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Published: October 24th 2010
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My logical, rational mind thinks, thinks too much, thinks it knows what cannot always be known. So was the meeting chance? I don’t know. I only know that I met a young ‘rasta looking’ man on the road, said my dumelas and passed by on my way to a planned event, a workshop that I was giving at the community library. I was several meters beyond him, when he called to me, said he was selling toilet paper and asked if I’d buy some. Being by now familiar with the all too frequent absence of what I consider a necessity, and pleased that he was doing something to help himself, I turned back, dug the two pula from my pack and purchased a roll.
That was over two months ago when I first met Tau. I’ll just call him that because of the way his dreadlocks frame his face like a mane. He was just finishing his studies as a sound technician when we met and has since graduated. Now we meet at the library or sit in the shade of the porch at the local general dealer every week or two. Still he speaks tentatively about his hopes and
Neighbor Jane
Somebody has to tend the braii, and our neighbor is one of those people that joyfully lends a helping hand. dreams, unsure of his ability to succeed.
I don’t know why he decided to turn back and walk with me to the library the day we met or why he chose to confide in me, but he did. He talked to me about fear and a desire to change. He was afraid to get an HIV test after a drunken encounter with a woman he barely knew, but after some encouragement he went to the clinic. He no longer wants to live the image of the dagga (pot) smoking rasta, spending his time in bars and shebeens. He is afraid that the talent he has for writing and performing rap would be lost without the drugs and alcohol, without the image. What would his friends say? Who would his friends be if he left it behind? Yet he told me that a voice within him cannot be stilled. He recognizes that he is more than an image, but added that he is reluctant to look closely because he fears he will find himself to be deeply flawed.
Usually he has been drunk or stoned one or two times between our meetings. At least once he has had another
Sharing the journey.
These boys live on our family compound and recently shared a birthday celebration. risky sexual encounter. Each time we meet to talk, he looks at me with a crooked grin and says, “I wasn’t going to tell you about it.” But he does. More importantly, he tells me about some new insight that has come to him along side his perceived failure or setback. It is no miraculous change, rather a slow unfolding of awareness. He told me of times before we met when he found himself slumped on a sidewalk with little or no recollection of the previous hours. When we began talking, he was still using daily, but the last time we met he’d made it a week, and in that week he became a little more honest with himself, a little clearer in his thinking. He is beginning to talk about old wounds, closed over, but not yet healed. Maybe next time we meet he will have gone for two weeks or just two days without drinking or smoking. Either way, seeds of change have been sown.
I have noticed my own changes as well. At first, I saw myself in the role of the mentor, but when I’m willing to look closer, I see more. Tau is learning
what everyone learns as they beat an addiction, honesty, humility, and surrender. What have I learned during my work here? We are not so different, he and I. Habits that no longer serve me well have to be abandoned, and change doesn’t come without trepidation. Like it or not, some things I am powerless over and my efforts to control them futile. The only answer for me is to learn to recognize those habits of mind, give them up bit by bit and be vigilant enough not to pick them up again. My service here sometimes feels futile at worst, flawed at best, but if I let go of those thoughts of what I should be doing, give up preconceived notions of success, then I can simply be grateful for the chance to share in the journey of chance meetings and a mutual willingness to learn. It is in that surrender that strength emerges. I wish that for Tau. I wish that for myself. Like him, I’m learning to be grateful for the experience, even when it’s painful. I will soon forget lectures and workshops that I’ve given, the numbers of people in attendance, but just as Tau says he will remember me, I will remember the strength in his surrender. I will remember those who support me as I have supported Tau.
Out of respect for Tau's privacy, I didn't publish his photo, but wanted to share some other pictures of life in Botswana.
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Jill Jasper
non-member comment
feelings
"People will forget what you did for them, and they will forget what you said to them. But they will never forget how you made them feel." I'm not the author of the phrase, wish I knew who was. I suspect Tau will never forget how you made him feel, and relationships like that will be a lasting result of your time in Africa.