Friday, July 13, 2007
Kwa Thema Concert
Much has been made of the audience's response to the Senior Choir's singing in Kwa Thema. Here is an example of what we experienced.... while Jennifer Riley and the Senior Choir performed Moses Hogan's "Great Day," the audience grew progressively more enthusiastic. The high pitching warbling you hear from the audience is "ulalation". http://www.bmpc.org/GreatDay.mp3
Personal Reflections from a Singer
What follows are the reflections of Tim Starn, one of our singers... Thanks, Tim!
June 28, 2007
The flight from JFK to Johannesburg, with a stop in Dakar, Senegal, was long (17 hours), but I’ve never been on a more accommodating airline. Thank you, South Africa Air. Our hotel in the Johannesburg area is called the Airport Grand, but it isn’t very near the airport. The only thing connecting it with the airport is that it is in the planes’ take-off pattern. There are several shops and a mall near us; also, several car and motorcycle dealerships. This is apparently an affluent area. I’m trying to check out the night sky, but there is too much light pollution. I can make out part of the Southern Cross.
June 29, 2007
We were bussed into the heart of Johannesburg this morning. Now we can see the countryside clearly. When we first landed, it was near dark. This being winter, dark is around 5:30 pm. The region is a mile above sea level. Several stony ridges cut the terrain. The soil is red, rocky, and looks very hard. It makes me wonder what the Beor farmers were looking for when they started their great trek. Seems like they picked a lousy direction to go find land to farm. But come they did and the rest is history.
Plant life appears scarce by Southeastern PA standards, but who can say since this is wintertime. The only plants I can recognize are sycamore trees. They are abundant but, of course, lacking leaves just now. Most of the other vegetation seems more suited for a dry climate; cacti, some palms, a tree that sort of looks like eucalyptus. Surface streams are rare. I count only two the whole day.
As we drive in toward town, there are shanties here and there. They look foreign juxtaposed as they are against the businesses, homes, and modern highways. People are collecting scraps of wood for heat. One man was sitting next to a burning stump for warmth. In many places there have been grass fires. At first I thought they might be planned to clear vegetation around the highway interchanges, but now I bet they are an accidental result of people trying to warm themselves.
Our trip takes us through neighbors of all kinds; Black, Jewish, Chinese, and White, I suppose. Much of the construction is reminiscent of Tucson with the close houses and tile roofs. In these neighborhoods the homes can only be compared to either fortresses or prisons. I’m not sure which one best represents them. Every home is surrounded by spiked fences or walls with razor wire. Some have electrified fences. No window goes unbarred. I’m not sure what to think of it. We are told it is because level of crime is so high that the only way to manage your homeowner’s insurance is to have this level of security.
Even businesses and high rises have fences around them. Back where we are staying, the hotel is right next to a series of shops, but you cannot walk from one shop to the next without going to the main entrance of the hotel and walk all the way around the fence. You wouldn’t dare climb over the fences here in South Africa. They are topped with spikes and razors. I started wondering about when the day would come that the people here could finally tear down the fences, literally. However, upon reflection I doubt they would. I am starting to believe that this security is part of the culture, now. The original settlers fenced off the land for their farms, much to the chagrin of the pastoralist natives. Maybe some of the fencing is there because culture dictates that everything should be fenced.
In Johannesburg, we ride around an enormous statue representing the hard labor and contributions of South Africa’s miners. At a stop in the business district we see more mementos of mining’s importance here. An old trip hammer is set in the square and down the street is a teeple. These things are familiar to me from my grandfather’s coal mining days and stories. Our guide identifies the mystery trees around here as eucalyptus. They were imported from Australia and grown for their value as support timber in the mines. The wood is loaded with oil and does not easily rot in the high temperatures and humidity deep in the earth’s bowels. While I’m getting ahead of myself, on the way out of town we see the final, and most enormous, monument to mining; the mine tailings. They are man-made mountains stretching as far as I can see! The world must be hollow beneath our feet.
Johannesburg = chaos. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’ve just never seen so many people rambling around. I’m surprised not to see bicycles here. Also, very very few motorcycles. It’s all cars and pedestrians. From pictures of chaotic cities that Carolyn has visited, it is all bikes, motorbikes, and people. Away from the city I see many people on motorcycles.
At St. Mary’s Anglican Church, we meet Sidumo Jacobs who puts us through our paces teaching us hymns for Sunday’s worship. We sort of suck at pronunciation, but the reverb is so awesome in this place that, eh, it pretty much all blends together. Regardless, we will give it our best.
All the cars here, like in Europe, are small. I’m not sure if they are diesel or not. Judging from the selections on the pumps at the gas stations I’ve seen I would guess it is about 50/50. Side note: only one octane level is available: 93. What is interesting is that a large percentage of cars have trailer hitches. I haven’t seen any cars pulling a trailer, but it must be common. I wish America would get off of its huge car kick. You rarely see anything that might be called an SUV, and if you do it is full of people.
June 30, 2007
Apartheid Museum: Not much to say, at this point. Apartheid was wrong. It was cruel. We had similar sins in our own country. Here, however, separation was a matter of State policy and it led them closer to a state of civil war. What amazes me most through it all was the strength of the leaders who guided the people to freedom. The Gandhi’s, King’s, and Mandela’s of the world are so rare and precious. They are a breed near godliness. Anyone can be a “strong man” leader. Fear, intimidation, deceit, and cronyism don’t take any special skills to master (you reading this, George, Dick?). Anyone who only cares for their self can bully people this way.
Soweto: Soweto is huge. It isn’t a neighborhood or a town. In fact, Soweto is an acronym for “southwest township”. Funny moment… our guide told us not to feel pity for the inhabitants of Soweto. They have poverty, but they have each other and a strong sense of community. We, on the other hand, have George Bush so he felt sorry for us!
Still, Soweto does have basic problems. Well, parts of it. Some of Soweto looked like any other part of Johannesburg’s suburbs. In places, however, you’ll find blocks of extreme poverty. Quite literally, the people live in shanties built from whatever basic materials happen to be at hand. Running down the dirt streets is an open sewage line. It forms a little creek between the shanties; a constant stream of sewer water flowing through it. Children play in the dirt next to it. I can’t help but wonder how disease is kept to a minimum, here. True, HIV/AIDS is the prevalent health problem, but you really have to wonder how water-borne diseases like cholera are kept at bay.
Pam’s crèche is a school for the children of shantytown we visited. The children, ages preschool to high school, manage in a three-room classroom environment. They are sweet kids. The work Pam’s people do with them is important and clearly valuable. The different age groups sang and danced for us. They were filled with energy and joy. One young man leading the singing had a fantastic voice.
For lunch, we ate at Wandi’s. Wandi’s is an old shebeen (speak-easy) that has been converted into a restaurant. This place gets visitors from all over the world. Business cards, foreign currency, and messages in permanent marker cover the walls and ceiling. Several are from colleges back home. Groups of students from my school have visited Soweto, and I wonder if they left behind graffiti on the walls. I search for any message from them, but there is too much to decipher. I text a student back home who could find out for me if the student group had eaten here. She later got back to me that they hadn’t. They had eaten at McDonald’s. Hahahaha.
Kwa Thema Methodist Church concert: Coal! We were driven to the church which appears to be southeast of Johannesburg. We are in another shantytown area. They encircle the church we are visiting. The air is thick with the smoke of coal fires used to keep the shanties warm. The sulfur smell again brings back fond memories of childhood for me. However, the smoke was never this thick. It is all trapped beneath the nocturnal boundary layer and has spread out far and wide. We can’t get away from it. Many in the choir are having problems with their eyes and breathing.
We performed with the Concert Choir of South Africa, a group of young singers pulled from the surrounding townships. At their introduction, their director said something along the lines of: “Africans are always singing. They sing when they are happy and they sing when they are hurting. Music is in direct contact with the human heart.” How true.
Anyway, this group has only been together for six months yet they put on a clinic. They gave a terrific performance and really showed us up! I loved the enthusiasm and participation of the congregation. The crowd was “into it”.
Many, many people shook our hands. They had rough working hands. I wonder if they noticed my soft work-shy hands.
July 1, 2007
Service at St. Mary’s Anglican Church in Johannesburg: Can you say incense? Wow! We had a fun time after this service. The church choir sang to us while we had snacks and tea. After awhile, some of us did our best to join in. It was a fantastic time. Afterwards, we hit the road for Sun City.
I feel the need to expand on the childhood memories comment. My childhood was spent growing up in Northern Indiana farmland. However, my family had “migrated” there from West Virginia. We visited “the hills” every chance we got. My grandparents’ house was heated with a coal furnace, so that sweet sulfur smell has good memories for me of playing on the river and eating grandma’s amazing cooking. Some of my relatives still lived in coal camp-like conditions. In fact, my great uncle’s place would have fit into Soweto pretty well although I have to question if his level of living was more by choice. But that was a unique place and fragment of time that doesn’t exist anymore. The old house is still there but the old folks are gone. The coal furnace was removed years ago. There are no more grandma’s raspberry cobblers or Norwegian shortbreads. I grew up at the cusp of much change. My mother could give me a first-hand account of life in a coal camp. I could listen to her stories and see the remnants of the camps. By now neglect and nature have taken them over and rightly so.
July 2, 2007
Safari. We went out twice to look for animals in the local game reserve; once in the early morning and once in the late afternoon. It was bitter cold in the morning, but a rewarding experience. We were all bundled up with blankets across our legs. I scared Winnie by looking under the blanket and saying “mamba!” She has an interesting rising scream. ☺
Our driver’s name was Themba. He was funny and intelligent. I loved his company. A few Themba moments:
As soon as we enter the game reserve, he pulls off to the side of the road and says, “Oops! Tea Time!”
Waterbucks have this distinct white ring around their buttocks. Themba said that they got that from sitting on newly painted toilet seats.
Themba on baboons: “I hate baboons. They get in your house and your phone bill goes up. They erase all the important messages on your cell phone. When they get to the fridge, they drink all the red wine.”
Pointed wildly at nothing to trick some other drivers to stop and look.
He was asked how fast rhinos can run (as we were watching a pair close to the road). He says “let’s find out” and gets out of the truck! The animals don’t like this and bolt. They are very fast.
He doesn’t care for snakes. He said you have to be very careful in the summer when you are outside, especially at night. He kills every black mamba that he sees. You can’t run over them with your vehicle. He says they are very fast and will jump up on the hood of the car. Then you are stuck in your vehicle. I asked why people don’t have dogs as pets, and he implied that the snakes make it difficult to keep one.
After the safari, we had a traditional BBQ, or Boma Braai, at a place called Bakgatla. It gave me my first taste of impala. I didn’t much care for it. Very fatty. Sitting around the campfire was fun, and the stars were spectacular. I could see the Milky Way, a first in years.
I thought about the past two days while trying to doze off. I find it easy to make friends with black people here. Sadly, I must admit that I don’t have any black friends back home. Likewise, I see few local whites mixing easily with local blacks. In each of our own cultures we have internal barricades every bit as real as the steel, brick, and razor wire fences we see everywhere around us here. Both sides have built these fences. I have to work on that for myself.
July 3, 2007
We are leaving Sun City for the Johannesburg airport. We are catching a plane for Port Elizabeth on the southern coast.
July 4, 2007
Grahamstown National Arts Festival. OK, I have officially seen the worst job, ever. This is a beautiful town about 1.5 hours drive into the interior from Port Elizabeth. The Arts Festival is a chaotic boil of street vendors, experimental theater, food tents, and porta-potties. It was this latter item that is the object of my rambling. There was a woman whose job it was to wipe urine off the toilet seats between uses….. and she was using the same rag over and over. I decided I should limit my fluid intake for the day.
The drug culture is prevalent. Hooka pipes were being sold by several vendors, and it was obvious who to approach to “score” something. Several youth appeared a bit, uh, altered.
Our concert at the United Methodist Commemoration Church went pretty well. We were exhausted from being on our feet for six hours in the sun. The first half was a bit iffy, but we pulled it together for the second part of the program. Apparently, someone from the US embassy was present in the audience.
One more toilet story: I used the rest room at the church only to find that the toilet wouldn’t flush. “No problem,” I thought. “It probably had no water in the tank. Perhaps it leaks and the valve was shut off.”
The valve was easily accessible, so I tried it. Nope. The water was on. The tank was simply empty. I bent the arm on the float so it could move freely. Ta da! Fixed in five seconds. How long had it gone without such simple maintenance?
We had dinner in the student union building of Rhodes University there in Grahamstown. The students had decorated the tables with red, white, and blue candles. Nice touch. I went up to the bartender and said I had a question. I told her that I’m a college professor back home where the drinking age is 21. Since the drinking age in South Africa is 18 I had one question…. are their parties legendary? With emphasis she said, “definitely!”
July 5, 2007
Knysna. This is a wealthy coastal village. We stopped at the yacht club where Jerry bought a birgy for the Rock Hall yacht club back in Maryland. Carolyn and I went in to town to find more local shops. Carolyn bought the town. Nah, just kidding. She had her best shopping day in Grahamstown. It will be interesting to see how we get all of this stuff home.
You can still find shantytowns here. There are still fences, but they are more mild. Fewer of them are topped with razor wire and electrical wires. Mostly just businesses with open storage yards have severe fencing. This is no different than what you would see back home.
July 6, 2007
We visited Featherbed Nature Sanctuary. It is situated on a large sand dune/rock outcropping forming one side of the bay in which Knysna resides. The hike was exhilarating after days of sitting in planes and buses. I’ve hardly had any exercise this trip. I feel mushy. Anyway, there were large, wave-carved rock outcroppings that we climbed around. Mike scared me to death on some of the edges. One’s nerve quickly fades when one’s kid is involved.
Carolyn and I walked the town quite a bit to check out the various shops. I found a simply decorated, yet stunning, ostrich egg that I had to have. She found wall hangings that she had to have. We are running through the Rand, but hey, we’re on vacation, right?
At the concert at the Dutch Reformed Church, I sat next to a woman who had happened to visit all the gardens were we live; Longwood, Wintertur, and Chanticleer. Another woman in the audience had gone to Eastman where Brillhart went to school. It’s a small, small world.
July 7, 2007
We are on our way to Cape Town. We made a stop in a town called Hermanus. We took a road off of the N2 at Caledon to get there. This back road leads through what they call the Valley of Heaven and Earth. Can see why. At Hermanus, we arrived just as two pods of humpback whales were crossing the harbor cove. There were also these funny little groundhog-looking creatures on the cliffs. I think they are rock hyraxes, but I have to check that. Locally, they are called “dassies”. They are very cute and don’t seem to be particularly scared of people.
My GPS seems to be on the blink. One of the control switches is not working. Must have dropped it one too many times. ☹
You can tell that there is a lot of money on this end of the country. Most housing is nice. There are fewer blacks, it seems; sort of an economic segregation. Just like home….
The roads down here are perfect for motorcycles. They are nice twisty roads with plenty of climbs. Off the beaten track, such as between Caledon and Hermanus, there are wicked switchbacks. The motorcycle of choice here is the BMW GS series; also a few BMW Dakars and the occasional rice burner.
We’ve rolled into Cape Town. The poverty level here is as bad as the Joburg area. We passed a shantytown that was worse looking than those in Soweto and much more massive. It stretched for several miles a side. Unlike Soweto, the shanties here are built on a sand bar with very poor irrigation. When it rains, which is often, the ground becomes a mire of sand, mud, and sewage. Soweto is on hard clay above a wetland. The run-off at least has somewhere to go.
No one knows what to do to solve such problems. The issues are not simply economic. They are cultural, too, and that is the most difficult aspect to overcome. You cannot simply build new structures and give them away. Nor could you uproot the people who live here, even if you did promise new homes. Community is too important. Local social ties are too strong.
Unlike the other areas we’ve visited, we are told that Cape Town also has a gang problem. There are two primary gangs who operate as drug mules and marketers. A Muslim gang practices vigilantism against the drug gangs. To top it off, there is an ongoing taxi war! I’m not sure how that works, but we decided we that will walk wherever we wish to go. Note: a cabbie was shot and killed the 2nd night here.
We took the cable car to the summit of Tabletop Mountain. It certainly doesn’t appear flat once you are at the top. The view is pretty good. It was cold with clouds barely passing over our heads. To say it was windy goes without saying. Our guide tells us that strong winds are a way of life in Cape Town.
July 8, 2007
Today we participated in the service at JL Zwane Presbyterian Church. The church is where it should be: in the heart of Gugulethu where it is needed most. Gugulethu is a poor area; part low-income housing, part shantytown. Our church has been involved with JL Zwane for a long time. In fact, the pastor here served part of his residency at Bryn Mawr Presbyterian. He spent a lot of time, too much time perhaps, praising the support of BMPC. Yes, it is important, but it is the hands of the local people of the church making the most of that support which is more important. Those hands are caring for the AIDS sufferer, taking in the orphan, and teaching the next generation. They deserve our praise.
After the service I went with a small group to see where the orphans were being cared for. A grandmother here or an aid worker there had taken them in. Two of the children are on the verge of their teenage years. They are not comfortable with us meeting them. I suppose they don’t like being made a spectacle. However, we can’t determine what they need most if we don’t see it. So, I apologize to these young people for the intrusion.
Primary needs are always a problem, of course. Food, clean water, and a roof over your head are basic. The church helps with the first. If the local government is worth its salt, it will ensure the second. The housing issue, as I said earlier, is one for which no one has an answer. In the second house we saw, thirteen people live in a space no bigger than our hotel room! What was it Jesus said about camels and needles?
Here is what we can and have to provide: Hope. Our best effort would be to watch and support and make sure that hope survives in this environment. We need to see that the young people can get a reasonable education, that their health is guarded, and that their spirits are nurtured. Hope is what South Africa is all about. And I do see it all around on our travels. I was talking with Jim Mackie on our walk back from dinner last night, and he commented on how far and how fast South Africa has progressed since 1994 compared to how slowly we’ve progressed since 1865 or even 1964.
Getting back to what else we witnessed, at our last stop we ran into Jeff Brillhart’s group. It would turn out that the last of the orphan’s homes on our little tour would include a home that might soon produce even more orphans. The young mother of the house was very ill in bed; her body ravaged by HIV. Our group walked in as Kevin Delaney was singing “Amazing Grace” to her. We joined in to an impromptu chorus. At first I didn’t know to whom we were singing. I was too far back in the group to see in the tiny bedroom, but I knew the reason we were singing couldn’t have been good.
When we got back from the mini tour, we had lunch graciously provided by the church and then participated in a joint concert with Siyaya, a musical group supported by JL Zwane. This group had visited BMPC two years ago to raise AIDS awareness and one of their members had stayed with us. Unfortunately, it appears he is no longer with the group.
Their singing was powerful back when they visited us at BMPC. They’ve grown in size and are all the more powerful. Wow! What am I going to do with all this wonderful music I’ve recorded? I could spend months working on it.
Our choir sang next. The crowd was amused at our women’s attempt at ululating. It is pretty comical. ☺ At the end, members of Siyaya joined us to sing “Soweto, June, 1976”, a powerful piece commissioned by Claire Mackie. You know, I wasn’t all that keen about making this trip, initially. I can be a real homebody. Carolyn twisted my arm hard to get me to go. Then, I wasn’t going to sing. I only wanted to record the various music I knew we were going to hear. Then, Jeff twisted my arm to sing with the group. I’m glad on all counts that I did it all. The young woman from Siyaya standing next to me during “Soweto” said that singing that was the most exciting moment of her life.
July 9, 2007
We are taking a Sabbath. The group went to tour the Cape and visit Seal Island. Carolyn has a cold and a touch of a fever, so my little tribe is resting today. We might take a walk around town later.
July 10, 2007
Robben Island. This place has alternatively been used as a supply depot, a prison, a leper colony, a military base, and then again as a prison. It carries painful memories. If there were such things as ghosts, the ones here would be the most tortured. However, from such a wracked dot of land came one of the most powerful, beautiful ideas. Frankly, I was looking around for a burning bush to explain it.
The political prisoners of apartheid had a different name for the island. They called it the “university”. I take this term to have two meanings. Yes, they educated themselves in the pursuit of degrees by correspondence. Mandela was adamant that “to be leaders you have to be educated”. However, in this place they also formed the ideals of reconciliation. The wardens thought that they were giving the prisoners busy work in the old quarry. Rather, that quarry was a hot forge where the hammer and anvil of an idea created a new spirit among men. Israel might be the “promised land” but the Spirit of God has been living here, lately. How else could one country produce leaders such as Gandhi and Mandela and many countless foot soldiers?
Our guide in the prison was a former political prisoner of Robben Island. He taught us much about the way of life in the prison, but his most puissant lessons were those of self-education, perseverance, and reconciliation. The quiet, yet strong, man who stood before us was a conqueror. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him and thank him. I’d like to share what I feel but words don’t come quickly to me. He might be tired of hearing it, too.
For our final concert, we sang in a joint-concert with several local township choirs. Again, we were in an area of shantytowns and extreme poverty. However, I finally noticed something that had escaped me this entire trip. There are no homeless here. Again, as far I can see, there are no homeless people in South Africa. There is poverty. There is need. But, no one is left on their own. There is a lesson for us.
At the farewell dinner, Jeff B. made a going-away speech that resonated with what we have experienced. He said that missionaries don’t change the people they visit. Rather, it is the missionary who is transformed. We leave South Africa with renewed spirits, with hope, and purpose. Thank you, South Africa.
We are now preparing for the journey home. I’m ready. I’m down to my last clean clothes. Our neighbors are probably eager for us to get home and cut the grass…. The challenge I face now is maintaining this new sense of purpose. It will be easy to fall into the old habits and complacency. I can so readily crawl back into my little shell. So my departing prayer is to remain renewed.
We speak of people as being catalysts for change. However, that cannot be. Catalysts are never changed by the reactions they hurry along. Events might be catalysts, but we have been changed. We are all part of a larger family. At JL Zwane, Spwito made us flesh of his congregation’s flesh and blood of his congregation’s blood. That cannot be undone.
Waypoints:
Airport Grand Hotel 26 10.693’S 028 14.641’E
St. Mary’s Anglican Church 26 11.990’S 028 02.655’E
Apartheid Museum 26 14.233’S 028 00.558’E
Pam’s Creche 26 16.546’S 027 53.162’E
Wandi’s Shebeen 26 14.259’S 027 53.365’E
Kwa Thema Methodist Church 26 17.846’S 028 23.430’E
Stopover 25 43.470’S 027 49.585’E
Pilanesberg Game Reserve 25 18.811’S 027 03.714’E
BBQ Bakgatla 25 11.389’S 027 08.946’E
Port Elizabeth City Lodge 33 58.813’S 025 39.250’E
Grahamstown United Methodist Commemoration Church 33 18.544’S 026 31.712’E
Knynsa 34 02.430’S 023 02.678’E
Hermanus 34 25.333’S 019 14.654’E
Cape Town 33 54.850’S 018 25.363’E
June 28, 2007
The flight from JFK to Johannesburg, with a stop in Dakar, Senegal, was long (17 hours), but I’ve never been on a more accommodating airline. Thank you, South Africa Air. Our hotel in the Johannesburg area is called the Airport Grand, but it isn’t very near the airport. The only thing connecting it with the airport is that it is in the planes’ take-off pattern. There are several shops and a mall near us; also, several car and motorcycle dealerships. This is apparently an affluent area. I’m trying to check out the night sky, but there is too much light pollution. I can make out part of the Southern Cross.
June 29, 2007
We were bussed into the heart of Johannesburg this morning. Now we can see the countryside clearly. When we first landed, it was near dark. This being winter, dark is around 5:30 pm. The region is a mile above sea level. Several stony ridges cut the terrain. The soil is red, rocky, and looks very hard. It makes me wonder what the Beor farmers were looking for when they started their great trek. Seems like they picked a lousy direction to go find land to farm. But come they did and the rest is history.
Plant life appears scarce by Southeastern PA standards, but who can say since this is wintertime. The only plants I can recognize are sycamore trees. They are abundant but, of course, lacking leaves just now. Most of the other vegetation seems more suited for a dry climate; cacti, some palms, a tree that sort of looks like eucalyptus. Surface streams are rare. I count only two the whole day.
As we drive in toward town, there are shanties here and there. They look foreign juxtaposed as they are against the businesses, homes, and modern highways. People are collecting scraps of wood for heat. One man was sitting next to a burning stump for warmth. In many places there have been grass fires. At first I thought they might be planned to clear vegetation around the highway interchanges, but now I bet they are an accidental result of people trying to warm themselves.
Our trip takes us through neighbors of all kinds; Black, Jewish, Chinese, and White, I suppose. Much of the construction is reminiscent of Tucson with the close houses and tile roofs. In these neighborhoods the homes can only be compared to either fortresses or prisons. I’m not sure which one best represents them. Every home is surrounded by spiked fences or walls with razor wire. Some have electrified fences. No window goes unbarred. I’m not sure what to think of it. We are told it is because level of crime is so high that the only way to manage your homeowner’s insurance is to have this level of security.
Even businesses and high rises have fences around them. Back where we are staying, the hotel is right next to a series of shops, but you cannot walk from one shop to the next without going to the main entrance of the hotel and walk all the way around the fence. You wouldn’t dare climb over the fences here in South Africa. They are topped with spikes and razors. I started wondering about when the day would come that the people here could finally tear down the fences, literally. However, upon reflection I doubt they would. I am starting to believe that this security is part of the culture, now. The original settlers fenced off the land for their farms, much to the chagrin of the pastoralist natives. Maybe some of the fencing is there because culture dictates that everything should be fenced.
In Johannesburg, we ride around an enormous statue representing the hard labor and contributions of South Africa’s miners. At a stop in the business district we see more mementos of mining’s importance here. An old trip hammer is set in the square and down the street is a teeple. These things are familiar to me from my grandfather’s coal mining days and stories. Our guide identifies the mystery trees around here as eucalyptus. They were imported from Australia and grown for their value as support timber in the mines. The wood is loaded with oil and does not easily rot in the high temperatures and humidity deep in the earth’s bowels. While I’m getting ahead of myself, on the way out of town we see the final, and most enormous, monument to mining; the mine tailings. They are man-made mountains stretching as far as I can see! The world must be hollow beneath our feet.
Johannesburg = chaos. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’ve just never seen so many people rambling around. I’m surprised not to see bicycles here. Also, very very few motorcycles. It’s all cars and pedestrians. From pictures of chaotic cities that Carolyn has visited, it is all bikes, motorbikes, and people. Away from the city I see many people on motorcycles.
At St. Mary’s Anglican Church, we meet Sidumo Jacobs who puts us through our paces teaching us hymns for Sunday’s worship. We sort of suck at pronunciation, but the reverb is so awesome in this place that, eh, it pretty much all blends together. Regardless, we will give it our best.
All the cars here, like in Europe, are small. I’m not sure if they are diesel or not. Judging from the selections on the pumps at the gas stations I’ve seen I would guess it is about 50/50. Side note: only one octane level is available: 93. What is interesting is that a large percentage of cars have trailer hitches. I haven’t seen any cars pulling a trailer, but it must be common. I wish America would get off of its huge car kick. You rarely see anything that might be called an SUV, and if you do it is full of people.
June 30, 2007
Apartheid Museum: Not much to say, at this point. Apartheid was wrong. It was cruel. We had similar sins in our own country. Here, however, separation was a matter of State policy and it led them closer to a state of civil war. What amazes me most through it all was the strength of the leaders who guided the people to freedom. The Gandhi’s, King’s, and Mandela’s of the world are so rare and precious. They are a breed near godliness. Anyone can be a “strong man” leader. Fear, intimidation, deceit, and cronyism don’t take any special skills to master (you reading this, George, Dick?). Anyone who only cares for their self can bully people this way.
Soweto: Soweto is huge. It isn’t a neighborhood or a town. In fact, Soweto is an acronym for “southwest township”. Funny moment… our guide told us not to feel pity for the inhabitants of Soweto. They have poverty, but they have each other and a strong sense of community. We, on the other hand, have George Bush so he felt sorry for us!
Still, Soweto does have basic problems. Well, parts of it. Some of Soweto looked like any other part of Johannesburg’s suburbs. In places, however, you’ll find blocks of extreme poverty. Quite literally, the people live in shanties built from whatever basic materials happen to be at hand. Running down the dirt streets is an open sewage line. It forms a little creek between the shanties; a constant stream of sewer water flowing through it. Children play in the dirt next to it. I can’t help but wonder how disease is kept to a minimum, here. True, HIV/AIDS is the prevalent health problem, but you really have to wonder how water-borne diseases like cholera are kept at bay.
Pam’s crèche is a school for the children of shantytown we visited. The children, ages preschool to high school, manage in a three-room classroom environment. They are sweet kids. The work Pam’s people do with them is important and clearly valuable. The different age groups sang and danced for us. They were filled with energy and joy. One young man leading the singing had a fantastic voice.
For lunch, we ate at Wandi’s. Wandi’s is an old shebeen (speak-easy) that has been converted into a restaurant. This place gets visitors from all over the world. Business cards, foreign currency, and messages in permanent marker cover the walls and ceiling. Several are from colleges back home. Groups of students from my school have visited Soweto, and I wonder if they left behind graffiti on the walls. I search for any message from them, but there is too much to decipher. I text a student back home who could find out for me if the student group had eaten here. She later got back to me that they hadn’t. They had eaten at McDonald’s. Hahahaha.
Kwa Thema Methodist Church concert: Coal! We were driven to the church which appears to be southeast of Johannesburg. We are in another shantytown area. They encircle the church we are visiting. The air is thick with the smoke of coal fires used to keep the shanties warm. The sulfur smell again brings back fond memories of childhood for me. However, the smoke was never this thick. It is all trapped beneath the nocturnal boundary layer and has spread out far and wide. We can’t get away from it. Many in the choir are having problems with their eyes and breathing.
We performed with the Concert Choir of South Africa, a group of young singers pulled from the surrounding townships. At their introduction, their director said something along the lines of: “Africans are always singing. They sing when they are happy and they sing when they are hurting. Music is in direct contact with the human heart.” How true.
Anyway, this group has only been together for six months yet they put on a clinic. They gave a terrific performance and really showed us up! I loved the enthusiasm and participation of the congregation. The crowd was “into it”.
Many, many people shook our hands. They had rough working hands. I wonder if they noticed my soft work-shy hands.
July 1, 2007
Service at St. Mary’s Anglican Church in Johannesburg: Can you say incense? Wow! We had a fun time after this service. The church choir sang to us while we had snacks and tea. After awhile, some of us did our best to join in. It was a fantastic time. Afterwards, we hit the road for Sun City.
I feel the need to expand on the childhood memories comment. My childhood was spent growing up in Northern Indiana farmland. However, my family had “migrated” there from West Virginia. We visited “the hills” every chance we got. My grandparents’ house was heated with a coal furnace, so that sweet sulfur smell has good memories for me of playing on the river and eating grandma’s amazing cooking. Some of my relatives still lived in coal camp-like conditions. In fact, my great uncle’s place would have fit into Soweto pretty well although I have to question if his level of living was more by choice. But that was a unique place and fragment of time that doesn’t exist anymore. The old house is still there but the old folks are gone. The coal furnace was removed years ago. There are no more grandma’s raspberry cobblers or Norwegian shortbreads. I grew up at the cusp of much change. My mother could give me a first-hand account of life in a coal camp. I could listen to her stories and see the remnants of the camps. By now neglect and nature have taken them over and rightly so.
July 2, 2007
Safari. We went out twice to look for animals in the local game reserve; once in the early morning and once in the late afternoon. It was bitter cold in the morning, but a rewarding experience. We were all bundled up with blankets across our legs. I scared Winnie by looking under the blanket and saying “mamba!” She has an interesting rising scream. ☺
Our driver’s name was Themba. He was funny and intelligent. I loved his company. A few Themba moments:
As soon as we enter the game reserve, he pulls off to the side of the road and says, “Oops! Tea Time!”
Waterbucks have this distinct white ring around their buttocks. Themba said that they got that from sitting on newly painted toilet seats.
Themba on baboons: “I hate baboons. They get in your house and your phone bill goes up. They erase all the important messages on your cell phone. When they get to the fridge, they drink all the red wine.”
Pointed wildly at nothing to trick some other drivers to stop and look.
He was asked how fast rhinos can run (as we were watching a pair close to the road). He says “let’s find out” and gets out of the truck! The animals don’t like this and bolt. They are very fast.
He doesn’t care for snakes. He said you have to be very careful in the summer when you are outside, especially at night. He kills every black mamba that he sees. You can’t run over them with your vehicle. He says they are very fast and will jump up on the hood of the car. Then you are stuck in your vehicle. I asked why people don’t have dogs as pets, and he implied that the snakes make it difficult to keep one.
After the safari, we had a traditional BBQ, or Boma Braai, at a place called Bakgatla. It gave me my first taste of impala. I didn’t much care for it. Very fatty. Sitting around the campfire was fun, and the stars were spectacular. I could see the Milky Way, a first in years.
I thought about the past two days while trying to doze off. I find it easy to make friends with black people here. Sadly, I must admit that I don’t have any black friends back home. Likewise, I see few local whites mixing easily with local blacks. In each of our own cultures we have internal barricades every bit as real as the steel, brick, and razor wire fences we see everywhere around us here. Both sides have built these fences. I have to work on that for myself.
July 3, 2007
We are leaving Sun City for the Johannesburg airport. We are catching a plane for Port Elizabeth on the southern coast.
July 4, 2007
Grahamstown National Arts Festival. OK, I have officially seen the worst job, ever. This is a beautiful town about 1.5 hours drive into the interior from Port Elizabeth. The Arts Festival is a chaotic boil of street vendors, experimental theater, food tents, and porta-potties. It was this latter item that is the object of my rambling. There was a woman whose job it was to wipe urine off the toilet seats between uses….. and she was using the same rag over and over. I decided I should limit my fluid intake for the day.
The drug culture is prevalent. Hooka pipes were being sold by several vendors, and it was obvious who to approach to “score” something. Several youth appeared a bit, uh, altered.
Our concert at the United Methodist Commemoration Church went pretty well. We were exhausted from being on our feet for six hours in the sun. The first half was a bit iffy, but we pulled it together for the second part of the program. Apparently, someone from the US embassy was present in the audience.
One more toilet story: I used the rest room at the church only to find that the toilet wouldn’t flush. “No problem,” I thought. “It probably had no water in the tank. Perhaps it leaks and the valve was shut off.”
The valve was easily accessible, so I tried it. Nope. The water was on. The tank was simply empty. I bent the arm on the float so it could move freely. Ta da! Fixed in five seconds. How long had it gone without such simple maintenance?
We had dinner in the student union building of Rhodes University there in Grahamstown. The students had decorated the tables with red, white, and blue candles. Nice touch. I went up to the bartender and said I had a question. I told her that I’m a college professor back home where the drinking age is 21. Since the drinking age in South Africa is 18 I had one question…. are their parties legendary? With emphasis she said, “definitely!”
July 5, 2007
Knysna. This is a wealthy coastal village. We stopped at the yacht club where Jerry bought a birgy for the Rock Hall yacht club back in Maryland. Carolyn and I went in to town to find more local shops. Carolyn bought the town. Nah, just kidding. She had her best shopping day in Grahamstown. It will be interesting to see how we get all of this stuff home.
You can still find shantytowns here. There are still fences, but they are more mild. Fewer of them are topped with razor wire and electrical wires. Mostly just businesses with open storage yards have severe fencing. This is no different than what you would see back home.
July 6, 2007
We visited Featherbed Nature Sanctuary. It is situated on a large sand dune/rock outcropping forming one side of the bay in which Knysna resides. The hike was exhilarating after days of sitting in planes and buses. I’ve hardly had any exercise this trip. I feel mushy. Anyway, there were large, wave-carved rock outcroppings that we climbed around. Mike scared me to death on some of the edges. One’s nerve quickly fades when one’s kid is involved.
Carolyn and I walked the town quite a bit to check out the various shops. I found a simply decorated, yet stunning, ostrich egg that I had to have. She found wall hangings that she had to have. We are running through the Rand, but hey, we’re on vacation, right?
At the concert at the Dutch Reformed Church, I sat next to a woman who had happened to visit all the gardens were we live; Longwood, Wintertur, and Chanticleer. Another woman in the audience had gone to Eastman where Brillhart went to school. It’s a small, small world.
July 7, 2007
We are on our way to Cape Town. We made a stop in a town called Hermanus. We took a road off of the N2 at Caledon to get there. This back road leads through what they call the Valley of Heaven and Earth. Can see why. At Hermanus, we arrived just as two pods of humpback whales were crossing the harbor cove. There were also these funny little groundhog-looking creatures on the cliffs. I think they are rock hyraxes, but I have to check that. Locally, they are called “dassies”. They are very cute and don’t seem to be particularly scared of people.
My GPS seems to be on the blink. One of the control switches is not working. Must have dropped it one too many times. ☹
You can tell that there is a lot of money on this end of the country. Most housing is nice. There are fewer blacks, it seems; sort of an economic segregation. Just like home….
The roads down here are perfect for motorcycles. They are nice twisty roads with plenty of climbs. Off the beaten track, such as between Caledon and Hermanus, there are wicked switchbacks. The motorcycle of choice here is the BMW GS series; also a few BMW Dakars and the occasional rice burner.
We’ve rolled into Cape Town. The poverty level here is as bad as the Joburg area. We passed a shantytown that was worse looking than those in Soweto and much more massive. It stretched for several miles a side. Unlike Soweto, the shanties here are built on a sand bar with very poor irrigation. When it rains, which is often, the ground becomes a mire of sand, mud, and sewage. Soweto is on hard clay above a wetland. The run-off at least has somewhere to go.
No one knows what to do to solve such problems. The issues are not simply economic. They are cultural, too, and that is the most difficult aspect to overcome. You cannot simply build new structures and give them away. Nor could you uproot the people who live here, even if you did promise new homes. Community is too important. Local social ties are too strong.
Unlike the other areas we’ve visited, we are told that Cape Town also has a gang problem. There are two primary gangs who operate as drug mules and marketers. A Muslim gang practices vigilantism against the drug gangs. To top it off, there is an ongoing taxi war! I’m not sure how that works, but we decided we that will walk wherever we wish to go. Note: a cabbie was shot and killed the 2nd night here.
We took the cable car to the summit of Tabletop Mountain. It certainly doesn’t appear flat once you are at the top. The view is pretty good. It was cold with clouds barely passing over our heads. To say it was windy goes without saying. Our guide tells us that strong winds are a way of life in Cape Town.
July 8, 2007
Today we participated in the service at JL Zwane Presbyterian Church. The church is where it should be: in the heart of Gugulethu where it is needed most. Gugulethu is a poor area; part low-income housing, part shantytown. Our church has been involved with JL Zwane for a long time. In fact, the pastor here served part of his residency at Bryn Mawr Presbyterian. He spent a lot of time, too much time perhaps, praising the support of BMPC. Yes, it is important, but it is the hands of the local people of the church making the most of that support which is more important. Those hands are caring for the AIDS sufferer, taking in the orphan, and teaching the next generation. They deserve our praise.
After the service I went with a small group to see where the orphans were being cared for. A grandmother here or an aid worker there had taken them in. Two of the children are on the verge of their teenage years. They are not comfortable with us meeting them. I suppose they don’t like being made a spectacle. However, we can’t determine what they need most if we don’t see it. So, I apologize to these young people for the intrusion.
Primary needs are always a problem, of course. Food, clean water, and a roof over your head are basic. The church helps with the first. If the local government is worth its salt, it will ensure the second. The housing issue, as I said earlier, is one for which no one has an answer. In the second house we saw, thirteen people live in a space no bigger than our hotel room! What was it Jesus said about camels and needles?
Here is what we can and have to provide: Hope. Our best effort would be to watch and support and make sure that hope survives in this environment. We need to see that the young people can get a reasonable education, that their health is guarded, and that their spirits are nurtured. Hope is what South Africa is all about. And I do see it all around on our travels. I was talking with Jim Mackie on our walk back from dinner last night, and he commented on how far and how fast South Africa has progressed since 1994 compared to how slowly we’ve progressed since 1865 or even 1964.
Getting back to what else we witnessed, at our last stop we ran into Jeff Brillhart’s group. It would turn out that the last of the orphan’s homes on our little tour would include a home that might soon produce even more orphans. The young mother of the house was very ill in bed; her body ravaged by HIV. Our group walked in as Kevin Delaney was singing “Amazing Grace” to her. We joined in to an impromptu chorus. At first I didn’t know to whom we were singing. I was too far back in the group to see in the tiny bedroom, but I knew the reason we were singing couldn’t have been good.
When we got back from the mini tour, we had lunch graciously provided by the church and then participated in a joint concert with Siyaya, a musical group supported by JL Zwane. This group had visited BMPC two years ago to raise AIDS awareness and one of their members had stayed with us. Unfortunately, it appears he is no longer with the group.
Their singing was powerful back when they visited us at BMPC. They’ve grown in size and are all the more powerful. Wow! What am I going to do with all this wonderful music I’ve recorded? I could spend months working on it.
Our choir sang next. The crowd was amused at our women’s attempt at ululating. It is pretty comical. ☺ At the end, members of Siyaya joined us to sing “Soweto, June, 1976”, a powerful piece commissioned by Claire Mackie. You know, I wasn’t all that keen about making this trip, initially. I can be a real homebody. Carolyn twisted my arm hard to get me to go. Then, I wasn’t going to sing. I only wanted to record the various music I knew we were going to hear. Then, Jeff twisted my arm to sing with the group. I’m glad on all counts that I did it all. The young woman from Siyaya standing next to me during “Soweto” said that singing that was the most exciting moment of her life.
July 9, 2007
We are taking a Sabbath. The group went to tour the Cape and visit Seal Island. Carolyn has a cold and a touch of a fever, so my little tribe is resting today. We might take a walk around town later.
July 10, 2007
Robben Island. This place has alternatively been used as a supply depot, a prison, a leper colony, a military base, and then again as a prison. It carries painful memories. If there were such things as ghosts, the ones here would be the most tortured. However, from such a wracked dot of land came one of the most powerful, beautiful ideas. Frankly, I was looking around for a burning bush to explain it.
The political prisoners of apartheid had a different name for the island. They called it the “university”. I take this term to have two meanings. Yes, they educated themselves in the pursuit of degrees by correspondence. Mandela was adamant that “to be leaders you have to be educated”. However, in this place they also formed the ideals of reconciliation. The wardens thought that they were giving the prisoners busy work in the old quarry. Rather, that quarry was a hot forge where the hammer and anvil of an idea created a new spirit among men. Israel might be the “promised land” but the Spirit of God has been living here, lately. How else could one country produce leaders such as Gandhi and Mandela and many countless foot soldiers?
Our guide in the prison was a former political prisoner of Robben Island. He taught us much about the way of life in the prison, but his most puissant lessons were those of self-education, perseverance, and reconciliation. The quiet, yet strong, man who stood before us was a conqueror. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him and thank him. I’d like to share what I feel but words don’t come quickly to me. He might be tired of hearing it, too.
For our final concert, we sang in a joint-concert with several local township choirs. Again, we were in an area of shantytowns and extreme poverty. However, I finally noticed something that had escaped me this entire trip. There are no homeless here. Again, as far I can see, there are no homeless people in South Africa. There is poverty. There is need. But, no one is left on their own. There is a lesson for us.
At the farewell dinner, Jeff B. made a going-away speech that resonated with what we have experienced. He said that missionaries don’t change the people they visit. Rather, it is the missionary who is transformed. We leave South Africa with renewed spirits, with hope, and purpose. Thank you, South Africa.
We are now preparing for the journey home. I’m ready. I’m down to my last clean clothes. Our neighbors are probably eager for us to get home and cut the grass…. The challenge I face now is maintaining this new sense of purpose. It will be easy to fall into the old habits and complacency. I can so readily crawl back into my little shell. So my departing prayer is to remain renewed.
We speak of people as being catalysts for change. However, that cannot be. Catalysts are never changed by the reactions they hurry along. Events might be catalysts, but we have been changed. We are all part of a larger family. At JL Zwane, Spwito made us flesh of his congregation’s flesh and blood of his congregation’s blood. That cannot be undone.
Waypoints:
Airport Grand Hotel 26 10.693’S 028 14.641’E
St. Mary’s Anglican Church 26 11.990’S 028 02.655’E
Apartheid Museum 26 14.233’S 028 00.558’E
Pam’s Creche 26 16.546’S 027 53.162’E
Wandi’s Shebeen 26 14.259’S 027 53.365’E
Kwa Thema Methodist Church 26 17.846’S 028 23.430’E
Stopover 25 43.470’S 027 49.585’E
Pilanesberg Game Reserve 25 18.811’S 027 03.714’E
BBQ Bakgatla 25 11.389’S 027 08.946’E
Port Elizabeth City Lodge 33 58.813’S 025 39.250’E
Grahamstown United Methodist Commemoration Church 33 18.544’S 026 31.712’E
Knynsa 34 02.430’S 023 02.678’E
Hermanus 34 25.333’S 019 14.654’E
Cape Town 33 54.850’S 018 25.363’E
We must sing!
We're home now, but so many memories linger...
One reflection: I can't stop thinking about the singing we heard. On our last night, when we visited the Apostolic church in Khayelitsha, I had the opportunity to sit near Asanda during part of the performance. (As it turns out, members of the youth choir were asked to sit among members of our choir to help us understand the music and language.) I couldn't help, but notice the great number of singers from her church and I asked, "Does everybody sing?" Asanda looked surprised at my question, "yes" she said "it's part of how we bring people to church." She continued, "it's not 'do you want to sing?'. It's like a force in us; it's just something we must do. We must sing!"
I have heard similar statements during this entire journey, that a boy isn't considered a man, unless he sings; that Africans always sing... they sing when they are hurting, they sing when they feel joy. Early in the trip, Sidumo Jacobs urged us to sing from our hearts, "to own the music, embrace it and keep it for the rest of our lives." The Africans we met sing like this, without any self consciousness and often without any preparation. The music just seems to well up and spill out into the world. There are no barriers, not between singers, not between the singers and God. In fact, I am sure that there have been times when all they had was music and God. That's how they sing... as if all they have is music and God.
One reflection: I can't stop thinking about the singing we heard. On our last night, when we visited the Apostolic church in Khayelitsha, I had the opportunity to sit near Asanda during part of the performance. (As it turns out, members of the youth choir were asked to sit among members of our choir to help us understand the music and language.) I couldn't help, but notice the great number of singers from her church and I asked, "Does everybody sing?" Asanda looked surprised at my question, "yes" she said "it's part of how we bring people to church." She continued, "it's not 'do you want to sing?'. It's like a force in us; it's just something we must do. We must sing!"
I have heard similar statements during this entire journey, that a boy isn't considered a man, unless he sings; that Africans always sing... they sing when they are hurting, they sing when they feel joy. Early in the trip, Sidumo Jacobs urged us to sing from our hearts, "to own the music, embrace it and keep it for the rest of our lives." The Africans we met sing like this, without any self consciousness and often without any preparation. The music just seems to well up and spill out into the world. There are no barriers, not between singers, not between the singers and God. In fact, I am sure that there have been times when all they had was music and God. That's how they sing... as if all they have is music and God.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
We're back
Sadly, our tour to S. Africa is over. We arrived safe and sound this morning. We'll no doubt be adding to this blog in the days and weeks ahead! I encourage everyone to add their comments. In the meantime, check out this link: http://www.bmpc.org/Khayelitsha%20Youth%20Choir.mp3 This is a three minute Mp3 of one the choirs we performed with on Tuesday evening. This piece is sung to ward off evil spirits. Most impressive!
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