You could hate my guts with the bass turned up. 🔥🎤⚡️‼️

April-- how time flies when you’re growing.

We haven’t heard from Rowan since Thursday.  None of Tim’s messages are delivering and it’s very concerning.  I don’t think I emphasized enough in my last post how much Tim has done for him.  It’s very rare to meet people in the world who really understand how to change a life.  You can’t do it quickly.  You can’t do it with many people.  But with time and focus, you can completely change the life of a single individual.  In Tim’s case, over the course of the last 7 months, he has changed a handful of kids’ lives.  Give a man a fish and he won’t go hungry that night.  Teach a man to fish and he won’t go hungry for the rest of his life.  Most volunteers are giving fish.  Tim has mastered teaching kids to fish. On Wednesday, I had project in the morning and it was wonderful.  The school had a sports day because it was the last day before school break and nobody had classes.  We just sat outside and chilled with the kids and helped set up for the sports day.  When the sports day started, it was so adorable.  All of the kids are on different color teams.  It’s all mixed ages and it seems like once you’re placed on a color team, that’s your team until you graduate from the primary school.  All the teachers were on different teams too.  Each team was singing songs and doing dances.  The yellow team was particularly spirited.  The little kids started with races.  That means they sent one 4 year old girl as sacrifice to run around the sporting area four times.  By the last lap, their little bodies were so tired they were all close to tears.  This was then repeated with a different set of 4 year old boys sacrificed to the games this time.  They were all clearly very confused as to why they were made to do this.  My fellow volunteers and I were appointed as the judges and we handed out the prizes for the first second and third places of each race.  This means we sent an exhausted, sad, and scared four year old away with nothing while the three other tiny humans in her race got to stand on literal pedestals while the principal read out their names and their team color while everyone else cheered.   Thursday we had Holiday Club.  Holiday Club is my new day-project.  The kids are in between school terms and there is a break until April 10th.  That means, until then, we take the kids out each day to a different activity.  It’s totally amazing because you get to really bond with the kids in a way tutoring doesn’t allow you to.  The actual activity is socializing with the kids— whatever plan Holiday Club has that day is entirely secondary.  The planned project for Thursday was a huge beach day for the kids.  I was really excited because I love the kids and I love the beach— so saying this was ideal is an understatement.  Sadly, Mother Nature was not on the same page as the rest of us and decided to rain.  What are the odds of that happening.  We are in the worst draught possibly in recorded history and the one day it rains is our super cool beach day.  This was probably bad karma from all the times I take my friends food when we are out to lunch and they go to the bathroom.   The SAVE Foundation is fantastic in many ways— organization is not one of those ways. Planning and logistics fall under the umbrella of organization.  Planning a beach day for 50 12 year old kids is already a stretch.  Re-planning a day that now is rained out but the 50 kids are still coming anyways is like asking a miniature pony to carry Shaquille O’Neal: it’s so unrealistic it’s almost rude.  The kids show up at my house.  This is not an exaggeration.  I walk downstairs at 10am ready to volunteer and there are 50 12 year old children staring back up at me on the equivalent of our lawn.   Our back up plan was arts and crafts.  This was a shitty back up plan.  First of all, 12 year olds are way too old to be looked in the eye and told that they’re about to spend their day doing arts and crafts.  Second of all, where the hell are we going to do said arts and crafts.  The answer to the latter issue was my living room.  The kids were split into four groups and we put each group in one of the living rooms in the adjoining houses at Dunbar.  The arts and crafts went less poorly than expected, which amazed me because the arts and crafts weren't just arts and crafts, they were bad arts and crafts.  The first thing we made was paper mache balloons.  They weren't even paper mache, we used newspaper and water mixed with flour to glue them to the balloons.  It was very soggy.  The point was that we were going to paint them when they dried.  This never happened.   On top of the bad plan, it wasn't even executed well.  I found this very annoying.  The way that the SAVE operates is that there are two types of volunteers: normal volunteers and interns.  The majority of us are regular volunteers.  Interns lead more and pay less to be in the program.  This is all fine and well except that you don’t have to be more qualified than a volunteer to be an intern, there isn't even an interview.  Moreover, a lot of the interns are actually more introverted than the volunteers.  That makes no sense to me because if these kids smell any kind of weakness or timidness, they will eat you alive.  I am an extrovert and even I need to be at the peak of my game and outgoing and measured self while I’m working with the kids.  During the crafts day, the interns honestly failed.  There was very little communication.  The supplies weren't distributed.  The interns weren’t stepping up to get the situation under control.  I ended up organizing the group that I was with, while the interns were pretty quiet and watched it happen.  This is not to say they are lazy or bad people— they’re just the kind of people who are easy to walk over, and if the kids sense that they will take advantage of it immediately.   While we were all waiting for the crafts to actually be organized and the supplies to be distributed, I organized a dance competition to keep the kids busy so they wouldn't just destroy the house to keep themselves occupied.  Then, I sat around and talked to the kids who didn't want to dance.  One of them is this kid Damien who I know well from tutoring.  He’s 13 and much taller than I am.  I think he might have a little crush on me, but not to the point where he is too nervous to hang out.  He is an artist and his mom said he can go to art school at 16.  This is a huge deal for a kid out of Dunoon where the unemployment rate is through the roof.  We made a pact last week to make each other drawings and so I went and grabbed drawing supplies and made him a little drawing.  Then some of the other kids wanted drawings too.  I spent the rest of the day making them drawings while they did various activities.  It was so cute because whenever I finished, I saw the kid run around and show everyone, including the volunteers, their present.  In South Africa, a barbecue is called a Braai.  At the end of the day, I told Shannon about the problems with the interns and basically Braai-ed them.  That is to say, I turned on my fire and charred their work— or lack thereof. A while ago I talked about a kid named Danroy who was very difficult but I got him interested in the material we were working on and it ended up being very rewarding.  He was there are the crafts day and was very attached to me.  He gave me so much affection and hugs.  It was amazing to see how my softness and kindness made him less hard.  He’s a really tough and aggressive kid—to the point where he has been kicked off of the program before for several months.  On Wednesday he was the sweetest kid.  Whenever I saw him getting aggressive or violent, I could catch his eye and he would back down.  It was so moving to inspire kindness in somebody, because I don’t think you can be unkind to other people if you are kind to yourself.  This means that when he is causing pain for other people, it is because he is in pain.  So, when he backs away and is kind to people, he is easier on himself too.  Or at least I hope that’s the case, because I can tell that his hardness is trained. His natural state is vulnerable and a little scared.  He just needs a hug, a grilled cheese, and to be asked how his day was.  I told him that I was so proud of him when he was kind to people and the look on his face when he felt believed in made my heart so full.   Thursday night I went out with my friends.  It was fantastic.  We went out dancing and when we got back we stayed up outside on the lawn and had a dance party with all of the music the kids showed me during the dance competition I had organized in my living room earlier that day.   The next morning I was supposed to go surfing, but I didn’t even finish my dance party until 3am and needed a grilled cheese after to recover from all the exercise, so I didn’t even get into bed before 4am.  Needless to say, I was in no mood to surf at 8am.  I decided to try and sleep instead.  That didn’t happen.  I ended up making a nice breakfast instead.  I’ve learned how to make scrambled eggs in the microwave here and it’s very handy.  After that, I felt kind of crappy all day from lack of sleep and took a nap. After my nap I still didn't feel great so I decided to go run and jump in the ocean.  Everyone thought I was crazy because the ocean is freezing and it was already 5pm when I made this decision. I was so tired I could barely even feel how cold it was, but it did wake me up. We went out again Friday night and it was awesome.  We went to a dancing place near my house called Medleys and I found a group of locals who came together and were obviously trained hip hop dancers.  When you’re a trained hip hop dancer it’s kind of hard to screw around on a dance floor because to you it’s a medium of art, not just something to do on a Friday night.  I went over and actually started dancing with them.  Not just standing around dancing-with-your-friends dancing, but actual choreography.  We had an amazing time.  They were way better than I was, but it was still a great time because I don’t really care about that.  I was dancing so hard I drank 3 bottles of water while I was out because I was dripping sweat.  My hair was genuinely wet by the end of the night.  The top was wet because my scalp was sweating, and the bottom was wet because my back was completely soaked.  It looked like I had taken a shower by the time I got home.   One of my closest girlfriends here is named Lies (pronounced L-EE-s) and she was leaving on Sunday.  The Old Biscuit Mill was basically a requirement for our last Saturday together because it’s so delicious and unique to Cape Town.  On 3 hours of sleep, we all piled into an uber and went on Saturday morning.  Lies does not take very good care of herself when she goes out.  She’s generally the person who gets kind of annoying because she drinks too much and is 90 pounds.  It gets to the point where we are all out feeling great and just hanging out, and she just blacks-out with no warning and we have to carry her home.  For some reason, she has no problem with this pattern of behavior, but it annoys me because it’s really just not that hard to drink less.  She drank a lot on Friday night, but she seemed to just be hungover so I thought maybe food would make her feel better.  

When we went to the Old Biscuit Mill, she refused to eat or drink anything even though I insisted.  It was very crowded and we were in the very back room of the entire Mill and it was hot.  I was waiting for my steak sandwich (I actually believe it’s the best sandwich in the entire world) and drinking a smoothie and she turns to me and my friend Tanya and says “I’m going to faint”.  She was sitting down and as far as I could tell, looked fine.  I said “Alright let’s get outside to get you some fresh air”.  She refuses to move.  Next thing I know, her entire body seizes up, and she spasms backwards onto the table behind her.  Her eyes were wide open and she was staring right ahead of her.  It looked like an exorcism.  People quickly notice something is very wrong and start freaking out.  She sort of spasms back to sitting, with her eyes still open.  At this point I’m trying to hold her body in one place so she doesn't injure herself. Her head is completely limp and rolling around.  Then she actually collapses and her eyes roll back in her head.  Tanya and I are trying to hold her up, but there are some men around us who grab her and carry her to the floor so she’s laying down in a circle that’s now been cleared in the large crowd.  Now she passes out, actually faints and is completely still.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Fainting is one thing, but the entire episode looked more like a stroke or a seizure than fainting.  I was shaking head to toe.  A woman runs up and says she’s a doctor and soon Lies is covered in cold compresses because the doctor says she is very dehydrated and overheated.  That may be the case, but none of this would have happened if she didn't drink so much.

  I was very gentle and caring when she woke up, but inside I was actually kind of angry.  It’s so worrying and upsetting to be with a friend who doesn't take care of herself to a point where other people have to do emergency cleanup to make sure she’s okay— this isn't the first time she’s done something like this.  It’s unfair.  The doctor said she just needs sleep and water and some food.  Funny how I had actually insisted on her eating and drinking earlier and she refused to do it until she was literally having a seizure in the middle of the Old Biscuit Mill.  I’m relieved she was okay though.  I took her home immediately after she got her blood sugar up and put her to bed.  I spent the rest of my day sitting outside napping in the sun and talking with Lucas and Tim.  Lucas and Tim were just as annoyed at the situation with Lies as I was, because they’re always the ones who end up carrying her home.  This made me felt less heartless for being a bit upset with her for being that irresponsible. 

On Sunday I had a Township Tour.  This means that a company takes you into a township and shows you around.  The first place we went is called District 6.  District 6 was the first township and now is an area of empty hills covered in litter.  It was an inner-city community and in the 1970s, the residents woke up to the sound of screaming and bulldozers, as the apartheid regime came in and completely destroyed the entire area.  Everything was lost and only 3% of the residents were able to reclaim the land under Nelson Mandela because they didn’t have enough legal paperwork as all of their possessions were bulldozed and then set on fire.  The township we went to next is the oldest surviving township and it’s called Langa.  I was very surprised with what I saw.  I went to Langa a month or so ago for a so-called music festival, and I didn't really remember much.  I forgot how much better Langa is in comparison to Dunoon.  When you drive into Dunoon, the entire place is made out of shanties constructed out of metal and wood scraps.  There is sewage and trash covering the dirt roads that weave through the haphazardly placed shacks.  There is no layout or order.  There are maybe 20 permanent houses in the entire township.   When you drive into Langa, the streets are wide and paved.  The houses are permanent.  There is some litter on the street, but no more than you see in the United States in a poor neighborhood.  We went on a Gospel Tour, which means they take us into a church in one of the townships. 

 It was Easter Sunday and we pulled up to the Langa Methodist Church.  The service had already started and it was absolutely packed.  People were standing in line outside the door waiting to move seats into the aisle so they could fit.  One of the men who worked at the Church came out and greeted us and, miraculously, found space for us in one of the aisles.  There were about 400 people tightly packed into the church.  For the entire time we were there, there was singing.  The choir was behind the pastor and they were absolutely beautiful.  It sounded very similar to the choirs I heard in Italy except they were singing in Xhosa instead of Latin.  Sometimes, the entire church would sing hymns.  It was so beautiful.  People were singing and dancing all in unison.  I looked around and thought “money and religion should be as separate as possible”.  Here I was, in a township, at the most beautiful and spiritual church service I had ever been to and there were no frescoes, no gilded walls, no stained glass windows, nothing.  Just a plain, white church filled with people who could sing and dance with their souls.  When people can do that, it doesn’t matter if it’s a different language, you’ll feel it.  The air in the room was so happy and the people were so spiritually connected to what they were saying that they projected the meaning wordlessly in sound for me.   After the visit to the Church, we went on a walking tour.  Our guide was a local named Sakhe.  At first, I thought he was a little too mild to make a good tour.  I was so wrong.  He was one of the most interesting and articulate people I’ve met here over the last two months.  He showed us how people actually live in Langa. All of my original impressions of it actually being a decent place to live were completely incorrect.  I was right about it being way nicer than Dunoon, but the living conditions were still breathtakingly unfair.  I say unfair instead of bad because the history of the situation makes it so.  Langa was first established as a township for black people under apartheid.  There are four different classes of race during apartheid: black, colored, indian/asian, and white, increasing in status and human right in that order.  The difference between black and colored is whether or not you are somewhat white.  One method they used to differentiate between the two was called the pencil test.  During job interviews (because colored people were more desirable), they would stick a pencil in the person in question’s hair and make them shake their head, if it fell out they were colored if their hair was coarse enough to make it stick, they were black. It’s incredibly fucked up.  Another element of apartheid was Bantu Education. This was the education system all black and colored people were subjected to.  When the system was explained to me, the two parts that really stood out were: 1) The students were only allowed to be educated up until the 10th grade, making employment close to impossible, 2) They could only speak Afrikaans.  The latter did not bother me at first, Afrikaans is the main language spoken in the townships.  As it turns out, this is only because of Bantu Education.  The reason this was is that it is what the Dutch slave masters actually used to speak with the slaves and not what the slaves actually grew up with.  So, the entire language essentially is a reaffirmation of their oppression.  Thus, a lot of people are extremely resentful of it and I didn’t realize this fact until Sakhe told me.  There are about 5 other native languages that are spoken in the townships that some people prefer over Afrikaans because of the historical baggage that comes with it.   When Langa was first created, it was entirely dormitories for black men who worked for white people.  This is not an exaggeration.  The entire township was made out of barracks where 3 or 4 men would sleep in a 10’x10’ room.  In each barrack there are around 16 rooms and a small area with a table and a fireplace.  They were all built in the 1940s and they are still standing almost exactly how they were then.  Now, families live in them.  Each family gets a single bed in a 10x10 room.  Imagine 3 twin beds crammed together so tightly you can barely walk between them in a tiny room, and each family only gets one bed.  That’s how these people are living day to day.  What’s more, they're paying the South African government to live there.  Even further, the South African government said in 1995 that they were going to renovate all of the barracks, but then in 2006 the construction crews literally stopped showing up and nobody in Langa knows why even though they've been reaching out for the past 12 years.  Imagine that, the government abandons you and your quality of life with no explanation.  How ignored would you feel? How disenfranchising is that? Sakhe says that he thinks a large part of it is that, until 1991, white kids were taught in school that black people are sub-human.  That they are closer to apes than white people.  If those kids are now grown up and running the government, why would they care about black peoples’ housing? By the end of the tour, I was so outraged I might go to law school, and I still feel that way.  People need somebody to fight for them, and I am in a position to do that, so hand me the boxing gloves.  

-Q