A Brief Look...

Just one of the amazing little children I spend my days with...

(snagged this picture from mego.)

I promise you a longer blog soon! Maybe tonight. For the time being, send me mail :)!

A Quiet Moment of Inspiration

"Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day." -Rainer Maria Rilke

Hey Blog World,

Sorry that it's been a bit. As usual, life is crazy. I have a nice long post for you as soon as I get around to typing it. For now, enjoy my favorite Rilke quote. And also.... Send me mail!

8 Warwickshire Crescent

PO Box 41

Botha's Hill

KZN, South Africa 3660

I'm in desperate need of mix cds, so send some along if ya feel like it! And if you want some mail from KZN, email me your address! (becster08@gmail.com)

Usale Kahle,

Bec

The Great Divide: Thoughts on Being White, American, and a Volunteer in South Africa

[I told you that I had a lot of thoughts floating around my mind after having dinner at uShaka last weekend. Here they are. They are just thoughts that constantly have been tugging at me - just a commentary on my own thought process.]

Last weekend we went out on the town in Durban. It was a much anticipated social event. As 4 females we aren’t able to get out too often after the sun sets.

So – our new friends from the Kloof parish took us out. It was an eagerly awaited event, but it induced a sort of social schizophrenic sensation in our minds. I am now two people. Becca – the fun, extroverted American volunteer hanging out with new friends, drinking good beer at an ocean front restaurant after a long week of work. And, Becca – the 1000 Hills Community Helpers employee sharing a government provided meal with the people of Inchanga. It blows my mind that my work daily brings me to a place that most white South Africans would rarely think to go. And so a battle has begun within my heart to try and identify with both of these women. To maintain some semblance of togetherness when there are two radically different aspects of my life that are daily waging war against each other.

I could go into detail about many instances when I felt this divide. For instance, last Saturday night, we had dinner at Moyo with the Kloof crew. It was the type of place I imagine a guided tour of Durban would take you. It was a surreal experience watching people flash photos of dancers at Moyo who were paid to demonstrate the tribal dances of KZN. Everyday at St. Leo’s I see the learners do the same type of tribal dancing. They dance not because they are paid to or as a tourist spectacle, but because it is a part of their culture. It is who they are and brings joy to them. Again – so hard to bring these two vastly different worlds together.

I felt no solidarity at Moyo. In fact, in the moments while I was eating and drinking there I felt as separate from the people of KZN as I possibly could have.

Even attending church is a testament to these two different worlds. We attend the long Zulu mass at St. Leo’s, barely understanding what is said but being in beautiful communion with the people of Molweni. Then at night we attend mass at Our Lady of Mercy (Kloof) and it is so wonderful to have a relationship with people our own age that live in South Africa. Mass at Kloof is entirely in English and has familiar praise and worship music and is such a comfort to me so far from home. But there are rarely Zulu families at this Mass. There still seems to be such a divide.

Even the geographical location of my home enforces the division. Most Zulu people live in the valley, while our home sits on a hill overlooking Embo. We are – even physically – positioned higher than the people we work with on a daily basis.

I haven’t figured out how to cope with these thoughts and feelings. I have had the recurring realization that this may be something I will never be at peace with. Being born into the middle class as a white citizen of the United States, there are some things that I will never truly be able to understand. And I don’t know how to approach that realization.

I get by with a little help from my friends...

Hello, dears! This is a call for help!

I have recently discovered that Zulu speaking babies love to sing english songs. I have already exhausted my knowledge of songs. I would love suggestions. (preferably action songs)

So far, I have sung:

The Princess Pat

The Banana Song

The Turtle Song

You Are My Sunshine

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

etc etc etc

Help if you can!

Siyabonga!

Just a Few Updates

Shin's blog probably read this as well... but I wanted to share a quote with you from the Grade 6 Learners:

Sinead: And what is your favorite movie?

Learner: *zulu actor*

Learner: Brandie

Learner: Jean Claude Van Damme

What!? You don't know the Alphabet but you know who JCVD is?

In other notes.... teaching Oral English to grade 4 is extremely challenging. I LOVE volunteering at the orphanage (St. Theresa's). I work with Cottage 1, which is mostly 16 and 17 year olds. I really love working with teenagers. I also taught a computer class to Zulu adults at 1000 HCH yesterday. This year is definitely going to challenge my flexibility. I can do it, though!

We also had plans this weekend! We went to Durban with a few of the young parishoners from Kloof. (All men. Hah.) It was a very fun night but also was strange. I will write a whole post about it later.

And now, off to prepare birthday dinner for Father Jack. Good thing we have some Kanye and a few Hansas to keep us in good merriment. I love my life.

Usale Kahle!

Bec

Also...

For pictures and alternate perspectives...

Sinead's Blog

Mary Kate's Blog

Meg's Blog

AND! If you would like to reach me via telephone or just hear our awesome voicemail:

1-215-717-7444

(I know, I know... It's a PA number. It's through Skype. I know. I don't get it either.)

22 - January

Sonibonani, My Darlings.

I am so sorry this brief update has been so long in coming. I keep waiting for a moment when my life will calm down a bit. I am beginning to discover that it may very well never calm down. Oh well.

So, I’ve been here in KwaZulu Natal for a week and two days. I live in a cottage on Botha’s Hill overlooking the Valley of 1000 Hills, specifically the town of Embo. I have so many things to report to you, it would take me pages and pages and that would only be the practical descriptions. Reflection on all of those things would be double that. So, I will tell you about a few particular moments instead.

Just so you have an idea of what my life looks like geographically...
I am currently perched on our patio overlooking Embo (pictures will come later, I promise). Embo is a valley where Zulu people live together in 1 or 2 room houses made with cement walls and tin roofs, often without doors. There is a river that runs through KZN but I do not know its name. The valley is surrounded by mountains with flat tops (like Table Mountain in Cape Town). Each of the houses has electricity but none have running water. There are outhouses and water pumps that the government has placed. Depending on the time of day we hear (gloriously well due to the acoustics a valley offers) roosters, dogs, drums, children playing, and families going about routine. Most Zulu people walk from place to place. A typical walk to school or work is 30 minutes. Some children walk as long as 4 hours to get to a school. If afforded, some people take Kombi taxis (this is the only form of public transit I have seen in KZN, and not once have I seen a white South African in a Kombi).

So....
That is what I see and hear when I step out my door. As for work, I work at 1000 Hills Community Helpers in Inchanga on Tuesday, Thursday, and Fridays. It is an incredible place in the Valley started by a woman named Dawn. 1000 HCH has a clinic (where I spend most of my time), an education resource center, and a nursery with 8-12 infants and 70 3 to 5 year olds. On Tuesday, I took stats for almost 50 infants no more than a month old (one was only 4 days old). My first jarring moment at work was when Sister Dlimine and the EMT rushed into the room with a 4 year old infected with AIDS in respiratory distress. His mother had died a month earlier. We helped the EMT to rehydrate him with both an IV and a bottle of glucose water. He seemed in better spirits but it was definitely a tough start to the day.

On Mondays and Wednesdays I teach oral English at St. Leo’s Primary School in Molweni (also in the Valley). Sinead teaches full time at St. Leo’s and Mary Kate and I help her out on alternating days. It is challenging, because all of the students are at very different levels. But, let me tell you about the most beautiful moment I have experienced in my adult life...
Everyday at 7:30am, the students of St. Leo’s line up and greet the day with 3 Zulu songs and 2 prayers. My heart explodes everytime I get blessed with the chance to hear it. I hope that someday you get to experience God’s beauty the way that I do every day that I am here.

While I have some challenges at work, I do not look the AIDS crisis directly in the face everyday the way some of my roommates do. I have felt the magnitude of suffering here much more clearly than ever before in my life. The 3^rd service site is a place I have told some of you about. It is an AIDS hospice in Hillcrest. I don’t work there, but two of my roommates do. Today, one of them watched a man take a turn for the worst and then be taken home by his family so that he might die at home, surrounded by family. He was most likely only in his forties.

I am so proud to be so close with so many people who are standing hopefully in the face of AIDS. Make no mistake, dear readers, that the fight against AIDS needs to be loud and strong in order to be successful. I have found that the strongest fight is sometimes in the quiet company of a young woman who sits by the bed of a dying man so that he might not be alone in his last moments.

Hamba Kahle.

Bec