Is This What Solitude Feels Like?

9/16/08



Alone at last for the past few hours, I have welcomed solitude with open arms and have rejoiced in comfort of privacy. I have thoroughly enjoyed the thought of recharging my batteries, and tending to some long overdue activities, such as writing. I gaze at my new surroundings with unfamiliar eyes. Everything seems so foreign.

My host family resides in a first world town more than 50 km from my current home (their second home on tribal homeland) on non paved, pot hole riddled, dirt roads, where I have lived for the past three days, experiencing all of the comforts and conveniences of privileged life. From steamy hot showers, to exposed, critical thinking skills, and English language, I have felt pampered and on vacation. Today, I have officially moved into their rural village home in Croquetlawn, bringing my meager belongings and groceries and spreading them out amongst this four bedroom, concrete-walled home.

The village is quaint and seemingly small relative to other neighboring villages whose transparent borders bleed into one another blurring the boundaries of one Nduna (chief) from another’s jurisdiction. Water is a scarce resource as only two boreholes offer a trickling stream of water on a good day and are operated by a hand crank. The nearest one to my home lies about 2km away. I will fetch water for washing dishes, bathing, and drinking every few weeks in buckets transported by my rusty wheelbarrow. The Nduna of the village uses a personal water supply to irrigate and farm his impressive 500 meter spread of lush farmland where all can be found including bananas, tomatoes, peppers, onions, and more. He supplies his community members with this fresh produce at a fraction of the cost at local roadside vendors.





I will be working with the only three schools in the village. Croquetlawn proudly possesses two primary schools (Hlanganani and Nembe) and one high school (Luka High). All schools are named after famous individuals whom brought education to the village many years ago. Hlanganani was the first built, beginning with one small school building in the early 1960’s. The other primary school, Nembe was built nearly ten years ago and is situated just on the edge of a deep valley, accented by a stunning backdrop of the Drakensburg Mountains. The mountains flaunt seemingly endless layers of gray shades of peaks. The vast expanse fills a panoramic view of vibrant colors, textures, shadows, and more. It is humbling to witness such breathtaking beauty. Luka, the only High School in the village, flaunts a whopping 740 learners in four grades, eight through twelve.



I have spent every day of the week thus far at Hlanganani Primary, where I feel the most comfortable. It sits on a hillside as well, immediately adjacent to the Christian Church that I attended on Sunday and intend to visit every Sunday from now on. My host father is an active member and pastor there, preaching powerful sermons. I am amazed at the harmonious, vibrating voices that surge in the small congregation hall that displays no evidence of a church besides a makeshift altar and a small hand painted cross on the wall outside. The chief and other community members preach sermons in native Tsonga, and all hymns and song are expressed in my new indigenous tongue; but understanding every words isn’t essential to feel the harmonious energies that flood the room and surge around me. Adrenaline poured throughout my body as I meditated amidst huddling bodies and flashed beaming smiles to all of the distracted children that sat around me. Falling short of interpreting the religion at face value and on a one dimensional level, I seek to use it as a vehicle to maintain the positive consciousness that I aim to preserve.




Currently, South African schools are nearing the end of the third quarter, and in rural schools this means that learning new material is a foreign idea. Educators take leave to the planning rooms of the schools (usually a classroom that was emptied for the adults, further cramming classroom sizes…i.e. my host mother teaches grade 3, and has 65 learners in her class…her room is approx. 20 feet by 15 feet)



I was extremely fortunate to witness my first rural school soccer match this afternoon. Hlanganani faced another Primary school, Ian McKenzie Primary, in a village nearly 30 km away just on the outskirts of a private game reserve. Although there were no signs of wild animals (swihari), the impoverished refugee camp produced an opposing team stacked with talented players! The soccer match was a catastrophic blowout! The other team accumulated an insurmountable 6 – 0 lead at half time. With each goal scoring strike, the crowd erupted in jubilation and stormed the field, releasing screaming chants and flailing arms! The McKenzie soccer team, adorned in vibrant red jerseys dictated the flow of the game. Directing well chiseled passes up field, they mounted several dominating attacks that ended in goals scored. The final result was 8 – 0. Immediately following the final whistle, the overconfident sea of nearly 500 fans from Ian McKenzie Primary and a neighboring high school encroached the small pickup truck (bakkie) where the Hlanganani players retreated to, in an effort to seek refuge. The crowd swelled and surrounded the group of eleven + boys in bright blue jerseys. Chanting, and jumping up and down in unison, the bullying crowd humiliated our visiting team. Several fights nearly exploded amongst the mass of entangled bodies. The coaches and supervisors stood by and did nothing! They did not move a finger! I was furious! I lost my cool and charged the arrogant coach from the other school who applauded the melee.



9/16/08