|
 South
Africa changed my outlook on life.
I left America on July 4th disenchanted with our country.
A Thief-in-Chief bombing left and right, constant twitches
in New York’s security levels (“now it’s
yellow, no orange, no green, no purple…no,no…we
mean it! It’s really dangerous, now!), and a national
constituency seemingly oblivious/apathetic to it all, I
looked forward to my ideological notion of a 2003 South
Africa: active, politically aware, involved, passionate
people with a pulse. You know, a country where everyone’s
eyes weren’t completely glazed over, yet.
I am proud to report that South Africa turned out to be
all I’d anticipated and more. It was active, charged,
and everything else I just mentioned. Yet, six months did
not pass by shock-free. Indeed, two things shocked me most
about South Africa; for one, it was more dangerous than
New York City. For two, that didn’t stop people from
trying to change it.
On one side, what was really incredulous to me about South
Africa was the dearth of social safety nets. The ability
to deal with crime, unemployment, homelessness, domestic
abuse, rape, and other serious matters often seemed insufficient
and, as this was my first time
out of the United States, I’d never experienced that.
Not only did it make me feel unsafe as a visitor, but it
often had even born and bred South African citizens seemingly
resigned to a perpetually helpless fate (as in, “there
is a strong chance I could be attacked anytime now, but
oh well...I can’t do anything about it” *shrug*).
That upset me because I am accustomed to being able to storm
into a police station and demand an answer for something.
Indeed, my mom often needed to do no more than threaten
adversaries with what she dubbed, “the power of the
pen.” It was a lesson that all of my siblings learned
– writing to mayors, governors, and calling up people
who knew other people. It was, essentially, getting things
done by being subtle yet active, vocal yet precise, in-your-face
when it was necessary; the point was to openly express concerns
on things needing to be changed. In South Africa, for me,
when it came to dealing with government administration,
that just didn’t work.
This isn’t because of a lack of concern on behalf
of the criminal justice system or other institutions of
the South African government but rather speaks to a lack
of infrastructure or capacity for a country with serious
budget constraints and a huge past, present, and future
to tend. I wasn’t accustomed to not being able to
go out at night as a young woman, or having to be so aware
of my person or personal belongings. I wasn’t used
to being followed by poor people until I agreed to give
them something. In New York, the homeless often just sit
idly on corners with signs; they don’t follow you.
Or, sometimes, you’ll see an inventive 20-something
claiming to be a Vietnam vet – “willing to work
for food.” In short, I was use to being skeptical
when it came to the homeless or very poor (even though I,
myself, didn’t come from a wealthy family). I wasn’t
familiarized with being passive-aggressively forced to form
relationships with local homeless people.
My interaction with Jeremy, a homeless man who soon became
very acquainted with the members of my household, though
nonetheless identified as a “pathological liar who
is absolutely dangerous” by the local police station,
probably was one of the most significant of my relationships
while in South Africa. Jeremy brought me down to earth.
There was a time when he once rang our bell at about seven
in the morning, shouting like a maniac. Roommates of mine
tried speaking to him though he continually yelled and made
a ruckus. I came to the door, tired of the noise, and he
instantly calmed down. I suspected that his reaction was
related to race; Jeremy was “coloured”, an apartheid-bred
word referring to someone appearing of “mixed”
descent. I often was mistaken for a coloured South African;
the rest of my housemates were all white. He probably saw
me and felt that “someone” in this house was
somehow “on his side.” It wasn’t entirely
accurate, though; a skeptical New Yorker, I was probably
the last of the house to warm up to him.
I soon learned that Jeremy wasn’t exactly insane,
as he was said to be, and that he often became angry at
perceived injustice. When he cleaned himself up to go apply
for an identification card only to find out that his papers
were in our home (a roo8mmate was helping him out), and
that everyone in the house ignored him, that upset him.
He was livid when the police ignored him. Once, when it
rained, Jeremy asked my roommate Ryan if he would mind letting
him sleep in his Mercedes Benz car parked out front. Ryan
actually said yes! To be honest, at the time I thought Ryan
was a bit dense for agreeing to that, though he’d
told me that by the next morning, he was shocked to see
Jeremy there, washing both the inside and outside of his
car. Nothing was taken or damaged. Sometimes, Jeremy just
asked for old newspaper to read up on the world around him,
to look at help wanted ads. Others say he wanted it for
toilet paper.
Jeremy warned me about locals with an eye on cell phones
and other expensive goods, letting me know that I often
was too flagrant with my belongings, and that others had
begun to notice. He and I often swapped jokes, hellos, and
brief conversations; once, I’d given him a bag of
clothes I knew I wouldn’t wear again. Expensive, I
told him anything he couldn’t use, he should sell.
Literally, the next day, I saw at least three people in
my neighborhood with items that’d once belonged to
me. LOL…I laughed to myself, hoping that he’d
at least gotten a good price for it.
Oftentimes, Jeremy just wanted someone to listen to him.
True, he often spoke about the same things, over and over
again. He had a glue sniffing habit. He had a drinking problem.
Nonetheless, he was quite young, actually, and allowed me
to see that homelessness is not something that necessarily
happens to certain KINDS of people, but is something that
happens in certain kinds of situations to people with certain
KINDS of opportunities. It’s not always as open and
shut as individual ambition or lack of responsibility.
I stumbled through South Africa, and glided through it.
I cried through it – scared out of my wits at times
(like when they threatened to deport me, but we won’t
talk about that) – and then laughed through it. I
woke up at bizarre hours of the night to have some of the
most interesting and influential conversations I’d
ever had, and absorbed information that still sits with
me now. In short, I went through – and, well, continue
to go through – one hell of a learning curve.
My behavior, my thinking ability, my perception of others,
of the concept of “ability” -- being ABLE to
do something -- as well as of my own level of responsibility…that
all changed. My notion of what it is to be human, of ethics,
of the value of life, of the world, of the delicacy of dignity,
of pride, of passion, of the impact that individual ambition
really has (little, yet so much) when all odds are seemingly
against you…yes, that all changed.Intro
| Entry 1 | Entry 2 | Entry
3 | Entry 4 | Entry
5 | Entry 6 |
|
