back in the usa... isn't that a bruce springsteen song?

i haven't slept in many many hours and am still wide awake sitting here at the computer thinking about all that is left to say, and how will i find time to reflect now that i am back in my life with things to do, paychecks to chase after, groceries to buy, stories to tell, lesson plans to send. so let me reflect for a moment now after my parents have gone to bed and i am sitting in the space that is their new home now... a drastic quiet compared to life in the township at night.

the last days in south africa were amazing. we were showered, literally with song, dance, ululating and smiles. at the brie on friday at my school they married me into the african culture, sweeping the ground in front of me, singing the song of lobola, and adorning me with a traditional dress that fit perfectly... how did they do that? i was touched by their words of kindness, this feeling of initiation, familiar hands pulling me into dance and a relaxing of my spirit into this gift. we ate parridge and voirs and sheep meat and salads with our hands, "cold drink" with ice let me know this is a special occasion, and i was touched by tablecloths on students' desks and mints in small bowls. we love you so much they said over and over... and called me a black african. this is what i wanted, to enter in as much as possible, and so i rejoice in the connection that we share. i also struggle to stay humble, to be kind to the other teachers who did not enter in and now stand watching from the back. i talked with anna in the last hours of the long plane ride about what we learned. i learned that i am arrogant when it comes to some things... (i think i mentioned this before) especially in terms of crossing cultures, respecting people's differences. i was easily angered by the other americans, by their criticism of things and people and ways in africa. on the way to school in the morning, i itched when their sarcasm seeped out, and let it bother me instead of being able to accept where they are. when the teachers' at school tell me that their friends at the other school (where the other american teachers are) are having problems with the american teachers their, i agree with frustration that they shouldn't be distant and afraid, of food, of conversation, of being real. and yet i must appreciate all the experiences i've had that allow me to enter in... that have prepared me. maybe other americans have just not had these experiences... but maybe, as anna pointed out, they don't want them. it affected my relationships with the other american teachers... i felt it especially at the end in the airport, on the plane. maybe some of it has to do with the fact that telling sex jokes for hours and hours is not how i unwind from 2 months in africa, but i know i seperated myself from them. the last night we had an ordeal after the concert because i was still hanging out with dimakatso and bogani and her brother thesele and wanted to take them out to dinner one last time. the other american teachers had packed up all the stuff already and were ready to take it back for storage, but the street was alive with kids still hanging out after the concert, the music loud from loading taxis, the energy high and fresh, the feet dancing. this was precious time to me, time i wanted to soak in. and i tried to make plans with dimi but was rushed into the car, let's just get this finished first. but as soon as we left of course, dimi doesn't have enough money for taxi to the brothers and she has to wait till all the students have transport home so we are seperated with no plans. the americans wanted to go out to eat, so they left me and i waited for dimi. it all worked out, but i felt angry that i had to submit to the kathy and a bit firy with independence.


a last day at church with kele... they presented me with a lovely card and i spoke with conviction. one day i will be back. i was surprised at my lack of tears, and wondered have i outgrown the strong emotions of mourning. maybe this is what i mean when i say i have been grown into a woman stronger than i was before. i don't mean to say that emotion is negative, that's one of my issues or super principlals or whatever anyway, but i was surprised not to break down over and over this summer. it feels strange not to be writhing with sadness and feels of chaos, of being ripped from the heart of africa. (jk) is that part of growing up? or of adjusting to a life of travel and of living somehow in places of great dichotomy? rudy do you feel that distance of emotion when you travel? it feels new to be ok with the fact that i have new friends so far from me that i will have to wait to see again. to be ok with saying goodbye to them for a time, knowing that i will return to them. it feels new to be unsuprised by poverty and the difference in lifestyle and economy.


i hope they know how much i enjoyed my time there... i hope they know what i could not find the words to explain. at kele's church and at the brie, in front of my students, probably the most poignant thing was thank you for this welcome like no other. i will not forget you.

i broke down in front of my grade 4 classes when some of the boys started tearing up as i said goodbye. young boys with strong exteriors who sing like angels and let this american women into someplace in their heart. it was too much. my voice cracked as i taught them how to blow a kiss and catch it. this is how we like to say goodbye in america if we really love someone, i told them. we practiced and i rejoiced in this relationship that was formed with them in a short six weeks. i wonder what they will remember about me, and try to recall how i saw the world when i was in 4th grade. i hope they will remember positive things, i hope that their image of america is not too great, that they are able to also see the greatness in their own country. this is a strange thing, to imagine how our presence there might pull them down, descourage simply becuase they perhaps know more about a world that is so easy. i didn't try to portray our country that way, but i feel they sense it... and that somehow it colors their hope for their own lives in a country that has little opportunity, even though it has by far the strongest economy of africa. this man i met on the plane said the same thing, he's a flight attendent based out of joberg and flies back and forth to the us ever week. but he wishes he could be based out of america... and somehow that makes me a bit sad. something like watching lis and carlos struggle with returning to mexico city after being here for a while. it took so much strength for them to go back to a land that is a struggle, and i imagine much courage to maintain a spirit of purpose after seeing "the other side".


i came home with packages full of love notes. words romantic and generous. addresses on tiny pieces of paper that i fear i will lose in the shuffle, and promises of photos to send and letters to write. there is one boy who handed me a package wrapped three times over with the colored wrapping paper on the outside. i am touched. i don't even teach this student, but know him becuase he is one of the older ones who pushes learners off the sidewalk if i am coming so that i can pass. i remember he had a huge sore on his lip the first few weeks we were here. i wondered where it came from, and was glad to see it healing with time. this note is simple and sweet, and i decide to give him this small bird that i brought as part of my lesson on the music in hawaii. you must keep this bird, i told him as we walked to the music room under the guise of me needing his help carrying something. you must keep this bird and remember to do your best, to be kind to others, to never give up. my throat tightened and he said. yes, ms straayer, i will do as you say. i have a feeling if i came back in 10 years, this man might find me on the street and take a bird out of his pocket.


anna's st boniface concert was like a u2 concert. in between every group, the crowd burst into traditional song and dance, the young men singing with enthusiasum, macho, and comradere never seen in the us. the stage thumped with feet in time, syncopated rhtyhms entrancing me and making me want to stay forever. i had to stop and take it in, the song filling my being, imbedding itself in my aural memory. when they kidnapped anna to the back room and brought her back out with traditional dress, the kids lost it, exploded screaming with pride in their country and their teacher, loved deeply and quickly for her sincerity and consitent energy for teaching. these are happy moments, celebrations marking time and transformation of our american lives in ways that make me rejoice in ritual and yearn for more. anna is beaming, floating along with women on all sides, white dots on her face and wrap around her head falling to one side and making her look young and vulnerable. from this woman i have learned so much about teaching. thank you anna as you dance forward though your kness ache and you are afraid to move your hips. you are floating in africa and i will always remember evening tea and toast, giggles in the yellow room and feeling better just sharing these moments of my day.


america feels familiar to me, though the trees are tall and so green in ct. africa is so far, and i'm tripping a bit, trying to grasp that yesterday i was thousands of miles away, that these people i am loving now are not just a phone call, a car ride away. the plane ride, long as it was, is elusive in carrying me home. technology is deceiving, and i cannot understand that the world is round and has two hemispheres.


thank you lord, for carrying on with carrying me. i am in your hands.