This Is My Home.

It is hard to believe that I have been in South Africa for seven months now, with only three months remaining.  If how fast the first seven months have gone tells me anything, the last three months are going to fly by.  This scares me.  I have become so attached to this place.  I remember the night I realized this was my home.  Not even a month after being here, I had been at my host mom’s house for the evening.  As I walked outside into the cool dark air, it was quiet.  I began walking the short 30 second walk to my house.  I looked up at the sky, illuminated by the full moon, decorated with stars.  As I paused for a moment, embracing the scene, taking it all in, a warm sensation flashed throughout my body.  In that moment, I said to myself – This is my home.

I remember writing this short reflective paragraph.  It was just yesterday, or so it seems.  I was right when I said the last three months were going to fly by, I now have just two weeks left in South Africa – an alarming feeling.

A lot has occurred since that night in my home of Masealama.  I have seen and experienced things I never would have imagined – exciting things, sad things, things that made me nervous, happy things, challenging things, fun things, spiritual things, things of all kinds.  Through all of these, my home has become even more of a home for me – for I have struggled, laughed, played, sung, and been challenged alongside of the wonderful people of my community.

Thinking about leaving is a struggle.  Sure, I miss my family and friends back home and I am excited to see them, spend time with them, and share stories with one another as to all that has happened on both sides of the world this last year.  The reality is I will miss the family and friends I have come to know and love here in South Africa too.

I have often been asked about being homesick or if I miss my family.  Truthfully, I always missed my family (and friends), but I was rarely, if at all, homesick.  One thing that I have always understood while here, is that I know I am going back to the United States.  I know that when I return, my friends and family will be there for me.

Now I am in a different situation, as I already feel homesick for South Africa and I have not even left.  It is hard to think about leaving this place.  Doing so often brings tears to my eyes.  I do not know when I will get the chance to return.  And when I do return, who will still be here.  Many people, simply in the course of this year, have left Masealama for schooling and in search of work, how do I know when I return that my family and friends will be here to return to?

Although it takes an effort to think about, it is a reality that I must face.

I have already had to say some goodbyes.  They have been difficult to do and when I am done, I often find myself almost shutting down, closing off the rest of the world.  I cannot hide from these things.  I need the continued strength to say goodbye, to have some closure.  But I also need to be present here in these last weeks, not only taking care of my own needs but considering those that I will be leaving behind.

It is a blessing to have such a struggle leaving this place.  I am truly grateful for the family and the friends that have made this year what it has for me – my home.

A Curious Interaction

About a month ago I was in town running a few errands, one of which was printing several photos at a local print shop.  I went about it in my normal manner, having frequented the shop several times before.  One thing I noticed from my very first visit, it appeared to be owned by an Asian couple.  This surprised me as there are not many Asians in this part of South Africa (most being in more urban areas such as Durban, which has a massive Indian population).  When I went to pay for the photos, the (Asian) woman asked, “I’m sorry, but can I ask you where you are from.”  When I told her that I stay in Masealama but I come from the United States, she responded, “Yes, it’s just that you look different than everyone else.”  This caught me off guard.

In my head I kept thinking how different she looks than the inhabitants of Limpopo, South Africa – she is Asian.  At least with me, there are many white people across South Africa, and Polokwane (town) is no different.  How could she look at me, a white person, and know that I am not from South African when there are many white South Africans?

Since this day, I have often reflected on this curious interaction - thinking about my image here in South Africa.

I am used to being the only white person around, often going weeks at a time without seeing another white person.  I don’t look at myself as the only white person.  I don’t see that I am different than those around me.  In fact, when I do see white people (in town), I almost think they are the ones that look different.  Despite the constant (positive intentioned) greetings of “Hey lekgowa” and “Howzit lekgowa” from my friends, color is not something I see here (remember lekgowa means white man).

Then one day it more or less ‘clicked’ for me, she was not noticing that I look different than the white South Africans.  Rather she was meaning I look different than her other customers.  Thinking back on it, I don’t think I have ever seen another white person in that photo shop.  Truly, in that part of town I seldom see another white person.

I love this – her noticing that I am different than her normal customers.

This, in part, is exactly what I came here to do – to push the boundaries and do things that are unexpected of me or people who look like me.  I came here to walk alongside those in my community and surrounding communities.  I came to develop and nourish relationships with the people here through sharing my gifts with them and theirs with me.  In thinking about how this woman reacted to me doing business in her store, I believe I have done just this.

Turning a life of thirst into a thirst for life.

Water.  A necessity of life.  Yet there are so many places throughout the world that do not have access to safe, clean water.

Two weeks ago, I went to fetch water for my host mom so she could do her laundry.  As I collected the water containers to wheel them to the tap, my neighbor informed me the tanks at the tap were empty.  The tanks are filled via a pump and machine generator, but the diesel had run out – thus the pump was no longer being pumped.  Supposedly my neighbor had informed me this was going to happen the week prior, as it was known throughout the village the diesel was going to run out, and that I should fill my tank before this happens.  Apparently when she told me this, was the same point I decided I did not need to fill my water drum so that I could clean it out when it was empty – clutch timing.

The following day I went into Turfloop, a larger community and site of the University of Limpopo – Turfloop.  While on campus, putting their internet access to good use, I needed to use the toilet.  En route, I ran into a friend and after a quick conversation, I excused myself to go down the hallway.  She then asked me where I was going, only to inform me that all of Turfloop was out of water – out of water?  How does this happen to me?  Unless I wanted to step outside to relieve myself and water some flora, I was going to have to hold my bladder tight until I got back to Masealama as the janitor had locked the bathrooms as the toilets could not flush.

Last Thursday, as I waited with a friend, Gift, for a kombi to take me to town, his cousin pulled up in a large truck, like a U-Haul truck.  My friend informed me the two of them were heading to Turfloop with the truck to fetch water.  I was confused, as literally right outside of his front gate is a tap where water comes freely – or so I thought.  Unbeknown to me, the water that side of Masealama has not been flowing since last year November.  Yet, just up the hill where I live, I have but occasionally been denied water at the tap.  They told me they would drop me in Turfloop where I could then catch a kombi to town.  As we pulled into Turf, they invited me along to help fill their containers.  Of course I accepted their invitation.

As we worked on filling all of the containers of water (about 3,000 liters worth), I asked Gift’s cousin why their side of Masealama had not had water since last year November?  As usual with politics, the municipality continually diverts their reasons to different places every so often, so nobody really knows why.  He told me that what they should do is start charging for the water, so to discourage waste.  This was interesting to me coming from a country where in every household we only need to flip the faucet on and have instant, clean, clear, fluoride infused water, now having to fetch my water I rarely waste any – if it’s not consumed or used for bathing, it’s used for washing dishes and further “flushing” the toilet.  So to hear in a place where water must be fetched using a wheelbarrow, that people are wasting water – remarkable.

In Turfloop and Polokwane, one must pay for the water they use in their homes, some paying upwards of R800 per month (equivalent of +/-$100).  As we were in Turfloop, I asked how much he is paying for this water only to find out that the tap we were using, at his cousin’s not-yet-completed home, was an illegal connection and thus it was of no cost.  Apparently this is a very common thing around here, along with illegal electrical connections.

I then ask myself, what do the people in communities such as those living that side of Masealama do that do not have access to a large “U-haul” truck?  Or that do not have a place with an illegal connection to obtain their water in another community?  Or those that do not another village that will allow them to fill their tanks?  I am told those living this side (up the hill where I live) of Masealama do not allow those that side (down the hill) to bring their containers to our taps and tanks to fill them.

Should they have access?  Who is to say they should or not?  Who should pay for this access?  The government?  The municipality?  Where does the money come from?  Should they charge per liter?  Is it right to charge someone for a basic human necessity?

Yesterday I needed to do my laundry; I woke at 6:00AM to do so.  I had no water, so I gathered three containers, a wheelbarrow, and headed to the water tower.  To my surprise there were five or so other people there before me, waiting patiently in line.  After getting my laundry started, I still needed more water.  When I arrived at the tap this time, there were even more people, I could tell there was agitation in the air.  My friend quickly informed me someone had stolen the machine that pumps the water from the ground, during the night, hence the crowd forming at the tap to fill their water drum before the tanks run dry of the only water left in Masealama.

The machine was stolen?  Who would do such a thing?  What will we do for water now?  Am I going to have to fetch it from Turf like Gift?  How will I even go about doing that – I don’t have a truck or a car?  Will they find the machine?  Will they get a new machine?  Who will pay for it?

I soon shifted my focus from my wash to filling my water drum for who knows when the water will run out and how long we will have to go without.  In what seemed like twenty minutes, it was now half past nine in the morning, remember I started around 6:00AM.  I was supposed to be at the crèche at 8:00AM, but the ladies were also fetching water and told me not to worry. 

While waiting at the tap, getting closer to my turn, more and more people coming and going, it was confusing who arrived when and whose turn it was next.  I could tell that people were discussing it, hearing my name thrown in the mix every now and then.  Then a friend told me to fill my containers, but a woman disagreed thinking she was next.  All of a sudden, those waiting were telling her that it was my turn and two of them even grabbed my containers and started filling them up – I would have let her go first.  At one point, I counted the number of containers in line, 43 – 25 liter containers waiting to be filled.  This wasn’t even the busiest point.  After filling my water drum, the bathtub and extra bucket for my wash, and helping Makwela fill the Dean’s and Liuhani’s water drums at their homes, I continued on with my wash, finishing near noon – a long morning.

In just two short weeks, I have experienced all of these issues, struggling alongside and amongst the locals.  Throughout this year, several struggles have come into the daily life here in Masealama, usually involving water.  I hope that these issues can be resolved, for access to safe, clean drinking water is far too important.

As I will be leaving South Africa in a few short months, I ask myself what I can do to help this situation – both while I am here and furthermore, when I return back to the United States?  What can you do?  What can WE do?  What can your church do?  What can the ELCA do?  One thing that is being done is the ELCA World Hunger program has set a goal of raising $250,000 in 2012 in the 100 Wells Challenge.  They are encouraging youth groups to either donate to the program or bring their offerings to this summer’s upcoming ELCA Youth Gathering in New Orleans.  Although this project may not directly help my community in Masealama, it is important to know that there are many places all over the world that need these wells just as much, if not more than, Masealama.  Let’s turn a life of thirst into a thirst for life.

Church Bells

Church bells ringing, they wake me. I look around, my house is dark and I cannot see a thing. I open the window blinds, it is also too dark outside to see anything. My phone informs me it is half past three in the morning. Disoriented, I wonder why the bells are ringing so early, perhaps I am dreaming? Apparently to say, wake up - it is time to prepare for church. They keep on ringing for what seems like an hour – they do not want me going back to bed. I wonder who is ringing the bell and why they are not tired yet, perhaps there are several people taking turns. I fall back asleep. The alarm on my phone starts ringing. It is now a quarter to five. Church starts in fifteen minutes. I contemplate closing my eyes and falling back asleep. A knock at my door, then at my window, “Wake up Taylor, it is time for church.” says Maishe. Giving in to the peer pressure and my interest as to why we are having church at five in the morning, I wake up and quickly prepare myself for the Resurrection Sunday church service.

This early in the morning, the sun had not yet risen. We made our way to the church, which is illuminated by a few candles at the altar. Surprisingly, rather in hindsight not so unexpectedly, there were only a couple dozen people in attendance for the service. Despite the darkness in the church, how few were in attendance, and the lack of sleep, the service was alive – loud, energetic, and joyful. After receiving Holy Communion, worship was brought to a closing and together we made our way outside.

Church bells begin to ring again. This time they are signaling the beginning of our processional to the graveyard. Singing, dancing, clapping, and whistling all the way to the graveyard, our numbers started to increase as community members joined in. At the entrance, we paused for a word of prayer. We then made our way into the graveyard, fists full of flowers to decorate the graves of family members. I wondered what the significance of the Easter weekend was in placing flowers on the graves. Asking several individuals, the most frequent answer was simply to decorate the graveyard – to make it look nice. But why on Easter? A few answered with a variation of it symbolizing Jesus’ resurrection on this day. I believe we decorated the graves not only to symbolize Jesus rising from the dead, but to also remember those who have passed on before us and the promise of eternal life we have through Jesus Christ.

It was a beautiful morning. As I watched the sun rise on this day, I envisioned the Son of God rising up from the dead, bringing more meaning to the early morning service. More and more people kept coming to the graveyard, those who had finished placing their flowers gathered outside the entrance talking with one another. Since I did not have family members buried in the graveyard, many of my friends took me by the hand and invited me to meet their relatives who are buried here and place flowers upon their graves. One might think being in a graveyard all morning could lead to a dismal attitude, but instead we were celebrating this day and everyone seemed to be quite happy – celebrating God’s promise.

Just a Bit...

Just a bit short. Just a bit long.
Just a bit tattered. Just a bit dirty.
Just a bit baggy. Just a bit tight.
Just a bit used. Just a bit wrinkled.
Just a bit holy. Just a bit barefoot.
Just a bit mismatched. Just a bit missing.

Nearly 60 primary school children come through the doors at the Masealama Drop-In Center, eager for their plate of food, just a bit of pap and just a bit of soup.

When I heard the number of children coming to the center each day had more than doubled from last year’s average of 25, my initial reaction was... that is great we are able to provide a meal for so many children. But I quickly realized what that actually meant - we were serving to 60 orphans and vulnerable children. How can I be happy that in a few short months the number of orphans and vulnerable children in my community doubled?

But they all have a smile.

The children there have such a wonderful spirit - singing, playing, laughing and always smiling... simply full of joy. From the image I have described you can see that they have much to be discouraged about, yet they find joy, peace, and happiness. Where does this come from? Perhaps they appreciate what they do have, rather than focusing on what they do not.

Their glass is half full.

What does it mean to be an orphan or vulnerable child? An orphaned child is a child who does not have parents to provide them with a place to stay nor food on the table, whether their parents have passed away or, sadly, kicked them out of the home. A vulnerable child is one who may have parents and a pad to sleep on, but is often neglected by his/her parents or whose parents cannot afford to put food on the table for them.

Yet they sing, "I’ve got joy, peace, and happiness in my soul.”

These children are inspiring, to have so little yet be so happy. They trust in the Lord, knowing that He will provide for them all that they need. They don’t have just a bit of joy, peace, and happiness; they are full of all three.

And they've got me singing too - I've got joy...

No Burping Allowed

My foremost trepidation before coming to South Africa? Respectfully integrating myself into an unknown culture without having parts of my own culture coming out in ways that would offend the local culture. I knew this was inevitable and more or less out of my control and therefore was ‘OK’ with that. However, what I did not know was just how surprising some of the social cues that I would learn… or break.

Have you ever been sweeping and accidentally hit someone’s foot or leg? Now that person will never get married. Good work cupid.

Have you ever sat on a table? That means you are a thief. Nobody likes a thief.

Have you ever been sitting in a group talking and had your back to one of the people in the group? There really isn’t a consequence to this one, it is simply disrespectful.

What is worse a burp or a fart? Worse maybe isn’t the correct word, rather what is more acceptable? That’s right, farting. Of course neither is really accepted, but they would rather have you fart than burp. Naturally I have never had an issue with this, it’s not like I have been traveling and eating foods I am not accustomed to or anything.

Those are a few of the more interesting African cultural norms I have found myself infringing upon.

In the first few weeks of February I was fortunate enough to have my parents come visit. That means Lekgowa Hiking Tours had its first customers, all are welcome. Having been here for nearly six months now, I had gone from a tourist/outsider to, well not quite a local, but a local. It was interesting seeing their social cues and cultural norms from America again.

As we were doing a bit of touring, my parents decided it would be more economical to rent a car for their time here. If you don’t know, South Africa was an English colony, meaning we drive on the left side of the road. This caused for a bit of confusion on the roadways in addition to the interesting way people drive. One of the first things my dad noticed was a slow driver had moved halfway on to the shoulder but kept driving. This made him nervous. I, the local, knew he was simply moving over so we could pass without having to go into the oncoming traffic lane. Once we passed the other car, I told my dad to flash his emergency lights, thank you. The other driver responded by flashing his bright lights, you’re welcome.

Driving a car always causes one to end up at a petrol station, whether to fill the tank or grab a Magnum ice cream bar. At the petrol stations there are attendants who will fill your tank, wash your windshield, add air to your tires, check your oil, and even take your money or bring a credit card machine right to your window. You never have to leave the car! All of this is free of
charge, but remember it is a service industry. So you should leave a tip.

South Africa has several nice national highways. In order to pay for and maintain these highways there are, what seems like hundreds, tolls along the way. When pulling up to a toll, as you pay the cashier it is expected you greet the individual and ask them how they are doing. They will do likewise to you. This is not only the case at the tolls, but any individual you approach, one should say, “Hello, how are you?” Once you exchange this, then you can continue on with whatever your business may be.

My parents experienced all three of these social cues in just a few short hours of arriving in South Africa. Not bad for their first day. They didn’t have to worry too much about sitting with their back to anyone, sitting on a table, or hitting someone with a broom. Now the farting and burping issue, well I won’t go there…

All of the Lights

Excited. Impatient. Thrilled. Nervous. Eager. Anxious. Willing. Restless. Prepared. Apprehensive. Ready.

Emotions running through my mind, heart, and body from the ends of the hairs atop my head to the tips of the toes on my feet.

Under the dark night sky I moved closer and closer, at what seemed a snail’s pace, following the curved and hilly, roughly paved road.

I look out the window. Something is glowing in the distance. As we approached I could see it was not one but many items glowing. Luminescent lights, breaking up the cool, dark night. Beautiful.

Is that it?

Driving from one village to the next, I questioned, is this it?... is that it?... Is this Masealama? Each village en route to Masealama had nothing visible but the small lanterns illuminating the outside of each home. Tens, hundreds, perhaps, thousands of lights, were shining through the darkness, under the array of stars in the sky.

This image will forever be burned into my memory.

It was my first glimpse of not only Masealama, but of the surroundings of what would become part of my weekly life traveling between the villages.

I remember my first night often. Thinking of how strange it felt, having all those different, confusing emotions running through me. I also remember thinking that this must have been what Bethlehem looked like on the night of Jesus’ birth. I can’t explain why I felt this way, it just was.

When I think more about the view the Magi had looking down upon Bethlehem and the gifts they were bearing for the new born king, I begin to think of myself traveling from a foreign land just as they had and I too was bearing gifts. However, the gifts I had were not physical like the gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but were gifts that God has blessed me with. The gifts I bore are those that allowed me to be in South Africa and to serve those in and around the community of Masealama. In thinking this I do not attribute myself to being a Wise man, but appreciate the feeling of being more connected with such an important story of the Christian faith through this scene.

This scene makes me thankful for all that God has provided me with. It reminds me of how blessed and fortunate I am. For without Him, I would not be here. I would not be surrounded by the amazing and welcoming people that make up the Masealama community, experiencing my faith with my own hands, nor growing as an individual on a global scale.

The image of Bethlehem and the image of the villages en route to Masealama, will serve as illustrations to my faith.

It is my favorite image.

Out from the Cold, into the Warm House.

How was your holiday?

After greeting someone on the street, in the kombi, in the grocery store, at the crèche, in their home, on the soccer field, and anywhere else one might run into another person that is the question asked in the days and weeks after the Christmas and New Year’s holidays.

How was your holiday?

Ah, the holidays were too good I tell you.

But that is exactly what they seemed like, a holiday, a vacation, time off from work. Sure in a way that is exactly what our Christmas holiday is back in the United States for many of us as it gives us a break from school and work, allowing us to relax and enjoy the company of our family and friends. Here, we did the same things, took time off from work and gathered together with our families and friends. I had the pleasure of being invited to a friend’s home to spend several days with his parents, grandmother, brothers, sisters, children, nieces, and nephews, it was glorious.

While driving to Tzaneen, a town about an hour away from Masealama, I was asked what I thought of my South African Christmas so far. I explained that it really didn’t seem like Christmas yet because it was so hot (I was wearing sandals, a t-shirt, and shorts, not to mention, I was sweating). I miss the cold weather. Wearing a sweater to keep warm. Socks. Putting on a stocking cap when outside. Trenching through the snow, hearing it crunch under my feet. Oh but what I missed the most about the cold was coming into the warm house, being protected from that cold. In the house would be my family, doing our own family traditions.

As Christmas Day came along, the day seemed much like any other day here in South Africa. We started up the braai and cooked a smorgasbord of South African meats, plenty to go around, plenty of left-overs to eat throughout the day and night. We played miniature pool on the patio. We watched movies. We had conversation. We played games. In reality, apart from the weather, it was in a way, every bit the same as a Christmas back at home, playing games, eating, talking, and the standard, going to a movie on Christmas Day.

In the evening we opened presents. Now, every time there is some sort of gathering of people in South Africa (usually a wedding, funeral, birthday party, etc.) there is a program with an MC, opening presents on Christmas Day is no different. The program started off with welcoming all of the family, and me (although they treated me as family). The MC (one of the brothers) recalled to the rest of the family what I had said about my South African Christmas thus far. What struck him the most was my explanation of how I miss leaving the cold outside air and entering the warm house. He looked at me then, and promised me that I was doing just that right then and there. I was leaving the cold outdoors and entering their warm house, not warm from the fireplace or furnace, but warm from their hearts.

It wasn’t until this point that I truly missed my family and friends back at home this holiday season. Of course I miss everyone, but this made me wish I was at home with them ever more. It also made me so very thankful for the new family and friends that I have made here, which made me want to be here just the same.

My holiday sure was a good one. It was different in many ways, but in looking back it was much in the same. One I will be sure never to forget just how warm it was.