"Drench yourself in words unspoken, live your life with arms wide open. Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten."

Once upon a time in Grahamstown, South Africa...

That's how the story began April 9 of this year. The story, or at least my chapter of this ongoing saga ends Thursday. I'm convinced that, as much as I'd like to believe it, not all stories end happily ever after.

I've been thinking back a lot on these past couple months and I was thinking of a good way to finish off this blog-this part of my life. I've put together a small list of ramblings, of wisdom, of thoughts, of reflections for this last entry. That being said, I originally wanted to have this be a happy, positive entry that sums up what it's been like to be here. Part of it will be like that, but I think too many people, including myself, hope for story book endings: where everything turns out all right, where all the pieces fall into place, where the kids overcome the incredible odds against them and emerge from their problems triumphant.


It would be a lie to say there haven't been small triumphs. There certainly have been-for me and the kids. I hope that in some small way I've made an impact on a couple of them. I think one of the greatest and worst parts of being here and working with these kids is never knowing how much of an impact one has made. Perhaps I've helped a lot. Perhaps I've helped a little. Perhaps I've made one kid see that he doesn't need to have the same life as his father and his father's father. Perhaps I haven't. I won't know. I can hope. I can wish, but I'll never know--and that's part of the beauty of working here.

I think sometimes volunteers come to Amasango ready to take on the world, and that's a good attitude to have. But one must not get discouraged when everything's not fixed by the time they leave; at the end of three months, at the end of a year, or at the end of five years. The problems these kids face are very real problems. The problems these kids face could, and in some cases might, put them behind bars. Fight against these problems with the kids. Hold their hand through their problems, but don't feel bad when the problem doesn't magically go away. It takes work-and time-for everything to be made all right. Some of the kids will overcome these obstacles. Maybe not today. Maybe not next week, but someday, somehow, they'll work themselves out of the situation they're currently in.

Many of the kids I've worked with will go on to become successful adults. I really believe that. Sadly, I also believe that unless some of the children make a 180 degree turn in their lives, they will end up in prison, or end up dead. Do they still have time to change? Yes, but time is not on their side nor is the system put in place by the government. It's a system that is set up for them to fail. There are also systems in place, like Amasango and Eluxolweni, that works at counteracting the system set up by the state. They will save many, but they can't save all. Sadly, not all South African street children will end up living happily ever after.

Don't pity them. They don't need it. They know what they're up against. They don't need you or me or anyone coming in and pitying them. I did this when I arrived. I've seen other volunteers do it. It's wrong. Pitying them will get them nowhere. Understanding their background is one thing. Justifying extremely anti-social behavior because of their socio-economic background won't help. They are capable of taking on the world, but the world needs to nudge them from time to time and say "wait a minute, that's not right." The world needs to understand their background, understand their situation, but also let them know that they're capable of doing more than stealing, pimping and prostituting. They need to own their problems, not let their problems own them. Sympathize always, but don't always rationalize their behavior.

Understand you can't save them all right now-but you can try damn hard to. I'm convinced one can only do so much before one needs to let go. I've worked so hard with one of my favorite kids from my last visit to South Africa. He's left the shelter, or rather been kicked out of the shelter, for stealing. He's stabbed somebody in front of me. He's on drugs and begs for money on the street. He carries a knife and flashes it at me when he sees me, smiling when I look at him disapprovingly. Here's the worst part: he's brilliant. But his brilliance will get him nowhere unless, at some point, he stops.

I want him to stop. Jane wants him to stop. He doesn't want to. Unless, and until, he shows a willingness to change, I am convinced no amount of attention will help him. You can try. You can tell the kids that you care. You can show the kids that you care. You can always leave the door for dialogue open, but there comes a point where you can't drag them in by the wrist anymore. They need to walk through the door, or beat down the door, themselves.

The same is true with this boy. I've told him I'm always there to chat with him, and he does walk with me many days down High Street talking about the money he's made, the new knife he's got hidden in his sock, or the boy he wants to punch out. I've tried so hard with this little guy--and he's still living on the street. You can't save them all right now. Hopefully one day he'll make the change and realize what he's doing is wrong. Maybe he'll remember something I said to him as we walked down High Street three years earlier. Maybe it will have nothing to do with me. Maybe he'll never change and will end up in jail, but I really hope not. His life story, and all of their life stories, are still being written. None of us have chosen when or where we came into this world. Nor does anyone choose when they leave this world. But in the moments between, we all have the opportunity to choose.

Treat them as though they're human and understand the story beyond the story. Somebody once said to me "treat somebody as if they're less than human for a long enough period of time, and people will eventually believe you." It's true. These kids aren't treated as human beings. They walk onto Rhodes, they're asked to leave. They beg in front of fast food places or in front of the supermarket and they're immediately dismissed by many as little black, thug, drug-addicted boys. Is that the case with some of them? Certainly. Is that the case with all of them? Certainly not.

One boy I know here was caught stealing from the cathedral. He was stealing copper to resell at a township scrap yard. "How could somebody like that steal from a House of God? What a terrible boy." I'm sure many people thought that. I'm sure many of you think that as you read this. What people don't see is that this boy, in his early teens, was being cared for by his sister. He had little or no other family to speak of. That sister, the one who took care of him, who tried to clothe him, who tried to feed him, died of AIDS recently. So what's he to do? Is stealing the answer? No. But dismissing him as a trouble maker isn't either. Sometimes, there's just no place to turn for these youngest, most marginalized members of society. We all need to work on making sure everyone, everywhere is given a chance.

Understand that while your chapter is finished, the work is far from over. Others will come. Others will help, but it ultimately lies on these kids, and on us, to make sure they succeed. The fight doesn't end when you get back on the plane and return home. It continues even though you can't see it, and aren't living in it. How lucky we all are to have been born into a country where nearly all of us are really given a chance. I don't care if you've got a mother addicted to crack and live in the projects in the South Bronx or whether you live in a loft in SoHo. It's not easy for anybody, anywhere, but at least in the U.S. everyone is given a chance, even if not much of one, to succeed.

Once upon a time there was a 21-year-old guy who visited Grahamstown, South Africa. He had an amazing time with some of the most incredible kids. Despite the fact that he was older, he learned just as much from them as they did from him. He wished and hoped that all the kids would go on to become president of their country. He wanted more than anything for them all to live happily ever after.

The rest is still unwritten.

"Saying goodbye isn’t the hard part, it’s what we leave behind that’s tough." - Unknown

I leave South Africa in less than a week. I've begun writing this latest entry at 10:56 a.m. South African time. In 7 days, I'll be sleeping in my bed nestled amidst a sea of blankets and pillows in my little corner of the globe: away from Grahamstown, away from the poverty, away from the stories, away from the country and the kids I've come to really love during my time here.

I was thinking back on the past three months, about the kids, about the school and shelter and I realized how so many of the kids have become my friends. Since arriving, my role has changed from Jason, international volunteer and karate guy to Jason, my friend. Looking back, I'm glad to see the transformation. These kids--Siyabonga and Masixole and Bramwell and Xolisani and Samkelo and Thulani and....-- are some of the most exceptional human beings I've ever met.

They come from backgrounds so many people at home would describe as "desperate," but you'd never know. Sure, they've had their bad days. Everybody does. Yes, they fight sometimes. Occasionally that fighting involves weapons they've either brought from home or fashioned out of something nearby. Despite all of this, they truly are some of the most classy individuals I've ever met. Not classy in the sense that they go to nice restaurants and immediately know what fork to start with. Classy in the sense that most days, they don't let all the bad in their lives get in the way of all the potential good. Classy in the sense that they hold their heads high, even when society might tell them to do otherwise. Classy in the sense that most days, they want nothing more than to get by and exist in an environment where they're treated as human.

The older guys at the shelter are nearly as old as I am. Our friendship has transcended my whiteness, my foreignness, and at times, some language barriers. They're really not "my students" they're "my friends." And it's going to be really terrible saying good-bye to them.

The younger ones: when I went to watch them gumboot dancing at rich, privileged, predominately white St. Andrew's, I felt like a proud father with my camera snapping away. I thought they were the best in the show. I've loved spoiling the little ones. I've loved seeing them in passing and having them come up to me with huge smiles on their faces and saying hello. I've loved it when Siyabonga, Bramwell and a couple others came up to me on June 17th, smiled and said "Happy Father's Day!"

I've loved my time here. I love the country. I love the kids.

"Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly." - Unknown

My guardian angel was probably hoping I'd step on the gas a little. She (or he) was probably having problems flying so slowly.

Last week, I needed to get into town with a couple of the boys from Eluxolweni and a newly purchased DVD player. The house father was originally going to drive us, but something came up at the last minute and he couldn't.

So,

No house father to drive + a DVD player that must be brought into town + Jason, a foreign volunteer + a couple of my favorite Eluxolweni guys = me driving the Eluxolweni mini bus taxi down High Street.

"We all live in the protection of certain cowardices we call our principles." - Mark Twain

There was a group of American university students who came to South Africa recently to volunteer and teach in some of the country's poorer schools. They came for just a month, and they arrived at the beginning of the teacher strike that has kept millions of children across the nation from school over the past several weeks. These Americans came for a very good reason. I think if I got to know them, I would probably like a lot of them, but they did something this past week that really rubbed me the wrong way.

These university students came to Eluxolweni so they could have some sort of interaction with kids before returning home. I admire these people for sacrificing their money—and their time—to come to another continent and help children half a world away.

Their stint at Eluxolweni bothered me though. The first day they came to the shelter, they couldn’t have been there more than an hour before the cameras came out. Those couple hours feature, among other things, a happy looking Thulani with an American girl decked out in oversized shades in one photo.

I asked Thulani what the girl's name in the photo was. He didn’t know.

I’d like to ask Ms. Sunglasses the same question: “What’s his name?”

I bet she wouldn’t have a clue. Though she will be able to go home now and say “Like, oh my God, this boy, he was such a sweetie. He and I were such good friends, like, oh my God. I love him so much.”

There was another shot of Alutha in front of the Eluxolweni van, another of the guys gumboot dancing and smiling with the visitors. Literally dozens of photos of smiling faces from the couple hours they spent together.

The kids received several photos from that day, which is also nice. At least these students didn’t just come in, take photos and leave without giving the kids copies. The issue for me is that those photos should have never been taken. It’s not a jealousy thing. It is a thing of me being overprotective of the kids I’ve come to know and love during my time here and in many ways, it’s a decency thing. These are kids who have been exploited by many people who have walked into—and out of—their very short lives. One shouldn’t take photos with these kids unless you’ve truly spent some time to get to know them, to interact with them, to actually remember who the hell the little black boy is in the photograph long after you’ve returned home.

Would you go to a shelter in New York and just start taking photos with every other child you see? What makes it any more acceptable to do it here? Spending a couple hours over a two-day period is not getting to know these children. Come play a game, come talk to them, come get a tour, but leave the camera out of it.

That being said, I take photos with the children. I don’t have a problem with what I do. I wouldn’t have a problem if Lydia or Riona or anyone who’s invested any significant portion of time with the kids took photos with them. I really disagree with people just coming in for a day or two though and snapping away. Eluxolweni is not a petting zoo nor should it be a tourist destination. It’s a shelter for children who’ve been abused.

I understand these Americans weren’t intentionally doing anything to exploit the children. I understand they came to help children and because of matters out of their control, they didn’t have the opportunity to do so. I am glad they were able to come to Eluxolweni to see the kids. I just wish the cameras had stayed in the hand bags.

The kids didn’t have a problem with it, so I guess I shouldn’t either.

But I do.

"Think of giving not as a duty but as a privilege." - John D. Rockefeller

It's been a little more than a month since Judy left South Africa. She's been my boss at Lockport Community Television for the past several years and has, in that time, become a really great friend. She came to visit me last year in South Africa and returned again this year to volunteer with the children of Amasango School and Eluxolweni Shelter.

The DVD player at the shelter was stolen a couple months ago. Judy paypaled me some cash so the kids at the shelter could have a DVD player. The kids were absolutely overjoyed with the gift. Positively thrilled. Some of the kids came with me to Rhodes and wrote thank you letters to Judy.

I've left the letters exactly as they wrote them.

"Dear miss judy
My name is siyabulela I’m in Nathaniel nyaluza high but mama jane support me.
Iam 18 years old, iam in grade10 I’m studing well in this year no problem.
I like to say thankyou to you brought the dvd system to eluxolweni shelter we are appreciate.mama judy we want you to come back with us."

-Siyabulela Faltain

"We are thank you mama judy for buying the new dvd player so we ara happy abaut that."

- Mandilakhe Fanga

"Hi mama judy
Iwant to say think you to give us dvd
Have a nice day mama judy we want you tocome back with us"

- Masixole Sam

"We are all alone until we accept our need for others." - Unknown

This is a story of two boys of Amasango.

One who's still at the school and one who is no longer in Grahamstown.

The first is a 15-year-old boy at Amasango who is, to put it lightly, a hardened little guy. There are a lot of kids like him there.

He fights a lot. He swears often. In fact, he can cuss you out in at least two languages and very often uses his bilingual talents to hurl insults at people in whatever language they can best understand. Last week, he was particularly angry, and called the principal of Amasango a "F---ing B----" to her face.

He makes weapons by tying a necktie around a rock, or clipping some barbed wire from the fence. He's been in and out of the shelter. He's accused security guards of beating him. He's been cuffed because he's got so out of control. He's thrown chairs at the staff of Amasango.

Another teenage boy at the school was recently sent away. He was beaten at home by his grandmother. On a home visit, staff members from the school witnessed this child's grandmother beat him over the head with a large wooden plank. Pieces of wood were squeezed out of the boy's head at the hospital later. After she beat her grandson, the grandmother turned her anger toward Amasango staff members and threatened to pour boiling water on them. This boy was sent away to a shelter out of Grahamstown recently.

The school arranged to have this boy speak on the phone with an older brother still in town, and the one, angry 15-year-old boy still at the school. Following the phone call, the angry boy left the office and just stood outside the art room down at the other end of the property.

An Amasango staff member walked down to see what this angry, violent boy was up to at the other end of the school yard.

He was crying. He missed his friend.

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." - Margaret Mead

31 years ago today began like any other day in South Africa. It would end however, like no other day the country had ever seen, and the events of that 24-hour period more than 30 years ago marked a turning point in the struggle against apartheid. It was the day the youngest members of society stood up and said "no more."

Students took to the streets of Soweto, the sprawling township outside Johannesburg, to protest against the government's oppressive, racist education policies. "On 16 June, students assembled at different points throughout Soweto, then set off to meet at Orlando West Secondary School where the plan was to pledge their solidarity, sing Nkosi Sikeleli 'iAfrika and, having made their point, go back home. Witnesses later said that between 15,000 and 20,000 students in school uniform marched."

The peaceful march ended in slaughter with dozens of students gunned down by the police. One of the most famous photographs of that day is of a boy carrying the lifeless body of 13-year-old Hector Pieterson. That photo is included in this blog.

Today, Youth Day, is a day South Africans pause to remember the youngest heroes who helped to change the course of history.

"Don't talk about the f---- police Jason. I'll kick their a----. I'm gonna f---- fight them. Those motherf----." - Amasango student

Masixole, Bramwell and Xolisani were walking back to Jane's house with me yesterday evening. They were helping me carry my laptop, and making sure nothing happened to the computer--or to me--on the way back from Eluxolweni. I don't like bringing the laptop out of the house at all anymore unless I have car transport, but the kids wanted to use it, so I brought it.

As we were approaching Bedford Street, we were having fun, but being pretty noisy. One of them was singing rather loudly. Another was swearing, not because he was angry; he knows it gets my attention because I tell him to cut it out. A third was not singing or swearing, but running along. I asked them to quiet down--and slow down--a little.

They weren't too keen on listening to me, so I eventually told them I didn't want them to get picked up by the police. It's happened before. It could happen again.

I asked them all, in the most polite way possible, to shut up, to walk at a normal pace (if they run down the street, the assumption might be "they've robbed something"), and in one boy's case, not to pee in the middle of the street.

One of the boys who had been picked up, maced and driven out of town before was also walking with us yesterday and was still really angry about the incident.

"Don't talk about the f---- police Jason. I'll kick their a----. I'm gonna f---- fight them. Those motherf----. Don't talk about the f---- police. This is my South Africa too. F--- them."

He's right. It is, technically, his South Africa. Still though, more than a decade after the end of apartheid, it's not his street. It's a street and a part of town where, if he's running and being loud, bad things could happen.

He's painted the police with a really broad brush stroke. According to this boy, anyone who wears a SAPS (South African Police Service) uniform is a horrible person. But the police painted him with an awfully broad brush stroke when they picked him up last month. Essentially, he was walking in a white area and he needed to go.

The case against the police that Jane opened because of this incident is still pending. Jane did meet with an administrator from the South African Police Service, but the meeting happened only after a lawyer called the police to request a meeting.

Now, back to Bedford Street and yesterday evening: It would be a lie to say that the street is exclusively white. Right next door lives a well-to-do black family, but I'd definitely say this family is in the minority. Most blacks who come to Bedford Street come to clean or garden for a white family during the day, and return home to the township at night.

These boys aren't cleaning or gardening and it's not daytime. But, and here's the important part, they're not doing anything wrong either.

The boy who got so angry about the police is right. It is his South Africa. It's supposedly, everyone's South Africa. But it's not his street. The rainbow nation that has come so far since apartheid still has a ways to go.

"Life of a child through a lens"

Printed in: Grocott's Mail, Grahamstown, South Africa
Reporter: Kanina Foss
Date of publication: June 8, 2007

"Snap. Two babies in blankets, bundled on a couch. Snap. A friend's smiling face, pressed shadowy against a wire fence. Snap. Kids sitting on crates outside a shack, huddled around something on the ground. Snap. A hand holding the match lighting the drugs another's nose is inhaling. Snap. A yellow bus turning a street corner. Snap. The inside of a taxi. Snap. A smudged finger.

Each image is a chapter in one of the life stories told by Amasango Career School pupils who were recently given disposable cameras donated by the American SNAP Foundation.

Their task: take these cameras, tell your story. The end result: immediate visual access to a world some are afraid to visit in person. "It allows people to get as close as they want without actually having to venture into the area," explains Amasango volunteer Jason Torreano, who is from the United States and organized the project.

According to the SNAP website, the foundation gives pupils the chance to explore their world through the lens of a camera, and then to to tell their stories to others. "It's meant as a creative outlet for these kids so they can show people in Grahamstown and people back home [ in the USA ] what their lives are about," says Torreano. "It's a story a lot of people haven't seen."

The children from Amasango have all had a rough start to life. Many of them are at the school because their parents are not providing for them, and they've ended up on the street. "People immediately dismiss them as trouble makers, without knowing where they come from," say Torreano. "Sure, some are addicts and need money for their next fix, but some are trying to support their families by begging."

The point is they're human. "Some see them as opportunistic trouble makers, but they don't see what's behind that, the battles these kids fight on a daily basis," says Torreano.

Amasango tries to get them back on track before mainstreaming them again.

"This is the second time Torreano is volunteering there. He first came last year on a university exchange, then went back home to save money for a second trip. This time he arrived with cameras, 80 of them.

When he told the SNAP Foundation he wanted cameras, they asked him how many. He said 80, not expecting half as many, but before he was due to leave for South Africa, all 80 of them arrived on his doorstep. Some were broken, but Torreano was able to give every child in grades 5,6 and 7 at Amasango a working camera, and a chance at doing a thing some of them had never done before: take a picture.

The easy part, for Torreano, was handing out disposable cameras to a bunch of teens who were really excited about receiving them. "At home, kids wouldn't be excited. Maybe if they were digital," he says.

The difficult part was making sure they didn't fight over them. "You have to make sure you give to one kid, you give to all, so fights don't break out."

He told them they could take pictures of anything that told a story about their lives. "I didn't explain techniques to them because I didn't want them to take perfect shots. That's part of the beauty of it," he says.

Zalisile Dyonashe, 17, took pictures of himself because one day, when he has a son, he wants to be able to show them to him. "I will say to him, that's your father, and he'll be proud to see his daddy can take pictures," he says.

Masixole Sam, 17, also took a picture of himself. "I like it because I can give it to my father. Maybe if I steal something and go to jail my father will think of me. I don't want my father to cry," Masixole says he's happy to be at Amasango because if he's in the location every day he's going to fight and then he might die.

Others took pictures of things they love. Siyabulela Mali, 15, took a picture of a donkey cart and another cow. "I love donkeys," he says. "They do the things you want, give transport. make jobs. I love cows. I love the milk of the cow and the meat." He also took a picture of a scrapyard he says he loves because he finds money there.

The photographs are being exhibited at Rhodes. Torreano says he's glad the youths are going to have a chance to go to the university and feel they have a right to be there.

A while ago he took a few of them onto campus and was approached by a security guard who said "You can come, but they can't." What got Torreano is that the teens just accepted it. "These are kids who who'll fight people over anything, they'll kill each other over a slice of bread," he says. "But they were perfectly accepting of the idea that they just didn't belong there. To me that was a fight that really should have been fought."

"If you treat them as less than human for a long enough time, they'll eventually start to believe you. The fact that the exhibition is at Rhodes will make them realise they can make it there too."

The Amasango photographic exhibition is on at Eden Grove from Monday until Saturday (16 June)."

"No matter how slow the film, spirit always stands still long enough for the photographer it has chosen."

"L.I.F.E. as they know it" begins at Rhodes University this Monday. There will be dozens of photos up on the Eden Grove concourse that each tell a fragment about somebody's life story. The happy, the sad, the inspiring, the illegal: the kids came through in a monumental way. They captured their lives, or segments of their lives, in 27 frames. They'll have a chance to show Rhodes University, and greater Grahamstown, how they live. Their thoughts. Their stories. They did the task at hand; not all of them, but many of them, and I couldn't be prouder, or happier.

Here's the poster that's been put up all over town--and all over campus--that advertises the show. I've received RSVPs from dozens of faculty and administration at Rhodes who say they'll be there for the opening. The kids arrive at 7. The guests arrive at 7:30. There will be gum boot dancing from Eluxolweni Shelter guys and hopefully, plenty of conversation about the kids' work. Here's hoping -

Grahamstown, South Africa: my second home

Yesterday marked one month until I leave Grahamstown. I really can't believe that one month from today I'll be on a flight back to the United States: home.

That brings me to an interesting point. I feel as though, during my time here last year and during my return, I've grown to love this place. Grahamstown, South Africa has really become a kind of second home. The kids have become a kind of second family. Sure, the place has its problems with poverty, violence and crime. But, the entire place has really grown on me.

One month from today I'll leave what has become home for home.

Everyone has a story. This is theirs.

The photo exhibit at Rhodes begins next Monday. I wanted to write up something small that people can read just before walking in. My aim in these couple paragraphs is to tell people about the project, about what the kids did, and warn them about some of the images contained within. I hope I struck a good balance. This is what the board at the front is to say.

"L.I.F.E-as they know it"

At the beginning of May, every child in grades five, six and seven at Amasango Career School was given disposable cameras through a grant provided by the Rochester, New York based SNAP "Seeking Needed Actions for Peace" Foundation (www.snapfoundation.org).

The assignment for these young men and women was really quite simple—and extraordinarily difficult. The children were asked to document their lives through the lens of a camera. They could take the camera wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted, for as long as they wanted, taking photographs of whatever they wish. The only catch was they had just 27 frames to tell their story: to provide people with insight about what makes them happy, what makes them sad, what frightens them and what inspires them.

It is my hope that these photographs—moments frozen forever in time—provide everyone with just a little insight into the lives of these children; that these photographs showcase the humanity of children who are too often treated as less than human; that these photographs serve as a reminder that despite the fact that we may come from very different worlds, eventually, we must come to the realization that we all live in the same society.

Contained within this room are fragments of the lives of more than thirty children. As you walk around, keep in mind that these photographs are just part of a life, the beginning or middle of an ongoing story. Their laughter, their families, their joy, their pride, and yes, their problems. Life isn't always easy. Life isn't always fun. The photographs reflect that.

Everyone has a story. This is theirs.

- Jason Torreano

"I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." - William Ernest Henley

I sometimes wish I could make the kids at Amasango believe in the quote above.

A reporter from Grocott's Mail, the local Grahamstown paper, came to interview the kids about the photo project yesterday.

She and I sat down with the kids and they spoke about what the project meant to them, what it taught them and why they took the photographs they did.

One boy, a 17-year-old in grade 7 was asked why he took a photograph of himself. He looked at the reporter and said "It's for my father."

We both smiled. It was a nice response from a guy who's taken some really nice photos. Of course, the next question was "why do you want this photograph for your father?"

Without much hesitation, the boy replied, "Because when I go to jail, I want him to be able to remember me. He has no pictures of me." There was a pause for a couple seconds; the reporter and I both a little stunned about what we should say or ask next. He put his head down for a moment before looking up again and saying "I need this photo for my father so when I go to jail he doesn't forget me."

He's talked to me a bit about his life in the past. His father is an alcoholic. His brother is in jail. His mother was murdered. He believes his future will be a one way ticket to prison. After all, that's just how life operates for kids like him, isn't it? You're born, you struggle, you steal, you go to prison, you die.

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Oscar Wilde

I picked up the contact sheets yesterday from Kodak Grahamstown.

32 children returned their cameras and many of the photos are remarkable. Through this exhibit, and through the photographs, the children will have given anyone who looks at this exhibit an uncensored look at their lives. There are images from school, images from Eluxolweni Shelter, images of family and friends, from around town, and images in the township.

There are also 5 or 6 images of kids doing drugs. Crystal clear images of faces, pipes and what is believed to be Mandrax. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. I asked the children to take pictures of anything in their lives that tells a story of who they are. The student photographers who took these photos of their drug use--and abuse--were perhaps the most honest and most faithful to the task at hand: of taking photos of their day to day lives.

While I appreciate the honesty conveyed in these photos, should they be shown? I don't have any qualms with showing the images when I return home to New York as the abusers are half a world away. In Grahamstown though, they're right down the street. I am going to talk to Kodak about seeing if faces can be blurred. The exhibit promised to be an enterprising, gritty look at the lives of children from Amasango. Without these photographs, the exhibit won't be entirely truthful. Drugs, and issues surrounding drug usage, are a part of these students' lives. It shouldn't dominate the exhibit, but in my opinion, it shouldn't be excluded.

I asked them to tell a truthful story about their lives through the lens of a camera. I suppose I got exactly what I asked for.

Not black and white

I was walking through Rhodes yesterday with a friend of mine from Zimbabwe and she and I ran into a mutual South African friend of ours, Atha (and fellow Rhodes student). I hadn't seen Atha in a while so we took a couple minutes to catch up.

I am still quite angry about the racial-profiling and socio-economic profiling (as in poor looking people are immediately suspects) at Rhodes, so I was telling her about that. I also told Atha I felt odd being a white, foreign guy standing up to black security guards about the rights of black children.

She shook her head in disgust about what had happened to the kids and said "Jason, you want to see some of the most prejudiced people? Look no further than blacks on other blacks. It's not just white on black, no no no. It's a class thing. It's really not just white against black."

Her words really struck a chord with me. She's a black South African. Apartheid fell only 13 years ago. Her parents would not have been able to eat in the same place as whites, or live in the same place as whites, or really exist, except as domestic workers (butler or maid or gardener) in the same place as whites, and there seems to be no hard feelings. She doesn't see the South African fight against inequality in black and white terms.

For her, and for countless other whites and blacks I've met during my time in this country, it's never been a fight where it's white versus black. It's a fight with the ignorant versus the informed ; where fair and unfair square off; a battle with just versus unjust, it's a fight where millions of South Africans, regardless of skin color, have often found themselves on common ground.

There are nice white people and nice black people. There are terrible white people and terrible black people. Skin pigmentation has no affect on how informed or misinformed you are.

Atha says so. I believe her.

Rhodes response

Dear Jason:

Thank you for your email dated 21 May. I regret these incidents and
have asked the Vice-Principal, Dr Colin Johnson to deal with the
matter.

Yours sincerely,

Saleem Badat




Dear Jason:

Thank you for you email to Dr Badat which was brought to my attention. The issue of the RU culture and what we project is of great concern to us. The equity committee is in the process of addressing the matter, the challenge is to change practices and how to communicate at the coal face.

Regards,

Dr. Colin Johnson

Racial-profiling and fighting back

I brought a couple more students from Amasango to Rhodes with me last week. No, wait a minute; I tried to bring a couple students from Amasango to Rhodes with me last week and was stopped by the security guards. I was allowed to come onto campus, but they were not. I argued and argued and argued. It didn't work. Shortly after this latest incident, I spoke with my former professors and they advised me to write a letter. The letter will be sent to the Vice-Chancellor, the Dean of International Students, and the Dean of Students. I found it a total reversal of roles to be a white, foreign guy arguing with black men about the rights of black children. Here's the letter, and here's hoping.

Dean Marius Vermaak:

My name is Jason Torreano. I was an international exchange student at Rhodes University from February 2006 – June 2006. During my time at Rhodes, I volunteered several times per week with Amasango Career School and Eluxolweni Shelter.

I returned to Grahamstown this past April to volunteer full time with the school and shelter. I’m also a visiting researcher in the History Department under the guidance of Ms. Carla Tsampiras.

As part of a project I’m pursuing with Amasango, I’ve given out dozens of 27-shot disposable cameras to children in grades 5, 6 and 7. The children were asked to take pictures of anything that sums up their lives. I’m printing the photos and they will be on display in Rochester, New York sometime after I return home in July. They’re also going to be on display at this university in early June. I’m writing to express some concerns I have with Rhodes.

During the week of May 14, 2007, I brought a couple of the students I’m working with on this photo project at Amasango and Eluxolweni to Rhodes. I have been taking a couple students on campus with me each time I come so they can see Rhodes, experience just a small slice of life at a university even if it’s just walking around the grounds for 10 minutes, and perhaps plant a seed in their head that if they work hard, they too, might one day be able to attend a university of this calibre.

As we were walking onto campus, we were stopped by a Hi-Tech guard and questioned. I explained to the guard I was a former student and was currently doing research under the History Department and that these students were with me. He refused to allow us to enter and called over an officer from the Campus Protection Unit. I explained to this second officer that these students were with me and that we were going to walk around Rhodes. This second officer informed me that no visitors are allowed on campus and said I may come, but that the students with me would not be able to walk any further. I was not willing to comply with this ludicrous arrangement nor was I in a state of mind to speak with this officer regarding his assertion that no visitors are allowed on campus, or how these guards determine who is a visitor and who’s not. Therefore, we all left.

I understand that Rhodes University must protect its students, staff and faculty. I understand that there are incidents with theft and violence within the boundaries of the Rhodes campus. I understand these guards have a difficult job to do. I do not, and will never, feel it is fair to suspect every young, black, male who so much as places a foot on this campus of being a liability.

I did go speak later in the day to people at CPU about this incident and they said as long as the children check in with me at CPU headquarters, they will be permitted on campus. I have since brought a couple students back on campus with me and did follow CPU’s wishes. The first day I went to check in, the officer at the counter seemed to be baffled as to why I was bringing these students to show him. It was obvious the officers I had spoken with the day before never communicated to their co-workers what they had told me. I decided at that point to not bring the students to CPU any longer. It is a degrading practice that I regret going along with at all.

I feel as though if these students were dressed in St. Andrew’s uniforms, they would not have been stopped. I feel as though they were singled out, again, because they were young, black, male and not dressed like typical Rhodes students. Rhodes is always stressing that it is a part of the Grahamstown community, but events like the ones from the week of May 14 make me seriously question the validity of that statement.

I do hope that you take the time to consider all the ramifications for Rhodes, and for these Amasango students—fellow Grahamstown residents—of kicking them off campus.

Sincerely,




Jason Torreano

Window on High Street provides window on the world

Judy and I are taking the kids of Eluxolweni Shelter to "Nando's," a chicken place in central Grahamstown tonight. It's meant to be a treat for the people who came to our video workshop and behaved themselves over these past two weeks. They voted for Nando's. We're taking them to Nando's. 16 kids in all will be coming.

It's odd how quickly your thinking changes when you find yourself in different situations. Nando's has big windows that face the street--and that face a very busy street in Grahamstown. In most areas of the world and in most situations, these windows would be a selling point: eat your meal, watch people passing outside, talk a bit, then leave.

However, here, these windows translate to a security concern for the kids. With the stabbing still fresh in our minds, and with the stabber out of jail wandering the streets, we weren't entirely prepared to eat in a restaurant where he might see us, get jealous and come in. The boy he stabbed is healing nicely and will be in attendance tonight.

For everyones peace of mind, we've hired a security guard from "Hi Tech Armed Response," a security firm in South Africa, to accompany us. The kids we're with are fantastic kids. The hours we spend with them will likely never be forgotten. We just can't have anyone crashing the party and stabbing the kids.

So, tonight, it will be Judy, myself, and 16 really great, hopefully well-behaved children from Eluxolweni Shelter eating, laughing, loving life in glass walled Nando's. Just a couple feet away will be one security guard ready to take out anyone who tries to hurt the kids.

I suppose there's some truth to the saying that desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."

Mr. Knife came to school today. He was released last night from jail. He's a minor, so they don't keep him locked up for more than two days.

I really didn't want to see him. I didn't want to be near him. I didn't want to talk to him. But he wanted to talk to me.

He came to the 7th grade classroom I was in and asked me to come outside. A bit angry and a bit sad, he told me he wanted to run away. "Jay-Sen, my name, it's dirty now," he said. "Everyone knows my name and it's dirty."

I'm still pretty angry about Saturday and I wasn't willing to give him a free pass, so I looked at him and said "And who did that? Who made your name dirty? You did that."

He started again with "but he said I don't have a father and.."

I had it at that point and cut him off. "You can't go around stabbing
everyone who says something you don't like," I replied hastily. "I stood up for you at Rhodes. I put my reputation on the line when I told the guard you wouldn't do anything and you came back and stabbed him. You lied to me. You are the reason you have a bad name."

He looked at me and started crying. The boy who whipped out a knife and stabbed a kid in the back three times was in front of me with tears welling up in his eyes. "It's best for me to run away. My name, it's not good here anymore," he said again. "And they want to send me to Queenstown."

Queenstown is a facility that helps students like this boy overcome tremendous obstacles and hopefully rehabilitates them in a way that keeps them out of prison.

I looked at him again and said "I have fought very hard for you (and I have). I think it is the best thing for you to go. I'm not happy that you have to go. It will be sad to see you leave, but you must go. You need help. You're smart, but you have issues with anger."

He said, "I can work on that (his anger). I would like to stay till July then I'll go because you'll be gone then maybe I will go."

"No," I replied. "You could do something that will put you in jail again by then. You really have got to go now." He started crying again. I want him to go. I think somewhere in himself he realizes he's got to go. The principal wants him to go.

It's odd how quickly my anger wears away. On Saturday, I really didn't want to see him ever again. Even this morning, I wasn't fully prepared to see him. When he came to school, I was prepared to just ignore him. When you sit down and talk to him and realize how lost he is, you can't help but let that anger fall away. He just doesn't know what to do and you can't help but feel sorry for him. You can't help but see the humanity right under that tough outer shell. You can't help but see the vulnerable little guy that's caught up in drug addiction, and yes, unspeakable violence. You can't help but want to give them a second chance.

"But you say you want to see me," he said. "Right? You say you want to see me. You won't see me again if I go to Queenstown."

He's right. I won't.

But maybe, just maybe, he'll be given one last chance and he'll take it.

"Jay-SEN, he told me I don't have a father and that makes me very angry. I want to cry but I have to be strong and I will get revenge."

The kids at Amasango School and Eluxolweni Shelter have begun to figure out that I have favorites. In an attempt to try and calm this tension and jealousy, I told the boys at the shelter that anyone who wanted to come do a video workshop at Rhodes could this Saturday. It was an open invitation of sorts. I thought I might get two or three kids and I would have been perfectly happy with just two or three. Thirteen eager kids showed up at the arch, ready to learn. I thought thirteen kids, two cameras worth hundreds of dollars would be a recipe for disaster. To my surprise, it went very well.

The kids were fantastic (all thirteen of them). We (Judy and I) took them to Dulce, an ice cream shop in the wealthier, whiter part of town and each kid got a small cone.

Another boy who used to live in the shelter, but now lives in the township was tagging along. I had the kids come into Dulce two at a time, choose their ice cream, and then go stand outside. Having them all come in at once was going to be far too much. The thirteen shelter boys were okay with doing this. The one former shelter boy was not happy with this arrangement and refused to stand outside. I told him "if you don't leave, I'm not going to buy you ice cream."

He didn't leave. He didn't get ice cream. Unhappy with this arrangement, he walked outside and stole one of the kid's ice cream right from his hands. There was a brief exchange of words in Xhosa. I walked across the street and tried to get the ice cream back but he wouldn't give it to me. I knew he had a knife with him, so I just let it go.

The shelter kids, Judy and I were walking back toward Jane's house with all the equipment and this child pulled his knife and was trying to stab the boy whose ice cream he had stolen! A couple shelter boys quickly got between the two and the knife-wielding child backed off. Though he distanced himself from the group, he kept following us, so I told the kids (who were carrying all the camera equipment) to walk right through the center of Rhodes University. They usually walk around the perimeter of the campus because they know they're not welcome but I said "You're with me and Mama Judy and you'll be fine at Rhodes."

I figured if this boy tried to pull his knife at Rhodes, the guards would be there to take him out. When we got on the Rhodes campus, I had the other kids sit by themselves and I just talked to Mr. Knife because he and I do have a decent relationship. We talked. And talked. And talked. And talked--for close to two hours.

He told me he was sorry he had stolen the ice cream because he knew I had paid for it but that this boy had gotten him "very angry."

I asked him why. He looked at me, looked down and shook his head saying nothing. Again, I asked "why?" Again, he said nothing. I tried once more, "Tell me, what did he do that would make you want to stab him."

He looked up still very angry and said, "Jay-SEN, he told me I don't have a father and that makes me very angry. I want to cry but I have to be strong and I will get revenge."

I begged him to give me the knife, but he wouldn't. The shelter boys just sat on the lawn playing with the camera equipment, waiting for me. I thought I had gotten through to him and he said he'd go and apologize to this boy. I took him up and he shook the kid's hand, said "Sorry" following it up with a couple sentences in Xhosa. The other boy smiled, responded with a "sorry," again accompanied by a couple words in Xhosa. Though I didn't know what they were saying, they both smiled so I figured we'd diffused the situation.

Just as the two were finishing their apologies, the guard approached me and was ready to escort the boy, who doesn't have a stellar reputation, from campus. Knowing that he had a knife and believing that the knife would resurface if the guard grabbed him, I told the guard "He won't do anything...I'll just walk him off thanks."

This boy returned to campus about 5 minutes after I escorted him off, grabbed the boy who he'd just apologized to and stabbed him three times in the back. By the time I realized what was going on, it was over. I pulled the stabber off and shoved him. He ran away. We called the shelter. The house parents from Eluxolweni rushed to Rhodes, grabbed the stabber and put him in the car. The victim was taken to the hospital. He has three stab wounds in his back/shoulder area, but he'll be alright.

The other boy is now in jail.

"Photography is about finding out what can happen in the frame. When you put four edges around some facts, you change those facts." - Gary Winogrand

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. If that's the case, every 5th, 6th and 7th grader at Amasango Career School in Grahamstown, South Africa will have provided me with 27,000 words about their lives by the end of next week.

The SNAP foundation (www.snapfoundation.org) in Rochester, New York sent me to South Africa with 80 disposable 27-shot cameras for the kids. We brought them onto the school grounds concealed in
plastic bags so that we could move into the office quickly, without the kids thumbing through the bags.

The cameras were handed out yesterday in true Amasango fashion. It was crazy. It was fun. It was a bit violent, but it was, without a doubt, Amasango: passionate kids who may have never had anything like a new camera for themselves pushing and shoving each other in line, screaming at one another in Xhosa, perhaps afraid that if they didn't push, they wouldn't get one.

They are allowed to take pictures of anything they want so long as it tells a story about their life. 80 cameras, 2160 photos, dozens of life stories.

I was looking over the proposal I sent to the SNAP foundation when I requested the cameras for this project and figured it would be nice to post here about what I hope this project accomplishes.

Who am I?

What should people know about who I am—about where I come from?

Who has helped me to become who am I? Who do I aspire to be like?

What do I struggle with the most?

When everyday is a fight—for dignity, for the hope of a better tomorrow, for the basic necessities so many take for granted—one has no time to reflect on these most basic questions.

Street children living in the Eastern Cape of South Africa have never had the opportunity to reflect: to examine who they are, to tell other people what their life is all about. Perhaps nobody has ever really cared to know the answer. Perhaps these children have been damaged by life and don’t want to know the answers themselves. It is my hope that “L.I.F.E.-as they know it” aims to take both the children photographers and the viewers of the photos on an emotional, excruciating, heart-wrenching at times, joyous at others, journey into the life of a South African street kid. Their sorrows, their triumphs, their lives.

Armed with a camera, watch as dozens of Eastern Cape children branch out to show the world what makes them happy, what makes them cry, what makes them tick, what makes them who they are.

Their histories. Their lives. Their thoughts. Their pictures. Their stories.

“L.I.F.E-as they know it”
[existence through the eyes of South African street children]

"We do not choose our beginning. We do not choose our end. But in the moments between, we choose who we are." -Tsotsi

Yesterday, I enlisted the help of three boys from Eluxolweni Shelter to help me shoot video for a project I'm hoping to piece together about Grahamstown and its inhabitants. 14-year-old Bramwell, 16-year-old Sinathemba and 16-year-old Samkelo accompanied me all day; they shot video, they carried the tripod, microphone and camera case, and they made sure none of it was taken by opportunistic, desperate people hoping to get some cash for drugs, or perhaps, to feed their families.

After the day of shooting, I told them I'd spend 35 rand on each of them and we could do whatever they wanted. They chose to go see "Spiderman." A good friend of mine from home, Heather Flay, gave me more than a hundred dollars from turning in pop cans she'd collected. Each weekend, I use some of that money to take the kids to eat, take them to the movies, or take them for an ice cream. It's a treat for them.

On our way to the theater, there was an older woman sitting in the shade of a tree, on a flattened cardboard box, begging for money. She sits there everyday. She must be in her 70s, and it doesn't look as though there is much life left. Her face is hollow, her body emaciated from years of not having enough. She sits in the same spot each day, looking up at people, relying on the kindness of strangers; of people like myself, of anyone who is passing by and might have a couple coins, or an apple or leftover slice of bread for her.

As the four of us were making our way to the theater, Bramwell stopped in front of this woman. Looking down at her and reaching into his pockets, his serious, somber look slowly morphed into a half-smile. I was about to pull him away because I really wasn't quite sure what he was doing, or planning on doing.

Before I could grab him and move along, he pulled from his pockets four or five coins that probably added up to no more than a rand. He dropped them into the little cup by her side, smiled again at her and walked toward me.

These couple coins came from a kid who hasn't been dealt a particularly good hand in life either. His family life isn't the best. He lives in a shelter where he's fed, and that,for him, is enough.

In the moments where we were passing by this woman who's probably passed hundreds of times per day, something clicked in Bramwell's mind. He must have recognized he didn't have much use for the coins, or perhaps, that she needed them more.

A few minutes later, he looked at me, and said "Jay-SEN! Did you see what I did?"

I certainly did.

"Cuz in the world today you can't live in a castle far away" - Five for fighting

I've decided that the kids begging on High Street, around central Grahamstown and close to the Rhodes campus is good. Positive. Educational. Before I'm dismissed as this awful person, let me explain my reasoning.

First off, I wish nobody had to beg. I wish nobody went to bed hungry, but people do, so let's acknowledge that it happens.

So, Rhodes, and much of the "white" part of Grahamstown, while existing as part of the greater community, is pretty set apart from the township and the "Grahamstown beyond." Sure there's nice PR materials talking about how everyone is in this together. Rich. Poor. White. Black. But for many--perhaps even for most--it's not their problem. It's not their fight. It's "those guys."

Perhaps these sharp divisions are the remnants of apartheid that haven't yet fallen. Perhaps these remnants never will fade away. I don't expect people who live in these upscale areas to pick up shop and move to one of the sprawling extensions of RDP (Reconstruction and Development Program) housing, or to go deliver meals daily to people living in utter poverty across town. I know I've never ventured into the township alone. I don't expect others to either.

What would be nice though is some acknowledgement, and at times, some compassion and understanding of why people are begging on street corners, why you have individuals attempting to sell used plastic bags in a desperate attempt to make ends meet, why you have so much stealing and violence. These poor people are not inherently terrible. Many are desperate--and desperate times call for desperate measures. Sure, some kids do have the option of living in a shelter and some adults have an option of going to a soup kitchen for a meal, but everyone has a story, and these crystal clear solutions are sometimes not so crystal clear.

Also, it's important to note that not everyone in South Africa is apathetic about the enormity of the problem. There are many passionate people I've met who truly want to make a difference. But there's also many who just really don't care. They have. Others don't, and that's just how it is.

It's a shame that it's possible to go to Rhodes, live on campus which is essentially "a castle far away," though it's just a 20 minute walk from the township, and never see how the other half of your town lives. It's sad that you can live in one of the "white areas" of high-walled, gated homes and not have an understanding of the underlying reasons about why you need the fence and the "High Tech Armed Response" systems on your home.

My first sentence said "I've decided that the kids begging on High Street, around central Grahamstown and close to the Rhodes campus is good." And in some ways it is. It is harder to ignore that way. You might not be able to see the desperation of the town beyond, but the kids, and some of the adults, can bring that desperation to you. In front of the pizza shop. In front of the university. Along the predominately white, predominately wealthy streets.

The kids still might just be dismissed as troublemakers, but perhaps to some it plants a seed. It makes them see not all of Grahamstown is fancy gardens and upscale gated housing. It forces them to see a problem that exists 20 minutes from the comfortable confines of where all of us "privileged" people live, but for too many people, this problem is a world away. Perhaps it forces them to think "what can I do to help?" It forces them to see that they "can't live in a castle far away."

To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left.

Nelson Mandela might be the most famous, recognizable, revered person in South Africa. However, there are others who—although not having the stature of the former president—are just as famous.

50 Cent, Nelly, Ludacris, Mary J. Blige are names that come to mind. Perhaps the most famous one of all currently is Beyonce.

The guys and girls at Amasango simply go crazy for her. At times, it’s baffling to me about why there’s such a fascination with these people, especially here in South Africa.

I understand they’re famous. I’m aware the kids see these celebrities as leading glamorous, high-profile lives. I realize the kids see these people as having the means to purchase every material item they could ever dream of. These are all reasons why American kids, and South African kids, might be so in love with these celebs.

What I don’t see is how South African kids can be so fascinated with these people—singers, who sing in English—when they don’t share a common language. There are South African singers who lead exciting lives, who are rich and who are played on the radio. These singers perform in Xhosa, Zulu, and a number of other languages the kids would be familiar with. For some reason though, these South African musicians don’t fascinate like the American pop stars do…and it’s a little perplexing.

I couldn't ever really see myself totally enthralled with a singer who I couldn't understand. I can't see many people I know obsessed with people who sings in another language. The boys and girls at Amasango are just totally in awe over Beyonce though.

These kids might not know exactly what Beyonce is singing or what 50 Cent means when he says “Go Shorty, it’s ya birthday…we gon’ party like it’s ya birthday” but it doesn’t matter. They sing along. They dance. They love him—because that’s just how they roll in South Africa. Word.

To Serve And To Protect....but not in South Africa

There is so much good that is going in during my time in South Africa. I hope everyone is getting that impression through the posts in this blog. With all good, there's some bad though, right? While this adventure has been incredible, it's also been heart wrenching and really tough at times. If you don't care to read about my angry ramblings, it's best that you don't read today's entry.

Let's begin with a little bit of positive news: I had a phenomenal weekend with both Mzwabantu (Mango) and Xolisani. They both served as my assistants all weekend and we went all over Grahamstown shooting video for a project I'm going to put together about my time here.

On Sunday evening, after our project was finished, the kids helped me carry all my equipment back to the house where I'm staying. I made them both promise me they'd come to school on Monday. They said "okay," waved, and began walking back to the township.

They didn't come to school on Monday.

Today (Tuesday), they showed up about a half hour late. Just as I was about to lay into them, they told me what happened after they dropped me off and began walking home Sunday evening.

Mango and Xolisani were going home when they were stopped by the South African Police Department close to the Rhodes campus. They were accused of selling drugs, but were not searched by the police. Nor were Mango and Xolisani taken to the police station. Instead, they, along with 10 other, presumably poor, presumably black, kids were taken to Bedford, a town they say is about 50-60 miles from Grahamstown. The police pepper-sprayed all the kids, dropped them off, and drove away. The kids in the van were all forced to walk back to Grahamstown and spent all of Sunday and much of Monday doing just that: walking.

It sounds outrageous, but Mango and Xolisani aren't liars. They occasionally stretch the truth, but they've been very up front with me when they've missed school in the past. They aren't afraid to say they were doing drugs or just "didn't feel like coming." I was inclined to believe them, and the principal of the school seemed to believe them as well. She is opening a case against the South African Police Department.

I was recounting their story to a couple people earlier today and while I was happy that Mango and Xolisani enjoyed peoples' support, it was also a bit disturbing that nobody really questioned their story. Everyone seemed to have the attitude of "yeah, it probably did happen." My question is: Then why the hell don't you do something about it? Why don't you try and stop this?

I guess many people just don't know what, exactly, to do. Many probably feel hopeless. I probably would too. The more I see about how South Africa operates, the more I love how the USA operates. Sure, we have corrupt cops as well. But, we have a more direct way of solving this injustice and making bad cops pay for what they've done. Be it calling Cellino and Barnes and draining their funds, pressuring the police to do something by splashing their images across the newspaper or TV, there is some way, usually, to make them accountable. This accountability doesn't seem to exist here.

Mango and Xolisani arrived at school today. Tired, hungry and a bit angry about what happened. They were angry, but they didn't seem outraged or overly surprised. I suppose if you treat people as though they're lesson than human for a long enough period of time, they'll eventually begin to believe you.

I know the principal is opening the case today. I hope the officers who did this are in the unemployment line tomorrow.

Every day is a fight. For dignity. For sanity.

One kid was throwing a chair at a guard.

Another had to be cuffed.

One was dragged from the grounds by two people and thrown into a van.

A couple other students were just 20 feet away, oblivious to what was going on, happily playing the marimbas--a gift that was donated today by the South African Department of Education.

It's 10:15 a.m. at Amasango, and it's a fairly normal day.

In an environment where kids are forced to fight for some of life's most basic necessities, it seems as though nothing is off limits. There is no act too violent. Step into any of the classrooms, and you'll find many of the windows broken. With fights being a daily occurrence, the windows have sometimes fallen casualty to the violence.

I frequently pass another school that is at the opposite end of the spectrum: St. Andrew's College. Daily, I walk by the campus, situated close to Rhodes, as I make my way to Amasango. St. Andrew's is a posh, wealthy boarding school that attracts students from across South Africa and across the African continent. The gleaming white-washed walls, the sparkling windows, the manicured gardens and the well dressed people scurrying about are fun to look at--but I don't think I'd ever want to be in St. Andrew's.

The kids at Amasango are alive. They're full of energy. Sometimes the energy needs to be redirected. Sometimes it needs to be molded and shaped. Sometimes a kid just needs a little encouragement. Sometimes he needs to be cuffed, or dragged away. Whatever is going on at the school, one thing is for certain: these kids are alive and are so much fun to be around.

You never know what to expect. You never know what's going to make a kid really happy. Or what's going to set him off. You never know when a kid might run up to you and give you a hug for no reason. Nor do you know when a vicious fight might break out. You don't know...and that is the beauty of it for me.

I'm sure St. Andrew's is an excellent educational institution. I've often seen the St. Andrew's kids dressed in suits and ties switching classes as the bell sounds across campus. Some days, I wonder what it would be like to be at St. Andrew's. Some days, I wish Amasango were a bit more like St. Andrew's. But if it were, Amasango would simply not be Amasango.

"Ghetto children do ya thing, hold ya head up little man you're a king." -Nas

As Xolisani and Mango and I were walking back across the Rhodes campus yesterday, something struck me again about why I admire these two guys so much. They don't change who they are to fit in, even when it might be easier to do so. They are who they are. You can take them or leave them...but what you see is what you get. Here's what I mean:

Xolisani had too much water at dinner and really needed to pee. He told me to "hang on a second." He needed to go to the bathroom. Rather than waiting to get to a toilet, he was prepared to just go in one of the lush,immaculate, manicured, landscaped gardens at Rhodes. Aside from the problem of going in a garden that people spend hours maintaining, there was very little privacy with people walking around. But, with Xolisani, if he had to go, he had to go.

When I explained to him that he'd have to wait until we found a bathroom, he said "I do this all the time in Joza. It's not a problem"

Joza is the township on the other side of Grahamstown (the "other" Grahamstown not filled with high-end cars and money). I eventually convinced him that whipping it out and just going in one of the gardens would be something that would probably be frowned upon at Rhodes. He didn't agree, but he did, for my sake, wait until we found some porcelain, to relieve himself.

After this little adventure, we were walking down a flight of stairs outside one of the new buildings at Rhodes. Rather than use the hand railing, they decided it would be fun to slide down the rail.

Was it something most Rhodes students do? Absolutely not.

Was it something I did when I was a student here? Nope.

Was it something I might have wanted to do, but never did because I was afraid of the looks I might get? Absolutely.

They weren't hurting anyone. They weren't hurting any property. They were just being themselves and having a grand old time.

After this little rail adventure, we were walking down High Street and Mzwabantu (Mango) was happy about the good day he had just had. In high spirits, he smiled, waved and said "hello" to a stranger walking by us on the street. The man, not bothering to listen to what Mango had said, picked up the pace and said "I don't have any money."

Mango laughed, looked at me and said, "You see that? I say hello. He says, 'I don't have any money.' You see? I don't ask for money. I say hello he says 'I don't have any money.'" Mango shook his head, laughed it off and we kept walking.

This man has probably been in Grahamstown a long time and has had kids like Mango come up to him day after day after day and ask for cash. But, how long would it have taken him to just listen to the "Hello" and discover for himself that Mango's "hello" was just that: a "hello." It was not some attempt at getting his cash. It probably would have taken this man a second, maybe two seconds, but instead he kept walking.

People walk by these kids every day and just dismiss them as troublemakers. They're probably the same people who want to slide down the rail at Rhodes...but don't because they afraid of the looks they'll get. These "troublemakers" could probably teach some of these uptight Grahamstownians a lesson...if they could only utter a few words before somebody hurries off with a "I don't have any money."

South Africa: the rainbow nation where some get all the sunshine, but most get only the rain.

Week 1 at Amasango has gone rather well. While it might not be right, I definitely favor two of the older students. Mzwabantu (Mango), who I really liked last year, and one of his friends: 7th grade student Xolisani.

Yesterday, after school, we walked to Rhodes University where I had the two of them read letters that kids from Williamsville, New York wrote to their "South African pen-pals." Mzwabantu and Xolisani were so excited about the prospect of writing to kids in America that I thought I'd bring them to the computer labs on campus so they could compose an e-mail and I'd send it off.

While we were walking across campus, two security guards approached the three of us and were speaking quickly in Xhosa. I had no idea what the guards were saying but Mango looked really angry and hurt. When I began speaking, the guards switched over to English and asked me what they (Mango and Xolisani) were doing on campus. He wanted to escort them to the street because he thought they'd cause trouble.

I understand that crime is a very real problem in South Africa. I also understand a lot gets stolen from Rhodes. However, these two kids were not breaking car windows or sneaking around behind bushes. They were walking happily along a path in Rhodes. They were singled out because they looked poor. They had on tattered clothing--which apparently set off alarm bells for these guards.

I assured the guard that the two of them were with me. He said "what are they doing here?"

I replied "They're with me."

He again asked "Yes, what are they doing here?"

I replied again "They're with me," a bit angrier this second time.

Again, "Yes, they're with you, but what are they doing here?"

I wanted to say "F--- off buddy. They're with me and it's none of your damn business." but I said "They're with me and you have nothing to worry about. I was a student here and I'm taking my friends around, thank you."

With that, he said "okay" and let us go. The moderately well dressed American who had been a student at Rhodes was the only thing that kept the two of them on campus--and that's really sad. If it weren't for me, it seems as though a walk around a university that caters to "haves" in South Africa was totally out of the question for "have nots" like Mango and Xolisani.

Although we may have won the battle against the guards and we were able to go to the computer labs, the damage was already done. Mzwabantu and Xolisani knew why we were stopped. They were poor. They looked poor. They were at a university for rich kids; a place they didn't belong. Xolisani seemed a little hurt. Mango was really angry.

The anger Mango possesses is not a good thing, but in some ways, at least to me, it's admirable. If I had not been there, Mango probably would have ended up back outside the borders of Rhodes, but he would not have gone quietly. He would have become the bad kid the guard assumed he was. He would have run. He would have kicked the guard. He might have even stabbed the guard had he had any sharp object with him. In short, Mango would have ended up on his ass outside, but the guard would certainly have some war wounds from the altercation. It's not good to have this anger, but how many of us would be alright knowing we weren't welcome to even walk around a place because of our appearance?

South Africa's always talking about bridging the gap between rich and poor and diminishing the scars of apartheid. Throwing poor looking people off campus certainly isn't a way to accomplish this goal.

Back to South Africa, but sitting in Atlanta

I should be boarding Delta Airlines flight 34 right now, but instead I'm sitting in Atlanta. I figured now would be a good time to start this blog, something that I hope to update over the next three months while I'm in South Africa.

I have been counting down the days till I return and I think the worst part now is waiting. I'm excited to return to Amasango and see the kids, see how life has changed--or stayed the same, visit with people from Rhodes and once again, experience the divided world of Grahamstown. The first time through it was fascinating. I can only hope for the same excitement this second round. I think it will be just as rewarding, but in different ways.

For starters, I do not have to worry about doing coursework for Rhodes since I'm no longer a student there. During my last visit, Amasango School and Eluxolweni Shelter were by far my favorite part of South Africa. Last time though, I was just spending 3 days a week, a couple hours a day, at the school and shelter--this time, it's going to be all day, every day.

The contents of my suitcase are a little different this time around too. For starters, I know what I need and what I don't need, what I can buy there, what the kids would like. I have in my suitcase 80 disposable cameras. The SNAP foundation (see link below) provided me with 80 cameras to give to the kids. I'm especially looking forward to this project. I'm hoping to work with the kids at Amasango and one group of kids at a township high school. I'm going to give each kid one disposable 27-shot camera. They can take pictures of whatever they'd like as long as it somehow showcases a part of who they are, of where they come from, of what they hope or aspire for. I don't doubt that some of the cameras will get lost, stolen or sold. I will consider it a success if I get 40 of the 80 cameras back. We'll see!

http://www.snapfoundation.org