dancingthroughchaos

‘As long as poverty, injustice and gross inequality persist in our world, none of us can truly rest.’ – Nelson Mandela

They say that Africa is not for sissies.  Apparently it’s not for those who expect everything to work smoothly either.  It’s not for adherents to the British Highway Code, the politically naïve, the Green movement, the easily offended or the dewy-eyed.  All this has put me at a distinct disadvantage since we’ve begun to spend more months on the south side of the equator.  I could overlook the ridiculous idea of one-ply toilet paper and the unappetising cadence of ‘monkey-gland sauce’, but I cannot overlook the grim realities of guys who go through my wheelie bin every week, the people who beg at traffic lights, the eye-watering poverty evidenced by acres of shack dwellers, or the women at intersections carrying small, thin children and signs crudely articulating their tragic stories.

Like so many before me, it’s taken a while to understand that I cannot save Africa.  There are simply not enough 5 Rand coins or kind gestures in the world to solve all the convoluted problems here.  Call it ‘white guilt’, call it ‘compassion fatigue’ or call it a ‘reality check’; it doesn’t really matter.  The fact is that I cannot live here with any sanity if I respond to every need I see.  At the same time, my conscience, my faith and my natural inclination towards feeling responsible, will not allow me to ignore all these things either.

I can’t claim to understand as much as half of what goes on here.  The newspapers make my hair stand on end with their casual reports of corruption, throwaway statistics of murders in the townships and half explained accounts of national policies without public accountability.  The social system is cracked and complex; the health and education systems are unravelling alarmingly fast; the traffic is bonkers and the taxis a law unto themselves.

I am not the only ‘newbie’ either: pretty much everyone here has come from somewhere else; it’s all a question of time.  The original Khoi San Cape dwellers are few and far between these days.  The Xhosa and Zulu people descended from the Nguli, and arrived here in the 14^th century from the east and north.  The Afrikaaners are descended from 17^th century Dutch, German and French settlers who came primarily to establish a supply station on the trade route round the Cape of Good Hope.  The first British settlers arrived in 1820, eager to start afresh after the severe unemployment problems at home after the Napoleonic wars ended.  History books chronicle how this hotbed of diversity became a clash of cultures, intent and method resulting in two bloody wars.

South Africa today has come of age as a democracy, but the legacy of Nelson Mandela appears to lie in tatters.  The vultures who are left seem more interested in garnering and retaining personal power, executing revenge and fuelling their own vendettas against both real and perceived wrongs (whilst feathering their own nests of course), than in serving the good of a disenchanted populace.  It is not a comfortable place to be and yet it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.  The oceans thrill, the mountains inspire, the lush vineyards refresh and the bush exerts a magnetic pull towards serenity, peace and the possibility of seeing wildlife in a way no European zoo could ever replicate.

Perhaps the hardest thing about living here for extended periods is the inverse culture shock that kicks in with every return to the UK.  There, the rigid law and order, and the obsession with ‘Health & Safety’ can feel suffocating; the houses and landscape are claustrophobic; the faces are too monotone and the comfort zone too high.  The ludicrously overwhelming choice of products on display in the supermarket has caused me to freeze more than once, as my overstimulated brain finds itself paralysed for a moment or two. It’s a necessary discipline not to become the caricature angry returnee decrying, “First World Problem!” at every turn.  So what that you didn’t get your favourite flavour of ice cream? So what that your new kitchen cabinets haven’t arrived on time?  So what that you had to wait 40 minutes at the doctor’s surgery? I don’t want to be the obnoxious and smug returnee with a superior air and low irritation threshold for people’s complaints (legitimate or otherwise), and their persistent air of entitlement.  I can’t magically transport every individual from the western world into a culture where having clean, 24/7, running cold water – let alone hot water – and electricity, is a dream.  I can’t persuade everyone that free health care is a blessing beyond compare, regardless of how long you might wait for it.  In an African culture where life is cheap and medicine expensive – even when it is available – I realise how much I have taken for granted in my own life.

So how do I reconcile this strange life of mine?  Truth to tell, I don’t.  It sits uncomfortably and raises questions at every turn about how I, and all of us use our time, money, homes, faith, choices etc. My current conclusion is simply to try to take life a day at a time wherever I find myself.  And that’s not a bad principle to live by, for anyone.