Reflections on South Africa

As a senior at Wheaton, I had the pleasure and the challenge to act in a student-directed production of My Children, My Africa by Athol Fugard. To play Isabel Dyson, I had to learn about the history and politics of Apartheid in South Africa, but I also had to viscerally and emotionally connect to the struggles of freedom and the need to oppress. Where did an open-minded though ignorant white girl fit into the picture? My only frames of reference at that time were my favorite novel, The Power of One, National Geographic articles and things learned in the classroom. Drawing on the support of my cast mates, the writings of South African authors and documentaries of the American Civil Rights movement, I was able to develop my character. This March, I had the opportunity to visit the place that has haunted my thoughts for so many years. I went to South Africa.

While I was certainly excited to go to South Africa, I must admit, I was also scared. If you follow the news or read the first pages of a travel guide, you will see that South Africa’s daily murder rate closely matches the rate in Iraq. You will see that South Africa has the largest AIDS population per capita in the world. You will see that the rape rate is on the rise, that visitors should hide their money well inside their clothing and should not use public transportation. So much negativity and fear about South Africa populates the pages and reports that reach Americans.

Of course, South Africa has problems and issues to face, but sometimes it is easy to forget that this post-Apartheid South Africa is only 13 years old. It is an adolescent growing into its shoes--struggling to right the wrongs of the past, meet the challenges of the future and assimilate the many cultures now attempting to live in freedom and equality. In these 13 years, South Africans have been trying to understand their history, make amends and move forward as a new, united nation—the Rainbow Nation.

As I walked down the streets of Cape Town and drove down the red dirt roads of Mpumalanga, I wondered at the beauty of the people and the places. Here I had prepared myself for I don’t know what—the place described by the news, I guess—but then I breathed the air, saw the elephants, watched the people and I experienced something else, something peaceful, something hopeful. Even while visiting Robben Island and the townships, the South Africans teaching us about their past and their present were filled with hope. Sure, they struggle and life is not what it could be, but they also spoke of growth, change and improvement.

In the three weeks I was in South Africa, I visited a number of tough places—places where people have endured great injustice and hardship. The men and women I spoke with have a deep, infectious passion for their country. South Africa, to them, is a work in progress with possibilities of greatness. While teaching their people’s tragedy, these men and women spoke with ardor, wit and humor—making me both laugh and cry. I think that most clearly expresses my feelings about South Africa—it made me laugh and cry, and sometimes, it rendered me speechless.