A Big White Van: Township Tours In South Africa (cont.)

We continued onward until we reached Khayelitsha, a township some twelve miles from the glistening skyscrapers and touristy port of Cape Town. There was a hopeful heaviness in the air.

As we walked around and met people, emotions ran the gamut from excitement to fear, from faith to despondency. We felt intensity, like scattered dust of resentment settling on our shoulders, the shoulders of perceived oppressors. We were “them” and our shoulders bore the weight of vague guilt. At the same time, we felt a competing air of bullheadedness in the people around us, of headstrong men and women able and ready to conquer their fears, conquer their roadblocks, and move forward.

We walked into a small shop featuring art and crafts from the township’s residents. The pictures and jewelry symbolized a new hope and resurrection from the ashes of apartheid. Creative endeavors that were previously shunned a decade ago were now on display and encouraged growth.

As I ran my hands over a hand-crocheted pillow, the storekeeper began speaking to me.

“You like?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I do. Did you make it?”

“Mhmm. We make many beautiful things at our home.” Her accent was an intriguing mix of English and Australian.

She continued, “You know Amy?” I knew she was referring to Amy Biehl.

“I know Amy’s story. We just visited the site where she was killed in Guguletu.”

“Yes, very brave girl.”

Amy’s presence and work endures here years later. Posters and pictures of Amy with captions telling her story line the walls. Amy’s death has breathed new life into a struggling community. Her parents built a church and education center to make sure their daughter’s death would not be in vain. Amy’s parents have spent the last ten years living half of the time in California and the other half in South Africa to ensure the fight for equality and peace remains at the forefront in South Africa.

Rising, piercing choral voices drew us into a neighboring church and community center. The singing was contagious, and reverberated throughout our body and caused me to walk to the beat.

As we entered the crowded room that held that Sunday’s church service, a wave of comfort washed over me. A few churchgoers led us hand-in-hand to our seats. All the pews were full, yet they crowded us in.

We danced, we sang, we clapped and we laughed. We stood up to clap with the choir, and we sat down to listen to a solo encore. I stopped counting the times we stood up and sat down. Our time at church had to end. We made our way through the throng of people to the back door. Our time in the townships, clichés aside, is difficult to sum up in writing.

As we dropped everyone off at their respective hotels, an unspoken doubt and sense of guilt crept into the van. What had we really experienced today? Was this just a novelty? Had anything actually been accomplished or were we just a bunch of privileged white kids trying to feel good about ourselves? Perhaps it isn’t necessary to verbalize the impact of our trip. While we were only a handful of people, we are all capable of positively influencing our immediate surroundings. If someone on either side of the van saw something today that opened their minds even a little bit, then we are a little bit closer to living in a more tolerant world.

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