"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