there are fragments that i think of during the day, things i want to share with you (plural). when i am lying in bed at night, when i in the car looking out the window, when i am sitting with the women in the afternoon, waiting for "transport" after kathy finishes teaching.

i never remember all the things i want to say, all the pictures i want to post here and look back at. but let me try anyway.


today as i sat on a small small chair in choir rehearsal... (we only use small chairs at our school, even the grade 7s) i smiled at the dark legs with skirts and socks, shoes shined and well worn, faces attentive and waiting to learn. the legs are what stuck with me, oiled legs, skin beautiful and different sizes. attatched to voices which suprise me with their agility and connect to sharp rhythms when they dance in the morning before school, pieces of melodies enchanting me as i plan with company.

white south african legs, walk unashamed in "young" shorts, way too young in my opinion, even for the warm weather we are having in the middle of the afternoons. the minority here are country-like, some fashionable but most ragged looking, a bit european but more nerdy than that. they speak with thick africaans, gutteral.

a beautiful indian woman came and sat across from me, wearing her hair down and curled, a white white shirt laced up and tight around her chest. striking.

today, as with many other days, the students get out early, the teachers have some kind of meeting. they go home early walking, not worried about notifying parents or keeping a certain number of hours. when i come back from errands, the trees are full of backpacks as the students wait for choir. it looks like the bags have grown there on the tree, fruit maybe.

as they wait, they play musically, feet tapping, voices humming, always in motion. games spring up spontaneously and leaders emerge and trade with friends. the games are often sexual, dikelele i want to zip. and with the zip comes a motion of the hips and a passing of the person who is "it". or kicking in between the legs, a hug and wiggle of the....


we ate in a nice italian resteraunt the other night. a bit pricy for south africa... and a man in a blanket called to me as we went in. i felt we entered this world of the wealthy... and left him out so clearly and unashamedly. i sat aware of this through the dinner, uncomfortable with our richness among tables of whites. i ate too much garlic foccacia bread and greek salad. was full when the pizza came and sat watching others ooooh and aaaaah over their food. we are strange americans. we rejoice at comforts of home, feeling we have deserved this break, this treat after hard long days. but we forget easily i think, that for most there is no such thing as i deserve "this". i leave my pizza with the man in the blanket. he thanks me profusely. i have done nothing to help him.

i have scheduled a bath in kathy's hadida guest house tub. i will shave my legs.


today was my last day of teaching. we are ready for the concert on friday, rehearsal tommorow. i'm thankful for a chance to have closure, though concerts are craziness. it will help finish the time here, say goodbye to students and families, take photos, receive and give thanks, feel i've taught something.

this question rings in me constantly. can i come back? that is, could i come back and live, for a year, for six months. could i live in the township, among the people on even deeper levels? could i travel by taxi and be safe? the teachers tell me yes, there is rape, but if you travel alone only during the day and stay close to us, you will be safe. this is the thing that i feel holds me back the most, being white here, or even in mexico city, makes me a target i feel. when i think about living somewhere for a while, this is the thing that scares me, makes me think it's not possible. and the language barrier... although here all speak english.

nuxie said have i had sheep liver yet. no. oh, i must bring you some tommorow. ok. God help me, my self is winding down and tiring out and i don't know if i can stomach liver at this stage in the game.

i went to see a movie with masego last night. murder by numbers. freaky. too much blood. but it was good to spend time with her. did i tell you she wrote me a poem, had it mounted by computer and laminated. touching really. she is quiet though most of the time. mysterious a bit. choosy. thin thin thin.

on the way home by taxi, they let me off far from the entrance to the brothers. masego stayed in the taxi, it would not have been safe for her to wait for another. it was the first time i was scared. dark, few people, shops closed and long to walk alone. the taxi reloaded and passed me, then stopped. the people in the taxi decided i needed to come back in, they would take me to the gate. strangers watching out for me. thank you God for carrying me in safetly through these months. for providing in ways seen and unseen. i am aware of answered prayer and say thank you.