You bring the mussels, I’ll bring the rice

One of my favorite questions to ask someone is, “Who is your favorite person that you have met in your life?” I still haven’t quite figured out the correct way to phrase that grammatically, but you get the idea. Usually I’ll specify a location, i.e. “at USC,” “during college,” “at work,” etc. I love asking this because it gives me the opportunity to learn about what a person values, how they are impacted by things, and what situations remain with them. Often times the answer is not the best friend, the boyfriend, or any other “typical response.” But rather, I hear names and stories of people who have left a lasting impression no matter how close in actuality they were to said “favorite person.”

One of the most beautiful things about people to me is their ability to come and go and leave a lasting imprint on your life that you will share for years to come, even if the interaction is only for a brief period of time. Last night I met such a woman. I hope very much that our interaction will continue, but whether it does or not, I was blessed by hearing her story and hope I was able to offer her any of my heart that I could.

A group of about 20 UCT students went out to Mitchell’s Plain last night, a local township in South Africa, to interact with a group of people who are continuously being displaced from wherever they find land to build homes and who are being evicted next Monday.

When the students split up to go talk to people, I saw a woman standing by herself so I went to talk to her. Her name was Mitshka [totally just butchered the spelling]. I started talking to her and asking her questions and she was very standoffish at first, giving me the briefest answers to my questions as possible. I had an internal crisis – desperately wanting to learn about this woman and hear her story but feeling such a barrier between us. I persisted though and somehow and for some reason she began to tell me about herself. She told me all about her 4 children – about her oldest daughter, Fatima, who is 12 and loves going to school, her 6 year old daughter who has recently gotten into the habit of stealing at school, her 3 year old son who absolutely loves motorcycles and boats, and her 1 year old baby girl about to turn two who is already talking away. She shared with me when and why her children got taken away from her by a social worker and how her and her husband only get to see them twice a week. She shared with me how she’s torn between knowing they are probably safer where they are and being desperate to have her children back. I ended up talking to her the whole time we were there and got to hear so much about her and her incredible love for her children, got to meet her brothers and sisters and husband, got to hear about her love for going to the beach at night and looking at the stars, about how she pulls mussels off the rocks in the ocean and cooks them with rice. This woman had so much love in her heart that it made me ache – ache for her not getting to be with her kids, but also ache for the rarity of her love. When she was done sharing her story, she told me she doesn’t usually share with people and wasn’t going to at first but for some reason felt so comfortable and relaxed with me that she wanted to share. I don’t know why or what about me compelled her to do so, but my heart was so happy she shared.

A few days before, a friend and I were talking about hope and hope being a guiding factor behind all we do. From little things, like I leave my apartment everyday with the hope that I’ll make it to my destination, to the eternal things, like I go by the name of Christian with the hope that I’ll live in eternal joy with my God in heaven. Behind everything we do, there is a hope of something. Last night I shared with Mitshka about hope. Her name means “to fight” and I couldn’t help but laugh when she told me that after sharing her story with me. She has a fight ahead of her, but such a beautiful hope to hold on to. It’s a hope in something greater and bigger than ourselves that motivates us to move and to act each and every day. For Mitshka, that hope is to be reunited with her children one day soon. She was born a fighter, and I know she will fight because of that powerful hope she clings to.

I selectively have this ability to make people laugh [I say selectively because this is not a constant ability, it tends to come and go] and whether it’s because I am actually funny or just merely ridiculous [the latter which I feel is more accurate], somehow my joy and silliness and lightheartedness can transfer to other people. Amidst the solemn tone that pervaded Mitshka’s story and life, we were able to joke and be silly and my heart smiled when I could make her laugh. When we were hugging goodbye I told her I was going to come back to try some of the mussels she was telling me she makes. I told her, “You bring the mussels, I’ll bring the rice.” She probably thinks I’m goofy and ridiculous, but for some reason me being there blessed her last night and I got to be used in her life in mighty ways.

I hope so much for a return when she’ll bring the mussels and I’ll bring the rice.

Jaywalking

So I have already decided that something I am going to miss about living in Cape Town is jaywalking. Everywhere and anywhere. Cross walks exist but if you need to cross the street you do. Cars generally don’t stop so you wait and weave your way across the lanes of traffic. For anyone who doesn’t know, I hate cross walks. I hate having to walk out of your way, having to back track because of an inconveniently placed cross walk, having to wait for cars to go, and at USC in particular, having to wait 4 times as long to cross with 878997 people because of the 4 way crosswalks.

I will miss jaywalking. Because it’s easy. Since coming to South Africa, I have discovered an unfortunate side to myself – that is, I like things to be easy. Sharing this with someone recently, he told me that he loves a challenge and that challenges excite him. That’s not me. I like to learn and grow and change, but I like those things in hindsight. I like looking back and reflecting on my life and seeing how different of a person I was 5 years ago, 2 years ago, last year. I look back and think, “Man, I’ve really grown. I like the person I am becoming.” Yet how easily I forget the struggles, the trials, the tears, and the hard times that helped to grow and shape me into who I am now [that sentence made my life sound like all I face is hard times – clarification: I have had abundantly joyful times in my life that easily counter and erase the hard times, but I think growth and development is seen more clearly in said hard times]. When I feel like a struggler, I look back at my life and wish for easy – forgetting that the easy times did not always lead to the best times.

South Africa is not a place of easy. There are so many times where I’ll look at the way something is done and not understand. America is so much about convenience. It’s not like that here. “Waiting” is a word found in everything and everywhere here. Waiting for the tram. Waiting in line [in the queue, if you will]. Waiting for the ATM. Waiting for the internet to start again. Waiting for employees to finish their conversations so that they can help you.

There are so many instances where the easy thing to do is not what’s done.

Something else I’ve noticed since I’ve been here: people hug and kiss a lot, and stress and anxiety is not easily identified [I’m wondering whether South Africans even have the ability to be stressed]. Coming from USC and LA, I pass people and students every day with stress written on their faces; hurrying from place to place; going from thing to thing on their hour to hour packed schedules; trying to get done more things in one day than there is possibly time for.

I can’t tell you how many times [and keep in mind I haven’t even been here a month] something will go wrong, people will be late, what was supposed to take 30 minutes actually took 4 hours, and the only response one can offer is, “This is Africa.” It’s virtually impossible to get frustrated or upset because this is Africa. They run on different time – “Africa time” if you will – which South Africans themselves have dubbed it for me :)

Life here is not always what’s easy or most convenient. Yet life here is good. So where is the disconnect? What am I missing? What is LA missing? What are USC students missing? We work so hard for easy and convenient but it leads to stress and busyness and overwhelmedness [yep]. I think this will be a semester, and is already turning out to be so, of learning that what is easy is not always what’s good. Or even what’s best. Learning to wait and be patient and find the capacity in yourself for stillness and silence is where it’s at.

So for the next 6 months I’ll enjoy my time jaywalking. You can bet I will take every opportunity to do so. But I’ll do it with a grain of salt [does that phrase make sense here? I don’t really think so...]. And I’ll learn – not to run on LA time, not to run on busy USC student time – to run on Africa time.

And I'm Off...A Couple Weeks Late

A few people have told me to start a blog so they could hear about my life. I was slash am very wary to do so because 1. I typically don’t have anything interesting to say – South Africa or not 2. I tend to try to be funny and/or profound when I write, both of which tend to fail [at least other people think so…I always think I’m funny] 3. I’m worried people will stop emailing me if I have a blog because all the info they’ll care to know will be right there – sad times. Alas, here I am, writing a blog. Meh.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m in Cape Town, South Africa for the semester studying at the University of Cape Town. I don’t know how I got here or why I’m here. It was a whirlwind of applications, acceptances, decision making, plane rides, orientation, registration. And now here I am. Halfway around the world. Knowing full well I’m here in this place for a reason – a very specific reason – and not knowing when or if I’ll ever fully know what that reason is. But here I am. Wanting to learn. Ready to grow. Desperate to not come home the same person I was when I left – in a good way of course.

As of Tuesday, I’ve officially been here for 2 weeks. I can’t decide if it feels like I’ve been here for a minute or for a year. I think there are moments where I feel both. Sometimes the prospect of being here for 22 more weeks, away from family and the community at school I have come to call family over the past two and half years, is daunting and exhausting to think about. At other times, I remember that I am in Africa. I am in Africa. My life is beginning to carve its path into my future.

Anyway, I don’t know where this blog will go – or if it will even continue after a few posts. I want to stray away from a blog that’s a comprehensive list of my daily activities. Who knows what this will be. I tend to be a rambler when I get behind a computer and don’t really have anything to say. So…enjoy :)