So… maybe you’ve seen the news lately about South Africa. Over the past two and a half weeks there has been a rash of xenophobic attacks here. It’s been nasty. Mobs are attacking immigrants who are from African and Asian nations. People have been killed. Some estimates say as many as 100,000 people have been displaced (although most estimates are around 30,000 and I'm inclined to believe the lower estimates). It’s a dark chapter in the history of this country.

Living here during all of this, especially as a foreigner, has been sad and crazy. I am not in danger. Unfortunately this, like all things in South Africa, is racial and no white foreigners have been attacked. Plus, I live in a really small (and wonderful!) village in a rural area and all of these attacks have been in more urban areas. Being safe doesn't keep me safe from the inhumanity of what is happening in this country. It’s really awful.

After almost a year in South Africa I feel like I can list a litany of circumstances that are coming together to create this situation. Colonialism and oppression positioned this generation for pain and failure. Poverty has been magnified by rising food and fuel prices. Unemployment is really high. People living in the townships are often prisoners in their houses because of rampant crime. Deaths from HIV and the need to live far from home to find a job have disintegrated the family unit. Some people claim there are nefarious political motives behind the attacks. All of this is true (except the last, which is pure conjecture and not even my conjecture) and all of it is palpable here “on the ground” but it doesn't excuse this behavior. I refuse to accept that there is any circumstance that could justify burning another human being alive.

The thing is, these circumstances exist for millions of people in this country and millions upon millions around the world. I know people who face these circumstances with loving hearts, generosity, good humor and a determination to make their lives better. I’m often hit by the fact that many people would describe the circumstances most people live in here in my village as “devastating” but I look around and I don’t see devastated people. I see people claiming their life as their own and living it to their fullest. They have taught me that even when life flings shit in your face (we’re way beyond lemons here) they wipe off the shit and go on living.

It is this group of people, people taking responsibility for their lives and the lives of their community who make my service here worth staying. The teachers in my new schools are incredible; they are working hard and looking to improve. They are hopeful. My host father is working to make his village the best it can be. My host mother is touching people with her warmth and positivity. Just this week I met a group of people working at our local Health Department on HIV and other health issues. After these health workers did an AWESOME condom demo for Megan’s life skills group I told the kids that the health workers were heroes in their community working to save lives.

Really, though, in a country where people seem to increasingly be turning to violence and blame, those people who persevere and continue to claim their life and their country for themselves are my heroes. It’s cheesy but it’s also true. To stand in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles and decide to not even to consider the possibility of hopelessness because it doesn’t accomplish anything is an act of bravery beyond anything I have ever known before.

I know desperation can make people resort to horrible things but I just can’t process these things. I fear that these attacks are a symptom for the hopelessness many South Africans seem to have embraced. The cowardice of giving up and blending into the angry mob is just easier than working for something positive. If the young people allow themselves to be defined by this sort of violent cowardice I wonder what the future of this country will be. I myself am struggling to find the bravery to stand in the face of all of this and continue working, chipping away at my little part of the monolith.

back in the saddle

Hey all. Sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote. I know that’s a trite way to start a blog entry but I really am sorry. I know that many of you check my blog to see how I’m doing and I should be doing my part. Enough self deprecation, on to my news…

I have a home! I’ve moved to a new village that is about an hour away from my old village. It’s a lot more rural and a lot smaller. I’m working at a Primary School and a Middle School. I’ve been here almost two weeks and I feel like this is home. It’s a good feeling!

I live with the kgosi (chief ) of the village and his family. They are really good people and I am so lucky to live with them. Living with the kgosi has its benefits, when I arrived with all my stuff in a Peace Corps truck I was greeted by the elders of the village and they helped me move in. That was a pretty cool welcome. I also was invited to the kgotla, the kgosi’s weekly meeting with the community. At the kgotla I found myself suddenly giving an impromptu speech in Setswana which was a little nerve wracking but also kind of cool.

It’s been nice to be back in a village, where my life becomes a series of little stories…

One of the first days I was here my three year old host sister was sitting with me, trying to figure out if she was afraid of this crazy white lady that has moved into the compound. I brought out some crayons for her and she was coloring while I was reading on my stoop. Suddenly she decided she wasn’t afraid, and showing her true sassy colors she climbed up on my lap. She instantly became fascinated with my moles on my chest. She started comparing the color of her skin with the color of the moles, and she seemed reassured that at least part of my body was the “right” color. When I sat her back down on the stoop among the crayons she picked up a yellow crayon and tried to give herself some white spots on her chest. Sometimes racial politics take on very cute and innocent forms!

Sometimes, though, racial politics can be very, very nasty here. Megan and I met a really nice Afrikaner guy who took us to his family farm. He spoke Setswana well, something that seems pretty rare in our parts, and he seemed to genuinely be friends with a Tswana guy who was with him. When we got to the farm we met his dad who said “I’m not racist but” (Megan and I braced ourselves at this point) “the only good black is a dead black”. We told him about all the wonderful people we know who are black and he looked at us like we are fools. It was a sad (and a little bit scary) look at the old South Africa and how it is still very much alive and well in pockets of the country.

I came here knowing it wasn't perfect, and that there was work to do. Now I'm getting on to the working part.

All in all, I’m happy. I have work to do at school, I have a great family to live with, my village is beautiful and friendly and I’m learning so much. I live closer to Megan so we can do more work together. I’m figuring out ways I can help my schools and my community. AND I bought a really cool one speed bike. I’m back in the saddle (pun intended).