Cultural Immersion

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I feel so much has happened since my last update! First off I now have a new roommate named Uncle Dudley who derives from Phoenix, Arizona. Dudley was superintendent of six Phoenix high schools for 5 years after a very successful career as an assistant superintendent, principle, athletic director and history teacher. He will be my roommate for the next two months as he helps Open Arms develop a plan for home schooling our children. It will be a laborious endeavor as homeschooling about 17 children properly will require much foresight and planning. Personally, I am very happy that Dudley has arrived as its good to have a guy volunteer to hang with during the days. We have already had discussions pertaining to education issues in the United States along with other philosophical tops each night before we fall asleep. I am excited to learn much from all of his wisdom and experience. However, most importantly I now have a grilling partner to chill with when I put some steaks onto the Weber grill.

This past weekend was quite a cultural experience for me. To begin on Friday morning we had to drive three of our children to a funeral for one of their cousins. So we gathered the three children, two brothers and one girl cousin, and piled into the Toyota Quantum bus and headed off towards East London then to the outskirts of King Williams Town where the children would stay the weekend for the funerals. Funerals are a big deal in the Xhosa culture and it is very important that distant relatives travel from far away to attend the service. As we drove around East London, I had my first experience to see and walk around the concentrated informal settlements that surround the city. For miles there was crowded housing wherein sometimes it appeared as if houses actually overlapped it was so dense. They use multiple types of siding for the houses utilizing whatever they could find such as sheet metal, plywood, or whatever. Some of the houses appeared about to collapse inward and had no privacy whatsoever while others appeared pretty sturdy. From talking with the kids the big houses here had 2 or three rooms, usually one bed where the whole family slept and a kitchen. There is no garbage collection here as the streets are riddled with rubbish. Additionally there was a total absence of greenery.

However to contrast with my surrounding scene behind where I was standing was a crech (a preschool for kids). I ran over and was separated by a low barbed wire fence but played with the kids for about 20 minutes. I would say “molo” (Hello), then ask Um’jonni (how are you). Though most of the time we played a simonsays type of game where in I would raise my hands in the air and all the 15 children would imitate me as I waved my arms from side to side and up and down. With massive smiles on their faces, the children all would reach out to touch my hand, give high-fives and sometimes merely hold my hand in theirs. No matter where you are in the world – children are children, innocent and pure like angels with a soft curiosity of anything new around them.

As we left the dense East London housing, we followed the winding dirt roads towards final destination. Along the way, the housing continued unceasingly, only becoming less and less dense. There must be hundreds of thousands if not millions of people living in these housing settlements as they continued along our entire trip which was about 100 kilometers away.And we only traveled in one direction, these housing settlements continue all around East London and other major cities in South Africa.

We finally dropped off the children in a pretty rural area. In contrast to the East London settlements, had a yard surrounded by a fence and often had a little vegetable garden. Usually near each house was an outhouse nearby indicated a lack of plumbing and possibly running water. The village was surrounded by beautiful lush green hillside spotted with little gray specks that were sheep. Even so, with all of the beauty there was much trash aside the road, many plastic bags, bottles and wrappers. We dropped off the children satisfied with the area and where they would be staying for the weekend and headed out back towards our little village of Komga. Exhausted from the day’s journey, I laid down for an hour then made the decision to be more adventurous for the evening and try to have dinner at the Komga Club.

That evening, I made my first ever trip to the Komga Club – a tiny little sports club bar in the downtown area of Komga. The “esteemedKomga Club” that we have heard so much about was established originally for the farmers to have a gathering spot to socialize and have a drink. While we volunteers are not technically members of the Komga Club, we are always invited to stop in and hang out. So upon much discussion, I had convinced Auntie Anne to join me to go to the club. Dudley seemed eager to go check out the town and meet some local people as well. While we had been in Komga for 6 weeks, we had not yet ventured into town to meet the locals and I was eager to learn about my surroundings.

We drove up to the club and walked in disappointed to see that there was only 3 people at the bar and they were all preparing to leave. Even worse, we found out that the weekly Friday steak dinner was cancelled due to the long holiday weekend as most of the club’s members were out of town. So hungry and dejected, our small adventurous group of Americans was ready to declare our surrender and return to the Open Arms compound when we were suddenly invited by Ron Warren to have dinner at his house. He spoke of having the previous volunteers over to his house often and his homemade biltong which he claimed to be the best. So, instead of giving up on our night, we accepted Ron’s hospitality and drove over to his home. His home was about 5 minutes from the Komga Club and 10 minutes from Open Arms so not far at all. In fact I have driven by his home several times not knowing he lived there.

The first thing I realized upon entering his house is that South Africans enjoy having a drink on holiday weekends. Ron handed me a Windhoek Draught (pronounced Vindtauk) which he explained followed the 400 year old tradition of using only water, hops, and barley. Additionally, he did not hand me a regular American sized beer but rather a “trans-sky dumpie” as he and his wife Cindy jokingly called it which was a 750 ml beer. Next he proudly brought out his homemade Biltong (similar to American jerky but better in my opinion). He sliced it up for us and had us try several different types. Ron explained how you cannot trust the meat that you buy in supermarkets for quality. In his opinion, it was necessary to actually go to the slaughterhouse and handpick the meat to insure the highest of quality for his biltong. Needless to say, Ron is not a liar when it comes to his beer selection or his biltong as both were top quality.

Next, as the wine, beer and spirits were flowing – Ron’s children began to prepare dinner: steaks with a mushroom cream sauce, avocado and homemade sausage. He described how his biltong was beef but the sausage was a combination of pork and beef. While many other biltong makers add heat to the meat, Ron does not opting to utilize open air which helps preserve the tenderness and juiciness of his biltong. We all sat down, said the family version of grace and dug in. Discussion was rampant across the table on a various array of topics. I mainly focused on absorbing Ron’s lecture on his cooking techniques and style. I asked if the next time he makes sausage I can accompany and assist in any way I could as it was absolutely delicious. He kindly said he would be glad to show me how to make his biltong and sausage. In fact, Ron once entered his sausage recipe into a competition in Germany and it was actually published in the magazine as the winner though the magazine conned him out of the prize.

As any good cook should be unable to resist his own cooking, Ron is an a hearty man with a portly build and a nice patch of gray hair on the top of his head. His wife Cindy is similar and incredibly outgoing. She told us much about her work in the Komga Clinic nearby where we take the children to get vaccines and if they are unwell. Accordingly, Cindy knows many of our children. She told us of the positives and negatives of working in the public clinics in South Africa. She has much insight into many of the problems South Africans are dealing with on a daily basis. I had discussions pertaining to HIV and fetal alcohol syndrome, both of which are something she has to commonly deal with. We spent much of the night talking, eating and listening to music, mainly Elvis and the Beach boys both of which is still big here for the Afrikaners. For a bit I played darts with Dudley outside which brought me back to my college days when my roommates and I would be the first ones at the bars to play some darts.

Saturday was a lazy day and little occurred except that we all introduced Uncle Dudley to the game reserve for the $10 steak. The night was beautiful and the stars were shining over the gorge below that made the rock walls glisten. The nights here are truly spectacular and as I have previously mentioned, full moons are almost a miniature sun shining so brightly that you can see far in front of you where at home it would be just blackness. Such clear nights makes me appreciate the lack of pollution, both air and light, present here.

Sunday was a very eventful day as the volunteers were invited to go to our child care worker Ayanda’s church for mass. On Sunday morning, I was unsure if I would truly go or not as the girls decided not to go and then it turned out one of our Quantums (large passenger vans) was unable to move making my journey even more doubtful. Thankfully, everything got sorted out as only the older kids went to our normal Christian Church and Dudley said he would be adventurous with me and go to Ayanda’s church in the Location. We left Open Arms at 10 am and arrived the church at 10:30 which had been active since 6:30 am that morning as a baptism was scheduled.

As soon as we arrived I was greeted by Ayanda with big hugs as he brought us to a spot where we could sit and relax until the service began. The church consisted of one large hall painted blue and white. From there a courtyard existed on the right side of the church which was surrounded by other blue and while buildings making an upside-down U with the courtyard in the middle of the church buildings. Other than the church buildings, we were surrounded by residential living of a medium density in South Africa but it would be considered to be very high density in the United States. All of the roads are dirt and most of the houses consist of a single room or two.

Everyone was wearing matching blue and white suits for the men and dresses for the women. Thankfully by chance I was wearing my blue and white Special Olympics jacket although as guests the colors of our garb did not matter at all. There were hundreds of people all around as the women near us were cooking rice, a meat stew among a bunch of other things in huge cauldron pots over wood fires behind where I was sitting. On the other side of the courtyard the men were cooking meat over wood fires and many more men gathered to watch. I watched people all over the place there was people standing, sitting and conversing as this was something completely foreign to me.

Within a couple minutes, Ayanda came over to me with two glass bottles of Coke and a bunch of chocolate chip muffins. I quickly ate up the muffins as I was hungry – this is becoming a joke among the other volunteers about me as they say I am always hungry – and downed the glass of Coke. Ayanda proudly introduced me to the preachers of his church St. Johns which also has sites in East London, King William’s town among others. All of the preachers from these bigger cities were in little Komga for the day and I had no idea that today was such a big deal for Ayanda’s church! I soon found out that this was a big celebration as St. John’s announced that day that it would build a new church to fit its growing following. The preachers were quite excited to take pictures with me and posed with me many different times with various happy and thoughtful looks. They all asked me to send them copies of the pictures which I will be sure to bring to the church soon.

After the pictures, some of the meat was cooked and Ayanda brought over some sheep ribs which were absolutely delicious and had the slight favoring of the wood that is was cooked over. Mom, you may want to skip reading this part 😉. Just kidding but at first I questioned if I should really eat this meet and after about two seconds of pondering where I should or not I just started ripping apart the meat with my teeth. Soon it was 11:30 and the bells rung to start the service. It turns out that it was a preliminary service mainly for the preachers and the women. I gingerly walked in and sat down on the otherside of the courtyard when several of the priests came over to Dudley and I and requested that we come inside.

We walked in the church which was nicely decorated with brand new linens by Mamma Dorina, one of our child care workers. I grabbed a chair expecting to sit in the back of the church when I was urged forward by Ayanda. So I moved to near the front. I sat there for about thirty seconds when the priests came up to me and said, “No, you must come up here and sit with us!”

So, I followed the priest up the alter and was given a seat on the alter right next to the pulpit where the preacher spoke to his congregation! I could not believe that I was given such a place to sit for the mass as I was only a first time visitor and was suddenly thrust front and center in front of everyone. The hospitality of the elder priests was unparalleled as they too were all guests to Komga from other towns and yet, they still insisted that I sit not only in front of them but in front of them on the alter! It was unbelievable and I could not imagine what was going to happen for the next few hours. After about thirty minutes of singing, praying and preparation, the rest of the congregation entered the church which was soon overflowing with people. I had no idea that the mass Ayanda had invited me to was one of the biggest masses ever to occur in Komga and here I was now sitting on the alter for it.

The mass was to be spoken in Xhosa and the priests questioned me if I would understand the proceedings in Xhosa. Both Dudley and I said that their kindness had already been extended too far and that the proceedings in Xhosa would be more than adequate. But again, the elder priests demonstrated no end to their hospitality as they had someone translate the Xhosa words in English not only to us but also to the whole congregation! In fact, there were many times when the priest would speak English to the whole crowd just for me as the translator changed his words to Xhosa.

The priest began his sermon which he chose to speak most of it speaking English and looking at me while the translator portrayed his words to everyone else in the church. I saw there astonished as the priest discussed how proud they were to have some visitors from overseas as it demonstrated that the power of Christ demonstrates no bounds and that it was no accident that we were here at the church on this day. He explained how today was a day of celebration as the congregation had bought a new plot of land to build a new house for the Lord in Komga. The congregation was moving into a new stage wherein our presence demonstrated that they had overcome racial barriers.

After he finished his sermon, the collections began which ended up lasting about 2 hours. First was the women, then the older women, priests (which I got to walk and give with), younger men and children last. Everyone gave something whether it was one rand or 100 rand. Some of the parishioners I imagine have little to no money as they are unemployed and yet they still gave. In order to donate, first the parishioners got into a long line up to the alter. They all sang songs and danced up and gave whatever money they chose. If you gave 100 rand, the preachers would give you back 90 rand then you would get back in the end of the line, dance again to the front and put in the 90 rand and get back 80 rand. The cycle would continue until you decided to stop giving or ran out of money in some cases. This literally lasted for 2 – 3 hours and I personally danced for about 5-10 minutes as I moved in a big circle with all of the priests as everyone cheered on around. I was quite
nervous however but did dance up and down the aisles with the priests pulling me along.

After the collections, the priests asked Dudley and I to give a short speech to the congregation. So I stood up in front of the entire congregation of several hundred people. I was terrified being put on the spot and had no idea what to say as 100s of people looked at me with extreme intrigue of what a white American would say. So, I tried my best to express myself in a way they would relate, "Thank you everyone for inviting me into your house of prayer and for your unending hospitality. Last night I went to bed nervous and unsure whether I should come to your mass. But I woke up this morning and felt compelled by and inspired by the Holy Spirit to join all of you today. It is true as our priest has said that my friend Dudley and I are here for a higher purpose, by God's calling. In fact, I am even wearing St. John's blue and white colors this morning by the Lord's will! Thank you all so much for your love and kindness!" While it may sound somewhat strange as I write this in the blog it was well reflected among the congregation and they all cheered for Dudley and I. They especially cheered loud when I referenced my blue and white jacket.

Eventually mass was over and we went outside to see the St. John’s band play. They had just gotten several new instruments and decided to play a concert. The band had quite a swagger as they marched around the courtyard and many people from the surrounding area who did not attend St. John’s came to watch. They played for like 30 minutes and upon stopping, a feast was about to begin. Our child care worker Ayanda tapped me on the shoulder and let Dudley and I into a house nearby with all of the preachers. We were asked to sit down and immediately several women brought in platters filled with food: sheep, chicken, rice, potatoes, vegetables and some beef. I repeatedly thanked the preachers for being too kind and said that I did not deserve such treatment. They said we are all humans and that I deserve nothing less as a guest of the church. Furthermore, we talked about my purpose of being in Komga, working at Open Arms and plans for expanding St. Johns to incorporate more of the community. After the meal, I thanked our gracious host and walked out into the church courtyard to see many people all feasting on the food from St. Johns. It turns out that every Sunday after mass the church invites anyone from the community to join in on their feast and enjoy a hearty meal.

Finally, at 4:30 pm we were picked up and driven back to Open Arms. I have never experienced anything ever like a 7 hour mass but I loved every minute of the dancing, singing, and feasting.

As the next day was a holiday, the kids had no school. Morganster, being the school it is, actually had the whole week off as its principle decided to start the term break early. Since over the past few days we had added 2 more twin babies into our family we had become overcrowded in our current baby room. Therefore the solution was to move some of the children around. Since I was currently living in a Rondavel that could fit 12 people and only had Dudley and I in it, we were moved temporarily into the tiny little apartment here at Open Arms. I spent all morning Monday moving our 5-7 year old boys into my former blue Rondavel which included moving in bunk beds, mattresses, clothes, dressers and moving out basketball hoops, a broken fridge among other things that were stored. Thankfully I had a bunch of the older boys to help me move all of the stuff. However, the younger boys were wild with excitement as they moved into a new home. It took every ounce of my energy to move everything while trying to keep the children under control especially so since Uncle Jeff and Auntie Suzanne were out for the morning.

The next task for me was to convert the former little boy’s Rondavel into the new baby room. This involved repainting all of the yellow walls to white which was quite a task considering the walls were about 12 feet tall. It is amazing what damage 10 little boys can do on some walls as they were filthy. First I had to scrub and clean all of the walls which took me one whole day. Then, I spent the next couple days painting multiple coats on the walls to get rid of the stale yellow color and give the new baby room a fresh white look. All that is left now is for me to put in some new carpets over the tiles, get some baby gates, and some shower curtains then we can move all of the baby’s cribs in! This new room will be much better for the babies as they will have much more room to crawl around and play. After all that is done I will spend time converting the former computer room into the new volunteer room which will involve tiling the floors, repainting the walls and assembling some
new curtains. I might go buy some little things for the room as it will be my
new home for the next 10 ½ months. I have much work to do as I prepare rooms and change their functions. Thankfully, Dudley has been there every step of the way with me painting and moving furniture.

As it is a term break for the kids we are doing many fun activities with them but I will write more about that next blog as I have already rambled on enough. Just as a hint I spent the day today in the Indian Ocean with the older kids at Chinsa Beach and golfed 9 holes with some very friendly locals that I recently met on Sunday with Dudley. I hope everyone is well and that ND beats Miami this weekend.

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Comments

[Pat]

good to hear
Great reading, nice to hear you are making a difference. I knew you would.