Can you pay my telephone bills?

For those of you who didn’t recognize it, the above title comes from a Destiny’s Child song popular in the late ‘90s.  I hear that the Houston group which included Beyoncé might be set for a reunion performance at this year’s Super Bowl, which I hopefully will be able to watch on TV in the early Monday hours here.  Regrettably, my use for the lyrics in today’s writing is inspired less by happiness at Houston girls finding success on a grand stage and more by apoplexy caused by the actions of South Africans.

I have mentioned in previous posts that one of the most important things I have learned from my time in the Peace Corps is that development does not occur simply because one has access to resources.  It is rather how one utilizes one’s resources that makes the difference.  There are certain days in my time here in South Africa in which this fact is made frustratingly clear, and unfortunately, today is one of those days.  Before I get to what currently has me seeing red let me offer another example of what I mean.

One of the Peace Corps volunteers here is a middle aged man from Massachusetts with a background in computers.  He’s a fantastic guy, and I don’t think there is anyone (at least no American) that does not immensely enjoy having him around.  For his service, he was assigned to assist with a community computer centre that was built and sponsored by Vodacom, one of the largest telecommunications companies in southern Africa.  The intent of the centre was to provide computer training and free internet access to populations that might not otherwise have the opportunity.  When my friend first arrived at the centre, Vodacom was on the verge of removing their funding and abandoning the project because of the mismanagement that had occurred by the local staff.  (Because it is supposed to be a community centre, local members of the community were employed rather than Vodacom employees.)

This American, through much hard work and persistence and despite having any authority, managed to get the centre up and running again, and was able to train a good number of people through the computer courses that he began offering.  His main problem in providing such training, however, has been that every several weeks the centre’s electricity is interrupted, after which it usually takes a few weeks to get the electricity restored.  Based on such a description, most people would probably assume that this was due to poor electrical infrastructure and/or insufficient power generation.  The funny and sad thing about it, though, is that it is neither. 

The reason why this man’s centre has gone without power so many times is because the woman responsible for the centre’s finances did not bother to pay the electricity bill.  Again, based on such a description, one might assume that this was because there were not enough funds.  The centre, however, is sponsored by a major telecommunications company, so funding is not the issue.  The money is there, the woman simply did not do her job and pay the bill.  One might excuse this the first time as an oversight, but as I mentioned above, this has happened multiple times over the past 17 months, and the person hired to manage the centre has taken no action.  The woman has not been fired, reprimanded, or even had the responsibility for paying bills taken away from her.  To make matters worse, when the bill goes unpaid and the electricity is shut off, the electrical company charges a re-connection fee to restore power.  Money is thus, wasted, instead of being channeled towards new computers and community computer education.  The centre is currently again without power for the same reason, and my friend is finally being moved by Peace Corps to another assignment because despite all efforts and patience, he simply cannot help if the staff continues to operate in such a fashion.

I have experienced similar situations at the school where I work.  When I first arrived, the school was not responsible for paying its own bills because of financial mismanagement and theft that had occurred in the past.  For this reason, all bills were paid directly by the provincial Department of Education.  Unfortunately, such an arrangement did not serve the school much better than when the school’s account was being plundered by local officials. 

We went through a period of 3 weeks in which we had no phone use because the bill had gone unpaid.  I used my own money and cell phone to call various officials at the Department to try to figure out what was going on and how the situation could be resolved.  After being passed from one person to another, always finding people out of the office, leaving multiple messages (none of which was ever returned), I was finally able to get a hold of a relevant person.  When this woman picked up, and I stated the reason for my call, it was immediately evident she wished she had not answered my call and had actually been avoiding me. 

What I discovered was that the woman in the finance section of the Department of Education who was responsible for paying our school’s bills was on vacation for several weeks.  Neither she nor the department had made any arrangements to pay the bills prior to her leaving or to assign the responsibility to someone else in her absence.  The response I received was that the bills would be paid when she returned from vacation, but that we were out of luck until then.  There was not much more I could do, so I had to leave the matter at that.  Again, as far as I know, no action was taken against the woman for such behaviour, and no plan was made to handle things differently in the future.  I guess schools will just have to continue being without telephone and electricity when people go on holiday.

Which leads me to today.  My school was finally given back control of its finances in the middle of last year.  The council of local people responsible for governing the school, elected as treasurer an unemployed young man without any financial qualifications or experience.  As the year wore on, it became obvious that this young man was being negligent in his responsibilities such that checks were being written without documentation, receipts were not being kept, and yes, bills were not being paid.  The principal actually had to pay the telephone bill out of his own pocket one month because the bill had not been paid and the telephone company was threatening to disconnect the line if payment was not given that day.  I was finally asked at the end of the year to take a look at the school finances to see if I could help put things in a bit more order.  When I did so, I discovered a number of “irregularities”, to put it nicely.  Probably because the annual report from the school was not forthcoming, the Department of Education eventually sent in their own team to investigate, though, as far as I know, again, no action was taken.

When I showed up for the new school year at the beginning of January, I found that the same man was still holding the cheque book for the school and still responsible for the finances.  Not like I was surprised, of course.  Then early this afternoon, I was summoned to the school clerk’s office to assist her with a computer issue.  There was an error that was occurring with the software we use to report our student data to the Department.  Upon looking at it, I told her that it was not a problem I could solve and that we needed to call the IT support person at the Department of Education.  Her response: “We can’t.  The phone’s been disconnected because the bill was not paid.”

So now I sit here at my desk, typing on my computer, as probably one of the only people who is experiencing higher blood pressure as a result of this incident, trying to figure out why I still get upset at this kind of stuff after 19 months of experiencing it.  Oh well, I think, I’ll just take a deep breath, laugh, and download Destiny’s Child’s song as my new ringtone.

The Parent Trap

Even after having been in South Africa for more than 18 months, I still am left open-mouthed and on the verge of tears at the tragedies occurring here, especially to children.  We started our school year on Wednesday (South Africa’s school year runs from January to December), and I wanted to make a concerted effort to get to know my learners.  From my experience, the more you know about a person, the better you can understand them and, in my case, the better you can help/teach them.

For this reason, in class today, I handed out a sheet titled “About You” in which I asked for various pieces of information such as the learner’s name, surname, date of birth, address, hobbies, etc.  My class period occurred right after lunch break, so when I entered the room to begin the lesson, only 13 out of 25 learners were present.  One of the things I work very hard to teach the learners, aside from my economics lessons, is punctuality and the inappropriateness of “African time” in regards to school, business, and appointments.  I, thus, have a policy that if you are not in the classroom when I begin teaching, the door is closed and you have to wait outside until my period is over.  That, of course,  meant that almost half the class was kept outside.  Harsh?  Yes, but it’s only the second day, and I know will they come around.

Anyways, I spoke to the 13 learners present about what I expected from them and what they could expect from me.  I then spoke a bit about how they needed to already be looking ahead to the year-end exam and making plans as far as further education and careers (I teach grade 12s).  I felt the session went very well, and at the end of the period, I collected the “About You” papers, returning to my office with a good feeling about my learners and the upcoming year.

Later in the afternoon, I sat down and began reading the learners’ information and entering some of it into my computer.  It was then that I was confronted with the full gravity of the situation facing my learners and the community where I work.  On the “About You” sheet, I had put lines for the learners to list their parents’ names, phone numbers, and jobs.  I was aware that some would be without parents, so I had also added another line asking who they lived with and the contact information of this person as well.  Like I said, though, even though I’ve been around it for 18 months, and know that it occurs, the sheer numbers were mind-blowing.

Of the 13 learners that I collected sheets from, 9 (69%) listed no father.  Of these, 5 (38%) also listed no mother.  From their comments, I know for a fact that 2 of the learners who did not list any parents, are orphans.  It is likely that the other missing fathers and mothers have also passed away, though it is also possible that the children were simply abandoned, which is especially prevalent with fathers.  Whatever the case, of my 13 young men and women, only 4 (31%)  have both parents alive and are in contact with them, and only 2 (15%) actually live with those parents.  All the other 11, live with their single mother, an aunt, an uncle, a grandmother, or a grandfather.  Of course, making extrapolations based on a sample size of 13 is not the most responsible of statistics, but I think anyone living in South Africa can tell you that those numbers are indicative of a large part of South Africa's population.

Now I’m not an incredibly emotional guy, but seeing numbers like that made me want to cry and punch a wall, all at the same time.  It is just difficult for me to fathom that so many of these kids are being deprived of a father and mother, and of the love, support, and stability that such an arrangement provides.  I have not seen my mom or dad in person for 18 months, but I have at least been able to talk to them by phone and see them by Skype many times during that period.  I have at least had the chance to know them and be cared for by them throughout my entire life.  I honestly cannot think of myself or who I would be without my parents.

That’s why it angers me that so many of these kids, through no fault of their own, have had these circumstances forced upon them.  They had and have no choice in the matter.  They simply have to make do with the situation.  This, of course, is by no means an emotion unique to me.  It is something I have heard echoed by several other of the American volunteers.  One even made some interesting comments (I might not be getting these entirely correct, and my apologies if that is the case) to the effect that he had always been somewhat suspicious of people who were outspoken about the importance of the nuclear family, as it seemed to be a judgment and criticism of single moms.  Having been here, though, and seen the effects of so many broken families, he said that he realized how much marriage and its role in child-raising serves to preserve a stable, successful society.

The thing that makes it all the worse is that it doesn’t have to be like this.  Even if a person is HIV-positive, if he/she gets tested and knows his status, he/she can take drugs called Anti-Retrovirals (ARVs) that help keep the virus at bay and allow most people to live long, fruitful lives.  Unfortunately, because of the stigma of HIV, many just never get tested, and then die young from “unknown causes”.  Secondly, even if a person does have a child unexpectedly or out-of-wedlock, that does not have to prevent him/her from still taking an active role in that child’s life.  Parentage should entail some amount of responsibility whether we like it or not.

The funny thing is that even though the learners I work with sometimes annoy and frustrate me to no end, I am still sometimes in awe at their ability to cope and survive in such horrid circumstances.  True, many of them have never known anything else, so it might not be quite the herculean task that an outsider sees it as.  Regardless, though, life in a township is not easy for ANYONE, and certainly not for a young man or women who has lost his mother and father, or maybe never even knew them.  For the sheer fact that they continue to get up every day and live their lives, I salute them. 

They just better be on time to class.

Is it getting any better?

To anyone who has been checking the blog over the past several months, you will have noticed a conspicuous lack of activity.  This was partly due to the fact that I got burnt out on blogging and Peace Corps in general, and partly because a solid blog post usually takes me about 3 hours to complete from start to finish.  Despite what some may think or say about my writing abilities, I am not a natural writer i.e. someone who can spontaneously pen a long and in depth piece in the course of 20 or 30 minutes.  No, when I sit down to compose a post, it is a process of deciding which topic to write about, devising a clever title, organizing my thoughts, writing, and then revising, revising, revising…  Because of this, I know when I sit down to my computer, it is going to be a while before I get back up.  That knowledge, combined with the lack of energy and motivation I was feeling towards the end of the year, was enough to continually prevent me from ever making the first key stroke.

After a long, relaxing vacation, though, I am feeling much more refreshed and positive about the remaining 8 months of my Peace Corps service here in South Africa.  I also, during reflections over the holiday, made a resolution to be more regular about my posts.  In order to accomplish that goal, however, I have realized that it is going to be necessary for me to shorten up my writing.  As much satisfaction as I feel when I do thoughtful 2500 word piece, I simply cannot do that at regular intervals in conjunction with all my other responsibilities.  For that reason, I have decided to make the blog a bit shorter – characterizing recent events and still offering some interpretation but without devoting an entire essay to such analysis.  The result may be less profound, but I think my readers would rather have lighter pieces that sometimes provide little more than an update as opposed to an insightful piece that only appears every month or two.  That’s not to say that I will never do a longer piece of hard-hitting quality – just don’t expect it to happen every time.

Today’s topic comes as a result of me reading through the Peace Corps Times, a quarterly publication from Headquarters in Washington that we receive in the mail.  The cover shows a young, smiling white Peace Corps volunteer standing next to a black mother and father as they weigh the couple’s adorable little baby using a scale constructed on the branch of a tree.  The caption speaks of a program called “Saving Mothers, Giving Life” which is a partnership between the Peace Corps and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).  The other article on the page shows another white Peace Corps volunteer instructing a black man on gardening inside of a used tire (tyre).  The text below explains that the American is part of a program where he shows patients with nutritional deficiencies in a hospital in Dakar, Senegal how to grow vegetables.

That may only be the cover of the newspaper but it is indicative of the rest of the content.  Page after page contains happy stories of how Peace Corps is making change here, Peace Corps is creating better lives there.  And it’s not just Peace Corps.  Look at the publications or reports from any organization involved with development such as the US Agency for International Development (USAID), Volunteers in Service to America (VISTA), and the Millennium Challenge Corporation (MCC), and I’m willing to bet that you will see and hear much of the same.  The basic message is “Look how much good we are doing.  Look how we are creating a better world”.

The question I have asked myself over and over, however, since I arrived in South Africa, and which I’m sure many other people have asked as well, is “If we are doing so much to promote progress, making use of all this new technology, why are there still so many problems in the world?”  It’s hard to square the happy reports I just mentioned with the cold hard facts of poverty, starvation, war, disease, discrimination, and violence that plague large portions of the world.  How can this be if we are devoting so much money and effort to development and have so many stories of success?

I think the answer is two-fold.  The first part is that much of what you read from development agencies is BS.  It’s very easy to take a photo-op with smiling faces and talk about the good intentions of a program – it’s quite another to take a look at the cold, hard statistics and see that you might not be doing any good at all or might even be making the problem worse.  Recognizing that a program, regardless of how well-intentioned, is actually a waste of time and resources, is not what people want to hear, and it certainly is not what delivers more dollars from the government and private donors.  I do not want to take the negative point too far, because like I said, most people’s hearts are in the right place.  Many folks in the developed world WANT to help those less fortunate, they WANT to donate money, they WANT to promote change.  Unfortunately, if there is one thing I have discovered in my 18 months here in South Africa is that development is not simply a result of access to resources.  It is not simply a matter of giving people the tools to succeed and then letting them go.  It just doesn’t work that way, but we want to believe that it does.  Other Peace Corps volunteers as well as myself, are more than capable of writing glowing descriptions of what we have done and accomplished so far, especially if it involves applying for scholarships, graduate school, or jobs, but the hard truth, is that most of us have accomplished very little in terms of immediate measurable progress.  I am confident that I am going to positively and permanently impact the lives of at least a few people during my time here, but if I am to be brutally honest, the ultimate effect I have on South Africa and even on my town is going to be minimal.

The second reason why so many problems of such magnitude persist despite the efforts and supposed evidence of change being made is that much of what is touted as change is not sustainable.  Again, you are very likely to see a story about a program started by a foreign development worker to improve the lives of local people, but you are probably not going to hear about how that program collapsed as soon as the worker or development agency left.  The fact of the matter is that creating anything truly sustainable is incredibly difficult.  The reason is that the programs that you start are viewed as just that – YOURS.  The locals think its fine and dandy for you to start this and that, especially if it helps them out or brings an infusion of cash, but most times they do not take ownership of it.  It is something started by someone else, and they are not motivated or interested to keep it going once the initial impetus is gone.  I’m pretty confident that if you went and took a look at the projects that most Peace Corps volunteers are involved in during their service, 95% of them fail within a year of that volunteer leaving.  I would be interested to take a look at issues in years past of the Peace Corps Times and follow up on just how many of the projects mentioned are still functioning.  If they are still functioning, I would like to know how many are functioning independently of foreign management or funding.  Again, I would say the number would be close to zero.

Now, I don’t mean to be Mr. Scrooge, especially so soon after Christmas.  Some are probably asking whether maybe my girlfriend broke up with me or why the hell I am still in the Peace Corps if I am writing such things.  I don’t want people to get me wrong.  I believe in the Peace Corps, and I think it is a valuable organization.  I just have come to believe that is more valuable because of the way that it helps to shape the Americans who serve and promote a positive image of America abroad, rather than the actual impact it has on the communities it tries to serve.  I am from Texas, and we are a blunt people.  I have never believed that sugar-coating things is a good idea.  For that reason, I think that it is best for everyone if we face the facts.  Development is hard.  If it wasn’t, the field wouldn’t even exist anymore.  It is a tough truth to swallow that many times if not most times, we do not experience the success we hoped for or expected.  That doesn’t mean that we stop trying.  It simply entails that we take stock of what worked and what didn’t and re-direct our efforts accordingly.

P.S. For those of who are still convinced I’m a tireless curmudgeon, who thinks no Peace Corps volunteer, and certainly not myself, is making any difference, read this: 

I just got back the results of my school’s year-end examinations to find that 60.6% of the grade 12 learners I was teaching in economics, passed that subject compared to 30.8% the year before.  That is compared to the grade 12 pass rate across all subjects of 39% which was only 4% better than the 2011 number of 34%.  I don’t want to act like that was all me, but I’m pretty sure there are some South African kids in the township who can now explain “comparative advantage” who wouldn’t have been able to otherwise.  Boo-yah.

Also, to keep the feel-good train chugging, I just found out my older brother’s wife is in labor to give birth to their first child and my parents’ first grandchild.  Congrats and best of luck, James and Kerry!

South African English Word of the Day

pecanut – pecan

I just cannot get enough of that pecanut pie!

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Don’t mess with South Africa

When I was accepted into the Peace Corps, my position was designated as “education volunteer”.  And while I do work at a school and engage in a good deal of educational work, one of the things you find in the Peace Corps is that you must become a jack of all trades – manager as well as chief cook and bottle washer, all at the same time.  You find yourself becoming something very different from what you expected and from what you were back home in the States.  One thing I certainly never expected, though, was that I would be filling the role of environmentalist.

Outside of the Austin enclave, I think it’s fair to say that Texas and Texans are not known for their environmental sensibilities.  And to be quite honest, I am one of those “non-green” Texans.  I always looked somewhat askance at what I considered to be the crazy antics of the derisively-termed tree-huggers.  I also had a thorough distaste for what I saw as the aggressive agenda of the greenies - people who seemed to want to impose their hippie beliefs on the rest of us.  These views have not entirely changed, and I do still find suspicious, unrealistic, and economically naive a good number of the views and policies of the green contingent.

One of the things I have found from my experience in the Peace Corps, though, is that experiencing on a large scale, behaviour that is otherwise seen as harmless or trivial, causes you to move radically in the other direction.  The best example in my case is punctuality.  As any of my friends and family will tell you, I was serially late in my life in America.  I was always the guy who people were waiting on, consistently arriving 10-20 minutes late.  Having lived for a year now, though, in a country engulfed in “African time” in which people show up whenever they feel like it, I have become decidedly rigid on time, usually ensuring that I am early to whatever appointment or engagement I have made.  Seeing the problems and experiencing the frustration caused by a society in which everyone is late, often by 1 hour or more, has made me realize the great value of punctuality. 

The same can also be said for alcohol.  I enjoy drinking, but living in a place drowning in alcoholism and constant, irresponsible consumption, has definitely made me temper my habits a bit.  This further extends to the topic of my post today, which is that of littering.

The place where I live is, to put it bluntly, absolutely filthy.  Trash (or “rubbish” in South African parlance) is literally everywhere.  It is in the schoolyard, in the streets, and even outside of the local government buildings.  The landscape is strewn with potato chip bags, broken beer bottles, and used tissue paper.  You simply cannot look around without finding some form of litter on the ground.

I know some people who have witnessed or heard about this situation have suggested that it might be a result of lack of trash cans (“rubbish bins”).  The idea is that there simply is not a container readily available in which to deposit the refuse and so people, not having anywhere else to put the stuff, toss it to the floor.  It is true that trash cans are not nearly as prevalent as they are in America, and I, not wanting to be judgmental, wanted to believe this explanation, too.  Unfortunately, I have found from repeated experience, that even when a trash can is located only a few feet away, the students (and residents of the township, in general) will still chuck the garbage on the ground without thinking twice.  When asked why they don’t use the container, they respond with a mixture of confusion and annoyance as to why one would suggest such a thing.  The result is that the entire area resembles a landfill.

This puts me in one of the dicey predicaments, encountered quite often here, where you have to weigh the idea of universal values vs. culture.  For those who are unaware, the slogan “Don’t Mess with Texas” was actually originally part of an anti-littering campaign.  It has, of course, now morphed into a globally acknowledged expression of the general Texas attitude, but for me remains a truism - that to litter is to disrespect our beautiful Lone Star State which I will always call my home.  As a result, you will never find me chucking stuff on the ground, especially if it is not biodegradable.  This is for a guy who, as I mentioned above, is by no means an environmentalist.  I would like to think that as an independent-minded adult, I choose this behaviour on the basis of my own personal, logical analysis.  If I am to be quite honest, though, it is probably more because I had the idea beaten into my head since birth that you simply do not litter.

That attitude, however, does not seem to exist here.  Most Black South Africans do not seem to be bothered by the trash that is ever-present.  (I do not enjoy making racial distinctions like this, but in my experience, White South Africans do not engage in littering on near such a scale.)  I find this to be somewhat ironic given that people many times speak of Africans’ connection to the land, and the importance it plays in their culture and religion.  Such a bond to the earth does not seem to prevent them from treating the land as their wastebasket, though, and this includes township residents and rural villagers, alike.  Holding onto refuse until an appropriate bin is found is seen as needless effort.  I have come to believe that the paeans written to native people and their respect for the land are actually somewhat wrong-headed.  In my opinion, the land inhabited by natives which was found by the earliest explorers and settlers was often not clean and well cared for because of conscious choice by the original residents but rather because the aboriginal people did not produce many things that did not quickly disintegrate or rot away.  What is often hailed as conservation was, I think, sometimes simply a low level of production.

Regardless of this apparent inconsistency between respect for land and casual disposal of trash, the fact remains that it is SOUTH AFRICANS’ land.  The question I must ask myself then is: If their mindset is different, who am I, as a White foreigner, to tell them differently?  Is it not a bit presumptuous of me to tell them they are wrong and need to adopt MY values?  These are the kinds of dilemmas that one encounters as a Peace Corps volunteer.  At what point does development and aid become imperialism and self-righteousness? (It also is not lost on me that the same guy who did not appreciate hippies telling him he should act a certain way is now doing the same thing to others.)

In this case, though, I think I do have reason on my side.  The government of South Africa has stated it is committed to green practices and includes measures relating to this in much of its legislation.  In fact, the most recent summit on global warming was held in the town of Durban on the eastern coast of South Africa.  Littering is decidedly at odds with these goals, and if the popularly elected government promotes this, no one can say that is only MY values I am preaching.  Not to mention, there ARE some very negative consequences that result from littering, making rubbish disposal a practical matter as well.

Practical matters aside, though, the thing that I truly fail to understand is how a good number of Black South Africans, both young and old, seem to not mind the aesthetic effect of the presence of trash all around.  To me, it is just plain UGLY.  I don’t want my home to look like that.  I don’t throw my trash on the ground, and even when I see things on the ground that I didn’t put there, I pick them up and throw them away.  I keep my surroundings clean as a matter of pride.  In my mind, I take ownership of my area.  It is MY place, and I want MY place to look nice.  My fellow residents of Ikhutseng, however, do not share that emotion.

I do not know why so many Black South Africans do not have that same feeling of pride.  People will perhaps adduce apartheid and poverty as the reason.  Perhaps.  To me, though, the reason is not so important as the way forward. Low economic and social station are not impenetrable barriers to good environmental stewardship.  On the contrary.  When you have little, I think it is even more important that you take pride in that small amount that you do have.  It is through such pride in what you have that you learn to value other resources as well.  My mother grew up in a family that very much struggled with money in my mother’s early years yet my maternal grandmother always told my mom that regardless of how much money you have, you can always be clean.  They took this as a point of pride amidst their lack of things, and that has stuck with my mom until today.  I think those are good words to live by.  Regardless of your situation, you can always strive to be clean both personally AND environmentally.

So, at the risk of having Texas copyright lawyers hunt me down, let me end by saying:

Please, please, please – DON’T MESS WITH SOUTH AFRICA.

South African English Word of the Day

Sharp (pronounced “shop”) – good; ok; alright

Guy 1: Everything is ready for our trip.

Guy 2: Sharp!

Peace Corps for God

As I mentioned in my last post, I have recently been reading through papers sent to me by my mom, which contain old sermons delivered by my late grandfather in the 1960s.  They have been a source of continual enjoyment and reflection as they, in a way, make me feel that my grandfather is still with me and in conversation with me.  Such a feeling was further reinforced when I opened up one of the sermons to read the title of “Peace Corps for God”, delivered on August 4, 1963.

Before going over the main content of the message, I just want to say how fascinating it is to read books and writings published in another time period, as they provide incredible insight into history, and how we are shaped by the time we live in.  So often we assume ourselves to be quite independent thinkers, until events force us to realize that we are very much a product of the ideas of our family, friends, age, and time period.  It is quite interesting to see how some of our analyses as well as prognostications can be spot on while others are almost laughable in hindsight. 

Going over the words of my grandfather in 1963 is both a lesson in history and of how much has changed.  He mentions that “Communism seems to be breaking up before our eyes”.  At that time he had no idea that it would persist for another 3 decades before finally falling.

He also scolds churches for not using modern technology like mass media broadcasting and publishing to reach new populations, while simultaneously admitting that churches have become “big business” with massive amounts of funds and administration.  Compare that to now where pastors command megachurch congregations in the tens of thousands, budgets in the tens of millions, services broadcast to every corner of the earth (I can always watch Joel Osteen and T.D. Jakes, regardless of where I am in South Africa), and pastor-written books that spend weeks on the New York Times bestseller lists.

One final interesting anecdote from the sermon: my grandfather speaks of his admiration for the Mormon method of sending most of their young people on two year missions.  I don’t think it would surprise him at all to see how the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has become one of the key religious organizations in the United States with a burgeoning global population which includes the Republican candidate for President.

Returning to the main content of my grandfather’s message and also the topic of this post, the sermon given so long ago was entitled “Peace Corps for God.”  My grandfather spoke of the failing of modern-day Christian churches to effectively evangelize and was of the opinion that the Peace Corps actually mimics the form of evangelism practiced in the New Testament in which Christians went to work and live among foreign-people, trying to improve their lives here on Earth, as much as trying to save their lives in the hereafter.  My grandfather says:

Now in the last two or three years we have seen the enormous success of the Peace Corps.  I have been told that this is the most successful thing that this present administration has done.  This has done a great deal too to change the image of America, which is much misunderstood in the foreign nations of the world.  In this we have young people, not only young people but the older ones too, American citizens who give two years of their life in a foreign country, working and living amongst the people, to try and teach them our know-how, and try to help them to help themselves.  This, of course, was copied from the New Testament practice, because this is how the New Testament church did it….

It would do many of us good and open up our eyes to spend two years in a foreign land for the sake of the gospel, perhaps as a teacher, as a doctor, as a businessman in the various areas where these countries are opening up.  It might give us the richest experience as well as give us an opportunity to bring the gospel to these places where they do not know it.

Dr. Jauncey goes on to say:

Increasingly the new countries who are finding their independence are impatient of missionaries who go out simply as missionaries or as evangelists.  We have had case after case of missionaries whose visas have been turned down or cancelled because that is all they know.  These countries welcome people who can help them in the struggle for a higher standard of living, possibly by teaching, practicing medicine or carrying out a trade.  These are the areas where we can work, and astonishingly enough this is not something that is new, this is something that goes back to the message of the New Testament.

Looking back 50 years later, it is amazing how wise and forward-thinking my grandfather was, and how his words still ring true today.  I may not be proclaiming the good news of Christ, but I am working to spread my own gospel of equality, improvement, and yes, as ridiculous as it sounds, a gospel of America (which I think itself is a message of equality and improvement).  Shouting the Declaration of Independence or throwing the U.S. Constitution at someone is not going to convince people of the many positives that our nation has to offer.  It is only by my example, by choosing to live and work for change amongst the people, especially when many others do not and will not – that I will truly be able to “convert” people to view Americans as friends and the United States as a force for good.  I believe such “missionary” work will have more impact than any Voice of America production.

Furthermore, I know that even if I fail in my efforts to improve lives and create positive feelings between South Africans and Americans, my time of service will give me, as Dr. Jauncey terms it, the “richest experience” I could perhaps have.  I am not even a year into my service, yet I have already learned a good deal and have made memories to last a lifetime.

All of this makes me wonder whether my grandfather, when delivering this sermon, ever considered the possibility that he would have a grandson who would join the Peace Corps and would find inspiration in his words, 50 years later.  I don’t know.  I can only hope that if he were here today, he would be proud of my work and see me in some way as fulfilling the call, even if in a secular fashion, which he made so many years ago to his congregation.

Note: If anyone is interested in reading the full text of the sermon, I have typed it up and made it available in Microsoft Word format at the link below:

4 August 1963 - Peace Corps for God

South African English Word of the Day

till – cash register

This lane is closed, but she can help you at the next till.

Speaking with the ancestors

One of the more peculiar things I have found during my time here in South Africa has been the belief of many Black South Africans that they can communicate with ancestors who have passed away.  People who will insist that they are devout Catholic, Methodist, Baptist or a number of other Christian sects seem to see no contradiction in what sociologists call syncretism i.e. the combination of Christianity with traditional African religion.  Many Black South Africans, especially in the rural areas, are absolutely certain that the ancestors play a very large role in the lives of the living such that the deceased can cause sickness, misfortune, and sometimes even death.  This belief is one of the reasons why such huge expenditure is made on funerals and tombstones, often by people of very limited means, because it is held that if you do not show the proper respect to the dead, they will be displeased and inflict suffering on you and your family as a result.  Furthermore, I have on more than one occasion at my school, witnessed a student go into a type of seizure, in which they are foaming at the mouth, with their eyes rolled back into their head and body spasming violently.  When I suggested that we should call an ambulance or take the child to the hospital, I was told that this was unnecessary as the young woman was simply being touched by the ancestors and that it would pass in due time (which it did).

I mention this because even though most Americans may not give credence to spiritual beliefs such as those described above, I think there is a yearning in every society to connect with those who have gone before.  This is one reason why people make pilgrimages to see places from which antecedents immigrated, why we hold heritage festivals, why we do genealogical research, and why we insist on making certain kinds of recipes from the “Motherland” that otherwise would seem out of place among our hot dogs and hamburgers.  Having grown up as a regular patron of Huntsville Public Library (which I understand has now opened with all of its expansion and upgrades), I always witnessed with some confusion the activities of the Walker Country Genealogical Society.  Being a young buck, to me it seemed like just a bunch of boring, old people doing boring, old work because they didn’t have anything better to do.  I wondered why they wanted to spend so much time and energy on the past instead of living in the present.

Now, though, I think I am beginning to understand.  Heritage festivals and the like are obviously an attempt to preserve a part of our identity which we consider important and that makes us distinctive.  But just as equally powerful a reason, is that it is our own way of “speaking with the ancestors”.  By finding out about and mimicking the culture and custom of those higher on our family tree, we in some way feel that we are in communion with them.

The source of all of these musings was a package I recently received from my mom that contained several sermons that my grandfather on my mom’s side preached back in the 1960s.  Dr. Jauncey was a scholar, scientist, world traveler, best-selling author, self-made man, minister, and perhaps the smartest person I have ever met in my life.  If I ever list role models, he is at the top of my list.  He passed away in 2008, and I miss being able to chat with him about all the things he did during his incredible life.

Reading through his sermons, though, in typewriter print on 50-year old paper which has been yellowed by age, I get the strange and wonderful sensation that he is right here with me – that he is talking to me, just as if I were sitting in his church back so many years ago when the message was originally delivered.  Even though he is not here, I can hear his voice, and see his face, as I read his words line by line.  I realize that in a way, he IS communicating with me, even if not in the African fashion.

P.S.

I also am now beginning to see the value in keeping old letters, antiques, and other relics from another age, since I imagine that many people have a similar sensation when in contact with things from passed-on relatives.  It also makes me wonder whether the electronic communication which forms the majority of most of our contact today will be able to provide the same experience for those who come after me.  I am skeptical.  For that reason, I see the continuing importance of handwritten letters, as the personal nature of someone’s individual script on paper will never be rivaled by an email in your Gmail inbox.

South African English Word of the Day

babalas – hangover

By the looks of his babalas, I’d say he had one too many drinks last night.

The kingdom of heaven belongs to these

Anyone who has served in the Peace Corps will tell you that it is a roller coaster of emotions and that you have to focus on the highs in order to help you get through the lows.  What I have noticed is that for me, the high moments inevitably seem to involve children.  Whenever people ask me how I enjoy my work, I always respond that I get frustrated working with the adults but absolutely LOVE working with the kids.  Whenever I feel myself getting to my breaking point as a result of the laziness, incompetence, apathy, and selfishness that I unfortunately see displayed in so many grown-ups in my area, it always takes only about 10 minutes of working with my students to correct my cynical view of the world. 

I have come to the realization that adults most times are so set in their ways that they are not willing to change (especially when the attempted change is coming from a younger, White American).  With the kids, though, it seems I still have a chance to change attitudes, mindsets, and behaviors, and thus, outcomes.  For that reason, I have pretty much stopped trying to work with teachers, and instead am now focusing most of my time and energy on my learners.  It reminded me of the story in Matthew where small children were brought to Jesus to be blessed, yet the disciples tried to turn them away – presumably because they were too insignificant for a man of such stature.  Yet the response from the Prince of Peace was:

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19:14 (NIV)

Based on my experiences here in South Africa, I think the big guy was on to something.

I bring all of this up because I recently had one of those experiences that makes you think that maybe there IS hope for this world amidst all of its problems and pain.  Upon collecting my mail from the school last week, I noticed a small envelope, addressed in somewhat haphazard writing (though still better than my own) from a little girl in my hometown of Huntsville, Texas.  Upon opening it, and reading the enclosed letter, I could not help but break out in a smile from ear to ear and offer thanks for the innocence and simplicity of a child that we sometimes lose in our adult lives.  I have included the unedited letter in its entirety below.  I hope that Sarah does not mind:

Dear Josh,

First let me tell you that I am left handed, so that is why my writing (and spelling!) is so bad.  Any way, I am 10 and I live in Huntsville Texas.  Shannon Louvin (from what she said) your cousin, emailed me and told or asked me to write you a letter.  So I am writing this letter.  She told me that you teach in South Africa.  She also said that you are a very smart and athletic kid.  I was wondering if you could be my pen pal.  If you had time, energy, and if you wanted to.  I have never had a pen pal before and I thought it would be fun.  But just saying, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.  I am not tryin to force you.  You would be my first pen pal, and you know that kids always remeber their first everything.  There fist teacher, first real best friend, and first pet.  I would remember you as my first pen pal.

(P.S. Lessie is my dog.  I Love, Love her very much. (Less-e).)

Woof!

Sarah & Lessie

 

How you can possibly be down on the world after receiving something like that?  To top it all off, on the back of the letter, Sarah had drawn a picture of Lessie so I could know what she looks like.  Like I said above, it is moments like these, that make it possible to endure all of the hardships and misfortunes that I necessarily encounter in the line of work I am in.

Well, let me just say, Sarah, I would be happy to be your pen pal, as, truth be told, I also have never had a pen pal.  And even though I am no longer really a kid, I will still remember YOU as my first pen pal.

And Sarah, even if you do not read this, do not worry.  You will be receiving a handwritten letter of your own from me shortly.

Your pen pal,

Josh

South African English Word of the Day

branding – advertising, promotional signs

Josh, could you help us put up the branding at the field on Saturday morning?

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem

Alright, so it has been a REALLY long time since I last posted to the point where I’m sure that many have simply just stopped reading the blog.  For this I apologize.  The last month and a half has been full of some quite stressful events including studying and sitting for my level 2 CFA Exam, being threatened by my drunk ex-principal, almost having to leave Warrenton and start all over in a new site, as well as moving into a new house.  I will probably give more details regarding these events eventually; however, I would prefer not to dwell on them in this post and rather keep things a bit lighter as I move back into my writing.

No, for today, I would like to make an observation that was totally unexpected when I arrived to South Africa and that is that Afrikaner children DO NOT WEAR SHOES.  EVER.  That’s right, if you come upon a young Afrikaner boy or girl, they are more likely than not to be shoeless, regardless of whether a parent is present or not.  Now, I do not mean to be racist, but I think most Americans have been bombarded by Save the Children and National Geographic images showing Black African children going about their business with exposed feet.  I think it’s fair to say that most people associate shoelessness with poverty, and since Africa is one of the poorest places in the world, and you associate Africa with Black Africans, you naturally kind of expect bare toes on Black African children.

With White children on the other hand, the only images I can think of relating to fair-skinned youngsters romping around without the help of a foot-covering would probably be Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn.  Shoeless White kids seem to be associated with a more rural, poorer past as well as possibly modern-day country bumpkins.  Just about every media and actual perception I’ve ever known has been of White kids wearing shoes or if they were not, parents scolding them for being dirty and telling them they better put on their shoes or else.

Now that I think of it, though, I suppose it is probably more of a developed country vs. developing country distinction as you never really think of kids in developed countries, regardless of color, as rolling around with bare feet.  I would say the stereotype in America for Black children is just the opposite of bare feet as they’re usually associated with expensive sneakers like Air Jordans.  The developed characteristic is probably also why White children without shoes would be considered odd, because White people most times tend to be associated with developed societies in which poverty is not as great, and thus shoelessness would not be as prevalent.

Whatever the case, the fact of the matter is that Afrikaner children defy the stereotype as they are White yet avoid shoes like the plague.  I was recently told by one of my good Afrikaner friends that in the Afrikaans-speaking school in my town, children are not required to wear shoes to school until Grade 4 I think it is.  Apparently, this man’s young son was threatening to drop out as the boy absolutely did NOT think he should be forced to start putting something on his feet simply because he got promoted from Grade 3.

The truly hilarious part of it all is how normal Afrikaners find it and how strange they think I am for considering something to be amiss.  Whenever I mention it, their response is always something akin to “What’s the big deal?” (By the way, just in case someone is supposing that this is just something coming from a White Texan, think again.  When I recently visited a Black American Peace Corps Volunteer who has not been in the country as long as I have, one of the comments she made as we were discussing South Africa was “And what is it with the not wearing shoes, man!?”)

Neither does such casualness regarding bare feet extend only to the schools.  Afrikaner children regularly stroll shoeless into my local supermarket, straight from having walked on the dusty, rubbish-littered, beer-stained sidewalk and street, and begin cruising through the aisles and produce sections with nary a stern look or turned head.  One day while enjoying a cup of coffee with the supermarket managers in their office, I explained to them the “No shoes, no shirt, no service” policy in effect for most American businesses.  They pointed to one of the shoeless children in the store and said, “So you’re telling me that back home, someone would chuck them out?”.  When I nodded, I could tell that they were both amused and confused by these crazy people called Americans.

Oh well, in a land still as divided by race as South Africa is, I suppose it’s refreshing to find examples of how White and Black people are not always that different.  I can’t say that I will ever get used to bare feet staring back at me in public places, but I suppose if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.  Perhaps one day, I, myself, should roll in without the strictures of footwear, and see what people will say… that is, of course, if they say anything at all.

Another normal day at the supermarket

South African English Word of the Day

pitch – to show up; to attend

Does anyone know where Josh is?  He said he was going to be at the meeting today, but he didn’t pitch.

I Can’t Get No Dissatisfaction

Well, another positive day at Mogomotsi High School and working in the Ikhutseng township.  By now, though, my standards have changed such that positive means nothing too serious went wrong.  As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, a place like South Africa requires you to adjust your expectations; otherwise, you truly will go insane.  I had to confiscate two hats and two cell phones from learners (they are against school policy), but such negative events were far outweighed by an experience I had after school working with my learners who I am helping to start a newsletter. 

After working for about 45 minutes, most of the students mentioned that they needed to leave for the day.  In response, the boy who is acting as editor told them, “Well, you can go.  I am going to stay and work.  I don’t mind working alone.  But this stuff needs to get done.”  And stay he did, for another 45 minutes or so.  In the area where I work, and unfortunately across much of South Africa as well, work ethic, or rather a lack of it, is one of the major hindrances to development.  I don’t enjoy pointing out that part of the continuing poverty can be attributed to laziness and bad attitudes, but it is a regrettable reality.  For that reason, to see this young boy proudly tell his friends that he was going to stay and work, despite the opposite examples set for him by adults around him (including a majority of the teachers) was music to my ears.  It is little moments like these, that keep you going through all the other difficulties you have to put up with, and make you think that maybe, just maybe, you’re making a difference.

Before I go any further, let me just please forewarn the reader that in this post, and many times in my blog in general, I deal with sensitive racial topics, and my, what I consider to be honest, treatment of it is bound to offend someone.  Please refer to the note at the bottom of this post for my reasoning and approach to the use of such racial language and what may seem like to many, categorization.

The prevailing work ethic in South Africa ties in with the topic for today’s post, which is the failings of so many basic services, and people’s toleration for such bad performance.  The township where I work was without water today, and this has been the case for the past 5 days.  That means that there is no water at the school for toilets to be flushed, and water has to be carted in in jugs just so that food can be cooked for the students’ lunches.  As I left the school today, the streets were filled with people lugging cartons of water in wheelbarrows from other places in the area because none is to be found in the immediate surroundings.  This lack of water is not a new problem as it has occurred I think 10 times since I arrived in September.  Upon asking people living in the township, it apparently has actually been a problem for over 15 years.  All of this when we are located on the largest tributary of the largest river in South Africa.

The thing that actually amazes me about all this, though, is the quiet acceptance of this state of things.  The people I saw with the wheelbarrows and water jugs did not look unhappy or upset that they were having to engage in such an activity.  They were not angry at the government who was failing to provide such a basic service as running water.  There was not a group of angry citizens at the municipality building demanding to see the municipal manager and mayor.  No, there was none of that.  Water was not available in the township, and that was simply a fact – no need to get stressed about it.*

*Note: As services have continued to deteriorate, and expectations have begun to rise, even if slowly, citizens throughout South Africa have at times begun voicing their discontent.  This unfortunately usually takes the form of violence, destruction of property, the burning of tires, and the blocking of major roadways.  Peaceful protests and petitions do not have much of a tradition here, probably because they have not been that effective in the past.

The don’t-worry-be-happy attitude is probably one of Black South Africans’ biggest virtues and largest vices all at the same time.  It is also something not unique to South Africa as I have witnessed it in other developing countries I have traveled to.  One of the biggest differences between a first-world and non-first-world nation, in my opinion, is the way that people respond to problems.  In most industrialized countries, to varying degrees, when there is a problem, people are dissatisfied with the problem and so work to find a solution.  Such dissatisfaction and subsequent mental as well as physical effort to resolve the issue necessarily result in an increase of stress levels.  In developing countries, on the other hand, when there is a problem, people’s response seems to be to stay relaxed and simply get used to the problem.  In America, if there is a pot hole, people complain to the government until it gets fixed.  If it still does not get fixed, community residents will probably arrange some concrete and fix it themselves.  In South Africa, if there is a pothole, you simply drive your car more slowly so as to avoid the depression.  You may not be able to get to your destination as fast because of your reduced speed, but your blood pressure is not going to be raised one iota.  It seems that a type of fatalistic hedonism prevails that life is what it is, and all one can do is accept it.  For that reason, one might as well eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow, we die.

This is why I say that the laid-back attitude is simultaneously South Africa’s greatest virtue and vice.  It may be apocryphal, but I have heard it attributed by people here many times that Black South Africans have a rate of heart attacks many times less than that of White South Africans.  The supposed reason is that they simply do not stress about things like their White counterparts.  Someone’s late? No problem.  What’s the rush?  Somebody doesn’t do what they were supposed to do?  It can wait until tomorrow.

And to be honest, this type of approach has something to be said for it.  The amount of medication consumed and psychological counseling received by Americans to deal with stress and worry is really quite ridiculous.  We really would be better off if we would take a step back and learn not to sweat the small stuff.  The problem is that it seems Black South Africans have taken a thousand steps back and don’t sweat anything.  Always working without schedules, deadlines, and accountability will admittedly result in lower stress levels.  But it also has the concomitant effect that nothing gets done, and when it does, it happens very slowly.  That leisurely pace inevitably effects progress, development, and economic growth as a whole.  So you might be at ease, but your services such as medical, sanitation, water, electricity, police, transportation, etc. either function badly or are non-existent.

This inevitably leads to some teleological questions as to what the purpose of life really is.  Is not the ultimate goal for us to be happy?  While material wealth and development do provide increased levels of happiness, it is subject to diminishing returns such that the improvement becomes less and less the wealthier you get.  A $100 increase to a subsistence farmer means a lot more than to a billionaire.  For many, the happiness actually goes down because of the increased stress and complexity of life.  It has been shown that people in many developing countries are actually far happier than their counterparts in developed nations.  If that is the case, then is development really a good thing?  What good is development if it doesn’t provide happiness?  These questions perplex me, considering that one of the reasons we are here is to PROMOTE “development”.  Is it not possible that our promotion of development is really a chauvinist statement that our way of life is superior to theirs?  Meanwhile, they might actually be happier?

I can’t say that I have all the answers to these questions, but I have arrived at at least a few responses that I think are adequate.  One, development leads to better healthcare, which leads to longer life expectancy.  I think everyone can agree that they prefer being alive to being dead.  Longer life expectancy allows you the opportunity to experience happiness for a longer time, thereby increasing the end total happiness in your life.  Secondly, while people in developing areas, such as the ones in the township where I work, may still be happy, they also experience their fair share of intense sorrow and pain as a result of their circumstances.   The idealized accounts of poor but happy populations always seem to ignore the emotional trauma caused by having your loved ones die of preventable or treatable medical issues.  Neither do they mention the fear that occurs because of beliefs in witchcraft or ancestors that can hurt and kill you.  I could go on, but I think the point is made.  Finally, I am not so sure that happiness should be pursued at any cost.  Developed societies usually have better conceptions of and protections of rights, especially of minorities.  Even if the general happiness could be raised by the mistreatment of a minority, I don’t think that means it should happen.

I suppose, in the end, what I am trying to say is that, in development, as in life, we must find a balance.  Material wealth is worth little if we have be continually stressed and unhappy to obtain it.  Accepting life as it is, though, and remaining in poverty is no cakewalk either.  We must work to find a middle road that lets us achieve the scientific and technological progress that makes life easier and longer while not forcing us to abandon the things like community which we know are the most important determinants in a happy life.

[Notice: In this blog, my language and comments regarding race are many times much more casual and politically incorrect than I would use in polite conversation in the States.  The reasons being are:

1. South Africans mention race much more casually and comfortably than we do in America. 
2. Because so many of my post topics either directly or indirectly deal with race, always inserting qualifiers so as to avoid offense and the appearance of stereotyping becomes cumbersome such that focus is taken away from the points I am trying to make
3. The realities of South Africa are many times harsh and uncomfortable, but the purpose of this blog is to inform readers of the true state of things not some sugar-coated version of what we wish they were.  While obviously, positive and negative characteristics are present in all races here, the fact of the matter is that, from my experiences so far, Black South Africans exhibit certain characteristics in far greater percentages than White South Africans and vice versa.  Thus, it is never my suggestion that a racial difference is a difference of kind, simply of degree, which is based on my own personal observations.]

South African English Word of the Day

shebeen (also called a tavern) – a place of drinking somewhat similar to a bar, but frequented almost exclusively by Blacks.  The original term comes from the apartheid era when severe restrictions were placed on alcohol consumption for Blacks.  A shebeen, in those days, was an illegal, underground pub similar to a speakeasy during American prohibition.  With the demise of apartheid, the term came to refer to almost any Black drinking establishment.

Origin - late 18th century: from Anglo-Irish síbín, from séibe ‘mugful’

Do NOT Sting ‘em, Hornets

It is now April 16, which means that it has been more than a month since my last blog post.  That is easily my worst bout of laziness since I arrived in South Africa in July, and for that, I once again offer my apologies.  I don’t want to say that the interregnum has been totally unworthy of the blog, but at the same time, you should be relieved to know that you haven’t been missing THAT much.  During that period, I finished off the first term of the South African school year and then enjoyed what I think was a well-deserved two weeks vacation. 

That fortnight allowed me the chance to travel to Mpumalanga, one of South Africa’s eastern provinces, which is a beautiful area with rolling hills, mountains, forests, and overall green upon green landscape.  The region is actually known for its timber industry (“green gold” as they call it there), with ample verdant forests, such that were it not for the large changes in elevation, there were times I could have imagined I was back in the Piney Woods of Texas.  I got the chance to go caving for the first time in my life, which, those of you who have seen the pictures can attest, had the side effect of also making me look like a miner, with my jumpsuit, light, and resultant dirty face.  As part of the experience, I received the added benefit of being stung by a hornet, who had decided to take up residence in the boots that were given to me.  It made me seriously regret all those times during Huntsville High School pep rallies that at the urging of our bee mascot, I shouted “Sting ‘em, Hornets”.  I guess I neglected during such rallies to inform the fighting hornets that such aggressive action should not include myself.

Miner/Caver

The pain from the sting was not so intense, though, that it prevented me from taking in a spectacular set of waterfalls also found in my holiday town of Sabie.  Despite the hike required to reach them, the effort exerted was well worth it once I finally felt the spray and got an up close glimpse of the shimmering cascades coming off the cliff.

Bridal Veil Falls

Oh, and then there is that thing about me running the 56 kilometer ultra-marathon.

Pause for a second.  Now read that last line again.  Yep.  That’s right.  For the first time in my life, I ran a marathon.  And not just any marathon – a 56 kilometer (34.8 miles) ultra-marathon for which the first 37 kilometers were going up a mountain.  Needless to say, it was a very stupid idea as not only had I not had the time or will to train for the preceding two months, but let’s be honest, running 56 kilometers is just stupid in general.  Despite the consequential pain, I suppose I had enough idiotic youth left in me to grind it out.  So 7 hours and 16 minutes after starting, I crossed the finish line, received my finisher’s medal, and then proceeded to be paralyzed for the better part of the next week.

If ever decide to run 56 kilometers again, just shoot me

The interesting thing is that everything that I’ve written about in this post, could just have easily happened in America as South Africa.  People back home go on vacation to hilly wooded areas like the Pacific Northwest, they go caving, they see waterfalls, they get stung by hornets, and amazingly, some also engage in the masochistic practice of running distances God never intended.  It just continues to boggle my mind that I can have such “American-like” experiences, meanwhile there is always a township or rural village not too far away, where the people might as well inhabit an alternate universe.The facts of the proximity of such different cultures and environments, just further reinforces what an enigma this country is, in which a first-world society totters precariously on an overwhelmingly third-world population (and just for the record, that first-world society is not exclusively White).  For any of you who have ever been to El Paso, Texas, you have witnessed the shocking disparity between the American and Mexican sides in that one area.  On one side is poverty, and on the other, wealth.  Now imagine that they were the same country.  That is South Africa.

Long Walk to Freedom

Apologies once again for the long time in between posts.  I recently returned from a 6-day working vacation to Cape Town, during which I had little to no time to sequester myself with my computer.  Hopefully, the time I spent experiencing the city rather than writing will add some richness to the blog posts that follow.

For my readers who are unaware, Cape Town (Kaapstaad in Afrikaans) is a city on the western coast of South Africa, whose metropolitan area includes around 2.5 million people.  Founded in 1652 by Jan van Riebeeck, it is nicknamed “The Mother City” because it was the first European establishment in South Africa.  Mr. van Riebeeck was an employee of a trading outfit called the Dutch East India Company, and he originally only meant for it to be a refreshment station for Dutch ships on their way to Indonesia.  History has a funny way of turning out not quite as we expected.

From that tiny trading outpost, Cape Town has morphed into a thriving, cosmopolitan city in which a walk through the main Green Market Square will expose your ears to alternating strains of English, Afrikaans, German, Turkish, Japanese, and a host of languages from all over Africa.  The city sits at the foot of a majestic peak called Table Mountain that has recently been named one of the new 7 wonders of the world.  On the outskirts of the city is the Stellenbosch region, which boasts countless finely landscaped vineyards that produce much of the South African wine, so widely admired around the world.  From my experience so far, Cape Town is the most beautiful city in South Africa, far outpacing Pretoria, Johannesburg, and Durban.  It also has a very relaxed feel about it, with outdoor cafes speckling the streets, in stark contrast to the full-throttle way of life in Johannesburg.  Cruising through its different areas, one could be forgiven for thinking he was in a European metropolis instead of Africa.

I don’t want to spend too much time waxing lyrical about Cape Town, but suffice it to say that the place is amazing, and somewhere I would not mind living.  During my stay, I managed to attend the world’s largest individually timed cycle race (Lance Armstrong has competed in the past), be given a special tour and winetasting at a breathtaking winery, climb to the top of Table Mountain, and attend a local derby rugby match between the two main universities.  To top it all off, I even managed to get some Peace Corps work done when I stopped by Grassroot Soccer, which is headquartered in Cape Town.  This organization was started by Ethan Zohn, the winner of the third season of Survivor, with some of his winnings from the show.  The group uses soccer to promote HIV/AIDS education, healthy lifestyles, and good life choices in general.  With any luck, we will have them expanding to my area within the year.

Out of all my experiences during my whirlwind tour, however, I think the most lasting memory was that of my trip to Robben Island.  Robben Island is a body of land about 7 kilometers off the coast of Cape Town, that became infamous as a prison that hosted political prisoners during the apartheid regime.  One of these prisoners was Nelson Mandela. 

View from Robben Island looking back toward the mainland

The trip was made all the more intriguing by the fact that I was accompanied by my Afrikaner friend in Warrenton (who was the one who made the entire Cape Town trip possible) and his Afrikaner girlfriend, who lives in the suburbs of Cape Town.  Just to provide some background, there are two main populations of Whites in South Africa.  One is English-speaking and descends from the British settlers who arrived after South Africa came under British control in the 18th century.  The other, called Afrikaners, speak a distinct language called Afrikaans, and are descended from the original Dutch settlers with Jan van Ribeeck, mentioned at the beginning of this post.  The Afrikaners controlled things politically up until 1994, when Blacks were given the vote, and for this reason, Afrikaners are the ones usually associated with apartheid. 

The Afrikaners, especially younger ones like my friend, will acknowledge the great injustice that was apartheid without reservations and that the system needed to be abolished.  They feel now, however, that they have been collectively demonized by the current South African government and the world in general as a result of that unjust system.  The Afrikaners assert that in the process of trying to make the evil of apartheid fully known, facts are distorted and a biased and actually untrue account is given.  My friend, only half-jokingly, said that he would let us know the “true” story of Robben Island, and would step in if our guide mis-presented any information.  (In the past, I have had a bit of trouble explaining to him that most people in America do not know that much about South Africa other than Nelson Mandela, such that they don’t even have enough information to demonize anyone.  When he asked what Americans think of South Africa, I replied that Americans just don’t think of South Africa).

As we all waited in line to board the boat that would take us to the island, I thought I could sense a bit of nervousness and tension from my Afrikaner friend and his girlfriend as they knew they were about to be confronted with a dark part of their South African history.  I remember seeing a similar emotion when I was accompanied by my German friend to a concentration camp, or when I, myself, as a White American descendant of slave-owners, traverse plantations or historical sites of discrimination.  Even though a person may not have committed the atrocities themselves, they acutely understand and feel that they are nonetheless connected to such events.

After a 30 minute boat ride, we descended onto the rocky shores of Robben Island and began our tour (with a huge group of Americans from Rutgers University; I guess we naturally attract each other).  The first part of the tour was a bus ride around the island.  On this ride, we saw the rock quarry where Mandela and other prisoners were forced to work every day, but who nonetheless managed to use such time to educate and train the younger men in history, economics, law, and politics.  It was in fact so influential that the cave in the quarry where the men were allowed to have lunch was nicknamed “the university” because of the discussions and learning that took place there.  We then continued on to the actual prison where we walked the prison courtyard and saw the cell where Nelson Mandela spent 18 years of his life.  I am a self-admitted history nerd, and I absolutely love reading up on events and then visiting the actual places.  Robben Island is one of those places where the stones seem to talk, and one can just feel the history coming up out of the ground all around oneself.  It is a simultaneously sobering and exhilarating experience.

Courtyard of B Section, where Nelson Mandela was kept

Our guide through the courtyard and Mandela’s cell was, like most of the guides on Robben Island, a former inmate.  He recounted to us what life was like as a political prisoner, and how they used tactics like hunger strikes to gradually gain better treatment such as hot water in the showers and actual beds to replace the thin blankets on concrete.  He showed us the food schedule for prisoners used in the ‘60s and ‘70s that actually prescribed amounts based on the race of the prisoners.  Asians and Coloureds (i.e. mixed-race) were given more and better food than Blacks.  The guide went through the names of prominent freedom fighters and detailed the struggle that was fought by many South Africans against apartheid.

Mandela’s cell, all of which is contained in this photo

Throughout all of this, I wondered if my Afrikaner counterparts would ever interject or comment, but they never did.  They remained as silent and reflective as myself throughout the entire tour.  As we boarded the boat to take us back to the mainland, I asked my friend what he thought of the history and treatment of apartheid that had been provided by the guide.  My friend replied that he thought it had been accurate and fairly presented and had no major complaints.  It was his next comment, however, that surprised me.  He said, “You know, Josh.  What I really liked about that guy, was that he recognized that there were many White people fighting against apartheid, too.  So many times, it seems like everyone thinks that every White in South Africa was for apartheid, but it’s not true.  It wasn’t just Blacks working to end the system.”

It was, I think, a very important observation, despite the fact that some might criticize it as self-serving.  There WERE Whites who recognized the injustice of apartheid despite the color of their skin, in the same way that WERE a number of Germans who resisted the Nazis, and there WERE a population of White Americans who fought continuously against slavery.  This doesn’t mean that we need to overstate their role, but the fact that there was a presence there – even if it was a minority – needs to be acknowledged.  In the same way that stereotyping all Blacks as criminals is untrue and emotionally pains those many Blacks who are responsible citizens, stereotyping all Whites in the past or the present as discriminatory is also untrue and hurtful.  History and people are much more nuanced than we many times would like to believe.  This complexity is admittedly uncomfortable because it makes the world a less simple place and keeps us from easy explanation and categorization of people and events.   The fact of the matter, however, is that things, and especially people, ARE complex.  I think Nelson Mandela, who developed a lifelong friendship with his former jailer, would agree.

What is a Texan doing in South Africa?

When making a call to a printer company today regarding service for one of my school’s machines, before having given any information about myself or my background, the receptionist on the other line stopped me and asked, “What is a Texan doing in South Africa?”  I was shocked and pleased all at the same time that an Afrikaner woman had been able to detect my Texan origins simply from a few seconds of my speaking on the telephone.  Anyone who has heard me speak will tell you that I do not have much of a Texas accent (as much as I wish I did), and a common disappointment I hear from foreigners whenever I am abroad is that I do not speak with the distinctive drawl that Hollywood and George W. have made so famous (or notorious).  I’m not sure whether it was my use of “y’all” or that this lady was just uber-discerning, but whatever the case, it was enough for her to immediately recognize a son of the Lone Star state.  Come to find out, the lady had never been to Texas, but apparently many Texas evangelists HAVE been to South Africa.  So much so that several had made trips to this lady’s church, which is why she was quite familiar with that particular lilt.

Now, to be quite honest, there are many times I ask myself the same question, namely, what the hell I am doing thousands of miles from home working for free while my friends are drinking Shiner Bock beer at the BBQ Cookoff in the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo.  Such inquiries can naturally lead to quite ponderous reflections, but given my last post was something of that sort, I’ll delay the existential response for a later entry.  No, for today, suffice it for the title to serve as a segue for me to tell you, literally, what I am doing.  Some of the most interesting moments from a day in the Life of Peace Corps Volunteer Josh “Lesego” Spencer:

Monday, February 27, 2012

5:00 – Alarm clock sounds.  Turn it off and drowsily try to regain enough consciousness to get out of bed, while reminding myself that I am indeed in Africa.

5:30 – Open mosquito net, get up, and begin ironing clothes.

5:45 – Take cold shower, confirming that I am not dreaming and am in fact in Africa.  Right now, this doesn’t quite send me over the edge of hypothermia, but as winter approaches, I will have to begin heating water and switch to taking bucket baths.

6:15 – Eat breakfast, usually consisting of boiled eggs and cereal

6:30 – Drink a cup of instant coffee (not too many coffee pots here) while writing down reflections on what I can learn from the previous school day as well as ideas for what can be done to improve overall school operations.  One thing you realize in Africa, is that NOTHING moves quickly.  You have to focus on making incremental changes every day that will eventually add up to something big.  If you expect things to happen efficiently and according to plan, you are going to get frustrated and get burnt out pretty fast.

6:50 – Get bicycle and cycle to school making sure to greet every man, woman, child, and goat.  Black South Africans take greeting very seriously, and if you do not greet them, they many times become quite offended.

7:00 – Arrive at school, set book bag down, and take up position at the school gate to make sure the students are in uniform.  That means shirts are tucked in, collars are not popped, boys are not wearing earrings, etc.  This has become such a motif of mine, that the learners get great fun out of saying “Tuck in!” in their best American accent.

7:30 – School bell rings.  That means the official bell ringer actually walks around the entire school ringing a handbell.  I begin yelling at students still walking to school to hurry up since they are already late.  My students do not seem to grasp the concept that when you are late, you need to speed up.  Barking like a drill sergeant seems to help, though.

7:40 – Close gate and begin documenting students who are tardy.  Once students have accumulated three latenesses, they receive after-school detention.  One learner I have come to know, racks up his thirteenth lateness even though school has only been in session 6 weeks!  Like it or not, “African time” is the norm here.

8:30 – Principal asks me to join him for a meeting in his office with one of the teachers.  One of my projects this year has been working to set up a structured disciplinary system at the school such that whenever there is something related to discipline in the school, I am usually consulted.  That morning several students apparently came and complained to the principal about this teacher’s use of corporal punishment i.e. hitting of the children for bad behavior.  We tell the teacher we understand his frustration with the students, many of who have serious attitude problems, but remind him that corporal punishment is illegal and could get him and the school in serious trouble.  Despite the fact that corporal punishment was outlawed in South Africa in 1996, it continues to be widely, and violently, used to the point that there are students that are hospitalized every year as a result of teacher beatings.  I ask this teacher to send the troublesome students to me if he continues to have problems.

9:00 – Principal asks me to document that the maintenance men cannot be found, meaning that again they have left the school during working hours without permission.  He also requests that I note that the deputy principal showed up to school drunk, again, and then left to go home without informing or asking permission from the principal.  You read that right.  The deputy principal was drunk at school.  Unfortunately, because people are very hesitant to criticize each other and because the teacher’s union makes dismissing someone almost impossible, such behavior is not at all uncommon in South Africa.  Lack of professionalism is one of the biggest problems in the educational system here.

10:10 – Feast on lunch prepared by one of the cleaning ladies of rice and lung – yes, lung.  It is delicious, though perhaps a bit chewy.  Perhaps the animal was a smoker.

2:00 – Demonstrate correct typing technique to a 12th grader who has never touched a computer keyboard before and then issue her a machine that works on her typing.  My mom actually found the machine, called a “Type-Right”, on EBay and then shipped them to me here.  They are like a computer keyboard, but with a small gray screen at the top that helps teach typing.  They stopped being produced in the 90’s with the advent of computers, but work great here in South Africa because students can practice anywhere, since it’s highly portable, and one doesn’t need to have access to a computer (which few do).

2:20 – Meet with students that I am helping to establish a school newspaper.  They too have little to no experience with computers, so I show them how to open Microsoft Word and those who have been practicing using the Type-Rights, begin typing the articles they have already written by hand.

2:30 – Attend a committee meeting to discuss the development of youth sports programs in my township.  Currently there are almost no activities for young people after school, which means many of them spend their time smoking marijuana, drinking, and having unprotected sex.  We discuss starting after-school soccer, basketball, netball^*, and volleyball programs that will give the students something more positive to be involved in.

*Netball is a variation of basketball played mostly by girls, where there are hoops without backboards at opposite ends of the court.  Dribbling is not allowed and the ball must be passed in order to move towards your basket.

4:00 – Take a look at a computer center that has been opened in town.  The setup is fantastic with brand new computers, and the founders have a great idea of trying to offer computer access to the community.  Unfortunately, they have little business knowledge and experience.  They have been open two months already, yet no one knows about them because they have done almost no advertising.  They have not yet created any business structure such as a partnership to determine what percentage of the business is owned by each of the 7 founders.  The building and computers are uninsured, and they have no plan for how the business is going to make money (they used funds from a government program to start the operation).  Without trying to take over, a local business owner, another humanitarian worker, and myself, offer some ideas for things that should be done to make the business profitable and thus, make the service sustainable.

6:30 – Have dinner at my Afrikaner friend’s house with his family while watching “The Apprentice: Celebrity Edition”, “Friends”, and “Survivor”.  They really love American TV programs over here.  As you can probably tell, the economic realities for most Whites in South Africa are far different from those for most Blacks.  Despite the fact that apartheid ended 18 years ago, this country continues to suffer some of the largest inequality in the world.

8:00 – Return to my house and prepare myself another cup of instant  coffee.  I then peruse “Texas Monthly” or “The Economist”, all the while, wondering why the mosquito family which seems to have taken up residence in my area, finds my flesh so appealing.

9:00 – Begin work on blog post.  Contrary to some opinions, the business of a blog post, at least for me, is actually somewhat time-consuming.  It’s not something that I just pop out in 15 or 20 minutes.  While I don’t do outlines or anything like that, I do do a considerable amount of thinking beforehand, then re-reading and re-writing afterwards, before actually uploading to the internet.  Hopefully this results in some somewhat decent writing and a not altogether somniferous experience for the reader.

11:00 – Go to sleep to the strains of country music coming from my I-Pod.  I’ve found that “Texas” by George Strait never fails to put a smile on my face as thoughts become dreams of that land I will never cease to call my home.

And that, ladies and gentleman, aside from killing 12 mosquitoes during the course of writing this post, is what a Texas is doing in South Africa.

South African English Word of the Day

lapa – a courtyard or similar enclosure, especially the first of two courtyards in a traditional Sotho homestead.

Oxford English Dictionary

Why don’t we take our tea out in the lapa?