Last week, I realized that I’ve been in the presence of one of the most amazing barriers in the world on a weekly basis without even realizing it.This barrier separates two people, two stories, and two drastically different sets of emotions as effectively as the Berlin Wall.It divides the clean and the unclean, partitions a human being into mobile and paralyzed sections, and in some ways separates the past and the future.
In all honesty, the thing itself it’s quite unassuming.It’s made up of a painstakingly sterilized green cloth, supported on each end by forceps clipping it to vertical metal bars.On one side, brilliantly focused spotlights illuminate a small patch of skin exposed between layers of fabric.On the other, amid a tangle of wires, lines, and equipment, is a young woman’s face—nervous, expectant, and hopeful.
It only takes a few minutes for the power of this barrier to become apparent.Place yourself in my shoes for a moment: You’re standing about six feet away from the barrier, with a perfect view of each side.On the right, blood, muscle, skin, and fat are exposed to the blinding glare of the spotlights.Masked men and women work quickly and quietly with a wide array of stainless steel tools, cutting, pulling, stretching, and suturing.They are completely absorbed in their work, and scarcely glance across the barrier.On the left, the young woman, her hair wrapped neatly in a surgical cloth, has an expression of radiant joy on her face.Her gaze is fixed on a bundle of green towels in the arms of a nurse. The bundle, which is the focal point of her joy, contains her newborn child.
Perhaps most extraordinary is the child herself.So soon after entering the world under the blinding spotlights on the right side of the barrier, the baby crossed over to the left.She bridged this gap without even knowing it, without realizing the power of the mental snapshot she helped create in my mind, without realizing she just changed her mother’s life.Remarkable.
The image of this child’s arrival that imprinted itself on my memory seems particularly applicable this Christmas season.New life entered the world, and began crossing barriers from the moment she took her first breaths.Although her arrival was anticipated by some, this birth went largely unnoticed by the world around her.The hospital and surrounding community continued life as usual, taking only the time to record the delivery of another child in their log books.
I imagine that Jesus’ arrival over two millennia ago was quite similar.Minus the operating theater, sterile barrier, and medical advances, our Savior also entered the world in the middle of a bloody mess.His arrival was cherished and celebrated by a few, but unheard of by many.Yet from the moment of his birth he began changing lives.This Advent, as we look forward to spending time with family and friends, sharing food, singing carols, exchanging gifts, and celebrating dozens of other Christmas traditions, let us not forget the birth of this baby boy and how his arrival has touched us all.
Back story:Last Saturday, I had the opportunity to attend the multi-faith opening rally for the seventeenth Conference of the Parties (COP 17) in Durban.The rally, which was held at King’s Park rugby stadium, was well organized, sponsored, and endorsed.The event featured performances by dozens of local and national musicians, the presentation of an interfaith petition on the need to regulate climate change to the president of COP, and addresses from several very well known public figures, the most notable of which were endurance swimmer Louis Pugh and Archbishop Desmond Tutu.Leaders from dozens of faiths and faith backgrounds stood together and expressed their support for the goals of COP17.Students made up a significant portion of the crowd; they sang, danced, and cheered throughout the concerts and rally.Some attendees had traveled from as far as Soweto, Norway, and Kenya to attend; it was invigorating to be present with such a high energy group.
Despite all this energy and enthusiasm, there were several very noticeable clouds hanging over the rally.Other than the massive thunderstorm moving in from the north, the most conspicuous was attendance: organizers had expected to pack the 40,000 seat stadium, but at its peak the audience probably only numbered around 2,000 to 3,000.As a result, the stadium had a somewhat forgotten feeling, as if the rest of Durban had played a twisted practical joke on the multi-faith rally participants. Although I don’t want to discredit Durbanites’ senses of humor, another explanation may help explain the low participation at this rally.
First, a brief tangent: I’m sure most readers are familiar with the statistics about which nations contribute the most to global greenhouse gas emissions and climate change.Wealthy, industrialized countries, particularly the United States, emit the vast majority of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere.Members of these countries also use a disproportionately large share of the world’s resources to maintain their lifestyles, industries, and economies.On the other hand, developing nations use a fraction of the resources their wealthier neighbors consume and contribute a similarly small proportion of greenhouse gas emissions.In addition, residents of these nations (who collectively make up the majority of the world’s population) are the most vulnerable to the effects of climate change:droughts, floods, and rising sea levels are devastating for communities who are struggling to survive under the best of conditions.
The lack of attendance at last Sunday’s rally is a perfect example of one of the biggest challenges to those interested in reversing climate change.As the low turnout showed, many citizens of developing nations (i.e. some of those who are most affected by climate change) are also rarely able to make their voices heard in the struggle to stop it.The social and economic circumstances that define the lives of many people besieged by unemployment, oppression, and poverty force families to prioritize everything in their lives.It is understandably difficult for someone who is uncertain where tomorrow’s meal will come from to dedicate time, energy, and capital to abstract movements like multi-faith rallies or COP 17.This isn’t to say that the world’s poor and marginalized are unaware of or apathetic about the causes and effects of climate change, but that their daily struggle for survival limits opportunities to join the resistance movement.
Those of us who contribute the most to changes in our planet’s climate, on the other hand, have ample incentive (and responsibility!) to care about the problem and the social and financial means to contribute to its solution.This is both a privilege and an obligation: we owe it to ourselves, our children, and our global family to take the necessary steps to slow the snowballing changes in climate, and are blessed to have the resources to contribute to the solution.Unfortunately, as the need for seventeen COP’s shows, many nations with the ability to influence climate change choose to use their affluence to remain indifferent and unaffected by it.This is a luxury that few in the developing world possess.
Although climate change will affect everyone in the world, the first major steps to slow its effects must be taken by the privileged and wealthy of the developed world.To paraphrase Paul Farmer, anyone interested in being called humane has plenty of incentive to investigate and act on the inequalities that make up both the causes and effects of climate change.Developed nations have the resources to take sustainable, renewable technology from science fairs, show rooms, and corporate propaganda to the countries and communities where it can be directly used to make a difference.A massive worldwide industry is waiting to grow around renewable energy, but governments and corporations must work together to provide the jump-start necessary to get it off the ground.Whether COP 17 provides a concrete legislative launch pad for the global fight against climate change or not, we can no longer ignore our ability and responsibility to help reverse climate change, both for our generation and those to come.
Fortunately, I went home to bed around 12:30 am.Despite this, the morning came too early.Around 5:40 a.m., to be precise.I woke up to sunlight blasting through my windows and my cell phone ringing much too cheerfully for the time of day.After exchanging greetings, Bee half shouted to me that he was slaughtering cows and wanted me to come watch.He was half shouting because the cows were apparently objecting to being slaughtered in the background.He told me he’d pick me up in 30 minutes.Remembering his interpretation of 30 minutes from the day before, I went back to bed.Fortunately, I convinced myself to get up and get ready 15 minutes later, because at precisely 6:11 a.m. my phone rang again.Andile, Bee’s brother in law, was outside the church center gates waiting for me.I slammed down the last of my cup of coffee and headed off.
Slaughtering a cow
By the time I arrived at the groom’s house, both cows were significantly closer to being edible than they were 45 minutes before.Naturally, I was fascinated by the butchering process.About 10 men were working on each cow; one on each side of the kraal.First, the men pulled and cut the hide away from the carcass.It would be used as a semi-clean staging point for many other cuts of meat that would be removed from the cow later.Next to go were the hooves, genitals, and cuts of meat from the flanks.When this meat had been removed, Bee used a hatchet to break/cut his way into the rib cage.Once the slabs of ribs had been placed to the side, the internal organs were removed and set aside.The heart was cut into small pieces, which were then grilled on a small fire near the entrance to the kraal.The gallbladder was carefully located and removed so it wouldn’t burst and spoil the rest of the meat.Major internal organs, like the liver and pancreas, were removed and skewered on the sharpened posts that made up the wall of the kraal.Later, portions of these would also be cut up and grilled on the fire, along with the small bowel.The stomachs, which were about the size of a small bean bag chair and still completely full of partially digested grass, were hauled off to the side.Three or four men began to remove their contents while the rest worked to remove the muscular hind legs.As each cut of meat was removed, it was placed on pieces of plywood or piles of freshly cut leafy branches.After all the major cuts of meat had been removed, Bee went to work with the hatchet on the spinal column and neck.When all was said and done, the only things left were the jawbones and horns.
Cuts of beef being stored on the edge of the kraal
Needless to say, I was impressed.By 9 am, I had tried fresh liver, pancreas, heart, and intestines for the first time.Add in tongue and stomach, and I’d blown my previous beef eating experiences out of the water since arriving in South Africa.
The butchering process finally finished around 9:30 am.Everyone recuperated for a half hour or so, and then people began to disperse to clean up and change for the wedding.The first service, the western wedding, took place at a primary school about a kilometer from the groom’s home.Bee had some trouble arranging transport to go back to his house to change, so I eventually walked down to the school with a group of other people.I arrived about 45 minutes late, and the wedding was already in full swing. The double sized classroom where the service was being held had been set up set up for both the reception and service.The bride and groom sat in two chairs at the front of the room, while the pastor presided on a small platform in front of them.The rest of the room was crammed with long tables and chairs.People were everywhere; it was impossible to tell how the room was originally intended to be arranged.About 60 people were waiting outside, some listening to the service through the windows, some desperately trying to stay out of the sun.In some ways, those outside were the lucky ones; the temperature reached around 32 C by midday and it was at least 10 C hotter inside.
The service and all the associated speeches lasted for about three and a half hours.After the service, lunch was served.I appreciated the fact that the “Refreshments” line in the program literally had three exclamation marks behind it.The food was delicious—yellow rice, beef, chicken, beet salad, butternut squash, baked beans, and a green salad.Plus a banana pudding dish for dessert.I had given up my inside seat to Bee’s wife, so we got the news that food was being served a little late.Nevertheless, Bee marched me up to the high table and introduced me to his sister and her husband as they finished eating.He then insisted that we eat with them.So, despite my inhibitions, we settled into the recently vacated chairs of a couple flower girls and ate directly across from the bride and groom.I was happy to take pictures of the couple and siblings, but was still embarrassed by Bee’s generosity and my instant celebrity status.What can I say?Bee is nothing if not an incredibly charitable host.
Left to right: Bee, the bride, and the groom after the western wedding
As the guests began to finish eating, most went on their way.The number of people who had arrived during the service had grown exponentially; there were probably 350 people in and around the school by the time dinner was served.I returned to the groom’s house for the second act of the celebration: the traditional Zulu wedding.
I could spend pages describing the traditional wedding, and I don’t even fully understand many of the traditions I witnessed.Everything began with the ceremonial entrance of the bride’s family into the groom’s home.A group of male friends and relatives led the way with Zulu shields and sticks, which we waved and banged threateningly while walking into the kraal.I say we because someone thrust a shield and stick in my hands and insisted I join the group.Everyone loved watching the tall white guy attempt to act like a Zulu warrior.Once in the kraal, we were greeted by the groom’s father and welcomed to his home.
Zulu warriors entering the kraal to begin the traditional wedding
After the welcome, the ceremony featured Zulu dancing in traditional dress.A group of young girls went first, singing, dancing, and stomping their feet while hundreds of people watched.They wore the traditional dress of Zulu virgin girls-izigege (short beaded skirts) and ubuhlalo (beaded necklaces, bracelets, and other jewelry).The bride and her bridesmaids took the stage next, performing dances that were symbolic of the bride choosing her husband, leaving her family, and being welcomed by his.The bride was resplendent in her traditional attire.She wore a heavy isidwaba (leather skirt) around her waist, many pieces of ubuhlalo, and had several ivovo (cylindrical reed filters used to make Zulu beer) slung over her shoulders.She also proudly wore an isicholo, a hat shaped like an upside-down cone that signified her marital status.Finally, the groom, his brothers, and their friends took their turns.They carried ihawu and ibhoko (Zulu shields and sticks), and were dressed proudly in their iqhele (fur headbands), ibheshu, and isinene (leather coverings worn around the waist for the posterior and anterior, respectively).When the dancing was complete, the gifts for the bride and groom were brought out to the kraal.In Zulu culture, a new bride and groom must start everything fresh—they cannot sleep on an old bed or mattress.In addition to these gifts, the couple also received a wardrobe, mirror, and other pieces of furniture.The bride’s family also brought gifts for all the relatives of the groom.Each female relative received a blanket, reed mat, and pillow, while the male relatives received a pot for drinking sorghum beer and a grass basket.These gifts literally filled up the kraal.
Zulu girls in traditional dress
After the gift giving, the celebrations began in earnest.Leftover food from the wedding earlier in the day was dished out, and everyone sat around the groom’s home for hours talking, eating, and drinking.As Bee’s guest, I was an honorary Dladla for the day and was constantly being offered food and drinks.It was a truly incredible experience.
Most people who live or have spent time in Umphumulo would agree that it is, in addition to many other things, a very quiet place.Personally, this bit of information was made crystal clear to me during my first few weekends in the area.Beginning around 1 pm every Friday, the majority of activity in and around the church center grinds to a stop.Projects are put on hold, tasks are set aside for the next week, blinds are drawn, doors are locked, and the power in the office is shut off.Even the hospital is operates on a bare-bones staff for the weekend.
All this I expected.I didn’t expect that about a half an hour after finishing work for the week, many of the workers in the area pack up a bag and head home for the weekend.First, I was surprised that Umphumulo wasn’t home for the people who worked here, particularly after witnessing how so many people associated with the ELCSA in Pietermaritzburg hold Umphumulo in such high regard.Second, I was surprised that so many people in this community had another home to go to on weekends.I was even more surprised to learn that many of people who work here live apart from their children and families.I guess I had expected that members of a culture that valued family so highly would have been more likely to live with their children and loved ones.
Over the next few weeks, these questions set off a series of inquiries in my head.Why did families live apart?How hard is it to leave children in the care of relatives or grandparents?How does the structure of households in rural KwaZulu-Natal differ from those in the Midwestern United States?How does the prospect of a steady job affect family life and togetherness?Wouldn’t it be more efficient (and make for better family dynamics) for everyone to live together, close to where jobs are?And last but not least, why are people’s homes where they are?
I won’t pretend to have answers to most of these questions, but a recent conversation I had with my site supervisor shed some light on the subject.I learned from Rev. Khathi that one of the most significant factors that contribute to the separation between families and breadwinners that I’ve experienced in Umphumulo is a direct legacy of apartheid South Africa.During apartheid, the white minority government went to great lengths to reduce the morale, strength, unity, and supposed danger of the native African population.One of the measures they took involved restricting where Africans (and other ethnic groups, for that matter) could live.Blacks were assigned homelands based on their tribal and clan affiliations.Supposedly the homelands would strengthen the tribal communities among African societies, but in fact these homelands were often little more than arbitrarily selected, had few natural resources, and were far from sources of employment.In addition, many African families were forced to relocate from the land that their families had originally lived and farmed because of these laws.
After the apartheid regime was voted out of power in 1994, these laws were quickly repealed.However, the intentions of the original lawmakers had already done a tremendous amount of damage.Many families could not afford to move again despite the shortage of job opportunities near the areas they were forced to relocate to under apartheid.When coupled with high unemployment, often the most viable option was for one member of the family to live as cheaply as possible near his or her job and send money back to support the rest of the family.Even 18 years after the end of apartheid, this trend has not been completely broken.
Terribly, this separation between workers and their families has had other consequences.Many people credit this separation as one of the reasons HIV has spread so quickly in South Africa.Workers, who are often male and live alone, bring the virus back to their families.As a result, the virus can cross distances of hundreds of kilometers and enter communities that had been previously untouched.This also may be one reason that women continue to outlive men in SA.
The picture I’m trying to paint is far from the big picture of life and the legacy of apartheid in South Africa. I’m still learning new details and gaining new insights on a daily basis, and hope to be able to answer and ask many more questions as continue to I walk with my friends in the months to come.In addition, my mathematically inclined friends will be the first to point out the statistical insignificance of the sample size I draw on as I write… Regardless, I look forward to new questions and more unforeseen conclusions, and appreciate your thoughts and prayers on this journey.
