African Child
“African born, raised and by choice.”
These were the words of Oom Francois Rauch in 2013 to me when I asked where he was from originally. I would one day like to be able to have taught myself the art of also saying this when someone asks me where I am from. The past month in Africa has educated me in many things about her (Africa), the world and myself. Many tensions still scorch in my heart. Many faces, places and suitcases flash through my thoughts as I play back the memories in my broken heart. It’s broken because of what I’ve seen but it’s not a broken brokenness. It’s a hopeful brokenness. One of the reasons I embarked on this journey through Namibia, Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique was to test Africa, investigate her theories, fight to the centre of her heart and together with her test my heart towards her and my fellow human beings. I have come to the depressed conclusion that I myself, most of the time, romanticise Africa and her theories. For instance Ubuntu: I am because you are. The reality is that ‘they’ are not. Africa is not making it. It’s poorer than we think and our Western theories of what Africa is supposed to look like are wrong. Ubuntu is dying because people don’t even have enough to share. Ubuntu is dying because the people are dying.
This might all sound a tad too depressing for some people, but this is the reality that I had to face in my heart in Africa. And this was just the Southern part of Africa, never mind the North where Boko Haram and ISIS are taking over.
Like a Spekboom that takes carbon dioxide and processes it into oxygen, I myself had to attempt to take the ugliness that pierced my eyes and expose the beauty of Africa, as difficult as that was. Many beautiful things happened. I saw many beautiful faces. I saw spectacular places. Amidst the vicious reality of Africa she has so much to offer. Not only to the world but more importantly to herself. Her people. Us.
Dewald, Pieter and I never for one moment felt in danger in any one of the countries, except when we returned to Johannesburg. I was devastated when I identified in myself the fear once I entered my own country again. It wasn’t a feeling I wanted to feel. And to make it worse, when we went to go drop off Dewald and Pieter at the bus station for their journey home, a little black dude shouted on spotting us in the centre of Jo’burg “Welcome to South Africa!” As if every white person in Jo’burg is from another country. It was like a bullet just split my Africa shaped heart in two. I felt like a stranger in my own country.
I began to think to myself what a white person would have to do in South Africa, or for that matter Africa, if he/she wanted to be seen as an African? Do I need to wear African clothes? Then I would be labelled a “wanna be”. Do I need to speak an African language? Well isn’t Afrikaans African enough? (The word ‘Afrikaans’ itself has four letters of the word ‘Africa’ in it?) Would I need to eat African food? What about a braaibroodjie then? Or pap and wors?
It felt to me like I had to prove myself to be an African because of my skin colour.
It hurt man. It really did pierce into the space behind the ribs.
Contrary to the above someone called me an African child this past month. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever felt in my heart. It was like someone said my name for the first time. Sunshine through neon green spring leaves. It kind of felt like that moment in The Lion King where Rafiki held up Simba to the whole animal kingdom proclaiming the identity of the entity in his hand.
This
Is
Who
You
Are
Son.
Being called an African child (or a Child of Africa, not to be confused with being an African toddler…just saying) comes with the responsibility of again not romanticising the term like mentioned above. But I will be claiming this title in its holistic meaning as someone who will fight to bring justice to Africa. Always cry with the weeping. Laugh with him who has joy. Always pray for reconciliation. Always get up when trodden on. Always be a Spekboom of life. Always fight for freedom. Always play soccer when there’s a game on. Always hope.
Viva Africa!!