Spearman Primary

a look at a 'successful school'.

Yesterday we visited Spearman Primary- a grade 1-7 school in Durban. The children were so cute and welcoming. They had organized songs and dances to perform for us, including some traditional Zulu dances and and gumboot performance.

some kiddos at lunch

After the initial performances, we were each randomly paired with a prefect, who took us to a classroom. We were given a random topic we were supposed to talk about for 5 minutes, mine was "South Africa- a beautiful country". The teachers were supposed to brief us about issues in the classroom, however, when I arrived my teacher said, "Boys and Girls, this is Miss Claire. We behave when she teaches us." And then she turned to me and said, "Okay. I don't have any plans." and then proceeded have me teach with no other direction. After 10 minutes describing South Africa and showing the kids were it was on the map, I explained a little about the US and how I flew on a plane. After that, I asked them to sing me a song. They chose, "I wave my finger in the air" to the tune of "If you're happy and you know it." It was adorable. After that I read them an ENTIRE book of Aesop's Fables. They were grade one, which means they had switched to English instruction very recently, and most did not understand a lot of what I said.

The teacher's lack of concern or care disturbed me. We had been warned it was difficult to inspire professionalism in teachers, despite their good salary...

playing "miss mary mack" with a little girl named Mary!

After our lunch, we went out to talk with the children. They treated us like celebrities which was pretty uncomfortable. They hoarded around us, asking for autographs. To make it less weird, I asked each what their name was, and then what they wanted to be when they grew up. A lot answered, "A doctor." or "teacher". I was happy with how many girls wanted to be doctors. After that I would write a little message. One girl wanted to be a pilot, so I wrote, "I hope to see you in the clouds some day."- things like that. I forgot to ask one of the girls what she wanted to be, but she wanted me to know after hearing me ask the others. She proclaimed, "I want to be a lawyer!" and I cried, "Me too!" They hugged us, jumped into pictures with us...

front and center in this picture is "toe stroker", a little girl who constantly stroked my second toes while I was teaching... it was awkward, and her English was poor so I didn't really call her out on it... haha.

After our final performances, we had some time to talk to the kids before they left again. I can't say I have a great grasp of the quality of their education, but they certainly seem happy and involved, and are lead by a caring principal and supportive staff. Their scores are successful in testing, so something must be going right.

but whose is it?

John (our academic director) and Imraan (a main lecturer) often tell us,

"It isn't your fault that your were born privileged. You cannot help what you're born into, any more than those living in the informal settlements (aka shacks). You have to remember that when you're feeling intense guilt."

The message they're telling us is true... It wasn't my fault that I grew up in a super wealthy consumerist country, in a middle class family, only child, etc. It isn't my fault that I have items in my purse worth more than a South African will make in an entire year... It isn't my fault that I'm privileged.

But isn't it my fault if I remain privileged?

We live on a hill, in a part of Cato Manor called "Bonella". Our families are lower middle class, which means various things. My house, for example, is viewed among the group as "really nice". And it is. It's very small, but everything is clean and well taken care of. Our furniture is in good shape (crushed green velvet), we have a microwave, a washing machine (which isn't used), insane doors that look like they're from a high security prison (doors are definitely a status symbol), and I have an oscillating fan in my room (JACKPOT). Many people in the neighborhood take 'basin baths', where you sit in the tub and pour water over yourself. However, wealthier families sit in the water (like mine). When sitting in the tub, there's about three inches of water on either side of me-- it's pretty necessary for me to flip on to my belly and wiggle to get the soap on my front side off. Yes, paint is peeling off the walls, and chameleons are everywhere, but my house is nice.

The rest of the houses nearby are in similar or worse condition. There is one woman that seemed to randomly set up an informal settlement or shack between two houses. She hangs out a lot in my friend Becca's house.

However, at the bottom of the hill, by the gas station, are endless informal settlements. I mean endless. Their roofs overlap from their closeness, and all that is visible is a sea of shacks of patched together tin and wood.

Everyday, a driver picks us up from various points in the neighborhood to bring us to the program center. The center is in Cato Manor as well, but we drive from one side to another, mostly along the road with the informal settlements.

On days when I'm not aware, I let the colors and sun bounce off the tin roofs and glaze over what those shacks hold.

On days when I am aware, it's hard.

People live in those shacks.

Children, walking on their way home from school. Parents, trying to raise a family and put food on the table. Grandparents, dying, wondering what to do now that they can no longer provide...

This is something wearing on everyone in our program, I think. One girl broke down the other day with the emotion of it. It is hard to see, hard to internalize and make sense of.

This experience only further validates and strengthens my desire to live a simple life, a life that is focused on community and not myself. To keep taking those small steps towards voluntary poverty that Dorothy Day talked about. To continue to let my life be transformed into something that isn't only about me, but about all of us.

truth and.. reconciliation?

John Daniels, our academic director here, was one of the researchers on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in the post-apartheid period. To sum it up, the man is legit. He worked on tons of cases, and in conjunction with Desmond Tutu and Alex Borraine.

This week we've been learning about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission- the process through which the nation was rebuilt, people applied for amnesty, and reconciliation was attempted...

I say attempted because this learning experience so far has made me realize how very hard true reconciliation is. The 'rainbow nation' is still classified into white, indian, colored, and black- the people themselves classify each other in casual conversation. There is a new sense of equality, but an underlying tension that this equality is fragile, and needs to still be strengthened.

21,000 people recorded their stories and gave them to the TRC. 2,000 were invited to tell their stories at a council, in public. All of these cases were investigated.

Over 80% of people that applied for amenesty were black, although the majority of GVHR (gross violation of human rights) were committed by the apartheid security forces of the National Party.

Watching footage from the TRC was heartbreaking. I've cried through every segment... mainly, the question that keeps running through my head is,

"How can people do this to one another?"

Watching that footage has made me realize how far the country has come. That I can be welcomed into an all black and indian neighborhood, and safe there. That I can be one of many walking downtown Durban. That I can swim with everyone else. The separations have fallen, but it was not without pain.

The absolute pain and torture of acknowledging past wrongs and working through them is evident in every step of the TRC. Tutu wanted reconciliation over truth, nation building over punishment, because 'it all comes out in the end anyways'. Watching people face their past torturers, asking "What kind of man are you? How can you not remember what you did to me?" is heart wrenching. Watching past abusers struggle with the acts they committed is hard as well.

What strikes me most is that this torture and pain continues to occur, in our own country. The US continues to use torture tactics and blacklist sites that we are not attempting to reconcile or know the truth about.

What will the eventual repercussions of this be? Looking at South Africa now, I think it will be a high cost to us all.

catholic (universal)

This is a little of why I love being Catholic.

When showing Mama my pictures of my home, she got to the pictures of St. Philip's and said, "Ahh.. are you.. Roman Cat-o-lic?" I said yes, and she said, "Me too! Our family is.. Roman Cat-o-lic."

I've gone with her to church the last two weekends. Going to church involves her wearing a specific outfit with a hat and ribbon and medal, I just wear a skirt. There are different 'societies' at church, my mama belongs to the Society of the Sacred Heart (I love the Sacred Heart, but we have too much of a language barrier to discuss the theology of the Sacred Heart). There is a St. Joseph society, something with Mary, and St. Anne. They all wear different church outfits, so you can kind of see what 'team' people are playing for. Just kidding.

My first church experience was the biggest heat wave of my life. I was sweating buckets and almost passed out. My friend Annie had to get me water- it was intense. This week's situation had more of an air-flow going on, so I was able to pay attention much more.

I LOVE that I know what everyone is saying at each response, but I can't say the Zulu and just think the English in my head.

I LOVE the way the people sing. They choose to put a song in every possible space of the mass, before and after the gospel, before the readings, etc. They sing from their souls, and it comes bubbling up from their toes, and you would have to be a robot to avoid swaying with them, the energy is so infectious. They sing in a sacred way- it isn't a fake happiness, or momentary joy that masks reality. It is a total embrace of God working in reality, of God as reality. Pain and sorrow are joined with rejoicing in this music that is all. Encompasses the reality of life for these people.

I LOVE that everyone greets me, wants to know me, asks me how I am in Zulu (and smiles when I kind of answer in Zulu).

I LOVE that the priest said one sentence of his homily in English- "How are we living our lives?", yet it was enough for me to ponder throughout the rest of the mass, the singing, the Eucharist.

I LOVE that to be Catholic is truly to be a part of a universal family, that welcomes and rejoices and invites me, thrilled that I also see Christ in the Eucharist. A family willing to bring me to a table and share in a sacred meal with them.

First Real Week in DURBAN

The view of Durban and the Indian Ocean from

the top of the Moses Mandiba Stadium

This week has gone by quickly. What started as an intro to homestay family life soon spun into lectures and classes and ZULU.

Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday our schedule typically is two lectures in the morning, and one after lunch. The lectures are each two hours long, and all of our attention spans are a bit tested. A bit is putting it lightly. But we need this info to truly grasp what SA is now, has been, and will be. Zulu is everyday, and very difficult.

My favorite lecture so far has been about Gender Issues. I don't know why to took traveling across the world to make this so evident, but gender issues are clearly where my passion lies, especially regarding issues of sexual abuse and rape. Our guest lecturer- a commissioner from the Gender Equality Commission- kept saying that gender, genetalia, and power had a weird connection and relationship, and I think that statement is. so. true.

Things in my family have been good. It's always an adventure, though... Examples: the neighborhood monkeys constantly intrigue me/freak me out, my little 'boyfriend' got a cell phone some how and calls me and has me set alarms for him to know when I'll be home (I don't know why I'm so intriguing to him... although sometimes I wonder if I represent white people to him.), my dad accidentally walked in on me in the tub today, I am constantly sitting amidst rapid Zulu conversations I don't understand, and there are legit chameleons in the house that turn the color of the wall and eat bugs and smaller chameleons.

Besides adventures within the homestay, we also have adventures outside of the classroom. Wednesdays are our excursion days, and we went this Wednesday to the Warrick Markets, which are amazing and huge. These markets have been protected by an NGO, and the founder of it gave us a mini-intro lecture and tour of the markets. He was amazing, and reminded me so much of my Chicago communities... He believed strongly in empowering people to create informal businesses that are self created and providing. He had a particular vision of a city being about people, not corporations. I can't describe it well, but it was amazing, and his love of the market was beautiful.

This morning we helped with the Cato Manor Youth Empowerment project, which provides a free breakfast to school children. Like in the US, meals at school are often the only these children recieve, and the free meal can be really important for them. The little kids poured into the classroom to receive their little portion of eggs and margarine-and-bread sandwiches we made. Afterward we had an interesting adventure trying to wash the plates and cups in buckets with a community tap.

Wednesday night we also had the opportunity to hear slam poetry at the Bat Centre, right on the harbor. It was so intense, and amazing. I felt so alive and excited listening to the poets, doing a mix of their own work and things that inspired them. One read a part of Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet", and I almost yelled with joy. Haha.

My relationships here are being blessed. My friend Kelsey and I are having a lot of fun, and I feel really lucky to have her friendship on the program. Annie is with us a lot (we were roommates at the second monastery we stayed at), and she is so hilarious. Everything out of her mouth makes me laugh. She's a rugby player, and was very excited for me to have my first beer at the soccer game. She documented it with about 30 pictures on her camera. Tommy is also in our little 'group', if you could really call it that- everyone in the program is pretty fluid and gets along well. A few of us had a long conversation on the beach this afternoon about faith and patriarchy, and faith/religion, and it was great. I needed a break from lecture and it was a good end of the week to stand with our feet in the surf and talk about anything and everything with no schedule. As I type this I'm sitting across from Annie, sipping a mojito, looking at the beach and surf from a restaurant with internet... THANK GOD FOR FRIDAYS. : )

After one weekend with my family...

I realize how completely out of place I now feel all the time.

We (all 20 of us students) are staying in various parts of Cato Manor- a very historic neighborhood in Durban, even in South Africa. The restoration of Cato Manor was one of Mandela's presidential priorities when he came to power in '94- please google or wiki it. Cato Manor today has 40,000 people living in it, which is bigger than Bemidji.

Our families are Zulu speaking, which attributes hugely to me feeling out of place. I'm the minority in many ways, which is an important experience I've never really had. I usually don't understand what people are saying to each other (or me), I don't understand cultural exchanges, I don't understand how to use the mop, and I broke the taxi door because I didn't understand how to shut it.

Furthermore, talking isn't super culturally encouraged, and the language barrier adds to it. My questions (when I do ask) are rarely answered clearly, or at all.

However, I'm learning.

My mama speaks broken English, and rapid Zulu. But I think she has a kind heart, and is getting used to my preference to do something rather than sit in the hot living room watching Zulu soap operas. The TV is ALWAYS on, and this is something common of all Zulu families. I wonder what it was like before TV. Even if we leave the house, the TV stays on, blaring WWE or "Rhythm City" or American movies like "What a Girl Wants". I find myself much more distracted by the TV than my Mama or Baba.

My baba (father) speaks much better English than mama, and likes to talk. Last night we bonded while watching Die Hard. He used to be a cop, and talked about how hard it was before Mandela, but how much easier it was after Mandela. It amazes me how Mandela managed to truly unite, and make life more equal and forgiven.

I've yet to meet my sister, but there is a little 8 year old boy whose father is a friend of my baba. This little boy has never met anyone from the US- and couldn't really comprehend that I couldn't drive here. I guess he's a little enamored, because he comes every day for supper and told my baba I am his 'oversees girlfriend'. Haha. I taught him Tic Tac Toe, and he won't stop asking to play now. My Tic Tac Toe skills are awesome now.

More later...

Peace.

the drakensburg mountains

Here are a few (few- photos take a long time to load) pictures of our 7 hour journey through the Drakensburg Mountains. It was some of the most beautiful landscape I've ever seen.

Hard to believe, but it is much more beautiful in person.

Kelsey and I

We are now in Durban, where we will be for the rest of the program. We've been having so so so much fun these last few days- new exciting things every day. Yesterday included some beach time and a ride to the top of the 2010 World Cup Stadium for incredible views of the city. Today we were 'dropped off' in various parts of Durban, and had to find our way to different locations using transportation. It ended with shopping at a street market for a small gift for our roommates. My inherited bartering skills came in handy.. haha. Tonight we are going to a soccer game at the same World Cup Stadium (Moses Manbida Stadium), which should be so exciting! Tomorrow our lectures start, and we join our homestay families on Friday!!!!

Life is so worth living.

The Jo'burg Log

Two days in a busy city… Although I think we were busier than the city.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Our morning started with an introduction to the program- what we’ll being doing, where we’ll be going, etc. It was long, and afterwards we had an intro lesson in the Zulu Language, or isiZulu. Since learning the intro click sounds (on ‘c’, ‘q’, and ‘x’), all of us frequently break into practicing our clicks, which sounds as funny as you’d think. If we have down time at a museum or in the vans, we click clack away.

Around 12:30, we packed up in the vans (we drive around in these adorable, and very new VW vans that seem to be popular in SA) and headed to the Apartheid Museum. The museum is very interesting, especially the layout. You enter the museum as a “white” or “non-white” (indicated randomly on entrance ticket), and the entire thing is amazing. Filled with video, info, open air spaces leading seamlessly indoors and back out again, the museum attempts to tackle the history of apartheid and the ANC’s overcome of it. Many of the exhibits are difficult to explain, hopefully the posted pictures below give you an idea… Although the horrors of apartheid remain at least a bit distant to those (including me) who have never experienced it.

After 4 hours at the museum, we returned home for 2 hours of ‘free time’ before dinner. I took a nap and slept so hard I missed dinner and another student had to come knock on my door so I’d come to the evening session (which we all fell asleep during).

Sunday, January 30, 2011

This morning featured another Zulu lesson after breakfast- we worked on greetings and common things. Sawubona! (Hello!) Unjani? (How are you?)

At 9:30, we loaded in the vans again and headed to the Constitutional Court. There are only four countries in the world that have a constitutional court- the US is not one of them. The court only hears cases related to the constitution. The building is new and beautiful and FULL of symbolism. The building was originally a prison, and old material from the prison has been used to symbolize the nation’s triumph over apartheid. All 11 official languages say “Constitutional Court” at the entrance, and the inside is filled with similar symbols of national unity. There is an art walk/gallery featuring pieces that emanate the pain the country has experienced. Pieces deal with the torture of apartheid, the pain and humility of HIV/AIDS, rape, imprisonment, etc., etc. I don’t know if the US could or would address the brokenness of our past within the Supreme Court building, and the honesty South Africa vulnerable embraces is striking.

From the court (after a lecture) we headed to Soweto. 25 minutes from Jo’burg, Soweto was an influential turning point in 1976 during the student uprisings. Police opened fire during a demonstration, killing over 30 black people that day and many more in the days to come. We toured the local museum about the Soweto uprising, and it was also powerful. Afterwards we drove for lunch at “Robby’s Place”, which really looked a lot like a home. Driving with us in our van was a man who gave us a tour of Soweto, including one of Mandela’s former homes, and he also shared a lot of his personal experience with South Africa’s history and his hope for the future within the next generation.

After lunch we went to a musical downtown. After we took our seats for what was supposed to be 2 hours and 45 traditional African songs in different languages, a woman got on stage and told us the main singer was sick and the show was cancelled. Bummer. We ended up in a different show that was odd- not what I’d call good- but they sang sometimes and that was good. I kept nodding off- but I think I wasn’t alone in that…

And after a session on our fears and hopes for the semester, I am beat. Tomorrow we leave for Durban- a 6 hour drive through the Drakensburg Mountains, and we leave at 6 am! I’m excited to be in Durban, where we’ll be primarily, but I’ll miss our little home here. It is secluded, but so beautiful.