the seasons, Harper Lee and the still small voice

Winter feels like it is on the way on this cold April 30th morning in Johannesburg. Even after wandering through this place for three years, I still can recalibrate my seasons and months to the Southern Hemisphere. It feels like October as I watch the eaves fall and I should be resting a bit after the rush to begin another academic year. Instead, I am sitting in shorts on the porch, knowing that at 6,000 feet above sea level, the cold air will soon warm and getting myself ready to finish off the first term at University.

This morning I took the dogs to the park so that Muffin could run and work out some of the prodigious energy, which seems to define that little cock-a-poo. I have taken to these walks of late so that Muffin can work out her energy and Candy can get a change of scenery. Even though she just trots along next to me, Candy too is winded at the end of the walk showing her advanced age.

While walking I have been listening to Cissy Spacek read "To Kill a Mockingbird". What a wonderful pairing of text and reader. Her mellifluous voice wraps around the memories of young Scout enriching the text with a nuance which captures the enthusiasm of a seven year old who is living in the house of a very wise man.

I don't remember when this book was assigned to me in school, but it surely was at some point. Looking back on it, I can feel sadness that it like practically every other book assigned in high school remained unread on my shelf. Victimizing myself with my mind for aural and visual detail allowing me to always get by when I needed to write about the books we were reading. Between the movies I watched and my ability to recall what was discussed in class, I was always able to write cogently and coherently about the unread texts. I used to think that it was enough to get the grade, remaining oblivious to the joy which most of the books would have brought to me. I was too content to sit and watch yet another re-run of Dick Van Dyke or Star Trek.

Its not that I never read anything, I did sometimes read the texts, but not that often. I couldn't get away with not reading the novels for French class, but that had to do with both Elaine Lecius's superb teaching and because I was both learning the language and the texts as we went. When did I come to know the difference between getting good grades and getting an education? Just as in To Kill a Mockingbird, the veracity of the memoirist is less important in the details than in the story, so the point in time is not important.

Wandering through these particular years of my life, far away from the rich life of friends, family and work that was inspiring and at times all-consuming, I find myself learning a great deal about myself. While not always welcome, the lessons learned are not a bad way to pass through your 50th year plus or minus a few years.

Growing up in my family and peer group, I was always ready to serve as audience, confessor, confident or sidekick. Much easier to be the one needed than the one expressing needs which may, or may not, have been met. These patterns of behavior, learned young, are proving to be quite challenging as I reside here. I spend so much time alone at work and alone at other times. More than I can ever remember having in my life and more than I thought I would ever have desired. And yet there are times when I search out for even more time alone. A surprising and also satisfying turn in my life.

This morning I listened as Harper Lee began to introduce the storyline which tips the balance in young Scout's life and provides the reader with the opportunity to see how all of the other details selected by Lee form the patchwork of her lesson.

Atticus ruminates with his brother about the futility of defending the black man whom he is defending. Knowing that the outcome of the trial has already been foretold in the closed mindedness of the town. And he is preparing Scout for the lessons that this ordeal of faith will teach him, her, her brother, the townspeople ready to learn it, and all of us reading the book. He speaks in the "still small voice" similar to that which Elijah heard in the cave as God spoke to him.

That voice is a little easier to hear in the silences that populate my life these days. Not always welcome, but often something important to learn.

Christmas in Johannesburg

I have always been an early riser on Christmas – I guess it is the 8 year old in me. I was always eager to run downstairs, see the beautiful Christmas three and to see what Santa might have left under the tree.  And here I am at 47, 5:30 in the morning, no "real tree" for Santa to leave anything beneath, but I am up before anyone else eager to meet the day.  

 

Christmas is really different this year. A metal tree (very modern and South African), shorts rather than a warm sweater for clothing, sunshine and beautiful flowers in the garden rather than looking for a white Christmas, and a few days past the summer solstice rather than the winter, but there are still Christmas carols on the iPod, a turkey waiting to be cooked, family visiting (Randy's dad and wife are here with us) and plenty of Christmas stories waiting to be read one more year for the umpteenth time.

 

Christmas always put me in the frame of mind to wander through memories. IT was the nicest of days in my home as a child. Dad was in the best mood of the year, he and mom always kissed on Christmas morning (the only time we saw that), there was orange juice and bacon for breakfast and of course there was that tree.

 

As an adult, my obsession with Christmas trees has become rather pronounced. I started collecting them when I was in college – those Christkindlmarkts in Salzburg and Munich with my childhood friend Martha – than the beautiful little tree and ornaments which Denise sent to me when I was a senior – and then all the ornaments which friends have brought over the years. Yesterday as we decorated the "little metal ornament trees" we got here, all of these memories came flooding back to me. It is the thing that I love most about this season. While I looked for a presents under the tree as a child, now it is the tree itself that matters. The tree and its ornaments remind me of all of the friendships which I have been lucky enough to have over the years. Each ornament brings back memories of people known, good times shared and love. And that is the core of the season I guess isn't it?

 

Merry Christmas to all.

Wandering in London for the day

I left Joburg last night and landed in London this morning. As Randy always says, the advantage of flying through Europe from South Africa is that you get a mini-vacation on the way. Just what I need more vacation....Had a great ramble through Hyde Park while everyone else rushed off to work. Will have a walk through the Victoria & Albert Museum and then off to do a sales call for Laura at an Artist Book shop.

Happy wanderings!

Wits Administration & Faculty Lead Protest Against Xenophobia

At one of its regular meetings, the Wits University Executive Committee decided that they could not continue with their regular agenda given the shocking level of xenophobic violence that has rocked Johannesburg and the surrounding province of late. These violent attacks have been taking place in informal settlements and townships throughout the area and over 40 people have been killed by marauding mobs. The victims have mostly been foreign residents (Zimbabweans, Mozambicans, Somalis and others) who have been attacked by their neighbors.

The police have worked to restore order, but the attacks have erupted quickly and in different areas. The government has discounted the xenophobic aspects of the crimes, blaming the acts on criminal elements and thereby ignoring underlying causes. Regardless of motivation for the attacks (xenophobia, poverty, resentment that foreigners have homes while residents do not), basic human rights are being violated. The press had been full of criticism of the government for not acting sooner.

At the meeting of the Wits Executive, it was decided that the academic community needed to make a collective statement. Prof. Yunnus Ballim, Wits Acting Vice-Chancellor, called on the Academic Community to gather yesterday and stage a protest on one of Johannesburg's busiest downtown streets during rush-hour.

As Randy and I joined faculty and staff colleagues on the Wits campus, we were amazed by the number of faculty colleagues who showed up. All of the senior administration was there, the Deans were all there, the heads of schools, Nobel laureates, young and old, the eminent and the esteemed, more than 350 gathered on the front steps of the main administration building at 3:30.

There was deep concern raised about the violence and the government's inaction. Ballum said in his statement "we are here today to speak with one voice: Let us stop the violence and xenophobia. And let us restore thereby our common humanity." The assembled group was then led out to the street by the Loyiso Nongxa, the Vice-Chancellor, and Nobel Laureate Sydney Brenner.


As we moved through the Wits gates, the marchers stretched out along both sides of Jan Smuts Avenue and onto the median strip for maximum coverage. The lines stretched for about 1/4 mile and at the peak of the protest, more than 700 people faculty, students and staff came together to make a statement against the ongoing strive.

The precipitating acts of violence were despicable, the inaction by the government is of grave concern, but the spirit in the crowd was really electric. Several Witsies commented that they had not seen a protest like this since the days of anti-apartheid protests. Some wondered if this was the start of a new wave of public protest. For one and a half hours, the various deans, DVC's, faculty, and even the University General Counsel stood together - for peace, for human rights, for an end to the violence and calling on the government to act.

I know that protests like this are of limited value, but they can serve to energize individuals, embarrass governments and start a chain of change. Many of the motorists who drove by honked their horns in support. Many raised fists and others took pictures with their cell phones.
Thankfully, the townships were silent last night and today the government relented and called upon the army to support the police in maintaining peace.

On another note, I should add that while violence did erupt in many places, there were other communities where people joined together. We have a wonderful woman who cleans for us once a week and she happens to come from Losotho. She told me yesterday that the South African citizens in her neighborhood had patrolled the streets to protect all of the community's residents. They were not going to allow violence against anyone to take root in their area. I pray that this spirit of community support continues where she lives and takes root in the communities which have been ablaze with xenophobia and violence.


It is especially ironic that this all occurs as the continent prepares to celebrate Africa Day on May 25th.

As we stood together, we remarked more than once that we could not imagine a similar gathering of administration and faculty at our former university. There are certainly lots of examples of protest on American campuses, but administrations at private institutions are usually reluctant to take the chance on offending a constituency. Some members of an administration might participate in a faculty or student led demonstration, but neither of us could imagine a protest led by an administration. Although who knows with the great new President of Harvard, maybe things will be different.

The Cave of the Spirits - Saltpeterskrans

April 13, 2008 - Additional Pictures in Slide Show to the Right

During our visit to the Free State with Paul, a colleague of Randy’s, we visited an amazing place called by the local Afrikaners – Saltpeterskrans. It is a pilgrimage site of the Basotho people, a people resident in both South Africa and Lesotho. Reminiscent of Christian pilgrimage sites which I have seen, this is an amazing site which we were very privileged to visit.

We turned off of the main road at a place called Surrender Hill, a battle ground of the Boer war. Driving down in to the valley on a dirt road we passed a large dairy farm and parked beside another farm house (see photo in the slide show). A ¾ mile walk through fields and scrub forest, the journey began in open fields surrounded by huge rock outcroppings,
following a stream that serves both the pilgrims and the farms. The rock outcroppings towered above us and began to grown narrower and narrower.

In the distance, Paul pointed to what appeared to be a small cave and we could see a woman sitting in the opening. Just around the next bend in the river, we saw four people sitting by the river with bright yellow pails next to them. Each person had a reed like, rectangular mask covering his or her face. The reed covered the face from forehead to below the chin and fully masked the face. The gender was somewhat obscured by the mask, but the gestures seemed to indicate that they were women.

As we rounded the corner, the women noticed us and stooped what ever they were doing. It was clear that we had come across some kind of ritual in process, something we were not meant to witness. The “women” were sitting at the river’s edge and had their feet in the water, the yellow pails by the side of each. While tempting to photograph them, we knew that doing so would violate the privacy of the act and might even destroy whatever the people were meant to be doing. Out of respect for them, we quickly moved along.

Just beyond the bend, the cave or kran came into clearer focus. A kran is Afrikaans’s for overhang. In this photo it looks like crevasse in the rock.

I now saw that what I had taken as our destination earlier was in fact a smaller opening underneath the much larger cave. you can see the smaller opening at the very bottom of this picture.

The larger cran or overhang looked enormous, but in fact proved to be even larger once we had ventured into the space. On the very right hand side was clearly a settlement as a woman was hanging out washing on a line. Paul told us that people would come to the cave for varying periods of time from a day to months on end.

As we climbed the opposite shore, we saw a small structure with ritual grounds in front. The space had vestiges of traditional beliefs (white flags on poles, stones marking the spot, mixed with Christian symbolism of the cross.

Climbing higher still we entered the main cave. The cave has been created over the centuries by water coming from above and washing away the rock beneath. As the space took on a spiritual significance, man may have also helped to further carve the interior space. The water had created a wall to the outside and a large 200M x 100M x 50M central space. The space had clear areas that were bounded off by rocks where people were living for some periods of time. Some of the spaces looked more “settled” than others and this may indicate those that are for long and short term stays respectively.

There was a large central “alter” space with candles and the remnants of candles. Deeper in the cave, there was clearly a back chamber in the darkened portion of the inner cave. There were people in it that were clearly conducting a ritual and we therefore did not go near there

The pilgrims welcomed our presence and sometimes spoke with Paul in Afrikaans. Several of the women were from Johannesburg (a 5 hour car ride away) who had been there for the past week and were getting ready to leave. They really wanted to be to be photographed here in this place. They were clearly pleased about their time there and wanted to share this with us. As we left them and moved to another section of the cave, we noticed that they were digging up dirt to take back with them to Johannesburg.

We moved out of the main space where the people had been and came to a longer narrower section with exquisitely built structures. They lined both the interior and the outer wall of the space and were often stacked one upon the other. You can see that some of the structures are made of mud, others of stone and some of reeds. You can also get a sense of the curvature of the roof and the outside wall of the cave to the left in this picture.

Next came this wonderful painting of angels which fascinated us for its blending of traditional and Christian (that picture is for you Laura). I then tried to capture the curved “ceiling wall” over this space to give you a sense of the way in which the water carved out this place.

Around the next bend, there was a sign written in English that said “no photographs”. So cameras were put away and regrettably you have only my poor attempts at descriptions. The space beyond this sign was filled with “spirit-houses”, at least we think that they were “spirit houses”. Some were large enough for a person to sleep in, others were tiny, but all were beautifully designed and built. This space continued for perhaps another 200 meters but the space was much narrower than the original cave and felt much more intimate. The structures used different building techniques, some stone, some reed, some wood and displayed different design motives. I was wishing that I could sketch, but none of us had sketch paper. There were no people in this section of the cave and after exploring the exteriors of the structures for half an hour.

We then went over a final wall and came to the last space within this enormous cave. This section is marked by the white, round stone building in the last six photographs. We met a woman and her son there who were very happy to welcome us. She was clearly living there and it was she who I had seen hanging out clothes when we first approached the cave area. She showed us the way down from the cave which had changed since Paul's last visit. This was a mark of the vibrancy of the place, how long it has existed is unknown, but clearly it is an active, vibrant changing place of devotion and reverence.

After climbing down from the cave entrance, we crossed the river again and started for the car.

In front of us was a group of pilgrims who were leaving after being in the krans for some time. They turned to greet us and asked that we photograph them. We followed this group for some time and then they stopped and let us pass. We assumed that they were resting, but no sooner had we passed, than they started to sing. It sounded like a beautiful song of goodbye to the cave and the spirits who dwell there.

We walked along listening to the song and then the sound of the river, until the farm came into view again. Just there we met an old woman who was walking all alone. Paul spoke with her and she said that she was from Johannesburg and that she had journeyed form there by herself. She said that she was sick and felt a need to go to the cave. She also said that she was very scared because she was all alone. Paul told her that she did not need to be scared, that there were many people at the cave and she would not be alone. This seemed to comfort her somewhat and we left amazed at what we had seen.

I was struck by the reverence of this space, the pilgrims were happy to share it with us as long as we behaved in a manner befitting the place. We were quiet on our walk back, reveling in an appreciation for the people's devotion and the shared experience of the sacred.

The Picture Which Awoke the World

On June 16, 1976, schoolchildren in the South-west Township (SoWeTo) began a protest against the imposition of Afrikaans in their classrooms. On that day, the protest was brutally put down by the police. The death of one of the victims that day, Hector Pieterson, was captured in a picture that quickly dispersed throughout the world. This iconic image was for many people the first stark visualization of the realities of the apartheid system.

Sam Nzima who took the photo and another journalist rushed Hector to a clinic, but he was already dead. Nzima and Mbuyisa Makhubo, the young man who carried him, were both later arrested by the police.

I remember this photograph as an 11 year-old sitting in New Hampshire. I like many in the west did not know anything of the realities faced by people in this country, but I do remember the horror of the image. A South African friend told me the other day that she too remembers this photo and it was for her "another piece in the puzzle." I have often wondered what were South African whites thinking during apartheid - did they think it could last for ever. A friend said the other day that "you cannot imagine how controlled the information was for us. " But she continued, "We were taught not to ask questions. And, of course, we did not want to see." She later remarked that this lasted until one day when reading something opened her eyes, and then then everything seemed so clear.

Today, I reminded of a talk last night on bird calls. The speaker said that there is so much stimuli all of the time that our minds are so very good at filtering out that which we cannot absorb. He had been a young birder, but had lost track of the songs of the birds as he grew and got busy with school and then his career. It took conscious effort and practice for him again "hear the bird calls that were all around him."

What am I not hearing that is all around me?

April 5, 2008

We visited the museum dedicated to the Soweto uprisings and named for Hector. Hector Pieterson Memorial and Museum lies in the heart of Soweto in a direct line to the spot where young Hector lost his life.

It provides a great introduction to this moment in history. This is a really well curated museum. It focuses on this single event and it's size is manageable for the novice, allowing a person to step into this one event and understand it . There is quite good information on the precedents and antecedents to the events of the day, without the overwhelming the visitor with the full sweep of this period of South Africa's history. The visitor comes away with a more complete understanding of what that iconic photograph represented and today represents.

Outside of the museum, the photo is displayed in a beautiful fountain. To the left of the fountain, one can get a panoramic view of this portion of the vast Sowetan township.

Walking Man in Jo' burg

This is a wonderful image on the side of a sky scraper in the CBD (Central Business District).

Okay an aside - one of my pet peeves about newspapers here in SA is that they utilize acronyms without saying what they refer to---ARGGHH. Come on people not everyone is on the inside...I feel like I am constantly in a meeting of higher ed types -- who just love acronyms.

Any way "Jo'burg Man" was created by Dale Yudelman and Arlene Amaler-Raviv to celebrate the vibrancy of the city. They combined a photo of turn-of-the-century Jo'burg with a "building-sized" farmer walking through the middle of town dominating everything around him. This poster dominates Main Street in the CBD.

'He strides with pride across the cityscape of Johannesburg at the turn of the twentieth century. He has toiled the soil, built our city and owns his own identity - An icon of contemporary man
in a free South Africa.'

The CBD today is in a state of transition. During the 1970's, many businesses, retail and residential interests fled the city for the relative safety of the Northern Suburbs. The central area of the city was largely abandoned by whites and middle class blacks. What was left was largely barricaded, walled and blocked off. The main offices of the vibrant banking community remain as well as provincial government, city government and some larger businesses.

But the city remains vibrant and teeming with activity. We were
down on a walking tour on a Saturday morning in March so the streets in the photo to the left look devoid of people. On a weekday, the streets are full of people. A few streets over from this photo are large street markets, restaurants and other small businesses.

Downtown Jo'burg is not a first stop on most tourist agendas and some of our Jo'burg friends have not been in the center city since the 70's, but it is a really interesting place. The many vacant buildings or buildings housing squatter settlements are enough to scare middle-class people away. One has to be mindful when in downtown, but its reputation seems worse than the reality (at least during the daytime.)

The spot where this photo was taken is in an Urban Development Zone. Essentially businesses in the area band together and take responsibility for security, improvements, trash and other services and in exchange the government gives them back some tax dollars to support these efforts. Interesting idea and seems to be effective in pockets of the city.

Two weeks after this day, we were back in the CBD for a charity auction. Our friend Rosemary, suggested we go to a Chinese Restaurant that she had not been to for years. We drove through the deserted city streets and found the Swallows Inn restaurant on Commissioner's Street. We were the only people in the place, but the food was divine. Rosemary said that it lived up to all of her memories and we plan a return visit soon.