Happy (Belated) Women's Day!

Happy Women's Day, everyone!

(Well, Women's day was actually last week Thursday, but I haven't been able to post for a week.) For all of you South Africa history buffs: Women's Day commemorates August 9, 1956 when some 20,000 women marched to the Union [government] Buildings in Pretoria to protest against a law requiring black women to carry passes. Today, the day is celebrated as a reminder of the contribution women have made to society, for women's rights, and to acknowledge the difficulties and prejudices many women still face. Isn't that great?! It makes me proud to be a woman. Last week I had lots of fun wishing everyone I ran into a happy women's day.

To celebrate Women's Day (and to take advantage of the long weekend...) Sarah and I traveled up to Johannesburg and Pretoria to catch up with some good friends. And, we actually made it to the Union Buildings in Pretoria.




The long weekend was fabulous and a much-needed change of pace. We visited the Apartheid Museum, saw the University of Pretoria, did a little shopping, and on Sunday our very gracious hosts made a braai for us. (A braai, rhymes with dry, is the South African version of a barbecue.) Although it was great to travel a little and spend some time with some time with friends, I was glad to leave Johannesburg on Sunday night.


I know I was only in Johannesburg/Pretoria for 4 days, but during my short stay I think I got a taste of what it must be like to live in fear. Almost everyone we talked to brought up the subject of violent crime. In fact, I'd say we probably spent at least an hour each day hearing stories of people getting attacked. This did not make me feel very good. And then there was the incident at the shopping mall. Sarah and I were pooped from walking around, but our friends wanted to do a little shopping, so we grabbed a bench and chilled out next to a giant cow statue.

While we were sitting next to "Moodonna" (Yes, that's what the thing was called...) a man missing multiple teeth came up to us and asked us if we were from Germany. We told him that in fact we weren't from Germany, but were Americans. This was a mistake. He mumbled for a while, made a few derogatory comments about George Bush, motioned slitting his throat, and walked away. The incident was more than a little creepy. The entire way home we looked over our shoulders to make sure that we weren't being followed.

Sunday dinner also ended up being an interesting experience. The people we we visited on Sunday were relatively well-off South Africans who lived in a nice neighborhood, had a beautiful house and graciously served us an incredible meal, complete with four different kinds of meat. (Yeah, I ate the avocado salad...) After the food was cleared from the table, we sat and chatted about all sorts of things. It felt so good to be in a house enjoying wonderful food with wonderful people. But, as the conversation went on, I was a little shocked when I heard our host use the n-word to refer a well-known African American politician. I think our host picked up on my discomfort and launched into a diatribe, telling me that he is a self proclaimed bigot who hates black (and colored) South Africans.

Now I was really shocked. A big part of me wanted to jump out of my chair over the table and attack the man, but I didn't. I felt helpless. I knew that there was no changing this man's mind. So, for about 30 minutes I listened to some of the most hateful words I had ever heard. It was unreal. Every muscle in my body was tensed as I tried (somewhat unsuccessfully) to ask this man thought-provoking questions and get him to defend his opinions.

After a while my anger melted into sadness. What could make this man hate another group of people so deeply? Fear, maybe? This man was terrified of the society in which he lived. His daughter had had her windshield smashed at a stoplight during the past year. His house had been broken into, and I'm sure there are many more incidences from over the years that I don't know about. The more he talked, the more it became apparent that he hated living in fear of violence, and in his mind, he equated violence with the black and colored segment of the population.

All of the sudden, I pitied the man. Years of living afraid of violence had made him incapable of seeing the hatred he fostered. Obviously, I don't agree at all with the racist views of my host, but the afternoon, as uncomfortable as it was, helped me understand in a new way that fear is the driving force behind hatred.

But, to my mom, and all of you who are still worrying about safety: don't worry, on Sunday night Sarah and I arrived safely back in Cape Town. And I was glad to be home.