Though the students take time to warm up to new teachers and mentors, during our times outside of the classroom this past week I have had the opportunity to connect with many of my students on a deeper level. We eat together and have devotions almost every night. We've been to the symphony and out for ice cream, visited downtown Franschhoek to shop, gone to Shofar church, practiced and auditioned for the worship team, danced Zumba, and goofed around on the trampoline. It has been during these moments of fun that we have bonded most.
We're working on the whole silly picture thing. Pictured: me and most of my students goofing around right after class.
The students of Bridges Academy are primarily orphans from the township of Philippi. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of a "township" and the tragic history of South Africa, here's a brief synopsis written by my Dad, originally intended for my little sister:
"Quick and rough history: The Dutch (people from Holland) came to South Africa in the 1600's, and settled in Capetown. They're the original white settlers.The British came in the 1800's, and kicked the Dutch out (the Brits also brought in 150,000 slaves from India, since the blacks didn't want to be slaves).The Dutch fought the black Zulus [and Xhosa, etc.] and won, and built the Dutch "Afrikaner" state. They fought the British and kicked their butts, but the Brits were brutal. So the Dutch finally decided to accept the British as "partners". The one thing the British and Dutch agreed on is that the local blacks and should have no vote on anything, couldn't own land (except in a few small areas) and had almost no rights. Even though blacks were the majority. The people from India also couldn't own land.
This official discrimination was called "apartheid", where the blacks and whites had almost no contact with each other. Blacks were moved out of their families' homelands to big government-built suburbs called "townships". Cities were designed to separate blacks from whites. In the 70's, most of the world began to complain against South Africa for Apartheid. The political party made up of blacks got stronger, and their leader was Nelson Mandela. The whites put him in prison for 20 years. Eventually, the world put some pressure on them, and they let Mandela out. His party won the elections, and he became president. Things are improving now, but very very slowly."
There you go. Over 400 years of history in 2 paragraphs.
South Africa's colonial history has been lengthy, bloody, and brutal. Scars from apartheid remain in every aspect of life here. Though the separation has legally ended, much of the country shows little signs of effective integration. Social classes are still very much determined by race. So are zip codes. If you are black, you and/or your family are likely township residents (completely 3rd world). Coloreds are in the colored townships (generally better conditions). White? You'll be in the modernized, first world suburbs. Nowhere are these realities more obvious than in the Franschhoek area.
Together with Natalie and Donnie Feller of Reality Carp, I lead the After School Program (ASP) for the Bridges students. We have partnered with a nonprofit connected with Shofar Church that serves the creches (preschools) of the townships. Once a week we bring the Bridges students to a creche in Groendal, a township outside of beautiful Franschhoek.
The realities of life in Groendal are grim. Rows of corrugated metal shacks form skewed rows stretching on for kilometers in the blinding glare of the afternoon sun. There are no indoor toilets, as evidenced by the reek of raw sewage running through the streets. Filthy dogs and various livestock animals of all sizes roam the crowded dirt streets. Dusty buses and decrepit trucks fly by at record speeds. Barefoot children, their tiny bodies whittled slim by malnourishment, play unsupervised in dirt gutters. To these little ones belong the dirty faces whose bright smiles greet us as we arrive.
This past week was the first time that I had entered a township. Though I have spent time in some of the poorest slums in Zambia, nothing had prepared me for this. As the offensive oder of sewage filled my lungs, I was hit by a veritable storm of emotion.
Anger towards the governing bodies who turn a blind eye, and have chosen blindness for decades.
Anger towards a society that willingly turns away from this atrocity, sipping world-class wines in beautiful vineyards just a few kilometers away.
Anger, because the world allowed this to happen-allowed it to begin.
Shame, because I live in a world so detached from this that my first response is revulsion, not compassion.
In this great confusion of feeling, I stumbled on this verse in my devotions:
"She gave this name to the Lord God who spoke to her "you are the God who sees me", for she said "I had seen the One who sees me."
Gen. 16:13-14
In a moment of great personal brokenness, abuse and social rejection, Hagar discovers the God who sees her and knows her pain. And He is still willing to know and bear the suffering of millions. Though the masses avert their eyes, He chooses to see. He is not blind to the conditions of Groendal or Philippi. He chooses to look on those whom the world, in rebellion, has forgotten. He is a God who desperately loves each filthy bare-footed, malnourished child. He awaits the obedience of those who will go, and in His name right the wrongs that oppression, racism and poverty have wrecked. His patience restrains his arm of judgement against the oppressors. We know that He will not wait forever.
My prayer is that God would open my eyes, and give me His heart towards the broken and hurting here. For my students. For the hurting children and adults of the townships.
And I know that He desires to open your eyes too. Regardless of your geographic location, there are many around you who are dying to know true love, compassion and mercy.
Under the sleepy hush of the afternoon sun, the students of Bridges play games and read to the little ones. Shrieks of laughter fill the air as a tall, good-hearted teenage girl allows a score of tiny toddlers to tackle her to the ground during a game of American football. Voices scream in victory they hold the ball up high in victory, tiny fist pumping the air. Humorously disproportional teams of students play paddle ball, football (soccer) and participate in various forms of recreation. The students of Bridges, having experienced the realities of township creches themselves and being fluent in Xhosa are compassionate, powerful ministers to these little ones. In their senior year with University prospects before them, they are able to communicate love, friendship and hope to the creche students.
And this is the hope that we have, here at Bridges of Hope: that our students, and the ones to whom we reach out, would in turn be equipped to serve their communities. It is through their efforts that the cycle of poverty and oppression will be reversed. My prayer for my students is that their eyes would be opened to the possibilities before them.
May they in turn seek God's heart of love and restoration for their communities.
