Nokuphila School

4 February 2010

It’s 3am. I’m not one to experience insomnia, but after just a few short hours of sleep I’m now wide awake with visions of little children dancing in my head. My mind won’t rest on account of 45 kids laughing, playing, dancing, crying, singing, yelling, hugging, jumping, painting. They are the kids from Nokuphila School where I have been volunteering three days per week…and I love them so much I can’t sleep.

Nokuphila School opened its doors three weeks ago to 45 pre-schoolers ages 3-5. It provides disadvantaged children of Tembisa an educational alternative to some of the bleak realities of this township community: crime, illiteracy, HIV and AIDS, no electricity or bathrooms in some areas, unemployment and poverty (households earring less than 800 Rand a month – approximately $115). Made possible by Love Trust, an organization funded by corporations and individuals, the  school’s model for development is based on the core expertise and educational track record of Christ Church Midrand’s independent school.

And this focus on early-childhood development is making a difference.

Just three weeks ago the children had never before experienced the structure of school: teachers, lessons, playtime, lunchtime, nap-time, music, art and sports. English was new to their Zulu, Sesotho, Xhosa and other native African tongues. As was standing in a line, getting into a circle, listening for instructions and repeating new words. But they’re like sponges, these precious kids, and today they can converse in English about each others’ names, ages, and neighborhoods. They can count to ten, say please and thank you, ask for help, and name the colors on their paint brushes. They listen, repeat and follow instructions. Perhaps most importantly, they trust their teachers and are excited to be in school – this happy and safe place where they are cared for and nurtured.

To write it, these accomplishments almost sound like nothing… Maybe if you just saw their smiles or heard their gleeful squeals or had the littlest one raise a hopeful eye and say “Teacha Aublie, see you tomorrow?” You bet I’ll be there tomorrow. I can hardly wait.

More photos here

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When I first arrived, I decided to drive the route that I had planned on running – just to double check that there was a wide enough shoulder, if not a sidewalk, and confirm that it truly made the loop it appeared to on the map. It’s short – not more than 2 miles and makes a perfect loop through the wealthy, gated community estates of Sandton. Most of the estates have black guards at the entrance, black lawn workers in the yards and a generally busy atmosphere of black staff attending to the grounds. It was clear that I would be the only white person running (or doing anything, for that matter, on the street – and I’ve since, when running, never seen another white person outside of his or her car). But I figured, with such a buzz of estate staff around, it would safe to run.

Let me pause here. I mention that the estate staff are black only because it’s observable. This is not to say that black men and women do not hold C-suite and other professional positions here in South Africa, nor that they are not the wealthy owners of several of the said estates – they most certainly do and are. Since the apartheid regime came to an end, Black Economic Empowerment (essentially Affirmative Action) has been enforced in an effort to undo the oppressive set-backs that stem from years of segregated, white minority rule. When you consider that approximately 80% of South Africa’s population is non-white (Black, Coloured, Asian) the socio-economics begin to make sense, especially here in Sandton, this suburb deemed “Africa’s richest square mile.” People of European decent have had a head-start – for like a century – with the support of political, economic, and social structures to uphold their well being. Obviously, even with the enforcement of Black Economic Empowerment, the non-white majority population will need some time to catch up. Until then, I suppose non-whites will continue to fill the labor pool of domestics, grounds-keepers, residential and commercial staff and other related services. That said, this is the racial make-up surrounding the streets of my runs.

Just one more aside: Plenty of people equate South Africa with crime. While that has rapidly changed, even in the past two years, in preparation for the World Cup this June, crime has sadly been an identifying reality for this country. (INVICTUS touched upon the crime and violence that were paramount in the early 90s. A MILLION COLOURS does the same.) But, I get unnerved with generalizations, even when they’re based in truth, and had made it a priority to prove that in 2010, South Africa is just as safe as any city anywhere. However, upon arrival, when all of our local colleagues and friends took me aside to give me the “safety talk”, and one even handed me pepper spray, I decided I don’t need to single-handedly change the world’s perception about crime in South Africa…and I’ll keep my guard up just enough to be safe and not sorry.

So back to my story. If you recall, I was driving my potential running route.

I rounded a bend and saw down the road a silver car, stopped rather crookedly on the curb. As I approached the car, I noticed a man, white, casually but nicely dressed, maybe mid 30s, waving me down. His hood was not up, his fourways weren’t on and I could see no damage to the car. My initial instinct was to stop and see what he needed…poor guy, I thought, maybe he’s lost, maybe he’s out of gas and needs a lift. But as I scanned the street I realized that for the moment, there was not one other person in sight – not in a car, not walking on the sidewalks, not working estate grounds. Then my heart began pounding and a second instinct replaced the first. The cautionary words from a recent “safety talk” rang loud and clear in my head: “Don’t trust anyone here. Pink, purple, black, white – I don’t care. You don’t trust anyone.”

So I drove by. The man gave me a pleading wave right in front of my window and he and I made eye-contact. I mouthed “I’m sorry” and shook my head with an apologetic expression as if to say “you must understand why I just can’t stop to help you”.

I actually think he probably understood…and I’ll never know if he was going to hijack me. I imagine most people here, even hijackers, embrace the “don’t trust anyone” motto, regardless of any of their remaining stereotypes – racial or otherwise. But the angst I felt from casting aside my good samaritan instinct was new. One never wants to be so self-protective that she’s cold to others. But how do you know when a simple act of good samaritanship might lead to danger…in a place where crime once ruled the day? Feeling like I’m not in Kansas anymore.