World AIDS Day 2009

I will never forget where I was on World AIDS Day 2009. As a volunteer for Diakonia AIDS Ministry, I had a feeling that whatever the December 1^st celebration brought would be an experience of a lifetime. It is no secret that HIV and AIDS is still a large and seemingly insurmountable issue in South Africa. Multiple sources report that South Africa has the highest infected percentage in the world. The exceedingly populated and often economically poor townships are the hardest hit by the virus. Among the countless evils implemented by the apartheid government was the unceremonious dumping of millions of dark-skinned Africans in what are known as the townships. These people were denied proper education and access to other universal human rights like healthcare, the right to marry whom they wished, and the right to travel where they wanted when they wanted. The dismal apartheid conditions were not only a gross violation of human rights, but they also provided the Human Immunodeficiency Virus* (HIV) a perfect place to spread and thrive.

 There is a saying here in South Africa that everyone in the country is either infected or affected pertaining to HIV and AIDS. This means that it is nearly impossible to ignore the pandemic because of the sheer number of people carrying the virus. However, there are many people who still try to ignore it. There are those who wish to hide behind a false sense that the virus does not and will not affect them. This is unfortunate, and I am glad that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Southern Africa does not hide from HIV and AIDS, but instead the Church has chosen to speak about the issue outwardly and honestly. Ministries like my very own Diakonia AIDS Ministry, which was dreamt up by ELCSA Presiding Bishop N.P. Phaswana, are shining examples of the Church taking action. I have heard it said that the Church alone will not defeat the pandemic, but the pandemic cannot be defeated without the Church. This does not just mean the church in the highly affected areas of Sub-Saharan Africa, but the entire Body of Christ all over the world.

 I could go on for a long time about this incredibly lofty issue, but I will get back to World AIDS Day 2009. Diakonia AIDS Ministry decided to hold an event at the nearby Nancefield hostel. In South Africa, hostels are not rustic places for backpackers to stay for cheap like one may think. These hostels were set up for accommodating migrant workers coming from the rural areas. Only men were allowed to stay at these locations, which became hotbeds of violence, prostitution, and the spread of HIV. This particular hostel, I was told, used to be a battleground between the African National Congress (ANC) and the Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP), two political organizations that never held much love for one another. When I say battleground, I do not mean it in the same way we talk about “battleground states” in US politics. The two parties literally used to shoot each other at Nancefield hostel. Fortunately and recently, attempts are being made to improve the hostels. They are now more like project housing that consists of family units. This is an improvement over the previous conditions but these locations are still some of the most impoverished and have high rates of HIV infection. This was the site chosen by the AIDS Ministry for the World AIDS Day festivities, which I found to be extremely appropriate.

 First of all, being in Soweto on World AIDS Day was a powerful notion in itself. This is the center of it all. This is the largest township (actually a collection of townships) in the country with the highest HIV and AIDS prevalence on the planet. For someone like me who has always been interested in this issue, it was truly exciting to just be here. World AIDS Day is intended to be a celebration, not a funeral service. The purpose is to gather together and remember those whose lives were claimed by the infection, as well as to talk about it openly. It was an honor for me to be a part of it all.

 Our program consisted of a number of speeches made by various members of our ministry and the community. Although most of what was spoken was in isiZulu or Sesotho, I could tell by the reactions of the audience that the words were powerful. We then, at noon, gathered in a circle and lit red candles in remembrance. It was beautiful to glance around the room at those who had congregated; many of whom I know are HIV positive because of their affiliation with our ministry’s support groups. Going with the statistics, at least a third of the individuals in that room carry the virus. At times, I thought to myself, “What right do I have to even be here?” I have not lost a family member to AIDS-related illness. I could not even imagine what emotions were floating around the room for everyone gathered there. It was beautiful and heart wrenching at the same time. It was a privilege just to bow my head in prayer and be a part of that circle.

 The latter part of the program consisted of various performances, and the atmosphere in the room was one of celebration. A local choir performed a number of beautiful African spiritual songs and some with a little gospel flair. I do not think the smile left my face the entire time they were up front. There was also traditional Zulu dance performed by two different groups. The choreography and fervor with which they danced was simply incredible. They would kick their legs so high and fast that the mere sight of it made me pull a muscle (okay maybe not quite). It was one of those moments where I just had to sit back and feel fortunate to be a witness. You can ask me to demonstrate Zulu dancing when I get home, but I will need to do an extensive stretching routine first, or maybe I can just show the video I took instead.

 At one moment on World AIDS 2009, I was hit with this realization. I was experiencing South Africa in a very real way. On one hand I was witnessing the romantic side of Africa: the singing that was unbelievably beautiful and the dancing that was simply mind blowing. All we needed was a lion to waltz in (Not many lions in Soweto, though). On the other hand, I was in the middle of a poor township, in a building covered with graffiti and broken windows, with people who were all infected with or affected by HIV. This is South Africa, I thought. This is real. It was a strange but powerful juxtaposition. HIV and AIDS is a very real issue in South Africa, too real. My final thought is this: being here has showed me the stark reality of how the infection ravages these beautiful people. However, at the same time I have seen resilience and hope. Having a number of friends now who are HIV positive makes the virus less mysterious and therefore less frightening. Thanks to modern medicine and improved access to it, HIV is no longer a death sentence and those living with it can live relatively normal lives. This pandemic is still severe but it can be beaten, and it will be, with a little help from all of us.

 

 *The Human Immunodeficiency Virus is what is known as a retrovirus, which is related to how the virus replicates itself. Retroviruses have a high rate of mutation, which is why there are so many resistant strains. This explains why it is so difficult to find a cure. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS) is when HIV suppresses the immune system a defined amount or when the person contracts an opportunistic infection that someone with a healthy immune system would not. Being HIV positive does not always involve an AIDS diagnosis, but HIV causes AIDS. Also, people do not die from AIDS, rather from AIDS-related illnesses. Finally, since AIDS is an acronym, it should never be written “Aids.” Just a little extra information. Thanks for reading.

 

I wrote a new blog entry! Is it?

As a typical unilingual American (not something I’m proud of), I am glad that English is widely spoken in South Africa. Although immersion in an environment where another language is being used certainly is conducive to learning that language, I admit that I would have a hard time if required to learn Sesotho or isiZulu in order to perform my missionary duties (although I’m doing my best to at least learn the proper greetings). However, it is important to remember that the English spoken in South Africa is not what we would call American English. I have heard it called British Imperial English, as South Africa was a part of the British Empire much more recently that the United States was. There are also cultural colloquialisms that take some getting used to, some with subtle differences to the American equivalents, and others that leave newcomers scratching their heads. So without further ado, here are a few examples of such phrases that are common in South Africa:

 Is it?

This is a phrase that is regularly used. It is the American equivalent to “really?” Sometimes it makes perfect sense. For example, “My house is down the street.” The response: “Is it?” Other times it is more of a head scratcher: “I saw a zebra today.” Response: “Is it?” The next time someone tells you something new say, “Is it?” no matter if it makes sense to you or not.

 How’s it?

This is an easy one. It is an easy way to say “How are you?” or “How’s it going?” Although I have yet to figure out how to properly respond. Do they really want the story of how you are doing at that moment or is it just a simple greeting? I usually say, “Fine, how are you?” It has worked so far. It could be like when someone says, “What’s up?” in the States. It is more a cool way to say hi than an actual question.

 Just now

The literary meaning is no different, but culturally the idea of “just now” is very different than in the United States. It is not a secret that the rest of the world does not share the same sense of time as we Americans do. This variation can be both a relief and a great source of frustration. To the wonderful people of South Africa, “Just now” could be better understood as, “whenever I feel like it.” This could mean anywhere between a few minutes and a few days, or in some cases never. I have spent an entire Saturday waiting for a friend who was coming to see me “just now.” It is best just to keep a good book close at hand.

 Now now

Similar to “just now,” the meaning of “now now” varies depending on the region. I think maybe “now now” is a shorter amount of time than “just now.” However, since “just now” can mean pretty much any length of time, “now now” is up for much interpretation. I was told earlier today that my neighbors would come see me “now now.” I got hungry two hours later and went to make dinner (or supper as they would say). So “now now” pretty much is the same as “just now,” only a little different.

 This side/that side

I love this one. This often used instead of “here” or “there.” The great thing is that “that side” can be anywhere from the other side of the room to the United States of America, halfway around the world. A parent can tell their child to “go play that side” meaning across the room so they do not knock something over or they can ask me, “how are things that side?” meaning at home in the US. I often have to clarify what exactly I am being asked.

 These are just a few of the phrases I hear frequently in my day-to-day life. I find these sayings to be quite endearing most of the time though at times a little confusing. There are also many different words for things that come from British influence and that of other regions. The back of the car is the boot and not the trunk. One doesn’t pick someone or something up, rather the item or person is fetched. You don’t call someone you phone them. The time is half past twelve and not twelve thirty, and when you ask for the bathroom people look at you funny and wonder why you would take a bath at such a time. Here, they prefer the not-so-discreet term toilet, as if there was any doubt. I’m learning slowly but surely.

 So while I’m trying to learn bits and pieces of the Sesotho language while mastering the subtleties of South African English while this side, I hope everyone that side is enjoying reading my blog. You can all look forward to another entry just now, or is it now now?

 

Sweet Home Soweto

Many things come to people’s minds when they think about Soweto, some probably true and some perhaps not so much. For me it was always a place of mystery. The extent of my knowledge mainly comes from learning about the 1976 Soweto uprising in one class or another and searching the Web for photos and information that might have given me a glimpse of the place I would be staying prior to my departure. I will admit to being a little nervous when I was informed that my placement for this year was to be in Soweto. When I told people where I was going, people often met the announcement with a look of concern and perhaps even confusion. I did my best to assure people that I would be safe and that Soweto was not as dangerous as it was prior to the fall of apartheid and immediately after. Even people I met in other parts of South Africa upon our arrival would ask me worriedly, “You’re going to Soweto? Aren’t you scared?” Despite my seemingly confident proclamation that I was not, I myself did not actually know what this historical area was really like. My only assurance was my faith in the program to not put me somewhere unsafe and my faith in God that this was really where I was meant to serve. With that said, I am attempting to give everyone a brief history and a small glimpse into the world of Soweto.

 Many people, including myself, first hear the name “Soweto” and think it must be from one of the ancient African languages that Westerners only wish they could speak. However, the name comes from the first two letters of three English words. It stands for the SOuth WEstern TOwnships of Johannesburg, or Soweto. The area began as a camp for migrant workers who migrated to the region after the discovery of gold in the 1800s. Later, after the establishment of the apartheid government, the townships were created as a part of the planned segregation implemented by the oppressive state. Today, Soweto consists of 87 different neighborhoods (or townships as they were once called) providing homes to approximately 4 million people, the vast majority black Africans. The neighborhood in which I stay is called Central Western Jabavu.

 Soweto holds a great deal of historical significance in the struggle against apartheid. Nelson Mandela spent many years living in the Orlando neighborhood as well as many other Freedom Fighters. Desmond Tutu also lived in Orlando, oddly enough on the same street as Mandela. The street is now a historical attraction. Although many important events occurred here, perhaps none are as well known as the Soweto uprising of 1976. On June 16 of that year, thousands of students left the Morris Isaacson and Naledi High Schools in a protest march that would take them to Orlando. The main reason for the protest was because of the government decree requiring teachers to conduct half the classes in Afrikaans and the other half in English. Afrikaans was the language of the oppressive government, so the students took to the streets in an attempt to make their thousands of voices heard. Upon arrival in Orlando, the students were met by 1,500 heavily armed police officers and South African military personnel. After the indiscriminant firing of automatic weapons into the crowd of students, more than 500 lay dead and thousands wounded. Among the dead was 12 year-old Hector Pieterson, the image of a man carrying his limp body with his weeping sister running alongside becoming an icon of the senseless racism and discrimination that was happening not so long ago. Many of us have heard the story and many of us have been angered by the atrocities carried out by people that look a lot like we do. Now, being here in Soweto only 33 years after that bloody day and only 15 years after the fall of apartheid, the story seems a bit more real. I was not there, nor was I alive when it happened, so I cannot really know what it was like, but Morris Isaacson High School is only a block from where I sit now…

 I could go on for a long time about Soweto’s history and not do it justice due to my insufficient education on the subject. I only mention the previous events and background to put things into context. I urge everyone to read more about the history of Soweto and South Africa in general. I strongly recommend Nelson Mandela’s autobiography A Long Walk to Freedom. It is a book that everyone alive should read.

 I am sure the question on everyone’s mind is, “So that was Soweto then, but what is it like now?” I have only been here for two months, so I am still far from being a Sowetan, but I will share a few of my experiences.

 I will say that Soweto has quite a few modern luxuries mixed in with the remnants of the apartheid years. There are new and spacious shopping malls, paved roads and sidewalks, grand soccer stadiums, and newly constructed museums and city parks. The residents here seem to be proud of how far the area has come since the country held its first democratic election in 1994. My close friend and lifelong Soweto local said to me early on, “You see all these paved roads? There was nothing like this before Mandela became the president.” On another occasion he told me as we were walking through the neighborhood, “A few years ago, we never would have been able to do this. In fact, it’s possible that you’d be killed just for being here.” He meant that it would have been completely unacceptable for a black person and a white person to be walking together down in that neighborhood, and that it was once so dangerous then that my life could be in jeopardy just for being a white person in a black township. That was the life, and although it may be hard to believe for many of us, those things were happening in our lifetimes, in MY lifetime. However, what is beautiful is that I get a sense of hope for the future instead of dwelling on the past. The people here acknowledge apartheid, but they do no use it as an excuse for the continued disparities between peoples with different colored skin. Soweto is a dynamically changing place, and it has often been said that as Soweto goes, so South Africa follows.

 In the midst of all the hope and positive changes here, there are still the clusters of metal shacks of informal settlements, the sight of which is all too familiar to those traveling around South Africa. The majority of the permanent houses are small and modest, often housing large families in a small space. The streets are littered with plastic bags and broken glass. There are still plenty of people without enough to eat. The HIV/AIDS prevalence is alarming, and crime is still a major issue. There is still much to be done here, but at least I think that things are heading in the right direction.

 To me, the thing that stands out most about Soweto is the sense of life and community in the streets. The sheer number of people out on any given day is simply amazing. Everyone knows their neighbor here, and everyone else on their street for that matter. There is the constant laughter of children playing games in the street, mostly games that they invented that day, the rules of which often get lost on this Westerner. As I walk down the street with my friend, he can hardly take two steps without greeting someone or someone greeting him, usually asking, “Hey Mabero, who’s your white friend?” I have been greeted and welcomed warmly by most, and because I look different that pretty much everyone else here, I have become fairly well known in the neighborhood. It is a wonderful feeling to be walking down the sidewalk and be greeted by several people I know by name. In this distant and often strange part of the world, the little things like that make me feel more at home. Yes, I do at times get tired of the constant stares I get when I am out and about, but it is also a great opportunity to represent myself, my family, my church, my country, and, whether I like it or not, my entire race. I am defined by the color of my skin when I am here. That cannot be avoided, so my goal is to represent in the best possible way. When my friend and I are asked how we know each other, our favorite response is, “Can’t you tell? We’re brothers.”

 I do not even feel like I scratched the surface in describing this place I am calling home until July. It is like no place I have ever experienced but at the same time it is not all that different from home. The people here are warm and friendly and eager for me to experience the Soweto life. In the midst of poverty and health issues there is a sense of hope for the future. There is a great pride in what has happened since South Africa became a free country to all those within its borders, and there is a sense of life in the streets that no economic hardships could ever extinguish. Soweto is one of those storied places that often remains a mystery, but now that I am living in one of those storied places, the world seems a bit smaller to me.

 

 

Seven Sundays

Seven Sundays, six churches, two continents, and at least four languages: this is what my church life has been like for the past couple of months. Starting with my final Sabbath days in the United States and going through my first month in South Africa, I have yet to attend the same church two Sundays in a row. This lends itself to a variety of church experiences, both familiar and completely foreign, from the customary, hour-long Sunday worship at Mt. View Lutheran Church in Edgewood, Washington, to a four and a half hour marathon service in a township in South Africa’s kwaZulu-Natal province. Sunday worship is naturally and integral part of my missionary experience. After all, I am here representing the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America in their partnership with the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Southern Africa. Sunday worship is a time to unwind, reflect on the past and upcoming weeks, and just be in God’s presence with others in the community of faith. As a missionary in a foreign country, church is exactly what I need to end one week and kick of the next one. It is in this light that I have decided to write this reflection on my various church experiences in the recent past.

 

I will begin by saying that God is present everywhere, and despite vast differences in language and style of worship, no experience is more valuable than another. The encounters are just different. At orientation in Chicago, one of our guest speakers, Winston Persaud, gave us a few ideas to consider during our time of service. He said that no place, culture, or people are strangers to God and that no language or culture is unfit to be a bearer of God’s word. This is an important idea for a missionary. We are not going abroad to bring God, instead we are there to discover how God is already there. I sincerely believe these words I have just paraphrased. God is not absent anywhere, and you can go to all corners of the world and find God’s faithful servants. There is also a phenomenon that I frequently experience, where even if I do not understand a single word of the worship service in which I just participated, I still leave spiritually fulfilled as if I just left a church service at home. To me, this shows how God’s spirit is present in all places.

 

Now for a brief rundown of my various Sunday worship experiences, which I will probably not be able to do justice, but I will try my best:

 

I begin with Sunday, August 9. This was my last time attending my home church before leaving on my journey. I could write a novel on how important Mt. View Lutheran has been to my life and the life of my family. This is the place we attended for the first time on “Scout Sunday” when I was a member of Cub Scouts, and it is the place we have been returning to ever since. The congregation is our family, and the church our home. I will always hold a special place in my heart for the familiar Sunday worship services there and I will be eager to return when the time comes. I can sing the liturgy by heart and utter the habitual “and also with you” and things of that nature. Sitting with my mom as my dad plays his guitar with the worship band and heading home for brunch after the hour-long service is the way it has been for a long time, and I am excited live that day again. But after that last Sunday, church would become different, but no less meaningful.

 

I did not attend church on Sunday, August 16. I spent the night before with my friend, Travis, in Seattle enjoying a night out on the town. I only mention this in order to stay in chronological order.

 

I was in Chicago on Sunday, August 23. A group of us were going to catch a White Sox game in the afternoon so we attended a church not far away from the stadium. The pastor was recently ordained and showed a great degree of exuberance in leading worship. However, the musicians and half the congregation were away at a music festival so the church was quite empty. Because of this event, there was a guest musician who proceeded to sing us songs that she wrote. I do not know if it was the poor quality of her songs, the five-minute lecture she gave, the special offering that was taken up for her, or the fact that she was lip-syncing, but the experience was quite comical. I could go on about this woman forever, but in an attempt to rescue some of the Christian values I am trying to display, I will stop there. Please ask me to tell you the story sometime; those who were there know what I am talking about. The pastor did give a great sermon that day and the people were friendly and welcoming, so worship in the South Side of Chicago was a success.

 

Now for the part that everyone has been reading patiently to get to: my first Sunday worship in Africa. Myself and the other nine volunteers, along with our country coordinators attended a special “rally” service in Johannesburg’s Alexandra township on August 30. Now I had an expectation in my mind about the music at an African church service. I was certain the music would be phenomenal, beautiful voices with the singers harmonizing freely in a way that Westerners can only imagine. I will now say that my expectations, for once, were completely accurate. I frequently found myself closing my eyes during service just to listen to the beautiful sounds. I could hardly believe I was there. The best part of the service? Offering, naturally. Sunday offering takes about as long as an entire worship service in the US. People literally dance there way up to the front to drop off their gifts to God, and then they go up again, and perhaps again. All the while they are jubilantly singing, despite the fact that many of these people do not have much to give. I have never seen anything like the scene that first Sunday. We were there for about three hours and it went by in a flash. The Spirit was certainly present in that place and those in attendance could feel it.

 

Sunday, September 6 found most of our group at a church in a small township in Pietermaritzburg. This service was entirely in isiZulu, unlike the previous week’s service, which was mostly in Setswana but also partially in English. This was, yet again, another great experience. To put it in perspective I will but it like this: The service was four and a half hours long, entirely in isiZulu, and I enjoyed every minute. Despite the length and language barrier, I found myself feeling spiritually energized through the whole process. The place was literally jammed with as many people as could fit inside the sanctuary. On my left was my fellow volunteer, John, and on my right was a woman with a small baby. I could not help but smile when the baby would reach over and grab hold of my shirt. “This is what it’s all about,” I thought to myself. Worshiping God on an uncomfortable bench while squeezed into a sanctuary with a small baby grabbing hold of me. It was real. It was beautiful. Once again the music was incredible and the people danced joyously as they brought up their offering money. I began to think I could really get used to this way of worshipping.

 

I was a bit nervous about worship on Sunday, September 13 because this was to be my first service without the company of my fellow YAGM volunteers. I was now at my site in Soweto and I decided to go to the church that is in the same compound as my residence. I walked in a few minutes before worship was to start and there was hardly anyone there. There is a different sense of time here in South Africa and I was beginning to see that. An usher told me to sit anywhere so I sat by myself on one side of the sanctuary. As people began to filter in, they all seemed to be sitting on the other side. It was looking like I chose poorly. I began to feel even more like an alien. I thought to myself that this is going to be a long year. However, not long after I had that thought, at man spotted me and promptly sat down directly next to me and introduced himself. For the rest of the service, mostly in isiZulu and I think a bit in Sesotho, he shared his hymnal with me and whispered directions when it was time to do something like go up for communion. A lady with one of the most beautiful singing voices I have ever heard sat on the other side of me. The sermon, half in English, was appropriately about helping not only those who you know, but also the stranger and the foreigner. This man sitting next to me was doing just that. I left feeling much better about my situation.

 

The last Sunday I will write about is September 20, one month after I left home. I accompanied my site coordinator, Reverend SS Mugivhi, to his congregation in the Dobsonville neighborhood in Soweto. The thing that stood out most upon arrival was the fact that the church building itself had been partially demolished with hopes of building a larger sanctuary. Worship was then held virtually outside. Now when thinking about attending church in South Africa, the last thing I would worry about would be being cold, but oh how cold it was. Johannesburg has not quite shaken off the last winter chill. However, yet again, I was totally moved by the music and the kind young man that sat next to me and shared his hymnal. This time the service was in Setswana, just as I was starting to master isiZulu pronunciation and the characteristic “clicking” sounds of the language. There is a recurring theme of passionate worship despite economic hardship and, at times, poor living conditions. But people raise their beautiful singing voices to God nonetheless.

 

I will proudly state that the Lutheran church is very alive in South Africa. Thank you for reading this relatively lengthy reflection. I hope all is well at home.

 

God’s blessings

 

 Edit: On Sunday, September 27 I attended a service that lasted nearly six hours! The experiences keep on coming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wow! We're in Africa!

Wow! I can’t believe I am finally here in Soweto sitting in the flat in which I’ll be living for the next 11 months or so. The last three weeks have been incredible, enlightening, inspiring, frustrating, and hectic, just to throw out the first few of the many adjectives that come into my mind as I reflect. It began with the buzzing of my alarm clock at 5 am on the morning of August 19, three weeks ago to the day! After a sleepy car ride and some teary goodbyes to my parents, I was off to Chicago for in-country orientation. As the plane touched down in the Windy City, I was eager to collect my luggage and race through the airport to see the familiar faces of those I had grown close to in the relatively short span of four days at the Discernment, Interview, and Placement event in April. It’s amazing how close you can get to someone when connected with the common bond of having a life-changing year impending. The week in Chicago served as not only a jumping-off point for the journey ahead, but as a time to learn, grow in faith, and spend time as a group where the question was no longer “Why are you going?” but instead “Where are you going?” (DMB reference not intended). For we no longer had to explain why we made the choice to engage in global mission, instead we could spend time in fellowship with those who really understand what the year is all about. We stayed at the University of Chicago not far from the Obama’s house where, of course, we made a pilgrimage. We had plenty of free time to explore the city. I was able to take in a White Sox game, see the works of Van Gough, Picasso, Matisse, and others at the Art Institute of Chicago, swing dance to live music in the park, watch the waves (yes, waves) crash against the shores of Lake Michigan, among other activities. I was able to learn what it means to be a missionary in the context of ELCA Global Mission. The term “missionary” carries such a crippling negative connotation that many of us, myself included, often steer clear of the word instead saying, “I’m going to do volunteer work overseas.” However, ELCA Global Mission seeks to practice what is called the “Accompaniment Model” which means, “Walking together in solidarity that practices interdependence and mutuality. In this walk, gifts, resources, an experiences are shared with mutual advice and admonition deepen and expand our work within God’s world.” It’s not about what we have to offer those in the countries we are traveling. Instead, it about what we can accomplish alongside those individuals. It was often said that the real mission work begins not when arriving in our countries or our mission sites, rather it begins when returning to the United States with the stories of those whose voices might not otherwise be heard. I could talk at great length about this idea but I shall move on. Overall, Chicago was a great experience; a much needed one considering what was about to take place. We packed our bags and after some difficult goodbyes to our dear friends going to other countries, it was the South Africa group’s turn to head to the airport. It was and odd feeling as the plane took off and I realized that I wouldn’t be setting foot on American soil for quite some time. We had an eight-hour layover in Frankfurt, Germany, so we left the airport and did some exploring around the city. After a train ride, some walking, some sausage and German beer, a few beautiful cathedrals, a lovely walk by the river, and another train ride back to the airport, we boarded the plane once again for another long flight. We arrived in Johannesburg sleepy, dirty, and a bit grumpy after two consecutive overnight flights, but we soon were rallied as we were greeted by our beloved country coordinators, Brian and Kristen Konkol. They wasted no time in getting us moving around the city. After a quick shower, we went to the Apartheid Museum where we were bombarded with powerful images and stories from the atrocities that occurred in this very country not so long ago, and the aftermath is still strongly apparent. We spent the next two days in Johannesburg sampling local cuisine, attending the Saturday market, and getting a tour of the township of Alexandra, Johannesburg’s oldest township. Although much of the area looked like the pictures we see from home; shacks, overcrowding, poverty, what was also apparent is the sense of life and community that can only be observed if you get out of the car and speak with the people. It’s difficult to explain but it certainly was a powerful experience. The next day was Sunday and we attended church in Alexandra. The church experience here is such that I think I’ll make it a blog topic of its own in the future. Following church we loaded into the van and drove six hours to Pietermaritzburg in the kwaZulu-Natal province (Jo-burg is in the Gauteng province), which is where the Konkol’s reside. We spent the week there, usually meeting in the morning for sessions where we discussed many topics related to our stays in South Africa. One of my fellow volunteers and I stayed with a host family for the week where we entertained the children of the household with Frisbees, guitars, harmonicas, and the like. It’s amazing how much in common one can have with children that live halfway across the world. It was an enjoyable week in that regard, with the exception of a few awkward moments of miscommunication with our host mother and other family members. In the afternoons we would travel as a group and do some sightseeing. One day we went to Durban and splashed around in the Indian Ocean. We went hiking on a few occasions where we saw giraffes, zebras, antelope, wildebeest, and monkeys.  It was a surreal experience to see these animals in their natural habitats. We just kept saying, “Wow! We’re in Africa!” Our week in Pietermaritzburg ended with a night spent at the Konkol’s house where we were just able to be together as a group for the last time until our November retreat. It was an evening of fun and relaxation and, yes, we watched “The Lion King” to really get into the spirit of Africa. On Monday morning I boarded the bus back to Jo-burg. I was greeted by Reverend Mughivi, who is the coordinator of the Diakonia AIDS Ministry where I will be working for the next 11 months. He took me to the place where I will be both living and working. My place is plenty roomy for one person and it is about 30 feet from the office. There is also a church here and the Bishop’s office. So far everyone has been really friendly. I’m sure the year will bring plenty of challenges but it will all be worth it. At this point, I’m just sort of getting to know the place and learning about what they do here. Once I get and idea of the different programs, I will be able to decide where my interests are and then I’ll focus on that particular program. Well now this entry is becoming quite long so I think I’ll wrap it up. This is only a fraction of all the things I wish I could say.  Sorry for the long time between entries. I hope this message finds everyone well at home. God’s blessings. 

Here we go

Ok just a quick update. We're off to the airport in less than an hour. I can hardly believe that I am leaving the United States tonight. Orientation was an amazing experience. I will write more about the past week when I get more time. We will be arriving in Johannesburg on Friday morning, where we will be greeted by our country coordinators. We will then spend about two weeks together as a group in Johannesburg and Pietermaritzburg learning about the culture, transportation, safety, and such. Then it is off to our individual sites, mine being in Soweto. I am both nervous and excited. This week has given my faith and self-confidence a much needed boost. This is really happening. I am leaving for South Africa tonight. 

Tomorrow...

It is now the eve of my departure. My bags are packed and I think I have everything I'll be needing for the next year. Although the goodbyes are difficult, I am truly excited for the adventure on which I am about to embark. I will be flying to Chicago tomorrow morning for a week-long orientation with 49 other young adults who are preparing to serve around the world. Next Wednesday, I will be departing with the 9 others that will be serving in South Africa for the next year. Our route takes us from Chicago to Frankfurt, Germany and then on to Johannesburg, putting us there in the morning on August 28th. I will do my best to keep everyone updated on this blog. I love you all. 

12 days...

This is my first ever attempt at writing a blog, but I hope to become familiar with it so that I may easily share my adventures in South Africa with everyone. I will be setting out for Chicago in 12 days. Orientation begins August 19th in Chicago and then we set out on our long journey to the other side of the planet on August 26th. I think I have just about everything I need for my trip. Now all I have to do is narrow down my packing list so that it all fits in my luggage.... stay tuned for more updates.