Roughly four years ago, I stepped off of a plane to be
welcomed by the dressings of a country in the closing stages of a wide
scale industrial make-over. The opening day of 2010 World Cup
was less than a month away and King Shaka International Airport
glistened with the sleekness of recently implemented modern comforts.
The flags of the thirty-two nations participating in the upcoming
tournament were each represented on large banners hanging from the
rafters and replica football uniforms adorned the windows of nearly
every store front in the terminal. As our group trekked through the
cluttered walkways, we were greeted by a collection of African students
who we would be volunteering with for the week in the nearby township of
Cato-Manor. One of their leaders, a fellow named Malusi who was only a
few years older than me, came beside me and asked what I thought of
South Africa so far. I hesitated to respond seeing that my answer would
be restricted to commentaries on the pool of athletic propaganda we had
just been immersed in. Playing off of my reluctance to answer, he
swiftly followed with a second question,
"Be honest, man. You expected us to pick you up riding on elephants and lions, didn't you?"
Ignoring
his strange joy in placing me in uncomfortable situations throughout
our time together, Malusi turned out to be one of the most intriguing
people that I have ever met. Growing up during the tumultuous final
days of apartheid in a township outside of Durban, he witnessed the
bloody government conspired feud between the IFP and ANC parties that
occurred in his home province as a boy. He remembers traveling to and
from school in fear of becoming a victim of the violence. His estranged
polygamist father left him and his siblings without much support, but he
did have the rare opportunity to attend a mixed-race school; although
that experience was not met without conflict. He recalls the hallmark
of animosity towards black students in his school as the time when a
white teacher dismissed he and his friend's celebration of Nelson
Mandela's freedom by proclaiming to the class that "they are happy that
their monkey has been released."
Up until recently, Malusi had been the director of a program that empowers young people from the townships. *
(As
a quick side-note, I have mentioned townships often in my writings
so far, and I just wanted to clarify what I am talking about for anyone
who may be unfamiliar. Basically, the townships are the areas of land that
the government banished non-whites to live in during Apartheid. The
black townships are slowly starting to become more westernized with the
construction of shopping malls and paved roads. In spite of that fact, they continue to retain some major elements of African culture
while the areas outside of the townships have been, as Malusi would say,
"over-run by European culture.")
He received very modest pay
for his work and his program depended heavily on donations. His
incredible dedication to his organization was recognized by the U.S.
embassy in South Africa and he was selected to attend leadership
training in America a couple years back. Spending most of his life
living in a dirt-floor shack, he selflessly poured his time and meager
income into serving in his community. When I asked Malusi how he had
managed to do so much with so little he responded simply,
"God provides."
The
impact that Malusi had on me in 2010 kept him and South Africa on my
mind up until today and reconnecting with him has been one of the
highlights of living in Durban for me. Today, he works for a new youth
empowerment group called Activate and makes a full-time salary.
However, a few weeks ago I received the unfortunate news that his
younger brother had passed away exactly 31 days after his sister had
passed the month before. Funerals in the townships are a unique
combination of mourning, reflection, and celebration of the deceased's
life through vibrant singing and dancing. After a long service of
friends and family members speaking and singing in the Zulu language, we
traveled to Malusi's newly built house on a small plot of land within
walking distance of the one-room church building for a traditional South
African meal.
 |
Malusi serving in the townships in 2010
(Photo Credit: Lauren Pupillo) |
Post a few fairly brief interactions with some of
Malusi's other siblings, I was motioned by a group of his neighbors to
come join them. There were sitting on the ground before me a were a
collection of men of various ages, sipping on
Utshwala besizulu (Zulu Beer) from a communal clay pot.
The yeasty concoction takes three days to prepared and is served at
funerals, weddings and other traditional events. The youngest of the
group, who looked to be close to my age, introduced himself to me and
began giving me a hard time because they had spotted me conversing with
Malusi's younger sister.
"We saw you sitting next to her, do you intend to marry that woman?"
With
a slight grin on his face, he detailed the Zulu courtship process for
me and informed me that my actions had been read by his group as a
desire to enter into their version of the dating ritual. He joked that I
was well on my way to sending a cow over to her family.
Our
conversation took a more serious turn as we began to discuss the
immense cultural divide found amongst people who live so close in
proximity to each other here in South Africa, but their lives couldn't
be more separated. One of the more profound items he touched on that I
have found difficult to adjust to is the fact that there isn't a false
need amongst Africans to be "nice" to everyone. As the neighbor stated,
they "don't do fake smiles and fake friendships."
That
made me ponder on how often we feel this need in America to brandish a
superficial concern for others through our words, even if we have no
intention of caring for them through our actions. It can be
uncomfortable here to smile at someone and not your friendly gesture
returned, but at the same time it is refreshing to be around people who
don't have a culturally ingrained need to upkeep a plastic image
interest for the people around them that they don't really know or care
about.
One other thing about South Africa as a whole,
both inside and outside of the townships, is that there exists little,
if any political correctness. For better or for worse, you hear people
saying exactly what they think and not feeling a need to artificially
sugar coat it. For the worse, you hear comments shared in public that
will make you recoil in a 'did you really just say that?' that kind of
way. Whether it's a salesman proudly sharing that used car has "only
had white owners" or a real estate agent casually dropping racial slurs
to describe former tenants, it's hard to go through a week without
overhearing someone uttering something disgraceful. However for the
better, there is no false concept of South Africa being a post-racial
society. There are problems. BIG problems. Everyone recognizes it and
there aren't attempts to sweep the issues under the rug. On the other
side of the coin, back in the states it's not uncommon for us to
designate ourselves as a country that doesn't see color. "It's all
good, we have black friends (and a black president)" or "we're all
colorblind" are common flawed philosophies to diffuse the possibility
that racism still exists in America. And yet, segregation heavily
exists in my country. We just do a better job of pretending it's not
there.
As the sun began to tuck behind the rolling
hills in the distance, Malusi's neighbor pointed at the eldest man
sitting amongst us and asked,
"Do you know why he's been smiling the
whole time since you sat down? For the majority of his life he never
would have dreamed of seeing a white man and a black man sitting
together in a township sharing a meaningful conversation."
Everyday
I spend in the townships I feel as though I am uncovering a new
treasure of wisdom that is unique to this section of the world. When I
first reunited with Malusi I asked him what directions he had for me as I
began my time teaching here. I was half expecting one of his signature
articulate monologues on mentoring and inspiring students through
non-traditional educational methods. Instead, he was
uncharacteristically brief in his words,
"Be quick to listen and slow to speak"
It may be a cliche, but that advice has made my experience so far.
