Journal Entry for school

WHATS UPP?!

Its cold and rainy here, I love it! Well I just typed up a journal entry for my internship credit about my feelings while heading into Khayelitsha. So I wrote this a few weeks back, hope you all enjoy! Love and miss you all.

Sunday July 5th
It’s a beautiful, overcast day here on the southern tip of Africa. I find myself staring out of a car window barely being able to hold back from shaking. I feel a flow of tears forming in my eyes. I question myself for the reason in participating in this program, whether I am emotionally and physically ready for this. I’m on my way twenty minutes west of the beautiful coastline where I have spent my last ten days, to a place with a reputation of violence and anger. How did I get here? Why am I stepping so far out of my comfort zone to the point of trembling? I’m headed to Khayelitsha, a black township on the outskirts of Cape Town where I will be staying with a family for the next two weeks. My mind wonders with uncertainties and insecurities I had no idea I had prior to this car ride. I can’t help but question my inner knowledge and strength as I take this car ride into this strange, impoverished South African township.
As we are driving into Khayelitsha, the roads are so full with trash and debris that we must take another route. We discover that there had been a protest on this street the previous day, where the residents of this area were demanding more government funding for the development of their town. My eyes wonder up and down the roads as the tin shacks and sheds are become countless and overwhelming. It smells of exhaust and trash, and it seemed as if there were hundreds of people filling the sidewalks and paths, screaming and laughing. My feelings of fright and sadness escalate, and I find myself feeling comforted by my classmates and their composure.
Our car turns down a road in a section of Khayelitsha known as Herare. This is an area of the township that has received some government funding since the ending of the apartheid, so most of the houses have electricity and running water. Children are running across the streets and playing with a makeshift jump rope, I feel like I’m in the middle of a movie. Our van pulls up to a house on the corner. The house is small and a bright shade of pink – complete with a garage. I step out of the car and my feet rest on the dirt. I feel a sense of security rush through my skin. There was something calming about this ground, despite the kind of atrocities that occurred here during the years of oppression. I approach my new home with my roommate and we are welcomed by a group of 20 or more waiting for us in the garage, all smiling with open arms. We introduce ourselves to one another and share laughter at our inabilities to pronounce the others names.
The eldest daughter in my new family, Bultha, shows us our room. The house is small, but beautiful. The floors feel cold and sandy. There are 3 bedrooms and 1 bath for this family of 6. The ceiling is missing, and the frame of the roof is visible when sitting in a chair in the living room. Our room is small with a large bed and mirror. Bultha is proud to announce this was her room, and taught us how to open the blue multicolored curtains. I can’t help but take a mental note of the bars across every window. The house has no water gyser, so in order to bathe we must use a water heater. With no heat or cooling system, my family gathers around a little heater in the evenings to eat dinner and watch their favorite soap operas.
This is home for the next two weeks. The first week will be spent working a “cresh” in the community. The second week, we will be heading downtown to learn more about the Truth and Reconciliation Committee and how the nation has begun to heal into a democracy. I plan to continue to open all my senses to this new place, and learn to love and embrace all the different parts of South Africa.