Julia attempting to recapture the person she became while in Cape Town

Even after nearly a month of being home, I still can’t believe I’m not in Cape Town anymore. At the same time, I feel like I never even left my home. I guess four months compared to 19 years is nothing in comparison. But my time home so far has shown me a little bit of what I’ve gained from being in Cape Town. Ever since my brother died a few years ago I’ve been a more closed off person. I found it hard to connect with new people, laugh easily and often, and just feel free to be myself. Well, I don’t think I actually knew who I was after that huge change in my life. When something like a death of a close relative happens, it engulfs you and you somehow forget how to be the person you were before. I think being put in a house in Cape Town with 17 other students was the ultimate form of therapy I could have ever received. As an introvert, type A kind of person, being in a house with 17 other people was a nightmare at first. Always having to talk to people and deal with other ways of doing things is not easy for my “type,” but it was ultimately the best possible way of expanding comfort zones and finding out who you are, who everyone else is, and how to appreciate those differences. Although I initially lived through the new situation as I usually would by talking little and quietly existing among the group of personalities, I eventually loosened up and began to let myself go. I think I started to talk more to everyone, laugh more, go out and do things with different people instead of my usual group. My group superlative was most likely to come out of their shell, and there’s no better way to describe what happened to me by being in that house. I gained back who I was before Ian died and started to realize who I am becoming after being through it. My only wish is that it didn’t take so long for me to come out of that shell. My hope is that when I meet new people in the future that I want to have a friendship with is that I don’t take so long to get to the point where I feel free to be myself. I think with knowing myself a little more from this trip, I will be able to be myself easier and quicker.

Being back in the U.S. has also made me realize how easy it is to be ignorant of the world around you. In Cape Town, that was impossible. Everyone talked about everything. I knew about Nigeria’s elections and Al Shabaab. Now I know about what my friends are doing and that’s about it. I’m really disappointed with myself about losing touch with what’s going on. It was just so easy in South Africa to know because it was part of daily conversations and plastered on street posts. Here, though, it definitely takes more of an effort to keep informed because the culture here is to know more about the superficial than the substantial. I’m going to have to put in the effort with reading the newspapers, but also in finding people that I can talk to about what’s going on because my friends certainly aren’t interested. 

What I really miss most about Cape Town, though, is the spirit and values that people held. For most people it seemed that as long as they had family, a passion, and basic necessities like decent housing and food, there was no reason to be unhappy. I try to stick to those values in the U.S. but it’s hard when everyone is on their iPhone and it’s hard just because I have all these material things that distract me from living in a more meaningful way as I did in South Africa. I was definitely less preoccupied by my phone in Cape Town and lived more by the flow than a calendar. I’m learning that the distractions from the things you think make you happier (i.e. iPhones, Netflix) may actually make you unhappier. I want to live like I lived in Cape Town again- minimal distraction and lots of unexpected encounters/adventures.

Julia recalling the adventures and realizations of Cape Town

Julia: through the ups and downs, determined to enjoy her last week in Cape Town

On Monday I got to step out of my usual routine at the GEU and help out the organization on campus called, Differently Abled Students Association (DASA). I spent the day gathering signatures for a petition to make the college campus environment safer and more accessible for the differently abled students. Many of the ramps on campus are too steep for wheelchairs and some places, like residence halls, don’t even have ramps. Then there are many potholes, unmarked and unblocked construction, and unpainted steps that the visually impaired wouldn’t be able to see. These are things I would never think of as much of a problem, but that’s because I have never been differently abled or known anyone personally that was. Again, another privilege we don’t even realize, but these problems are huge for those that are in a wheel chair or are visually impaired. While the overwhelming majority of people were more than willing to sign the petition, some responses of others surprised me. After explaining the purpose of the petition- to get funding from administration for these fixes- a man just nodded and walked away without signing with an attitude that seemed like he didn’t trust me. When I think about it now, I think perhaps he heard my accent and felt I really shouldn’t be representing the black and coloured South African community that dominates the campus. Perhaps he is right, if that is what he thought. Why should I be the one to ask for a change on a campus that is so obviously not mine? Is this an instance of white privilege to assume my voice will be heard and found reasonable and accepted? Even though I didn’t really choose to help out with DASA, the actions can still be interpreted as a white person trying to put her foot in something that is not hers to do. One other response that surprised and disappointed me was when a man said he wasn’t disabled and then walked away. The purpose of the petition is not to get signatures from only people that are disabled, but signatures to support the disabled. I very much hope that he did not understand this distinction, rather than just using it as an excuse not to support a noble and worth venture. Lastly, I realize now how many people walk away from petitions like this that take a minute or less to sign. I also realize that I do this all the time at UConn because I can’t be bothered on my way to class. How ignorant and self-centered is this, though? When your signature can make a difference for the better, you should take advantage and do it- at least for the sake of those benefitting. By experiencing being the one behind the petition, I will never again walk past a petition on Fairfield Way without knowing what the petition is going to help.

           

My week didn’t continue as smoothly after Wednesday, though. On Thursday at UCT my computer crashed. Not only is my 12 page paper for Vincent on there, but also my documentary clips. Right now I am a little more worried about the final, but there are so many things on that computer I need and want. My brother’s pictures are on there, my own pictures from Honduras, Kenya, and South Africa, and documents. Hopefully all of this, besides the South Africa pictures are on my external hard drive at home. I’m just thankful I kept up with uploading South African pictures onto Facebook. When this first happened I was a wreck. The iStore here doesn’t actually fix Macs if they were bought in the US, so I had to go to another store called iFix. Then since it’s on a first come, first serve basis, mine couldn’t be looked at immediately. Plus, it’s a holiday weekend so I won’t hear officially about the computer until Tuesday. So I cried in the back of the UCT jammie on the way back to UCT to finish all the assignments I had left to do considering I would probably spend the rest of my time doing another final or studying. I at least have a few more weeks in South Africa to scrounge up more interviews, and I went to Ocean View Friday since Chantel got her younger cousins for me to interview. My mom helped me find out that the problem I have with the computer, a faulty hard drive SATA cable, may be fixable and still help me save my files. I am hoping this is what the iFix store also tells me on Tuesday. Vincent also was very understanding and said I could take a written exam, shorter than the twelve pages, but still open notes as if I was writing an essay like everyone else. So, if anything, I am happy that I don’t have to rewrite twelve pages because I take days to write just a three page paper. This is not how I planned to spend my last week in the program. I was done with nearly everything and now I have to redo something that I took so much time to do in the first place. Some sort of karma must be in the air for me. I know this isn’t the worst thing possible- I’ve already been through that, but it’s still a devastating situation for me to have at the end of my time in Cape Town when I am trying to fit everything in before leaving.

           

Happier news: I stopped totally sulking and went to see the Firefighters play in Khayelitsha today with Bernie, Christina, and Maria who did their activist project with them. Despite struggles with transportation and missing the first game, we still got to see the older boys play and completely dominate. Their skills and passion for soccer are amazing for how young they are. I know I was never really excited for soccer when I played, so it’s good to see that they actually love what they are doing and come without their parents forcing them. In fact, sadly, their parents don’t even come to the game to see their children play. We were really the only outside people, aside from coaches, that were there to watch. I wouldn’t think playing games like that would be so much fun without support and cheering, but the kids had fun. One more thing that was rather upsetting about the game was that the uniforms are shared between both the younger kids and older kids. So once the younger kids finished their game, they took off their uniform and gave them to the older kids to wear for their game. Maria, Christina, and Bernie had a Go Fund Me account that raised money for more uniforms for the boys.

           

Being in Khayelitsha was really interesting for me because I actually read a book about a white man that went to live in Khayelitsha. So I asked our taxi drivers about all sorts of places that I read about in the book like where iLitha Park is and where Vovo Cash Store is and Site B. I was so excited to see some of the things I read about; it makes the story so real. Aside from amazement of the sights a reality, we also had a quite a fun time in the taxi. I showed them Koze Kuze, a very popular South African Kwaito song and from there another Kwaito song came on. This type of music is just beats with very little lyrics and can only be enjoyably listened to when in the taxis (in my opinion), nevertheless we found ways to dance to the music and the gotchi and driver found it very funny. We also got to practice our Xhosa clicks. This is why I love taxis- you get to see all types of things, practice Xhosa, and listen to music you would never hear or listen to anywhere else.

           

Tonight I am especially excited because a few of us are going to a gay burger joint called Beef Cakes for a drag show. I’ve been wanting to go to one for so long, especially since I work at the GEU and know Miss Gay Western Cape.

Despite a tragic (exaggerating) few days, I am managing to still have a good time and enjoy the last bit of Cape Town with everyone before my parents come. You can’t let one thing ruin everything. Cape Town is too beautiful and exciting to stay inside and cry. I honestly can’t believe my four months is almost up. I am almost certain I will cry when I have to leave. I’ve been pretty close to crying when just thinking about it. If anything, though, I talked to Chantel on Friday about getting an internship in a clinic with a dietician during December and January. I am hoping this will happen because all I think about is how I don’t want to leave. Rather than think about leaving, I am going to think about coming back.

Julia's reflections on the week that was

Last week was a little slow at internship, especially on Monday. With Glenton in Johannesburg for training, I’ve been lacking things to do around the Unit. So on Monday, all I really did was read the newspaper. Then the sign language class we usually have every other Monday didn’t happen because the instructor didn’t show up. You would think that I would be really pissed off by the day I had and how unproductive it was, but I really wasn’t because by the end of the day, when the instructor should have been there, volunteers finally started showing up to the GEU. Only two of them were there for sign language and the rest were there just to hang out. Even though I could have left early and gotten home before 7:00 PM, I stayed because I actually wanted to stay- because the people I get to talk to at the GEU and the conversations I get to have are worth far more than getting home early. This wasn’t a particularly interesting conversation, in comparison to others I’ve had here, but it was still worth my time. We were talking about our families, moms, Xhosa, and whatever little things that came up. Somehow these conversations seem more fulfilling though than ones I have at home about the same topics. Maybe it’s because the cultures are different, but honestly, a lot of our experiences are the same. Mothers still get on our nerves (sorry, ma, but I know it’s reciprocal) and at the same time we still love them more than anyone else. There’s still a middle child syndrome in South Africa as there is in the US. These basic things are still the same, so I don’t know why it’s a different calibre of conversation for me.

The rest of the week at the GEU I managed to find things to do, and Pinkie was there both Tuesday and Wednesday, which always makes my days at the GEU better. We actually went to see a fashion show and a dance performance during lunch on Tuesday at the Student Centre, which was pretty fun. Our friend Tristian was actually in the fashion show modelling UWC clothing, so we cheered extra obnoxiously for him. Later Pinkie and I saw pictures of the recent xenophobic attacks going on in South Africa. It’s really hard for me to get a sense of why South Africans are attacking people from other countries especially when those people are from countries that helped South Africans during Apartheid. It makes me think that the saying in the constitution about the land belonging to all those who reside in it is not true at all right now. When discussing the issue with Pinkie, she said that black South Africans think they have privilege after apartheid and that they are entitled and that’s why they are attacking the foreigners. The foreigners in this country work very hard, she said, and they get up early, open shop, and close late and do it again the next day. South Africans, on the other hand, are lazy in her opinion and don’t want to compete with people and so they attack those who are doing well and say they are doing it because they don’t belong in South Africa. I think this makes reasonable sense, but it’s just so hypocritical to me that a country that’s been through so much discrimination is now doing the discriminating.

On Friday I got to see Pinkie perform a poem (unfortunately, mostly in Xhosa) at the UWC’s Got Talent. Instead of going to the soccer game with everyone, which I heard was an awful game anyways, I took a taxi to UWC that night and got to see a whole range of artists perform- singers, poets, dancers, rappers. The show was awesome and I got to see really talented people perform, but the audience was sort of rude and would talk while people were performing. I really do think that the US has better audiences. I’ve never been at an event like that at UConn and had an audience so rude. We may talk in between performances, but not during. Anyways, it was cool to be with the volunteers outside of the unit for once. 

At the end of the night I shared an Uber with Pinkie and got to see where her aunt lives in Mitchell’s Plain. The car didn’t stop directly in front of the house, so Pinkie had him move up five feet to be as close as possible to the gate. I thought this was so weird to see that a South African, with a car with people right by her, was too scared to walk five feet to a gate of a house. Yes it was around 9:30 PM, but we were right there. I don’t think this fear would’ve crossed my mind for a second. I walk into our house from across the street at night and don’t think anything of it- I’d even walk from down the street and probably feel fine. Perhaps I’m taking my safety for granted. We also got to pass through Nyanga on the way to Mitchell’s Plain, and that was very eye opening. Right before we entered the township, the driver locked all the doors. The informal settlements we saw seemed to be even worse to me than ones in Khayelitsha or Mitchell’s Plain or any other township. Maybe it was just the fact that it was extremely dark, but I was definitely concerned knowing that Nyanga is actually one of the most dangerous townships with the highest murder rate. This Uber ride was probably the most interesting I’ve had.

My week got a little weird and frustrating by the end, though. About three weeks ago I ordered a dress and a shirt for Vernon to be made at this African clothing store. We told them that date we would come to pick both up and they said that was fine. So we go Thursday to pick up the shirt and dress and neither were even made. We spent money and time to go into the city and neither was even touched. They said to come in the next day and both would be ready. The next day both were ready, but the dress needed alterations because it wasn’t the exact style I wanted. Now this is when the situation becomes my fault and I take responsibility that my actions were wrong. We kept doing alterations for about three to four hours, but still the dress wasn’t looking like anything I wanted and I knew I wouldn’t wear the dress. I wanted to walk away from the store knowing I would wear what I bought. So I decided to ask them to scrap the dress project and use the same material to make a skirt. They were deeply offended and frustrated with my decision. They were working on this dress all morning into afternoon, and here I am with some sort of entitlement asking them to waste fabric and more time to make me a skirt. I felt like a brat, without a doubt, but I was determined to get something I would love and not feel like I wasted money on. The dress project was just too big and risky of a venture when the fashion culture of the US and South Africa is so different. Even when I showed pictures of the style the dress still did not turn out right. It was frustrating on both ends, and although I think I was more in the wrong, I think the business also did a wrong. I’ve been to that store probably four times for the same thing and then they don’t even make the items we ask for on time. So while they said I wasted their time and fabric (which I totally did), they also wasted my time and money for the number of times I had to go there and try and sort things out. Collectively, we have given them so much business, so I was disappointed in how they sometimes didn’t follow through with orders. So the next day I went in and picked up my skirt. This was the quickest exchange I have ever had in the store- less than five minutes when usually everything takes at least one hour. As I expected, I got the silent treatment when I walked in, but I paid them the price for the skirt and dress combined. The skirt was beautiful and I told them so and apologized for the inconvenience. Honestly though, I know this whole situation was so wrong and I felt so bad about it that it took me hours to fall asleep the night of the incident. I really hate being an inconvenience, but my mom has always told me when buying clothes to only buy something you know you will wear. I’m not pegging this whole thing on my mom, but I like that advice and wanted to make sure I walked away with something I love. Yet I am still trying to justify my actions. Even writing about this makes me so jittery and disappointed in myself.

Julia's eventful and informative week

This past week has been quite eventful and informative to say the least.  On Saturday I ran myfirst international race, the Two Oceans Half Marathon. Although it was by far the hilliest and the toughest half I’ve done, I successfully finished and am so proud to have been apart of it.

Emily L, Ashlyn, Caitlin, Chritina, Bernie and Julia follow their run in the Two Oceans Half Marathon

The next day we left for Johannesburg. It’s funny, but I could tell immediately that Johannesburg would not give me the same feeling of home and belonging that I feel in Cape Town. Despite being full of history, Johannesburg is a big city that is missing something Cape Town has, at least in my opinion. Perhaps it’s the diversity of scenery in Cape Town, or maybe just the fact that we will not actually get to know Johannesburg and its people on that same level. Either way, I think my heart is with Cape Town.

We visited all of the major places in Johannesburg like the Apartheid Museum, Constitution Hill, Freedom Square, Vilakazi Street, the Hector PietersonMuseum, and Sharpeville, but we also got the chance to spend a day at the Boysand Girls Club in Soweto and have dinner at Dani’s aunt’s house. These last three, Sharpeville, the Boys and Girls Club, and Dani’s aunt’s house were my favorite parts of Johannesburg.

At Sharpeville we were lucky enough to have Alice as one of our guides. Alice was still young in 1960 when the Sharpeville Massacre took place, but she was very knowledgeable and passionate in her telling of the tragedy and the apartheid years. She was a housekeeper and caretaker for a family during the apartheid years. Her personal experiences helped me see just how cruel the system could be and make people be. She discovered one day after the dog kept barking at her as she was eating, that the plate she was eating on was meant for the dog. The prejudice of the woman she worked for was so strong that Alice wasn’t even worthy, as a black person, to eat off a plate that wasn’t meant for the dog. Alice couldn’t even kiss or hug the kids she raised in the presence of any white adult. It seems like a pattern that the prejudice existed in a way that white people didn’t want others touching any of their stuff or themselves- as if being black was somehow contagious? How is it that skin is the cause of such hatred, fear, and prejudice? I remember when I was little I was very self-conscious of my vitiligo on my knees, a skin disease that causes loss of pigmentation in skin. Other kids questioned me with a sense of disgust about what was on my knees. I would answer saying that it was just a birthmark. I knew that the second I said a skin disease they would see in a different light, as if I was contagious. Eventually, I stopped wearing shorts for a while to avoid conflict. But my issue with skin can be covered up, and that’s the real and important difference between me, as a white person with just a blemish really, and a black person. I can cover up that little piece of me that people may find prejudice against, but a black person can’t cover every inch of their body with clothing to hide from prejudice. Again, a white privilege to be able to hide a part of the body I don’t like. I just can’t imagine being fearful for my life and dignity because of my skin color that I can’t hide. To be afraid of looking the way you do is unfathomable to me. Lastly, we went to see the graves of the 69 people that were found dead after the massacre. There, Alice told us that she lost two children in the struggle and only has one child that survived. It’s probably been years since her two other children died, but even today Alice couldn’t talk about it and started crying. I, too, too have lost someone important, and did struggle with talking about him without crying, but I can’t say that I will be doing that after twenty years of his death. His death was tragic, without a doubt, and I know it may be wrong to compare, but I think the death of her sons was more tragic with the circumstances they died under. How can she not cry after so many years? Her children were killed under a system of cruelty and discrimination, under a system that hated her children for no justifiable reason. Neither deaths were fair, but it seems to me the reasoning behind the death of Alice’s children is harder to get over.

Our day in Soweto at the Boys and Girls Club was such a fun day. We started out volunteering, with each of us doing different things. I helped pick up trash in the park next to the club and pulled weeds in the garden while others did administrative work or organized the library. Before lunch was ready, which was maybe a four-hour process of braai-ing sausages, a few of us played basketball with the kids and ran a few races. One of the little kids we played basketball with was so tiny and only six years old. On the court the only thing he said was “team” to get our attention. So I refer to him as Team as I cannot even try to spell his real name without totally butchering it. He is an extremely happy kid; all of them seemed to be. I kept thinking throughout the day that it would be so nice to be young again and have no worries. Thinking about a day full of basketball, races, handclap games, and Easter egg hunts seems like a pretty good day to me. 

But then I found out Team’s story, and I realized not every kid, especially those in South Africa, grow up without worries. Team’s mother is in prison and he lives with his cousins. His mother used to beat him and drank quite a bit. The woman who told me this frankly said, “His mother deserves to die” right in front of Team, who just minutes before was singing a song with lyrics stating, “My mom is the best.” I personally didn’t agree with this woman’s choice to say such a statement in front of Team, but he didn’t seem to notice or have any reaction to it and went on with the easy distractions that kids occupy their time with. I just couldn’t believe that such a happy little boy could have such a tragic past and still go on in such a manner. Maybe he was too young to really remember or just blocked those memories out, but I’m realizing our experiences of childhood are completely different. I’ve already realized this, but it’s a hard idea to grasp still. I was never put in a dangerous situation when I was a child, especially not intentionally. I could play outside wherever I wanted. I had a camp to go to each summer when my parents were at work. I knew at the end of each day my parents would be there for me and feed me and care for me. Not every child grows up without worry; in fact, I think most do not.

Group at the Pinville Boys and Girls Club in Soweto

On a more positive note, I also got the chance to go to dinner at Dani’s aunt’s house. Dani’s aunt and uncle were deeply involved in the struggle and were married illegally during the struggle by violating the Mixed Marriages Act. This was my first assumption challenged when stepping into Cheryl’s house. I fully expected, considering that Dani is white, that Cheryl too would be white. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Cheryl was indeed black, and the rest of the guests were also black. I liked that this was the case because I knew I would get stories and participate in conversations that were more meaningful than what I would expect from a conversation with a white South African. White South Africans were of course in the struggle, like Cheryl’s husband Graeme, but I think more often than not white people were on the sidelines.

Anyways, Cheryl was the Deputy General of the ANC at one point and the High Commissioner of South Africa in London. She casually had pictures around the house of her and Mandela, Robert DeNiro, Desmond Tutu, and Oprah. They are pretty important people and I found my self in awe taking picture of their pictures. Going back to conversations, I did get those meaningful conversations and stories that I wanted, but I also had completely normal conversations about running and travel. One woman described for us her experience of the Soweto uprising in 1976. She was only eight years old but she remembers that public transportation stopped and she had to walk all the way home with her mother through the masses of people. She, like every other child, was taught in Afrikaans. She said it took maybe seven years after the uprising for the Bantu Education Act to drop Afrikaans as the medium on instruction in schools. That’s a really long time to solve a problem that obviously caused a lot of uproar.

I was thoroughly impressed by the people at the dinner party. I think, especially with South Africa, there is an assumption that black people are still struggling. While this is true that black people are significantly behind white people in terms of socio-economic standards, some have made it. The people at the party were bankers, financial advisors, entrepreneurs, or IT people. Many of them have travelled around Africa and Europe. One married couple does marathons in different countries. They were just in Spain for one, but have also done ones in Paris and Prague, and are now planning to go to Peru to see Machu Picchu. I hate to admit it, but I was shocked and impressed. I loved to see that the struggling black isn’t the story for all. But it is impossible to forget that it is the story for most. Overall, this was my absolute favorite part of Johannesburg because I got the chance to talk to South Africans on a level that was so casual, but also so deep and inspirational. We were there from 6pm to midnight and I could’ve stayed longer just to talk to everyone and eat more of Cheryl’s delicious food.

Julia's exciting weekend and enlightening conversations

This weekend Becca, Bernie, Molly, and I did the Garden Route. It was a pretty adventurous weekend that included walking with lions, feeding and riding elephants, petting cheetahs, and even bungee jumping for a brave few (not me). I think my favorite parts of the weekend were petting the cheetahs and being with the elephants. At first my experience petting the cheetahs was a bit scary. When I went to pet one of the cheetahs, another one came up behind me- so I was surrounded by these cheetahs. I slowly got up and walked away cautiously. Once the cheetahs were settled I got to try again and this time neither snuck up behind me. The elephant ride was also a little scary for me since I don’t like heights or things I can’t control. Joe, the man with me on Jabari, had to constantly talk to me and tell me stories so I wouldn’t freak out. In then end, it was an awesome experience and I am glad I did it. The only thing that bothered me during the weekend was the questioning of whether these encounters were ethical and if the animals were treated right. I am pretty certain the cheetahs were treated with love- you could just tell by the way they loved humans and how affectionate they were towards their trainers- almost like dogs. I think the elephants were treated right, but it’s still not natural for them to be giving rides and doing these circus type tricks. The only ones I really don’t think were treated right were the lions. The men that train and keep an eye on the lions were sort of mean to them and would hit them with a stick to move- lightly, but still not the nicest way of doing things. Also, I think they must feed those lions a lot in order to train them when lions really aren’t supposed to eat that much because their food is stored as fat. Lions can go a few weeks without food, so by eating so much food to train, they have unnecessary weight on them that can’t be healthy.

           

On the trip, a Saudi Arabian man and a German woman joined us. A few things they said and talked about got me thinking. The German woman, Natalie, had spent a few months in Cape Town last September through December as an au pair and student learning English. She was now back on holiday. You would think that having spent so much time in Cape Town that she would know the townships, but it turns out she didn’t even know what Manenberg was. Manenberg is one of the most dangerous townships in Cape Town, only competing with Hanover Park. It seemed like she hadn’t even visited a township in all her time spent in Cape Town. I can’t imagine coming here and not seeing all sides of Cape Town- especially the way the majority lives. It made me so grateful for the way this program really sets us up to experience and gain knowledge about the society. Cape Town can just be a fun tourist city, but you really won’t understand the people unless you know how they live and what they’ve been through.

           

Abdullah, the Saudi Arabian student learning English, made me feel both defensive and ashamed of the U.S. He mentioned that he could not go to the U.S. and when I asked him why, he said it was because he was Saudi Arabian and that’s where the terrorists are from. He said the American embassy in Saudi Arabia denied him entry. This didn’t really shock me, but it hit me hard to actually hear this happening directly from a person it happened to. I hate that even our government generalizes people and therefore encourages stereotyping. Until now, I’ve never had the opportunity to speak much to a born and raised middle easterner, so I took advantage of it and asked one more question: how did Saudi Arabians react after 9/11? He said everyone was very sad and it wasn’t just Americans that died because of it. Then he went on to say, though, that he believes that the U.S. government knew of the attack before hand. He thinks that with the technology we have, there should be no reason we didn’t know. Although I didn’t express my defensiveness, I definitely felt it. Although it’s a decent argument, I just can’t believe that a government would sacrifice the lives of thousands like that. Even though I am constantly being challenged here with questioning the integrity of my own country, I’m glad to see in some way that I still believe in it.

           

Lastly, today at the GEU, I was helping out with a video for the mentoring program. The video interviews the mentees on what they think about their community- Elsie’s River- and how they can improve it. It’s a poor community and has their share of violence. What surprised me most about the interviews was how these children thought due to the environment they lived in. If we were to ask these questions to American children, their responses would lack the substance these children provided. For a kid living in my hometown in Connecticut, the only thing I would’ve been able to suggest in order to improve my community is to fix the sidewalks so I don’t fall off my bike. But these kids were giving answers adults would give in analyzing the U.S. Faced with seeing and living through police brutality, crime, and poverty, they don’t care about measly sidewalks. One response was the challenge of ShopRite- because it’s too expensive to afford. Another was the fear of going to the store because they might get robbed on their way. One girl mentioned that God gives us everything but then goes on to say that she’s afraid of the day when she realizes that God is giving more to some people than others. I’m awful at predicting age, but this girl was less than thirteen years old. I know at that age I barely knew inequality existed. I also didn’t have much faith because I had everything I needed. Faith really wasn’t a necessity for me to live in a sense. In many ways these kids have more experience than I do in life. I don’t doubt that their struggles right now will be greater than mine will ever be. It’s so hard to digest that this is the way people live their lives- being the group that God doesn’t give as much to.