Monday, July 25th 2005, a day that has defined the difference between life and a mre existence. What we have sees this day will remain in my dreams and heart for centuries.
6:00. Wake up call. The sky is black, the air crisp w/ southern winter. I told myself six hours is plenty. A warm shower ignites my eyes and sparks my dendrites, slowly defrosting my toes.
7:00. Breakfast: gourmet omelets prepared by black culinary students. Short but sweet, I clear my tray at the bidding of our leader.
7:30. Bus ride: a quick hop to St. Cyprian's School for class and conversation. The group splits into two groups to attend a UNESCO slavery class relating to the istory of the school itself. The land on which the school lies contains the early secrts of South African slave trade. Bones, names, and overhead: precursors to a powerful discussion about slavery today, AIDS, the problems with sex education.
11:00. Tea time and muffins with our beautiful hostesses. I exchange gifts with my Pen Pal as she leads me to my next adventure. Unfortunately the Afrikaans teacher is absent so class has been cancelled. Keira (my Pen Pal) inquires about my political affiliation and the next 45 minutes are effectively consumed with talk of Government, Bush, Sudan, and many other digressions of important trivials. My next class consists of Oedipus and Hamlet.
12:25. Robben Island. Whether or not our group travels to this famous island depends entirely upon the rain. Fortunately the rains come 15 minutes late destroying our hopes for a dry ferry ride. Robben Island is considered the origin of the current South African Government. The trees, rocks, and edifices shout stories of injustice, Mandela, and triumph. Our tour guide touched everyone's heart with the examples of his own imprisonment within B Block of the Robben Island maximum security prison. I do not believe anyone will take the night sky and the tickle of grass between our toes for granted ever again.
4:30. PTPI leaves Robben Island humbles and grateful. A cloth of clouds curls over the sharp edge of Table Mountain as we bound over shark infested waters. I can almost imagine myself swimming to freedom; KFC only 7 km away. As we pull into the harbour a dead bird floats in the water. It has choked on the masses of trash floating in the shadows of skyscrapers; a grating reminder of the work that needs to be done.
5:30. We are greeted with open arms and minds, yet again, by our accommodating hostesses. Over the next hours we are engaged in dance and the perceptions of our two contrasting cultures and similar humanitarian goals. We end the night with a traditional South African Braii (barbeque) and an exilerating hands on display of local drums. Through the rythms of dance and bongos an experience that will be remembered by all.
Monday, July 25th, 2005. Life in South Africa is truly amazing and unique for this small group of youthful activists.
Sincerely,
Jeff C.
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