A New Journey

The Final Entry

2008-03-12T08:36:00.003-05:00

I arrived back home last Wednesday (March 5th). I never expected it would take a week to recover, but I'm only now feeling like I'm really here. I've had a couple "I need to go back" moments since being home, and I have to remind myself that it's finished. At least, for now.

A lot of people have asked me along the way "how have you changed?" I honestly don't know, and probably won't for a few weeks yet. I can say that I'm more cognizant of what I have and what I need. It's sad how much junk I've purchased over the years just for the sake of buying it. For example, I cleaned out a spare bedroom (that acts as a big collection point for all kinds of things) the other day. I ended up tossing five cordless phone systems. Five! We've only been in our house for 10 years, and in that time we've bought and thrown aside five perfectly good phones just because others looked better. I also counted six computers that were sitting unused (granted, some are old technology but they'd still work for something). That's really sad. I really need to stop spending money on bright and shiny things and start helping people in my own community.

I start my new job next week. I'll be in pharmacy management again, doing similar things to my old job. It'll be on a smaller scale, with regular hours and no travel. That will be a big change for me - I was used to 60-hour weeks and up to 50% travel. I hope to enroll in some language classes, take guitar lessons, and maybe even fulfill a long-standing dream of getting a pilot's license. But then, I could take a few months to relax and see what life brings. We'll see.

A couple follow-ups from Guguletu:
1. Marvin came back from Botswana last Monday, the day before I left. He was in tough shape. He had lost weight and was probably under 120 pounds, if at that. He was so weak he could barely walk. He hadn't eaten in three days because he had no appetite - he had food with him but just couldn't stomach it. He moved in with a family member, who promised to look after him.

I saw Marvin again on Tuesday and he was looking a little more perky. He had been to the clinic, and his doctor was making arrangements to have him hospitalized for a couple weeks so that he could regain his strength. Marvin was also looking at ways to move to Johannesburg so that he'd be closer to his son. I think he'll probably do that within the next couple months. I just hope he's able to recover and get healthy. It would be very sad to lose a good friend.

2. Nancy is still positive about getting a new house. I didn't see her before I left because she was only returning from the Eastern Cape on Wednesday morning. I did wire her money for a new house, and I have no doubt she will continue to look for one. Unless she needs the money for food, that is.

3. Maxwell was busy planting new vegetables in our garden last week. The green peppers from the previously planting were still doing well. He was going to put in some carrots, spinach, and other summer vegetables. I hope he sticks with it and that someone can fund the winter planting in September.

4. Siyaya is still planning to come to the US in June-July 2008. If you live in Washington DC, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York City, Chicago, Minneapolis, Dallas, or Pensacola and want more details, please write to me. It will be a fantastic show and you will not be disappointed.

That's all I have. Sincere thanks to everyone who supported my adventure, who read my blog and write to me (or who just read it), and everyone who prayed for me to return safely. I have no regrets about going and would do it all over again. I hope others have the chance to take some time and do something they've dreamed about.

No more to come.

A Most Excellent Day

2008-03-02T10:25:00.002-05:00

I had a great day today.

1. I got a nice acknowledgment during church this morning. I heard them talking about me, and saw that they took a special collection. Well, it was for me! The congregation gave over R600 to thank me for spending "my year of living dangerously" with them. This was probably one of the most meaningful things I've seen, as I know many people don't have extra money to give. They also gave me a nice gift for my wife to thank her for saying "yes" when I said I wanted to come.

After services, the church leaders held a tea for me. The orphan children all came and thanked me for what I had done for them. They said I was an inspiration, that they now knew that people cared and that they had a future. Noluyolo gave me a big hug and started crying. That was hard - I really hope she can make it out. A few of the other leaders thanked me for my humility and help, which felt really good.

I jokingly told them that I was sad because I just figured out how to sing in Xhosa and now it's time to go. Not too many people laughed - something was lost in the translation, I'm sure.

2. This afternoon, my baseball team had a couple scrimmages against a very good under-12 team. It was great for the kids to see "real" baseball - the other team didn't hold back at all. They pitched hard, stole bases and even bunted once. But my kids stuck in there, even scoring a run and closing one defensive inning with three solid outs (the other innings ended because of too many runs scored by the opponents). I told them I was leaving when we got back to their school and they all clapped for me. I think they'll keep going and I'm excited to see how far they've gotten when I come back.

3. I'm off now to wrap up my day with a big plate of sushi. Or maybe a pizza.

More to come.

Three Days and Counting...

2008-03-01T07:45:00.003-05:00

This will probably be my last blog entry. I canceled my Internet service, so I'm now using Internet cafes. That makes spending hours writing a little tough. Plus, I don't think I'll much more to say since I'm officially done at the Centre and the clinic. That's not to say I won't be doing anything, but just not too much. I'm sure I'll have much more to write once I've been able to assimilate everything I've seen and heard. A lot of people have asked how this year has changed me, and I can honestly say "I don't know." I'll comment on that once I've gotten back to my "normal" life and started to sense a change in my thinking, biases and perspectives. Some of you may see it before I do - feel free to point it out.

I'll be leaving a bit of money behind when I leave, about R20,000. Nearly all of that was donated by family, friends and people I hardly know. I'm leaving it with Spiwo with instructions on where to spend it, mostly with the vulnerable children and a couple very needy families. Some of it will also help kick-start the food pantry Zethu is hoping to start this year. Rest assured it will all go to people who deparately need it. And, a big Thank You to everyone who did contribute along the way. It really made me feel that my work here was important and that people were behind me 100%.

My last few days were quiet and anticlimactic. I worked two days at the clinic and Tami wasn't there for either one. I talked to him on Thursday and it never crossed his mind that it was my last day. But, that's very much in line with the lack of thanks I got from him. The rest of the staff either forgot or didn't care much as they didn't say anything either. Spiwo said that they won't understand what I did until I'm gone - that may be true but it doesn't give one warm fuzzies.

I finished at the Centre yesterday and it was much of the same. I think many people really didn't know I was leaving. I told a couple people on Wednesday and they were shocked. In truth, I liked it that way better than having a big celebration, but a small acknowledgment would have been nice, too. I gave each of the cooks a scarf as thanks for taking care of me. They were very appreciative and I think they will really miss me.

I didn't see many other people. I have to be in Guguletu on Monday to drop off some things, so I'll make a few calls then.

On a fun note, we've set up some baseball games with a local team, the Phillipi Angels, for tomorrow. It should be lots of fun for the kids, and the coaches, too. I'll be sure to write about that later.

More to come.

One Week to Go...

2008-02-24T09:53:00.003-05:00

It's been another busy week. Part of it's due to me starting to say good-bye to people, which I'll have a lot more of this week.

The week started with more action on Nancy's house. (I found out that Nancy's real name is Nonkulelo. Another case of using an English name for me and a Xhosa name for everyone else.) As you may have read, she'd found a big house to buy but the price was prohibitive at R10,000. Well, she and Howard kept looking and found another place, smaller but still twice the size of her current place. This one also had an electric box. The price? Only R4,500. I went to see it last Monday and, although it was in tough shape, it would have been a big improvement on her current one. She and Howard were going to see “The Committee” that evening to get approval to buy it.

[1 March: They didn't get this one, either. Apparently the guy selling it is actually the brother og the owner. They called the actual owner, who said it was only R4,000. Someone was keeping R500 as a commission. In any event, the seller said it was already taken. So, it's back to square one. Since I'm leaving before Nancy comes back I gave her R3,000 and she'll keep looking. I'm fairly certain the money will go towards something other than a bungelow, but it's her call. It's tough to weigh food now against a house later.]

In the meantime, insult got added to injury. Nancy's younger brother, who lives in the Eastern Cape, was killed over the weekend. I heard it was a stabbing but I don't know how reliable that is. That put Nancy in a difficult situation, as she now had to travel to the Eastern Cape but had no money to do so. I loaned her the money to go, since she really needed to be there. She sent me a cell phone text message on Friday saying that they didn't know when the funeral would be because no one has any money to pay the undertaker. Nancy's mother was putting a lot of pressure on her because she's “working,” not understanding how little she makes and how fleeting it is. I know her message was a subtle request for help. I haven't responded yet, because I really don't know what to do. I've already committed to helping her with a bungalow, and I don't have another R4,000 or R5,000 to fund a funeral. (Okay, so I have it, but I'm trying hard to draw a line and prioritize where I support people. They could have a pauper's funeral, which would only cost R1,500 or so. But there's some stigma and bad karma wrapped up in that and people try to avoid it. I'm also trying, in my own way, to help people recognize that support is not always open-ended.) I'll speak with Howard tomorrow and see what he knows about it.

I also got a surprise call from Mogise on Monday. (Mogise is the guy I was buying food for a few months ago, who I stopped supporting when it kept escalating.) He wanted to see how I was and tell me it was his birthday on the 21^st. He said he'd be fully 30, which seemed like a milestone. I told him I would stop and see him this week.

I was really dreading that visit. I wasn't sure what I'd find, since he'd been quite ill the last time I saw him in December. I also wasn't sure if I'd be pressured into giving him or his family money. Well, I went on Thursday, after stopping to buy a cake. I got a big shock when a seemingly healthy Mogise greeted me at the door. He's been on treatment for TB for a couple months now and he looks 100% better. He's getting out of the house again, and it looks like he's put on some weight. His brother, Livingstone, said he's eating all the time, which is a great sign. Livingstone is still the only one working, but their sister (Leticia) is selling cigarettes on the sidewalk and earns a few rand every day. (A lot of street vendors sell individual cigarettes here, usually for R1.20 each. A pack of 20 goes for about R20, so the vendors make about R5 per pack. And people can support their habit without a bid cash outlay.) We ended up having a nice visit, and I told I'd come back before I left to get a photo of them. I did give them some money, but I felt much better about it than when I stopped last year.

The baseball team held another practice on Thursday. We did batting and base running, and again the kids amazed me with their natural talent. Some of the kids were cracking balls 150 feet or more. There was one boy, 9 or 10 years old, who connected on every pitch (underhand, but still...). I'm hoping we can have a game next weekend with one of the more developed teams so they can see what it's all about for real.

Wednesday night brought a new group of visitors to the Centre. This group is from Arm in Arm in Africa, an organization affiliated with St. Joan of Arc Catholic Church in Minneapolis. About half of the 18 had been to JL Zwane before, some as many as 9 times. I didn't spend much time with them until Friday when we did a tour around Gugulethu and stopped at some homes. We also went to Mzoli's for dinner (the place where you order a big pile of meat and eat with your hands – kind of like Famous Dave's without the salads or beans). They were good fun. They'll be heading off to Malungeni (Spiwo's home village) on Monday to spend a few days and distribute some emergency food parcels.

One of their stops on Friday was Brown's Farm Clinic. Zethu called me and asked if I was coming with them, as she needed to see me. So, I stopped there at the appointed time. She told me she was having some trouble with her laptop and could I look at it. So, I played with it until the group came a few minutes later. Zethu asked me to take them into the conference room, so I led the group down the hall. While we were waiting for Zethu, a few of the clinic staff came in to join us. I commented to one of the visitors that she was pulling out all the stops for them, as it the staff usually didn't get introduced. Well, they were there because it was a surprise going-away tribute for me! Zethu read a letter from Dr. Rob Martell, the Health Department head for our region, thanking me for coming to South Africa and working at the clinic. Then, Zethu gave me a beautiful carving of two giraffes. Our doctor thanked me for helping her (even though she doesn't really make mistakes), and Tami said thank you from the pharmacy. It was very sweet, totally unexpected. It will make my last couple days there more memorable.

Today (Sunday) was the annual fund raising service. Each of the 17 community zones come forward and offer the money they've raised over the past few weeks. Everyone sings and dances as they come up, with the occasional shout and mock battle with another zone. A lot of people also dress in traditional outfits, so it's very colourful. I got in on the act by wearing a Xhosa outfit Marvin made for me a while back. Sadly, I had to work the money table so I didn't get any photos, including of me. I'll have to get one from one of the visitors.

The congregation raised over R248,000, R18,000 more than last year. Given the economy right now, Spiwo was very pleased with the results.

I now have about 10 days left. It's really more like a week, since Thursday will be my last day at the clinic and Friday at the Centre. I found out today that Spiwo will be gone from Tuesday and will not be back by the time I leave. No doubt we'll have a long talk tomorrow about how things went. I was going to say a few words at the service next week, but we'll have to see how that plays out.

People are also finding out that I'm leaving soon. One of the women I've supported recently came to my office last week and asked if she could leave her bank account details so that I can send her money when I'm back home. I had to explain to her that I wasn't going to do that, that I would leave money with JL Zwane to distribute as they saw fit. She didn't like that answer because then she would have to ask them, and they're much tougher than I was. I've felt for a while that some people believe I'm just here to give away money, that they can come to me whenever they feel stretched. The reality is starting to sink in that I was only a stop-gap measure, that they still have to take responsibility and continue to look for ways to improve their situations. But, people survived before I got here and they will figure out a way to survive once I'm gone.

More to come.

Stealing a Dream

2008-02-17T11:38:00.002-05:00

It's been a slow week. That's to say, it was just like they're supposed to be. Three days at the clinic, with nothing eventful happening. Two days at the Centre, with no visitors and no "emergencies" to deal with. I actually got tasks done on my projects and had time to rest a bit on Friday. I'm sure the remaining two weeks will be busier, if only because we have visitors this coming week (a big group from Minneapolis) and I need to start saying good-bye to folks.

This post's title comes from some follow-up events from last week's posting about Nancy. She's the woman living in Barcelona who wants desperately to move out of there. Well, she managed to find a place that she really loved. We took a drive to see it last Sunday. It's still in Barcelona, but just on the edge, about 50 yards from one of Guguletu's streets. It has its own toilet (well, an outhouse that sits within what's fenced off as her yard) and an electricity box (no more paying a neighbor and running an illegal wire to her shack). The house itself has five rooms, albeit with cardboard walls and exterior walls that aren't exactly plumb. It also has a number, which means she can get onto a waiting list for a proper house (which might become available in 2020, since the City is still working on the 1997 list).

The problem? The owner wants R10,000. That's about R9,999 more than Nancy can afford and R7,000 more than I was offering. So, on Monday I had to break the news to her that I wouldn't sponsor the full amount. As you can guess, she was disappointed. But, as we talked about the house's size (especially for just two people) and price, and my limited funds (especially now that I've planning to leave), she understood that it was probably not a good idea. She told me she was very worried that she wouldn't find anything now, or if she did it would be too late for me to help. I said that I had committed to help her, and I was fully prepared to do that. So, she agreed to keep looking.

I felt truly sad about the situation. She could have lived like a queen in that big house, and had room for Howard to stay, too (they are apparently dating now). But, the money is a big deal, even if it's a small amount in dollar terms. Nancy recognized that I could help 3 or 4 people for that amount, people just like her.

The good news? I got a call this afternoon that she found a place for R3000. It's one room, but it also has its own electricity box. I don't know where it is but we have plans to see it tomorrow. I'm hoping this one works out.

It's now roughly two weeks until L-Day (leaving day). I have nearly everything ready, just some last-minute items mementos to buy. We'll see how quickly the days go.

And, in case you're interested, I think I have my flea problem under control now. I have some special soap that I use twice a day and it seems to have killed the fleas I had on me. I also washed all my "intimates" and hopefully that will prevent a reinfestation. Of course, I say that knowing that I got six more bites today but I haven't been able to figure out if it's from my shoes or socks. Oh well, the end is in sight.

More to come.

Just for Fun

2008-02-12T11:14:00.000-05:00

Here's something you don't hear everyday: I have fleas. Yes, I seem to have picked a kinda bad case of fleas, either from the wind off the ocean or in the sand around Gugulethu. I have about 40 bites on my lower legs and get a few new ones each day. Fortunately, they don't itch and aren't painful. They just look disgusting. I'm waiting for someone at the health club to say something.

The only remedy I can find at the clinic is some oil-based lotion they use for lice. I'm going to try that tomorrow and see if it helps. Otherwise, I'll have to suffer through until I can freeze them off at home.

More to come.

Barcelona to Belfast and Back

2008-02-09T08:36:00.000-05:00

Wow, what a week I've had. It was one of the most demanding, yet fulfilling that I've had yet.

It all began last Sunday with a trip to Barcelona. The informal settlement, not the Spanish city. Barcelona sits on the edge of Guguletu. It's one of the poorest areas around, full of decrepit shacks and battle-weary people. It's nothing like the beautiful city it's named after (in honor of the 1992 Olympics). Howard, one of the people I've gotten to know well, asked me to meet with his friend Nancy and see how I could help her. So, we took a trip to her house to see what was what.

The picture below is of Nancy and her 3 year-old son standing in front of their house. It is about the size of my bathroom, if not slightly smaller. There's just enough room for a bed, a refrigerator and a chair. She absolutely hates living there - it is full of drugs and crime and she has to walk about 200 yards for water and over half a kilometer to the main road for a taxi. She pays R150 a month for the privilage of staying there, plus about R50-100 for electricity (she only has one lightbulb, a kettle and fridge, no TV or radio). She only took in her son recently - he stayed with her sister for some unknown reason. So, she also has to pay fees for a creche (day care) while she works. Or tries to work.

Nancy's job is selling newspapers. She is covering for someone's maternity leave, so she'll be done in March. She works on commission, bringing home anywhere from R0 to R25 a day for 11 hours' work (working the street at an intersection, in the blazing sun and high temperatures). Most days she spends more on taxi fare than she brings home. Nancy would really like to find something else, but without skills or an education her prospects are extremely limited.

We had a long conversation about what she wants to do about her situation. She is desperate to move out of Barcelona, or at least to a better location within the settlement. But, to do that she would need to pay "The Committee" about R1,000 to get a better plot. (As I understand it, even though Barcelona is an open area, meaning no one owns their plots, people must answer to an organizing committee if they want to move there, get a better shack or find a different plot. These people have no legal authority, but it's how the system works. Equal access to corruption, just one of the benefits of the new South African democracy.) So, she is wanting to look in Gugulethu or somewhere close by for an empty shack or a plot to put up a new one. She would also need money to buy a new or existing shack, plus some help with rent.

I agreed to help her with her plans, but only after she finds a spot to live. She will also need to figure out how she's going to pay her rent once I'm gone. She's now looking for the plot and I'm sure we'll talk again this coming week about the other issues.

Since she also had no food in the house, we went shopping. I'm continually amazed (even though I shouldn't be) with peoples' practical and honest nature when offered an blank check for food. We wandered the aisles of Pick 'N Pay and she picked out only the basics. I had to prompt her on some things I knew she needed but she didn't comfortable asking for (like toothpaste, soap, toilet paper, etc.). She also bought a couple things for her hair - it took her about 10 minutes because she was being judicious in her selections. After paying, it was back to Barcelona to unload and head home.

Later in the week I saw Nancy and Howard again. There's a game being played that I don't like. Nancy spent Thursday looking for a plot without success. She's going to keep trying, though. She needed to buy some electricity and a couple other items, so I arranged to give Howard some money on Friday. Which I did. Then Howard came back and asked for more, that Nancy had to buy shoes or something. I didn't have any reason to distrust him, so I gave him more. Friday evening I got a call from Nancy. "How much money did you give Howard?" she asked. When I told her, she said that she only got about 75% of it. So, now I need to ask Howard what's happening. I give him money regularly, so there's no reason for him to go behind my back. We'll see what's what on Monday.

The next big event last week was the two days I spent with people from Belfast, Ireland. Twelve people from Stormont came to Cape Town to follow up on some projects they're funding and look for new projects to support. It was a refreshing change from all of the other groups I've worked with. First, they weren't Americans, so they had a different view on political correctness and were willing to sit back and see how things developed. Second, they came from a place that had violent political (albeit religion-based) clashes. This gave them a different perspective on the battles during the Apartheid era and the violence that often erupted. Third, they were older, probably averaging in the 40s. This gave them a different world view and a more practical perspective on the solutions (or lack thereof) to all of the social problems facing South Africa.

I set up my normal "tour" schedule for them, which quickly grew as their interest and willingness to see the difficulties grew. Two especially stick out:
- we went to see a home for disabled children in Nyanga. Now, this is nothing like what you'd envision as a "home for disabled children." It's literally someone's house that's been outfitted to take care of 14 kids with mental and physical handicaps. Most of these kids live there full-time, and a couple go home at night. Most were abandoned on their doorstep - some parents dropped them off in the morning and said they'd come back after work. Which they didn't. The children are well cared for and loved, but they could definitely use more and better equipment and educational and stimulating toys.

It was a very emotional time for the Irish folks. I usually provide little commentary in advance so that I don't take away from anyone's experiences. So, they were a little unprepared for what they saw. It led to some great conversations about what it would take to make it better, as well as why these situations exist in the first place. They ended up donating some money to make improvements, which I'm starting on next week.

- We also had a chance to go to Indlovini ("elephant"), an informal settlement in Khayelitsha. JL Zwane has started to support a musician, Ongs, from there and Spiwo has gotten to know him very well. He thought it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the group, and he was right.

Ongs lives in a shack in the middle of a sand dune. His one-roomed house is made of wooden slats with cardboard on the inside for insulation. Looking at the cracks and gaps in the walls, I'm sure it is both hot in the summer and cold and wet in the winter. It also leans forward at a 5-10 degree angle, just enough to look like it's trying to leap out of the sand and run away. He does not have water or a toilet nearby (they're about 300 yards in front of his house) nor electricity.

Ongs is an amazing guitar player and blues singer. Last December he won the Nedbank Music Challenge, a national performance competition. He won a car, which he turned down because he wants money to buy a real house. This really confused the competition's producers - they hadn't considered that the winner wouldn't have a place to park his car, let alone a road to his house or even a driving license. Ongs is still hopeful that he'll get a cash prize - I have no doubt he will.

He usually performs with a friend, Wandile, who plays bass or rhythm guitar to Ongs' lead. Wandile lives in a house that doubles as a pub, complete with pool table. Ongs and Wandile recently received a financial gift to buy electric guitars, amps and cords. They keep them at Wandile's because they can't play them at Ongs' house. They've been practicing hard and hope to get a gig together in March. They will blow the roof off, I'm sure.

We all were treated to an impromptu concert at Ongs' house. I really wish I had had my camera to record it. It was one of the most surreal experiences I've had here - standing in the middle of a sand dune, in front of a broken-down shack, listening to a live performance of Chicago-style blues by two guys who've lived in poverty all their lives. Let BB King or Muddy Waters try that.

We also visited two schools during our tour. About half of the group were teachers, so I thought it might be interesting for them to compare a public school with a private school. Well, I cheated a little. We went to Mkhanyiseli Primary School, a public school where I know the principal and deputy principal (it's also the place I coach baseball). We got to visit the classrooms and see how well outfitted they are (this is a newer school and it is in great shape). We also spent a little time with the principal talking about her challenges and how well her students are doing.

Then we went to Stormont Madubela Primary, a private school. I've written about this school before. It's the one comprised of shipping containers, where two-thirds of the kids can't afford the R15 ($2) annual fee. (We had to go there when I heard the group's village was named Stormont.) We got there at lunchtime, so the adults got to spend a fair amount of time with the kids, playing ball and just talking. I have hope that the group will support some type of program for this school.

At the closing discussion on Tuesday, the group talked a bit about how God is present in the townships. He talked about where He is, and how people could consider Him to be a just God given all of the disparities people here live with each and every day. (There are plenty of examples even in the established churches here - the Presbyterians, for example, have failed to work out an equitable system of stipends for its African congregations. Pastors in these churches get one-fifth the amount the pastors of the white parishes. And no one within the Presbytery seems to think it's a problem.) The group's pastor, an Irishman who was raised in South Africa, said he sees God in the people who are trying to help. He said that regardless of what I think or say, I am a pastor to the people I interact with and that I'm here because of God's intervention. I just thought it was KLM who brought me. But I see his point. In this community, people see hope and salvation in anyone who comes to their aid, especially when it's unexpected and random. I guess that's me in many cases, so okay, I'm doing God's work for them. (Or to them, as they often say.)

It was also the start of baseball practice this week. I managed to get this photo of the kids after practice. They are holding gloves and bats - half of these came from a local sponsor and the rest came from my cousin Shannon and her husband Chris plus my aunt Coral and uncle Al. We now have nearly enough gloves for every kid and enough balls so that they can play catch in groups of 2-3 instead of 8-10. Maxwell, the teacher/coach, and I are really hoping we can play a short game next week so the kids can practice base running and just have fun. (By the way, it's hard to tell but they practice in a sand lot, literally an open patch of sand at their school. They all play barefoot so that they don't ruin their school shoes (these kids don't have extra pairs of Nikes at home). It was about 90 on Wednesday, and that sand must have been about 1000 degrees, but they didn't seem to care. Probably because they don't know any different.)

The rest of my week was spent at the clinic, which is back to normal from the holidays. There was a little drama in the pharmacy but it's nothing to address here. Ntombikayise asked when I was leaving and was surprised to hear that I have three weeks left. I think she's going to miss me, partly because it's much less hectic when I'm there (an extra body will do that). I'm not so sure about Tami.

More to come.

Power from the People

2008-02-02T07:51:00.000-05:00

First off, I'm happy to report that things are resolved with T-Mobile regarding my stolen cell phone. They turned out to be very reasonable and I am very satisfied with the result. It's good to see that companies can be responsive to their customers. I really did like their service and am happy to be able to stay with them. Now on to other things.

Marvin left for Botswana yesterday. He is taking his son to live with his brother, who is a lawyer in Gaberone. I don't know if or when Marvin expects to see his son again. It will be several months in any case. I just hope that his health improves and he can finally kick his TB infection. He still wants to get his printing business going but he will need to much healthier to do that.

Electricity has become a national emergency across South Africa. Eskom, the peristatal electricity company, is having major problems meeting the demand for power. This is mostly due to the fact that the government has not funded any new power stations since at least the early '90s, even though their own reports and commissions called for new plants as far back as 10 years ago. Since 1997, the population has grown to 48 million from 41 million, and industrial growth has been 6-10% per year but power producing capacity has not grown at all. Those figures, combined with scheduled and unscheduled maintenance, has left the country about 5,000 megawatt hours (or maybe gigawatt hours, whichever is largest) short of the demand.

Eskom's solution to the problem is to have scheduled blackouts nearly every day. These happen across the country. My area is subject to power outages from noon to 2:30pm and 8:00pm to 10:30pm daily. Others have morning times and some have late-night times. We've been fortunate in Sea Point that they have rarely been implemented. Other parts of town, though, especially the black and coloured areas, seem to have them 4-5 days a week. It creates utter chaos on the roads, because people haven't quite figured out how to handle non-working stoplights. They turn from semi-controlled intersections (since a lot of people run the reds anyway) to a free-for-all. It's almost as good as aerobic exercise – the heart beats really fast when you see trucks coming at you with no sign of stopping.

Industry is also being affected. The gold and other mines actually suspended operations for a couple days last week, losing over R60 million per day. Eskom has capped usage for all large companies and is only now allowing them to ramp up to only 80-90% of their previous peak demand. There is no indication of how long this will last or what the real impact will be to employment, government revenues and the economy as a whole (whatever it is, it won't be good).

Last night there was some kind of problem at a substation and most of Cape Town was without power for up to 7 hours (mine was out for 6) between 8:15 and 3:30. It was very eerie looking out my window and seeing Main Road dark. One benefit: I could see hundreds of stars that were normally hidden by the light pollution. It was actually pretty seeing them over the ocean. But, the restaurant owners certainly were not happy to be plunged into darkness with rooms full of people and food half-cooked.

Government officials are saying that South Africa will be subject to blackouts for the next 7 years. They are looking at all kinds of ways to alleviate the problem, from rate increases to subsidies on solar water heaters (hot water heaters being a major power use) to outright rationing. (One government minister said people should just go to bed earlier. Kind of tough in the winter when it gets dark at 5:00.) They are also discussing implementing multiple time zones so that peak times can be stretched out and demand lowered. The 2010 Soccer World Cup is also impacted, since presumably there won't be enough power for all of the games and the hundreds of thousands of tourists expected to attend. Of course, no one in government has lost their job from the debacle and the buck keeps getting passed from one person to another. President Mbeki did apologize last week for the problem but it seemed a bit hollow.

It's going to be very difficult this coming winter if the current outages continue. And, a very difficult next 10 years for the survival of the nation.

I also learned some new information on funeral traditions. This is one thing even Rev. Spiwo didn't know until recently. Apparently, it has to do with addressing the corpse before the funeral. Although most people in South Africa are Christian, many of the blacks still follow some of the traditional customs very closely. A large part of their customs are centered on ancestry and dealing with those who went before you. This includes curses and bad luck (“one of the ancestors must have done wrong and now I am suffering revenge” or “I was cursed and now one of the ancestors is harming me”). Spiwo was telling me that it is common for families to speak with the corpse before the funeral, especially if it is being moved across the country (like to the Eastern Cape). The family members will say something like:

“Brother, we are taking you home to rest. We hope you will not cause any trouble during the trip or while we bury you.”

Spiwo explained it's like straddling a line. If things work on the right side, keep on working with the right side. But if things stop working on the right side, fall back to the left side. Or, follow the right side but hedge your bets by leaning a little to the left side. Kind of reminds me of U.S. politics right now, at least what I see and hear on CNN.

It's now 30 days to d-day (departure day). Some people are starting to wonder aloud what they will do when I'm gone, especially those who see me regularly for food or transport money. I've also been making more “loans” lately, most of which will probably never be repaid (but that's okay). I hope to still have many more stories to tell, so stay tuned.

More to come.

Tough Decisions, No. 2

2008-01-26T11:10:00.000-05:00

Well, summer came this week. It's been hot most of the week, with temperatures in the 90s. Thankfully the humidity is relatively low, and we get some nice breezes. It does cool off at night (into the 60s) so sleeping is fine. Of course, none of the office at the Centre are air conditioned so it gets a little tough to work in the afternoon. Especially after lunch. They should have nap time just like we did in kindergarten. At least the clinic pharmacy is air conditioned, even if it is kept at igloo levels.

We had 12 students from Bethel University (Minneapolis) at the Centre this week. They spent two days learning about our programs and visiting children. The other two days they were out doing service projects, like working in a community garden or spending time at a home for disabled children. They also spent three nights in Gugulethu with people in our congregation. From all reports they had a great experience. It was fun to hear about their experiences and how they will take it home to family and friends.

They did have one difficult visit. Yvonne and I took them to meet and talk with children in three households. The first two, Priscilla's foster home and Noloyulo, went fine, as they usually do. Then we went to see Yolanda. She is the 18 year-old taking care of two siblings and a cousin. After exchanging hellos, I asked her to talk about her challenges. She took a breath and then the tears came. She only lost her mother six months ago and is still figuring out how to cope. Yvonne and I, having been through this a few times, let her cry and regain her composure. The Bethel students, though, didn't know what to do. They ended up sitting quietly, too. Yolanda left the room for a couple minutes to wipe her eyes and collect herself, and when she came back she was back to her old self. (We found out later that she had not passed 10^th grade last year and has to repeat it this year. That was adding to her stress, as it is a real possibility that she will not finish high school and be stuck in low-paying jobs, if she can even find one.)

We talked about this when we returned to the Centre. The students said it was very difficult to watch her cry and not know what to do. Their leader, Leon, asked what they would have done if that same scenario had happened at home. They agreed that they would have gotten up and hugged Yolanda and tried to take some of the pain away. When Leon asked why no one did that, people talked about not knowing if it was appropriate. It was interesting, in that we all set aside our normal ways of compassion and empathy even though we felt we should have done something. I think if it were to happen again the students would risk a cultural faux pas and give her a hug. I think I will, too.

I saw another difficult situation play out this week. Marvin, my friend who does the silk screening, has been diagnosed with TB for the third time. He started treatment last week and has been having some problems. Besides being weak from the TB and HIV, the new drugs have been causing him some side effects. He's not eating well and is having difficulty taking care of his house. The fact he has a 10 year-old son staying with him makes it worse, because he can't handle the cooking and washing and schoolwork.

Marvin has a brother in Botswana, a lawyer who has a good job. He has offered to take Marvin's son for an unlimited time so that Marvin can get healthy and try to get his business back on track. The decision has really torn at him – he wants to take care of his son very much but knows that the boy's quality of life will really suffer for the next several months. So, Marvin decided to take his brother's offer. He'll be taking his son to Botswana next week. I haven't asked his son how he feels. Chances are, he won't say too much. Kids get moved around a lot here as people get or lose jobs, get sick or healthy. (I also just found out that Ntombikayise, our technician in the pharmacy, took her 18 month-old boy to live with her sister in the Eastern Cape. She misses him a lot but she didn't have a choice because of the costs and lack of child care if he's sick. She is hoping to bring him back in March but there's no guarantee of that.)

I really feel for Marvin. But, he thinks it's the best decision for his son and I tend to agree. Marvin will need at least a couple months to regain his strength and he'll have a hard enough time caring just for himself. Hopefully they can be reunited again very soon.

More to come. (And five more weeks to go...)

Fluffy the puppy, RIP

2008-01-18T06:49:00.000-05:00

I got word late yesterday that Fluffy did not survive his accident. The man who hit him took him to the vet yesterday. The vet said the operation to fix his foot would cost R1,500 and he would still have a problem walking. Lydia could not afford that. So, Fluffy died a few hours later.

The man who hit Fluffy told Lydia that he will buy her another dog. I don't know if that will really happen or not. If it does, hopefully they will tie this one in the yard.

More to come.

Tony Zappa, Veterinarian

2008-01-16T13:29:00.000-05:00

It's been a very busy, physically exhausting week at the Centre. As I mentioned before, we have 12 students from the University of St. Thomas with us. They came last week for 2 days and were back this week for 3 days. They have been a real treat, some of the most mature college students I've met. They were all hand-selected for the trip, so we got the cream of the crop and it shows. They've spent 3 nights in Gugulethu, staying in the homes of 6 JL Zwane parisioners. It's worked out to be a great experience for both sides. They've been sharing meals and stories, learning about real, everyday life in the townships and America. I'm a little jealous that I haven't done that.

One of the things these students did was raise money for a special food parcel drive. They raised $8,000 with the plan to feed 200 families. So, yesterday we spent the full day making this happen. We started the day at Makro, basically watching the cashier check out our items. Makro did a great job this time - they had everything pulled for us and on carts, ready to wheel out the door. About an hour and R42,000 later we were ready to go.

Too bad the truck wasn't.

I just don't understand how truck companies survive here. I set an appointment for 10:00 and confirmed it again on Monday. Apparently, our driver showed up at 8:45. He couldn't find us (since Makro didn't open until 9:00 and we weren't there yet!) so he decided to take someone else's order. When it came time for our delivery, there was no truck to be found. I called the company owner, and it was the same old song and dance as in December. "We'll be there just now" (translated: we're a couple minutes away) was the mantra of the morning. Unfortunately, it took 90 minutes of "just now" before our truck arrived. I was a little smarter this time and built in a time buffer, but it still would have been great to have that time back. At least this guy knew how to quickly load a truck. We had everything on board in less than 30 minutes and were on our way.

Back at the Centre, it was controlled chaos as usual. We did the usual fire brigade to offload, and it was fun to watch young adults who had never thrown a bag of flour figure out how to do it without killing themselves. Siyaya and other staff helped fill the buckets, and we were done in record time. We ended up making 180 parcels, due to some hidden costs and exchange rate hedging.

After a good lunch it was distribution time. Unlike December's program, this one was focused on people in the hospice program and a special list of "grannies" that Spiwo developed. The grannies are home-bound women who are still raising children and grandchildren, many of who are struggling with HIV/AIDS. Also different was that fact that no one came to get their parcels. We had to deliver every one. In the end it was good, though, because the students were able to ride along and meet many more people and see many more homes than I originally planned. They all came back with a good perspective of what reality is like for people in Gugulethu, but also how little it takes for people to survive, and quite happily with gratitude, at that.

My muscles were really creaking this morning, even more than in December. I didn't feel so bad, though, when I saw the bigger 20 year-old guys walking slowly and stiffly. We all agreed that the Centre should have a masseuse on call for parcel days.

The students head back to Minnesota on Saturday. I hope they can all come again and spend more time.

I had a sad experience this afternoon. I took a food parcel to Lydia. She is really struggling, partly because last month about 6 or 7 of her family moved into her mother's house unexpectedly. They now have about 10 people there, and no one is working. They are trying to survive on an old age pension and a couple child-care grants. Needless to say, it's not a happy situation. But that's not the sad event of today.

Lydia got a puppy for Christmas. I don't know the breed, but it will grow to the size and look of a small beige German Shepherd. I'm not sure if it's officially hers or Neo's (her son). But, Fluffy is a welcome addition to the family and they've already fallen in love with it. Today the dog was playing outside, unleashed of course, and it ran in front of a car. Fortunately, the car was able to brake in time. Unfortunately, the puppy's back left paw got caught under a tire. All of the skin and muscle on the top of the foot is gone, and from around the ankle as well. It looks really bad.

There are no emergency vets here, so Lydia asked me to look at it. When she took the bandages off, my first thought was that foot needed to come off. The tendons and ankle bone are clearly visible, and the skin around the toes is gone. The foot was still sandy and dirty, and infection is a real possibility. I told her that I didn't think the puppy had a good chance, but if we could clean and dress the wound it might help until she can get to a vet tomorrow morning. About this time the man who hit Fluffy came back to the house. He had been to a pharmacy and bought some medical soap, antibiotic ointment and a bandage. So, we took Fluffy outside and carefully cleaned out his foot. I cleaned, he screamed. It was very sad. I got out as much sand as I could, and then proceeded to lather on the ointment. It smelled disgusting, so it must be good (how's that for a pharmacist's recommendation?). I wrapped it as best I could, trying to keep the skin flaps together and covering the open spots. At one point I considered putting in some stitches, but Lydia didn't have a needle and thread. That was probably a good thing, for both Fluffy and me.

The man is going to take Fluffy to the vet in the morning. I hope he's still alive and that the foot can be saved. I have a bad feeling, though, and if there's any chance of a bad result it would be best to put it down now. A crippled dog would not fare well in the rough and tumble world of township canines.

There are two somewhat remarkable things about this situation, to me:
1. How one hurt dog can raise emotions that become buried after seeing despair every single day. I'm embarrassed to say that I haven't felt that much sadness in quite a while, even though I see and talk to people in sad and dire situations all the time. Maybe it's because Fluffy didn't have way to help itself and was totally reliant on us humans to survive. Maybe it's because Fluffy is barely three months old and totally innocent to the ways of the world. Maybe it's because I've been here too long and stopped really seeing the despair and innocence in people's eyes. It's shaken me up a little, and I'll have to come to grips with that.

2. How people living in the most desperate of situations can still have the capacity to love and care for a pet. These are people who often don't know where their next meal will come from, yet they take a portion to feed their dogs and cats. And no, we shouldn't deny them the opportunity to pass their love and caring onto an animal if they so choose. It may be difficult, but the unconditional love and affection they get in return may be the only comfort they receive all day.

More to come.

Back to Normal

2008-01-12T10:50:00.000-05:00

Well, after the events of last week I'm happy to say this week was fairly normal. The T-Mobile saga is still continuing, with additional international roaming charges still showing up (I guess there's a delay because of how networks bill each other. And they're supposed to be technology companies?). But, we're moving on.

Of course, by normal I mean that the poverty and illnesses still continue. I spoke with two people yesterday, two I'm fairly close to (and won't name for confidentiality reasons), and they are both battling significant diseases on top of their HIV/AIDS. One is dealing with breast cancer and is due to have surgery on Monday next week (14 January). She's lost some weight since I saw her before Christmas, and she's feeling very run-down. She's very worried for her children, who have their own challenges. I'm hoping she comes through the surgery well and gets good news on the tumor.

The second person just found out that he has TB. For the third time. He looks very thin and weak, which would be expected since he hasn't really eaten in several days. He should get the results of sensitivity tests next week to show which medications will be needed. I'm hoping he can take the basic regimen again, because it's only 6 months long. If he ends up with drug-resistant TB it will be at least 9 months, and could be as long as 12. He's also worried about his son, a bright 10 year-old. He asked if I thought his son should go to stay with his mother (the child's grandmother - his mother died from HIV a few years ago) for a month or two so that he can get stronger. I really didn't have a good answer - sure, it would be good, but sending the boy to a different part of town where he doesn't know anyone could create all kinds of new problems. I've learned the law of unintended consequences is multiplied in Gugulethu, and it's very, very hard to predict what could result from seemingly simple decisions.

I've also had to reopen the bank over the past couple days. It seems people have been waiting for me, including my pal Maxwell (from the hospice). I don't mind, really, it's just that some folks have come to depend on me to a level I'm uncomfortable with. I honestly don't know what they'll do when I'm gone for good - if you believe their stories they will not have food or clothes for days to weeks at a time. I know that's an exaggeration, and that people will survive just like they did before I came. But it is stopping some people and making them think.

The Centre has been hosting some students from the University of St. Thomas (Minneapolis) this week. They are spending two weeks in Cape Town as part of a theology class. Their objectives are to study how God exists in South Africa, how people have dealt with religious issues during and after apartheid and how AIDS has impacted the work of the Church. Their days run from 8am to 8pm or later, with all kinds of reading and movies and lectures. I'm very glad I'm not in the class! They spent two days around the Centre learning what we do and hearing Spiwo's thoughts on "Where is God" in the context of the townships and South Africa's history. (Actually, he spoke more about "Who is God." This seems to be the basis for many of the world's disagreements these days. I have to admit wrestling with this question myself on many occasions, and I still haven't found an answer.) The students also saw the clinic and spent some time touring the township. Next week they stay with township families for three days, which should give them a unique perspective on real life here. They also raised money for food parcels, so we're having another food parcel day on Tuesday. Let's hope we don't have any truck issues this time!

The clinic is slowly starting to get busy with people returning from holiday. Most people returned last weekend and the rest will probably come back this weekend. So far it's been okay, and I'm hoping this coming week won;t be too out-of-control.

More to come.

I'm Baaaack!

2008-01-04T12:19:00.000-05:00

Boy, was that a fast two weeks! I had a great time at home, even if it did snow every other day the whole time. I shoveled more snow in two weeks than I did all of last year. Okay, maybe not, but it sure felt like it. The cool weather was a refreshing change from summer heat - I'm not sure which is worse, an unheated apartment in the winter or an uncooled one in the summer. My wife recognized me at the airport, which was a good sign (my hair was a bit longer than usual, but that didn't seem to matter). The dogs weren't sure what to make of me for the first couple days, but they eventually settled into the old routines of tug-o-war and treats.

Re-entry into America wasn't as bad this time as it was when we moved back from Johannesburg. I don't think I was gone long enough. It is amazing, though, at just how many options we have for food, clothes, and a whole lot of stuff we buy but don't really need. I walked through the malls with new eyes, regularly saying to myself "That looks nice but I don't need it." That's a big change for me - in the past if I saw a nice shirt, I'd buy it. Even if I had one kinda like it already. Now I just think I'll wear the old one and move on.

At the grocery store, it was almost paralyzing at times. I'm used to having just a few yoghurt choices. I must have stood in Cub's dairy aisle for five minutes trying to pick from the 30 brands they have. Fruit on top or on the bottom? Fat free, low fat, or regular? Low calorie or with sugar? Custard-style or normal? Yikes!

I did some price comparisons on clothes and food. South Africa is actually cheaper on most basic items, which surprised me. For example, coloured t-shirts: they were $5 at Target and are only $3.50 at Woolworths (the upscale store). I can get them for under $3 elsewhere if I bother to look around. The same is true for slacks, shirts, and non-name brand items (Levis are outrageously expensive, but store brands aren't). Most food items are cheaper here, including milk, bread, meat, and most canned goods. Of course, non-commodity items are much cheaper in the U.S. Electronics, books, and cars are all much cheaper. And the U.S. stores have broader selections than South Africa, with higher quality. The biggest economic difference is salaries, which are 1/3 to 1/2 the amount here. So, even with the low cost of basic items, it's an expensive place to live if paid locally in Rand.

I spent a couple hours at the Centre today catching up on some e-mails and getting the new gossip. Not much had happened while I was gone, except one key passing. Mama Bopape's husband, who was struggling with a whole host of conditions including diabetes, high blood pressure and TB, apparently had a stroke and died on December 26th. He had been having a very difficult time with his health since about June 2007. I visited him in August and he was pretty weak and very thin. In November he had a spell of very low blood sugar and was hospitalized for a couple days. I saw him not long before I left and he was doing much better. We had a nice conversation, and he seemed to be more mobile than in the past few months. I spoke with Mama Nqo today and she said he was continuing to improve, but suddenly changed just before Christmas and never recovered. To add insult to injury, his sister also died last week (on the 31st), very unexpectedly although she had had HIV for a long time. Needless to say, there was a lot of sadness in the house. Funeral services are tomorrow and I expect there will be a lot of crying.

I also had a little excitement when I got back to my apartment. A friend from Minneapolis and his partner had been using the second bedroom in my apartment while I was away, starting about 4 days after I left. When I got back, I was surprised to see my bedroom in disarray. The closets were open, clothes were all over the floor, and items had been taken off my bookcase. When I asked my friend if he saw that, he said "Yes, and I thought it was a little funny. But, we thought that maybe you left in a hurry and didn't pick it up."

As you've no doubt guessed, I had a burglary. They must have had keys, as there were no signs of forced entry and the windows were all closed and locked from the inside. How they would have had keys I don't know, since I had both sets with me in Minneapolis. And my keys rarely left my pocket while I was here, except when I'd occasionally leave them in my backpack at the Centre (and no one could see them). It's possible someone took them and had copies made, but I think it's more likely that a previous tenant's keys got swiped or copied or that the security guards had a set. I did a quick inventory, and except for R1000 and my GPS device, nothing else appeared to be missing. I got away lucky.

Or so I thought.

Today, Cindy called me to say our cell phone account had been put on hold because the balance was extremely high. Like $7,100 high. She asked if I had my US cell phone, which I did because I used it while I was in Minneapolis. But, I forgot about my Blackberry (for those of you not up on technology, it's a small device you use to get e-mail when away from home, and it can also act as a cell phone). Sure enough, it's gone. In the two weeks I was away, someone made over 78 hours of cell phone calls from my Blackberry, each one at about $1.50 a minute. That's over 3 full days of phone calls. I managed to get some of it discounted, but it was still an expensive lesson.

A word to the wise: check your cell phone contract for you liability if your phone is lost or stolen. T-Mobile told me today that the customer is liable as long as the phone is not reported missing. Being 10,000 miles away from your phone for two weeks is no excuse. If you go away and don't take your phone, leave it with a friend or take the SIM card out of it so it's unusable.

It really could have been worse. If they truly had keys, they could have come when I was sleeping or any day when I was working. They didn't get my computer (I took it home with me), and they didn't steal the TV, stereo, DVD player, or a number of small items I had. Heck, they could have come back on several different days and cleaned out everything. When Cindy and I lived in Johannesburg we'd hear about whole houses being emptied, including carpets and curtains and woodwork. I now have new locks and no one else has keys, so I feel pretty safe and secure.

I have some busy days coming up. I know Yvonne is looking forward to having me back, so there should be some good stories there. There are two college groups coming in January, one from the University of St. Thomas and another from Bethel University (both, coincidentally, from the Twin Cities). And, a third group is coming in early February, this one from Belfast. All that plus covering at least one week's vacation for Tami at the clinic in addition to my normal schedule. My last two months (8 1/2 weeks but who's counting?) should go very fast.

More to come.

Meat, Meat and More Meat

2007-12-15T02:38:00.000-05:00

It's holiday time, which means everyone is having year-end parties. That's meant big lunches or dinners, just like in the US. The biggest difference, though, is on what's served. I haven't had a single Christmas cookie yet, but I've had more meat in the past week than I've had in the previous six months.

Meat is somewhat of a luxury for many people in the townships. It's not overly expensive, but when you don't have money for basic necessities meat is seen as a once-in-a-while food. Most families are lucky to have meat once or twice a week, and then it's mostly chicken. The grocery stores in the townships have huge freezer cases of frozen chicken, usually in 2 kg "braai packs." That's 4 1/2 pounds of chicken cut up into pieces for grilling or frying. They cost about R25 ($3.50), so it's affordable for many people, at least once a week. You can also buy live chickens on the side of the road, or freshly killed chickens at the local open markets for between R20 ($3) and R40 ($6), depending on size.

Grocery stores do not sell much red meat. They will have some basic cuts, like chops or ribs, and sausages and boerwors (thin sausages usually made of beef - boerwor translates to farmer sausage). Beef, pork and lamb/mutton all cost about the same, roughly R15-20 ($2-3) a pound for basic cuts and R25 ($3.50) a pound for better cuts.

You can also buy unexpected items that probably wouldn't sell well in Minneapolis. Packages of chicken necks are a big seller, and the Centre serves them quite often to the support group people. (I remember eating these as a kid - it took a lot of work to get the meat off but it was tasty.) The most bizarre is packaged chicken skin. I was told it makes great soup stock, which I can understand. It just looks very odd when you see it in the store.

Because meat is pricey compared to staple items, it's a big hit when served at year-end parties. I went to three parties this week - the Nyanga centre went out on Monday, the Centre had a closing lunch on Wednesday, and the clinic had its year-end lunch on Thursday. At each party we had a mix of small steaks, pork chops, and chicken, along with regular sausage and boerwors. The Nyanga group went to a local butchery called Mzoli's where you pick the meat you want and then have it grilled on site. They have a couple tables inside, but most people sit in a tent at the side of the building. It's quite a meeting place. Apparently, if you want to be seen in Guguletu it's the place to be. The meat is served in a big pile on a tray, and you just reach in and grab what you want (literally - Xhosa people traditionally eat most things with their hands. Yvonne told me once that they don't feel satisfied unless they personally handle their food. I've had a good laugh on a couple occasions when everyone around me has just a spoon to eat with and I'm diplomatically given a fork and knife). You can bring salads or other accompaniments. You can also bring your own drinks, alcoholic or otherwise. Guys will back their cars up against the tent and crank up the music, so it's definitely like a big party.

(In the first picture, Yvonne is the woman with her back to you. Next to her is her friend Kathy. Nomandla is the woman partially hidden behind Yvonne. In the second picture, from left to right is Charlie, Buyo, and Johanna. Nomandla, Charlie, Buyo and Johanna work at the Nyanga centre, now called Mercy Ministries. The tray in the middle of the table was a big pile of meat just 10 minutes earlier.)

At the Centre's lunch, it was similar. Spiwo bought the meat at a butchery just up the street and had them grill it and deliver it. The cooks made stiff pap (like polenta) and a nice tomato sauce for on top. Most of the staff were there, including all of Siyaya. I haven't seen people eat like that since college (oh, to be that young again!). It looked like a lot of food at the start but there wasn't a crumb left at the end.

The clinic's lunch was more sedate. We ate in the conference room, with tablecloths and decorations. The women all brought different salads, and someone brought a good lasagna. Of course, the big draw was the grilled meat, which went fast. I'm learning quickly that you have to get in early if you want to be assured of getting something.

Besides parties, I saw Mogise this week. I brought him an Open Arms parcel since he didn't show up to get one. He's been diagnosed with TB (which everyone suspected), but still hasn't received his CD4 count. It's the same old story of the clinic losing his paperwork and not treating him well. The good news is that he can get a social grant, if he can first get his ID papers sorted out. He needs to go to Social Services to do that but hasn't gone. I hope he can do that in the next week so that he can get the money he needs. And, that he'll get started on treatment so he can get better. I'd like to see him still alive when I leave in two months.

On a personal note, it's two days and counting before I head home for Christmas. I'll be away for about two weeks and am really looking forward to being with my wife and family. It will be very interesting to see if my dogs remember me. I know Abby's taken my spot on the bed, so she's due for a rude awakening on Tuesday night. And, I hope I can remember how to drive on the left and to stop at stop signs again. Yikes!

More to come.

Ready for a Break

2007-12-08T10:34:00.000-05:00

To those of you who were wondering, yes, I'm still here. I haven't posted anything in about 2 1/2 weeks, not because there's nothing happening but because I was lazy. So, here's a short recap of what's been happening since the last posting.

1. Mogise
Things came to a head two weeks ago when Mogise called me to come to his house. I decided I had to formally close the relationship, so I agreed to meet him later that morning. I took Johanna with me to help translate if necessary. When we arrived, all of the family was there, including his aunt (his mother's sister). There was a long discussion in Xhosa between Johanna and the family first, at which point she was accused of telling me to stop supporting them. Then the aunt said God had led her to the house that day, that something was wrong and she needed to be there. She thanked me for what I had done and with great subtlety suggested I needed to continue. (The skeptic in me said Mogise called her after I told him I would come. She has not been to the house within the past 6 months that I know of, even after Mogise took Johanne and me to her house a couple months ago. And, it was pouring down rain that morning, so I don't think she would have normally picked that day to walk over a mile to Mogise's house.) Mogise then asked for some time alone with me to "explain things." I agreed, and everyone stepped out while we chatted.

He started by saying he knew that I had spent a lot of money on them, and that he knew it was more than I expected. Before he could go on with the stories, I stopped him and told him directly why I was moving on. I explained that he and his family had taken advantage of my generosity (with my tacit approval, of course - I know I helped create the problem), that he had lied to me on several occasions, including the last time I saw him when I gave him R50 for transport to Nyanga and back and the very next day he claimed he didn't have any money. I asked him where their money went - they are not paying their rent, I bought most (if not all) of their food and paid for their electricity and paraffin, and the brother is working but they never seem to have money. He couldn't tell me. I said I was disappointed that he had not followed through on our agreement that he would go to the clinic and get his HIV and TB sorted out and get his social grant application submitted. And, I closed by saying that I thought they needed to take back responsibility for their situation and not depend on me or anyone else to bail them out whenever they needed something (like food, electricity, bail, drain cleaning, clothes, blankets, or anything else).

I did make clear that I was speaking only personally. I explained that he could still come to the Centre, join the support group, get a daily meal, and be on the list for food parcels. I can't take that away from him and it would be wrong to do so.

I haven't seen or heard from Mogise or his family since that day almost three weeks ago. He has not come to the Centre, even though we've had two parcels since then. I will probably bring him one of the big parcels this coming week because he should have gotten one (and probably didn't know about it because neither he nor his family are using the Centre). If there's more to report, I'll do it in the next posting.

(Spiwo and I had an interesting discussion about this last week. I mentioned that I was having a hard time supporting people who, although challenged, didn't take responsibility for improving their situation even though they had the means to do so. He told me that we should talk about my definition of "means" and how I think it applies here. We moved onto a different topic before we could do that, but his comment forced me to go back and re-examine my perceptions and biases around who deserves help and who doesn't. I'm still not 100% ready to define my position, so I'll hold that to another posting. But it raises a question for all of us: Who would we help if given the chance, and, more importantly, who wouldn't we help?)

2. Yolanda
Yolanda is the 17 year-old girl raising her three siblings along with a cousin. Yvonne and I brought them another food parcel two weeks ago. It was amazing to see how her attitude has changed. She was smiling, if not happy, and didn't seem to have a care in the world. (Which is untrue, but she was hiding it very well.) We chatted for a few minutes and then left, Yvonne and I more encouraged that she'll make it through her challenges.

3. Loniso (whose name is really Wandiso, I think - the accents are tough sometimes)
Wandiso is the 14 year-old living in a shack in Phillipi. He comes to church every Sunday so I seem him regularly. I usually end up taking him home from church, so we've had a chance to talk a bit. I am very impressed by his maturity and smarts. He is the most down-to-earth kid I've met here, and if you didn't know it you'd swear he came from a stable, non-impoverished family. Of course, that's anything but the truth.

Last week when he came to church he told Johanna and I the latest twist in his family story. His mother had left town the week before to find work (I knew that, since I met her in Phillipi that day, along with Wandiso's great aunt. They seemed like nice people at the time). He had been on his own for the week, until Saturday came. His great aunt showed up with a "gentleman friend" and told Wandiso to find another place to sleep that night. He told us the "boyfriend" actually took him to his place to stay with his roommate, another grown man. Wandiso did stay there, even though he didn't know the guy. He was very worried that he would lose his shack to his great aunt and have no place to stay. (Johanna thinks, and I agree, that the great aunt sees that there's now food in the house and she wants to take over. Even if it means that the boy is cast out to fend for himself.)

Johanna and I took Wandiso home to check on things. The great aunt had left, and it was unclear if she'd be back. Johanna spoke to the neighbor and asked if she would take him in just in case he was kicked out that night again. She agreed, and we felt better that he wouldn't be placed with a complete stranger again. Wandiso was to report if anything bad happened.

We saw him again after the food parcel distribution (see below) and the aunt had not been back since the weekend. Johanna thought she'd probably returned to her shack so that she wouldn't have to watch over the boy and to keep her "freedom." Time will tell.

4. Food parcels
This week was Open Arms' big food parcel distribution in honor of World AIDS Day and the upcoming Festive Season. (You don't see or hear "Merry Christmas" here because of all the religions practiced in Cape Town. Besides the Christians, there are Muslims, Hindu, Jewish, and probably others. So, people and businesses opt for the non-specific "Happy Festive Season." Political correctness wins out every time. Although I did see Father Christmas sitting for photos in the mall today. Thank God for capitalism.) These parcels are paid for by contributions from Open Arms' supporters and volunteers. It was a rousing success, albeit with a little drama mixed in.

We did the distribution on Tuesday 4 December. At the start of the day, everything was going according to plan. Kent, Open Arms' program director and his partner David came down to coordinate things. We'd already gotten the buckets and bags for the 300 parcels, and Kent and David had been to Makro (a warehouse store like Costco or Sam's Club) to make sure our order was being prepared correctly. So, it was All Systems Go at 9:00.

As with past distributions, the big unknowns are Makro's preparedness and transportation. The process at Makro went very smoothly and all of the food (over 9000 kilograms, or better than 10 tons!) was checked out and ready for loading by about 10:30. We had plenty of help, so it all came down to: The Truck.

We hired a guy from Guguletu who had a huge flat-bed truck. He was a little late, but he made it by the time we were ready to load so it wasn't a problem. We got everything on the truck fine, and by 11:15 we were ready to head to the Centre. That's when David noticed a flattened left rear tire. It looked okay, although the tires were in pretty rough shape to start with. I thought it would be okay, and others agreed, so off we went. I headed back to the Centre to get the buckets and bags set up while Kent and David went with the truck.

About halfway back to the Centre, I got the phone call. "The outside tire's come off and the inside tire is gone, too." The truck was parked on the side of a back road, with 10 tons of food and 300 frozen chickens in the blazing sun (did I mention it was 85 degrees?). We had no back-up truck, no pick-ups we could call to do shuttle loads, nothing. It looked bad. Frantic calls were made between about 6 different people to cobble together a plan. We went back to Makro and asked them for the names of some local truck drivers. Fortunately, they had a guy they often worked with, Anthony. Spiwo called and he agreed to send two trucks to help us out. Day saved.

Not so fast. The trucks didn't come and didn't come. Every time Spiwo or I called Anthony told us exactly what we wanted to hear. "Just 10 more minutes and we'll be there." Of course, 10 minutes turned in to 2 hours by the time the trucks actually appeared. It was now about 2:00 and we were supposed to start handing out parcels at 3:00. I knew we had at least 2 hours' of work off-loading the trucks and assembling the parcels, which meant starting the distributions closer to 5:00. It looked like a long night.

Then a great thing happened. We had about 25 people at the Centre when the trucks arrived, including all of Siyaya, some of the support group members, and friends and family members. Everyone took a position and away we went. We off-loaded the trucks with a fire brigade line, throwing bags of flour and mealie meal across the room to where the buckets were staged. We put everything else on the church stage and people made teams to take the items to the buckets. Everyone picked an item so there wouldn't be any confusion and nothing got missed. It looked like absolute chaos with so many people wandering around the space. But it was friendly and upbeat, and in the end every bucket was filled with no mistakes.

We started handing out the parcels at about 4:30. We had about 8 lists of people totaling more than 300 people, so we knew some people would miss out. We went through the support group, Yvonne's orphans, and most of the hospice patients. We also gave a parcel to the Centre staff, as well as members of the church congregation known to be in really dire need. When everything was done, we had about 5 extra parcels to set aside for people we missed. We locked the doors at 6:30 and went home, exhausted but very happy.

I'd like to thank a few people who were instrumental to the process: Kent and David, Xolani Gwangwa and his nephews and cousins, Spiwo and Zethu, Nomosizi (from the hospice), all of Siyaya, Johanna, Yvonne, Linda Helfet, and the other folks whose names I didn't get on the day. We couldn't have done it without you.

(By the way, Open Arms will be doing another food parcel distribution in April around the Easter holiday. If you want to sponsor a parcel, go to www.openarmsmn.org to learn more. Each parcel is $40 and I can guarantee you'll buy more than just food with it. You'll be buying hope for a family in real need.)

5. My brother's visit
My brother Jim came down for 5 days last week. Yes, it's a long way to come for 5 days but he's a bit crazy that way. We had a great time touring the countryside and working in the townships. We did the winelands, Cape Point, the penguins, the aquarium, the craft market, and too much food in the first three days. We came to the Centre with me on Monday and was able to interact with some of the staff, including the group at Nyanga. We also visited a couple homes so he could get a first-hand look at how people were living.

On Tuesday (food parcel day) he helped load the truck. When all of the food had to be moved from the broken-down truck to the new ones, he stayed to help do that. He then got to ride on the back of the truck as it went to the Centre. He told me afterwards that the driver got lost and they ended up in a not-so-nice part of Guguletu before someone showed them the right way to go. He then was with me as we assembled the parcels and gave them out.

He got to see a lot of things in 5 days, some unplanned. I hope he'll come back someday doing what most white South African's haven't done: meeting and learning from people who have great stories to tell.

Other than that, it's been a pretty typical couple weeks. I'm getting ready to head back home for Christmas and then for the last two months here. I'm excited to see my family and friends, but not so excited for the cold and snow (Minneapolis has actually had a normal winter so far instead of warm and dry days of the past few years. As I write this it's 1 degree there and 80 here. Yikes!). I'm starting to take orders from people at the Centre, so I expect to take full suitcases back with me.

Oh, and I can't forget that it was World AIDS Day last weekend (1 December). HIV/AIDS is still a major health crisis in the world. While South Africa has the highest percentage of cases (about 12% of the total population, and as high as 30% in some of the townships), India has the greatest number of people infected at nearly 6 million. China, Eastern Europe and Russia are also problem spots with high growth rates expected over the next several years. Most people who would benefit from treatment don't get it, either because they don't know how sick they are, don't know they're infected, or don't want to start treatment. Education and prevention are still the two things that will reverse the trends, and knowing your status is key to not spreading it. If you don't know your status, go find out. If you don't know how or where to go, ask your doctor, pharmacist, nurse, or local health department. If you need more information on the virus and how to protect yourself, call your local health department or an AIDS hotline in your area. It is up to all of us to solve this problem, for our sakes and our children's future.

More to come.

(One aside: it's been a strange night in Sea Point. First, there was a motorcycle parade, complete with cops on bikes. Now, a bagpipe group is marching past. Now all we need are the clowns.)

All Along the Watchtower

2007-11-22T12:42:00.000-05:00

This was so funny (odd, not ha ha) that I had to write about it before I forgot it.

Yvonne and I were delivering food parcels with two people from Minneapolis today. Aaron is a lecturer at the University of Minnesota. He is bringing some students here next May and is here doing some scouting for people to participate in his class discussions. Rebecca, his friend and a teacher, came along to see Cape Town and the townships to bring back stories for her sixth grade class. We went to the first house, the aunt of Shepherd and Loyiso (the two boys who are living on their own in Barcelona). We walked in and this scene immediately greeted us: Three women sitting quietly on their couches, listening while two young white men in white shirts and dark ties talked with them. Yes, the Mormons are in Guguletu. The four of us were quite shocked, as were the two guys. The auntie talked to Yvonne in isiXhosa, saying she was very confused and didn't know what was happening with these guys. She almost pleaded for us to stay, but Yvonne politely gave our regards and we quickly left.

It was a very surreal moment. I knew that Mormon missionaries came to South Africa, but I never expected to see them in the townships. That was pretty stupid of me since the majority of South Africans live in townships or rural areas. I feel a little bad that we didn't stop to say hello to our fellow countrymen (they didn't utter a sound while we were there, and we just basically dropped the food parcels and left). It might have been nice to see where they're staying and catch up on news from home. If they're around, though, chances are I'll see them again somewhere.

I also had another run-in with the man who won't take no for an answer. Today he brought his grandfather to the Centre. He wanted his grandfather to explain how bad things were at home because I wouldn't listen to him. He also wanted me to give money to his grandfather, as if I thought it wouldn't just be given to him when they left. I explained again how I understood their situation, that I knew they were struggling. I also told them, again, that I was focusing my efforts on people who did not have any income, didn't have any adults to help them, and didn't have any way to support themselves: Children and orphans. I told them I knew they had some income (his mother gets an old-age pension and his wife is working part-time) so things were better for them than for many others. I explained that I have dropped support for other people so that I could help more children. At one point, Sylvia, a woman who volunteers at the Centre and who knows a lot of the people in the area, interrupted us and told him that he didn't need any help because his wife works and he should stop bothering me. He didn't like that very much but he couldn't deny it.

When he continued to press me, I got a little angry. I told him the answer was no and I didn't expect to see him again asking for money. The requests got smaller and smaller (R200 to R100 to R50 to R20), until I said I had work to do and got up and left them. They then left, again unhappy and empty-handed.

I don't know how to handle the situation any differently. He has been called out by both Yvonne and Sylvia, and I've explained my position at least three times. I truly feel bad for him and his family, but they have means to live where many others don't. As the amounts got smaller, I saw that some of his pleading was to keep his dignity intact, that as the (presumed) head of the household he was trying to look good by bringing money home. I didn't think I could let that sway me or there'd be no end to the requests. I also feel bad for judging him, but I'm fairly certain that a portion of whatever I was to give him would go towards alcohol, which doesn't help his situation any. I'm sticking to my guns with this one. And watching my back as I go.

(Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. Since there is no turkey to found in South Africa, I had to settle for half a BBQ chicken from the grocery store. Not even close to the same effect.)

More to come.

Living the Dash

2007-11-20T13:58:00.000-05:00

It's been a relatively slow and unexciting week. I say relatively, because it was filled with things that were very new and different just 8 months ago but are now so commonplace as to be almost boring. I know, it's very strange typing that let alone thinking it.

Yvonne and I met a new child-headed household last week. We "found" them after two women came to the Centre to report them. These women live across the street from the kids' house and often give them small amounts of food, whatever they can afford that day. They knew that they couldn't carry on like that, so they came to us to get help.

There are four children in the house. The head, Yolanda, is a 17 year-old girl in grade 11. She has a 14 year-old sister and an 8 year-old brother. There's also an 8 year-old boy who is their cousin - his mother is their 31 year-old sister. Their mother died from HIV last year, and the 31 year-old sister left home about 7 years ago and has not been back (her son has lived with the grandmother, the other kids' mother, almost since birth). Yvonne, Johanna and I went to the house to see their situation and find out what they needed. We had to wait a few minutes while Yolanda was located. When she came in, she started out smiling but within seconds was sobbing, saying that she couldn't take the pressure anymore. She was thinking about leaving or committing suicide, it was so much. Johanna did a great job of soothing her and listening, giving her hope and encouragement that things were going to get better.

Yolanda helped make a list of items they needed. Besides food (they had almost nothing in the house), there were things like washcloths (they all shared one), deodorant (sharing), soap (sharing), toothpaste, toothbrushes, you name it. It was probably the most I've ever bought for any one group at one time, but it was like stocking a house for the first time. When we came back Yolanda was cleaning the house and had a smile again. I think she could see for the first time that she wasn't alone, that other people would help look after her and her siblings.

During Johanna's discussion with Yolanda, she mentioned that the kids in the house behind them were also in trouble. They live with an uncle, but he drinks and can be quite abusive. He's not working, so they also have almost nothing at home. Yolanda tries to share what little she has, and I'm sure some of what we bought went there. Fine by me.

We're due to go back in the next couple days, and I hope things will still be somewhat positive.

There was also a funeral this week, the first in quite some time. Jerome, the new drummer in Siyaya, lost his mother about two weeks ago to HIV/AIDS. She was hospitalized for a long time, better than 6 weeks, and finally succumbed. The funeral was very nice, very musical. Siyaya did about 4 songs, and Jerome played with them. He also plays in a marimba group (a marimba is like a xylophone but sounds almost like Jamaican steel drums), so they also played some songs with Jerome. He said afterwards that it was like his mother was there listening to him, and it gave him comfort to do it.

Because Spiwo was officiating, it was a short service, only an hour. Even the graveside service was shorter than usual. (That was good because the sun is very strong now and my pate cannot handle more than 10 minutes. Darn Minnesota skin.) It was all just as poignant as usual, though. It's hard not to be when almost everyone we bury is 40 or under.

I had my first real experience with ungratefulness this past week. A man came to see me last week to ask for money to buy food. He had caught me outside of church the Sunday before, and because I was in a hurry I gave him R100 and told him to come back so we could talk more. He came back on Monday and asked for R300 more. I told him I didn't have that much and gave him another R100. He pushed it across the desk at me and said "That's not enough. I can't live on that." I was really taken aback at this. No one has ever done that before. They take what is offered with gratitude because they know that I'm trying to help and if they don't take what's offered they get nothing. Not this guy. I upped the amount to R200 and he took it and left.

He came back on Wednesday, this time asking for R500. His son has some kind of skin infection on his scalp and he wanted to take him to a private doctor for treatment. The R500 would apparently pay for a week's worth of treatment. I asked a lot of questions about why he needed a private doctor when he could get free care at a government clinic (like Brown's Farm), and tried to find out what would happen after the week was up. He didn't have any good answers. I refused his request and told him he should take his son to Brown's Farm where a good doctor would see him and prescribe a good treatment. Fortunately, Zethu was at the Centre and I had her come and speak to him. She told him to bring his son in, too. He left, empty-handed and unhappy.

On Thursday Zethu told me that they had had trouble with this guy before. He was part of the support group but was asked to leave because of his behavior and alcohol use. She told me to be careful with him and not give him money.

Well, he was back on Friday asking for money again. And again, I said no. And again he left unhappy.

Today, he was back. He still wants money for the doctor. He has not taken his son to Brown's Farm yet. I also learned that his mother gets an old age pension (R800 a month) so the family has some income to live on. He tried to argue that I don't know his situation and that I must come to his house so that I can understand it. I said, I know your situation because it's the same as many people I talk to. I tried to explain that I am supporting many children who have no money, no old age pension, no social grants to live on. He tried to use his son as leverage, at one point saying he was going to give me his son to look after. I said no, your son has a father and money in the home, and I am not going to take care of him. I did give him R100 to cover taxi fare and some small incidentals, at which point Yvonne took notice and told him in no uncertain terms that he is not to ask for money from me, that I am supporting children and orphans who have nothing. That didn't make him happy, but he better understood my points. I don't think it's the last I'll see of him, and I'll keep posting about future interactions.

I also had a couple of small interactions with Mogise and his family. His brother called me on Tuesday to say that the old man came and fixed their drains again, and that he'd be back on Wednesday morning for the money. I said, "Well, did you expect me to pay for that? Because I didn't agree to it." There was a pause on the phone while Livingstone collected his thoughts and he said we'd have to talk about it. I agreed, and left it. I didn't get another call until yesterday when Mogise phoned. He asked if I was coming around. I said no, I hadn't planned on it. He said that he had nothing to eat and wanted to know if I was bringing anything. I said no, that now that his sister and brother were both working that I wasn't going to support them any longer. He informed me that his sister is not working any longer - "I thought she told you." No, she didn't. He also said the plumber was still after them for his money, so apparently that hasn't been sorted out yet. Then Mogise asked if I could get the kitchen staff to box up his meal (he could still come and get the HIV support group meal) and give it to one of the neighbor boys. I said no, that if he wanted his meal he had to come and get it, and that he should start coming to the support group meetings.

This is exactly what frustrates me about that family and their situation. Mogise makes almost no moves to improve his lot in life. He wants to live like a king but takes no responsibility for making it happen. His family, some very nice people, are not holding him accountable and are not cutting off the other people leeching from them. They must stand up and work as a group to get back on track or they will be struggling for a long, long time.

This week I'm helping a lecturer from the University of Minnesota meet some people in preparation for a three-week "study abroad" class he's doing here next May. He has a friend with him, too. It's been nice catching up with people who share the same accent and know the same culture as me. They even brought me six Nut Goodies! (I told him my fee for a tour was one, and they brought a bagful.) That, plus coordinating a program for St. Thomas, planning some year-end functions, working on Siyaya's US tour, and writing letters for Spiwo and Zethu is keeping me busy. That's good, but it means I actually have to work at home, something I swore I wouldn't do here. Oh well, it's not much and it makes time fly by.

The title for this posting comes from a conversation I had recently with a woman from New York, Linda Mayo-Perez. She runs a cemetery in Queens, a very nice one from the way she tells it. She made the comment that tombstones have our birth dates and death dates on them, but what everyone talks about and reflects on is the little dash between them. What we do in the time that dash defines makes up our lives and our persons. That really struck a chord with me. So, I've decided to start living the dash. I want to make more conscious decisions about what I do and why. It's not about 12-hour days and 100,000 air miles for the sake of showing how much I can get done. It has to be about making (and taking) time to enjoy life and make a difference. That's my resolution for 2008 and beyond.

More to come.

Tough Decisions

2007-11-12T13:03:00.000-05:00

This past week I've had to make two difficult decisions, which I know will have great impact on the people affected. The first is kind of complicated, the second is just sad.

Mogise is the subject of the first decision. Over the past month I've thought a lot about the support they've been getting. In spite of all the food and money they've received, the family, and especially Mogise, have not really moved ahead. They have not tried to improve their situation, even though two in the house are now reportedly working. Mogise, especially, wants all the trappings of a rich life without lifting a finger to get it. When I bring them food, they always ask for more, as if what they get is either not enough or not good enough (and I buy a mix of things they need to survive, plus a few extras). They also continually ask for money for electricity, or paraffin, or plumbing, or something else. I don't know where they spend the money they earn, but it's not going towards their household needs (I don't want to think it's going towards drugs and alcohol, but I know it is from first-hand experience).

So, after agonizing over the situation last week, I had a long talk with Yvonne about it. I told her I thought it was time to stop supporting them. She's been there enough to know what's happening, and she agreed it was the best thing. She's known the family for many years, and has dealt with other problems in the past. I also spoke with Johanna, since she is a distant cousin, and she also agreed that it was time. Where Yvonne said it might be good to meet with them and explain why my support is stopping, Johanna said it wasn't necessary, that I didn't owe them an explanation. A couple of the women at the Nyanga centre who know them also thought it was a good idea to stop, and I trust their opinions because they have the ear to the ground even more than Yvonne and Joanne.

So, I'm not going there this week. I expect that by Thursday I'll get a call or that Mogise will come to the Centre. If so, I'll tell him then. He and his family can still get support from the Centre (like a daily meal if he ever comes for it), but not from me personally.

This was probably the most difficult decision I've made since being here. I know full well that the family has limited income and will struggle to find sufficient food. They told me they are not paying their rent, and having to spend more on food and electricity means they will get further behind, increasing the risk that they'll lose their house. Their plumbing problems are still there, with no attempts being made to fix it. I could easily spend a few thousand rand over the next three months, but they would be in exactly the same situation that they are in now (after being supported for four months).

On a positive note, Mogise finally went to the clinic to get his HIV status evaluated and start the process for a disability grant. That only took three months of prodding. Now he has to carry through on the application process, which will be his next big test.

The second decision happened just today, and involves Maxwell from the hospice program. I've written about Maxwell before – he's the guy who asks for money just about every week, for everything from taxi fares to food to electricity to birthday presents. It's not a lot of money at one time, but over the months it's added up to about R3000. Maxwell has a job and gets paid, unlike all of the other people I'm supporting or “lending” money to.

In August and October Maxwell and I had a talk and I told him I would not lend him money any more. I explained that I was supporting many people now, all of whom were not working, and I couldn't afford to carry him from paycheck to paycheck. Both times he said he understood and that he would not ask any more. And both times, he came asking and I caved in. (It's tough to say no when the reason is that the baby has no food.) Well, last week we had the same discussion again, and I told him I was serious this time. Again, I got the promise that it was the last time.

When I got a note from him today asking for R150 for food and electricity, I decided enough was enough. I didn't go to him like I normally would have done, just to see what would happen. He came to my office late in the afternoon and asked if I saw his note. I said I did, and the answer was no. I explained why, as I had done before. He said he understood and that today would really be the last time. I said no, last week was the last time, just like you agreed to then. He pushed, I held fast. Finally, after about 10 minutes, he left my office, unhappy and unsure what to do next.

Now, in the larger context of things, R150 is not much. But what I've been learning is that it's easy for people to stop taking responsibility for their own actions when they know someone is willing to be a backstop for them. Almost all of the other people I'm working with are doing something to improve their own situation. One is working a day or two a week as her health allows. Another is trying to start a business. A third person is in school trying to build his future. I can't continue to give money to someone who will not manage his own situation. And, who somehow has money for cigarettes and liquor (I'm not judging, just wondering about priorities).

So, life continues to be a balance of challenges and opportunities, successes and failures. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

I had a great experience last week which helped balance some of the negative ones. I was host to a group of 24 Americans on a trip set up by the Plowshares Institute out of Connecticut. Plowshares does work with conflict transformation, consulting with governments around the world to deal with past problems and bring new solutions to conflicts. Bob Evans, the founder of Plowshares, also coordinates trips to the developing world so that people can see what is happening for themselves. They've been to Cuba, Indonesia, China, and South Africa in the past.

I set up a three-hour experience for them that included some discussions with Yvonne and Johanna, field trips to people's homes, and time with Spiwo and Edwin. The people they met with on the field trips were all HIV-positive, unemployed, and have considerable challenges just surviving. But, they all have great stories of hope and encouragement and really are good role models for how to deal with real life. After all that we had an excellent lunch at the Centre and they left with their heads spinning.

This morning I met with a couple of the people to follow up on some things related to Siyaya's planned US tour next year. They told me that everyone really enjoyed the visit and they felt it was a highlight of the trip. The group also collected some money for the Centre – we were one of only two organizations they have money to, and it was because they could tell we were actually making a difference. That made me feel good.

I also had a strange experience yesterday. It is initiation time again, when young men venture off into the bush (or the empty fields around the townships) for their ritual circumcision and isolation experience. One of Yvonne's sons is included in this season's class, and she's been running around like mad making all the arrangements.

It came out late last week that one of her son's friends had gone to initiation school but no one in his family was supporting him through the process. Family members are supposed to be bringing food and providing moral support, but no one had come to see this boy in nine days. He was very hungry and bordering on dehydration when Yvonne found out. About that same time, her ex-husband (and her son's father) Zacharias decided to help the boy, providing him with food and moving him into his son's hut where he'd be safer. Because Yvonne cannot see her son or his friend (part of the ritual, she's not even supposed to see the huts or they risk not becoming real men) she asked me to go and talk to them to see if they were okay.

So, yesterday I was led to her son's hut and I spent a little time with them. This is really, really rare, than a white man, a foreigner, is allowed to participate in the initiation ritual in any way. I met the young men, who were covered from head to toe in white make-up (which was either dried mud or thick calamine lotion). They are not allowed to have contact with anyone, so to shake hands the hold one end of a long stick and I grabbed the other end. We chatted for a few minutes, and I could see that things were better because they were eating and appeared happy. Then the fireworks started.

Before we got to the field, we had tried to find the unsupported boy's mother to get a sense for that the situation was. Yvonne couldn't find her, but she did find the mother's brother (the boy's uncle). She brought him with us so that we could find the right field. He came with me to the hut and talked to the boys and me about what was happening. Yvonne's ex-husband had been away from the site, and when he came back he started to argue with the uncle about why he wasn't around. He told me “I don't know this guy, don't know where he's been, now he comes here and acts like he's involved.” Then he told the uncle, “Why didn't you come when he told you he was going to initiation school? I'm not working but I took it upon myself to help him because he has nothing.” The uncle claimed not to know the boy was there, but the boy said that he told the uncle he was going. And round and round it went. It never got heated, because that would have been bad form during the initiation time, but it certainly got pointed. The uncle knew he was in the wrong, even though he didn't want to admit it and didn't have any way to fix it (he's unemployed, too).

Needless to say, tensions were high. But, it eventually cooled down and I walked out with Zacharias. I told him I would help where I can and we agreed to talk later. It turns out the boy has even less than nothing, so he will need simple basics in order to leave the camp. Another name added to the ever-growing list of needy children

More to come.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day

2007-11-05T14:35:00.000-05:00

It may sound strange, but last week was boring. No really. Nothing big happened – no new orphans, no urgent calls for help, no one in hospital, no funerals. This is the first week I actually had to think about topics for the blog. Am I becoming jaded, blind to what is happening around me? Am I starting to accept as normal those things that six months ago I would have thought remarkable? Dear God, I hope not.

1. We got new plants for the garden last week. Gone are the spinach and lettuce, in are the tomatoes and green peppers. I'm a little concerned about the tomatoes, since it will now only rain once a week or less. The guys are watering, so hopefully they'll have enough moisture to actually make a fruit.

(And no, I will not say to-mah-to. If Webster had wanted it pronounced that way he'd have put an h in the word.)

2. I had my first day all alone in the pharmacy last Tuesday. Kayise left ill on Monday, most likely from food poisoning. She literally ran out of the pharmacy mid-sentence, and spent the afternoon in the treatment room full of anti-nausea medication. I knew she'd be out on Tuesday, so I was expecting Tami and I to deal with things. Well, he decided to skip work. So, it was just me. And, if I do say it myself, things went swimmingly. Fortunately it was light for a Tuesday (normally the busiest day of the week) and everyone was in a good mood. No one complained if they had to wait a few minutes extra, and I only had one person look really confused when I spoke with her. Another patient helped translate, and she left satisfied. It was a real confidence booster for me, and even though I hope to not have a repeat performance it's good to know I could handle it.

3. The Nyanga centre is starting to take shape. This is a sister project of JL Zwane, not really linked to it but based on it. Yvonne and Johanna are getting it started, and there are 4-5 women who are coming everyday to carry out the programs. They've given it the name Mercy Ministries. They intend to do a lot of community outreach (like Yvonne does), have an after-school meal program for kids, and start an HIV support group for people in their area (New Cross Roads). Their only limitation is funding – they have none. I've been buying supplies for the food program (right now just soup ingredients, cookies, juice, and basic staples like flour and sugar), and they supplement those with vegetables they get from a local farmer (he gives them a pickup truck load every week, which the both use and distribute to needy families around them). We're trying to figure out ways to get contributions, and if they stick with it I'm sure they will one.

4. I also learned more about township house plumbing systems than I ever wanted to know. Think about where you live: Chances are, your sinks and toilets connect to a drain line in your house or apartment that is directly connected to the municipal sewer line. Well, in Mogise's house they have it a little different. Since the floors are concrete and the walls are brick, with no stud walls, there's no place to run pipes. So, the sink and toilet drains come through the exterior wall and open up into small square drain boxes set in the ground next to the house. These drains are connected to a pipe in the backyard, which is connected to the sewer pipe coming in from the street. The vent pipe, which in your house would come up through your walls and out your roof, sits in the middle of the backyard, coming up at a slant so that it sits wide open at a 45-degree angle about 6 inches out of the ground. Needless to say, they have blockages in their system quite regularly, either from kids putting stuff down the vent pipe or from normal, run of the mill drainage. That causes the drainage to back up through the drains in the yard, and the vent pipe, until their back yard is a pool of sewage (at least it doesn't come back into the house). You can use your imagination on what it looks and smells like. And there is a family living in a shack in the yard, which complicates things just a little.

Now, normally this wouldn't be a problem. You'd hire a plumber to come and unblock the line, which should take maybe 10 minutes. Or, you go to an equipment rental place and get a snake and clean it out yourself. Not here. Two weeks ago Mogise's brother Livingstone hired a guy to clean out the drains. All he had were rigid cast-iron rods that ended up putting a few little holes in the pipe. Livingstone had to dig out the main pipe and uncouple the line from the house, getting covered in sewage in the meantime. Only then could the hired guy use his rods to relieve the blockage. He pulled out a few pieces of metal that someone had put down the vent, along with some food wrappers and other assorted effluvium. The drains worked like new again.

For one week. They are now blocked again. Which wouldn't be so bad, except that the entire family has had some, um, gastrointestinal distress lately (probably spread by the cesspool in their back yard). Last week Johanna and I put some caustic soda (which I think is potassium hydroxide, or lye) in the vent, enough to unblock about 20 kitchen drains. I'm hoping that it worked but am not holding my breath. Ultimately, their pipes need to be replaced, which will be expensive and time consuming. I'll let you know if that ever happens.

5. On a more positive, less odious note, Halloween was last week. It is not widely celebrated here. You can find decorations in the stores, and even some bagged candy (which they sell year-round). But, my sense is that it's a white person's holiday and there was no sign of it in the townships. I had a little fun anyway and bought lollipops for the after-school program kids. I'm sure they had no idea why they got them, but were happy all the same.

6. Marvin is moving ahead with his plans to make traditional Xhosa clothing. He's also gotten an order for some chair backs and armrest covers, so things are really looking up for him. He's taking some space in the Nyanga centre so he doesn't have to work on his bed at home, and I'm hoping some other people from the HIV support group do sign on to work with him. Once he gets his first pieces back I'll post a picture.

7. I learned one aspect of what having a teenage daughter must be like. Noluyolo, the 16 year-old raising her brother, was in need of some toiletries last week. She made me a list and off to the store I went. The deodorant, toothpaste and soap were easy, as were the feminine hygiene items. What threw me were the body spray and hair oil. She gave me specific brands to buy, which was helpful, but only if I could actually find the items in the store. Imagine me, a middle-aged white guy with only half a head of hair, wandering the aisles looking for Dark and Lovely hair oil conditioner and Exclamation body spray. I was a little scared to ask for help, so I just wandered around until I figured out what was what. Then it was a matter of quantity: Just how much body spray does a girl use in a month? One can? Ten? I figured two was a safe bet. Fortunately, the check-out girl didn't seem to care what I was buying and I escaped without too much embarrassment.

That's it for today. Happy Guy Fawkes Day to all. (If you don't know what this is, it's a British holiday. In 1605 Guy Fawkes and a group of English Roman Catholics attempted to blow up Parliament to protest Protestant rule. Someone sent a warning letter to Lord Monteagle and the plot was foiled just before Guy Fawkes tried to light the fuse. Now, every November 5th Britons burn Guy Fawkes in effigy and light fireworks. I think it's just another excuse to blow stuff up and scare the dogs.)

More to come.

The Power of Purpose

2007-10-25T12:39:00.001-04:00

Last week I wrote about Marvin and his desire to start a silk-screening business. When I saw him a month ago I didn't think he'd be able to do anything - he was sick then, very weak and struggling. It was a few days later when I gave him a little money to get his screens made, and a few days after that when I paid for some fabric and supplies. Well, Marvin came to the Centre on Monday with his first finished work, and it was really good. He made a traditional Xhosa woman's outfit, with a skirt, shawl and head wrap. The fabric was a bright orange, and he screened on black patterns including a vase/urn and a woman in traditional dress. He was planning to take them to a local tailor to have the edges finished and some bunting put around the skirt. He also planned to show them to the HIV support group to drum up some help (he wants this project to be huge and helpful to as many people as possible).

When I saw Marvin on Tuesday, he said the tailor had been impressed with his work and that he might be able to generate some orders. Marvin was chuffed (excited), as you can imagine. I saw him again today, sitting outside copying designs off of the church facade so he could create some new screens. He looked strong and happy, quite a turnaround from a month ago. He is now a man with a mission, a purpose. He can see his way out of his difficult situation, and at the same time he can see a way to help other people succeed and improve. He has put together a plan for moving ahead, one that requires about R25,000. I think we can scale that back and take in chunks, and I'm hoping to give him some support for one of those chunks. If anyone wants to join me, let me know.

By the way, he is making me a Xhosa outfit, too. When I get it I'll post a picture. Maybe I'll even do a dance.

I met two other amazing people this week. The fact that they were both 14 is beyond belief.

1. Jerome lives with his 10 year-old brother just a couple blocks from the Centre. His mother is alive but is currently in hospital (I don't know why, except that it's HIV-related). His brother is HIV-positive and is not doing well right now. Jerome was already known around the Centre because he plays in a marimba group with one of the youth leaders. When Yvonne found out about his mother's situation, and the fact that the two kids were now on their own, she asked for help in getting them some food. No problem with me. I picked up some groceries and we gave them to Jerome this week. You could tell it took a load off his mind, because he was able to smile again.

Yesterday I got another lesson about having a purpose, courtesy of Jerome. Siyaya was practicing, like they do most days. The difference was they had a drummer. They've been struggling to find a permanent drummer for the past couple months, so most days you don't hear any percussion, just voices. Well, this new drummer sounded great, like he had been there since the beginning. Edwin popped in my office and asked if I knew who the drummer was. When I said no, he smiled and said "it's Jerome!" "Jerome, the boy Jerome?" I asked. "Yes!" came the reply. Apparently he was able to transfer his marimba skills to the drums, and he was sitting in with the group. I'm not sure he'll ultimately be able to do it full time (he's still in school), but having the opportunity to play with a professional group is great experience. Jerome has a purpose, and he's making the most of it.

2. Yaniso lives in Phillipi, near the clinic. His teacher called Yvonne and said he needed help, so she met with him earlier in the week. He was essentially abandoned by his mother a couple weeks ago, which was not the first time. Apparently, he, his mother and his grandmother used to live together but the two women had many arguments. His grandmother left a while back, and his mother decided to take off last week. She left him with nothing: no food, no money, only one change of clothes.

Yvonne bought him some clothes, including a new school uniform, and some food and hygiene basics. I bought him some other items to get him set for a couple weeks. His mother is supposed to be coming back soon and hopefully Yvonne will be able to meet with her to see what's happening.

Yaniso is inspiring. With all he's going through, he's keeping positive and hopeful. He is a bright boy, with a natural friendliness that is beyond his years. I think he will go far, assuming he has an opportunity to. As long as Yvonne is involved, he will.

I also saw Mogise this week. He is back home, out on bail. He was charged with housebreaking and theft. He said there's no cause for his arrest and he's confident it will be thrown out. We'll see. His sister found a job last week, so there are now two people working. If it stays that way, my time with them will be short-lived. And I'm very okay with that. There are plenty of other people who need help.

More to come.

Parting Shots: Malungeni, Day 5

2007-10-25T11:43:00.000-04:00

Friday was a day of relaxation, as we got ready to head home. I had a chance to wander around the village a bit more, and then read a book for much of the day. It was a treat to just sit and enjoy the quiet and idyllic nature of rural life. Until I thought about the severe poverty. Then I felt guilty because I got to leave for better climes.

My morning walk took me almost to the edge of the village. It was early, about 8:00, but already things were happening. Kids were walking to school, the local shop was opening for business, and farmers were leading their animals to the fields. No one seemed to mind a stranger taking pictures, and I took my time capturing memories.

I waved to everyone I saw and everyone waved back. The kids in the picture above laughed at first, but when they saw my camera they immediately posed for a shot. Then they ran away, just like kids do.

I wandered up to people I hadn't met just to say hello, and had a couple nice conversations. The woman in this picture is Spiwo's first cousin (their fathers were brothers). She was making breakfast, corn meal porridge. She told me about her family and how she has four children, none of them hers, living with her. The children are all orphans from others in her family. She also told me that 75% of the villagers were related to each other, which I could understand because there are only a handful of surnames in the town.

On my way back to the house I was reminded of a line from a bad Tom Selleck movie from around 1984 (High Road to China, I think): "The oxen are slow, but the Earth is patient." This picture says it all. It's a man and his son working a team of oxen to plow his small field. His wife (or maybe his mother, it was hard to tell) and a small girl were also there. In the US, he'd have a small tractor pulling a plow rig, making it a 10 minute job. In Malungeni, he had four oxen pulling a single blade plow that he had to physically keep in line. Considering the fields were really wet, he has having to man-handle the plow something awful to keep it where he wanted it. And of course the oxen weren't exactly easy to steer (nice pun, I know).

I was mesmerized watching him, all the time wondering how it's possible in 2007 that people would still be dependent on such antiquated equipment. But then, I see women every day in Guguletu and Phillipi washing clothes in tubs, scrubbing the pants and shirts with brushes or just against themselves. I see people in homes cooking over wood fires or oil stoves because they can't afford or don't have electricity. I see men using horse-driven carts to haul scrap metal down city streets because they don't drive and can't hire a truck. It's as if Malungeni, Guguletu and all the predominantly black areas are caught in a time warp, where the 1800s intersects with the 21st century. Where an Internet cafe can sit next to a woman selling meat cooked over a wood fire. Where a proper house with a satellite dish sits in front of a shack with no electricity, heat or water. It's the juxtapositions that make understanding life here both intellectually fascinating and emotionally hard.

I also noticed something Spiwo had mentioned to me. There are no cemeteries in Malungeni. People are buried on their homestead. This man was working his field while overseen by a close relative. There's no doubt that the relative was nourishing the farmer, both physically and spiritually.

Spiwo and I headed to the airport in the afternoon. We left directly from Mththa, heading to Cape Town via Johannesburg. I had a little chuckle looking at the flight schedule - there are only two flights in and out of the airport per day, but they them posted on a sign board about 4 feet square, like they were planning to have 100 flights a day next week. There was an airport bar, though, and a cafe (that didn't serve any food - go figure). We had a nice ride in a medium-sized prop plane before landing in the first world again and picking up our jet for the journey home.

Saturday morning I had a long, hot shower. And I only felt a little guilty.

More to come.

The Bad, The Ugly, and The Good: Malungeni, Day 4

2007-10-24T12:37:00.000-04:00

Thursday was a day of contrasts, from absolute sadness to joyful elation.

Imagine the worst gravel road you've ever driven on. Add potholes and rocks the size of your fist (or larger). Then, for good measure, have it rain. Now, imagine 20 miles of this, sick in an ambulance, heading to a place you don't want to go to. You've just experienced a trip to the local hospital for Malungeni and the surrounding villages.

(During the ride I was amazed to see many children walking to school barefoot. Now, there was a steady drizzle or light rain and the temperature was only about 55 F. The water in the puddles and on the grass on the roadsides had to be cold. But, it's likely that these children did not own shoes, or that they had to share with someone else in the family. Spiwo told me once that he didn't get his first pair of shoes until grade 6 (age 12), and Xolani was 15 before he had his own pair. I cannot imagine sitting in school all day with cold feet, but that's another aspect of reality in Malungeni.)

Canzibe Hospital is a government hospital. It was built in the 1960s and was probably somewhat up-to-date back then. Unfortunately, almost nothing has changed in the place since then, except over 40 years of use and deterioration. It is probably the worst health care facility I've ever seen, including hospitals in about 10 other countries.

The hospital campus houses the hospital proper, a tuberculosis (TB) ward (separated from the mail hospital for infection control), an outpatient clinic, and an HIV clinic. There are also separate buildings for physical therapy (PT) and rehab, and a dormitory for staff (since most of them live quite a distance away and don't have transportation). None of the buildings are connected, so if a patient needs to move from the hospital to PT they must travel outside down an unpaved path (kind of like the road), rain or shine, hot or cold. It had been raining for two weeks straight before we arrived and every piece of ground was mud. I cannot imagine having to maneuver the paths in a wheelchair.

We started our tour by meeting the hospital manager and a couple members of her staff. I'm not sure who they thought we were, but we were treated like honoured guests. (I don't know why. We showed up unannounced and explained that we just wanted to look around. Was it the foreign accent?) She assigned the nursing director to take us around and encouraged us to ask questions. I didn't take any pictures, more out of respect for the patients than anything. I now wish I had.

We started in the TB ward. This building has 8 patient rooms:
- 1 for children that holds about 6 cribs
- 3 for women, including 1 room for acutely ill people (8 beds) and 2 rooms for people who are "better" and soon to be discharged (8 beds each)
- 3 for men, with the same configuration and bed counts as the women
- 1 isolation room for people with multi-drug resistant (MDR) or extensively drug resistant (XDR) TB (6 beds)
Of the 60 total beds, 46 were occupied. There were only 2 children and no isolation cases, and most of the adults were in the "getting better" wards.

The wards are nothing more than large open rooms with beds positioned about 3 feet from each other. The two post-acute wards are separated only by a short wall, maybe 5 feet high. There are no curtains between the beds, so privacy is non-existent. There's no TV or radio, save a single TV set under the door as you enter the building. If you're lucky enough to feel good, you can sit in the hallway and watch a fuzzy showing of a soap opera or the news. If you don't feel good, you're stuck in your bed with only your thoughts to keep you company. All of the equipment in the wards is old and probably original. It is in such bad shape that much of it has Condemned written in it. I wondered if that label was really more applicable to the patients.

One other interesting thing was that all of the windows were wide open. Again, it was cold and rainy that morning. The wards were filled with sick people, many with suppressed immune systems (I'll estimate that at least half of the patients also have HIV), bundled up to their eyeballs to avoid the chills. I'm assuming they needed the airflow for odor control, but it couldn't have been helping the treatment too much.

We also got to see the kitchen. The TB ward has its own so that no food or equipment is passed back to the main hospital. It was horrible. Most of the equipment doesn't work. There were two stoves that were non-functional, and the one that did work only had 4 working burners out of 6. The sick was small and in a rotting cabinet. The pantry was small and pretty bare. People were just finishing breakfast when we were there - it was a plate of gray-tan porridge. Oliver Twist would have passed.

Before we moved on we were asked to wash our hands to avoid contaminating the other areas. Great idea. Of course, we couldn't dry them since there were no towels. One of the nurses jokingly said, "We air dry our hands here." It doesn't say much for infection control when you either can't get the germs off or they end up on your pants legs.

Next stop: the main hospital building. This houses the casualty department (i.e., the ER), x-ray, the lab, and the pharmacy. There is also an outpatient clinic for people with TB and a dental room. Casualty was small, 4 rooms, but fairly well stocked with equipment. There were two doctors there, both from outside South Africa (I was told that the longest a South African doctor has ever stayed there is 11 days. Yes, days.) It also has a small outpatient surgery area where they do circumcisions and some minor gynecological procedures (yes, abortion is legal here).

The x-ray department is the most state-of-the-art area due to the recent delivery of new stationary and portable x-ray equipment. It was all labeled "A Gift from the People of Japan" which tells me the government didn't buy it. All of the x-rays can be digitally scanned for storage and reading. The x-ray technician was very proud of his equipment and explained in great detail how he lays people down and takes their pictures. Unfortunately, if you need an x-ray after 5:00 pm or on the weekends you're out of luck. The department is closed. You can come back in the morning or on Monday.

The lab was also fairly modern. They can do basic chemistries (glucose, electrolytes, pregnancy) and some microscopy. The rest they send out and wait about a week for the results. They have a brand new machine that will more than double their capabilities, but it has not yet been calibrated and validated. The manager was confident that it would happen very soon.

The pharmacy was small, about 8 feet by 12 feet. There were two people there, a full-time pharmacist and a volunteer from the Netherlands who was working there for a few months. They had everything we have at Brown's Farm CHC, just less of it. They had taken over an old church building on the campus for storage so they may have had plenty of inventory. Unfortunately, patients have to wait outside for their medications, and there is no space available for counseling. I'm sure compliance is poor, as it is at Brown's Farm (even with our attempts at education. Well, at least I try).

After we finished there we headed for the hospital wards. Their small building houses the main surgical suite, the main kitchen, and six wards:
- men's medical (6 beds)
- men's surgical (6 beds)
- women's medical (6 beds)
- women's surgical (6 beds)
- pediatrics (6 beds)
- maternity (3 beds)

The medical and surgical wards were as spartan as the TB wards. Most of the patients looked as if they didn't want to be there, in a bad way. The pediatrics ward was a little bit better, only because the mothers got to be with their children so the kids were calm. But it was the maternity ward that got me.

The unit is split into two areas. One is the labor and delivery unit, and the other is the ward for mothers who have problem pregnancies. The ward is colourful, only because the beds actually have salmon-coloured bedspreeds. One of the nurses said it was the only ward that the government cares about, since women and children are a big focus for the health department right now. The labor and delivery area has three beds that serve as the pre- and post-delivery area and three beds in the birthing room. Only one of the birthing beds is actually the right model, but they make do with the ones that aren't.

The birthing procedure is very different in the government hospitals. Mothers usually arrive in labour. Hopefully they had some kind of antenatal (pre-natal) care, but in half the cases there was none. They are quickly tested for HIV so that drugs can be given if necessary to protect the baby. They wait until they're ready to give birth and are then moved into the birthing room. Many women deliver standing up or squatting, so the beds are shorter and higher than normal. after the baby is delivered, mother and baby are moved together into the post-delivery area. They stay there for 6 to 8 hours, during which time they are taught to breast feed (if they can - HIV-positive women are discouraged from doing so). If everything is okay at that point, they are sent home. There's no mandatory 24-hour stay, no baskets of goodies or balloon bouquets. It's time to put the baby in a carrier and walk back to the village.

The unit delivers about 8-10 births a day, so it's not unusual for all of the beds to be full. In fact, if women come in September or October, the busy time of the year, some of them will be delivering in the hallway. Needless to say, it's not an ideal set up.

The other thing that got me about the maternity unit was the horrible bathroom conditions. The doors on the toilet rooms were broken and hanging on one hinge. The toilets lacked seats (which is pretty common here) and toilet paper was usually absent. The shower facilities were so dirty and moldy that I wouldn't risk using them. I don't know what these women would think about the single-room birthing suites that most U.S. hospitals have. They'd probably want to move in permanently.

The last stop on our tour was the HIV clinic. This comprises two trailers, each about the size of a big semi truck trailer and configured into three small treatment rooms. The waiting area is outside between the two trailers. The clinic sees about 30-50 patients a day, more on the days medications are passed out. They have 190 patients on anti-HIV medications, which is a good number but probably only 20% of what they should have. Most patients are not seeking care, some because they're scared, some because they don't know to, and some because they believe in traditional medicines. Thus, the infection keeps being passed on and people keep dying by the scores.

In short, I'm glad I saw Canzibe but I was more glad I could leave. It is truly a depressing place, one where most people just go to die. There are two other hospitals serving the villages around Mthatha, and the situation is no better at them. The nurses are demoralized, there is a constant staff shortage and supplies are very difficult to come by. I asked when last a health department official was there and the nursing director told me no one has ever been there. If they came they might know how bad it is and be compelled to do something about it.

Or, it's more likely they'd just ignore it like they have at other hospitals. There was a major scandal at a hospital not far from Mthatha where the rate of infant deaths was exceedingly high. The person who reported it was fired, and the deputy minister of health was let go after she went there unannounced to investigate. There is no political will here to fix the problems with the public health facilities, and people will continue to die as a result.

After another long, bumpy ride we arrived back at the house. It was now time to head into Mthatha and make sure everything was lined up for the food parcels. Spiwo still hadn't found a truck, so that was top on the list. He wanted to first stop at a hardware store and check on windows for the new church, so we went to a local supplier. There in the parking lot was a truck for hire, just like it was waiting for us. The only concern was that it was an open bed truck and it was raining. But, we made a plan and bought a plastic sheet to cover everything. It was all set.

After checking on the windows we went to the food store. As we drove in the parking lot, Spiwo spotted another truck for hire, this one with an enclosed bed. It was available, and actually cheaper than the other. We worked out an arrangement with the first truck and they left. So everything worked out there. Not quite the same story inside. To Spiwo's shock, nothing had been pulled yet. The manager on duty didn't even know about our order. They got it figured out, though, and we left feeling okay that it was going to work. Back to the ranch.

A few hours later, the truck arrived. We had ordered 72 of the following:
- 12.5 kg (27 pounds) of flour
- 12.5kg of samp (a form of whole-kernel corn used like beans)
- 12.5 kg of mealie meal (corn meal)
- 10 kg (22 pounds) of sugar
- 12.5 kg of rice
- 5 kg (11 pounds) of beans
- six-pack of long-life milk (the kind that comes in a box)
It was a ton of food. Actually, six tons. These parcels would feed a typical family for 2 to 4 weeks, which was a long time when a food supply was not guaranteed.

Using a fire brigade line, we had the truck unloaded in about 20 minutes. By the time we were done people were starting to queue up for the 4:00 start time. There was a sense of celebration in the air, even with the drizzle. At 4:00 Spiwo started reading names, and a group of local boys would make a pile of the various items (the had it all choreographed so that the pile would be exactly the same in every case). It was then up to the recipient to figure out how to get it home.

It was actually fun to watch. A large number of wheelbarrows had miraculously materialized, and most people loaded up their items and walked off. Others brought along a group of friends or family and simply divided the load. A number of women carried items on their heads, just like you see in National Geographic. I tried doing this with the bag of samp, helping a woman who lived about 200 yards up the road. It took all of my balancing ability to not fall over. She carried two items on her head, and even managed to pick up her baby halfway up the road. I was in awe.

After 40 minutes, it was all over. Only three parcels were left over, from people who didn't come. Their food would go to others in need.

We had a guest for dinner that night. Spiwo had met Francis a few years ago. He's a magistrate in the Eastern Cape, similar to what we'd call a district attorney. He was born into a very poor, dysfunctional family. His mother left when he was a young boy and he never knew her. His father was around but not a large part of his life. He was raised by his grandmother, along with a couple other children. His grandmother had a fruit stand outside the courthouse in their city, and Francis used to help her before and after school. He said he used to watch the men in their robes and wonder what it would be like to be one of them. His grandmother constantly encouraged him and made sure he finished school. He struggled to get accepted to university, but with a tenacious spirit he managed to get in and be accepted to the law track.

His first day at work came before he actually graduated. He only went to ask for a job. It so happened that there was a crisis in the court that day and no prosecutors were on duty. The woman in the office asked him if he was really a lawyer, and when he showed her his transcripts she said to "go home and get your robe and report for work." He was trying cases that afternoon. In the very same courthouse outside which he once sold fruit. In the very same robes that his idols wore. He was ultimately promoted to magistrate and now manages the district that Mthatha is in.

His story was very inspirational. Spiwo is trying to being him to Cape Town to speak at church. I would be happy to hear his story again.

After dinner it was time again for reading and sleeping.

Next up: Finishing up and heading home.

Schools and Strategies: Malungeni, Day 3

2007-10-23T12:57:00.000-04:00

Wednesday was tour day. I hadn't planned on going as far as we did, but I'm glad it worked out this way.

We started the day by visiting the local primary school. It's a public school, fully supported by government. The building is fairly new and in decent shape. It has four classrooms, plus one room that serves as a classroom/office/teacher prep room. It's set on a large piece of land, so the kids have room to play during their break periods. The school is for children in grades R (kindergarten) through 9; high school is a distance away. There is a uniform, blue sweaters over white shirts and either blue skirts or slacks, and most of the kids had one on (I'm assuming those that didn't couldn't afford them).

Class sizes were about 30-35. Three grades are combined into one room. Grade R was by itself, then grades 1 to 3, 4 to 6 and 7 to 9 were put together. There's a single teacher for each grade combination, making it almost like an old one-room schoolhouse.

I was impressed with the desks and equipment in the classrooms, and the presence of books and workbooks. I haven't seen this at the other schools I've been to. However, even though it sounds ideal it has its issues:
1. Truancy is very high. A lot of kids drop out after grade 8 or 9, most because they either don't see the point in finishing or because they have family responsibilities that keep them home. I also saw children just hanging around every day, with no excuse for not being in school.
2. Teacher attendance is hit or miss. There are apparently days when the only people in school are the children. Spiwo and others think this is because the teachers are not educated well enough to handle the higher grades and more complex subjects. (Under the apartheid regime, blacks were taught in separate schools that lacked basic materials and used lesser-trained teachers. Blacks were only educated to grade 8, which was enough to give them skills to be a labourer in the mines or factories. Teachers obviously went on to higher education, but again it was not to the level of the white students. Now that the curricula are standardized and the blacks are being held to the white standards, the teachers are finding it difficult to handle the higher grades because they never went through them.) They are also paid quite poorly, so many stay home because they can.

As you can imagine, these problems are creating real barriers to the kids' abilities to move up and out of their rural existence. There's also a lack of technology and lessons on its applications. The kids have never seen computers, let alone use one. And the Internet is just something they've maybe read about (I helped a teenage student at the Centre yesterday who had never heard of the Internet. He would definitely be lost in an American school). And again, no one seems to be standing up for them and forcing teachers or the government to make it right.

From there, we made a plan to visit Xolani's home village, which is about an hour's drive away. First, though, we went to visit the school where Spiwo's sister (his real sister) works. (By the way, Spiwo often talks about being a family of 7 kids and now only having one sister still alive. His family has been hurt by HIV/AIDS as well as other illnesses and accidents. As you can imagine, he is very close to his remaining sister.) Wassie teaches at the Tsolo Special School in the town of Tsolo. The school is for children who are "intellectually challenged." This doesn't mean retarded necessarily, but encompasses all kids who can't learn at normal speeds or who don't do well with the formal national curriculum. There are some physically handicapped children there, as well. The school doesn't have grades. Children are grouped by age and functional ability. It's a boarding school, and kids come from long distances.

The school was started by Thozama Gozo about 10 years ago. She had a daughter who was not performing in school and Mrs. Gozo knew something had to be done. She started the school in a rented space, but due to a lack of funds it soon landed in her house. She had about 20 children then, sleeping in four bedrooms along with her biological children. Eventually she was able to move it to a private building. About 3 years ago the government found out what she was doing and came through with funds to build a proper school on a large campus. The students now number 240 and the school is maxed out. The age range is from 6 to 21 - even though she isn't supposed to keep them after 19, she said since there's no place for them to go she ends up keeping them longer.

The school's objectives are to teach the children normal subjects as far as they can go and to train them on a marketable skill. Most of the kids learn needlework (sewing), art, or beadwork. She is starting a woodworking program right now, with a focus on cabinetry. She tries to customize programs, though. She has a couple students who are sports prodigies, so these kids spend their time improving their skills with the goal of joining a semi-pro team and earning a living that way.

Because there aren't homes for learning disabled adults, Mrs. Goza is now planning for a group home nearby the school campus. When the children reach 21, they can move to the group home and get a job. She still has a lot of work to do, but if the school is any indication I think she'll have the home running in no time.

From Tsolo we went to Xolani's village, Elucwecwe, outside the city of Ngcobo (I can't print a pronunciation guide for these, because the "c"s are click sounds. El-you-tswe-tswe and Ntso-boh would be close). Elucwecwe is a picturesque village, situated in green rolling hills. As with all things rural, though, the beauty comes with a price. This village is not electrified, and most homes do not have running water. There are taps, but they only work part of the time and people are forced to walk to the river for water. As in Malungeni, the homes are mostly rondevals with some square side buildings thrown in. Heat and cooking is done over fires - one of Xolani's family's rondevals has a fire circle in the middle of the room where they make a wood fire. Seeing this and smelling the ever-present smoke and soot and you quickly realize why asthma is the one of the biggest health problems in the rural areas.

We actually went to two homesteads in Elucwecwe, because Xolani had a split childhood. It's a very interesting story:

Xolani's mother was not married to his father. His father was the village chief and already had a wife and family when he met Xolani's mother. She was the daughter of a white, Jewish shopkeeper in the area, who married a local black woman. This makes Xolani's mother both coloured and part-Jewish, two things Xolani didn't know about until he was in his teens. (Xolani's sisters actually have the facial features of a European lineage and a lighter skin colour. They probably would have been classified as Coloured in the apartheid era.) His father, the chief, was very wealthy with lots of animals and a large homestead (the two rondevals pictured left are just part of his buildings. Look at their size in relation to the car, and then look at the mother's, above). Food was never an issue. The chief had 6 children with his wife, the last of whom was born in 1964. He then had 5 children with Xolani's mother; Xolani is the youngest, born in 1976. All of the children lived with their father, while Xolani's mother lived on the other side of the hill (it's not very far as the crow flies, but it's a long distance relationship-wise). Her homestead is the one pictured above.

It was only when the chief died in 1987 that Xolani and his siblings drifted back to their mother. For a long time growing up Xolani and his siblings felt that their mother had abandoned them since she played no real role in their young lives. It was only when they moved to her small homestead that they discovered the sacrifice she made in trying to give them a better life. He told me that "for a long time we thought our mother did not love us, then as we grew older we understood she did what was best for us."

Xolani's three sisters still live in Elucwecwe; his brother passed away in 2006. One of his sisters is a traditional healer (she's in the middle in this picture), and the others are working as wives and mothers. Xolani recently found out he has a half-brother from his mother's first marriage, although he doesn't talk a lot about him.

Xolani is one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. He is always smiling, and is usually at the centre of a conversation about soccer or other sports. Even though he only completed the eighth grade, he is an astute businessman with a small taxi business in Gugulethu. He had a difficult time with school, not because he isn't smart but because the demands of the household got in the way. For most of his school years he could only attend classes every other day. This is for two reasons:
1. He and his brother had to take turns caring for the animals
2. He and his brother had to take turns wearing the school uniform and shoes
I can only imagine how far he could have gone with a high school diploma and college education. Maybe some day he'll be able to do that.

When we got back to the house, we joined a meeting Spiwo was having with some of Malungeni's local leaders, including the village chief and the school principal. The subject of the meeting was a proposal the chief is making to an international volunteer program to bring people to Malungeni. They would help with several income-generating projects in the village, as well as with the school and another pre-school program that's run from the community centre. It was an interesting discussion, with Spiwo driving home the point that the community must take charge and drive progress. He is very worried that the people will not work with the volunteers and the programs will just fall flat. The meeting finished with everyone agreeing the proposal needed to move forward and that the chief would drive things. We ended up finishing the proposal on Friday and bringing it back to Cape Town for faxing.

The chief's story is also dramatic. He is a young man, maybe 30 years old. He inherited the post upon the death of his father a few months ago. His father was apparently well respected and had his hands on the pulse of the community. He had a vision for moving Malungeni forward and was usually able to rally the people to support that vision. His son, the new chief, is quiet, almost withdrawn, as if he doesn't really want the post. Spiwo thinks that he may not get the support his father had because then he will fail and the chiefdom will be available for someone else to assume. Considering the chief gets the spoils from contributions to the community, it's a job worth having and several people would vie for it. The next few months will be key, especially this proposal which will bring a couple hundred Americans and lots of skills to the community. I hope he can make it work.

After a nice dinner it was time for reading and sleeping. I didn't work out all week, and got 8 hours of solid sleep every night. I haven't done that in many, many years and it felt great.

Next up: Don't Get Sick in Malungeni - A Visit to the Local Hospital (don't panic Mom, it was just a tour)

Fun and Heartbreak: Malungeni, Day 2

2007-10-22T13:11:00.000-04:00

Tuesday morning came with a surprise: no hot water. Spiwo said that the electricity would be at a minimum until he added more to the meter. I didn't think that meant the geyser (pronounced geezer, it's the South African name for a water heater) was shut off. I haven't had to take a cold shower since Boy Scout camp in 1976, and I didn't like it any better than then. Then again, I couldn't complain because I HAD WATER. No one in Malungeni has running water, except when their rooftop rain collection systems are full. Given the choice of a cold shower and trekking a couple kilometers to the river, I'll take cold water any day.

This was the day to relax, since there wasn't much happening. We did have to go into Mthatha to make arrangements for the food parcel distribution on Thursday, but other than that it was easy living. So we started the day by driving around the village to get acquainted with the surroundings.

Spiwo and I first went to the site of the new church that he's building (with the support of some US-based churches). It's an impressive brick building that will have a main hall and round entry area where they can have a pre-school or Sunday school. Spiwo was a little concerned about how the roof was put on. Originally it was supposed to rest on the brick walls like a normal roof would do. However, the builder didn't think that would work so he constructed a frame out of beams and built the roof on that. That created a sizable gap between the top of the walls and the roof that will have to be bricked in. The builder thinks this will take about 18,000 more bricks at a cost of about R30,000 ($4,300) plus labour. Financing that is going to be tricky, but Spiwo seems to have a way in mind. In any case, there's several months of work left to be done before the church is ready for its dedication.

I also had the chance to look closer at the homes. Historically, Xhosa people have lived in round houses called rondevals. Most are about 20 feet in diameter and are made of bricks with plaster overcoats. There are still some in the village that were made from sticks laid horizontally with mud placed in-between. These don't hold up nearly as well as the brick ones, though. The bricks were traditionally made of mud from regular soil and dried in the sun. Sometime back the people learned to add cement to the mud and it made for a much stronger brick. Now the homes are expected to last for decades. (There are brickyards along the river just outside Mthatha. The men take the thick soil from the river banks and press their bricks, allowing them to dry in the sun. The bricks have a deep red color. Sadly, while the bricks are pretty the river banks are being destroyed by all the excavation. Erosion will probably occur soon, and the brick makers will need to move elsewhere.)

The older rondevals have thatched roofs made of grass cut from the local fields. Newer ones, or those with roofs that need replacing, have corrugated zinc roofs. (Note the two in the picture above - one has a thatch roof and the other a zinc roof.) The zinc allows the homeowner to collect the rain using gutters and pipes to shunt the water to huge holding tanks. One tank probably has enough water for a month, given that they homes don't have showers or toilets (or washing machines, or dishwashers, or any other modern appliance). Accompanying the rondevals are small rectangular, one- or two-room structrures. Sometimes they act as a bridge between two rondevals, and other times they sit on their own.

The great thing about the villages I saw is that people take the time to paint their homes. This is very different than Cape Town, where many of the homes' exteriors are faded, peeling, or just run down. Every home is a different colour - orange, turquoise, yellow, white, blue - so they create quite a nice picture when seen from afar. Almost nice enough for a postcard. And, there are very few power lines to obstruct the view.

Because, of course, not all villages have electricity. Malungeni is lucky. They had power lines installed about 4 years ago. Now, assuming they can afford the power, every house has light at night. I noticed a couple TV antennae, but only a couple. I never heard music coming from any of the homes, so I'm guessing most people don't have radios, either. It was very peaceful walking the roads, with only the sheep and goats making noise.

Most everyone in Malungeni has land. They are granted property by the village chief. He decides who gets land and how much they receive. Most people appear to have a plot that's about 20 yards by 50 yards, maybe a little bigger. Some have considerable more. In any case, the plots are large enough to have a vegetable garden and keep some animals. People with the smaller plots usually have chickens, goats, and/or sheep. The folks with the larger plots can also add cows (steers, really) and horses. Again, this is assuming people can afford them. Chickens, bought as chicks, cost about R2 ($0.30) each. Sheep and goats run about R700 ($100) each. Cows are about R5000 ($750), as are horses. Feeding is not too expensive, since nearly everyone takes their animals to communal pastures to graze. Because of the limited grazing area and the number of animals, the fields are seriously overgrazed. But, since there's no alternative, people keep on using them.

The fact that people have land and can grow some food makes it quite different than Cape Town. Here, having land is not guaranteed. If you do have it, you have a very small plot with just your house. You can't grow anything on it, and you certainly can't keep a cow there. Sure, you can sell your plot and house to make money, but chances are you will never get a title deed again in your life. Some people do raise goats in the township, but only because they can wander through the trash heaps on the side of the road and get their food. If it were me, I'd rather be in the rural area where I have a chance at survival.

(Spiwo has talked with people who have a differing viewpoint. The best, or worst, reason to be in Cape Town came from a young man who moved here from the Eastern Cape a few years ago. He said, "When you live in a rural area and have nothing, you have nothing. When you live in Cape Town and have nothing, at least you know you can find a rubbish bin that has pizza in it." That just about says it all.)

After the church, Spiwo took me to meet his mother. She lives just up the road from the bunkhouse. She has two rondevals and a large house on her property. We found her in bed, not because she was sick but because it was cold and rainy outside and she wanted to be warm. She is a very pleasant woman, with a friendly manner and a great smile. Spiwo has been trying to get her to move somewhere better but she doesn't want to go.

After that we headed into Mthatha. Thebo came along with Spiwo and I just to have something to do. Since Spiwo had about an hour's worth of errands to run, he dropped Thebo and I at the shopping mall to look around. That took about 5 minutes, so we headed outside to walk around the town. Mthatha is a decent sized city, relative to the area, but it's still small, about the size of downtown St. Paul. For being a big city there are surprisingly few big city stores there, certainly not any chains that exist in Cape Town. Most of the shops are independant, family-owned stores, many originating our of Durban (which is only a few hundred kilometers away). To say that the assortment of products is eclectic wouldn't describe it. A store can have clothes, bikes, stereos and stoves, all in a space the size of my living room. They're more like surplus stores than proper shops, with everything crammed into small spaces.

I also saw something I haven't seen in Cape Town: a row of men with wheelbarrows waiting to help people with their purchases. Most people arrive in Mthatha by taxi, minibuses that hold 12-15 people. When they finish shopping, they need to haul their packages back to the taxi rank to catch a ride home. The wheelbarrow men are available for hire, for a few Rand, to be the mule and cart. The taxi drivers pile everything on top of the vans - we saw more than one with 25kg bags of mealie (corn) meal and flour with mattresses stacked on top of that. And they still drove at breakneck speeds down the rural roads. Yikes!

When Spiwo picked us up we headed over to the store to sort out the food for the parcels. We arranged to have the items pulled and ready for us on Thursday. Spiwo was a little worried about finding a truck to haul the goods to Malungeni, but he "had people working on it" so everything seemed to be under control. We headed back home to have a leisurely afternoon.

When we arrived we found that Xolani, the Centre's driver, and Niwo, the man who handles fumigation at the Centre, had arrived from Cape Town. They drove, taking about 15 hours to reach Malungeni. Niwo is going to teach the house's caretaker the proper ways to handle pest control. Xolani came to help with the food parcel program (and to drive Niwo). So, we have a pretty active house now. Xolani has offered to drive around tomorrow, which should be a very interesting day.

Next up: Schools, reunions and future plans.

Driving to the Past: Malungeni, Part 1

2007-10-21T13:35:00.000-04:00

"And where are we off to today, Mr. Peabody?"

"We're going to Malungeni, South Africa, circa 1907, Sherman."

"But Mr. Peabody, the Wayback Machine still says we're in 2007!"

"Sherman, sometimes times moves very slowly."

(with apologies to Jay Ward)

I had one of the most interesting trips of my life this past week. I accompanied Rev. Spiwo to his home village, Malungeni (maal-uhn-GAY-nee). This is a small village, no more than 5,000 people, located in the heart of the rural portion of the Eastern Cape. It's about 1200 kilometers (800 miles) from Cape Town and takes 15 hours or so at posted speeds. Flying, it takes about 3-4 hours via Johannesburg or 2 hours to East London and then a 3-hour drive. Needless to say, it's an out-of-the-way destination. (I didn't do a good job with the map, but Malungeni sits at the tip of the black line coming up from the white box. It's about 18 miles from Mthatha and 4 miles before a little town called Mgqaleni. It's about 30 miles inland from the sea.)

(Malungeni is in an area that some still refer to as the Transkei, which means beyond the Kei River. The Transkei was a Black homeland (also called a Bantustan) during the days of apartheid. That meant it was nominally separate from South Africa, with its own government. Mthatha, then spelled Umtata, was its capitol. The Transkei was one area where Xhosa people were sent from Cape Town and other cities. In 1994, after apartheid ended, the homelands were disbanded and incorporated back into South Africa. Transkei was merged with the Ciskei bantustan to create the Eastern Cape.)

In some ways Malungeni reminded me of Cumberland, Wisconsin where my dad spent his early years. They are (or were) both farming communities, with huge open expanses of land and a population where everyone was seemingly related to everyone else. Today, though, that's where the similarities end. Through the next couple postings I hope to portray both the idyllic facade of Malungeni and its impoverished core. To say they have challenges is the understatement of the century.

My experience starts on Monday afternoon at Cape Town airport. I haven't traveled on a domestic airline in South Africa yet, so I'm using all of my US assumptions to get prepared. I have my passport and boarding pass in hand, and all of my liquids are neatly packed in small bottles inside the required one-quart clear zip-top bag. I also have on my easy-to-untie shoes and clean, hole-free socks. Imagine my surprise when:
- my ID wasn't checked
- I didn't have to show my liquids
- I could keep my shoes on
It was like traveling 15 years ago! It was fun again!

For being in a large city, Cape Town airport, at least the domestic terminal, is definitely a small-town operation. The terminal is about twice as big as I remember it from 12 years ago but the news agent shop and bookstore looks exactly the same. We flew on a cheap, no frills airline. We got hand-written boarding passes, and they checked our names off a paper list. The terminal is small, so there are almost no seats at the gates and you either walk outside or take a bus to your plane. Boarding takes about 10 minutes because everyone tends to be on time and they know how to queue up (must be the British influence). What's really nice is the airline opens up the tail staircase of the plane, so you can board from the front or the back.

For being a no-frills airline, the service wasn't too bad. It certainly wasn't any worse than the US-based so-called full service airlines. The only difference was that you had to pay for your sodas and nuts. At least, you were supposed to. I had a Coke not knowing you had to pay and the flight attendant never asked me to. She did charge the people next to me, though. Go figure.

We took the East London route, so we picked up our car and headed for Mthatha. We had to first stop at the grocery store since we were on the self-catering program for the week. It was pretty comical, two grown men wandering around the store asking each other what we should get. We ended up with cereal, peanut butter, bread, eggs, and chicken. And some apples, just in case we had a craving for nutrition. We also picked up some sandwiches and sodas for the drive to Mthatha.

Next stop: the local KFC to pick up Thebo. He used to live in Cape Town and I knew him from the Centre. He's now living in a village outside of East London (King William's Town) and Spiwo invited him to spend the week with us. Thebo is in his mid-twenties and is currently unemployed. He's living with his parents while he tries to find work. He's also on the hunt for a wife, which is proving difficult in a village where nearly all the women are already spoken for.

Thebo hitch-hiked to East London, a process that took him about 90 minutes to travel the 80 or so kilometers. I asked if hitching is safe, and he and Spiwo agreed it is very safe. It's a very popular form of travel, since there may not be taxis between some of the cities. Spiwo said most people carry their taxi fare just in case the driver asks for payment, and will share some of it to help defray petrol costs even if the driver doesn't ask for any. I noticed a lot of people hitching rides throughout the week, and they have a unique system for getting a ride. Everyone holds a small card with a two-letter code for where they're going. They all started with X and then had a letter corresponding to a city. XA is East London, XC is Mthatha, etc. Thebo said it usually doesn't take more than a half hour to get a lift, which is considerably shorter than waiting for a taxi.

I drove the first leg to Butterworth, a small city about a third of the way to Mthatha. (Spiwo joked that he hoped I'd stay on the left side of the road and not let my US experience confuse me.) We stopped to see Spiwo's sister there (who is really his cousin - the lines of relation are very blurry here and the descriptions can be tricky. I've learned that sisters, brothers and cousins are often used in a communal sense, and people will describe true relations by who they are. For example, a male first cousin is introduced as the son of my father's brother. Or a great uncle is the brother of my father's father. It's confusing until you get the hang of it) and then he took over driving.

During the drive I learned about witchcraft and the hold it still has on many people in the rural areas. I don't mean witchcraft in the Wizard of Oz sense, it's more akin to voodoo. Many people still believe that certain other people have the power to curse them and create problems in their lives. Spiwo told me that when tragedies happen you'll often hear people say "So-and-so cursed me and made this happen." They will even point to people and accuse them. HIV/AIDS is definitely one of the things that people are blaming on witchcraft, especially when it runs in a family. Spiwo said he's been at community meetings where someone will stand up and say "The person who is causing this problem needs to stop now" as if someone in the room was to blame. He said he believes it is a way for people to avoid personal responsibility and acceptance of their own culpability in their problems, and until people are willing to accept their role things will never change.

These beliefs are not just in the rural areas, either. Plenty of people in the townships still consult sangomas and traditional healers, even people who attend church at JL Zwane. I don't know how they reconcile their Christian faith with their traditional beliefs, but apparently there's room for both.

(I also found the discussion a little ironic. Here's a Christian minister telling me that believing in supernatural is not right, that no one person/entity can be responsible for creating strife or curing problems. Isn't that what people believed 2,000 years ago and still believe today?)

During the trip we drove through the area where Nelson Mandela grew up, and the home town of Thabo Mbeki, the current president. Mandela has a large holding in the area and still comes back on a regular basis. His house is now a museum.

We got to Malungeni late Monday evening. We drove past the new church that Spiwo is building (more on that in the next posting), and then drove to the house we were staying in. The house is on Spiwo's grandparent's property. It is large enough to be a conference center, which is what he wants to ultimately do with it. It has a main house, three small dorms, a large garage for storage, and another dorm currently under construction. All told, the place can hold up to 20 people very comfortably. It would serve as a great base for the week's activities.

Coming up next: Tuesday and my travels around Malungeni and Mthatha.

Yes, I'm Still Here

2007-10-21T10:52:00.000-04:00

I spent the past few days in Malungeni (maal-uhn-gay-ni), a rural village in the Eastern Cape. It's about 13 hours drive from Cape Town, outside the city of Mthatha (um-ta-ta). It's Rev. Spiwo's home town. He tries to keep very active there, bringing the people opportunities to take a step up and improve their lot in life. I have a LOT of things to write about, so I'll be posting separate installments on my time there. I will try to have them all done this week (because I don't trust my memory) so check back.

Since getting back really late on Friday (or early on Saturday, depending on your preference) I've been catching up on the goings-on in Gugulethu and elsewhere. Here's the updates for this week:

1. Rosie's family
I saw Nokubonga yesterday. She sent me a SMS (cell phone e-mail) asking for help with food, so we went shopping yesterday. She told me that Amanda, Rosie's 15 year-old daughter, is now living with an aunt in Phillipi, about a couple miles from the house. This is where her brother has been staying since Rosie got sick months ago. The baby, Lisa, is now living in Plettenburg Bay, about 1000 kilometers away, with other family.

It looks like everyone's fears have become reality, that the house is now in someone else's control and the kids got the short end of the bargain. Because Bonga and I don't communicate well (her English is not too good and my isiXhosa is worse) I wasn't able to get the full details on what's happening. I've asked Johanna to get someone to visit her and see what's up. I hope to know more by Tuesday.

2. Mogise
I got a call from his brother on Wednesday that Mogise was taken to jail. I had a bad connection so I didn't get all the information on why. I know that he was out on bail for allegedly assaulting someone, and an ex-girlfriend was all alleging a crime against him. This is a bad situation for him, since he's been sick and trying to shake his tik addiction. I'm going to try and see his sister tomorrow and get the details.

3. TAC murals
The third HIV/AIDS mural was unveiled yesterday. TAC had a march through the streets of Khayelitsha as before, although it was quite a bit longer this time and through some residential areas. Lots of people came out of their homes to watch us march by, with placards held high and songs being sung. This mural is a little different from the second one but has the same valuable information in it. I was cheered as the funder, so I'm passing along a shout to everyone who helped make these a reality (especially Brad, Anne, Coral and Al).

4. Orphans
This isn't an update really, but a reminder that the problem of orphaned and abandoned children is real and growing. This 14 year-old boy came to the Centre last week, barefoot and in dirty clothes, looking for some food and help. His mother had apparently left him in their shack (see picture) with no provisions and no money. According to Yvonne, and after speaking with him, there's been some tension at home for some time between his mother and grandmother. His grandmother moved out a while back and his mother has now taken to leaving home for days or weeks at a time, unannounced. This boy learned about JL Zwane from his teacher, who has been helping him with some food and a stove. Yvonne bought him new school clothes and some food items to hold him until she can speak with his mother and figure out what to do. Hopefully, that will be this week.

If we were to look for these children, instead of waiting for them to find us, we'd probably identify hundreds, if not thousands in similar situations or worse. This is the biggest challenge for me, knowing it's happening but having limited abilities to fix it. I've noticed that Americans love to take a "let's just fix it" attitude, which is why we all continue to progress as a nation and community. It's not the same here. I can't, for the life of me, figure out why people in the shacks and substandard housing don't rise up and demand better living conditions. (You'll read more about this in my Malungeni postings.) They are the majority in the country and could make a real impact if they were organized and vocal. But, most are willing to just sit back and take it. It may be that their current situation is so much better than what they had before that they don't want to rock the boat. Or, it could be that they were so beaten down by the regime of the past that they don't know they have a choice.

I believe the day is coming where someone rallies the people and demands a change. It may be as soon as 2008-2009, when the next presidential election cycle is in full swing. Or it could be in 2011, when people start looking at all the stadia and construction done for the 2010 soccer world cup, with costs of hundreds of billions of Rand, that are now sitting empty while their shacks and roads continue to deteriorate. Or, it could be in 2014, the 20th anniversary of the end of apartheid, when the young adults who never knew the old ways look around and ask why they're living in a third-world city in a first-world country. Or, it could be tomorrow. But it's coming.

More to come.

Play Ball!

2007-10-10T13:56:00.000-04:00

Today was the start of my baseball coaching career. I was having serious flashbacks to 40 years ago when I was learning to play. But, it's amazing how the lessons come flooding back (aided, like many things, by the Internet and coaching Web sites).

I'm helping a local teacher named Maxwell with the program. He was able to round up about 20 kids, 19 of whom have never seen baseball before. The ages ranged from around 8 to about 13, so we had kids of all sizes and coordinations. I was surprised to see that about a third of the group were girls - I didn't know if the kids would see baseball as a boys' sport or not. (Football, or soccer, is definitely a boys' sport, as are cricket and rugby. Girls play netball, a game like basketball. Title XIX has not made it to South Africa yet.) Maxwell got some gloves, balls, bats and helmets from a local non-profit group so about half the kids can play. They're really good about sharing equipment so that everyone gets a turn.

The big downside is the practice area. The school yard only has a big square of sand to use. It was okay for today, but I can't imagine how we're going to practice hitting or running there. We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. (I used that phrase with someone a couple weeks ago. They looked at me like I was from outer space. I had to draw them a picture to show what I meant. You don't want to know the looks I get when I call something a craps shoot.)

Today was all about fundamentals. We all stood in a circle and worked on throwing and catching. It was hard taking boys who had played cricket and teaching them a new throwing method. Cricket requires the pitchers to wind up and throw with a funny side-arm motion that moves the whole upper body. I had to have the kids just stand still and swing their arms so they could get a feel for using just their arm. And then adding the wrist snap was another step. However, most of the kids caught on within 1 or 2 throws and some were throwing right on target with power by the end of the hour. With practice they should be tossing 20 and 30 yard throws easily.

Then it was on to catching. These kids have never used a glove before, and they did what most kids do. They tried to catch everything with their hands palm up. Even if the ball was at chest level or higher, risking a bounce into their face. After a few throws and my holding their hand in the right position they started to catch on (no pun intended). Again, some of the kids were naturals and were snagging balls like nothing.

Then we worked on ground balls. This was the fun part. I explained how you had to go down on one knee and use your body with the glove to keep the ball in front of you. Well, the kids took me literally and went down on one knee, even if the ball was to their left or right. I had to explain that they could take a side step first and then drop. I also had a couple just bend over and the balls would squirt through their legs. By the end they were helping each other, plus teasing each other as kids do.

We closed out the day with some round robin throwing and catching. The kids all said they had fun and I think they really did. Next week will be more of the same, and then the following week we're going to work on hitting. THAT should be interesting.

If anyone knows someone coming this way, please ask them to bring a glove and ball. Bats would also be great but airplane security will be an issue with those (unless they can be checked).

A couple other updates for the week:

1. The local power company, Eskom, has a very interesting way of managing power spikes. They just turn off sections of the city. Seriously. They call it "load shedding" and they schedule portions of the city and suburbs for outages. Tonight they have two sets of shedding scheduled, with about 10-12 portions of the city each time. Each phase is for 2 hours. I can't imagine being in a place like Gugulethu or Phillipi with no electricity. Having no overhead lights or inside lights is just plain dangerous in places where people are regularly assaulted or worse. Plus, students are studying for their major end-of-year and graduation exams and will have to miss a night of work. Crazy.

2. A ways back I wrote about Noloyiso, the 16 year-old girl who is raising her 8 year-old brother. (I've since found out her name is actually Noluyolo. Yvonne had it a little mixed up.) They live in a beat-up, leaky and unsecure shack in a rough section of Gugulethu. About 2 months ago a group of Americans promised to build her a new place.. Then they backed out, saying they didn't feel safe in her area. As you can imagine, she was crestfallen.

Well, a group of people from the local church that was working with the Americans have stepped up and are going to make the shack a reality. They were at her place this past Saturday to take measurements and look at what needed to be done. They have several master craftsmen in their congregation and don't expect any real problems.

Of course, nothing is as easy as it seems. The law of unintended consequences says that building a new shack in the current location will result in Noluyolo being robbed or having her shack damaged because people will think she's rich or is too good for the community. So, we're now looking to see if we can find a new location for her shack, possibly a house with a responsible adult and a secure back yard. I'll keep you updated as this moves ahead.

(And a word on the safety issue. I'm biased, and I know that. But I cannot imagine a large group of people thinking they wouldn't be safe in Noluyolo's area. I've been there several times, with and without black people and have not had any problems. If they were concerned they should have said so before making a promise. This is common in Gugulethu - many visitors come and make promises and are never heard from again. Spiwo says lack of trust is the hardest thing to overcome because most people have had bad experiences.)

3. Mogise
Yvonne and I brought food to his sister last Thursday. She was very warm and friendly. Her only comment was "Please don't forget us." Like that could happen. As we were leaving I saw Mogise walking up the street. He wasn't smiling. I'm due to go back again on Friday and we'll see how things are.

Lastly, I saw this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson this week:

To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

I think it encapsulates my recent experiences pretty well. I've been and am fortunate to have intelligent friends (and family). I can find beauty in most things, even in the shacks of Gugulethu (such as the pop art-like nature of colors in the scraps that form the shacks). I've helped create a garden patch that's now feeding people. And I know I've made at least a couple people breathe easier knowing they'll eat tomorrow. I guess I've succeeded, many times over.

More to come.

One Good Thing Today

2007-10-03T14:50:00.000-04:00

In my haste to write about my meeting with Mogise, I forgot to write about my good moment of the day.

Marvin is a member of the support group. He's been sick lately, but is showing signs of improvement. He is skilled in making silk screen prints of traditional Xhosa patterns, which he has sewn into clothing. I've seen his work and it's quite good. Marvin has rounded up about 20 other people from the support group who want to learn his craft, and he wants to teach them so that they have a skill. His only problem? No money to get new screens made and buy some fabric to start with.

He had applied for a grant from the Department of Cultural Development in Cape Town. After months of filing papers and waiting for responses, he decided to go there today to get a status update. He was very disappointed to learn that he was not going to be funded. He could not get anyone to tell him why, just that his application was not accepted.

Marvin came to me this morning to ask for my help in contacting their office and getting more facts so that he can reapply. I said I would do that. I asked how much he was looking for. He told me he'd need about R25,000 to get a real business started, but what he really needed was R300 to get his screens done and get the starting fabric. That was too easy. I gave him the money and he was very quiet for at least a minute. He then said he was starting tomorrow and would have something to show me soon. I told him I'd buy his first print, and he said he'd make me something special.

Whatever it is, it will certainly be that.

More to come.

Con Men 1, Tony 0

2007-10-03T13:12:00.000-04:00

Today I saw examples of manipulation and courage, all courtesy of my "friend" Mogise and his sister.

As I mentioned in yesterday's posting, I had set up a meeting with Mogise's sister (Leticia) and brother for this afternoon. When she set this up, even though she was just a little intoxicated, I could tell something was up but had no idea if it was a need for more money, different items or what. I had arranged with Johanna to go with me, because language can be a real barrier and, often, a pretend barrier when people don't want me to understand something.

This morning I got a call from Mogise telling me not to come to the house, that his sister was still drunk from the weekend. He and his brother would come to the Centre at 3:00 to meet with me. I thought that was a little odd, but I don't know the family that well and it certainly could have been possible. So, Johanna and I were waiting at 3:00. Mogise came, alone. When I asked where his brother was, he said we must go to his aunt's house. Johanna and I were now very confused, but off we went. When we arrived at the aunt's house, he first told Johanna that no one was home and we should leave. Well, Johanna's been around the block once or twice and she suspected something was up. We waited for a minute and the aunt eventually came to the door. This is where things started to go wrong for Mogise.

The aunt was very confused as to why we were there. Johanna explained how we came to be at her house (the full story, about my buying food and the shenanigans of two weeks ago and the meeting today) and said we were as confused as she was. Mogise then had his turn, and he said he brought us there so that the aunt could explain what his house situation was, basically about the supposedly drunk sister. The aunt said she didn't know what was going on at the house and couldn't comment. She seemed a little perturbed that she was brought into the problem. Johanna quickly stood up and said we were going to the house, that she was going to see what was happening with her own eyes. And off we went.

When we got to the house, the sister had just laid down for a nap after doing spring cleaning all day. She was very sober. The brother was gone trying to find money to buy food. Johanna told her that Mogise had changed our meetings plans, which she knew nothing about. She said he hadn't been there all day and she didn't know what he was doing. Then she got into the reasons for the meeting. (I acknowledge that the following is all hearsay, but if you were there you'd believe it too).

She explained that Mogise is using tik, or methamphetamine. He deals in it as well, from their house where two small children live. He is taking the food I buy and selling it to raise money to buy his tik, and most of the cash I've given him for paraffin and electricity is also going up in smoke (literally). She said "Many days when you bring food we only eat with our eyes. We never get to eat with our mouths. We are all still hungry and our cupboard is bare." She showed me what they have, and I know from what I've brought them over the past two weeks that it should have been more. She said she has even cursed at the people who come to buy their food, asking them how they can be taking that food from a hungry family.

She was also very concerned for her brother (Mogise), as he is not well and is not getting better. He doesn't bathe, and his clothes are constantly dirty. He goes days without eating and has had diarrhea for weeks. (All of which are signs of meth use. People cannot focus on basic needs and live only to find their next fix. They have chronic malnutrition because they don't eat or just eat junk food, with poor skin and weight loss. They also tend to lose their teeth from poor hygiene and the acidic nature of the drug.) She is especially concerned because he has HIV (and probably TB) and she doesn't want him to die.

As you can guess, this was extremely disappointing, to say the least. Mogise tried to claim that the food I bought was his and not the family's, but I told him that from the first bag I bought I was supporting the household, not him. Johanna read him the riot act, too. (I didn't know until today that she is a distant cousin of the family, so she feels even more obligated and within her rights to correct the situation.) We agreed with the sister that any future assistance would be food. No more cash. We will buy the groceries and bring them to her. If they need electricity, we'll buy it and punch it in the box. If Mogise ever steals food to sell for tik again, then we will cut off any support he currently receives at the Centre. And my taxi service is closed, too. The sister was satisfied with that; Mogise was quiet.

Johanna and I are worried about the sister. She made the comment that she is the only woman in the house, and she's nervous about all the strangers coming around for drugs. Johanna is going to speak with the neighborhood leader and the local councilor (government official) to have them watch the house and contact the police if there's any trouble.

So, I have another great example that things are not always what they seem. I'm trying to evaluate the past few weeks to see what I could have done differently. I'm now thinking that I need to have a local partner for every situation I deal with and every request I get. I want to believe that people are generally act honestly and with integrity, but, sadly, that just isn't holding true. It could also be that some people here have experienced "white people" coming and just throwing money at problems with no follow-up or long-term involvement. They just expect to get the cash to use as they see fit, not thinking that the giver will ask questions or cut off the support if it's not spent wisely. Johanna told me a while back that she doesn't think Mogise ever expects me to say no and he's taking advantage. Well, now he knows better.

More to come.

Today's Posting

2007-10-02T12:45:00.000-04:00

(It's pretty bad when I have to think for more than a minute for a title to a posting. I'm not feeling exceptionally creative today, thus a generic title.)

I've been working a lot at the clinic lately, so I haven't had much to write about. But, my schedule is getting back to normal, so I should have lots more to comment on in future. Here are a few things that have happened recently:

1. Mogise update
Well, after the stern talking to he got, he's back to his old tricks. Last week was food parcel week, with Spar delivering their usual 60 bags to the Centre. I took one aside and gave it to Mogise, who had come to see me that day. He had been to his doctor and had lots of news. He thinks he's going to get a disability grant, although I'm not holding my breath that it'll happen anytime soon. He also had a letter from his doctor that he was glad to show me. His doctor wrote that "Mogise had previously been in prison for 3-4 weeks and was now sick at home. Whomever reads this letter should please help him with food and clothing until he gets better." I'm paraphrasing a lot but that was the gist of it. He also made sure to show me his bail slip, just in case I needed to know he was free.

It was quite comical and sad at the same time. I told Mogise that I didn't need to see a letter from his doctor, I have seen him and been to his house and know his situation. I didn't know about the jail time (for biting someone) but it really didn't matter. He also disclosed some issues with his ex-girlfriend that could cause him problems down the line. Needless to say, he has a lot of challenges right now. However, it doesn't excuse the fact he's back to pushing for more money and more help.

Last Friday he showed up at my office again expecting a ride home. I explained again that he shouldn't do that, that I'm not there everyday and he shouldn't assume someone will drive him home. I did it, and on the way he told me he needed money to pay a plumber to fix their toilet. When we arrived home his brother also asked me to help, so I gave them the cash. I confirmed that I would pick them up for church on Sunday (which they asked me to do a couple days earlier) and left.

On Sunday, no one was ready for church. I spoke briefly to his sister, who asked for a couple cleaning supplies for the house. I told them I'd be back after services and we'd pop by the store. Mogise and I went to the store, and this time it was relatively controlled. At least, until we got in the car to head home. Then he needed money for vegetables and paraffin. I explained, again, about the limit and he claimed to understand. I dropped him at home and left.

On Monday, I stopped by their house with some medicinal porridge for Mogise. He's really battling with GI system problems and is not tolerating the food the rest of the family is eating. the porridge should help him get some nutrients and maybe gain some weight. When I arrived, the sister asked to have a meeting with me to discuss their situation. I think she may have been drinking a little, along with a couple of the other family members. In any case, we set a time for tomorrow (Wednesday) and we'll see what happens. I will be bringing Johanna with me, because she can communicate with them in ways I can't.

2. Howard
Howard is a member of the support group who I've gotten to know over the past month or so. He's 40, although you'd swear he's at least 50. He's a very nice man, humble and quiet. He would very much like to work now that his HIV is under control, but he has a hard time getting work because he stutters pretty badly. I've been helping him with money for electricity and vegetables once in a while and he's very appreciative.

(An aside: I'm not sure why I like helping Howard and don't like Mogise. I think it's how they carry themselves. Howard participates in the group, he's courteous, and he follows rules. Mogise doesn't do any of those things. I'm trying hard to set that aside and consider the situation, but it's hard.)

Howard came to me yesterday regarding a friend of his. This man is also HIV-positive and unemployed. He lives in a shack behind his parents home not far from Howard's small room (behind his grandmother's house). At least, he did until a fire destroyed it a couple weeks ago. The shack just caught fire, and no one knows why. He apparently lost everything in the blaze and is now sleeping on the floor of his parent's dining room. Howard asked me if I could help him in any way, and I said I'd consider it.

We visited his friend today and it's clear he lost everything. The shack was gone, just a few zinc panels and lots of charred wood left. And a lot of empty bottles for brands of whiskey I'd never seen before. Anyway, I spent a few minutes talking to the friend and his parents, who are both pensioners and of limited income, and he has few prospects to get his shack rebuilt. So, I'm going back into the shack buying business. This time, though, we will be buying a pre-built unit without any of the hassles of tear-down and moving (new readers: check out the posts from April and May). He'd also like money to replace his bed, TV, and other possessions but those will be for someone else to work on.

3. Porridge
I mentioned the medicinal porridge in the entry about Mogise, above. I got this from the clinic. In line with efficiencies of government institutions, we've been sitting on porridge that "outdated" in January 2007 (it doesn't expire, really, it's just past its "best if used by" date). Why it wasn't given to people back then I don't know, but I do know that we have dozens of patients who come through that could benefit from it. When I saw what we had, I took it (with permission) to the Centre to use with the HIV support group members or other people who need the nutrition. In one day we've already given out 12 packets of the 40 I have, and the rest should be gone within the month. It's easy when you try.

4. Letters to Santa
I hate starting Christmas early, but this one is for a good cause. One of the high school kids I was overseeing in July and August runs a program for disadvantaged youth at her high school. She goes to the Post Office and gets their letters to Santa, and then she and her friends fulfill the kids' wishes. They support hundreds of kids every year with donations from her classmates and community folks. This year, she offered to include some of the kids from our after-school program and the primary school where we painted. So, today the kids started writing letters to Santa. I think some of them have no clue as to why they're writing these, but their principal is very persuasive. I hope to send as many as 150 back to the US and have stuff to give out in early December. I'll let you know how this works out.

5. The great TV experiment
My satellite TV connection went out this past weekend. Something happened to the dish's alignment, and I couldn't get any signal. I can get the free stations with a plain old antenna, so I decided to cancel my satellite service today. I'm a little nervous - I haven't had only three stations to watch since I was in high school. I think it will be good though. The three stations I can get maybe show an hour a night of TV worth watching. So, I should be able to get started on the couple dozen books I brought (I have an electronic book that holds hundreds) and listen to the couple hundred CDs I downloaded before I came.

A little history on TV in South Africa: TV was not introduced here until 1975. Yes, 1975. The government didn't want television here because they were afraid people might learn the truth about the world's views on apartheid. They started with one government-controlled station and grew to three stations in the 1980s. The first prime-time show broadcast was The Waltons. No kidding!

In roughly 1996, the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC) reorganized the stations by language. SABC1 is now mostly African language programming. SABC2 is about half Afrikaans and half African language. SABC3 is all English. Most of the shows on SABC1 are locally produced, while SABC2 and 3 carry mostly overseas programs (like last year's Survivor, which I'm watching now). A new free station, eTV, launched in 2000. This is also exclusively English, and runs mostly US shows with some local programming. All stations also carry a lot of sports, since South Africans are sports nuts, but sadly they're sports I don't really watch (rugby, cricket, and soccer).

As I said, not much is "must see TV" and it's more for background noise than anything.

More to come.

The Halfway Point

2007-09-30T14:29:00.000-04:00

It's been six months since I arrived in South Africa. The time has both flown by and crept at a snail's pace, depending on which aspect you're looking from. I think, therefore (I am?), it's time for some introspection.

A lot of people I meet here, basically everyone who's not a black South African, ask me why I came to Cape Town. Most people assume I'm here on a religious mission of some sort, or through some international non-profit group. When I tell them I came on my own for a year, that I was tired of the corporate rat race so I quit my job, left my family and came just to do something meaningful for other people, I usually get about a second of stunned silence. Then I get the standard comments like “That's so great” or “Wow, good for you.” And then they're on to something else, like they quite can't understand me.

(I also remember being asked by someone at home if I was that dedicated to “the cause,” meaning HIV/AIDS, or if it was something else. I hadn't considered helping people with HIV/AIDS as a cause, just the right thing to do. I still think that way.)

So, why did I come? Well, the initial idea came from Open Arms of Minnesota's desire to have a local representative in Cape Town, someone who could bring some organizational oversight to their programs in Gugulethu and look for other areas where we could help. I sit on the Board of OAM and on their South Africa program committee and was at the meeting where this was first discussed. Originally, the idea was to find a person just out of college who wanted some international program development experience. When the idea was raised, though, I thought it was a unique chance to come back to a country I liked and do something really different.

But that's only half the story. I was going through a rough time at my job and the future didn't look so bright. I needed to find something else but had no clue what that might be. South Africa was a chance to run away for a while, to escape the shackles of real life and find out what I really wanted to do with my life. It was also a good time from the family perspective – Cindy and I were in a really good place, our parents were healthy, and we were set up well financially. (To her credit, Cindy never said no, never raised any huge concerns about my being gone for so long. I think she knows me better than I know myself most of the time, and she knew that I needed to “find myself” again.)

Now, there were a lot of people who thought I was crazy for even thinking about going. Many people, including my parents and my in-laws, couldn't understand giving up a well-paying job and relatively easy life to live by myself in a far-away place for a year. I think they thought I had really lost it. I had a hard time explaining what I'd be doing; in fact, I had no clue as to what I'd be doing once I got here. I knew Spiwo was looking forward to help with his programs and that Zethu wanted a pharamcist at the clinic. That was it. But, I had two advantages:

I knew Spiwo, at least a little bit, and trusted he would work with me to make it a good experience
If things didn't work out, I'd simply pack up and come home, get a pharmacist posting somewhere, and get back into my old routine

My worst case scenario was actually pretty good. I'd spend some time in a lovely city, get some nice photos, and have some sort of experience I could tell people about. To me, there was very little downside to the move and the upside was unlimited.

So, did I have any doubts? Well, there was one night I still remember. It was a Thursday night. I had been in South Africa for a week and my apartment for three days. I was living behind a double-locked door and a security gate. The only possessions I had fit into two large suitcases. Kevin Winge and some people from and associated with Open Arms were here and they were leaving three nights later. I hadn't really started with JL Zwane or at the clinic yet, since it was Easter week and Spiwo and Zethu were away. I laid in bed for much of that night asking myself what the Hell I was doing. If I hadn't signed a lease on the apartment, I may well have gone home.

But that night turned into Friday, and then the weekend came and went, and I started my jobs. I began running every morning, and my days slipped into a certain routine. Pretty soon it was the next weekend, and then the next, and April slowly turned into May. By that time I had seen and met children living on their own and talked with adults struggling to survive with HIV and TB. I had learned the process at the clinic and actually talked with some of the patients. Both the staff at JL Zwane and the clinic figured out I wasn't leaving anytime soon and became friendlier. And, as you may have read, I've been busy with many projects since then and have made this my home away from home.

Have I met my goals? Really, the only goals I had in coming here were:

Help people
Learn about life in the townships and help people back home understand it
See if I could scale back my life and live simply again

I think I've met all of these goals with flying colors. Well, maybe except for number 3. I have scaled back a bit, but I haven't exactly given up my comfortable life. I have a nice apartment with satellite TV and a decent Internet connection. I live two blocks from the ocean and can walk along the promenade for miles. I live above a shopping mall so I never have to walk more than 100 yards to buy groceries, a newspaper, or a cup of tea. I have hot water and an indoor toilet, and a bed with sheets and pillows. The only simplicity I've really had to contend with is doing my own ironing. And that's only because I've been too cheap to hire a domestic servant or use the laundry service downstairs in the mall.

And what have I learned? One thing: I really like being a pharmacist. I haven't actually practiced in about 15 years, and working at the clinic has reaffirmed my satisfaction with it. I have a lot of relearning and updating to do, but I could see myself working in a pharmacy again when I come home. Of course, getting the right kind of office job wouldn't be bad either, as long as it has some kind of meaning behind it.

The second thing, which is the whole thing, is that the vast majority of people are decent and hard-working with a desire to improve their situation. I've met many people here who have every right to be bitter and disillusioned, to complain and protest or just give up. However, every one of them continues to scrape and struggle and fight to move ahead. They look for work when prospects are few, they scrounge for things to improve their homes, and they ask for help to make sure their families are taken care of. Many are also helping others in whatever way they can, including visiting people in hospital or helping sick folks with housework. The spirit of ubuntu (what it means to be human, or becoming a person through other people) is not just a concept here, it is a reality. I didn't have a word for it before I came here, but I was raised around that concept and have tried to practice it throughout my life. It's one thing I hope to bring home and spread around.

Do I have any regrets? At this point, no. I have wondered what it would have been like to live in Gugulethu, but I don't think the experience would have overcome the security risk. I've also wanted to get closer to some of the people at the Centre, but I'm a little too old to be part of the In Crowd (only Spiwo is older than me, and only by two years). But, those are really minor points. I've had fantastic opportunities and I've taken advantage of each one as they've come. I know there will be more coming, like going with Spiwo to the Eastern Cape in two weeks, coaching baseball and working on a U.S. tour for Siyaya.

So, it's six months down and five to go. I have set my return date for March 4^th and already bought my ticket. But I'm in no hurry to leave and am looking forward to what comes next.

More to come.

Living in Survival Mode

2007-09-23T14:25:00.000-04:00

As you may have read previously, I've been helping a man named Mogise and his family with food and other necessities. It started small, a few groceries here, some paraffin there. Every week, though, it's been escalating to a point where I was spending close to R500 a week on various things. It also grew into an entitlement program of sorts - the past two Sundays he just showed up after church expecting to go to the store and then get a ride home. He shows up at the Centre in the afternoons expecting to get food to take home, and a free ride in my car. The most difficult thing for me is that what he gets is never enough. If I spend R400 for groceries, then he needs R100 for electricity. If it's money for electricity, then he needs transport money. Last week it was money for a haircut (actually, he wanted a clippers), to which I said no.

And the groceries he got were over the top. Because the first couple times I let him pick the items, that became the routine. It ended up being sausages and lamb chops, sweets and custard, peanut butter and jam. Everyone else who gets food aid gets staples: samp, mealie meal, rice, flour, sugar, tea, soup mix, things like that. I felt uncomfortable calling him out in the middle of the store, so I let it go. Big mistake on my part.

Things hit a high (or low) point this past Tuesday. I was working at the clinic and he called me on my cell phone at about 10:30. "I'm at the robots [stop lights, about a half-mile from his house]. You have to come and get me." It wasn't a request, it was a demand. I told him I was at the clinic and couldn't leave. He hung up on me, and I went back to work. About 20 minutes later I got another call. "I'm outside the [Centre] gate, come out and get me." Again, I told him I couldn't leave. "Plus," I said, "I won't be at the Centre until later this afternoon. Why did you come this morning?" He said something I couldn't understand. I told him I would stop by his house later in the day. "Then you can bring me my plate [of food]," he said. I said no, I wouldn't be at the Centre. Again, he hung up.

Well, it was a slow day at the clinic and I got out earlier than expected. I did go to the Centre first and sure enough, he was there to get his food. I sat down with him and explained that what he did that morning was not appropriate. I told him I was not a personal taxi service, and if he needed a ride to get his food he needed to arrange his own taxi or other transport. I also told him that he should be eating his daily meal at the Centre, since the rules were that no food leave the premises. He nodded that he understood (he speaks English pretty well, so I'm sure he did) and we left it at that.

Then, I told him that I was worried about how dependent he was on me for food, since I wouldn't be around forever and he needed a broader support network. I also said the amount I was spending was getting high, especially because I was supporting several other people. I told him that he has to take some responsibility for finding other support, including a government grant. (If his CD4 count is below 200, he may qualify for a disability grant. He hadn't been tested to see what his count was, even though he promised to do that before.) Again, he nodded that he understood and he left.

I decided I needed help. Mogise has told me before that he'd been visited by one of the Stellenbosch University social work students who come to Centre for practical experience. I spoke with the woman who works with these students (Johanna) and arranged a meeting for last Friday. I also told Mogise to come. I met with the student (Josias) and Mogise for a few minutes, reiterating what I had told Mogise on Tuesday. Then Josias sent Mogise away and we chatted for a few minutes. Josias said he was fully supportive of my position, that Mogise should be living in survival mode right now and trying to maximize whatever he gets. He told me a little more about the family's history, which helped explain some of the problem. Apparently, Mogise's family had been fairly well off when his parents were alive. Since both of them died, the family has fallen on hard times. His sister lost her job, which took away their only full-time paycheck. His brother only works three days a week and doesn't earn much. A cousin who lives with them used to work at McDonalds but his contract expired and he was let go. So, they went quickly from a life of relative luxury to one of poverty. They are just now learning what it means to live from hand to mouth, and that's why Mogise is struggling.

After we met, Josias, Mogise and Johanna sat down to develop a plan. I had told Josias that I could sustain R200 a week for Mogise, so they created a food plan inside that amount. It has all of the protein and carbs they'll need, and it will be supplemented with free vegetables from a local church. Then, to cement the plan and make sure R200 was sufficient, Johanna, Mogise and I went to the store.

As we walked the aisles, Mogise was clearly unhappy. We picked only those items on our list, plus a couple small add-ons. Mogise asked about a cake once, and anchovie paste another time, but I held firm to the plan. Johanna had to set him right a couple times - I know just enough Xhosa to know she wasn't happy and told him how things were to be going forward. The bill came to R189, so I know we can make it work for the long term.

When we got home, Johanna had a long talk with Mogise's sister. She explained what we bought and why, and how there was going to be a limit on what they would get in the future. The sister didn't seem to have any problem with it and understood why things had to change. We also ran into Mogise's brother as we were leaving, and he was very appreciative, as well. We made an extra run to top up the electricity account, and then Johanna and I left. Well, not before Mogise asked for more money to come to church on Sunday. I told him no, that he should arrange his own transport, and so did Johanna.

We both felt good about what happened. I can now help two people for what I was spending on just him, and Johanna knows that he will get some sustained assistance. Johanna said that she thinks Mogise was trying to hold the seat of power in the house by bringing in money and food. Part of the reason he's upset, she said, is that he may lose some standing with his siblings. I can't help that, and his better standing won't help them survive any better in any case.

We'll see what happens this week when he and I are alone again. And, he didn't come to church today.

More to come.

A Story in Contrasts

2007-09-23T04:46:00.000-04:00

I just left the funeral of the oldest elder in the JL Zwane church. Tembile Silimela was 88 years old, a remarkable age for a community where the average life expectancy is 54. His funeral was an amazing contrast to that of Nokuzola (Rosey) Kokoana, age 34, which was held yesterday. (Rosey is the woman who I've been writing about for the past few weeks.)

Rosey's funeral was held at her house, as the family didn't think many people would attend. They were right. Only about 40 people came to the funeral, and most were family members. It was a very modest affair - it had all the pomp and circumstance of a regular funeral, but less of the pathos that I've seen before. It became apparent why, when the neighbourhood leader spoke. He explained that Rosey had shut out many members of her family, telling them not to come to her house when she was sick. This is why most of her family were never around during the time I've known her. The neighbour also told of a time when Rosey had moved back to the Eastern Cape and let others stay in her house. These people apparently created all kinds of trouble for the neighbourhood, making noise and getting up to bad mischief. The neighbour called Rosey and told her to come home to take care of the problem, and she refused, telling him to mind his own business. This created much ill will in the neighbourhood, and the bad feelings still exist today.

This is a very different story than what I had heard before. I'm sorry for passing judgment on the family before I knew the facts - they were not as uncaring as it seemed, just estranged because of what Rosey did. This estrangement is also the reason why most of the family did not want a big funeral (in fact, some didn't want anything) and why it was a very modest affair. It turned out to be a nice celebration, and I think everyone was pleased when it was over and done.

(I don't know what interaction I will have with Amanda and Bonga now that this chapter is closed. They have new family members to depend on, and I don't think I'll be needed any longer. I'm sad about that, but I'm glad they can have a more stable family situation now that the bad feelings are evaporating. Amanda may still be looked after by Yvonne's disciple team, so we'll see what happens in the future.

(Also, it's customary to have a picture of the deceased at the funeral and on the programme the family has printed for the service. I was very surprised to see what Rosey looked like before I knew her. I knew she was tall, close to six feet. I didn't know she was a big woman, probably more than 200 pounds in the picture. When I first met her she couldn't have weighed more than 130 or 140, and at the end she had to be under 100. It was a rapid and dramatic change and it set her up for a bad outcome.

(Another somewhat bizarre thing happened as we were leaving the luncheon. Someone from the family, or maybe a friend of Rosey's mother, came up to the car and said Rosey's mother wanted to see to get the cause of death. I was a little stunned, and before I could say anything the women in the car told her that it was confidential and that they should go to the hospital and ask for the death certificate. I think she was trying to find out if Rosey was HIV-positive, which I only know because Rosey told me. I have never heard the official cause of death, so I couldn't have answered her anyway. It could have been from the TB, or it could have been a stroke, or it could have been a brain infection, or any number of other things. I hope she is able to get her answer.)

Mr. Silimela's funeral, on the other hand, was the largest and most celebratory I've seen to date. He was loved and revered by his family, friends and the congregation as a whole. The service was filled with song and testimony, with over 400 people taking part. Because it pulled in people from across the community it was also filled with colour, as well. Members of may different ladies' auxiliaries were present. There were white hats and black berets, leopard-skin pill-box hats and multi-coloured scarves. White coats, red sweaters, green-grey plaid wraps and traditional African dresses were scattered around the hall. There was even an honour guard in their red sashes that spoke on his behalf.

One of the touching moments was when his white jacket from the men's auxiliary was passed to the family. First, the men paraded the jacket around the hall accompanied by a very spirited hymn. Then, a long speech given and the jacket was handed down to a member of the family. It was like they were retiring his number after a long and storied career.

I first met Mr. Silimela in 2003 on my first visit to JL Zwane. He always had a smile on his face and kind and welcoming words for strangers. When I came back in 2006 he remembered our first meeting even if I didn't and had the same smile for everyone in our group. He was a great steward for JL Zwane and he will be greatly missed.

In celebration of his life, the church is serving a lunch today. It should be a big affair, with a few hundred people possible. As one person put it, it will be just a little chaotic today. An understatement if I ever heard one.

More to come.

My $1000 Lesson in Humanity

2007-09-19T14:58:00.000-04:00

It's a foggy night in Cape Town. Spring is here, with Summer soon to come. The days are warmer but the nights are still cool, so the mist settles in soon after the sun goes down. It looks pretty, and I don't have to worry about frost on my windshield in the morning.

Not to stretch a pun, but some of the fog is lifting on how things work in the township. My lessons come courtesy of Rosie's family. Now, I knew most of what I was getting into as it happened, but I'm still surprised at how people can take advantage of sincere gestures and quickly ruin a relationship.

I did take Amanda and Bonga shopping on Saturday. They each got a new skirt, shirt and casual blazer for the funeral, plus new shoes. They initially asked for my help with picking colors, until they discovered that pharmacy school didn't prepare me for that. So, I stood around waiting, just like when I accompany my wife. Except I was about 20 years older than anyone else in the store and, you know, a different color. We picked up some KFC for lunch and headed home.

When we arrived, it became very clear that the balance of power in the house had shifted to Rosie's sisters, especially the one from Kraaifontein (the one I picked up a few weeks back). Amanda and Bonga were visibly anxious around them, and I decided to leave so as to avoid any problems. Bonga sent me a SMS (a sort of e-mail that comes on my cell phone) later apologizing for what happened. She also said that someone told her she shouldn't contact me anymore. I wrote back and said everything was fine.

On Monday, I had a conversation with Nomokwezi and some of the women from the JL Zwane HIV support group. Kwezi is now working at a church in Nyanga, trying to start a community centre there based on JL Zwane for the people in the immediate area. She has a team of people from the support group who visit people affected by HIV, and Rosie was one of them. So, they know the family and the dynamics of the house. Kwezi told me in no uncertain terms that I should not go to the house alone anymore. Apparently the neighbors were talking about how I was going there, and she was concerned that one of these times I was going to be robbed. She was also concerned about some of the stories she was hearing from the support group women, that they felt my "sweet nature" was being taken advantage of. The women told me that the family only wanted to get Rosie buried and didn't have any interest in doing it right or with respect. They also felt that any contributions I made would be partially diverted to buy other things (like liquor). So, I promised them that the next time I was asked to come to Rosie's house, I would take one of them with me.

Now, I knew some of that they had told me already, and I went ahead with my donation to the funeral anyway. I knew that about R1000 of the R5400 quote from the undertaker would likely end up in the family's hands. But, I paid it because the family has very little and if even half of the "excess" went towards food it would be a good thing. I didn't like the fact that they weren't planning a lunch after the service, but I couldn't make them do it. I still felt good about the shopping trip for Amanda and Bonga, because I saw first-hand what they went through to care for Rosie and thought they needed to feel happy for at least a little while.

Today is when I got my eyes opened. I got a call about 1:00 from Bonga's phone asking me to come by. The voice was new - the woman spoke English well (Bonga doesn't) and it had a different pitch and timbre than I'd heard before. I should have asked who it was but I didn't. Anyway, because I promised, I called Kwezi and asked if she would go with me. So, at 3:00 I picked up Kwezi (and two other women, because they wanted to come) and we went to the house. When we walked in Amanda and Bonga's faces were a mix of disappointment and anger. When I said someone called me to come, no one knew who it was. Kwezi talked to them in Xhosa and still no one admitted to calling me and why I would have been called. After a few minutes we left shaking our heads.

Rosie's mother was at the house, which surprised me because I was told she wasn't coming to the funeral. She didn't say a word to me (which is rude in Xhosa culture, to at least not get an introduction), and in retrospect it could have been her who called. Kwezi told me she speaks English (how she knows that is beyond me), and she was the only person there whose voice I hadn't heard before.

Driving back from the house, Kwezi and the women explained that things were happening just as they expected. They said that I had become the patsy, someone that the family knew had money and wouldn't ask too many questions. The family expected me to show up alone, and they would have asked me to cover more of the "expenses" (which the women said would have included hair styling) or purchase more groceries. The women are upset enough that they are only going to attend the funeral and leave, and stop any more help for the family. (They had been planning to provide a small funeral lunch out of respect for Rosie. No longer.) They also told me that I shouldn't answer any more calls from Bonga, which I had already decided not to do.

As you can imagine, this whole saga didn't end as I expected. I'm disappointed, more that any respect for Rosie is being lost to family squabbles and greed than that I overpaid for something. I now have greater concerns for what will happen to Amanda and her siblings, especially after the funeral when the family starts to fight over who gets what. The sisters are allegedly talking about kicking Bonga out of the house, which will leave Amanda with people she doesn't really know.

Amanda will probably still be on the list for support through the HIV orphan program, so hopefully Yvonne can make positive things happen. She's finishing her junior year in high school (at age 16 - she is a full year ahead of her age) and she has hopes of studying to be journalist. It would be a real shame if her dream was abandoned because of her living situation.

More to come.

Potpourri for 10, Alex

2007-09-14T13:16:00.000-04:00

(This was, or is, always my favourite Jeopardy category. I remember as a kid calling it pot-porie. What I did I know about French?)

I have several random anecdotes and comments today. First, though, a Rosie update. She will be buried next week. The funeral will be at a different church, my first not at JL Zwane (except for the two home-based services I attended). I don't know any arrangements yet, although I expect to find out soon as I'm helping to pay for it.

Unfortunately, as is often the case here, trouble is brewing. I've been talking with three women from the HIV support group who are helping Amanda (Rosie's daughter) and Nokubonga (Rosie's half-sister and roommate) with things. Because Rosie had a house, it means that there is a precious asset in play. Apparently, two sisters have come out of the woodwork and are invading (my word) the family. They were nowhere to be found when Rosie was sick, but now they are large and in charge. There is talk about kicking Nokubonga out of the house, even though she was the one who cared for Rosie 24/7. That would leave Amanda with people she doesn't really know and who may not have her best interests at heart. The support group women are also concerned because one of the two sisters drinks and smokes, which often leads to other larger problems in the townships (use your imagination). Right now, I have to stand back and wait to see what happens. I do have a little sway, though, because of my financial position with the funeral, my history with the family and position with the church (the outside family thought I was a priest until last week). As always, I'll keep everyone informed as things happen.

I've also expanded my relationship with Bonga and Amanda a little. I've bought them groceries for the past couple weeks, and tomorrow we're going dress shopping. No, not for me. They want nice dresses for the funeral and have nothing to get them with. So, I'll be spending Saturday morning in women's departments with two young women. I hope the stores have comfortable chairs to wait in.

Now onto random events of the week:

1. I saw this on the back window of a police car today: Patrol/Explosive Dog. Is it a bomb-sniffing dog? Does it run really fast? Maybe it has a bomb vest? Or, did it eat bad food? We'll never know.

2. They play baseball in South Africa! Well, at least in some of the schools. There are teams at some of the high schools in Cape Town, and a couple squads have been started in the townships to keep kids busy. I'm going to try and help out, since I have some experience and they are looking for coaches. I think I can still catch and throw. I never could bat well, but I know the mechanics, at least. Now, if I can just find a glove...

3. I was the pharmacist-in-charge at the clinic this week. Ok, so I was the only pharmacist at the clinic this week. Kayise and I actually had a good week together. I was a little worried because we'd never spent more than a day without Tami before. She actually improved as the week went on. I'd like to think it was because I actually have her feedback and compliments, which I've never seen Tami do. She "yelled" at me a couple times because I never took a break, but I explained that I'd feel guilty about leaving for an hour only to make patients wait for me. I'd rather get done early and leave and have the patients happy, too. I did have one lady compliment me on my isiXhosa today, when I correctly replied back to her greeting. That was nice.

4. Speaking about yelling, I did get cussed out by a patient this week. I had no idea what she said, but I knew it wasn't good (Kayise called her rude so I know it was bad). It stemmed from my mixing up the customer queue. At our clinic, most everything happens first come, first served. At the pharmacy, that means we fill the orders and dispense the meds in the order they come in. Well, Kayise was filling and I was checking and dispensing. She'd fill three or four, and I'd pick them up and hand them out. I didn't pay attention to which of the three I did first. This woman apparently was keeping track, and when I called the person after her in the queue first, she blew up. She sat in her chair in the lobby and spouted off a few lines. I heard her say her name, so I waved her up to the window to show her she was next. She wouldn't come. When the patient I was helping left, I called her name and she came. She continued to rant at me in Xhosa. I gave her her meds and she went and sat back down. For about 10 minutes. Kayise said "If she was in such a hurry why is she just sitting there?" We had a little laugh and carried on. Life is too short to worry about that. Everyone else was very nice and most everyone says "Thank you, doctor." (Zethu told me once that every white face in a township clinic is a "doctor." I haven't told anyone that I actually have a doctoral degree.)

5. I had a good chuckle with a couple names this week. I think I've mentioned that people are very creative when naming children here. Many times the parents wait a few days before naming their kids, and most names mean something. You see a lot of variations on Themba ("hope"), Thando ("love"), Sipho ("gift"), and others like that. Ntombikayise's name means "daddy's girl" (ntombi=girl, kayise=her father). She named her son Zanele ("enough"). The one I laughed today was Noholiday. That's not exactly isiXhosa and I can only imagine what the mother was thinking. I also know a couple people named Nceba, which means messy. Just think of the fun we could have if our names portrayed our personalities. I'm sure I would have been Moody.

6. We've had mice in the pharmacy for the past couple months. They came in when was cold and rainy and it was impossible to get rid of them. Well, I've caught three in the last two weeks and they got increasingly larger, so I think I finally got the mother today. I couldn't understand why they were so docile when I found them. The last two literally just stood there and let me pick them up with absolutely no fight whatsoever. (The second one was actually comical. It had its back to me and was licking its paws. I just put a little box over it, scooped it up and took it outside. It never even tried to get out.) Today I figured out why. They had made their nest on a bottom shelf where we store our excess inventory. It happened to be near the end of the alphabet by the vitamins (they were fit little mice). It was also by the valproic acid. That's a drug used for epilepsy, and sometimes for certain mental health conditions. I found a pack with teeth marks and two missing pills. These mice were very calm and relaxed, with not a care in the world. So, I'm going to write to the D-Con people and ask them to try this in their next product. You may have mice, but they'll be so nice you may not mind having them.

7. Imagine you're driving to work at 8:00 am on 494 between Highway 100 and 35W (for those of you not in the Twin Cities, pick the busiest stretch of your favourite Interstate Highway at rush hour). Now imagine if the people living in Richfield decided they didn't like their living conditions and stormed the freeway. That's what happened on Tuesday this week. The N2 is one of two major highways leading in and out of Cape Town (the other is the N1). The N2 travels south and east along the coast from Cape Town to Durban, and the cuts west to Johannesburg. About 8 miles outside of Cape Town along the N2 is an area called Langa. This was the first township constructed in Cape Town in the 1930s. There's a section called Joe Slovo that sits almost immediately adjacent to the road. The government is attempting to build new homes in this area. However, in order to do that they have to move almost everyone out. The plan is to move them to Delft, a settlement about 10 miles further away from town. This is going to greatly disrupt people's lives, especially travel to and from work (and increase their costs, since taxi rates are based on distance). Tuesday morning, the residents of Joe Slovo showed how upset they were. They invaded the freeway, throwing burning tires and stoning police cars. They started at about 4:00 am and were still going at 8:00. The police had to shut down the freeway, which created all kinds of chaos on the other routes and caused tens of thousands to be late to work (including me). It's been fine the rest of the week, although the mayor posted police and security guards along the route all week. More protests are rumoured, so it could be a fun couple weeks coming up.

8. I'm now considering setting up my own savings and loan at JL Zwane. Maybe just the loan part, anyway. This week I had five people ask me for small "loans." These are amounts ranging from R50 to R200 ($7 to $30). Usually it's for food or clothing, sometimes for transportation. One of them will probably also pay for some alcohol, but I can't prove that. It's approaching a point where I'll have to talk to a couple repeaters and give them a final no. Everyone always has a good story, though, and it's tough to not give in. Everyone promises to pay me back, but so far no one has save one guy from last month. Maybe if I start charging interest...

That's enough for today. More to come.

Bad News Comes in Threes, Even Here

2007-09-09T14:55:00.000-04:00

It's been a tough couple days, full of the typical ups and downs of township life. Let me start with a couple small positive things:

On Friday I got to help a girl see better. One of the women in the HIV support group is caring for her 15 year-old niece and 10 year-old nephew. Their mother died of HIV last year, so she took them into her small shack in Tambo Square (a little village on the other side of the railroad tracks from Gugulethu). Her niece lost her left eye when she was very young. Apparently, she got something in it and no one knew. She rubbed it so much that the item scratched her eyeball beyond repair and the doctors had to remove it. Because of that, her right eye has been working overtime and is now very tired. Her teachers have written home saying she needed glasses but the aunt couldn't afford them. So, she asked me to help and I couldn't say no.

We went to the local optometrist on Friday. The girl got her exam and picked out a nice set of frames. She'll have her glasses next Wednesday and will have a better outlook, in more ways than one.

Also on Friday, the Centre sent six women off to America. They'll be there for 17 days between churches in Dallas, Pensacola and Philadelphia. Three of them had never been to the US before (or anywhere else out of South Africa) so they were pretty nervous. I tried to convince them that Americans are nice people, but I'm not sure they were buying it. Hopefully they weren't basing their opinions just on me!

The tougher things started Thursday and grew to a head today.

First, Rosie. She died yesterday afternoon. She continued to deteriorate throughout the week, becoming almost comatose on Friday. She was very thin and weak at the end, just skin and bones lying the bed. It's hard to believe that just a week ago she was up walking and looking forward to being home soon. I saw her every day, and went with her family yesterday. We left at about 4:00, and by 4:15 she had passed on. It's like she was waiting for everyone to come before she let go.

One nice thing we experienced was when one of the nurses got everyone together and explained what was happening. That was the first time I'd seen any compassion or sympathy in the nursing staff at Jooste. I'm not saying they don't care, because I'm sure they do. It's just that they are so overwhelmed with the patient load that they don't have a lot of time to spare on dealing with family issues. She stayed in the Casualty unit, what we'd call the ER, the whole time she was there because there was no room in the ward. While this upset me at first, it worked out to be a good thing because she had a corner to herself and it was relatively quiet. (Because this is where the doctors hang out, the men guarding the door assumed I was one of them and so I got to walk around and take in the family without any hassles. Being white still has its privileges sometimes.)

The bad thing about her passing was that no one called the family to tell them. They didn't find out until today when some of them went to say prayers over her. When they got there, she wasn't in Casualty. She also wasn't in the ward. After a little while they discovered she had died. That's the third time I've heard of that, where the hospital didn't contact anyone to tell them. I'm sure that doesn't happen in the private hospitals.

The second thing that happened today was a call from Lydia. You may remember her as the mother of Niwo, the boy who is supposed to be having a lung operation related to his HIV infection. Lydia, besides having HIV and the problems that come along with it, also has severe esophagitis, or erosion of her esophagus. She's been in and out of hospital for that over the past couple months and is awaiting an operation to repair it. Today, she called just to say she was in a lot of pain and hasn't eaten for two days. I went to see her, and it turns out she has another problem now. She has some throat infection that the doctor isn't sure of. He gave her some medication but it's not helping. She said she'd go to the day hospital later tonight if it's not better. Since it was dark already and I needed to leave Gugulethu, I left her with her sister. I felt horrible but I didn't have any option to stay with her. She said she'd call me tomorrow and let me know what happened.

The third thing was earlier today when Mogise caught me at church. He's the 28 year-old unemployed man who looks after his household of five. He hasn't eaten for a couple days, again, and needed some food. He was supposed to be getting support from another church nearer to his house, but apparently that hasn't happened yet. He's also supposed to be enrolled in the hospice program, but that's not going either. Or, it could be that he's being helped and not telling me. In any case, we went shopping and got him stocked up on groceries. I'll check on the other support this week and try to get him a long-term plan to support himself.

Mogise is a challenge because he's the first person I've come across who feels like he's entitled to whatever he asks for. He doesn't like it when I say no, or when I tell him I don't have cash for electricity or paraffin. I get the sense he's working the system and getting support without disclosing it, or not following up on his commitments with people to get support. I explained to him today that I cannot support him too the level I am for much longer, but I don't know if he was listening. We'll see how this plays out over the next couple weeks.

This coming week, Tami is off at the clinic so I'm the pharmacist in charge all week. This will be a good test for my job qualifications when I get home. Of course, I'm really only in charge of locking the door when we close because Ntombikayise (the assistant) tells me what to do while we're working!

More to come.

Alone Again

2007-09-05T14:58:00.000-04:00

Cindy went home last night, so I'm back to bachelor life. We had a great second week (plus a couple days). My cousin John and his wife Renae happened to be vacationing in Cape Town last week, so we spent Monday together. It was fun playing tour guide, seeing some places I hadn't bothered to see yet. We also had fun watching Renae "negotiate" with the market vendors. She walked away with a couple huge bargains, including a pair of masks for 25% of the asking price. "It's all about the thrill of the hunt," she said, and it was clearly true.

On Tuesday it was back to work. Cindy came to the clinic with me to see what it was all about. Tami happened to be sick that day, so I had to be the pharmacist and Cindy got to play technician. It only took her about 30 minutes to get the hang of things, with Ntombikayise holding her hand a bit. She agreed that it doesn't feel as busy as it is, since there are no computers or telephones or insurance claims. But it gave her a good feel for life in a township clinic.

Wednesday and Friday were spent at the Centre. We went with Yvonne to a couple homes, including Nancy's home for disabled children and Priscilla's foster care home. It was an eye opener, especially at Nancy's. Like before, there were about eight kids in the small room, some on the floor and others in cribs. None of them talk, except for the occasional babble. We spent about 20 minutes there, just holding hands and tossing a big rubber ball around. I think the two helpers felt good to have a break - I'm not sure I could be in that environment for hours at a time under constant pressure to make sure no one hurts themselves. At Priscilla's, most of the kids were in school so it was pretty quiet. We chatted with her for a few minutes and then went on our way.

On the way back to the Centre Yvonne told us about a student at a local primary school that she heard about. This girl, 13 years old, was discovered to be pregnant just recently. The father? Her own dad. Her mother passed away and her father is still at home, so the school principal is trying to get her placed into foster care so that she can have some chance at a "normal" life. The baby will probably be placed for adoption, but that isn't definite.

We stopped at the school to speak with the principal about the girl. During the conversation the principal told us about another young student at the school who was nearly raped recently by a neighbor. The man was going to pay her R150 ($22) to have sex with him. The girl managed to get away before anything happened. She told her teacher, who informed the principal. The principal called the parents, who said the neighbor apologized and they accepted, and now the whole thing is forgotten. The principal is convinced the neighbor gave the R150 to the parents as hush money. She is not going to let it drop, though, and is getting the police to open a case. We'll see how that ends up.

(Zethu told me just today of another 13 year-old girl at a different school who is pregnant by her father. Her mother also passed away and her dad has now disappeared. I asked Zethu if this is a common occurrence. She said it's not common, but no one knows how many times it happens and goes unreported. It seems to me that 2 stories in 1 week indicates a big problem, in any case.)

On Friday we spent some time with Mandla Majola at Treatment Action Campaign. We happened to arrive during one of their leaders' meetings, so we were invited in to listen. We were introduced as the mural sponsors and received a nice round of applause. Zackie Achmet, the founder of TAC was there, so I finally got a chance to meet him. He doesn't seem like a powerful activist (he's about my size with a pleasant demeanor and nice smile), but looks can be deceiving. When Zackie talks, the country and its politicians listen. I showed Cindy the two completed murals as we drove through the shacks of Khaylitsha and she agreed they were well done and informative.

Saturday was spent at Kirstenbosch Gardens, a very large nature reserve right in the heart of Cape Town. It was a perfect day, with lots of sun and a nice breeze. The Gardens contain just about every plant you can find in South Africa and every one is marked with a name and other interesting facts.

Sunday and Monday were rest days for Cindy. I spent Sunday afternoon visiting Rosie with her family, and Monday was spent at the clinic. We spent Tuesday doing last minutes tourist stops, including the District Six museum, the Castle of Good Hope and Rhodes Memorial. I'll write about them another time.

As far as Rosie is concerned, things took a dramatic turn today, and not in a good way. I saw her last Thursday, and she was the most lucid, talkative and happy I'd ever seen her. She was walking the halls, albeit with a walker, and most of her pain was gone. She was looking forward to going home soon, although it would be at least a week or more before that happened. On Sunday, when I was there with Amanda and Nokubonga (who I discovered is her half-sister, not just her roommate), she had just woken up from a nap so she was a little groggy. But, she was still talkative and responsive and we spent a good hour together.

This morning, I got a call from her nurse. (I gave Rosie my number when she was first admitted, and it was the only one the nurses had for family contacts.) Sister Namona said that Rosie had deteriorated since yesterday, refusing to eat or to do her physical therapy. She asked me to have the family come for a visit to see if that would improve her condition. So, I had Zethu call Nokubonga (only because her English is not so good and we've had misunderstandings before) and arrange for her to be ready for me to pick her up. Zethu also told her to see if Amanda could get out of school and come along. Zethu also offered to come, which I gladly accepted.

When we got to the house, Nokubonga was ready and Amanda was home from school. We all piled in the car and drove to the hospital. No one said much of anything; we were all expecting something bad. And, that's what we got. Rosie was in a private room now, and she had a look that I haven't see since I worked on the Mounds Park Hospital psychiatric ward. She was staring into space, occasionally focusing on something on the wall or on the ceiling. She was cold and clammy and her arms were constant twitching. If you called her, she would look at you, but she either wouldn't respond or would say something totally unintelligible. The nurse said that she was actually improving from earlier in the morning, but that would have meant she was catatonic at one point.

The doctor had made arrangements to transfer her back to GF Jooste so that she could be evaluated. I don't understand that, since it seems like a big step backwards (Jooste is a little hospital with big wards and few services, while Tygerburg is a huge place with small rooms and "real" hospital departments). My cynical nature says they're sending her there just to fade away. I plan to see her tomorrow afternoon and will pray for the best. I hope it's not a stroke (she's been laying in a bed for the better part of four months) or a brain infection (meningitis or worse), since the long-term outlook for those here is very poor.

Two other things which bring home the impact this is having on the family:
1. When I brought Amanda and Nokubonga home, Amanda asked for R5 to buy some bread. I could tell it was hard for her to ask, but I heard her tell Nokubonga she was very hungry and I'm sure she hadn't eaten in at least a day. I took Nokubonga to the grocery store instead and got them stocked up for a few days.

2. Amanda's neighbor called me this evening and said they received a letter about needing to pick up their child support check by the 5th or it would be lost (this is apparently money from the childrens' father, not the government grant). I asked when the letter came, because today was the 5th. She said it came last week but Amanda was scared to open it. Now, she and Amanda will have to go to the Social Services office and fight to get the child support payment that is due them. I can only hope the office takes into consideration Rosie's health and does the right thing.

More to come.

2007-08-26T10:25:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since my last entry, mostly because I've been away playing tourist this week. My wife, Cindy, arrived last week and we've been driving around the countryside to places we never went when we lived in Johannesburg. So far, we've:
- been to the penguin colony in Simon's Town
- gone on a 2-day "safari" at a private game reserve in Albertinia, a 4-hour drive from Cape Town
- driven through the West Coast National Park, a huge wildlife and wildflower area on the Atlantic ocean about an hour's drive from here
- hiked through Kirstenbosch Gardens, a 575-hectare (1450-acre) protected park on the east side of Table Mountain that's full of flora (and some fauna) from southern Africa, including many endangered plant species
- walked through the local craft market (twice) doing our best to support the local economy

We've also been out to eat 6 nights in a row, something really unusual for me. It's been fun though, as some places just aren't fun if you're alone. It's meant a little extra work at the gym, however.

This coming week, I'm going to taking Cindy to work with me. We'll spend at least Tuesday at the clinic (maybe Thursday, too) and Wednesday and Friday at the Centre. She should have a better sense of the challenges in the townships and what people are doing to overcome them.

Before I picked Cindy up from the airport last week, I had another interesting experience. I went to see Rosie at Tygerberg Hospital. She was transferred about 10 days ago because GF Jooste needed her bed for more acute cases (it's unusual for people to be admitted there for more than a few days, and Rosie had been there for three weeks). She's in a rehab unit where they are trying to restart her TB medications. They had to be stopped for a short time because she developed drug-induced hepatitis, a form of liver damage brought on by medications. I'll stop and see her this week, and I really hope she's doing better so she can get back home soon. (No one ever thought she'd be in the hospital for one week, let alone five).

When I was getting home from the visit, I got a call from a friend of Rosie's. Somehow I had promised to drive Rosie's daughter Amanda to Kraaifontein to pick up her aunt, who was going to stay with her for a few days and help with the kids. There was a little confusion about this trip, as I never talked to her about it. But, they had made up their minds and we were going. So, I picked up Amanda and her friend's daughter, Precious, and off we went.

First stop: Phillipi to get the aunt's address. Well, no one seemed to have it, so I was "given" a navigator who knew the way. Now, Kraaifontein is about 30 minutes from Guguletu, if you have good directions. Unfortunately, my navigator had been drinking all afternoon and didn't exactly have a keen sense of direction. We took a lot of shortcuts, so many that it took over an hour to finally find the shack. It was now dusk, and I was only a little worried about being in an unfamiliar place and finding my way back. I needn't have worried: Everyone I met was very friendly and happy to see a white man helping someone in need. One person told me I was the first white man they had ever seen in their neighborhood, which I don't doubt (it's a bit rural, and there's nothing there except homes and shacks).

While we were waiting for Amanda to collect her aunt, I had a nice chat with Precious. (I'm not using her real name, for reasons that will become obvious.)

- She gave me some background on Amanda and Rosie and why their situation is so precarious. Apparently, Rosie inherited her house from her father. As I understand it, government houses can be passed down only one generation. However, if Rosie were to die, the house would be reclaimed by the municipality and Amanda and her two siblings would be on the street. Needless to say, everyone in the neighborhood are concerned about what's going to happen if Rosie doesn't come home.

- Some people are looking at Rosie as an example of how tenuous life with TB and HIV can be. Rosie had been a very strong woman with a good job before she became sick from her TB. Others around the neighborhood watched her go downhill quickly, and people started examining their own lives. I hadn't thought about this until last week, when I thought about Rosie and Tozama, the woman who recently passed away (more on her a little later). It must be very difficult for members of the HIV support group, or just people living with HIV in general, to go to funerals and memorial services. They have to confront their own possible futures with every death, and those of their families, just like Scrooge had to do with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. They have to see the impact it has on their families and loved ones, emotionally and economically. Yet they still come to pay tribute and thank God that they are still living.

- Precious then shared with me that she's HIV positive. She found out earlier this year when she was pregnant. She was treated with medications during her pregnancy, so her baby was born without HIV (although he still has to be tested for a few more months to be sure). Precious has not told her mother, though. She is very afraid her mother will be disappointed in her, as she was when Precious fell pregnant. She said she thinks her mother knows, though, because her mother saw Precious taking her medication one day and said it looked like what people take for HIV. Precious told her they were just vitamins for the baby and her mother didn't push it. While I understand the hesitancy to disclose her status, I still don't understand why Precious felt comfortable telling me, someone she had just met a couple hours earlier, and not the woman who loves her more than anyone on Earth. I hope she can find the courage to tell her mother when the time is right.

After about 30 minutes of waiting, we got everyone back in the car and headed back to Guguletu. Amanda and her aunt talked the whole way back – well, the aunt talked and Amanda sobbed. Amanda's had it very tough over the past few months, caring for her mother, brother and sister, keeping up the house and cooking, while still going to school and trying to be a teenage girl. I don't think she's had anyone to confide in and talk to for weeks and had a lot of emotion to get out. It will be good for her to have someone in the house for a while.

On Sunday, while Cindy slept in, I attended Tozama's funeral. It was on Sunday to avoid a conflict with a nearby funeral that was held Saturday. It was a very nice service, all held at the house. We started at about 8:00 with a small prayer service. The casket was in the small bedroom, with about 10 family members crowded in the room as well. About 10 of us sat in the lounge and listened to the prayers being said. At about 9:00, the casket was moved outside to the front yard and the funeral began. I was asked to help carry the casket, which seemed to weigh almost nothing. Of course, Tozama only weighed about 60 pounds, and the casket was wood and simple adornments. Very different than other pallbearer experiences I've had, where six guys struggled to carry the casket. This one could have been easily carried by two men.

Tozama's mother, Thomi, asked me to say a few words during the ceremony. I made some observations about Tozama, that she was a strong woman who wanted to live for her family, but for whom God had a different plan. I also offered a short prayer for the family. I'm getting much more comfortable with these, even though I hope I don't have to do too many more.

After a short burial service at the cemetery, we were served a nice lunch at the house. I was the only man at the “umfundisi table,” completely the opposite of other funeral lunches where there might be one woman at a table full of men. Then it was home to start my vacation.

One last thing: This week I heard a great quote from Herman Melville: "Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed." I know this has applied to me in the past. I won't comment on anyone else, except to say that everyone here seems to have an opinion on what the problems are. Now, if someone would just ask the people living with the problems...

More to come.

An Expensive Day

2007-08-15T11:31:00.000-04:00

I've now been here long enough that people looking for help (money) are coming to see me at the Centre. Here are three examples, all of which happened Tuesday/Wednesday this week:

1. Ntozama's mother
Ntozama is the proper name of the woman who passed away this past weekend (the one I took to the day hospital about 10 days ago). I knew she came from a very poor family, but didn't realize how poor until her mother called to ask for a meeting with me. I met with her after I finished at the clinic. She said she was struggling to pay for the funeral, to be held on Sunday. (She picked Sunday to avoid "competing" with another funeral down the street that's being held Saturday.) The undertaker is willing to do the whole job for R4500. Unfortunately, the mother only has R1000. Her ex-husband (Ntozama'a father) has nothing. Ntozama's husband was supposed to come to help but didn't show up. So, the mother was very worried about how to bury her daughter with dignity.

A look around the house confirmed the state of affairs. Ntozama slept in a room with a mattress on the floor. That's it. The lounge (living room) had maybe two chairs and a TV. All of the walls were bare and the rugs threadbare, where there were rugs. They had one paraffin (kerosene) stove for heat and cooking.

After checking my finances, I offered to contribute R5000 to the cause. The look of joy I received in return was enough payment for it. The mother can now have a proper service and lunch, just like she wanted. Everything will done at the house to keep expenses down - she has a very small house, so I'm not sure what kind of crowd there will be. Members of the HIV support group will be there, so it should be a good turnout. The mother received a pail of paint from a neighbor, so she had a couple men busy painting the lounge and front of the house to make it look clean.

2. A woman traveller
A woman Yvonne knows came to the Centre yesterday morning to see me. We went to see her late in the afternoon. She is very poor, living in a shack behind a house just a few blocks from the Centre. She buried her brother-in-law three months ago and spent quite a sum to help the family. Then, last month her brother died from HIV-related disease in the Eastern Cape. She very much wanted to go to the funeral but could not afford transportation. A round-trip bus ticket would cost R600, and she would need some extra money for incidentals and clothes.

I offered to loan her R1000 so she could attend the funeral. She insisted it is a loan and that she will pay me back in time. I gave her the money today, and she is excited to be able to go.

(I've given several "loans" since I've been here. I have yet to be paid back for any of them. I gave myself a rule very early on in my stay: Never give anyone anything you can't afford to lose. So far it's been a good rule to follow.)

3. Mogise
Mogise, who calls himself Gladstone, is a 28 year-old man living in Crossroads. He became HIV-positive in 2001. He is the oldest in his family; both parents have passed away. He lives with 5 other family members, one of whom has a baby. No one is working, except for a rare day job as a labourer. As the oldest, everyone looks up to Mogise for food, heat, and other necessities of daily living.

I met Mogise in church about 3 weeks ago. He was brought there by a couple members of the support group. Initially, I was only asked to provide transportation to the support group meetings (he cannot afford the R8 needed for a cockroach taxi). After we talked a couple times, he got brave and asked me to help buy some electricity. Then it was some money for paraffin. Yesterday, he bit big and asked for some groceries to cover the 4 days until his sister gets the child-care grant for the baby (R200). So, Tuesday we went to the grocery store and I bought R265 worth of assorted groceries. I also gave him R100 for more electricity and transport.

To try and find some long-term help for him, I set up a meeting with our social worker for today. After she and he got their plans sorted out, Mogise asked if I could take him to buy a blanket. So, back to the store we went. After that, and buying some vegetables from a stand outside the store, I took Mogise back home. He invited me inside to show how dire his situation is. He normally sleeps in a shack outside the house, but roof was lost in the last windstorm. Now he's sleeping in a room in the back of the house, one that leaks wind and rain. He had one blanket on his bed, no sheets or pillows. His house was also very bare and quiet, considering the number of people who live there.

(I had another interesting experience at the market. First, you need to understand where we were. Nyanga Junction is a shopping area above a busy train station, the main station for rides into Cape Town. It's a quasi-strip mall with a number of small, independent shops with a couple chain stores mixed in. It's a very busy place, right in the heart of Guguletu and near to Nyanga. It's very unusual to see a white person there - I could have been the first one there this month. Anyway, as I was standing at the vegetable stand waiting for Mogise, one of the youth leaders from JL Zwane came up to me and asked me what I was doing there and if I was alone. The look on her face showed she was very concerned, bordering on fear. I pointed to Mogise, and she relaxed. I appreciated her concern and attention and will thank her on Sunday. It also told me that I need to be very careful if I ever go back there.)

The long and short of these examples is that there are lots of ways to help people, but also lots of ways to get pulled deep into difficult situations. As long as I follow my own rules I will be okay.

Two other things:
1. Rosie update: Rosie is looking much better. She's alert and smiling, even more than this past weekend. She can now sit up and is trying to use her crutches. Unfortunately, she's had a setback with her TB medications. She had an episode of drug-induced hepatitis, so all of her medications had to be stopped. The doctors are going to transfer to a rehab unit in a different hospital so that they can slowly restart the medications and get her stabilized again. I'd hate for her to go backwards and be so ill again - I don't think she'd survive it.

I'm really hoping she can be home within the next couple weeks. She misses her family a lot, and she's lost a lot of weight because she won't eat the hospital food. I'll bet she's down at least 20 pounds from when she was admitted 3 weeks ago. At home she can get good, basic food and quickly regain some weight.

2. My "wish I had a camera" moment this week happened on Tuesday morning. I happened to be driving by the commuter railroad tracks at the right time and saw a fully loaded train go by. And I mean fully loaded. There were guys hanging out of the doorways, standing between cars, and even riding on the roof. It reminded me of pictures of India's trains. I know that train surfing (literally standing up on top of the cars, dodging obstacles) is big in Soweto, but I didn't expect to see it here.

More to come.

Wild Thing Has Nothing On Gugulethu

2007-08-12T10:03:00.000-04:00

Wild Thing is the name of the biggest roller coaster at Valleyfair, the big amusement park near the Twin Cities. It has a great (size and fun) drop-off at the first hill. You go up and up and up, and then all of a sudden you're free falling. Or at least it feels that way. That's how my afternoon was today. And here I thought I'd have nothing to write about this week...

I saw Rosie twice this weekend. She's doing much better. She's not confused anymore, she can sit up now, and she's starting to walk with crutches. She also seems happier, even though she absolutely hates being the hospital. Of course, there are stories for both days:

Yesterday, I took her housemate Eric (I think he's the partner of Nokubonga, the other woman in the house) to visit. When we got to GF Jooste, they swore she wasn't there, but was still at Groote Schuur. Groote Schuur (pronounced Groot-es-kewer, with the G sounding like you have a phlegmy throat) is the major public-sector teaching hospital in Cape Town. It'd be like the pre-Fairview University of Minnesota hospital, where GF Jooste would be like Hennepin County Medical Center (but worse). Rosie went to GS to have a neurology consultation about her feet and legs. It wasn't clear when she went if she'd stay there or come back to Jooste. Well, it appeared like she went there and stayed. So, Eric and I drove to GS. After wandering the hallways for 30 minutes and asking for help about 6 times, the nurses swore she was back at Jooste. So, we went back to Jooste. Sure enough, she was there all along, one aisle over from where she was last week. We visited for about 30 minutes (now past visiting hours, but I didn't care) and then left. I promised to come back today with her kids.

As promised, I picked up Amanda and her baby sister, plus Nokubonga and her daughter, and we all headed for Jooste. When we were walking in, a woman I kind of recognized pulled me aside and told me that Nokuzola had just died. At least, that's what I thought she said. Nokuzola is Rosie's real name. I stood there dumbfounded. I said I had just talked to her yesterday and she seemed fine. After pausing for a few seconds, I continued to walk into the ward with Amanda and Nokubonga. I stopped us at the nurses desk and discreetly asked if it was true that Rosie had passed away. The nurse looked at me a little funny and said No, she's just sleeping. When we walked to the bed, she woke up.

It took me a few seconds to realize that the woman in the hallway was the sister of the woman I had taken to the Gugulethu day hospital last week. It was she who had passed away. I went over the bed, which was surrounded by the typical hospital-issue ugly beige curtain. Her mother was just coming out. I gave her a hug and she sobbed a couple times, then straightened up and walked out with the other family members. I will stop and see how they are doing tomorrow. (The mother also had a cast on her left arm, which is new since last week. I'll have to get the story on that another day.) I feel bad about the fact she was in hospital and I didn't know, especially because she was literally in the bed next to Rosie last week and I didn't even notice. I also never checked up on her after the day hospital trip, which I'm embarrassed about.

We had a good visit with Rosie, though. she got to hold and play with her baby (now 16 months old) and talk with Amanda and Nokubonga. Nokubonga also trimmed her fingernails and rubbed some cream on her feet. After about a half-hour we left and I took everyone back home.

Up, up, up with Rosie; crash-dive with the other woman; up, up, up again with Rosie. I think I prefer Wild Thing - at least you know it ends.

Personal Space: A Privilege

2007-08-05T14:18:00.000-04:00

I am not an overly warm and cuddly guy. One of the things I treasure is a sense of personal space. The unwritten rule in Minnesota (at least with everyone I know) is that everyone has a 3-foot buffer around their body at all times. You have to be invited into that space, and to breach it uninvited is just wrong. I clearly believe in that rule and follow it as often as I can. Clearly, though, people in the townships have never heard of that rule and I've had to adjust.

I'm not sure if it's cultural or a result of the living conditions; probably both. But, it's the norm to pack many people, without complaint, into what we would consider small spaces. Seven in a car, two on a chair, four around a desk, it's all an everyday event.

Privacy is also very different. Most township residents do not expect the level of privacy we're accustomed to in the U.S. I've mentioned before that people living in shacks and hostels do their bathing and dressing (and other things) within plain sight of other family members. At the clinic, people crowd around as they get their prescriptions, and everyone can see and hear what the other person's getting. I've even had women come into the men's room at the Centre when their stalls are full. They come in fast, so as not to embarrass anyone (them or me), but they come just the same. They'll even go into the stall in pairs. (I know women visit restrooms in groups, but that seems a little much to me.) It's just not a problem.

I had an experience in the extremes of personal space and privacy when I went to visit Rosie in the hospital this weekend. (By the way, I found out her real first name is Nokuzola. She is Sotho, from somewhere in the Free State.) She is in GF Jooste, the main hospital for Guguletu and all the surrounding areas. Jooste has four wards, each holding about 50-60 people. Two are for men and two for women, one each for surgical cases and one for medical cases. The wards are big rooms with partitions that divide them into 6- or 8-bed cubicles. The beds in the cubicles are about 3-4 feet apart, with only a curtain to separate them. The curtains are kept open so the nurses and aides can get a sense of what's happening.

As you can imagine, there is little to no privacy in Jooste. Even when there is an "emergency" going on, most everyone knows what's happening. It's worse during visiting hours - there must have been 20 visitors in Rosie's cubicle today, all standing around beds trying to have conversations. A group was holding a prayer service for a patient one cubicle over, but it may have been next door. It's hard not to see what's happening, from the woman eating ice cream to the one with the backless gown sitting without a cover on. Or the woman who just got sick all over her bed.

I also had another "white person privilege" experience. When I went to see Rosie yesterday it was because her daughter called me to come. Apparently Rosie had had enough and wanted to go home. She was also under the assumption that she needed to have an operation, because her doctor had told her she needed to go to Groote Schuur Hospital, the teaching hospital in Cape Town, for a consultation. I said my hellos to her family and spent a little time talking with her. I noticed her chart sitting on the bedside table, so I started to read it to see what was happening. I didn't get very far before the nursing sister told me that I wasn't allowed to do that, that only a doctor or nurse (her) could read the chart. I told her that I was a pharmacist at Brown's Farm Clinic and was trying to help Rosie understand what was happening. She said she or the doctor would come back and help me. And she said it 2-3 more times over the next 20 minutes.

Now, doctors don't round at Jooste on weekends. The only doctors in the hospital are interns who cover emergencies and new admissions. The intern on duty happened to be at the next bed helping a woman who was having an asthma attack. After he got that resolved, he did take some time to speak with me and we got everything sorted out (more on that in a minute). You had to be there, but I'm convinced if I wasn't a white guy, and probably a white American, that I wouldn't have seen anybody yesterday. I would have been brushed aside and had to have waited until Monday. I say that because no one had talked to Rosie's family at all, even though they had raised the same concerns. That's just wrong.

After a barrage of tests, it appears Rosie has tuberculosis (TB) and a bad pneumonia (PCP). She started on TB drugs last week and will be on them for at least 6 months. She also has TB in her abdomen (which is fairly common) and this has been the cause of her stomach problems. In addition, she has bad peripheral neuropathy, which is where the nerves in the feet (and sometimes the hands) get damaged resulting in numbness and pain. The TB drugs can cause the neuropathy, but she's had it for several weeks. So, that's why she's going to Groote Schuur, to go to the neurology clinic. She doesn't need an operation, and should be going home fairly soon. That's good, because she's not sleeping or eating well in the hospital.

In closing, let me also say I had one of my most difficult days on Thursday after I heard about the bridge collapse. It took me a little while to realize it, but I felt like I did on 9/11. I didn't directly know anyone affected by the disaster, but I knew that I wanted to be there to support those who were affected. It was especially hard because people here either didn't know about it or didn't make any connection between Minneapolis and me. I didn't have anyone to talk about it with, especially in the morning when I read Cindy's e-mail about it (because of the time difference). I now have a better sense of what real isolation means, even though I'm closely surrounded. My thoughts are with everyone there.

More to come.

Week in Review

2007-08-03T01:05:00.000-04:00

(No fancy title for this posting, mostly because I'm not feeling too creative today.)

It's been another good week. Or, to put in Minnesota terms, it was interesting.

Last Saturday I attended part of a youth camp for kids living in Guguletu. It was put on by the Multi-Talent Group, a non-profit started by two men, Nceba and Zolile, in Guguletu. They started their organization to give kids something to do besides walk the streets and get into trouble. Every Friday afternoon they have a open stage at the Sports Complex, so kids can come and dance, rap, do poetry, or whatever they want to perform. Their "shows" last 5 or 6 hours and attract a few hundred kids every week.

The camp was held at a Rotary campground about 20 minutes away. The 65 kids stayed for 2 days and 2 nights, living 4 to a room in small dorms. The agenda was a mix of lectures and play. Nceba and Zolile lined up speakers on drugs, crime, and self-improvement who did a great job engaging the kids in discussion. The play time was divided into outdoor activities and dance classes (Zolile is a DJ, and he has many friends who are semi-pro dancers). By all accounts it was a very successful event and all of the kids enjoyed themselves.

I got to attend because I paid for their food. It seemed like a small thing to do to give these kids a diversion from normal township life. During lunch I had a really stimulating talk with 3 of the adults about tribalism in South Africa and how it's still interfering with unity amongst the Blacks. Most people probably think that South Africa's problems are primarily a Black and White problem. After listening to these men, it sounds like it's also a Black and Black problem. It seems that every week I hear of a new cog that needs alignment in order to move the big machine forward. That's why it will be at least 2 generations before this country really starts humming.

Two other cogs are accountability and social responsibility. I read an article in the newspaper yesterday that the garbage in portions of Phillipi (where my clinic is) has not been picked up for 6 months. It seems that the government forgot to award the tender and no one bothered to get the job done. They have moved on it recently, and now there's a fight amongst 3 vendors about who has the best community connections. People living in the township have thrown rocks at some workers of certain companies because they don't like the company (not politically connected or not Black-owned). The mayor is threatening to bring in Army personnel to protect the workers from the citizenry. I've seen the trash, and I cannot believe how people can prevent its collection. It's a real health hazard, especially with the recent rainfalls, but some people don't seem to care or understand.

Wednesday evening I spent 5 hours in the KTC Day Hospital, an urgent care of sorts in Guguletu. It was one of the most disgusting places I've been to. The process started when I walked into the Centre at 4:15 after painting with my GLA students. Two women from the HIV support group were waiting there for Zach to help them take another support group member to the clinic. They asked if I had time to take them, and I said sure, thinking it was a quick trip. The woman, Notozama, had been sick for many days and was feeling very weak. She got infected with HIV in late 2006. According to her mother, up to then she was a very beautiful, dynamic woman with a good job. After she got infected her boyfriend "disappeared" and she started to wither away. She stopped eating and just slept all day. When I saw her, she looked to be about 90 pounds, if that. She could barely walk to the car, and every step came with a grunt of pain. We got to the day hospital at about 4:45. They didn't think it would take very long, and there was some hope she'd be admitted to hospital, so I hung around to give them a ride back home or to the hospital.

She was finally taken to a room at about 6:00. Half an hour later, she was taken for a chest x-ray. (As soon as I saw that I thought of TB. About half of all HIV-positive people here also have TB, and it can cause wasting similar to HIV.) Her mother came from work about this time and went back to sit with her. Then, about 7:30, her mother said the doctor was going to give her a drip (an IV), but only a pint so it wouldn't take very long. So, more waiting.

During this time I saw people of all ages come in for treatment. There was the man with the bloody leg (either a fracture or a knife wound), the woman with a head wound (she either fell or got something thrown at her), the man with the stab wound in his back (who proceeded to bleed all over one of the benches), and two kids with head wounds from falling down. There was also a woman with a cold, a woman having bad abdominal pains, and other run-of-the-mill urgent care stuff. The odd thing was that everyone was talking to everyone else, almost like they knew each other. I don't recall seeing that in any other ER I've been to. People generally keep to themselves and don't share their life stories. Not here.

At one point Notozama's mother asked me to sit with her, because she was saying she wanted to leave. I went back and spent a little time, convincing her that she needed the drip and that it would be over soon. As she dozed in and out I had the chance to look around. What a contrast to Brown's Farm Clinic. Our clinic is nearly brand new and very well maintained. The day hospital had seen better days. The gurney Notozama was laying on had dried blood in the grooves between its parts. There were blood drops in the walls, alongside the dirt and mud stains (I imagine someone had kicked mud off their shoes at one point and it never got cleaned up). The storage lockers for the IVs and supplies were a mess. There is little privacy, with 3 beds to a room and no curtains between them. I guess it's better than nothing, though, which is what much of rural South Africa has.

We finally left the clinic at about 10:30. Notozama was scheduled to go to the TB clinic the following morning to get started on TB medications. Once that's stabilized, which will take 2-3 months, then she'll start on HIV medications. Hopefully, these will allow her to get her appetite and energy back so she can start living again.

Yesterday was the last day for the GLA program. We got a lot of painting done, more than I expected. We finished about 90% of the outside and all of the inside, save two small offices. They had a fair amount of time to interact with the local kids, playing games and just giving hugs. They also spent two afternoons this week with the after-school program, helping kids read and do homework. It was a really great experience for me, to see some of our future leaders in action. One other nice thing: During their class presentation about their experiences they voted me one of the top 100 people in the world. That made me feel good. I'm attending their closing dinner tonight, which should be fun.

Off to work now. More to come.

My Jinxed Friday

2007-07-27T13:22:00.000-04:00

As I was eating breakfast this morning (Captain Crunch! thanks to a care package from my nephews), I was thinking about how uneventful the week was. I should have known that was a great way to make today full of adventures.

It started innocently enough. I got to the office at 8:30, the usual opening time for the Centre. I had a cup of tea and caught up on overnight e-mails. Wednesday was the monthly food parcel day, and we had a few extra bags, so I decided to take one over to Rosie and her family. Rosie is the woman who had no bed that I wrote about a few weeks ago. She and her three kids stay with her sister and her family in New Crossroads, about a 5-minute drive from the Centre.

Rosie has HIV, diagnosed when her last child was born a couple years ago. Her CD4 counts are high, so she should be in good shape. However, she's been struggling with a GI bug for the past month and has had really bad problem the past couple weeks. I had taken her to clinic on the 16th when she was very weak and unable to eat. The nurse gave her an IV with some multivitamins, and the doctor order some medications and special food (porridge and milk powder) to help renourish her. I thought that would take care of the problem.

When I stopped today, I didn't get but one foot in her room before she started crying and asked to be taken to hospital. Not only has her diarrhea not gotten better, now she was unable to control her other functions. She hadn't eaten in over 5 days and looked very emaciated. She's also very concerned about how much of a burden she is to her sister and her family. I told her sister that I would check on what had to be done in order to get her in the hospital. So, I drove to the clinic and spoke with one of the nurses about what to do. In order to be admitted to hospital, people must be referred from their primary care clinic (like Brown's Farm). So, back to Rosie's house to bundle her up and bring her in.

Her sister got her ready to go, not an easy process when you're so weak you can hardly sit up. She also couldn't walk today, a combination of the weakness and some nerve problems in her feet. Fortunately, her sister's partner was at home so he helped me carry-walk her to the car. Of course, just as we got to the door it started to rain. I gave Rosie to her sister and went out to move the car closer. We eventually got her into the back seat and away we went.

I waited while the doctor saw her, just in case she was not going to hospital and had to be taken home. The doctor agreed to send her, so they called for an ambulance (not that it was an emergency, it's just how they do the transport). I gave her my cell number and R20 (no such thing as a free call in hospitals here) in case she needed anything and I left. I stopped at her house on my way back to the Centre to tell everyone what was happening and leave my cell number. So far, no calls, but I don't expect the weekend to pass without some word on what's happening. My guess at this point is that she has hepatitis, which is surprisingly uncommon here. We'll see what develops.

One 5-minute job that only took 2 hours. Not the first time that's happened and probably not the last, either.

I got back to the Centre in time to catch the tail end of a planning session with Edwin and Yvonne about blankets. Yesterday, I learned that politicians CAN be trusted. When the Deputy President was at JL Zwane in May, she said she was working on a blanket collection program with some women golf pros in September. But, she said, she knew that they would be needed in July and August, so she was going to try and get them to us earlier than originally planned. I'll be darned if 37 assorted blankets didn't arrive yesterday afternoon, delivered by 4 of her staffers. She also sent over 3 boxes of bath towels (about 36 in all) and a dozen warm-up suits for kids. They couldn't have come at a better time - the prediction for the weekend is for an emerging cold front with highs only around 55 F. It's also been very, very windy and rainy for the past 2 days and that's supposed to continue through tomorrow. So, I told Edwin yesterday that we had to get these blankets out today, and that's what he and Yvonne were discussing.

Yvonne made a list of about 12 kids who needed blankets and we arrange to start delivering them after lunch. Before that happened, I had a women come to see me who I had not met before. She said she need some money for food, that she and her children had nothing and were really struggling. I gave her some money and she went away happy. (My name is getting out there as someone who can help people, and I'll occasionally get a visitor who needs a "loan." I've bought shoes for someone, paid for a bus ticket to job training, and paid for another ticket for someone to see family in the Eastern Cape. I figure if they had enough courage to approach me, then I should have the grace to help. I don't expect to get these monies back, but someone wants to repay me I'll gladly accept it.)

Now that we ate, Yvonne and I were on our way. I had thought that these deliveries would take a hour or so. Silly me. I should know by now that working with Yvonne has it's own timetable and it takes as long as it takes (not that that's bad, you just have to be flexible). The upside is I got to see some new places and a whole lot more of Guguletu.

We picked up Nomokwezi, a woman who works in Nyanga and helps Yvonne with the child-headed household program. We went to the regulars, like Noloyiso and Shepherd, to drop blankets and a couple food parcels. It's always good to see these kids, and I see them regularly enough that they will talk to me. Noloyiso's house was broken into a couple weeks ago and she lost her electric kettle, iron, and a sandwich maker. I need to see if I can help replace them.

We went to a house where a woman started a center for mentally disabled kids. She had one of her own and couldn't find anyone to take care of her, so she quit her job and started taking in other similar kids. She now has 14 in her house and gets no government assistance, relaying on the kindness of strangers and the few parents who still look in on their kids. She had 7 cribs in a space the size of my living room at home, and I could only guess where the other kids slept. Some kids had blankets and bedding, some didn't. The food and blankets we brought will be very appreciated.

Just down the street, we stopped at a foster care home with 7 children to drop some blankets and towels. There was a (God-awful) aroma of tripe boiling on the stove, and it took me a minute to realize that it wasn't a dead mouse or something. The kids in this house are well cared for and seem very happy, which is not always the case with foster care here. Some people do it just for the support checks and the kids are not looked after.

We stopped at the home of our head custodian, Noboniso, to drop a prescription from the clinic. She lives in New Crossroads, in a shack behind a house. Normally this would be okay, except that her plot is at a low point and she had about 8 inches of water in her "front yard" (the driveway). I asked if she had water in the house and she said yes, and that it would take about 2 days to dry out. Sadly, those 2 days won't start until Monday, and the problem will be a whole lot worse by then. There were two guys bailing water from the yard and pouring it down a storm sewer. I think if you look up futility in the dictionary, a picture of them will be next to the definition.

We dropped some blankets and warm-up suits at a hostel called WJM (not the station from Mary Tyler Moore's show). The hostels are not for backpackers, they are where families were originally moved to when resettlements took place under apartheid. The hostel unit contains a shared common room (usually used as an eating area) and 4-6 "apartments" where people live and sleep. Families used to share rooms in the old days, but now one family has a room to themselves. Of course, this doesn't normally mean 2-3 people, it means more like 6-12. The family we saw today had 11 in their room - a grandmother, her daughter, her daughter's children, and a couple cousins who lost their parents from HIV within the past 2 years. This is not unusual, although this is one of the largest families I've seen in one room. Because there's usually only one bed, people end up sleeping on floors and any furniture that might be around. Again, blankets will definitely help keep the chill away.

I got back to the Centre about 4:15, after dropping Yvonne and Nomokwezi at the corner to catch a taxi. I spent a few minutes with Edwin about some staff problems, and then went home. None of my task list items got done today, except the one that says "help someone today." Gold star for that one.

Off the topic a bit, here are some things from this week that I won't forget anytime soon:
1. Watching 5 cows, yes real cows, walk side-by-side down a road in the middle of Phillipi, the township where I work. Their front-right hooves were tied to their necks so they couldn't run away. Like they wanted to. The ambled along not caring about the taxis honking or cars trying to pass. They (and the goats that you see even more often) are owned by locals, and no one ever tries to mess with the animals. They are usually allowed to roam free, although they spend most of their time in fields. Seeing them in the shack areas is unusual and it made a good visual.
2. Driving to clinic on Wednesday and seeing a baby funeral happening in someone's front yard. Wednesday was the only sunny day this week, and it was probably warmer outside than inside. There were about 6 men in suits on one side of the small yard, a little pink casket on a bench in the middle, and 8 women sitting on the other side. Someone was preaching as I drove by, and I can probably guess at what he was saying.
3. Fulfilling a promise to a boy at Stormont Madebela school to buy him a new pair of shoes and seeing his face when he got them. This boy had shoes with no soles on them. He needed to wear shoes to school so he had no choice but to wear them. At least the new ones will keep his feet dry. Unfortunately, now that he has the shoes he's hitting me up for a sweater, slacks, and shirt too. And, don't forget socks.
4. Driving to the school for more painting and getting nice waves and thumbs-up signs. I was worried after the water debacle of last week that I wouldn't be welcomed back. But, everything seems to be forgotten now. The kids were back to play just like before. If I could just get them to understand not to touch the wet paint, life would be perfect.

More to come.

Funny, But Sad Story

2007-07-26T13:56:00.000-04:00

I got this story via e-mail from someone at the Centre. I'm glad there are pictures to support it.

ISANDO/KEMPTON PARK - R25 & M39 (Tembisa Interchange) on 21 July 2007 at 10h00

Photos: ER24, Werner Vermaak

It was a free for all when a fuel tanker overturned in the R25 Interchange near Tembisa this morning. [Tembisa is outside of Johannesburg in Gauteng Province]

At approximately 10h00, emergency services received an emergency call for a fuel tanker that overturned and is leaking fuel. Paramedics that arrived on the scene found an extremely hazardous situation.

A fuel tanker, believed to carry almost 38 000 litres of fuel overturned on the on-ramp of the R25 towards Tembisa. The driver of the tanker was the only person that was injured and there were no other vehicles involved. He was transported to the Aarwyp Hospital by the Ekurhuleni Emergency Services.

A different site quickly developed on this highly explosive and flammable scene. Pedestrians and commuters from everywhere ran towards the overturned tanker to get their share of the "free" fuel. Literally hundreds of people stopped alongside the highway and on top of the bridge to collect fuel. Some of them used anything from a can, beer bottle, buckets and water bottles to collect fuel.

Some of the fuel collectors were so arrogant on scene that they demanded a share in the fuel and started fighting amongst each other. It is amazing to see how quickly people can get buckets and other fluid holding devices on scene. Some children were running down the on-ramp to get fuel.

The situation got worse when the "fuel collectors" started having a casual chat on the scene and lighting cigarettes. The commuters and pedestrians quickly outnumbered emergency services. The police was called in and arrived quickly on the scene.

Fire Fighters had no choice, but to use extreme action to disperse the crowd in order to continue with cleaning up operations and prevent more fuel escaping into storm-water drains. A fire hose was directed at the "fuel collectors" and opened with full force.

People were running and screaming in all directions, up the embankment and up the on-ramp. The crowd got angry that they were not allowed to collect the "free" fuel and started throwing rocks at the fire services. A quick turn of the fire hose at the rock throwers were no match, as the fire department quickly scored in their favour. The powerful water stream swept them off their feet straight into the arms of the police. The police managed to cordoned off the area, it is not certain if anyone was arrested on the scene.

Fire fighters used all means possible to contain the spillage and closed off the complete intersection as it holds a high safety risk.

Every now and again when a passerby tried to gain access to a leaking manhole on the truck, his urge for free fuel was quickly washed away with a fire hose.

Werner Vermaak
Public Information / Scene Safety Officer
ER24 EMS

Initiation School

2007-07-22T14:38:00.000-04:00

We just got through one of the periods when Initiation School takes place. This is a very old tribal custom in South Africa, not just for the Xhosa people but others as well. It marks the transition from a boy to a man, and is considered a very important ritual that will determine a male's place in the tribal society.

Initiation School is 30 days long. During this time, the boys live in the bush on their own. Their families are not to interact with them except to bring them food and water. And then only the men can come, no women of any kind. Some boys in the cities will return to their rural villages for Initiation School. If they can't, or if they were raised in the city, then they will build their huts on a bare patch of land in the township. The field in this picture is maybe a mile from the Centre and I drive by it every morning. There's another field about three miles south that has even more huts on it.

School starts with a ritual circumcision, usually done by a traditional healer or sangoma. As far as I know, no anesthetic is used. For the next 8 days, the initiates can only eat dried food (dried meat, half-cooked samp, etc.). They cannot drink any water during this time, either. The reason is that the wound needs to heal completely, and if they have water or normal food it will delay the healing process. (I don't understand the science in this, but it's been going on for thousands of years so there must be something to it.) After the 8 days is up, they can go back to eating normal food and drinking water. Everything is supposed to be healed up by the end of the second week, and then it becomes a waiting game.

During one of my previous trips to Guguletu we saw an initiate painted white over his entire body. He did this to pay tribute to his ancestors. He was white because the tribe believes we are all white under our skin, because that's what color our bones are (after we decompose). I haven't seen anyone else do this, but I haven't seen too many initiates up close to know.

The initiates are also taught about their new roles and responsibilities as men. They are given new words and phrases to use, none of which are written down (keeping in tradition with other oral histories). These words and phrases are used as tests when they meet other men to show that they are truly men now. If a male is asked a question and cannot answer with the correct phrase, then he is assumed to be a boy and cannot participate in debates held by men. If the "boy" argues that he is indeed a man, and it cannot be proved by the proper ways, he may be asked to show his evidence. That's a last resort, and I'm not sure I'd want to be in that position.

When School is over there is usually a celebration. Some families will kill and roast a goat, and homemade beer is usually produced. (In some rural areas, the tribe may offer the initiate a woman to make sure everything still works okay and that he is truly a man.) From that point, the man will be judged by his actions and words. If the man still behaves like a boy, running with the same crowd and making the same mischief as a boy, people will consider him a failure and shun him.

Xhosa men take this ritual very seriously, as well as the responsibilities it brings. I told two men I was speaking with that they'd have to take my word that I was a man. They laughed and said they would judge me by who I am and that I wouldn't have to show my evidence.

Phew!

Murals Unveiled

2007-07-22T13:59:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I had a unique experience. Two of the Treatment Action Campaign murals I and some you sponsored are completed, and one had its official unveiling yesterday. The event started with a march from the TAC district headquarters in Khayelitsha (about 15 minutes drive from Guguletu). It was my first political march, of sorts, but obviously not TAC's. About 40 people marched for a little over a mile to the site of the second mural (the first is farther away but still within Khayelitsha). It was very well organized, from the city permit down to the chants and songs. I felt a little out of place - I looked like a yogurt raisin in a box of Sunmaids - but no one else seemed to notice.

There were plenty of onlookers, as the site is on one of the busiest roads in the township. Taxis were forced to slow down and go around us, so a lot of people got a look at us and the murals. There was one photographer from a local paper, as well.

The mural is in four parts. The first panel shows a couple going to the clinic to get tested. The words at the bottom mean Your Life, Your Health, Our Responsibility. The second panel shows the couple in the clinic meeting with a counselor. The third panel shows them relaxing in the park, something they can do because they know their status and how to be safe. (One of the peer educators from TAC, a high-school girl who teaches other kids about HIV and STDs, translated for me. She said that the parks aren't safe to sit in, so even though the panel shows a park these "meetings" would happen at home.) The last panel gives key telephone numbers for the police (to report crime or rape), ambulance (in case someone needs help), testing sites, and places to get education. The colors are really bright and you can't help but notice as you pass by. It only took the artists 5 days to finish the whole thing, including the white base coat.

I was asked to say a few words as the murals' sponsor. I said that we were proud to sponsor these murals, and if just one person was prevented from getting HIV because the mural helped them get educated, it was worth it.

We then marched to a street corner where a local DJ was set to have a little dance party for the neighborhood. A few minutes after we got there, a small group was asked to march back to the mural so TAC's videographer could film us arriving and a couple of us giving our speeches. So, back we went. In the 15 minutes we were gone, a local woman (in the orange shirt) had strung a line and hung her washing to dry right smack in front of the mural. She was very kind and took it down for us and then repeated the whole procedure when we were done. There were other clotheslines along the street, so apparently it was a great place to dry clothes.

I saw more of Khayelitsha than I had ever seen before. It's a lot like Guguletu, but poorer. I didn't see any proper (brick) homes in the neighborhood we were in, just lots of shacks and shops. I did get solicited by a nice young girl, who was on her way to a good drunk (at 11:30 am). It started innocently enough - her sunglass lens had popped out and she asked me if I could put it back in. No problem, I thought. After I fixed it we traded names like most Xhosa conversations start. Then she asked where I lived (twice, actually, because she forgot she asked already). I guess I was friendly enough because then she asked if I had a girl. When I said yes, she pouted and turned away. It was only then I realized what had just happened. I felt a little stupid, but I didn't expect that in broad daylight on a crowded street corner at 11:30 in the morning.

The third mural should be started in the next couple weeks. It will be good to have this project finished.

More to come.

Fun with Xhosa

2007-07-20T14:01:00.000-04:00

The following is a conversation between me and our receptionist, Mkhuseli, from earlier this week, more or less verbatim:

Mkhuseli: Good morning Tony

Me: Molo bhuti [hello brother]. Kunjani? [How are you?]

Mkhuseli: Fine. How are you?

Me: Ndizaliwe (en-dee-zah-lee-way).

Mkhuseli: (stunned silence for about 5 seconds) What did you say?

Me: Ndizaliwe. Why, what did I say?

Mkhuseli: What did you mean to say?

Me: I'm calm. You know, like the weather.

Mkhuseli: (thinks for a few seconds) Do you mean ndizolile (en-dee-zoh-lee-lay)?

Me: Yeah, that sounds like it. What does ndizaliwe mean?

Mkhuseli: It means you just gave birth.

(loud laughter followed)

I have a lot of fun with the little Xhosa I know (I have been taking lessons, and know enough to at least initiate conversations). I've managed to surprise many people, especially people I'm meeting for the first time. The last thing most township folks expect is a white person who can speak Xhosa, and more than just molo (hello) or enkosi (thank you). What's most fun is saying something to folks at the Centre who normally speak English to me. I usually get a blank stare and have to repeat my Xhosa phrase, followed by the same thing in English, before they realize I was speaking Xhosa. They just don't expect it so they're trying to figure out what I was saying assuming I was speaking English.

I did have a nice little chat with a random old man on the street this week, who smiled and laughed as I worked through my "hello, how are you, I'm fine, nice day today, the sun is shining, have a nice day" phrases. I also have fun with people at the clinic, who forgive me when I butcher their names (I get about 90% correct, as long as there's no Q-click in the middle of it) and appreciate (I think) when I wish them a nice day.

My goal is to be able to give a good-bye speech in Xhosa when I leave in March. As long as it includes the weather, I'll be just fine.

Lessons Learned, Again

2007-07-19T14:20:00.000-04:00

I had an experience today that I'm still wrestling with. It's my own fault, really, and I learned a valuable lesson from it.

I took the new group of GLA students to Stormont Madabela school to continue our painting project. (Just an aside on the students: They are a much more diverse group than the first. There are about 6 Americans, 2 from London, 1 from Oman, 2 from Ghana, and 1 from Kenya. They've been asking more questions and appear a little more worldly, at least for the first 3 days. I think they'll be a fun group to work with, too.) Although I didn't want to have any local kids help us, we ended up with about a dozen or so grabbing brushes and rollers and pitching in (and many more wandering around touching the paint).

Now, that sounds like a lot of fun, until you consider we were using oil-based paint and not latex. The kids here don't understand the difference, and they don't care about getting paint all over themselves and their clothes. To make matters worse, they insist on washing it off under the faucet, which only serves to spread the paint to larger areas of their bodies. I spent about an hour cleaning hands, arms, backs (some boys took their shirts off), heads, ears, and faces with turpentine to get them halfway clean. I also had to clean off shoes, since most kids didn't change out of their school uniforms before painting.

As you can imagine, it was controlled chaos. I finally resorted to taking kids by the hand to a GLA student and pairing them up for cleaning, especially the younger kids who kept touching the calls and then themselves. I played charades with the older kids, showing them that you have to use a paper towel and wipe the paint off instead of pouring turpentine on your hands and rubbing them on your arms.

When I had gotten done with the first group of older kids, I gave a few of them bottles of water I had brought for the GLA students. This was a big mistake. All of a sudden I had 10 other boys who thought this was their reward for helping to paint, and they all wanted "spring water" too. When I told them no, that I didn't have enough for everyone, they kept on pleading and begging, some of them saying their stomachs were empty and they needed the water to fill them up. I tried to explain again that I only had 2 bottles left and it wouldn't be fair to give it to only 2 kids. That didn't work. They knew I had it and they wanted it. Case closed.

As we packed up my car, they all gathered around the trunk and continued to ask for water. I had to finally just shut the trunk lid and walk away.

They had also seen 2 bags of candy in my bags painting supplies. I had bought these to hand out to the kids today, but changed my mind when I saw how they were behaving. I didn't want to take the chance of having a mob scene at the school with only a limited supply of candy. After the GLA students had gotten into their van and left, I decided to hand out the candy, outside the school's gate, to diffuse some of the simmering hostility. I bought 200 pieces, and each kid got 3 with only a few remaining at the end. Most of the kids appreciated it, and some tried to get seconds. One of the teachers was standing by watching the kids for me and she told the returners to get back. She also told me when to stop so that no problems could develop.

I felt better when I left, thinking that I was able to salvage at least some good from a potentially bad situation. Then, as I was driving away, I got the finger (actually two fingers because he used both hands) from one of the boys who wanted water. The look on his face was a mix of anger and frustration, with a big dash of disappointment mixed in. My face probably looked the same after that, anger at myself for starting something I shouldn't have started (by giving water to a couple kids when I didn't have enough to give everyone a bottle), frustration that I wasn't the nice guy I was last week (the group of local boys we had with us during the school holiday were actually quite friendly and we got on pretty well), and disappointment at not being able to explain myself to these hard-working boys who may truly have been starving and needed something, anything to fill their stomachs.

My lesson learned is not to bring anything with me in the future. If I don't have it, they can't see it, I can't give it, and no expectations can be created. Sadly, that's a much different solution than I want (which would be buying enough for everyone) but it's much more realistic.

I'm also struggling with how to teach children in this situation that sometimes some people get things that others don't and how they should deal with that. I know they see and live that everyday, and they don't really need me to teach them anything about income and lifestyle disparities. However, I was truly struck by how adamant they were that they needed to get water, like they were missing out on something really valuable. I need to continue to think through this and see if there's a different way of managing this in the future.

More to come.

Wrapping Up the Week

2007-07-15T14:41:00.000-04:00

This has been one of the most stressful, yet most rewarding weeks I've had so far. I just want to note a couple things I didn't include in other postings to close out the week and get ready for the next one.

Mkhululi's funeral was yesterday. It was a very nice service. There was a lot of music, singing and dancing. About 10 people came and gave their respects and offered words of encouragement to the family and friends. I was asked to speak again, and repeated some words that are stenciled on the rafters of the church: Beka ithemba lakho kuye uthuthuzekele (Put your trust in Him and be at peace). I said I was looking up for guidance on what to say and it was literally written right above my head.

The end of the 3-hour service was different from other funerals I've been to here. A group of young men shrouded in blankets came to the casket and performed a Sotho chant over the body, something to the effect of saying good-bye. This group then led the procession to the cemetery, meaning it took about 45 minutes to go the 3 miles to the graveyard. I couldn't take my foot all the way off the clutch, we were moving so slowly. But, they chanted all the way and it just heightened the experience of the day.

After the grave-side service we went back to the house for lunch. The women did an excellent job, and no one went away hungry. The "umfundisi table" (where the ministers and church elders sit) had mutton and chicken, spinach, squash, rice, beans, and potato salad. Everyone else had something similar, served in a take-out box for ease of clean-up. I'm hopeful the family has enough food to last a few days until the can sort out where food will be coming from in the future.

On a different topic, last week I was approached by one of the staff, a young man named Isaac, about an idea he had for some of the orphaned children. First, some background on Isaac. He's about 20 years old and is a first-year student at CT Varsity, a film school in Cape Town. He's studying animation and is quite a skilled artist. The Centre supports him financially, and has done so for the past few years after his parents died. As pay-back Isaac works weekends at the Church doing odd jobs and setting up the hall for Sunday service.

Isaac's idea is to take a few of the kids to a movie every now and then to give them a new experience. He thought of this when he took his girlfriend to a show - she had such a great time that he thought other kids might like it, too. We spoke with Yvonne today, and she is going to prepare a list of kids for Isaac, and he'll take them next Saturday.

While this doesn't sound like a big deal, it's actually huge. Isaac is one of the first to see that giving is not about donating hundreds or thousands of rands/dollars/Euros. It's about taking a small step to improve someone else's life, even if for 2 hours on a Saturday. He feels so good about what he's received that he wants to give something back, and this day out is his idea of a meaningful experience for children who have never been to a movie. This concept of turning receivers into givers is something Yvonne and I talked about during one of our first conversations, and I'm really glad to see that it can be a reality. Isaac is hoping to do more in the future, even taking kids to Table Mountain or Robben Island (where Nelson Mandela was jailed) to open their eyes to the world around them. I'm hoping he can be a role model for others in the community and that many more will take on the challenge of giving back.

This week should be more relaxed. Edwin's back from his trip to Mexico and the U.S., no doubt with plenty of stories to tell (including the airlines losing his luggage in New York and never finding it). I have a new group of high schoolers to shepherd, and we'll be painting more of the school. School starts again tomorrow, so the after-school will be in full swing (it's been very quiet around the Centre, not that I'm complaining much). In other words, back to normalcy.

More to come.

Township Transport

2007-07-14T13:25:00.000-04:00

When you drive through Guguletu, Phillipi, Khayelitsha, or any other township area, you're sure to see just about every kind of vehicle made. Big cars, small cars, expensive cars, beaters, trucks of every size flow through the narrow streets. They don't even have to have all their parts, or have any of them working (other than the engine, of course) to qualify as transportation. In fact, it's almost like a beat-up car is a badge of honour, the way some people drive them.

Very few people in the townships can actually afford their own cars. When a new car is bought, it's cause for a party. I drove by a group on the street once and was told that they were celebrating the purchase of a new car. They really meant a new USED car, but it was a new car to that family. Everyone on the block gets a ride to show it off. It's like I remember new cars as a kid - it was a big deal on our block when someone got a brand new car. I remember when we got a new station wagon in the early 70s, it was the talk of the block for weeks. Maybe it was just the orange color and wood siding...

For those without cars, there are three basic forms of transportation available. Which one you use just depends on where you're going and when.

The first is the city bus, known here as the Golden Arrow ("The Bus for Us"). These circulate through the townships and generally only go to Cape Town and back. It costs about R4 to R6 for a ride, depending on how far the trip is. People will use these to go to work and back, but not for local travel.

The alternative to the city bus is the minibus taxi. These are usually VW or Toyota minibuses, (known here as a combi), outfitted to hold up to 16 people. They are manned by a driver and a doorman, who also acts as the sales guy. He usually hangs out the open door or a window and yells at people on the sidewalk to drum up business. Rides cost about R6 or R8, again depending on where you're going. While the biggest use of these vehicles is to go from the townships to the city, people so use them inside Cape Town proper to get from one side to another. I haven't used one yet (because I have a car), but they are considered safe (as long as you know where you're going and pack lightly) and lots of locals use them as their primary transport.

The third type, and the most common in the townships, is the "regular" taxi. These are only meant for local trips, or for moving from one township area to another (like from Guguletu to Phillipi). These cars are almost all Toyota Cressidas, for some unknown reason. They look like 1990s-era boxy Corolla or Camry. (I get a lot of waves from people during the morning rush because they think my Corolla is a taxi. But it's in way too good a shape.) Most of the taxis are beaters, with lights missing, cracked windscreens, and missing body parts. The hiring process is not like in the U.S. When you hail a taxi, you don't get your own car. The driver will continue picking up people until he has about 6 or 7 people in the car (2-3 in the front and 4-5 in the back. In a compact car.) Then he makes the drops. Township residents call these cars cockroaches because when they stop it looks like a bunch of roaches scrambling out of a box. Rides cost about R4 to R8, depending on distance.

When you drive through the townships you quickly learn to set aside any traffic rules you learned in drivers ed. Stop signs are just suggestions. Red lights mean to drive faster so the next 4 cars can shoot through. If you feel like you've waited long enough at a red light, you can just go ahead. You can also pass anyone whenever you want, even if there's oncoming traffic. They should jump the curb and drive on the sidewalk if necessary so you can proceed. You can also drive down the middle of the side streets until just before you're due to hit the car coming from the other way. It's not playing chicken exactly, but it certainly keeps the adrenaline flowing. Speed limits vary from "I'm in no hurry and you'll have to crawl behind me for a while" to "get the hell out of my way."

Pedestrians also are a challenge. For a country that doesn't believe in pedestrian right-of-ways, people walk whenever and wherever they want. It's not at all unusual for people to trot across three lanes of oncoming traffic traveling at 50 miles an hour. People also walk along the streets so close to cars that I swear I've felt pants legs brush against my car as I'm going. I'm amazed there aren't more accidents than there are.

The other transportation you see here is the cart horse. I see about 2 or 3 of these a day. They are mainly used by scrap haulers because they're cheap and don't break down. At the end of the day the horses are let loose in fields to graze and then put in some kind of barn at night. While most owners care for their horses at least okay, some of the horses are awfully thin and many are pulling extreme weights. There is a cart horse association who looks after these animals, to make sure the owners know how to care for them and that the horses get enough quality food and water. At least they're not roaming the streets like the dogs.

More to come.

No Longer White

2007-07-13T15:07:00.000-04:00

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.

New Perspectives

2007-07-09T14:14:00.000-04:00

Looking back over the past week, I've done some pretty simple things. However, three months ago I would have been awestruck by them, even just one of them. I don't think I'm becoming used to my daily life in Guguletu, because every day seems to bring some new experiences and understanding. Not to be too cliche about it, but I think I'm learning what true day-to-day life is there, that hardships and helping are just part of the fabric that makes the tapestry of the township.

Last Thursday Rev. Spiwo caught me and told me about his visit to Mkhululi's house the evening before. He hadn't realized how badly they had it, that they had basically nothing in the house for the 8 people to live on. Luli was the only person with a job, and now that he was gone it would be even worse. He asked if I couldn't buy some groceries for them, especially things they'd need to serve visitors paying their respects. So I went out and bought some coffee, tea, sugar, flour, and milk. Mama Nkgo, the head cook at the Centre, also gave me two bags of potatoes and a bag of onions for them. Xolani and I brought it over on Friday morning. Although it was after 8:00, we managed to wake the whole house. As I waited I saw people waking from their mattresses on the floor, scrambling to find clothes to wear. We didn't stay long, as it was obvious we were in the way. I did find out that Luli has a daughter, somewhere around seven years old. I haven't met her yet but probably will soon.

Spiwo also talked to me about the funeral. Because the family has nothing, they will need help paying for the funeral. These costs can run upwards of R10,000 ($1400), including the casket, plot, transportation for guests, and the post-funeral luncheon. As far as I know no one in the family had a funeral plan, so they will be expected to pay the full amount. I plan to help out with those, along with some of the contributions people have given me so far.

The GLA students and I spent two afternoons last week painting the Stormont Madebela school in KTC. I have pictures, but had to loan my memory card to someone today. I'll post them as soon as I can. It was actually fun. We had great weather, with bright blue skies and temperatures in the upper 70s. I also got to witness the "Tom Sawyer effect" in action. Each day we had about 10 local boys show up to paint. I have never seen boys so eager to help, ever (and that includes me at that age). Most had probably never held a paint roller in their lives, but that wasn't going to stop them from painting. I tried to buddy them up with one of the older kids, but after about 10 minutes they were all off on their own, painting the walls and themselves, almost in equal amounts. We put on three coats of paint in two days, and the building looks clean if not exactly perfect. We have two more days there, and we'll be focusing on the insides of a couple classrooms. I hope to be able to give most of the students a bright place to learn, even if they don't have lights or heat (or books or pencils or desks or almost anything else).

On Saturday I spent about an hour with Lydia, previously called Sophie in this blog. I've decided to use her real name because she deserves to have her story told, and she is open about her status. Her son's name is Niwo (nee-whoa). Lydia is having a very tough time right now because of both her health and Niwo's. She was supposed to have some surgery last week to fix a long-standing stomach problem that prevents her from eating well. Unfortunately, she couldn't have the operation because her pre-op blood pressure was extremely high. So high, in fact, that her doctor was surprised that she didn't have a stroke. So, she is back at home waiting for a new date, struggling to eat and stay healthy.

She's also very worried about Niwo. As I mentioned during one of my first postings, he has struggled with his HIV treatment (he failed his first regimen, so now he's on the second and last treatment course) and with seizures (called fits here). His seizures are mostly under control now, but he is starting to fail on the new HIV medicines. His viral load has not responded, which does not bode well for long-term success. He also has some type of lung problem that will require surgery, scheduled for about two weeks from now. The doctors think it's a side effect of the HIV medications, and if surgery doesn't correct it they'll be forced to stop the drugs (which they may have to do anyway if the viral loads don't improve). He looks land acts ike a happy kid - he even played with me on Saturday, when he's never even acknowledged me before - which makes it difficult to imagine his possible future.

Lydia is very depressed. She thinks that Niwo will only live a short time if the HIV drugs are stopped. Her sister and I both tried to tell her that he could live for years without them, but I don't think she believes us. (And to be truthful, I don't really think so either.) She said that she hopes that God takes her first, because a mother should outlive her child. She's also struggling with her older children, a son who doesn't talk to her or support her financially (even though he's working) and a daughter who fights with her more often than not. Although Lydia is living with her sister, she doesn't have a bed of her own and she doesn't have a stable food plan. Her mother lives two doors away but has basically disowned her and doesn't speak with her. (Lydia lived with her mother for a while when she moved to Cape Town from Johannesburg, but her mother didn't feed her or provide any kind of support. She didn't like the fact Lydia was HIV-positive, even though it wasn't her fault.) She wants her own place very much, so much so she asked me for the bungalow that is being used in Barcelona. I don't want to open that can of worms but it may come up sometime soon.

I left Lydia's house very sad and very frustrated. I want so badly to fix things for her, but there really isn't anything I can fix. I gave her some money to buy some groceries, but that was a one-time thing. I can't make her feel better physically, I can't convince her that Niwo will be okay, I can't get her a house of her own, I can't fix her family relationships, and I can't make her happy. I can only be her friend and a shoulder to cry on, and hope that's enough.

Saturday afternoon I spent about an hour with a group of young professionals who found the Centre somehow and want to help. It was my first time representing the Centre by myself, the white American talking about life in the black township to local black people. Even though I felt odd, I think I was the only one who noticed. All of them are in public relations, advertising, marketing or a related field. A couple are very excited about helping us spread our message within South Africa and internationally through magazines and online publications. They also brought several bags of clothes with them, which we will put to good use. I'm excited by the prospects.

Yesterday (Sunday) we had about 100 American visitors from Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Their Senior Choir has been touring South Africa for the past 10 days with stops in Jo-burg, Durban, Port Elizabeth and elsewhere. They've been supporting JL Zwane for about 15 years and made a special point of visiting the church for a concert. They performed three songs during the Sunday service, including a great rendition of Amazing Grace. We served a finger-food lunch (which I got to put together) from 12:00 until 2:00, and I was happy to see about 30 people from the community there, including a number of the church leadership and key members of the congregation. There was a lot of good discussion, and Spiwo had a short Q&A session with them. At 2:00 they concert started with a chorus made up of Siyaya and another local choir named Sivuyile ("we are happy"). The Bryn Mawr choir sang next, and then all singers combined for the Hallelujah Chorus. It was very first-class and a lot of fun.

So, daily life continues to a balance between extremes - poverty versus affluence, sickness versus health, sadness versus joy. The only difference between now and April is that I realize it's part of daily reality and not a shocking exception to a different norm. I only hope that I continue to be appalled by the disparities and don't learn to accept them.

By the way, you may have noticed a new quote at the top-right of my page. I found this today while I was looking through some public domain books. It just seemed to fit with my trip - that only through sharing and discussion can we really understand each other, and we all deserve to speak and be heard.

More to come.

The JL Zwane Art Gallery, Plus More on Mkhululi

2007-07-04T12:50:00.000-04:00

I know I ended the last posting a little abruptly. I just couldn't write any more that evening. I'm not even sure why I was as sad as I was, because I didn't really know him. I guess I had a hard time dealing with a senseless death in a place where risks are ever-constant and life can be very tenuous.

From what I've been able to piece together, Mkhululi was hit by a minibus taxi on Friday afternoon. The taxi was trying to pass another car and either didn't see Mkhululi or couldn't stop in time. He must have hit him at close to full speed to cause Mkhululi's injuries. I don't know if the taxi driver has been found or not. I was told that if he was, he would be made to contribute to the funeral costs because he caused the accident. We'll see if that happens or not.

I went briefly to Mkhululi's place Tuesday morning. He had a shack behind his mother's house. Most of Siyaya was there, and the rest were on their way. They weren't saying anything, just sitting silently thinking of what happened and was happening. I think some of them were probably contemplating their own mortality for the first time, as well (which seems odd given the daily problems with violence and deaths from HIV/AIDS, but when you're 20 years old you always think it happens to the other guy, not you). I approved a day off from rehearsal in Rev. Spiwo's absence, since they wouldn't have gotten anything done anyway. The guys stayed and cleaned and painted the mother's living room in preparation for visitors and the funeral (which will probably be next week).

Since Siyaya has a big concert on Sunday, they were back at work today practicing their songs. They have a replacement drummer, at least for Sunday. He's also from the township and has played for a while so Bongani thinks he'll do fine. I hope it all works out.

Look Out, Louvre
We had an art class of sorts at the Centre today. It was put on by a student group I've been working with the past couple weeks called Global Leadership Adventures (GLA). This program runs for 3 weeks, and pulls in kids from the U.S., Europe, the Middle East and South Africa. Many of them are from affluent households, and most would be considered high achievers in their schools and communities. They do academic sessions in the mornings, studying and discussing topics like poverty, human rights, economics, and homelessness. Their afternoons are spent doing community service projects. Ten kids have been assigned to the Centre and I've been their host/guide/taskmaster. They are a really great group of young adults, motivated and hard working. This group runs through next week and then I have another group of 10 coming.

I've split their time up to give them exposure to different people and settings in Guguletu and the surrounding area. Half of the time is being spent painting the Stormont Madebela school I've written about previously. I hope to get pictures tomorrow and will post them soon.

The other half is a mix of projects. Today we had an art class of sorts for the local kids, since it's school holiday and most kids have nothing to keep them occupied. We had three stations: drawing (pastel crayons and charcoals), painting (watercolors) and clay. It was a really great time. We had about 20 kids, 10 to 14 years old, come and they stayed busy for the full two hours. If they got bored we also had a pick-up soccer game going for a while. You can see some of what they were working on in these pictures. The level of creativity was very high, and they all put my stick men pictures to shame. We even had a couple adults wander in and make something, which was lots of fun to watch. The interplay between the GLAers and the local kids was also really fun to watch. There wasn't much of a language barrier, and if there was the other kids would translate. Everyone was helping each other, with lots of laughter and sharing going on. At the end, everyone shared the cleaning responsibility. Then we had the requisite group photos, followed by about 15 minutes of good-byes. Everyone left happy, and most of the local kids were asking when they could do it again (which we will in a couple weeks).

It is absolutely amazing what can happen when adults take their stresses and anxieties out of the way and let kids be kids. Because GLA is a leadership development program, I told the students that they were on their own for the day. I gave them the supplies and they took care of the rest, organizing the tables and helping set starting projects for everyone. They also organized the soccer game. They did a great job. I think all of them could go on to great things.

(I included the picture of the clay animals for my brother. "Hello Mr. Go-phair. Pay no attention to Mr. Squirrel...")

More to come.

An Eventful Weekend After All

2007-07-02T15:05:00.000-04:00

First, if you're interested in a different perspective of life in Guguletu, check out the blog Leaning on the Windowsill by Zach Schaeffer. Zach is on a 10-week internship of sorts at JL Zwane. He's pursuing a Masters of Divinity at Princeton Seminary and is in Guguletu to gain experience. Zach's blog is at http://leaningonthewindowsill.blogspot.com.

I wrote on Saturday afternoon that I had an uneventful week. Well, that changed on Saturday afternoon. I was at the Centre waiting to go with Siyaya to a performance at Stellenbosch University. Things didn't exactly go as planned:

1. On Friday afternoon, Siyaya's drummer, Mkhululi, was hit by a mini-van not far from the Centre. He was hurt pretty bad, with head, neck and hip injuries. Zach said he heard that Mkhululi was dragged the van for a short distance, as well. He was taken to the trauma unit at Groote Schuur Hospital in Cape Town, the biggest hospital in town. Bongani, Siyaya's director, and I went to see his mother that afternoon to see how he was. She said he could hear her talk but wasn't able to respond. She was very hopeful that things would improve.

Today, Zach and Bongani went to see Mkhululi. He's now in ICU, unconscious and on a ventilator. Zach said his head is quite swollen and is totally non-responsive (although it's possible that he's in an induced coma to help with the brain injury). That doesn't bode well for his recovery. Even if he does regain consciousness I have to believe he'll have some residual brain damage. In Guguletu, where support for brain-injured people is non-existent, this means a major burden on his family for many years. I can only hope he does well and is able to resume some normality with his life.

2. On Saturday, one of the Siyaya members didn't show up because he was in the shabeen (tavern). Apparently, he hadn't heard that there was a show on Saturday and decided to go out drinking. Bongani went to him at noon and told him to go home and sober up. But, he still didn't show. One of the other performers covered his role, and no one in the audience was the wiser.

With both of these events, I was concerned about the show and asked Bongani if we should cancel. He was adamant that the show must go on, that the troupe needed to know that one person could not and would not stop them from performing. And, he was right. All of Siyaya's members were concerned for Mkhululi, but they stuck together and put on a great show. Bongani explained what happened to the audience after the show, and publicly thanked Siyaya for performing. The audience also showed their thanks with a healthy round of applause.

Update: As I was typing the above message, I got a call from Rev. Spiwo. Mkhululi died this evening. He was a young man with lots of potential, and he will be missed greatly.

Just an Update

2007-06-30T08:00:00.000-04:00

It's been a fairly uneventful week, although I was busier this week than ever before. Here's a recap of what's been happening:

1. On Monday, I started overseeing a group of 10 high school kids from Global Leadership Adventures. GLA takes kids from the U.S., Europe, the Middle East and Africa to the developing world so they can see how other parts of the world operate. The kids are all considered high achievers, and many come from affluent households. They spend mornings in class learning about global issues, from human rights to health issues, economics to entertainment. Their afternoons are spent on community service projects. GLA has high expectations for these kids and really pushes them to learn and grow.

JL Zwane was lucky to get 10 students from the programme. They spend about 3 hours with the Centre 4 days during the week. Our big project is to paint the Stormont Madebela school that I've written about previously. To say it really needs a paint job is like saying I need hair plugs - it's that bad. We're battling weather, so we only had one good painting day. But, it's amazing how much 12-13 people can get done, and it looks better already.

Besides painting, the kids will be doing a beading project, leading an art class for local kids, and helping with a soccer tournament. They all like interacting with the local youth, so the agenda is a good mix of hard work and play. I never knew how exhausting leading a youth group can be, though. I have a lot more respect for people who do that everyday, like teachers.

2. Speaking of teachers, the strike appears to be over. The unions have started to sign off on the government's final offer of 7.5%. School won't start for another two weeks, because it's now school holiday, and districts are scrambling to figure out how to make up the lost time. I have a feeling they'll just write it off.

3. The snow in Johannesburg was much more of a problem than I originally thought. Keep in mind they only got about an inch. But, it shut down the airport for at least one day. They just didn't have any way to move the snow off the runways, so planes couldn't take off or land. Planes flew up there from Cape Town only to turn around and come back (how did they have enough fuel for that?).

4. Edwin took off on Wednesday to go to Mexico and the U.S. (Dallas). Spiwo is also gone for a few days, leaving me in charge of the Centre. I don't really have to do anything different, but it feels a little strange to be responsible for things.

5. Spiwo and I had a meeting with the South Africa country manager for Glaxo SmithKline this week. GSK is the largest seller of HIV medications in the world and it would be great to partner with them in some way. We're submitting a proposal and I'll let you know if anything develops.

6. The garden is growing. It seems to be going a little slowly, but it has been cold lately. I think we'll have something to eat in 4-6 weeks.

I've been here three months as of today. The time has gone by quick and slow at the same time. I miss home, and Cindy's been a real rock in dealing with things back there (including dog ear infections, of all things). But, I can feel that I'm making a difference here, and my own personal sacrifices, as large or small as they may be, are certainly worth it.

I'm off to Stellenbosch this afternoon to accompany Siyaya on a performance for the full GLA group. It'll be fun to see how the full group interacts with a real African performance group with a very strong HIV/AIDS education message.

More to come.

Snow in South Africa

2007-06-27T14:54:00.000-04:00

Johannesburg got about an inch of snow last night, the first "major snowfall" since 1981. Snow may sound strange for South Africa, but Jo-burg sits at about 5,500 feet and it can go below freezing a few times during the winter. I remember snow falling a couple hundred miles north of the city when we were there in 1996. Schools actually let out early so kids could go play in it.

I was listening to talk radio this morning and had some good laughs hearing people talk about waking up their kids at 4:00 am to see it snow and make snowmen. People were also arguing about whether it was snow or not. One person would say it was "really tiny pellets of ice." Another would say it was fluffy. Like there's a big difference when it's sitting on your lawn.

The announcers were asking for driving tips and suggestions on how to clean off cars. One lady said that the snow doubled the weight of the car and caused it to use lots more petrol (gasoline). She also said they had to use cardboard to scrape off the snow. I was really tempted to call and ask her if she'd ever used a broom before.

Another guy called in to make sure people were using special oil in their cars because it was so cold. It was 28 degrees! Not exactly a Minnesota winter.

There's also snow in the mountains around Cape Town. It's pretty to see the white peaks in the distance. It probably won't last long because it doesn't stay as cold here. It's just a little reminder of home.

Houses and Hostels and Shacks (oh my) Part 3

2007-06-27T02:19:00.000-04:00

These are from the company hostels, Coke's in this case.

These are from an older hostel, a two-story building. The stairs for the upper floor is inside the common area, to the right of the woman in the picture. She is doing her laundry in her area's common area. The wood pile is firewood for use by shack dwellers or shop owners in the market about a block away.

Houses and Hostels and Shacks (oh my) Part 2

2007-06-27T02:13:00.000-04:00

Here are some hostel pictures. These are from the older government buildings.

To the left is a common area, and below is one of the short hallays. The rest are from one of the rooms.

Houses and Hostels and Shacks (oh my)

2007-06-27T01:20:00.000-04:00

It has been a very tough week, weather-wise. A cold front moved in on Sunday night, and you'd have thought we were having a hurricane on Monday. The wind was stronger than I've ever felt and the rain was coming in sideways for most of the day. News reports are saying that over 500 people in Guguletu lost their homes from flooding and wind damage. I don't know where they go, since there really aren't shelters for situations like this. People are most likely living with family and friends until they can rebuild.

It's not surprising that this happens given the state of the buildings here. I'm going to post some pictures to give you a feel for the different types of homes in the townships. Because I can only add 5 pictures per posting it will take 2 or 3 to show them all.

Shacks are entry-level housing. Most people who arrive in Guguletu or any of the surrounding areas either buy an existing shack or scrounge materials to make their own. The difficulty is finding a place to put it - you'll find shacks just about everywhere, from edges of swamps to sidewalks along the main roads. People who own houses have them in their front and back yards. You'll even find them under bridges and along railroad tracks. As I've described before, most are made from discarded (or "borrowed") wood or zinc panels. They come in all shapes and sizes but most are 10 to 12 feet wide and 8 to 10 feet deep.

The insides are a catch-as-catch-can affair. You'll see just about everything in them, from almost nothing to very well-designed living areas. The picture below is typical, though. This man's shack is a little larger than normal, big enough to have two "rooms" separated by a curtain. You can see his bed to the right and his TV on the left. Behind me is their kitchen and eating area, which are about the same size as the bed area. Everything in this shack was probably pulled from a trash bin, including the track lighting over his head. It's a bit ironic that most of the shacks use fluorescent bulbs like the one on the left side of the picture, as these are 10 times the cost of incandescents. But, they also save on electricity costs. You can see that the walls are bare, which is typical. He had one window in his shack, and one door. Doors are scrounged separately from the walls, so they never quite fit and never close right. They do have locks, though, or at least some way to secure the building when people are gone or sleeping.

Hostels are the next big housing option. They're better than shacks in that they're solid, made of brick or blocks. However, most people in hostels have smaller living spaces than shack dwellers. They usually have a single room, maybe 10 feet by 10 feet, and these may be shared by as many as 6-8 people. I was at one hostel where 9 people were crammed into a 10x10 room. They had a small chest freezer in that room, and every night they would move it into the hallway so people could sleep on the floor. Then, in the morning, they'd move it back again for safekeeping.

Besides their rooms, people in hostels share a common area, maybe 20 feet by 12 feet. The rooms are down short hallways off the common area, one hallway to the left and one to the right. The common area is supposed to be a kitchen and dining area. But, for reasons of security everyone keeps their food and cooking equipment in their rooms, so the common areas are just used as places to sit and play cards or talk. The layout is common space in the middle

There are three kinds of hostels in the townships. The first are the oldest, built by the apartheid government to house men who worked for the municipalities, mines, or other large institutions. The idea was that men would live here 11 months a year, going back to their homelands only over Christmas and New Year's holidays. Women and families were never supposed to live in these hostels. Well, after a number of years the women did come to the hostels and they became incredibly overcrowded. It was not unusual to have 3 or 4 families living in one room. Not 3 or 4 people, but 3 or 4 families, each with 3-4 people (two adults and two kids, for example). I'm amazed anyone had kids with that arrangement. Everything happened in the rooms, including bathing in some cases (using a plastic washtub), cooking, clothes washing, etc. I'm learning that privacy is not assumed here, that exposing yourself is part of life. This is not to say people aren't modest, because they are, but when you have to get dressed you just get it done.

The second style of hostel is slightly improved from the first. Several years ago the government tried to make improvements on the basic hostel by creating more of an apartment feel. A single family will now have their own space with a bathroom. The government also built a second story on the buildings so that more people can be accommodated. Of course, this led to problems because the construction wasn't the best. Roofs leak and plumbing backs up, meaning that many people have constant water and sewage problems. Walls are cracking from settling and some people are scared that the building is going to fall in on them someday.

The third type of hostel is company-owned. Firms like Coca-Cola, Bokomo (the big cereal maker here), and Bonita (dairy products) built hostels for their workers. These buildings are really nice compared to the others. They're painted inside, have decent stainless steel counters in the common areas, and have larger rooms than the government hostels. Many have hot water (assuming the heaters work). The companies who owned these regularly came to inspect them and make improvements as needed. Most companies no longer maintain their buildings, but the residents are good about keeping them up.

The ideal is to have a proper house. These are generally cinder block homes, with 3 or 4 rooms. They have bathrooms and showers, hot water, and appliances. Most houses have several people living in them, but there is much more space for people to spread out. Some house owners will also build shacks for their older children to stay in, which gives them some privacy and the parents more space to live in. Shacks may be rented out for R150 or R200 a month, which brings in needed money for the homeowner.

All of these housing options co-exist in the townships. You'll see houses on one side of a street and hostels on the other, with shacks all around.

I always wonder what people would do if a developer came in and build high-rise apartments in Guguletu, like those in the Bronx or Chicago. Inside one square block of apartments you could house all of the people now living in shacks or hostels covering 8 or 10 square blocks. I'll have to ask why no one's done that yet. Then again, you don't see high-rise apartments anywhere in Cape Town, save three buildings on the edge of the city center.

More to come.

Today's Home Visits

2007-06-21T14:08:00.000-04:00

I went on two home visits with Yvonne, Nomokwazi, and a new friend, Nolothando, this afternoon. We went to an area called Lower Crossroads, about 10-15 minutes drive from the Centre. It's outside of JL Zwane's usual catchment area. However, Nolothando lives in the area and she would like to start supporting children in the way that Yvonne does it. Yvonne is contacting churches in the area to have them back Nolothando's efforts, and it looks good that something positive will happen.

The first home we visited belongs to a 20-year old woman. Her 14-year old brother lives with her. Their father died in 1994, and their mother died this past March. They share a one-room cinder block house about 15 feet x 20 feet. They have almost nothing in the house, just two twin beds, a desk that they use to store food and kitchen gear, and a TV. There's one bare light bulb hanging in the middle of the room. You can smell the soaked-in odor of paraffin from a stove (for cooking and heat), and you can't help but notice the black specks on the walls where mold is growing. The toilet is outside (like most places around here) and they get water from a central tap down the road.

Since their mother died, their only source of sustainable income is the R200 per month they get from renting two shacks in their front yard. The woman only completed Standard 5 (7th grade) so her chances of finding a decent-paying job are almost zero. Needless to say, they have little to eat and are constantly scrounging. When Yvonne asked about how she gets money to buy food, the woman didn't answer, she just started to cry. In the car afterwards, Yvonne and the other women explained that this is the typical reaction when a woman doesn't want to admit to using sex to survive (literally known as survival sex). She does not consider herself a prostitute by any means. She is simply allowing men to help support her and her brother and offering her body in return. Women who do this know it is not "right" but they feel trapped by a lack of any other means of support.

I knew that this goes on in the townships but it was my first time meeting someone dependent on it. It's really difficult to know that women have to rely upon this and not be able to do anything to help avoid or prevent it. And by the way, it's not just women who depend on survival sex. It happens with men, girls and boys, too. It's just not talked about, as if it will go away if we just ignore it. But it won't, and we shouldn't.

The other house I visited belongs to a young woman as well. She had lived with her father, who died recently. Her mother hasn't been in the picture since the father divorced her years ago. She is living with her sister and three other adults or older teenagers. The house is also cinder block and is larger than the first one. It's in a little better shape, but not much. They added on to the house at some point, with wood walls and newspaper circulars for wallpaper. It's colorful, but dreadful at the same time. The house has a full-sized bed and a couch for five adults, so I'm sure someone sleeps on the floor.

The primary woman and her sister recently had babies, thinking that they would then qualify for government assistance (R190 per child per month). Unfortunately, they hadn't considered that you need an identity card (kind of like our state ID cards) to get assistance. These two women don't have identity cards because their paperwork has been lost and they cannot get birth certificates. (Apparently, lost paperwork is somewhat common here, especially when people move from province to province. There isn't any common computer system across the country for personal documentation and if the original gets lost, it's gone forever.)

So, now there are two young women with babies and no money to take care of them. They had a social worker who came regularly with food parcels, but those stopped a while back. This will be one of the first families Nolothando works on because their situation is really dire.

So, when you go to sleep tonight imagine if your bed and your dresser are the only things you own in a house the size of your bedroom. And you share it with 4 or 5 other people. And you don't have painted walls or curtains or a closet. And your roof leaks. And you have only water and two slices of white bread to look forward to for breakfast. That's reality for hundreds of thousands of people in one of the most beautiful and affluent cities in all of Africa.

And imagine what you'd think if you heard a government minister spent over R1,000,000 ($140,000) remodeling his office conference room. No joke.

Bungalow in Barcelona, plus Learning Xhosa

2007-06-20T14:34:00.000-04:00

I finally got a picture of the infamous bungalow. It's sitting in a part of the township called Barcelona. As you can probably guess, it's nothing like the old Spanish city. It's one of the poorest areas around, basically a shantytown. No paved roads, no brick houses, no flush toilets, only central taps for water. But, people here have a roof over their heads, even if it leaks in the rain. There are lots of kids around, and it wouldn't surprise me if the average household was about 4-5 people in a 10 foot by 10 foot shack.

The bungalow, which is the orange-ish building, used to be twice as big as you see it here. The panels are made of pressed asbestos and are pretty brittle. When the guys disassembled and moved the panels, some of them broke and couldn't be used. When they put it back together, they doubled up some of the panels for better draft and leak control. So, it's now smaller but better constructed. There are still some gaps between the roof and the walls, but I asked if it leaks when it rains hard and was told no.

(There is no concern here about lung damage from asbestos. I think people are so worried about day-to-day survival that they don't worry about future possibilities. Plus, the average person here only lives to their mid-50s, so asbestos-induced cancers are even lower on the list of concerns.)

The woman in the picture is a cleaner at the Centre part-time. I think her name is Nomosi. I've heard Yvonne say it a couple times but it's never really been clear. I'll correct it in a future posting if I got it wrong.

The bungalow does not have electricity yet, so Nomosi uses a lamp for light (you can see it on her bedside table). She doesn't have a heater yet so it gets pretty cold at night. She doesn't like using the lamp or a paraffin heater because it's hard on her lungs (paraffin is like kerosene, and it can burn with a sooty smoke if you don't have a good wick. Asthma is a huge problem in the shacks because of that soot). It's also a big safety concern - over 1000 people die in South Africa every year from burns suffered in house fires.

So, the bungalow story is over, more or less. We are going to work on getting Nomosi electricity so that she can get a stove and an electric light. That should be a breeze compared to what's gone on so far.

Xhosa lessons
I've been taking weekly Xhosa lessons for almost a month. It's a tough language to learn, not just because of the sounds but also because the grammar is very different. I probably know about 50-60 words and a few other phrases, enough to have very short conversations with people. It's fun to surprise people at the clinic or the Centre when I can respond to something they say. If things continue like they are I should be half-way good by the time I leave.

Here's a few words you can use on your friends:
Hello = Molo (moh-loh)
How are you = Kunjani (kuhn-jahn-ee)
I'm fine = Ndiphilile (di-pee-lee-lay)
Thanks = Enkosi (en-koh-see or en-kohs)
See you (good-bye) = Sobonana (soh-boh-nah-nah, not like banana)
Yes = Ewe (a-way with long As)
No = Hayi (hi but hold the I for an extra beat)

There are a lot of English and Afrikaans derivatives in the language. Ifona is phone, iskoli is school, etc. There's no gender distinction as in Spanish or Italian, but there are different pronouns depending on the verb. For example, lakho and yakho both mean "your" but are used with specific nouns. Igama, which means first name, goes with lakho and ifana, which means last name, goes with yakho. There are 15 noun groups that I'll eventually have to learn, each with their own rules about pronouns, plurals, and various other subtleties.

Xhosa also just adds prefixes or suffixes to word roots depending on how you're using the word. "Phila" is the word root for "life" or "well." "Ndiphilile" means "I am well." (Ndi = I) "Andiphilanga" means "I'm not well." "Usaphila" means "Are you still well?" (U = you, sa = still). It all kind of makes sense after a while, as you learn to add or subtract prefixes depending on the word and how it's being used.

This was today's sunset. Tomorrow is the shortest day of the year, so it's all downhill from here.

More to come.

Winds of Hope

2007-06-17T09:07:00.000-04:00

Today started out as a lovely winter day, with bright sun and decent morning temperatures (60). About noon, the wind kicked up and it's now a blustery day, more in line with the winter here. The clouds are coming in and I expect it will rain before the day is over.

I think part of that wind, though, is hope blowing over the mountains. I've said it before, but I'm amazed at people's convictions when it comes to their faith. Even in the face of absolute adversity people believe that God will provide and, with a little help from ordinary people, it usually happens.

This week's case in point is a woman that Yvonne found out about on Monday. This woman, whose name I haven't learned yet (I forgot to ask - shame on me) has HIV and is moderately far along. She is hardly able to walk because of pains in her feet. She can barely take care of her basic hygiene needs let alone cooking and taking care of her family. She has three kids, a girl about 14, a boy about 10, and a girl just 1 year old. They are all living in a proper house (meaning it's brick and mortar, not a shack), which is a huge advantage. Her sister also helps out.

Having a house is nice, but they have literally nothing else. Yvonne and Nonke, Rev. Spiwo's 18-year old daughter, went to the house for the first time this past Tuesday. They found the woman alone and sleeping on cardboard on the floor. And wet cardboard, at that. I haven't seen or heard of anything that bad before, even in the shacks I've been to. The kids didn't have it much better - they at least had a thin foam mat to sleep on (yes, all three kids on one sleeping bag sized mat). Yvonne said it was so dire that she had to leave the house. For Yvonne to do that, it must have been very, very bad. Nonke stayed with the woman for a few minutes longer, talking and praying with her. When they came back to the Centre they had already decided something had to be done and made a plan to get some blankets and food back to the house. They wanted to find a bed, but no one had any ideas for getting the R999 it would take.

By the time Wednesday came, a bed had mysteriously materialized. The Centre is remodeling a room above its garage, which was previously used as an apartment by a couple guys. They had moved the beds out and one of these had been left behind. So, it was quickly commandeered by Yvonne and Nonke and they took it to the house Wednesday afternoon. I went with them, and everything they had told me was true. In a four-room house, there was a beaten-up table. That's it. There was a refrigerator, too, but it belongs to the woman who rents a shack behind the house (it got moved into the house during the recent rains and will go back to the shack when it stops raining). We took the bed inside and you'd have thought it was the only one in South Africa. Everyone was in a great mood and we all left feeling really good.

Today, about 10 people went back to the house for a prayer meeting. As I've described before, it was 90 minutes of songs, prayers, Bible readings, and more songs. (I was asked to give the Benediction again, and this time I actually did it right thanks to an Internet search I did a couple weeks ago. Who knew that there were so many ways to say an ending prayer?) The overwhelming theme of all of the prayers, etc. was to keep hope and faith. I think people with HIV/AIDS know that it will ultimately kill them, and very few people hold out unrealistic hope for a cure. However, they are very serious about hoping for a long life free from pain and anguish for them and their families. There are many people around JL Zwane to give testament to that, including some that have been in the support group for as long as 11 years.

Today was also about helping this woman and her sister know that others were supporting her, that they were not alone. That's a theme I've heard before, that people just want to know they are still loved and part of the collective family. I think we were able to demonstrate that just fine.

Unrealistic hope does happen, though. I heard a story last week about a woman who came to clinic wanting an HIV test. The story starts about a month ago, when she came in the first time for a test. Although she had tested positive at a different clinic just a couple weeks before, she was convinced that she would be negative because she had been praying extra hard and her minister had implied it would help cure her. She knew the Bible stories about od curing "incurable diseases" and she expected it would happen to her. Of course, she tested positive again. She went away unconvinced that she would not be cured. A couple weeks go by, and she is back again for a test. She said that, again, she knew she would be negative. This time, though, it was because she had made a "sacrifice" and God would reward her for it. Well, she was tested, with another positive result. The nursing sister actually had her read the test so she could see for herself that it was positive. They talked for a while, and it came out that her sacrifice was a R20,000 donation to her church. This woman works as a domestic, and probably only makes that much money in a year. So, she not only has no cure, now she owes someone a lot of money that she'll be lucky to pay off. The nursing sister said she left the clinic still hoping for a cure, thinking about what she could do to make that happen.

This story begs a lot of questions: Why the minister accept the money without asking questions? Why is he implying that HIV can be cured? Why can't this woman accept that she has an incurable condition and start to live with it instead of trying to live without it? There are no answers, of course, only opportunities to educate people and make whatever improvements we can.

As I predicted at the start of this post, it's now raining. I guess it's true that if you don't like the weather here, just wait 45 minutes.

More to come.

South Africa On Strike. Plus, A Little Boy Needs Prayers

2007-06-13T15:09:00.000-04:00

South Africa is in the grips of a national government worker strike, the first of its kind since apartheid ended in 1994. There have been smaller actions but nothing to this degree. On June 1st, about 10 unions that represent various groups of government workers (national and provincial, but not municipal) "downed tools" and stayed home. These unions total about 1,100,000 people across all 9 provinces. They are fighting for a 12% wage increase plus improvements in health benefits and other perqs. Government initially offered 6%, then moved to 6 1/2% about a week ago. Although the unions have since lowered their target to 10%, it is not a unanimous position and some unions are still pushing 12%.

Teachers are the most vocal group in the strike and the largest segment, about 300,000 people. Health care workers are the next largest (a couple hundred thousand) followed by general laborers and skilled workers.

Besides being vocal, teachers have also been the most violent so far, at least according to news reports. Some teachers disrupted a testing session with high school students last week, tearing up exams and answer books and even assaulting one student. (This is mid-year exam time for students, who must take tests both for graduation and for university entrance applications.) The striking teachers have been threatening those teachers who are still going to school, those that feel students need an education.

Health care workers have also been in the news a lot. Health care is classified by Government as an essential service, so health care workers are not to participate in strike actions. If they do it is illegal and they can be arrested. Of course, not everyone follows the rules so many hospitals and clinics around the country have been operating with skeleton staffs, cutting back services and closing wards. Some hospitals in the Kwazulu-Natal province have brought in Army medics and nurses to provide care, and doctors are cleaning floors and doing orderly duty.

At Brown's Farm clinic, everyone has been coming to work even with threats floating around. It's getting a bit more real, though. I wasn't working there today, but everyone left very early because some of the community leaders told the staff that protesters were coming. They were even told to take alternate routes home so that they wouldn't be targeted. Zethu told me to skip coming tomorrow just to be safe. A couple people told me that I'd be at risk because I'm not a known member of the community and would be thought to be a doctor or something. I'm fine with staying away, because I have a rule about making myself a victim. I do feel bad for Tami and Ntombikayise, though, because they've had to do a day's work in a could hours and I know they could use the help.

When you consider the reasons for the strike, it's hard not to sympathize with the workers. Most really are underpaid. Experienced teachers make about R8,000 a month ($1,100), and labourers are probably around R6,000 ($850). And that's before taxes and deductions, which run around 25-30%. Now, 10-12% won't make a huge difference, but an extra R800 buys a lot of groceries here, and will help keep up with inflation (now at about 6.5%).

The negotiations are on hold for a day and will resume Friday. Negotiation facilitators have recommended a settlement at 7 1/4% but no one is agreeing to that. I hope they reach an settlement soon, because I think if it goes into next week it's going to get very ugly. Some of the unions not striking went out on a sympathy strike today, and if that continues the country will come to a screeching halt very quickly. Needless to say, South Africa cannot afford to be unproductive for any length of time, even a day.

Prayer request: One of the workers at the Centre, Xolani Gwangwa, has a sweet 2-year old boy named Sinako (snah-koh). Last Saturday evening he pulled a kettle of boiling water off a table and onto his face and neck. He was burned pretty badly, enough so that he had to have grafts on his cheeks and chin this afternoon. I saw him tonight at the hospital and he looks good. Fortunately, he should come through with only moderate scarring or less. But in any case, he has a long recovery ahead. I know Xolani and his wife would appreciate any support people give them.

I've learned a lot about education this week. I'll pull my notes together and write about that soon. Stay tuned.