Sanibonani 'bangani wami!
Hellow my friends!
So the past few weeks, I have been working alongside several educators, assisting with lesson planning, developing teaching aides and actually teaching learners. It has been a very exciting time for me, the educators with whom I paired and the learners. But there was this one incident that happened last week that I cannot get out of my mind and it has devoured a large portion of my weekly thoughts.
When I was looking at an educator's portfolio, I came across this one insert that was labeled "Learner Statistics." Upon examining it more closely, I saw that educators are required to track how many boys and how many girls are in their first-period classes, how many learners transferred into their grade level from within or outside of the Province, how many learners transferred out of their grade level to another school, et cetera. Then, as I scrutinized the hand-written figures further, I stumbled upon much more personal and disturbing information. The learner death rate from the previous year was indicated, sectioned according to sex. Pregnancy rate was indicated, even though I work in K-9 and K-8 schools. But what shocked me the most was the magnitude and weight that the next few numbers carried.
This next section was labeled "Deceased Parents," and it wanted to know how many of each type of parent (mother, father or both) among the learners had died since they had begun their schooling. And the numbers are what truly wreaked havoc on my mind. Out of 49 learners in this one educator's class, an astounding 44 learners had at least one dead parent and 2 learners had both parents listed as deceased. That means that almost 94% of these middle-school children had experienced the loss of at least one parent. It is more normal here for a 12 or 13 year-old child to not even remember one of his parents than it is for them to grow up knowing both their mom and dad.
Step back and read that again. Almost 94% of these middle-school children in this one class have experienced the loss of at least one parent. Back home in the United States, a death of a middle school child's parent causes quite the commotion within the community. I think it would be considered by many to be unnatural and tragic in the States. It was right at that moment, when I saw those numbers, that I realized that this truly is a different world.
In a country where 52% of all deaths were caused by HIV (World Health Organization, Country Health System Fact Sheet - South Africa, 2006), I am living in the Umzinyathi District of KwaZulu Natal, which is one of South Africa's poorest and least developed areas with the highest HIV/Aids incidence rates in all of South Africa (as published by the David Rattray Foundation, 2009). Those things combined, reality and statistics, I am surprised with how taboo HIV/Aids discussions are around here. I am unquestionably sure that my village feels the far-reaching affects of HIV/Aids, but the stigma of the topic makes any forward progress from within the community impossible. Taking all of this into consideration, I have been forced to stop and really inspect my own perspective and the external context around me. Needless to say, I have been at a loss of words on this subject.
So for the past week or so, I have been trying to figure out how I fit into the grander scheme of things in my village. Being the outsider of my community, I am allowed to forego certain culturally-sensitive ceremonies (i.e., conforming my questions to delicate boundaries) but in order to inspire change in others, I have to figure out what type of practical assistance I can offer. This will not be easy, but I am definitely hopeful for the future of the people in my village and I think they are optimistic about my presence.
Despite it all, I can honestly say that I am energized by the attitude and culture of the people that surround me. On any given day, you will hear singing and rejoicing and you will see praying and dancing. Children tirelessly play soccer during/after school and always - and I'm not lying when I say always - are smiling from ear to ear. Everyone encircling me is content with the fortunes that they have and are truly thankful for the opportunities that they have to share their culture with me. I just hope that by the time I am forced to leave that I am able to give the local Zulus a piece of my being that they will never forget, as I am and will forever cherish the lessons they are continuing to offer me.
Sizobonana masinyane,
Mvelo S'gubudu
We will see each other soon,
Chad Wolver
