I sat in church today and was overwhelmed with how sad I am to leave Langa and Gogo. It is amazing to think I have only been here three weeks. The looks I have received throughout my time here when people hear Xhosa come out of my mouth have been priceless! It is humbling to see how incredibly grateful people are to hear you try and speak their language – especially the mamas! Two special moments happened today that I will be carrying with me as I leave Langa. The first happened on our walk home from church. A black man walking with his family approached us and began speaking: “God bless you, girl…[mixed with some Xhosa]… It makes me happy to see white and black together. To see white here in Langa. We want heaven to come here. God bless you girl.” I was indeed blessed through this man – I suppose he was an answer to his own prayer.
Then tonight as Gogo and I sat around drinking our tea one last time (that’s right, I’ve become a lover of tea!), she told me a conversation she had with of one of her four-year old students this past week.
Girl: Gogo, is Sibongile your daughter?
Gogo: Yes, my dear.
Girl: Where did she come from?
Gogo: Oversears. She studies overseas, my girl.
Girl: puzzled look . . .
O, Gogo and I laugh and laugh together. It’s beautiful. And I’m going to miss it – and her – a lot.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
09.21.11 Not ready to leave Langa!
Last night I came home from school and Gogo handed me a sack. I took it and curiously looked inside. To my surprise and utter delight I found a beautiful skirt! Gogo’s gift to me as I prepare to leave on Monday morning. O dearie, it is going to be so hard to say goodbye to her and the kids of the Creche! I feel so comfortable with Gogo, and laughing-singing-praying together over the past 2.5 weeks has been . . . such sweet grace to my soul. She’s already mentioned several times how she is going to miss me. The kids of the Creche asked her today when Sibongile (they only know my Xhosa name) is going to leave. “I don’t know. Why?” she asked. “Because we love Sibongile!” Ah….melts my heart. So thankful to God for the way He’s intersected my life with this wise, fun, beautiful woman and these precious kids!
Monday, September 19, 2011
09.17.11 Robben Island & Lion's Head
Today was definitely one of my favorite days since arriving in South Africa. We took a ferry in the morning to Robben Island, where we received a tour from a man who was imprisoned on the island under Apartheid for 10 years. His sentence resulted from planting a bomb in a government building as a member of Inkatha (the ANC’s militant branch). As he gave us the tour I was quieted anew (as I have been numerous times here) by the freshness of the history here. It is not an old and distant history but a history that permeates the present only 17 years after the end of Apartheid.
Our tour guide took us into the maximum security prison where political prisoners – usually the heads of resistance organizations – were sentenced during Apartheid. The stories of the prisoners are quite amazing and horrifying at the same time. They formed their own underground government and spent a great deal of time teaching one another and exchanging ideas. One of the mottos amongst the prisoners was: “Each one teach one.” Even some of the guards became affected by the ideology and dignity of the prisoners, and as a result, all of the prison personnel was changed every two years. On the horrific side, the prisoners were tortured – psychologically and physically. Our tour guide shared that at one point he was told that his father was coming to visit on Saturday morning. When he came to the office on Saturday morning they told him that his father could not visit him – his father had been shot 8 times. Our tour guide was returned to his cell, shaking, trying to hide his frustration. Later his lawyer confirmed that his father was in intensive care, having been shot eight times. I couldn’t exactly understand where his father was shot (before coming to Robben Island or on the island), but our tour guide stated: “his only crime was wanting to visit his son in jail.” The men who shot his father were the same men who tortured him on Robben Island – breaking his ribs, permanently damaging his left ear . . . During the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in the mid 1990’s, all of the men responsible for crippling his father (to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life) were given amnesty, and today they are wealthy businessmen.
To this day our tour guide has difficulty sleeping more than 3 hours a night, and other effects of his time there are a part of his daily life. He shared that he has reconciled with some of the guards and even has had one over to his house for dinner. It was a lot to take in . . . I think I’m still processing our time with him.
In the afternoon we hiked up Lion’s Head as a big group. The exercise (actual vertical climbing in a few parts) and being in nature were SO refreshing, but the best was the 360 degree view of Cape Town from the top! I cannot begin to explain how beautiful it is. [See picture for a small taste!]
09.16.11 High School in Langa
The high school I visited today with two SIT friends is one of four high schools in the township of Langa. The demographics – as well as the resources of the school – reflect the legacy of Apartheid. The student population of 880 is entirely black, the teachers are all black as well (except for one Indian teacher), and the Indian principal has been at the school for 15 years. The three of us spent the morning sitting in on classes and informally interviewing teachers and the principal. We went in with very low expectations, and overall we were pleasantly surprised with how the school is functioning. The blatant lack of resources, the heavy burden carried by the teachers, and the lack of motivation among some students, however, present the school with some tough challenges. One teacher described her job as a three-in-one package: “I’m not just a teacher. I’m a teacher, a counselor, and a psychiatrist for these students from tough home lives.”
Personally I had such a great experience at the school – I wanted to stay for the rest of the day and to talk with more students and teachers. I loved the students. They were respectful for the most part, disrespectful at other times (as expected of any high school age students), hanging out in the wrong places in between classes, eager to know why I have a Xhosa name, somewhat intrigued with having a white person walking around their school, and just typical teenagers… After an introduction with the principal, he led us to a room of thirty or so students and then left us saying: “have a conversation together for ten minutes.” My two friends and I looked at one other and laughed! That is exactly what our SIT teacher told us to avoid: “don’t let them leave you in a classroom with students alone. That’s not why you’re there. And one time an SIT student and broke down and cried in such a situation.” O well, we had a good time! At first the students were not talkative in the large group but we asked more questions and then moved into a game which helped, before the principal returned and whisked us off to another class.
Overall, the day was a powerful hands-on experience and such a great break from our 8am-5pm routine in the SIT classroom these past two weeks. One of the feelings I am taking away from the day is a desire to visit and observe inner-city high schools in America!
Personally I had such a great experience at the school – I wanted to stay for the rest of the day and to talk with more students and teachers. I loved the students. They were respectful for the most part, disrespectful at other times (as expected of any high school age students), hanging out in the wrong places in between classes, eager to know why I have a Xhosa name, somewhat intrigued with having a white person walking around their school, and just typical teenagers… After an introduction with the principal, he led us to a room of thirty or so students and then left us saying: “have a conversation together for ten minutes.” My two friends and I looked at one other and laughed! That is exactly what our SIT teacher told us to avoid: “don’t let them leave you in a classroom with students alone. That’s not why you’re there. And one time an SIT student and broke down and cried in such a situation.” O well, we had a good time! At first the students were not talkative in the large group but we asked more questions and then moved into a game which helped, before the principal returned and whisked us off to another class.
Overall, the day was a powerful hands-on experience and such a great break from our 8am-5pm routine in the SIT classroom these past two weeks. One of the feelings I am taking away from the day is a desire to visit and observe inner-city high schools in America!
.p.s.a.l.m. 10:17-18
O LORD,
YOU hear the desire of the afflicted;
YOU will strengthen their heart;
YOU will incline your ear to do justice to the fatherless and the oppressed,
so that man who is of the earth my strike terror no more.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
09.13.11 FOOD
Tonight I had my first crazy food experience since arriving here in South Africa! My host mama (Gogo) has fixed delicious chicken and rice with some side dish for almost every meal thus far. However, tonight the menu changed! As I helped peel potatoes for the kids to eat tomorrow, I noticed she was preparing an interesting-looking meat. I just kept peeling away at those potatoes, and when the food was ready I filled my plate with pap (a starchy substance: something of a cross between grits, rice, and mashed potatoes) and the mystery meat. I ate the meat with ketchup (Praise God for ketchup!) and washed everything down with the staple Coca Cola. After enjoying some t.v. and an episode of the popular soap opera, Generations, Gogo and I did the dishes together. I finally got up the nerve to ask:
“Gogo, what was the meat we ate?”
“Liver.”
“Liver?!” (trying to hide my swirl of emotions!)
“Yes. Sheep liver, Sibongile.”
All right then, I thought, I just ate sheep liver and I’m alive and well!! Whew, I’m just hoping that’s not a menu repeat while I’m here. : )
“Gogo, what was the meat we ate?”
“Liver.”
“Liver?!” (trying to hide my swirl of emotions!)
“Yes. Sheep liver, Sibongile.”
All right then, I thought, I just ate sheep liver and I’m alive and well!! Whew, I’m just hoping that’s not a menu repeat while I’m here. : )
09.11.11 Worship in Langa
Today has been a restful Sabbath!! To begin with, I was blessed (and challenged) by the worship service I attended this morning at Langa Baptist Church. As I walked in the doors I immediately noticed the young age of the crowd and the absolutely beautiful vocals of the worship team up front. The harmony was gorgeous – I could be lost in it. I sang (in a mixture of Xhosa and English) with my whole heart, as I have only a few times since coming to South Africa. The entire service was singing, dancing, and praying – no defined sermon, just several small messages that were interrupted with outbursts of a new song!
At the beginning of the service, my friend’s host mama nudged us to look back, and we saw a group of white people in the last rows – six, and then 8, and then 8 more. That’s weird, I thought, whites worshipping here in Langa? (Last week the church we visited was entirely black, and no whites live in Langa – that I know of). My thoughts quickly turned to mortification when they pulled out cameras and danced along goofily to the worship music. I wanted to distance myself from them so much! In that moment I was ashamed of my white skin . . . of the history of oppression & injustice that is tied to my “race.” I wanted to be black . . . to belong here . . . to be associated with the black body of believers, not the white tourist group, who obviously didn’t care about worshipping My Mighty Maker. O the shame of the color of my skin . . . After fifteen minutes, they were gone. Just one of the tour groups that visits this church each Sunday.
O LORD, create in me a clean heart. Forgive me for the times I’ve been those tourists in my attitudes or actions. Renew a right spirit within me. I’m broken and I live in a broken world. Come bring wholeness and redemption.
At the beginning of the service, my friend’s host mama nudged us to look back, and we saw a group of white people in the last rows – six, and then 8, and then 8 more. That’s weird, I thought, whites worshipping here in Langa? (Last week the church we visited was entirely black, and no whites live in Langa – that I know of). My thoughts quickly turned to mortification when they pulled out cameras and danced along goofily to the worship music. I wanted to distance myself from them so much! In that moment I was ashamed of my white skin . . . of the history of oppression & injustice that is tied to my “race.” I wanted to be black . . . to belong here . . . to be associated with the black body of believers, not the white tourist group, who obviously didn’t care about worshipping My Mighty Maker. O the shame of the color of my skin . . . After fifteen minutes, they were gone. Just one of the tour groups that visits this church each Sunday.
O LORD, create in me a clean heart. Forgive me for the times I’ve been those tourists in my attitudes or actions. Renew a right spirit within me. I’m broken and I live in a broken world. Come bring wholeness and redemption.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
09.10.11
A strong connection in my heart between living in Church Hill this summer and now in Langa . . . “Putting yourself into an environment where you are the minority is one of the most effective ways you can begin to understand the hurts that didn’t concern you before” (More Than Equals, p.83).
Friday, September 9, 2011
09.08.11 Beauty & Suffering
Wow. So many thoughts, emotions, and half-formed impressions are overflowing my heart and mind. It has been a full 48 hours. Yesterday was our walking tour through Langa, followed by a beautiful evening with Gogo – singing Alpha and Omega in harmony as we did dishes. Then today I retaught her Jesus Loves Me (writing down the words so she could learn it by heart to teach the Creche children), she taught me the Xhosa version of There’s No One Like Jesus, and I shared other songs from my itunes with her: Gospel, Natalie Grant, and Christian Rap…
. . . O my heart is full – and I feel it stretching . . . with beauty and suffering. O to put these things into words!
Let’s begin with the Langa tour – I thought we’d be learning about the history of Langa in the struggle as we casually walked about different neighborhoods. Instead our tour guide (born and bred in Langa himself) began with a brief history and then began walking us into some of the more run-down areas. Originally Langa was created for migrant labor – there are barracks left over from that period of the early to mid-1900’s. We walked down the streets – a group of sixteen obvious outsiders, with a few cameras out and flashing, O I was so uncomfortable! Children run around outside all the time here, and throughout tour they came up to pull on our hands, smile, and often ask for money. One little boy came up to another SIT student, smiled, and as she played with him, his hands went in and out of her pockets (luckily she didn’t have anything in them) – and she never noticed until another student told her later. As we walked down the street, past an area where people live in shipping containers (turned into shacks), we turned a corner and started down a dirt alley. I was shocked – was this part of the tour?! We walked within a few feet of men sitting around gambling, smoking, and looking at us. Our tour guide ducked into a shack – without running water or electricity. Turns out it’s a beer-selling “tavern” of sorts. The “African beer” is only 3% alcohol and supposedly has quite an ancient history. (I couldn’t understand our tour guide at all times.) I sat in the shack and I realized it was daytime on a Wednesday – none of the men hanging around outside were working . . . and there had definitely been some weed smoking going on. We moved on with me not being sure of what to think of it all.
Next we walked toward the hostels, buildings of flats where migrant laborers had lived (only men – no women and children were supposed to be there). Today the hostels are government owned and run. I immediately thought of the government housing projects in Church Hill. People had laundry hanging everywhere outside. Folks were outside milling about, some calling out hello to our tour guide, looking at us pass through (what I felt was) their space, children played outside, grandmas looked our their windows above… I was so torn – yes I wanted to be there and see their lived reality but I felt like we were dehumanizing or stripping them of some of their dignity at the same time. We first went in an unrenovated hostel: there was one kitchen/dining room space for 16 rooms. We stood in this kitchen/dining area as our tour guide told us about the use of such building for mine workers and such. As we talked I could see people in some of the rooms, and a man who lived there simply passed through to go outside with his food. We were allowed to look in the rooms. I couldn’t believe we were allowed to – in one a mama and her teenager were just sitting there. One of my fellow SIT students had her camera out – I was mortified. Deep down I wondered, what would I think and feel if I had a group of young white Americans come and look in my small, dirty living conditions? Then we saw the renovated hostels, which were changed into family units of a tiny kitchen space, a bathroom, and a bedroom.
Moving away from the hostels, we walked through the “elite” area of Langa just a few blocks away [where a few SIT students are staying] before coming to the Joe Slovo area, where people are actually living in shacks. We were taken in a shack where the roof is falling in – I could not imagine what happens when it storms… A little two-year old girl followed us in, wearing a cute hat and a tank-top. One of the straps was not on her shoulder. I patted her head and reached to help her get her arm in the strap. She turned around, saw my purse hanging over my body, and immediately tried to stick her hands in my purse. O my heart hurt. This is what you know, dear child? White people coming in your shack and you know to try and get what you can from them. We are coming into your space, your home, and no relationship is happening…only tourism, or observation at best. You have no toilet. Only 20 communal toilets for you and all the shacks around you.
Another SIT student and I discussed as we walked down the street – our conflictions. I just kept thinking would I want us in my shack? My friend said: “yes in a sense, Addie, you want them to see the reality you live. And hope that someone will be motivated to bring about change.” But I couldn’t swallow that – people walk by and go in their shacks on these tours time after time . . . and yet what change has occurred? They still live there. Who’s benefitting here?
When kids came up and asked for money or to hold my hand . . . I spoke to them in Xhosa instead. Molo sisi. Unjani? Ngubani igama yakho? NguSibongile. I told them my Xhosa name and they smiled with questioning in their eyes – you, a white girl, are speaking to me in Xhosa and you have a Xhosa name? Their eyes were priceless. Yes, I’m Sibongile. They just laughed and smiled.
There’s suffering here but there’s also beauty . . . just like in Church Hill . . . just like many many places in the world. People here in Langa understand community: watching out for one another, being a true neighbor, lending a t.v., giving a ride, lending money, watching someone’s child, asking and listening about each other’s well-being, valuing family, respecting elders . . .
I came home from yesterday’s tour and talked to my host mother, Gogo, about my conflictions and discomfort. She nodded and listened and made her typical understanding noises . . . When I talked about going into people’s homes and feeling intrusive, she just replied: It’s really like that. That I could not deny. It was an uncomfortable experience, which raised many ethical questions for me. But it was a look at true, harsh realities for individuals and families here in Langa – in that sense the tour was by no means fabricated or exaggerated.
Maybe I need to ask and reflect more on why I was so conflicted . . . Search me, O GOD, and know my heart. Test me and know my thoughts. Show me my own heart, O God, for I do not know it as You do.
. . . O my heart is full – and I feel it stretching . . . with beauty and suffering. O to put these things into words!
Let’s begin with the Langa tour – I thought we’d be learning about the history of Langa in the struggle as we casually walked about different neighborhoods. Instead our tour guide (born and bred in Langa himself) began with a brief history and then began walking us into some of the more run-down areas. Originally Langa was created for migrant labor – there are barracks left over from that period of the early to mid-1900’s. We walked down the streets – a group of sixteen obvious outsiders, with a few cameras out and flashing, O I was so uncomfortable! Children run around outside all the time here, and throughout tour they came up to pull on our hands, smile, and often ask for money. One little boy came up to another SIT student, smiled, and as she played with him, his hands went in and out of her pockets (luckily she didn’t have anything in them) – and she never noticed until another student told her later. As we walked down the street, past an area where people live in shipping containers (turned into shacks), we turned a corner and started down a dirt alley. I was shocked – was this part of the tour?! We walked within a few feet of men sitting around gambling, smoking, and looking at us. Our tour guide ducked into a shack – without running water or electricity. Turns out it’s a beer-selling “tavern” of sorts. The “African beer” is only 3% alcohol and supposedly has quite an ancient history. (I couldn’t understand our tour guide at all times.) I sat in the shack and I realized it was daytime on a Wednesday – none of the men hanging around outside were working . . . and there had definitely been some weed smoking going on. We moved on with me not being sure of what to think of it all.
Next we walked toward the hostels, buildings of flats where migrant laborers had lived (only men – no women and children were supposed to be there). Today the hostels are government owned and run. I immediately thought of the government housing projects in Church Hill. People had laundry hanging everywhere outside. Folks were outside milling about, some calling out hello to our tour guide, looking at us pass through (what I felt was) their space, children played outside, grandmas looked our their windows above… I was so torn – yes I wanted to be there and see their lived reality but I felt like we were dehumanizing or stripping them of some of their dignity at the same time. We first went in an unrenovated hostel: there was one kitchen/dining room space for 16 rooms. We stood in this kitchen/dining area as our tour guide told us about the use of such building for mine workers and such. As we talked I could see people in some of the rooms, and a man who lived there simply passed through to go outside with his food. We were allowed to look in the rooms. I couldn’t believe we were allowed to – in one a mama and her teenager were just sitting there. One of my fellow SIT students had her camera out – I was mortified. Deep down I wondered, what would I think and feel if I had a group of young white Americans come and look in my small, dirty living conditions? Then we saw the renovated hostels, which were changed into family units of a tiny kitchen space, a bathroom, and a bedroom.
Moving away from the hostels, we walked through the “elite” area of Langa just a few blocks away [where a few SIT students are staying] before coming to the Joe Slovo area, where people are actually living in shacks. We were taken in a shack where the roof is falling in – I could not imagine what happens when it storms… A little two-year old girl followed us in, wearing a cute hat and a tank-top. One of the straps was not on her shoulder. I patted her head and reached to help her get her arm in the strap. She turned around, saw my purse hanging over my body, and immediately tried to stick her hands in my purse. O my heart hurt. This is what you know, dear child? White people coming in your shack and you know to try and get what you can from them. We are coming into your space, your home, and no relationship is happening…only tourism, or observation at best. You have no toilet. Only 20 communal toilets for you and all the shacks around you.
Another SIT student and I discussed as we walked down the street – our conflictions. I just kept thinking would I want us in my shack? My friend said: “yes in a sense, Addie, you want them to see the reality you live. And hope that someone will be motivated to bring about change.” But I couldn’t swallow that – people walk by and go in their shacks on these tours time after time . . . and yet what change has occurred? They still live there. Who’s benefitting here?
When kids came up and asked for money or to hold my hand . . . I spoke to them in Xhosa instead. Molo sisi. Unjani? Ngubani igama yakho? NguSibongile. I told them my Xhosa name and they smiled with questioning in their eyes – you, a white girl, are speaking to me in Xhosa and you have a Xhosa name? Their eyes were priceless. Yes, I’m Sibongile. They just laughed and smiled.
There’s suffering here but there’s also beauty . . . just like in Church Hill . . . just like many many places in the world. People here in Langa understand community: watching out for one another, being a true neighbor, lending a t.v., giving a ride, lending money, watching someone’s child, asking and listening about each other’s well-being, valuing family, respecting elders . . .
I came home from yesterday’s tour and talked to my host mother, Gogo, about my conflictions and discomfort. She nodded and listened and made her typical understanding noises . . . When I talked about going into people’s homes and feeling intrusive, she just replied: It’s really like that. That I could not deny. It was an uncomfortable experience, which raised many ethical questions for me. But it was a look at true, harsh realities for individuals and families here in Langa – in that sense the tour was by no means fabricated or exaggerated.
Maybe I need to ask and reflect more on why I was so conflicted . . . Search me, O GOD, and know my heart. Test me and know my thoughts. Show me my own heart, O God, for I do not know it as You do.
09.06.11 Impossibility of Human Solutions
Today we had a guest lecturer on ‘Racial Transformation in Post-Apartheid South Africa.’ As I look around me here in Cape Town – and especially here in Langa (a black township) – I see the legacy of Apartheid. Although Apartheid officially ended in 1994, its effects did not disappear with Nelson Mandela’s election that year. Just below the surface of each conversation, attitude, government action, or personal interaction, the effects of Apartheid linger. For example, the very nature of Langa’s existence – a black township – is a testament to the segregation of Apartheid. I noticed on one of the first days here that the several elementary and middle schools alongside the road on the way to our SIT center are entirely white or entirely black. 75% of the CEO’s in this country are white. Yet, unlike America, whites are the minority here, making up roughly 10% of the population. The government is attempting to right the wrongs of Apartheid with legislation such as the Employment Equity Act of 1998 (essentially affirmative action) and the Black Economic Empowerment Act of 2003. Yet as I sat and listened to the struggles of today and the lasting legacy of Apartheid…I felt a feeling I’ve felt many times in America – I wrote in the margins of my notes: O LORD, a government solution will never work. In a sad and twisted way, humans will never be able to work themselves out of this mess they’ve worked themselves into, and yet many will die trying . . . never realizing that “here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come” (Hebrews 13:14). The next verses that follow this are key: “Through him [Jesus] then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge His name. Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God” (Heb 13:15-16). We await a Savior who will come and make all things new (Rev 21:6). In the meantime we are called to offer ourselves as living sacrifices (Rom 12:1), testifying to the Gospel of God’s grace (Acts 20:24), living as ambassadors for Christ with a message of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18-21), to a broken world that is attempting to place human-solution-bandaids over deep deep sin-wounds. We are called to work and live for the Kingdom of redemption, wholeness, and reconciliation that Jesus desires to bring in people’s lives and communities – we are to give our lives in response to God’s grace . . . leaving everything (all our ideas of how to fix things, all our self-righteousness, all our cynicism, all our comforts and security) to follow Jesus and live like him.
It brings to mind one of my favorite worship songs:
I went out to change the world,
But I could not change within.
Sinful being that I am.
Who will deliver me?
I am crucified in Christ,
And I no longer live.
But He lives in me.
Praise be to God
for the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.
It brings to mind one of my favorite worship songs:
I went out to change the world,
But I could not change within.
Sinful being that I am.
Who will deliver me?
I am crucified in Christ,
And I no longer live.
But He lives in me.
Praise be to God
for the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Monday, September 5, 2011
09.04.11 African Church! O yes
Today was great. Simply great. I went to church with Catherine and Gogo – African Anglican Church to be exact – and it lasted from 9 am to 1:30 pm. It was youth Sunday and the initiation of several new members into the Mother’s Union so it was exceptionally long. The service was pretty traditional (with African flavor in the music) and quite full! Although I could not understand much of the service – the pastor did preach on the story of Samuel and Eli in English and the woman in front of us was particularly helpful the entire service. I made friends with the 12 year old girl sitting next to me, asking her her name in Xhosa and other introductory questions. We used a mixture of English and Xhosa during our first interactions and at one point she asked me: are you from South Africa? I laughed and felt a twinge of happiness at my Xhosa/English mix pointing her to think I was from South Africa!
My favorite part of the service was probably when the youth choir sang. It was a bit more of the type of music I was expecting – great contemporary vocals and a lovely African beat. : ) I had my first communion with real wine and boy was that a surprise when I drank from the cup! Quite strong compared to the grape juice I’m used to! I’ve concluded that Anglican church is pretty much the Protestant version of Catholicism – or something like that!
After church we came home, had lunch, and then Gogo went back to church for more Mother’s Union activities. I stayed in the house, finishing my food with the door open. Two women dropped in to inquire after Gogo, and I had a great time greeting them in Xhosa, letting each visitor know Gogo was out, and speaking with them for a bit (two separate visits). Later in the afternoon Catherine, Emilia, Alex, and Alex’s host brother, and I walked around the neighborhood visiting other SIT friends and meeting their Mamas!!
I already love the sense of community and friendliness here in Langa – it reminds me of Church Hill a bit – people sitting on their porches, walking around outside, visiting friends, calling hello from all over, sharing food . . .
Gogo is awesome! I am so thankful for my placement. We pray before each meal and she seems to be quite happy to have me here.
My favorite part of the service was probably when the youth choir sang. It was a bit more of the type of music I was expecting – great contemporary vocals and a lovely African beat. : ) I had my first communion with real wine and boy was that a surprise when I drank from the cup! Quite strong compared to the grape juice I’m used to! I’ve concluded that Anglican church is pretty much the Protestant version of Catholicism – or something like that!
After church we came home, had lunch, and then Gogo went back to church for more Mother’s Union activities. I stayed in the house, finishing my food with the door open. Two women dropped in to inquire after Gogo, and I had a great time greeting them in Xhosa, letting each visitor know Gogo was out, and speaking with them for a bit (two separate visits). Later in the afternoon Catherine, Emilia, Alex, and Alex’s host brother, and I walked around the neighborhood visiting other SIT friends and meeting their Mamas!!
I already love the sense of community and friendliness here in Langa – it reminds me of Church Hill a bit – people sitting on their porches, walking around outside, visiting friends, calling hello from all over, sharing food . . .
Gogo is awesome! I am so thankful for my placement. We pray before each meal and she seems to be quite happy to have me here.
09.03.11 First Day in Langa
O my goodness – I give God so much praise for today and my homestay placement. This afternoon I was just dropped off at my Langa homestay and my Langa life began! I already love my MaMa “Gogo” and my new Xhosa name: Sibongile, meaning ‘we thank you.’ I talked and exchanged photos with Gogo upon arrival. In the process I learned that she is Zulu and originally from Zwa-Zulu Natal. She was once married and had three sons – all of whom have since passed away. Her eldest son died in a car crash in his twenties. The second son was in a car accident at age three (disabling him) and then he died in his teens, I believe. The youngest son died of meningitis at age 12. O my heart just hurt to hear her talk about each one (and her husband, Benz) but she followed up those stories with: “God is good all the time. He’s been so good to me. I cannot blame Him for bad things that happen. I must thank Him. He is so good.” Wow, God, I believe, but help me with my unbelief! Make me like sponge of Gogo’s life wisdom and faith in You over the next three weeks.
09.02.11 Host Mother's Note
Today I received a letter from my host mother – she ended her very sweet and welcoming words with “peace, joy, happiness. Hoping that God can bring light in our life.” My heart just melted as I read these words. I am SO excited to meet her this Saturday and to begin my 3-4 weeks with her.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
08.31.11 The Drop-Off Adventrues
First full day in Cape Town!! I am overwhelmingly excited for the next three months ahead of me in this city! Today we had our first class at the SIT center in Rondebosch – a neighborhood outside the center of the city where Cape Town University is located. After a morning on cultural awareness and basics of transportation and safety, we were dropped off in groups of three and four in the city center with a mission (ie. Find museum _______) without cell phones or a map. Everyone was a bit anxious and unsure of what to expect on this adventurous “Drop-Off,” but it turned out to be one of the best days yet since we arrived 4 days ago! My group of three found lunch first and then tackled our mission of finding two museums. In the process we became much more familiar with the touristy areas of downtown (ie. St. George’s Square, Long Street, die Castle, etc.) – spending most of our time lost and asking random (reliable-looking) people for directions! The first museum we were assigned happened to be a museum on the history of slavery in Cape Town at an old slave lodge. We walked in and the first room connected the slavery of the past to human trafficking today – especially with a plaque inscribed with one modern-day example in South Africa: “Hundreds of women are trafficked into South Africa from Mozambique each year and forced to work in the sex industry or sold as ‘wives’ in the mining areas.” My just about stopped to see a museum that actually made this connection between the past and present, explaining that “Slavery is no longer legal, but it continues to exist in different forms.” This was a special confirmation in my heart (after last night’s experience) and a rekindling of my desire to focus on human trafficking for my independent research project here in South Africa in November.
After the second museum we rode a train back – first time on public transport – which I found dirtier than the trains I’m used to in Europe but convenient enough time and location –wise. The entire day exponentially helped in orienting myself in the city center and gave me an idea of numerous places I will want to revisit in my time here!
08.30.11 Cape Town Arrival
I’m beginning to let things go and open up more – realizing that I was not as open as I thought I was coming in. I think the real shock/change is going to come though when I move into Langa township this Saturday. The two things on my heart have really been (i) living and learning with humility and (ii) hearing the cries of the afflicted. I’ve been asking God to give me His ears to hear the cries He hears from this country – the cries of the afflicted in particular.
. . . As we landed in Cape Town today I just took in the mountains and the ocean . . . awed by the beautiful combination! The airport felt much more international/western for some reason than the one in Johannesburg. Driving out of the airport we saw the slum shanty towns (the Cape Flats) right away, just off the road. It was really my first picture of dire poverty here in South Africa. When they pointed out Langa it definitely looked like miles of shacks. We were assured, however, that the place we’d be staying in Langa was a bit further into the township, where the houses are a bit different (brick permanent structures with running water and electricity). I’m excited for the homestay experience in this black township. All the nice restaurants and malls we've been at (one tonight was nicer than almost any I’ve been to in America) have been too much – not exactly the developing world experience I imagined for the semester. Some of the other students commented on how odd/uncomfortable it was to go to such a nice mall for dinner tonight after seeing the shacks this afternoon. It made me think about how we reflect on that here but we wouldn’t think twice about going to an equivalent restaurant in the United States.
Tonight we rode a taxi back from dinner for 30 R (little less than $5). As we pulled up to the corner of our hostel, a black young woman in a short skirt and an umbrella was standing on the curve. It was quite obvious to us in the car that she was a prostitute. People made a few jokes and comments, and Michael mentioned that this street is known for having prostitutes. My heart just . . . ah, was so burdened. My mind flashed to the GTIP report I was reading today, highlighting the prevalence of trafficking in Joburg, Cape Town, Durban, and Bloemfontein. I couldn’t help but wondering: is she a victim of sex trafficking? Even if not, what brought her to this place?
O GOD, I’ve been asking to hear the cries of the afflicted. Maybe you’re also giving me the eyes to see the faces of the afflicted. (kind of like the Steve Biko quote I prayed about on the plane over.)
. . . As we landed in Cape Town today I just took in the mountains and the ocean . . . awed by the beautiful combination! The airport felt much more international/western for some reason than the one in Johannesburg. Driving out of the airport we saw the slum shanty towns (the Cape Flats) right away, just off the road. It was really my first picture of dire poverty here in South Africa. When they pointed out Langa it definitely looked like miles of shacks. We were assured, however, that the place we’d be staying in Langa was a bit further into the township, where the houses are a bit different (brick permanent structures with running water and electricity). I’m excited for the homestay experience in this black township. All the nice restaurants and malls we've been at (one tonight was nicer than almost any I’ve been to in America) have been too much – not exactly the developing world experience I imagined for the semester. Some of the other students commented on how odd/uncomfortable it was to go to such a nice mall for dinner tonight after seeing the shacks this afternoon. It made me think about how we reflect on that here but we wouldn’t think twice about going to an equivalent restaurant in the United States.
Tonight we rode a taxi back from dinner for 30 R (little less than $5). As we pulled up to the corner of our hostel, a black young woman in a short skirt and an umbrella was standing on the curve. It was quite obvious to us in the car that she was a prostitute. People made a few jokes and comments, and Michael mentioned that this street is known for having prostitutes. My heart just . . . ah, was so burdened. My mind flashed to the GTIP report I was reading today, highlighting the prevalence of trafficking in Joburg, Cape Town, Durban, and Bloemfontein. I couldn’t help but wondering: is she a victim of sex trafficking? Even if not, what brought her to this place?
O GOD, I’ve been asking to hear the cries of the afflicted. Maybe you’re also giving me the eyes to see the faces of the afflicted. (kind of like the Steve Biko quote I prayed about on the plane over.)
08.28.11 Sunday
First two full days here in Johannesburg have been wonderful. I am so thankful to be here! I am enjoying this time of orientation, adjusting from jet lag, and getting to know the other students – who are quite the driven group of students. Today it was a bit disheartening to not be able to go to church or have time to myself outside of my morning devo, but God has been giving me so much grace in compelling me with His love to build relationships and continually be hanging-out with the people in my program. I am excited though for Cape Town and moving in with our host families so I can feel less like I’m visiting South Africa and more like I’m living here for a semester.
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