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First Congregational Church, U.C.C., One Church Street. South Hadley MA 413-532-2262
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Sarah Howe’s South Africa Mission Trip March 10-24, 2007 As soon as I stepped off of the plane, the air weighed upon me like a damp blanket because of the humidity. None of us cared that the muggy weather that greeted us at 11:00 at night portended a much higher level of heat during the day. We were in Afrika, and that was all that mattered. My group was in the care of a missionary couple, Roger and Meg Hesch. They planned our itinerary and began and ended our days with prayers and devotions. On the first day, Roger took us to a park in Durban, across the street from Sydneham, an “informal settlement” – one of many former parks or open areas in Durban that the very poor had converted into small communities of shacks made of cardboard and scrap metal and anything else they could find. These settlements are very dangerous as they are governed by gangs but you are safe if you have an invitation – as we did. We were greeted by about thirty kids from the settlement, accompanied by a minister -- Sizwe, and his wife Zuki. Most of them spoke only Zulu, but some knew some English and we got by. The majority of the kids were alarmingly skinny, and we found out all had known someone who had died from AIDS. These kids had seen more of life and death than I had, and they were less than half my age. I didn’t have a clue how to make it better for them, so I held the little ones, played duck, duck goose with the older ones, and just talked with Sizwe and Zuki. When it was time for the kids to go home, we walked them back to the settlement. If they were lucky, there were two rooms for six people, and usually only one bed. There would be a refrigerator and a stove and no room for anything else. There was a community bathroom for over one hundred people. A short distance down the street were a number of mansions. At our devotion that night, I expressed to Roger my feelings that those kids deserved more than that. Whatever things their parents had done or did not do should not affect a tiny baby. It was hard to believe anyone can stand a chance being born into that. He told me very firmly that none of us deserves anything from God. I said I didn’t know much about God, but surely we deserved more from each other. All he could do was nod sadly at me. We saw the kids for four days during which we completed the clean-up of the park, played with them, taught them, and learned from them. Continued below.
Children Playing in a Park Across the Street from an Informal Settlement
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Photos of One Informal Settlement
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Continued from above. Our next assignment was a visit to the Dream Centre. The Dream Centre is an AIDS hospice. Every person in that hospice was sent there to receive long term care or a place to die. Hardly anyone ever goes back outside once they have checked in. The patients, men and women alike, were skin and bones. They had little to do unless they were in a room with three other people, then sometimes they might have a TV to watch. However, when a person became too sick, he/she would be put into a single room so as not to discourage the other patients. Once there, they had nothing to do but stare at the walls, dirty their diapers, and wait for their food or medicine. I saw one man who I swore was at least 40 years old. He was only 22. One girl was only 15. Many had families they would never see again; one man from the Congo didn’t even know if his family was still alive. I tried to speak words of hope and courage, but what could I possibly say? My translator that went with my small group through the hospice called AIDS the shame of Afrika. He lives in an informal settlement, but is managing to go to school. He hopes that when he finally makes it out of the settlement he will be able to help others do the same. Later, I found out his brother died from AIDS last winter. That night there was a fierce storm, the likes of which I had never seen. The rain poured down in torrents, strong winds blew, and the lightning and thunder flashed and roared. And then the power went out. Some of the kids in my group ran out to dance in the Afrikan rain. All I could bring myself to do was sit in my room and cry for the people in the settlements, who surely would not be dry that night. The next day, we went to an orphanage called Zakhe’s Place. There were maybe four women for around 50 kids. Most of the women had to spend time with the infants, so the two to five year-old group received little attention. We started off by helping clear the damage that the storm had brought, there were branches everywhere. When we finally started playing with the kids, I noticed a middle-aged man playing with one of the boys. When he left, the boy started sobbing uncontrollably. I found out from one of the women that the man was the boy’s father. When I asked why the boy was in an orphanage if he had a father she told me that his father used to beat him. Why is he allowed to visit I asked. She said she didn’t like it either but it wasn’t her decision. Another one of the boys there latched onto me right away. His name was Cosi, which means Chief. He needed so much love and the hardest thing I experienced in Afrika was leaving him behind. I thought about going back, somehow, and adopting him when I’m done with school. I know it is unrealistic, but I needed to tell myself I was doing more for him than just loving him for a day. I can only hope someone else takes him home. That weekend, we went two hours north of Durban to a rural area called Noodsberg. There, indoor plumbing was nowhere to be found, but love was everywhere. Their church service was an amazing experience. The passion was evident in everybody’s faces and voices that it brought tears to my eyes. Never have I heard such singing and seen such emotion. I was talking with one 16 year old girl and she told me how grateful she was for us being there. Then she told me that she loved me because I was white and beautiful. I told her I loved her too and that’s why I was there. She just laughed in disbelief.
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We spent the beginning of the second week at a preschool in a neighborhood called Quarry Heights. We got to help teach them their letters and sing songs. This place only had two women for nearly 50 kids. I have no idea how they do it. One boy kept talking to me in Zulu. He didn’t seem to care that I had no idea what he was saying. I would call one of the teachers over and ask her what he meant and she would tell me. Then, when she walked away he would start talking again. I think maybe he just needed someone to talk to. He asked me to draw a car and then proceeded to make fun of my lack of artistic talent. So I told him to draw a car. Turns out he can draw a lot better than me.
Quarry Heights Preschool Children at Play
We also spent much of a day at a wild game park and saw an amazing assortment of indiginous will animals.
Continued Below:
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We wrapped up our trip by staying in an Indian community. Roger wanted us to be sure that we got the full picture of South Afrika. It was not just wealthy whites and poor blacks, but it was also Indians who fell anywhere in-between. The family I stayed with had a relatively small house with no doors, except to the bathroom. The family was made up of a mother and father, 10 year old triplet girls, and a grandmother. There were only three bedrooms for all of them, and they insisted on giving me my own. That meant three people to a bed in the other two rooms. That kind of arrangement was unheard of to me. I tried to explain that the couch or even the floor was fine for me, but they wouldn’t hear of it. That night, the girls performed a song and dance for me, at the urging of their mother. I realized that this family was truly happy, whether it had a lot or a little. The mother had told me that her brother had been shot and the contractor she had paid to re-do the kitchen floor had run off with her money, yet still here they were, a happy family. When I was picked up in the morning, I left behind some American money for the triplets, because they had been fascinated by it. I only wish I had brought more with me to give. I was both excited and fearful of going home. I wanted to see my family and friends, but scared I would despise them for not understanding what I went through, for not seeing what I had seen. Most of all, I was scared of despising myself. I learned a lot from Afrika; about the world, about people, about who I am, and about who I want to be. I am not sure how long it will take for me to become the person I hope to be, but I know that no matter what happens, I will always have Afrika.
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