15 White Girls in a Mini-Bus Taxi. And Orphans.

First off, Happy Birthday Grandmommy! I played with some babies this morning, and while I was holding and soothing them I kept thinking of all the songs you used to sing to me as a little girl (though some Sound of Music may have snuck in). So, thanks for that!

I was holding babies this morning because 6 of us (we were spread out among various non-profits for the day) visited Inthemba Lethu (meaning "I have a destiny"), an orphanage for AIDS-orphaned children and babies. A few of the children were HIV+ themselves. Situated in a fairly nice part of town, the orphanage occupied two houses and an office building. Each house had rooms for the children, and each child had his own crib or bed. Most kids that were old enough were gone to school for the day, so all the ones we were with were about 1-2 years old. We only had 6 or so to care for, and as the day progressed the kids dropped like flies, one by one falling asleep in our arms. The "garden" (playground/yard) had plenty of toys and lots of playground equipment (many made of repurposed tires, pretty cool). The babies really liked to be cuddled, though that might have just been due to sleepiness. I rocked and held and walked until my arms hurt, but these were adorable babies, and each with his or her own personality. 

One girl was other than the babies and had been kept home from school for the day due to sickness. She was dressed in bright pink and happy, but very thin and small. She'd gone earlier in the day to have her blood tested due to being sick, so it was pretty evident she was HIV positive.  She acted just like any other kid, though, splashing around in the water where we were washing toys, trying so hard to help, but not really accomplishing much but getting wet. After that she cuddled with me for a bit, and fell asleep on my chest.

After all the babies fell asleep and all the toys were washed, we sat around and talked about food (we were all starving) until we left and that was that. 

Now, about the title of this post. Let me preface by explaining what exactly a mini-bus taxi is. Durban (and S.A. in general) doesn't really have any public transportation to speak of. So, people who can't afford a car rely on mini-bus (14 passenger van) taxis (see the beginning of this post for a little bit on them). Normally they are only used by the poor, that is, black Africans. And normally, white people would never set foot in a township.

Last night, 15 of us went to see an awful chick flick (He's Just Not That Into You) and to get home, all 15 of us took a mini-bus taxi into Cato Manor. (For any concerned, it was not late and weeknights are generally safe plus there were 15 of us, so don't freak out.) There were African women literally staring slack-jawed at the full bus as we pulled out. It may have been the first time a mini-bus was filled with English chatter instead of Zulu. Interesting night. 

After we got home (it was about 7:30), I ate with Mama and Baba then watched a scary scary zombie movie with a few friends. Good night. Tonight we're all going to an art gallery (at the prompting of one of our lecturers) for the opening of an AIDS awareness exhibition. Should be interesting. 

Just an addendum: I should explain that during apartheid, things were obviously VERY broken down by race. As such, everyone was classified (in order of hierarchy) as "White," "Indian," "Coloured" (what we think of as mixed), and "African" (what we'd think of as Black). These are still the acceptable terms, and sometimes I'll use them in an explanation because privilege- and most everything- is still very, very broken down by race. South Africa still has a lot of healing to do, 15 years after the end of apartheid.

Jungle Monkeys.

My weekend was not the greatest. Well, let me back up. The beginning was nice. I actually had a lovely Valentine's day spent hiking. We hiked through a village and into the grasslands along the coast. Our director hyped the hike up to be this big huge deal, only for the best of the best hikers, but it was fairly easy. A couple of hills, lots of mud, but mostly just cow paths through the fields. I will say that Tevas were not the best choice of footwear, I wore them because I didn't have my hiking boots (too heavy to bring on the plane) and they are pretty broken in. I ended up getting a blister on the bottom of my left foot though, right on the ball. It wasn't too bad though after I layered up a couple of Band-Aids. But we hiked to a beautiful waterfall; a river spilling over into the Indian Ocean. It was churning and crashing more than anything I'd ever seen. On the way back, we swam under a smaller waterfall in a big pool of water. That cooled us off nicely for the hike back. I didn't mention that the entire hike the scenery was layers and layers of mountains and hills, folded back into each other until they disappeared into the ether. I would have done that hike if I'd had to do it on crutches.

When we got back to our campsite (we were staying in rondoval huts!) it started raining. It started at dinner and didn't stop. The plan was to drive out the next day to Gwexlintaba where we had our rural homestays. After we left in the morning, we got halfway there before we decided the rest of the road, by which I mean dirt path through boulders and down a steep muddy hill, was impassable with the rain. We stayed in this hostel in the middle of nowhere, middle of nowhere being Port St. John's. This place was called Jungle Monkeys and I am never ever going back.

Before we left the hut campsite, a few people were already having problems with diarrhea. I consider this foreshadowing. The first night at Jungle Monkeys, right at 11 PM, about 5 (maybe more?) of us all got sick. Kirsten threw up and it set off a chain reaction: I heard her and got sick, Laura heard me and got sick, and so on. I was up all night along with several other people. It was pretty pathetic, but hilarious in retrospect. The few well people left the next morning for the village while we got left behind to lay around miserable. Everyone at the hostel thought we were just hung over, no matter how many times we told them otherwise, and even when it was 6 o'clock at night and all we could eat was saltines. -rolls eyes- We were pretty sad to miss the village, but it turns out a lot of them got sick once they got there, so maybe we had the fortunate end of the deal, since we had toilets and all. We eventually got out of that godforsaken place, covered head to toe in mosquito bites (I have them all over my face.) and some people in flea bites. One girl has a staph infection on her face. We got in the van, not exactly excited for the bumpy ride home but never so glad to be going back to Cato Manor. 

Adventure!

I'm going to the bush for the next few days, be back in Durban Tuesday, around the internet either Wed. or Thurs. I'm going to go on a sweet hike that involves swimming in natural pools. we'll also be beside the ocean for the first couple of days. Tonight we'll have a "braii," which is a barbeque/cookout. The second half we'll be in homestays in a Xhosa-speaking rural area called Gxwetlintaba (the "x" is a click) in the Eastern Cape. We'll be in huts, bathe in buckets, plant mango trees... We'll mainly be observing and hanging out, since we can't speak Xhosa, but rural conditions are a huge part of our theme of Community Health, so it'll be good to see that. We get to see washing day too! I'll post pictures.

Otherwise, I'm going to make chili for my host mama next week. I'm missing some creature comforts, like ketchup that's salty not sweet and milk that does not come in a box. Oh, and frozen pizza. I'm adding that to the list. I love it here, though, don't get me wrong. 

A couple more photos

The area/house where we have class. Note the palm trees and pool scum. Lots of plants.

Class and Choice: The Elephant in the Room

[This is pretty long, but important, so take the time to read it.]

“What is privilege but multiple choices?”

–Zed McGladdery, SIT Community Health Program Director

I’m staying in a lower class area called a township, all black government owned projects remaining from apartheid. Staying here has made me realize what incredible privilege I have been raised in, what powerful circumstances everyone in America lives in. Even the color of my skin means that because of the history of this country, I am granted more reverence and more respect, whether or not I ask for it.

This weekend on the phone my mother asked me how it felt to be a minority. She was surprised when I answered, “Guilty.” When I got to my homestay, my bag took up the entire path on one side of the bed. “So much stuff!” my new mama said.  I unpacked, placing my name brand shampoo and my name brand face wash on the tub, which had socks drying on the washtub inside it.  I placed my soap, exfoliating with a small dove carved in the surface, beside the generic green bar.  I was so thankful that at least their toothpaste was name brand to ease my mounting guilt.

Before I left home, my sister and I had been whining that the hot water heater had an element out and only provided hot water for the first 5 minutes of a shower. On arriving in Cato Manor, I did not have a shower at all, much less hot water.  We don’t even use half of my house in the United States, whereas the living room here is used for basically everything, and is, well, small, at least by my previously held standards. Dinner is very heavy in starches and fats, and fruit and vegetables are sparse. The ones that are around are typically only served to me. The meal that is prepared is eaten for every meal of the day (though lunch is generally sparse) until it is finished several days later. I am served Cornflakes and specially prepared jam and butter sandwiches. Even within my home, my family treats me as a special guest.

I realize now how much stuff I have. I thought I only brought the essentials with me. A week’s worth of clothes, 3 pairs of shoes, various cosmetics and toiletries, 2 cameras (one is for my photo essay later on), an iPod, 3 books, 2 journals, some outdoor things… Granted, I have used most of these things, but I could also live without most of them.  They are comforts that I have learned to see as necessary to life, but many of them, such as books, never mind cameras or an iPod, people in Cato Manor have never had. My first night, my mama offered that I could watch TV after she went to bed. When I replied that I would read, she said, “Oh, always good to keep learning.” Education is held in high esteem, but book are too expensive to afford.

That we have the choice to educate ourselves, our children, especially at the university level, is remarkable. Many of us can choose to study without worrying about having to send money home to support the family.  I know probably one girl my age in America with a child. The fact that I can pick up an leave the United States, have the money and the freedom to just wander the globe, speaks to my incredible privilege. Mama has no choice but to work, and even still she couldn't afford a gift for her daughter's 13th birthday last week.

Though I am living within the lower class homestay environment, everyday I detach for a time being in class, situated in a higher income area. We have our classes in a house in an area that was classified as “white” under apartheid. There we have showers, fruit, vegetables, air conditioning, a pool. All twenty-two students type away on our laptops. We have this space to be “rich.” I’m still wrestling with the ethics of this situation. Should we have fruit, cameras, laptops, a spacious area and time to debate health policy, when as a whole the people of Cato Manor do not? Of course it’s impossible to totally balance the playing field, but there are some steps we can take to not be so spoiled, as well as some things we can do to improve the situation of people like our homestay families (for example, in access to health care). In the meantime, people on both ends of the wealth spectrum are taking time to appreciate and learn from one another.  As cheesy as it sounds, it’s pretty comforting. 

Photos!

No pictures of people yet (coming soon!) but this is the street (Dromore) I live on in Cato Manor, and to the right, my house! You might be able to see mama in the door if you look closely. 

On the left, you can see a "tuck shop," which is part of the informal economy. They are all over and sell various things. This one sells bread, eggs, onions, oil, super glue, coke, maybe some other stuff. 

camera

I got a camera yesterday, so pictures are coming soon!

2fer!

You get 2 posts today, lucky you (the other one was mostly finished so...).

Oh, by the way, if you hadn't figured it out, township = projects. FYI.

I visited the School for the Deaf on Wednesday. Really interesting to see. The Vice-Principal says that since the kids can't hear and therefore can't communicate, a lot of parents just don't pay much attention to them early on. Sad. They teach sign language in the early classes, but it's really hard for the kids to learn english/writing, especially coming from a multi-lingual culture. Imagine that your family speaks Zulu at home, which you can't hear. You start to pick up sign language at school- which is based on English. To learn to read and write, you basically have to memorize it all, because you can't sound it out like hearing people do. Sign language really has no association with the sounds of English. Then for your matriculation exams (for graduation and university admission), you have to read and write in English. Very hard. Only about 2% go on to university. We saw a monkey while we were there, on the bright side! Big and light colored, just hopped down from a tree.

---

Yesterday the kids next door (there are a lot of them) were really anxious for me to come out and play, so I went out after dinner (before it got dark) to run around in the streets with all of them hanging off of me. Seriously- they fight over who gets to hold my hand. We went and recruited some other white girls (we are the only whiteys in the neighborhood) to play. We wandered around for a while and they laughed at my poor attempts at Zulu and I tried to figure out who actually lived next door to me. After my friends ended up going elsewhere to do homework, I had the whole flock of kids (probably like 8, all around age 7) to go back down to our street with. We walked back to our street, and past a couple of scraggly dogs. A quick explanation: Dogs here are not pets, people can't afford to look after animals, so dogs are mangy and skinny and mean, and usually act as watchdogs. There really isn't anyone to look after most of them. Anyway, we walk past these dogs and a couple of the kids start barking at them. The dogs barked back and I was kind of like, "Haha, the dog is talking to you!" but then the dogs started chasing us! The kids started running, fast, so I followed suit and booked it. The people at the house above us were cracking up at the white girl running for her life with all these kids, I'm sure it was a hilarious sight. But then one of the smaller girls fell down and started crying. I turned to see her on the ground with a dog over her and I was terrified that the dog had bitten her, but he just sniffed at her and once satisfied we were out of his territory, went on his way. I went over to her, and she was crying, so I brushed her off and checked her over. She had scraped her elbow pretty badly, but was otherwise unharmed. I took her back and got some first aid stuff from my room (thanks grandma!) and cleaned her up and slapped a band-aid on it. I was amazed that she didn't even flinch when I wiped the scrape with an alcohol pad- in fact she was laughing at the toddler walking around beside us. All was well. Actually a funny experience in retrospect.

"You are a soul!" (and some other stuff)

A few things, then I'll tell you how church on Sunday went.

Each of these could probably be it's own post but I don't have that kinda time:

-There's tons of litter here. If you use a kleenex while out walking, it is common practice to throw it to the ground afterward. Even bagged up trash is then just thrown over the closest hill. I guess there's no real public sanitation in the poor areas?

-To send a letter, you have to go to the post office. This may make sending postcards more difficult than I thought...

-My homestay cousin (though he's treated more like a brother) was taught in school that condoms aren't always effective in preventing HIV/AIDS. He gave the impression that they don't always work, so why ever use them? Scary.

-Oh, even if I don't respond to all your comments, I do read all of them and I really appreciate it! Same generally goes for email. 

-Email me (allisonrpiper [at] gmail ) if you want my address to mail me something.

-Class takes place in a house. We have a pool, but it is of questionable cleanliness. My whole program is 22 women. We are in class all day, then I go home and do homework. High school all over again.

Okay. Church.

Mama was disappointed that I did not bring more skirts. She had me lay out all 3 that I brought, with some shirts, and she picked out my outfit for me. She said it was okay that I didn't wear all white, since I am a visitor. I wore a knee-length purple skirt and a long-sleeved pink shirt and shiny blue flip-flops. Not actually the most attractive outfit, but it covered my shoulders (that was a big concern), and I wasn't about to put up a fight. I bought a white shawl thing to wrap my head, but it ended up being really long, so I had like a tail... I looked pretty funny aside from being the only white person, but everyone was glad I was there. 

We walked for a while through the township to get to church, which is held in a school classroom.

When we get there, the room is packed and hot. Everyone was dressed in white, with various kinds of white head coverings. The whole room is singing.

(Okay, here I am picking up after a 2-day power outage at the place I take classes and having Blogger lose my post. Sorry for any discontinuity.)

I got my own personal sermon from the preacher, in English. I was really impressed he went so out of his way for me. He said I am a soul and can be saved and stuff... Um... yeah. But he was really nice!  Lots of praying, when one person finished another would pick up. There was crying and carrying on, and I was really curious what was happening but didn't want to interrupt for a translation. After all that, there were new members who were baptized. Each of the 5 (all about my age, plus one who had a baby), after being straightened and tidied by elders on their walk up, got a cross of water on their forehead. There was more singing then as communion was served. Only members could take it, and they came up to drink from the communal cup and took in their palms a small flat cracker of bread. More singing and preaching (I got my own English address again at the end) and we are done. The whole service lasted about 2 and a half hours, I think. 

At the end, everyone, while singing, filed out and lined up against the wall. As we snaked out, everyone shook hands of the people lined up, and then joined the line. Everyone was very welcoming of me. After that a lady (Sister someone, I don't remember her name) came over to tell me about Jesus. She was so enjoying explaining that I didn't have the heart to tell her I had a church at home, was baptized, etc. 

On the walk back Mama introduced me to a boy my age/a little younger to talked to me about the church and how they don't believe in a God up in the sky ("Up there is only clouds") but in the God inside of all of us. I thought that made a lot of sense. Then we talked about "ubuntu"- the Zulu concept, roughly translated, that means "Through other people, I live." Very interconnected, very warm. He talked about how you always have food to feed a stranger (though people here don't always have much food), and will always provide shelter or anything else to a stranger in need. It also means everyone greets everyone else, asks how they're doing, looks after one another. Sort of like an extended form of Southern hospitality. Anyway, I like all that.  "Ubuntu" is probably my favorite thing about the Zulu culture. 

The weekend

Sanibona (Hello all)-

So on Saturday we visited gogo (grandmother) and uncle. Sunday was church. 

Gogo is raising my sisi (sister) and bhuti (brother) in another town- Claremont, which mama and I got to with a series of mini-bus taxis. These taxis are CRAZY, but it's the only means of transport most people here have. You hold up a finger or make a certain motion to indicate where you want to go- like one finger in Cato Manor means going to town. Then you get into the van, which is big and white, sometimes with colorful words (as in different colors, not off-color) written in big letters across it, crammed with people, and usually blaring loooooud music. Fare is usually around R8. We took about... 4? to get to Claremont (we also bought some groceries for Gogo on the way).

Gogo is 75, but seemed much older. She used a cane and shuffled slow-slow-slowly across the floor, bent about in half. I don't think she had teeth. She could only say hello and goodbye in English, and I could only say hello and goodbye in Zulu, so I didn't get to talk to her much. We dropped off groceries, talked/relaxed for a little while, played with someone's baby, then left to visit mama's brother in the hospital.

This hospital is... different than in the U.S. Her brother had had a stroke, and for some related reason had had his hand amputated (which I can't figure out unless it's diabetes, and mama hadn't had it explained to her so she wasn't sure). He was in the surgical ward healing from the amputation. The ward was dim, with dingy (maybe mildewy? hard to say) walls. There were 8 beds, all filled with pretty severely-injured men. All were black. Mama's brother couldn't speak because of the stroke, and I couldn't tell how much of what we were saying he could understand. The man in the bed to the left was very much out of it. His bed was soiled when we walked in, and it wasn't changed until about half an hour after we got there. He didn't wake up the whole time. The man to the right was very severely burned, he had 3rd degree burns covering most of his upper body and his entire face. Turns out his neighbor (a woman, which mama was shocked by) had tried to kill him by throwing acid on him. His nose, one of the few un-bandaged parts, had big blackened sections. He was very friendly and talkative, though. He also was snacking on chips, though he was on an all-liquid diet. He said (in Zulu, I had it translated by mama) that they dread 6pm coming, because of the night shift nurse. She doesn't always give them the pain medication they ask for, and when she gives injections she just stabs it in, hard. They said the day shift nurse was ok, though. The other men in the ward were also covered in lots of bandages, or had large swathes of thin, pink flesh that was very new. A group came in to pray for a little while, singing and reading from the Bible, doing some preaching.

This all contrasted a lot with what I know about Durban hospitals- they are world-class, the first successful heart transplant was performed in South Africa. It was pretty obvious that this was a question of a disparity of resources. 

Sunday I went to church... I'll write about that tomorrow, right now it's time to go home!