LIVING IN SOUTH AFRICA

The year was 1998, and my daughter was leaving for college thousands of miles away. I was newly engaged to a man from South Africa.  He had already returned to South Africa due to his visa expiring.  Before his return, he learned that he would be representing Maytag because millions of South Africans would soon receive houses, as Nelson Mandela promised.

It had been a short time since I opened a Senior Health Center at the hospital where I worked.  I asked for 30 days off to travel to South Africa but was denied.  After pondering it for about two minutes, I decided to resign and move to South Africa.  I reasoned that, after all, my daughter was thousands of miles away at college, and I instinctively knew that if I didn't go, I would regret not taking advantage of the opportunity to live in another country. I sold my house and disposed of much of my belongings, except for some furniture given and/or loaned to family and friends. My plan was to live there for 3 years.

Apartheid had only been abolished a few years before I moved to South Africa. Mandela had been elected President, and there were high expectations that Black South Africans would see their lives dramatically changed and for the better. It didn't take long to realize that most White South Africans had difficulty letting go. This terrible time in South Africa's history lasted for almost 50 years. It was another version of our southern state's history before the Civil War. Slavery in America began in 1619 and lasted until the slaves were freed in 1864...that's 245 YEARS. (Texas slavery owners didn't let their slaves know about their freedom until two months after the war ended) Black South Africans were the overwhelming majority in South Africa (approximately 44 million Blacks vs. 4 million Whites).

Two years before my arrival, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established to hear eyewitness accounts of the atrocities inflicted on Black South Africans. These hearings were broadcasted on TV for two hours every Sunday. Those who committed the atrocities could also testify and receive amnesty in exchange for their testimony. Their testimonies were heartbreaking and shameful.

My fiance was born and raised in Kenya to French parents.  His Great Grandfather was the first French governor of Mauritius, an island nation off the coast of southeast Africa.  In the early sixties, Kenya won independence from Great Britain, but only after some tense times for the white minority in Kenya.  My fiance recalled a time when tribesmen surrounded their house.  His mother told her six children to hide under the beds and not make noise.  Eventually, the tribesmen left, but soon after, the family fled to South Africa.

We traveled the country in between his jobs with the Maytag company.  And those millions of houses promised by Mandela?  It never happened.  The majority of the country lived in horrible conditions.  Shacks lined the highways, and the people living in the huts usually worked menial jobs for the White South Africans.  Townships were established during Apartheid to segregate Black South Africans from the places and towns where whites lived.  They still existed in 1998, and even 20 years later, it remains the homes of the underprivileged class. Even today, half of the country's population lives in deplorable conditions.  The houses in the townships weren't much better than the shacks lining the highways and valleys.  People living there did not own cars and either walked or were taken to their jobs in overloaded vans.

One of my fiance's brothers owned a house in Kruger National Park. Homes built in that area could not have manicured lawns or electricity.  When we stayed there occasionally, limited electricity was obtained from car batteries.  Our first visit to the house was when my daughter was visiting during her summer vacation from college.  It was exciting to actually be living in a national park. Within a few minutes of arriving, I was off on my own on foot.  I first encountered a family of warthogs rooting through the garbage outside a house nearby.  They were so ugly that they were cute.  I didn't know whether to run, but I remained stationary until they decided to leave.  The entire family walked away in a straight line, one after the other, beginning with the father and ending with the last piglet.

I turned away from the forward marching warthogs and walked across the dirt road when I came within 20 feet of a zebra.  Again, I froze as we looked each other in the eyes.   Spontaneously, I began to weep, as I never imagined living amongst wild animals.  It was a profoundly humbling experience.  Apparently, this zebra was the lone stallion in his harem, which consisted of mares and their foals.  He was definitely making sure that I wasn't a threat!

At dusk and at dawn, we would walk to a tributary of the Crocodile River, where many different animals gathered for water.  Crocodiles (already in the water and waiting patiently), lions, water buffalo, elephants, hyenas, baboons, and antelope were all gathered for our viewing pleasure.  We were on a hill overlooking the river with a tall fence separating us. The sight of elephants mating is something you'll never forget.  My daughter decided to track a bull elephant for about a mile to get a 'better picture.'  I later learned that bulls frequently charge humans, mainly when a camera flashes in their faces.  We got lucky, as no one was harmed.

We also happened upon a family of giraffes during our stay. They are majestic creatures. While we were able to walk near them, their shyness and/or fear prohibited us from getting any closer than about 30 feet. To this day, I cannot visit a zoo due to having seen wild animals living freely.

Later, we would travel to a once beautiful resort town in Mozambique.  The city was in shambles after a civil war that began in 1977 and ended a few years before our visit.

It was the perfect storm in South Africa.  After living under Apartheid for 50 years, Black South Africans were given hope that their lives would be vastly improved under Mandela.  It didn't happen. Outrage replaced hope. At traffic stops, whites were ripped from their cars and often killed. Farms owned by whites were invaded, and the owners were slaughtered.  The rationale was that this was originally their land, and they were taking it back. The conversation topics for my fiance's family and their friends were always who they knew had been carjacked or had their house burglarized and which country they were planning on fleeing to. Australia was most often mentioned.

When my fiance left for work, I would leave the confines of our compound and venture out for a walk of several miles.  I lived in a community of townhouses surrounded by tall cement walls with barbed wire and electrical fencing intertwined in the wire.  We also had a gate with a man guarding it 24/7.  The individual houses located near us in our suburb of Johannesburg had similar walls around them but did not have guards.

One day I was stopped by a woman leaning over her fence.  She invited me in for tea and conversation. She immediately asked, "Why are you walking alone? Aren't you afraid? Where are you from?"  I responded, "I am from Texas, and nothing will stop me from doing what I want." We became friends.  Stopping at her house for a cup of afternoon tea became part of my daily routine.

It wasn't long before the hostile atmosphere began to bother me.  I sorely missed my family and friends.  I disliked being a minority but felt a stronger empathy for my African American friends. I knew this perspective came from someone who had always enjoyed white privilege without being fully aware of it. I longed for the soft, buttery accents of Texans.  I grew weary of being afraid all the time.

We soon learned about a horrible home invasion at a neighbor's house.  A carload of Black South Africans followed a man and woman in their car.  They were able to get into the property before the gate closed.  As they went through the house to take TVs and other items, they found a teenage girl hiding in her bedroom.  As they were raping her, the parents tried to intervene and were shot.  Their teenage boy survived by hiding under a bed.  They were discovered that night partying at a nightclub and were arrested.

I was done. I decided to return to the good old USA.  I had a new friend who was from Egypt and had been part of the police in South Africa during Apartheid.  He was full of swagger and seemed fearless, so I imagined he had been on the wrong side of history.  However, he was kind enough to ensure I flew business class on Egypt Air because I 'looked like his aunt.'  After being outside every day for hours, my olive skin had darkened significantly.

My fiance made plans to join me a few months later.  He was eventually denied entry because he told the US customs officer he was coming to America to marry.  He obtained his visa by stating that he was coming to our country for a visit.  At the first stop in the US, Chicago, he and other white South Africans trying to come into this country on false pretenses were immediately placed on a plane back to South Africa.  I was not returning to live in South Africa, thus ending the relationship.

I had a layover in Cairo on my final solo trip to the United States from South Africa. It was odd that soldiers with automatic weapons were standing next to every plane on the tarmac.  The airport building was filled with armed soldiers.  Our baggage had been checked twice in Cape Town, once through the normal process and again after loading the plane.  Every bag was removed from the belly of the airplane. We had to deplane on the tarmac individually and identify our baggage. I didn't think how unusual that was at the time.

During my trip to the pyramids in a horse-drawn carriage, I had to beg the dr
iver to stop whipping the horse. I immediately got off. I could see the fresh marks and scars on his body with each whip lash.  Crying seemed to drive the point home to him, and he stopped...

I soon learned that several of our embassies in Africa had been bombed. I felt extremely vulnerable and couldn't get out of the continent fast enough. I kept telling myself that I looked Egyptian, so I should be okay.  It didn't help that my tour guide kept asking me to sleep with him.

It's now almost 20 years after that fateful year.  The experience gave me a whole new appreciation for our country and the struggles we still have today. I know the ugliness of white privilege from a different perspective while knowing I'm guilty of it myself in many ways. It also made me realize that as afraid as I've been from time to time, I'll never be as scared as I was on my last day in Africa.

I'm glad to have lived in South Africa.  It's a lasting and profound memory.