Two schools and lots of uniforms

On Monday, October 30th, we spent all day at two primary schools - Kid Mapunya and Patrick Mashego – where Linda’s organization, Project People Foundation, donated school uniforms. A child must have a uniform to attend public school in South Africa, so you can imagine the hundreds of thousands that do not attend because they cannot afford the uniforms. The uniform we handed out at Patrick Mashego costs R120 each (approx $16). (Pictured, the winter track suit style of uniform. I was really drawn to the little boy on the left. He looked like a little old man.)

PPF works with women at Basadi Pele, a training center for women, teaching them how to sew, do domestic work, provide catering, and child care services. The women sew the uniforms that are then donated to the children. At the Mashego school, we were there to attend the uniform unveiling and presenting ceremony. The women from Basadi Pele attended the ceremony with us and we had lunch with them back at Basadi Pele afterwards.

Both schools we visited are only a few years old and, at first blush, look better than schools I have seen in Louisiana, L.A. and NYC. But, with a second look, you see a nice new exterior but not a single book in the library of the Mapunya school (I kid you not, the children sat in a library lined with shelves and there was not a single - not one - book); nice uniforms, but their shoes are tattered beyond belief; calmness and discipline, but then the principal points out child after child who has either just lost his mother to AIDs or is being raised in a "child-headed household" (i.e., by his 9-year old sister who no longer attends school because she has become the primary care giver for her 4 younger siblings. The schools and government know these exist, try to track them, but can't / don't do anything about them.); nice school, but then the children leave each afternoon to go back to their tin shacks. Despite all this, the uniform ceremony was uplifting. The choir sang, actually would hardly stop singing, with beautiful, strong voices and you could tell how much they liked entertaining us. After the children put on their uniforms, you could see the extreme pride in their faces.

But its not all gloom and doom here. So far we've managed to laugh a lot - I'm lucky to be hanging around three people who each have a great sense of humor. We ate at a place called Moyo's last night, in an area called Melrose that they like to compare to Soho (its actually more like the midtown area around Piedmont Park in Atlanta) and, ridiculously enough, allowed our wait staff to paint our faces like some sort of Zulu princesses/warriors. Tomorrow Linda and I head to Botswana and Zambia and Leigh-Ann and Greg go on to Cape Town, where we will all meet up again on Monday. 

When you are in Johannesburg on a Sunday and with a minister,

You are not sleeping in. One of the women working at Nkosi’s Haven invited Linda, Leigh-Ann, Greg and me to her church in the township of Soweto. The Riverside Church in NY played an important role during apartheid, sending payments to the African National Congress. Later, it, and Linda, twice hosted Nelson Mandela – once right after he was released from prison in 1990 and then on his last visit to the U.S. a few years ago. It has been wonderful to trail her around, as she knows many people and seems to be very well-loved.

Soweto, like all of Johannesburg, is sprawling. It really just goes on as far as the eye can see. We passed Winnie Mandela’s house there, on the way to the church. What seemed amazing to me is that many blacks still choose to live in Soweto, even as they become more "affluent." Driving around, you will see everything from tin shacks, not fit for dogs, piled on top of each other, to relatively nice, albeit modest, homes, to a few homes of the obviously more wealthy - all in Soweto. It seems that the first upgrade people make as they move up the income ladder is to surround their home with a wall and a Fort Knox-like gate, then they renovate or build a new home on the same property. But they don’t move. (Like everything I'm finding here, the reasons are complex. I'm sure this also is a result of market forces and property title issues.)

Our driver got lost on the way there so we were 45 minutes late (which, in my opinion, turned out not so bad a result, since the service lasted from 9 – 12:00). We were treated like honored guests and had seats at the front of the church reserved for us (which was uncomfortable, walking in late and then leaving midway through to find a bathroom, but at least we were with Linda). The service took me a little aback. It was very evangelical – I could have been sitting in the United States. The preacher started his sermon talking about people’s "confusion," these days. What are people confused about? Homosexuality and gay marriage. I could not believe what I was hearing, sitting there in Soweto - where most live in extreme poverty - and the lesson that day is about the sins of homosexuality!?!? But, for those 3 hours, looking around at the several hundred in that church who hung on every word of that preacher, they seemed happy in the moment and alleviated from what might be their situation in life - the church seemed to be giving them that at least... 

Noah Refilwe and Nkosi's Haven - the children and the saints that care for them

I spent all day on Saturday, October 28, with Linda as we visited two homes for orphans and vulnerable children around Johannesburg, Noah Refilwe and Nkosi's Haven. We have been joined in South Africa by a husband and wife from Cedar Foundation, Leigh-Ann and Greg, who are here conducting site assessments for their foundation. We also have met up with a team from Infinite Family (www.infinitefamily.org), a nonprofit that works with local South African communities to connect American adults to orphans and vulnerable children through video conferencing, email and a secure internet connection.

Noah Refilwe is not what I would have expected for my first visit to a home for children here and am told it is rather unusual. Started by a women named Jean Stewart in 1991, it is located on 18 hectares of donated land (well, they pay R100 a year for a lease, equivalent to about $14) on the outskirts of Jo'berg. Its a quiet, fairly beautiful piece of property with farm animals, a working bee farm, a small peanut butter factory and brick making facilities, all income-producing activities that allow the home to move toward greater self-sufficiency. Since it was a Saturday, all of the approximately 40 children who live there - with names such as Blessing, Precious, and Comfort - were roaming about, kicking a soccer ball, feeding goats, cleaning their cottages and doing other chores. I was surprised by the calmness of the place and the relatively few adults around for that many children. During the week, Noah Refilwe also operates a creche (a day care) for 39 infants - including several, according to the director of NR, who have been raped because the local witch doctor has told community people that raping an infant would cure AIDs.

After spending all morning at Noah Refilwe, we headed back into Jo'berg to visit Nkosi's Haven (www.nkosishaven.co.za). Nkosi's Haven was started by Gail Johnson in 1999 in honor of her foster son, Nkosi, who died of AIDs in 2001. Gail was a volunteer at a local hospital when she met Nkosi's mom, a woman dying of AIDs who had been kicked out of her village. Upon meeting Gail, the mom asked her to look after Nkosi, who was then having to roam about the streets, after she died. Gail made good on her promise and, at Nkosi's urging, she started a home for mothers dying of AIDs, their children and the orphans they leave behind. Gail told me that for every man infected with HIV in South Africa, there are 3-3.5 women infected. A statistic that some here, unfortunately, use to blame women for spreading HIV/AIDs. The contrast between Noah Refilwe and Nkosi's Haven, and the effect it had on me, was pretty stark. Whereas Noah R was somewhat bucolic and calm, Nkosi's H seemed crowded, rundown, underfunded and a more urban and chaotic. Also, since I met the mothers, all dying, I was hit much more squarely with the HIV/AIDs reality here.

We had lunch at Nkosi's Haven and spent the entire afternoon with Gail, a tall woman with dyed red hair, a lot of make-up, a heart of gold, a will of steel and a huge personality (she reminded me of an Eddy/Patsy combination from AbFab). Nkosi received a lot of international media attention in the last few years of his life, and so did Gail, and not all positive. After the media appeared, so did Nkosi's extended family from his mother's village. (Yes, the same family that abandoned her and Nkosi.) Unbelievably to me, many thought, and many still do think, that Nkosi belonged back with his family and that a white woman had no place adopting him.

At both Noah Refilwe and Nkosi's Haven, we observed the computer labs set up by Infinite Family and heard from the IF team about the impact that the American "net" family relationships are having here. I met an amazing 17-year old at Nkosi's Haven named Manini, an orphan who has lived there for 6 years. Manini sat down with Linda and me and talked about her dreams of becoming a filmmaker, her desire to go to university and how much she loved her "net family", who are Andrea and Maurice DuBois (the current CBS news anchor in NYC). She said she feels a real connection with them and loves to be able to communicate with adults. At 7:00 p.m. that evening, Manini promptly sat down for her videoconference with Andrea and Maurice - it was phenomenal.

Although tired and realistic, Gail still offered us a picture of hope. She is building a "Nkosi's Village" on a large piece of property more outside of center Jo'berg to take care of 100 new mothers and she related success stories, like that of Manini and others, with more to come for the younger ones at Nkosi's Haven. Yet, all of this left me feeling pretty helpless...at the moment, the only thing I can do is reach out to you - if you want to know more about some of these organizations and how you can help or get involved, look at their websites or email me separately and I'll let you know. Nothing is too small here. Linda told me the last time she visited Nkosi's Haven, her mother sent a suitcase of imodium for the moms there!

Pictures (I'm sure there is a way to caption these): Linda and me at Noah Refilwe; Linda with child at Nkosi's Haven; Manini and me 

Arrival: Johannesburg, South Africa. Welcome to Africa.

After a farewell tour that, according to my sister, lasted longer than Cher’s, I finally had my 3 large bags (one excess + one overweight = $150 extra…14 months everyone!) packed and checked on to my South African Airways flight to Johannnesburg. All the hard good-byes were said, sometimes more than once…my mom was still ringing me as the plane doors shut insisting, “let’s talk one more time before you actually take-off!” I have never been away from family and friends this long, so even the toppling little Cingular jack who said “good-bye” when I shut down my US cell phone made me teary. But, I was so excited that my journey to Africa had begun that the 17-hour flight, with a pit stop in Dakar, Senegal for fuel, passed by in no time.

I have traveled over to South Africa with a dynamic woman named Linda Tarry-Chard, a minister at The Riverside Church in New York. Linda created the South African Black Doll Project in 1995-96 and first shipped 15,000 black-skinned dolls, which were banned during the apartheid era, into the townships of South Africa. From there, Linda moved into commerce, helping fund and create organizations to train women to make the black dolls themselves, and she’s been going nonstop ever since. She is the founder and president of the Project People Foundation (http://www.projectpeoplefoundation.org/ (which site is being updated)) of which I have recently become a board member. PPF’s mission is to provide economic empowerment, education, leadership development for and humanitarian assistance to women and youth in local South African communities. While in South Africa, we will meet with various women, children, partners and friends of PPF.

While waiting in the boarding area at JFK airport, I received my first lesson on Africa and realized that I am still full of naiveté that will have to be left back in the US. As I talked to Linda about storing my bags in the Johannesburg airport, two spiky-haired South African women turned around and said, “Sorry to eavesdrop, but we just could not sit here and listen to you discuss storing your bags without saying, ‘please don’t.’ You will not see those bags again, or, best case, they will be completely ransacked.”

I doubted them: “Really? But this storage service is listed on the Johannesburg airport website? I called (twice actually) and spoke with a very nice man named Mack who seemed helpful and professional. Plus, my bags will be locked.”

“None of that matters. We promise you,” they said emphatically, “you’ll lose them.”

Two months of meticulous planning has started to unravel and I’ll need to do something I have never been very good at doing…going with the flow of things!

After checking into the Intercontinental Hotel in Sandton, which is connected to a large luxury mall that seems to dominate the social life of this affluent Jo'berg suburb, and while waiting for 4 men to figure out how to work my room safe, I went for a much-needed beer from the mini bar. With no beer opener to be found, so I called the front desk. A few minutes later, a 5th man appeared. I showed him the beer and explained that I needed it opened. He laughed, "use your teeth," he said. "Ah, my teeth are too pretty for that," I said. So, he grabbed my beer, put it in his mouth and, using his own teeth, proceeded to open it for me. Voilá. Welcome to Africa!