Susie, Phil and my work placements ended with the end of June and for the month of July we were able to travel around South Africa and Swaziland with our country reps, Joan and James. The weeks of travel were a time to visit and volunteer at other MCC partners in different areas of the country and get a feel for the other regions that we didn’t live in this year. It was an amazing two and a half weeks, a time of reflection on the year, continued engagement in the culture and saying goodbye to the country we now call home.

Our longest stay and main volunteer placement during this time was with the Desmond Tutu Centre 4 Leadership (‘C4L’) outside of Nelspruit, Mpumalanga. MCC was helping run an English Acquisition camp for eighteen grade 10 and 11 students and boy was it ever an experience!

Upon first arrival the camp seemed very much like the camps that we’re use to in Canada. I know that many of you readers have worked at kids camps before (perhaps at Silver Lake!) so picture the type of camp that you grew up with or have worked at and, at first glance, this was much the same. C4L was situated in a rural setting, lots of trees, canvas tents, an outdoor eating and gathering spot, and initiative structures like an obstacle course and a rock wall. But this camp had some African cultural twists that took us off guard.

As North Americans we love our structure. I was so happy when the leaders gave us a print out of the week’s schedule detailing the times of each session. However, due to the concept of African time, I don’t think there was one day that followed this schedule. In Africa, things just happen when they happen and we had to learn to go with the flow of the camp. For instance the first morning we had devotions with all the staff at 7am but then the next day the staff just wasn’t there until almost 8am. Then breakfast was late because we ran out of propane to cook with so the whole schedule was pushed back. Lunch would be half an hour longer than the schedule said and then the sessions in the afternoon would get switched around because the man leading the arts workshop just didn’t show up. What a North American nightmare!

However, the kids and staff had an excellent way of dealing with delays and holdups. All of the students belonged to an afterschool choir and whenever we had to wait for something to start they would all simply start singing and dancing to pass the time. We have to wait between spelling bee rounds? No worries, just sing and dance! We have to wait for dinner to be served? Just sing and dance! No program set out for Sunday morning? Just sing and dance! Our MCC team quickly adapted to this different approach and adopted a saying whenever something didn’t go just right; when in doubt, dance.

    

This laidback culture was incredibly refreshing and it made me look more critically at how we run things back home. All this free time spent dancing really broke down walls between people and allowed time for us to make amazing connections with the students. A relaxed schedule is much less stressful and I found myself laughing and smiling way more than I usually do, all the while searching out friendships with these new people. The kids may have been practicing their English skills, but for the most part we were communicating through the international language of dance.

Now I am tempted to say that the highlight of the week was the plethora of guava trees in the camp and how, whenever we were hungry, we could just pick a ripe guava to munch on. However, the highlight came in a very different form. I was unfortunately not present for this conversation but it was described to me afterwards. Phil had been speaking with Lwazi, a 20 year old Swazi South African who was one of the tent leaders at camp and whom we all made very good friends with over the week. He said to Phil, ‘I wish you guys weren’t Canadian.’ Phil was puzzled by this and asked what Lwazi meant. ‘I mean I wish you were South African.’ Phil responded, ‘why is that?’ ‘Because you treat us differently than the white South Africans, you treat us like we’re people.’

This resonated with me very strongly over the next couple of days as I looked back over our week at C4L and also back over my year away. After a year of learning about the history of this country one can be very angry and depressed about what has happened to the marginalized races. However, anger doesn’t build bridges, relationships do. Although our Canadian culture and that of the C4L staff were very different we were able to create long lasting friendships, enjoy active activities together, and engage in very interesting conversation, laughing and dancing all the while. Lwazi’s statement has meant so much to me because that is whatMCCis here to do, to break down stereotypes and to build bridges that span racial and cultural gaps. It is my hope and prayer that one day there would be no racial pigeon-holes, no type casts or labels in South Africa. That all groups would remove the lenses in which they view the world and see each other for who they really are, simply people and simply equal.

When I was preparing to come to South Africa for my year with MCC I felt ready for anything. I was ready to work, I was ready to explore, I was ready to learn. However, I wasn’t ready to make twenty little friends from the ages of seven to twelve and have them become such a huge part of my experience.

Somehow in my preparations last summer I was under the impression that the garden I was building was for adult patients at an AIDS/HIV clinic. I thought that I would assist the clinic’s clients with growing the garden and that all of the food would go to them. I’m not sure where I got that idea at all because it was completely wrong, well not completely. I was to grow a garden but the recipient of the harvest became the boarding houses of the school that MCC’s partner runs. In these two boarding houses live ten young boys and ten young girls who became my main helpers with the gardens. They were the ones that I would teach about gardening and the ones that would teach me about life in South Africa.

Working with the kids started in earnest probably just before Christmas. With the help of Aunt Susie (my partner SALTer who lived in the girls’ house this year as their much loved big sister) I realized that their Friday schedule was very relaxed and that after getting off school at noon for the weekend they had a few hours of free time. What a perfect opportunity to incorporate some extra education into the week.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I’m a big believer in finding out where the food you eat comes from. I believe that we need to be closely tied with our food systems and know how, when and where our food grows. This isn’t just important with us adults but is great for kids as well. Why not teach fundamental sustainability principles at a young age? This is especially true in a developing country where relying on your own skills and abilities is helpful, if not crucial.

I started with a small project at first to see if the kids would be interested. I got them each a clear plastic cup with their name on it and we each planted a bean seed inside with wet paper towel. They could see the importance of both sun and water and actually watch the seeds sprout and grow a shoot and roots. They absolutely loved the afternoon activity and seemed really interested. I had them hooked!

Throughout the year I had the kids help me with lots of different aspect of gardening. Some afternoons we’d plant a few rows of seedlings, other days they would help me water the corn, each taking responsibility over a certain row. The boys would help me collect the fallen palm leaves to put on the compost pile and do what they called ‘men’s work’ like helping me dig holes when planting trees or shrubs. The girls loved to shell the dry beans from their pods which I much appreciated because we had piles of them to go through. The best days were harvest days. The kids were absolutely thrilled to dig out big, heavy sweet potatoes from the soil or go through the rows of tomato plants finding the ripest fruit. They were fascinated with watching the corn cobs develop or to see what carrots looked like coming straight from the ground (they really liked chomping into them too without washing the soil off!). And they always wanted to do more in the garden. Pretty much every time I saw them someone would say, ‘what are you doing in the garden today Uncle Matt?’ or ‘Uncle Matt, do we get to plant something today?’

Between these gardening times and the Wednesday afternoons when I would help Aunt Susie with their homework I learned just as much from them as I was giving back. Kids can teach you a lot about their culture just through their interactions with you. They have few inhibitions and live life freely without judgment. They were instrumental in teaching me the little Zulu I know now and I was amazed when reading the topics they would chose to write about for school projects; Apartheid, race issues, family situations. These are topics that I know Canadian children at home would never have to tackle. It was an absolute blessing to watch these kids grow up in the short time that I was around them this year. To witness them each mature in different ways and form opinions on different things is something that I did not think would happen during my SALT term, let along did I think that I might have a small hand in some of that learning process. I’ve never thought of working with kids as a career, but this year has taught me something new about myself. I absolutely loved working with these kids.

Our last afternoon all together was a time to remember. Earlier in the week I had them build bird houses to put up in the trees around the garden. My church at home, Breslau Mennonite, donated the wood and supplies needed to build seven houses and in those last few hours we all painted them bright, fun colors. After cleaning up a pretty big mess that included some painted faces we had a good game of soccer in the yard and sang a few of their favorite songs. That night the boarding house staff invited me to stay for Aunt Susie and my last super and they made a huge feast for all of us. There were a few tears shed all around when saying goodbye. However, they say it’s better to have loved and been loved then to not have loved at all. I am so thankful that these special twenty little kids were part of my SALT year. Even though I’ll be far away I told them that they each will hold a place in my heart forever. And this time I’m certainly ready for that.

   

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, South Africa is a land of extremes. You have some of the richest people in the world living beside some of the poorest you can find anywhere. In the same day, no, in the same hour I can move from the comfortable, convenient, ‘at-the-push-of-a-button’ lifestyle that I’m use to at home and enter an entirely different world. A world characterised by brick and mortar houses with rickety tin roofs, a lack of indoor plumbing and electricity, and little to no public services. Living in this dichotomy has been a struggle for me all year. How do I justify coming home to a beautiful swimming pool to enjoy on hot days when people in the adjacent neighbourhood don’t even have an indoor toilet? This unbalanced life is one of the biggest challenges facing South Africa today.

I won’t pretend that I’ve lived a difficult lifestyle during my time away. However, I have had a few opportunities to experience the other side of life. One of these opportunities came in the first week of June. Mark and Anne, my host parents, are dear friends of the Sitholes, a Zulu family that also has four children of the same ages as the Pennels’ children. The Sitholes live on a small holding in Mofogatini, a rural area only an hour northeast of the city but in a whole different world than the one that I was used to with the Pennels. Mofogatini would be my home for three nights and three days as I lived regular life with my newest friends.

Mofogatini is a friendly little village. ‘Everyone knows each other’ Paul, the Sitholes father and head of household, told me. ‘It’s much safer than the city. We don’t even have to lock our doors.’ And it was true. Everyone would wave to the pastor as he drove me around to see the local sights: the three grade schools and one high school, the one stretch of shops, the community gardens by the river (loved those!), and the AIDS/HIV clinic made famous from a visit by Brad Pitt. But as I was toured around the area I could easily tell that it hasn’t benefitted from much of the resources promised at the dawn of democracy. The homes weren’t in shambles but were definitely different than what has been built in the city. There is only one tarred road in the village and it is suffering badly from potholes. Almost everyone has a garden growing on their property in an attempt to make up for the money that isn’t coming in; Mofogatini is nearing a 50% unemployment rate without many hopes on the horizon for jobs. It was definitely an eye opening drive.

Living with Paul and his wife Zonke was an experience to remember. With no indoor plumbing I learned how to bathe in a large tub in the spare bedroom. The dirty water gets used on the garden of corn, waste not want not! There is no garbage pickup or disposal so the trash is burnt in a back corner of the yard. Without good insulation the nights were chilly and brisk. The yard was always moving with 17 chickens and two dogs as permanent fixtures around the property.

However, their home was always lively and full of love. With three children still at home and the eldest with three of her own young children, the space was bustling with movement. While the kids played with their toys on the floor and the eldest women cooked the evening meal of pap and wrost (sausage) and I chatted with Paul as long as I could. Paul is a wealth of knowledge having lived through the depths of Apartheid and struggled hard to build his church and make a difference in his community. I felt like I would never get tired of hearing his stories. Many times after Paul would tell me one unbelievable fact or another (like that only 7 percent of schools in the country have a library) I would think to myself, ‘this is the same South Africa that I have lived in for nearly a year?’ It was like hearing stories from the other side of an invisible curtain that I knew existed but had never ventured beyond.

Paul and his family are indeed making a difference in Mofogatini. Paul spends his days driving through the village meeting with his congregation, listening to their pressing issues and praying with them. He has built a little church and community centre along with a large garden (unfortunately without conservation agriculture principles!) which is providing some food for the community. He and his family also run a ‘feeding scheme’, a type of soup kitchen for orphans and vulnerable children on Mondays and Wednesdays feeding up to 120 children at a time. Luckily I was there on a Wednesday. I was able to help prepare the food then hang out with the kids playing little group games and keeping them entertained. The time was too short but I enjoyed every minute of it.

However, one needn’t go as far as Mofogatini to find an ‘out of this world’ experience. A week prior to my time with the Sitholes I accompanied my friend Samson, a pastor from Project Gateway, to a home visit in the township of Edendale. The kombi ride took all of about ten minutes and we had entered the same type of neighbourhood that I experienced with Paul and his family; self-built homes, no indoor plumbing, chickens in the dusty yard, subsistence farming a requirement for staying fed. I still can’t believe the immense difference from my home at the Pennels as well as from my home in Canada. It’s like night and day.

   

 

 

 

 

Getting these small glimpses into the sometimes difficult lives of next door neighbours is truly humbling. I go to bed every night now thankful for the secure roof over my head and the food in my belly. Although I haven’t sacrificed much in terms of lifestyle, this year has made me take a good hard look at all that I have at home. I now realize how much we have at our disposal in Canada. I’ve seen how many things I take for granted and the areas in which I can simplify my lifestyle. And now, after a year away, I am not only thankful for what I’ve been given as a North American but also for this new global mindset and chance to experience the lifestyles of others

There’s no doubt that the famous Big Five African animals are important to a South African’s identity. These beautiful and dangerous creatures have made the game parks a must see for both tourists and locals and bring in visitors from around the world. Their names are used as both governmental and organizational titles, as high school mascots and newspaper and magazine titles. Their images grace both the paper money here as well as every touristy thing you could ever want to purchase in every corner shop. However, there’s another Big Five that shapes a South African’s life more than the fauna, and that’s the Big Five Sports!

South Africans are crazy about sports. Full stop. I’m talking really fanatic about their game of choice. And remember, this is coming from a Canadian whose countrymen will riot if a local team doesn’t get the cup. Sport is integral to life here from a young age. Outdoor education is important in almost every level of school and most of my friends here play some form of recreation sport. Headlines are constantly filled with highlights of last night’s match, it’s the talk around the dinner table, and one of the four basic TV channels every home receives for free is SABC Sports Center. It’s a must watch.

The most popular is, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, the ‘beautiful game’. Soccer or as people call it here football is played on every available piece of grass. It’s played in the suburbs and townships alike. You see people with footballs seemingly attached to their feet. They follow footsteps around like shadows, constantly being juggled and kicked between friends on street corners, alleyways, and outside workplaces on coffee breaks. I’ve even seen a coworker at Gateway juggle around an orange between his feet because he ‘forgot his ball’ that day. It’s in the life of people here, the ‘poor man’s sport’ because of the few things you need to play. A couple tin cans as posts and plastic bags wrapped up into each other if there is a lack of a proper ball. But in its simplicity lies incredible difficulty. I’ve sadly only played a handful of times and have been outplayed by kids half my age!

The second most popular sport in people’s lives is certainly rugby. They say that football is watched by hooligans and played by gentleman while rugby is watched by gentleman and played by hooligans. I’ve never seen a rougher sport in my life! Hockey injuries have nothing on this game’s collateral damage. These are the toughest men in the world, throwing themselves into each other at break neck speed, literally using themselves as human shields between the onslaughting team and the end zone. I’ve been able to see two Shark matches live (the provincial team) with my host brother and some friends and it’s very difficult to follow as, unlike American football, the play never really stops. Eight to ten minutes can go between whistles and a quick break for the players, all the while the ball being pushed and forced up and down the field. Obviously this little stick of a Canadian has never tried his hand at this one, although I have played a few ‘touch’ games with friends, the easier going version we play in backyards where the goal isn’t to totally annihilate each other. It’s also been on tv a lot lately as the Super 15 is currently in session; a four month long competition between the top five teams from South Africa, Australia and New Zealand. Sadly our Sharks were soundly beat out in June and everyone has been depressed ever since.

Next on the roster is cricket. Now, before coming to South Africa I thought this game was ridiculous. What kind of game is played in a circle where the outfielders come in to get the infielders out, there’s two batsmen running at once who wear enough armor to ward off an atomic bomb, and that can last a whole FIVE days? In March the cricket world cup was held in India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh and South Africa did pretty well but unfortunately choked in the finals. During the cup my host dad Mark taught me a lot about this game and I’ve grown to love it. It’s highly strategic and technical. The bowlers, or pitchers, are incredibly accurate in their throws to hit the little ‘wicket’ sticks behind the batsmen. It has become highly addictive to watch and to play as well. My brother Andrew has taught me how to properly throw the ball, giving it inward spin or speed, as well as how to properly guard your wickets with your wide-angled bat. ‘Like teaching a five year old’ he’s said as I have no prior experience at all. Unfortunately this game is reserved for the wealthy. The ‘kit’ or equipment you need is both numerous and expensive and the pitch itself is difficult and costly to maintain. It’s definitely not a sport played by the vast majority in SA.

Second to last is ……… hockey! But sadly not the hockey that we know and love. Ice and skates are rare commodities in this country. Field hockey is the hockey of choice and is incredibly popular in school and with adults. Many of my friends were in a rec league when I arrived. It’s a fast paced game that both men and women love to play in the evenings and is pretty basic. Just like ice hockey your team passes the ball around the field trying to score on the opposing net. However your stick is incredibly short and just has a kind of nub on the end instead of a full blade. It’s pretty difficult to get use to after growing up with a proper, much larger hockey stick in hand.

And lastly (it took some deciding to figure out which should be fill this spot) is racing. South Africa sports men and women seem to be moving in a hurry. This country and indeed my province of KwaZulu-Natal plays host to some of the most famous races in the world. In Cape Town a very famous bike race called the Argus is popular with professionals and amateurs alike. Our good friend and past Lesotho SALTer Simon Martin competed in this race during his time on this side of the world and did very well I hear. Cape town also has a canoe race (but in reality they are kayaks) called Two Oceans where competitors brave the open ocean to round Cape Point, the most southern tip of Africa. Closer to home, Pietermaritzburg hosts its own notable races. The Mid Mar Mile is an amateur swim in a nearby dam and not partaking in it is my only regret of my year here. There is a three day canoe race called The Duzi that follows the Duzi River from my city to Durban on the Indian Ocean. And quite recently we watched the internationally famous Comrades ultra-marathon, a grueling 90 km run from Durban to Pietermaritzburg that has a time limit of twelve hours but is completed in just four hours by the best runners. That, I can safely say, I will never take part in.

It doesn’t matter what your choice of sport is, if you play something you’ll be befriended by South Africans from all walks of life. I’ve loved seeing how sport brings people together. Even in a racially torn country like this, games can bridge gaps, reveal similarities in strangers, and create unity in the crowd. It’s a part of this culture that I’ve loved seeing and experiencing.

So I’m sure you’ve noticed that I haven’t been the best updater as of late. My last blog is from May and I wasn’t even the author! I’ve had lots of blog ideas over the past month and a half but just haven’t had any time to put them down on paper. The last few weeks of being in Pietermaritzburg has been filled to the brim with last hang out times with friends and family, last coffee dates and get togethers, final goodbyes and farewells. Now that our MCC team is on the road visiting our other partners and volunteering around the country we have more free time and I hope to catch up on lost blogging time. Hope you enjoy!

Opening up a newspaper here in South Africa can be a pretty sad affair. The headlines are unfortunately usually grim and good news is hard to come by. I was so happy instead to read this article forwarded to us by our supervisors. Very uplifting in times of seemingly endless bad news!

People like this give you hope: My South Africa is not the angry, corrupt, violent country whose deeds fill the front pages – Written by Jonathan Jansen and reprinted from the ANiSA newsletter.

My South Africa is the working-class man who called from the airport to return my wallet without a cent missing. It is the white woman who put all three of her domestic worker’s children through the school that her own child attended. It is the politician in one of our rural provinces, Mpumalanga, who returned his salary to the government as a statement that standing with the poor had to be more than words. It is the teacher who worked after school hours every day during the strike to ensure her children did not miss out on learning during the public sector stay-away.

My South Africa is the first-year university student in Bloemfontein who took all the gifts she received for her birthday and donated them, with the permission of the givers, to a home for children in an Aids village. It is the people hurt by racist acts who find it in their hearts to publicly forgive the perpetrators. It is the group of farmers in Paarl who started a top school for the children of farm workers to ensure they got the best education possible while their parents toiled in the vineyards. It is the farmer’s wife in Viljoenskroon who created an education and training centre for the wives of farm labourers so that they could gain the advanced skills required to operate accredited early learning centres for their own and other children.

My South Africa is that little white boy at a decent school in the Eastern Cape who decided to teach the black boys in the community to play cricket, and to fit them all out with the togs required to play the gentleman’s game. It is the two black street children in Durban, caught on camera, who put their spare change into the condensed milk tin of the white beggar. It is the Johannesburg pastor who opened up his church as a place of shelter for illegal immigrants. It is the Afrikaner woman from Boksburg who nailed the white guy who shot and killed one of South Africa’s greatest freedom fighters outside his home.

My South Africa is the man who goes to prison for 27 years and comes out embracing his captors, thereby releasing them from their coming misery. It is the activist priest who dives into a crowd of angry people to rescue a woman from a sure necklacing. It is the former police chief who falls to his knees to wash the feet of Mamelodi women whose sons disappeared on his watch; it is the women who forgive him in his act of contrition. It is the Cape Town university psychologist who interviews Prime Evil in Pretoria Central and comes away with emotional attachment, even empathy, for the human being who did such terrible things under apartheid.

My South Africa is the quiet, dignified, determined township mother from Langa, Cape Town, who straightened her back during the years of oppression and decided that her struggle was to raise decent children, insist that they learn, and ensure that they not succumb to bitterness or defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. It is the two young girls who walked 20km to school every day, even through their matric (grade 12) years, and passed well enough to be accepted into university studies. It is the student who takes on three jobs, during the evenings and at weekends, to find ways of paying for his university studies.

My South Africa is the teenager in a wheelchair who works in townships serving the poor. It is the pastor of a Kenilworth church, where his parishioners were slaughtered, who visits the killers and asks them for forgiveness that he was a beneficiary of apartheid. It is the politician who resigns from her politics on conscientious grounds, giving up status and salary because of objection in principle to a social policy of her political party. It is the young lawyer who decides to dedicate his life to representing those who cannot afford to pay for legal services.

My South Africa is not the angry, corrupt, violent country whose deeds fill the front pages of newspapers and the lead items on the seven o’clock news. It is the South Africa often unseen yet powered by the remarkable lives of ordinary people. It is the citizens who keep the country together through millions of acts of daily kindness.

My South Africa is the people listed in the stories above. They are real. I know them. They give me hope. //

Here in South Africa a “sun shower” or rainstorm while the sun is shining is called “a monkey’s wedding.” No one really knows why it’s got this peculiar name. I haven’t met a soul who can explain the reason behind it. There are always monkeys running around the trees tops here in the city, so perhaps it has something to with unfortunate encounters with our primate friends when passing underneath them. Just like unwanted gifts from overhead birds, monkeys have been known to ruin innocent people’s days while out for a stroll (I’ll leave the details up to your imaginations). But then why the “wedding” part of the saying? Oh well, I guess some things is this world are just supposed to remain a mystery.

Speaking of monkeys getting married, last Saturday my host brother Andrew tied the knot. Although it was a very wet wedding and the reception tent filled with water and mud, it was still a beautiful day and the bride and groom were exceptionally happy. Following their lead, we all just kicked off our shoes and tramped around in the muck not worrying about a thing! Talk about making the most of an unforeseen situation!

Andrew and Dee got engaged only a short five months ago in November and since then it has been amazing to watch the planning process of both the big day and of them spending the rest of their lives together. Not only did they have to plan for a wedding, but they also had to get ready for a big relocation to Thailand as they are both becoming teachers there only a week after they get hitched. It has been a busy (or “hectic” as South Africans say) engagement with all the preparations but I think that both Andrew and Dee would say that they enjoyed every minute of it.

        

The Friday night before the big day all the guys stayed over at one of the groomsmen’s farms for one last bachelor evening with Andy. We all got ready together the next morning which proved to be an interesting affair as no one knew how to tie a tie and the best man’s girlfriend had to come over to help get the button hole flowers just right. We decided that men shouldn’t be left alone to get ready for a wedding if the bride knows what’s best. She should always send back up to make sure everything is done as she wanted!

We got Andrew to the ceremony on time, actually early which is a first for him. The service was a beautiful family affair. Andrew’s sisters’ boyfriends played piano an

d guitar for Dee to walk down the aisle. Dee’s sisters were her bridesmaids and sang while they signed the wedding certificate. And, coolest of all, Mark, Andrew’s Dad, led the service and officiated the happy couple’s marriage.

The lunch time reception was a riot as we all tried to stay out of the rain. Half way through we realized that not getting wet or muddy was a useless attempt and we all threw caution to the wind and just enjoyed being less than wedding perfect. The rain actually made for some unique and fun memories. The bridal party got pictures in the rain all wearing gum boots and Mark lead the whole congregation in a song entitled ‘Mud Mud Mud Glorious Mud!’

Throughout the whole planning process of the last few months and then on the actual day I have been amazed at how the ideal ‘white wedding’ spans cultures and geography. I mean, seriously, I’m a million miles from home in a foreign country but we still had the Wedding March song and the cutting of the cake. Andrew and Dee’s ceremony and reception were very much like any that we would find at home. Vows, rings, flowers, place settings, speeches and bouquet throwing, all parts of a wedding that we would expect in North America. Funny how much influence the West has had around the world without us even realizing. For Dee and Andrew there was no other wedding that they would want, the Western ideals have been that ingrained into society here.

On Friday we brought the newlyweds to the Durban airport to see them off on their new adventure to Thailand where they’ll be teaching English as a second language at least up until next Christmas. We were all very excited for them to venture off into this new stage of life but that didn’t make it any easier to say goodbye. It’s amazing how close you can get to people in only a short eight months. Growing up I always wanted an older brother. It’s a strange thing to want but I guess I always wanted someone to threaten the bullies at school with! (… especially when you were teased as much as I was! Haha) I finally got that brother with Andrew and it’s sad to see him go. But I’m very happy for them wish him and Dee all the best in their new lives together. And you never can tell, they may end up in Canada one day and then I can show them all the hospitality that they have shown me in my time here. Who knows what the future holds!

Once upon a time, there was a little red hen who lived on a farm. She was friends with a dog, a cat and a quacking yellow duck. One day the little red hen found some wheat seeds on the ground and had an idea.

“Who will help me plant these seeds?” asked the little red hen.

“Not I”, barked the dog,

“Not I”, purred the cat,

“Not I”, quacked the yellow duck.

“Then I will do it myself,” said the little red hen. And she planted the seeds all by herself.

When the seeds had grown, the little red hen asked her friends, “Who will help me cut the wheat?”

“Not I”, barked the dog,

“Not I”, purred the cat,

“Not I”, quacked the yellow duck.

“Then I shall do it myself”, said the little red hen. And she cut the wheat down all by herself.

The time came to bake the flour from the wheat into a loaf of bread. The little red hen asked her friends, “Who help me bake this bread?”

“Not I”, barked the dog,

“Not I”, purred the cat,

“Not I”, quacked the yellow duck.

“Then I will bake it myself”, said the little red hen. And she baked the bread all by herself.

Once the loaf was baked and came out of the oven, the beautiful smell of fresh bread filled the farm and the little red hen asked her friends, “Now, who will help me eat this bread?” …

I think you know where this story is going and perhaps can guess why I am recounting it now. Way back in August when I arrived here in SA, I had an idealistic view of what things would be like. I was hoping for a mutual exchange of agricultural knowledge between myself and the local people that I would meet. I envisioned creating common crop production goals with others and sharing in the work load, all the while learning from each other about the beauty of farming.

Now, I have to note that I am not angrily venting here or revealing that I am jaded in any way by the realities of being a service worker in a developing country. Nor do I want to offend anyone by portraying that I have the attitude of ‘if they only listened to me, they would be much better off’ because I sincerely don’t share that view. I just wanted to speak on this topic as it plays a big part in our relationships with people we are serving abroad. A topic that I’m sure many services workers might be able to relate to.

Back in the spring, I offered time and time again for people to get involved with what I was doing in the gardens. I’ve tried to set up little plots of land for individuals to take ownership over. Tried to get people to come and visit the plots, setting up a system where work contributed equals a certain percentage of the harvest. And to a degree we have succeeded. The children’s garden worked out beautifully and I think the boarding house kids are learning a lot from being in such close proximity to the growing crops. (Check out the post in ‘Garden Updates’ on March 1th to see that in action!).

However, it was a challenge to get some of the folks at Project Gateway to go beyond the pleasant thoughts of having a garden to actually engaging in the mountain of work that lay ahead of us. One man, who I consider a personal friend by the way, actually said to me, ‘Uckk, call me at harvest time.’ Well it’s now harvest time and let me tell you, the interest in our project has shot up a hundred fold. Everyone wants a piece of the action and wants to know how they can get their share of the yields.

This leads me to the question, have we missed the mark and our objective in being here? Perhaps we did not ask the right questions at the outset or start with the wrong assumptions? Has anyone learned anything or are on their way to sustainability and self-reliance in any shape or form? We know the travesty of the western world giving the developing world handouts instead of ‘hands up’. We can’t just blindly throw food at issues and hope that everything will be alright. We need to empower people through agricultural knowledge, not soup kitchen lines. People need long term answers to their issues, not band aids solutions that will fall off as soon as we leave. And no one understands this better than Project Gateway and MCC. I think that the ‘call me at harvest time’ mentality is just so engrained in dependant people that it is difficult to break. For some, maybe it is hard to imagine a world in which they can stand on their own two feet or perhaps we just need more time for the concepts of conservation agriculture to settle in.

I found that it takes a great deal of patience and grace to respond to this mentality in a mature way. In reality, I’ve never known what it’s like to live in poverty. I don’t know what it’s like to live hand to mouth or of the issues that plague the mind of someone on the brink on living on the street. It’s true that many people don’t have the privilege of being able to plan ahead and prepare for future needs. They are too busy worrying about the here and now and where they will find food for their families for dinner. So who am I to judge someone who doesn’t want to plant the seeds but is happy to eat the bread?  Am I just as guilty in my lifestyle at home in Canada when I don’t want to put in effort but want all the rewards for myself?

Who knows though, you never can tell the effect your work has on people. Maybe we have inspired a select few and next spring those people will want to plant their own gardens as well and think about the future and their own food security. People at Gateway have started to take notice of our gardening techniques and one, a man named David, has even started his own little tomato garden including the mulch layer that we suggest is so important! The roll off effect is what we are looking for and most times the process takes so long that you can never physically see the results or changes. It’s difficult to see a dog, a cat, or a quacking yellow duck slowly change into the little red hens that South Africa so desperately needs.

At first glance, the Afrikaans culture seems very similar to ours at home. They dress similar to us, have similar past times and have daily schedules much like ours. However, after a closer look you get to know a very unique people with their own set of quirks and subtleties.

The first obvious is their language. Afrikaans is an interesting tongue, a mixture of Dutch, English and German, that I could listen to all day. But beyond the actual differences in words, Afrikaans people speak with an intense passion and emotion. They are so animated when they speak that you can’t help but be interested, even if they are just speaking about the morning paper. They are the type to use the endearing terms ‘Auntie’ and ‘Uncle’ whenever addressing an elder. They tend to use your name when speaking to you and are genuinely interested in what you have to say.

Afrikaaners have a passion for food like no other. The braai (the BBQ) is always on the go, even at breakfast time. They love to work hard during the week and kick back and chillax during the holidays. They are incredibly hospitable and love to make people feel welcome and at home. A traditional two-step called the ‘Poki’ is danced whenever music is playing and they like to end of a day with ‘camp coffee’ around the fire right before heading to bed. But I think the coolest quirk about them is their dislike of wearing shoes. Afrikaaners will do anything to keep their feet open and free. No shoes when driving our stopping for snacks at a gas station. Friends’ houses and restaurants aren’t off limits to bare feet. Even at church they kick off the sandals as soon as possible!

This past weekend it was shoes off for everyone as we headed up to a little beach town called ‘Sodwana Bay.’ Phil, Susie and I were invited along with a sizable group of these fun loving South Africans to see one of the most beautiful parts of the country. Sodwana Bay is about four hours up the coast from Durban very near the Mozambique and Swaziland boarders and boasts one of the most beautiful beaches in all of Africa.

Saturday was a day to soak up the sun. It was my first time properly swimming in the big open blue and it was exhilarating! The waves were huge and would crash over you, pushing you up onto the sandy shore. By the end of the weekend I had mastered the timing and could properly ‘ride’ the waves up the beach, each one a competition to see who could go the farthest. We played touch rugby on the beach and built a sizable moat and wall to protect our little spot from the rising tide.

The real reason to go to Sodwana however is for the reefs. The bay has some of the most stunning and easily accessible coral reefs for miles around and people flock to them to scuba dive with the fishes. Our Afrikaans friends were there for the diving (a total of six dives in three days!) but the rest of us voted for snorkelling instead. Suited up in our wet suits we braved the open ocean to get a glimpse of the amazing sea floor and the animals that call it home. Although the adventure was cut a bit short because of some sea sickness, it was an amazing opportunity to see a world rarely seen or visited by us land dwelling humans.

But beyond the adventures, I enjoyed the weekend the most of all for the relationships I was able to make with some new friends. A huge part of the SALT program is building cross cultural bridges. I feel that after these few short days together, both our cultures had a better understanding of one another and a new outlook on what life is like across the oceans. I have a new respect for the quirky people called Afrikaaners and have completely embraced their ‘shoes off’ mentality to life.

On a more personal note …

We’re reaching the point of having only three months left of our volunteer placements and I’m feeling good with the state of mind that I am in. I’m happy with what we have been able to accomplish in the garden so far and more than shocked with how much I’ve done and seen around the country. This experience has been such a wirlwind that it’s hard to know exactly how I feel at any given moment. At this time I’m just feeling content. Contentment and peace and good feelings to have. I think it means that you are happy with what is going on in your life and glad just to go with the flow. I’m sure the emotions will get all fired up again though and peace will be farthest from my mind when the time comes for goodbyes at the end of June. For right now I still try to make the most of every minute that’s left and learn ever more about this amazing country.

I have some good news to mention as well. I’ve found a job when I get home and will be returning to the great land of Southern Ontario when I’m back in the country. I’ve very much enjoyed working in conservation agriculture and I’ve decided that I need to see its implications in our North American context before I’ll know if it’s what i want to do with my life or not. So on August 15th I’m starting as an apprentice at an organic farm outside of Hamilton. ‘Plan B Organic Farms’ is a 1000 share Community Supported Agricultural project with rotating vegetable crops and free range chickens. http://www.planborganifarms.ca I’ve gotten a really good vibe from them and the owners seem to share a similar passion in creating the sustainable, healthy food system that we so desperately need in our province.

But that’s not until a little while and for now … we’ll see what’s left in store under South African skies.

This blog is far overdue. Firstly, I haven’t posted in forever, but primarily because this issue manifests itself in every conceivable way in everyday life here. It’s something you notice as soon as you arrive and that shapes your life day in and day out.

A few weeks ago I had the privilege of attending an event celebrating the unveiling of a new multimedia exhibition of photographs and videos of none other than Madiba himself, Nelson Mandela. The evening, entitled ‘Intimate Moments with Mandela’, was organized by the Nelson Mandela Foundation to showcase cherished encounters with South Africa’s much loved statesman. His life and achievements were the topic of discussion and the entire night was themed according to three of his key concepts: love, education and empowerment.

It was without a doubt one of the classiest events I’ve ever been to. There were gourmet finger foods and live jazz, a fashion show complete with runway and photographers, and speeches from dignitaries who personally know Mr. Mandela. The night was attended by some high rollers in the area including the city’s major, members of parliament and, the guest of honour, Charlene Wittstock, the future Princess of Monaco. The only reason I got an invite to such an upscale evening was because Project Gateway (my MCC work placement partner) needed some representation as they provided all the parting gifts. Otherwise I am definitely not of the calibre to attend such a posh evening.

However, while I was rubbing shoulders with some of Pietermaritzburg’s elite trying not to spill crab cake crumbs on my borrowed suit, I couldn’t help but think ‘what would Mandela himself say about all this extravagance?’ Is this really what he has in mind when he talks about a free and equal South Africa? Would he be proud of the lavishness spent on one evening when thousands are starving in this city alone?’

This is the situation you find across the country; extreme wealth adjacent to extremely poverty. South Africa is a world of parallels. There are the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ living right beside each other seemingly unaware of one another and their completely different lifestyles that are played out each and every day. No other nation in the world has a more extreme difference between rich and poor. The income gap is staggering.

This reality plays with your mind daily. It’s so strange when I see people throw away food here or not be thankful for what is on their plate. It’s one thing to say in North America ‘finish your food because there’s starving kids in Africa’ but literally I could walk 5 minutes from my home and find a kid who would love to finish off what’s left on my plate. I know that as I swim in my pool at the end of a hot day that there are many who don’t even have running water in their kitchens. As I sleep in the comfort of my suburb I know that a 15 minute drive would bring me to an endless squatter camp of dusty and leaky-roofed houses where a good night’s sleep is hard to come by. Our two worlds rub shoulders with each on every conceivable level. The lifestyle comparisons go on and on, The reasons behind these differences are too complex and lengthy to attempt to explain here. People spend their whole lives studying this South African phenomenon trying to make sense of it all.

But is the situation any better at home in Canada? A recent article in the Toronto Star highlighted the appalling condition of our First Nations’ communities in the north. The writer described these towns and villages as ‘Canada’s Third World’, a blemish revealing that the inequalities of out society may not be much different from those that we criticize in the developing world. Are we proud of this fact? Should we settle for this paradigm? What can we do to change the situations that disadvantaged people face at home and abroad?

I’m sorry that I don’t pose any solutions in remedying the inequality that plagues the people of South Africa. The history behind the current disparity and reasons for the contrasts in lifestyles are as complex and controversial as the answers we need to solve them. It is simply been a constant issue I’ve been thinking about and observing, two different worlds under one unified nation. I figure the least that we can do is make daily attempts at breaking down these barriers, attempting to understand the realities of the other half. Step by step, compassion and grace will lead us to a more equal South Africa, the South Africa that Mandela truly had in mind.

http://www.nelsonmandela.org/index.php/news/article/intimate_moments_with_nelson_mandela/