MLK Spotlight - Alisha: Reflecting on learning abroad in South Africa

Alisha is a senior majoring in Journalism with a minor in Leadership. This past May, she studied abroad in South Africa. She reflects on her experience in the essay below. 

When people ask me about my study abroad experience, I start off by telling the story of the climax of my trip. It occurred on a bridge near the highway. We took a break from the various activities of the day. Climbing out of the van that we spent far too much time in for my taste, we began to blindly follow our guide. We cautiously made our way up the street drawing stares from the people around us. A group of eleven Americans making their way through the township of Guguletu was not a common sight, so we had gotten used to the attention. Finally, as we made way to our destination, the purpose of our trek had become clear. Looking down from the bridge, there lay the most profound example of the juxtaposition that I had been trying to wrap my head around for the past couple weeks. To the left there were homes in a neighborhood not unlike one that could be found in the United States. Many of the homes were equipped with satellite dishes and all were guarded by high gates. Without even needing to move, you could glance over to the right to see the thousands of shacks constructed so close to each other that you could barely tell where one ended and the other began. To this day I still don’t remember what our guide was telling us, as I was too caught up in my own thoughts to give much attention to anything but the scene set before me. 

This was not the first time I had encountered these feelings. Our group, which consisted of nine students and two instructors, had moved from a posh little bed and breakfast in the suburbs of Cape Town to a township where millions of people lived in poverty. Our first week was spent doing the basic tourist activities to introduce us to the country. We went up to the top of Table Mountain, and also to Boulder Beach which is completely inhabited by penguins, along with a slew of other activities. 

We were scheduled to spend our first and last week in Cape Town and the middle week staying with host families in a township community. I anxiously awaited the township experience. Although I was greatly enjoyed these activities, I longed to break out of the tourist mold and see what I considered “Real Africa.” However, there was no way to prepare for the experiences that I would have there, and the lessons I learned were immense.

I got my first taste of the way that the “Have-nots” live as we made our way through the township. Over the next week we were exposed to the problems of the Township. As a part of the Township experience we toured the area with members of the church, and visited different members of the community. We visited orphanages, sat in on an HIV support group, and painted the homes of the people of the community. Going through this experience it was hard not to be disturbed.  There were homes and businesses that operated completely out of storage containers, and beggars on most corners. On every street there were two or three stray dogs roaming the streets, some limping, most so skinny it was difficult to imagine how they stayed alive.

We listened to one heart wrenching story after another. The 73 year old woman who sold baked goods in order to take care of her sister who drank herself mentally ill. The wheel chair bound grandmother struggling to take care of her young grandchildren after their mother died. The bedridden woman whose entire family abandoned her as she became ill. The woman and her son who are battling HIV, cancer, along with a slew of other medical conditions that arose. All of whom were unemployed.  We also went around with women who walk several miles a day to treat hospice patients.

I searched my brain trying to figure out a way to make sense of it all. How could I go back to my beautiful bed and breakfast? How could I get up every day being served meals that I sometimes didn’t even finish when I encountered children who have to fight for every meal? How could I come home to my 37’’ flat screen and not think of people who live off the kindness of others? I felt so guilty at times that I would sneak and leave money at the homes before we left, just to make myself feel better.

However, as the week went on, I began to see how the people in the community coped with their situation. Every night when we ate dinner I noticed that there were no leftovers for the next day. When I asked where they went my host mother casually informed me that she gave them to her neighbors. The love and compassion for each other was immense.  I was shocked with her response, as I do not even know my own neighbors and could not remember a time in which I had. The empathy and the support of the people in community was unlike anything that I had ever encountered. 

Alisha with her host grandmother and host granddaughter

My host mother then told me a story of how there was a home that had caught on fire in another township and the family was left with nothing. Once she got the word out, her home was filled with bags of clothes and supplies donated by the people of the community. At one point she told me her house was so full of bags that she could barely walk from one room to another. She sat in her home astonished by the kindness of her neighbors; the only problem was that she had no way to transport all of the clothes as she did not have a vehicle. The only thing she could think to do was to call the police, who sent over three vans to help her with the clothes. I sat, listened and was so impressed by her story. Would complete strangers care enough to come to my rescue without me having to ask?  We think that in America we have “so much” and we feel sorry for those who have “so little.” But in reality that township in South Africa was richer than any place I had ever been.

The orphanage in Guguletu

Overall I learned more in my week in Guguletu than I had in any other place we visited on the trip. One day, we visited an orphanage in an informal settlement called Barcelona. The kids there were not able to speak English so we were not able to speak with them. However, the pastor that owned the orphanage told us something that changed my entire view of our time in Guguletu. After telling a heart wrenching story of a boy whose mother had put him in a plastic bag preparing to kill him and herself after discovering that they were both HIV positive, he told us what he planned to tell the children about our visit. He told us that he would let them know that eleven people loved them so much that they came all the way from America to see them. I fell in love with that statement because I knew it would make the kids feel important, like they mattered. I took that mind set with me through the entirety of our time in Guguletu. 

I once felt helpless and that I was treating the people as zoo animals by coming into their homes and gawking at them. Listening to the pastor changed my whole point of view. It is enough to have just been present. It is enough to put a smile on the face of someone who would not have smiled that day. It is enough to have had the strength to bear witness to their suffering. Even though I was not able to turn their lives around, I came back to America knowing that I had done enough in that moment.

This post is part of the MLK Spotlight, a regular feature on our blog. The goal is to highlight MLK student (or staff) stories, experiences, and perspectives. Have something you'd like to share? Send an email to mlkdesk@umn.edu, or ask your adviser!