"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.