Happy Mother's Day to all the mommas out there. I wish I could have spent the day at home with my momma to remind her how much I appreciate her every day.
But since I'm a two-day's flight away I got to celebrate Mother's Day in an entirely different but interesting way: the LGB RAs took us CIEErs on a township tour so that we could experience what the townships are really like for a horrendously significant portion of the South African population. While the morning started off a bit rough for me thanks to some not-so-accurate information regarding the departure time coupled with some less-than-stellar decisions on the part of the organizers, I did have a pretty amazing day.
We started off in Gugulethu, one of the largest townships in South Africa. There we met our guide, a self-made Gugulethu native who worked his way from a one-room shack with his wife and daughter to a sprawling guest house, where he houses more than twenty tourists whom he guides around the township, giving tours and details about the residents, his own experiences, and the daily hardships that come with life in the townships. Unlike my experience in Ocean View a few months ago, Gugulethu is comprised mostly of corrugated iron, wood, and cardboard shacks that house multiple family members. Many of these houses have recently been supplied with electricity, but none have running water, so water must be carried from pumps scattered throughout the settlement, and the toilets still run on the "bucket system" (yes, it's exactly what it sounds like). While many families have learned to get by in cramped quarters that have no building codes and are built with highly flammable materials, they were promised in 1994 that with the new government would come new, low-income, affordable housing. While the ANC has produced over 3 million homes to needy families, the demand has yet to be fulfilled, and many are still waiting anxiously to get out of their current situations. With the upcoming local elections on May 18th, hopes are once again rising that change will be brought. But as an outsider experiencing the realities of this kind of life first-hand, even for a brief period, and also from the perspective of a student of history learning about the process of rebuilding, I must admit that I'm discouraged and disappointed in the government's lack of action. I find it so hard to fathom how people who must walk upwards of 100 meters to go to the toilet every day can still, after almost sixteen years, have faith that the government will change things. How even when thousands of people in Masephumelele lose their homes because there's no adequate system to deal with fire in the townships, people can still be optimistic about their future is inspiring but also ignites a deep sense of shame and guilt in me: perhaps because I know that I get to go back to my own room, with my computer and my iPod, and when I go home I have a room waiting for me that's heated and air conditioned and I never have to worry about where I'll get my next meal from. How can people, like me, see this situation every day and not do something about it, while at the same time I wonder how people, like me, could possibly tackle something so monstrous, in both size and complexity? Where do we even start? And I know I'm not the first, and I certainly hope, for the sake of humanity, that I won't be the last to contemplate these human issues, but it's still difficult for me to confront such disturbing levels of poverty at such close proximity, and perhaps what worries me the most is what I intend to do about it. I mean, I'm not looking to change the world, but can I really just watch dispassionately, like a passenger in a speeding car gazing out the window?
But still the people we met today, just as we were walking through the township, were thrilled to see us. We were clearly a group who didn't belong there--a bunch of white Westerners with our collegiate sweatshirts and our flip flops--but we were still welcomed warmly because of what we represented. To them our group was an opportunity for awareness and education, for the small chance that a photo or a story would spread and someone might see or hear about the people who are still suffering and struggling, daily, to survive. I'll admit I felt really uncomfortable at first, because it seemed to me that we were Americans gawking at the misfortunes of others and comparing our situations with the ones in Gugulethu, relieved that our cards were dealt in a whole different game. But as we moved through the neighborhood and talked to the residents I felt more and more that their positive mindset, and their willingness to accept us and tell their story, was an invitation to learn more and fully appreciate the experience for the opportunity it was.
I'm not saying we have to change the world in one day, or that that's even possible, but maybe just being aware that the world needs changing is enough to get the ball rolling in the right direction.
mountain, which is like a weird outcropping from Table Mountain that's much smaller but offers spectacular views of the city and peninsula, especially at sunset when the full moon is rising.
nature 
in its fullest moments of splendor. There was a cloud bank over the ocean, so the sun set over this fluffy blanket of clouds that stretched out to the horizon and snuggled up to the Twelve Apostles on the back side of Table, and as the moon came up the stars came out and were reflected by the lights from the city coming on... Definitely worth the effort to get there!
