So far in our travels for the project we have never trekked more than a hundred kilometers or so to visit the missions in the surrounding areas. Since most of you reading this are from our native Southern California, think of a tropical Corona-esque landscape painted with red earth and dotted with multicolored huts, cows and the occasional elephant or rhino and you can get a pretty accurate picture of what the scenery is like. Mtuba is more lush, closer to the sea and sitting amongst the eucalyptus timber orchards, while Hlabisa is more inland and situated in the hills a bit more. The human landscape remains the same however, huts and shanties and government housing, swarmed with scores of people winding their way through the scrub and brush walking. To school, to work, fashionably dressed or wrapped in rags, thumbs out trying to hitch or crammed into dangerously overloaded taxis, but always on the move; it is the daily African commute.
Having spent time at the local missions, our project turned to the missions out on the periphery, and while the landscape changed, this African dedication to get to where you needed to go by any means remained the same. We became jaded to it ourselves, and it may seem like business as usual to those reading, but it was very dramatically put into perspective for us on this last expedition...
We started out on the road early in the morning two weeks ago because our destination was the former Servite-run school and current mission of Star of the Sea up near the Mozambique border in a town called Mnguzi and just south of Kozi Bay. During the 3 hour car ride through game reserves in the middle of nowhere, the land slowly began to change. The eucalyptus gave way to small squat thorn trees, and those eventually gave way to even shorter palms, while sandy soil replaced the red clay. Townships spread further and further apart, and the road became a slalom course with the many potholes and skinny free range cows blocking the road. Finally after endless straightaways and two big roundabouts, we entered the town of Mnguzi. It looked much like any town we passed, but somehow different. More smiling faces than blank stares.
After driving through town and almost inadvertently crossing over into Mozambique sans passports, we finally spotted the cone dome of the mission, gunned it down a sand road, up a small hill and made it to the front steps. The mission itself sat atop the biggest hill in the area and the view it afforded was amazing. To the west you could just make out the coastline and spot a big lake a Km or two inland, while the rest of the horizon contained rolling hills and small farms. We headed to the mission house and met Fr. Toland, an Irish priest who had been at the mission for 40 years or so. The man we came to see, Fr. Thulani, a young and energetic Zulu Servite, was out at the moment so Toland took us on a tour of the adjoining high school. On the way out we rung the bell by the church which was salvaged off of an old dutch ship some time ago. Within seconds Fr. Toland's phone was ringing asking who had died. Apparently it is a sad bell, but Toland seemed amused. At the school we met with Michael the principal, who actually had visited Servite HS in Anaheim a few years ago and remembered it fondly. We told told him of our prospective plans for connecting the mission to Servite via internet, and he was pretty bummed because he is set to retire this year. Our tour concluded and we headed back to the mission across the sand path.
Fr. Thulani had come back during our tour, so as we sat down over a few glasses of whiskey and a dvd of traditional zulu dance, we discussed our plans with him. The man has a big laugh and even bigger personality, and talk was easy. He was receptive but undeniably wary though; throughout the 2 days we spent with him it became apparent that he hasn't had the best experiences with mission appeals abroad or promises of financial aid. We went to bed that night unsure of how our proposals were met, but stoked that Thulani would take us on a tour of some of the communities he serves in the morning. Ryan and myself lucked out and had to sleep in the former nunnery down the road, which would have been mellow except for the divebombing mosquitos all night. And then there were the explosive groans of the metal roof contracting in the cool of the night at 3 minute intervals. And then the chaotic and bizarre dreams brought on by our malaria medication; Ryan thought he was in some voyeuristic hidden camera African "Hostel" movie with a video of him sleeping projected onto the curtain of his room, while I dreamed of a child Zulu General in full military dress standing by my bed staring at me all night. More than once each of us thought of moving his bed into the other's room. "In case someone tried to mess with us" we told each other in the morning as we unlocked the razor wire gate to the compound we slept at.
We survived the ordeal though, and in the morning began our tour of the extreme bush that Thulani's Catholics live in. We traveled through town and about 50 kms into the bush to pick up one of his Caregivers, usually a local lady who lives in the bush herself but earns a few Rands by acting as Thulani's spokesperson and administrator in the area. Back on the main highway she told us to go down a sand path hidden by scrub, and 5 minutes later we came upon a clearing where a rural family scrounged their daily existence. The situation here was the same as any we had seen already: shacks fashioned out of sticks and stone and mud, most in disarray, with families of 8 or more crammed into spaces no bigger than office cubicles. The government supposedly provides free outdoor toilets, but in all the shacks we toured full chamber pots lay like landmines, and the air was thick with a night's worth of funk from the 8 people using them. Going outside at night was a risky option; this area was far enough into the bush that animals aren't confined to fences. We sat down to talk with the matriarchs of the family before heading off to tour the rest of the day, and what they said was pretty much repeated at each little settlement we visited: there weren't any jobs, whole families had to make do with what they could scrounge, and more often than not whole groups of people had to merge into one family because so many orphans were left behind due to aids, crime or premature death.
During the car ride back into town the topic somehow switched onto how Fr. Thulani reconciles his traditional Zulu heritage with that of a more structured Catholic ideology. His answer was eloquent in it's simplicity and pragmatic in what it implied, something that we can use ourselves as the weeks go by in this project: "I have to respect the culture that I come from. Through my education in theology, I can make sense out of the traditions we Zulu's have". And with that he said no more, but nothing else was needed: to reach his people, to make that impact, he molds his dogma to fit the people it is intended for. Not in ways that betray it's core tenants, but in ways that the people of his area can benefit from. In much the same way, this project needs to be molded as well, to better fit the people it strives to benefit. Our original goals have since been shaped by what we have encountered here so far, and only time will tell what the end result will be...
Next post sees the continuation of our journey through the NE corner of the country, our brush with Swaziland, rocky soil and 93 year olds, and the "hill" that schoolchildren get to climb to go to class everyday.
Words: Hamrock
Photo credit from the top: C, H, C, H, H, H, C, H, C, H, C, H, C, C, H, H, H, C, H
Photos include: The mission, Bell closeup, Landscape, typical street scene, Fr. Thulani showing us the first clearing- bush fruit in hand, typical hut, medicinal bush tea in teapot, sunset at mission, water jugs, new house next to old shack, lonely shoes with Fr. Thulani, walking with Fr. Toland, meeting with the matriarchs, school desk (advanced econ was on the chalkboard).
