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.