From last Friday (4/23) to Monday (4/26), I dealt with some heavy and ethical stuff. The Wednesday before I was telling Mimi that the coming weekend would be very different than the previous…this one would be heavy…and it definitely was...
Last Friday, we went to Robben Island, the most notorious prison in South Africa, which also held political activists and Nelson Mandela for nearly three decades. We took a ferry to the island and stepped on a tour bus. Our bus tour guide was named "M.P." and he shared with us the history of Robben Island and some of the interesting stories that came from the different security prisons. Afterward, we were shown around the maximum security prison by a former ex-political prisoner. He told us about some of the measures that were taken in the prison to maintain power relations, animosity, and apartheid.
For a lot people though, something didn't seem right. Many people in our group had mixed feelings about the tour and about the ex-political prisoner showing us around the prison. It was definitely commercialized and cleaned up for tourists. It was no Alcatraz, and we were limited in how much we got to see and learn. Some in our group wondered how happy the ex-political prisoner was in his tour-guide job. I had mixed feelings about that, and even the questioning of it…it's not our place to ask that kind of question. A lot of other issues were brought up on our ferry back. Ethics, ethics, ethics. Who's right? What's right…
On Saturday, we participated in a Mellon home build project in a local township. For a couple hours, we helped (though some might say hindered) build a house. It was more physical labor than I thought it would be. I lifted so many heavy blocks, but I don't think I was built for that. At one point, my supervisor laughed and told me that I was wearing two left gloves. No wonder something didn't seem right. Maybe observing that I wasn't a huge physical asset, he assigned me to a task that I would prove to be most excellent in: fill in the gaps with concrete and make it look pretty by drawing lines with my finger.
Again, something didn't seem right. Many felt like we were more in the way of the work for construction workers who were there with us. For many of us, we felt like it was a "developmental tourist" thing to do (something that we read about in one of our classes). By that I mean, an activity that tourists would engage in to "experience poverty" and discomfort for the purpose of understanding another culture better and being more than a regular destination tourists, who supposedly don't have as substantial a purpose in their travels except to enjoy luxury (this is something we read about in my Service-Learning class. I'm exaggerating this point to emphasize the author's point in saying that a developmental tourist generally looks down on a destination tourist, but is actually just as "bad"). Another thing we didn't really agree with was that these houses seemed like handouts from the Mellon Foundation. The housing situation is a very difficult issue to confront in South Africa, and how the government should distribute homes and how people use and work the system has made it even more messy. Ethics, ethics, ethics. Who's right? What's right…
I finally started service-learning at GAPA on Monday! I was so excited to work with my supervisor Althea on her different projects and meet the grandmothers. My first day was…not what I expected. Ot was crazy, surprising, and…dare I say, feisty? I mentioned in my one of my blog entries a few days ago that the grandmothers were “feisty” but I still had no idea what I was in for...
When they arrived early in the morning, they were what I pictured when I thought “grandmother.” The elderly, sweet-looking women who were mostly heavy-set were chatting quietly around cups of Rooibos with added teaspoons and teaspoons of sugars. However, in less than an hour’s time, I would witness the whole other side of them, to the point when it was too much that I would feel uncomfortable. But that’s precisely GAPA—women not comfortable in their situations who want to do something about it. They are not timid, powerless grandmothers in poverty and aids (GIPA); these are strong, empowered grandmothers against poverty and aids (GAPA).
Unfortunately I can't articulate everything that happened because I literally had no idea 98% of what they were saying and yelling. The 2% I understood was when they would say "hello (to a group)" (Molwemi) in Xhosa and say a random English word. Oh, and every few minutes, when the GAPA Director Vivian would look over at Althea and me and high in her emotions, would give us a one-sentence update on what was going on. "You see, this is corruption at its finest!!" So what happened? Basically, there was inter-group conflict, and the grandmothers had no reservations in vocalizing their opinions and thoughts on the matter, being entrepreneurial and profit-sharing, groups versus individual. Yelling, pointing, and even a little crying happened. As an outsider of their culture and organization, and especially it being my first day, I was overwhelmed.
Some of the things didn't seem right, but I don't want to talk about my opinions here because I want to maintain my professionalism. To be honest, I struggle with even figuring out where's my place in saying if I don't think something is right in my service-learning organization. I'm in a complicated relationship with service-learning. Ethics, ethics, ethics. Who's right? What's right…
I don't even know, and unfortunately (or is it fortunate?) it shows. I did have two left hands when I was carrying something heavy.
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