District 9

Amazing movie, one of my absolute favourites. When I watched it at home I was watching it for entertainments sake. Not to say that I didn’t take note of the social and inter-planet racism that took place in the film, I most certainly saw the film as a take on the racial injustice that occurred in South Africa but mostly I just thought it was a great film that showed the weakness of humanity in not accepting what’s different and the greed and money loving corporations and governments that will sacrifice anything to fill their pockets. My sister had a stronger impression of District 9 than I did in relation to South Africa. When planning to come here I made no connection to the movie in terms of what South Africa would be like but Melody went mental about it. She kept asking where all the Nigerians were and why didn’t everyone live in a slum. She would get so excited when she would see a township and would take lots of photos. Now obviously in exaggeration she would ask where the spaceship was but still it seemed like she really felt that South Africa looked like what the movie looked like which wasn’t very pretty.

Coming to visit she realised that people don’t get mugged every day and that she wouldn’t get shot just walking down the street, I think she even liked it here. For me I didn’t really know what I was going to get when coming here so District 9 was like a reference point for me. When I watched it at home I was with my little brother and at the end of the movie I’m sure we both would have said something like “That’s a heaps mad movie” and the following 10 conversations we each had with people would have started with “Have you seen District 9, it’s heaps mad”.

Last night me and Lunathi were deciding which movie to watch, I was reading out what I had and she stopped me at District 9, said she hadn’t seen it, I said “What?? It’s heaps mad” and then we began watching it. Now at this point I’ve been here for 3 months, I’ve seen Joburg which is what we will call the city, I’ve seen Rustenburg and Nelspruit which we will call out of the way and much more rural and I’ve been living in Port Elizabeth which is somewhere in between so I’ve had pretty reasonable exposure to SA. I’m sitting on my bed with Lunathi and the movie starts. Now I’m all like “Yeah this is such a great movie” and in my head I’m preparing myself for its awesomeness and it’s deep story and all the rest of it. I’m so intensely watching when Lunathi decides to start her commentary on the film.

“This movie is so weird”

“It looks like it’s being filmed on a hand held camera, it reminds me of the Office”

“OMG the aliens are disgusting”

“Just shoot it”

“This is so funny”

“That girls a Baha’i, she was in Isidingo”

“Oh hey they guys a comedian”

In my head I’m annoyed, she doesn’t appreciate this film the way I do. She called it funny and said it reminded her of the Office.. The Office of all things, a comedy series. But as I watch I start to think how different it must be from the eyes of a South African so I start to watch with my South African eyes. It was actually funny. When the main guy kept saying F**k with his accent and it sounded more like fok, or some of the slang that he would use, just his accent in general was amusing to me. The slums that the aliens were living in were familiar, that’s what a lot of the townships look like and especially the way they are all crammed together side by side. Gangs and rebels coming into these areas and taking over, this was all things that I had actually seen. The bit that got me the most was when they went into the alien area to hand out the evictions and they would pretty much force them to sign, completely denying them any rights and Lunathi says “This is what they did in the Apartheid era”. Suddenly it all became real, this wasn’t a movie. Replace the aliens with black people and you have the history of South Africa. The saddest part was that in this film it assumes that the black people would treat the aliens in the exact manner that they were treated and now I have to wonder if that would really be the case. If the circumstances arose would the South Africans who were treated like less than human during the Apartheid, treat others the same way? I hope not but you can see it happening already.

There is some resentment amongst the poor black community towards the wealthier black community. In a previous post I told you about the guy that said if people gave back what they had been given everyone would be better off. Here we have a race of people who were all equally oppressed by another race of people. Now that equality has been granted we see part of that before oppressed black community rise up, earn money, buy nice houses, drive nice cars...etc Then we have the rest of the community who are still poor, who live in shacks and travel by taxi. I’ve been told that this community is lazy, that it waits to be spoon fed. Whether it’s an unwillingness to better oneself or a lack of opportunity I can’t say but here we have a rift. This is what is said to have caused attacks against black people by black people. Besides what I have read in some reports and from discussions I’ve had with a few people that was the impression that I got. I would like to talk to some more people and see what they think, if they think the people have learnt from the past or if they would allow it to repeat itself.

I’m sure that the distribution of wealth in SA is not in any ways consistent. There are large gaps between rich and poor and I’m sure this causes resentment amongst those who have less especially when you are supposed to be ‘on the same side’ and all that kind of thing. I wonder if Melody has watched the movie again and had a change of understanding.

District 9 is a great movie, I still stand by that but it means something completely different to me now. This realisation is a sad one, most times the things we see in movies are make believe and we can toss the ideas out as garbage written to make money but not this time. Maybe one day we’ll look back at a film like this and be able to say that this kind of thing only happens in movies, we still have a very long way to go before that happens. Though it doesn’t hurt to hope

Home Affairs

I recently declared that I hate South Africa, although this declaration at the time was as a result of a culmination of factors there is one thing that has most contributed for my distaste towards this country and that is Home Affairs.

Home Affairs is the a government department and it deals with everything from birth certificates to visas. Kind of like an immigration department but not so specific. Now if you want an expert on the dealings of Home Affairs and what kind of work they do then I am not your person but if you want an understanding of what it is like to visit this place, the procedures, the staff, the atmosphere ...etc then you have found the expert. In the last 3 weeks I have been to Home Affairs 8 times. 8 TIMES!! And after my 8^th visit I still haven’t been able to finalise my application for an extension on my visa.

I will now describe for you each of my visits to this horrid place and maybe, just maybe you will understand why I am so frustrated at this country.

I arrived here in SA on the 29^th of May 2010. 4 months prior to this I asked about my visa and I was told not to worry about it. Then I arrived here in SA, I again asked about my visa, again I was told not to worry about it, I had plenty of time. From that first moment I asked about my visa at least once a week. Always the same response, don’t worry about it and my very favourite response, just drive out of the country and come back again. Yes, every 3 months, great plan.

So I had no idea how to apply for a visa, I had no idea what I needed to apply for a visa and I had no idea where to go to apply for a visa. I figured if everyone was so relaxed about it then it mustn’t be too big of a deal.

As I was preparing to leave for PE I asked again about my visa, I was told I should wait till I got there, so I did. I waited again and when I got to PE I had just 1 month before my current visa would expire. I started again. Every day I asked about my visa. Finally success, Luvuyo took me to Home Affairs, who’d have thought on that first day that I would spend more time in this building than I would doing any Baha’i related activities.

The two of us walked up the ally way leading to the front door. “Photo, photo, you need I.D photo?” “You must buy a black pen, there are no pens inside. Do you need a pen?” We made it past the hawkers and then to security. We each walked through the metal detectors, it beeped, no one cared, we kept walking.

My first impression was scepticism. This was their office of Home Affairs? This looked like one of those abandoned buildings they show in movies where they hold hostages. The flooring is this linoleum in this beigey brown colour, the walls have stains on them, the roof is low. Another thing that hits me is the lack of computers and signs. Luvuyo leads me to the place where we are supposed to go. There is one woman sitting behind some desks at the far end of the room and around 25 people lining the walls. There are wooden benches for these people to sit on. I have no idea what this is. Do you take a number? How do you know who’s next? Is there only one person serving people? Luvuyo goes up to the lady and tells her we just need a form. She gives us the form and as we flick through it we have no idea what to do. I go back up to the lady, I just want to ask her what I need to bring in with this form, she tells me to wait in line. So we leave.

Next visit, its only purpose is to find out what I need to bring in with my application. I walk up the alley way, past the hawkers, through the beeping metal detector and into the same room as before. I get there as early as possible and there are already 15 people ahead of me and one woman working. I figure out that there is a structure to this room. You sit in the last seat and move up a seat as people are served. So I take that last spot and I wait. At one stage I need to use the bathroom so I get up and go in search of it. This doesn’t take long as the smell of it is so severe you can’t miss it. I follow the ‘ladies’ sign and see one of the most disturbing things of this trip so far. There is a woman, a large woman, crouching on the toilet, legs flared, just doing her thing the door wide open. She looks at me I walk past pretending not to notice. She calls out to me “Sisi can you bring me paper?” OMG she wants toilet paper which is not in the cubicles but on a rail near the sink. I go and roll out a huge amount and then I hand it to her and quickly get in to the next cubicle. Shocked, absolutely shocked. I go back to my seat and prepare myself for a long wait filled with painful mental images.

After about an hour and a half my turn comes. I take the golden seat on the other side of the lady’s desk. The seat everyone is eyeing off as they wait on their wooden benches. This seat has a cushion and best of all it’s the last seat. Once you’ve sat here you can leave. The lady makes me a list of all my requirements and then asks to see my current visa. She looks at the expiry date then back at me “If you’re here as a volunteer why have you left it so long to renew your visa?” I couldn’t agree more.

One of the visa requirements is to get a doctors clearance and a radiological report to prove that you are in good health and do not have tuberculosis. I asked Lunathi where I could find a doctor and she tells me to go to Greenacres hospital and I’ll find what I need. So go to the hospital. I see a reception desk and I ask where I can go to see a GP, I am sent down the hall. I go down the hall to another room, I stand and wait for around 10minutes. A lady approaches me and asks me what I need, I show her the forms that a GP needs to fill out and say I need a GP. She takes me further down the hall to another reception desk. I tell the people at that desk that I need to see a GP, “Just sit and wait and the nurse will call you.” So I sit and wait, 10minutes, 20 minutes, 30minutes, 40minutes. I get up and go back to the desk “Do I need to go to the nurse or will she come to me?” “The nurse will call your name” “How will she call my name when I haven’t given it to anyone?”

I go to the nurse “What is the problem?” “I just need to get these forms filled” “This is an emergency department, we don’t fill out forms like that” I explain that I told everyone who I dealt with that I needed a GP to get forms filled and this is where they sent me. I ask her where I should go. “Next to this building is PEGP they can help you there”

This sounds promising, so I go and find the place, step inside and tell the lady at reception that I need to see a GP. “We don’t have a GP here” ..... WHAT!!! The place is called PEGP, how can they not have one??? She points out another building and so I go there. I approach a man who has just come out of a shop “Hi, where is the GP in this building?” “You should go to the hospital” “No, I was told there was a GP in this building” “No, there’s no GP but there’s a doctor over there” WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE!!!

Finally, finally, finally I find a GP. The waiting room is empty, probably because unlike Australia you have to pay to see a doctor here and so people don’t just visit the doctor because their pinky hurts. I go in to see the doctor and tell him about my dramaful day. He laughs and explains that people here don’t know what GP means, always use the word doctor or they won’t understand. Now that wasn’t me talking, that was the doctor. Even the locals can see the messedupness of this place. He signs my forms and sends me back to the hospital for my x-rays. Now this part I liked. I didn’t have to make a booking, they did my x-rays on the spot and my results were ready within 20minutes. I really liked that, they were playing ‘UP’ in the waiting area so the time flew by.

Finally with my medical stuff done I just had to wait for a letter from the Baha’is before I could go back to Home Affairs. When that came I ventured back to that dull, dreadful place and waited in line again. This time it took about an hour for me to reach the front and when I did “Where is your bank statement?” “Why do I need a bank statement?” “We need to see that you can take care of yourself, we don’t want you to be a burden to South Africa.” Me?? A burden to South Africa? South Africa is a burden to the world!! Then I get this delightful bit of information “Go and check the chart to see how much your repatriaction fee is, you must pay it.
Ok so I’m thinking it will be like R1000... no its R10 000. Where the hell am I supposed to get that kind of money? In my head I think it must be a mistake, it should say R1000 and it’s a typo. I go to the shopping centre next door and get a print out of my bank statement and take out R1000 to pay the fee. I go back to Home Affairs and go to the finance department to pay. The lady calls me to her desk. First I ask her why do I need to pay this fee? “That’s a very good question but I don’t know, wait here and I will find out because I would also like to know.” K Ok so the lady comes over and explains that it’s like a bond that I have to pay and I get it back when I leave. Fair enough I guess, how much is it? “R10 000 that’s the fee for Sydney Australia” can I pay on credit? “No, cash only” CASH?? Who walks around these streets with that much cash. I get up and leave, again.

I talk to Luvuyo and he says that with Aziz who is a Baha’i from Kenya, he didn’t have to pay this fee. He decides to come with me on my next visit to figure this out. We sit in line and wait for almost 2 hours. This is where we meet the lady with the amazing story in my previous blog post. We get to the front and here’s some exciting news, I don’t have to pay the fee if I show them my return plane ticket. Well isn’t that just wonderful. We leave again and with 9 days left on my visa I’m starting to think that I may just have to take a little trip to Swaziland or something.

Now I have a small problem. My return ticket is for September because when I booked my flight that was the latest return date they could give me. So I have to call the airline and have this changed. They want to charge me $250, I say that’s not fair, it wasn’t my fault they didn’t offer a return date when I wanted one. They tell me to call my travel agent and do it through them. Now remember there’s a 7 hour time difference so I have to wait till after 1am to make the call. I call and we start the process. I don’t sleep at all that night as the girl I’m working with is emailing me all through the night and I have to keep responding so that we can get this sorted. Thankfully after 2 nights without sleep I have a return flight on the 19^th of May 2011 without having to pay a fee.

So now I have everything I need, every photocopy, every bit of proof, everything I need to go to Home Affairs and have this finalised once and for all. The lady I have been dealing with tells me next time I come to go directly to her and not wait in line so on Thursday, with 6 days to go on my visa I go in at 11.30am. The gates are being closed, why are the gates being closed? “Sorry we are closed for the strike, come back before 11am tomorrow.” Great

So I go back, it’s 9.30am. I don’t want a pen, I don’t want an ID photo, the metal detector beeps and I go and sit on the wooden bench. My 7^th visit to Home Affairs. My lady isn’t at work, I guess I’m waiting in line. I can hear the conversations of other poor souls like me. There’s a lady who entered SA with her kids. Her children’s passports were stamped with October 22^nd, hers was stamped with August 22^nd. She only just realised and is now here to have this mistake resolved. When it’s her turn she finds out she has to go through the whole sorry process of bank statements and forms and fees just like everyone else even though it was a mistake by border control. It’s been 2 hours now that I’ve been waiting and I am finally at the head of the line. I’m next, this is it, I am finally going to be done with Home Affairs. As I get ready to lift my bum off the seat and place it down on the golden chair the voice of a man destroys all my hopes. “We are sorry, the comrades are here and we are going on strike.” Despair, hopelessness, injustice, anger, disappointment, these are all running through me. Stunned into complete shock some of us just stand there, our mouths open in disbelief. We stare at each other, not knowing what to do. The lady in our section stands up with a grin on her face, packs up her papers and walks off without so much as an apology to those of us who have just wasted our lives waiting for her assistance. A South African lady who had accompanied the one with the wrongly stamped passport is standing in shock as well. Her friends visa expires on Sunday and now she will have to pay a fine because of the strike. She tells us this has nothing to do with money, it’s just a day off for most, they don’t care either way. She apologises to us and says that we should just leave the country and come back. She especially empathises with me, “You came here to help us and this is how you get treated.” A man who was waiting in another section looks over at us “I can’t believe this, I don’t understand why you people want to stay in this country?” I hear ya brother. There is one white lady sitting at her desk, I see her every time I come in, she’s always smiling, always courteous, the people she serves leave happy. She’s still seated at her desk, still serving the lady who’s turn was next. She announces that she will stay and serve the remaining people in her section. All the other staff are walking out, handbags over their shoulders, they leave with smirks of satisfaction on their faces. This woman stays, her priority to serve. She receives a phone call, it’s all in Afrikaans, while on the phone she starts shaking, her whole body trembling, she cries out, people are telling her to stay calm. Fear and panic cover her face and a workmate holds her and walks her elsewhere. After a few moments she comes back, she takes her seat behind her desk and carries on her work. The lady I had been speaking to tells me that this woman has just been told that she should stop working or they will kill her. I’m so disgusted I can’t even start to be angry.

A young guy comes around and tells us we should leave for our own safety, as we walk out a male employee looks at us and says “Sorry but this is out of our control” “No, it’s not. You should remember who you are working for, the people and right now the people are the only ones suffering.”

I leave, again. More frustrated and angry than I’ve ever known myself to be. I dread having to come back to this place on Monday and wonder if this is a sign that I am not supposed to be here.

Sunday night I say some prayers and I know that depending on the result on Monday I will know what I have to do.

Monday morning, my 8^th visit to my beloved Home Affairs.. It’s 8am when I arrive, that’s half an hour before opening time. There are already more than 20 people inside waiting for the place to open. I join the end of the queue knowing that being here this early I will definitely be served but considering all the set backs I have had before I am still apprehensive.

A man comes out to talk to us, I recognise him as the man I spoke to on Friday. “Everyone as you know we are on strike and so we are working at minimal capacity. The following services will be available.. Ids, passports..” I am praying he says permits, he must say permits “..birth certificates, fingerprints.” He’s stopped talking and he hasn’t said permits.. OMG OMG OMG!!

“I am sorry but those of you who need permits and visas that sector is striking the most heavily and they will be on strike indefinitely, please consider your options if you have a permit that will expire shortly.”

OMG OMG OMG!!

8 times!! 8 times I tried. No one can say I didn’t try, that I didn’t really pursue every effort to get this fixed but deep down I always knew I would end up leaving the country. From the first time Mr Shams, as a joke, suggested that I leave the country and come back almost 3 months ago I knew that it would come to this. My gut feeling, my intuition, my soul knew that this moment would come where my visa would expire and I would need to leave, only to come back and have another 3 month visitors visa issued. This whole time I had already been considering where I wanted to go on this little get away and my soul has been crying for Uganda, where one of the 7 Baha’is temples of the world is situated. I have only seen 2 Baha’i temples, one in Sydney and one in New Delhi so this will be my third and I’m actually really excited. Sometimes you just have to read the signs and the signs are saying I need to leave South Africa.

So I now have 2 days to book a flight and find somewhere to stay in Uganda. I’m thinking I’ll stay for about 5 days or so and hopefully I will come back to SA refreshed and re-energised and I can continue with my work completely in tune.

This life is not predictable and we always have to be ready to seize opportunity when it comes. You know I actually feel blessed that when God wants to tell me something he makes it pretty obvious for me what I am supposed to do. 8 times and no cigar, I can take a hint.

Kuyga's Finest

I had been a little disappointed over the last couple weeks at how unfruitful all my efforts had been in this area. I felt like things just weren't working out and that nothing was really amounting to anything, people weren't turning up for classes that we had organised together and last week I went to Kuyga school to start our first Junior Youth group there. I walked in through the gates to find a ghost school, no kids, no teachers. I asked some construction workers where the kids were only to be told that the teachers were on strike. I left, disappointed again.

One week has now passed since that day, I was going back to Kuyga school to hopefully start the JY group with Zintle and Sibakheh and the grade 5 kids. I decided not to get my hopes up. In my head I kept thinking of all the things that could go wrong. I would turn up and the principal would have changed her mind and said we couldn't do it. There would be no kids willing to stay after school for the class. The school would be on strike again. In my head I had prepared for the worst but as always I went to the school with all my equipment, with the first lesson planned out and a load of prayers under my belt.

I was told school finished at 2pm so I aimed to gett to the school at 1.30pm to give myself time to prepare and remind the principal that I was doing the class. I got into Kuyga at around quarter past 1 and as I approached the school I noticed that there were kids leaving. Why were kids leaving? I get inside and see that the whole school has been dismissed and all the teachers are signing out of the principal's office. Turns out school finishes at 1pm not 2. I walk inside and one of the heads of staff looks at me "Oh we forgot about you, hold on let me go see if the grade 5s are still there." She leads me to one of the class rooms where there are something like 15 kids sitting at their desks, their teacher leaves and asks me if I'm going to be ok, I say yes. I haven't been able to get a hold of Zintle or Sibakheh so I decide to start and then see if I can find them.

These poor kids are staring at me, completely confused as to why they can't go home. I stand in front of them as they, being the good students they are, sit at their desks quietly waiting for me to give them orders. "Hi I'm Martha, I'm from Australia and we would like to start a junior youthh group with you guys." I can see that they are stiff, not this atmosphere I want for this group. "Guys I'm not a teacher, if you want to move around go for it, if you want to sit on the floor or the desk feel free." So that helped. The kids loosen up and I introduce the first activity. In order to get to know these kids I ask them to trace their hands and in each of the fingers write something about themselves, either what they want to be when they grow up or what things they like, anything that relates to them. I show them the one I did at home and then start distributing the paper. Note to self bring more yellow paper, it's the favourite. Everyone starts the activity. They sit, talking amongst themselves but mostly quietly tracing their hands, sitting and thinking abotu what to write, deciding what colour to use. I walk around them trying to read their names which I've asked them to write in the middle of their hands. These kids in this class are the Afrikaans kids, I can tell because they write in Afrikaans 'werk, soker, rukbe'. I assume as I am late that this is the only grade 5 class left and in my head I am glad because 15 kids is more than enough. Sibakheh finds, Zintle has gone home sick, and so the 2 of us carry on with the lesson. I really want Sibakheh to take charge as this is hers and Zintle's group, I am just here to help and I need for the kids to see that. I can see that she still has work to do in terms of confidence controlling a large group. After a few minutes a lady comes to the door "Aren't you going to take the other kids?" Other kids? "There are the rest of grade 5s in the other room and they are getting restless, are you going to take them when you are done here?" Now in my head I'm like are they Afrikaans or Xhosa and how many and OMGB I tell her that we want all the kids in one group so she goes and gets them... All 30 of them. They all come streaming in the room and I can see the shock and confusion on the faces of the Afrikaans kids. I take the kids to the back of the room and introduce myself and jy. I explain the activity and hand out the paper for them to start. As they begin I go around to some of the Afrikaans boys "Do you ever hang out with the Xhosa kids? Are you friends with any of them?" The response everytime is no. I ask them why? "I don't know we just don't." I wonder if there's going to be a clash having all these kids together but I figure that these kids are all 11, 12 and 13 years old. They have everything in common except for their background. Why shouldn't they get along?

All the kids are now working on their hands. Sibakheh is going around seeing to everyones needs while I find groups to talk to about Breezes of Confirmation which is thr first book in the jy series. I also go around and try to pronounce peoples' names. The kids laugh at me when I get it completely wrong. I ask them to submit their hands to me so that I can look at them. I also want to take them home and practice all the names as well as see what these kids see in their futures. As the group starts to finish what they are doing I pull out the soccer ball and a game of soccer begins. With still around 15 kids in the classroom colouring and decorating I get another chance to talk to them about Breezes. Then I do something that I know all kids love, I pull out my camera.

YOH! Are these kids posers or what? They love the camera, they made me take individual photos of them and they always had to see how it turned out. One of the boys begged to get a photo with me which was hilarious. Most of us ended up migrating outside. While there I talked to the group about or service activity and asked them to think of things during the week. I also asked them to come up with potential names for the group and come back next week with their ideas.

My fears when first staring the group were that the kids wouldn't want to stay after school for the class and that when I introduced the book and explained that there were lessons involved they would not want to come back. My goodness was I wrong, I couldn't get these kids to leave. They just would not go home. I did a big farewell to everyone, we all put our hands together in a circle and cheered "junior youth group!" I asked them if they were all excited about coming back next week and they all said yes. It was such a good feeling, such a relief. After I said goodbye I went inside to clean up and get my bag. They all followed me inside. I'm looking at these kids like you can go now. Nope, instead they stayed, helped me clean up even packed my bag for me. Then around 10 of them escorted me out of the school and walked with me and Sibakheh to her house. I said goodbye for the 12th time and this time everyone went their separate ways home. We filled Zintle in on the class and talked about how it went.

I was buzzing all the way home, I'm so excited and I can't believe we have so many kids. And the best part was that I'd didn't matter anymore, Afrikaans or Xhosa, they were all one group at the end. I hope it stays like that and we can show these kids that theuy don't need to be separate.

Things I have to do for next week, buy a netball so the girls can play their sport of choice and make sure my camera has a full battery.

A couple things I'll share based on the hands activity. So many of these kids said they want to be a doctor. The sad part is that with the education they are getting at this school it is going to be very difficult for them to achieve that goal. Another interesting one was "I like to wash my body" not sure how to take this but it came up a few times. Netball and soccer were the 2 main sports and so many kids said they love school and doing their school work. The 2 comments that absolutely blew me away were "I like to help people" and " I am proud of myself." These kids are like 12, remember that. We brush off this age group so easily but they are so much greater than we give them credit for. And I think at least 60% said they love their families, also something nice to see.

I can't wait till next Tuesday, I'm so pumped about this that I was tempted to say I'd come back on Thursday and we could have class twice a week. I might actually suggest that next class.

Those who cross our paths

Waiting at Home Affairs, my 5^th visit to the place. I’ve been sitting in line for over an hour. There are still at least four people ahead of me and only one woman working the counter.
I’m tired of this place; I’m sick of its brown walls, its brown floors and its brown seats. A cockroach scuttles past, it will soon end up crushed under the foot of any of the 60 or so people who are waiting in queues. There is a lady sitting next to me on my left and a man on my right. Luvuyo comes after some time to see if he can find a way to prevent me having to pay a R10 000 repatriation fee.

We play musical chairs. As one person moves to the counter we all move up a place. Each time we scoot over we get one seat closer to the front of the line. Conversations start amongst the waiting people. In this section we are mostly all foreigners applying for visas to stay in the country. I’m talking to Luvuyo, telling him I’m not sure I want to stay in South Africa after this six months in P.E is over. I ask him if he knows where they plan to send me next. He says Polokwane, in the north. The lady next to me interrupts our conversation. “In Polokwane people will take care of you, it’s only in the big cities that you’re left to fend for yourself.”

The conversation continues. She is a 35+ lady from Spanish Morrocco, she’s been in South Africa for 11 years. “When I first came here I was in Pretoria for the first 2 weeks, no one was there for me. I had to figure everything out on my own. When I went to the rural areas that’s when people cared for me”.

She talks about living and studying in Cape Town.“I was given such a hard time there, I was called names like white caffa, it was a horrible experience”. She shows me her teeth which are all missing on top. “Everything I have was stolen from my home, even my dentures. This is a very rough country.”

She tells us she came to SA to work in the navy. She’s in the marines. I ask her if she’s ever been home. With an expression of contempt she says yes. She was deported just 3 weeks ago. All of her paperwork and visa were on the ship she works on. She was stopped by officials, asked to show her documents. She tried to explain to them that if they just checked with the government, called one of her officials, anything, they would see she’s employed by the navy and is legally in this country. Within 3 hours she was arrested and put on a plane home. Her 8 year old daughter left behind in South Africa.

I’m absolutely dumbfounded. Without even doing a proper check or trying to find the truth she was deported. After living here for 11 years! At home she contacts a friend who is a lawyer and now she is fighting back.

I’m shocked at how this could happen. I can see that this woman has suffered. It is there in her eyes. “It’s been so hard here, living away from your family and friends. The immigration people tell me to marry a South African and that will make everything easier. I’m a Catholic, when I marry I marry for love not for a visa and besides I’m already married; I’m married to the sea.”

She tells another story of life in Cape Town. In the span of 3 months she was mugged 4 times. “I was sick of it, I thought if they are going to keep trying to mug me then I’ll get a gun. So I get a license and I buy a gun. One time as I was walking these four guys approach me. Two go behind me and two in front. One of the guys pulls out a large knife. He tells me to take off all my jewellery and hand it over and while I’m at it I should take off all my clothes and lay on the floor. So I pulled out the gun, pointed it at him and told him and his friends to take off their clothes. And then I left them there, naked and I walked away with their clothes.”

Aside from being amused and proud of this woman for fighting back it’s also sad that you have to be armed in order to be safe.

I was absolutely astounded by this encounter. It’s amazing how we can cross paths with people never knowing what they’ve been through, what they’ve seen, what they know.
I love hearing other people’s stories, it opens up our own little window and through the eyes of others we are able to see pieces of the world we would otherwise never have discovered.

After her turn at the counter she walked away as any other stranger would, perhaps never realising the impact she had on me.

I still have to go to Home Affairs, hopefully for the last time and maybe while there I’ll encounter another person in line who’s story we share and even though we only have a few moments together the impact they could have on me might be just as great.

Segregation

South Africa has 11 national languages, here in the Eastern Cape 3 of those languages are predominately used; English, Xhosa and Afrikaans. Afrikaans, although having the word Africa in it, is not really an African language. It is a kind of offshoot of Dutch made by the white people back in the day and it is now used mostly by white people and by coloured people(half African, half other).

During the World Cup on the day South Africa played Uruguay this country celebrated Youth Day. A day dedicated to the young students who were killed by the police during a peaceful protest. The protest was against the government wanting to make all classes in universities taught in Afrikaans. This would restrict so many from being able to go to university unless they could speak this language. The use of language as a means of segregation is unfortunately something that is occurring in many facets of society here in Port Elizabeth and in most parts of South Africa. It is embedded into every individual from the first moment they begin to think and understand, it starts in school. Many schools are divided into Afrikaans and Xhosa speaking. Children are separated based on their background. When children are taught from such an early age that they are different to one another and that they belong in different groups how can we expect them to feel united or to come together later on in life? Often if the school principal is of Afrikaans background all the formal talks and presentations given to the staff and parents will be done in Afrikaans. If the teacher is of a Xhosa background they will be done in Xhosa. Either way one group misses out every time. Now think about this issue in the work place. I was told a story where there was a work meeting in a company. The meeting was entirely in Afrikaans, there was a Xhosa girl in the meeting who could not understand anything. The next day her work mates approached her about organising her farewell party. She asked them what they meant? Turns out the entire meeting the day before was about them letting her go.

There is so much tension still amongst these two groups. When we were talking about this I could sense the injustice felt but some of the Xhosa people in the group. One said that the Afrikaans people shouldn’t complain if things are done in Xhosa because for so long they tried to control us by using their language and now finally we are taking back control and we want to show them that we have our own language too and we want to use it. English is the only neutral language in this country and almost everyone knows how to speak it at least at a conversational level, so why not just have all formal education taught in English. Why not make it compulsory for English to be spoken in the work place if there are employees of mixed backgrounds? Well for one thing the Xhosa speaking part of the schools are already being taught in English. From what I understand the unwillingness seems to be coming from the Afrikaans side. Aziz who is a Baha’i living in Kuyga was also a teacher at Kuyga school. He does not speak Xhosa or Afrikaans and so was teaching in the Xhosa side of the school. He did however start up a Junior Youth Group in the school and as Baha’is we don’t want to segregate our activities by language. Many of the kids were from Afrikaans background and the jy class was done in English. A lot of the parents were unhappy about this because they don’t want their kids learning English. Let me just repeat myself there, the parents did not want their kids to learn English. Do I need to repeat myself for a third time? No I don’t think I do. But it’s crazy right? The ability to speak Afrikaans is only going to help you in South Africa and maybe to a smaller extent in the Netherlands. No other place in the world uses it. The ability to speak English gives you the opportunity to study overseas and to communicate with so much of the world as it is such a widely spoken language. These kids can barely speak English. Even the universities here are conducted in English. 

Why do these parents want to limit their children? I asked this question, I asked why people wouldn’t want to learn English. I was told that these people aren’t looking outside of South Africa. As long as they are living here they don’t worry about anywhere else. This answer didn’t satisfy me and thinking about it on my own I tried to figure out why this mentality would exist. Maybe it has something to do with separating yourself. Maybe English is seen as a bridge that will unite these two sides and perhaps some people don’t want that. If language can be used for power then a common language would take that power away. I still don’t really get it I just know that it needs to change. The attitudes that the people have towards each other need to change.

I was talking to Aziz, he was telling me how we need Baha’i teachers who can speak Afrikaans because at the moment we have no way of reaching this community. I told him I had no interest in learning Afrikaans, I didn’t want to learn a language that was used to oppress so many people. He looked at me and replied that that was why we needed to learn it. We needed to be the ones to make the first step and be able to communicate with these people and be able to teach them and bridge this gap. I still don’t want to learn it but I wasn’t so resentful any more. What he said made a whole lot of sense. We have to be the agents of change.

It’s really strange sometimes being in a country with so many cultures. Australia is a very diverse country with many cultures within it but there is still a difference between Australian culture and migrant culture. Those two types still aren’t considered as the culture of the country. Here in SA every culture is South African culture, the white people came and took the land away from the natives, they belittled them, took away their rights, imprisoned them and treated them as second class citizens but when Nelson Mandela brought democracy to South Africa all those cultures were considered South Africa. The white people call themselves South Africans, the black people call themselves South Africans, the coloured people call themselves South Africans. Even the Persian kids who are first generation born here call themselves South Africans. Sometimes in Australia I don’t feel like an Australian. I get told to go back to my own country, but I was born in Aus so what does that mean exactly? When I was growing up and people used to ask me what nationality I was and I would say “I’m Australian” they would say NO, where are you from? After a while you learn, you’re not an Australian or you learn to respond the way they want you to.. “My parents are from Iran but I was born here”.. “My background is Persian but I was born in Sydney”. It’s only now that I’m overseas that I feel Australian because people here don’t say no when I say that’s where I’m from. I guess the reason it’s different here is because the constitution of this country is so young. South Africa as we know it is only about 15-20years old. The foundation of South Africa is what we have now, it’s of different races being equal and no one race being higher than the other. So many people gave their lives for this South Africa and although it is still a baby and it still has so much work to do the essence of unity is there. No one here is told to go back to their own country (except maybe the Nigerians) haha jokes. No one is exempt from being called a South African, everyone owns pride for this country. This is where Australia differs. Australia is still owned by the white people, the ones who came in their boats all those years ago. Aside from the huge injustice that was thrust upon the Aborigines and the blood that was shed by so many of our Indigenous people this country has seen no war, no hardship, no struggle that would bring it’s peoples together. The foundation on Australia is white control and although we sing about it

“We are one, but we are many and from all the lands on Earth we come. We share a dream and sing with one voice, I am you are we are Australian”.

Even our National Anthem proclaims it, in its forgotten second verse

“For those who’ve come across the seas, we’ve boundless plains to share...”

We most definitely don’t live in a country that supports the idea of boundless plains to share for those who’ve come from overseas.. unless you are from England or the U.S. It’s a country where we have it so good that we don’t want anything to ruin it. Australia is a great country, it’s a beautiful country where people are living comfortably, where the government is always there with monetary handouts should anything happen to you, where we get upset when the unemployment rate reaches 5%. Of course people wouldn’t want that to change. The idea of increasing migration scares people. We don’t want things in our wonderful country to change and we’ve been told that more migrants might threaten our perfect lifestyles. We’ve bred a society of people who fear anything different and who resent those who don’t assimilate into the acceptable culture. This leads to racism. If anyone even tries to argue with me that Australia doesn’t have racism embedded in its blood then I’ll just give them the form that you need to fill out as a foreigner from let’s say the middle east to get a visitor’s visa to Australia. It is impossible to fill out, it is only printed in English, it has questions in it that we struggled to understand and the stupid part is that we weren’t the ones that were supposed to fill it in, the person overseas is supposed to do it. If English isn’t your second language then there is no way you would be able to understand it. Now there’s no way that I am saying Aus is more racist than SA, I’m just saying that at least here you don’t have to drink VB and watch the footy to feel like you belong. You don’t have to conform to anything or lose your accent or dress in a certain way. You don’t need to tattoo yourself with Australian flags or the Southern Cross, you don’t have to look a certain way or listen to a certain type of music to be accepted in this country. In Australia a lot of the time that’s how it feels. For someone who was born and bred there it is still so easy for me to feel like I don’t belong which is really saying something about the place. So back to SA, a land of extremes. I’m still furious at the government of this country for abandoning the people now that Phillip is gone (the World Cup). Still so many unfinished projects and who knows when they will be completed. The teachers have been on strike as they are being paid so little for the work they do. There was a great sign held up by one of the teachers on strike, it said “CAN YOU READ THIS SIGN? THANK A TEACHER” absolutely brilliant.

My next blog post will be about the townships and some new things I’ve learnt and I want to talk about District 9. Was going to go in here but I went on a tangent about Australia so I’ll save it for next time.

The Yaran

Both my parents were born in Iran, both my parents left Iran, both my parents have never returned to Iran. My parents were among thousands of young Baha’is who were rejected from their country of birth because of their faith. My mum and dad were both in India during the revolution, my mum was sent to India by her parents for a few months to wait for things to settle in Iran. When things didn’t settle my mum stayed in India and her citizenship was revoked by the Iranian government. The same story can be said for all the Baha’is that left Iran.

The Baha’is in Iran had reason to fear for their safety and send their children away. Since the establishment of the Baha’i Faith which originated in Iran, the followers of the Faith have been persecuted. Thousands of the followers of the Bab and Baha’u’llah the Manifestations of God who brought the Babi and Baha’i Faith respectively were executed in Iran. These executions have been merciless and brutal, Mona was just 17 when she was hung with 9 other women. Her crime was teaching children’s classes and refusing to recant her faith.

The Iranian government, although denying that they are unjustly persecuting the Baha’is, have in place systematic measures for the destruction of the Baha’i Faith in Iran. Their approach reflects Hitler’s approach in the genocide that took place against the Jews. There is a document titled “The Baha’i question” which maps out plans for the destruction of the Faith. Attacks against the Baha’is in Iran include the destruction of Baha’i homes and property including Baha’i cemeteries where graves are dug up and the Baha’is are told to come and clean up the mess and propaganda belittling the Faith and the spreading of false accusations against the Baha’is. The Baha’is are refused basic rights like the right to attain a higher education, the right to work in senior government positions, the right to openly teach their Faith, the right to a pension and the list goes on.

Recently there has been an increase in the attacks against the Faith. Hundreds of Baha’is have been arrested and many of them have spent time in prison for crimes that they did not commit. Regardless of age or gender Baha’is are arrested many times without charge they are kept in holding cells and refused the rights of an actual prisoner like the right to family visitors or the right to one hour outdoors...etc

There are countless stories of several members of one family being arrested, their crime is their Faith and their refusal to deny it but there is one story that I want to bring attention to and that is of the 7 Yaran(friends) who have in the last few days been sentenced to 20 years in prison.

Every national Baha’i community has a national administrative body called the National Spiritual Assembly. Its purpose is to see to the needs of the Baha’is of its country in an administrative role as well as overlook the spiritual needs of the country. The Iranian government banned the Baha’is from having any administrative body in Iran so in order for the Baha’is to see to the needs of the community they established the Yaran of Iran. In each region members were appointed to see to the needs of the Baha’is in that community. Their actions were completely transparent and in accordance with the laws of the country. The government was made fully aware of the members and were kept informed of what they were doing.

In May 2008 these 7 leaders of the Baha’i Faith in Iran were arrested without charge and kept in one of Iran’s most notorious prisons the Evin Prison. Here they spent 20 months without charge, for some time they had no right to legal counsel or to see their families. In many cases in Iran where Baha’is are imprisoned it can be months before family are informed of where they are held and in some cases families are only called to collect the bodies as their loved ones have already been executed, some have even disappeared and to this day we are not sure where they have been buried and what the circumstances were of their deaths.

After a lengthy trial where the charges of espionage, propaganda activities against the Islamic order, and "corruption on earth” were made against them these 7 leaders consisting of 2 women and 5 men were sentenced to 20 years in prison. The charges were baseless and obscene, each charge was denied with extensive proof for the innocence of these 7 but this was never about justice or the law. Iran’s only motive was to bring down the Baha’i Faith in Iran, to silence its followers and ignite fear and hate amongst the Iranian people. In that regard Iran will never succeed. Everytime that government persecutes the Baha’is in Iran the international Baha’i community is strengthened. For every Baha’i who gave their life the spirit of the Faith is increased.

There is a school in the tiny islands of Vanuatu named after one of the martyrs. The Rowhani Baha’i school has hundreds of students who are educated under the banner of the Baha’i Faith in the name of a single man who made the greatest sacrifice for the sake of what he believed in.

Nothing will silence the members of this religion and so long as the Baha’is of Iran are prevented from working for the betterment of society the Baha’is of the world will only give more for their sake.

I am here, serving in South Africa, with the thought of those Baha’is who brave through every adversity and test, who forsake a university education because of their Faith, who face abuse and harassment by their neighbours or co workers because of their beliefs, who stand strong and determined when threatened with death in order to stand for their religion. If they can strive through all that and still refrain from backing down then so can we and so can I.

I remember the stories of my grandfather who spent 18 months in prison just after the revolution. The expression on his face when he talks about his time in prison, the beatings and the torture and how those months spent isolated and alone treated worse than a murderer or rapist were the best months of his life because he was in such a spiritual state, so ready to sacrifice anything for something so intangible, so incomprehensible as faith. This makes me want to work even harder.

If only to bring awareness to the sufferings of the Baha’is in Iran, if maybe to inspire us all to take full advantage of the freedoms and rights that we so often take for granted, perhaps to motivate action in the appeals of the international Baha’i community to free these innocent souls I would like you all to read about what is currently happening in Iran. Ignorance may be easier, especially when something is of no personal relation to you but if we consider the whole world as one family, if we are all the leaves of one tree then every hardship that befalls another human being is our hardship and we should take responsibility for this world. Awareness and action should go hand in hand. Through pressure from international governing bodies we can give justice to these Baha’is, that is how my grandfather avoiding execution. When the world stands up against any country that denies human rights we will see change. Writing to council members in your area is the best way to keep governments pressing Iran on this issue. The Australian government has already made statements condemning Iran for its persecution against the Baha’is and we need this to continue. Otherwise we ask for your prayers, we ask people to keep the Iranian Baha’is in mind and pray for their safekeeping.

This link is to the Baha’i news service where you can read all about Iran’s strategic plan against the Baha’is and the trial against the 7 leaders.

The following is a photo of the Yaran, now sent to serve 20 years behind bars.

The South of Africa

10 weeks into my stay here and I have come to some fairly solid conclusions about South Africa.

There’s no way I would live here

This country seems to have gone backwards instead of forwards when it comes to growth and progress as a whole.

Until the people stand up against crime the police are powerless

There is no such thing as a black South African who can’t dance

People here are unaware that a GP and a doctor are the same thing

If you want something done be prepared to do it yourself

It's all about who you know

The level of respect you receive depends on what class you fit into

In terms of the overall experience I have been having a good time. The experience that I have had so far can be split into two categories the first being the World Cup experience and the second being the Living Here experience.

My World Cup experience was fantastic and I’ve spoken about it enough so now putting that aside let’s go into the experience I’ve had here just as an immigrant living and serving in South Africa.

This experience so far does not make it onto my list of greatest experiences ever. It has been insanely difficult and very trying. I would like to sit and say it’s not the people it’s just the culture and rah rah rah but unfortunately it’s been a culmination of everything. I know service is supposed to be difficult and testing but I didn’t realise I was going to dislike so much about living and serving here. Now my mentality on life is that everything happens for a reason and that even the bad things that happen to you like being stuck in traffic or missing your train all happen because there is an opportunity somewhere that you are supposed to take advantage of or to keep you safe. You take a wrong turn and end up having to detour for 10minutes but in doing that you avoided being in a car accident. It’s a sliding doors kind of thing. So with that mentality, with a state of mind that doesn’t like the idea of regret, that knows there is purpose behind everything, that tries to make or find the opportunities behind situations that seem inconvenient I even broke down and wanted to leave. I wanted to pack my bags, call another country, leave and go serve elsewhere. People would ask me ‘What are you doing in South Africa?’ and I would stare at them blankly and think “What am I doing here?” This has honestly been the hardest thing I have ever faced in my life. I have had more bad days in the last 10 weeks than I think I had all of last year. Now I have not been wallowing in my own sorrow or anything like that, what I think has happened is that I went from total freedom and independence to confined and unable. My social life went from vibrant and energetic to almost non- existent and the worst thing of all is that service so far has not been meeting my expectations. I expected Vanuatu and I got South Africa... go figure.

Really I shouldn’t be complaining but I thoroughly enjoy complaining and this is my blog so I’ll just go ahead and do it.

This country is just so backwards in so many ways. Every day that I leave the house I see something that shocks me, still after all this time. And I’ve been exposed to so many things in this world that I didn’t think I could still be shocked like this but I am.. every day!

Driving down the street and having to give way to a guy in a cart being pulled by 2 donkeys. Travelling in a taxi that only has seats for 13 people with atleast 20 people inside. My friend telling me to be aware of the monkeys when walking down a road. Asking how much an average waiter gets paid and finding out it is less than $3 Aus an hour. Going to the townships and seeing the way some people live. Visiting a young girl and having her mother and her mother’s boyfriend come home drunk and the mother complaining to me that her daughter is involved with too many extracurricular activities that she won’t have time to cook for her and clean the house. Seeing children running around in the streets when they should be at school and no one doing anything about it.

I feel like there is so much that needs to change in this country and for someone like me who feels personally responsible for the betterment of the world it is very overwhelming. Sometimes I just don’t know where to start. It took me some time before I decided to step back and plan out for myself exactly what I can do to help here and that has helped immensely. Now I have a plan and it’s achievable and it gives me back a sense of purpose.

Ok so done with complaining, I am going to stick it out and try my best to be happy in this country and do as much as I can here but at this point in time I am seriously considering leaving South Africa when my 6 month contract is up and finishing off my service in another African country, maybe at one of the Baha’i schools.

So that’s my little rant, we start junior youth with the Kuyga school on Tuesday with 57 grade 5 kids. The prospect of teaching is the biggest thing that is keeping me motivated at the moment. I will update you all and tell you how it goes. I also want to show you what Kuyga looks like so you can be as shocked as me.