Greetings from the Township

Friends and family, first of all let me tell you how thankful I am for each of you.  It has been a bit of an adjustment, and a difficult one at times, over the past two weeks.  There are so many things that we are used to having at our disposal that are more difficult to come by here.  Obviously, internet is one of those luxuries as I indicated in my previous post.  This is crazy, but with all the moving around (the retreat and then the township) I just was able to wash my hair with shampoo for the first time in almost two weeks.  Bar soap has been the only thing available and it managed to get the job done, but it’s things like that that you never think to consider a “luxury.”  It’s also been hard for me in a personal sense being away from each of you—people who have been so supportive of me and people for whom I have great love and respect.  I can’t begin to tell you how much all the letters, emails, and comments on the blog mean to me.  It is so encouraging and refreshing to hear from each of you and to get updates on what’s happening back home.  Please be confident that I really do desire to know what is happening in each of your lives.  To hear from you and to know how things are going and how I can be praying for you specifically makes me so happy.  It would be a tragedy to me if you were just being updated on how the Lord is working here in SA and I never heard about the big things He is doing there.  If you don’t have it, my email is wbgrant5@gmail.com .  It would make my day to hear from you and I promise to check it and reply as often as possible once I have reliable internet!

Well, yesterday we returned from our week-long stay in the townships.  It was an invaluable experience through which I gained a lot of perspective into a life-style completely different from my own.  I have so much to tell about and so many funny stories to share, but there’s no way that I could possibly do it all here.  If you know me, you know I love stories so there’s no telling when they may come out in the future.  I think that the best way to give you insight into what my experience was like is through letting you read what I wrote in my journal the second day I was there.  I apologize for the length in advance and I want to assure you that future posts will not be this time-consuming.  Thank-you again for you love and support and for all your prayers.  They are certainly felt by myself and my team!

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My hair is still damp and little able to dry for the dense humidity in the air.  A child kicks a 2-liter bottle back and forth in place of a ball just outside my door.  The musty smell of linens is heavy.  A broken-handled door stands open beneath a roof of corrugated asbestos above my head.  The rich sounds of an African woman’s voice bellows out as she sings to the same God on whom I am now quietly reflecting as I sit on my bed this morning.  It’s only half past seven, but I’ve been awake for nearly two hours because the sun rises early here (and a rooster sang his morning song not far from my bed around 5 AM).   I have just returned from my morning wash, and just as everything else this week has been, it was an experience like none other I’ve had in my past.

Dan (the other guy on our team of six) and I are spending a week in the township of Hammersdale, just north of Durban.  We are staying at the home of Anele’s pastor and his wife—Baba and Mama Phoswa. (You will meet Anele later but he is a local South African Zulu, a year younger than I, who has decided to spend his first year out of college on staff with Campus Crusade in Durban).  Yesterday, Gary (the head of all Campus Crusade staff in Durban) dropped the three of us off in the height of rush hour at the Taxi Rank in the black marketplace of Pinetown.  We scrambled around as Anele inquired as to which taxi would take us to his home township of Hammersdale.  As we ducked and dodged through several lines of waiting taxis, we came to ours which was already half full of people with their groceries from the market and their other personal belongings.  Anele, Dan, and I squeezed into the back row of seats making a rather snug fit.  However, Anele quickly informed us that the back seat was made for four people, not three, and that the taxi driver wouldn’t leave until it was at its maximum capacity.  Only a few short minutes later, a slightly oversized lady somehow managed to squeeze into the other seat.  With my backpack carrying everything I would need for the week in my lap and maybe an inch of wiggle room on either side, the taxi door slammed shut and off we went through an invisible cloud of gas fumes and exhaust.  The driver pressed the accelerator to the floor with little regard for the cargo he carried or for the other cars on the road.  Sixteen people were crammed into a vehicle roughly the size of a suburban or just a bit larger.  I remember being told not to ever ride in a taxi because the drivers were, well let’s just say, not the sharpest knives in the drawer.  Oh well, we were headed here to the township to get a glimpse of life from a Zulu student’s perspective and taxis are certainly part of life as they know it.  As the taxi climbed the hills just north of Durban, we tossed back and forth with the driver’s erratic lane changes.  Midway through the 45-minute trip, unannounced and almost as through some unspoken code, everyone simultaneously got their money for the taxi fare out and ready.  It was startling that at one minute everyone was carrying about their own business and the next all the money was in hand.   The fare was 13 rand (R13) from Durban to Hammersdale.  With the exchange rate being 7.5R to the dollar, a 30+ mile taxi ride for under two bucks was definitely a bargain!

When we were finally dropped off, we got out and began to walk.  For as far as the eye could see, “houses” sprinkled the hillsides.  These houses are not what we are used to in the states.  They are little more than cinderblock structures divided into a few different rooms.  Depending on the size of the house, they typically have a two or three bedrooms with a kitchen and a sitting room.  The toilet (referring to what we call a bathroom) can either be located inside the house or in an outhouse.  In a house than may be 800-1000 sq. feet sometimes 8-10 people can live.  It is modest indeed, but adequate.  Fences with barbed-wire surround most homes.  Chickens, goats, and cows roam freely in the streets and hillsides.  People and children also seem to wander carelessly in the streets, seemingly unaware of the fatal danger that is present with each passing, wrecklessly-driven taxi.  We walked up a very steep hill and Anele led us to a lime green house.  There he knocked on the door and hid out of sight.  He told Dan and I that we had to use the few Zulu phrases we had practiced in the taxi to greet whoever answered the door.   As an elderly black lady peered through the doorway, a reassuring smile and slight chuckle greeted us as we stumbled over the simple greetings that we had failed to perfect.  I’m not sure how Zulu sounds with a southern accent, but I’m sure that she could distinguish the difference.  Mama Msikili  (pronounced Mmm-si-key-lee) was her name and she graciously invited us into her house.  With a mere three steps we passed completely through the kitchen and into the living room.  We sat in the poorly-lit room as an American cartoon played on the television.  Nqo, Mama Msikili’s twenty-two year-old son greeted us and shared conversation.  He was very interested in getting to know us.  Likewise we were eager to get to know him and learn more about life in the township.  After having been there for only a few minutes, Mama Msikili brought in hot tea with milk and sugar for us.  Tea time in South Africa is very important and taken very seriously.  However, the actual “time” is like most everything else here—completely relative!  After spending time with Nqo and Anele, we left and walked a bit further.  No doubt, we drew very interesting looks and even some greetings as we walked through the township—a spectacle for most who saw us.  Shortly after that, we arrived at a slightly nicer house that still had the day’s laundry on the line outside—Mama and Baba Phoswa’s house.  We were again greatly warmly by many people who’s names we could not pronounce.  We quickly made our way through the kitchen and into the dimly-lit sitting room.  Dinner was served shortly thereafter and we had our first official Zulu dinner.  We had stiff-pot (which is a lot like grits but just stiffer as it’s name suggests) covered with a tomato sauce of sorts.  We also had beans and coleslaw with a piece of chicken.  Baba Phoswa is the pastor of the local church and Mama Phoswa takes care of everyone at home.  For women, just doing everyday things around the house (i.e. cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, etc.) is extremely time consuming and often times prohibits them from taking jobs elsewhere.  A little after six, when everyone had finished their meal, someone mentioned that it was time for church.  “What time does that start?” I naively inquired.  “At six” was the reply.  After another five minutes of tidying up, we started our mile-walk to the church.  I thought it was interesting that I was walking with the pastor of the church and we arrived at 6:30, thirty minutes after church was “supposed” to start.  No worries though, we were some of the first to arrive.  “Bantu time” is what the black South Africans call it—little regard for time, appointments, and schedules as the Western world knows it.  The service was rich with song, dang, and worship.  It was humbling to realize that we serve the God who truly is the God of ALL nations!  After the 2+ hr Wednesday night service, we came back here to spend the night.  Dan and I are sharing a bed for the week in the “guest room.”  Although one of the nicest rooms in the house, it is not what we would typically think of as a proper guest room.  However, we are incredibly grateful for the generosity and hospitality that has already been extended to us by so many.  As I mentioned at the beginning of this entry, I have just returned from getting a bath.  A bucket of hot water, a faucet that carries only cold water, and a pitcher in which to mix the two provided quite a challenge.  My “bath” would probably more closely resemble some sort of contortionist attempt to slash water on one’s self without making a royal mess.  I’m not sure how clean I got, but as my friend Andrew (who is serving with a branch of Campus Crusade called Athletes in Action in Johannesburg) reminds me when things are quite different than what I am used to–T.I.A., “This is Africa!”

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~ by wbgrant on January 27, 2010.