Subject: Ndiphilile (I am well)
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In Brief:
I am doing well and beginning to feel settled here.
I now have an idea of what my service here will look like:
- Working mornings at a school for street kids, teaching reading to about 4 small groups of 16-year-olds in grade 3, 4 and 5.
- Supporting an after school program for rural kids ten minutes out of town
My first travel opportunity came as I traveled around the Karoo of the Eastern Cape: a vast expanse of wilderness and goat farms, and fossils and Kudus caught in fences.
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Unabridged Version:
Unjani Wena? (How are you)
Ndiphille (I am well)
These few words are my linguistic connection to another culture along with teacher words I pick up in the orphanage school where the majority of the day, only xhosa is spoken.
Sebenza (work)
Qbile (Finished)
Phuma (out)
Hamba (go)
Students know English mostly comercial jingles, pop songs and lines from WWF wrestlers they hear on T.V.
I am well. Getting setled in has taken time. This last ten days has seemed like 2 years as I am open, waiting to see what this experience will be. My heart is open, I’m active in pursuit of community and opportunities to serve. God has blessed me with faith that all will be well. I’ve been in this position before of loneliness and curiosity, and rather than being gripped by fear and angst, I sit in wonder and joy in awe of God’s work and direction (most of the time).
I’ve had plenty of time to think and read. I have read four books in the quiet evenings: A John Grisham book I picked up in Amsterdam, a book on the AIDS epidemic in Africa, and a book called "Cry the Beloved Country" - which many have read in high school about apartheid in the ‘50s.
Those of you who know me would laugh to know that I am completely booked and double booked activities on the weekdays. One of my favorite song lyrics by the Avett brothers reminds me of how flying across the world does we leave our funny quirks behind. Trying to be too involved in too many things has been a repeat experience in my life.
“Cause nothing happens here that doesn’t happen there. So when you run make sure you run to something and not away from, because lies don’t need an aeroplane to chase you anywhere.” So true. So true.
I volunteer in the mornings at Amasango a school for street kids. Its difficult to describe what an eye opening experience it has been. I have found a place at the school pulling small groups of students to teach reading. There are 16-year-olds in Grades 3, 4 and 5 who cannot read. Quite the challenge but in my last couple weeks with one student, I have found relative success. I’m teaching special education without the paperwork or politics. A teacher’s dream come true.
Tuesday and Thursday afternoons I am taking a xhosa course at Rhodes college in town. Four afternoons a week I help teach rural kids from around Grahamstown at the monastary; a short drive out of town in the most peaceful quiet place around. I get the privilege of the brief sanctuary before the kiddos arrive and after they leave like a tornado. Working in the after school program is my main focus, and June and Thombakaya are incredible teachers with huge hearts.
Monday and Tuesday evenings I am learning how to ring the cathedral bells. Don’t ask. A gentleman who is very passionate about ringing these huge bells spoke to me after a service and I guess his passion for ringing intrigued me. I guess I can put it on my list of odd talents. Tuesday nights I meet with the community of the cathedral, most between 50 and 65. They have been so incredible in helping me feel settled and cooking meals for me etc. I feel like I have like 15 surrogate parents. Wednesday night is ANSOC, the college ministry. Although I am not a college student, they have been so welcoming. I’m also taking a couple lessons on marimbas (wooden xylophones) as a means to get to know some of the kids fromAmasango, but that and ringing bells will be first to go as far as priorities go.
Last weekend was an extended 4-day weekend for Women’s Day here. I had an opportunity to take the weekend with June Walters, the lead teacher at the after school program. Her husband is a professor of English Literature at the college. We went with a visiting professor from North Carolina, and several English majors. I really feel like I got a very sound feel for the Eastern Cape and the Karoo as we stay in hostels in small towns throughout the area. One day we spent hiking to the top of a hill/mountain (mole hills compared to the Cascades, but a 3,000 foot elevation hike). On the hike I had the opportunity to free a kudu from a barbed wire fence. (read my blog to read a dramatic rendering of the escapade www.kellegraham.blogspot.com). It was quite the safari experience. We also were introduced to some literature of early English authors of the country, primarily Olive Shreiner, one of the first influential English authors of South Africa. Learning about her life reading some of her work gave me a deep respect for the lives of the early settlers in this very rugged country. For those goat lovers, I also got to hold the horns of a goat while it was given an injection by the owner of the brewery/cheese factory in New Bethesda; a true country town with a fascinating history. I felt like I had stepped back in time about 40 years.
Mna ndiphilile (I am well)
Unjani wena? (How are you?)
From the words of another:
Dan Wylie, a poet of Grahamstown, and professor at Rhodes University puts into words my feelings on my morning walk to Amasango in his poem, "The Road Out." It speaks to my current place as an outsider looking in on a culture still foreign to me.
On Market Street
a church’s spire repelled its pigeons.
Houses struggled to commune,
Their windows heavy-lidded
with one another’s shame.
I saw a jungle-gyms of broken colour
cage a tangled orphanage of cries.
I observed a vowelling dove endow
a wire with a parallel meaning.
But I was outside the dove,
and outside the wire.
Dan Wylie
My stroll to Amasango:
The sun is just beginning to rise and as I enter High Street. This could be a scene out of the daily life of anyone in a small college town with beautiful old buildings and one two-block strip of shops and novelty stores with the exception of the barbed wire and security guard sitting solemly by the bank awaiting the morning foot traffic. Just past the cathedral at the crest of the hill in the middle of downtown the scene changes.
The sun has finally lit up the city and its people are moving. Life comes into the city from the townships, truck loads of laborers in blue coveralls, children in school uniforms walking up the hill, men in dress suits making their way to the college campus or to their businesses.
It feels like I am going against the flow of traffic. Looks of curiosity as a pale face walks into a sea of dark faces coming up into the city from the township. Amasango is on the thoroughfare of people making their way to their jobs or in pursuit of a job or pandering for food. The thoroughfare is an old railway bed, the shortcut into town free from crazy drivers loaded beyond capacity with workers.
“Hello...”
“Molo”
Which language will be the medium. A constant, friendly negotiation.
“Molo....”
“Hi...”
There are many such exchanges on the walk. One can’t help but to be in communication with others as the smiling faces walk up the hill as I walk down. Amasango (translated "open gates"), the school for kids who have been abandoned or who have lost parents to AIDS and violence, rests along the railroad lines, protected by barbed wire fences. As I wait for the security guard to open the gate, I stand and try not to stare on this my first day as the foot traffic passes. Empty wheelbarrows that will soon be filled with scraps of wood and iron to build and repair their shanties. I’m not afraid. Just curious. I am good at hiding my wonder as I chew on a pen patiently waiting for the day to begin.
The day slowly begins. Moments of strained polite conversation about the weather. It's cold today. So windy and so on. Then comes the sounds of children singing, and stomping to a beat of a song playing in their imaginations. Singing and whistling and stomping. Happy sounds. They stream in each with their own character, each with their own story. All are orphans or have parents who do not take care of them, but all have such bright smiles to offer my new face. Molo, hello, sha, what’s up bro. Do you know Jay-Z? Do you live in Manhattan? New York. I like New York. Do you have a car? Your eyes are blue. Do you like the hair on my arms (as both my hairy arms are being stroked out of curiosity).
By some signal unrecognizable to me, all the students and staff make their way into one classroom. All 75 students. All grades K-7. All ages 6-17. As I stand quietly looking in to the classroom I stand in awe. The most amazing chorus of voices fill the air. Mixing melodies, and harmonies. I don’t know the words, but still am filled with joy in the sounds of praise. A prayer is said in xhosa, and scripture is read. Mama Jane a short yet stocky woman who is the principal. She has been leading this school for 16 years, and as a white worman broght up speaking English, she speaks fluent xhosa. She stands in front of the students to address some serious issues. One of the grade 6 girls is pregnant and she heard several students harrassing her and teasing her about having AIDS. Students don’t know if she has AIDS or not, but nonetheless she is scared of the possibility. This is the 4th girl pregnant this year. This same girl just lost her sister who was murdered. Mama Jane speaks boldly saying this girl is in a situation much like many of their own mothers.
Students are dismissed and begin singing, "I am Walking in the Light of God, I am Walking in the Light of God." Now Amasango is ready to begin. Each day a question of what adventures we will have today.
