VILAKAZI STREET, SOWETO TOWNSHIP, SOUTH AFRICA: THE (RELATIVELY UNKNOWN) MICHIGAN CONNECTION!

You say you never heard of it? Me too...until I came to South Africa. Even then, many South Africans are clueless when you ask them about Vilakazi Street. Read on to gain more insight into a street like no other in the world!

First of all, it is not unique in any way; it's rather ordinary looking. When I say ordinary, I mean that in the context of it being a street in Soweto, located to the west of Johannesburg. This is not an ordinary street though!

Vilakazi Street is the ONLY street in the world that can boast two Nobel Prize winners having lived there at one time. They are none other than Nelson R. Mandela (known fondly as "Madiba", the name which was given to him by his family, meaning head of said family). One could take that simple title and run with it relative to the new nation of South Africa and his revered status here.

The other Nobel Prize winner, also awarded for his work toward peace, is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. And the respective homes they lived in (at different times), are really very close to each other! Both are rather indescript, not noteworthy in any way. They are simple in construction--made of brick and only one story tall. Both are small, well-kept homes, just like others in that area of Soweto.

The Mandela House, as it is now known, is open to the public--mostly tourists. They stream in from all over the world...including Flint, Michigan, U.S.A. That visitor, really not a tourist, would be me, of course.

The South African Fulbrighters were taken to Mandela's home on the second day of our arrival here. There are, of course, four of us. On a personal note, I must thank Monica Joi, for her wonderful sense of knowing what was important for us to see and experience during our first couple of days in South Africa. Monica worked for the Fulbright Commission in S.A. Her insights, keen knowledge, and love of humanity left an indelible impression on all of us.

The home is still very much like it was when he lived there with his then wife, Winnie. A big difference is the fact the home is now filled with awards and honors from the time period of his Nobel Peace Award. The walls are literally dripping with certificates, awards, honorary doctorate degrees, etc. Notebly, they are from every corner of the world.

While visiting the impressive building, I happened to notice a State of Michigan Special Tribute to Madiba...Nelson Mandela. It was the ONLY such special tribute to honor the man. The tribute was an official apology to Nelson Mandela from the Michigan Legislature. The legislature apologized to Mandela for the Central Intelligence Agency's alleged assistance to South African intelligence agents in their apphrehension and arrest of him in 1962. Mandela's arrest and subsequent trial resulted in him spending nearly 28 years in South African prisons.

It's an amazing document that made me stand proudly as a citizen of the great state of Michigan! And I might add, no other state legislature, or ANY arm of our government in the United States, issued such an official aplology. I openly pointed the special tribute out to my fellow Fulbrighters...and other Americans who happened to be in the room with me. I also proudly announced that I personally knew one of the signers of the tribute. It was signed by a fellow Flint citizen and friend, Representative Robert L. Emerson, a member of the State of Michigan 85th Legislature. It is dated June 28, 1990, and is signed by over twenty legislators--including the well-known, at times controversial, Representative Perry Bullard.

The document was a political statement by those signers. It was signed during the presidency of George Herbert Walker Bush--father of GW, the present George in the White House. It took political courage to make such a statement. More importantly, it took personal courage on the part of all those brave, intrepid signers.

So, there it is and there it will remain: a political statement hanging on a wall in an obscure, little home on Vilakazi Street, in Soweto Township, South Africa. I couldn't help but notice the room it is in is not well lit...one could quite easily miss seeing or reading the tribute. Too bad, because it should have a spotlight on it to illuminate the bold language and the names of the signers. Once seen though, the document should be a beacon of light in the heart of the reader. It is just that for me.

GUM BOOT DANCERS AT GOLD REEF CITY...GUARANTEED TO BRING LOTS OF SMILES!!

Gold Reef City, Johannesburg...much like a mini-Disney Park, or maybe a Knott's Berry Farm. We found the so-called gumboot dancers, entertainers who stroll the grounds and freely give a performance. Gumboot dancing originated mainly from the gold mines--black dancers who created an art form that has been characterized in drawings, paintings, and other artistic interpretations internationally. It was a way for the workers to find relief from the conditions of servitude. A light moment is enjoyed by entertainers on a street in Gold Reef City as Svetlana and Ivan join in with the dancing.





What! A Bengal Tiger in South Africa? Getting friendly with a tiger is recommended when said tiger is a baby...hence my relaxed smile and hug to the fellow! The other person in the photo is none other than fellow S.A. Fulbrighter, Ron Reese. Ron teaches math at Mandisa Shiceka High School in Kagiso 2, a township-like suburb of Johannesburg. I'm thinking of sending this photograph to the Detroit Tiger's organization...work 'em for a couple of free tickets to a good baseball game against the Chicago Cubs. Yeah, we're looking for some bear cubs here!

Ron Reese's wife, Andrea, tries to mask her fear of her new-found friend, Leo the lion. Notice the car window half-rolled down...Andrea wanted Leo to draw closer so she could throw a biscuit to him. Hmmmmmmm, was that a gravy-dipped biscuit? Andrea is enjoying her experience in South Africa, especially when a drive through a game reserve is on tap for an activity. Andrea was wondering about the difference between a game reserve and a zoo. Her analysis was that WE are the caged animals in a game reserve drive, trapped in our respective vehicles. Hey, Andrea, please get rid of that cat-nip in your hip pocket!


Any drive through a South African game reserve wouldn't be complete without being attacked by a pride of lions! These lions were hitchhiking in the reserve, with the hopes of obtaining a free ride out. The unfortunate fellow driving the truck in front of us didn't realize the free-loader on his backend...attempting to ride shotgun, I guess. We watched this exciting circumstance with anxiety, hoping the lions would "release" their captive truck and driver. It all worked out in favor of the intruder...the driver eventually sped off and the lions disappeared into the high grass. We proceeded with caution...

From South Africa WITHOUT love: Happy Birthday, Adolph Hitler!

What is this! A birthday message from South Africa to the icon of racism, the scourge of history, the man whose name is a noun, a verb, an adjective...maybe a pronoun...perhaps a gerund?

Yeah, well I'm not gonna go out and celebrate in any way. He was born on this day, April 20, in 1889. On this day those whacko's in Columbine, Colorado went whacko and did their evil deed at Columbine High School. Makes one wonder if they chose Hitler's birthday as a special way to commemorate their bloody rampage.

I write this because this day really does mean something to me. It was on this day last year that a "Happy Birthday - Adolph Hitler" message was read over the public address system of my school...commemorating Hitler's big day. Imagine. My name was attached to the message. It seems two rascal students got permission to submit the message to the office at Flint S.W. Academy. They placed it in a basket where messages are retrieved daily/then they are read over the P.A. system to the staff and students (we have about 1,500 students). Interesting, huh?

The message was read by a school administrator whose name I will not reveal. To me, it seems to have been read with a certain gusto. I, along with my students, was stunned. It took my breath away. I had to sit down. Then the anger came...

Three students were sent to the office. They were given specific instructions to ask the administrator who read the birthday-boy message on the P.A. to come to my room. They did so. Within a few minutes the administrator was at my doorstep asking me what was wrong.

I explained why I was upset. She listened intently. I asked her to get back on the P.A. and issue an immediate withdrawal of her earlier remarks. It was not that she had to apologize to me personally, I just asked her to retract the statement about my name being associated with Hiter's birthday...that it had all been a mistake.

She said she could not do that. She also stated that she would not do it. I received a personal apology from her and that was going to be the end of it...according to her. It was NOT the end of it for me.

Later that day, a fellow teacher approached me and explained his grandmother was Jewish. He asked me, "How could you do such a thing, John?" I was hurt. I tried to explain to him that the whole thing was done maliciously by two of my students (who actually were no longer my students, having been transferred to another teacher). The colleague seemed to understand...

During the day students kept badgering me about the "Happy Birthday - Adolph Hitler" reading on the P.A. It was incessant. Some of the kids laughed, even after I explained the circumstances to them. It was not a nice day.

The next day I decided to counter the reading with an explaination of what had happened to my students. They knew who the administrator was...they understood the "mistake" that had been made. I believe they understood my passion, my anger over the matter.

To make a long story short, I was given an official repremand by the building principal for talking about the administrator in question. It was to placed in my permanent personnel file. The reaction from the building principal, who has since retired, was a shock to me. I thought he was a man who understood me...someone who understood why I was angry over such a matter. By the way, the building principal was Jewish.

I fought the written repremand through teacher labor union channels afforded Flint teachers: The United Teachers of Flint. I was given an ultimatum not to talk about the matter until the end of the semester, that would have been January, 2006. The time is up...

Thanks to the fact that this matter could have been resolved immediately after it happened, it lives on. One good thing resulted from the incident and the consequences I had to pay--those students will never forget about Hitler's birthday on April 20. Is that a good thing? I'm not sure.

I'm telling the story here in South Africa. My students and some of my colleagues know about it now. Maybe they'll remember Hitler's birthday on April 20. Hopefully, most will remember that justice was not served on that day in my classroom at Flint S.W.Academy, Flint, Michigan.

My lesson following the birthday "celebration" was Dr. Martin Luther King's famous quote: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." I wrote that quote on the chalkboard the following day in my room. We discussed it in my classes during the day. I tried to steer the students to my rationale in believing what was done was an injustice. My lesson had to do with even the smallest injustice being perpetrated against someone or a group...was something to be done about it by the perceived victim?

To me, it was a good lesson. And it continues to be a good lesson. I guess a thank you is in order to that administrator, right? I thank you for your insensitivity and inaction that day. You gave me a lesson to teach that is now reaching learners in South Africa. Thank you, thank you, thank you...

EASTER SUNDAY AT ST. SERGIUS OF RADONEZH IN JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA...WITH A HINT/WHIFF OF OSAMA BIN LADEN IN THE AIR!

It's really NOT Easter Sunday...not according to the Russian Orthodox tradition. But, this was supposed to be MY Easter Sunday and that would be according to the Western Christian (Roman Catholic) tradition. And St. Sergius of Radonezh is NOT really located in Johannesburg. The beautiful, relatively new, Russian Orthodox church is located in Midrand, which is somewhat closer to Pretoria, which is now supposed to be called Tshwane. Did you understand all of that?

Well, the Easter Sunday Mass that was not really Easter Sunday Mass lasted the usual amount of hours--according to Russian Orthodox tradition. Starting at 9:30am (actually, that's when confessions began). I couldn't help but notice the confession "booth" was not a private area at all; it was in the middle of the church, at the foot of the icons. Svetlana stood in line and eventually made her confession to the (young), priest. I declined the opportunity--joking to Svetlana that my confession would hold up the proceedings for at least a couple of hours.

Standing for the service is part of the Russian tradition. No cushions on seats...no seats! No kneeling, as in the Catholic tradition. The only relief available is to shift one's weight from one foot to the other. If you're a large person like me, that is not much of a comfort. Really, it is physically demanding to attend an Orthodox service--all part of the sacrifice, I guess.

The non-Easter Sunday service lasted almost until Noon. My feet were aching; my back seemed arched and my shoulders sagged. Svetlana was invigorated! She always seems to be more energetic and alive following an exhausting Russian Orthodox church service. Strange, but true. As stated above, the exact opposite is true for my aged body.

A highlight for me was when the members of the congregation met in the church community room for refreshments. No simple coffee, tea and trays of doughnuts here! No, siree. Waiting for the gathering were a dozen or so tables set with immaculate tableclothes--overloaded with Russian sweet-treats. Svetlana told me there were no dairy products or meats were used in any of the attractive, delectible servings. There were many plates on each table, heaped with sandwiches, pickles, and cold asparagus. Also, there was a great tasting rice dish I've seen at Easter celebations before. Bottles of red and white wines waited only to be blessed by the priest. He said a simple prayer, blessing all the food and drink, and everyone commenced with eating and socializing. Everything was Russian: the food, the language, virtually all the people, and the venue itself, of course.

I learned I was not the only non-Russian present. Sitting across from us was a couple speaking English. The common language was not the original language of this recently married couple. He was an older gentleman with a face aged beyond his years. He answered me with a friendly "yes" when I asked if he was an Afrikaner. She, much younger than him, was a woman from Dughestan, in the southern part of Russia. At first, I was unsure about their relationship because of the noticeable difference in their age. To be honest, my first impression was that she was his daughter. Luckily, I was patient and kept my mouth shut...

The attractive, brown-eyed woman was not Russian. We later learned she was raised in the Sunni Islamic tradition. Apparently, she had converted to the Christian faith at some point in her life, perhaps to marry the older fellow. She met her husband while he was on assignment in Baku, Azerbaijan, I believe.

Svetlana spoke to her in Russian; she conversed easily in the language. Svetlana later informed me that she had a Russian accent that would identify her as someone from the south of Russia. I spoke to her husband in English. The discussion soon led to world politics and America's foreign policy. It was then the man said something that stunned me.

He is an engineer involved in the oil industry. In that capacity, he related how he had an occasion to meet Osama bin Laden's father and two of his (many) brothers! The meeting occured while he was on assignment in Saudi Arabia a year ago. He said they were together for about half an hour, discussing a problem with a certain refining area the South African man was responsible for. He was emphatic in stating how he was very impressed with gentle, kind nature of the father of the most reviled, yet most loved by some, man on earth. He also related how one of Osama's brothers scorned him and considered him an outcast of the family. The other brother present seemed to accept the teachings of Osama, according to the South African engineer's story.

I did not write the South African man's name down (and I cannot remember it at this writing). We are to meet again when the Russian Orthodox Easter service is celebrated next Sunday. He promised to bring a business card for me then. We exchanged goodbyes, shook hands, and went our separate ways.

Later, I suddenly realized I shook hands with someone who no doubt shook hands with Osama bin Laden's father! It was a strange and unusual circumstance for me...and certainly MY Easter celebration 2006 in South Africa will not soon be forgotten! I'm looking forward to talking to this couple again next week...and learning more about Osama bin Laden's father and two brothers. I was even thinking perhaps this engineer fellow could put me in touch with the bin Laden family. Surely he must have senior bin Laden's business card, right? Wait a minute...do I really want to "do business" with a bin Laden? Nah! Double nah!!

PERIGO MINAS! EMINA! XIBULUKWA! DZOPHULIKA! ZVIMUSASANDHI!

All of the above, looking much like a strange African alphabet soup (except for the initial Portuguese words meaning "DANGER-MINES!"), spell out immediate and grave danger in several indigenous languages of Mozambique. I tried to detail our brief visit to the former Portuguese colony. We very much want to return there someday.
The beauty of Mozambique masks the reality of its recent history--and the subsequent horrifying danger that lurks beneath a lush, tropical landscape. We drove to Maputo, capital of Mozambique, following a delightful, almost idyllic, five-day mini-vacation that took us to Kruger National Park in South Africa. Kruger, of course, is the largest game park in the world, where tourists from all over can view Africa's wildest animals from the relative comfort of their vehicles.

Upon entering Mozambique, which was no easy task (border complications , meaning visa forms to complete while customs/immigration officials give you their "official" stare). That over, we entered an Africa distinctly different than our experiences in South Africa. The seamless toll road that lay ahead (I'm told it was built by South Africa), exposed a countryside that was a flat, tropical lowland. Svetlana commented that the smell of the air was different than the cool, fresh air of Kruger National Park. But there was more to it than that...

Indeed, the air did smell different. The odor brought back memories of a time when I studied at Ibadan University in Nigeria--many years earlier in my teaching career. It was a flat, moisture-laden smell that seemed to be mixed with what could only be described as burning wood. The smell of burning wood was entirely different than what one would remember from camping as a tourist. No, this was a more distinct odor that came from village fires, some located far off in the distance.
Rural farmers, mostly women dressed in colorful, vibrant clothing, dotted the edges of the highway as we sped along toward Maputo. The shadows lengthened as many of them headed for what appeared to be delapidated shanty houses. Some waited impatiently by the side of the road for a taxi to happen along. We watched as a few villagers darted left or right down winding dirt pathways toward a home beyond the horizon. Some of the images were captured on my Kodak digital camera and will appear on this blog.

We learned that Mozambique is one of the most impoverished nations in the world. The official language is Portuguese, which sort of hints at a colonial history of this vast, beautiful land that indeed will forever be linked to the European country of Portugal. Like other European connections to the African continent, the historical connection to Portugal is one fraught with exploitation, political intrigue, warfare, and great human suffering.

Great Britain's Princess Dianna knew of Mozambique. The ill-fated English heir to the throne knew of the killing fields of this war-ravaged country--she spoke out to the world about the horrific maiming and deaths caused by land-mines in Mozambique. The mines are still there. They rip apart limbs of peasant farmers daily. They kill indiscriminately and without warning.

The rich soil of Mozambique attracted adventuresome exploiters from Portugal who were willing to devise ways and means to take advantage of the native peoples in the production of sugar, cashews, cotton, tea, copra, and other tropical cash crops that to this day support a struggling, poverty-stricken economy. Slavery and forced labor became part of the culture.

As we drove closer to the urban malaise outside Maputo, I began to notice individuals who were missing limbs...mainly a leg, sometimes both legs. I drove further into the city and we came to a halt near a junction of streets that appeared to be a street-vendor fish market. The pungent smell of fresh fish was everywhere. A man nearby supported himself on an old wooden crutch as he attempted to sell freshly filleted fish that were strewn on a wet, smelly canvas beneath his leg.

Immediately behind the fish hawkers was a St. Augustine, Florida-like, stone-block fortress. I learned it had been built by the Portuguese in the early 1700's. It was a magnificent, sturdy stone structure with an inviting cobbled- stone walkway leading to two massive, age-battered wooden doors. They were open and a banner over the entry proclaimed an exhibition featuring information about land-mines in Mozambique. We entered, not knowing our world was about to change.

An entire history of the region is not the purpose of this writing. To get to the point of when and why land-mines ended up in Mozambique would take a small history text. Suffice to say when independence from Portugal came in 1975 the troubles began in earnest. That is not to say the colonial period was not troubling and life-altering to the indigenous peoples--the Portuguese were the earliest slave traders in Africa from Europe. The first slavers of note were Arabs.

Anyway, independence brought a socialist republic and a one-party state resulted. Resistance groups formed and civil war dampened the enlightening possibilities brought about by freedom from Portugal. Power struggles developed between warring factions: enter the Soviet Union, East Germany, and the Cubans. Maybe by now you have figured out where the land-mines came from? Estimates vary, but the usual figure given is hundreds of thousands of civilians lost their lives during the tumultuous 1980's. Oh, I forgot to mention that many of the hundreds of thousands of land-mines came from Czechoslovakia, a former puppet state of the Soviets.

Some of this history was revealed to us while we toured the exhibition area inside the fortress. We met officials who were sponsored by UNICEF. Some were from South Africa, others were native to Mozambique. A media crew was there from a local television station. Bright lighting revealed tables bedecked with various types of land-mines and explosive devices that had been retrieved from the killing fields. It was truly a frightening display of greenish metal that could cause so much terror and destruction as a result of an errant footstep.

What we thought would be a mini-vacation to Mozambique suddenly became a maxi-learning experience for me and my family. We witnessed first-hand the cruelty of land-mines, albeit via posters, photographs of survivors, and the land-mines themselves. And, of course, the memory of seeing people with missing limbs will be with us too. For me and my family, the tropical beauty of Mozambique will forever be linked to the cruel and destructive history of land-mines. We will not soon forget the lessons we learned on that hot, steamy April day in Maputo.

VILLAGE WOMAN IN MOZAMBIQUE...IT'S NOT EASY BALANCING A LOAD ON YOUR HEAD WHILE WALKING ALONG A DIRT TRAIL!

We were driving along the toll road to Maputo and I spotted this village woman carrying a load of reeds that were probably going to be used for a thatched roof on a house. I tried to ask her for permission to take her photograph. Getting nowhere, I produced a 5-Rand South African coin and thrust it into her open hand. She responded with a broad smile and laughter that almost made the reeds balanced on her head shift and fall to the ground. It was a done deal! I reached out and shook her loose hand; she spun around, barely missing my head with the reeds. I'm sure I made her day...she certainly made mine! I could still hear her chuckling to herself over her good luck to "earn" almost a dollar for posing for an American with a Kodak digital camera on that hot, sunny evening on the road to Maputo.
Another image and more working women carrying heavy loads of household goods on their heads. The proud, sweating faces speak to the difficult life of people living in village areas throughout Mozambique. The average life span is thirty-nine years and the GNP is about a dollar a day. It was the same routine for me with this group of women...I tried to communicate with them, again without success. Of course, it helps if one has a little knowledge of Portuguese. I held up a 10-Rand note, motioned toward my camera, and they too broke out with relaxed smiles. The woman standing in the background was a bit uneasy about the whole thing, but the other two were willing participants. Once finished, I displayed the image on the digital camera and they gathered around me while giggling with delight over the colorful photograph. They too enjoyed the moment; we smiled and nodded good-day. And it was exactly that for everyone!




I decided to snap one more image of the most willing of the women. The face clearly gives evidence of the hard life mentioned above...she is a young woman aged beyond her years. The penetrating eyes of the woman along that toll road to Maputo could tell a story...I'm sure of that fact. Perhaps she has seen a relative or friend step on a land-mine. The terror of such an incident would age anyone anywhere. I'll never know what was going on in her mind as she stared into the lens of my camera, squinting to keep the bright sun away from her eyes. My mind drifted off to thoughts of how fortunate we are in the United States and even South Africa to be able to live lives that are dramatically different and better than such village people. And then again, maybe they are leading lives that are better than ours culturally and even spiritually. Who knows?





This photograph was taken just north of Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. The Costa da Sol is an unspoiled beach area that features tall cyprus, serene, pristine beaches, and colors that are feast for the imagination and a photographer's delight. This woman, wary of my intentions with the camera, walked away from my request. The load of sugar cane balanced on her head, while walking along the beautiful beach with her two children, made a worthwhile photo...despite her protestations.