Arriving in Mthatha

The workshops have begun. In practical terms that means internet and blog posting become more difficult and intermittent. It also means the real work of the trip has begun.

Before this trip began, my vision of Africa included exotic animals, vast savannahs, apartheid, genocide, civil wars, blood diamonds, and HIVAIDS. I did not realize until now that my picture of Africa did not include people, individual persons. Now that is all Africa seems to be.

Except for a few, like Harry and Gugu and Donald, the names are too difficult for my simple mouth to pronounce. Seeing a Q in a name brings fear because that letter calls for the “click” that my mouth seems impossible to duplicate. But my problems with the names aside, South Africa has become the faces I see each day in class or on breaks or in the schools we visit or the towns we see.

The history of apartheid confronts us everywhere. The apartheid museum is a moving monument to the evil that happened here, but the stories from Yunus about his family are a living monument. Today the manager of the campus, saw me with my cane and it triggered in him the incident of January 11, 1976 when his friend was shot and killed while sleeping and he was shot just below the knee. He never forgets that date, and he “is no Mandela.” It is difficult to forget and impossible for him to forgive.

Yet this country is moving forward. Tonight Jim (another team member) and I were heading back to our rooms when we heard singing that seemed to be coming from somewhere in the building. Jim looked back at me and said “follow me.” We went up four floors and around several corners before we found 25 or 30 South African teachers and principals dancing and singing with such joy it was amazing. They welcomed the two of us in an event I do not have the words to describe. The singing was beautiful, with high female and rich male voices with dancing that was also spontaneous but at the same time gave a sense of harmony that complimented the voices. Before we left, they sang a song that included men and women going down the hall together. Jim and I were included, the only white faces to be found.

Both Jim and I had our cameras but, tempted as we were, we knew this was not the time for pictures. No camera could begin to capture what we had stumbled on. Only the heart is big enough to contain what we saw this evening. And to imagine that this came just a few hours after talking with the manager about being shot during apartheid. The people of this land are remarkable.