Until two days ago, I had no idea what I was going to write for this – my last blog entry. Since being home, I have gone day by day through the experiences I had in South Africa with those that wanted to listen. The questions and audiences would vary and with them so too did my story change a little each time. But each time I made it my goal to disassociate the idea that the struggles and peoples of South Africa are Other to those with whom I was recounting my journey. Yet, I could not help but notice that the difference is exactly what people wanted to hear about. Because those who I was telling my story too inevitably felt that they already knew the story. They knew how different this African country was – how far it was from America. When I mention even the slightest detail about cultural differences—for example at one point I was talking about the contrast of a large French Chateau style home with horse property sitting across the street from a shanty town—and one in the audience said, “That’s how it is everywhere else in the world.” Her world travels are limited to three or four countries outside the States. She had never been to South Africa. But she was raised to think that there is American, and there is everything else. People always want to hear about these differences, and not always with bad intentions, but because it is easier to have beliefs affirmed than to learn new things. But ultimately, I believe it creates a sense of self when everyone else is different. And that sense of self can be dangerous, most notably when people do not question what sources create their “individuality.”

Allow me to quickly discuss an event that occurred two days ago. I was getting coffee in the break room at the Key Equipment Finance headquarters in Superior. Two men were talking about sports, soccer I believe, and so I joined the conversation. They began to talk about the World Cup next summer. They were discussing how the USA may have a chance now that they proved themselves, shockingly, against Spain. Then the conversation twisted to the tournament being held in South Africa. One gentleman said, “I worked next to a man who “fled” South Africa for safety after Apartheid and I will never go to that shit-hole continent.” It was at this point that I said how I had just recently been to South Africa. I commented how I felt safe the entire time I was there--that the people, were some of the most wonderful I had ever had the opportunity to meet. I did not however go so far as to say that his work mate was probably a racist bastard whose own hate blinded him to the possibility that now lay in a nation that is finally, at least attempting to be honest. No, I avoided that comment. But I did say that South Africa had its problems, but that the States (I would have said every nation in the world, but I have only been to three) also has its problems and that this had become evident to me in my trip. Then the conversation went back into our intriguing new chances in Soccer on the international stage.

Not ten hours later one of my friend’s dads, who I had not seen in a while, stopped by our house and said something similar. He wanted to know how my trip to South Africa was and I told him a quick blip or two. “I have always wanted to go there,” he said, “but I know how dangerous it is for white people now.” Sigh. Sure, I told him that just like in this nation almost all crime was white on white, or black on black, or blue on blue. I wondered if he was informed by the same racist asshole as my co-worker. I doubt it. But I do not doubt that he was informed by a student of the same institution as my fellow employee’s, well, fellow employee for lack of better descriptors. It is not that I am upset that my friend’s dad, or my co-worker, accepted the advice of men who had once lived in South Africa. Though, I wish they might have considered the source. But why should they have? These men were told things that affirmed their identity as civilized Americans. They felt comfortable that other nations were just that…other. I guess its only natural, however devastatingly depressing it may be, that people accept what they do not know as other and gladly follow the pide piper that gives them what they want to hear.

Yes, that is a little thought on South Africa and the States. And it is easy to understand that people normally would have no reason to ever go to South Africa, that personal interaction with a Xhosa was unlikely. So why get so disgruntled over this acceptance of other. Because, in South Africa I remember Ouma, an amazing woman, telling us that she almost did not marry her husband because he was Xhosa. Because I recall sitting in a Johannesburg airport bar listening to a man that believed his interests were the best for South Africa, and that those who were now allowed to participate could only succeed if they too came to see things they way he was raised to. Because, in my high school lunchroom the black kids sit at their own table, the Indian kids at their own, and the sea of white is divided by athletes, band members and the like. Not once did I ever think to get up and sit with anyone else to eat my pb&j with than the people I always had. And I honestly felt that I knew people at other tables just because of who they were sitting with. Xenophobia is a pertinent word when foreign can mean your next door neighbor.

I did not want to write this blog listing everything that I had learned. So, I did not.
I did not want to write this blog about how glad I am to be home. I am.
I did not want to write this blog about how much I miss South Africa. I do.

But I did write it hoping that I may look at it in some future date knowing more then, than I do now. That my ignorance in this piece is laughable at a future point. That I continue to grow and seek to understand and respect rather than accept others for being others. Because it is to simple to allow myself to be defined by everyone else being a contradiction rather than a compliment. It would allow me to feel better, to feel superior, rather than just human. Difference is human and it is beautiful. But too often is it made into a rating system. And if South Africa, the States, and the world is to change for the better, difference can no longer be used as a means for hierarchy. Rather, maybe someday it will be used as a tool for people to know where to start when trying to understand others, not as others, but as brothers and sisters. Umoja.