kevolution:cape town

I was done. But this is more brilliant than my own ending.

I suppose I could create allegorical value for many of these factoids and some of my conclusions might prove true, but I am choosing not to do this. Because, now, I can’t help but recognize all the things that people do that a) have no real significance, yet b) define how outsiders see them. When I returned from my tour many people asked me what Germany was like. I said I had no idea. “But weren’t you just there?” They inevitably asked. “Yes,” I told them, “and I don’t know what it’s like at all.”

Chuck Klosterman

It is amazing to travel so far in hours. To land on the other side of this globe. And to see friends. To spend wonderful time with both new and old. Giving flesh to experiences and places and people and many more nouns that I had previously heard and read. To think you understand only to realize how mistaken and naïve you have been.

I am indebted in this experience to many kind folk. And am thankful for hospitality and conversation and care and wisdom. To be able to take a bite of something that will take months and years to chew and digest.

I recall speaking with a professor of mine just before leaving school, “was that it?”

After finishing high school, “was that it?” All the lead up and it was done. Years of classes and books and essays and exams and two degrees on the wall, “was that it?”

And I cannot help a similar feeling coming. But I wonder if I actually don’t like this, or at minimum need a new metaphor for this situation. Possibly a storm. I was standing calmly, there. And I feel some breeze and turn around to see the mass of a storm. Before long I can’t see the forest for the trees (I’d switch that into storm lingo, but can’t think how). I spend some time being tossed about, things flying at my head, gut and knees, all in front of my eyes. And before I know it there seems to be some calm. Myself is not being bashed, and the immediate weather is nice. But neither will this last. It is simply the eye.

Miles from context I remember David Sedaris’ words, “here was yet another defining moment, and again I missed it entirely.”

But I know what I’ve just experienced. And while I might not be able to speak plainly of it, I can say with certainty that something just happened.

And I can see another thing coming my way. Though distinct from the last. It seems to be the opposite directions in some aspect, and yet I can spin around to realize that this is all connected.

There are some ideas that have stuck with me through this time- future, freedom, complicity, hope, fear, help, past… and most important, humanity and love.

Some quick lines from Wendell Berry:

It is wrong to condemn people for doing a thing and then offer no alternative but failure. A person could get mad at that.

To have given up on illusory hope is not to be hopeless.

There is much to be done. Everywhere. And we are only responsible for a small part of that: of all that there is we have complicity in some. Both seem to be true.

And from Riaan Manser:

A nation is only at peace with itself, and its various groups at peace with one another, when all concerned accept the country’s common history, good or bad, as their own.

I have believed, and continue to do so, that we are part of something large. We are connected to one another. Blessings and problems, you are both of them to me. As I am to you.

I want to thank you all for your kind words, thoughts and prayers. I believe this experience to be significant for me and I do hope that following along gives you some insight into that change.

I’m back again, but things look a bit foreign, may that continue.

And maybe we can end this day with a smile
Cause I’ve been thinking way too much
And I just need a place to lay my head
And your eyes tell me everything my heart needs to hear
Despite all those words that could be said
…
Cause when my life gets to changing
And I don’t know where I am
It’s in the way you try to understand

better late than never

Well, I still have a few thoughts for the last few days. After some initial disappointments on Tuesday (namely the second day of cancellations toward Robben Island which thwarted my third and final day of attempt, followed by a markedly undisappointing chocochino) b&a headed to teach some primary students while I stayed behind.

Some difficult news greeted them at school. On his way home the day before Thami (Tommy) was taking the train and fell onto the tracks. He lost one of his legs and a portion of his foot. The other student who was with him at the time did not come to school.

The students at school had an array of responses as to be expected. A&b’s plan for the day was quickly discarded and impromptu counseling took its place. The students talked about Thami for a bit before making cards for him.

Thami was taken to Groote Schuur in Cape Town, large and aging hospital known as the venue of the first successful heart transplant. Visiting hours are limited to one in the afternoon and one at night. Arriving at the hospital with a wave of folks for visiting hours we made our way to the trauma department.

Two other patients lay in a room with eight beds, one by himself and the other with many visitors. In the states a ‘hospital environment’ has come to mean sterile, uniform, sparse, extensive fluorescent light and filled with seemingly new things. Groote Schuur might not fit these. Sterile yes, but almost dingy. Oddly colored walls where the outline of removed pictures remain. Likely the only thing worse than fluorescent is dim fluorescent. Now Thami is fortunate, many of the public hospitals are much worse lacking staff and equipment. B&s took a woman from the camp in recently for extensive burns and told some unsettling stories about the care available provided and available.

Just before we arrived the school’s principle had come to visit his student. For a few minutes we crossed paths with a coworker of Thami’s dad who had come to bring some food and a familiar face. His parents could not come as they live in Kayalitcha (a squatter’s camp of estimated one million) and would not be safe returning on the train at night and could not afford other transportation.

As all children Thami looked small in his bed. We brought some KFC as his classmate were sure that both they and him liked chicken. Unfortunately he was going into surgery in the morning and could not eat any. A&b stood by Thami’s side, giving some comforting words. As he began to look through the cards his classmates had made he was quickly in tears.

At the same time Thami was never far from smiling. Enjoying the company of friends with ambivalence with tears and joy. The future is difficult, knowing struggles are sure to come and Kayalitcha will not be giving him the most advantages.

“I didn’t want to write the song from any sort of political standpoint, I just wanted to relate what it felt like”

My first large concert was supposed to be Rage Against the Machine with the Wu-Tang Clan. Unfortunately a portion of the Wu got arrested a day before the show- but then the Roots filled in. In retrospect this will live on a such an event. Who wouldn’t love to see Rage with the Roots circa 1996? And a distinct memory always surfaces from that show- talking with my friend Sammy G about anticipation. And how wonderful the feeling is. And I think we tried to rate the thrill of anticipation next to that of the actual event. I think I disagree with that last bit and believe anticipation is maybe more properly viewed as a separate entity.

I believe I wrote early on in this series of thoughts about anticipation. Specifically my lack of foresight in this trip, little planning and short notice. But there was such anticipation- I’ve spent a fair amount of time considering South Africa as well as many of the ideas this trip brought to the surface, and that mixed with anticipation. And truly much of that anticipation will out live the trip itself. My limited time in South Africa wil not be exhaustive, I will not understand the people or history or politics or food or much at all- and the anticipation of understanding just a bit more wil live on.

I’d wager that anticipation will mix with humility brought forth from realizing my minuscule understanding- and this whelming will just spark curiosity.

I was able to sit in on one of a&b’s classes for the semester. The opening lecture for Sociology of Development. And initially I missed school. Missed the conversations that follow lectures and lectures that get sidetracked by discussion. And drinks after class. Come on

And like so much of my time here, the class focused first on understanding where we (SA here) are socially (in terms of political, economic, race and class differentiations). And then broadened the scope. Where does America fit in these categories? Brazil? Eastern Africa? Sweden?

And what grabbed me was this.

Where could we be?
Where should we be?
Why?
How?

And these are at the heart of development issues. And they are exciting. People coming alongside others to encourage radical, sustainable improvement.

Come on, that’s fun.

It seem like everywhere I go
The more I see
The less I know
But I know
One thing

People are interesting. Personal habits fascinate me; especially those done unconsciously or by someone who a) attains their self worth from places other than bystanders’ opinion, or b) have never noticed what they are doing might be construed as odd. And when you come into a group of people where you are the outsider, your vantage point provides for much of this. If an entire population does it, then very few consider it odd.

So traditions then

I have become use to traveling in a car on the left side of the road. Even catch myself walking on the left side of the path. Strange that this habit of South Africans goes back to more (arguable) imperialistic times and control under the Brits. And that when you go to other African countries lorded over by different sets of ancestors, the driving will happen on the right side.

And so many traditions in Cape Town have such obvious European ties. From what I understand much more than any of its neighbors. Which goes hand in hand with the trade emphasis put on Africa’s southern cape. And why it is commonly viewed as one of the more, if not the most, developed country in Africa.

Which is what makes the poverty in this part of the world distinct.

On a personal note, I believe I have fallen in love with woolworths. Not anticipated. I disdain malls. And arguably much commerce. Fancy stores bug me and bartering on the street bugs me, though these two for mutually exclusive reasons. But many of the food stores are tucked into malls. And though I don’t believe I’ve ever been in a Woolwoth’s before, I didn’t like the ring of it. But shopping for food there, well it’s great. And not simply because food in Cape Town is considerably less than the states, but because there is such limited selection. While they have many different cheeses, or wine, or bread… Maybe to be understood as breadth, but little depth. If you want milk, you choose you fat content but that is it. You’ve effectively chosen your brand the moment you walk into the store.

Which maybe could be compared to some sort of ideal socialist food scheme- of course that quickly breaks down when you walk out of the store and recall you have to walk through horrid capitalism (in this case a department store) to get back out to your car, and there are of course many cars not limited to different use but more varying price, so the whole socialist bit is totally uninformed, naïve amateur and likely adolescent. But still, I will miss woolworths.

Though I never became accustomed to the passengers in the front left seat seeming dangerously aloof.

It’s well documented that to understand how a culture values human life visit their prisons, aged and orphans.

But shouldn’t we see more? Like sports! And what people use sporting arenas for other than sports?

I think so. There is much to learn at a Manchester United match, or Red Sox game… Nascar, I suppose.

So rugby then. I have seen a bit on tv but not enough to know who the Springboks were just before coming here. Now I didn’t hit springbok season but a provincial match will do.

So we head into town and, like white headphones near a campus, we began seeing much white and blue. So we find a lawn to park in. And head with the mass of people. Approaching the stadium there are many people with matching shirts. And some of them help block traffic to let the approaching throng cross. We laugh at their name badges “ministry team.” Has some large group of folks determined their best ‘outreach’ be to help traffic at a rugby game.

So we get our tickets torn and enter into the food/drinks/toilets/souvenirs portion of the stadium. Ask for directions to our seats from an girl who looks official as her shirts match so many others–it says “unbelievable,” but the un is crossed out by the outline of table mountain, she tells me. I don’t get it. But she looked at me like I should so I pretended to. We plan to sit for a bit before buying our standard stadium fare with funny names.

Coming through the tunnel we our first view of the pitch, which is covered in chairs. Each of us start looking around. There is only a normal amount of blue and white. Not too many rugby jerseys. And the crowd seems short of the large-missing-teeth-males. And no beer. And the securities guards are far to small to take care of much more than a kinder riot.

Hmmm

We find a guy, wearing the same shirt as so many others. “This isn’t where rugby happens, is it?” He looks at us as if there is some language barrier, but there isn’t, we had simply asked a question for which he wasn’t prepared.

“Rugby, um, uh, no.”

“Where is the rugby stadium?”

“Yeah, I’m not really into rugby. I don’t know.”

Turns out the stadium is about three blocks away. And where were we? Some sort of christian stadium event!

After catching our breath we find ourselves in the rugby stadium, with a much different crowd. Less fancy cars, more guys who seems to partake of biltong and castle without product in their hair. On our way out of the first event we had to go back to the ticket taker and explain that they had taken our ticket stubs which were clearly marked “not the event you are supposed to be taking tickets for.”

Then we had to explain to the next ticket takers that the christians had looked at our tickets, torn them, showed us to our seats, for a different event in the wrong stadium. They laughed, as did we.

So we made it to rugby, in the shadow of Table Mountain. And it was awesome. I just wish rugby was a little less violent, but only sometimes, the rest of the time I think it’s okay.

I did spend some time, in trying to understand the game, wondering if you could add a third team on the same pitch in the same match. I decided it probably wouldn’t work. But adding two might. Seriously, wouldn’t it be fun to watch a game where three teams were playing at the same time? I think it would.

So what is to be done? This is the question that logically follows some new trinket of understanding. Assuming or placement in an already/not yet tension of a redeemed world, what are we to do?

In the last few days I have been able to spend some time with a few people who have challenged some thoughts and put forth some history.

Nadine and Andries both grew up around Cape Town and still occupy the space. Coming up from different background their marriage is an amalgamation. Andries from a poorer white family, of course poor white would be wealthy anything-else under apartheid, which moved to liberal before he was born. Nadine is the only daughter of a fairly prominent coloured pastor in town. Growing up she was able to enter prominent schools and is now a dean at the school b&a are at.
Both nadine and andries speak of apartheid somewhat removed. I think this is partially because they are often asked about their history. Nadine works with many international students and knows what answers to give even when the questions aren’t voice. I think I understand her portion of this type of conversation and have been in her position more often than my current.
Both Nadine and Andries were in their teens when apartheid fell and so their ‘personal stories’ are not only theirs but their parents’ and from watching their parents.
Getting past the preliminaries the conversation grew more personal and current. While both grew up in progressive families who did not consider assigned race to be a designating factor, both saw the effects.

We also spent time talking with b&a’s classmate Deo. He grew up in Kampala and has been in Cape Town for a bit past a year, studying community development and working in his off time with groups from home. At school he has been helping supervise some recently planted American, which in short stints might be fun… Funny that in a foreign country he becomes the native to the students. It seems unfortunately true that many Americans here (whether students or short term ‘missionaries’ or humanitarian aide or travelers) get a characatured portrait- look, you can see lions on your way to the aids orphanage before building a church while we tame educate people on how to hand out tracts.

I cannot recall the exact circumstances, but I believe the liner notes informed the following word were after a conversation who, in conversation, used the phrase repeatedly in conversation.

Before the revolution
Never had a dream
Before the revolution
Never learned a thing
Before the revolution
Couldn’t walk the streets

For those of us young enough to have not lived a cultural revolution, or political, or social, others who use such phrases are romantic, foreign, things of stories. I just cannot imagine. I try to listen to folks who speak of segregation in the south, and I just don’t get it. I hear people from countries whose dominant political system was overthrown, or those who needed to flee their homeland, or those felt compelled. I just don’t understand. I have no idea what that is like, the tension and turmoil of something I have grown up with as stable, and the only sane way.

Certainly the american government, as everything else american and everything else period has its issues, and it is important to be aware, and maybe those citizen’ vote who remain willfully ignorant should be given to foreigners who are also impacted by our votes, and if the world would vote I can tell you more assuredly who would win… But I digress

I do not understand large scale change. Revolution. Oppression. Forced segregation.

But I have some ideas. And I do think I have some grasp on personal revolution (maybe more appropriately small revolution as I don’t believe change can be fully internal). And I see so many here oppressed- who do not understand their freedom- for whom the fall old structures 14 years ago could have done more- who believe themselves worse off- and I am tempted to say the change fell short- but can only believe it hasn’t yet run its course. That maybe revolution is better understood as continual. I’m no etymologist and a&b don’t have a copy of the oed, but revolution. Maybe less an punticular event and more of an orbit, continually moving, changing vantage point and stance while constantly drawing nearer to something vast and of compelling gravitas.

Now brothers and sisters I am only one guy and I don’t even know the words to that song Louie, Louie

Hey Nashville friends
I got an email reminding me about an upcoming conference. Should be good. If you are intersted there are still open spots

I’m headed to Robben Island in the morning amd hope to have some more time to put thoughts down tomorrow

Peace, Kevin

I’m not sure how this will past, but jonathan wilson-hartgrove. New monasticism. Otter creek

Copying a post from Living the Simple Life:

Come all ye faithful to Nashville, TN, to hear Johnathan Wilson Hartgrove and others explain what the new monastic movement has to say to the larger church. The one-day seminar is based on Jonathan’s latest book.New Monasticism: What It Has to Say to Today’s Church (Baker) is Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove’s introduction to new monasticism and the gifts it has to offer the church in a time a rapid change. Sam Ewell’s Building Up the Church: Experiments in Faith, Hope, and Love (Wipf and Stock) is an interactive study guide based on Jonathan’s book, designed to lead small groups into an authentic engagement with new monasticism.Otter Creek Church (located at 409 Franklin Road, Brentwood, Tennessee) will host this event on Saturday, September 20th from 8am-6pm. For more information and to register go here

Just a quick thought while riding through the town on the way to rugby…

My default is to dismiss the past as naïve and pre-modern. Which I know to be a fault, both today as it was a hundred years ago. Riding through and seeing plots of land that use to be where blacks and coloureds lived before being forced to move. And the National Party only came into power after wwii. Sure there was pre existing racism and classism and other horrid isms, but I have this persistent preconscious thought- it’s a good thing that is over. I don’t know why I don’t wonder when the next seemingly civilized group of people will fall into causing atrocities like apartheid.

And I realize things similar are happening today, but I always think we need to end these. Rather than we need to find a way to continually resist each time happens and will happen while trying to prevent. Maybe this is dismal, but history can be overwhelming