Tsotsi - Xhosa for gangster, thug

When I think of school the pictures I typically visualize are of chalkboards, an apple on a teacher’s desk, children being herded into line, yellow school buses, caring teachers, neutral colored paint, bright florescent lights, the sterile smell of cleaning products and neatly rowed desks.

What I do not typically picture is a shootout between tsotsis (gangsters) and the police.

Pelsrus Primary is one of two schools in the townships of Jeffreys Bay. To say that the education given its pupils is subpar is like saying; the education given at your local elementary school is subpar to Harvard, it grossly approximates two categorically incomparable things. But I digress.

Imagine the day shootout happened if you will. Two worlds converge and collide.  Inside, school children are “learning,”* sitting under the authority of their teachers, and the structure of their school.  Outside, tsotsis are stealing underground cable to sell, sitting under no ones authority, save the lawless, chaos of their own mind.  What an ironic dichotomy, the very children the school had failed sitting outside its walls, thieving thugs, as if to tauntingly say, “look at what has become of us, your systemic failures.”

A phone call is made and the police respond.  However, desperate men cannot be reasoned with and the conflict escalates.  Yelling ensues, and both parties have their weapons drawn.  Inside, everything is clam.  Children learn basic arithmetic and practice reading unaware of the mercury rising.

And then worlds collide.  Hot lead screams and explodes through a classroom window.  Glass fragments fall to the floor, and panicked screams reverberate inside the small room.  “Everyone, to the ground,” the teacher commands.  Heartbeats punch in solid rhythm, as giant doses of adrenaline are injected into their blood streams.  Teeth clench and eyes squint with each shot.  The air smells like fear.

Outside bullets whiz by as each side exchanges a barrage of gunfire.  The police have superior gun power, but he tsotsis have nothing to lose.  After what seems to be an eternity to those inside the school, the gunshots seem to slowly move away from the epicenter.  The police have gotten the best of the volleys and the tsotsis retreat into a maze of nearby homes.

Teachers survey their classes.  Thank God, no one is hurt.  Classes resume and the day continues.  Unfortunately, no one is too surprised by the day’s events.  When some Pelsrus Primary children show up at Ithemba and tell me the story, I’m blown away as much by how nonchalantly they tell the story, as the story itself.  But for these children, it’s just another day in the life of the dysfunction they call normalcy.  For me, it’s another reason to keep diligently working with and in this community to see life change happen in order that the chains of poverty may be loosed.

So may we continue to remember those who live in the horror of such a reality.  May we spend our energy and resources on fighting along side with, and on their behalf.  After all “Injustice anywhere is a treat to freedom everywhere.” (MLK Jr.)

Proverbs 29:7 “The righteous care about justice for the poor but the wicked have no such concern.”

Love. Joy. Peace.

Zach

* Not wanting to be negative, but also wanting to be real; “learning” hardly describes what does or more aptly does not, go on inside the walls of Pelsrus Primary.

Check out this wonderful feature in the Marietta Daily Journal!

So thankful for the opportunity to share our story with others.

For those of use who live in the Southern Hemisphere, Christmas is in the middle of summer, which means school is out and summer holiday is in session!  It also means that many of our children will be away visiting family in different parts of South Africa during December.  Therefore we celebrate Christmas as the school year wraps up in November, and we couldn’t have had a more perfect, sunshiny day to celebrate the birth of our savior, Jesus.

We loaded up vans and cars and took almost 200 children to a picaresque park right by the seashore.  It was a day of full of food, singing & swinging, whirling & twirling, splashing & smiling, presents, and lots of LOVE.

The greatest present of all was to bask in God’s presence with so many beautiful children and people I love present. “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” 1 John 3:1

Special thanks to Deo Doxa, a local Church whose congregation provided gifts for each one of the children.  Also, thanks to Global Challenge who volunteered to come get rowdy with us!

LOVE. JOY. PEACE.

Zach

Ithemba visits the regional fire department

(Jaws of life doing some serious lifting… the back end of a trcuk)

(Book ‘em in )

Last week we took  some of the younger Ithemba children to the movies :: YAY!

Lots of new exciting things like :: hand dryers and plate glass windows

And plenty of smiles (maybe some scared faces too?!… I can’t decided )

I love hanging out with the boys I work with at Ithemba.  They always keep me on my toes and it’s a blast to see the world through there eyes.  A few weeks back I had a group of 8 over to my house for a spend the night extravaganza.

The evening went really well: we ate popcorn while watching Invictus, a movie about South Africa winning the Rugby world cup back in the1990’s; we had breakfast for dinner, homemade banana bread & cranberry-orange bread, scrambled eggs, and pop, which is like grits; and we had a lot of fun, push-up contests, board games, dancing- the works!

The next day I was cleaning up the damage from the night before and was startled to find my sink covered with little black curly hairs.  My first though was that one of the boys had brought a pair of scissors and trimmed the edge of his hair as part of his morning routine.  I mean who could blame him, it’s important to be lookin’ fresh; don’t leave a mess, but I get it.

Then my eyes caught a glimpse of my Mach 3 razor… “Aww Heck Naw- I know somebody didn’t just use my razor, and I don’t even want to know what they were trimming.” I thought to myself.

I mean really?! The adage, “the best thing to do with the best things in life is to share them,” has a few exceptions. For example, sharing your love, great; sharing your spouse, absolutely not! Sharing Chick-fil-a waffle fries, always; sharing Chick-fil-a Polynesian sauce, do you ask a crack fiend to share their fix?! Not if you want to keep your life.  Sharing a pair of scissors, I’m all for it; sharing a razor, YOU DO NOT USE ANOTHER MAN’S RAZOR!!!  I don’t have many luxury items, my Mach 3 razor is one of them, and if you haven’t ever noticed I can grow a mean beard.

I had to find the culprit, if for nothing else, to explain this very important life lesson: you never, ever, under any circumstances, use another mans razor.  Taking seriously my responsibility to seize every teaching opportunity, I called all the boys together on Monday to find out who used my razor.  Unsurprisingly no one confessed.  So I broke out the water boarding equipment, I mean, I dropped the whole thing.

Eventually, after a week of using my best investigatory skills, I did find the perpetrator.  He was missing a big patch of hair, right above his forehead.  “Hey Lompie, what happened, how did your get that bald spot?” I asked. No, response save a BIG mischievous smile.  BUSTED, SO BUSTED!!!

I know the Bible says, “Love your enemy,” and “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord,” but you’re just going to have to pray for me, nobody is perfect after all.  Really, we all had a good laugh about it, but next time…

If confronted with this situation again what should I do? (Post answer in Comments)

1. Make him write, “I will not use another man’s razor!” 1,000 times.
2. Shave off his eyebrows.
3. Take away his man card for the grievous breach of the Man Code.
4. Let the other boys give him a “custom” haircut.

LOVE. JOY. PEACE.

Zach

Does anyone remember that show with Bill Cosby- Kids say the darndest things? Basically Mr. J-E-L-L-O himself asks kids questions and they answer; no filter at all.

Well I feel like I could start my own South African edition.

Conversation during tutoring yesterday with Gamotso, (pronounced Ha-mote-so) a 10 year old boy who is a ball of endless energy.

Gamotso: “Zach can I please go outside?”

Me: “Why do you need to go outside Gamotso? If you’d sit still for 5 minutes you might actually get something done.”

Gamotso: (In a high pitched frantic voice) “I have to make a fart! I have to make a fart!”

Me: (With the whole class now laughing) “By all means please go outside. GO, GO, GO!”

A few minutes later, after Gamotso comes back inside.

Me: (Whispered) “Gamotso, thank you for going outside like a gentlemen.  But gentlemen don’t announce to the entire world they have to ‘make a fart!’  And next time you don’t have to ask, you can just go outside.”

A few minutes later, Gamotso sprints toward the door.

Me: “Where are you going now?!”

Gamotso: (At the top of his lungs) “Taking a poop!” At which point he stopped, bent over, put his clinched hand by his butt, and flicked his fingers repeatedly to make a sign of a terd exploding out of his body.  Oh, no he didn’t- Oh, yes he did!

Me: (Shaking head and laughing) “I think the lesson was completely lost on him.”

And that is just one daily episode in the life of Zach working with the children at Ithemba.

Sometimes I wonder what a child would say if they could tell their story. Sometimes I wonder who would listen. Sometimes I wonder what the listener would do with what they heard.

The Present

My name is Trukie, pronounced like, “True-Key,” but roll the R. Until recently, I haven’t been wanted, or at least that’s what I’ve been told my whole life. But NOW… well I’ll just start at the beginning.

May 2011

My short hair is tightly braided and my light brown skin appears like fertile soil between the neatly crafted rows that adorn my head. Normally I wear a shy smile but today my lips are stitch straight, I hate hospitals. The sterile smell and morose air are suffocating. I sit by his bed, he is dying, my Daddy is dying. It was the same when Momma passed; she also had IT, you know that thing that we don’t talk about.

I had been living with my Gran for as long as I can remember, that was until she died. Since then I’ve bounced around to just about every member of my family, but it always ends with the same four words, “We don’t want you.” I keep my bags packed; it’s easier that way. Sometimes I think my nine-year-old body is too small hold all this sadness. Sometimes I feel like my heart is becoming chalky, as if it would crumble if streams of tears didn’t fill the great fissures.

This world can be a cruel and lonely place.

June 2011

Now that Daddy is gone, the family is trying to figure out what to do with me. I hear them whispering about the money they might be able to collect from the government for taking care of me. But when that social worker lady told them they wouldn’t be able to get any of the money, the tune suddenly changed. I’m out of options; there is nowhere left to go.

July 2011

The family council has decided that they don’t want me anymore. They all say I’m stupid and a burden to the family. Even my teachers say I’m dumb and can’t learn. I think they all might be right. I try and try at school, but can’t ever seem to make sense of it all. The letters and consonants are like algorithms explaining distant galaxies oscillating at the speed of light. Formulaic dissonance. Incomprehensible equations, my eyes cannot compute.

The family’s decision means I am officially an orphan. I’m so scared.

At the same time I am almost relieved by the decision. I might be stupid, but I knew they didn’t want me. It is the one thing I have always known, it is the one thing of which they have constantly reminded me. I’m not wanted.

Since December, I have been asking this nice lady if I could move into the house where they take care of the other children like me, you know children who aren’t wanted. She said that she would check into it for me. I don’t know what I’m going to do if she says no.

August 2011

That lady finally got back to me and she said that the government SAID YES, they agreed to place me in the LUO house!

The Present

Until recently, I haven’t been wanted, or at least that’s what I’ve been told my whole life. But NOW… NOW I have a home and a family. I have new brothers and sisters, and a new Momma. They tell me that I am so loved and so wanted. They tell me I’m beautiful and that I can be somebody.

They even took me to get this test done on my eyes and my brain. They said I did a good job. ME, I did a good job?! I could hardly believe it. The lady who ran the test said I was really smart. ME, smart, that’s a first. They also told me I have this funny thing with my eyes and brain, a special thing that not many people have called dyslexia. They said they think can help me make sense out of the chaos.

For once, things seem to be going my way. I have never felt so safe and secure, so loved and looked after. I don’t know what comes next but I’m not scared. Okay, maybe I’m a little scared but only of this; that when the morning sun shines brilliant orange through my sleepy eyelids, that I might wake to find that this was only a dream.

This is my story.

Could you hear it? It is the faintest whisper of the wind. It is the sound of small sapling punching through the parched soil. It is the sound of hope growing where it once was forgotten.

Sometimes I wonder what a child would say if they could tell their story. Sometimes I wonder who would listen. Sometimes I wonder what the listener would do with what they heard…

LOVE. JOY. PEACE.
Zach

Children depend on adults and the system to guide them in their formative years.  It’s a big part of what makes adults, adults and children, children.  The system is supposed to, in theory and practice, instruct a child to learn X material, do Y work, in order to become an educated, self-reliant adult. But what happens when adults don’t give proper guidance and or the system is ineffective, broken and just plain non-existent?

In many ways absente describes a lot of our community’s parents and ineffective, broken and non-existent describes the local school system in which many of the black, Xhosa speaking children we work with go.  As of late, I’m beginning to realize that if a child does exactly what the system asks of them, it still may not be enough.  And while we’re proactively supplementing the school’s curriculum (if one could call it that) through daily tutoring, we are on a never-ending quest, not to do what is good, but what is BEST for these children.

Let us not talk about the problem, but rather BE ABOUT a solution.

Ithemba, in conjunction with Brand On Screen Printing, is pioneering a program to develop marketable job skills for some of our youth.  That is, to engender niche skills that will help differentiate them in a when job hunting.   For starters we have put together a seven-week course to teach the basics of screen printing; from creating and preparing art, all the way to printing and finishing a product.  We are stating small with four boys enrolled in the first trial run, but we hope to offer more courses in the future, and eventually an apprenticeship program.

(pics from week one)

The plan doesn’t stop with screen printing.  Our hope is to take the model and apply it to carpentry and other trade skills, as well.

Give a man to fish, and you feed him for a day, but teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime. Or as I’ve quoted before, “When we invest our money in the poor, we make the poor into beggars; when we invest in programs for the poor, we turn the poor into beneficiaries…” –Jakara Christian

So may we be a people who fight against systems that perpetuate dependence by empowering people to depend on themselves.  And as we seek to supply those in need, may the need we seek supply be helping the poor to supply for themselves.

LOVE. JOY. PEACE.
Zach