Trust

I like to think that I have no attachments, no responsibilities. I am twenty years old and I can do whatever I want, right? Unfortunately, wrong. I’m beginning to understand that no matter how free and independent I feel my actions greatly affect those closest to me. I cannot just pick up and go to Africa without having an impact on some pretty important people in my life.

I am called to be in South Africa right now. I am learning lessons from the people I am meeting and experiences I am having that I would not be able to learn would I have stayed in Chicago this semester.  In bringing these lessons back with me I will enhance myself, my convictions and how I live my life, as well as the lives of those that I spend my time with. For many reasons that I am barely beginning to understand, God needs me here this semester.

Some things are easy to say, but incredibly difficult to accept. This semester is one of big changes in Chicago and Des Moines. In Chicago, my best friend, rock, and biggest supporter is graduating from Loyola University Chicago on May 13^th. I will still be here until June 19^th so I will be missing all of the festivities. This is a struggle for me because she has supported me through every part of this experience and I want to be able to show her the same support during this huge transitional period in her life.

Another huge event that is going on this semester is the introduction of a new life into my family. A family friend who has been like a sister to me for as long as I can remember is expecting her third son on April 11^th.  When the first two were born, one and half year old twins, I hung out in the hospital one night and held one of the boys for hours. He slept in my arms and I knew that those kids had my entire heart. I’m not going to be able to meet the new baby until he is about three months old and I’m struggling to feel like I’m not going to miss out on a lot.

Moral of the story: I have given up some important things to follow a call, as we all do, but I am learning to let go and let God and to understand that I need to be trusting God’s call for me. I am called to a life of simplicity, intentionality, and faithfulness. Because of this, I am beginning to realize that there will be times when I need to decide between following my call and other important things in my life. This semester is just one in a long line of times when I need to move forward putting all of my trust in God that I am making the right decisions. 

Where is your heart?

I have been asking myself the same question lately as we drive through the townships on my way to and from UWC or my service site. Where is your heart in this? It seems like a simple question. Where is my heart? Well, it is a lot of places these days. My heart is with the field worker at Ilitha who buys her six year old son R400 ($58US) jeans, an astronomical price to pay for a pair of pants for someone from the townships, because that is what society says must be done in order to look cool and put of the facade of wealth, or at least monetary comfort. My heart is with the grade 4 students at Lwazi Public Primary School who are fascinated by the fact that I am a tall white girl and are not afraid to sit and stroke my hair during their life orientation class. My heart is with the guy who runs the take-away fish and chips place at the corner of Ny 24 and Ny 5 in Guguletu. 

I feel like I should be angry at the system for the position it has put millions of people in, guilty for being a privileged white person from the United States, or saddened by the living conditions of some of the people I have come to know and love. There are obviously times when those feelings creep up, but the most intense emotion that envelopes me on a daily basis is joy. Pure, unadulterated joy. When I first identified this I pegged myself as a bad person. Why was I not coming home at the end of the day heartbroken by what I had seen? Why didn't I cry for the people in the townships who I am working with? And that is when I realized it. I am here to work, not cry. I am here to love with everything I have and everything I am, not be angry and in turn alienate those who are seen as the oppressor, "the other." In my joy I am able to do more to understand the needs of the community and work towards their goals then I would be able to if I were constantly focusing on the negative aspects of township life. 

I delight in the small things in life, especially the perceived brokenness that people are able to turn into a triumph. My favorite part of the day is going for walks through Guguletu with some of the field workers from Ilitha. I have eaten the best fried fish and chips I have ever had that I bought from a window of someone's home. I have had in depth conversations about my life and my experiences in Cape Town with women waiting to get their hair done in a salon housed in a shipping crate. I have watched small children, clothed only in a diaper, run barefoot down the middle of the street with no adult in sight. There is obviously brokenness in all of these situations, but there is also so much hope and love and joy. I am unable to work against the injustices without basking in the grace within this community. It is too easy to go into the townships and only see dirt, poverty, violence, and drugs without seeing the love of neighbor and appreciation of the things that some would find small or insignificant. 

So, where does this leave me and my heart? In love. Through the joy and peace I find while walking through Guguletu, I have come to understand that I am answering a call. I am supposed to be here, in this place, seeing the beauty in the brokenness so that I am able to use this sense of overwhelming comfort with and respect for the people to give what I can to their community. 

Educational Apartheid

I have been in schools in Des Moines and Chicago where students come to class hungry because they haven't eaten since lunch the day before, wearing clothes that haven't been washed since the last three times they have been worn, or with bruises scattered all over their bodies from a night of beating either from their parent, family member, or someone from the streets. I have had to leave classrooms for fear of breaking down in front of a room full of fifteen year olds after listening to one of them tell their story. Students in the United States also have a lot going against them systemically. Our schools are underfunded, overcrowded, and our teachers are overworked and underpaid, yet we still have one of the best educational systems in the world. With a degree from the United States, you are employable in any country of your choosing. We are lucky.

South Africa, on the other hand, is facing some of her own serious problems. Apartheid, institutionalized racism, ended in 1994, but people are still feeling the hateful sting of the legislation and guidelines that created the unjust system of today. By being a part of South Africa's educational system through my service site and being a student at University of the Western Cape, I have begun to see exceptional students with high potential fall through the cracks.

Primary and secondary public schools come with a very specific set of issues that started under the Afrikaner regime. Public schools have always struggled getting the money that they need to educate students, which I am beginning to realize is a struggle that reaches substantially farther than the United States. During apartheid, funding was allocated primarily based on the colour of your skin. In the Western Cape, there are few Indians so it was divided between whites, coloureds, and blacks with whites getting the most money, then coloureds, then blacks. Unfortunately, this is still evident today, although there has been legislation passed to combat it. The public schools that I have worked with in black townships have had few, if any, books, posters on the walls, or papers to write on. Students may only have one book per child to read and one workbook to work out of. The bright colors and fun that are seen in the typical American first grade classroom are replaced by grey walls and bars on the windows.

Another problem is absenteeism with instructors. During apartheid blacks had the option to be teachers, nurses, or priests. The notion of answering a vocational call was nonsense. Because of this, it is still common to see black teachers who do not want to be in the classroom and could care less whether or not their children learn. They just need a pay check. In some classrooms teachers will give an assignment and walk out of the room only to return an hour later to write the answers on the board, give another assignment, and leave again. There is very little passion for education among those who are responsible for molding young minds of this country in transition.

Language is also a huge barrier in the schools. In the Western Cape, most, if not all, black students speak Xhosa as their mother tongue, so classes are taught in Xhosa through secondary school, with minimal English spoken. However, their text books and workbooks are in English, as well as all of their assignments. Because of this, students become literate in both Xhosa and English and can understand when spoken to in English for the most part, but struggle to speak the language fluently. This becomes an issues for those students who go on to the university level where all courses are taught in academic English, a language, I confess, that even I struggle to follow sometimes.

At the university level, lecturers fight to overcome these struggles, as well as the personal baggage that students carry with them that come from living in poverty. Therefore, much time is spent backtracking, reteaching things that should have been learned at the primary and secondary level. Information that is usually covered in the states to earn a degree in a specific subject is overlooked because the time needs to be spent teaching basic skills. Degrees from South Africa and other African nations do not carry as much weight in the rest of the world because of this.

So the rainbow nation lies in an interesting rut. In order to pull themselves out of the knots that the apartheid regime tied the country in they must have an educated population dedicated to working for the upward motion of their country, yet the educational system lies in shambles. So what now? How do we break the cycle?

Safe Within These Walls

I am an American. I am a woman. I am young. I travel in packs, especially at night. I am aware of my surroundings. I am not stupid, but that is not enough.

Observatory, the suburb that I am living in, is a Bohemian neighborhood populated by international students, most of whom are going to school at University of Cape Town. As foreigners, we are known for being easy targets when it comes to muggings and house robberies. Because of this, the area is a magnet for people looking to take advantage of you, steal from you, and in some cases even hurt you. It is impossible to walk down the streets of Obs without seeing security gates and barbed wire in front of every house. When we tell people where our house is the first thing out of their mouths is always something about it being a rough area.

Even though we heard all of the warnings, we didn't fully understand the gravity of the situation. We thought it would be okay to walk and go for runs alone during the day or have valuables visible on our person as long as we payed attention to who was around us. Although we took the advisories about our safety seriously, it was never truly real. Now it is.

Yesterday evening, while it was still light out, three women from our house were approached by two people asking for money for their "charitable organization." After refusing to give them money, the girls were assaulted using a blade and a large stick as weapons. Bags were cut sliced open, a cell phone was stolen, and one woman received a relatively minor, yet long, cut on her leg. Most significantly though, our false sense of security was shattered.

They were doing everything right. They were in a group during daylight hours and weren't flashing their valuables everywhere. Each one very aware of their surroundings, the women knew that they were being followed and tried to walk faster in order to get away. One has even taken a series of self defense classes. Even though they were following the safety rulebook to the letter, it still happened to them.

I have always been able to walk the streets of Chicago or step into shelters and soup kitchens and see the homeless or drug addicts or mentally ill and feel love and compassion for them. I have been able to look through their bad deeds and see the person God made in His image and likeness. Then again, nothing has ever happened so close to home and I have never felt that I am in physical danger. How do I love past the transgressions of others when those acts have been directed at me or my loved ones? We are called to love, but we are also called to forgive. As a Christian, how do I forgive?  How do I selflessly and genuinely love?

Looking at this from another angle, I have a responsibility to myself and those whose who love me to keep myself safe so that I am able to fulfill my calling, but at what point do I put my physical wellbeing aside in order to love in the most authentic way possible? I'm not saying that I'm going to hug someone who wants to mug me. I'm saying that I see myself working around the world in areas of crime, poverty, and drug abuse. Not everyone that I will or do come in contact with is above hurting me in order to rob me, or worse. How do I find a balance between knowingly taking risks with my life and belongings as I answer God's call while being mindful and intelligent about my safety?

This is why I traveled half way around the world - to ask questions and to listen. In giving myself over to this new culture and being present with the people in all of their struggles and brokenness, as well as their joys and aspirations, I hope to come a little bit closer to what, for now, can be my answers.

Where I Belong

Today I visited my service site, Ilitha Labantu, that I will be working at until the middle of June. As we drove through the streets of Gugulethu, a township just outside of Cape Town, a sense of peace washed over me. We drove past roving packs of teenagers who have nothing better to do than commit crimes and shop keepers working their hardest to keep their small stores, erected inside of cargo crates, open and earning them a living. In the midst of poverty, drug abuse, and violence I felt calm. In moments like that one, I fall madly in love with humanity and the world we have been gifted to care for.
I am at home in these places that most would find uncomfortable. I find immense beauty in the dirt, grit, and brokenness of our world. I feel at peace in times of chaos. I knew I was in my element before we even got to the site.

There are three divisions at Ilitha Labantu: youth, counseling, and legal. Three or four case managers work in the youth division, traveling around to schools in the townships teaching classes about abuse, HIV/AIDS, and healthy living skills, as well as identifying children who may be being abused or are in need of extra support because of issues in the home. They also run camps for kids when they are out of school that teaches them what it means to be a healthy, responsible, African adult. The counseling division is made up of social workers, psychologists, and crisis counselors who work with women and their children to assess their needs and provide counseling for domestic and/or sexual abuse, as well as rape. Finally, the legal department does two things. First, it provides legal assistance and representation to the clients for anything from divorce cases to prosecution of rapists and abusive husbands. Second, it advocates for continued government support and funding for services to protect women and children from abuse, as well as education for men about what it means to be abusive and how to vent that anger in different ways. Although I will have my hand in many aspects of this organization, I will mostly be working with the youth division in schools throughout the townships. 

After I was given my tour and initial orientation, I could not wipe the smile off of my face. This is where my passion lies. This is where I belong. 

God resides in Langa

The grit and brokenness of poverty thrive in the townships of
Cape Town in the midst of unbelievable beauty of Table Mountain

My God is a god of the poor. He loves His children through the oppression and poverty, seeing them as human beings deserving of dignity and respect. My God puts smiles on the faces of grade R children whose only hope is showing up to school everyday so that they can make their way from the slums of Langa by having the ability to read and write. He teaches ex-offenders in Gugulethu to sing "We Shall Overcome" as they strive to quit the drugs and crime that have kept them in and out of prison. My God takes care of His children, even if we can't seem to see it with human eyes. 

Today we went on a tour of some of the service sites that we will be working at this semester. My eyes were opened to the kind of poverty that you see on TV and pretend does not exist, but also to the simple joy of welcoming people into your space in order to show them everything positive about what seems so hopeless. The group traveled together with Pearnel, our driver, and Melikaya, our program director, to five different non profit organizations through several of the townships and were oriented generally to what they do and what needs they address. The common theme throughout the day was a feeling of welcoming. We were graciously invited into these organizations so that we could see how much the country was progressing and growing after the fall of apartheid. It is this joy and motivation that brought me to this seemingly broken country in the first place. 

Knee Deep

Right now I am knee deep. Knee deep in books and paperwork, all of which are necessary to complete before I step on the plane that will whisk me away to the other side of the world. Knee deep in clothes that I must somehow fit into one suitcase out of which I will live for the next five months. Knee deep in photos of the people I love and other mementos to remember my life in Chicago and Des Moines by, trying to sort through them and decide which ones come with me on my journey. Most importantly, I am knee deep in God's love as it shines through my friends and family. I can feel it envelop me as I struggle to say goodbye to loved ones and pack up my life to dive head first into this new adventure.

Those who know me well saw this coming. There would be no option for me other than to leave the comfort of my life in Chicago to fly half way around the world as part of my ongoing discernment process. As we all are in some way, shape, or form, I am trying to decipher my call. The eternal questions. What does God want from me? What is my purpose? How am I supposed to follow in the footsteps of the nonviolent Jesus? I used to think that one day I would have all of the answers to these questions, but I'm starting to realize that is an impossible task. The best I can hope for is to serve God every day  in the most authentic and loving way possible by serving His people.

So, here we are. January 12, 2011. 10:01 PM Central Standard Time. In a little over a week, on January 21, I am going to get on a plane from Chicago to Amsterdam and then another one from Amsterdam to Cape Town, South Africa. There I will stay until June 19th, taking classes at University of the Western Cape and working two days a week at a non-profit organization. I am going with the goals of remaining open, teachable, and ever present to where God is calling me, having some fun, and taking in the beautiful country of South Africa in all of its splendor, glory and brokenness. Join me for the ride, won't you?