A trip to the Joburg ER

 

 

My trip to South Africa was really fantastic with some amazing and humbling experiences, but I did have one pretty horrific experience while I was there. One Sunday evening, I was laying in bed reading and writing a blog post when I felt some gastrointestinal discomfort. Now, this kind of discomfort is not uncommon for me and I figured that my stomach was a little upset from something I ate, so I ate a couple of antacids to hopefully settle it. That didn't work. About 30 minutes after the first signs of discomfort, came the diarrhea. Then 30 minutes after that I started vomiting. For the next 6 hours, I rotated between one bodily function and the other, with a few winks of sleep in between. I tried drinking water, but couldn't keep anything down and, by 4 am, I knew I would have to go to the hospital to be hooked up to IV fluids. Because I am such a polite person (this was one instance when I shouldn't have been), I waited until my host family got up at 6 am instead of waking them earlier. As soon as I heard Beryl Jegels open her bedroom door, I whimpered her name and she came to my bedside. I told her I had been sick all night and that I needed to go to the Emergency Room.  

 

Beryl took me to nearby Netcare Mulbarton Hospital, part of the largest private hospital network in South Africa. I knew my American health insurance wouldn't do me any good in South Africa and I didn't have any traveler's insurance, but after 6 hours of extreme sickness, I didn't really care how much it costs. I handed Beryl my credit card and told her to get me in as quick as possible. Beryl returned and said it would cost 1100 South African Rand to be admited to the ER. I quickly grabbed my iPhone and accessed the app that converts currency. Hmmm...only $131. That seemed suspiciously cheap. There were probably some hidden costs that I would be charged on the back end, but still, I needed fluids in my body and didn't care what the cost!!

 

The hospital staff were fantastic! I was in an ER bed within 30 minutes and after numerous tries to find a vein in my weak, dehydrated body, the nurse had me hooked up to IV fluids within 60 minutes or so. A couple of very pleasant doctors attended to me, and after some basic bloodwork, said everything looked good except my kidney functions were low - a sign of dehydration. Assuming my sudden onset illness was caused by a bacteria - I'm sure it was either a food or waterborne bug - they prescribed me antibiotics, an antiemetic (to stop the nausea and vomiting), and an anti-diarrheal medication. They also prescribed me a 6-day course of probiotics, to restore the good bacteria to my system. American doctors often forget this important step in restoring the digestive tract to fully operational, so the South African doctors at Mulbarton Hospital get a thumbs up and thank you from me.

 

The other charges were Rand 375 for bloodwork and R225 for the prescriptions for a total Emergency Room visit of 1,700 South African Rand. My handy iPhone app converted this to a total US $206. Really?!! Two hundred and six dollars?!!! For a visit to the Emergency Room?!! How much does a visit to the ER cost out-of-pocket in the U.S.? I can't imagine with our dysfuntional healthcare system in the U.S. that it would be this inexpensive. I imagine the same visit would have cost at least $1,700, not Rand.

 

I am extremely appreciative of the fine care I received and the inexpensive cost. I was back at my host family's house by 12:30 pm and fast asleep by 1 pm. I slept until 7 pm, got up for a cup of soup, a piece of toast, a Powerade and several glasses of water and then was back in bed by 8:30 pm where I slept for another 12 hours. Thankfully, I was back on my feet within a day and my awful night of illness in the past.

Words, words, words

The English language is so full of words and countries where English is spoken often use different words than we would use in the U.S. I found a long list of English words in South Africa that differ from the ones we use. Some of these words are influenced by African languages or Afrikaans (a derivitive of Dutch) and some are similar to British terminology. Here's the list I came up with:

Robot = Traffic signal

Petrol = Gasoline

Jersey = Sweater

Sweets = Candy

Bonnet = Car hood

Boot = Car trunk

Indicator = Turn signal

Combie = mini-van

Is it? = Oh really?

Howzit? = How do you do?

Fetch = Pick up

Collect = Pick up

Braai = Barbeque

Hoot = Honk

Geezer = Water heater

Mince = Ground beef

Panel beater = Body Shop

See you just now = See you later

Tour of Soweto, Part I: The Nelson Mandela House

 

 

I had heard the term Soweto before. I'm not sure where, but I knew it was a locational term that referred to an area in South Africa. I took a pass/fail course in college on African History, so maybe I heard the term in a Miami University lecture hall in 1989. I am embarrassed to say that I did not pass that course - the only time in my 16 years of education that I failed to do so. In my defense, learning the history of an entire continent is not easy. Africa is a large continent with much diversity. Hearing about the cultures, the wars, and the peoples of hundreds of African tribes with unpronouncible names is quite the challenge; trying to understand imperialism by the Dutch, British, and French is quite overwhelming.

Maybe I should have paid a little better attention in that history course, for it wasn't until I read a South Africa travel book prior to coming that Soweto defined a large area in southwest Johannesburg made up of dozens of neighborhoods where only black South Africans were permitted to live during the Apartheid era. And, where I thought that Soweto was an African word, maybe derived from the Xhosa or Zulu language, I came to find out it stood for South Western Townships. New York City has it's SOHO, San Francisco it's SOMA and Joburg has it's Soweto. But unlike SOHO and SOMA, Soweto has a turbulent history.

Originally, Soweto was established as a municipal housing settlement for workers who needed to be close to town. In his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom, Nelson Mandela describes the Soweto house he and his first wife, Evelyn, moved into in 1946: "The house itself was identical to hundreds of others built on postage-stamp-size plots on dirt roads. It had the same standard tin roof, the same cement floor, a narrow kitchen, and a bucket toilet in back. Although there were steetlamps outside, we used kerosene lamps inside as the homes were not yet electrified. The bedroom was so small that a double bed took up almost the entire floor space....It was the very opposite of grand, but it was my first true home of my own and I was mightily proud. A man is not a man until he has a house of his own. I did not know then that it would be the only residence that would be entirely mine for many, many years."

I was lucky enough to step foot in this exact home that Nelson Mandela shared, first with Evenlyn, and then with his second wife, Winnie, during a personalized tour of a small portion of Soweto with Cheryl Pillay, executive director of Come Back Mission. Cheryl is a teacher by training and includes a Soweto tour with every volunteer who gives their time to Come Back Mission. She began the tour by driving down what was the one and only road leading into the townships where, by the 1970s, over 1 million blacks were forced to reside due to racial separation polocies of Apartheid. Really? One road for one million people? Ahh, but so much easier for the white-controlled government to shut down the road and keep people confined. Turning down a few recently paved side streets with lovely new brick sidewalks - the result of infrastructure development in preparation for an onslaught of tourists for the 2010 World Cup - we entered the Orlando West neighborhood to No. 8115 Orlando West Street: the Nelson Mandela house.

Located across from the Mandela Family Restaurant, a local favorite still owned by his ex-wife and activist, Winnie Mandela, No. 8115 is now a tourist destination with a modern structure built adjacent to the Mandela house where a small gift shop and ticket booth are located. I happily paid the entrance fee for me and my friend Corrien (she received a discount as she is South African) and eagerily listened as the student tour guide explained the history of South African racial segregation in the tiny courtyard. We followed her around to the front of the house where she pointed out that the tree planted on the corner was where the umbilical cords of Nelson's children are buried. Before entering the red brick house, we passed by an oversized black-and-white photo of a young Nelson Mandela standing on the porch of his home in March 1961, his dog hugging him as if he hadn't seen his owner in a long time. Instead, the dog chillingly knew that he wouldn't ever see his owner again for Nelson's trial for treason would either send him to prison or underground into hiding. It was the last time Nelson Mandela stood on the steps of No. 8115 Orlando West until his famous release from prison in 1990 after the end of Apartheid.

The interior of the home was indeed small - just three tiny rooms plus a shower room. While I could clearly see the size, imagine how cold the concrete floor would have been in winter and how loud the house must have been when a summer storm rained down on the tin roof, I could not picture Nelson raising his family here. The house was too cluttered with Mandela's honorary university degrees, awards and memorabilia. I would have preferred to see the house in the state that Winnie Mandela left it in. That withstanding, it was a privilege to stand in the former house of one of the greatest leaders of the 20th century. And I love the photo of me on the back stoop resting my hand on the same spigot that Winnie Mandela is using in the black-and-white photo adjacent to me.

Tour of Soweto, Part II: The Hector Pieterson Memorial and Museum

 

After touring the Nelson Mandela home at No. 8115 Orlando West, Cheryl, Corrien and I continued on foot up the street just a few blocks past Orlando West High School, the site of the 1976 riots. I missed this historical moment in student upheaval against racial segregation. I don't ever remember hearing about it in the news or learning about it in school - not even the African history course I failed in college. It happened on June 16, 1976. Maybe Americans were too wrapped up in red, white and blue stars and stripes in preparation for the bicentenial celebrations that peaked on Independence Day a little over 2 weeks after the riots. Maybe Americans didn't care much what happened to black Africans on the other side of the world. Or maybe I was just too young to be paying attention to world events. Regardless, I'm glad I know now.

To understand the riots, one must understand Apartheid, a series of legistative policies initiated in the 1940s and 50s by white Afrikaners to separate racial groups. Afrikaners are descendants of the original Dutch settlers who were pushed out of Capetown and the eastern Cape by the British and established settlements in the western parts of what is now the Republic of South Africa. Afrikaners speak Afrikaans, a language derived mostly from Dutch. Apartheid labeled all South Africans by race: white, Indian, coloured, and black. Whites included Afrikaners, British, Dutch and other European descendants and immigrants. Indians had long been migrating to South African from their nearby homeland across the Indian Ocean. Coloureds are mixed race people, many of whom are descended from Afrikaners and their black slaves, and speak both English and the Dutch-derived language of Afrikaans. Blacks are native Africans and speak English as well as a variety of African languages such as Xhosa and Zulu.

Throughout Apartheid, laws were continually instituted that further divided these four groups. Some laws forced people to sell their homes for a pittance to the government and move into all black townships or all coloured communities. Several of the Come Back Mission staff, most of whom are close to me in age, can remember having to be forced to move from nice homes or beautiful farms, to small, often run-down houses in cramped neighborhoods. I can't imagine! It's all quite similar to the reservations set up by the American government for Native Americans, but it all happened in the late 20th century AFTER Nazi Germany rounded up Jews in concentration camps. Unfortunately, history does continue to repeat itself.

In 1976, the Apartheid goverment decided to force the already failing black schools to use Afrikaans as the primary language for instruction of maths and sciences. Black children spoke English and some were lucky enough to be able to read and write in English. They would only fall further behind in their education if, all of a sudden, instructors had to teach in Afrikaans. While their parents' generation was grateful to the whites for education and employment, these young black men and women knew how important education was and had grown angry with Apartheid. On June 16, 1976, an estimated 20,000 Soweto middle and high-school students boycotted classes and peacefully gathered in the middle of the school day in front of Orlando High school, just a few short blocks from the Nelson Mandela home. I read a street sign that described the day:

"June 16, 1976 began as a cold winter's morning like any other in Soweto. The signature pall of smoke hung over the dusty township streets. Parents waited patiently for buses and trains to take them to their jobs in the 'white' city. Inside the morning assemblies, however, someting very different was happening. Students began singing the banned national anthem, 'Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika', instead of the usual Lord's Prayer. Spirits were high as thousands of uniformed students then marched out of their school gates and threaded their way through the streets of Soweto carrying simple cardboard banners that they had hidden rolled up in their blazers with slogans such as 'To Hell with Afrikaans' and 'This Is Our Day'. As planned, the students converged in front of Phefeni Junior Secondary School to pledge their solidarity with this school that had been on boycott the longest. They had planned to proceed in a column to Orlando Stadium where...students leaders would address the students and break off the march.

"Between 5,000 and 6,000 students had gathered their by 10:30am. The throng of youngsters blocked the entire Vilakazi Street. More were on their way. 'The placard and stick-waving pupils outside the school's meshed fence converged like two rivers of protest in an emotional embrace' said journalist Lucy Gough. There was excitement in the air and the students smiled with determination as they sang songs of defiance. The 19-year-old leader of teh South African Students Movement...jumped on top of a tractor outside Orlando High and shouted to the assembled crowd: 'Brothers and sisters, I appeal to you - keep calm and cool. We have just received a report that the police are coming. Don't taunt them, don't do anything to them. Be cool and calm. We are not fighting'."

It wasn't long before white police officers were on the scene. While opinions still differ as to who started the violence, the police were armed with guns and tear gas and began using both on the unarmed students. In the melee more than 400 black students* were brutally shot and killed dead in the streets of Soweto by white police officers wielding their Apartheid power. Thousands were wounded and thousands more were detained, tortured, charged and imprisoned. Thousands more are said to have fled the country, fearing for their lives or for spending their lives in prison.

One 13-year-old boy named Hector Pieterson became the martyr of the riots. While not the first child to be killed nor the youngest, a photograph of Hector's limp and bloody body being carried by Mbuyisa Makhubu, an older black student, and accompanied by Hector's emotionally distraught sister was printed in newspapers and made its way around the world. Cheryl led me and Corrien down the same street that Mbuyisa carried Hector's lifeless body from Orlando High School to safety. The buildings that were on the site where Mbuyisa sought refuge are no longer present and have been replaced with a beautiful marble memorial with a river of water running underfoot to represent the tears and blood shed on the streets of Soweto on that fateful date in 1976. The Hector Pieterson Memorial was created "To honour the youth who gave their lives in the struggle for freedom and democracy" and stands next to the Hector Pieterson Museum, a collection of historical photos, documents, and videos that gives a better understanding of not only the events of that day, but also contextualizes them in a presentation on racial segregation and discrimination under the Apartheid rule.

*Internet research shows that death toll estimates greatly vary ranging from 23 to 700.

Tour of Soweto, Part III: Freedom Tower and Walter Sisulu Square

 

Following a walk through the Hector Pieterson Museum, we hopped in the car and drove to Kliptown, a bustling downtown area of Soweto complete with street vendors selling everything from fruits and vegetables to live chickens and even haircuts. A large, two-winged modern building dominates the area and it's V-shape creates an enormous brick-paved courtyard between the two wings. The building houses a conference center, museum, retail space, commercial offices and the Soweto Hotel, a 48-room 4-star hotel. At one end of the building, where the V-shape meets, is the Walter Sisulu monument. Walter Sisulu was a South African anti-apartheid activitst and member of the African National Congress (ANC) along with Nelson Mandela and Oliver Tambo. Like Mandela, Sisulu spent 26 years in prison, mostly on Robben Island off the coast from Capetown, for treason. Consisting of 10 concrete "freedom" columns - 5 are made of black concrete with white aggregate and 5 are made of white concrete with black aggregate - the monument represents the new South Africa where black and white people stand together in harmony. Although I didn't see it at night, apparently the columns are illuminated in the colors of the South African flag.

In the center of the courtyard between the V-shaped modern buildings sits a cone-shaped brick "smokestack," a monument to the Freedom Charter of 1955. The open-air structure contains a large marble circle, divided into 10 pie-shaped pieces inscribed with the 10 pillars of the Freedom Charter. Here's the history of the Freedom Charter: In 1955 the ANC sent out 50,000 volunteers into townships and the countryside to collect 'freedom demands' from the people of South Africa. The results were synthesized into a final document by ANC leaders and was officially adopted by roughly 3,000 delegates on June 25, 1955 at a congress of people on this site in Kliptown. Shortly after the delegates shouted their approval of all 10 pillars, the meeting was broken up by police. Nelson Mandela, one of the delegates, only escaped the police by disguising himself as a milkman!

The 1955 Freedom Charter:

"We, the People of South Africa, declare for all our country and the world to know that South Africa belongs to all who live it it, black and white, and that no government can justly claim authority unless it is based on the will of all of the people; that our people have been robbed of their birthright to land, liberty and peace by a form of government founded on injustice and inequality; that our country will never be prosperous or free until all our people live in brotherhood, enjoying equal rights and opportunities; that only a democratic state, based on the will of all the people, can secure to all their birthright without distinction of colour, race sex or belief; and therefore, we, the people of South Africa, black and white together equals, countrymen and brothers adopt this Freedom Charter; and we pledge ourselves to strive together, sparing neither strength nor courage, until the democratic changes here set out have been won." The 10 pillars of the Freedom Charter:

The People Shall Govern!
All National Groups Shall have Equal Rights!
The People Shall Share in the Country's Wealth!
The Land Shall be Shared Among Those Who Work It!
All Shall be Equal Before the Law!
All Shall Enjoy Human Rights!
There Shall be Work and Security
The Doors of Learning and Culture Shall be Opened!
There Shall be Houses, Security and Comfort!
There Shall be Peace and Friendship!

This Freedom Charter was obviously ignored by the minority whites in power and for the next 35 years the Apartheid government became more and more strict, instituting policies that further divided people based on their race. After the fall of Apartheid in 1990, the new Constitution of South Africa included in its text many of the demands called for in the Freedom Charter, particularly regarding equality of race and language.

National Women's Day: Part 1

Every year South Africans celebrate National Women's Day on August 9. Schools are closed. Government offices shut down. Even many businesses are closed for the national holiday. In a world where women are still oppressed, it's awesome that a country celebrates female power. The holiday commemorates the day in 1956 when 20,000 women marched in Pretoria to voice their objections to the Urban Area Act of 1950, also known as the "pass" act. This legislation required any native black or coloured person to carry an identification document on them at all times. Without the pass, one could easily be detained in jail. These 20,000 women strong marched to the prime minister's office in downtown Pretoria and left a petition with 100,000 signatures of Africans who felt the law was discriminatory and unjust. They stood outside the building, waiting for the prime minister to acknowledge them, singing an African protest song translated to "Now that you have touched the women, you have struck a rock."

I was honored to be in South Africa for this year's Women's Day and participate in the activities planned by Come Back Mission. I awoke early and joined my South African "sister," Corrien who was tasked with picking up 12 or so female Come Back Mission volunteers in the combie (or mini-bus in South African speak) to transport them to the organization's rural recovery center, a.k.a., the farm. Our first stop was in Kliptown to pick up Auntie Grace (posing with me in the photo above), beautifully dressed in her traditional African attire complete with decorative face paint. Before I left Houston, I had packed a separate suitcase full of donations, including a bag of plastic beads that Rob had leftover from his crafting days before I met him. Corrien had given the beads to Grace to see what she could do with them, and once on the combie, Grace presented her handiwork. I was amazed that a bag full of colorful beads could produce such gloriously beaufiful necklaces in only the matter of a few days.

After picking up the remainder of our female passengers and driving 30 minutes to the farm, we all disembarked from the combie and joined the others that had already arrived, as well as they young women who lived on the farm and participated in the Hadassah Women's Center substance abuse recovery program. The few men present were outside busy cooking traditional African potjie (pronounced poy-kee), a meat and vegetable stew cooked in a three-footed, heavy iron kettle over hot coals. Meanwhile, the women gathered on the brick patio under the warm, winter African sun for tea and coffee, muffins, fresh fruit and juice.

Just after noon, all of the women (and me) gathered for the program in the large living room of the main farm house. Auntie Lucia, a nurse at a local hospital, spoke about HIV/AIDS and the stigma that cripples much of the community. Her words moved many people to tears, especially one of the young women in the recovery program who had recently been diagnosed with HIV. After a brief candle-lighting ceremony and prayer to remember those who have died of AIDS, anyone who was "living positively" was encouraged to come forward and speak from their heart about living with the disease. The young woman who recently learned she is HIV positive bravely spoke about her struggles coming to terms with her diagnosis and her quest to recovery from an addiction to drugs.

National Women's Day: Part 2

Unbeknownst to most everyone, the young women in the recovery program had planned their own National Women's Day tribute to Cheryl Pillay, the director of Come Back Mission. They used the letters of Cheryl's name to capture words that embody the spirit and generosity of this amazing woman:


C stood for Couragous
H for Honorable
E represented her Elegance
R her Radiance
Y was defined as Youthful
L equaled Loving


Two and three girls at a time came forward and read a few of their own words to represent each word. One chose to write a poem while another read a Bible verse. Each spoke from the heart with so much admiration for a woman that has inspired them to begin their own recovery from addiction. As a group they then honorably presented Cheryl with a mosaic plaque that they had made themselves from broken bits of tile dug by hand out of the farm soil. It was incredibly moving and everyone wept from joy and gratitude toward a beloved woman in the community.

Cheryl Pillay surely is a one-of-a-kind South African woman and well deserving to be recognized on National Women's Day. Her spirit and the hand of God have guided her to do amazing things in her community - from feeding poverty stricken children with a mobile soup kitchen and providing basic education to pre-school children in Heavenly Valley to helping young men and women recovery from drug addiction. I am so honored to have spent my first National Women's Day in South Africa with her and so proud to be a member of the Come Back Mission family.

Thank you, Cheryl, for all you.

The shack I helped build

On my first day in Johannesburg, South Africa - after 30 long hours of travel from Houston to Frankfort to Joburg - the folks at Come Back Mission sent me directly into volunteer service. I didn't mind. I didn't come to South Africa for rest and relaxation. I came to volunteer my time and do whatever I can to help those in need. The folks at Come Back Mission were saddened to hear that a local family in Eldorado Park had lost their home to a fire and volunteered to help them rebuild their home. Their home was not exactly what we Americans think of when we say the word home or house. This family of three - an elderly couple and their mentally challenged adult son - lived in a shack erected in the back yard of a larger, but still run down concrete home. Their home was much more similar to the metal sheds sold at Home Depot or Lowes in which to store lawn or pool equipment.

With the help of about 12 young black and coloured men and a few neighbors and volunteers from Come Back Mission, I joined in and helped assemble a new home for this family in desparate need of shelter. No one really knew how to build a shack from scratch - this was no kit from Home Depot - and we struggled with a plan until a neighbor with construction skills showed up. He provided direction and soon we were on our way to constructing this home with few materials (wood, nails, and corrugated tin siding) and few tools (2 hand saws and 2 hammers). Unfortunately, jet lag set in before the shack was completed and my host family, Beryl and Eugene Jegels, took me home for a rest before a lovely welcoming party by the Come Back Mission family.

Several days later, I was able to see the finished product...the fruits of my labor (as pictured above). These type of shacks, unfortunately, are quite common in Johannesburg. There are just too many people and not enough housing to go around. Many of these shacks are erected in the back yards of houses and the tenants pay rent ($60-$100 a month) to the homeowner. In other areas, such as Heavenly Valley and Kliptown, there are large settlements of these shacks often divided by fencing and barbed wire - what we would call "shanty towns." There are few sanitary facilities - if you're lucky there will be a port-o-john nearby. Otherwise, French holes are dug in the yard and designated as the toilet. Bathing is usually done out of a bucket as there are almost never any shower facilities. Electricity is also limited and usually consists of extension cords running from the main house or from a nearby electrical pole.

I am blessed to have a home with running water, electricity, showers, toilets and all the other modern conveniences, none of which I will take for granted again.

Soup Kitchen on the go

I've fed food to the hungry before. In fact, it was a part of my daily job function when I worked for Streetwise Houston, a day shelter for homeless adolescents. Every day we had to pick up food from various groceries and restaurants that donated food so we could feed hungry mouths. The food we served was usually breads, pastries, pizza and prepackaged items. We never served hot meals, except for what could be warmed up in the microwave. However, serving hot meals to hungry souls has long been a tradition in the U.S. and around the world. Soup kitchens became commonplace during the great American depression following the stock market crash of 1929. Poor, out-of-work people would line up around the block to receive a cup of soup and some bread in cities and towns all over the U.S. Today soup kitchens in the U.S. are usually located in homeless shelters or temporary housing following weather catastrophes like Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

When Cheryl Pillay, the director of Come Back Mission, told me we would be running a soup kitchen my mind conjured up images of people waiting in a queue outside a building where we would ladel soup into bowls for the hungry. Auntie Cheryl, as she is known to practically everyone in Eldorado Park, a drug-infested, poverty-stricken community just outside the larger, more famous township of Soweto, likes to keep her volunteers on their toes. She rarely preps you for what you are about to experience, choosing to allow you to live the experience and then asking you to reflect afterward. I'm grateful for her strategy. Frankly, nothing she could have said would have prepared me for what I was to experience.

Auntie Cheryl's mother and several other volunteers had spent the morning preparing a large pot of chicken soup in the kitchen of the small house where Come Back Mission is headquartered. The delicious aroma filled the offices and thrift shop contained in the house on Alberta street. Around 2pm, Cheryl asked me to come help her load the soup into the trunk (or "boot" as the South Africans say) of her car. We also loaded it with 10 or so loaves of bread and drove down the road to Kliptown, a large shanty town mixed with small concrete homes, tin-corrugated shacks, burnt-out stores, and even a small, red-brick African Methodist Episcopal (A.M.E.) church. We weren't headed toward any particular church, community center or shelter to dish out the soup. Instead, Cheryl announced as she turned a corner onto a dirt street profusely littered with trash, "This looks like a good place." Her daughters and a few other Come Back Mission volunteers followed in another car and pulled up behind us. She popped open the boot of her car and the soup kitchen was now open.

While other volunteers began ladeling soup into styrofoam cups, I grabbed a loaf of bread and Cheryl hollered, "Come, come," to little boys and girls who had recognized Auntie Cheryl's little blue hatchback when it pulled up. Some of the children brought their own bowls, others came with empty, dirty hands and politely said thank you as they received a cup of soup. I handed each one 2 slices of white bread and their beautiful smiles warmed my heart. It was impossible to hold back my tears as one after another adorable child reached out his hand to receive bread. I greeted each one with a smile really wanting to wrap my arms around them and take them away, if only momentarily, from their world of poverty, hungry, and suffering.

The logo for Come Back Mission contains a human with outstretched arms. I am now that human stretching my arms around God's children. I cannot take them away from the poverty or the filthy living conditions. I cannot clean their dirty clothes or wipe the snot running from their noses. I cannot put shoes on their bare feet or gloves on their cold fingers. But I can put a hot meal in their empty tummies and I can show them that someone cares.

Heavenly Valley...not so heavenly

When I woke up this morning, I felt the cold air of a winter's day in Johannesburg. My feet were very chilly as they touched the tile floors of my host family's home. I quickly ran across the hall to the bathroom and jumped into a shower, the hot water warming my body and my blood. I dried off with a clean towel, brushed my teeth and put sunscreen on my face. Back in my room, I picked out a warm outfit from a number of outfits that I brought with me in a suitcase. I greeted Eugene, my "host family" father, and Corrien, a friend of theirs and volunteer at Come Back Mission, in the kitchen. The three of us ate our breakfast in the comfort of my host family's heated 3-bedroom home in Kebler Park. Meanwhile, in Heavenly Valley, a small settlement of 20 or so make-shift, corrugated tin shacks about 5 kilometers away, the residents did not experience the same morning as I. Many of them did not even get out of bed and chose to spend the chilly and snowy day under blankets, instead of letting their feet touch a cold concrete or dirt floor. They couldn't run to a bathroom to take a hot shower because they don't have hot showers. Actually, they don't evey have showers and their bathrooms are more of an outhouse shared with other families, sometimes without a door. If they did decide to get out of bed, they had few clothes to chose from and probably had to wear most of them just to stay warm. And breakfast? Many of them probably had little to eat. Maybe a slice of bread.

I visited Heavenly Valley today. If every there were an oxymoron, this would be it. Corrien and Cheryl, the executive director of Come Back Mission (CBM), took me to Heavenly Valley to see the programs that CBM has established there. As we parked the car, I could see several of the shacks pieced together with corrugated metal, carpet, boards, and whatever else that could keep the shelter in place and keep the weather out. Each "home" was surrounded by some sort of fencing, often pieced together with chain link and barbed wire. I saw about 6 men standing outside, warming themselves by the fire they had burning in a metal barrel. There were a number of dogs and puppies running around, dirty, hungry and starving for affection. I saw the concrete trough with 4 water spigots that serves as the only water source for the small, 40-year-old settlement. Only 3 of the spigots work and one leaks so much water that there is a small stream that runs through the middle of the "neighborhood". Corrien told me that they just recently moved some electrical cords that were hanging from a pole over the stream. I also saw one of the outhouses shared by a number of the homes, and a young man who didn't see the need to use the "toilet" and simply added his urine to the stream that runs between the shacks.

It was quite chilly outside, so we entered the pre-school (pictured here) where at least 20 young children spend their day learning, playing on new playground equipment, and eating breakfast and lunch. Because it was so cold, only about 8 children were at school today. Corrien said they others stayed under the covers today. The adorable little boys and girls who did brave the cold were bundled up in coats, hats and gloves, huddled together on the floor in one of 2 shipping crates that CBM has turned into the pre-school. The only heat in the small room was supplied by a hot plate where 2 women kept a pot of water hot. The children greeted me with smiles as I was introduced to each of them. I sat down on the cold floor with them, hoping some of my body heat would warm their little bodies, and handed my iPhone to Corrien to snap some pictures with them. The quiet children turned excited as I showed them the photos that were just taken. The were fascinated my iPhone and giggled as the looked at their little faces smiling back at them.

Corrien and I walked to the other shipping crate that has been divided into 2 small classrooms, with bright colored plastic chairs and educational posters hung on the walls. The cold weather closed school for the day - learning takes the back seat to trying to stay warm. Cheryl joined us as we walked through the settlement, greeting anyone outside with "howzit?" a common greeting among Afrikaans-speaking people in South Africa (and oddly enough, a common greeting in the Hawaiian islands). As we made our way through the maze of barbed-wire fencing separating each of the "properties," Cheryl stopped at one of the shacks and knocked on the wooden door. A man greeted us with a smile and invited us in out of the cold. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, unlit interior I could make out 3 different "rooms" divided by sheets hanging from the ceiling. The main room contained an odd assortment of broken down or discarded furniture, cooking pots and other possessions. The other 2 areas were taken up by a double or queen-sized mattress in each. I could make out at least 3 kids huddled under blankets in one bed and a young woman and a small boy in the other bed. Cheryl stopped by this particular shack because she wanted to check-in on the young woman, who had been ill for the past several weeks. The young woman sat up in bed and I could see she was thin, frail and her skin was covered in sores and dry skin. She said she was feeling better. Cheryl later told me she was in denial about having AIDS, refused to go on HIV anti-retroviral medications (ARVs), and told others in the community that she has cancer.

On the way to the car, we ran into Macy, an older black woman, and Cheryl introduced her to me as the volunteer who taught HIV/AIDS prevention to the people in the community. Macy had already been told about my visit and my HIV prevention expertise. She said she was looking forward to working with me next week to learn as much as she could so she could share it with the people in her community. Of course, I am thrilled to offer anything I can to her and am greatly looking forward to working with her next week.

When we returned to the Come Back Mission offices, Cheryl gave me a copy of the community analysis conducted by students from a Florida university 2 years ago. I was fascinated to read more about Heavenly Valley and learned that the unemployment rate is near 90% and that nearly 60% of the residents (both adults and children) are living with HIV/AIDS. I also learned that in the summertime, the fields surrounding two sides of the settlement grow so high with grass and weeds that not only are they a place for rats and snakes to hide, but also criminals looking to rob people, fight men and rape women. Despite all of the ills that affect this community, the residents stick together and try to protect one another, although the high rate of alcohol and drug use often gets in the way, causing residents to fight among themselves.

As I lay in bed under warm covers in a warm house on this cold South African winter's night writing this blog post, I feel blessed. It will be hard to sleep tonight knowing that the people I met earlier today are sleeping in shacks made of cold metal and that those adorable little childrens' smiles will become chattering teeth. But maybe, just maybe, one of those children will grow up without contracting HIV, without becoming addicted to alcohol and drugs, without turning to crime and will continue on a path to an education, to a job and to leaving Heavenly Valley to raise a family in a real home.

peace and blessings

Hadassah Centre for Women

Mission work in Joburg

I made it to Johannesburg yesterday and went straight from the airport to start my volunteering work for Come Back Mission. An older couple and their mentally challenged adult son lost their home and all their belongings in a fire on Thursday. Now, their home is not what we Americans think of as a home. Their home was an 8x8 foot corrugated tin shack. It might not be much to us, but it is all they had. So I helped about 12-15 young African and coloured men build a frame and attach new corrugated tin siding to their brand new home. It was a blessing to be able to help these people and they watched with smiles on their faces as we built their new home. Today, we drove out to the farm - a house in the country that Come Back Mission just opened in April to house women and girls get back on their feet after addiction to drugs. Ironically, the property was previously owned by people who manufactured crystal meth in the barn (yes, crystal meth is a huge problem here just like in the States). The ladies at the farm greeted me with hugs and called me uncle Eric. I was so touched by the power of their program and the smiles on the faces of the girls. Come Back Mission has great plans to expand by turning the barn and other outlying buildings into additional dorm rooms, a gym, and a multipurpose craft room where women could create bead works, quilts, scarves and other goods. They will also be growing vegetables in the dirt lot in front of the house. I going to help them come up with a sponsorship packet so they can acquire more donors and more funds to achieve their goals of expanding the farm to serve even more young women. I am so happy I can be of service to these wonderful people with their mission to help the people of South Africa.

My journey begins...

I'm off! I have 3.5 hours before my flight departs for Frankfort, Germany. It's a 10 hour flight and then I have a 10-hour layover. Then....it's another 10-hour flight to Johannesburg.The Frankfort layover is enough time for me to take the train into the city for sight-seeing. I'll definitely do a little shopping (H&M!!) and plan to visit the Museum for Modern Art. The weather forecast says a high of 79 with possible showers, so it will be nice to cool down a bit from this near 100. Johannesburg forecasts a high in the low 70s (ahhhhh!) and lows in the upper 30s (brrrr!).

I love the colorful South African flag

South African swimmer wins Olympic gold!

 

South African swimmer Chad le Clos was completely shocked when he realized that he had not only won the gold medal in the 200 meter butterfly, but the he beat the most decorated Olymipian swimmer, Michael Phelps. Go team South Africa!

Autobiography of Nelson Mandela

While helping me make arrangements and connecting me with the mission in Johannesburg where I will volunteer, my uncle Doug sent me a list of recommended reading before traveling to South Africa. He recommended three books: A Mile in My Shoes by Trevor Hudson, No Future Without Forgiveness by Bishop Tutu, and A Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela. I immediately knew I wanted to read Nelson Mandela's autobiography despite it's hefty 600+ pages. He is one of the most powerful world leaders of the 20th century and I knew his story would be fascinating. After attending some of the finest schools in South Africa, Nelson Mandela ran away to Johannesburg to escape an arranged marriage in the late 1930s. Despite his education, he learned that what you learn in school doesn't always translate to the real world:

"In Johannesburg, I moved in circles where common sense and practical experience were more important than high academic qualifications. Even as I was receiving my degree, I realized that hardly anything I had learned at university seemed relevant in my new environment. At the university, teachers had shied away from topics like racial oppression, lack of opportunities for Africans, and the nest of laws and regulations that subjugate the black man. But in my life in Johannesburg, I confronted these things every day. No one had ever suggested to me how to go about removing the evils of racial prejudice, and I had to learn by trial and error."

Certainly, his trial and error paid off when he was released from prison in 1990 after spending 27 years, winning the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993 and then being elected to President of South African in 1994. Truly an inspirational and amazing man!!

Nelson Mandela mini-biography