It is for both of us

A month after leaving South Africa I am finally able to bring this blog to a close. I wish I could say the reason for the delay was that I was too busy, but that is not true. The delay is a result of my unwillingness to accept that this remarkable adventure had come to an end.

Jim Metz told me several times during the trip that I would find moments coming back to me almost like flash backs. That out of nowhere I would remember something that happened during our stay. He was right. I have avoided bringing closure to this blog because the experience is still alive inside my head, inside my heart.

I just saw "District 9" and that film had the strange effect of bringing me full circle. On the one hand, I could not have appreciated the film nearly as much before going to South Africa, but on the other it allowed me to accept that the experience is now over. And that brings me back to the very first question. Is this work we did for them or for us?

The answer is much too simple. It is for both of us. The experiences I have highlighted on this blog were remarkable. My words cannot capture the full meaning, the enormous impact of that month. And judging from the way our South African friends responded, it had just as important, although different effect on them. I miss them.

I also miss the team. I miss them much more than I imagined I would. Yunus with his vision and quiet leadership. Lyla with her patience in preparing me for that final week when I would "fly solo" with the leadership training. That motley math crew: Jeeem (Jim) with his marvelous dedication to the people, Mark, the barrel chested ex-Canadian who had a magic touch with the camera and an infectious enthusiasm with his math, and young Amy who embodies the future. The almost bipolar science team with Robin and his boundless energy and enthusiasm and Barbara with her quiet enthusiasm and those damn paper hats that seemed to be everywhere. And our IT guy Aaron who taught me about Linux and kept us connected when outside forces seemed committed to severing those connections. And finally, Gora who shared his home, his humor, and his marvelous grill with us. We were an eclectic team that Yunus pulled together. I was blessed to be a part of it. Thank you to all.

The Workshops End

We have come to the end of the workshops and begun to decompress from the intensity of the past three weeks back in Port Shepstone were we started. The final day at Trinsit managed to combine so many elements of all the workshops it was almost as if it had been ordained as a review of our experiences.

The closing ceremony was scheduled for 11:30. Around 11:00 one of the participants in leadership asked if they could have five minutes before the end to do something. I told him yes and asked what he wanted me to do. He told me to just sit down. Then one of the other principals, a tall man of considerable dignity, stood and began to speak. As with an earlier blog, I will paraphrase poorly what he said so well.

“On the first day, when we walked into the room we were all nervous. Here was this tall white foreigner with a booming voice we did not know and who did not know us. Because English is our second or third language we were afraid we would not understand you and did not know what to expect. But we learned from you, both from what you said and from who you are. Our country is like a train, with first, second, and third class cars. Even though we blacks are most of our country, we ride in third class. You came to be with us. Thank you. You gave us tools to help us. Thank you.”

He spoke longer than these words show, but it was difficult to listen to him because I had been filled with doubt. Throughout the week I was upset at myself when I often could not understand words they were saying and had to ask several times what they meant, only to find they had the same fear. And they were thanking me when I felt indebted to them. Every day I would leave Room 5 with the feeling I had not given them as much as they deserved, and surely not as much as they had given me. When he was finished, all I could say was that whenever I was with them I considered myself in first class.

We ended our sessions together with a group picture and filling out evaluation sheets. They wrote that the workshop was helpful to them. I wish they knew how indebted they should be to Lyla who trained me over the first two workshops to take over when she had to leave for the third. They deserved to have the best, which was her, but she was able to help an old codger like me rise high enough to be “O Kayyy” (a small joke that only people who have been here can understand).

From there we went to the final closing, one last amazing experience with these teachers and principals. As they filled the auditorium, they began to sing. Those voices that had filled our rooms as well as our hearts for almost a month broke into a spontaneous outpouring of joy that is impossible to explain, that can only be felt. It is like the roar of the lion we heard a week earlier. The lion’s roar resonates from a place so deep within him that you do not really hear it, you feel it at the core of your being. It is the same with their singing. It envelopes you, it surrounds you, it seems to become part of you. These people who had met only a few days before sang in parts and in harmony. It is impossible to do without weeks of practice, but they did it. And then they began to dance, some coming out of their seats while those who were entering the auditorium picked up both the song and the dance as soon as they entered. I tried to capture a part of it on video. The lighting was poor and after five minutes I was afraid my camera would run out of memory or battery or both so I stopped, but I hope there is enough so those who see those few minutes can get at least a glimpse of the wonderful gift we were given, the enormous privilege we were granted when we came here.

Finally they settled down and we sat through a little slide show followed by the customary speeches and goodbyes. Yunus talked of how important the teachers are to the nation and their need to change things, Mark lead them in a rousing rendition of the Math Dance, a wonderful way to capture their exuberance, Robin burst out with his enthusiasm, as he always did, Barbara (Sis B) thanked them while she was wearing her tall “earth hat” that was the trademark of her science section, young Amy thanked them on behalf of all the students who don’t yet know enough to thank their teachers, I spoke of my confidence that they would create a marvelous future that my generation would never see, Aaron reminded them that technology was within their grasp to create that future, and Jim opened his heart as he always does. Certificates were passed out and we went to the parking lot to see them off.

As if to remind us of the other side of this adventure, that night the plumbing in the dorms became magical. Hot water began to flow from both faucets. It bordered on scalding so we could not use it for showering or bathing (although there had been an earlier attempt to cool it down with bottled water, an act of futility that was never repeated). Then, once again, the toilets began to flush hot water, a mystery that remains to this day. When we awoke the next morning, the scalding hot water problem had been solved…we had no water. Finally, after our bags went ahead in a truck to Port Shepstone with all our clothes and soap and such, the water returned to normal. Soon after we left Trinsit for Port Shepstone and this adventure began to wind down.

Voices of Angels, Problems of Principals

They recommend asking one of the participants to start each day with a prayer. It seems like a simple enough suggestion, but as it plays out in reality, it is very different.

Were you to close your eyes during one of those “prayers” you find yourself transported to one of the great cathedrals of Europe or a concert hall in the US. You feel the rich baritones of the men complemented by the women’s soft sopranos. Then you hear the change as the women began to dominate in a gentle way and the male voices fade into the background. All of a sudden the choral voices would be silent as a single voice fills the room. The entire choir then joins in again and the series repeats, although the solitary voices change throughout. The harmonies blend, the melodies rise, and when you opened your eyes you find yourself back in a classroom with 40 African principals about to start the workshop.

And to think these teachers met for the first time when they came to the workshop. There were no rehearsals, no time to practice or arrange the harmonies. Somehow they manage these early morning concerts from within, communicating musically in a way I cannot understand.

Just a few minutes later discussions begin on problems these men and women face. The topics are familiar to all of us: lack of resources, teacher quality, student apathy or discipline, absenteeism, issues with parents. While the topics are similar, the scale surpasses what we experience. It is the scale of the problems they face that humbles you, and the determination of these principals to do better that inspires you. In a way, it is much like the inspiration that flows from that early morning prayer that transports you to the great cathedrals.

A Wedding and….

We went off on an adventure to a local wedding that took us over hills and fording a stream in a truck because the cars had to be left by the side of the road. When we started we could barely see the green and yellow tent that marked our destination in the distance.

When we arrived at the location and pilled out of the back of the truck, we were greeted by a crowd led by a stately woman dressed in orange with white markings on her face. She seemed to be a sort of mistress of ceremonies for the wedding. Directly in front of the tent there were two ominous looking blue vats filled with a living breathing foam that would play a part later.

The couple was standing behind a table at the end of the tent with all the women seated on the ground dressed in their finest. Some had similar white markings on their faces. The couple maintained a somber expression throughout our visit, incongruously dressed in western outfits, the groom in a black suit and small fedora and the bride complete with gown and veil. The men were seated outside the tent in rows, saying little throughout the ceremony. Periodically the women would let out a range of sounds that are difficult to describe, including songs, wails, and clicks, but all joyous and often accompanied by clapping or, on a couple of occasions, dancing.

As the end of our time at the wedding began to near, they brought out two plates of meat freshly killed, roasted and on the bone, along with some rather large jack knives. There we sat carving away on the slabs of meat eating with only the knives and our hands. On our way out we passed another line of old men (a group that I no longer deny as “my people”) squatting by the fence drinking a milky white liquid from a galvanized steel bucket. It was the brew that had been breathing in the blue vats when we arrived. As an honorary member of that group, I squatted down with them, took the bucket when passed, and took a couple of swigs. Then back in the truck for the next adventure.

It was not long before we found ourselves at a male initiation. I won’t go into detail out of deference to both the ceremony and the three young boys, but it was a moving experience I will not forget.

In one day we had the amazing experience of two rites of passage. We had no right to be at either, and afterwards we wondered if we should have said no when the opportunity was presented. Whether we should have been there or not is a mute point now. What is important is that in the early years of my seventh decade the world is still offering wonders to discover that I never could have imagined.

A Lesson in Leadership and Dancing

The executive mayor of Mthatha decided to hold a gala dinner for all of us, facilitators and participants. As with so much here, it did not turn out exactly according to plan, but, again as happens so often here, that does not mean it turned out worse than planned,

The event started late. When we arrived about 20-30 participants were at the door of the large assembly hall. As we walked up, they parted like the Red Sea for Moses and we entered the hall. After sitting in this large, drafty hall for about ten minutes we realized none of the African teachers were coming in the hall. It turned out that they were not allowed in yet. It was clear to us that if they were not allowed in we would not come in either so much to the chagrin of the organizers we all walked out to join our colleagues. Finally all were allowed in and we took our seats.

There were customary opening prayers (which always seem to include song) and introductions. Then the executive mayor rose and gave a good 15 minute speech. Unfortunately, it took her about an hour and a half. The president of TWB International, Fred Mednick, was scheduled to speak next but he said everyone should eat first and he would talk as they were finishing up. That plan was reluctantly accepted. Then something magical happened.

The head table, where all of us were sitting, was told to get our food and the rest would follow. Yunus said no, everyone would go up together. As the organizers were trying to explain the head table had to go first, Yunus quietly went to tables around us and invited them to go to the food line. The rest of the team followed his lead.With no fanfare Yunus managed to show that we truly did consider ourselves among peers.

During the evening we also enjoyed dancing (the dance involves slow rhythm and movements that even I could follow). Many present seemed comfortable dancing while staying seated, an approach I have used for years. One woman did insist in getting me out of my chair, but there was no need for a dance floor. We all just danced where we were, 150 teachers an principals enjoying each other on the floor of the OR Tombo auditorium.

Gifts were a big part of the evening. Ostrich eggs covered in beads and mats with beaded fringe. Fred was decked out in tribal garb and stole hearts with his version of the dance.

And so the evening ended. A good meal, a loooong speech, dancing, and lessons in leadership.

A Cold Makes Its Rounds

Amy was the first one struck down by the cold. The youngest and smallest in the group, she found herself with a bad sore throat and general aches that made it difficult to fact her room full of teachers, try as she might. It lasted almost a week for her, an interminable time given how it affected her ability to eat what she wanted. Although the smallest member of the team, she also sports the most voracious appetite. For lunch she would often order three items to everyone else's one.

There was something good for both Amy and me that came out of the cold. For her it was the doctor, "very cute" as Amy would put it. Yunus (our leader) insisted on Amy seeing him. Much as she enjoyed seeing him, the shot in the rear end was not much fun. Since she was laid up for two days, I got the opportunity to return to the math classroom and took over her class for a day. Some quick research on the internet using the resources the team put together and I stepped in to teach a math class for the first time in almost twenty years. What a joy it was. I had forgotten the feeling that comes with teaching. There is nothing in administration that equals it.

The cold then found its way through Robin, although mildly and without incident (he credits the Jim and Jack brothers, as in Jim Beam and Jack Daniels, for how he withstood the worst of it) over to Aaron, our tech person where it was pretty heavy for a few days and knocked him out for the better part of two days, and now to me. I have missed a day of the leadership group but should be back tomorrow. Hope so, Africa from the vantage point of a bed is not fun.

On a side note, Yunus had the doctor come to us and check us all out. He was, as Amy said, "very cute," and she managed to accidentally bump into him as he was leaving, but more importantly, he asked about my medical history, checked my pills, etc. before any treatment. Very impressive young man.

Small Things Make a Big Difference

When we arrived in South Africa, Yunus (the leader and heart of our group) made it very clear that we were here as colleagues, not as experts from afar. It was our experiences that separated us from our South African colleagues, not our abilities or our intelligence or our expertise. Holding fast to that played out in many small ways that made a big difference to our new found friends here, and to us.

We moved into the dorms with the participants on Sunday evening. It was very cold and we all looked forward to a nice warm shower. Much to our surprise and chagrin, there was no hot water to be had. On Monday morning I was perhaps the only one who braved the chill and took a VERY cold shower, an act I decided shortly thereafter not to repeat. Sitting at breakfast, we men learned that the women had hot water.

That evening off we traipsed to the women’s shower armed with a note “TWB Men in Shower” taped to the door. Some among us suggested we add a post-script that said “Visitors Welcomed” but we decided against it. That night we were struck again. This time all running water seemed to disappear except for one tub that had only hot water. A few brave souls tried to use some bottled water to cool it down enough for a quick bath but that proved to be a vain effort. Shortly there was no water anywhere, and then, in the middle of the night, the floods came. The upper floors were covered with an inch of water, something I discovered in the middle of the night as I went wandering in the dark for a bathroom that might be working. For reasons we never understood, the first floor never flooded.

But the crowning moment was yet to come. All of a sudden the toilets began to flush hot water. When this mystery of the universe happened, the showers and sinks were still bone dry. It is a strange thing to flush a toilet and see clouds of steam rise up from the bowl.

Eventually all this was worked out. We still do not understand how the plumbing could have been designed so that all these phenomena could occur, but the humor of all this brought about a result that touches on this idea that small things can make a big difference.

In the final half hour with our fellow principals in the leadership workshop, they asked Lyla (the leader of our portion) and me (the assistant) to sit down in the front of the room. Then Zena, the self identified senior principal of the group, began to thank us. Paraphrasing the best I can, this is what she said.

“Thank you. Thank you Lyla and Andy, not only for what you gave us in the workshop, but also for what you gave us of yourselves. You worked with us. You stayed with us, you ate with us, you talked with us. When things were uncomfortable you did not leave us. White people do not do this. They stay away. They are not like you. God made us black and He made us black for a reason. It must be a good reason. Thank you for how you have been with us."

Zeta was much more eloquent than I could hope to be. Her words could not help but move us. As soon as she was finished, one of the men started a song of “Thank You” based on our names. In a rhythm that seems unique and pervasive to this place, the rest of the teachers joined in, somehow able to add harmony to a song created on the spot.

Flooded floors and hot water toilets gave rise to a moment that will never be forgotten. There have been so many of them on this trip. It makes you wonder if those same moments occur just as often when we are home but our familiarity with our day to day lives causes us to miss them.