In starting this next blog, I'm tempted to begin by apologizing for my lengthy absence from the blogging world and explaining how hectic life has been here in Africa. Neither of which would be true, though. In reading different people's blogs I have found that far too often bloggers are apologetic or  have some sense of obligation towards their followers, or, maybe more profoundly, to themselves. I've come to believe, however, that the blogging process should unfold naturally from the bloggers experiences. It, for me, is not a question of forced practice or habitual reflection, it is, instead, a natural progression from experiences in this world to the art of writing. An art that is far too often taken for granted and given less than its due.

Now I could spend the next 500 words talking about my adventures here in Africa, the friends I've made, the daily life I live, or the classes I take. I won't do that though. Not to reduce the importance of these things in my study abroad experience, but I feel that portraying them to you would misrepresent the most valuable lessons I've learned here in Africa. Over the last few weeks, I've been plagued by worries of how to relate to friends and family back home the realities of life in South Africa. I fear that it will be far to easy to casually pass the "Africa was amazing!! Truly life-changing" line on to my partially interested friends. I fear this because I know that no matter how long I spend trying to explain this world,  my friends and family could never fully comprehend what it has all meant to me without experiencing it for themselves. It is easy enough to relate the stories of wild animals, shark-cage diving, safari drives, poor villages, beautiful beaches and things of the sort; but its far more difficult to relate the inequalities I see and feel on a daily basis, and how it feels to see life through the eyes of poverty so severe that it suffocates the ability to hope or to choose; this only scratching the surface. So instead of attempting to tell you what I have been up to or what South Africa is all about, I will share with you a very person journal that I just wrote a few hours ago. Each monday I spend all day with a group of amazing fifth graders at a local primary school. I attempt to teach them about the world they belong to and the beauties and hardships it has to offer. Each Monday, I go to the school in hopes of making even the slightest impact in their lives by planting seeds of hope and imagination. Anyway, after each day, I write journals about my experiences that day. Today my journal was one of the more passionate ones, and in sharing it, I not only hope to help you see the world I've experienced here, but also to allow myself to my writing as a shining light for hope in a world where darkness is far to invasive:

“The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows.” For a while this has been one of the quotes that has inspired me most in my quest for passion, truth, and service. Over the last few months however, it has taken on a deeper level in my reflection of my time in South Africa. I feel that this quote is the perfect way to tie in my expectations before coming to this country with the realities I have experienced along the way. On many different levels, my education over the last few months has gone deeper than academic curiosity or knowledge building. For the first time in a long time, I learned with more than my brain, I learned with my heart and with my soul. I’ve spend countless hours worrying over the future of my kids at Lynedoch and about the fate of students all over South Africa. I’ve realized the importance of education in the world, and especially in communities where poverty deprives children of so many essential aspects of the development process. Growing into adults in their world is no easy task. Each and every day, these children, my children, live realities influenced by more despair, anger, violence and more than I will ever experience in my life. Nonetheless, most of them return to Lynedoch day after day to sit in classrooms that preach of a brighter future. All the while, the dust and grime builds on the windows of their classrooms, through which can be seen a murky, unclear world defined by rules of inequality and discrimination. And yet, we teach of hope and imagination and dreams within walls that scream through the cracks and chipped paint the reasons for which these children should never hope for a better world. After the day is over, I return home to my Macbook computer to jot down my thoughts of their lives and their difficulties and how integral the dialectical process of learning and doing is crucial to enabling empowerment in the community development context. Just across the road, a mere 5 miles away, my children return to shaggy homes build of currogated iron, wasted tarp, and old stone to find a list of chores and a house of brothers and sisters to care for until time for sleep. Early the next morning, the process starts all over. These are the cold hard realities of the world we live in. It is not pity I feel for the situation as it is. Nor is it anger, hatred, empathy, guilt, or confusion. In fact, the only emotion that captures the feelings that I have in reflecting on all of these truths is hope. How is it possible that after all of the facts that I just described about the lives my children live day in and day out, that I feel hope for a better tomorrow? Well, today, I asked my children to look around the room and tell me what they hated about our classroom. As they looked around, I received responses such as the dirty walls, the smudged windows, the unorganized bookshelves, the hole-filled floors, and, most of all, as I infered, the stench of inequality and hopelessness. I proceeded to ask them what they proposed to do about it. Without respoding, one child stood, picked up a sponge I had brought, dipped it in the bucket of soapy water, and proceeded to stoop to her hands and knees and start cleaning the walls. For the next hour, my children and my partners and I splashed soapy water all over the walls, windows, and, incidentally, each other. Once finished, I looked around the classroom to find a room that was not too much cleaner on the surface, yet had been transformed in some profound way. I could not grasp what had changed until I looked at the windows. As a looked at the still smudged, streaky windows, I realized in a moment of pure ecstasy, that these windows, which had previously been nothing more than reminders, or mirrors if you will, of lives darkened by tough circumstances, had transformed into windows through which sunlight shone to illuminate the classroom as what it really is: a place where hope is born and brought to fruition. So to ask me where in the lives of my children I could possibly see any shred of hope would be more than insult to me, but an insult to yourself. In asking such a question, you see no more than a mirror of despair into your own soul. In understanding the purpose of education, however, it’s blantantly obvious, as if looking through a window to see the green grass, golden sunlight, and brilliant smiles of children’s faces, that hope lies within, and is only found through education. For this lesson, which is only learned with the heart and soul, I am eternally grateful.  Hope is the thing. Hope is the thing. 


'til next time, ad astras...

We've got some catchin up to do... :))

Mmmk, so first things first, I am sorry. I've left you, all my faithful followers, without any form of contact for the last two months. I can only imagine your concern for my well-being. Hakuna matata, though, I'm great. I have a lot to fill you in on, so we'll try to do this in pieces. Let's talk first about my summer travelling around South Africa, the things I've picked up along the way, and then, finally, we'll get up to track on my time in Stellenbosch in the next post.

So, lets go back to June 15. I arrived in Cape Town after 21 hours of travelling.

 Here are my first steps onto the African continent.


I was pretty beat at the time, so pushy carts were a site for sore eyes.

 As we made our way from the airport to our home in Cape Town for the next ten days, the dark, mystic city passed by in a blur of lights. Looking back, I don't think I expected to find such a developed city in Africa (as I've found since, that is one of the most overplayed stereotypes of Africa).

I spent the next ten days in Noordhoek, a small town located on the outskirts of Cape Town overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The Team House (the house we stayed at) was the perfect place to start my adventure in SA. 

While at the Team House, I met some great friends and worked in a small settlement called Red Hill. It was my first experience with South African squatter camps. You don't really get the full picture of how poverty affects people in our world until your standing next in the middle of a dirt field on the side of a hill, looking at a cluster of 50 shacks built of scraps of metal and tarp. In Red Hill, one tap and one outhouse was shared between every five families. There was one small building where the children went to school daily, and the adults set out each morning on the 5 mile trek to town to find work for the day. I learned quickly, however, that the people of Red Hill, as well as the poor of Africa are not in need of pity, charity, hand outs, or any of the most common forms of aid thrusted at them by the western world (no matter how well intentioned). In fact, I found out quickly that many of the people living in the poorest conditions imaginable were some of the richest people in the world. Spiritually rich, that is. Spiritual richness is a term that gets tossed around a lot here in South Africa. I've heard it sputtered from the mouths of professors, community workers, exchange students, and the list goes on. I think that its probably the one thing that people who visit Africa are left with a resounding picture of in their minds. You needn't go far into South Africa to find a smiling child, who, all things considered, seems to have every reason in the world to fall to the ground in self-pity, and yet still finds it somewhere within to smile, laugh, and grab your hand to drag you off to play. 

Anyway, we spent a week in Red Hill building a playground and assisting teachers in the classroom.

 Here's some pics of our time in Red Hill. On the right is the plot of ground we started with. At first, it was covered in rocks and trash. A week later, we had the left picture. A beautiful playset and soccer field on leveled, safe ground where the kids could run and play without worry. The day we finished the playground has far and beyond been the best day in South Africa so far. 

After working in Red Hill, site seeing all over Cape Town, and doing a little partying, we sadly made our departure from the beloved city and made our way to a small town called St. Lucia, located on the eastern coast of South Africa in KwaZulu-Natal. 

St Lucia is half way between Durban and Richard's Bay on this map. 

  Early morning stroll with some Zebras

Enjoyin the sunset with a family of hippos

In St Lucia, we stayed at a hostel called Shanalanga, which in isiZulu, means sunset. For the next ten days, we went on safaris, organized a day camp for the kids of Khula Village, who were on holiday, built a creche (day care / school), and learned a good bit of isiZulu. Here's some pics: 

KwaZulu-Natal is one of the more rural areas in South Africa. The interesting thing is that there is a clear distinction between urban poverty in Africa and rural poverty in Africa. While the crammed settlements of metal shacks and dirty streets is quite the un-nerving site, the poverty experienced in rural South Africa is frankly bone chilling. Isolated groups of people are found in clusters, living day to day, fighting off the deadly symptoms of aids, feeling the pressure of life constantly bearing down on their shoulders. Single mothers, pregnant daughters, leaking roofs, sick children, miles to the nearest doctor, all, ultimately experienced only by those who live there, and, occasionally, seen through the windows of mega-tour buses by tourists unable, incapable, or uninterested in making a lasting difference. And yet, hopes seems to remain, children can still be seen running, playing, and laughing. Mothers can be seen waking morning after to morning to silently take on the chores of the day. Sons and daughters can be seen making there way to small school buildings to sit on dirty floors with reused paper to gain any knowledge that may help them find an opportunity to make it out. Hope is a peculiar thing, fade as it may with the darkness creeping in; never does it disappear. Never is it lost. Happiness lies within. Its rare to see and experience such facts of life first hand. I'm a truly blessed individual. 

Anyway, with the end of my time in St. Lucia came the end of my time working within African communities. For a while at least. We spend the next two weeks in our large tour bus travelling throughout northeast South Africa to visit battle sites commemorating the bloody battles fought by the Zulu warriors and the Dutch settlers. We visited museums displaying the hardships experienced by the oppressed during apartheid. We visited Soweto, the place of massive youth uprisings and a pivotal point in the fall of the apartheid regime, Pretoria, where consequences of gold and diamond mining has left a resonating imprint on its people, and Johanessburg, the bustling city in flux, trapped between third and first world status, stuck between the age old traditions of African culture and the hustle and bustle of western economy. A city plagued by paradox, yet filled with culture and zest, Joburg stands as a sign of what was and what could be. It bears the scars of inequality under the segregationist policies of the apartheid government. It is both everything unique and special about South Africa, as well as everything corrupt and lost. We learned of poverty, both material and spiritual, of AIDS and disease, of culture and diversity, of song and dance, of corrupt government and shining leaders with a vision of a brighter tomorrow, we learned all the intricacies of another people and we learned of ourselves and the tickings of our own hearts. We learned that in Africa, time is not constrained to the tickings of a watch or a clock; it is seen as a resource to be cherished and made the most of. And yet, to hurry to meetings or to eat merely because your clock says its lunchtime, is to forget what makes life so beautiful. 'Sowbona' is the Zulu word for hello. "Molo" in isiXhosa. Yet it means so much more than hello. It means hello, it means how are you, it means life is good, it means time doesn't matter in this moment because the only thing that matters is you and me, it means the same thing in the morning as it will in the evening. It is a celebration of life. 'Ubuntu', another word I've picked up along the way, expresses a sense of community, of brotherhood. It is, as I've learned, the heartbeat of African culture. It binds people of different skin colors together. It, for me, is the representation of all that is good in this world because, ultimately, we do not exist without each other. Ubuntu binds us all together, as human. 

While its often true that a picture says a thousand words, I've learned in Africa that in the time spent behind the lens of a camera in hopes of displaying thousands of words for friends and family back home, one single word can pass by that says it all; and if we don't stop to appreciate life every now and again, those words tend to be left in the wake of flashing cameras handled by tourists staring curiously through the windows of tour buses at people whose name will never be known, yet whose picture will sit forever on a computer screen. And yet with one word, all that is needed is one moment, one connection between two people so as to lock them together eternally as more than a curiosity or a picture, but as a brother, a sister, a friend. 

Ubuntu has taught me this, and so, so much more. 

Till next time, my friends, ad astras...

New Pics

Check out my new pictures from the first few days on the South Africa Page!!


And look out for more postings to come in the next few days.

Till then, ad astra my friends...

Saying Goodbye

T-minus 23 hours. I promised myself I would not count down. I have not quite wrapped my mind around the fact that two days from now, I'll be standing 8500 miles from home. I'm feeling a lot of different things about this trip. Mostly out-of-my-mind excited though.

I need your help though. I want some input for some goals or objectives, so in the comment box, put one thing you would love to see me do while I am there. If I come across the opportunity, I'll make sure to accomplish the goal, strike it off my list, and take a picture as proof for all you non-believers. :PP

I'm still trying to figure out exactly how this whole blogging thing will work. If you drag your mouse up to the top of the screen and click South Africa, you'll see that that is where I'll post all of random pictures I take throughout the trip. The home page will be where I post any random feelings, thoughts, or experiences .  The "In the Stars" page will be for my more creative endeavors. It is yet to be determined what exactly that will be.

Anyway, saying goodbye has been tough, but I'm ready. I've made all the necessary preparations, and all thats left is to get on that plane and go have the experience of a lifetime.

Thanks for following,

Until next time, ad astra...

Watch and Learn

Learn to live from the heart, and nothing else really matters, does it? 

Living in the FAST Lane

Today, I was walking across the street. Granted, I was nowhere near a crosswalk; but come on, I'm from New Orleans, so I don't know what crossing the street at the corner would feel like. Anyway, I was crossing the street, and a young man in his super-charged Ford F-150 on elevated wheels with bright shiny rims honked at me, raised his arm, and callously pretended to brush me off the street as if to indicate that I was wasting his precious time and I should move before he runs me over. So I did the only thing any self-respecting southerner would do. I smiled, waved, and bent to to tie my shoes. I was wearing flip flops. After taking my sweet time, I stood up, smiled, and waved one more time before I made my out of the middle of the street. Maybe I was out of line, who really knows.

The incident got me thinking about the pace at which we so fervently rush through our lives, day in and day out. Now, I have never been out of the country, so I don't know how the quality of life elsewhere differs from that in America. The stereotype, however, would lead me to believe that this sense of indefinite haste to the grave is a uniquely American trait. I suppose its in our blood; passed down from generation to generation straight from the Founders of this great country. I couldn't help but wonder, as I strolled back to my apartment basking in the sunlight and soaking in every minute detail that the day had to offer, why we seem to be in such a rush. The flip side of the coin suggests that the pace at which we live has set the standard for modern progression of our society as a whole. It's perfectly reflective of the "dog eat dog" world that we live in. The message is loud and clear: jump onto the moving train called "The American Dream" or get left in the dust. I just wonder where it ends. Where do we think we are going?

I guess these are all pretty large questions. I don't pretend to have the answers. Otherwise I'd ended up moving out to the woods for a couple years to write a radical novel that would thus forth be extensively studied in high school english classrooms to the great dismay of the youngsters who refused to read another word about the method by which I determined the exact measurements of Walden pond.

I guess my point is, I'd like to spend my life learning new ways to slow down, step outside of the fast lane, and breathe in all the little joys and intricacies that this beautiful world has to offer. And hopefully along the way, I'll be extremely annoyed at how slowly a pedestrian has decided to walk across the middle of the street, raise my arm with a kind smile on my face, and wave as they make their way to whatever fate awaits them.

Till next time, Ad Astra...