Vuvuzela

I love it when sound making objects have a great name full of sound.

Vu-vu-ZELA. I think I like the name better than the sound of the horn for celebration. And as the days to the World Cup count down, the amount of vuvuzelas and sports jerseys increase..



In fact every Friday the nation has begun wearing sports team jerseys. Mainly Bafana Bafana, appropriate to support your own countries soccer team. Mama Judy’s children, who can barely get together a few cents, pay 1 rand every Friday as a fine for not wearing their school uniforms to partake in the ritual, particularly important as a student, and also as it seems bank attendants.

Everyone on the news is also very faithful at wearing their jerseys and supporting Bafana Bafana. As the excitement grows and we start preparing where we will watch games and getting our tickets to go to games- so does the concern.

The vuvzela sounds for excitement and loyalty and celebration of the world coming together. The vuvzela sounds as we show respect for sportsmanship and excellence (and entertainment).




But the vuvuzela also sounds with danger in the background. With tourists, excitement and too much alcohol crime and accident are a concern. My larger concern is for children. Children who have become business people and see this event as a place to make money, but children who are also in a very dangerous place in terms of trafficking and sexual abuse. Knowingly or unknowingly. (Don’t get me wrong, soccer has also done great things for South Africa kids- but those that make there living on the street and those from other countries making their living selling things. Not to mention the sadness in how childhoods are lived out. And the chance to play soccer, that’s a good chance to be a child or an adult.)

With our excitement and entertainment as humans somehow we also abuse the livelihood of others to enjoy ourselves more. Children in South Africa are having long winter holidays over the World Cup. It is true many would bunk (skip) for the games, but I am concerned over the risks some children will face without places to go. And the

So we must enjoy the sounds of vuvuzelas, but remember all the places that sound travels during twenty ten.

18 Days!
Hannah Bafana

The Soul still seeks a place to Be: Mama Judy's

Mother’s Day was the most appropriate time to write about Mama Judy, but the take home message was a feeling of home.

Mama Judy and I have some how decided we are family. We often refer to each other as sisters, but I also always call her mama or mother out of respect and some of the ways she cares. She works as our office cleaner and joyful talkative spirit. Early in our daily morning greeting she picked me up while we hugged, which we now take turns continuing.

Rachel and I began eating lunch with Mama Judy and Mama Vero (who also works at the office and the Kalenga/ Illunga household.) after I got back from my Easter trip to Malawi. My trip to Malawi also bonded us because Mama Judy and Vero are both originally from Malawi. Lunch with the both of them is wonderful and all aspects of life come up, but always in a matter of fact humorous Mama Judy type way. I think I have learned more form her about gander roles in different areas, than all of our work at SHADE around the issue.

A few weeks ago we joked about her teaching me how to crochet and she said yes on Sunday you come over. On Friday we spoke again and I was backing out a bit to try to sell vegetables with the students. To which I got an earful that it was the Sabbath and in fact also Mother’s Day so Rachel and I had to go over to Mama Judy’s house after Church. (Jen was in Cape Town with lovely visitors). I mean can I really turn down a good argument and we had been promising to spend more time with her children.

So after stopping by Mama Tembo’s to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day and thank her for her role in our lives, we went two plots down to the plot that Mama Judy and Papa Gerard live. The whole family came out to greet us with a similar joyfulness as Mama Judy. Prince 7 and Priscilla 11 are well-behaved, hardworking, astute children that became our siblings on Mother’s Day. In fact I told them Rachel and I were going to begin to sleep on their bottom bunk and they would share the top bunk (We in fact have at many times been invited to stay there is we need to as it is so close to work.)


(using blankets to stay warm walking around outside, yes Mama Judy put it on me before I was allowed to walk out of the house)


When I lived in Cuba my friend Kelly and I had been invited to stay with a family for Mother’s Day and spent one of my favorite afternoons there in my four-month stay. I looked forward to Mothers Day in part because of this time and I knew it would be an all day affair. In fact we stayed for lunch and dinner as if their two-room home was our own.

So often our differences are apparent and compared here. And for the first time in a few months at Mama Judy’s on Mother’s Day, talking, eating, sitting on the bed all together, listening to music, and taking a walk around the plot- we were family without differences. Everyone was proud of who they were and did not get caught up on formalities. No one apologized for what was too little or too great, instead we all served each other.

We all served each other and enjoyed each other. And were comfortable in each other company. A pretty good example of Christianity and humanity. Rachel and I played with the children and spoke of real and difficult issues. I even fell asleep on the side of the bed and then was woken up to make the Mother’s Day pap after Rachel and Mama Judy had cleaned the dishes.



And we just were there. We just were. The souls had a place to be together and happily. I found true home in Mama Judy and here family. The next week we stopped by to see our brother and sister again and as I was getting ready to leave, Mama Judy said “where are you going my children its time for dinner?” And a meal planned for four was shared by all seven of us- and everyone was full.

from an e-mail to a friend

(Excerpts and ramblings from an e-mail to Claire, but honest)

My heart sinks every time a chicken dies and I know we don’t have the
proper facility, but have to keep going for the other ones and to
actually teach the students. And somehow these feelings make me even
more emotional about the oil spilling out into the gulf and ruining
wild life and livelihoods. And that links to my ache for the world as
I work with people in Congo who don’t see a way toward peace until all
of the minerals are ripped out of their lands, but what do you do with
a formerly war ridden country with no natural resources for support
anymore. For some reason I feel the pain of these things being ripped
from the earth in a different way now, not because I am more of a
hippie- but because taking care of the chickens and being responsible
makes it all the more real.

My parents recently sent some movies over, as that is the only social
thing we can do without ending up talking about work or working for
the entirety of our lives with SHADE. We watched Australia with my
roommates and one of their sisters is visiting. IT struck a lot of
cords with me I think. The having little
idea what you are doing, but somehow being responsible for the people
that know what is going on or what needs to be done for the animals
and the systems. Balancing the humanity and human element of things-
which I don’t have to face as much. The stolen generation I can’t
even comprehend. But it was good to watch.

But at the end of the day we have always laugh, and I can go
barefoot at the office or in the garden, and now that it is cold my
friend Lucy convinced me to buy house slippers that I keep at home and
bring to the office and feel like Mr. Rogers changing shoes every time
I go outside or come back in.
Lucy was convinced it was because it was too cold on the tile floors-
(Cold because it is autumn, but instead of being like fall it was
just cold with too much rain and no heat or insulation anywhere.
Today is still cool- but its bright and some trees have different
colors- not like ours- but looking for the positive in the season and
starting to make soup and get good tea)

My desk is a whirlwind of graded papers and little notes or things to
remember, and vegetable inventories and receipts that need to be
accounted for and books to start planning lessons and a book of
poetry. And then the lists are even longer than that, but the papers
are there and growing just enough to get by, as the computer files
grow to start new little tasks we need done.
But I have gotten used to it and don’t really feel the pressure, just
do what I can and then try to listen when others are overwhelmed.