Archive for June, 2010

I couldn’t find the willpower to get out of bed this morning. So I didn’t.

Later, on TV, I watched an elderly disabled woman use only her arms to manoeuvre herself from her bed into her wheelchair. It took numerous attempts and an unquestionable amount of strength. I wonder how many times she’s woken up and thought to herself ‘I can’t be bothered anymore.’ Feeling the cold, she looks up at the tin roof of her shack. No electricity. No running water. No toilet. They take up to two weeks to empty the bucket. “I have to pay someone to take me to town. When I don’t have enough money, they just leave me somewhere and a stranger will eventually take me home.”

I have been questioning my presence here in South Africa’s ‘sticks’, amongst other things in my life. Many of us have discussed the issue amongst ourselves, and yesterday’s speech from the supervisor suggested that this is indeed a system that we are a part of. Beyond the story, however, what exactly is it that I’m doing here?

I just finished watching “Sometimes in April”, a film about the 1994 genocide in Rwanda which cost the lives of at least 800,000 people. This month last year, I was in Bosnia, a country which also suffered from genocide. The Srebrenica massacre cost the lives of at least 8,000 people. We took part in the burial of the 534 more people found that year, and they continue to find more each year. “History repeats itself and blood is always spilled…”

I cast my mind back 9 years ago and find myself in Iraq. The memory of the al-Amiriya bomb shelter will stay with me forever. A search reveals a video which brings the entire scene rushing back. It’s amazing how accurate scarring memories can be. “4:30 AM: 408 women and children were hiding from the war, when a US bunker buster bomb smashes through the roof. Moments later a “smart” phosphor bomb was guided through the hole in the roof, and burned them all to death. The people in the basement were boiled to death when the water storage tank exploded from the heat. The imprints of their bodies are still on the wall.”

What is the relevance of these stories?

We all have to make decisions which will shape our outlook on life and the way we live. I often reflect on how little anyone would be affected if I were to not return to the UK. I wonder, beyond material possessions, what my life consists of. I set out on this journey to learn about myself, and to learn how I can best channel my abilities into making a change in the world – however big or small. I pray that God grants me the ability do so.

I wanted to learn to knit this morning. Clearly it’s not for everyone. Latisha, one of the senior figures at Lief en Leed, first attempted to teach me. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t pick it up. She then asked one of the wheelchair-bound women to assist me. A master of the art, she certainly knew what she was doing. I watched and tried, watched, watched and tried. By 11am, I’d successfully learnt how to observe someone knitting.

The weekly meeting was of length, but consisted of a much needed motivational and somewhat emotional speech from Aunty Hilda. “I eliminate negative people from my life because I do not have the time or energy to deal with them. But if you plant a seed, maybe in 5 years you’ll make a difference to that person…It’s not me, it’s God giving us the means.” She told us of how so many volunteers had had an impact on the people here, whether it is teaching the children to speak better English or the guitar, or being involved in the beginnings of projects which are still running today like the veg. gardens and dance group. What affected me most, however, was the way in which she spoke of love. “I have so much love to give to each person who walks through my door. I’ve been given an abundance of love…if someone doesn’t want that love, if I can’t share that love I’ll share tough luck!” We were reminded of the short time we have left, and how important it is to motivate ourselves to continually give it our all.

As I said to a fellow volunteer on the way home, “Kid’s always lift your spirits.” The holiday programme consisted of a lot of running around with children playing variations of football, rugby, piggy in the middle and some wrestling of sorts. I know I’ll miss the bright smiles and undying enthusiasm. I don’t fear playing with the children here. “Will you be back tomorrow?” one eagerly asks as we leave. We will, I reassure him, offering the handshake I taught him one last time.

The good weather must be compensated for, and the long walk back was through a continuous downpour. There’s something so beautiful about the rain. Its sound, and the silence it brings. The way it runs along the sides of the roads, causing them to glisten and shine. I got home in a ridiculously clammy state, enjoying a warm shower whilst my host-mum made me a cup of tea. I couldn’t possibly ask for more.

We worked in the supervisors own veg. garden, basking in the morning sun. The potatoes were smothered with weeds, suffocating them, choking them. I made it my business to work out a rescue mission. It was painful, the resistance of the thorns was strong, but we broke through in end. No, that isn’t how I think of it when I’m plucking countless weeds from the ground, yet it does make for a good way of relaying our tedious task.

The day was one of discussion; a few of us hadn’t seen each other since the previous Thursday, which is a long time in such a close-quartered environment. Thanks to our incredibly early curfew, we also spend little time together during the week. Apparently some of the previous groups spent most evenings at each other’s houses, so I was shocked to learn that many of our group don’t even know where the others live.

I have been thinking about home. I’m not sure of the degree to which I miss it. Of course, I miss friends and family. Yet I have little desire to return, at least not yet. In some ways, I think it’s part of the reason why I decided to come on this programme. Until I’ve accomplished at least a level of my objective out here, I won’t feel satisfied returning. With only 20 odd working days left, I find it frightening how little time left I have to make it a reality.

It’s times like this that explain why I don’t keep a blog for every day of my life, and fail even to write in my journal on a daily basis. The reason? Well, not all that much different is happening. No, that’s not a license for you to stop reading!

The words of a friend resonate in my head “Do something different every day,” somewhat lost as repetitive routine kicks in. I guess it also explains why there are some who continually travel or find ways of continually altering their lives. Novelty seems to count for a lot unfortunately, at least for me. The pattern is something like: Initial spur of excitement, maintain for temporary period, steady drop to same old ways.

I thought of returning to CT on Sunday, but by the evening I knew it wasn’t happening. The previous week’s sleep deprivation had kicked in, and I dozed the morning away. The afternoon was spent watching England get trashed, quite literally. I’ve never been an England supporter and receive much flack as a result – but their performance on Sunday proves my point. As I said the day before, “I’d be patriotic if I was from somewhere else”. It was amusing to hear a local supporting Germany making a mockery of the English team, to which we could only reply “Baffana Baffana”.

The rest of the day is a blur. Another way of saying it isn’t worth talking about…

“Please don’t rush me, if you’re late I’m on time!” Read the words on a sticker in the ‘combi’ taxi. Another Saturday, another journey. An ‘action man’ doll hangs where the review mirror once was, accompanied by other equally bizarre items. This time the music is older, better. ‘70s soul, I quietly hum along to The Delphonics “Betcha by Golly”. Another song comes on and suddenly the chattery mood turns into a sing-along, with the lady beside me enthusiastically following Dolly Parton’s “Just because I’m a woman”. I enjoy the ride with a grin on my face.

The ‘Table Cloth’ was back (see Day 18). It’s so strange how low the clouds lie, how you can actually see over them. From the approach they looked to have been manually suspended above the city. It’s the first time I’ve been to CT on my own on the weekend, it felt good being able to decide entirely for myself where to go and what to see. I don’t like to consider myself a follower, but in a group I rarely impose my opinion. The best method would be to suggest an alternative which people can opt for, though I sometimes wonder if it’s a necessary exertion.

I made my way to the ‘Company Gardens’ area which I knew is surrounded by a few museums. The first is the ‘Slave Lodge’, one of the oldest preserved slave buildings left in South Africa. I learnt a lot from my visit, certainly worth the R15 (~£1.50) entry fee. For example, the first known Afrikaans document was written in Arabic script. And did you know that in 18th century Cape Town there were more slaves than free people?

The displays acknowledged that slavery eventually developed into a form of Wage slavery, a method of maintaining a workforce without requiring the force to keep them in check. Whether or not they accepted that wage slavery is very much alive in much of the world today, including the very places where slavery was abolished, is a different question. As you’ll know by now, I love quotations, and the exhibitions had a few that I liked:

“All around us every day, we experience the echoes of cultures from Asia and Africa – and the fruits of the labour of the enslaved people. This great contribution of so many men and women, our ancestors, has far too long been blotted out by over-amplified colonial narratives.” – Patric Tariq Mellet, 2005

There was also an extensive exhibition about Nelson Mandela and his life. I loved his response to De Klerk, the national party leader at the time, who’d asked him to dismantle the ANCs military wing – saying that he was “talking peace whilst conducting a war.” The words are timeless, applicable to so many leaders today. There’s another good quote from Colonel Boumedienne who said: “Take care not to be romantic or unrealistic. The object of most armed liberation movements is not to overthrow regimes but to bring them to the negotiating table.”

After enjoying the afternoon sun in the gardens, I made my way to Green Point to meet some friends. I stopped at a Mosque in the Boo Kaap area (the Malay quarter) for the afternoon prayer. Wearing my Palestina Libre t-shirt (see Day 7) I attracted an unusual amount of attention. I’d say at least 60% of the people I walked past spent some 5-10 seconds examining the shirt. I felt like a walking [ethical] advertisement, with a number of comments sent my way – all positive. I’m not used to people paying so much attention, perhaps we’ve learnt to ignore things in the UK, or maybe the issue of Palestine has greater awareness here. Either way, it was a great decision to wear that shirt.

I found out where the white people hang out, Green Point is certainly more up market. We entered the ‘Cape quarter’ and I was surprised to see so many. Distinguishing by race isn’t seen as particularly racist here, and can often be attached to social standing. Of course, the majority white customers were waited on by either coloured or blacks (we were the exception). With my little exposure, I’ve thus far observed what one would predict. The question of the World Cup is a good example – those with money think it’s great, bringing money and security to the country. “The World Cup is the best thing to have happened to this country.” Those without don’t see it in the same light, instead arguing that the games bring little to their poverty-stricken lifestyle, certainly having no hope (nor desire) of actually seeing a game (see Day 20).

After a nice sushi, we went to ‘The Grand Daddy’, a hotel on Long Street. What made this place unique was the roof, which hosted an array of caravans (yes, real caravans). These are premium rooms which can be rented starting at R950(~£95)/night. Each is personalised in a different way and brandish unique names. The open roof also has a ‘big screen’ which shows movies at certain times and a small café.
Enjoying a hot drink, we explored some of Long Street before starting back for the bus station. The day went quickly, time really does fly in good company.

I’m going to miss the sky here. The fact that you can look into the distance on a beautiful day like today and see mountains. I love the idea of a horizon to horizon perspective, a semi-circle landscape. Perhaps a strange thing to appreciate, I feel as though the claustrophobia of parts of the UK is escaped. I’ll miss the sky at night too. Whilst the constellation here in the southern hemisphere is less detailed (if that makes sense) than what we see in the north, it makes little difference when we have such a clear vision of the stars on so many nights. At home the skyline is obstructed by buildings during the day and by light pollution clouds and at night.

We joined the holiday programme for a day of sports. Starting with netball, I can now confirm my childhood feelings that it’s a boring game. After running up and down and never once successfully scoring, I gave up and joined the group. We had a morning of Rugby training – coached by a number of pros including a player from the Springboks. It was incredibly enjoyable and we learnt many skills from jump-tackling to passing along the floor. Rugby is thoroughly intensive, and writing this I can feel the pain in my arms (and see the added bruises!).

I enjoyed the long dua (prayer) at the Mosque after Jummah, it was soothing to hear the rhythmic fashion in which it was recited with the occasional participation of the rest of the congregation (I hate that word!). We were then treated to another meal from Aunty Shanaz at the shop, this time discussing the issues surrounding shrines in Islam. I contributed very little, instead trying to understand their perspective.

To admit that I like a teacher is damaging to my reputation as a ‘school-hater’, but the Principle of Mamre Primary is a very cool guy. My roommate and I randomly knocked on in the evening and spent the next few hours talking, singing along as he played guitar and watching tennis and football. One thing I really admire is his direct action. For example, he asked if we wanted a drink and we said yes – assuming he’d go to the kitchen and bring something for us. Instead he told us to come with him, and he drove us to the shop to buy drinks and snacks. When I asked whether Wimbledon had started, he disappeared to his room to changeover to the live game. The same kind of thing happened numerous times during the evening, and my roommate and I joked that I ought to stop asking any questions for fear of him acting immediately on them. Certainly a good quality to have, procrastination is the biggest enemy.

I read this quote today and thought I’d repeat it, “The happiest people don’t have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything.”

Back at the veg. garden this morning we worked long and hard. We took a break to play a version of shot put with bricks and a stick. What sounds like a basic game turned into quite an exciting competition – with our group, ‘The Stoners’, reigning supreme. A group from a Taiwanese organisation had meanwhile been working in another area of the garden, and we were invited over to listen to them explain what they’d done.

It turns out this group have been supporting the project, and come regularly to help and contribute. They had created a ‘model’ area in an amazingly short space of time in which crops can be grown more efficiently and with more ‘love’ as the lady nicely put it. They showed us a few techniques including sustainable irrigation for water-deprived countries, I was greatly impressed. To top it all off, they then provided us with a fantastic lunch, Chinese food – rice and soya and coffee from a pan (because it’s from a pan, I actually drank it).

On the way home we saw the strangest thing. A young boy, no older than 10, was coming down the road on a petrol-powered mini-motorbike. He had this incredible look of stern concentration on his face in a surreal moment which looked as if everything had just been downscaled. Like I said before, it’s always the small things…

When discussing the discipline of children in schools and drawing comparisons between here and the UK, a fellow volunteer felt it was too late to change: “It’s gone too far. Socially, we are wrong.” We then encountered some children who felt one of the girls looked familiar “I love you, you look just like Madonna.” I’m sure he meant it as a compliment at least…

In the evening I went for my guitar lesson, missing Italy get knocked out of the World Cup. It was a good lesson, but it reminded me of how much dedication is actually required to master an art. None of us were able to play ‘Mull of Kintyre’, the song we were supposed to have learnt, and I started to feel slightly disheartened at my inability to progress. These things take time, I must be patient.

Having spent the previous day at Lief en Leed doing things I was already familiar with, I decided I wanted to learn something new. So I sat with the girls attempting to pick up some sewing techniques. After contributing a few eyelashes and bows to the doll-curtain ties, I had connected enough with my feminine side, and returned to the weaving area.

This time I moved onto a bigger basket, being taught how to weave an advanced pattern into the lip once it was finished. The man teaching me (ashamed that I’ve forgotten his name already) spoke extensively about the group, telling me how he’d spent weeks studying a book to learn the pattern he’d passed onto a few of the others and was now passing on to me. He told me how he would spend hours cutting and drilling board at home to bring to the group so they could continue to make baskets, explaining how they just about managed to fund their basic supplies like sugar and pap. It’s so much realer when you hear from the people of their struggle to become self-sustaining and be able to work every day and not just two days a week.

This week’s Global Development Session was on Education, learning of the cost on the communities and families attempting to put their children through the schooling system. I have a strong opinion on schooling, and put forth the point that education and schooling are two very different things. We were asked to do debate on the topic and then were asked to write and perform a rap to the group. I think it’s safe to say that our groups ‘Fresh Prince’ remix went down well, although I do need to confiscate the footage of my performance from whoever filmed it!

At the end of the session I offered the following quotation from the 32nd US President, Franklin D. Roosevelt: “A man who has never gone to school may steal from a freight car, but if he has a university education he may steal the whole railroad.” My point (was too subtle for anyone to pick up on) was to examine the relation between the words of a US President and the deprivation from easily-accessible ‘education’ in most African countries. If the people of these lands are educated, will they not then rise up and take what is rightfully theirs? In the worlds of activist Eric Schaub: “Can we truly expect those who aim to exploit us to be trusted to educate us?”

The disabled group are always busy working when we arrive. I love the way the term ‘busy’ is so commonly used here, for example right now I’m busy using my laptop whilst my roommate is busy sleeping. Everything is busy, even when it requires no effort. I hope I take back some of the skills I’ve picked up from the group and apply them in some way, volunteering here has taught me much more than I’ll ever give back.

Spending the morning weaving baskets, we returned to the holiday programme for the afternoon. This time the entire group were there and got stuck in straight away. The highlight for this day was what we then played, and what I’m still suffering because of: Rugby, on concrete.

I’ve probably played Rugby once or twice at school, but I don’t remember. Most of our group hadn’t played before, so we mixed in with the local kids for what turned into a very competitive and extremely exhausting (and painful) game. It’s at times like this where I realise just how unfit I am almost collapsing after the first 20 minutes of play. The game was intense and we were all left with battle scars. A number of the female volunteers also joined in and I commend them on their bravery. The locals took no mercy, and I was wincing as I saw one of the girls being dropped onto the hard floor.

How could I forget. Before lunch we had our weekly meeting which I chaired with a fellow volunteer. I’ll claim efficiency, as the previous meetings had been allowed to drag into endless discussion (though I may have silenced a few). I noticed merchandise being given out at the school (oversized t-shirts and caps to the kids). Upon closer inspection, it turns out they were talking about Human Trafficking. I wonder how the constant push for awareness related to the abuses of human rights, particularly regarding sex, will impact on these young people in their later lives.

Not that anyone’s missed it, but this is the longest I’ve been without blogging since coming to SA. There are a number of reasons and this week has been hectic and somewhat testing at times, on top of which I’ve not been able to use my laptop much.

Anyway, the next few entries will be brief as I’m finding them difficult to remember! We worked the Veg. Garden in the morning; I proudly uprooted a huge section of weed. What I was initially very weary of has become somewhat therapeutic, earphones in, spade out. The afternoon was spent at the Holiday Programme which took place at the same hall as the Soup Kitchen.

Monday and Tuesday were fantastic continuations of Day 5, spending hours with the local kids. We enjoyed dancing (uh, I filmed) and playing a variety of sports, picking favourites as you do! It’s safe to say that children sufficiently tire you out.

One thing we observed when walking to the hall was a house which had a British Telecom (BT) phone booth glass pane recycled and used for their window. My camera’s battery had died, but I’ll try to get a picture of it another day. It’s often the small things that make you think.