2.5 down

Today marks my two and a half week anniversary here, roughly. And what a two weeks it has been. The first section here is more of a story (the experience called for it), and the second is more of a description of what I’ve been up to thus far.

THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

Two days after I arrived, my good buddy Austin Grisham (who is spending the summer in Mozambique, and came down for a visit) and I navigated our way down to the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve. Given our inexperience with (1) driving on the other side of the road, and (2) navigating the very un-grid-like nature of streets in Cape Town, this was no small feat. On our way, we stopped in Simon’s Town for breakfast, an obvious but loveable touristy waterfront town with loads of curiosity shops, antique stores, and breakfast joints. We ate omelettes, drank good filter coffee, talked about life, and paid our bill. Then we carried on: toward the southern-most tip of land on the African continent.

Windows down, we wound and bended our way along the rocky shoreline of False Bay. The sun was directly above us now, as we passed fewer and fewer houses and convenience shops. We drove higher. The water now hundreds of feet below us.

We followed the signs, turned into the Reserve, and paid $8 each to enter. The road turned up and to the right, and, following it, found ourselves at the beginning of a giant plateau that stretched itself for 3 miles towards the meeting point of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans . There was coarse ground cover with thorns and brittle branches, the only thing that survives the endless torture of sand and wind. I turned and looked through the back window: behind us, the high, hidden peaks of Table Mountain, beams of light and dust, deep shadows of rock.

Three miles down we turned right and descended again to the seashore. We parked the car where the road and the world ended, and stood watching, speechless as the icy ocean waters, at long last, threw themselves on dry land.

Up a cliff some five hundred feet tall, to the wind torn stern of the Eastern world. The wild and untamed waters that stretch to Antarctica. Waves fifteen, twenty feet tall for a mile out. To the northwest, the shimmering sea. To the southeast, the cliffs who like wise old men show their strength through a worn but tireless face.

One is silenced to receive with one’s eyes something so spiritual. The gift was itself a doxology. When the unsearchable God hid Himself in creation, I think, He gave to the Cape Point His mystery and power. It is the most incredible landscape I have ever seen, to be sure.

REALITY, ETC

One of my first sensory impressions of Cape Town came just as we left the airport (my supervisors, Gilly and Gareth picked me up when I landed around 11 pm). The first image was a huge sign advertising World Cup 2010. It hung on a building at the airport that was being renovated. It was as nice as any airport building I’ve seen. The second image, as we merged onto the interstate, was Khayelitsha, the city’s largest informal settlement (slum), home to at least a million people (almost exclusively black) and thousands of tin roofed shacks that pack and jigsaw themselves snugly together. The juxtaposition of these images is a guiding metaphor for the history and nature of this place. 40% of Cape Town has no job. 50% live in poverty. The top 5% drive Bentleys and wear Italian wool. The rapidity with which the demographic changes here is sickening; there are no train tracks in South Africa.

But, there is hope. Organizations like mine, The Warehouse, are bearers of it. My first day at work-an actual warehouse-was a testimony to this. Like every day there, we spent the first hour praying for this country, and for one another.. I met the 15+ other employees; they are wonderful, filled with a love for Jesus and a wise, compassionate concern for Cape Town’s poor. In a city so darkened by a history of racism, they are a burning light.

A few of us ate lunch in a local township (ghetto, basically) at a “braii” (grill), where you pick your meat, take it to the braii room, and have it delivered on big platters. [For you Memphians, it's like the Butcher Shop without all that FDA hassle ] It was delicious.

The xenophobic violence started here nine days ago. Since then, the WH has become a central distribution point for food, clothing, and blankets. The truest blessing, for me, is how obvious it is that this immediate, tireless, and sustained response (which will go on for weeks to come) is because of a love for Jesus-for His justice, His compassion, and His generosity. To see them give their weekends and night times for this effort is so decidedly un-American. After all, I am good at giving money, because it costs so much less than giving time.

As I mentioned, the WH will sustain its relief and rehabiliation for the refugees as long as is necessary, without knowing when that will be. What a blessing to be working for such an incredible group of people.

My research will not begin for a week weeks. The first reason is the xenophobia response, which has taken priority these past nine days. The second reason is that Gilly (my supervisor) and I have been preparing a presentation on community savings schemes, which we will present tomorrow at an economic development conference in Pietermaritzburg. The third reason is that I need to become a familar face in the townships I will be researching, as they are extremely wary of those outside their community. Since I am an outsider (and white), I can not go alone, but rather must go with Jonathan or Goodman, WH employees who are considered “men of peace” in these places. This phase will prove to be tedious, I think, but nonetheless is extremely crucial. To do otherwise would be imprudent and unethical (I can’t just study people like they are objects).

My living conditions are excellent. My bed is very comfortable, and I have been eating well. The two women from whom I am renting (I live in a small apartment behind their house) are named Caroline and Rene. They are wonderful people. We have already shared many laughs and stories.

I was given a phone and so am working my way into a social network, comprised of WH employees, church friends (I will save the description of church for another blog), and related spheres. I often get text messages inviting me to this or that, and just this morning played soccer with about 15 other college-aged guys.

Pray that I would spend time in the Word every day. Pray that I would be about serving those at the WH, and those whom I will be studying. Pray also for the Lord’s guidance in Rachel and I deciding whether she can come visit in a month or so. Praise the Lord that He has already given me such a love for this place! (I mean, it’s Cape Town-google it for a picture, and you will understand) Praise Him for my growing love for the practice of development, and for being a voice for those who are voiceless.

Please pray!

The news about the recent xenophobic attacks throughout South Africa may or may not have reached the desks of US newscasters. In the past 24 hours, however, these attacks-aimed exclusively at other Africans (no Europeans or Americans have been targeted)-have spread to Cape Town.

As we speak, the Warehouse (the organization for whom I am working) is receiving those who have been displaced by these acts of injustice. Some are coming because they were forced; others are coming because they are simply (and understandably) scared.

Please pray for God’s mercy and justice in this situation, and for us as we work to receive the victims to provide food, shelter, and storage of household possessions to them. Please pray, as well, for the violence to stop.

I am perfectly safe and privileged to be among an organization of believers who are responding to this situation with courage and compassion. There is no need to be concerned about me! I am only asking for your prayers over South Africa in the coming days.

Much love to you all.

christian

 

 

Buechner wrote that “life itself is grace”. Follow me for the next twelve weeks, as I write about what that means for a twenty year old follower of Jesus studying poor people in South Africa. Hopefully, I will remember this given experience as a story about Jesus again crowning himself in my own heart for His greater purposes and His kingdom, a story of the “inward coronation,” wrote George Buttrick, “that takes place among confession, and tears, and great laughter.”