High’s and Low’s

One of the special routines our Reach Out group has at the end of our “daily” wrap up meetings is our High’s and Low’s session. We go around the room and each share his or her high and low moments for the day. Some hate it.  Some love it. But I think all of us have become accustomed to it and agree that it is very much a ROSA (Reach Out South Africa) tradition, so I’m going to use it as a template for my reflection on my 1.5 week experience in Cape Town so far.

High’s

1. Kindergarteners at Power Child. Power Child is the name of the children’s home that we volunteered at for the first week.  Every day around 11am, anywhere from 0 to 130 kindergarteners come and spend a couple of hours using Power Child’s facilities (soccer field, playground, toys, etc.) and playing with Power Child staff. After four days of interacting with these absolutely adorable little 5-year olds, I’ve come to realize that we don’t necessarily need language to communicate with one another. Many of these kids knew minimal English if any and spoke Xhosa, a language I definitely cannot speak. But I could tell when they were thirsty, when they wanted to be held, or when they pooped in their pants (actually, that one I couldn’t tell until someone else told me, but still). Their facial expressions, body language, and actions were things that are found universally in children and adults all over the world. The purity and innocence of these kindergarteners highlighted the significance and beauty of these universal qualities.

2. Soccer “Sista.” It was one of those days when there were very few kids at Power Child and there was nothing for me to do besides sit on the bench and stare out the window at the elementary school boys playing soccer. I was super bored though so I decided to just walk out to the field and ask if I can join (actually, I asked if they can teach me how to play). It must have been weird. There I was, a pale Asian girl, definitely a decade older and at least a foot taller than they, asking if I can join in their game of soccer. But one kid laughed and answered okay. He claimed he was a professional and would take me on his team so he can teach me to play soccer. Of course, I barely improved, but it was the best game of soccer I’ve ever played. The kids called me “sista” and gave me high-fives just for kicking the ball in the right direction. The very next day, while passing by Power Child’s soccer field, one of the kids shouted “Sista! Remember me?” and yelled his name while pointing to himself. And I thought, how could I forget them and our short but meaningful friendships that overcame differences in age, race, gender and soccer abilities?

3. Coaching Soccer. The only sport I’ve ever played is field hockey freshman year of high school, when they didn’t hold tryouts; after that, I stuck to marching band. I am positive I can’t run a mile in under 10 minutes. At Power Child, I lost soccer matches against both a 7-year old and 10-year old. But the second to last day of volunteering, the soccer coach made me his assistant and the little children followed me around calling me “coach.” It was an awesome feeling.

Low’s

1. An Almost All-Nighter. The second day of Reach Out, I stayed up until 6:30am working on a paper. I then went to bed until 8 to get up in time for a huge breakfast before the first day of volunteering.  Surprisingly, I wasn’t too tired during the day (someone told me it has to do with adrenalin or something), but then I crashed later that night.

2. Sun-burn. Do not let the clouds trick you; the sun can still get you through them.

3. Departure. This may sound corny, but I don’t care. I cannot believe how quickly the time flew by and hate hearing that our Reach Out group has only three days in South Africa before returning to New Haven. I want to keep playing with the 5-year olds at Power Child; I want to keep being the least talented soccer coach in all of Africa; and I want to stay in 80 degree weather! ROSA has been an amazing experience and its biggest low in my opinion is that it has to come to an end… Again, I apologize for the corniness.

- Yoonie Hoh

The Little Things That Count

In my very first sociology class at Yale, we read a passage that said that every student goes into the major wanting to change the world. Every student then leaves the major more aware of how the world works, of how complicated the world’s problems really are, and realizes that it’s not that easy to change things. Despite the pessimistic introduction, I kept my (naïve? misguided?) hopefulness and studied societies and their problems. But there is only so much you can read and this Reach Out trip has allowed me to get out from behind my computer screen and books. Working here in South Africa, I have come to face everything I only thought about in theory. Also, and more importantly, it has been a wonderful opportunity to give back.

When I first got to Power Child and Women for Peace I really didn’t know what to expect. By volunteering on the ground level rather than in an NGO or in some type of administrative body I got to see how development work actually looks like on a day to day basis for the people receiving aid. Most of the day involves simple tasks like peeling fruits and vegetables or throwing a soccer ball back and forth with a group of kids. And it’s the little things that count – and that are sometimes surprisingly hard. One day, I spent an hour trying to get a little girl to read a short book, fighting my urge to yawn and always trying to sound encouraging. Another time I tried, in vain, not to fall as six or seven three-year-olds all jumped on top of me, each one wanting to be carried. I really wanted to pamper all of them but at times I was absolutely overwhelmed and exhausted.

And yet – call me corny – it’s also the little things that have made this experience so enriching. A couple of little boys showed me that puzzle pieces are not actually puzzle pieces but make for great steering wheels and imaginary car races. I gave paper and crayons to a group of giggling kindergarteners who all drew funny cartoons of me. On another day, we all learned how to play duck-duck-goose in Xhosa, the language spoken in the township we worked at. Actually, we didn’t learn it that well, we were all teased hopelessly for mispronouncing things and getting the clicking noise wrong. Still, it was the cultural similarities more than anything else that made this experience so special. I was struck by how easy it was to relate with and get close to the children at both the institutions we volunteered in. The world may be complicated and messy, these kids and I are incredibly different which is unfair and unjustifiable. But on the ground level, in the day to day, we’re all so similar that I feel less embarrassed to admit that I’m still optimistic that the world can change.

- Isabel Jijon

Contradictions of a Country

Looking back at our week of volunteering in Mfuleni, a lot stands out in my mind.  South Africa is a country of literally polar opposites and Cape Town illustrates this better than any other city in the country. I have spent a significant amount of time in South Africa and Cape Town specifically, but it was pretty much completely one-sided. I have spent almost all of my time in South Africa in relatively wealthy suburbs, with the only reminders that I am not in California being the occasional beggar on the side of the road and the barbed wire fencing surrounding all houses.

Mfuleni was eye-opening because it was a reminder that the South Africa that I know is not the South Africa that most South Africans know. The townships are a good 45 minutes to an hour away from the beautiful city center of Cape Town with its imposing beaches and and stunning mountains. The gorgeous views from Signal Hill, sundowners in Camps Bay, or summer concerts in Kirstenbosch are completely foreign to most people in townships and it seemed unfair that we, as seventeen foreigners, were able to experience the best parts of the country, while the residents of townships like Khayelitsha or Mfuleni would never or rarely share such sights.

Spending time in Mfuleni put the contradictions of the country into perspective for us. Every morning we would leave our comfortable hotel for a forty-five minute bus ride into the townships, where children would speak little English, wear mismatch clothing and no shoes, and cattle would roam freely throughout the soccer fields. In the evenings, we would return to Cape Town, where the surroundings were enough to fool us that we were in some  European country where people would speak English with ambiguous accents.

In the townships, we would spend the day keeping between sixty and one hundred sixty young children occupied, teaching them our games, while they would share with us bits of Xhosa and their schoolyard songs. I spent a lot of time working in the kitchen helping prepare meals for the over one hundred young children, adults, and seniors who came in and out of Power Child every day. Preparing healthy food for such a large number of people is a production to say the least. Every day, it would be a mad rush to peel and cut vegetables, boil rice, and wash dishes for the hungry mouths patiently waiting for their meals. The food was always simple- a scoop of rice and a spoonful of some type of vegetable stew. It was not uncommon for food to run out and haphazard preparations to be made to feed the unlucky twenty-something children who were last in line. The people who we worked with at Power-Child were always patient and took such challenges in stride. It was amazing that they went through this process day in and day out and never seemed tired or exhausted.

As the week progressed and we each learned the names of specific children, I could not help but wonder where these kids will end up in ten to twenty years down the line. Unemployment for 16-25 year olds in South Africa is over 50% and most of the unemployed come from townships or similar backgrounds. There would come a time when these kids would have to make life altering decisions-should they get involved in the profitable trade of crime, would they make risky choices that would result in HIV-AIDS, or would they resort to other paths, such as drugs or alcoholism? With their poor English skills, high university fees, and living in the isolated townships, all factors seem to be stacked against them. There are so many structural problems in South Africa that keep people like the children we met down that it seems almost impossible for them to overcome it. It is hard to be optimistic when looking at statistics on South Africa's poorest, but I am hoping that in time some of the biggest problems will be slowly ameliorated.

We went to Parliament last week, and the Chairperson on Human Settlements assured us that universal housing will eventually be achieved and movements have been made to place government housing closer to the cities, in order to combat the legacies of apartheid. The Committee on Higher Education also unveiled their plans to increase the number of Africans from poorer households in universities and to provide support for them once they are in university to ensure their successes. Despite robust legislation and policies, gaps remain and South Africa is still the most unequal society in the world. I suppose baby steps are necessary, but when looking at the townships and thinking about the almost seventeen years since the end of apartheid, I cannot help but wonder how long most South Africans are going to have to wait for the end of these extreme socio-economic inequalities.

- Tasnim Motala

Thoughts on the Week

It’s the Monday after we completed our week of volunteering and I wonder if the kids remember us. Over the course of a week, we played with hundreds of kids, picked up at least fifty each, and had countless endearing moments that only situations with children can produce. But, again, we were only there for a week.

It is perhaps difficult to justify voluntourism to some extent. Our trip leader was very open about the fact that this trip was, in many ways, more selfish than not. After all, we left each morning for the township from our beachfront hotel after a filling breakfast. Even my thoughts are selfish. I wonder if the kids remember us, not whether or not we affected them positively.

The one major benefit of voluntourism that I think me and my 16 tripmates have experienced is exposure. For almost all of us, it was our first time in South Africa. For all of us, it became a country we fell in love with and a city we will not forget.  Maybe we will end up back here in a few years – and this time to make a real impact.

- Shahla Naimi

Express Yourself

The first day at Power Child Campus Matt, Shala, Yoonie, Rick and I got to sit in on the Campus drama program. The program is lead by a local resident Monabise who began acting as a means of social protest during the Apartheid-protest era in the late 1980s, early 1990s.  Monabise told me his story: he would go to political protests in Cape Town where movement leaders would be speaking. Monabise started miming out what the leaders were saying which was both amusing and instrumental for those in the crowd who did not understand the language the leaders were speaking. Monabise began doing this at more and more rallies, traveling around the country. While he has no formal training in acting, he has picked up many performance skills and exercises along the way. Physical communication is second nature to him. Many times in talking with Monabise he would break off his sentence and begin to express his meaning physically or indicate how he or another person was feeling through exaggerated facial expressions. I can easily see how he applied this same method to expressing the concerns of the anti-apartheid movement and the oppression of apartheid itself.

Monabise now applies his method of expression to his work at Power Child: working with children who are victims of domestic abuse. Monabise opens the vocabulary of the body to help these children express themselves, open their eyes to new creative outlets, and even get into specifics of the abuse they experience at home. The children have written a play based on their own experiences of abuse and the challenges they observe in their community including drug abuse, domestic strife, and unemployment. While I was not able to see all of the play itself, watching and participating with the children in some theater exercises was amazing in and of itself. These kids fully opened up: expressing themselves with theater, song, and dance. It was clear that the children had found not only something they enjoyed, but also a creative outlet they could use to express and explore themselves.

- Sigrid von Wendel

Lessons Learned at UCT

Before arriving in South Africa, I had not realized that the extent to which the legacies of the apartheid continue to permeate society.  According to Professor Nattrass, the University of Cape Town, along with most other institutions in South Africa, practices affirmative action.  Unlike the United States, however, affirmative action in South Africa intends to elevate the majority race rather than the minority.  The competition for white students is therefore apparently very harsh – only white students with top credentials are accepted, while, in Professor Nattrass’s words, B-grade black students may gain seats.  This trend holds true even at the graduate school level.  Yet most of these students, irrespective of race, are from economically privileged backgrounds.  Thus, affirmative action merely appears to punish the white population for their apartheid policies rather than attempt to extend opportunities to truly disadvantaged populations.  Though I can understand the rationale behind such affirmative action, I’m not sure if this is the best way to address the racial divides.  These policies have actually seemed to elicit more interracial tension and resentment than reconciliation.  And despite efforts to integrate the races at UCT, as Marieme and I observed, black students predominantly talk with black students, Indian students with other Indians, and whites with other whites.  The divisions of society are thereby perpetuated, even in an institution that actively attempts to combat the repercussions of apartheid. 

Nevertheless, the South Africa I experienced is markedly different from the South Africa I had learned about in class.  I could observe the immense progress since the apartheid and Mbeki’s notorious AIDS denialism just by walking the halls of UCT.  In the corner of a bathroom at UCT stood a dispenser bearing the words, “PREVENT HIV/AIDS , WEAR A CONDOM.”  The black packets, each adorned with a red ribbon, contains ten condoms each – evidence of the university’s tireless efforts to curb the pandemic.  Posters that advertised lectures on “HIV/AIDS and Masculinity” and “HIV/AIDS and Religion” seemed to indicate that HIV is no longer a closeted term, but rather a common acronym in public discourse.   This openness was a refreshing and promising alternative to the bleak picture of stigma painted in my classes at Yale.  It was tempting to believe that my professors had exaggerated the controversy surrounding the disease, and that South Africa as a whole was ready to not only accept the biological basis of transmission and control, but also achieve universal access to preventative measures and ARVs.  Unfortunately, one look outside the UCT bathroom window, at the fashionably dressed students with their evidently expensive summer dresses and shades, reminded me that I was only observing the educated upper crust, in stark contrast to the impoverished children with whom the rest of the Reach Out group volunteered.  It troubled me when Professor Nattrass told me that even this cohort had difficulty accepting their own chances of HIV infection.  The university’s previous campaign, in which signs that read “the Face of an HIV(+) Student” hung above mirrors lined with condoms, was aborted because students were too uncomfortable with the idea that HIV could strike anyone.  If this was the case in an elite institution, what was the reality of HIV prevention in other impoverished or remote areas within South Africa?

- Pooja Yerramilli

"With You I Am Well Pleased"

I’ve only been in Cape Town a little over a week yet I have truly fallen in love with the beauty of this city. I had the chance during our time here to work at the University of Cape Town for Rebecca Hodes, Deputy Director of the AIDS and Society Research Unit. The campus itself was gorgeous—set at the base of South Africa’s famous Table Mountain with buildings covered in beautiful vines (the way Morse and Stiles were originally meant to be) and complete with a stunning view of the entire city of Cape Town, UCT was a welcome respite from Yale’s blustery winter.

My work for Rebecca involved researching the literature on the changing attitudes of medical professionals towards the reproductive rights of South African women from apartheid to the present. Reproductive rights encompass contraception, abortion, sterilization, etc. Pooja [Yerramilli] was the other student working on this research project along with me and the two of us got to spend the first week of the trip working from 9am to 5pm in Room 4.29, the office for the Leslie Center for Social Science Research. The work would have become monotonous if it weren’t for the fact that Rebecca herself was so knowledgeable and excited about the topic. She had assigned us readings to do before we arrived and when we spoke about them upon first meeting dubbed them “lekker interesting”. After so much research, I can speak with confidence on the topic of reproductive rights of South African women and the policies, laws, and attitudes that have affected those rights.

The work we did was incredibly interesting and very relevant to some of the pressing issues facing South Africa today. One of the biggest problems, however, is still the legacy left behind by apartheid. Comparing Cape Town—located entirely between a gorgeous stretch of beach and picturesque mountains and bringing to mind California in many ways—to places like Mfuleni, the township housing the children’s home and Power Child campus that all the other Reach Out participants on our trip worked for, you can’t help but notice the glaring disparities in housing, SES, jobs, etc. The fact that such large inequalities still exist in 2011 is demoralizing, and those who just stand by and passively allow them to continue are the people who I personally hold the most accountable.

The title of this post comes from graffiti I saw as we drove to Mfuleni on the first (and only) day that Pooja and I went to work with the children instead of working on our research. I was boiling with anger at the conditions that people were being allowed to live in while others live comparatively peaceful lives in giant beach houses with no worries and no thought to those less fortunate, but that graffiti was able to calm me in a way that I don’t really understand. I do not kid myself with the idea of “sustainability” that people throw around because those kids are not going to remember the “smile I put on their faces” one year from now, let alone when a decade from now when they’re teens and adults, but I know that I won’t ever forget meeting them. Maybe it’s selfish, that I got more out of our crossed paths than the children did but I hope to return the favor in the years to come by journeying back to South Africa (and Senegal, the place of my own heritage) when I know that I can make a truly sustainable difference.

- Mariame Mbaye

Liberation

I like to dress nicely. As Tasnim included the Parliament visit as a part of the Reachout trip, I brought a full suit even though it took substantial amount of space in my suitecase (to the extent where I sacrificed bringing underwears). Aesthetics over practicality. Today during the Parliament visit, I was strolling around different buildings in my black suit that my dad bought me for my Yale interview, with a striped pink-red tie that hang around my neck. Perhaps it was a good representation of my persona. I am a huge fan of learning. I would like to arm myself with intellects, wits and wisdom and be the one who can proudly present himself in front of others. I am a proud Yalie. I would like to be successful. I would like to become a human being who self-realizes/actualizes and reaches his maximum potential. The suit was my persona and my persona was in my suite.

After the visit, I came back to my room and took my clothes off. Then I realized how sweaty and stuffy I felt in that formal suit. When I was untying my tie, I let out a breath of relief, realizing how it has been strangling my neck the whole day. As I was folding my clothes, I heard waves from outside. The sun was shining brilliantly, and the waves couldn’t have sounded any cooler. Okay, I need to run. Wait, maybe not just a normal run, but a barefoot run—I’ve been sick and tired of walking around in those black dress shoes. Wait, maybe without any shirt—I’m sick and tired of that stuffy suit. But let’s keep on the underwear. Let’s be as liberating as possible. Away from this sheltered hotel. To wherever my feet take me. No destination, no time constraint. Let’s be as free as possible, and this run would be awesome.

Then I ran outside along the coastline of Cape Town from my hotel. I ran with the sun and the wind and the ocean and the waves and the sand. As I was running, gazing far ahead in the horizon, my mind drifted to a very near past….

*                 *                *

Since a couple of years ago, I have been running hard for my successful future. At Yale, a lot of my time was devoted to studying and doing activities for learning purposes. To reach my life goal, post-graduation goal and others, I put my maximum efforts in every single thing I did. As a side effect, my first year at Yale, my sphere of activity was confined strictly within New Haven. I was heavily sheltered within the Yale community, unaware and even apathetic to what is going on outside the bubble that I was living in. Living in a utopia—correction, a heaven—why bother worry about something that is outside of it, when I am doing well in my preparation for my path? Despite my international background, I grew more myopic and avoided stepping out of the comfort zone.

Perhaps until I arrived at Rainbow Nation. Deceived by the beauty of Cape Town on the first day, I was shocked upon the visit to the town and the Power Child on the second day.  The well-laid road infrastructure of the first day was replaced with bumpy and unrefined roads; colorful houses with the scenic Cape Town beach background were replaced with bunbustans, or shanties made out of metal plates. Beauty replaced with poverty. English/Dutch-speaking whites replaced with Xhosa-speaking Africans. To be honest, I was thwarted by the situation that I observed with my eyes, and was dubious of my ability to blend with the locals and kids in reaching out.

Thankfully, I soon realized there was no barrier whatsoever between me and those people, despite our different backgrounds. I learned their ways of greeting and handshakes. With that combination of thumbing, high-fiving and pounding, you can win any kid’s heart. I learned their philosophies of life; Sisa told me about the car accident he got into, and the sense he made out of the occasion. I learned their passions, their goals. In their stories and their eyes, I saw a future soccer player, a successful businessman in Joburg, a French learner in Paris, and a professional ballroom dancer. With them I fingerpicked the guitar; with them I kicked soccer balls. With them I loved my toes and became sharks. There was no barrier between us, despite in certain cases where they did not speak English. I ran with them, arm-wrestled with them, got my hair plucked and got dehydrated. I was a Jackie Chen, a China, a goalie, a referee, a coach, a friend, a brother and a tutor. Over my cries from peeling/chopping onions did I bond with the two cooks. Over guitar I bonded with Monabiz and a local jazz guitarist in the town. Over soccer I bonded with innumerable males + KK. The bonds I’ve created in a week—sadly which I cannot bring back home with me—have been enormous and highly meaningful to me.

Without stepping out of the Yale bubble, I would have not realized the extent to which these people were passionate about their dreams, and how their situations did not allow them to achieve those goals. Without it, I would not have understood how all humans are basically the same and how they are dispositionally prone to be easily connected with one another. Without it, I would not have recalled and experienced the presence of the unconditional/pure love that is full of human warmth, which I have been oblivious during my busy college life.

How can ordinary lifestyle bring such epiphany? How can a person living in a sheltered comfort zone experience this? (Floating in the middle of the air of Cape Town? Eating crocodile meat?)

*                 *                *

Thoughts after thoughts, a couple of hours passed and now I am sitting on a pier near the ferris wheel in Waterfront, and am watching the sun setting. It is getting dark and it is time for me to return back to the hotel and say goodbye to this adventure. Then I will be back to the ordinary life, preparing for my own future—reading Plato or Aristotle or whatever—and perhaps forgetting some parts of this trip. But one thing, I will not forget this: that I went on a walk barefoot, not minding blisters and sun and cold ocean water; that I went on a trip with other awesome Yalies, bonding with the locals and realizing how every single individual has his own passion. I may return back to my normal Yalie life striving toward reaching my potential; but I should never forget about the fact that there are those who did not have chances to get any closer to reach their potentials and that there are those whom I should not turn my back to. Like Cameron of the Parliament told us today, us privileged people should continue interacting with the underprivileged and help bringing the equality and fairness of opportunities in this world.

Really, my feet are hurting bad. Blisters here and there and bleeding here and there. But it hurts good. It was worth a walking “trip,” and I would do this again a million times more. And I walk back to the hotel. Thinking about one day returning back and resuming this unfinished adventure of mine. Liberation.

- Andy Mun

"Let Us Cherish"

I was lucky enough to spend last week at the Masigcine Children’s Home along with Meaghan, Nia, and Brittany. Coming off of a stressful midterm season, it was the perfect break from Yale. In the township of Mfuleni, just down the road from Power Child Campus, Masigcine is a home for children from the ages of 3 months to 6 years (with some older exceptions) who are orphaned, abandoned, and/or HIV-positive.

 

It is easy to come up with stereotypes about orphanages – they are drab, depressing, and the kids are lonely and miserable. I wasn’t sure what to expect at the beginning, but within my first few hours, I realized that those stereotypes were nowhere to be found at Masigcine, which menas “let us cherish.” The approximately 20 children at the home are all well cared for and loved by an amazing staff, consisting both of local women and international volunteers. Each day at Masigcine includes healthy meals, naptime (especially for the younger ones, who are not at school during the day), lots of playtime, baths, and time for reading. The kids are very comfortable, and opened up to us right away. It wasn’t long before I had 3-year-olds tugging at me with one request or another – “Mama, I want water,” “Mama, [pick me] up,” etc. The four of us who spent the week at the children’s home each gravitated towards different children – Meaghan and Nia tended to be baby whisperers, while Brittany and I spent a lot of time with the toddlers, who had an amazing mix of personality and independence.

Playing so much with the kids, it was easy to forget why they were there in the first place, but we were humbled by their stories. Babies at the home had been found in toilets, left under beds, and abused and neglected in all manner of ways. Two of the girls I spent the most time with, twins named Maureen and Christine, had apparently been so badly neglected when they arrived at the home two years ago that they were sick all the time, cried constantly, and refused to eat because they didn’t know what food was. The girls they were then did not at all resemble the lively, vivacious girls that I got to know, who were always sweet and ever active, whether modeling the volunteers’ sunglasses, playing on the jungle gym, or turning curtain ties into headbands and posing for cameras. I am fully confident that their beautiful development can be attributed to the work that Masigcine does. Rather than being overwhelmed by the poverty we saw and heartbreaking stories that we heard, I developed a strong sense of hope for Mfuleni and beyond by spending time at this amazing children’s home and knowing that good work is being done with tangible effects, in a form that is so easy to replicate. If you ever make it to Cape Town, Mfuleni and Masigcine are well worth a visit. Just make sure you say hi to the kids for me!

- Jenny Witthuhn

Checkmate

A block away from Power Child is another German NGO. This one is called Women for Peace, but still has a number of programs for school children. Much like Power Child, the majority of the children start to show up after school lets out around 2:30pm. When we arrived for our second day of work at Power Child, Marcus (the acting director of Power Child) had tasks for us to do as soon as we arrived. Half of us (myself included) headed to Women for Peace to help them prepare for the children’s arrival. It was unclear to me what the relationship between the two NGOs was, and I really had no idea what to expect.

We learned that Women for Peace has a number of after school programs and really has long term goals for the kids who attend them. In addition to helping the kids with homework and providing an organized soccer program, Women for Peace also offers ballroom dancing lessons, music lessons, and chess lessons for the kids. The ballroom dancing and music programs have existed for quite a while and the children compete in the area.

When we arrived, we received a quick tour of the facilities, and I was impressed by the large collection of trophies atop the television set that I was told had come from the ballroom dancing  and music competitions. Most had different children’s names written on them, but some were simply awarded to the Women for Peace Center. After making lunch for all the kids, we split up to plan activities for the afternoon.

I offered to help with the chess program and met with Lester, the 20-year-old German student who was the main chess instructor. Lester and I discussed the level of the chess that the children were capable of playing and his teaching strategies. His plan for the upcoming months is to enter some of the older and more advanced chess players in a tournament in Cape Town.

When the kids arrived, I taught many of the younger ones how to move bishops and rooks. Lester was using chess to teach them sportsmanship, and os each player was required to shake hands before and after the game. We played a few games with only pawns bishops and rooks to get the hang of it, but the kids quickly grew tired of that and begged to play with the king, queen, and knights too. Their desire to learn and keep playing was very inspiring. Next we played some games with all the pieces, and I decided to work with the self proclaimed “chess king.”

We worked through a number of chess puzzles on paper and then played a few matches talking about each step. While the “chess king” made a number of mistakes, he was always quick and eager to learn why his moves were not as safe as he thought. By the end of the day, he was flying through the puzzles and making few mistakes. Lester congratulated me on the work and insisted that I do the bungee jump. I’m still not sure that I’ll do it, but he told me that once I get to the bridge, I  will end up doing it. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see if Lester is right.

- Matt Spaulding

Human Playground

As far as I can tell, the general game plan for Wednesdays is as follows:  at some point around 10 or 10:30am the tiny-tykes start arriving in mass.  At first, there are just two vans, but a power-child veteran knows not to let his guard down, for each van can hold anywhere between 30 children and a small African safari.  Today, conservative estimates put forty-five kindergartners to a car, with a third shuttle arriving shortly thereafter to complete the armada.  Faced then with nearly one hundred and fifty bouncing children, we spent the next two hours as human play-grounds.

With a faculty student ratio of  about seventy-five to one, this group was unsurprisingly a volatile mass, and the slightest stimulus (read: any of us sitting down or becoming otherwise vulnerable to their midget-attacks) became a beacon for moshing.  Like moths to a terrified light that was trying to run away, the children followed us around the compound, until eventually overwhelmed, we were dragged down into their clutches.  A few of the kids spoke English, but none of them seemed to speak ‘AHHHHHGG get them OFF ME oh my gawd my pants are falling down! I can’t breath! I CAN’T BREATH!!!’.

When they finally loaded up (six to a seat) and left the campus, we were wholly spent, yet simultaneously filled with enough self-validation to last a lifetime.  After thirty minutes of nursing our wounds (read: sun burns + Indian rug burns + turf burns) we began round two: elementary school students.  A somewhat calmer bunch, we where now able to organize structured games, practice developing English skills (read: Justin Bieber lyrics), and generally relax a little.  We helped serve the students lunch, and then waved goodbye and prepared for our third and final act: high-schoolers.  Luckily for us, this was easiest group yet, and participation here consisted mainly of playing soccer for hours on end. Eventually, even this drew to a close, and we all drove back to Cape Town for the night.

- Bay Gross

Soccer-Child Campus

           I try dabbling in every sport. I in no way excel in one specifically but I like to think that I’m at least somewhat capable (from my tennis forehand to three-point buzzer-beater). So when I arrived in Mfuleni, a township outside the skyline of Cape Town, I was surprised to see a lack in sport. A nearby concrete court with two opposing basketball nets remained empty. A tetherball post never saw the never-ending energy of the youth coming home from school. Instead, two turf fields inhabiting the backyard of Power Child, our workplace for the week, was home to countless children playing a seemingly nonstop match of soccer. It wasn’t a lack of sport but rather a focus of it.  
            Power Child is an NGO originating in Germany. Children in the township use the small campus as a place of learning and comfort, which our Reach Our group strived to maintain throughout the week. While I enjoyed contributing to making lunches and planting a functional garden, I was quickly lured to the pick-up games of soccer. At first I was hesitant, though. I had never acted as anything even close to a camp counselor or babysitter, so approaching forty ten year-olds was initially daunting.

            Sango was the smallest player on my team, but for some reason he took a liking to me. He would pass me the ball despite my lack of know-how and confidence on the pitch. And not surprisingly, some of the other children might have seen my participation as an undertaking rather than pleasure. After gaining a hang of playing left wing and improving the speed of blistered feet, I felt the children warming to me. Eventually our language barrier and difference in age felt miles away.
            At school, pick up matches on cross campus may sometimes form between soccer enthusiasts and close friends. The games at Power Child, though, may only ever occur where soccer rules all else. With only a ball and two nets, a first impression was made that would not have otherwise. I gained respect for the children, who despite difficult situations involving abuse and poverty, welcomed yet another batch of volunteers. At the same time, they hopefully realized that we weren’t so different, even beyond the superficial and disparate soccer skills. Also, I scored twice.

- Doug Steinberg

Welcome to Africa

After a nine-hour transatlantic flight, a two-hour layover in the Netherlands, and a second, eleven-hour trans-African flight, our group landed, tired and jet-lagged, in Cape Town, South Africa. We passed customs and collected our baggage without a hitch, and before long were back at our hotel. The guys’ room was on the fourth floor and had a ridiculous view of the beach on one end and Table Mountain on the other. We lucked out big-time. The five of us ended up playing Hearts for a few hours into the night before exhaustion caught up with us and we passed out.

Sunday morning we woke up, grabbed a quick breakfast in the hotel, and headed out to convert currency. Tasnim decided it would be a smart idea to spend our first day getting to know Cape Town a bit better. We started off by taking a bus tour around the city, where we got see and hear about cool places like Table Mountain and District Six.

Later the group caught a ferry to Robben Island to see the facility where Nelson Mandela spent 18 of his 27 years of imprisonment. We got on another bus that took us around the island before getting off and walking through some of the actual prisons (there are four on the island). The bus and walking tours were both led by ex-political prisoners who were held on the island, so it was interesting to hear a first hand account of their experience. We actually witnessed an awkward situation in which one of the tourists, a racially-ambiguous South African, apparently cracked an offensive joke which our tour guide called him out for. It was a weird reminder of how all of South Africa’s racial issues weren’t resolved with a single rugby match like the movie Invictus would have us believe. Other than that encounter though, the island tour was actually pretty sweet, and we even got to see some penguins (apparently there are hundreds of them on the island).

The next stop for the day was an outdoor concert on the slopes leading up to Table Mountain. The scenery and view was incredible, and the concert was actually a lot of fun too. The band was a pretty cool electronic/pop group called Goldfish, but the most interesting part of the experience was the crowd. There were literally people of all ages there, from toddlers to teenagers, plenty of middle-aged men and women, and even an elderly couple or two.

Though the day was filled with activities, the real fun begins tomorrow. For the next week, our group of seventeen Yalies will be volunteering in the township of Mfuleni, about an hour outside of Cape Town. While there, we will be working with a few organizations, primarily a German NGO called Power-Child Campus and a children’s home called Masigcine. Both places are dedicated to helping children of the impoverished township, with Power-Child Campus providing meals and after-school programs for kids of all ages and Masigcine providing food and shelter for infants and toddlers who have been orphaned or neglected, many of which are also HIV positive.

A lot of us are going into the experience with different expectations, but hopefully we’ll all be able to get something out of it, even if it’s not what we were originally expecting.

- Rick Caraballo