Ruth, a longtime CIVIL RIGHTS ATTORNEY AND FEDERAL PUBLIC DEFENDER living in the United States, decided to take a break from her usual work and spend time volunteering for Global Camps Africa in South Africa. Follow along as she shares her experiences and her perspective as an American at Sizanani.
Day 1: The Flight
On the airplane, nearing the end of the flight, the white woman next to me and I began chatting. I don’t remember how we moved from the mundane of airplane inconvenience to — what shall I call it— “inequality in South Africa.” She lamented that the state of affairs was now “reversed,” that Black South Africans controlled everything, there were quotas for education and hiring such that her kids must now look outside the country for jobs. There was no anger in her voice, she was matter-of-factory stating facts. I talked about the US, gave the example of how I was the beneficiary of my father’s enrollment in the GI bill, a program which changed his socio-economic class but was not made available to Black people. My seat mate listened, perhaps asked a question or two, I don’t remember. But there was little engagement. Very “nice” woman, soft-spoken, friendly, accommodating. For her, likely a chat with an interested but ignorant American. For me, the 2022 introduction to the country.
Day 1+: Arrival
With my cart of luggage and I’m certain a weary face, I circled the arrivals room at Johannesburg International Airport figuring I’d be waiting or calling. But there suddenly was Mpumi Maesela, Global Camps Africa’s South African Country Director, saying my name. What a gift. She took me shopping for food, to the Airbnb, then out for coffee. Over the few hours, she moved from welled-up eyes to silliness and laughter, as if we were well known to each other. I told her about the white woman on the plane, didn’t have to finish the story for her to see the whole picture (and then some). We sipped mochas and Mpumi answered my questions. (“How do you know which of your six languages to speak to a stranger?”) I understand the need for an hiatus from grief (she had just lost her father days before our meeting). But this was a gift to me.
Day and Evening 2: Adjusting
If I have to forget a day I suppose it should be this one. Walked around the mall area, got mani/pedi at Sorbet (recommended by both Mpumi and the white seat mate), had coffee and a smoothie at Tasha’s. Back to the Airbnb (wanting to call it “the apartment,” reminiscent of my 4-year-old self in DC, but also because it’s bigger and better organized than my own DC home). Reached out to friends’ friends, answered WhatsApp’s, deleted emails, struggled to stay awake bigtime, spent 2 hours dealing with Verizon and getting nowhere (woke me up though). Then took myself to dinner at the bar part of where Mpumi brought us for coffee.
Lovely glass of wine and salad cheaper than what I’d pay in DC. But I’m in fancy-land here, a less pricey, more mall-y version of life at home. Clientele mixed, all servers are black. Mpumi, then Jackie (and in between a barista himself ) explained that many of those working in Rosebank are Zimbabwean or from other countries. Chatted minimally with the bartenders owing to some difficulty with my understanding them (accent plus mask), their evident busyness, and my initial shyness as a foreigner.
Shoulder exercises to Netflix (“After Life,” it came up and made for easy background chatter). Then downloaded the book Mpumi recommended, a South African life (the fiction v. non-fiction debate) with humor. “These Things Really Do Happen to Me.” The perfect read.
Then had my second night of waking up at 2 then 4, both times raring to go. And with a Melatonin plan for Friday.