Township Visit

Mike, Anna, and I spent one of our afternoons in Cape Town visiting some of the townships.  These townships were built by the government during the apartheid and were designated for non-white people.  We visited four different townships: Nyanga (“moon”), Langa (“sun”), Guguletu, and Khayelitsha.  Some of the neighborhoods are made up of shacks and others have actual houses.  We had the chance to visit a shack of a woman who was friends with our cab driver and we also had the chance to go to our cab driver’s home and meet his family.  Had we not done this, my view of Cape Town and South Africa would have been completely different.  Although we had passed the townships on our way to shark diving and wine tasting, we were mostly sheltered from seeing this way of life until we took the time to drive through them and visit with the people.

When we first arrived at the shack, we were introduced to the woman who lives there.  She welcomed us inside.  Her home was small, but surprisingly more spacious than the way it looked from the outside.  Since all of the other shacks were so close by, we could hear loud music being played next door and muffled conversations of the neighbors.  When we first walked in the door, we were in an area that included the kitchen, living room, laundry room, and everything else—all in a space the size of a large closet.  When we walked into her bedroom, which was the only room separate from the main area, I could see that she had been working on making some type of jewelry because I saw beads and string on her bed and a book with instructions for making jewelry.  It was the middle of the day and she was sitting alone in her room doing this.  We learned that she used to have a job working for an NGO that helped women with HIV and AIDS but for whatever reason she didn’t have that job anymore and making jewelry was the only thing she could do to try and make money.  (Unfortunately, many of the people who live in the townships are unemployed.)

Next, we drove to our cab driver’s home, which was in a nicer neighborhood in a different township.  We pulled up to his house and saw tons of little kids running around in the street and coming in and out of the house.  I knew that our cab driver only had two children who were 11 and 13 so I wasn’t sure who all these little kids were.  Either way, I went right over to them to say hello.  Within seconds I was surrounded by a mob of kids who were running their hands through my hair, touching my face with their sticky fingers, and looking straight into my eyes with curiosity.  I started taking pictures and videos of them with my camera, which I showed to them after.  When they saw themselves on the screen, they would scream with excitement.  I don’t know how much time went by while I was outside with the kids, but apparently Mike and Anna had already been given a tour of the home because when they came back outside they were laughing and shaking their heads as if to say, “Why are we not surprised to find you out here?”  (No matter where we are or what we are doing, I always find a way to play with kids.)

I had to pull myself away so that I’d have time see the house and meet the members of our cab driver’s family before we had to leave.  Anna and Mike stayed outside and the cab driver was getting ready to go, so I went inside by myself.  I peeked into a bedroom where a woman was sitting on a bed next to two little babies and another woman was lying down on another bed.  The woman who was lying down looked like she was being treated for something because there were bandages around her leg.  I walked over to the women and hugged them each of them and thanked them for letting me into their home.  I don’t know why it is so easy for me to embrace complete strangers in other countries when I know I would feel awkward initiating this in the United States.  Back in the U.S., people know better than to waltz right into the bedroom of a home they are visiting for the first time.  However, in places like this, where so many people are crammed into a small house, there is not much privacy, which creates a feeling of openness.

After hugging them, I started asking them questions.  “Who lives here?” “Is this your baby?  She’s so adorable!”  I told them that their home was lovely and that all of the children were so beautiful.  I asked if they minded me taking pictures….  Just when I started to think I was being too forward and getting too close, the woman who had been sitting on the bed looked up, gave me a huge smile, and walked me out of the bedroom and into the main area of the house.  She very proudly told me that this was her home and that she would be happy to pose for my picture if I would like to have a picture of her.  I told her of course I did, and I could not help but smile while this large, completely unashamed, woman posed brilliantly for my camera.  I could tell that at that moment she felt special and proud—proud of her family and proud of her home.  I could also tell that she loved how happy I was to be there, and it’s true, I was so happy to be there.  I then linked arms with her and asked if she minded me looking around at the rest of the house.

It is amazing how much you get if you just ask.  Why are we so afraid to do this in the United States?  Why are we scared to touch people or get too close?  We are so worried that we might offend someone or that our questions might be too personal.  So instead, we keep our distance.  But I’d rather risk being a little too forward than miss out on the opportunity to experience this intimacy with other people.  So far, no one has turned down my hugs or refused to answer my questions.  I’ve found that people are happy to share about themselves and they are usually just as curious about me. 

My new friend led me to a room in the back of the house and said, “Grandmother.”  Inside, an elderly woman, also heavy, was sitting on a bed with one of the little children clinging onto her legs.  The woman was excited to tell me that this was her mother and that they were “mother and daughter.”  I asked about the child to try and understand if this was “grandma and granddaughter.”  I got a smile and what seemed like a half-yes, but there was still something more that I wasn’t getting. 

We moved on to another room in the house.  I opened the door and saw about 10 women sitting in a circle.  I realized there was no way that all of these women were family members so there was no point in me every asking if they were all “cousins” or “sisters.”  It was becoming clear to me that this home was filled with many more people than just the family—a concept I didn’t really understand.  Sure, we have friends and family over, but usually there is a reason, such as a birthday, holiday or planned get together.  And I always considered our home a welcoming place, where the door is always open, but on regular basis, in the middle of a weekday, our house isn’t a place where all of our family, friends, and neighbors convene.

It was obvious that these women weren’t all related, but it also didn’t appear to be a casual group of friends.  It looked like a meeting of some sort and there was a bowl of money in the middle.  That voice in my head was telling me I should just turn around and not ask questions because it was probably rude and too personal.  But I ignored that voice and walked right in.  I introduced myself and started making conversation.  I learned that it was a “savings club.”  I was relieved.  Part of me expected them to say something like, “a secret meeting for prostitutes.”  That would have been awkward, especially considering that I would have probably sat down with them and started asking them questions for my sexuality class.  But it wasn’t a group of hookers (even though that would’ve explained the money.)  Instead, it was a group of women who regularly get together to talk about saving money for food.  They explained to me that they usually try to save about 500 rand to invest each month.  At the end of the year they take all the money and go to the “big grocery shop” and buy things wholesale.  I probably should have joined them after all—I could learn a thing or two about saving money.

Before I knew it, I was being called to leave by our cab driver.  I forgot we had told him that we needed to be back by a certain time.  Otherwise I would’ve stayed there all day.  I said my goodbyes to the women I’d met and on my way out I waved goodbye to all of the little children. In the car on the way back to the ship, I asked my cab driver who all of the little children were.  He explained to me that they don’t have parents or homes so they stay with families in the neighborhood.  He described a few of the children who stay with his family.  I asked if it is like adoption and he said yes.  It’s sad that he didn’t mention them in the beginning when I asked about his kids, but I guess it’s different for them with so many little children without homes.  So instead of just one of the children being considered a member of their family, they take care of all of the children and consider them all children of the neighborhood family.  As much as it breaks my heart to think of these children without their own moms and dads, I could not imagine a kinder family to watch over them.