howzit

People who first meet me here usually ask one of two questions - “How is it [aka howzit] in America?” and “How do you find South Africa?” Obviously there are a million different tangents dangling from these wide-open questions.

The people asking me about America are usually the ones who have never left the country, i.e. mostly black people. And on the flip side, the ones who ask me about Africa are the white people who have traveled.

I find the America question easier and easier to answer, though at first it seemed way too broad. I don’t tell people what they want to hear, which is that it’s just like in the movies or that I regularly see movie stars on the streets. I say that things are generally a bit easier in America because it is a much more resourced country - but that there are still huge gaps between the haves and the have-nots. And if we get really deep, I will tell them that race relations are not readily spoken about or dealt with - as they so obviously have to be here. People freely use the words black, coloured, white, Indian, and not a soul whispers them because they’re not taboo here.

On the South Africa question, I find it increasingly more difficult. Perhaps this is all a function of the further away I get from America, the easier it is to simplify it. And the deeper into South Africa I get, the harder it is to extricate myself from the situation and verbalize how it is I feel.

I look at my good friend Britt and read about her experiences in Mexico, her integration into the culture and towns there and envy the connections she is able to build. Certain aspects such as her knowledge of Spanish have certainly encouraged her ability to connect with the people. That is what I feel I miss. My experiences from community organizing put me in touch with the importance of understanding the context & the lives of the communities I served. Here I am on the perimeter.

In the Free State I taught students that lived on the same farm as me. Yet I lived in the farmhouse and they in the laborer’s cottages - I never met any of their parents. In Cape Town I am teaching students that travel from here, there, and yonder and I have no idea where they’re coming from, what they’re coming from, whether they come for a safe place to play in or for a safe place to learn.

For those of you that know me well, you know I tend to come down a bit hard on myself. But all that aside, I find Africa is a very tough place to be. For a conscionable person, there really is nothing comfortable about being here. Every which way you look, there are issues of safety (I have 7 keys for my flat), issues of government & police corruption, a society that doesn’t always value education (how else do you explain that half of my 4th/5th grade classes don’t know their 5 vowels), a place where you’re always tipping just to provide a little more income. It’s no wonder so many people want to leave. But I suppose this is always the status quo for countries where flocks are leaving - who will be left & what will be left at the end of the day. The people that remain say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” and “Isn’t it better to be constantly challenged than to be falsely comfortable?” Because it’s true, leaving doesn’t make any of these problems go away.

I am learning that over the years of traveling to South Africa, I wrapped up my travels in velvet and silk and decorated it with beads, romanticized its being and put it in my memory for safe keeping. Now I have to unwrap it and reconfigure the jumbled pieces of this cracked nation. It sounds dramatic. But honestly, we people do this; romanticize things until they don’t reflect reality, especially those things of our childhood. Learn, distort, unlearn and relearn, distort, again and again! I suppose I didn’t come to South Africa with a clean slate, ready to expect anything and be dazzled. Whatever expectations I came with are being unfurled. I’m trying to “stop” wrapping my head around this and instead let it go, be a bit more fluid and absolutely more flexible.