At Home in Snathing

On April 30th, the last Friday before my big trip [aka the Awesome African Camping Adventure] will be one of my best memories of my time in South Africa. Morgan came to Pietermaritzburg, and that day I wanted to show her the kind of work that I did and the community that I primarily did my work in [Snathing]. I decided to take a copy of the Witness newspaper article about the Umhlaba Wami museum opening to Mr. Ngcobo, the principal of Ingqwangele High School [where I did the workshops]. We got a ride to Snathing in the Thandanani truck—Morgan sat squished between Agnes and Nhlanhla, and I sat in the open truck bed.

When we entered Snathing, I instantly felt comfortable in my environment—I knew where we were as I had traveled down those same roads dozens of times before. I recognized the potholes in the dirt roads, the bright clothing hanging on barbed wire, the mud houses spread on rolling green hills. I waved to the children at the crèche as we passed and they chased the car on the side to make sure I saw that they were waving back. And I loved their smiles. I could smell the lush vegetation, the burning fires, the cooking pap. I remembered how these communities were never void of music as radios blasted from small mud huts and women sang as they gathered water. I could almost feel Snathing.

Once we got closer to the school I saw students that I recognized, either from my workshops in Ingqwangele or from the therapeutic camp last December. Teenage boys yelled my name and waved their arms as I passed. As we got closer to the school I watched as school girls danced outside a local shabeen and loads of students hung around various tuck shops [the school had sent half of the students home that day due to some registration chaos].

Once dropped off at Ingqwangele, I felt as if I was back in my zone. I used my Zulu to greet the woman opening the school fence. I chatted with Mr. Ngcobo [who was thrilled with the success of Umhlaba Wami: “I never thought it would be so successful! In the museum, in the newspaper!”]. I showed Morgan around the school and remembered the first time I went by myself. Then the class breaks happened and students came pouring out of their classrooms.

At first I saw Bonginkosi. Then my students from Umhlaba Wami slowly realized I was there and started coming over. Their friends followed, as they were incredibly curious because the random white/coloured girl had brought another random white/coloured girl. I talked to the kids and introduced Morgan, happy to share this experienced with a friend. My favorite moment was when Zimbili came running from the other side of the school to give me a big hug and say thank you. Nothing has ever made me feel so good.

I cannot verbally describe the impact of these moments. Of turning something incredibly foreign into something that makes you the most comfortable. Of taking strangers and making friends. Of feeling that you have made a positive impact in someone’s life. I do not know how to paint a picture of the warm feelings I felt that day, but I can tell you that it was when I realized that this was an experience that I would really miss. I have never felt more fortunate that I was able to do the Umhlaba Wami program.

We took a kombi [mini bus taxi] back into town and as the dirt roads became paved and the cows and goats in the road were replaced with stop lights, I felt a slight tug of my heart—I had a feeling I would not be going back there anytime soon. I do not know if the memories of me will fade from that community as quickly as they emerged, but I know that my experiences there will permanently be etched into my heart.