Thursday was a rough day for me. I’m not sure what exactly triggered it, but I suddenly felt the emotional gravity of the week bear down on me. Before landing in Johannesburg, we were all warned about the vast economic disparities we would see in Grahamstown. We were told we were staying in a part of town many of the Inkululeko students’ families would never afford. We would see extreme poverty on top of wealth. While I did notice this on our trips back and forth from the township (housing extensions where most of the black community lives in poverty) to our hotel on High Street, I didn’t fully grasp the way socioeconomic disparities affect the community on not only a systematic but also a very personal level.
Of course it is tough to see people living in tin shacks and no, I am not used to seeing high schools that may or may not have running water on any given day, but I didn’t take the time to decompress these experiences. It wasn’t until the second trip to Upstart, the community organization I’ll be working with for the next two weeks that I understood the deeper everyday implications of living in poverty. At Upstart, a handful of my peers and I met a young woman named Julie who had the opportunity to attend great schools while living in the township. Because of her educational background, she has what is called a Model C accent. In other words, she speaks clear English and her native accent is barely detected. This type of accent can be loosely related to code-switching in the US. Having a Model C accent makes a favorable impression on the population in power and may dissuade any questioning of one’s intelligence, compared to having a Xhosa accent. Julie told us stories of what it was like to take a taxi to school in Grahamstown, putting on her “White face” to be accepted by school friends, while at the same time struggling to find a level of social comfort upon returning to the township. She told us about similar identity crises township youth experience when they take responsibility for their education and try to break the cycle of poverty, yet are ostracized and bullied in their home communities for being “too smart” or “anti-social” for taking time to quietly read – an activity that was always encouraged in my own household.
The most jarring anecdote Julie told us was about a high school student who was applying to university but did not have a phone number to put down on her applications. Knowing she needed a cell phone in order to be reached regarding admissions decisions, the young woman “rented” a cell phone from a man in town. In order to keep using the phone, she had to have sex with him throughout the admissions process. Hearing stories of women using their bodies as a mode of trade is always a heavy subject and is not one to be taken lightly. The reason this particular story struck me was because this is what a young person felt they needed to do to apply for college. Though I know of students in the US who may have trouble paying for applications and might struggle to qualify for fee waivers, there is no way to picture such a thing happening stateside, at least not in any neighborhood I’ve been in. I don’t say this to emphasize how “unbelievable” or “crazy” people’s lives are in South Africa, but to try to put into perspective the physically and emotionally violent crimes accompanied with poverty. And in South Africa, poverty is inextricably linked to race.
With these thoughts in my head and with my heart heavy, I found it hard to get ready to attend the fundraiser dinner for Inkululeko. Although I knew I needed to be present at the event since I’m writing the copy for the organization’s annual report and had important people to meet, I didn’t feel stable enough to go out and mingle. I’ve been told many times that I need to work on fixing my face and hiding my emotions while in public and I realize this is a skill I need to work on. But at the time, it wasn’t a feeling that I wanted to ignore or put on a facade to hide. As odd as this may sound, I almost felt like I was having an epiphany of sorts. I desperately wanted to be alone and write, to sort out my thoughts and seriously contemplate the compounding issues I’d recently been exposed to. I found myself questioning a lot about my own life, systems in the US and SA, black consciousness, poverty and humanity as a whole. As both a writer and an introvert, I often find myself needing a lot of time alone and subsequently talk to myself very often. Unfortunately, I didn’t take the time to do so this last week, the week of my life I probably needed it most. Regardless, I got myself together and had a great time at the event. The timing of the fundraiser was aligned with my newfound realization of why it’s important to do the work we do. Although it can sometimes be easy to question the impact of non-profit organizations and philanthropic activities, it’s important to be reminded that the world will not change overnight. As Roger Domingo noted Friday on our visit to GADRA (Grahamstown Area Disaster Relief Association), change happens one person at a time, with the right person in the right place in the right time.
Skillin' it 