yesterday i played with a young toddler who jumped when i touched his hand. "he thinks your white skin will rub off on him," his mother said, and we all laughed, relaxing in the home of who will soon be a good friend. i felt comforted, taken care of by this family who has nothing and shares everything. today i am not laughing, but feel sad, not sure how to filter all the baggage i cannot put down, the guilt of my privilege and wealth.


there is a pressure in my chest and i try not to cry here among africaaner youth who play violent video games with the volume way too loud.

perhaps what i feel is a bit homeless. today i am thinking about coming back and expect it to be difficult for me to return to the states, to california. there will be a sense of not belonging... of anger even, of isolation. loved ones, do not let me pull away. do not let me assume that you will not understand the ways i am being changed. i will, i do need your help for even my own understanding.

this weekend i will stay with another teacher for a night... nuxie.

the woman whose name means tears is dikeledi. she welcomes me, makes tea for me and her husband. why do always the guest and the man get the nice dished? she offers me soup though i know they have little, and we sit by the gas heater and look at pictures of her and her husband at the park in their twenties, looking hopeful and in love. they make me laugh with their stories about christmas time and celebrating even when there is not much to eat and give. her son is kekecho. her daughter is mosegho. her husband is glad to be in south africa. he says where else can he take five years off and still eat? 2R goes far here, he says. mosegho does not agree, she is 22 and without work, education. for her, life here is hard i think.


brother madden and i share a late dinner after a very inspiring rehearsal with the ghaleshewe melodies, who teach us a new song and are patient with us as our feet stumble. he is surprised that a "young one" such as myself would own a car. "what do you need your own car for?" he asks. when i talk about living with friends and moving into a new house soon with friends, he says i am one of the ones who shacks up. i am offended. it is strange to be unknown everywhere, to have to start over again and again with each new and curious face.

the philedelphia boys choir is here touring, they have a relationship with the umculo project. they are 60 young boys, a mixed group i am glad to see, and i watch their faces carefully as they sit in on the rehearsal last night, listen to these traditional pieces, and learn the new song with us. a piece of america seems out of place here, and i see my own awkwardness in their eyes.

it is too much to change my flight, i think i am coming home to cali on the 28th. kafi i think my flight comes in around 11 30 from atl.

i forget that it is summer there and am bracing for a tough transition into a hot sept in pasadena.

more this weekend?

thank you alisa for your letter. tami have a great trip. jeanette is the bomb for paying my car insurace and dealing with fernando. flo i look forward to time to know you. shelby i need a hug today. ms. farrar your prayers comfort me. peace mariah, i am thinking about you. abigail don't grow too quickly.