Grooming Bitches

Our world is a diverse place filled with many conflicting beliefs. However, there is one belief that appears to know no boundary. It transcends borders, jumps language barriers, and stretches across cultures and even continents; the belief that women are delicate wall flowers who should be seen and not heard. A woman who is confident, outspoken, and who asserts herself is quickly labeled as a bitch. Yet the very same characteristics that paint her in that light are undoubtedly glorified in men. So why are these attributes depreciated when found in women?

The education system is complaisant in preserving the social construction of gender. In Canada, school subjects are gendered. Boys are often perceived as being inherently better in math and sciences, the subjects that employ reason and rationale. Esteemed qualities which are recognized as being intrinsically male. On the other hand, girls are perceived as excelling in English and art, subjects that draw on raw human emotion. As such it only serves to perpetuate the dichotomy that sees men as inherently rational beings while women are simply emotional. If people dismiss the gendering of subjects for what it is– absurdity, one will still struggle to escape the gendering of public space. If a woman chooses to become an engineer, or a man a nurse, although they are both equally capable, the discomfort of being in a space so dominated by the opposite gender acts as a major deterrent. In doing so it only serves to perpetuate the stereotype. From my experience in South Africa, the school system is overtly gendered. Learners form two lines to get into class, boys and girls. There are two separate attendance sheets for every class– divided by gender. The highest achieving students in each class are identified by gender. Why not award the two top performing students regardless of gender? Why must we continue to divide ourselves along these arbitrary lines?

“Achieve gender equality and empower all women and girls” is the fifth of 2015’s Sustainable Development Goals. Alone I can’t change the system, I would not even know where to begin. However, I can assist young women in not becoming indoctrinated by this ridiculous paradigm. Rather than treating young women like little princesses we must support them to be independent and assertive. At Slangspruit I am facilitating a group of young women in developing their self-worth and to fight for their right to be heard. I’m encouraging them to project their voices unapologetically and to be confident in their ideas. I’m fueling them to ask questions, shatter the glass ceiling and challenge the status quo. Rather than accepting common international defects when it comes to gender equality as simply being how it is.

I started an informal debate club at Slangspruit Primary School. I observed that much of the teaching at the school relies heavily on repetition. Most students lack confidence in their opinions or their ideas. This could easily be the result of their age and their stage of development. However, I realized this was an area I could help. I have always loved to banter with people about politics, the world, ideas, what have you. I love a healthy argument simply for the sake of the argument. Luckily I was able to turn one of my passions into something constructive and educational. Over time the debate club has grown into 25-30 learners. Interestingly although the debate club was open to everyone, all of its participants are young women. Initially, I started with topics that would encourage them to think outside the box. Now every Monday I give them a new topic, trying to carefully select issues that are relevant to them, and on Friday’s we debate them over the lunch period. Each week I am able to see their thinking progress as they tap through the surface and delve deeper into the issues at hand. Not only has their public speaking improved tremendously, they are now fighting each other for the last word and demanding a space for their voices to heard. To further their ability to think critically, at the end of each debate, I encourage them to offer each other constructive feedback. As a group we then discuss the strengths and limitations of their arguments. In doing so they are becoming increasingly more comfortable in throwing out their ideas without necessarily worrying if they are right or wrong.

At the end of the day there is nothing more valuable that I can leave for these young women than the power of a critical mind. Their analytical skills will continue to serve them in life; long after their memory of me has faded. One might say I am grooming them to be bitches. However, if a bitch is none other than a strong, assertive and independent woman, let us all proudly declare ourselves to be just that.

 

Peddling Through Perceptions

As I hit the halfway mark of my internship and my time in South Africa, I was finally feeling like myself again. I have carved out a place for myself within Slangspruit Public Primary School. My after-school sports program has just been launched. Our proposal on alternative discipline needs some minor revisions. Regardless, it is progressing and hopefully shifting the school away from their use of corporal punishment. In an attempt to encourage critical thinking, I started a debate club over the lunch break, which, to my surprise, has been met with tremendous enthusiasm.

My boss’ bike has been sitting in our garage collecting dust since long before our arrival in Pietermaritzburg. She had offered it to the group back in June when we first arrived. I had nearly forgotten of its existence when Ayo, one of the grade 5 girls I tutor in Math, pulled it out of the garage and started riding it around the compound. The light bulb had barely sparked when I raced inside to pull up Google Maps. At seven and a half kilometers, it was decided. I was biking to work.

I heard many cautionary tales warning me against cycling in South Africa. In retrospect, they sounded a lot like those I heard in Canada. “I don’t trust drivers”. “I don’t like biking on the road”. “If there wasn’t traffic,” the list goes on. I have never been one for basing my decisions on the opinions of other people but in this case, I figured that it would probably be wise to take the bike for a test spin before committing to the distance. Surprisingly, drivers gave me more room than I anticipated. That was really all that I needed to finalize my decision.

The following day I awoke to torrential downpour, lightening and heavy thunder. I was determined to take on the uphill trek to school while the idea was still being backed by enthusiasm. Like a cat wanting to be let out, I paced back and forth by the front door desperately hoping that the storm would break. The rain eventually let up. I barreled into my bedroom and emerged, moments later, fully suited and ready to go. Claire, one of my fellow Canadian interns, gave me a faint look of concern.

“Not to sound like your mother, but remember when Lynn told us not to get stuck in a lightening storm?” My heart hit the floor. I knew she was right.

Exactly 3 months after I arrived in South Africa, officially the halfway mark of my internship here, I biked to work. I gave myself more than enough time to make the trip and ended up arriving feeling sweaty and well worked, before our taxi. Honestly, my endeavor was more challenging that I anticipated, a nice reminder that I’m not in as good of shape as I once was. The first half of the trip is a steady climb uphill; when I reach the point where I’m not sure how much more I can endure, I begin my decent, rapidly weaving through different townships until I reach Slang.

There are no words to describe how it felt to get back on 2 wheels. However, darting around all the various chickens, pigs and some goat’s gone rogue added an additional challenge. I received several strange looks the first day but I wasn’t overly fazed. Once I arrived at school, the kids immediately swarmed me with mixed looks of shock, horror, ridicule and bewilderment. They seemed to find it completely unfathomable that I would even consider biking from my place in Scottsville when I had the option of getting a ride.

One of the learners approached me, certain he was about to catch his friend in a lie. “This boy… this boy say you brought the bike all the way from Scottsville.”

“I did.”

“Hawu!” (Pronounced “how”. A common Zulu expression indicating shock and disbelief.)

As the learners stood around me, eagerly asking questions, countless little hands lingered over the bicycle. They squeezed the brakes, stroked the frame, and attempted to spin the tires. There was a plethora of hands coming from so many different angles I was unable to connect them to their respective faces.

The level of poverty that exists in the community of Slangspruit is difficult to effectively communicate. Unless you actually see it and, even still, coming from a middle class background, its difficult to truly comprehend. However, there is significant disparity between the levels of poverty within the community as there is economic disparity within the country. I’m not trying to overshadow this community with nothing but doom and sorrow. Although they face many challenges, the children are vivacious and incredibly resilient. Many children at Slangspruit regard my dirty old Vans sneakers and four-year-old HTC phone with a cracked screen and no power button, things I perceive as being on their deathbed, with admiration. Thus, up until this point, I have been very conscientious not to display signs of my relative wealth. The learners’ reaction to the bicycle was so intense and unexpected; I desperately began questioning whether riding it to school had in fact been wise or merely selfish. As I was feeling overwhelmed and drowning in my own guilt, a learner approached me and started arguing some of the reasons for cycling.

“It’s good for the planet. It’s good for your health.”

At the very least I had started a dialogue. For peripheral communities like Slangspruit who are fighting daily just to stay afloat, issues such as health and the environment are simply beyond popular consciousness­– even though they will likely bear the brunt of their impact. When there are so many issues demanding our immediate attention, there is no time, let alone energy, to attend to issues lurking on the horizon.

I left school that day later than usual and still unsure whether I would bike again. As I began the steep climb out of Slang, my name was echoing through the township.

“Alex!’

“Bye Alex.”

“Alex! Alex!”

I was unable to detect where the voices were coming from. As I turned the corner and began climbing up the main road, children were cascading from their homes and onto the street, waving eagerly to see me off.

“Alex.”

“Alex!”

“Bye Alex.”

I decided to ride the bicycle to school the following day. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was out early and shinning in full force as though foreshadowing the greatness the day had in store. As I began to descend through the townships, I passed three older women waiting for a Kombi, presumably to take them to work. (A Kombi is a mini bus. It is the most affordable means of public transit, and thus, the most popular, especially for black South Africans). Their smiles stretched from cheek to cheek. They were beaming and chuckling amongst themselves. Their energy was infectious. I couldn’t resist greeting them as I passed by.

“Sawubona.”

“Yebo,” they replied perfectly in unison. (Yebo is the isiZulu word for “yes”. It is also the courteous way to acknowledge a greeting when there isn’t enough time to commit to a conversation. Greetings are an important part of Zulu culture.)

Something about this brief interaction stayed with me. I wasn’t exactly sure which part they had found so entertaining. I’m sure by that point, my face was the same colour coral as the shirt I was wearing. I continued my descent passing numerous people who where all appearing to share the same expression– a kind of intersection between shock and delight. There was also something inherently unique in the expressions of the older generation that sent me searching for an answer.

In my time working at Slangspruit Primary it has been nearly impossible to get white people to come to the school. When my work, or what brought me to South Africa, enters the topic of conversation, sadly, it’s not uncommon for people to ask questions like “aren’t you afraid?”

Although segregation has not been imposed since the end of Apartheid, townships are still very much perceived as being black spaces. Knowing that the Apartheid Government borrowed the township model, a way of successfully marginalizing people within a democratic system, from the Canadian Government, there are undoubtedly many parallels with First Nations communities in Canada. How many Canadians wouldn’t dare to step foot onto a First Nations Reserve out of fear? It’s the same thing in South Africa. However, townships house 38% of the South African population so they are a bit more challenging to escape.

In countries like Canada and South Africa white people move in racially insulated environments. Public spaces are comfortable because they are impregnated with Anglo Saxon norms and values. Therefore when spaces fail to meet that framework, which disrupts our white privilege, discomfort is easily mistaken for danger. However, for minority groups, the discomfort of feeling slightly at odds with the dominant social mores is very likely a common part of everyday life. So when I go peddling through several townships exposed and totally at ease, it takes a few people by surprise. Rather than barricading myself in a car with the windows rolled up alluding to the supposed need for bulletproof glass, I am cycling through these communities unabated.

Cycling to work has offered me tremendous insight. I am interacting much more with the community in which I am working, simply by coming and going daily and greeting everyone along the way. It has also served to highlight the enormous disparity that is endemic in South Africa. Every morning I leave my comfortable middle class existence, cycling through different suburbs until I begin my descent weaving through townships and moving further into the depths of poverty. At the end of each school day I climb back out. The ascent is challenging in itself, without having any of the racial, educational or socio-economic barriers to weigh me down.

I have been cycling to work for nearly a month now and I still get asked daily,

“Alex…Where’s the bike?”

“In the staff room.”

“Sharp sharp” (Pronounced “shop” which from my understanding means “cool” in isiZulu).

There is still so much fascination surrounding the bike. As much as they ask, I don’t let the learners ride it because it can’t be shared 1050 ways. Where do you draw the line when you don’t want to play favorites? They fight each other just to walk it for me as I come and go on school grounds. As a result of the preoccupation with the bike, I decided to turn it into a topic for debate. I posed the question: should South Africa ban cars and buy everyone a bicycle?

Without skipping a beat, a Grade 7 girl from the Debate Club sassily told me: “All your biking is going to your head!”

Maybe it has, but I’d argue it’s for the best.

 

 

‘This is South Africa Dear’

Prior to my arrival in South Africa, I was enticed by its social and political complexity. I am no longer sure if I romanticized the country on my own or with the help of others. Regardless, I was so blinded by the rose’s beauty that I failed to see its thorns. I was naïve in presuming that my time here would be none other than an interesting educational experience as opposed to one so fundamentally raw that it is testing me in a capacity previously unprecedented.

When we arrived it was virtually impossible to dodge long mundane conversations with our landlords. They were so chatty that they made me seem mute. I was constantly strategizing my escape. Looking for that brief nanosecond which would allow me to sneak out the window and shimmy down the drainpipe, like a teenager sneaking out of their parents’ house and into glorious uninhibited freedom. Then it stopped almost as suddenly as it began. It was rather puzzling. Now I’m honestly lucky if I get so much as a grunt from Charles.

Our landlords managed to thrust themselves into a paternal role almost immediately. Not paternal as in ‘I’m here if you need anything’, more like ‘my house, my rules’. Unfortunately, my new parents take a passive aggressive approach to conflict resolution. They won’t actually tell you what line you’ve crossed but they’ll give you the silent treatment until you manage to figure it out. Oh, but don’t worry, if you don’t, they’ll just call your boss and tell her.

It eventually became quite clear that, to them, we, the interns, had started to fall in with the wrong crowd. Our judgement had become severely compromised and we had developed a blasé attitude towards our own safety. Thus all our social interactions must now be monitored closely. Security measures obviously need to be heightened for everyone’s overall safety. Any and all of our visitors must now be approved by the gatekeepers– even if they are only coming over for dinner or simply a cup of tea. It is for the safety and security of all. Casually dropping by is just simply out of the question! Seriously, there was less grilling from my father (or my mother) towards prospective boyfriends when I was a teenager, than what my friends are being forced to endure at the hands of our landlords. At 27 years old I actually need permission to have friends over.

Maybe my parents just ruined me for the real world. To some, my upbringing might be seen as slightly unorthodox. I was strongly encouraged to speak my mind, argue my point of view and stand up against what I perceived to be injustice. Even as a child my parents always trusted my judgement. Okay almost always. There were a few questionable incidents in my teenage years, but we have more or less moved past them. I know that there were moments when they both regretted endowing me with these principles, but it has deeply shaped the person I am today. I cannot sit by idle and complaisant. My parent’s house always had an open door policy. My friends dropped by unannounced, helped themselves to whatever was in the fridge, and made themselves snacks. This type of thing wasn’t just tolerated it was actually encouraged. They were always grateful for any opportunity to get to know my friends. So, maybe, that is why I am currently reacting to living in what feels like a totalitarian state. I am a month shy of my 28th birthday and I honestly feel like I had more autonomy in primary school than I do at present.

Eventually the situation got so out of hand that I was forced to call a meeting between all parties. Our landlord arrived downplaying the incident of our so-called party. Apparently now it wasn’t such a big deal. However, the backlash that ensued as a result of the email she had sent our boss clearly said otherwise. I’ve never known 3 people and board games to constitute a party, but hey, clearly I know nothing. Overall, the meeting went rather well. I hammered the importance of a separation between work and private life. It took a while for me to effectively communicate to my landlord why I found it inappropriate that she called our boss with issues she was having with us as tenants instead of addressing them with us. I must not have been speaking clearly because she only agreed to take matters up with us once Carolyn (my boss) stepped in and informed her that she did not want to be contacted unless we proved unable to resolve the issue amongst ourselves.

My communication skills tend to be fairly on point so I wasn’t sure exactly what I was missing. How did we keep having what seemed like catastrophic misunderstandings? It wasn’t until the tune of the conversation changed and Margie let her guard down and said:

“The fact is, when you’re walking down the street and you see two Black men up ahead, you cross the road.” Spoken with so much certainty, if I didn’t know any better I might have taken it to be a priori logic.

[Crickets]

This is what I like to call an ‘aha’ moment­– when what was once unclear comes crashing into perspective! I was finally able to see the disconnect. I am being expected to live by some pre civil rights (or Apartheid) era morality and I’m non-compliant. A time when racial profiling was acceptable, inter racial relationships were outlawed, and my respectability as a young woman had to be safeguarded by self-appointed surrogate parents. I think it’s fairly safe to say that what my parents would consider to be respectable would be fairly at odds with the views of my landlords. It is also a time when people use “this is South Africa dear,” all too frequently as a way of legitimizing their prejudicial homogenization of a diverse group of people. As though it being in South Africa somehow negates their racism and ignorance.

Thus the problem wasn’t with us. It is with our friends who are not the right colour. Our landlords have managed to pigeonhole the Black South African community as being no more than opportunistic thieves. At least that’s how they are treated. Introductions consist of our friends being scornfully eyed up and down by Charles and then met by a deadpan stare that lasts until the situation is so uncomfortable I just shake my head disdainfully and walk away. At which point I feel compelled to apologize profusely for the actions of that bigot as though I am somehow tied to him because we’re both white. Let me just say he is not my people. My people, even when they don’t like someone, are not in the habit of subjugating people to subhuman status.

Here is the dilemma. Usually I would challenge this kind of ignorance but I haven’t figured out how to do so without using my friends as pawns in my crusade for justice. Despite living in South Africa, an incredibly diverse country, my landlords live in a racially insulated environment. The only way I can fathom challenging their bigotry is by disturbing the status quo within the borders of the totalitarian state. However, my friends deserve a lot more than being subjected to their shit.

Unfortunately, my landlords aren’t some unique anomaly in South Africa. However, what upsets me most is that my hands are ultimately tied and I am left actively supporting their bigotry. I am giving a lot of money in rent on a monthly basis to strengthen their economic capital and, thus, the status quo. In retrospect, if my landlords take issue with the way I’m living then I must be doing something right.

Peripheral Education

South Africa published one of the most progressive constitutions of its time after the fall of Apartheid in 1994. It was applauded internationally and became an emblem for inclusive social policies. Section 9(3) of the constitution guarantees “the state may not unfairly discriminate directly or indirectly against anyone on one or more grounds, including race, gender, sex, pregnancy, marital status, ethnic or social origin, colour, sexual orientation, age, disability, religion, conscience, belief, culture, language and birth”. It could be argued that at its inception the constitution went so far as protecting gay rights and legalizing gay marriage. These rights may be constitutionally protected, but whether they are enforced is a matter of whom these rights belong to. Simply put– the constitution looks really good on paper but not so much in practice.

South Africa is a country with incredible disparity. The Apartheid regime left behind a nation devastated by divisive and oppressive economic policies. Although Apartheid has not been mandated since 1994, it’s lasting effects are still very present. Segregation is so pervasive within the education system it is harrowing. In my opinion, the current public education system only serves to perpetuate the status quo. One of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) aims to ‘reduce inequality within and among countries’ by 2030. In my opinion globalization and neoliberal capitalism pose significant challenges to meeting this ambitious target as both are exacerbating the disparity of wealth within and among countries. However, in South Africa we cannot begin to reduce the inequality within the country without also addressing another one of the SDGs, which seeks to “ensure inclusive and equitable quality education and promote lifelong learning opportunities for all.” They key word here is equitable.

The South African Constitution also guarantees all people the right to access public education that is equitable while focusing on “the need to redress the results of past racially discriminatory laws and practices”(Section 29(2c)). However, the quality of education one receives in South Africa is directly proportional to how much one can afford. Slangspruit Primary, the school where I am currently working, is a no-fee public school that, due to the lack of resources, acts more like a child-care service than an educational institution. This is not to suggest that the principal and teachers are not committed educators. Rather, the school is so devoid of resources that anything other than the vital essentials feels fundamentally out of reach. The school’s infrastructure is in dire need of repair. Many of the classroom windows are broken and awaiting repair. During the winter months the draft that is let in as a result puts significant strain on learners’ ability to concentrate. Many of the desks and chairs are broken. Classrooms are overcrowded and there is an average of 45 learners per teacher. The school has approximately 23 copies of every text, thus learners are forced to sit two to a book. These 23 books must remain at school as they are shared between three classes­. The roughly 135 learners in each grade share 23 books. There is no soccer field at Slangspruit Primary, and no gymnasium. Thus the physical education segment of the life skills curriculum is virtually nonexistent, unless you count the afternoon the grade 7s learnt the Macarena. Three tractor tires supported by three wooden posts constitutes the jungle gym, which is shared by the 1050 learners who are currently enrolled at Slang. The grade Rs (Kindergarten) have their own basic jungle gym that is sectioned off and unavailable to the rest of the student body. The washroom facilities available to the learners are so appalling they are undoubtedly a human rights issue. The toilet seats are broken, if there is even one at all. Toilet paper is not provided to the learners, resulting in excrement being smeared across the bathroom walls. Without toilet tissue how else is one expected to wipe? I’ve seen learners come out of the Aunties’ kitchen with tissue but like everything I’m sure it has its price. So what happens if you can’t afford it? I’ve heard the argument that if the school were to stock the bathrooms with toilet paper, learners would smuggle it home. The part I find most challenging though, is being reminded of my position of privilege every time I use the staff washroom. In our washroom, cases of toilet paper are stacked to the ceiling. There is such an inordinate amount that I doubt the school could go through it in a year even if they tried.

The education system is very hierarchical. In the classroom, learners will grab me a chair and dust it off with a cloth before I am able to sit down. In my experience all educational institutions are hierarchical. However, to me this really speaks to the complexity in the social stratification within South Africa society. For example, teachers at Slang are not permitted to use the photocopy machine regardless of how long they have worked there. Aunty Flo, an older woman who maintains the administrative building, is required to do all of the teachers photocopying. Ironically, interns, who have worked at the school for less than three months, are permitted to use it. I fail to see the logic here.

The hierarchical approach to education is influenced by traditional Zulu culture, which also appears to be very hierarchical. In my first month in South Africa I was invited to Lobola, a negotiation between two families who are soon to be united by marriage. Lobola usually results in the exchange of money, cows and various other goods such as blankets and food. I was surprised to see that children were required to wait until all the adults had finished eating and were sufficiently satisfied, at which point they were fed what was left.

The learners of Slangspruit face an uphill battle to access the most basic primary education. Sometimes it is the little things within the school setting that I am unable to comprehend. It seems as though the school will jump at any excuse to cut classes short. This can be anything from weekly staff meetings held during class time to rehearsing songs and dances that will be presented at various upcoming functions. Learners are often left sitting in class without a teacher. For example yesterday the grade 4s and 5s went on a field trip to Durban. As 1 educator to 45 learners is not an adequate ratio for bringing nearly 300 rambunctious ten year olds into a concrete jungle, they undoubtedly needed more chaperones. All of the grade 6 teachers and half the grade 7 teachers were required to go with them. Substitute teachers do not exist in township schools. I’m certain it is a different case for fee-paying public schools. Therefore all the grade 6s and half of the grade 7s spent the day sitting in class without a teacher. Many teachers also seem unwilling to stay at school any longer than they need to and are walking out the door as the last bell is ringing. Some deem it to be the result of laziness on the teachers’ part, but I can’t help wonder if it might be more complicated than that. They could be feeling powerless, discouraged or simply defeated by a system that has so effectively marginalized township schools that they have been virtually abandoned. Another phenomenon I struggle to grasp is when I’m teaching the grade 4s English, the first 15 minutes of class become gridlocked by questions that I feel are inconsequential to their learning.

‘What book do we write in? Do we write in the front of the book or back of the book? Do we put a title? Do we underline the title? Do we put the date? Do we write in blue pen or in pencil?’

Their eyes are urgently awaiting my answer and I can’t help but ask myself how any of this actually matters? Yet we are completely unable to make any progress until I answer all of these questions.

‘Write it in your exercise book. At the back of the book. Put a title. Don’t underline the title. Write the date. Use whatever writing tool you currently have in your hand.

‘So blue pen? Pencil?’

‘Pencil.’

The entire charade hurts me deeply because I cannot help but reflect on how these kids are already failing to cover so much of the annual curriculum and none of this is actually of consequence. Or is it?

The other week while one of the other interns was facilitating homework club, a learner accidentally confused the answers to two questions by writing them in the other’s place. No problem. Randa takes her pen draws an arrow in blue pen showing that number two means three and number three means two. Easy fix. The learner looked utterly horrified and anxiously told her he would get into trouble for that.

“Just tell your teacher I did it.”

The next day she sees the learner at school, his hands obnoxiously red and swollen.

“What happened? Because of the arrow? Did you tell him it was me?”

He bowed his head sheepishly. Clearly his response was a no. Apparently the pestering questions of the Grade 4s are of real consequence.

Corporal punishment is prohibited in South Africa, but within township schools it is still very much in practice. At Slang almost every teacher’s classroom is equipped with the quintessential reed that is used on unruly learners. The principal often roams the school grounds, lead pipe in hand, which I find incredibly distressing. I have never felt inclined to ask what it is for– I know. I am not in any way looking to vilify the principal, as this is complicated by the fact that it is a cultural practice. Most of these kids get hit at home. They also get hit at school. In speaking with the learners at Slang some of them honestly believe it is the only way to address dissidence. I am not saying that I agree with the practice but it’s important to keep it in context.

A project we have been working on at Slang is an effort to steer the school away from the use of corporal punishment. On Monday we attended Longmarket Girls Public Primary School, a fee paying public school that appears to cater to the middle to upper-middle class. As Longmarket does not use corporal punishment, we went to discuss alternative methods of discipline with the Principal. The stark contrast between Slang and Longmarket was shocking. It is truly amazing what money can buy in education, and it really highlighted the extreme disparity in the public primary education system. During our meeting with the Principal she mentioned how it took little more than a learner receiving a funny look from their teacher to have the Department of Education (DOE) knock at her door. Until that point the DOE had been more like a mythical entity. They are recognized as the authority within the public education system but are so incredibly elusive that they have yet to be seen in the township schools. Yet what was made clear to me is the varying degrees of worth afforded to South African children by the DOE. Just like the constitution, the policies that were created to protect the most vulnerable members of society are failing the people who need them the most. The lack of enforcement on the part of the DOE is utterly inexcusable. I believe communities like Slang have been effectively disenfranchised by the DOE they know they are unlikely to face any sort of opposition. It is also a strategy for evading responsibility. If the DOE were to actually come to Slang they would be forced to become accountable to a whirlwind of unmet needs.

Graduates at Slang are funneled into another under resourced institution where their graduation rates from high school will be dismal. That is, if they do make it to graduation, an accomplishment in itself, they will still be disproportionately disadvantaged and thus maintaining the status quo. The knowledge they will gain from school is rudimentary. There are learners graduating who are still by all accounts illiterate! Learners are taught to regurgitate the teacher’s words rather than being encouraged to think critically. They come from extremely impoverished communities plagued with many social issues like high rates of unemployment, addiction, HIV/AIDS, and teenage pregnancy. The inequity within the public primary education system hardly gives these kids a chance to break the cycle of poverty and illiteracy that they were born into.

Another fundamental problem of public primary education is that it restrains a teacher’s social mobility, and confines the teacher to the system in which they are. Two different structures catering to different socio-economic brackets within the public education system restrains people within their prescribed social spheres. At present, methods of teaching are so inherently different, a standard needs to be implemented and enforced if there is ever to be fluid mobility within the public education system. Such disparity within the public education system only serves to perpetuate the vicious cycle of poverty, marginalization, and racial segregation that currently exists.

The South African education system is afflicted with systemic injustice. In order to achieve tangible results in closing the divide in economic disparity within the country there needs to be more cross-cultural cooperation. Few white people seem to ever step foot in the townships. Is it the result of fear? Or guilt? Or fear of guilt? Without blending that divide there will be no progress. It is unconscionable to have such incredible disparity within the public education system. If Jacob Zuma invested the nearly US$17 million he spent on building his new house, or the money he spent supporting his 4 wives and 22 children on public education, the country might actually see some progress. The Black Economic Empowerment Act (also known as Affirmative Action) can only do so much to narrow racial and economic divisions in South Africa, if so much of the country remains inherently segregated.

The biggest problem I see in the public education system is the Department of Education’s complete lack of accountability to township schools. Having an internationally renowned constitution isn’t worth much when its progressive policies are collecting dust rather than being enforced. There is no value to simply having access to education, if that access isn’t equitable. The fact that there are learners graduating from high school who are still essentially illiterate clearly indicates the system is fundamentally flawed. All people are considered equal in the eyes of the law, but reality paints a different picture. The Department of Education must be made accountable to townships, as the government must be held accountable to the people of South Africa by protecting their constitutional rights. Until there are policies that ensure accountability, marginalized communities like Slang will continue being pushed to the periphery and left to fend for themselves.

What Does Now Even Mean?

There is nothing quite like traveling abroad to make you start questioning your understanding of basic idioms and everything you have ever taken to be a priori logic. I mean, seriously, how hard is it to understand the concept of now? It has taken me an entire two months to wrap my head around this but by golly I think I’ve got it! Let me explain.

There is a more or less universal understanding of what we mean by now. Although I have never been one for circular definitions, I think we can all agree that ‘now’ means ‘now’.  It is not in 5 minutes and certainly not in 10. It is ‘at the present time or moment’ as the Oxford Dictionary defines it. However, in South Africa there are 3 different ways of saying now. All of which are used repeatedly, and each one is as ambiguous as the last. They all sound as though they mean the same thing but to South Africans they are very different. Each one represents a slightly different degree of the present, and I have been severely struggling to understand the difference. It really shouldn’t be difficult to figure this out but trust me, it is! Every time one is used in conversation, which happens all the time, my internal alarm bells start sounding and I have to ask, “so… when?” You really start to doubt your overall grasp of the word now.

In South Africa there is ‘now’, ‘just now’, and ‘now now’. You see what I’m saying? One might easily assume that all forms of ‘now’ indicate that something is to take place immediately but with varying degrees of urgency. However, you couldn’t be more wrong. You might end up waiting a long time for that now to happen– I know I sure did. Then it seems almost instinctual to start weighing your understanding of ‘now’ against the concept of African time. What’s complicated about now? Nothing. I just had yet to understand what ‘just now’ and ‘now now’ actually mean.

Here are the nows as I have come to understand them. If someone tells you they are ‘here now’ it’s fairly safe to assume you’ll see them if you walk outside. When there are 3, it’s hard to know what the one standing alone even means. ‘Now now’ is in the very near future. Let’s say from the present until the next 5 to 10 minutes. However, ‘just now,’ may seem like ‘now now,’ with slightly less urgency because you don’t feel compelled to repeat it twice, but it is actually remarkably different. From all my careful deducing ‘just now’ can range anywhere from now to within the next hour and a half to two hours. That’s not obscure at all. It isn’t to South African’s at least. Oddly I find ‘now’ in all its three-lettered glory, to be the most ambiguous one of them all.

How many times can I say now in a single blog post? The answer is 27.

 

Day 3: Community

So I found myself that night standing in the rain, soaking wet on the side of the road, with a car jack in hand but absolutely no idea how to use it, just longing for a hot shower. Honestly my overall devotion to the Global Solidarity Challenge was being tested in an unprecedented way. Needless to say day 3 was rough.

**Disclaimer: while I was at school I did not calculate the water I used for flushing toilets into my 10 litre quota. I thought about not flushing unless it was absolutely necessary, but felt somewhat uncomfortable with that so in the end I decided against it.

We are going through a bit of a cold patch here in Pietermaritzburg. Previously when South Africans have complained about the ‘unbearable’ cold, I have smiled politely, nodded my head agreeably and carried on. It’s all relative, and relatively speaking it’s just not that cold. Then again most places aren’t when you come from Canada. I have lived in Manitoba, Quebec and the interior of British Columbia. Now those places know cold. They brunch with cold, have coffee with cold, they even barbecue and go jogging with cold. However, in defence of my South African friends, their clothes just aren’t made to withstand the cold. I’m longing for several of my insulated articles of clothing back in Canada nicely packed away in a box. Maybe it’s just my body finally having acclimatized to the weather in South Africa but either way, it actually feels cold.

It was a challenging day at school and I really felt for all the learners at Slangspruit Primary. It was my first real day of teaching. I have been assigned to the Grade 4s, to assist in teaching them English. In KwaZulu Natal, school is taught in isiZulu until Grade 4 at which point lessons switch into English. Last week I had proposed to Mrs. Biyela, the teacher I am working with directly, that I teach the Grade 4s about some of Canada’s wild animals. Just prior to departing for South Africa my Dad handed me a bunch of post cards of the Canadian Rockies and the animals who live in that region. I decided to use them along with a map of the world to teach the learners some new English words and a little geography.  They loved it! Every time I revealed the card of the Rocky Mountains to an almost unanimous ‘wow’. However, I had a hard time keeping my focus with the power continuously flicking on and of. Whether it was in fact the weather that caused it or each classrooms space heater cranked to high that was overwhelming the system, it’s hard to say. Either way for the entire duration of school the power was intermittent. There is no central heating at Slangspruit Primary and many of the school’s windows have been broken due to vandalism so when it’s cold you really feel it, thus teachers all pull out their space heaters to make it a little more bearable.

Arguably, I wasted too much of my daily ration boiling water for tea and coffee in a desperate attempt to keep warm, it really did seem like an excellent idea at the time. That is until my mind flashed to my laundry hamper which is monstrously overflowing. Oh right laundry, I was supposed to be saving water. School was cut short and homework club was cancelled due to the cold that day, and also because the learners are preparing presentations, like songs, dances and dramas, for the grand opening of the library tomorrow.

When I arrived home I knew I had to get creative, if I was ever going to manage to do laundry this week. I sat down and tried to brainstorm, looking out the window and watching the rain. Then Claire walks through my peripheral vision holding a pink bucket— genius. She was going to collect rain water and use it to flush her toilet. I quickly scampered to collect two more buckets. Above all, this challenge is really teaching me to make the most of what I have, while appreciating many of the luxuries I’ve been granted. Hopefully I will be able to collect enough rain water to do laundry, or at the very least just wash my running gear and a few favourites.

I proceeded to waste more water so I could hard boil a couple eggs before Thandeka was expected to pick me up for a jog. She was running late and it was nearly 7pm when we finally got to it. I know,  I know, I’m not supposed to be out after dark, but I made a calculated decision.

A) She’s South African so she gets it, and I really trust her judgement.

B) She mentally maps out our running routes so we are only running in well lit areas.

C) She speaks Zulu and actually knows her way around Pietermaritzburg.

D) She’s feisty and has a black belt in Karate.  Perhaps this gives me a false sense of security but I figure if something goes down, it gives her a fighting chance and hopefully this also includes me by association.

Although the heavy rain had let up, it drizzled mildly for the duration of our run. When we finally arrived back to her car, I was wet. I couldn’t actually tell you if it was equal parts of rain and sweat, or if it was more one than the other.  Either way once we stopped moving we could really feel the cold. We quickly got back into the car and she proceeded to drive me home. As we were nearing my place, we took a left turn and one of the wheels started having a conniption.  I looked in the side mirror and could see her left-rear tire convulsing. We immediately pulled over, put the hazards on and got out of the car.

It is always in times like these, while feeling completely helpless, that I wish I actually knew something about cars. Instead my standing there cold, wet, and helpless on the side of the road, just acts as a public endorsement for the whole damsel in distress narrative because I am in fact, just waiting to be saved. Terrific! Luckily it didn’t take too long before someone stopped. A middle-aged, white South African woman named Kim pulled over to help us. She kept professing that she was a mechanics daughter as she fiddled around and then like a boss, began tightening the wheel bearings which were incredibly loose. Then the police arrived. The police always have a way of putting me on edge but the South African police add a little je ne sais quoi. Perhaps it is because from everything I’ve heard, they are a bit of a wildcard. However to my surprise a police woman steps out. It was like a sign from the universe. Somehow it seemed to know that my inner feminist was feeling deflated, wishing that I knew enough about cars so I wouldn’t feel forced into depending on someone else (ie. generally men) when it came to matters of mechanics. Yet last night was an example of girl power at its finest. In the half an hour we were on the side of the road no one else even bothered to slow down, but both these women sacrificed some of their time to help us. This is exactly the kind of behaviour that transforms a space into into a community. Well at least that’s how I felt initially. As we were turning the corner to my place still singing Kim praise Thandeka said:

“You know Alex, unfortunately if it had been two black girls on the side of the road, Kim probably wouldn’t have stopped.”

“You think?”

In true Thandeka fashion, without so much as skipping a beat, she says “I know.”

I’d like to believe that my being there wasn’t the only reason Kim stopped, but there’s no way to be sure. Either way, we were both grateful that she did. This whole experience has me thinking about the power of community. The importance of breaking free from the doctrine of individualism to selflessly give a minute of our time to helping someone else who is in need. Putting yourself in someone else’s shoes goes along way in connecting people.

More importantly, I’ve been thinking a lot about the power of community as it relates to social change and to water. A strong sense of community has a way of developing a collective consciousness. When we feel connected not only to a place but to it’s people, it is paramount in bringing about social change. We form a sense of collective identity and band together in order to defeat oppositional forces. In the famous words of Aristotle, “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts”. Communities talk, share ideas and learn from each other’s experiences. When one struggles, the others struggle. Port Renfrew is a perfect example of the power of community. Had it not been for Claire walking past me with a bucket I likely would have never thought to collect rain water. However her innovative solution made laundry a potential reality rather than a distant dream. By cooking together, doing dishes together, and saving our shower water together, we’ve been able to stretch how far 10 litres goes.

That night when I arrived home, I came dangerously close to abandoning the challenge in the name of a hot shower. In the end, as much as I may have wanted to, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it and I am so happy that I didn’t. I woke up the next morning to an award from Lynn (the Executive Director of VIDEA) called the ‘Witty Writer and Water Warrior’ Award. I would have been so ashamed of myself, had I in fact conceded when the challenge started to get tough. I boiled 2 litres of water that night but used a total of 5 for my shower. I sacrificed my dinner to the cause. I stood over to counter and ate a rice cake with avocado in order to save on dishes.

Things have been so busy that I haven’t posted about Day 4 or 5, but stay tuned. Today is Day 6 and marks the final Day of the challenge and I will reflect on what this whole experience has taught me. This challenge has been far from easy. I am reaching out to my community to help me meet my fundraising goal. Reaching out and asking my friends and family so blatantly for money is something that makes me incredibly uncomfortable, but I also think it’s important to regularly push ourselves out of our comfort zones. All proceeds go directly to VIDEA, a local  (Victoria B.C.) NGO that takes a human-rights based approach to international development. They partner with many excellent grassroots organizations across continental Africa, while focusing on projects that are sustainable and promote gender equality. To learn more about the Global Solidarity Challenge or if you are considering supporting me, visit my page on Team Sustainability.

 

 

 

Day 2: the Basic Principles of Recycling

I woke up this morning feeling incredibly dehydrated to my dismay. Perhaps it was the rapid increase of salt and oil I added to my diet yesterday. Today my water conservation strategy became much more methodical. I had one of those light bulb moments while preparing for my shower, if one can even call it a shower. Since I’ve been training to run the Mandela half marathon at the end of August, the full body wash is an essential part of my routine and one I really can’t afford to skip, even in the name of conservation. Today was cold, even by Canadian standards. It rained all day in Pietermaritzburg and it’s still going strong. Hooray! Needless to say I had a hard time motivating myself to get outside to go running this morning. Running in the rain has always been one of my favourites because it’s great for temperature control, but the thought of knowing I was coming home to a cold bucket shower was far from encouraging. However, I finally managed to kick myself out the door ever so reluctantly. Upon my return I realized that if I applied the basic principles of recycling to the conservation of water I could stretch my allocation a lot further. Reduce, reuse, recycle. By standing in a basin, I could use it to catch all the run off water and then later turn around and use it to flush the toilet, without wasting a drop. Brilliant! I felt triumphant, or at least until the water hit. It’s South Africa so I know I know I can’t be that cold. Again for some perspective, it was so cold today I spent the entire afternoon driving around looking for snow. Yes snow. People were pulled over all along the road in very hazardous ways, just to get their chance at both a photo op and just to frolic around in it enthusiastically. It reminded me so much of the way people all pull off the highway in the Rockies to take pictures of passing moose. Anyways I’m not trying to whine but it was the coldest, most miserable shower of my life. However, I managed to only use 2 litres today so that was a personal victory. I again didn’t wash my hair and have decided that my dry shampoo will just have to become my new best friend, although I do recognize this is another luxury I can afford that the people in Slangspruit may not.

Toilet flushing takes up a large portion of my daily water. Even though I am only doing it when absolutely necessary, and there are bricks in the back tank to reduce the amount of water the toilet uses it’s still uses between 3 to 4 litres.  I also had a stark realization that I am going to have to do laundry at some point before this challenge ends so I am going to have to start physically setting aside a bit of water each day in order to make that happen.

In just the short time I have been completing this challenge it has become evident how much of one’s day is consumed by thoughts of preparation, conservation, and strategizing. Things I have always taken for granted demand so much of my time and attention. Simple tasks like showering are more of an obstacle as opposed to routing. It’s rather remarkable and I’m lucky enough to have water flowing straight from my tap and that I don’t have to spend time each day walking to access it.

For more information about the Global Solidarity Challenge or to consider supporting me check out my page on Team Sustainability! All proceeds go to VIDEA a wonderful non-profit organization that takes a human-rights based approach to development. They apply a gendered approach to international development while also being vigilant in only partnering with organizations who employ sustainable practices. It’s about more than just giving people a helping hand. It’s about partnering with people and communities to empower them with the tools they need to ultimately become self-sufficient. Any donation however big or small is greatly appreciated.

Check back tomorrow to hear all about Day 3 of the challenge and what happens when I take it to school!

Day 1: Perspective

This is what 10 litres looks like. The average Canadian like myself uses approximately 329 litres of water a day. In many parts of the world people are struggling to access 10.

Today was Day 1 of the Global Solidarity Challenge and lets just say my entire day was consumed by thoughts of water. How to eat, how much to drink, how to effectively wash dishes with so little water, while simultaneously debating all of my choices. I had my first cup of coffee and then inadvertently started questioning the second. How much do I really need it? Followed by my ever too common real needs versus false needs debate. I eventually decided in its favour because hey it’s Saturday.

Then I started thinking about meals. What can I eat that doesn’t require water? Breakfast: toast and avocado. No water used in it’s preparation and a plate is more or less optional.

Showering was miserable but very strategic. It was something along the lines of get wet, lather, rinse and out. It was cold— both the water and the air. I only used 3 litres of water but didn’t wash my hair. Might just end up cutting my hair this week to make my life easier.

Everything today was about strategy. The challenge was cooking with as little water as possible and using as few dishes as possible. For second breakfast I had eggs, poaching them would use far too much water so I opted for fried. Frying doesn’t actually use any water— genius. I have a feeling this is going to be a consistent theme for the week. Not exactly good for my health but it is excellent for water conservation. This does kind of highlight why countries of the global south have rapidly escalating rates of health problems like diabetes and heart disease. I’m sure this and the frightening accessibility the countries of the global south have to sugar are equally to blame. Regrettably, it’s cheaper to buy a bottle of Coke than it is to buy the same amount of water.

So then I started questioning the veritable importance of basic sanitation— hand washing. All in the name of conserving water. I am very aware that hand washing is both the best and most effective way to limit the spread of communicable diseases, but they don’t really look dirty so where’s the harm? I did in fact continue to wash my hands but I can see how people who have not had access to this information might just let it slide.

I did my dishes in murky water which your average Canadian might see as substandard. Any other day I would have likely drained and restarted but hey we’re using what we have and sometimes it isn’t really an option. I then proceeded to enjoy two cups of tea but seriously questioned them both.

For more information about VIDEA’s Global Solidarity Challenge or to support me visit my page on Team Sustainability.

Global Solidarity Challenge

Tune in tomorrow to see what Day 2 of the challenge brings.

The Real Cost of Water

Due to a longstanding drought, water is currently an impending crisis in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. Unfortunately marginalized communities are usually the first to feel the effects of environmental phenomena of the like. The township of Slangspruit, where I am currently working, has basically been without water since I arrived a month ago. A truck is charged with delivering the townships bi-weekly rations. People flock to the streets to meet it with buckets and pails, pretty much any contraption that can be used to transport water back home. However, the school has had water most days; the key word being most. Members of the community can often be spotted sneaking onto school grounds with innovative strategies for obtaining water. Their methods range from women strolling onto the school’s grounds with large buckets, once they are full, they carry them off ever so gracefully balancing them on their heads, to young children, obviously having been sent by an older member of their family, filling a wheelbarrow. There is inevitably a lot of mixed emotions surrounding these schemes. The more water that is taken by members of the community, the less there is for the school and thus the sooner we run out. However, lets try placing ourselves in their shoes. If our community had been without water for a month and we had drained our supply, knowing that the water truck wasn’t coming for a few more days and we didn’t have the financial means to purchase water. Not to mention having limited access to transportation even if we could could afford to buy water, wouldn’t we do the same? The consequences of the drought transcend far beyond the basic parameters of thirst. It is greatly impacting the children of Slangspruit Primary’s ability to access their most basic form of education, which lets not forget— is a universal human right.  It also serves to highlight some serious systemic issues still plaguing the township in post-Apartheid South Africa.

For a little contextual background, ‘Township’ is the South African word for ‘Reservation’. The British colonial rulers visited Canada and took notes on how to effectively oppress people within a democratic system. The result unfortunately, is that both histories have many parallels and as a result these communities are struggling with very similar contemporary issues such as overcrowded and underfunded communities, feeling disassociated as a result of living in remote communities due to the forced relocations of the past, high rates of unemployment and a sense of disempowerment among youth. I plan to talk much more about this at a later date because the parallels are astounding although not surprising, but for today lets stick to water and how it affects education.

South Africa has a tiered public education system that consists of no and low fee schools and what are commonly referred to as multi-racial, which are fee paying schools. There are also expensive private schools which are virtually inaccessible to most South Africans. Although schools have not been segregated racially since the end of Apartheid in 1994, economically speaking the education system is still incredibly divided. The quality of education differs greatly by school and thus creating a kind of vicious cycle. During Apartheid there were two types of education— white and Bantu. The Bantu schools were overcrowded, under resourced and served as a more than a tool for furthering the oppression of black South Africans. The Bantu education system was deplorable. It intentionally omit Math from the curriculum. The argument was that labourers would never have a use for it. During Apartheid the government had also implemented Bantustans to make matters of black education even worst. This saw the forced relocation of thousands of black South Africans into specifically allocated districts (ie Bantustans) which the government then claimed to be self-governing entities. This was simply a means of absolving its responsibility to the people, while attempting to deny them of their voting rights in South Africa proper as under the eyes of the Apartheid government, they were now seen as foreigners. Obviously this was never actually recognized by the international community. That very brief historical reference point was just to highlight that from 1948- 1994, so for 46 years, next to nothing was invested into black education, so there is a lot to overcome in post-Apartheid South Africa.

Okay so back to how all this actually affects Slangspruit. Slangspruit Primary qualifies as a no fee school, meaning the average income within the community is too low for the school to actually charge school fees and thus falls under the Department of Education’s jurisdiction. The school is in dire need of repairs. Among many things the infrastructure is weak and many of the desks are broken. The effects of the past still plague the education system. While facilitating homework club I have witnessed that the children are almost unanimously struggling to pass Math, so they need all the extra support they can get.

In the fifteen days I have worked at Slangspruit Primary, twice has the school has been forced to dismiss the students early as a result of water. The first time was honestly the hardest. It physically hurt to bear witness to it. It was the second to last day of school before the winter break, only my fourth day at work, and not to mention the day of the students ‘special’ lunch. This is a meal the students look forward to. It’s far better than the standard government lunch which typically consists of beans and a various starch. The ‘special’ lunch is provided by Ukulapha (the organization I am working with in South Africa) and was being held in celebration of the end of term . It was to have beef, what seems to be a South African favourite, mash potatoes, butternut as well as the typical rice and beans, along with a glass of juice and an orange. So that Thursday the students arrived at school with exceptionally high spirits, empty plastic containers in hand, in preparation for their special lunch. However, we quickly learned that the water had been shut off. So simply put– no water, no lunch. It was devastating. Currently it is winter in South Africa but it was hot that day, somewhere around 27 and 30 degrees celsius. By midday the children looked deflated and without really much choice school was let out two and a half hours early. White gummy paste was forming in the corners of their little mouths as they professed both their hunger and their thirst, while asking us sheepishly if we had anything to eat or drink. Honestly, one of the hardest parts was knowing that I had a litre of water in my backpack but where do you even begin? It’s not enough to share with the 1050 Slangspruit students and how could you even go about picking one over the other? This coupled with the fact that the township itself was also out of water so I knew some of the children wouldn’t be drinking water all day. Needless to say we all left the school that day with both our spirits and our shadows, dragging on the ground behind us. In fifteen days the students at Slangspruit have lost five hours of their education. If this continues, what will it be in a year? These kids are already fighting an uphill battle to get a decent education, they should at the very least, actually have the opportunity to make the most of it.

It is always hard being confronted by your privilege. Since I have been in Pietermaritzburg my water has yet to be shut off, but honestly it’s only a matter of time. Although I strongly oppose the purchasing of water as it only adds to the commodification of a resource that should be a fundamental human right. I do recognize that I have a level of security knowing that I have the means of being able to buy water if and when it becomes necessary. However in Slangspruit, the sad fact is that this is likely not the case.

Many of us internationally know that a water crisis is imminent. Yet we are so disconnected from the realities of our fellow human beings that we dismiss it as simply something to worry about in the future. While I was in Durban, a 40 minute drive from Pietermaritzburg, I was disturbed by the fact that there was nothing that remotely mentioned the impending water crisis and thus the importance of conserving water. Nothing to recommend that people take shorter showers or turn the tap off while brushing their teeth. Unfortunately at this point I’m not sure what’s worst, denial or ignorance?

For the next 6 days, July 23-28th, I am standing in solidarity with the people of Slangspruit Township and will be restricting my water consumption to 10 litres a day. I am doing so to raise awareness about the pressing issue of water sustainability. For more information about VIDEA’s Global Solidarity Challenge or to support me check out my page on Team Sustainability. VIDEA is a non-profit organization that takes a human-rights based approach to development. The proceeds I raise go to VIDEA (the organization that sent me to South Africa) to enable them to continue doing their exceptional international work.

Global Solidarity Challenge

 

Barbed Wire & Colour

I was immediately struck by how much South Africa looked like home but something evidently loomed beyond the highly erected fencing and the prevalence of barbed wire. After the exceptionally thorough 12 day pre-departure briefing we all underwent, which tirelessly stressed not being a party to this kind of ignorance, I’d like to think I knew better and that somehow I was above it, but honestly upon reflection, I definitely fell victim the big faux pas– homogenizing continental Africa. I don’t really know exactly what it was that I expected to find when I got off the plane, but it certainly wasn’t this. I new Pietermaritzburg was a city and like any city I expected it to be modern and developed, but again not quite like this. The briefing was also preparing others to go live in Zambia and Uganda, where they would in fact be without some of the luxuries offered by more developed nations– like a washing machine. I was fully prepared to not being able to drink tap water and thus having to buy bottled water for 6 months. Or having to wash my vegetables in a bleach solution to kill any of the bacteria that was looming overhead, eagerly waiting to give me diarrhea with the capacity to make me cry and beg for my mom. Prepared to follow the tireless advice of my travel doctor, and armed with her pamphlet which served as the age old reminder to ‘peel it, boil it, cook it, or forget it’. I was even prepared to give up being a barefoot bandit for 6 months in fear of getting jiggers, which are white maggot like parasitic insects that burrow into your skin and have to be surgically removed.

All of this is to say I was a little surprised by how much South Africa looked and felt like home, well Australia to be more exact. Culturally and architecturally speaking there are a lot of similarities to the life I lived in Australia. And I’m sure that white South Africans are also just like Australian in that they hate being told that they are very British. However, there’s a lot of similarities. This might also be the result of my comparing them to Canadians who are arguably more out of touch with the colonial powers. Albeit South Africa feels a lot like home, it is highly securitized. Large iron fences and barbed wire seem to overshadow all aspects of life. While for those who can afford it these basic security measures are accompanied by the quintessential signs posted by whichever security company you should choose advertising their ‘armed response’. I know the U.S. is known to be a highly securitized nation but in South Africa, security is such an enormous industry, it’s unlike anything I have ever seen. So although initially my experience was very comparable to any other developed nation, the intensity and prevalence of security assured me that on the other side of my gated compound there was indeed another story.  As a result of trying to navigate my new environment, my subconscious was going crazy. For about a week I was having these intensely vivid dreams of trudging through the jungle trying to escape armed militias or being caught in the middle of a violent domestic dispute, where I was trying to save a family from their encroaching fate of falling victim to a lunatic and a casualty of a murder suicide.

South Africa is a country with extreme disparity. I live in Scottsville which is more or less the suburbs. A place situated somewhere in between the realities of the exorbitantly rich and the poverty of the townships. I live in between two grocery stores. Both are about a ten minute walk, but in opposite directions. At one the faces feel fairly representative of the South African demographic— mostly black, a few Indian people, a few whites. However, walking the same distance in the other direction, it’s predominantly white with a little multicultural flare. Life just has a way of feeling racially segregated. It’s hard not to see race in South Africa because it seems to be at the forefront of everyday life; just one of the lasting legacies of Apartheid. It’s hard for me to really put my finger on it. I’ve just never felt so aware of my skin colour before or of other people’s skin colour. While traveling over the winter break I found myself cringing harder than I ever knew possible. White South African’s will make these general statements about ‘the coloureds,’ nonchalantly dropping it into casual conversations. I’m not sure what bothers me more, blatantly homogenizing an undoubtedly diverse group of people or their paradoxically boisterous and yet blasé attitude towards such a gross generalization. However, I find myself just squirming speechless, looking over my shoulder and just hoping I’m not becoming guilty by association, and then basically start sprinting full speed for the emergency exit– the quickest way out of that conversation. At first I really questioned whether it was just me because it’s done so phlegmatically. I was incredibly relieved when my British friend happened to mention in passing how uncomfortable it made him. Perhaps it’s just a cultural thing we don’t yet understand? Maybe we might never truly understand because we’re not South African.  Maybe it’s not as wrong as it feels, it’s just different? Under Apartheid, people’s racial identities were handed out on cards simply as they were seen. This was done without any real consideration or inquiry. As a result many families were divided and torn apart. The different racial groups had varying social and political rights. Not to mention the different geographical regions each group was strictly permitted to live. With such a complicated history and one governed by the politics of race it is hard not to see how the past affects the present. But I can’t help but wonder, why is the classification of colour still so prevalent today? Why does it still matter? Culture matters. A sense of belonging matters. But does colour? Colour doesn’t bind us intrinsically to the other members of our racial group. We are likely to have as many differences with these people as we have similarities with others. Also what happens to those who don’t identify as other people identify them? And at the end of the day, who actually gets to choose our affiliation?