A Little Goes a Long Way

At the risk of flaunting my capacity for the cliché, sometimes the smallest, most seemingly insignificant gestures and interactions have meant the most to me here. I find that my memories of events and larger experiences have already begun to fade into an overall abstract, indefinite place in my mind. The abstract is marked, however, by a handful of acute memories—moments that stand out as particularly joyful, and sometimes genuinely heartwarming.

In an effort to recruit over 200 kids for our upcoming soccer/HIV and AIDS education event, my fellow intern Hooter and I took to the streets of Galeshewe, visiting 10 different schools, three days in a row, to drop off and retrieve necessary forms. We spoke with teachers and school principals who were both eager and thankful to get their students involved, and we waved and smiled incessantly at rowdy, uniformed kids. On the last day before the holiday break, we stopped by all of the schools to drop off “Yellow Cards”—our hopeful attempt to make the participants actually show up the following Monday.

At our last school, as I frantically rushed to color in the final cards, my yellow colored pencil was dwindling. I awkwardly attempted to whittle the tip of the pencil with a scissor blade. My fumbling hands, outstretched from our car window, must have been comically visible, because without even noticing her presence, I was gently nudged by a young girl. She didn’t say a word, but she opened her palm flat, revealing a tiny metal pencil sharpener. I thanked her profusely, and at an unfortunately high octave due to this unexpected thoughtfulness. I sharpened my pencil as quickly as I could, returned the device to her little hand, and watched as she scampered off away from our car.

I was blown away. It seems so ridiculous, but it totally struck me. I was giddy for the rest of the afternoon. She was probably surprised when I assaulted her with my excessive gratitude, but it just flowed out of me. I can only hope to make a similar impact with such a simple gesture someday.

Interestingly, yet unsurprisingly, even the world of sports is largely segregated in South Africa, especially in Kimberley. White Afrikaners doggedly support their favorite rugby teams, while soccer is life for most black South Africans. At “The Halfway House,” the local bar we’ve begun to frequent, two large “Natal Sharks” statues preside over the courtyard. On a random weekend night at the Half, I once asked an Afrikaner man if he was going to attend a big upcoming soccer match. He laughed in my face. Galeshewe, on the other hand, is dotted with red dirt soccer fields. Painted emblems of favorite South African soccer teams brand most houses. When we saw a Bloemfontein Celtics game, we were quite possibly the only white people in a packed stadium seating over 20,000. (An experience that deserves its own post…if only motivation wasn’t’ so hard to come by.)

In an extremely, seriously extremely, rare turn of events, the South African national soccer team, Bafana Bafana, rolled into Kimberley, of all places, to play an international friendly match against the Malagasy national team. Somewhat ironically, they displaced the local professional rugby team, and the once predominantly white populated stadium assumed an entirely new character, as hundreds of black Bafana fans filed into the stands. The stadium erupted when Bafana finally scored the only goal of the match late in the second half.

As we meandered our way out of the stands to beat the post-game rush, we exchanged Bafana cheers with the crazy, yellow-clad fans in front of us. One man looked at our little string of white soccer fanatics and said “Thank you. I’ll be at the next rugby match.” It happened so quickly I almost missed what he was actually saying to us. I returned his smile and waved as the flow of the exiting crowd pushed us steadily forward.

Bafana Fans

Language seems to be somewhat of a dividing force here in Kimberley. While I’ve encountered many black children and adults who speak both English and Afrikaans, in addition to their native Setswana, I have yet to meet an Afrikaner who utters a word of Setswana. Necessity breeds change, and apparently Afrikaans works. I guess language will probably remain a one-way (drive-in-the-left-lane) type of street, for now.

This communication dynamic has largely motivated me to pick up a little Setswana here and there, primarily through daily harassment of Thuso. After countless humbling yet hilarious attempts to mimic the more guttural sounds Thuso so effortlessly voices, I’ve perfected a few key phrases.

Today, as I perused the produce aisle in our local Pick n Pay, I smiled at an older black employee as he stocked avocados. He had a wrinkled, friendly face, and his dark hair faded into an endearing gray border meeting his forehead. I timidly uttered “Dumela rra”—Hello sir—and his smile lit up. He responded, “Le kae?”—How am I. I said I was fine, and asked about him, all in Setswana. He grabbed onto my arm and practically hugged me right then and there. Right next to the avocados. He laughed affectionately as I explained that, unfortunately, I had already exhausted my Setswana vocabulary. I assured him that I’d work on it and return to speak to him. I could tell just by looking at him that he believed me, and he believed in me. Well, I couldn’t really tell that he believed in me just by looking at him. He actually told me that.

Either way, I’m looking forward to our next conversation, after I pick Thuso’s brain a little more. I’m hoping I’ll get another hug.

Food for Thought

“Diamonds are nothing more than chunks of coal that stuck to their jobs.”
Malcolm S. Forbes

Lime Acres and Danielskuil

It was with both great excitement and closeted anxiety that I set out on my journey to the only remaining sites the Kimberley team will support—Lime Acres and Danielskuil—two small mining communities about a two-hour drive northeast of Kimberley. Six human bodies traveled happily along together through hot, non air-conditioned desert air, and we bounced and bumped into Danielskuil in the late afternoon. I don’t know what I expected. I don’t know if I expected anything. But what I found was a community that, upon first glance, seemed to consist entirely of a massive De Beers mine, a pretty hefty eyesore of clustered industrial mining equipment, and a nearby small but sprawling township.

The township itself didn’t stand out to me structurally. Like the others I’d seen, it was made up of grids of small, block homes, each individually fenced off. But at some point during my conversations with the local coaches, and the brilliantly alight transition into another desert evening, a transition I’ve begun to fully await and love, I began to see the exception that is Danielskuil. Admittedly, Kimberley does have a charm of its own, but this community alone has really struck me as uniquely, almost strangely beautiful. The coaches in both Lime Acres and Danielskuil seem warmer than those I’ve met in the city. They are blatantly genuine. In my eyes at least, they simply desire to be part of GRS—to be part of a large team and an even grander cause. It’s a quality that seems somewhat standard, and yet I’ve found is as rare as it is inspiring.

I think there was some unnamable appeal in the confluence of my interaction with these people and my perception of their home. As the sun goes down here, light hits red dirt roads, casting warm, brown-orange glow up onto the homes, and dramatic deep pink flowers catch the eye. I’m no wordsmith. My depictions, I’ll be the first to admit, usually come out on the more cliché side of the spectrum from boring to brilliant. But the scene here, despite my self-proclaimed poetic impotence, is truly, and somewhat peacefully, beautiful.

We left these communities in the full dark of a rural, desert night. I couldn’t see the townships as we chugged along home, back to the booming and bustling metropolis of Kimberley on a weekday night.

I’m so excited and eager to begin working with these people. Ever a country type of girl, I can’t wait to return to the rural roots.

Thuso Jones

Thuso Edwin Jones (Pronounced “too-so”… Edwin Jones). Enough said.

Not really. Not enough could be said. Our once endearingly soft-spoken, questionably spacey Assistant Site Coordinator has unquestionably won the hearts and faith of the Kimberley Team. As has been very consistently discussed in these parts, Thuso Jones oozes integrity. That’s really the best way to describe him.

Thuso volunteered as a GRS coach in his home community in Danielskuil a few years ago. He simultaneously worked in the De Beers mine there to support his family, specifically his two younger brothers and his outrageously, wonderfully, make-my-ovaries-pang-she’s so cute, baby sister. When we visited his home in Danielskuil, I saw him hold her and kiss her tiny hands, and I literally thought my heart was going to explode. After leaving GRS to more fully assume the responsibility of providing for his family, Thuso was able to return to our organization to take on a paid position as our Assistant Site Coordinator in Kimberley. His name means "help." Amazing.

I truly believe that “Thus,” as we’ve fondly dubbed him, is largely responsible for any successes GRS Kimberley has had since he was hired. He commands a subtle, quiet leadership among our sometimes-unruly coaches, and he stealthily but efficiently keeps the day-to-day details in order. Beyond these administrative tasks, however, Thuso’s true and unique gift lies in the coaching realm. Once a coach himself, Thus steps in when our coaches can’t make an intervention. I’ve been fortunate enough to witness him in action on a few occasions, allowing me a glimpse into one of the most surprising—and glorious—transitions imaginable. Our shy and ever earnest pseudo-boss transforms into a charismatic, energetic, teacher-coach extraordinaire. When Thuso teaches, his smile dominates the room. It seeps into every student at the intervention. His reach is truly remarkable. Define: “dark horse.”

Thuso is my age, and yet the burdens and hardships he’s carried in his life are unfathomable to me. I have very serious respect for what he’s accomplished, and nothing but great admiration for the modesty and kindness he radiates despite the challenges he’s faced. I’m thrilled to have the opportunity and good fortune to work with him for an entire year.

A New Vision

The issues and events that lead up to sexual behavior, especially sexual behavior of the highest risk, are so complex and so intimate that attempts to significantly influence this behavior seem wholly daunting—on some days, futile. Across the world, we all act in ways we know we shouldn’t. Education and awareness are powerful, but so are a variety of other factors that push people of all ages in the opposite direction. How do we tip the scale? What makes GRS different?

For years billions of dollars and resources have been poured into HIV/AIDS prevention and care programs, and while these efforts have seen some success, the statistics remain shocking. What’s done is done, but the results haven’t been good enough, and mediocrity shouldn’t be emulated. I think GRS has recognized this, and its constant determination to improve its curriculum and develop new angles to reach the kids is really encouraging to me. Even if it’s not quite there yet, I truly believe that GRS is well on its way to implementing a new, innovative, and remarkably promising approach to HIV and AIDS prevention.

It’s fascinating to watch “interventions,” as they’re called, or the primary mode of delivery of Grassroot Soccer’s core curriculum. This curriculum is comprehensive and uniquely streamlined, and GRS devotes a great deal of resources to the development of coaches and their ability to deliver this curriculum in an accurate and engaging manner. Throughout the eight sessions, kids participate in a program that integrates soccer and basic HIV/AIDS information, along with such themes as self-esteem building and the development of a sense of self-efficacy. Learning is activity-based, and GRS coaches act as positive older role models for the kids. Of course, this is all in theory. Practice is something different and it can always be improved. From what I’ve observed, interventions vary a lot from site to site and day to day. Most I’ve watched are definitely less effective and seamless as Grassroot Soccer markets. Even in my short time with GRS, however, I have seen an exception—an extraordinarily inspiring exception.

Samito is a short, slight man with long dread-locked hair and a bright and boyish grin. He’s likeable from the moment you meet him; he’s genuine, friendly and charismatic at once. On my first day, rather my first hour, in Mangaung, the major township outside of Bloemfontein, I watched Samito and an assistant female coach, Kamo, lead an outstanding GRS session. Samito’s delivery of the curriculum was textbook, or it would be if such a textbook existed. But more importantly, and unlike the other interventions I’d seen, this session quite obviously captivated the students. Or perhaps more accurately, Samito captivated the students. Samito captivated me. He seems like he was born to be a teacher—to interact with and reach out to kids. I’m realizing more and more every day what a truly exceptional gift that is. Teaching is an art, and a passion, and Samito excels at both. That session stands out to me as proof of the possibility of excellence in the Grassroot Soccer world.

Beyond these success stories, “GRS in theory” promises even more avenues for real progress in the realm of HIV and AIDS prevention. It is increasingly accepted that behavior change involves more than strictly education and awareness. And it involves even more than positive older role models, especially if such role models can’t play the ideal long-term role in a child’s life. To have a shot at cutting to the core of sexual behavior, GRS and other prevention-focused efforts will have to move up to reach people through a community level, or a cultural level. And I believe that this is what GRS has done, or is in the process of doing now. The creation of a “Skillz” culture that will allow the messages of GRS to permeate throughout a community is an overarching goal that promises greater sustainability and influence of the original GRS-student interface. Street soccer leagues are one component of this new strategy; they are intended to further develop and reinforce the unique “Skillz” culture, while simultaneously creating a safe space for youth, especially girls, to participate in sports. GRS has also allied itself with a major African broadcasting company to continue to reach people at levels beyond the initial interventions. In a similar vein, GRS has developed a curriculum-based, extremely marketable magazine to reiterate its key messages and further capitalize on the enormous appeal of soccer and soccer stars in South Africa.

Altogether, these varying angles and methods of reaching out to people seem to be well researched and uniquely entrepreneurial, which I find promising. The logic behind a more community-based approach to HIV/AIDS prevention makes sense. And the necessity of a more business-like strategy—complete with various marketing, accountability, and oversight components—seems undeniable. I’m thoroughly grateful to have the opportunity to participate in this new and ever-improving GRS vision.

First Kimpressions

After a two-week, conference room-concentrated orientation in Cape Town, I embarked upon my 1,000 km/9 hour trek up to Kimberley, South Africa along with two other interns. The three of us make up the hopefully dynamic, seemingly eccentric trio of practically perfect strangers destined to live and work together for a year, otherwise known as Team Kimberley. Our vehicle of (no)choice was the “Toyota Tazz” we’ve somewhat unfoundedly dated as a 1985 model. This constituted my first major attempt to learn to drive a standard transmission vehicle, on the left side of the road, through hours and hours of flat, desolate, desert. Key obstacles to avoid: ostriches, baboons, and overzealous semi-truck drivers in the opposite lane. We arrived at what we could only presume would be our home sweet home away from home—the “Gateway 2 Heaven”—around midnight. We were warmly received by an impenetrable, electronically locked gate. Auspicious beginning to the year, I know.

Kimberley is, unexpectedly, a decently sized city in the heart of South Africa, and it’s very much dominated by the mining industry. Our office is in the DeBeers –A Diamond is Forever – headquarters, and the most lauded city attraction is a massive hole filled with toxic mining waste. Apparently it’s the largest man-made hole in the world. It’s aptly named, “The Big Hole.”

It’s strange, sometimes uncomfortable, and often fascinating to live in a world that is so racially charged. Kimberley, like the rest of South Africa I’ve been fortunate enough to experience, is strongly divided by race, and consequently, class. The disparity of wealth is shocking. I run through gated neighborhoods with meticulously manicured lawns, and fountains, and other silly and unnecessary niceties, but in a few minutes drive I can be in the middle of Galeshewe, one of Kimberley’s major townships. While Galeshewe does seem better off than some of the others I’ve seen, it’s a township nonetheless. Thousands of people are densely packed into a concentrated district of tin and concrete, seemingly one-room houses. The ground is ridden with trash. Mangy dogs patrol around. Minibus taxi drivers honk constantly.

It’s easy to accentuate “the bad,” especially when everything I see is so different, and it’s a goal of mine to better understand the beauty, the joy, and the potential Galeshewe boasts. When all is said and done though, I’m fairly confident this type of insane inequality will remain inexplicable in my mind.