Part 1

   Rebecca and I made arrangements to go downtown for the day. This is an event in Johannesburg as "town" is alive with commerce and electric with people. Even though Apartheid was abolished almost a decade ago there is still cultural segregation, this is seen very clearly in "town" as most white South Africans do not go there...but my sister is no ordinary person as you will find out.
   On our trip to "town" one of the places we were going was a "muti" market. "Muti" is the (I think) Zulu word for medicine which is easy to purchase and comes in a vast array of material. Most muti is organic materials of roots, bark and bits of earth but there is also animal muti which can be anything from goat fat to monkey skulls. The muti market we went to was nestled under a major freeway overpass. The energy was so foreign to me it seemed ominous, with smoke pouring out in great waves and piles of earth, roots and unknown organic material heaped in sections. There were lots of people, standing, sitting, working yet they were very quiet and still- there was virtually no hustle or bustle.
   (I miss you Becca just telling this story) We parked in a space that Rebecca deemed safe although, it didn't seem to me. My sister is quite savvy and is very aware of her surroundings and there various meanings. We began then to walk through the muti market. We had driven by this market 3 years ago but it was not safe to enter. Rebecca had heard there were some unsafe doctors/healers that worked from this market and did not engage but time had changed things. We looked at muti and talked to stall keepers. Some were suspious and disinterested but most were engaged and interested in interacting with us. I was nervous and felt very young as we were in the middle of a situation that I really had very little idea how to navigate. Surrounded by Zulu, muti and an environment that was new and completely foreign to me, Rebecca needed to take care of me and she did so with ease and tenderness.
   We came to a stall where Rebecca knew a Sangoma (traditional doctor/healer). We chatted with other women and men while we waited for the sangoma. Everyone laughed and were amazed at Rebecca's knowledge of herbs, treatments and Zulu. Whenever she would reply to an inquiry in Zulu, the small crowd would laugh and huddle together and clap. They were completely amazed that a young white woman could speak Zulu. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen...my sister grounded, at ease, laughing and engaging and breaking a million stereotypes just by being herself. We waited a long time for the sangoma until finally she began to come out of a large, blue, metal shipping container. Her cracked feet came out first while her toes struggled to find her sandals. The tip of her cane popped out of the metal opening then her head. Long, black dreded hair crowning a face that was a perfect mix of the aged and wild youth.
   We joined her in the blue shipping container and told the "translator" what our needs were. I use quotations for translator because she would translate only simple Zulu into complex Zulu and vise versa, it was very, very cute) After the translations had been made with many words and gestures the sangoma began telling those around her what to get. The "translator" gathered bits and pieces of bark, earth, fat and other unknown organic materials and gave them to the sangoma. The sangoma mixed and prepared the muti while adding extra powders and goat fat. She handed the black plastic bag filled to the brim to someone who was to crush it using something that looking like an old fashioned butter-churner. When the bag was returned it had more fine dust.
    The process from parking to leaving the sangoma was about 2 hours-although both Rebecca and I had wanted things to move a bit faster, that's just not how it works. We were required to go with the flow and after breathing in waves of smoking muti for 2 hours I was glad to move slower and more deliberate.
    The muti market story ends here...we went back to the car and drove further downtown to buy fabrics. After which we drove past the construction of "The Nelson Mandela Bridge", hope filled my heart as my revere for South Africans and their hard work for peace and equality continues.

Part 2

    On August 10, the day I was to leave South Africa my sister, Rebecca, her husband Brian and their daughter and my beautiful niece, Maia had an adventure planned.
   My sister and Brian had planned a short day at the his aunt and uncle's farm. Their farm was near a black township called "Brits." I believe "Brits" is the third largest township in South Africa outside of Soweto (population approx. 3.5 million) and Alexandra (I don't know the estimated population but it huge). As we turned the road to enter the farmstead area we passed an enormous white sign with black letters "BRITS" and I felt excited. Becca had planned a small event to commemorate the birth of Maia as I wasn't there for her birth. My sister and Brian knew the value I placed on their new daughters life and they wanted me to feel included. By having this small event of planting a magnolia tree, they indeed included me and valued my ongoing presence in their lives. After the ceremony we had Rooibos tea with Brian's uncle and aunt, both kind and generous people that even with my limited knowledge of South Africa I found such humour in their Afrikaans-ness-the dramatics in which information is relied and the volume in which everything is expressed, not a quiet people! We laughed as they showed pictures of Brian as a little boy in drag- a much better looking boy then girl, I must say. Our visit came to an end as I had 5 or 6 hours until I had to be at the airport and although we were only an hour away, I wanted extra time at the house before leaving.
    On the way back into Johannesburg we laughed at the stupidest things, our sides and cheeks ached from laughing. As we drove through the yellow and brown of Jo'burg's winter landscape we knew our adventure of the day and my trip was coming to a close. Brian like Becca and I had a hard time with the idea of separating and he suggested picking up a roast chicken, some veggies and a bottle of wine for dinner...something easy and fast but still touching and a little beautiful. There is a small strip mall near there home and we decided we'd stop at Woolworth's (South Africa's Dean and Deluca) for our dinner items.
    Brian pulled into the parking lot and pulled into the closest spot at the door as he was only going to be "5 mins", Rebecca and I chatted easily as she turned toward the backseat to see me. Maia was sleeping hard through our chatter. Within maybe, 6 or 7 mins we heard a noise coming from Woolworth's...I noise that can only be gun fire. We froze. More gun fire. Bullets shooting through the glass of the store. Where the f*^&k was Brian! Rebecca went to run into the store to find her husband, I was screaming at her to get back into the car and I went to run into the store. We both knew and know that logically you don't run into a place with active gun fire but when you love and care for someone you can't imagine doing anything else. Maia was of course awake and crying. A small group of men?, people came running out of the store. I thought they worked in the shop. Rebecca pulled the keys out of the ignition afraid of a carjacking which is a reality in Jo'burg. We huddled as close to the car floor as possible. I realized I wasn't helping Rebecca by being hysterical and finally I had the internal space to touch her and say "He's ok", "I know he is" she said...we looked out the car windows, it was very quiet. Brian came running out of the shop and we jumped out of the car to touch him. I've never taken a breath like the one I took when I saw him running out of the shop. I breathed in and it was the thick, milky air of relief and terror. Brian was yelling at us to get back into the car, the danger was not over. We sped away only to see a cop car 50-60 feet from the crime, it was only a coincidence that they were there. Brian told them that people were shot, dying and possibly dead in the store and to get back up as soon as possible.
   When we got back to their home, a 10 min drive. Brian told us that it was "a robbery gone bad" and that the man in front of him was shot at seemingly point blank range and that after the man had collapsed the robber's began shooting random bullets at anything and everything. Brian hit the floor. How did he know what to do? I've seen it in films and t.v but I've never been around that kind of violence. Brian, being a South African has seen enough violent behavior to have known what to do. In this case yes, it was valuable information to have but I did (and do) question why anyone should have that kind of knowledge on the backburner of their minds. What a sad and horrible thing to know- how to save yourself from random gun fire. In the livingroom we talked and hugged, we still touched each other tentatively like we were made of powder. Brian needed to go back and find out whether he could help some of the injured. Rebecca also wanted to go with Brian and help but was convinced it wasn't a good idea. Reluctantly, we let Brian go. I didn't want him to leave the house, I didn't want anyone to leave, I wanted us to stay there and hide.
    When Brian got back he said he could not help as basic paramedics had not arrived and the police had just sectioned the shop off. He brought with him a roasted chicken and bottled of red wine from another shop. The wine helped settle our nerves, helped numb indescribable feelings. I started to feel disassociated from my body and the experience. My internal and external world became very quiet and heavy much like the room where x-rays are given. Silent with the slight hum of machines and breathing while covered with a lead, all over body bib...in the name of my protection. Our sense of protection was alive because it had been penetrated and violated. What compounded our feelings of protection and fear of loss as we stood in the kitchen hugging was that I was to leave for the airport in the next 2 hours. How do I leave these people I love so much in an environment that is so unpredictable.
    I have been nervous to write this story because I've worried that the negative images associated with South Africa will diminish the incredible work that South Africans have done. I deeply believe in the process of a free South Africa and I believe in the beauty of its people. I also understand that peace and equality take time. The fact and reality however is that Johannesburg has the highest crime rate in the world and my best friend, you Becca, lives there. Leaving Brian, Rebecca and Maia is such instability and being powerless to do anything about it was a difficult reality to deal with. Violence and crime aside, leaving Maia and knowing that I will probably miss her first words and first steps was very sad but however tentative a "lifetime" is I knew I had it with her. Three hours had passed since we had been at the Woolworth's. It was time for me to board the plane and spend 4 days in Amsterdam, an old home filled with history for me.

That's it for now, thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read my stories.

peace,
steph