Leaving South Africa

We are gathered around a table outside of the guesthouse where we've been staying in Capetown, waiting for our cab to arrive to take us to the airport. These are my last moments in South Africa, and I am simultaneously very ready to go home, and very sad to leave. I fall a little in love with most of the places I visit, and although this has been a hard place in many ways, I have so enjoyed getting to know the people that I know I will miss it when I leave.

Capetown has been an entirely different experience from Rustenburg. More on that later, but this is more like a vacation spot, and I think being here has made me more ready to leave (which I suppose is weird, since it's absurdly beautiful here and there are a million things to do). Rustenburg was harder to leave; I made real friends there. But thanks to the joys of the internet, we'll stay in touch, and hopefully I'll be able to come back at some point.

The cab is here; we are off to the airport. Tomorrow at noon, we'll be home.

Intro to Tapologo - Monday, Oct. 12

Today we finally got to Tapologo Hospice, the primary destination of the trip and the place we've heard so much about. It looks like an oasis opening at the end of the dusty red road; everything is much greener here than in the surrounding countryside. The buildings are the same red as the ground, which we discovered is because they are built with materials made from the soil, mixed with either straw to make bricks, or dung to make a sort of cement. They use an impressive combination of high-tech sustainable, green architecture and ancient building methods, and they are forever discovering and correcting the pitfalls of their various attempts.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Henry, who is the patriarch of the family that owns Rainhill, but also works at Tapologo. He's pretty much a font of information about South African history and politics, the native flora and fauna of the region, and all things gardening. He took us around his Tapologo garden project, which provides fresh produce to the patients. I imagine this is not the easiest place to garden, but he seems to produce an abundance, and it's all completely organic. Henry and Martin, the buildings and grounds person, took us through the facilities, including their brand new administrative building. Then Hilda, the head of nursing, took us through the in-patient hospice. It felt a bit intrusive to walk through the wards, but it was important to see the work they do there.

In the afternoon we went out for our first introduction to Freedom Park, a settlement just a bit outside of Rustenburg that has sprung up because of the platinum mines. Part of the settlement is RDP housing - government-approved, permanent housing that is owned by the residents - while the part across the railroad tracks is an illegal, supposedly temporary squatter camp (where some of the residents have lived for years). Many of the people who live here are immigrants from Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and other countries who have come for the income potential from the mines. Something like eleven languages are spoken here, and people live in housing ranging from tiny corrugated tin shacks to two-story houses that wouldn't be terribly out of place in middle-class Schenectady. We were introduced to some of the staff that do home care and run the HIV/AIDS and TB programs.

This was our last evening with the Hospice group before they split off for Durban, so we spent the evening having a traditional braai (BBQ) back at Rainhill. This is not a great country for vegetarians, by the way. The food tends to be meat, meat, more meat, and pap - a corn meal substance that is prepared a gazillion different ways, and generally served with - you guessed it - meat.

Church Mania - Sunday, Oct. 11

It was officially Church Day here, and it seemed like it would be simple enough to get groups of us to three different churches for services at 8, 9, and 10am - but that was when we had three working vehicles at our disposal. Yes, we woke up this morning to find that the van had a flat tire. Apparently I hit one of the ever-present potholes a bit too hard, and bent the tire rim. So, Joe and a small delegation went with Efraim to speak briefly to the DRC church at 8am (that would be the white congregation), then Karen brought another group of us to the 9am URCSA service in the colored church at Karlien Park where I was preaching, and then left immediately to bring yet another group to the 10am service at the black URCSA church nearby, where Kent preached. Yep, the churches are very distinctly divided, even though the black and colored denominations have merged into URCSA.

I can't speak for the other church services, but ours was good but odd. They spoke entirely in Afrikaans except when I was preaching - including when they were talking about us. Everyone I met in the congregation could speak English (granted, some better than others), and I didn't need a translator. When they laugh at my jokes, I know they've understood. Many of the hymns were familiar, and even when the liturgy was in Afrikaans, the service is so similar to ours that I could generally tell what was happening. I was half glad to see the service as it usually is, and half puzzled that a little more effort wasn't put into helping us feel welcome. But this congregation has been through some rough times, and is now without a minister because they are still paying living and medical expenses for the retired minister who founded their church, so I should probably cut them some slack.

After the various services were over, we met with representatives from both URCSA congregations for lunch and casual conversation about their history of working together (or not, as the case may be). The black church minister, Francois, has quite the job: he oversees nine congregations with 5,000 members. Yowza. Good thing he has a consistory of over 100 people to help him out. Uniformed consistory members, even - at church, they wear black pants and white shirts with white URCSA-emblazoned ties. I am just imagining what would happen if we asked the consistory members at First Reformed to wear uniforms....or the ministers, for that matter.

Saturday, Oct. 10 (back-posting again)

This was supposed to be our easy day to recover from travel. So, of course I was wide awake at about 6am. But no matter what time you wake up, it seems like breakfast is already ready to go at Rainhill. Nothing fancy: bread, cereal, yogurt, fruit, and a variety of spreads, most notably Marmite and Beefy Bovril. Avoid.

Once everyone was up and about, we headed to an open-air market for some craft shopping. Picture this: you pull into a parking lot, where young men are frantically waving you into a parking place, and others are insisting that you buy belts and sunglasses from them. You get someone to watch your vehicle for you (this may seem obvious, but you pay them when you get back, not up front). Then you head into the market, where suddenly there is a cacaphony of people shouting at you to come into their stand and look at their goods. Oddly, these "artisans" all seem to be selling the same things - which might explain their need to shout, cajole, and even grab you as you pass by. My inner New Yorker did not respond well to these sales tactics, and I ended up telling several of them that I'd come into their stand only if they stopped talking to me entirely. When one finally listened, I made my only purchase of the trip. I suspect this makes me a bad tourist.

We had planned to go on an evening game tour through Pilanesburg National Park, and to get there, we went through Sun City, this massive casino and hotel complex. I was not fond of Las Vegas, and this wasn't really much better. One small observation: nearly all the visitors were white; nearly all the workers were black or colored. On a side note, the word "colored" doesn't sit well with me, but that is what they call one particular racial group here, which seems to be some conglomeration of Indians, Asians, and mixed-race people. Apartheid may have ended, but the racial divisions are still pretty distinct.

Anyway, then we got in the safari truck and took off on our game ride. I hadn't realized it would be entirely in the dark, and it was pretty weird riding around with lights flashing into the bushes to find the animals. We saw elephants, rhinos, a giraffe, coyotes, and a ton of impala and wildebeests. They were cool to see and I guess that's a part of Africa no one wants to miss, but driving around spotlighting animals was a bit odd.

Friday, Oct. 9 (Back-posting from my journal)

We arrived in Joburg as the sun set, and got through customs and baggage claim without incident. My normal travel pace had to be slowed considerably; groups just take longer to maneuver than one or two people! We met up with the Hospice group and Efraim, who had agreed to help us find our way around (if he knew how much he'd be doing that, he may have been less eager for the job).

If you rent a car in SA, prepare to check the boxes for theft and damage waivers. They're a good idea anyway, but if you pass on either of them, the company will hold 40K+ rands on your card - which might indicate something about the likelihood of theft/damage in this country. The rental agent and I haggled a bit, and I shamelessly flirted my way to a discounted rate. Of course, he thinks he's stowing away in my luggage tomorrow. Then we embarked upon my adventure in South African driving.

The van is basically a reverse image of the car I drive at home: wheel on the right, gear shift on the left, even the signal and wipers are reversed, causing no end of amusement for my (nervous) passengers. As third vehicle in the caravan, we had quite the entertaining time trying to keep up with our wild man of a guide. Except that he's not actually a wild man; that's just the way they drive here. And a couple of days in, I was driving that way too.

More than the driving, I was overwhelmed by the ubiquitous "helpers" swarming the airport and most parking lots. They give directions, tell you where and how to park, and try to haul baggage. I chased one persistent one away - and was glad I had later, when it turned out that one of the Hospice group members was robbed by the person helping her with her backpack. I know it's part of the culture, and the people who will watch your car for you can be helpful, but most of the time they are more nuisance than assistance.

In disappointing news, it was dark as we drove to Rustenburg, so we saw nothing, and we ate our first South African meal at MacDonalds, since we weren't sure anything else would be open that late at night. Not exactly what I had imagined.

But then we arrived at Rainhill Farm, which I think now qualifies as one of my favorite places on earth. We still couldn't see much, but we were greeted very hospitably by the dogs and the extended family who live there, who showed us to modest but cozy rooms, and the on-site pub, ready to welcome us with South African beverages as we decompressed from our travels. If anyone sees Appleteiser (basically just an apple-flavored soda) in the States, grab a pack for Alden - he has lived on the stuff! We had a good time getting acquainted with a few of the locals and with each other, since we were coming from two separate groups. Then off to bed to recover from the hours and hours of plane rides and the swollen ankles that came with them.

Moving On

I'm writing from the Johannesburg airport while we wait for our flight to Capetown. As usual, not much time. This morning I preached at the Kwa Thema URCSA church, where they gave us a warm welcome and the best meal we've had in South Africa. That is a computer-savvy bunch of teenagers they have there; they took down my information so we could become Facebook friends and I could join their FB group to work toward a youth exchange program. People keep asking when I'm coming back. "Not as soon as I'd like" seems to be the right answer.

I feel like I've forgotten to write most of the really important things on the blog due to lack of time. I've got them jotted down in the journal, though, so hopefully we can keep this blog up when we get back and tell the stories along with the pictures (and maybe get Joe, Carol, and Alden's words up here, too).

Well, we're off to Capetown for a couple of days of site-seeing and our final meeting of the trip. We'll be in touch on Wednesday on our way back through Jo'burg if not before.

By the Light of the Moon and Three Floodlights

By the Light of the Moon and Three Floodlights

I am sitting here in my charming little room beside a bedside table with a night lamp trying to piece together a Safari outing I was a part of today. I have to be honest that a portion of the title of this blog is from a collection of children’s books stored in a case over my sons’ bed in the bed and breakfast that we are staying at. As I was gazing around trying to put my thoughts and feelings together about the Safari, a book, By the Light of the Moon written by Keith Faulkner jumped out at me. I read the short story, laughed and it gave me the starting point I was looking for. In short the story is about a witch, ghost and skeleton that get ready and then go out to scare the villagers and then the villagers all wide awake scare out the three because they’ve had more than they can take.
No, the Safari was not an opportunity to go out and scare animals but I think we did. Tonight’s activity was a chance for entertainment and education. Earlier in the afternoon we were all on for today’s agenda to go to a local bizarre and do some shopping and then travel on to Sun City. Sun City, which I prefer to call Sin City, is a huge Casino about an hour outside of Rustenburg, South Africa. The place had the bookings of a Disney World Day. The trappings include a water Safari world, Dance Shows and gambling, eateries, condominiums, show acts and so on and even bookings for a nighttime Safari into the local National Preserve for wildlife. Local posters are even promoting an upcoming Patti LaBelle show. This is probably very common in many Casinos’, as I have heard they are full of entertainment but I’ve never visited a Casino and after tonight don’t care if I ever enter another again.
Why do I sound so anti-Casino? Well to begin with my son said what I was thinking and that was, “hey dad are you noticing that everyone that works here seems to be black?” Yes I did notice that. He and I have noticed that almost every low level service job cleaning up behind what people appears to be done exclusively by black people. In the McDonald’s we visited, all black. In the Casino, all food service and Casino service people we saw were all black. There may be some brown skinned people but there were no white people seen to be working. The white people, and many very robust and probably hinging on a future diagnosis of diabetes, were emptying their pockets of their Rands (South African currency) drinking beer and eating food and playing games and yes buying tickets for rides and shows like I was. It was disconcerting to note the apparent delegation of service jobs to black people but some white people were heard bragging about how they were filing in to “Sin City” tonight to enjoy a musical extravaganza of the history of black music and culture in South Africa from the 1940’s to the 1990’s. I wasn’t sure but got a sense they were trying to come to terms with their feelings about having imposed apartheid and for them to feel this was some kind of achievement somehow for the Black folk. I say black folk because as I have begun to learn, the colored people (people not black anymore but with black ancestry) have lived by different rules during the oppressive culture of apartheid.
So at the “Sin City” ticket counter I voluntarily purchased 2 tickets for my son and me to go with others in my group on a night time Safari whereby we would be driven into the National Park from the Casino grounds which border the park and drive around looking for animals to be caught in a spotlight for viewing. Earlier in the day the question was asked, “Why at night?” The response was that it is easier to see them and they sort of get stunned and don’t run away. Some joking occurred about how in the past people deer hunted like this. The lights stun the animal and then their shot. This was the first reason why I began to feel perplexed about this whole plan for an outing. I really didn’t feel comfortable at all about buying these tickets which would have equaled a Disney entrance fee but didn’t feel like I could stand disappointing my son and making him miss a Safari.
My son was so looking forward to seeing lions, elephants, rhino’s and giraffe. I wanted so much for his and my dream to come true but suddenly found myself caught, as s many parents do, between making something possible and doing something that is not what God intended for people to do which was be good stewards to the creation we have been given. I also began to struggle within my heart and head with how this was measuring up to being socially responsible and being just. I mean, here I could have bought a food parcel for a family for 1 month with just my ticket if I didn’t go. But what would this be saying to my son and affect my relationship with the other people I was with that I love and care about. Would I look like a sore person and somehow become separated from them? I worried, would I be seen as the person that people would have to “be careful around” because I was on some kind of moral high horse? I worried about these things but I will worry more in the future about the cost of not doing the right thing and asking to not go out on the Safari.
Going out on that Safari cost more than just money, it cost me sense of value of living in harmony with creation. I will think often about the animals disturbed during drinking and eating. Actually it was wonderful to hear the elephant eat and to hear the crackle of the branches in it’s’ mouth. It was also just wonderful to sit and hear the call of the crickets and other wildlife when we got to sit for a few minutes with no lights, no motors, just the light of the moon and the song of the night.