Date: March 24, 2008 11:51:39 PM HST
(last one, I promise)
Monday, March 17, 2008 – Florence, Italy
As I browse through what I’ve written, I’m surprised at how much I’ve written in such a relatively short time, but as I think more deeply about what I’ve seen and learned, my mental rolodex stops at topics I haven’t mentioned: politics and AIDS are but two examples. There is so much that I haven’t written about…But enough is enough; it feels like time to stop, even though the academic in me says that I should write a conclusion (I tried, but I’m dissatisfied with what I’ve written. I think that I need time for it all to percolate some more). But I feel that I can’t possibly end this without addressing just one more topic.
South Africa faces some enormously difficult challenges in its future; in fact, it would be easy and understandable for one to see these challenges as insurmountable and give up even trying to deal with them. I’ve been inspired and moved by the many people I have met who refuse to be overwhelmed, who see the glass as one-tenth full and work to do what they can. I’ve mentioned some of them already (Pauline Duncan, Razvi Ahmed), but I want to mention some of the others as well, so that when the Xerox machine at Punahou breaks down and makes my life mildly inconvenient, I’ll be able to put it in proper perspective. And should I need inspiration in order to become a more giving person, these are a few of the people to whom I can turn. There are many – so many that I wish I had taken more detailed notes about them. Those who fail to make the list do so because of my failing memory, not because they don’t deserve to be mentioned.
Engela Pienaar, who does her best to help prisoners in the Obi Correctional Center outside Pretoria receive an education, comes from Africaaner stock (Africaaners are the stereotypical equivalent of southern rednecks in the U.S.). Several years ago, her car was hijacked and then stolen. The police caught the culprit. He stood trial and went to Obi prison. Ms. Pienaar attended the trial, but instead of being satisfied that the criminal received his appropriate punishment, she saw the need for education so that others would not be so desperate as to resort to crime. She has volunteered her help at the prison ever since.
Thokozane – I don’t know his last name – teaches at Siyapambili (rural) School outside Harding. He supports several members of his extended family as well as his own. A dynamic person and teacher, who could be making more money (which he badly needs) by working at a better-paying school like Port Shepstone High School, he knows that he’s needed at Siypambili, so he stays there to try to make a difference.
Ray Cele is principal of Mdlangaswa (rural) High School outside Port Shepstone. He begs anyone he meets who might possibly help him get two extra desperately needed classrooms built. He knows he’s a pest, but for the good of his students, he keeps pushing nevertheless.
Nafessa Peer, Mehmood’s wife, didn’t become a doctor to run an AIDS program, but the disease has had such a devastating effect on Ixopo, where she lives, that she feels she has no choice. Though some other doctors in the area won’t treat AIDS patients, those are the vast majority of her patients.
And then there’s Yunus – the one who ties all these people together. Being a teacher at Punahou, I have a good idea of how busy his “day job” keeps him, but during the past seven years he has somehow found the time and energy to establish and run Teachers Without Borders in various locations in South Africa during his summer vacation. Not only does he not take a salary for this almost full-time job, he or his mom will often contribute whatever money is needed after all the fundraising has been done. Seeing him in action in various parts of South Africa has been impressive and inspiring. Sometimes he’ll call on a huge network of influential, community-minded family members and friends (including three former mayors) for help, sometimes he’ll go it alone. He knows how to talk to the powerful, but he can talk to kids as well. (I remember his greeting a small group of little kids in Port St. Johns: “Why aren’t you in school?” he asked. He sounded like a kindly but authoritative village elder.)
The needs in South Africa are enormous, but Yunus is a realist. He knows that one can’t just throw money or computers at problems. He knows how to ask the right questions: How will the money be used? Is there security for the computers? Will the school commit to setting aside a room with enough electrical outlets? Will there be someone at school who knows enough to teach the kids – and the faculty – how to make the best use of them?
And what may be most impressive of all is that Yunus doesn’t allow the enormity of the needs or the hugeness of the tasks to overwhelm him. He simply does what he can. What motivates him? He has enormous respect for his late father, who fought apartheid by doing what he could to help those burdened by its laws (he financed the building of a school in one of the poor black areas outside Port Shepstone, for example). Shortly after his father died, Yunus’ mother said to him, “Now what are YOU going to do?” I have no doubt that his father would be proud of what his son has done so far.
When I first considered coming to South Africa, it was with the intention of helping Yunus set up a school. I broached the idea of joining him to help him in this task, telling him and others that I hoped I could be more a help than a burden.
Shortly before I left the U.S., Yunus’ mission changed, as he put the school on hold and decided to focus instead on preparing for the Teachers Without Borders’ workshops he would run in June and July. I didn’t see how I could be of help in this area, but I had purchased my tickets and had allowed myself to get excited about the adventures to come. Though Yunus continued to assert that I could be of help, I wasn’t at all sure how. I hoped that at least I wouldn’t be a burden to him.
In all honesty, I think that I was a burden, though I take comfort in the belief that Yunus knew all along that I’d be a burden, yet urged me to come nevertheless. I think he knew – no, I know he knew – that South Africa would get to me. It’s an understatement to say that it has.
I originally wrote “change me” instead of “get to me,” but I edited it out because it’s too soon to claim that I am a changed person. Those words carry a challenge, and I don’t feel right using them unless and until I can demonstrate to myself that I have in fact changed. And if in fact I am a changed person because of this trip, I hope the person I have become is worthy of the time and effort that Yunus invested in me.