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