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.
