not much chance to email these days... did i say a few weeks ago that i have lots of time to relax and pray and read and sleep? things have shifted a bit, and i find myself tired and a bit sick, more and more busy trying to juggle new relationships and avoid people being upset with me. today i had to fend of some people from kele's church who thought i was coming to their church tommorow. did i promise them last week? i cannot remember, but i will go with puleng to an ame church tommorow. she is another teacher from school and i am determined to leave with peace. i told kele and her husband that i don't want her to be in trouble when i leave.
but then i had to set some other women straight, kele's sister and her neighbor who said they cooked for me on thursday and i never came. "i don't know who told you i was coming on thursday, but it was not me." i tell them. i weave my way through another invitation by blaming kathy for keeping us too busy, which is no lie. i've become frusterated this past week with all the program requirements. i think i finally realized this is more music ed stuff than i have dealt with since eastman, and it's not all my "cup of tea" if you remember me going crazy for the five years i was in college. i love music, but it is not all to me, and i find myself a bit stifled by the many many rehearsals where we sit and listen and advise the community and church choirs on mozart pronounciation and the chromatic intonation. not to mention when i am with the american teachers conversation always lingers to either music ed or some kind of discomfort with living here... using a bucket for their shower or garbage on the street. i have to admit i used a curse word after the rehearsal the other night when i just had had enough music and not enough dinner and sleep.
the rehearsals where we learn south african "traditional" music are really nice, the other night we danced with the fatima choir. the steps fit nicely under our feet now, becoming more and more comfortable, and i smile as the women sway and tulane parades in front of the choir with his attitude and dark skin. he is the director who sings solfa like no ones' business but treats the women like they have no choice but to melt when he talks to them. or yells at them. or piches her vocal chords in front of all of us when she cannot finish the solo correctly.
on thurday the teachers at school surprised me with a lunch they had brought in from kfc. we all ate together from real glasses and plates and we even had cold drink, juice and soda. this is no small thing, and i know they have opened this door now for me to come in, welcomed me like the meaning of the song on the first day that the children sing with clicking tongues. i am sure that eating their food and learning their tswana names has communicated much respect to them. kevin oro hahn i still remember you frustrated at nycup becuase we would not try the food respectfully. you said in order to enter into a culture, you must enter in to the food of that culture... i think you are so right. thank you to all too, who prayed that i would have strong relationships with women here. God has answered that prayer, and continues to bless me.
the teachers have decided that i have amazing parents. parents who raised me very well. they say i must tell my parents they did a good job raising me. and so thank you mom and dad, but thank you also to my many teachers, to those who have allowed me to enter into their culture, to those who have pointed me towards a God who is not a respecter of wealth, who does not see as the world sees, who isa God of the people, a God who enters in and meets us where we are, a God who intervenes in justice when there is no one else standing up.
Thank you to those who have allowed me to share in the meal of reconciliation,
to young harambee boys who treated me with respect even though i was a stranger,
to lis and her family, who shared their home with me again and again,
to tania, who once wept with gratitude at basileia, just happy to see me,
to cee, who let me make dumplings with her mom,
to rudy and kafi, for walking me home on an evening when tears came easily though i didn't know why,
to sam and jeanette, for being my family,
to children at my school who told me i was ugly when i cut my hair short.
to chayo, stacey, maggie, small beautiful women. may God keep you safe dear ones.
my hair is growing quite long. a slight dilemma just becuase south african women have short hair and are beautiful and now i reconsider.
after the lunch they served me on thursday, i went with the teachers to offer prayers to a family of a student who lost a mother this week. this was powerful... we traveled together, all the teachers in a few cars, wandering around the township asking for directions. we found this house with the tent in front, a marker of a house in mourning here. this is customary, for visitors to come in the afternoon or evening for a week before the funeral on a saturday. the teachers prepared a short service ( about an hour) with singing and words, a few homiles. i held back my tears with the other men and women, rocking back and forth quietly and somehow understanding the tswana. the living room feels sacred, furniture removed and folding chairs in their place, the family along one side with sleeping children in laps and the teachers somehow all finding a place to sit. it is dark because of the tent and i wonder if this small girl with tear stains on her face is also a daughter who has lost her mother.
but we laugh again out in the sunshine on the dirt road after juice and cakes. i seem to always find myself between two people walking... do they put me in the middle on purpose so i feel at home? it works.
kele tells me that many people here are afraid to acknowledge aids. if they are dying, or someone in their family is sick, they will not say anything, they will even hide the person, say they are not home, put them in the back shack and bring them food and water until they die. this is not right, she says, my friend who wears her red ribbon aids pin everywhere. if i am sick with aids, she says, if i am skin and bones, i will still be here, for everyone to see. she is a treasure, this one. we walk and she knows everyone, calling out a word which somehow sounds like a piece of love thrown out. and she still smiles like a young woman, coy and with small hands.
i went to a funeral this morning with her and the other "elder women" from her church. we walked to church at 7 when the air was still cool and the dust settled from overnight. she and the women wore the white and black of the church, with a smart collar and hat, pins on their lapel. they look charming, matronly, women of integrity.
the church is crowded as people follow the casket and flowers. i feel guilty for taking a seat as many stand for the service. the singing is frequent as always, and many people speak passionately, offering words of comfort to the family and challenging them to hold on to God's goodness. their voices crack when they speak loudly and with emotion, their hands wave in expression and i think this anger, rage even is appropriate. the women dance in song, and sometimes they are overwhlemed and fall to the floor. there are always hand there though, to catch and place into a chair.
then we go to the gravesite all the members of the church and many more outside. there are cars gathered, and taxis to take us. the
cemetary is dry and flat, vast. we gather still singing, dancing. they place something in before they cover with red dirt, and then the women in black and white dance around the mound, as they did in the church. i feel they are saying goodbye to this woman, their friend. the sun is very hot now, winter is passing and i am thirsty.
we travel back to the house by car, too far to walk they say. it is. when we reach the road i get out with the women in black and white and follow behind them observing, emotional as they form a thick wall of song accross the street, dancing in step down to the house with the tent. the line for food is already very long, but they usher me to a side yard with grass and chairs with the women in black and white. we are served some kind of roasted, shredded meat with dumplings (steamed bread), samp (i call it corn pasta) and cabbage. the juice is sweet and my hand sticky from eating with no fork. the women next to me smile and say i am free here in africa. "i don't understand". "you are free, eating our food, relaxed, happy." yes i am free.
on friday it was a national holiday. womens' day. anna, my roomie at the brothers took all the women teachers from st bonnies to lunch. we were almost 20 altogether. they ate well, steak, ribs, mutton. they drank even better, and i learned a bit more about the downside of women too. no, i enjoyed their company immensely, but they joke about infidelity and about needing a man who already has a car so that they are not responsible for him financially. i was sitting on the "more upper class" side of the table, and it is interesting to note the differences.
i took dimakatso, her 3 year old bongani, and her friend (the one whose name means a woman has come) to the movies. men in black. i laughed a lot, maybe becuase i am tired and things are funnier. is this a funny movie? i don't even know. sometimes i was the only one laughing... the american jokes i guess.
bongani must meet sam sam someday. he has a gentle spirit, strong muscles, wide eyes, and the most beautiful dark brown skin. he sat on my lap through the movie and i was happy to have some touch, a snuggle.
the next few weekends will be rough... we are required to give a music ed workshop to some teachers in a town a bit away on the 17th. the 18th is a choir competition all day. the 24th another competition. the concerts begin the 22nd, one for each school that we are working with. i am a bit frustrated that we are required to do all these things... i would rather be hanging out with people... but i did sign up to do this program. anna says don't complain, it will sour the whole day for everyone, just buck up and recieve what god has for you there. she is wise. we have good talks about whiteness, americanisms, materialism and priviledge. i am encouraged here somehow to accept myself more fully as i am, white american, and have peace.
i forgot to tell you the children pray each morning, have a bible lesson, sing. as i join them, i remember my desire for fellowship and give thanks for answered prayer. it is strange to be in a country where everyone seems to be a christian.
my spirit is well. thank you for so many prayers. i am aware and grateful. i look forward to rest in ct, time with family there. and then back to ca... to my home. to a community who loves God deeply and does it's best to love others well. i am a blessed women. i would like to come back more humble if nothing else. more ready to offer what i have, who i am.
love.
Saturday, August 10, 2002
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