Transportation is what links life here. And we are constantly on the move. There are foot rickshaws and bike rickshaws and auto rickshaws. There are motorcycles and taxis, trains and metros. In the last few days, I believe we have used them all. I think the most harrowing, however, was the train. Before we left that morning, we went over and over which stop we were getting off at, what we would do if we got separated, etc etc etc. I don’t think anyone really realized how easy it really is to get lost in that place. The train station is large and bustling and absolutely packed with people. We got tickets to Serampore, after repeating over and over that we needed 16 and we also needed the return trip. “Are these for return too? Serampore and back. We need to RETURN.” Turns out no one actually checks your tickets anyway. The train is crazier than the New York subway system. As one train pulled out, people were actually sprinting after it and jumping on, making it just before the train picked up speed. The cars were full to the brim, making getting on while hoards of people are getting off quite difficult. We all managed to get on the train and made it to Serampore with little incident. There, the students visited and toured Serampore College, founded by the missionary William Carey. At one point, I went to shoot footage of some of the kids playing cricket while the CN students toured. I met some sweet girls and had a lovely conversation  with them. It started as one came up and asked if she could take my picture. Novelty of white people at an Indian school? The girls were 22 and seemed genuinely interested in finding out about me and what I thought about Kolkata. When I was leaving, they said they would miss me and one of them gave me her bracelet asking me to remember them forever. I know that I will.

Upon leaving them, I realized that I couldn’t find the Carson-Newman group. Typical of this trip, as I sort of seem to wander off to get shots of life around the streets. I can usually catch up, as I only have to spot one of the 3 tall boys in the group. Sometimes I get a little too far behind and hope that I remembered correctly that I saw the big group of white people turn right. Or was it left? I usually find them. This time, I didn’t. When I got the entrance of the school, a man told me that my friends had said to get in his rickshaw and I could meet them at a restaurant. I had a brief moment of hesitation. Should I just get in the rickshaw and see where it takes me? I suppose if I felt danger, I could just jump out. Eh, let’s risk it. So I did, and lo and behold, I ended up at the restaurant for a nice lunch and way too much naan bread. So delicious.

Those return train tickets worked out just fine, by the way. The hassle was actually making it onto the train. Several students from Serampore College had agreed to help us out, and we all thought that was nice, but was it really necessary? Thank goodness we had them. Apparently the train only stops for 30 seconds. It seems like enough time…it is not enough time, however, if you realize you’re in front of the cars with all the yogurt vendors and that you have to run up a couple cars to try to find where to get in while huge masses of people are at the same time pouring out of the train. I latched onto one of the SC students, one of the CN students latched onto me, and we ran. We ran and we jumped and we made it. We thought that was the worst of it and were home free. Only when we got back to our main station did we realize that the crush of people trying to get on now might literally crush us. The group got split, we pushed and fought our way through the hoards of people, and I’m not quite sure how someone didn’t get trampled. I don’t think I can properly explain how crazy it was. It was a wall of people pushing and shoving and moving in waves toward the train as we tried to move away. It would have been easy to get swept up in that strong current of people and swept right back onto the train. Once again, slightly surprisingly this time, we all made it. Together again! We survived the train and the next day braved the metro. Luckily there was a strike and everyone stayed home to watch the India-Sri Lanka cricket match. It made for quite a pleasant trip. No one even came close to being trampled.

As I import video, it is hard to differentiate the sounds of traffic in the footage from the ones I hear outside my window.  It is always noisy here. But the noise is part of what makes Kolkata the city that it is. This is perhaps too much information, but when you blow your nose here, what comes out is black. It is polluted. It is noisy. And it’s great. I love it because it is a new place and a new culture and a new look at life. There are interesting differences between Kolkata and the places I saw this summer, but one of the most distinct differences is the way the poverty presents itself. In a place like Cape Town, the poverty is generally separated from the city. It exists mostly in the townships. It is the lingering effects of apartheid that make that grand disconnect between wealth and poverty, and so to see and work with the poor, you must go to them. Here, they are everywhere. There are so many sleeping on the streets every night. As I walked back from the internet café last night, a mother and her toddler were curled up under blankets, right there on the sidewalk. It’s hard to imagine a life like that one, but it is a striking reminder of just how little many of these people have. That morning, I went in search of coffee at 7am. Apparently nothing opens until 10. Nice. Typical American, getting up and demanding coffee at an early hour. I took a rickshaw ride back to where we’re staying, and it was a great way to get a look around and see the streets of Kolkata start to wake up. The men began bathing outside, the kids were headed to school, vendors began opening their shops. One of my favorite sights was a goat wearing a polo shirt. I think I laughed out loud. I had bargained the driver down to 35 rupees but gave him 100 at the end of journey. His face lit up. It was a little more than 2 US dollars.

One of the interesting things about following this student team is hearing their thoughts as they are exposed to this experience. It’s great to see these their eyes open right in front of me, to see them look around and realize that there is such a big world outside of themselves, that maybe we don’t have it all right in America. It’s exciting for me because it is what I went through, and it is transformational. As we facilitated discussion about Bengali and American culture, one student described America as “vain, naïve, and spoiled.” Sure, it’s a generalization, but after time in a place like this, you come to realize just how blessed (and perhaps spoiled) we really are. But after 5 days in a new country, her perspective on her own country has shifted. I think it’s what naturally happens when you step outside of the world you’ve gotten so comfortable in…and it is an amazing experience.  It’s a shocking and wonderful revelation, and it’s exciting to see what you can now do, how you can change things, how you can let others in on it, the ways in which you can reshape your worldview, hopefully forever.

Written 11.22.09

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” –Mark Twain

It is different. It is different here. It is different than anything I experienced this summer. And I love it. One of the students described the city as “controlled chaos.” Perfect.

I am currently in Kolkata, India (yes, that’s how they spell it now—no longer ‘Calcutta’) after a 9 hour flight from Dallas to London (met up with the Carson-Newman College team there), a 6 hour flight from London to Dubai (Dubai seems as if the whole city is made only of lights. Granted, we got there in the middle of the night, but the city appeared to be on fire, glowing like Las Vegas on steroids), and a 4 hour flight from Dubai to Kolkata. India is far away. It is halfway across the world, almost literally. There is an 11.5 hour time difference between here and Texas. I wasn’t aware that it was even possible to have a half an hour time difference. But India has done it.

We arrived in Kolkata on Friday at 7:30am local time, which meant facing an entire day after only 2 hours of sleep during travel. “Hello, India. I haven’t slept.” It was…rough. The day exists as somewhat of a blur. I do, however, remember that we visited the “Mother House,” where Mother Teresa lived, which was pretty incredible. She is an icon all over the world, but especially here, and it’s difficult to walk anywhere without seeing an image of her.  The team also did an orientation at Missionaries of Charity, the organization that Mother Teresa founded. The students plan to work there next week and will be participating in quite a historic charity, certain to be a wonderful and overwhelming experience. Sleep was welcomed quite early Friday night. Time changes are odd. I was wide awake at 4am on Saturday morning. Oops. But I did manage to get some much-needed sleep, which thankfully offset the jetlag. Now I’m on India time and am functioning properly. It’s amazing how quickly the body can adapt.

I have swiftly learned that ordinary items can serve a double purpose here. Jacket becomes impromptu pillow case, water bottles (oh, we don’t drink the water here) double as lovely free weights, and the small courtyard which surround the guest house we’re staying is serving as my new track. About a thousand laps equal one mile. (Exaggeration. Still, it gets a bit mundane). It occurred to me while running (and dodging countless, massive crows that think they are better than me and thus don’t have to get out of my way), how lucky I am to have run in the places I have run in within the last 6 months. I have run up and down stairs next to the beach in Noordhoek, thru the streets of Cape Town, up hills next to the Indian Ocean, next to gorgeous homes in Johannesburg, along the beach in Swakopmund, round and round a small maze of streets in Windhoek…  I feel blessed to have had these opportunities, and I still appreciate them greatly every day. I always get a smile on my face while running.

Back to the chaos. Controlled chaos, that is. It is amazing that a team member has not been run over yet. I’m not kidding. The traffic is insane. The traffic is the first thing you notice here. You are immediately thrust into it the moment you get in a bus, taxi, rickshaw, motorized rickshaw with 3 wheels (yes, I have ridden in one). We started the journey from the airport in a bus. I was convinced I would get footage out the front window, which proved slightly treacherous, but I planted my feet and pointed the camera as we weaved in and out of the cars, taxis, buses, rickshaws…you get the point. The dominating sounds here are the following: crows and horns. The horns. They are loud and they are constant. Whether it’s the rickshaw driver slamming his bell against the side of the wooden handles or the car horn that has been engineered to blare with a sound that is deafening and should not be allowed to exist as a car horn, those sounds dominate the day. The other point to note about the traffic is that there are no lanes. Well, there are lanes, but I think the people here have either forgotten they’re present, or they just blatantly ignore them. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. Thus, driving in the streets means going wherever you can make room for your vehicle. It’s basically who can honk loudest and make people/other vehicles move. No one has any respect for anyone else in front of them. It’s choose a “lane” and weave thru traffic until you get to your destination. Oh, and make sure you share the street with the thousands of other cars and rickshaws and pedestrians and motorcycles. Like I said, I’m surprised no one has been mowed down. Everyone seems to manage, and though the traffic system is chaotic (at best) to us, it seems to be the norm here. My goal is to avoid being run over by a rickshaw.

I have, incidentally, already ridden in a rickshaw and loved being a part of the local culture thru that medium. I suppose being a part of the culture may be a stretch, as the white person waving a camera while being suspended above the street in a wooden buggy being pulled by a person who probably weighed less than her (I felt heavy, especially with all my equipment) is not so much a part of the culture. Rather, I enjoyed experiencing that form of Indian culture.

On Saturday, I accompanied the team on a scavenger hunt of sorts. The students are finishing up a class while here, and the professor is keen on the idea of teaching thru experiencing, which I absolutely love. It’s not just about sitting in the classroom. It’s about more than the classroom. It’s about getting outside the walls and truly experiencing what you’re being taught. It’s about mingling with the people, absorbing the culture, getting a taste of life that is so much different than your own. And so, we set out on the streets. Camera in tow all the way, I walked with the students for several hours, crowded with people and merchants. They had to do things like buy a cup of chai tea from a merchant. Don’t worry, the water boiled in front of our eyes. It was delicious and cost us 2 rupees each. Mind-blowingly cheap.  (By the way, the exchange rate is 45 rupees to the US dollar.) They also did things like find the Kolkata Traffic Police logo, visit the cemetery, find out what sort of music is most popular in India right now, talk to people on the street to find out the name of the most famous Indian cricketer, take a group picture in one of Kolkata’s parks, observe the mechanics who sit and work on the sidewalk and find the smallest shop, and many other things that allowed them to interact directly with the people and culture of India. It was a fantastic experience and allowed me to capture so much great footage of life in this city. I’m learning a few Bengali words and have noticed that people respond so excitedly when you speak their language. And as always, they love the camera. Most were more than happy to have it pointed their way. They smiled and laughed and some took cell phone pictures of me taking their pictures. It was a fun and educational afternoon, and I can’t wait to get back to the streets to film more of the real essence of this place.

Other things I’ve noticed: The clothing here is so bright. The women dress in saris that radiate color. It’s all so vibrant in the midst of a city looks somewhat drab on the whole. Many of the men bathe right there in the street. The water flows out of a public tap of sorts, and they dress in what look like brightly colored skirts as they walk there. I suppose it is their bathroom and it feels a little odd to walk right past them as they wash. I wonder if they feel like we’re invading their privacy (though bathing on the street hardly provides much privacy).  On the sidewalk, there were men getting shaved with straight razors, kids flying kites, women washing clothes, mechanics fixing every car part you can imagine, cows wandering around, vendors making bread and selling tea and popcorn and dates from Iraq. And in the background, the ever-present sound of horns.

The city is different and it is fascinating. It is crowded and it is noisy. It’s all very hectic, but then, you get the feeling that perhaps it’s just the way things are.

I certainly didn't expect the next travel update to come so soon, but here it is!

Believe me, everything that's unfolded recently is still somewhat of a shock in my mind. But yes, it's TRUE. OnePass is headed to India...and very soon. It has all happened somewhat suddenly (within the last week or so), so I'll give you a little background before I head off for my travels.

The story goes like this:

Last weekend, I visited Carson-Newman College in Jefferson City, TN. I worked with the school during the first 2 weeks I spent in South Africa this summer. They worked on the ground with a non-profit in Cape Town for 2 weeks, and I documented their efforts. I recently finished producing a short film for them (which will soon be up on the OP website) and went to TN to debut it. It was a wonderful visit, and the best part? They LOVED the film! They loved the film so much, in fact, that they decided they'd like me to accompany them on future trips. Very exciting news for OnePass! Naturally, I was interested as to when their next trip would be. The response was: "We have a team going to Kolkata, India, and we'd love for you to go." "Great!" I said. "When does the team plan to go?" The response: "In 10 days." Excuse me? Yes, I had heard right. They were leaving in 10 days.

I didn't know if it was possible to secure a visa in such a short time frame, but it was worth a shot. The papers were sent in last Monday, by Friday I had received my India visa, and I'm now in full preparation mode to depart for Kolkata on Wednesday at 4pm!

The Carson-Newman team will be doing varied work while there but plans to visit "Missionaries of Charity," the community established by Mother Teresa, and hopes get to work with those in need. They will also visit the Red Light District, where 6,000 women work as sex workers every night, many of them having been trafficked or forced to do this work through poverty. They will also visit several organizations that have created employment for these women, as a way out of the sex industry.

I still can't believe it's all happening (perhaps I won't til I actually get on the plane), but it's an incredible opportunity, and I'm grateful to those at Carson-Newman for asking me to accompany them on this trip. We'll be in Kolkata for 10 days. Once again, I'm not sure what kind of internet access I'll have, but I'll do my best to provide a few updates along the way. If not, I'll be back to write about it all soon enough. 3 months in Africa wasn't long enough, so I'm sure 10 days will fly by, but I'm so excited to travel to another continent and experience something new and amazing. Can't wait to share it with you!

TOMORROW: Dallas-->London-->Dubai-->Kolkata

Let the next adventure begin...

It’s time to go.

I didn’t think I would have such a hard time writing those words. I have stared at the computer screen for quite awhile. Maybe if you don’t actually type it, then it’s not true?

I’m currently sitting in the Amsterdam airport. It seems wrong. I’m hoping the long hours of flying will give me a chance to reflect, to compose myself, to try to get ready to enter back in to life in America. I am not ready. I have seen and done so much that it’s truly difficult to think of it ending. I cannot begin to describe how incredible my trip has been. I hope I have been able to capture at least a glimpse of it, through the pictures and words that you have seen and read. Eventually, the films I produce will speak of what I have experienced and will speak to the lives of all those I have met.

I’ve had this thought so many times since I’ve been here: “Up until now, there are so many places I had never thought about. There are so many people that I didn’t even know existed.  There were so many lives I had never encountered. Wow.” It’s odd when you think about it…how I could have lived my whole life never having seen these places, experienced these things, met these people. But how much more deprived would my life have been had I not done these things? I feel so lucky to have seen what I have seen. From the rolling hills of the Transkei to the rolling dunes of Swakopmund. From the Atlantic Ocean to the Indian. From the metropolitan buzz of Cape Town to the dusty silence of Arandis. I have seen much. But it is the people here who I will miss most. It’s the people who really draw you in, steal your heart, hook you, invite you back, make you promise you’ll visit again one day. It is the people who make Africa what it is. It is a gorgeous place…but it is the people who define it.

I have met some truly wonderful people throughout my travels. From those who took me under their wings and helped guide me through my journey, from the heads of NGOs to the volunteers, from Wilson the ward counselor to Tony the translator, from non-profit board members to the children they’re helping, from the travelers I met in my backpacker to the managers of team houses, from the friends who took me home for family dinners in Cape Town to the ones who took me rock climbing in the Namib Desert, from the women learning to sew to the high school students trying to change their circumstances, from inspired college students to former gang leaders turned kids’ club teachers, from the foster parents to the foster children, from medical residents to doctors who have taken on a whole country, from the young to the old, from the givers to the receivers…

I am tearing up.

I didn’t want to leave.

It’s the people that really get you.

There are so many that I can now call friends. Each person I have met has forever impacted me, has forever shaped my view on the world. I will not forget this place. It’s only a plane flight (or two) away. I know I will be back. Thank you, Africa, for a new experience, for reshaping my worldview, for introducing me to the people who will never leave my heart.

Thank you.

Well…I’ve come to the end of my time in Namibia. In fact, as I write this, I’m sitting back in Cape Town. It seems a little odd to all the sudden be back in South Africa, not only because I was just saying goodbye to people in another country just yesterday, but also because now that I’m back, it means I only have 5 days left in Africa. This makes me incredibly sad, and I generally like to avoid thinking about it. Instead, I’ll give you the latest…

 I spent a little over a week in Windhoek, Namibia (the capital) with Dr. Steve and Pam Brown. Steve and Pam are wonderful. They are hospitable. They are so much fun. And…they are Texans. Do you know how great it is to be with Texans in the middle of Namibia? It’s important to note that we ate Mexican food, for starters. Would you ever expect to find Old El Paso brand Mexican food in Namibia? No, you wouldn’t. BUT WE DID.

So how did the Texans end up together in Windhoek, Namibia? The story goes like this: a little over a year ago, when I was still working with KAMC, I did a story on Dr. Steve Brown, a Lubbock pediatrician. Steve was handing his practice over to Texas Tech University, and preparing to move, for 4 years, to Namibia (under Africa Inland Mission). Check out the story that started it all right here. Steve’s story struck a chord with me that day. It was right about the time that I was getting restless in news and wondering what my next step would be. I knew I wanted to travel internationally, I knew I wanted to tell positive stories…I just didn’t know how it was going to happen. But last July, Steve and I talked about it, and he said, “You’re welcome to join us in Namibia and do a story on what we’re accomplishing over there.” And so, 13 months later, I took him up on that offer.

At the time, what Steve and Pam were venturing out to do seemed to me so admirable, so courageous, so generous. How many people would give up their comfortable lives in the States to volunteer their services in a country that in many ways is desperate for help? Not many. But the two of them left behind children and grandchildren (and 2,000 patients) to dedicate themselves to serving the people of Namibia. It’s amazing to look back at what I thought then and to actually see it in practice right in front of me.

Steve is working as a consultant at Katutura State Hospital in Windhoek. The word “consultant” doesn’t really do his job justice. He is making rounds every day, checking on children, diagnosing and treating, as well as teaching pediatric interns and guiding American medical residents through the Namibian hospital system. He has a lot on his plate, so to speak. This might help sum it up: Dr. Brown is the only full-time pediatrician in the entire country of Namibia. Like I said, a lot on his plate. In his interview, he told me that what has been most shocking about his 10 months in Namibia is the death. And the apathy toward it. He faces problems he very rarely saw in America: TB, HIV/AIDS, malnutrition. And he sees death…often. Much more often than he ever encountered in the States. He said it’s been hard to get used to. I wonder if he ever will. It’s simply a different environment, a different set of problems, a different group of people, a different focus. But he is committed to sharing his knowledge with the staff and sharing his love with the children. He has simply been transplanted from Texas to Africa. The surroundings change, but the heart doesn’t.

Two American pediatric residents, Stacey and Anna, arrived to stay with the Browns while I was in Windhoek. They are 3^rd year residents at Geisinger Medical Center in Danville, Pennsylvania, and they’ll be spending a month working at Katutura. They’re fantastic girls and fantastic doctors. They have name tags that say Dr. Anna and Dr. Stacey. They are official in Namibia. It was interesting talking to them about their first impressions upon spending time in the hospital. They said they saw more in the first day than they’d seen in a year in the States. Once again, more death. They came in their 2^nd day and asked what happened to one of the children that was admitted the day before. The nurse responded, without batting an eye, “Oh, he died.” And then she moved on. It’s an eye-opening experience for them, for sure. It’s just different. Death gets brushed off because it happens so often. Death is spoken of nonchalantly. Death is common. It is frequent. And we are not used to that. Coming here can change your perspective in a single day.

Pam is also undertaking quite a bit being here. She is certainly the most wonderful hostess, constantly welcoming new people into her Namibian home. There seems to be a never-ending barrage of volunteers, medical personnel, friends, family, and photojournalists streaming through her doors. But you’ll never catch her without a smile and a kind word. Aside from continually playing hostess, she’s teaching classes at the Namibian Evangelical Theological Seminary, or NETS. I spent some time there with her this week, as she undertook a Community Development class of 16 students from different African countries. It’s not your average class because English is not their first language.  For her, it’s all about adapting to the situation, trying to understand cultural differences, and learning all the time. I imagine she’s getting just as much education as she’s giving. Earlier this year, she also taught a computer class to NETS students. Many of them had never typed a document, much less gotten on the internet. Enter Pam. She says she doesn’t know if they’re “making an impact” yet, but she knows that both she and Steve are helping people, making friendships, establishing connections, and loving those that they meet. The people are where you make the difference. I’d say they’re doing just that.

I was able to shoot this week with both Steve and Pam, capturing the work that they’re doing in Windhoek. It was a bit surreal to meet back up with them in Namibia after last meeting with them at their church in Lubbock in fall 2008. What an incredible connection to have. They are the ones that initially brought me to Namibia and really opened the doors to me taking on other projects in the country. I’m so grateful to them for their hand in my journey, for giving me an idea and helping to nurture that, for always asking “When are you coming to Namibia?” I finally made it. And I think they both know I’ll be back someday.

On Monday, I was able to venture out into the former township of Katutura to do some shooting. It reminded me a lot of the townships in South Africa. Same tin shacks, same meager markets, same poverty level. I was swarmed with kids once again when I brought out the camera…but maybe I’m getting used to that. It was a good way to capture where many of the people are living and what they are dealing with. I also managed to shoot a standup (where the reporter is in the shot, explaining something) walking down a street in Katutura. It was odd to put on a blazer and go back to being a reporter for a brief moment. I have been a reporter the whole time, but I have spent most of my time behind the camera…it felt different to be in front of it again (but I of course enjoyed it). Steve and Pam’s daughter Emily became my impromptu and wonderful photographer! Thanks, Em!

Other Namibian experiences: went back to Swakopmund for the weekend with the aforementioned pediatric residents. It was a last-minute trip to a great town. It’s very much a mix of German and African, as Namibia was settled by the Germans. But Swakopmund has retained much of its German influence. It’s full of very German architecture and everyone there seems to alternate between German, Afrikaans, and English. I’m always amazed at people who can speak more than one language…and it’s just natural for them there! Impressive. The same friend that was generous enough to take me rock climbing was also generous enough to become our tour guide. Among other things, he took us to the jetty, the lovely beach (Anna was very excited to touch the Atlantic Ocean ‘from the other side’), and the National Marine Aquarium of Namibia…not really the Boston Aquarium, but hey, it was an experience. Oh, and we rode a double decker bus back to Windhoek. We were on the top level. Now that’s an experience. All in all, it was a wonderful weekend with good food, great people and lots of fun.

I don’t think a whole lot of people even know Namibia exists. And if they do, you always get, “Naaambia??” It’s not Nambia. It’s NamIbia. I now know where it is, what it’s like and how incredible the people are. It’s a great country. And someday, if I can help it, I’ll be back.

Today (Sunday), I was able to have somewhat of a surprise experience. I sort of never plan these touristy things, and I guess that’s why it’s so much fun when I actually get the chance to do them. Surprise, you’re going rock climbing! Many thanks to David Leech, son of Vera & Mike, my lovely hosts this week. David is training to be a climbing and abseiling instructor and was able to take me, along with some of his friends, out for some adventure. We were about 60 km outside of Swakopmund, near the Khan River, in the middle of a desert. Yes, it’s just a desert, but wow, what beauty. I feel privileged to encounter these new and gorgeous environments at every turn.

First up on the adventure list: I basically walked off a cliff. That’s essentially what abseiling is. You walk down the side of the rock, leaning back at an angle, until you come to a drop off….and then the rock is gone…and you hang in midair. And don’t look down. We were quite high, but after getting over the initial fear of hauling yourself off a cliff, it was pretty amazing. You control the speed at which you come down, and so I sat there for awhile, spinning and turning, taking in the scenery while hovering hundreds of feet in the air. Not normal. I love it. We did that twice and then moved on to rock climbing. There was a large rock (as you see in the picture), which basically had a vertical climb and what looked like very few places to actually put your hands and feet. As I started climbing, I realized the reality of the situation was that there really were no places to put your hands and feet. Ok, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but a crevice a few inches wide doesn’t really feel like a great option for balancing your body weight. But inch by inch, foot by foot, I pulled myself up. And thank goodness David was there to catch me if I fell. Thanks, David! What a lifesaver. (And hey, I only slipped once.) Your body is tense the entire time, your hands are cut and bleeding, your feet are burning, but that sense of accomplishment when you get to the top…totally worth it.

After that, we had a braai in the middle of nowhere in a Namibian desert. It was one of those “Africa moments” again. They never stop. And I’ll never get over the excitement of a new experience in Africa.

This week I had the privilege of working with a group called Mondesa Youth Opportunities, or MYO. They are based in Swakopmund, which is an interesting city, complete with beach, sand dunes, German architecture…and townships, just like I saw in South Africa. I thought that leaving South Africa, I would also leave behind the townships. Not so. The poverty is easily apparent here as well. MYO is working hard to give students a shot at having a better, more fulfilled life, all through educational opportunities.

 It all started 6 years ago, when they began giving tennis lessons to dozens of black children, who wouldn’t have otherwise had the chance to enjoy organized athletics. It has now evolved into something much bigger and much broader than just sports activities, touching the lives of some 110 young people from the surrounding townships. From their website, MYO describes exactly what they’re trying to do: “Mondesa Youth Opportunities is an after school enrichment program that promotes academics, athletics, the arts, and life-skills as a means to bring an end to the cycle of poverty that is prevalent in Swakopmund’s townships. Our primary objectives are to develop and foster an environment where children living in communities such as Mondesa and the DRC are provided opportunities to learn and grow in areas that are imperative to their success in life, and to promote a future generation of emotionally healthy, driven, and forward-thinking leaders. Our larger objective is to be an empowering force in the community. We are here to supplement over-crowded and under-funded schools. We strive to deliver a well-rounded education and cultivate positive thinking and self-esteem in our young learners.”

Many of the schools here suffer from the same problems of those that I encountered in South Africa. The teachers are unmotivated, the classes huge, the ambitions low. MYO exists to succeed where these schools fail. Probably my favorite part of shooting this week was interviewing the students. I spoke to kids from grades 7 and 9. Wow. If only all my interviews could be that amazing. They were incredibly articulate, and it just seemed as though they really get it. Do you know what I mean? They understand the fact that without education, they don’t have much of a chance. There is no other way out for them. And they get it. They would say things like, “I can’t get a job without an education. And without a job, I cannot help Namibia.” I mean, I just can’t tell you how wonderful it was to hear these things coming from the mouths of these students. It was exciting to get these soundbytes as a reporter and so much more than that, it was simply encouraging to hear these students saying such inspiring words. And I absolutely was inspired.

They called their friends and their teachers “family.” They laughed and sang and played drums and soccer and chess together. They came to MYO classes every day after an already-full day of class, dedicated to more than what their government schools offer. They had a ‘MYO Idols’ competition, and they cheered and clapped for each performer. They raised their hands in class, they danced with enthusiasm, they learned, loved, lived in this environment that will access their potential and motivate them to achieve beyond what their means suggest. I looked at their smiles and I looked into their eyes, and what I saw was genuine. It was heartfelt.

And that’s why I do this job.

My flight was actually 2.5 hours. At some point, I fell asleep, and when I woke up and looked out the window, the scenery was vastly different…it was….a desert. When we were starting to descend, I literally laughed out loud. IT IS SAND. That's all it is, sand. Just a lot of SAND. There are proper sand dunes. It looks nothing like South Africa. It is startling. And when we were about to actually land, I thought, "Uhh, is there an airport here? Where are we going to land? Are we landing on the SAND?" This is what appeared to be happening. But then all of the sudden, there was a tiny airstrip and a tiny building…and that was the airport.

Welcome to Namibia.

One of the board members from Mondesa Youth Opportunities was kind enough to come to the airport to pick me up. The customs line took quite awhile, which wasn’t helped by the fact that I was almost last in line due to being so amused by the scenery/airport that I had to stop to take pictures immediately after I climbed out of the plane (directly onto the tarmac).

Interesting fact:  Namibia is the 2^nd most sparsely populated country in the world. Mongolia is first.

(I already started shooting a bit with MYO today and can tell it’s going to be a fun week. More details to come on all they have accomplished in this area and all the children they have impacted. Thursday should be great, as they have a ‘MYO Idol’ competition. I’ve been told talent abounds. Can’t wait!)

One of the board members of MYO has graciously invited me to stay in her home this week. She lives across the street from the ocean. Literally. Across the street.

Welcome to Namibia.

I’ve had a wonderful time in Johannesburg and am (as with each time my stint in a new place draws to a close) reluctant to leave. Robyn has been a wonderful hostess, and I was fortunate to spend some great time with her while here.

This week, I was able to go on a safari to the Pilanesberg Game Reserve! Definitely a highlight of the trip. Thank you to Robyn’s parents for so generously taking me to see the animals of Africa. I actually hadn’t built in time for anything like that. I guess I just didn’t think I would be able to fit it in, but everyone I’ve met has insisted that I go. “You can’t come to Africa and not go on safari!” Pilanesberg was only a 2.5 hour drive from Johannesburg, and so off we went. I saw zebras, giraffes, hippos, kudu, wildebeasts, impalas, a crocodile, and all sorts of interesting birds. And yes, of course I took my camera. Sadly, I didn’t see any elephants or big cats. A bit of a disappointment, but hey, it’s not a zoo. Can’t see everything all the time! But I’ve promised myself that when I get back to Cape Town, I’m going to a place where I can actually pet cheetahs. I will pet a cheetah. Pilanesberg was a great excursion, and I’m so glad I got to experience a real African safari.

Another  highlight was visiting the Apartheid Museum. It’s hard to call it a ‘highlight,’ as it was quite emotionally overwhelming. But in a sense, it was. It was so informative and essential to understanding the origins of the racist system that devastated this country.  Robyn’s boss took me to the museum, and he was actually an incredible asset while walking throughout. You see, he is coloured (of mixed race--not a racist term here in SA), and he very personally experienced the adversity that came with South Africa’s apartheid system. He even remembers being forced to move from his home in a Cape Town suburb to one of the townships created for ‘non-whites.’ It was a blow to him, and as he grew up, he also took an involved role in the struggle against apartheid. He was able to provide an amazing personal perspective on the tragedies that consumed South Africa for decades.

‘Apartheid’ means ‘separateness’ in Afrikaans, and while racial segregation began during early colonization in South Africa, it was introduced as an official policy in 1948. In fact, the political parties of the time actually campaigned on apartheid platforms. The Group Areas Act of 1950 was designed to separate racial groups geographically and essentially became the heart of the apartheid system. This was when townships were formed, and today, they still remain as an ever-present and stinging reminder that apartheid ended not so long ago. I have spent time in several of these townships and have seen firsthand the lingering effects (political, economic, educational, emotional) of a system that tore down humanity in this country. It is startling. It is harsh. It is the reality that still plagues South Africa. The stark disparity between poverty and wealth engenders the question of just how long it might take for the country and its people to recover. How long does it take for a scarred memory to relinquish the injustices that for so long shaped a society? I imagine it must not be easy.

I suppose I just don’t understand it all (how can you?), and that’s why walking through the museum, I felt not only disheartened, but angry. There are no reasonable explanations as to the actions of the perpetrators of apartheid. There is no justification for treating someone as if they are lesser, as if they aren’t even a person. But we all know that this is not the first time it has happened in a society, nor will it be the last. The troubling thing is, it all starts with the inability to accept differences and this unnecessary and hideous ideal of cultural and racial purity. Because it is not their culture, instead of trying to assimilate or work in tandem with another culture, people become afraid of those who are different.  Rather than share, they stigmatize. Rather than try to understand, they let fear overwhelm them and overpower their sensibilities. Out of that fear, they subjugate people, destroy culture, and kill the human spirit.

The human spirit, however, is resilient. In 1994, the first-ever multi-racial democratic elections were held, and Nelson Mandela was elected president under the African National Congress party. South Africa has taken decisive steps since then, but the people still have such a steep climb ahead. There is much to recover from and much to answer for. In the grand scheme, the country as it stands now, is young. There is time. But how long will it take? Will the people forcibly removed from their homes years ago always be destined to a life of poverty? Will their children endure the same hardship? It doesn’t seem fair. What and who will lift them up? Some of the organizations I have worked with are trying to be the answer to this question. They are striving to create a better world, a better opportunity for so many who have unjustly suffered. The key here, I think, is to empower them to face these obstacles head on, to equip them to change things themselves, to teach each other, to nourish, to motivate, to provide the opportunity for more. Sometimes the opportunity is all they need. Provide them with ambition, provide them with a dream, and watch the human spirit flourish. The people can overcome.

It is possible to break the cycle.

Hello OFFICIALLY from Johannesburg! As you can see from the photo with Nelson Mandela’s statue, I’ve already gotten a chance to see a bit of the city. I’m staying for a little more than a week with my dear friend Robyn Kriel. Once upon a time, Robyn and I were reporters together in Waco, TX.