The
Oprah South African Leadership Project provides cross-cultural
immersion and international exposure through travel
and study in South Africa for Morehouse College students.
In the future, it will involve an exchange of students
between Morehouse and South Africa, and will encompass
ethical leadership training and community service
in both Atlanta and South Africa.
June
7, 2005
 As
with the previous day, we make our way to the Etafeni
Playgroup Project in the Nyanga township of Cape Town.
We leave the Waterfront and business district, pass
the mansions—some brick with bay windows, others
painted the color of delicious peach confections—all
beholding pricey views of Table Mountain.
We
ride past the power station. Its two cylinders tower
above a section of Cape Town’s middle-class
homes, most of them one-story dwellings typical of
California or Florida architecture. An exit away are
the aluminum and wood shacks, a ramble of thrown-together
abodes none of us can imagine people can live—or
survive—in. Most of the structures are slightly
smaller than a Ford Expedition and have low, flat
ceilings.
It
is winter in South Africa, which means Cape Town is
cold and, unlike Johannesburg, wet from the rain showers
that come during various parts of the day. The rain
has pummeled some of the shacks so hard that they’re
in various stages of collapse. Other shacks have relented,
giving way to the forces of nature, the wood becoming
kindling for street vendors who sell cooked meat throughout
the day.
As
we amble toward the main hub of this part of Nyanga,
a large billboard looms in the distance. Before turning
in the direction of Etafeni, our bus must wait at
a robot—what South Africans call a traffic light.
To our left is the market and community health center.
To our right, Kelly, one-third of Destiny’s
Child, is bathed in purple colors wears a Dark &
Lovely perm while smiling down at the expanse of litter,
animals, pedestrians, vendors and combis (small vans
that can amazingly hold 10 to 12 people) from the
billboard.
A
few minutes later, we’re at Etafeni. Students
who slept on the way to Nyanga groggily climb off
the bus and toward where they’ll spend most
of their daylight hours here working.
Mark Rainey ’05 busies himself making bricks,
five students help with the daycare’s inventory,
and the remaining others choose to work in the nursery.
Though I really want to make bricks, I decide I’ll
do inventory and move to the nursery.
Inventory
is an easy, though sticky, job. Clint Fluker ’08,
Arthur Woodard ’05 and I sort the juice boxes,
writing the totals for how many juice boxes the daycare
has and then how much of each kind of juice. Our biggest
challenge is deciding if litchi juice—the sweet,
milky white liquid of the red litchi berry—and
mixed berry juices can be in the same category. Meanwhile,
Jamison Collier ’06, Brian Buchanan ’07
and William Moore ’06 count the growing stack
of cardboard boxes containing dishwashing liquid.
In
between counting packets of rice and brown sugar with
Clint, I walk to the daycare center to help the mothers
from the community care for the children.
THE
WAY CHILDREN PLAY
 Most
of the children are at their tables coloring illustrations
and talking with each other. Almamy Sagna ’06
is talking to the children, teaching them how to count
to 10 in English. Nashid Sharrief ’06 is on
the other end of the center, helping them with their
coloring. I walk to one of the mothers—most
of them speak English in addition to Xhosa, their
native language, and at least two or three other languages—and
ask if they need help. The woman nods her head and
smiles, gesturing toward a motley crew of children
dressed in colorful threads to combat the winter’s
chill. After sitting at the edge of the group, I am
given paper and crayons to make my own masterpiece.
As I draw a large, sloping flower, the children gather
around to see what I’m doing. A few try to draw
smaller versions on their own paper.
As
I glance at what the children are coloring, I notice
that they aren’t bothering to stay in the lines.
Instead, they just color up and down, side to side.
It looks as if they aren’t really noticing the
black lines that make up the picture, only the sheet
of paper and its need for color. As they color many
of them smile at me. I ask one student his name and
he tells me. After trying to ask a few others their
names, it’s obvious that they don’t speak
English and I don’t speak Xhosa. The boy who
tells me his name looks at me, then begins to introduce
me to all of the children at the table, telling me
their names in his small, but solemn voice. Nashid
later tells me that he conversed with the child in
English, teaching him some new words, and having general
conversations.
“That’s
a smart kid. Every word I had him say, he repeated
perfectly. Perfectly, man,” Nashid says, amazement
lingering in his voice.
Nashid,
the sixth child of 12 siblings, told me at the beginning
of the trip that he wants to go into real estate.
While we were talking at Etafeni, yesterday, he said
that he also wants to teach children. Like many of
the students, he’s trying to figure out a way
he can return to Etafeni to work with the group of
children again.
After
coloring, it’s time for play outside. The children
run around. Some lope through imagined high grass.
Some play on the playground. Some eagerly await bubbles
blown by Nashid, Almamy and myself. Some roughhouse
among themselves.
At
Etafeni, the children’s play is rough. Children
hit each other—hard. The students tell me of
one child who was turning flips and another child
reaches out his arm and just punches the kid as hard
as he can. The victim is stunned for a moment, but
gets up and begins playing again.
(Story
continued on page two)
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