In the three months that I’ve now lived in Viljoenskroon, I’ve had more and more difficulty writing to express the life I’m living here. It is not so radically different from the life I shared with Johannes in KZN; in fact, it’s even more civilized than my bush-life considering I’m only 60 kilometres drive from a shopping centre. But I’ve started to get deeper, much more entrenched in South African life while being here alone, without the company of a partner.
The Lekgetho family continues to offer me a space to call a home and to rest my head, although I was only meant to live with them for 1 or 2 months. After some ridiculous pricing schemes on the arts centre, Dramatic Need has finally broken ground on what will be my new home from December onwards. I look forward to running my own kitchen again, walking around in a towel, giving space to a baby kitten and nurturing a very untended and wild plot of land.
While I have not written much in the last months, I should have been. I’m finding small-town life and a lack of friends (especially female) is guiding me towards a new lifestyle, enacting a more private and quiet life – thus, bottling up the residue in my head as a result. It’s scary stuff because on a daily basis I find myself encountering tragically heavy content over and over again, with nowhere to deposit the depth of grime that sits on my scope of humanity.
Nourishing my body has been my greatest escape. A heartfelt invitation to join the gym on a benevolent community member’s company account has given me the much needed space to pound out some of what sits so heavily on my shoulders. And, at the same time, give me a renewed sense of energy and capabilities within my own body. It has been terribly neglected in this year of 2010!
I have begun learning Afrikaans and am finding it more and more comfortable rolling off my tongue. Sadly, it has little place in the black community and I will soon find it necessary to put concerted efforts to study Sesotho as well. With 2 volunteers visiting from the USA who’ve immediately taken to the Sesotho tongue, I feel a bit ashamed in my choice to pursue Afrikaans, the white language of the Apartheid oppressors. But at the same time I’ve had enough of white people talking over my head and behind my back and feel the need to be on par with people of my own race, especially in a town as racist as the one where I’m now living. The racisms are blatant and I feel I will never be able to address them properly if I’m not able to speak Afrikaans.
To date I haven’t made too many Afrikaans allies in town! But the town also boasts a crew of “English”, meaning South Africans who speak English as a first language (not necessarily people from Britain). I am slowly meeting people in the town of Viljoenskroon, population of 4,000. On the other hand, my network is rapidly unfolding in the township of Rammolutsi, population of 50,000. No longer does EVERY one turn their head to stare as my little Cape Town-registered car heads down the dirt roads where most white people dare not drive. I drive through the township multiple times a day and feel very comfortable there. I still get the occasional “Legoya” cry from a child (meaning “whitey” in Sesotho) but I’m much more used to it now!
I’ve been working on a big project, along with the 2 American volunteers, called “The Children’s Monologues”. It’s a play that we’re producing here and which will be simultaneously performed in London, under the direction of Danny Boyle, on the 14th of November. It’s been my first real chance to get deeper into the lives of the youth with which DN works in the township. The amount of parental loss these youth have had in their lives and the greater impact that has had on their lives is astonishing to witness. Many young girls are raising their mother’s children in someone else’s home and struggling to live off the $30 social welfare grants they receive each month. There are stories of fathers who drink their money away so that there is no electricity in the house….there are stories of evil step-mothers….there are stories of having no bread…there are stories of not having access to transport and therefore not being able to attend school….there are stories of bullies stealing their bicycles….there are stories of a birthday cake being the most meaningful moment in a year…. They make my heart ache and break so many times over.
My biggest mission right now is to find a way for two boys, Skhalo and Nicolas, to attend school. The South African government closed down the farm school, Niekerksrus Secondary, where I taught two years ago when I first came to SA. Upon closing this school, the government has neglected all the students who attended there by failing to provide transport to the nearest schools. Over 20 miles from the nearest school, Skhalo and Nicolas had no choice but to stop attending at the end of 2009. Skhalo is 17 and needs to start grade 9, while Nic is 18 and needs to start grade 10. The black families in South Africa often take on hosting distant relatives, but often they mistreat them and cast them as outsiders. Nicolas and Skhalo have both experienced these issues and have no other (decent) family to turn to in the township, so I am trying my best to find a place for them to live… I am furious and angry and frustrated by a government that is failing these two boys (but mind you, there are 12 others on this same farm). Even typing, it turns me red in the face.
So, it is heavy down here. I ache for my boy Johannes , who’ll be in Belgium another 6 months. I ache to have a girl friend to confide in. And I am doing my best to trump the situation and come out stronger, wiser and clearer. Most of all, I want to be here for these children. Even though I cannot be there for them all, I relish being able to be a solid adult figure in their lives, one who cares (I must), one who is just (I try), one who is honest (I endeavour).
