I wrote this update a couple of weeks ago and have been indecisive about whether or not I wanted to post it. But today I mailed in my absentee ballot, so in honor of that occasion, here's "a political one..."
In my blog updates, I tend to steer clear of politics. On occasion I will make a lefty comment about social justice or inequality, but for the most part I keep my opinions to myself and rather just tell my stories. But what with the political upheaval in South Africa and the exciting American election, in addition to the apparent collapse of global economies, I feel the need to have my say. Usually I avoid political issues because, well to be completely honest, I don’t feel like I am up-to-date enough on current events, nor do I think I’m smart enough to really understand what’s going on or to share my analysis. So let that be a disclaimer that what follows is the opinion of a layperson and the observations of a young American living abroad. And if necessary, I stand to be corrected.
Let me first talk about Barack Obama. I have supported him from day one, but this is not about how I feel about Obama, because my personal opinion is not very important in the grand scheme of things. Instead I want to talk about how he is viewed from South Africa.
You would probably be shocked to know how closely South Africa (and most likely the rest of the world) is following this election. In fact, it’s a pretty safe bet that none of you can name the current president of South Africa, yet every South African can not only name the current US president, but also the presidential AND vice presidential candidates. One of the most poignant observations that I’ve made over the past year and a half or so is that Americans, for the most part, are very ignorant of what is going on in the rest of the world, whereas the rest of the world watches very closely the happenings of other countries, including America. The first thing that I am usually asked when someone finds out I’m American is “so who do you think will win the elections?” Many South Africans, in fact, know more about the elections than I do. Both the Democratic and the Republican conventions were covered daily on the evening news here. In fact, South African news reports have followed the progression of the elections from the very beginning of the primaries when Obama and Clinton were fighting it out.
One of my favorite billboards in Durban is one for satellite TV. On the bottom it says “be inspired.” Above that there are three people pictured, one of whom is our own Barack Obama. Here in South Africa, he has become the face of hope, of success, of inspiration. It’s a pretty safe bet that there is no billboard in the world that includes both the face of George Bush and the word “inspired." I think that perhaps Americans don’t realize what Barack Obama signifies to the rest of the world. Most countries do not have very favorable opinions of the US, but Obama offers the world hope for change and for a new order. He is particularly loved here, I believe, because of his own African heritage. Although he did not grow up in Kenya, his connections to Kenya and his awareness of the struggles of this part of the world are very important. Foreign policy is, after all, more than the war in Iraq.
I think my true appreciation for Barack Obama came when I saw a video clip of him and his wife Michelle visiting Kenya and publicly taking HIV tests together. While in an American context this may seem like a minor event, in an African context it is monumental. Here in South Africa, for example, there is little political leadership in responding to HIV/AIDS. What action there has been has been marked by denial and suspicion over the past two decades. This includes a South African president who publicly questioned whether or not HIV caused AIDS; a Minister of Health who rejected the use of life-saving antiretroviral drugs, promoting instead traditional vegetables; and the president of the majority political party who was accused of raping a woman with HIV without using a condom, but said he took a shower afterwards so he wouldn’t get AIDS (just so there’s no confusion… taking a shower after having sex will NOT protect you from contracting HIV).
With political leadership such as this, it is little wonder that AIDS is the leading killer in SA. So the fact that Barack Obama, an African son in his own right, would recognize the importance of getting publicly tested for HIV in Kenya, is something to be commended and taken note of. Perhaps this signifies a new type of leadership and global awareness for the American presidency and the American people.
Now onto South African politics. Things here have been a bit rocky, but certainly interesting over the last month. Jacob Zuma, the above mentioned president of the majority party (the ANC) was recently on trial for something like 170 accusations of racketeering, bribery, corruption, and money laundering. He got off on a technicality. Free, for now, from the charges, it looks as though in the April 2009 elections he will become the next president of South Africa. But first, there was a bit of a coup as he and his cronies in the ANC dethroned the current president, Thabo Mbeki. Mbeki was accused of abusing his political power and apparently had something to do with the charges brought against Zuma. I don’t understand it all, but there appears to be a growing division in the party between Zuma and the more socialist ANC members, and Mbeki and the more conservative ANC members. So in one weekend the president was removed from office and a new one was voted in shortly thereafter. This was followed by the resignation of half of the ministers, as well as the premiers of three of the nine provinces.
This has all been very interesting to observe. I’m sure this has been brewing behind the scenes for months, but publicly it took about two days. And then it was less than a week before Kgalema Motlanthe, the new president, was put into office. In addition, I am disappointed by the low standards that politicians here are held to. In my opinion, it is terrifying that Jacob Zuma, a man who was accused of rape (although he was acquitted) and who is now accused of corruption, bribery, racketeering, and money laundering, in all likelihood will become the next president of one of the most powerful and influential African countries.
The current American and South African political transitions provide an interesting juxtaposition, particularly in the context of the failing world economies. It is certainly a very exciting time for America in particular and I wait anxiously to see how the November elections unfold and then in the coming months and years to see the impacts of the election both nationally and internationally. Whether we recognize it or not, the eyes of the world will be on us as we take to the voting booths on November 4. And most of the world will be holding thumbs (a South African phrase meaning “crossing fingers”) that January 20, 2009 will bring a new order and change that we can all believe in.
Some statistics, as a reminder that we are not only American citizens, but also global citizens:
September BBC poll of 22,000 people from 22 countries across the globe
49% have negative view of American influence on the world
Obama is preferred by a 4 to 1 margin
46% think that US relations with the world would get better with Obama, 22% that relations would stay the same, and 7% that they would get worse.
20% think relations would get better under McCain, 37% that relations would stay the same, and 16% they would get worse.
When asked whether the election as US president of Barack Obama would "fundamentally change" their perception of the United States, 46% said it would while 27% said that it would not.
The US public was polled separately and the results suggest Americans also believe an Obama presidency would improve US relations with the world more than a McCain presidency, with 46% of Americans expecting relations to be improved with Obama's election and 30% with McCain's.
From: http://www.bbc.co.uk/pressoffice/pressreleases/stories/2008/09_september/10/poll.shtml
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
(Un-) Acclimation Proclamation
And so I have returned to South Africa yet again. I’m going to refer to this as Phase III of my South African adventure. Phase I was the four months that I spent here in 2005 studying abroad as an undergraduate. Phase II was January 2007 to May 2008, during which time I was getting my masters degree and working part time. And now Phase III, I am working full time here from August 2008 to August 2009. I’m working for an organization called the Media in Education Trust Africa (MiETA). The mission of the organization is to improve the lives of children through improving access to education, particularly in rural areas. Basically development through education. If you want to learn more about it, visit http://www.miet.co.za/. I’m working here as a researcher. I monitor and evaluate the effectiveness of the education centres programme. While I’m not sure that research is my calling in life, it has been a phenomenally eye-opening experience thus far. As I’ve said before, I think I’ve learned more by working for this organization than I did in my year of classes at UKZN.
Speaking of class work, my dissertation is completed! I finished up the 100+glorious pages in May before I went home. I heard in July that it had passed and am currently completing a couple of revisions and will bind it and be done with it. I am also in the process of discussing turning it into an article for an academic journal. This will probably be a two year process, but it’ll be cool to be able to say I’m published!
From June to July I spent some much-needed quality time at home, which included a trip to the Bahamas for my sister Corey’s wedding. During this time I also went through the process of applying for a work permit. I was finally successful after jumping through some hoops and now have a one-year work visa. It was really great to be able to spend such an extended period of time at home and to get to see so many of my friends and family. As much as I love South Africa, there is no place like home.
Which brings me to the title of this update. Last week for work I spent a few days in a rural area called Mbazwana, about 4 hours north of Durban. Driving through the rolling hills of Zululand with my colleague, listening to Zulu gospel music, and eating some roasted corn that I bought from a lady who was cooking it over a fire on the side of the road; I thought “I am SO acclimated.” My Zulu language skills, while still lacking, have improved since I’ve been working because about 90% of the people I work with our first language Zulu speakers (they also speak English). Although I can’t really take part in Zulu conversations, I can usually pick up the gist of a conversation and every now and then impress people with a token phrase that I’ve picked up. To which they exclaim “hawu!” and slap me on the back with a friendly laugh.
And as shown by the street-corn that I enjoyed, I’ve also become much more adventurous in my eating. A couple weeks ago I tried my first sugar cane straight from the field (you suck on it and it tastes kinda like maple sugar candy). While I still avoid some of the more traditional meat dishes (such as chicken feet and cow intestines) I gladly take part in street-meat (I had some lovely chicken out of a paper bag purchased on the side of the road in a rural town last week) and have even learned how to cook pretty well, if I do say so myself. I’ve learned all sorts of Zulu music and pop culture. I’ve learned to walk slower and to talk slower and to somewhat alter my heavy American accent so people can understand me more easily. And even though I always stick out as a white oddity in the townships, I feel pretty comfortable there too. And I am now living with two white South Africans, so am gaining a better understanding of white South African culture as well. Yup, I’m pretty proud of my level of acclimation.
But hold on one minute. Does a more adventurous appetite and the ability to sing along to the latest Zulu pop song really indicate acclimation? Does the ability to take part in a South African political discussion or the ability to ask a question in Zulu really mean that I’ve acclimated to a culture? After all, there are still moments when it all sort of catches up with me and I feel tired of always being out of my comfort zone. There are times when Zulu customs get so confusing (well the customs aren’t confusing, but my understanding of my role/place in them is confusing) and I want to throw my arms up in the air and sing the American national anthem while I eat a hot dog and drink some lemonade.
I always wonder at what point someone can feel fully acclimated to a new country and a new culture. I used to believe that there was indeed a point when this happened, when someone could proudly say “I am a South African” (or whatever the country/culture they’re in). But I don’t really think that’s possible. I think that no matter how long I am in South Africa, I will always be an “ex-pat.” It will never really be mine in the way that America is. (As an aside, I’m not sure I can really group the whole of “America” as my home, but that’s a debate for another day.) I have, however, become much more comfortable here. It’s funny to think that after studying abroad here for 4 months in 2005 I felt like I understood South Africa, because my understanding now is much deeper and more diverse, but still not complete.
South Africa continues to fascinate me. I am fascinated by the clash of traditional Zulu culture and “western” culture and the exciting diversity that is the product of this clash. I’m fascinated by how traditional views about the place of women in society are being shaped by more liberal western ideas. And on the flip side, how western ideas adapt to traditional ideas such as respect for your ancestors and the strength of the extended family as a social unit. A friend of mine here recently told me that the essence of being human is the ability to adapt. The ability of traditional Zulus to adapt to a changing world, and the ability of an American girl to adapt to life in a new country. And yes, a year and a half after my “adventure” began, South Africa is still a new country. My life has fallen more into a regular pattern because of my newly acquired full-time job, but every day continues to throw new challenges and new adventures at me, even when I don’t recognize them as the challenges and adventures that they are. And so I continue to be “un-acclimated,” and to learn from all of the experiences, encounters, and detours along the way.
Speaking of class work, my dissertation is completed! I finished up the 100+glorious pages in May before I went home. I heard in July that it had passed and am currently completing a couple of revisions and will bind it and be done with it. I am also in the process of discussing turning it into an article for an academic journal. This will probably be a two year process, but it’ll be cool to be able to say I’m published!
From June to July I spent some much-needed quality time at home, which included a trip to the Bahamas for my sister Corey’s wedding. During this time I also went through the process of applying for a work permit. I was finally successful after jumping through some hoops and now have a one-year work visa. It was really great to be able to spend such an extended period of time at home and to get to see so many of my friends and family. As much as I love South Africa, there is no place like home.
Which brings me to the title of this update. Last week for work I spent a few days in a rural area called Mbazwana, about 4 hours north of Durban. Driving through the rolling hills of Zululand with my colleague, listening to Zulu gospel music, and eating some roasted corn that I bought from a lady who was cooking it over a fire on the side of the road; I thought “I am SO acclimated.” My Zulu language skills, while still lacking, have improved since I’ve been working because about 90% of the people I work with our first language Zulu speakers (they also speak English). Although I can’t really take part in Zulu conversations, I can usually pick up the gist of a conversation and every now and then impress people with a token phrase that I’ve picked up. To which they exclaim “hawu!” and slap me on the back with a friendly laugh.
And as shown by the street-corn that I enjoyed, I’ve also become much more adventurous in my eating. A couple weeks ago I tried my first sugar cane straight from the field (you suck on it and it tastes kinda like maple sugar candy). While I still avoid some of the more traditional meat dishes (such as chicken feet and cow intestines) I gladly take part in street-meat (I had some lovely chicken out of a paper bag purchased on the side of the road in a rural town last week) and have even learned how to cook pretty well, if I do say so myself. I’ve learned all sorts of Zulu music and pop culture. I’ve learned to walk slower and to talk slower and to somewhat alter my heavy American accent so people can understand me more easily. And even though I always stick out as a white oddity in the townships, I feel pretty comfortable there too. And I am now living with two white South Africans, so am gaining a better understanding of white South African culture as well. Yup, I’m pretty proud of my level of acclimation.
But hold on one minute. Does a more adventurous appetite and the ability to sing along to the latest Zulu pop song really indicate acclimation? Does the ability to take part in a South African political discussion or the ability to ask a question in Zulu really mean that I’ve acclimated to a culture? After all, there are still moments when it all sort of catches up with me and I feel tired of always being out of my comfort zone. There are times when Zulu customs get so confusing (well the customs aren’t confusing, but my understanding of my role/place in them is confusing) and I want to throw my arms up in the air and sing the American national anthem while I eat a hot dog and drink some lemonade.
I always wonder at what point someone can feel fully acclimated to a new country and a new culture. I used to believe that there was indeed a point when this happened, when someone could proudly say “I am a South African” (or whatever the country/culture they’re in). But I don’t really think that’s possible. I think that no matter how long I am in South Africa, I will always be an “ex-pat.” It will never really be mine in the way that America is. (As an aside, I’m not sure I can really group the whole of “America” as my home, but that’s a debate for another day.) I have, however, become much more comfortable here. It’s funny to think that after studying abroad here for 4 months in 2005 I felt like I understood South Africa, because my understanding now is much deeper and more diverse, but still not complete.
South Africa continues to fascinate me. I am fascinated by the clash of traditional Zulu culture and “western” culture and the exciting diversity that is the product of this clash. I’m fascinated by how traditional views about the place of women in society are being shaped by more liberal western ideas. And on the flip side, how western ideas adapt to traditional ideas such as respect for your ancestors and the strength of the extended family as a social unit. A friend of mine here recently told me that the essence of being human is the ability to adapt. The ability of traditional Zulus to adapt to a changing world, and the ability of an American girl to adapt to life in a new country. And yes, a year and a half after my “adventure” began, South Africa is still a new country. My life has fallen more into a regular pattern because of my newly acquired full-time job, but every day continues to throw new challenges and new adventures at me, even when I don’t recognize them as the challenges and adventures that they are. And so I continue to be “un-acclimated,” and to learn from all of the experiences, encounters, and detours along the way.
Monday, May 26, 2008
"Waking up every morning and loving the world all over again"
Last week for work, I had to hire a car to go visit some of my organization’s sites for a project that I’ve been working on. So for the first time in my year and a half here, I learned to drive on the other side of the road and how to navigate my way around not by public transportation but rather on my own. For those of you who do not know, I have a terrible sense of direction. And by terrible, I mean I have no sense of direction whatsoever. You might say I couldn’t find my way out of a paperbag. Last Thursday, I got lost in downtown Durban at rush hour and ended up going around in circles for a pretty long time. It was scary because I’m still not overly confident driving on the left side of the road and I don’t know the streets of Durban that well (aka which ones are one-way) and the driving of South Africans is erratic at best. So I ended up in tears in a McDonalds parking lot, totally lost and feeling hopeless.
Eventually I got home, safe and sound, but I really hate being lost. I feel frustrated and mad at myself for not being able to figure it out on my own. It’s also a very scary and belittling feeling to really have no idea where you are, how you got there, or how to get back home. Someone once told me that whenever he gets lost, he figures it means he wasn’t supposed to know where he was for awhile. That maybe it’s okay to not always have direction, to not always be sure of where you’re going or how you’ll get there. But inevitably, we always manage to find our base again, to find our way back to the path where we were meant to be. And there is that wonderful sense of relief when you see that familiar landmark or that familiar face (who may or may not be laughing at you because you’re sitting in your car crying in a McDonald’s parking lot). Lesson learned.
My last blog update was a bit lacking in the hope department, but I guess you could say I’ve been able to navigate my way back to hope again over the past month. Nothing miraculous has happened. I still feel overwhelmed by the amount of work that needs to be done and by my own personal inability to make a difference. But there is something so beautiful about the enthusiasm and joy that I saw in the schools that I visited last week. For work I’m monitoring the impact of a reading program that the organization I work for is funding. So I’ve been visiting the schools that are participating and sitting in on classes and meeting with learners. I visited a third grade class yesterday where there were 120 students in the class, sitting four or five to a desk. Many of the desks didn’t have surfaces on them and almost none of the students had any books. And yet the students were SO enthusiastic and excited. When they know the answer to a question, they snap their fingers in the air and yell “teacher, teacher” while jumping up and down. Buy my favorite part was the beginning of class when the teacher had them all stand and say “I love you neighbor” and hug the person next to them. Now there must be some hope in that. Afterall, who’s to say that learning to read is any more important than learning how to love your neighbor?
During this past week I have also been reading the book I know why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. There is one chapter in which Angelou discusses faith among poor communities. She says that “People whose history and future were threatened each day by extinction considered that it was only by divine intervention that they were able to live at all. I find it interesting that the meanest life, the poorest existence, is attributed to God’s will, but as human beings become more affluent, as their living standard and style begin to ascend the material scale, God descends the scale of responsibility at a commensurate speed.” Funny that I, a person who has never had to wonder where my next meal would come from, lose hope so easily. And yet all around me people who very often have absolutely nothing, have more hope, more faith, and more joy in their hearts than I could ever imagine. It’s quite humbling. The silly things that I stay awake worrying about at night are absolutely nothing in comparison to the problems that many people face, and yet they are able to thank God everyday for what they’ve been given and have hope that things will work out.
I still feel discouraged when I visit a grade 6 class and meet a twelve year old who not only cannot read but also cannot write his own name. I get discouraged when I look around the classroom of 120 enthusiastic seven year olds and think that statistically at least 30 of them will die of AIDS. And I have been especially discouraged lately by the xenophobic attacks that have been sweeping across South Africa. In the last two weeks, something like 50 foreigners have been killed by mobs of South Africans, mostly in townships in Johannesburg, but a couple here in Durban. Some South Africans are angry about foreigners from other African countries who are taking already very scarce employment opportunities. Although I am in no way at risk (this violence is not aimed at Americans or Europeans, just immigrants from other African countries) it does strike close to home because I am also a foreigner, I just happen to be from a more acceptable country. The stories of violence are truly horrific… people being burned alive, women being raped, people being chased and beaten by angry mobs… all because they were born in a different country and do not speak the right language. Not since the last days of Apartheid has violence to this extent erupted in the townships. It has gotten so bad that the president has dispatched the army to the townships to try to keep things under control. I drove by a police station near one of the townships last week and saw a make-shift refugee camp that had been set up for about 500 foreigners who were living there temporarily. Men, women, and children, who are terrified of being attacked and murdered… all because they came to South Africa in hopes of finding a better life. It just makes you want to scream… are these not our brothers and sisters as well? Where is the spirit of ubuntu: “I am because you are.” My humanity is bound up in yours. I cannot hold another person down, without also holding myself down.
Well I seem to have navigated myself back to a feeling of hopelessness. Sometimes I guess it all just gets too heavy to carry in your heart. It reminds me of a quote that says “anyone can slay a dragon, but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That’s what takes a real hero” (Brian Andreas). The world can be unjust and senseless, cruel and brutal, terrifying and confusing. But there is still hope to be had. Whether you find it in the faith of those who have nothing, in the beautiful smile of a seven year old girl who cannot read and wears tattered clothes but is still filled with joy, or in your own undying belief that the world is fundamentally good in spite of, or perhaps because of, all of the struggles. I guess if I cannot believe that the world is fundamentally good, then I don’t really know what we’re all fighting for, what the point of it is. And so I have found hope again not through my faith or through some wonderful hope-restoring event, but rather out of necessity. We must have hope. We must wake every morning and love the world, for all of its pain as well as all of its joy, all over again. We must believe that a better world is possible, and that we have a role in creating that world. Perhaps if we truly believe that, we can find our way back towards the path of hope. Perhaps it is necessary to get lost and have a good frustrated and hopeless cry every now and then, in order to be reminded of how important hope is. Without hope, we have nothing.
Eventually I got home, safe and sound, but I really hate being lost. I feel frustrated and mad at myself for not being able to figure it out on my own. It’s also a very scary and belittling feeling to really have no idea where you are, how you got there, or how to get back home. Someone once told me that whenever he gets lost, he figures it means he wasn’t supposed to know where he was for awhile. That maybe it’s okay to not always have direction, to not always be sure of where you’re going or how you’ll get there. But inevitably, we always manage to find our base again, to find our way back to the path where we were meant to be. And there is that wonderful sense of relief when you see that familiar landmark or that familiar face (who may or may not be laughing at you because you’re sitting in your car crying in a McDonald’s parking lot). Lesson learned.
My last blog update was a bit lacking in the hope department, but I guess you could say I’ve been able to navigate my way back to hope again over the past month. Nothing miraculous has happened. I still feel overwhelmed by the amount of work that needs to be done and by my own personal inability to make a difference. But there is something so beautiful about the enthusiasm and joy that I saw in the schools that I visited last week. For work I’m monitoring the impact of a reading program that the organization I work for is funding. So I’ve been visiting the schools that are participating and sitting in on classes and meeting with learners. I visited a third grade class yesterday where there were 120 students in the class, sitting four or five to a desk. Many of the desks didn’t have surfaces on them and almost none of the students had any books. And yet the students were SO enthusiastic and excited. When they know the answer to a question, they snap their fingers in the air and yell “teacher, teacher” while jumping up and down. Buy my favorite part was the beginning of class when the teacher had them all stand and say “I love you neighbor” and hug the person next to them. Now there must be some hope in that. Afterall, who’s to say that learning to read is any more important than learning how to love your neighbor?
During this past week I have also been reading the book I know why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. There is one chapter in which Angelou discusses faith among poor communities. She says that “People whose history and future were threatened each day by extinction considered that it was only by divine intervention that they were able to live at all. I find it interesting that the meanest life, the poorest existence, is attributed to God’s will, but as human beings become more affluent, as their living standard and style begin to ascend the material scale, God descends the scale of responsibility at a commensurate speed.” Funny that I, a person who has never had to wonder where my next meal would come from, lose hope so easily. And yet all around me people who very often have absolutely nothing, have more hope, more faith, and more joy in their hearts than I could ever imagine. It’s quite humbling. The silly things that I stay awake worrying about at night are absolutely nothing in comparison to the problems that many people face, and yet they are able to thank God everyday for what they’ve been given and have hope that things will work out.
I still feel discouraged when I visit a grade 6 class and meet a twelve year old who not only cannot read but also cannot write his own name. I get discouraged when I look around the classroom of 120 enthusiastic seven year olds and think that statistically at least 30 of them will die of AIDS. And I have been especially discouraged lately by the xenophobic attacks that have been sweeping across South Africa. In the last two weeks, something like 50 foreigners have been killed by mobs of South Africans, mostly in townships in Johannesburg, but a couple here in Durban. Some South Africans are angry about foreigners from other African countries who are taking already very scarce employment opportunities. Although I am in no way at risk (this violence is not aimed at Americans or Europeans, just immigrants from other African countries) it does strike close to home because I am also a foreigner, I just happen to be from a more acceptable country. The stories of violence are truly horrific… people being burned alive, women being raped, people being chased and beaten by angry mobs… all because they were born in a different country and do not speak the right language. Not since the last days of Apartheid has violence to this extent erupted in the townships. It has gotten so bad that the president has dispatched the army to the townships to try to keep things under control. I drove by a police station near one of the townships last week and saw a make-shift refugee camp that had been set up for about 500 foreigners who were living there temporarily. Men, women, and children, who are terrified of being attacked and murdered… all because they came to South Africa in hopes of finding a better life. It just makes you want to scream… are these not our brothers and sisters as well? Where is the spirit of ubuntu: “I am because you are.” My humanity is bound up in yours. I cannot hold another person down, without also holding myself down.
Well I seem to have navigated myself back to a feeling of hopelessness. Sometimes I guess it all just gets too heavy to carry in your heart. It reminds me of a quote that says “anyone can slay a dragon, but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That’s what takes a real hero” (Brian Andreas). The world can be unjust and senseless, cruel and brutal, terrifying and confusing. But there is still hope to be had. Whether you find it in the faith of those who have nothing, in the beautiful smile of a seven year old girl who cannot read and wears tattered clothes but is still filled with joy, or in your own undying belief that the world is fundamentally good in spite of, or perhaps because of, all of the struggles. I guess if I cannot believe that the world is fundamentally good, then I don’t really know what we’re all fighting for, what the point of it is. And so I have found hope again not through my faith or through some wonderful hope-restoring event, but rather out of necessity. We must have hope. We must wake every morning and love the world, for all of its pain as well as all of its joy, all over again. We must believe that a better world is possible, and that we have a role in creating that world. Perhaps if we truly believe that, we can find our way back towards the path of hope. Perhaps it is necessary to get lost and have a good frustrated and hopeless cry every now and then, in order to be reminded of how important hope is. Without hope, we have nothing.
Friday, April 25, 2008
A Heavy Heart
Today for work I visited an education centre a couple of hours north of Durban called Maphumulo. Basically for my job I have to evaluate the effectiveness of education centres that the organization I work for has set up throughout KwaZulu-Natal, which means that I have been fortunate enough to visit many new parts of South Africa and meet many interesting people. One of my favorite parts of these visits is the car rides to and from the sites with my colleagues. Without fail, these rides end in fascinating conversations in which I learn more about this country and about development than I ever did in classes. I think that in my 3 months at my part-time job I have learned far more than in my year of coursework or in the many hours spent writing my dissertation.
Today was a beautiful day here with remarkably clear blue skies. It’s getting cooler, but still not cold. I would say a pleasant 75 degrees. And the part of the province that we drove through was hilly with beautiful rock outcroppings. The hills were filled with lush green trees and spotted with beautiful traditional Zulu homesteads. As we drove further and further from Durban, the sky seemed to get bluer, the grass got greener, and it definitely got a whole lot quieter and more peaceful.
As we drove through the rolling hills along winding dirt roads, my colleague, Stanley, and I got talking about rural development and about the challenges that rural communities face. I asked him about HIV/AIDS in the rural area we were visiting, inquiring whether or not he felt our organization was doing enough to address the epidemic. He shook his head, saying “we can never do enough.” He then went on to tell me a story which I promise you I will never forget.
Stanley visited one of the schools in the area we were driving through to lead a workshop for the teachers not too long ago. He said that one of the teachers told him “you have no idea what we are dealing with here.” Apparently one day at school there was a large number of male students lined up outside of the girls’ bathroom. The teacher went in to investigate, and found that two first grade girls were having sex with the boy students for fifty cents. Fifty cents here is equivalent to about $.07 in the states. At first I didn’t believe Stanley that seven year old girls were actually having sex with these boys, but he assured me that they were. For seven cents. When the teacher brought the girls in to talk to the principal, they said “it’s not a big deal. We’re being lenient. Our mothers charge R50 (about $7) to do it in Durban.” The teacher later found out that both girls were HIV positive, and were most likely spreading HIV to the boys in that bathroom of their primary school.
This story deeply disturbed me on many levels. First of all that these children were having sex at six or seven years of age. I mean that fact alone just made me so incredibly sad. And then there’s the fact that these girls think that prostitution is okay, that they have seen their mothers providing for their families by selling their bodies, and that they also wanted to contribute to their families in this way. Their mothers probably spent most of their time in Durban working as prostitutes, and the girls were forced to fend for themselves. Most likely the seven cents they were making in the bathroom was feeding them and their siblings. Sex for survival.
And then there is the issue of AIDS. Of how easily and quickly it is spread. Of the inability of education and awareness to create behaviour change. Of the sheer magnitude of the problem. I know I’ve shared statistics, but just take a moment and think about it. At least one in five people are HIV positive in South Africa. One in five. Think of your four best friends. If you were South African, chances are at least one of you would have AIDS. Approximately one thousand people die of AIDS every single day in South Africa. That’s like 9/11 happening every three days. And that is in South Africa alone. It does not consider other countries (many countries in Sub-Saharan Africa have similar HIV prevalence rates; the prevalence in Swaziland is 2 in 5). Not to get too political, but perhaps the war on terror is targeting the wrong terrorist.
And so I arrived at the education centre I was evaluating in Maphumulo with a heavy heart. It was located in a primary school and I could not look at the little girls without thinking of those two girls in the bathroom of another primary school not far from there. I could not help but think of the insurmountable challenges that these children faced. I cannot even fathom their lives. And there I was asking whether or not their education centre had enough books. Whether or not they were using the computers (this centre was lucky because it had electricity). Whether or not teachers attended the workshops. It all seemed so frivolous. As Stanley said, we can never do enough. I feel this heavy burden to make things better. Perhaps it’s the American in me. We’re always trying to fix things, usually by throwing money at the problem. But how can anyone fix AIDS? How can you tell those two girls that getting a good education is better than getting paid for sex when they don’t have any food to eat? When they probably won’t live past their tenth birthdays because they will die of AIDS? I have never felt so helpless in my life.
As we drove away from the school this afternoon, Stanley pointed out a rock outcropping on one of the hills we were passing. It was funny shaped, looking sort of like a top hat, and jutted out far above the rest of the hills. After pointing it out to me, Stanley said shaking his head “I wonder what God was trying to do.”
The world is full of mysteries, from funny shaped rock outcroppings to the loss of innocence of young girls in their primary school bathroom. And sometimes we have to wonder, seriously… what is God trying to do? Why do such horrible things happen? There are so many why questions running around in my head. Why young children have to be born with AIDS. Why children must choose between prostitution and starvation. Why education and awareness are not even making a dent in the AIDS epidemic. Why one person is born in a posh American suburb while another person is born in a rural area of South Africa without any water or electricity, where classes are interrupted when a herd of cattle wanders through the schoolyard moo-ing so loudly that the teacher can’t be heard. But most importantly, I am left wondering what can be done. What can I personally do to make any change? What am I supposed to do with these experiences that shake me to the core? Perhaps it is the ultimate struggle that every human being faces… trying to find our places in this big confusing world. Trying to figure out how we fit into the puzzle, how we can best offer ourselves in the never ending quest to make the world a better place. Thus far, I am left only with a heavy heart and a withering sense of hope. Truly, what is God trying to do?
Today was a beautiful day here with remarkably clear blue skies. It’s getting cooler, but still not cold. I would say a pleasant 75 degrees. And the part of the province that we drove through was hilly with beautiful rock outcroppings. The hills were filled with lush green trees and spotted with beautiful traditional Zulu homesteads. As we drove further and further from Durban, the sky seemed to get bluer, the grass got greener, and it definitely got a whole lot quieter and more peaceful.
As we drove through the rolling hills along winding dirt roads, my colleague, Stanley, and I got talking about rural development and about the challenges that rural communities face. I asked him about HIV/AIDS in the rural area we were visiting, inquiring whether or not he felt our organization was doing enough to address the epidemic. He shook his head, saying “we can never do enough.” He then went on to tell me a story which I promise you I will never forget.
Stanley visited one of the schools in the area we were driving through to lead a workshop for the teachers not too long ago. He said that one of the teachers told him “you have no idea what we are dealing with here.” Apparently one day at school there was a large number of male students lined up outside of the girls’ bathroom. The teacher went in to investigate, and found that two first grade girls were having sex with the boy students for fifty cents. Fifty cents here is equivalent to about $.07 in the states. At first I didn’t believe Stanley that seven year old girls were actually having sex with these boys, but he assured me that they were. For seven cents. When the teacher brought the girls in to talk to the principal, they said “it’s not a big deal. We’re being lenient. Our mothers charge R50 (about $7) to do it in Durban.” The teacher later found out that both girls were HIV positive, and were most likely spreading HIV to the boys in that bathroom of their primary school.
This story deeply disturbed me on many levels. First of all that these children were having sex at six or seven years of age. I mean that fact alone just made me so incredibly sad. And then there’s the fact that these girls think that prostitution is okay, that they have seen their mothers providing for their families by selling their bodies, and that they also wanted to contribute to their families in this way. Their mothers probably spent most of their time in Durban working as prostitutes, and the girls were forced to fend for themselves. Most likely the seven cents they were making in the bathroom was feeding them and their siblings. Sex for survival.
And then there is the issue of AIDS. Of how easily and quickly it is spread. Of the inability of education and awareness to create behaviour change. Of the sheer magnitude of the problem. I know I’ve shared statistics, but just take a moment and think about it. At least one in five people are HIV positive in South Africa. One in five. Think of your four best friends. If you were South African, chances are at least one of you would have AIDS. Approximately one thousand people die of AIDS every single day in South Africa. That’s like 9/11 happening every three days. And that is in South Africa alone. It does not consider other countries (many countries in Sub-Saharan Africa have similar HIV prevalence rates; the prevalence in Swaziland is 2 in 5). Not to get too political, but perhaps the war on terror is targeting the wrong terrorist.
And so I arrived at the education centre I was evaluating in Maphumulo with a heavy heart. It was located in a primary school and I could not look at the little girls without thinking of those two girls in the bathroom of another primary school not far from there. I could not help but think of the insurmountable challenges that these children faced. I cannot even fathom their lives. And there I was asking whether or not their education centre had enough books. Whether or not they were using the computers (this centre was lucky because it had electricity). Whether or not teachers attended the workshops. It all seemed so frivolous. As Stanley said, we can never do enough. I feel this heavy burden to make things better. Perhaps it’s the American in me. We’re always trying to fix things, usually by throwing money at the problem. But how can anyone fix AIDS? How can you tell those two girls that getting a good education is better than getting paid for sex when they don’t have any food to eat? When they probably won’t live past their tenth birthdays because they will die of AIDS? I have never felt so helpless in my life.
As we drove away from the school this afternoon, Stanley pointed out a rock outcropping on one of the hills we were passing. It was funny shaped, looking sort of like a top hat, and jutted out far above the rest of the hills. After pointing it out to me, Stanley said shaking his head “I wonder what God was trying to do.”
The world is full of mysteries, from funny shaped rock outcroppings to the loss of innocence of young girls in their primary school bathroom. And sometimes we have to wonder, seriously… what is God trying to do? Why do such horrible things happen? There are so many why questions running around in my head. Why young children have to be born with AIDS. Why children must choose between prostitution and starvation. Why education and awareness are not even making a dent in the AIDS epidemic. Why one person is born in a posh American suburb while another person is born in a rural area of South Africa without any water or electricity, where classes are interrupted when a herd of cattle wanders through the schoolyard moo-ing so loudly that the teacher can’t be heard. But most importantly, I am left wondering what can be done. What can I personally do to make any change? What am I supposed to do with these experiences that shake me to the core? Perhaps it is the ultimate struggle that every human being faces… trying to find our places in this big confusing world. Trying to figure out how we fit into the puzzle, how we can best offer ourselves in the never ending quest to make the world a better place. Thus far, I am left only with a heavy heart and a withering sense of hope. Truly, what is God trying to do?
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
the beginning, the middle, and the end
I like books. They have clear beginnings, middles, and ends. In the introduction, you meet the characters and are introduced to the plot. In the middle you get the juicy stuff: the action, the adventure, and the climax. Then in the end, it all wraps up, usually with a lesson learned and a sense of hope for the future. If it’s a good book, it will leave you somehow changed; your perspective somehow altered.
It would be nice if life fell into this neat formation as well… If every chapter of our lives had introductions so we knew what to expect, and a clear plot line with consistent characters and often predictable actions. And then of course it would always end nicely wrapped up, with clear conclusions to be drawn and a moral to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Often over the past 14 months here I have felt like a character in a novel. I’m the young, naïve American girl who moved to Africa (the book would leave it general like that, just some undefined African country) in search of adventure, hoping to find herself. She is faced with challenges and difficulties along the way, and yet she meets an incredible cast of characters, and in the end realizes that despite the adversity she has faced, she has emerged victorious. She has indeed found herself and has had the adventure of a lifetime. So in the last few pages of the novel, we see the heroine (me, of course) boarding a plane returning to New York with one suitcase in tow, perhaps with a tear rolling down her cheek as she is sad to leave her new friends and her new home, but also with a satisfied smile. Because she has seen the world and she now is filled with hope for the future. She watches the sunset over the African landscape as the plane disappears into the clouds. The end.
But unfortunately, life rarely, if ever, follows a plot line. And as far as I can tell from my short 24 years of life, there’s never a clear conclusion with warm and fuzzy lessons learned. Rather there are always unanswered questions and new challenges waiting for you when the plane lands. There are always the things you wish you had said, the experiences you wish you had taken on, and perhaps the experiences that you did take on, but wish you had experienced more fully. And I’m not sure how possible it is for our heroine to hop on that plane with so much peace in her heart, knowing that she is leaving behind people who she cares deeply about and a place which has come to be like home, but which she may never see again. Perhaps the one tear rolling down her cheek is not enough to hold all of these goodbyes.
My stay in South Africa will be coming to an end in two months. And as it creeps closer and closer, I am left reflecting on my time here, and worrying about the future. It is fascinating to me how much my experiences here have changed over the past 14 months. When I think back to where I was a year ago, I am amazed by how different my life was on a day to day basis from what it is now. The people I interact with have completely changed (aka there are few consistent side kicks in this novel) and my activities have changed completely. My priorities, my interests, even my state of mind have changed. My life here no longer feels like some crazy adventure, but rather like normal day to day life. I’m no longer a foreigner in a new land, but rather a twenty-something making her way the best she can in a city that she knows pretty well. I still go on weekend-adventures when I can (for instance I spent Easter weekend at a game park), but for the most part my life has become surprisingly very normal. I remember talking to my sister on the phone once and she said something about how crazy it is that while she’s driving to work, sipping her Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, I’m on the other side of the world in AFRICA. While yes, I am on the other side of the world, my life is not that vastly different from many of your lives. Well, besides the monkeys that I pass daily on the sidewalk. That never fails to make me smile.
So now in the next two months I am left with the tall order of somehow piecing together the conclusion of my novel. I’m still not sure what the plot line is or what the climax of the story is, but perhaps these things can only become clear with time and perspective. And unfortunately this heroine is filled not only with hope for the future, but also a great deal of confusion, as she faces the task of somehow finding her place again back home and somehow discovering the infamous “next step.” As my dad told me the other day, my life has been “like a jar of mucky pond water all shaken up recently.” Perhaps this is why I haven’t been doing a very good job of keeping this blog up-to-date (well I updated it earlier this month but it wasn’t a very good post). When you’re in a state of perpetual confusion, it’s difficult to write a coherent update of your life. And so I try to stay focused on my work (the dissertation is demanding a great deal of my time lately, as is the “part-time” job, which continues to be very interesting but time consuming) and try to keep things in perspective. After all, I am incredibly fortunate to have so many options laid out before me. I have met many people in my travels who would kill for the opportunities that I have been blessed with.
And so this heroine will continue to live life like a jar of mucky pond water, enjoying the confusion and the wonderful sense of feeling alive that comes hand in hand with confusion. And if all goes as planned, she will board that plane with a smile on her face and peace in her heart. Because alas, our naïve young heroine has perhaps taken a step towards finding herself, and in the process has certainly had the adventure of a lifetime.
It would be nice if life fell into this neat formation as well… If every chapter of our lives had introductions so we knew what to expect, and a clear plot line with consistent characters and often predictable actions. And then of course it would always end nicely wrapped up, with clear conclusions to be drawn and a moral to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Often over the past 14 months here I have felt like a character in a novel. I’m the young, naïve American girl who moved to Africa (the book would leave it general like that, just some undefined African country) in search of adventure, hoping to find herself. She is faced with challenges and difficulties along the way, and yet she meets an incredible cast of characters, and in the end realizes that despite the adversity she has faced, she has emerged victorious. She has indeed found herself and has had the adventure of a lifetime. So in the last few pages of the novel, we see the heroine (me, of course) boarding a plane returning to New York with one suitcase in tow, perhaps with a tear rolling down her cheek as she is sad to leave her new friends and her new home, but also with a satisfied smile. Because she has seen the world and she now is filled with hope for the future. She watches the sunset over the African landscape as the plane disappears into the clouds. The end.
But unfortunately, life rarely, if ever, follows a plot line. And as far as I can tell from my short 24 years of life, there’s never a clear conclusion with warm and fuzzy lessons learned. Rather there are always unanswered questions and new challenges waiting for you when the plane lands. There are always the things you wish you had said, the experiences you wish you had taken on, and perhaps the experiences that you did take on, but wish you had experienced more fully. And I’m not sure how possible it is for our heroine to hop on that plane with so much peace in her heart, knowing that she is leaving behind people who she cares deeply about and a place which has come to be like home, but which she may never see again. Perhaps the one tear rolling down her cheek is not enough to hold all of these goodbyes.
My stay in South Africa will be coming to an end in two months. And as it creeps closer and closer, I am left reflecting on my time here, and worrying about the future. It is fascinating to me how much my experiences here have changed over the past 14 months. When I think back to where I was a year ago, I am amazed by how different my life was on a day to day basis from what it is now. The people I interact with have completely changed (aka there are few consistent side kicks in this novel) and my activities have changed completely. My priorities, my interests, even my state of mind have changed. My life here no longer feels like some crazy adventure, but rather like normal day to day life. I’m no longer a foreigner in a new land, but rather a twenty-something making her way the best she can in a city that she knows pretty well. I still go on weekend-adventures when I can (for instance I spent Easter weekend at a game park), but for the most part my life has become surprisingly very normal. I remember talking to my sister on the phone once and she said something about how crazy it is that while she’s driving to work, sipping her Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, I’m on the other side of the world in AFRICA. While yes, I am on the other side of the world, my life is not that vastly different from many of your lives. Well, besides the monkeys that I pass daily on the sidewalk. That never fails to make me smile.
So now in the next two months I am left with the tall order of somehow piecing together the conclusion of my novel. I’m still not sure what the plot line is or what the climax of the story is, but perhaps these things can only become clear with time and perspective. And unfortunately this heroine is filled not only with hope for the future, but also a great deal of confusion, as she faces the task of somehow finding her place again back home and somehow discovering the infamous “next step.” As my dad told me the other day, my life has been “like a jar of mucky pond water all shaken up recently.” Perhaps this is why I haven’t been doing a very good job of keeping this blog up-to-date (well I updated it earlier this month but it wasn’t a very good post). When you’re in a state of perpetual confusion, it’s difficult to write a coherent update of your life. And so I try to stay focused on my work (the dissertation is demanding a great deal of my time lately, as is the “part-time” job, which continues to be very interesting but time consuming) and try to keep things in perspective. After all, I am incredibly fortunate to have so many options laid out before me. I have met many people in my travels who would kill for the opportunities that I have been blessed with.
And so this heroine will continue to live life like a jar of mucky pond water, enjoying the confusion and the wonderful sense of feeling alive that comes hand in hand with confusion. And if all goes as planned, she will board that plane with a smile on her face and peace in her heart. Because alas, our naïve young heroine has perhaps taken a step towards finding herself, and in the process has certainly had the adventure of a lifetime.
Monday, March 10, 2008
small things with great love.
I’m feeling less than inspired to write this, but figured I was overdue for an update. So I’m sitting in front of my computer screen, trying to think of some clever theme or anecdote that I can share. I thought of talking about race, something that I haven’t discussed much in my blogs, but which is an issue that is part of every aspect of life in South Africa. In fact, when I was looking for a new apartment last month, I was shocked to find how many people specified in their advertisements that they wanted a white roommate only. They would disguise it cleverly, by saying something like “this apartment would ideally suit a young white male or female professional” so that they didn’t have to outright say “whites only!” But it was there nonetheless. I actually emailed several of the people who placed these advertisements asking why they specified the preferred race of their potential roommate. None replied. Perhaps their silence speaks more than any reply could.
I thought of writing about crime, which is unfortunately also part of every aspect of life here. I was walking home from the university the other day and thought about how funny it is (perhaps funny isn’t the word…) how protecting myself against crime has become a very normal part of my day. For instance, I only walk on the side of the road facing traffic, so that if I’m approached by a suspicious vehicle I have time to react, rather than it coming up behind me and catching me by surprise. I’ve adjusted in other ways too. I never carry more than $10 on me. In fact I rarely carry a purse so that there is less for someone to grab. And I’ve thought many times of how I would react were someone to mug me. I actually had a very unsettling dream last night about being mugged at gun point, probably because such an event is a constant fear and something I regularly plan against. Strange enough, my dream took place in New York City, not in Durban. Crime is a universal problem, I suppose. Fortunately I have been very lucky and have had little experience with crime since I’ve been here (knock on wood). I had my cell phone stolen a year ago, and then in October my apartment was broken into and my laptop was stolen. A laptop seems very insignificant though when I think about how incredibly lucky I am that I was not asleep in my bedroom when the person broke in my bedroom window that night.
I also thought of writing about AIDS. In past blogs, I’ve barely discussed the issues surrounding AIDS in South Africa, a topic which I’ve learned a great deal about through my studies and my dissertation. I actually changed my dissertation topic about a month ago. I was making no progress with gaining access to do interviews in hospitals for my previous topic, so I switched the whole thing up. I joined a research project that was already underway. There’s a research organization at the University of KwaZulu-Natal called the Health Economic AIDS Research Division (HEARD). They conducted interviews 2 years ago looking at the impact of the provision of treatment for HIV/AIDS (Antiretroviral treatment) on the health systems in South Africa. Basically, they looked at whether or not the AIDS treatment programmes in South Africa were impacting the staffing, funding, and infrastructure of other health services. So they conducted these interviews, but no one ever analyzed or wrote them up. That’s where I come in. I received the complete data sets, and am now working on writing up a literature review, analyzing the interviews, and then writing up the discussions and conclusions that can be arrived at from the research. It’s interesting stuff, and I’ll fill you in more on it as I get further into the research. In terms of AIDS in South Africa, about 20% of all adults in the country are HIV+. 1000 people die in South Africa EVERY DAY from AIDS. 71% of deaths among those aged between 15 and 49 are caused by AIDS. A recent survey found that South Africans spend more time at funerals than they do having their hair cut, shopping, or having barbeques. Twice as many people have been to a funeral in the last month than have been to a wedding. I could go on and on, but I think these statistics speak to the magnitude of the problem and the immediacy with which it needs to be addressed.
And then of course I thought of writing about development itself. Still not sure exactly what development is, or whether or not I agree with it or how I fit into the development of other countries. In my part-time work that I’ve taken on, I have found a route of development work that I really like. I’m working for a non-governmental organization called the Media in Education Trust. They do work to improve education, especially in rural areas, in South Africa. I’m working as a researcher, monitoring and evaluating a couple of their programs. My job is to assess the effectiveness of the programs, helping to determine how they can be improved. It’s interesting work, although I sometimes get frustrated because I’m still trying to find my place and my role in this job. But it’s great experience. In terms of development, I think education is the key to development of any country or any community. By building the capacity of the youth, you build the capacity of the country. Perhaps education is the key to addressing the issues I mentioned above of race, crime, AIDS, and development in South Africa. Look at that, a theme emerged for this blog afterall. So perhaps in a very small way I am helping to improve South Africa. I like to think that development work is simply doing what you can to improve life in your own little corner of the world. Small things with great love.
So that's the update for this month. Perhaps a bit scattered, but I touched on several of the important issues that this country is dealing with and that I have encountered in my everyday life. Of course much more can be said, but that is all for another time and another place. I hope this update finds you well, and that you too are able to find small ways of showing great love.
I thought of writing about crime, which is unfortunately also part of every aspect of life here. I was walking home from the university the other day and thought about how funny it is (perhaps funny isn’t the word…) how protecting myself against crime has become a very normal part of my day. For instance, I only walk on the side of the road facing traffic, so that if I’m approached by a suspicious vehicle I have time to react, rather than it coming up behind me and catching me by surprise. I’ve adjusted in other ways too. I never carry more than $10 on me. In fact I rarely carry a purse so that there is less for someone to grab. And I’ve thought many times of how I would react were someone to mug me. I actually had a very unsettling dream last night about being mugged at gun point, probably because such an event is a constant fear and something I regularly plan against. Strange enough, my dream took place in New York City, not in Durban. Crime is a universal problem, I suppose. Fortunately I have been very lucky and have had little experience with crime since I’ve been here (knock on wood). I had my cell phone stolen a year ago, and then in October my apartment was broken into and my laptop was stolen. A laptop seems very insignificant though when I think about how incredibly lucky I am that I was not asleep in my bedroom when the person broke in my bedroom window that night.
I also thought of writing about AIDS. In past blogs, I’ve barely discussed the issues surrounding AIDS in South Africa, a topic which I’ve learned a great deal about through my studies and my dissertation. I actually changed my dissertation topic about a month ago. I was making no progress with gaining access to do interviews in hospitals for my previous topic, so I switched the whole thing up. I joined a research project that was already underway. There’s a research organization at the University of KwaZulu-Natal called the Health Economic AIDS Research Division (HEARD). They conducted interviews 2 years ago looking at the impact of the provision of treatment for HIV/AIDS (Antiretroviral treatment) on the health systems in South Africa. Basically, they looked at whether or not the AIDS treatment programmes in South Africa were impacting the staffing, funding, and infrastructure of other health services. So they conducted these interviews, but no one ever analyzed or wrote them up. That’s where I come in. I received the complete data sets, and am now working on writing up a literature review, analyzing the interviews, and then writing up the discussions and conclusions that can be arrived at from the research. It’s interesting stuff, and I’ll fill you in more on it as I get further into the research. In terms of AIDS in South Africa, about 20% of all adults in the country are HIV+. 1000 people die in South Africa EVERY DAY from AIDS. 71% of deaths among those aged between 15 and 49 are caused by AIDS. A recent survey found that South Africans spend more time at funerals than they do having their hair cut, shopping, or having barbeques. Twice as many people have been to a funeral in the last month than have been to a wedding. I could go on and on, but I think these statistics speak to the magnitude of the problem and the immediacy with which it needs to be addressed.
And then of course I thought of writing about development itself. Still not sure exactly what development is, or whether or not I agree with it or how I fit into the development of other countries. In my part-time work that I’ve taken on, I have found a route of development work that I really like. I’m working for a non-governmental organization called the Media in Education Trust. They do work to improve education, especially in rural areas, in South Africa. I’m working as a researcher, monitoring and evaluating a couple of their programs. My job is to assess the effectiveness of the programs, helping to determine how they can be improved. It’s interesting work, although I sometimes get frustrated because I’m still trying to find my place and my role in this job. But it’s great experience. In terms of development, I think education is the key to development of any country or any community. By building the capacity of the youth, you build the capacity of the country. Perhaps education is the key to addressing the issues I mentioned above of race, crime, AIDS, and development in South Africa. Look at that, a theme emerged for this blog afterall. So perhaps in a very small way I am helping to improve South Africa. I like to think that development work is simply doing what you can to improve life in your own little corner of the world. Small things with great love.
So that's the update for this month. Perhaps a bit scattered, but I touched on several of the important issues that this country is dealing with and that I have encountered in my everyday life. Of course much more can be said, but that is all for another time and another place. I hope this update finds you well, and that you too are able to find small ways of showing great love.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Ubuntu
Exactly one year ago this week I was boarding a plane in New York City with one suitcase in tow, wide-eyed and ready for the adventure of a lifetime. And one year later, I sit in my apartment, my home, on the other side of the world, a little bit wiser, a little bit more experienced, a little bit more independent. But mostly, a little more aware of how big the world is and how much I still have to learn. In the past year I have completed the coursework for my masters degree, I have traveled to six new countries, I have met countless friends from all over the world, I have learned some (but not enough) Zulu, I’ve learned how to cook, I’ve learned how to fix a clogged drain, I’ve learned how to navigate Durban via public transportation, I’ve learned how to deal with the daily challenges of living in a new country away from my family and friends, and I have in every sense of the word had the adventure of a lifetime. And the adventure continues. I am now working on my dissertation (slowly but steadily proceeding) and have taken on a part-time job working for an NGO that is working to enhance education in South Africa. My plan is to wrap my dissertation up by April, and then… who knows?! If nothing else, I’ve learned in South Africa that making plans is pretty pointless because chances are, life will ensure that your plans do not unfold as you envision them. And so, South Africa is teaching over-organized, obsessive-compulsive Jaime to take it one day at a time.
Many people have asked me what it is I love so much about South Africa. I often give different answers, ranging anywhere from “I love the beaches!” to something as ambiguous as “I love the culture.” But one year in, I’ve finally realized a way to verbalize what it is about this country that has captured my heart… ubuntu. This is a Zulu word that has no direct translation into English, but roughly means “I am because you are.” In other words, we exist not in and of ourselves, but rather we exist as part of a community, we exist through each other. A person is a person through other people. The philosophy of ubuntu lies behind the amazingly peaceful transition from Apartheid to the post-Apartheid Era in South Africa and behind Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s preaching about there being “no future without forgiveness.” It is ubuntu that is at the heart of South African culture and what makes this country so unique and so dear to my own heart.
Let me try to explain this more clearly. In one of my classes on Social Policy last semester, the professor was talking about the South African right to health care and that every South African is guaranteed access to emergency health care, if resources reasonably allow. In other words, if it is unreasonable to use resources on one person and if these resources could be better used to benefit the community as a whole, then that person does not receive the emergency health care. I questioned the professor on this, asking if this means that South Africans do not have individual rights. And she acknowledged that because I am an American, this is a very foreign idea. In South Africa people do not have individual rights, but rather rights as part of a community, and that the greater good is more important than your individual well-being, that the greater good trumps individual rights. I guess the difference is whereas in many western countries we follow the philosophy of “I think therefore I am,” here it’s more of, I am part of a community, therefore I am.
Although I learned about ubuntu three years ago when I spent a semester here, it took me a year of living here to realize just how much this philosophy is at the very core of South African society. This was never clearer than during the holiday season. Now I’m not going to lie, it was very difficult being away from home on Christmas and on New Year’s. There is no place like home. I was, however, well taken care of by friends and by my home-stay family during the holiday season. I was warmly welcomed into the homes of friends and treated like a family member. Christmas day is celebrated here in a similar fashion to home: family and friends get together and eat a lot, the only difference being that here we wear shorts and t-shirts and go swimming on Christmas day, rather than wearing sweaters and scarves and going shoveling.
During the holiday season, which lasts from mid-December to mid-January in South Africa, no one goes to work, but rather they spend everyday having braiis (South African word for a BBQ) on the beach and having parties. Again, ubuntu prevails. If you know someone who knows someone at a party, you are also invited to the party, or wedding as the case may be. So I have spent the last month showing up at random parties and in a couple of cases weddings, to eat the food and join in the party. And every time I have been warmly welcomed, and every time I have been the only white person. Whereas I feel like I’m being a mooch or a party crasher, the ubuntu philosophy ensures an open-door policy. I once asked how people can possibly plan for a party when they don’t know how many surprise visitors may show up, and was answered with a shrug and a reply of “you just make extra food.” One day I went to a little girl’s third birthday party with a few friends because one of my friends was friends with her uncle, or something along those lines. And as soon as we sat down I was given a plate full of food and a piece of birthday cake. I laugh when I think of the photographs that I’m in the background of, and of the three year old girl someday asking “who’s the white girl at my party?”
Now I’m not going to sugar-coat this country too much. You may ask, what about the frighteningly high crime rate in South Africa? Where’s the ubuntu in the rape, murder, car-jacking, and mugging? Well I don’t have any answer except to say that when poverty and inequality are extreme, people act out of desperation. But regardless of crime, or perhaps despite the crime, ubuntu is the heart and soul of this country. As an outsider, I have been met far more often with kindness and generosity. I could give many, many examples, such as the woman on the bus who rather than giving me directions when I asked for help, actually took me by the hand and brought me to the location I was looking for. Or the fact that when someone asks you “how are you?” they actually stop and wait for a response (I’ve noticed that in America we far too often say “hey, how are you?” in passing and do not actually stop and listen).
In December, I spent a week visiting Mozambique with a friend of mine. We spent a couple of days in the capital, Maputo, and then a few days further north in a beautiful beach town called Tofo. Although the trip was hindered by a few rainy days, it was, as always, great visiting a new place, learning about a new culture, and meeting new people along the way. On the 8-hour ride from Tofo back to Maputo, the door of the mini-bus that we were in wouldn’t shut, so the driver tied it shut with rope. When that didn’t work, two men had to hold it shut. In the 18-person vehicle, we somehow squeezed about 25 people, plus their luggage. The driver neither slowed down nor swerved to avoid potholes in the road. And the woman in front of me was carrying a package which smelled like rotten fish, but which I later learned contained coconut beer, that dripped on my bag the whole ride. And so, sitting in a not comfortable seat in a stuffy and smelly mini-bus, with my legs folded under me because there wasn’t enough leg room, and a coconut carved to look like a monkey that I had purchased in Tofo sitting in my lap, I had to smile. More often than not over the past year, I have found myself in situations similar to this. Situations where I think to myself “how did I end up here?!” When I think of myself just 12 months ago, boarding the plane in New York City, both excited for what lay ahead of me and terrified that I wouldn’t be strong enough to handle what this new adventure held in store, I have to smile because I now find myself sitting with coconut-beer lady and a bunch of other strangers in a mini-bus with the door tied shut, bouncing through Mozambique, and I somehow feel perfectly at home.
As a new year begins, I hope that you all find yourselves in similar situations. Similar not in that I hope you are also in mini-buses that smell like rotten fish, but rather that you are faced both with new challenges and adventures, and with the contentment that comes with taking on these experiences. And in the spirit of ubuntu, I hope that should you find a stranger at your party this year, that you will welcome them in with open arms. Trust me, they’ll appreciate your kindness.
Many people have asked me what it is I love so much about South Africa. I often give different answers, ranging anywhere from “I love the beaches!” to something as ambiguous as “I love the culture.” But one year in, I’ve finally realized a way to verbalize what it is about this country that has captured my heart… ubuntu. This is a Zulu word that has no direct translation into English, but roughly means “I am because you are.” In other words, we exist not in and of ourselves, but rather we exist as part of a community, we exist through each other. A person is a person through other people. The philosophy of ubuntu lies behind the amazingly peaceful transition from Apartheid to the post-Apartheid Era in South Africa and behind Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s preaching about there being “no future without forgiveness.” It is ubuntu that is at the heart of South African culture and what makes this country so unique and so dear to my own heart.
Let me try to explain this more clearly. In one of my classes on Social Policy last semester, the professor was talking about the South African right to health care and that every South African is guaranteed access to emergency health care, if resources reasonably allow. In other words, if it is unreasonable to use resources on one person and if these resources could be better used to benefit the community as a whole, then that person does not receive the emergency health care. I questioned the professor on this, asking if this means that South Africans do not have individual rights. And she acknowledged that because I am an American, this is a very foreign idea. In South Africa people do not have individual rights, but rather rights as part of a community, and that the greater good is more important than your individual well-being, that the greater good trumps individual rights. I guess the difference is whereas in many western countries we follow the philosophy of “I think therefore I am,” here it’s more of, I am part of a community, therefore I am.
Although I learned about ubuntu three years ago when I spent a semester here, it took me a year of living here to realize just how much this philosophy is at the very core of South African society. This was never clearer than during the holiday season. Now I’m not going to lie, it was very difficult being away from home on Christmas and on New Year’s. There is no place like home. I was, however, well taken care of by friends and by my home-stay family during the holiday season. I was warmly welcomed into the homes of friends and treated like a family member. Christmas day is celebrated here in a similar fashion to home: family and friends get together and eat a lot, the only difference being that here we wear shorts and t-shirts and go swimming on Christmas day, rather than wearing sweaters and scarves and going shoveling.
During the holiday season, which lasts from mid-December to mid-January in South Africa, no one goes to work, but rather they spend everyday having braiis (South African word for a BBQ) on the beach and having parties. Again, ubuntu prevails. If you know someone who knows someone at a party, you are also invited to the party, or wedding as the case may be. So I have spent the last month showing up at random parties and in a couple of cases weddings, to eat the food and join in the party. And every time I have been warmly welcomed, and every time I have been the only white person. Whereas I feel like I’m being a mooch or a party crasher, the ubuntu philosophy ensures an open-door policy. I once asked how people can possibly plan for a party when they don’t know how many surprise visitors may show up, and was answered with a shrug and a reply of “you just make extra food.” One day I went to a little girl’s third birthday party with a few friends because one of my friends was friends with her uncle, or something along those lines. And as soon as we sat down I was given a plate full of food and a piece of birthday cake. I laugh when I think of the photographs that I’m in the background of, and of the three year old girl someday asking “who’s the white girl at my party?”
Now I’m not going to sugar-coat this country too much. You may ask, what about the frighteningly high crime rate in South Africa? Where’s the ubuntu in the rape, murder, car-jacking, and mugging? Well I don’t have any answer except to say that when poverty and inequality are extreme, people act out of desperation. But regardless of crime, or perhaps despite the crime, ubuntu is the heart and soul of this country. As an outsider, I have been met far more often with kindness and generosity. I could give many, many examples, such as the woman on the bus who rather than giving me directions when I asked for help, actually took me by the hand and brought me to the location I was looking for. Or the fact that when someone asks you “how are you?” they actually stop and wait for a response (I’ve noticed that in America we far too often say “hey, how are you?” in passing and do not actually stop and listen).
In December, I spent a week visiting Mozambique with a friend of mine. We spent a couple of days in the capital, Maputo, and then a few days further north in a beautiful beach town called Tofo. Although the trip was hindered by a few rainy days, it was, as always, great visiting a new place, learning about a new culture, and meeting new people along the way. On the 8-hour ride from Tofo back to Maputo, the door of the mini-bus that we were in wouldn’t shut, so the driver tied it shut with rope. When that didn’t work, two men had to hold it shut. In the 18-person vehicle, we somehow squeezed about 25 people, plus their luggage. The driver neither slowed down nor swerved to avoid potholes in the road. And the woman in front of me was carrying a package which smelled like rotten fish, but which I later learned contained coconut beer, that dripped on my bag the whole ride. And so, sitting in a not comfortable seat in a stuffy and smelly mini-bus, with my legs folded under me because there wasn’t enough leg room, and a coconut carved to look like a monkey that I had purchased in Tofo sitting in my lap, I had to smile. More often than not over the past year, I have found myself in situations similar to this. Situations where I think to myself “how did I end up here?!” When I think of myself just 12 months ago, boarding the plane in New York City, both excited for what lay ahead of me and terrified that I wouldn’t be strong enough to handle what this new adventure held in store, I have to smile because I now find myself sitting with coconut-beer lady and a bunch of other strangers in a mini-bus with the door tied shut, bouncing through Mozambique, and I somehow feel perfectly at home.
As a new year begins, I hope that you all find yourselves in similar situations. Similar not in that I hope you are also in mini-buses that smell like rotten fish, but rather that you are faced both with new challenges and adventures, and with the contentment that comes with taking on these experiences. And in the spirit of ubuntu, I hope that should you find a stranger at your party this year, that you will welcome them in with open arms. Trust me, they’ll appreciate your kindness.
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