I have
spent a good amount of time in South Africa wondering what true race relations
are like. Much as described in my earlier post, I am often left confused, and
sometimes angry. It is a complicated and long history, and one that would
likely take longer than 3 months doing research to understand. Nevertheless,
the juxtaposition of viewpoints I have encountered continues to shock me.
I actually wrote this post a while
ago, and doubted posting due to its length and my lack of understanding of the
many contexts in which race enters into daily life here. But after yet another
racist experience today, in which my proclamation that all people are equal
resulted in a person simply walking away from me, I took another look at what I
wrote and decided to post it. What follows are two stories demonstrating the
difficulties this country still faces. I hope they also reflect the amazing
nature and resiliency of the South African people.
For my final dinner during my
initial safari, I found myself eating alone with the hostess of the lodge.
Fortunately, during my time on safari, in only the few days of my presence, I
had grown quite close to her. Amidst fears of leaving vacation for work,
leaving the countryside for a big city, and leaving a place of surreal comfort
surrounded by amazing animals for reality, I decided to learn a bit about the
country in which I was to spend the rest of my summer. I knew she was
approximately 30 years old, and I knew, therefore, that she had experienced the
transition from apartheid to the new constitution of South Africa. I decided to
ask her what that was like, and her response is something I will never forget…
I’m not
sure how the conversation began, though I know I had been anxious to learn the
reality ever since my visit to the well-done yet almost too composed apartheid
museum in Johannesburg. So I asked Pretty, my host, what it had meant for her
when apartheid ended. She said, “I remember being little, and thinking that
white people were more clever than me. I thought I could not be clever. Then
apartheid ended, and all it meant was that I could be educated. So I got
educated, and I always cared. Then I still had a piece of my childhood when I
started working. I got my job, and I was well educated, but white people didn’t
like it. One man took over. He told the boss I shouldn’t be running the place
and took my job one day. But he was white, so I thought he would be clever,
more clever than me. Then I found he could not even write his name! He was rude
to everyone, but could not do anything! So he was fired, and I realized that I
could be clever, and that black people could be clever too.”
We talked a
bit longer, and I was astonished at her knowledge of the situation. The girl
who once thought that due to her skin color, she was simply not clever, now
understood and was willing to speak out against racial payment injustice within
her country. She was only 4 years older than myself, yet she had grown to
understand how to better herself via education, and how to value herself for
her own capabilities and hard work instead of her skin color. She continued
speaking of the injustices still at the table in her country, but boasted of
the many successes and abilities of South African women. She was proud of her
job and her life, (rightfully so as she was likely one of my favorite hostesses
ever!), and thankfully, had grown to appreciate herself as a capable human.
Living in
Umhlanga has been interesting. The bars, although having epic music, are quite
white. In a sense, it is nice. I fit in, and can dance and dance like nobody is
watching. Unlike many parts of Latin America, where ridiculous dancing tends to
attract onlookers if blonder hair is involved, here it does what it is meant to
do, and wards off unwanted attention.
But, in a
moment of overheating, my friend and I stopped grooving to the beat, and headed
to the porch for a breath of ocean air. As we chatted about the week, a man
approached us with his friends and asked where we were from. We told him that
we were from the US, and he asked what we thought South Africa would be like.
“Expectations were few,” we explained, “but people here are very nice, and we
are loving it!” we said.
The man
seemed shocked, and asked if we had really been a lot of places (I think he
assumed we meant people in Umhlanga were nice). We told him that we spent every
day in the townships. (Townships are areas outside of Durban known to be poor,
and generally not white). Shocked he asked why we would go there, to which his
friend retorted, “White South Africans don't go to townships,” they then
quickly walked away. When I saw them
later, I was ignored. Apparently we crossed a line.
Suddenly,
despite being ignored all night for fitting in, I felt like the odd man out. My
frustration grew. Summer research is a new experience for me. Previous surveys
were my own, done in a language I spoke, and in a country with far fewer
historical complications than South Africa, I never felt like I didn't have a
place. Townships get excited and want to touch my shoe or my hair, and local bar
clientele near my home don’t care to say hello when they find out I have been to
the townships. It’s a new place to be, and it’s not ideal. It’s confusing, and
complex, with a long, complicated history. I do not know what it means for this
country, but I do know that on any given day I would choose the townships.
The prettiest stadium on Nelson Mandela Day |
AND THEN WE WENT IN! |
![]() |
Watching Manchester city play! |
Maanaa and I out with one of our fantastic enumerators |
Working hard! Hiking up a Durban hill to knock on doors for surveys. |
Daily debrief in Chestertown. |