Bubbles Bursting

Tears fall, lives speak
Prolific earth
Why do we not hear, why do we not see?
What is it we feel cold underneath our feet?
My heart o’ one
What heart o’ you
If you prick there we bleed
And one we are the same

Travelling you encounter so many images where there are smiles and fun encounters with local people and culture--the light and fuzzy moments to write home about and publish web albums about, reinforcing the bubble of our world. Now there are those that seek the experiences of the struggling and torn to aid and assist or just come to a greater sense of the position in life. If you ever have such experiences, the heart is usually pricked and emotions exude, although the duration of this social awareness is really dependent on the level of selfishness within. What the majority of sights of the dying souls do for us is increase our gratitude for what we are not and where we are not. It bursts our bubbles and gives us a different bird’s view of life. There is much value in this because we often shift how we approach our sphere of influence and may do better and treat others better.

The unfortunate value that does not usually result is significant action that effectuates change in circumstances of those who do not have and those that can’t see out of their troubled world. (Aside: The words I write, I feel and relate so I pass no judgment and may feel greater guilt.) What the haves often face is what to tackle out of all the opportunities for charity? The answer is always the same, work to uplift and build what is closet to your heart and work outward. It is the brick by brick, starfish by starfish, philosophy and it is sound.

I bring this up because I experience the above now and because in my life’s path I have had the privilege of having my bubbles burst on many occasions in many different places domestic and abroad to now there is no bubble and I am engaged with knowing humanity at every level and stage. I am not so courageous and enlightened because I just visit and do not live where there is no hope—the courage and strength go to those that stuggle yet survive and endure every day carrying out the normalities of life (family, meals, working, sleeping, etc) in the midst of abnormalities.

There are pictures to show and words to write to help give you a small understanding of such struggles. Presently, I am working with a site for my job located outside of Cape Town, South Africa, in the small town of Worcester. We have a study that is looking at the incidence of Tuberculosis (TB) in the region. TB is often referred to as the “poor man’s disease” because it finds ample means of transmission where there is overcrowded conditions and poor health. In addition, 50% of new cases of TB are in persons with HIV/AIDS, a disease ravaging Africa.

The area is gorgeous as is much of the land of Africa surrounded by mountains on every side. This is an area and country that knew the old regime of apartheid (a system of numerous laws that allowed the ruling white minority in South Africa to segregate, exploit and terrorize the vast majority: Africans, mostly, but also Asians and Coloureds - people of mixed race) which only moved out with the new regime (Nelson Mandela as president) in the early ‘90s. Only the new generation has a fresher view with lesser wounds but still issues remain.

The other day, I was allowed to shadow field workers from our studies as they visited the participants to follow-up on their child’s health and contact with TB. Our participants come from all walks of life but a good proportion come from the non-white communities. Many of the Black (Xhosa speaking) and Coloured (Afrikaans speaking--also spoken by whites) live in the same conditions lived under in apartheid. I saw much poverty in this rural region. There are those that have found new opportunity and hope with the new regime but there is such a vast number that are still in destitute circumstances. Having to walk or find transportation to work or hospitals or shopping are several kilometers away (talking over 3-5 miles at times). There are more "shebeens" (liquor stores) than clinics or food stores in the communities. There is a city dump maybe a few kilometers away from the Coloured community were many are seen walking to get their meal for the day.

The upper classes live near the resources in their communities with minority populations of Blacks and Coloureds; the Coloureds live a little farther from the resources in their communities with some Blacks; and the Blacks live farthest in their communities with no integration. There is alcohol abuse, teen pregnancy, crystal meth (“tik”) addictions, and little means to live. One of the workers mentioned that there seems more of a gap between the Coloureds and the Blacks after apartheid then before. When both were oppressed under the old regime, they had a unified enemy and with that lifted their differences seem more apparent which saddens her.

Many in the Worcester find work in the farms and vineyards (which are numerous). If they are lucky, they will have work for the entire year while others get only seasonal work and are unemployed for the rest of the year. The structures that some call home are indescribably (please see photos); these are the shanties. Some have no roofs, there is toilet water flowing in the streets (the same streets children play and people go about their day), and there are impassable roads. There are no heating and cooling systems and days can get so hot and nights can get so cold. There are bare feet on hard icy roads.

Pop! Pop! Pop! [the sound of bubbles bursting]