My South Africa by Jonathan Jansen
My South Africa
is the working-class man who called from the airport to return my wallet
without a cent missing. It is the white woman who put all three of her domestic
worker's children through the same school that her own child attended. It is
the politician in one of our rural provinces,
My South Africa is the
first-year university student in Bloemfontein
who took all the gifts she received for her birthday and donated them - with the
permission of the givers - to a home for children in an Aids village. It is the
people hurt by racist acts who find it in their hearts to publicly forgive the
perpetrators. It is the group of farmers in Paarl who started a top school for
the children of farm workers to ensure they got the best education possible
while their parents toiled in the vineyards. It is the farmer's wife in
Viljoenskroon who created an education and training centre for the wives of
farm labourers so that they could gain the advanced skills required to operate
accredited early-learning centers for their own and other children.
My South Africa is that
little white boy at a decent school in the
My South Africa
is the man who went to prison for 27 years and came out embracing his captors,
thereby releasing them from their impending misery. It is the activist priest
who dived into a crowd of angry people to rescue a woman from a sure
necklacing. It is the former police chief who fell to his knees to wash the
feet of Mamelodi women whose sons disappeared on his watch; it is the women who
forgave him in his act of contrition. It is the Cape Town university psychologist who
interviewed the 'Prime Evil' in Pretoria Centre and came away with emotional
attachment, even empathy, for the human being
who did such terrible things under apartheid.
My South Africa
is the quiet, dignified, determined township mother from Langa who straightened
her back during the years of oppression and decided that her struggle was to
raise decent children, insist that they learn, and ensure that they not succumb
to bitterness or defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. It is the two young
girls who walked 20kms to school everyday, even through their matric years, and
passed well enough to be accepted into university studies. It is the student
who takes on three jobs, during the evenings and on weekends, to find ways of
paying for his university studies.
My South Africa
is the teenager in a wheelchair who works in townships serving the poor. It is
the pastor of a Kenilworth church whose
parishioners were slaughtered, who visits the killers and asks them for
forgiveness because he was a beneficiary of apartheid. It is the politician who
resigns on conscientious grounds, giving up status and salary because of an
objection in principle to a social policy of her political party. It is the
young lawman who decides to dedicate his life to representing those who cannot
afford to pay for legal services.
My South Africa
is not the angry, corrupt, violent country those deeds fill the front pages of
newspapers and the lead-in items on the seven-o'-clock news. It is the South Africa
often unseen, yet powered by the remarkable lives of ordinary people. It is the
citizens who keep the country together through millions of acts of daily
kindness.
In : National Pride
blog comments powered by Disqus





.jpg.opt186x114o0,0s186x114.jpg)

