Critical Rural Incident

Children walking to the river to fetch water is the sentimental stuff of storybooks, right? Here's how that experience went for me during my stay in nDogodweni.

On Thursday evening, around 5:45pm, before the sun went down, Kathlyn and I discovered from one of the Chili kids that they would be going to the river soon. We asked if we could join them and they said yes. We notified Mamazi (one of the Ma's of the house, although no one's actual mother) that we were going to accompany the kids. Right before we left the yard, we heard the sounds of Ma Thembi using a belt to whip Ncebo, our 12 year old sister in the backyard. Quiet Ncebo regained herself in time to join the departing crew. She sniffled as she walked with her bucket in hand. Kathlyn and I felt sorry for Ncebo, and worried that we had something to do with her whipping. We tried to ask the other kids why Ncebo was whipped, but couldn't get a clear answer, mostly due to the language barrier, so we remained confused. We all ended up (as usual) singing Shakira, K'naan and Rhianna and dancing as we walked. We veered off the dirt road and walked down a hill to find the river at the bottom among much greenery and palm trees. An older Ma and a few little kids from nearby were already there fetching large amounts of water in many drums. There was a thin, middle aged man lounging in the grass. We were also joined by at least one other household of children who came to fill buckets and jugs with water. In our group, Sihle, our 13 year old brother, pushed big buckets in a wheelbarrow. The river was a creek that opened up to about ten square feet of muddy water. The rusty metal skeleton of an old mattress was imbedded in the mud of the riverbank. This structure in the mud seemed like a kind of dock that the kids stood on as they drew water. The woman at the river told us that the water is not clean, and she only uses it for washing clothes and dishes, never drinking. Sihle and a few others worked filling up buckets for about a half hour. Kathlyn and I stood on the banks talking with some younger girls, as others sang, danced, and practiced balancing buckets on their heads. The walk back was considerably more difficult, especially for Sihle, who had a system for getting the now heavy wheelbarrow back uphill with the help of Ncebo. As Kathlyn and I walked, we continued to inquire with Sihle about why Ncebo was beaten earlier. We found out that it was because she had forgotten to go to the river to get water earlier in the day. It was dark by the time we reached the house.

This experience sparked many thought-shifts for me. Firstly, I realized the important role of the body in rural South African's lives. Here, (unlike in America) the body is the main mode of transportation for oneself, for babies, or water, rice, sugar, and other goods. Also, without toys, the kids to entertain themselves using their body to sing and dance. When they have no paper, they write on their hands. During my teaching experience at the rural school that week, I also learned the essential role of the body in education. When you have no posters, computers, t.v.s, art supplies, gyms, musical instruments, libraries, or even books, the body substitutes. Student's bodies in the front of the classroom can represent the nuclei and ribosome of a cell or the earth's shifting tectonic plates. Acting out scenes from "Animal Farm" can help the book come alive, and a song can help students memorize dates in history. Rural South Africans don't always have things but they all have a body. This fact has a dark side, however, when the body is seen as a commodity in the context of transactional sex.

Another issue that the river experience brought up was discipline. Although my parents in the states did not raise me using corporal punishment, I see it as an acceptable discipline choice when used in the right way. I could never characterize the Chili family as especially violent because this kind of discipline is common all over the world. Ncebo's whipping did, however, make me think of the many violent fights I had seen the Chili children act out based on the WWF wrestling they constantly watch on t.v. Although these fights start as play, they almost always end in real anger and fighting. I also noticed that as the adult hierarchy of authority transferred to kids (older kids are more "in charge" of younger ones), so did corporal punishment. On separate occasions, I saw my brother Bobo, 14, reprimand Ncebo with a slap, and Ncebo reprimand another child the same way. Here the lines between parental discipline and a culture of violence among children became blurred to me.

I could talk endlessly about the water crisis in South Africa, as much research has been done on the topic, but instead I'll simply saythat the river experience did (of course) give me a new appreciation of the water that is constantly, limitlessly available to me in the states. The amount of time and work that goes into obtaining water here is, in my American life, probably spent doing activities like homework, studying, making art, playing sports, or other leisure activities.

This leads me to my next point of physical exercise. In my Cato Manor home-stay, my younger siblings were stuck in the house most of the day with little to do. I could see their pent up energy when Lusanda would ask me to race her on the street, or when Sabelo would listen to music and box the air while standing on the front porch at night. Organized sports weren't a possibility there, and it seemed kids in Bonela had no where to release their energy. Of course there was nothing that looked like my idea of organized sports in the rural area either, but my siblings there had the time, space and safe surroundings necessary to run, play, and do jobs like fetch water, which keeps them physically active. This was one advantage the rural area had over the city.

Another topic that the river shed light on was rural community and family structure. The river was a place where the community met and talked. Fetching water was a job families left mostly to children and women, as the woman we saw exemplified. The man lounging in the grass as the women and kids worked only reinforced my stereotypical view of most South African men as almost useless to the family.

Finally, there's the topic of the rusty mattress skeleton on the river bank. Kathlyn's first reaction to seeing kids walk bare-footed onto the rusty metal was to stop them so they don't hurt themselves or get tetanus. She didn't realize that they saw no harm in walking on the metal, because they do it every day. On the walk back from the river, she warned the kids of every broken glass bottle on the dirt road, even though they walk those roads every day. "Watch out, there's glass, don't step here." She wanted to control the situation, fix the problem. Sometimes I think this is our default mentality as Americans. There are many issues wrapped up in a "saviour complex." I do think that Americans, as powerful and wealthy members of a global society, bear a responsibility to parts of the world with less power and wealth, but our political, economic and cultural interventions are not always helpful. John Daniel made the bold statement that "culture can be harmful." I agree, but shouldn't Americans be careful about what we tag as "harmful" in South African or Zulu culture? I have only been a guest to Zulu culture. Where I may see tetanus, they may see a river dock that has never hurt them. Where I see a problematic marriage structure, they may see a system that provides the multiple incomes and caregivers needed for their family. A more clear picture of harm, however, can be seen in South Africa's high levels of crime, political corruption, domestic violence, HIV/AIDS, and failed education systems, to name a few. How should America and Americans intervene? Do we call foul or should we wait for South Africans to? This broad question must be answered on a case by case basis by every government and non government organization that works with South Africa and her citizens. I must answer this question for myself as an artist, someone whose job is to hold a mirror up to cultures so they can seen from a new angle. At the end of the day, I will inevitably say something about Zulu culture in my work. It's important, when drawing comparisons and conclusions, for me to remember that that my culture can be just as harmful as Zulu culture. Where are the rusty mattresses in American culture? To me, they can be found in unhealthy food production systems, domineering big business, or our distorted views of success, sexuality, religion, and the list goes on. Just as every culture can be life enriching, they can also be life zapping. I must be always be critical of my own culture and notice when the ground I'm walking on has the potential to cut me physically, psychologically, or spiritually. I can only make decisions based on what I feel and think to be right, just as everyone else does, right?