Dan reflects on what he's learned

Prior to leaving Cape Town reach co-educator wrote a paper in response to the following questions: How do you expect the experiences and knowledge gained this semester to influence your future career and life choices?; What have your learned about race and gender that you believe is important for you to know as you strive to become a more well informed global citizen?; What have you learned about yourself that you believe is important for you to know?  

Dan has agreed to post his answers as his final entry on this blog.

Coming to Cape Town was one of the hardest things in my life to do. I have a feeling leaving from here will be just as hard. It took me a long time to settle into life here. For the first time in a long time I had an identity crisis, where I could not figure out where I fit into the group dynamic, or rather I could not figure out where I wanted to fit in. I struggled with this tremendously; I was not happy and more than once questioned my decision to come here. After all, I am so well grounded at UConn with a huge network of friends and acquaintances, plus a new girlfriend, it seemed silly to give up my last semester of that. Three and a half months later I could not be happier with my decision. South Africa is an amazing country that has opened my eyes to life I knew existed but had stayed away from. In Guatemala I was exposed first hand to what living in a developing community was like through a homestay program, but I feel Cape Town provided me a much greater appreciation to the affects of poverty and oppression on a specific segment of society. This appreciation came from hanging out with Bongi in Khayelitsha, from teaching at a school filled with “at-risk” students, from talking to locals that I met in my travels, and from the countless conversations I have had with John. These experiences have helped me become a more understanding and compassionate person towards my fellow human beings.

All of these experiences have ensured in me what I want to do with my life: something in the field of youth development. Okay, so maybe it is not that defined, but it is more defined than before my trip, and I will continue to use the experiences that are allowed to me based off of my time here to specify that desire. I have always known I wanted to “help” people, working with them, for them, but I was having a hard time narrowing that down. Being placed in what turned out to be a perfect internship allowed me the opportunity to test out teaching to see if it was something I wanted to do. Coming away from my time at City Mission Educational Services I have a definite direction of where I want my life to go from here.

Further, living in a house with sixteen other people has taught me a lot about myself in a way my internship and extracurricular activities could not. Aside from the afore mentioned struggle to fit in, I had to also constantly work on my relationships with so many different people at once. I have realized that I don’t function well when I’m frustrated, which again is something I had an idea about and now am sure about. This is something I really want to work on, as I will be frustrated at various points for the rest of my life and need to be able to manage it.

I would like to think I had a pretty good grasp on a variety of different social issues before coming on this trip. I have many very socially minded activist friends and have taken sociology classes such as White Racism and the Sociological Perspective on Poverty that have all opened my eyes to a variety of societal issues. Therefore, I did not have a profound life-altering realization of all the awful things that go on in this world like some of my fellow co-educators might have had. Instead, I learned from a more personal perspective what life is like as an oppressed person and what the effects of that oppression can be. I have learned to question things because more often than not it is not what it seems on the surface. This, however, comes into play on both sides, as I do not agree with all pieces of activism. This newfound perspective came as much from classroom lessons as it did from my internship and “activist projects,” as those were the places that I was most in tune with the life and happenings of others. These encounters were further developed through the various assigned class readings. What sticks out most in my mind of all of this is our recent lessons on what a “day in the life” of an oppressed person is like. That is something I have often times wondered about, so that lesson was incredibly eye opening.

 In regards to gender, the simple fact that I lived in a house with 14 women taught me a ton about what life is like in a male dominated society. People like Nellie and Theresa always kept me on my toes with what I was saying and how I was acting, again something I had been conscious of but what really driven home here. From class, the article and ensuing discussions we covered on sexist language (and for that matter racist language) was most meaningful to me. It took me a little while, and once again I’m not completely on board with everything, but I have a changed perspective on how such innocent and seemingly harmless words like “policeman” can actually completely change a person’s thinking.  I have started to monitor my language and catch/alter it whenever I slip up. 

Dan retells Vernon's story

Vernon, CT

Vernon Rose on a visit to Vernon, Connecticut

I grew up in Vernon, so when I learned that the man who would be teaching one of my classes and coordinating my internship while I was in Cape Town was named Vernon I immediately knew I was going to like him. I had heard about him from past participants: he’s amazing, manages to place you in the perfect internship, and literally knows everyone in Cape Town. My expectations were high and I wouldn’t be disappointed. Reverend Vernon Rose has to be one of the most incredible, humble, kind, and personable persons I have ever met. He has an amazing life story and recently sat down to tell our class it. Check it out.

To understand where he is now, you have to go all the way back to Vernon Rose’s childhood. As a youngster, his family was forcibly removed from their home in District 6 to Bridgetown, where I work and he currently lives. In 1960 his third grade teacher, Dulcie September (an anti-apartheid activist who was assassinated), gave him his start on a life of activism. Before he could begin that though, he had to make some noise as an athlete. As a kid he was the Western Province Community Centre’s Table Tennis Champion and represented the Western Province in soccer. To give you a perspective, South Africa only has nine provinces. Then, in the 10^th grade his history teacher played Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech and it changed Vernon’s life; he aspired to be like Dr. King. While getting an undergraduate degree in social work from the University of the Western Cape, a local university, Vernon worked as a house parent in a children’s home. By the time he was 25 he was promoted to be the principal.

The next stage of his life occurred in the United States when he traveled to UNC Chapel Hill and Duke. He moved overseas with his soon-to-be wife, Esme, to work at an internship (ironic, huh?) and study theology. In 1979 he worked with the American Communist Party (before you freak out at the word communist, remember that Nelson Mandela also worked with the Communist Party) to get medical supplies to Tanzania. He worked in the prison system where he met with Benjamin Chavis ( who among many things was an assistant to MLK and Director of the NAACP). After getting a Masters in Divinity from Duke he moved up to study at Yale to pursue yet another Masters degree. Being South African, he didn’t realize the prominence of the university. There, his mentor was Cornel West (arguably the leading African American scholar in the States). To top off his list of celebrity appearances, Vernon also worked with Stokely Carmichael (known also as Kwame Ture, who popularized the term “Black Power”) while State side. Somewhere along the way, Vernon was ordained as a Baptist minister.

The interesting phase of his life starts back in South Africa, where on September 2, 1989, his birthday, he was arrested and subsequently spent a night in jail for protesting against the apartheid government. After doing developmental work through the University of Cape Town, he became the Director of the South African Council of Churches, where he worked with Desmond Tutu organizing Peace Talks. As if one Nobel Laureate wasn’t enough, as a Regional Director of the Urban Foundation, Vernon was later invited to attend the World Economic Developmental Forum where Nelson Mandela was speaking and subsequently was able to meet South Africa’s first democratic president. Further, he has worked with the top eight gangsters in Cape Town at the time and helped the National Lottery Board develop policy for their Distribution Agencies. All of this still doesn’t explain how Vernon knows everyone in Cape Town though. In the early 90s Reverend Rose facilitated the process of organizing an NGO forum of 4,000 Capetonian organizations. So, traveling through Cape Town with Vernon feels like you’re traveling with a celebrity, everyone is constantly waving and saying hello.

So what could this man possibly be doing today? Aside from organizing all the internships for my program and the school of nursing that comes in the fall, he is serving as a consultant for the government as well as various local organizations. He is currently mediating a case between two towns, one affluent and the other middle class and colored, that is receiving national attention. Oh, and he’s also writing a musical.

 Personally, I think Vernon should file a lawsuit against Dos Equis, because he has to be the most interesting man in the world. He never would though, as he is probably the most humble and modest person I have ever met. He didn’t want to go through his life story with the class because he didn’t want to talk about himself, and when I asked his permission to write this blog he took a moment to think before giving me the okay. I am so fortunate to be able to call Vernon my professor and my role model; this program wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for him. 

Dan: an assignment transformed into a way of life

My activist project was putting off my final semester in college to come to South Africa. My activist project was staying after school to tutor one of my students in reading and spending time with him on my days off. My activist project was going to soccer practices in Khayelitsha on Thursdays, where I didn’t do much aside from being a supportive figure for the kids and Bongi. My activist project was tutoring and doing life orientation with those same soccer players on Wednesdays. My activist project was going to soccer tournaments and supporting the team in whatever way I could. My activist project was helping to construct the Firefighters FC into a self-sustaining non-profit organization. Really, I didn’t have an activist project at all.

           

When I first came to Cape Town I knew I had this additional “activist project” that I had to do. All I knew was it was a self constructed/chosen volunteer project somewhere in the local community. I also knew of this requirement of a minimum of 24 hours that was to be devoted to my activist project. One of the few other requirements was that I find something I am passionate about.

I certainly am passionate about my work with the Firefighters. Bongi is an incredible individual who has the capability of inspiring everyone around him. From my initial conversation with him I knew that he was someone that I wanted to be around. Throughout the course of the semester I grew closer to him as we both worked towards making the Firefighters as great as their potential. The soccer players were just as amazing, always appreciative of the time and effort we put in. By the end of the semester they addressed me by name and went out of their way to converse with me, making me feel truly at home. More than once Bongi genuinely thanked me for the work that I was doing, but it never felt like work. I wasn’t fulfilling the requirements of some assignment given to me in class, I was doing something that I loved with a group of people who provided for me as much as I provided for them.

           

Did I need to tutor on Wednesday nights? Of course not, easily everything else I was doing with the Firefighters would have been suffice. But what else was I going to do with my time, sit on my computer at home? I love Khayelitsha so spending another evening on a long and crowded bus ride didn’t sound all that bad to me. The tutoring allowed me an opportunity to interact with some of the older players, as the practices I attend are the U11 and U13 teams. Getting to know these athletes was awesome and once again I think I learned more from them than I ever taught them.

           

The thought of my work with my student as being an activist project makes me uncomfortable. More so than my work with the Firefighters, this truly was something I stumbled upon that captured my heart and my passion. While I easily could count this as my activist project, at no point (until writing this paper) did I ever think of it in that light. The relationship I built over these few months has been one of the most rewarding and yet emotionally taxing experiences of my life. Everything I have done with him has been out of the love that I have for him and my desire to bring a little more cheer into his life. He was never my activist project, and he was way more than just my student, he is unlike anyone I have ever met before and will influence me for the rest of my life.

           

In the end, this trip itself was an activist project for me. It was stepping outside my comfort zone in a way I had never done before. It was living in a house with 16 other people (which could be an activist project in itself) and dealing with being homesick for the first time since I was a little kid. It was about building relationships, both locally and from afar, in a way I never could have done had I stayed in the States.

Bongi and Dan

I have had three and a half months of an activist project and it has inspired me to do more back home, where I am already thinking about different volunteer work I can do. In the end, it will be Bongi and my student who keep me going, who give me strength, encouragement, and inspiration, even though I will not be anywhere near them. I hope my “activist project” has made as big of an impact on those I worked with as it did on me. 

Dan: Old Mutual Two Oceans Half Marathon

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This past Saturday I participated in the Old Mutual Two Oceans Half Marathon, dubbed “The World’s Most Beautiful Marathon.” The race had two themes, my Achilles tendon, which I had somehow hurt during a training run two weeks prior, and the weather, which was forecasted to be 60 degrees and raining for the 6am start. Before we get ahead of ourselves though, we need to start with the International Fun Run, a 5k which took place on Friday morning. I was skeptical and cynical going into it, the title just sounded silly and plus I spend a lot of my time trying to blend into the Capetonian culture rather than proclaiming my foreignness. The run turned out to be awesome (and it was also way longer than 5k, my guess it was 4 miles). The weekend’s race had 80 countries represented and at the event Friday people were dressed up in their countries colors and a flag from each nation was distributed to one of its citizen’s to carry. It was a lighthearted atmosphere and the route spent most of the time along the shoreline. Unfortunately, my Achilles, which I had been resting for the past week and a half, tightened up at the end of the run, making me nervous for the next morning.

The half marathon turned out to be possibly the biggest mental race I have ever run. We arrived at the start in the dark, the overcast sky hiding the full moon above; warming up, my Achilles was tight and sore and no matter how much I stretched it I couldn’t make it comfortable. I had emailed my high school cross country coach looking for advice, and his words were in the back of my head. “My advice is to avoid this race…don’t be a hero, you need your heel for a lot more activities than races.” Was I being stupid trying to run this? How will I know when enough is enough and I need to stop? Will I be able to make myself bail on a race I spent the past three months training for (not to mention over $100 registering for)? At what point in the race will I reach the mark where no matter what I’m going to finish? Hurting my Achilles now would probably keep me out for the majority of the summer, and I already have a bunch of bike races, triathlons, and running races on the schedule. Before I had answered most of these questions in my head the gun went off and the race had begun. With over 16,200 people registered to run, the start of the race was extremely crowded and the darkness added a whole new element. At least it wasn’t raining.

It took just about 15 minutes for the pack to loosen up so I could get into a groove. Having never run in kilometers before, I had no idea how to pace myself, so every 5k I took my split. My first split was 30:28, way slower than I wanted it to be due to the start, meaning I had some catching up to do. At the 10k mark (26:59 split, 57:28 into the race), two things changed. My Achilles finally loosened up, allowing me to relax a bit and just run, and the weather changed. I felt it happen; the sky got dark, the wind picked up, and the temperature dropped. On top of this a 5k long hill, arguably the hardest part of the race, started. At least it wasn’t raining.

It started raining just as I reached the 13k mark. It started light but picked up until it was a downpour with a strong wind that would whip tiny rain bullets into your eyes. By the 15k mark (27:16 split, running for a total of 1:24:44) I was soaked all the way through. I picked up my pace and spent the last few kilometers battling the driving headwind. I crossed the finish line unofficially at 1:53:26, working out to be an 8:39/mile pace. This wasn’t the fastest half marathon I’ve run, in fact it was my slowest (out of two previous races), but there was a sense of accomplishment I felt crossing the finish line that was absent in any of the previous endurance races I’ve completed. I had won the mental battle and ran a great race. In the end my Achilles held out and the weather waited as long as it could before it released its wrath on the runners. Now I can say I’ve run 13.1 on two continents, and I have the medal to prove it!

Dan: what did you just say?

…What did you just say?

“Wipe your mouth with that diaper!” “The power is out, go get the torch!” “It’s on the right just after the robot.” “I need to put plaster on my arm before I can go anywhere.”

Do you have any idea what all of that means, or maybe the idea you have doesn’t make any sense? Welcome to a day in the life. South Africa has eleven official languages, but I’ve been lucky enough that everyone I’ve encountered speaks English. The thing is, a lot of words and phrases that we use in the States are completely different than how they say it here in South Africa. The first few lines are perfect examples. At face value, you’re probably thinking of someone wiping their face with a baby’s diaper, instead of a napkin which is what it really says; someone carrying a medieval flaming torch instead of a flash light; a big shiny robot in the street rather than a traffic light; or someone putting the stuff you fix walls with onto their arm rather than a bandaid.

It’s entertaining discovering all the different ways of saying things. A month or so ago I had the most ridiculous conversation in a store trying to explain to the clerk what a clothes pin was (called a peg here). I don’t think I’ll ever get used to telling a sixth grader to let his friend borrow his rubber (eraser); and if your mind wasn’t already in the gutter, imagine what a “humped zebra” is (a raised crosswalk). My favorite fruit is cantaloupe, but it doesn’t exist here. Instead, it’s sweet melon, or if you want to be even more literal, sweet orange melon. There is a difference between a taxi and a cab, and confusing the two in conversation will thoroughly confuse a local. Food doesn’t go bad, it goes off. If you need someone’s attention you can say “excuse me” all you want, but they won’t acknowledge you until you say “sorry.” Though “sneakers” is used, the term “tekkies” is more common. Things don’t get crazy, they get hectic.

Aside from simple word differences, there are sayings that are completely different and often times just as confusing. Instead of saying “really” they say “is it,” instead of saying “what’s up” they say “howzit,” instead of saying “that’s too bad” they say “shame.” To say you’re coming “just now” means you’ll be coming soon, but to say you’re leaving “now now” means you’re leaving that instant. I’m not sure if the word “rent” exists here, instead all the signs say “to let,” whatever that means…

Out of all of the different sayings and words here, my favorites are the words for thank you, “cheers,” and you’re welcome, “pleasure.” They’re just happier words; at least for me it’s hard to say “cheers” without smiling. I'll definitely be bringing some of these latter phrases back to the States with me. I'm sure I will receive the same funny looks I gave to people as I tried to figure out what in the world they were talking about. 

Dan: those who have the least share the most

Those Who Have the Least Share the Most.

I love being able to share different experiences that leave an impression on me. This post stems from something I do every morning when I get to school: I try and talk to each student in both my classes, asking them how their weekend or previous night was. Most give the typical “good” response, some divulge a bit more, but the student who I have been tutoring (and writing about!) almost always says “bad.” This obviously got my attention. I wanted his response to be “good,” so one day a couple weeks ago I asked him if he’d like to get together over the weekend and do something fun. He was excited about it, so that Sunday I went and visited him at the orphanage where he stays. From there, we started walking into the city because, per his request, we were going to spend our afternoon “just walking.” On our way there we started a dialogue that would be brought up throughout the next few hours we spent together.

Just outside the city limits, we walked past a congregation of maybe 10 homeless people sleeping in a shaded patch of grass. As we passed he pointed them out and said it made him feel “shame” and “sad.” I asked why and he went on to explain that it was because they have no food or homes or money or anything. He’s spent some time on the streets as well, so I wasn’t too surprised at his empathy. Later, towards the end of our walk we got talking about life. I asked him what his dream job was when he grew up and I couldn’t believe what he told me. I expected him to reply with his usual talk of being a basketball player in the United States or winning the lottery, but he gave me an answer that you’d be hard pressed to find another sixteen year old kid say. He told me that he wants to help the homeless people. He wants to give them food and shelter and jobs. Now THAT I did not see coming. But wait, there’s more. On our way out of the city there is a really good bakery that I had been bugging him about going to all day. All I wanted to do was buy him a delicious, ridiculously decorated baked good. As we were walking by the street it is on I decided to give it one last try. Finally, rather than saying that he wasn’t hungry he agreed to let me buy some cake! Except he didn’t want the cake. Rather, he told me to buy the cake and give it to the homeless people we were about to walk by once again on our way home.

You can’t make this stuff up. Here is a refugee orphan who has to wash cars at the touristy waterfront to make money so he can buy his clothes or anything else that he might need refusing to be selfish; here is a sixteen year old kid in the sixth grade who gets made fun of because he can barely read caring for complete strangers. He has every right to feel sorry for himself, and often times he does. He has every right to be mad at the world for the situation that he is in, but instead he wants to give back. It inspired me.

I didn’t buy that cake. I’m not sure why; looking back on it I wish I had. It would have been a powerful thing for a kid whose total possessions could probably fit in a backpack to give a delicious, ridiculously decorated cake to those who don’t even have a backpack. I hope by the end of this trip I have another chance at something like this.

Dan on The Joy of Reading

The Joy of Reading

If you are reading this, you have the ability to read. Sounds kind of silly right? It means you were raised in an environment that put an emphasis on the importance to being able to read, whether that occurred in school, in the home, or both. Have you ever considered yourself lucky to have had this, have you ever taken it for granted? If you haven’t, take a moment to appreciate this. No seriously, take a moment to think about how different your life would be if you didn’t have the ability to read or write.

About a month ago, I was talking with one of my sixth graders about something that I have talked about with many other students: was he able to read. This is the same student whom I spoke of in my past posting about hunger. He is a quiet and reserved sixteen year old orphan from the Congo. His dad died in the mid 90s in war and his mother died when he was 10 years old. After her death, he lived on the streets for three years before a “white man” took him to South Africa. He often times talks about how he misses his mother, how it’s hard being a foreigner living in the orphanage, how his inability to read makes him feel “shameful.”

City Mission Educational Services

Despite having this same conversation with many other students, he did something no other student had done: he asked me if I could write down some words for him so he could practice. I told him I would be more than happy to, and later in the day when he inquired about it again, I knew he was serious. So, that night I went home, got a notebook, and wrote him a letter. My intent was to write to him and have him write back to me, so that not only was he practicing reading but also he was practicing writing. We did this back and forth a couple times, but he seemed to be struggling with it. That’s when I came to a harsh reality. He can’t read. He actually can’t read. No matter how many times I wrote him letters or what I said in them, it wasn’t going to teach him to read because he simply couldn’t read them. This hit me hard. I was rattled, but I decided to change my approach and this time asked him to stay after school with me so we could do some more focused work. He agreed, and over the past few weeks we have spent many hours after school learning to read, from the ground up. I quickly realized he’s at a kindergarten level, which means we started with letter sounds, some of the most common words, and soon will be starting with combined letter sounds (like “ch” and “sh”). He’s made incredible improvements that we’re both excited about, though I’m only here for two more months, something we’re both aware of.  I know he won’t be reading Shakespeare before I leave, but I hope I am able to provide him with a sense of dignity and confidence that he so desperately desired before.

 Think about what you were doing at sixteen. Learning to drive? Gradually pushing away from your parents? I can assure you that he’d love to have parents to push away from; he’d love to think about learning to drive or all the other silly things sixteen year olds think about. Instead, he’s just trying to learn to read so he can be “normal.” Now, go back to your thoughts on what your life would have been like if you couldn’t read and realize that this is his reality. Take a few moments to think about that. 

Dan on the influence of America

YMCMB. Ugly Americans. Illuminati. What do these three things have in common? They are all prominent aspects of the South African, or at least the Capetonian, culture that stem directly from the United States. Like many people around the world, including those in Guatemala where I lived this summer, South African’s are constantly looking at and being influenced by the United States. Unfortunately, the United States culture that they receive cannot even compare to the one I know. MTV, E!, and all those awful soap operas you had to watch when you were home sick as a kid are the major sources of television. American music, in particular hip hop and rap, is more popular than South African music, and you better believe American movies are watched here as well. To some extent, it is kind of cool. I can’t help but smile when my students start singing some song that’s on my ipod, and it’s nice to know that when the Hunger Games movie comes out all of us here who read the book don’t have to miss out on seeing the movie in theaters.

 

The trouble comes when people don’t realize the separation between the dramatization of the media and the realization of normal life. For instance, as people have found out I’m in a long distance relationship they all hesitantly ask if I trust my girlfriend so far away. Granted, South Africa has an incredibly high divorce rate, at around 65%, but I suspected that it went deeper than that. As it turns out, Cheaters, is a very popular show here. Apparently all American’s cheat on their partners. In another example, upon arrival I started seeing “YMCMB” all over the place, mostly on clothing. At first I thought it was some sort of parody off of the YMCA, but after seeing it scribbled in one of my 8^th graders notebooks I had to ask. “Young Money, Cash Money, Bitches” is what he responded with. Lil Wayne, I should have known. He is huge here, almost everyone I’ve asked says he’s their favorite rapper, and clearly he has a pretty big influence. To think that he is their American role model is pretty sad.

Relating to the media, the youth in South Africa are convinced that the likes of Oprah, Kanye West, and Lady Gaga are in a secret society called the Illuminati. It’s the same society that Dan Brown talks about in his books and its members are said to worship the devil. A couple weeks ago I engaged in a long conversation about it with a student during the lunch interval at school. His example of proof that it exists was when Lady Gaga wore the meat suit to the VMAs. I countered his argument saying that maybe she wore it to symbolize how women are objectified and seen as a “piece of meat.” The student stopped to think for a moment and all he could say was “that’s a really good theory.” That was the end of that conversation. Once again, it’s scary to think that this is the impression of the United States that they are receiving.

In the last and probably scariest of these American influences is the Ugly Americans. This is the name of one of the biggest and scariest gangs in Cape Town. Why they decided to name their gang this I have no idea but it certainly isn’t a positive reflection of the US. Where they are present is where we’re not supposed to go as students, but even more, where they’re present is where locals don’t even feel safe. Can you imagine not feeling safe in the area you live in?

Anyways, it has been an interesting experience over the past five weeks to see how the United States has crept into a culture so far away. I love engaging in conversations about the differences in the two cultures, and I take every opportunity I can to try and clear up some of the misconceptions people have about the US. With ten weeks left, I look forward to many more of these talks. I’m also going to continue to ponder how we act as Americans and how this influences the views of millions of people across the world.