I’ve been struggling with this blog entry for days now. Every time I start I get overwhelmed with the idea that I really never will be able to effectively share my experiences here and how they are shaping the ways I think, feel and relate to the world around me. We started our internships this week; I’m fortunate to be working at the Western Cape Network of Violence Against Women or WCNOVAW if you prefer long acronyms. “The Network is a collective of organizations and individuals across the Western Cape, committed to working together against Violence Against Women.” In short the Network is an umbrella organization providing much needed macro services to the Western Cape.
Anyone who knows me, or who has creeped on my Facebook, will know that one of my passions is ending violence, especially ending violence against women. I am beyond honored to have the opportunity to work with the Network and so excited for the experiences that will be afforded to me as I find my niche within the organization.
Everyday I take the minibus taxi (a crowded, rackety van) to work, where I sit as the white spot among a sea of warm and rich colors. I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m the only white person on this public transportation, painfully aware because I look out the windows as the other white people whiz by me in their BMWs, Mercedes-Benzes and Audis. The disparity in wealth distribution is unnerving and harrowing, considering over 60% of South African’s rely on these “tin can commuter carriers.” Meaning that each day an average of 14 million South Africans take a Minibus taxi, and I’m proud to be among the ranks.
In class, one of our instructors Vernon asked if our expectations before coming to ZA matched our experience thus far. I clumsily and potentially ethnocentrically replied, “I didn’t expect to see things so polished.” I didn’t expect to be sitting in classrooms as nice as the ones at UConn, living in a beautiful Dutch colonial house with a pool, and frequenting some of the most posh restaurants I’ve ever been to in my life. As the words tumbled out of my mouth, I realized their inaccuracy in describing what I truly was feeling. I know and have had to tell many people that much of Cape Town (home of the first heart transplant) is very developed and “modern”, despite the media depicting Africa as one, homogonous “country” of huts and poverty and lions and violence. With this being said, Cape Town like all cities across the world has its extreme poverty, settled into the townships. I guess what I was truly trying to say to Vernon was that; I didn’t expect my life to be so polished. That I, thought our living situation would a median between living in Rondebosch (aka West Chester county) and the townships (Harlem-esque x100). When I’m in a minibus taxi though, I feel like I’ve found a little bit of a balance. Somehow I’ve been so blessed that I get to experience the best of the wealth and the poverty.
What I mean by that is that I don’t want to romanticize the poverty and lived experiences of so many people across the world. Even though I am able get a tiny taste of the poverty, I’m experiencing the best of it because I get to leave and be considered a “compassionate and adventurous person” for venturing out of our little bubble. Living day to day not knowing where your next meal is coming from, walking miles without shoes, not being able to treat a simple infection, not having the essential and basic lifeline clean water, none of these things are desirable for human existence yet I’m seeking them out to help smother some of my white, privileged guilt. Seeing the poverty makes me want to crawl out of my skin, turn myself inside out and just bleed for all the people who have not been afforded the simple, most basic amenities of life that I take for granted every single day. I once read, that some of us are born on third base thinking we hit a triple. I was born on third base, hell I was born with my team ahead by hundreds of runs, not caring if what we were doing was trampling the other team into the ground…
I’m ready to call for the mercy rule, to stop the game and make everyone see what is going on, give up everything and play for the other team. I’m ready to give up some of my comfort so someone else won’t be so uncomfortable (euphemisms), which calls into question now what? How do we even start to even out the playing field? What is my role and what can I do to make the biggest impact? How do I find equilibrium between appreciation and guilt and responsibility? Which brings me to the point I’ve been trying to make, albeit rather slowly.
My initial instincts when confronted with such poverty is to dive right in. Pull a Christopher McCandless give up all my worldly possessions, own one outfit, one pair of shoes and jump into the trenches, working one on one, feeding starving mouths, bandaging wounds, comforting those dealing with life’s greatest losses, doing the important micro work that is so desperately needed… This fantasy is quickly interrupted when I remember that because of my privilege I have been given the unique and valuable experience of an education, actually a college education. With the piece of paper I will be handed in May 2013, I somehow have a passport to people listening to me, giving me undue respect and listening to my voice among the masses just because I’ve received a formal education. Now this is a privilege as well, this passport will allow me entrance into many places such as business, politics, Foreign Service that billions around the world have been barred from. So now what? Maybe my life would be better served playing the game, seemingly playing for my team but trying to change the rules and getting my teammates to first notice and then give up some of their hits and runs.
Ultimately, I’m being faced with the best problem there is to have, do I help at the micro or macro level (Mother Teresa vs Hillary Clinton). Do I give up my physical comfort and do micro work or do I give up my personal comfort (being a government official seems dreadful at this point in my life) and do macro level work. I also recognize that really this is the most extreme way to think about it, somehow (I hope…) I will find the median, being able to make my impact however it need be, give up my comfort, appreciate the fluidity my life will have and stop worrying about the best problem there is to have. Working at the Network will give me more exposure to macro level work; my job at home gives me exposure to micro level work… I’ll figure it out, and find a balance. I’m so fucking lucky that my biggest worry is my life direction instead of a hollow wrenching ache through my body because I haven’t eaten in days.
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| Theresa: standing on firm ground as she balances the micro and macro needs of the world |
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