No Longer White

As you may guess, it has been a very emotional week at the Centre. While it's had its negative times, it has allowed me to get closer to some of the people here and others I've interacted with along the way.

Much of the emotion is wrapped around Mkhululi's death and funeral. As I mentioned to some people via e-mail, Mkhululi's family is very poor. He was the only income earner in his household of 8 people. I don't know what he made with Siyaya, but it couldn't have been more than R2500 a month. That's not enough to pay for food, utilities, and other expenses but they made due with extra help here and there. Now that he's gone, the family is really struggling with survival. And that's before worrying about a funeral, burial and lunch for several hundred people.

On Tuesday, before he left for the U.S., Rev. Spiwo told me that we (i.e., me) would have to help Mkhululi's family somehow. I committed to doing that as best I could. I spent the next couple days formulating a plan, which I carried out today. More on that later.

The next emotional hurdle came on Wednesday. A couple of Mkhului's close friends planned a memorial service for that afternoon to be held at the JL Zwane church. I expected a low-key affair. Silly me. I should have known it would be a very musical affair, since Mkhululi was a professional musician with many friends. There were performances by Siyaya 1 and Siyaya 2, otherwise known as the women who used to be in Siyaya until late last year and the current line-up of the full group. There are also songs by another man from the community, backed by Siyaya's band. Siyaya 2 sang an a capella version of the Lord's Prayer that was a breath-taker. The room was absolutely silent save the perfect harmonies ringing through the church. I will have to convince them to do it again someday so I can record it.

The whole service was MC'd by Sisi Yvonne and a local radio personality named Prince. (He was quite a bit taller than the other Prince, so there'd be no mistaking them.) Mkhululi belonged to a near-by evangelical church, and their pastor and worship team handled the readings and a short sermon. They also sang a few songs throughout the evening.

I had a little role to play - I had to offer words of encouragement on behalf of the church and Centre because Spiwo was away. I've given hundreds of presentations in my life, but I was so nervous that night my teeth were chattering. It didn't help that I was asked to speak about 10 minutes before I had to do it, in a church full of people I didn't know, mostly speaking a language I didn't speak and giving statements and testimonies full of religious references and resounding prayers. (I don't remember Passionate Preaching as a class choice in my 8 years of Catholic grade school, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't in my pharmacy school curriculum either.) And, the person before me had the crowd rolling with laughter as he shared stories about Mkhululi. I finally decided that it wasn't about me but was about his family and friends, and I was able to calm down. I told the group "Ndisithetha isiXhosa kancinci (I speak Xhosa a little) so I will speak English" and a couple people laughed with me. I managed to convey my condolences to his family and friends, saying that he was a part of our Centre family and that we would be there to support them during these rough times. That seemed to be enough, for me and for the people I cared about there.

After about 2 1/2 hours the memorial broke up and everyone went their separate ways. I went home tired but happy that everything had gone well.

Thursday came and gave me my next challenge. It was my last day with the first GLA group. These are the high school kids who are doing community service projects with the Centre. We had our last painting day at the Stormont Madebela school. I must say, the place looks 100% better than when we started, for the parts we got done. We finished about 2/3 of the outside walls with 3 coats of paint all around. We also got 3 classrooms painted. While not perfect, the walls look clean and refreshed, ready for another couple years of use and abuse by the school kids.

The challenge came when it was time to leave. About 20-30 local children had built some fairly close connections to the GLA students (or maybe it was the other way around) during the short time we were there. This was especially true of the tiny ones, the kids who were maybe 2, 3, or 4 years old. We also had 10-12 teenage boys who came everyday to paint with us and who showed up at our art day to paint and make clay sculptures. It was really tough to break everyone up when it came time to say good-bye. I think there were hugs by the van for about 10 minutes as the GLAers were trying to load up. I had to hold a couple little ones in my arms so they could shut the door. It was tough for me, because these township kids see a lot of visitors come and go and they never have a chance to really build close bonds and really get to know outsiders. At least I get to come back next week and see them again, and maybe they'll come to see me as a friend, too.

The school project has been interesting from a neighborhood perspective. I may be naive, but I honestly think the local residents appreciate what we're doing. I've gotten waves from people as I drive by their homes on my way out of the area (I always wave to people on the side of the road out of habit, and nearly everyone waves back) and I've had people call hello to me from their yards if I walk down the street. The principal is happy with what she's seen so far, and I hope the rest of the teachers are when they return from holiday next week.

Then came today. I expected an easy Friday, but it was one of the busiest days I've had since I've been here. First thing this morning, about 9:00, I went to see Mkhululi's mother to see how I could help with the funeral. Fortunately, she had a funeral plan for him so that all of the core funeral costs (casket, plot, transportation, etc.) were covered. (We're having the service at the JL Zwane church so she won't have to pay for hall rental.) All that's left is the lunch. She had arranged to get 6 sheep (live, to be butchered at home this afternoon), and had some vegetables. She had nothing else and no prospects. I asked for a list of items, which she'd already made. I took the list and said I'd be back later in the day with everything. As we were leaving, Ncebe, a man I know from the Centre and my partner for the meeting, said to wait a second. Apparently, the mother didn't want to ask me to buy sodas because she thought it would be too much. After he convinced her to tell me everything they needed, we got the whole list sorted out and we left. I went through the list with Mama Nkqo (the head cook at the Centre) and she helped me figure out the quantities for everything. I made a plan with Xolani Gwangwa, the Centre's driver, to go with me to Makro (like Sam's Club) later in the day. Item One sorted.

I finished this just in time to leave for a funeral. It's odd to have a funeral on a Friday, but this was a special case. A woman somewhat linked to Rev. Spiwo (his son's girlfriend's mother) had a baby about 6 months ago who was born with Down's Syndrome. The baby was found not breathing yesterday (Thursday) morning. They rushed it to the local day hospital (like an urgent care clinic), but the doctor said it had been not breathing for too long and there was nothing they could do. No one knows what happened exactly - the family thinks it was an asthma attack. Many children with Down's Syndrome are born with heart and lung abnormalities and it could have been related to that, too. In any case, the family planned a quick funeral for today. Zach, our seminary student at the Centre, was asked to fill in for Rev. Spiwo to officiate.

What a difference to the other funerals I've been to. It was held in their house, in the living/dining room, a good sized room in a three-room house. There was constant activity in the kitchen around the corner (where they were preparing the luncheon), which had no door to muffle the sound. We sang a couple hymns and Zach led a couple prayers, and then the casket was brought in. It was carried by one man, literally under his arm it was so small. It was a plain white wooden box with two small handles and a couple gold locks to hold the top down. It was brought into the bedroom first, where the mother was waiting. All of the women followed and they had their own prayer service for about 15 minutes. They then returned to the living room and the casket was brought out and put on a bench in the middle of the room. Zach performed his service, and did an amazing job considering he had about 12 hours to prepare. After more songs and some comments by two of the neighbor ladies, we went to the cemetery.

The "hearse" was a little 3-door hatchback, with the casket laying in the back sideways. There was only one minivan to take mourners, as opposed to 2 or 3 MTC-sized buses. The graveside process may have been the same, but it was starker just because of the tiny hole in the ground. After Zach finished his prayers, it took all of two minutes to cover up the casket with dirt and place the marker. We went back to the house for lunch, and then back to the Centre.

(As an aside, there are two things about funerals here that I find really interesting. One is that funerals for children are not as big as those for adults. As I've been told, this is because babies haven't done anything yet so there's nothing to celebrate. This is a real difference to my experiences in the U.S., where dead children are greatly mourned because of the lost potential and lost hope of the future. The other item is that no one cries at funerals here. I've been to 5 or 6 now and I've seen only one person shed a tear. I don't know if it's a cultural thing or if it's something else, but it is definitely different.)

Xolani and I then went to Makro. We got everything on the list, which filled up two flat-bed carts. We even bought a three-burner gas stove so they could cook everything tonight and tomorrow morning. The 20 cases of soda pop (crush, as it's known here) from the spaza shop should have been delivered this afternoon.

I got a couple nice comments from people today about what I did. The one I'll remember the most came from Linda, one of the (male) singers in Siyaya. He came to my office and said "Today, I no longer see you as a white man. I look at you and I see a black man." That really touched me. It might surprise you to know that I've forgotten my skin color here a couple times, that I've reached out to shake someone's hand and didn't notice there was a difference. I've really come to see that we are all part of the same race, with the same goals and aspirations, hopes and dreams. We all have the same potential and ability to succeed, albeit in different ways and in different areas. Some of us may be better positioned to reach our goals today, but I have no doubt many I've met here will figure their own ways to hit their marks, too.

But to be clear, I didn't buy food to get good comments. I did it because it was the right thing to do and I had the means to do it. And that's how I want to live my life.

I also bumped into Nomasome, the original shack lady, today (remember her?). But that's a story for another day.

More to come.