the men of south africa are charming, dangerously so, and i am reluctant to say that i was melted a few times by this way they have. i like to think i am immune to flattery, to flirtation and sexy men, especially if they are not sincere. have you sensed my anger with this big headedness of a select few in the township? their issues are notidable quickly, and though kathy says tulane is a one woman man, i don't believe it for a second. you can watch the control he has over women in his choir, and when i talk to dimakatso about it, we decide that these men know how to dig deep into the sensitive part of a woman, the part that needs to be noticed, given attention, heard. but when they reach that part, they do a twist of the fingers that is quite painful, and this is when my blood boils. i watch dimi struggle with what to do about a situation she finds herself in, with a man "committed" publicly to someone else, but privately to her. the more we talk, the more i see her realize that papi will never be good enough for her, will always make her feel both beautiful and ugly, and then agonize over how to be strong enough to not melt when he looks her way. i don't know what to tell her though, when she pleads for advice. i can feel a bit of what these women feel. life in this township is full of this energy of possible relationship, despite commitment of marriage or dating to others. it's hard to explain the difference, and elusive becuase it is all so secretive but at the same time out in the open. when someone cheats on someone else, it is known but unsaid... and i feel sad for the wife of this choir director who sits in each rehearsal watching as her husband firts with the soloist in the tight pink top.

last night i unpacked all my gifts for other people as if they were for me... a bit of christmas at the end of a long journey. some of the stuff i hadn't looked at since early july when i bought it in cape town or joberg, and it was fun to share things with mom and dad. the pictures came out well... although i feel they do not capture moments as i had hoped. i had to use a couple disposable cameras whose photos aren't very clear... and when you give a camera to someone to take a picture for you, you never know how it will come out...

that's ok though... there is something to the mystery of what you cannot bring back with you. i pray you will be able to see what i cannot give you, the ways that i am changed and renewed, the way God has enlivened my spirit this summer. mom and i went to buy a few things and i found myself in marshalls trying on clothes i never would have before... feeling released to be myself in new ways, to have more fun. to wear leapord print. don't worry kafi, it's tasteful. i felt myself ignore the girl who walked in looking way too trendy and thin... to be ok with my size and shape as it is. did africa give this to me? i'm not sure. it was nice though to be in a place where size is less important and people are grateful for the gift and taste of food, instead of always panicking about caloric content.


the choir sang for us one last time as school knocked off at 2 and the cars were packed. we danced this time, unashamed. kathy was late, so we just kept dancing, singing, one song after another, the melodies familiar now and words recognizable. i asked for the one with the fun step, trying to memorize it one more time before i left, hoping to be able to recreate it for people. dimi pulled me out in front to practice the step with her, and i took a look back again at faces i wanted to remember. i sang the tunes silently for hours on the plane, glad to have finished our time with more of this ritual that seems to hold the fabric of south africa together. they say the music is strongest here... that it's due to the struggle of this country to overcome much oppression. i believe this, though i don't understand it... how struggle breeds art and community.

about community, i'm thinking about the assembly i went to at bonnies on monday morning, where the students all stand in the hall and strain to hear speakers with no microphones. the grade 12 classes lead the assembly with songs known and created, speeches of emotional goodbyes to a school home of five years. this one young man strikes me as he raps over hummed melodies, about the pride of africa and the need to continue the fight. he pauses and the students laugh as they do when it seems one is messing up. i knew you would laugh, he says, becuase you are good at tearing people down. yet this is not what we need, what we need to strive for. we must be built strong from the bottom up. the hall murmered an agreement, and it was quiet again.