Saturday, May 19, 2007
At the beginning of April I realized I would be in Stellenbosch, near Cape Town, for a New Testament conference on Passover, so contacted the local synagogue beforehand and asked if a service would be held, explained who I was and why I asked. I was offered a seat for the service and invited to a family Passover Seder by a delightful couple, Jerry and Bernice Rosendorff. Jerry explained that he was a retired physician in the quaint little European, cobblestone street town. After dinner we played bowls, the European game where you roll small heavy balls on the floor with the object of getting closest to a key ball.

I’m nearing the end of my stay in South Africa and double booking my time to say goodbye to everyone. My neighbors and I have been counting the days leading to Pentecost and prayed tonight thanking the Lord for the 43 day. Here’s a picture of the fence post ribbons we’ve tied to keep track of the days. I’ll be back in the U.S. for the 49th day and the great celebration of the 50th day. I’m amazed to have almost spent the whole spring festival season here in Africa. The leaves are changing, turning yellow, orange and red as autumn turns to winter. The temperature is expected to drop to minus 4C on Monday night. If my fingers thaw out, I’ll try to write again before I leave on Wednesday. I’m so thankful to you for all the email and correspondence during my stay.

South Africa has 49 million inhabitants. Many landed in the country as part of the slave trade generations ago. The rich international influence from India, Asia, Europe and different parts of Africa is seen in food, architecture and language, particularly in Cape Town. The Xhosa language is major African language there, and it includes five different clicking sounds. In the year 2010 the World Cup will be hosted by South Africa and the population during that time is expected to double. They're making plans.

During Peter’s visit we went to Market Theatre in Johannesburg before setting out across the country and saw a performance entitled, “Shirley Goodness and Mercy,” an autobiography about a national film personality that starred in the show. It was about growing up in the Apartheid years from the perspective of being “coloured,” described by the writer as, “not as low as being black and not has high as whites, but somewhere in-between.” It was set in Soweto, the huge black township near Johannesburg and gave great insight to this culture. Peter and I had dinner at Gramadoelas beforehand a place to spot dignitaries and celebrities and eat authentic South African food. We took a picture and sat a table away from the Dutch ambassador.

This weekend my neighbors will get together, as is our tradition now, on Shabbat or Motzei Shabbat; anywhere between 15 to 25 of us not counting children gather for dinner and fellowship. Friday night is the thirty-fifth day in this biblical festival season leading to Pentecost. It will be one our last times together as my time is coming to a close and I'm making plans. I return to the states on March 23rd!

Today is Freedom Day, a national holiday commemorating this country’s first democratic elections in 1994. Nelson Mandela, the first black president, spoke along with others on this cold rainy day Cape Town day. His main themes were crime, economic challenges, alcohol and drug abuse, and “pushing back the frontier of poverty”. The underestimated number of people living with HIV virus and AIDS related deaths weren’t mentioned while I listened and tried to find any white faces in the crowd. Tribal dancers wearing a variety of colorful outfits (mostly covering their lower body) danced while professional news personalities announced the event on TV. Two worlds, both black, present quite a different picture. Some of the women in African garb interviewed have University degrees and a proficient command of the English language, and others are as rural as you can imagine, speaking only their native language. Many share the tradition of topless tribal dress. Africa meets the West.

While the nation takes a break today, I study and reminisce about the holiday Peter and I took last week. While traveling we saw many beautiful things: fields of trees including bananas, oranges, macadamias, coffee, pine trees, avocados and palm trees; dramatic waterfalls, canyons, rolling landscapes and fifty foot trees in full bloom, pink, yellow and blue. Africans line the streets walking nearby every town, smiling faces emerged almost every time eye contact was made. Some women we passed on a seemingly endless stretches of land balanced sticks and branches (at least as tall as they were) on their heads often carring babies the traditional way, straddled legs in back held with a towel, sheet or some other kind of fabric. The two women pictured here were selling their wares and when I asked if I could take their picture the older one stood up to pose. You can see from their clothes, that inseparable mix, Africa and the West. On this day, Freedom Day, I pray God looks with favor on these and all His children here in Africa.

Kruger Park is in the Northeast part of this country, home to a great assortment of animals including the “big five”: Lion, Buffalo, Rhino, Leopard and Elephant. I didn’t expect to see them while I was here, but last week I saw them all! Peter came for a visit and we had a wonderful time. Exploring a small section of the 36 506 acre park, we watched a giraffe run right in front of us, saw hippos take an afternoon swim, and enjoyed a herd of elephants, babies in tow, walk past stripping every tree in their path. We also saw wart hogs, wilderbeasts, zebras, impalas, monkeys, a crocodile and a slew of beautiful birds. Then there was this huge African Buffalo. These animals are said to be one of the most fearsome in Africa weighing in the region of 1,320 pounds. This crusty old guy gave us a questionable look with these two birds on his back.

Maybe the most enjoyable experience we had was an early morning guided walk in the park. We rode before sunrise in a high open air 4x4 out of our campsite to the path where we began the hike. Our guide said he had heard a roar that morning and knew a lion must be nearby, so just outside of the camp he looked around with his flashlight and framed a full grown lion not more than 30 feet away. He was beautiful. The camp has an electric cattle guard that keeps animals from coming inside, thank goodness. On the walk, we passed a massive pile of dung, a local toilet for black rhinos, and not too long afterward came across a mother rhino and her calf. She looked for a moment as if deciding whether or not to charge and the tour guide’s assistant cocked and pointed his riffle, just in case. Fortunately, it turned and walked into the brush. What an experience. We saw a variety of footprints, plants, rock formations, learned a lot about the animals including a small coniferous deer. On the ride back we stopped and watched a gorgeous, full grown male leopard up in a tree. Peter and I felt privileged to see such a unique slice of nature. What a creative God we serve, His untamed imagination and gracious character are evident in the wonderful creatures He chooses to have share this world with us.

There’s a thorn bush in South Africa called “stay-a-while” aptly named because once you brush against it, its prickly spikes grab hold and don’t easily let go. I heard about the plant on an early morning hike several days ago in the Karoo National Park (photo). The Karoo is largest ecosystem in South Africa, a vast and unforgiving stretch of land North of Cape Town and home to a fascinating diversity of wildlife. I stopped in the Karoo with several colleagues that had attended a New Testament conference near Cape Town with me. I flew to the conference and took the opportunity to see the countryside with them by car on the way back. We hiked in the Karoo in the early morning moonlight with the call of baboons in the distance. The stars in the Southern hemisphere, Alpha Centauri, Orion Nebula, the Milky Way, were all glistening as we set out that morning.

The NT conference was held in a town called Stellenbosch. It’s really beautiful, small and quaint, reminds me a bit of Winter Park, Fl. with cozy sidewalk restaurants and unique shops. The participants of the conference were from all parts of South Africa, other regions in greater Africa as well as Australia. I enjoyed the company of Scotsman trained in Edinburgh, now the principal of a bible college on in Western South Africa, an eastern European priest who studied at the Vatican and others. The keynote speaker was ironically from Barnard College at Columbia in New York. She stayed in a guesthouse and missed the college dormitory experience. A group of opera singers stayed in my dorm and although they didn’t keep unruly hours, it was a bit surprising to wake up and fall asleep with Motzart and other arias at full tilt. One day I went to borrow an iron on the other side of the dormatory complex and bumped into a student who said she had heard an American staying there.

We went to the 5:30am Easter service at the Anglican Church this morning. Today is the Day of Firstfruits on the biblical calendar and the later part of the Feast of Unleavened Bread. Several of my neighbors counted the first “omer” together last night. They’ve decided to tie a ribbon on the fence posts around our complex for each of the 49 days leading to Shavuot (Pentecost). I’ll send a picture when there's a few more on the fence. Happy Easter! Happy Day of Firstfruits! Happy Feast of Unleavened Bread! Happy first day of counting the omer!

Along with Claire's birthday, today is also Purim. So last night we had a Purim party and skit to act out the story of the Book of Esther. The children in the flat complex were the main actors and they recruited Godwin (a linguist specializing in Semitic languages particularly Hebrew and Syriac), to play the role of Haman. No one else would be the bad guy. It was great fun. While preparing I was particularly struck by the line in Esther, “these days should be remembered in every generation by every family, and in every province and in every city. They should never cease to be celebrated.” (for a copy of the skit, just email me, I'll post it on the Festival in a Box website later).

Last week a British guy stopped by my office at the Theological College to say hello. His name is Stephen, a Catholic priest from Pretoria, a 2 hour drive from here. (Very odd to have a Catholic priest at a reformed seminary!) We talked about how we found ourselves in South Africa and he told a story about growing up in England with Jewish neighbors. As a boy, he was invited to do things around their home on the Sabbath that Jewish families weren't permitted to do. One particular Sabbath, Yom Kippur, he remembered the woman of the house asking him turn his pockets inside out before coming inside. It was an abrupt request, as if she wanted to make sure he wasn’t hiding anything. It made quite an impression on him. It made an impression on me too, but in a different way. The act of turning out pockets on Yom Kippur is an ancient tradition tied to asking for forgiveness and getting stuff right with God. Stephen didn't know it but he was taking part in a custom that later carried great meaning and a place in his Christian walk with the same God.

I promise to write about my adventures in rural South Africa. This week has just been filled with remembering and celebrating festivals. They amaze me with their richness and God’s goodness.

Pasaka (Pess – eh’ – cha) knocked on my door yesterday (pictured). He was with the Bureau of Statistics for the South African government, taking census information as his department does every five years. “Do you have electricity, water, refrigerator, internet, radio, tv, how long have you lived here ...?” He wrote answers on a very official, multi-page form. We got to be friends during the questioning, his female co-worker who joined the conversation wanted to know when my husband was coming. The most shocking answer I gave was that I had never given birth. The idea was so unheard of that Pesaka repeated the question three times to make sure I understood. He was missing important parts of his sandals (same as some of the other workers with him) and made a point, after the business of questions, to tell me his name. “Pasaka,” he said, “in English it means Good Friday.” Ahh, of course. Pesach: Passover, redemption from slavery and sin. Somehow it seemed right, a South African black man telling a white American woman about God's mercy and His power to save.

Before Pesaka arrived, the yard men came to the same twelve foot gate entrance where Pesaka arrived. As is customary, they whistled until someone let them in to do their job. Two faces smiled and thanked me for being the one to come. Several weeks ago, a group of military police showed up. They came --- in eight armored humvees holding about five police officers each --- to see if they could get overnight accommodation nearby before a big international soccer match at the University the next day. All forty of them sat on the lawn and visited with us about their jobs: employed by the South African government, as the Riot Patrol, they assist in dangerous situations all over the continent. They had just returned from the Congo and were excited about the soccer match at the University (where the most violent incident was in the game itself) the next day. I couldn’t help but pray for them.

As of yesterday, I’m in the South African Government’s records as a temp resident situated with a beautiful lawn all around, protected by the country’s finest armed guards and reminded of God’s saving grace. I count it a good day!

The place I’m staying is called Dennepark, named after giant pine trees that grow here. Pine is “denne” in Afrikaans. The trees are so big it would take two people holding arms outstretched to go all the around some of them. It’s amazing to think that it took six people in the same position to go around one of the many columns that held up Solomon’s portico on the Temple grounds in Israel. (In front of the trees are two of the little girls from Germany that live nearby.)

The dirt here in Potchefstroom is quite red, almost like Edom in Israel (the land of Esau, whose name in Hebrew means Red). Between here and Johannesburg, there are lots of gold mines. The dirt stacked several stories high beside the mines is not red, but they’re interesting to see anyway. East of here is the largest manmade crater on earth (so they say). The giant hole was dug in search of diamonds. I asked a guy in the IT department—who was watching the movie “Blood Diamonds” while I waited to have my computer loaded with University software—if he thought the movie was accurate. He said, “that’s a totally different world, I have no idea, but the movie’s good!”

This week marks 4 weeks since I’ve been here in South Africa. There hasn’t been a dull day yet. My study is truly rewarding. Last Friday night I was invited to dinner with a theological student, Tim, and two of his friends. Tim shared about his yearning to go to Burundi, Africa to start a Christian training center. His plans were quite detailed as if he got a clear blueprint from the Lord. He’d not shared it with many people when he received a phone call out of the blue from a man he didn’t know with an offer to support him financially in the effort. The man offered and later delivered 1,000 Rand for each of the one hundred and fifty-three fish that Simon Peter pulled in with his net (John 21). That’s enough to support Tim and several others for the first three years in Burundi.

The Apostle Paul had it right when he said, “since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made…” He’s everywhere, whether talking out loud, working through others, or just showing us things along the way.

This morning I went to an area of the city called Ikageng [(ee – ka – cheen)---Setswanna has a guttural “ch” sound]. It’s a black township where we visited an all black church. The congregants were so pleased to see me and my German neighbors (Sabastian, Uta and their three children) that they made special arrangements to have part of the two-and-a-half-hour service translated from Setswana. The first attempt was to translate into Afrikaans, thinking that was our native tongue, but the black woman who took us explained that we didn’t understand Afrikaans, so they switched to English translation. The older women wore a certain kind of dress (all black skirt, black long sleeve blouse and a white collar) as did the group of women 51 years old and younger. The later wore white long sleeve tops. I was glad to wear a sleeveless dress and be written off as a foreigner who didn’t know better. It was 87 degrees outside, hate to guess the inside temp.

The text for the sermon was Exodus chapter 3 but the preacher told the whole story of Abraham leaving the listeners with a question, “how do you respond to the Lord when he calls you?” He was so excited that he hardly left time for the interpretation. There was a lot of singing, dancing in the isles (particularly with the older people), clapping, and arms waiving. Perhaps the most touching part was when everyone stopped to sing a song especially for the white visitors. It was a prayer that our names be written in the Book of Life. Reminded me of the biblical tradition at the Feast of Trumpets when the same request is made.

This picture shows an older couple in front of a fund raising table. Maze is sold in many different varieties, here it's simply corn on the cobb. I'll find a better way to post photos so you can see more than one at a time!

Last week I went to a birthday lunch hosted by one of my neighbors, Madupe (Ma du' pay). Madupe is a pharmacologist from Nigeria and a Christian; she invited a couple of people from her department at the University, someone from her church, and a couple of neighbors. The birthday party was really for her 9 year old daughter but the children’s parents and a few others came together to sit, eat and visit while the children played. (This picture is of one of the theological post doc students dressed up like a mysterious sultan providing clues for a treasure hunt at the birthday party.)

One of the women who sat by me at the luncheon was South African. She shared about her family history, how her Dutch grandfather, as a child, was put in the concentration camps set up by the British during the Boer wars. Several of her grandfather’s siblings died in the camp. Today there is still animosity between the British and Afrikaans, I’m told, though an outsider can hardly see it. The larger distinctions are between whites, blacks and coloureds and Indians. The Chinese migrated to South Africa centuries ago but there doesn’t seem to be a category for them. There’s room for a lot of healing.

Yesterday I went to get a cup of coffee with a woman who exercises at the gym. We had a typical breakfast at the coffee shop: a muffin with grated cheese, shredded biltong, butter, jam, and whipped cream. (The muffin is cut in half and all that stuff goes on top!) While we were eating she said, “the first time I saw you, you looked as if you were wrapped in soft white cotton like a cloud in which the Lord keeps you protected and secure from harm.” Funny, that’s what it feels like from the inside. The Lord has been gracious providing directly or through others, but always surprisingly. We’ve chosen a great, and very personal, God. Like the song in Fiddler on the Roof, “if I were a rich man,” I cherish this chance to study Him and His ways all day long.

I woke up this morning knowing someone was looking at me. It was Maggie, my neighbor’s cat who had jumped through the window and was sitting on my desk waiting for me to wake up. Windows are open all the time here and there are no screens, instead windows have metal designs that don’t allow anything big to come through, but air and small things, like cats, can come and go as they please.

Mangos are in season now. They’re big and delicious. I accidently spilled coconut milk in a cup of mango chunks and it was delicious. Lots of seasonal fruits and vegetables are available now in the middle of summer. At the grocery store I’ve learned to say “yes” when asked by the cashier if I want “sakkies” so I'll have something in which to carry things home. Sacks aren’t expensive, they just have to be requested.

Biltong is a dried meat famous in South Africa (Ann B. would love it.) It’s like beef jerky but made out of different meats—primarily from Spring Buck. I saw some Spring Buck (a small antelope type animal that springs into the air and whose jump looks like a flying fish but on the ground) yesterday on a game farm. Game farms are huge pieces of land where native animals graze naturally, some game farms are private and some are public. Yesterday I went to one of the public farms where, unfortunately, the monkeys and rhinos were in hiding, but the giraffe, willdabeast, zebras and many types of anelope were sunning themselves.

After I greeted Maggie this morning, I went with some neighbors to the Reformed church attached to the theological college. There’s a service in Afrikaans and a much smaller service in English. The University semester starts this week and the English service evidently expands just after this time of the year, at the end of the summer, with all the returning international students. I’m among them!

Yesterday I went to the store to get a headset for my computer for Skype. I’d been to the same store last week and remembered that it was “Moslem”, closed on Friday for prayers from 1 to 3. The Moslem population in Potchefstroom lives in the Indian district of the city where Hindu is also practiced on a smaller scale. The Indians came several hundred years ago to work on the sugar plantations.

At the store, an Afrikaans sales person (not Moslem) helped me find what I needed and said, “Ben Laden can check you out” pointing to a young middle eastern cashier with a modest head cover. A lot of South Africans migrate to Australia, the U.K., and Dubi to make more money than they can make here—this guy looked like he might have been from Dubai. I got into a conversation with “Ben Laden” and mentioned something about his name. He didn’t want to talk about that saying his full name was something, something, something. He wanted to know where I was from and when I told him he put his head down and said, “everyone in America hates us.” “It’s not true” I said telling him that the average Americans live without the preoccupation of anger toward Moslems just has average Arabs simply want to live in peace. He didn't buy it and said that 9-11 changed the way America thinks and it think unkindly about Arabs. I responded, “on behalf of America I want to apologize.” He didn’t say a thing. Only after I walked out did I realize (because someone told me) that the Africans guy was teasing Ben Laden by calling him that name after the famous terrorist.

Many of the people I’ve met (Arabs, Indians, Afrikaans, black South Afrikaans, etc.) have had little exposure to personal relationships with Americans. (Many Africaans think I'm British.) Interesting to see how they view it: some in a good light, some not, but always informed.

Morning comes early in South Africa. Just after five am the outside sensor lights go out because the sun has lit the entire sky. One of the window of my flat faces the clothes lines for the complex (even though there are washers and dryers, the clothes lines are always full) and someone inevitably comes to get their clothes shortly after five. So the day begins.

I finally have internet connectivity in my flat, so the day this morning began with research for my dissertation. Then I went to the gym. It’s just a block away, beautiful and fully equipped—probably for the Olympic athletes who train here. I saw some of them on the athletic field several days ago when I went with neighbors to the University swimming pool. The field is lush and green and seemed somewhat magical as I saw it from up high looking down. Runners and high jumpers lined the tracks.

At the gym, I decided to take strength training and yoga classes; didn’t think about the fact that they were taught in Afrikaans. At a break during the first class I thanked the instructor who said, “why didn’t you tell me you were American”, then she taught the class in English.

The people I talk with are fully bilingual. Afrikaans and English. If they don't know me, they begin sentences in Afrikaans, see my bewildered look and switch to English. At the Theological College (pictured) everyone knows that I speak English and conversations convert when I am around so that I can understand. I’ve met with several of the professors, many of whom have impressive CVs. One NT professor wanted me to read one of his recent papers, so I did and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Today I found some really helpful information for my topic for which I’m so grateful.

Tomorrow I will have been in South Africa for two weeks. My first week was packed with adventure. Stay tuned and I’ll catch up on what’s happened so far …

South Africa is beautiful this time of year. The high elevation (roughly 5,000 ft) keeps the air clean and cool in the mornings and evenings, this afternoon the high will be 82° Fahrenheit. Many of the streets are brushed with color from big trees and beautiful flowers in full bloom. The chatter in the streets is either Afrikaans or one of the eleven official languages in South Africa.

This morning we visited an Anglican church where we were greeted outside by a group of school boys dressed in dark blue suits with jackets that have broad, thin orange stripes. They were wearing hats that reminded me of the old movie the Music Man. Remember the straw hats with the flat brim and flat top with a band around them? I’ll try to take a picture and post it here. These boys, and their young female counterparts, go to the boarding school supported by the church that helps black families in outlying areas by educating their children. It’s much like the British system where they don’t see their families for extended periods of time and become family to each other.

My flat is in a very cozy complex with international students and their families. Manya, from East Berlin, is a postdoc student working in nutrition--she lives next door. Uta and Sabastian, ironically also from East Berlin, live nearby with their three young children who pop by daily. Sabastian also finished his Ph.D. and is working at the Theological College. Madupe, a physicist, finishes her Ph.D. next January. She and her two small girls are from Nigeria where her husband lives and visits from as often as possible (two or three times a year). David is from Ivory Coast. Katharine, a classical pianist expecting her first child next month, is originally from Kakastan and is married to Ingo from West German where the couple lived before they came to the University. Ingo is an astrophysicist. I've briefly me a Bengali family who returned from holiday recently. Summer break has just come to a close. This close knit international group shares meals, cars, fellowship and fun.

Friday night we had a Shabbat dinner together. The children picked up the song “Shabbat Shalom” quickly and made up dance movements to go along. There were about 12 of us celebrating in all. When I told the children that we were doing what Jesus and his disciples did each Friday night, they assumed that meant that we’d be doing this every week. The adults later asked if we could. Perhaps a new tradition has started.