the game by any means. They were really good and I had to hustle to keep up with them. Such a phenomenal experience. The interactions culminated with laughs and high-fives and then also with the boys asking us for some food or money. I gave them a couple of my cans of beans to share. I never know what to do in those situations. Oh yeah, and poverty still sucks. But I don’t know if the popular response of economic development is the appropriate answer.
Then we headed up to Port St. Johns, which is a beautiful pseudo-tropical coastal area. After one night there the rest of my traveling crew continued up to Durban and I met a Belgian/South African couple in their late 20s who gave me a lift all the way to King William’s town, about 5 hours away. They were really cool and had some really cool experiences in their life and interesting things to talk about. I was actually kind of sad when we said our goodbyes when I got off in KWT. Then I found the taxi rank in town and took a crowded bus filled with middle-aged Xhosa women back to Grahamstown that night. I love encountering all sorts of interesting people all the time. Whether it’s a 29 year old white South African traveler/surfer giving me a lift or a 50-something black South African women that’s curious as to why a white kid from the US is taking a mini-bus, I’m meeting really cool people all the time. And being safe, Mom and Dad. Nothing to worry about. J
I also played some soccer. At first I was just kicking a ball around on the dirt path outside the backpackers with a young local boy. It was really fun. He was shy and didn’t really respond to my conversation prompts in either English or Xhosa. I was wearing sneakers, cargo shorts, and a reasonably new t-shirt. The boy, whose name I never got, was barefoot, wearing a ripped and dirty shirt and ripped brown shorts. In one sense it was pretty cool because no matter the fact that he and I came from incredibly different places in life, we were both just enjoying kicking a soccer ball around. In another sense, it was like socioeconomic disparity slapping me right in the face. It was a very striking and memorable experience. A little later that same day I began kicking a ball around with five other local boys, probably all around 9 to 11 years old. PJ came out and then the seven of us went to a nearby field that was reasonably flat and had wooden goal posts standing freely in the field. We played barefoot soccer for a solid hour and a half. It was SO fun. And I was not slacking during the game by any means. They were really good and I had to hustle to keep up with them. Such a phenomenal experience. The interactions culminated with laughs and high-fives and then also with the boys asking us for some food or money. I gave them a couple of my cans of beans to share. I never know what to do in those situations. Oh yeah, and poverty still sucks. But I don’t know if the popular response of economic development is the appropriate answer.
Then we headed up to Port St. Johns, which is a beautiful pseudo-tropical coastal area. After one night there the rest of my traveling crew continued up to Durban and I met a Belgian/South African couple in their late 20s who gave me a lift all the way to King William’s town, about 5 hours away. They were really cool and had some really cool experiences in their life and interesting things to talk about. I was actually kind of sad when we said our goodbyes when I got off in KWT. Then I found the taxi rank in town and took a crowded bus filled with middle-aged Xhosa women back to Grahamstown that night. I love encountering all sorts of interesting people all the time. Whether it’s a 29 year old white South African traveler/surfer giving me a lift or a 50-something black South African women that’s curious as to why a white kid from the US is taking a mini-bus, I’m meeting really cool people all the time. And being safe, Mom and Dad. Nothing to worry about. J
Grahamstown
I’ve been back in Grahamstown for almost two weeks now after my traveling adventures. Besides being settled again and having regular access to means of communication back home, the absolute best part about being back in Grahamstown is spending more time at Ethembeni (Senior Centre in the township around Grahamstown, see previous entries). Though I am still an outsider for obvious reasons, the place really feels like another home for me. I love the atmosphere and the people. I love taking the mini-bus up into the township with local people. I love trying to speak a little bit of Xhosa. I love meeting friendly people around the area of Ethembeni. This past week our adviser Geoff organized a group of students from the US, including PJ and Brittney from BC and a few rotary scholars, to come up and have lunch with me and the rest of the crew of Ethembeni. Everybody was so welcoming. It was really great. I’m glad other people got to see a different area of the township and see the place I talk about so much. Grace Ngcete, the woman who runs the centre is pretty much my new idol, also invited me to a traditional Xhosa ceremony celebrating the life and death of her husband, who passed away a couple of years ago. That’s in a couple of weeks and there will surely be a story about that. She also let me borrow a scrapbook she had put together with pictures and news articles from around the time of Steve Biko’s death in 1977. Steve Biko was a leader, organizer, and prophet. See the movie CRY FREEDOM. Intense.
Had an interesting trip with my Anthropology class the other day. We went to a rural area outside of Queenstown for an event to commemorate the opening of a National Liberation Heritage Trail. There were around 6,000 people there and a number of performances and speakers. Most of the speeches were in Xhosa, so I couldn’t understand much at all, but it was still pretty exciting. At one point, people on stage and most people in the crowd began singing. The song ended with the rally cry of “Amandla!” and the crowd response of “Awethu!” Together they mean “Power to the people!” That was a significant rally cry during the anti-apartheid struggle. Pretty cool to hear that. There was also something there that has been stuck in my mind since the trip on Thursday. There were a few trucks set up as mobile clinics right outside the event tents and stage. There were HUGE lines of people from the area lining up to get quick medical check-ups. Many of the people walked hours to get to the clinics to wait hours in line for a brief check-up. I suppose it’s a good thing that the mobile clinics are getting out there at all, but yikes, that’s some tough stuff. So many positive things have been achieved but the liberation struggle ain’t done yet.
Had an interesting trip with my Anthropology class the other day. We went to a rural area outside of Queenstown for an event to commemorate the opening of a National Liberation Heritage Trail. There were around 6,000 people there and a number of performances and speakers. Most of the speeches were in Xhosa, so I couldn’t understand much at all, but it was still pretty exciting. At one point, people on stage and most people in the crowd began singing. The song ended with the rally cry of “Amandla!” and the crowd response of “Awethu!” Together they mean “Power to the people!” That was a significant rally cry during the anti-apartheid struggle. Pretty cool to hear that. There was also something there that has been stuck in my mind since the trip on Thursday. There were a few trucks set up as mobile clinics right outside the event tents and stage. There were HUGE lines of people from the area lining up to get quick medical check-ups. Many of the people walked hours to get to the clinics to wait hours in line for a brief check-up. I suppose it’s a good thing that the mobile clinics are getting out there at all, but yikes, that’s some tough stuff. So many positive things have been achieved but the liberation struggle ain’t done yet.
Outdoor Adventures
In the second week of our holiday from school we made our way back towards Grahamstown along the Garden Route, which runs along the southern coast of South Africa between Cape Town and Port Elizabeth. Through our travels we stopped in Mossel Bay, Wilderness, Knysna, and Tsitsikamma. Throughout our travels on the Baz Bus (a door-to-door bus for backpackers in South Africa) and stays in several backpackers lodges we met a bunch of interesting people from all over the world. Though we didn’t meet too many South Africans, it was totally interesting to meet people from the US, Argentina, South Korea, Germany, Sweden, England, France, and probably a couple other places that I’ve forgotten. There were some people traveling solo, some in groups, some for two weeks, some for two years, some just for fun, and some for research. At one point in Tsitsikamma we were playing a game of pick-up barefoot soccer outside our backpackers lodge. There were four people from the US, two guys from Argentina, and two guys from Germany playing in a mixed four-on-four game. It was pretty cool and international.
The outdoorsy adventures included beaches, hiking, more hiking, waterfall rock jumping (an incredibly rush…Amazing!), kayaking, and mountain biking. There are some incredibly beautiful landscapes in South Africa and I have been totally blessed and fortunate to have the opportunity to explore some of them. One cool story from the mountain biking…PJ and I were nearing the end of our 22km biking adventure around some beautiful trails and mountains in the Tsitsikamma area (so fun!) when we ran into some baboons. At first we just thought it was a couple of them, but then we realized that 6 or 7 of them were scattered across the path ahead of us blocking our way through. And then we noticed that there were probably 8 or 9 more in the woods on our left. They were eyeing us pretty suspiciously and started to make some really loud, awkward, and aggressive yells. So here we were, in the middle of nowhere in the mountainous woods along the southern coast of South Africa, stopped dead in our tracks by a whole bunch of baboons. It was pretty wild. We stayed basically still for about 20 minutes, after which they had all gone into the woods far enough away from the trail that we weren’t too worried. Somewhat scary at the time but really funny looking back. Overall I’d say the two week adventure was a success. I met a lot of diverse and interesting people, learned more about the social conditions in different parts of South Africa, saw a bunch of cool sights, had some fun outdoors adventures, and traveled with a great group of people. I think in future endeavors I may try to find the insider’s perspective on exploring South Africa (I don’t exactly know what that means, but we’ll see) but this was a really solid trip.
The outdoorsy adventures included beaches, hiking, more hiking, waterfall rock jumping (an incredibly rush…Amazing!), kayaking, and mountain biking. There are some incredibly beautiful landscapes in South Africa and I have been totally blessed and fortunate to have the opportunity to explore some of them. One cool story from the mountain biking…PJ and I were nearing the end of our 22km biking adventure around some beautiful trails and mountains in the Tsitsikamma area (so fun!) when we ran into some baboons. At first we just thought it was a couple of them, but then we realized that 6 or 7 of them were scattered across the path ahead of us blocking our way through. And then we noticed that there were probably 8 or 9 more in the woods on our left. They were eyeing us pretty suspiciously and started to make some really loud, awkward, and aggressive yells. So here we were, in the middle of nowhere in the mountainous woods along the southern coast of South Africa, stopped dead in our tracks by a whole bunch of baboons. It was pretty wild. We stayed basically still for about 20 minutes, after which they had all gone into the woods far enough away from the trail that we weren’t too worried. Somewhat scary at the time but really funny looking back. Overall I’d say the two week adventure was a success. I met a lot of diverse and interesting people, learned more about the social conditions in different parts of South Africa, saw a bunch of cool sights, had some fun outdoors adventures, and traveled with a great group of people. I think in future endeavors I may try to find the insider’s perspective on exploring South Africa (I don’t exactly know what that means, but we’ll see) but this was a really solid trip.
Township Life
Me, PJ, and Robin decided to do a “township tour.” Just in case…townships are all black and coloured areas around cities and towns. Some of the townships were created through forced removals during Apartheid, some are squatter settlements, and some developed through general segregation policies. They are vibrant communities that range from densely populated tin and wooden shacks to densely populated dorm-style housing to neighborhoods with modest but nice houses. There are certainly issues with access to electricity and running water and residential space and unemployment and economic poverty in certain areas of the townships, but despite many commonly held conceptions, they are interesting and friendly communities worthy of attention.
I had a number of hesitations going into exploring these parts of Cape Town on a guided tour. It seems like it could be more of an outsider tourist experience rather than an immersion experience, and also I really did not feel comfortable about the “voyeurism into the life of the poor” sound it had to it. I decided to go for it for a few reasons. The townships were a part of Cape Town that I really wanted to see. I was able to see the waterfront, and Robben Island, and Table Mountain, which are all parts of Cape Town, so why shouldn’t I also see Langa, and Gugulethu, and Khayelitsha, or other parts of the townships? Also, the group is very small (it was five of us) with a tour company that is owned and operated by people who live in the townships. I also thought it would be interesting and very educational.
After the experience itself I think a lot of my predictions came out to be essentially accurate. There were times where I felt like an invasive, voyeuristic outsider, but overall it was a very interesting and informative and valuable experience. People are totally friendly and I got to surprise a few folks when I was able to greet them in Xhosa. In addition to meeting some people and physically seeing the neighborhoods, our guide Zoliswa told us a lot about issues of squatter settlements, and apartheid-era forced removals, and current progress (or lack thereof in some cases) on housing rehabilitation and development. I don’t have any pictures, but just do an image search online for Langa, or Gugulethu, or Khayelitsha to see some general pictures of the area if you feel inspired.
This was also definitely one of those identity-questioning experiences as in my head I was running back and forth between where I come from and where I live and then the dorm style housing in Langa where three families (yes, three FAMILIES) lived in a room hardly bigger than my double in my first year at BC. Poverty sucks in a lot of ways. Though in a lot of ways, capitalistic economic development might get rid of some of the best parts of the townships in their sense of communal living and friendly interaction as opposed to individual property and private space. Again, I don’t know what to do, but I don’t think I’ll forget that experience for a long time. It’s also interesting to compare township life in Cape Town and township life in Grahamstown. I spend two days a week up in the township here, and though I’m still obviously somewhat of an outsider, I’ve really got a community that feels like a home in Ethembeni Senior Centre (see previous entries).
I had a number of hesitations going into exploring these parts of Cape Town on a guided tour. It seems like it could be more of an outsider tourist experience rather than an immersion experience, and also I really did not feel comfortable about the “voyeurism into the life of the poor” sound it had to it. I decided to go for it for a few reasons. The townships were a part of Cape Town that I really wanted to see. I was able to see the waterfront, and Robben Island, and Table Mountain, which are all parts of Cape Town, so why shouldn’t I also see Langa, and Gugulethu, and Khayelitsha, or other parts of the townships? Also, the group is very small (it was five of us) with a tour company that is owned and operated by people who live in the townships. I also thought it would be interesting and very educational.
After the experience itself I think a lot of my predictions came out to be essentially accurate. There were times where I felt like an invasive, voyeuristic outsider, but overall it was a very interesting and informative and valuable experience. People are totally friendly and I got to surprise a few folks when I was able to greet them in Xhosa. In addition to meeting some people and physically seeing the neighborhoods, our guide Zoliswa told us a lot about issues of squatter settlements, and apartheid-era forced removals, and current progress (or lack thereof in some cases) on housing rehabilitation and development. I don’t have any pictures, but just do an image search online for Langa, or Gugulethu, or Khayelitsha to see some general pictures of the area if you feel inspired.
This was also definitely one of those identity-questioning experiences as in my head I was running back and forth between where I come from and where I live and then the dorm style housing in Langa where three families (yes, three FAMILIES) lived in a room hardly bigger than my double in my first year at BC. Poverty sucks in a lot of ways. Though in a lot of ways, capitalistic economic development might get rid of some of the best parts of the townships in their sense of communal living and friendly interaction as opposed to individual property and private space. Again, I don’t know what to do, but I don’t think I’ll forget that experience for a long time. It’s also interesting to compare township life in Cape Town and township life in Grahamstown. I spend two days a week up in the township here, and though I’m still obviously somewhat of an outsider, I’ve really got a community that feels like a home in Ethembeni Senior Centre (see previous entries).
Cape Town Encounters
On our fourth day in Cape Town I decided to go on a solo adventure around the city on foot. A lot of the touristy things we had been doing were definitely a lot of fun, I just really enjoy seeing a city by foot and meeting random people and wandering. It was really exciting to be in such a big city with all of the diverse people and activity and things to see. Probably the most interesting part of my adventure was meeting three individuals separately throughout the day. Here’s a little bit about each of them.
Edward (I mentioned him earlier in the View from Long St. entry)
Edward is an 11 year old 4th grader who I ran into on a number of occasions while we were staying in Cape Town. One of the days he had one shoe on his feet. The other days he didn’t have anything on his feet. Every night we were there he was zipping around Long St. asking people for money or food. It’s never easy to know how to respond to this. So Edward came up to me while I was walking and we began to chat. What a kid! He was so charming and smart and fun to talk to. I asked him about his school and where he sleeps and if his parents were around. He said he was in 4th grade at a school for street kids nearby and that his parents are no longer around. It’s difficult to verify these stories, but whatever, he was interesting to talk to regardless. We went into a convenience store and got something to drink and a sandwich. He said he was going to save half of it to share with his friend who was at another part of the street ‘working the crowds.’ Talk about friendship, eh? I think we all need friendship to survive, but needing friendship to survive by just getting food into your stomach is another level. We ran into each other a few more times over the next couple days and we chatted and I gave him some peanut butter sandwiches. I still know so little about where he comes from or what his life is like every day, but I don’t imagine he’ll have the most illustrious educational or economic opportunities (or even nutritional opportunities for that matter). I don’t know what to do. But I don’t think I’ll forget that kid for a long time.
Leonard
Somewhat of a different experience from Edward, Leonard is a 40-something man who runs a sustainable income development company. He travels around to different parts of South Africa and tries to identify marketable skills in people in more economically poor areas. For example, if a group of women have a skill in making bead necklaces, Leonard might work with them to have them make more business practical products with their bead work. Then he works to get orders for their goods and the income goes back to the people. Sounds really interesting. We talked for a while about poverty and development and apartheid and the pros and cons of volunteerism. He said he was part of the more open-minded crowd back in the day and his mixed race parties would get busted by the police, as mixed parties weren’t allowed. Cool guy.
Fahim
Fahim is a 50-something flower vendor in Cape Town. I was just sitting on the curb in a market area and he was walking past selling flowers. We greeted each other casually and then he stopped and thanked me for greeting him in return with a smile. And then somehow that turned into a 30 minute exchange about human interaction and faith and God and being friendly. We were both talking about the notion that belief in God must be manifested in how we treat people, strangers and family alike. It was very interesting because about 20 minutes into the conversation we still hadn’t made any reference to any specific denomination or religious classification. Then I said that much of my understanding comes from a Christian background and he said that he is a pretty devout Muslim. We both agreed that it would be nice if people could remember some of the basics on a larger scale and decide to work together in peace no matter what their religious background. Though we did have a few minor discrepancies in understanding self-centered small actions in relation to larger social problems coming out of religious faith, we both seemed to think we were headed up to the same mountain top.
Edward (I mentioned him earlier in the View from Long St. entry)
Edward is an 11 year old 4th grader who I ran into on a number of occasions while we were staying in Cape Town. One of the days he had one shoe on his feet. The other days he didn’t have anything on his feet. Every night we were there he was zipping around Long St. asking people for money or food. It’s never easy to know how to respond to this. So Edward came up to me while I was walking and we began to chat. What a kid! He was so charming and smart and fun to talk to. I asked him about his school and where he sleeps and if his parents were around. He said he was in 4th grade at a school for street kids nearby and that his parents are no longer around. It’s difficult to verify these stories, but whatever, he was interesting to talk to regardless. We went into a convenience store and got something to drink and a sandwich. He said he was going to save half of it to share with his friend who was at another part of the street ‘working the crowds.’ Talk about friendship, eh? I think we all need friendship to survive, but needing friendship to survive by just getting food into your stomach is another level. We ran into each other a few more times over the next couple days and we chatted and I gave him some peanut butter sandwiches. I still know so little about where he comes from or what his life is like every day, but I don’t imagine he’ll have the most illustrious educational or economic opportunities (or even nutritional opportunities for that matter). I don’t know what to do. But I don’t think I’ll forget that kid for a long time.
Leonard
Somewhat of a different experience from Edward, Leonard is a 40-something man who runs a sustainable income development company. He travels around to different parts of South Africa and tries to identify marketable skills in people in more economically poor areas. For example, if a group of women have a skill in making bead necklaces, Leonard might work with them to have them make more business practical products with their bead work. Then he works to get orders for their goods and the income goes back to the people. Sounds really interesting. We talked for a while about poverty and development and apartheid and the pros and cons of volunteerism. He said he was part of the more open-minded crowd back in the day and his mixed race parties would get busted by the police, as mixed parties weren’t allowed. Cool guy.
Fahim
Fahim is a 50-something flower vendor in Cape Town. I was just sitting on the curb in a market area and he was walking past selling flowers. We greeted each other casually and then he stopped and thanked me for greeting him in return with a smile. And then somehow that turned into a 30 minute exchange about human interaction and faith and God and being friendly. We were both talking about the notion that belief in God must be manifested in how we treat people, strangers and family alike. It was very interesting because about 20 minutes into the conversation we still hadn’t made any reference to any specific denomination or religious classification. Then I said that much of my understanding comes from a Christian background and he said that he is a pretty devout Muslim. We both agreed that it would be nice if people could remember some of the basics on a larger scale and decide to work together in peace no matter what their religious background. Though we did have a few minor discrepancies in understanding self-centered small actions in relation to larger social problems coming out of religious faith, we both seemed to think we were headed up to the same mountain top.
View from Long Street
During a two week holiday from classes in the second half of March I adventured to Cape Town with PJ and Brittney from BC, and our friends Will, Robin, and Jane who are also US exchange students at Rhodes. Our adventures included meeting up with several of our other friends from BC who are at the University of Cape Town, visiting Robben Island, where Mandela spent 18 of his 27 years of political imprisonment, climbing Table Mountain, wandering the streets of Cape Town on foot, and exploring the townships of Langa and Gugulethu. Instead of doing a chronology of events, I’m going to write about a few particularly striking experiences from our travels in three separate entries.
First, the view from Long St…
For several days during our time in Cape Town we stayed at a Backpackers Lodge on Long St., which is a hub of bars and stores and social activity. Right outside of our room we had a balcony from which we could view much of the activity on the street from above. The diversity of people and interactions was mesmerizing. It was also an interesting microcosm of the diversity and inequality in South Africa. Some of the sights and sounds…
- Loud music bumping from The Dubliner, a bar next door
- One-way traffic
- People of all ages and colors walking both ways on the sidewalks, some in suits, some begging, some carrying groceries, some heading into bars, some in groups, some alone.
- Edward, a 4th grader and street kid, bouncing around asking people for money or food
- A bunch of people sitting at tables outside of a café having drinks (and generally ignoring people asking for food or money)
- 30-something man selling beaded crafts
- A 20-something woman zipping back and forth across the street asking for food or money
- Taxis and taxi drivers
- Another grade school age boy searching for food or money
- On two adjacent stoops…on the left a black male teen alone who had been wandering the area for a while occasionally asking for food or money…on the right two white female teens in dresses who had just left The Dubliner, a bar.
These observations are pretty inconclusive and in no way speak to the full experience of any of the people I saw. They are really just my observations. In attempting to acknowledge the contrast of experience that exists here for the people of South Africa, it is unavoidable for me to question my own identity and experience. Where do I fit in to the picture? Very generally I suppose I am a wealthy white tourist from the United States. My general identity is not the issue because I can not change where I come from. I think experiences that make us question our identity, or experience, or vocation, or (at least in my case) privilege are important for determining, both in the immediate and the long-term, how we choose to live our lives. In the immediate, these questioning experiences should force us (“us” meaning everybody, I’m not trying to set up an “us” vs. “them” kind of thing here) to examine who we choose to greet with a friendly smile, how we choose to respond to a 10-year old begging for food, what parts of town we choose to spend our time in, or who we vote for. In the long term, I think these questioning experiences are valuable for determining where we want to live and what kind of work we want to do with our lives (that is, of course, if we have any luxury of personal choice in the matter of practical vocations.) Ok, I’m ranting and not making that much sense anymore. The view from the balcony just made me think a lot about who I am and what I’m doing.
First, the view from Long St…
For several days during our time in Cape Town we stayed at a Backpackers Lodge on Long St., which is a hub of bars and stores and social activity. Right outside of our room we had a balcony from which we could view much of the activity on the street from above. The diversity of people and interactions was mesmerizing. It was also an interesting microcosm of the diversity and inequality in South Africa. Some of the sights and sounds…
- Loud music bumping from The Dubliner, a bar next door
- One-way traffic
- People of all ages and colors walking both ways on the sidewalks, some in suits, some begging, some carrying groceries, some heading into bars, some in groups, some alone.
- Edward, a 4th grader and street kid, bouncing around asking people for money or food
- A bunch of people sitting at tables outside of a café having drinks (and generally ignoring people asking for food or money)
- 30-something man selling beaded crafts
- A 20-something woman zipping back and forth across the street asking for food or money
- Taxis and taxi drivers
- Another grade school age boy searching for food or money
- On two adjacent stoops…on the left a black male teen alone who had been wandering the area for a while occasionally asking for food or money…on the right two white female teens in dresses who had just left The Dubliner, a bar.
These observations are pretty inconclusive and in no way speak to the full experience of any of the people I saw. They are really just my observations. In attempting to acknowledge the contrast of experience that exists here for the people of South Africa, it is unavoidable for me to question my own identity and experience. Where do I fit in to the picture? Very generally I suppose I am a wealthy white tourist from the United States. My general identity is not the issue because I can not change where I come from. I think experiences that make us question our identity, or experience, or vocation, or (at least in my case) privilege are important for determining, both in the immediate and the long-term, how we choose to live our lives. In the immediate, these questioning experiences should force us (“us” meaning everybody, I’m not trying to set up an “us” vs. “them” kind of thing here) to examine who we choose to greet with a friendly smile, how we choose to respond to a 10-year old begging for food, what parts of town we choose to spend our time in, or who we vote for. In the long term, I think these questioning experiences are valuable for determining where we want to live and what kind of work we want to do with our lives (that is, of course, if we have any luxury of personal choice in the matter of practical vocations.) Ok, I’m ranting and not making that much sense anymore. The view from the balcony just made me think a lot about who I am and what I’m doing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
