or "How I learned to stop worrying and love Ubuntu"
or "yes, well, I suppose Flad could be an Afrikaner name"
Family, friends, and frequent Flad-nosticators --
I've survived two weeks in Africa. More than some had predicted, no? I've
learned a great deal about this wonderful place already, that's for sure.
Herein I will try to share some choice reflections on the beginning of my
extensive journey to southern Africa. First, however, a few important words
of introduction.
For a better look at what's being discussed here over the past few
years, I highly recommend either Desmond Tutu's "No Future Without
Forgiveness" or Antjie Krog's "Country of My Skull," which both take an
in-depth look at this country's Truth & Reconciliation Commission (hereafter
known as the TRC). [Teri & Fran, from the latter book I would especially
recommend to the members of our respective groups the chapter on
Reconciliation at around p.130.]
Now for a look at the two weeks in review. I should first say what brought
me here, since not all of you know. I came to Cape Town with a group from
Grace (Episcopal) Cathedral, San Francisco CA for a sort of "Holy Week
pilgrimage" from April 15-26, at the invitation of the dean of Anglican (aka
Episcopal) cathedral here, St. George's. The dean is named Rowan Smith, a
wonderful gentleman who carries my brother's unique name, and who has
visited our Grace Cathedral 3 times in recent years, to much mutual
admiration. So a big group of 16 of us nutcases from the SF Bay Area have
been out here together, trooping around like the kooky tourists that we
can't help but be.
I should have known that it would be a major experience when I read a couple
things on the flights here. "Paper" magazine gave me a glimpse when I read
my horoscope (not something I normally do, but when a cool old Indian dude
with his thumb-up is named Bejan Daruwalla, you gotta represent): "Very hard
work is required, even staying up and working all hours of the night to
complete what you've taken on. Your own health as well as your family could
be in danger of great neglect -- and that's not good. Meditation and rest
will be necessary; in fact, you'll work better that way. Joint finances,
loans and funds take on a new dimension." Ouch! Well, now that I think of
it, that was an exact description of this PAST month of hectic-ness. And I
think I got this magazine a few weeks ago, and saved it for the trip... so
maybe I just didn't read it at the right time. Anyone have the latest
Paper, and can tell me what to look out for THIS month? The other
interesting reading came from an article called "The Nightmare from Which We
are Trying to Awake," which was sent to me in preparation for a second group
trip next month (thanks Teri). I was supposed to reflect on its discussion
of the concept of truth, in the context of South Africa's TRC (see above).
The author reflects on some of James Joyce's works, and finds that "Joyce's
writing is a long rebuke to versions of history as heritage, as roots and
belonging, as comfort, refuge, and home. His was the opposite claim: You
could be yourself only if you escaped home, if you struggled awake from the
dreams of your ancestors... To awake was to come to yourself, to force a
separation between what the tribe told you to be and what you truly were."
I'm not trying to get too deep on y'all right here at the beginning of this
journal, but suffice it to say that these words gave me a certain unexpected
context for starting the trip.
We arrived on a Saturday, which was unfortunately a bit of an amazing feat
for yours truly, as I took a separate route from the rest of the crowd. You
see, it was only the 9th of this month that I quit my job at Grace Cathedral
(don't worry, I'd given 10 months notice), where I'd worked for the past 3 &
1/2 years. The reason was so that I could travel in southern Africa for an
unknown period of time (it appears that it will end up being 3-4 months).
My flight pattern took me through NY, where I briefly visited for a couple
days seeing my family and a few great friends, and then London. Since I'd
only been to England once, with my Wesleyan soccer team during my frosh year
back in spring break '86 (remember that, Mitch, Mac, Howie, 'Zac, etc.?),
and I had about 8 hours to kill between my flights, I decided to head into
town. I had a wonderful lunch with old family friend Ben Fortna, who
teaches at the Univ. of London, and wandered around a bit in the afternoon.
[So WHY do they call it a circus??] I headed back to Heathrow in plenty of
time to prepare for my 9pm flight, picking up my luggage from Terminal 3 at
6:30pm, and heading off to Terminal 4 where the baggage person told me all
British Airways flights depart from. Since 4 is a ways from the other 3
terminals, I had to take a train, but still got there OK. Now when I got
there, and found out from a BA person that "Oh, the Cape Town flight leaves
from Terminal 3, you're in the wrong place!" -- that's when things started
to get hairy. Another stupid train ride, and a run to the check-in later, I
was told at about 7:05 that "I'm sorry, we've closed the flight to Cape
Town." Say what?? Luckily, some pleading moments later got me back onto my
flight... but in the meanwhile they'd given up the aisle seat I had so
carefully reserved and re-confirmed twice for the 12-hour flight.
Aaaarggggh! Did you ever see the movie, "Shaft"? [Sean & Dale-- bring
back any memories?]
Arrival in South Africa also had a bit of drama. The customs agent was not
at all pleased that I did not have a return ticket. I have an open-ended
ticket, which quite basically ignored what my guide book says about the fact
that you must have a return booked. Fortunately, I was able to indicate
that I do plan to leave the country within the 90-day maximum stay period,
as I've been invited to a gathering of Episcopal missionaries up in Zimbabwe
in late June. [We're told that it won't be affected by the current
political situation that many of you have read about in that struggling
nation, as the meeting is in the eastern region, which is a far different
part of the country than where the land-appropriation conflict is taking
place.] So I did manage to get here.
My first impressions of the city were very powerful and mostly warm --
despite driving past much poverty on the way from the airport -- and they've
grown in their positivity throughout our stay. In brief, South Africa
generally and C.T. specifically have struggled a great deal of late with
their status as both a Developed and Developing Nation (read: "1st and 3rd
World"), and though C.T. had always had a multi-national, -lingual,
-cultural status, the apartheid era did an unfortunately "good" job of
breaking down its historic intermingling of communities. So the 20-minute
highway drive that zooms between several of the major township areas (most
of which sit in the so-called "Cape Flats" area) is contrasted starkly with
the extraordinarly beautiful city that sits on the ocean side of Table
Mountain, a stunning plateau that rightly has many world travelers calling
this city the most beautiful in the world (or at least right up there with
Rio de J. and our own lovely S.F.). Our group of cathedral pilgrims was
staying in a modestly upscale neighborhood within the central city called
Oranjezicht (say that 10 times fast... or even once, for that matter), in a
house with three "flats" for rent, all of which we've occupied. The garden
within the gates contains 12 different fruit trees, huge aloe plants,
bougenvillas (sp?) and other lovely flowers (still present as they head into
their mid-fall), a small pond with a fountain and large goldfish, and
occasionally three miniature Maltese terrior dogs who some of my colleagues
insist on fawning over. Outside the fence sits daily a young fellow named
"Monte Carlo," who I call "The Whistler" as he spends the entire day
warbling at passing cars, trying to get them to park in one of the spots on
the block, close to a nearby shopping center (or "centre" as they call it
here...). Most days there have also been a group of friendly Rastas, led by
"Moses," who sell various wares that no one seems to purchase, and from
where a decidedly pungent odor regularly wafts into the garden... and beyond
them, security galore in the surrounding 'hood. In addition to the
intricate iron-grilled gates that dot the area, accentuated in many places
by the more industrial barbed-wire enhancement, the phrase "armed response"
are apparently the two most common words. Much more could be said about
this immediate area and our presence within it, but I haven't even gotten to
what we've done!
After spending time with the local cathedral community over the Palm Sunday
weekend -- highlighted by a reception at the dean's home, where I was
thoroughly entertained by two of the church wardens, and was according to
the dean one of only two Grace pilgrims to make a "passing grade" (all the
others "failed his family's test" as they didn't stay past 8pm!) -- we
started off the work week with a bang by heading directly into two of the
townships on Monday. In the first one, Khayelitsha, we visited an area of
it called Harare where an Episcopal community has started a successful craft
market and a huge primary school. While everyone else went shopping in the
craft market, I hung around these two young guys playing marimbas outside,
and they then invited me to join them! Naturally, I got the easy part, but
for the most part I didn't make mistakes (Ramon Garcia would have been
proud), and our 3-part harmony sounded quite nice. A definite highlight.
We then drove to Langa, an older township, and visited a couple different
projects, including a food preparation and training school called Eziko
(sort of a low budget Culinary Institute) which served us an excellent
lunch. The highlight there was meeting the mother of my friend Dumile
Vokwana, who drove from Guguletu, an adjoining township, to meet me there,
so I could deliver to her a big bag of gifts from her Bay Area son. I've
always liked being the bearer of good tidings...
The next day we did some more social outreach stuff, visiting first a
national AIDS awareness program, which has developed some wonderful
advertising campaigns for the annual World AIDS Day -- my favorite was
"Calling All Freedom Fighters" posters (using famous B&W photos of folks
like Bob Marley, a young Mandela, Christ, and many others, and placing a
bright red ribbon on their chest). [Mom, you'll be happy to know that I
delivered your present to this good organization.] Then we went to a street
kids group called The Homestead, which is mostly noteworthy because up on
the wall there was a chart of a soccer field with each position being
outlined (for my footballer friends, they're being taught a 4-3-3). I had a
quick urge to run out and find the field (?) where the kids were playing at
that very point to join them.
That afternoon we had our first major touristy highlight, which was going up
Table Mountain. Simply spectacular. Try to imagine taking a cable car from
just above sea level practically straight up in the air to a height of 1100
meters (about 3500 feet, I think) to a magnificent plateau that looks miles
in each direction. I, of course, almost managed to screw up the occasion.
We had about 90 minutes to hang out up there, and while most of our group
wanted to sit down for lunch, I'd made myself my almost-daily staple of a
PBJ sandwich (for which I was regularly roasted), and I was much more intent
on walking around this incredible hiking spot. Well, it only took me 15
minutes to come to the end of the main plateau, and spotting a short climb
to another plateau, I decided to meander over there and walk for a bit on
this gorgeous afternoon. I got lost, naturally. You're never supposed to
walk alone up there... and now I know why. It really wouldn't have been
that much of an issue, in the sense that I definitely could have found my
way back if given enough time -- but we had agreed to all meet at a time
specific. So I found myself running along a multitude of paths, some
literally on the cliff's edge (DOH!!) trying to find my way back to that
first plateau. Somehow, I found it in time, and made it back to the group
within 2 minutes of the appropriate time... proof that God is in fact
looking out for me. Hopefully sometime before I leave this country I will
hike up the side of the mountain (WITH others, this time), as it is really
just marvelous. It's amazing the different biodiversity that exists up on
top of the mountain, and I can only imagine what's on the side.
That night we went to a special interfaith service at Cape Town's new
Holocaust Memorial Center. I've never been to either the one in Washington
DC or the one in Israel, so this was a slightly new experience for me, and I
was sorry to not have enough time to soak in the whole exhibit. I was
intent on reading everything... and in so doing of course got through only
half the material. It was interesting how they did make certain comparisons
between apartheid here in S.A. and the Nazi regime. It did not appear that
they shared much of anything about the role of the Jewish community against
apartheid here (much less those military connections that have been made
between the former apartheid and Israeli governments). So while it taught
me a great deal, it also seemed to miss out on some important opportunities.
The highlight of the evening was by chance... a woman who runs their
Educational programming was our main speaker, and right before her
presentation began her cell phone rang -- with the wonderful news from her
son-in-law that her first grandchild had just been born! So there was this
incredible high (the whole audience clapping enthusiastically for her as she
gasped with delight) before the sobering program began.
The next day we left for the Cape Flats to a low- to middle-income
neighborhood called Hanover Park, where an unbelievable Catholic nun of
Indian descent named Sister Marina greeted us with her staff at the Maryland
Literacy Project. We soon learned that this quasi-Mother Theresa-like
figure was a ball of fire, and that her program was far too modestly titled.
Basically they are a community organizing center, using the process of
adult literacy to help people to find their voice, and to speak out on what
affects them & their communities. Four adults who have been going through
the literacy project read to us from the personal stories they'd written,
and we heard from a proud ANC (African National Congress, for the
uninitiated) member, a woman who was dedicated to her religious convictions,
a Zairian political refugee who had traveled through several countries to
get here, and a man fighting animal abuse and other forms of violence. Then
two women who lead a grassroots AIDS education program spoke to us, and even
though their contricted in some of their work by their Roman Catholic
sponsorship, they are obviously doing heroic work in schools, prisons, and
other affected areas within a nation where the "official" published AIDS
rate is approaching 25% of the population (and whose president has recently
announced he doesn't believe that HIV leads to AIDS!). Our group left
singing a rousing version of Amazing Grace. That evening I experienced my
first Passover Seder, organized by one of our group (thanks Cristin), and
learned about this holy day & how it connects closely with our own Christian
Holy Week experience.
Thursday we went to the (in-)famous Robben Island, the first of two trips
I've already made to the spot where Nelson Mandela and countless other top
political leaders (Govan Mbeki, father of the current president, ANC
co-founder Walter Sisulu, Robert Subukwe, founder of the Pan-Africanist
Congress, etc etc) were imprisoned for decades. It was a bit unfulfilling,
as I didn't really get to spend the amount of time in the prison itself as I
would have liked. There is one wing of the prison where they have put words
and mementoes from former political prisoners in each of the cells, and I
wanted to sit and learn about each one of these amazing individuals. But
our tour guide, Speech -- no, not the lead singer of Arrested Development,
he's a former political prisoner who lived there for almost 15 years --
pressed us onward to the next building. Luckily, I will get to go back at
least once more.
Colleen A, Mary M, Mike Y, Sharon M, and some others will be interested to
know that my second visit there, a week later, was for an Interfaith Prayer
Service for Mumia Abu-Jamal! A local activist-extraordinaire named Terry
Crawford-Browne (many know his wife Lavinia as Desmond Tutu's personal
assistant for many years) organized this wonderful ceremony, which brought
together a couple former political prisoners with local/national religious
leaders (a Muslim Imam, a Hindu Guru, the regional Methodist bishop, and
others). The two highlights -- aside from simply being able to attend this
great event, held in the Anglican Church of the Good Shepherd, otherwise
known as the "Leper's Church" on Robben Island) were the beautiful music
offered by the University of Cape Town's Choir for Africa, and the keynote
address delivered by the Anglican Archbishop of Southern Africa, the Most
Reverend Njongonkulu Ndungane. [If you're interested in a copy of it, let
me know, and I'll see if I can get an electronic version of it to email you.
If I get the time, I might try to write a news release on it in the next
few days.]
Much of the end of last week was spent at St. George's Cathedral, in Holy
Week services. One significant exception was a visit I was priviliged to
make to the home of Glenda Wildschut, who was one of the 17 members of the
TRC. She was one of only 2-4 women on it, I believe, and as a health worker
who had served as a leader in Umkhonto we Sizwe, the military wing of the
ANC, she had a significant perspective to its work in the late 90's. I was
interested to see that she was decidedly positive about the "legacy" of its
work (which continues, as many of the Amnesty applications are still to be
determined, and the process of Reparations has been completely stalled).
There have been many critics of what has happened, but she cast for a small
group of us an initially positive light on it. Glenda also shared with us
some thoughts about the gender dynamics of the TRC, as well as what were
perceived as racial conflicts -- her personal background as a so-called
"Coloured" or "Brown" (what some in the U.S. think of as "Mixed-Race"
ancestry) providing some of her analysis of these issues. I was looking
forward to exploring several of these topics more with Glenda during our
second week, when she was supposed to have met with the rest of the group
later; but it did not happen as that very afternoon her house was
burglarized, a sad reminder of the ongoing crime issues worrying most South
Africans. [Hopefully I will get to see her again in a month as a group I'll
be joining in May might get to connect with her -- though she also might be
in San Francisco at that very time!]
The other major departure last weekend from the wonderful world of worship
was our Saturday excursion down the Cape Peninsula. We spent a fantastic
day (how many superlatives can I come up with in one email?!) driving around
in a fairly touristy context, seeing jackass penguins (yes, that's what
they're called), ostriches, babboons (who are clearly related to a few of
you, and you know who you are), and other wildlife in the midst of
spectacular scenery on both the Atlantic Ocean and the False Bay, which
empties into the Indian Ocean. We traveled all the way south to the Cape
Point -- once thought to be the southernmost point in Africa, but is
actually the southwesternmost point. In Hout Bay three of us hardy souls
took a boat ride out to so-called Seal Island (a bunch of rocks with a whole
mess of seals, and our skillful captain practically put our boat up on the
rocks); even this anti-water-boy (no Adam Sandler, I) was tempted to jump
out and join the playful seal pups as they cavorted around our boat. We
feasted on great food in Simon's Town, at a place called Bertha's, which
boasts some of the best homemade bread I've had (since 115 Academy, of
course), and stuffed me full of an incredible Zuppa di Pesce and Cape Malay
Lamb Curry (sorry Bill, no recipes available).
But the clear highlight of that day was our guide. Alan Petersen was
"simply" a person who'd been assigned to our group, but he turned out to be
much more than an excellent professional at his craft. He invited us to ask
him personal questions as well as those related to the sites, and in the
late morning something led to him sharing with us some of his amazing story.
His family is an example of the marvelous mixture of peoples in this
region: his ancestry claims KhoiSan (indigenous peoples from southern
Africa), Scottish, Swahili (central African tribe), Malay, and a Zanzibar
ethnic group; he's of Muslim and Christian backgrounds, as well as
indigenous religions. Of course, in South Africa's tradition, like Glenda
he was designated as "Coloured," though like many in the struggle Alan
self-identified as black for much of his life. His family was forcibly
moved out of Cape Town, like many, in the re-settlements of the 60's and
70's. And most powerfully, his older brother, Glynn -- his only sibling --
was killed in late 1976 by the South African police, simply walking home
from work. Alan shared that he in fact was the second person to testify
before the TRC's Cape Town hearings. And as he related this story to a
small group of us listening wide-eyed as we walked back to the bus, he
pointed at me and said "I used to hate whites, for the legacy of oppression
that his family has suffered. But the Truth Commission helped me to come to
terms with my past, and to move past this hatred." He spoke of members of
his family and other people he knows well who did not have that opportunity
to bring forth the stories that they have suppressed through the past
half-century (he had not talked about his brother's death until he spoke to
the TRC); and his belief that if they could do so they would be able to
similarly to let go, in some ways. Obviously the issues are more
complicated than that, but his personal witness was a powerful witness to
what the TRC has been able to do thus far. The story was brought full
circle the next morning, Easter, when Alan surprised all of us by showing up
at the cathedral, and joined our group in the pews -- and after the sermon,
delivered by our own Vice-Dean, Fran Tornquist, he told all of us how we had
in fact helped him to continue his healing process. Many tears were shed.
I enjoyed a bit of an "off" day, during which I got to see some super-cool
temporary ex-pats of my age (yay!) -- namely Phyllis Byars (thanks Aaron!),
and Sara & Erik (thanks Sarita!) -- and the day was topped off by hanging
out at Phyllis' fly flat with two kings and a blessing -- more specifically
her Zimbabwean pals Kingdom (yep), Roy (or Roi, or King), and a Pretorian
named Sibs (Blessing), plus her similarly beautiful Trinidadian friend
Sipho, all of us yelling idiotic answers to some crazy board game named
Outburst.
Then this Tuesday it was back to the hard stuff. Since several of our folks
had headed in different directions at this point, about half of us went to
see the Rev. Michael Lapsley, one of the most motivating people you will
ever meet. Michael was bombed in the spring of 1990, while he was living in
exile in "Zim" (Zimbabwe) -- in the midst of the negotiation process. The
letter-bomb he received blew off parts of both arms, destroyed one eye and
some of his hearing. Yet, rather than operating from a point of anger and
revenge, he has turned the hatred of those who sought his death against
them, creating a program called the Institute for the Healing of Memory --
an outgrowth of his previous work with the Trauma Center (which works with
victims of torture and other forms of violence). Amidst a background of
photos of him with Mandela, Castro, and other international revolutionary
leaders, we watched a video where a young woman expressed fear at taking his
workshop, as she'd heard this white Anglican priest "eats white people for
lunch," but that she had an excellent experience. It reminded me a great
deal of the work of the People's Institute for Survival & Beyond, and the
Challenging White Supremacy workshop, and some other major anti-racism
training efforts back in the States. [Actually, Yvette & TRI posse, there
are a couple of your booklets I'd like to have sent to him -- specifically
the one on the Vietnam widows, which seems to directly connect with a piece
of his work he discussed.]
I unfortunately need to bring this first email to an end, because this is
costing me massive bucks (Rands are also called "bucks," just like our
dollars -- and actually they have a better reason to do so, since their
version of deer, Springboks, appear on many of the coins for which we use
that slang terminology. So I hope this first long note will convince many
of you who offered gifts that they're being put to good use. Much more has
happened, but I need to save a few Rand to get to the next spot on my
journey (Jo'Burg, then hopefully Umtata, Queenstown, and Grahamstown, with
perhaps a few other stopovers in between, for those of you who know the
country).
Tonight I'll be dancing the night away, as my best buddy Bobbito the Barber
(aka Bobby Nice, for those of you Wes folks who preceded his current
moniker) will be DJing here in Cape Town (that's right!) after an apparently
great night up in Johannesburg, together with DJ Len (Company Flow) and Jean
Grae (aka What What?). For more info on Bob's upcoming international
destinations, which apparently include Denmark and Bogota, Colombia, check
him out at http://www.cucumberslice.com at your convenience -- there's also
music and other good stuff there.
But as I close, I want to send out some special greetings. Happy belated
birthdays go out to Selisse, SheilaBean, StephDol (yeah, babe), Carolyn C,
Ange, Ashley, Shar-Ski (still love ya!), and Bill Y. In advance I wish the
same to former roomie Greg, Sucio (Ball of Confusion), Serch (Siz), Chilly
D, and WillStrick. Similarly, joyous anniversaries to my brother Bertie and
the lovely Marcia, my beloved June & Andy, and a happy wedding day to Craig
& Christy!!!
And one final note -- THANK YOU. So many of you contacted me in a range of
ways prior to my departure from the States last week, to express your
encouragement and offer various forms of support toward my trip. I am
deeply, deeply grateful. I have thought of many of you in the past few
days, so you are on my mind and in my heart. Thanks especially to a few of
you who inspired and led me on this path, in particular my family, my former
cathedral colleagues, and the following faithful folks: David, Nell, Bob,
Brian, Kelvin, Diane, Earl, Donna, Mary, Michael, and Rick.
For those of you who've found this initial diary way too much to deal with,
don't worry, future reports will be less lengthy. But despite the cost in
time and bucks to craft this first blast, it's worth it. I'll be less
verbose in the coming weeks.
Happy belated Easter and Passover to you, and Happy early May Day (they
celebrate Worker's Day here!).
peace, love, courage, Ethan