I saw him in the corner of my eye as I was looking to see that I didn’t step in anything untoward.  He wore a school uniform and an expression of deeply embedded sadness.  It was about 3 o’clock and school was out for the day.

I flashed back to my memories of post-school freedom.  As the clock edged its way towards home time I would find myself distracted by a longing for the ‘creature comforts’ that awaited me.  I would be welcomed home by loving parents, snack, play, read and watch television until it was time to eat yet more nutritious food.  I anticipated a womb-like safety.

Then I was struck by the reality of his expression.  When his school day ended he knew there was nothing to look forward to.  He knew that he would walk through the maze of shacks back to his tiny, dank home.  There was no one eagerly anticipating his arrival.  The night ahead would bring with it a cold dampness, the threat of disease, and, amid the distant shouts of alcohol-fueled domestic violence, a bitter awareness of his lonely insignificance.

At his age I didn’t even know sadness like this existed.

After hanging out in Sweden for one month, Sofia and I are about to depart for Wales. Here are some of the highlights of the past month:

The Reunion

We were finally and delightfully reunited after 6 long months apart. (photo copyright Louise Persson)

Zoe came to visit

The Wedding

On the 9th of August Emma and Dave celebrated their becoming one. Sofia and I were Maid of Honour and Best Man (respectively), so it was an exhilarating day. The night before, Dave, myself, and a few male family members went swimming in a lake. The water was darkened by tanning, so we came out a temporary shade of brown. (Photo copyright Zoe Morgan)

Meeting of the Matriarchs

My parents came over and spent 10 days making new friends of Olof and Eva, Sofia’s parents.

We will be in Wales for 1 week before heading back to the Southern Hemisphere.

In my Field Report I mentioned the baby rescue project that I’m involved with. In his blog, Floyd McClung recently wrote about the need and the work of our team:

When the storm drains are cleaned twice a year in our area, the city’s waste management reports seeing small, dead, baby bodies. This is traumatic for the city workers, and its reported that a psychiatrist is on staff to debrief the workers.

click here to read more.

For over a month Stephen and I have been gathering with a group of Rastafarians who live in Masiphumelele. We spend our time studying the teachings of Jesus and trying to work out how they would look when applied to our lives. We’ve been asking the Holy Spirit to teach us, and to show us what is true, and what is not.

A few days ago, one of the Rastas met with Stephen and told him that Jesus wanted him to stop smoking weed. This came as a surprise because we’ve deliberately not focussed on our differences, on the fact that they smoke, and we don’t, but it was really exciting to hear.

This isn’t the first time that this kind of thing has happened. Over the past few weeks I’ve heard a number of stories of alcoholics deciding that Jesus wants them to stop drinking, and subsequently stopping!

In the Northern hemisphere, everyone I speak to tells me it’s summer. “I’ve just been sat out in the sun,” they say. Winter has well and truly arrived down here. The strong winds and lack of central heating have left me no choice but to recode my blog to the warmth of a fire. Enjoy!

Click the link below to download my latest report (PDF) on my life here in South Africa…

Field Report - May 2008

A lot has changed in Masiphumelele since my last post.  Peace was restored very quickly and the township has been hailed as an example to the rest of South Africa.

Click here to read a statement from one government official, Premier Ebrahim Rasool.

Thank you for all your prayers during this time, I’m convinced that they contributed to this situation settling down so quickly.

Life in Masi has been tense over the past few days.

On Thursday night we received calls from friends who live there and were hearing about the spread of xenophobic attitudes in the township.  One had attended a gathering of South Africans who determined to exert their nationalism.  They were pitching money towards the petrol they would use to burn the houses of foreigners.  My friend, who is Zimbabwean, kept quiet so that no one would know he was foreign.

Somalian shop owners were told by their customers that they would be returning later to loot their stores.

That night we drove in to pick up two of our friends, one Zimbabwean, one Nigerian.  The streets were lined with people and police cars.  Some were waiting for their bosses to collect them.  Others were plotting violence, waiting for an opportunity to loot, steal, and inflict pain.  Somalians, fearing for their lives, abandoned their businesses to looters.

Friday morning the police informed us that they had maintained peace during the night, “no one has been hurt.”

At the hospital we heard otherwise, “we had people in with knife and axe wounds.”

We went in search of Abdul and Maria, two friends of ours, and found a mass of their Somalian countrymen stranded outside Ocean View Police Station.  “Now you see what I was talking about.  You have to inform the international community of the way that our people are being treated,” said Abdi, a 60 year old Somalian man who had spent the night outside.

A church in Ocean View (the neighbouring township) who had opened their building as a haven for those fleeing Masi were upset to find Ocean View residents protesting outside.  “We don’t want these people here,” they were told.  Police had to intervene to stop the violence.

Our team has been trying to connect with the foreigners in Masi that we have relationships with.  Around twenty five of the ones we could find are now staying at our various homes while we wait for the violence to stop.

Our balcony overlooks False Bay, which has a huge influx of whales between the winter months (May-August). We’ve been waiting in eager anticipation of our first sighting. Yesterday was the moment we’d all been waiting for. First we spotted one just off the coast, weaving up and down through the water. Today we saw two jumping.

Pictures to follow.

I’m told that in Masiphumelele, the township where I currently work, the average monthly rent is 300 Rand.  That’s about £20.50.  The average daily pay for a housekeeper from one of the townships is 100 Rand, or £7.  There is very high unemployment, which has been linked with many an ugly issue, from theft to child prostitution.

Many people I know can afford to have a housekeeper or gardener if it will only set them back 100 Rand per week, and some see it as a great way of creating jobs.  I’ve been trying to figure out what I feel about this: is it exploitation to expect someone to work for a whole day for £7, when that represents 33% of their monthly rent?

On the one hand, without jobs people will starve or resort to crime, and jobs hold more dignity than handouts.  On the other, such a low ‘minimum wage’ forces people to remain in poverty: in sub-standard living conditions, with poor diet and limited life-prospects.