Letter from South Africa: The Ubuntu Chronicles
By Vanessa Savas '05
Ubuntu is the Zulu word for the philosophy of "humanness"—the belief that a person's humanity is realized through other persons. It is the underlying philosophy of South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission and the principle behind Martin Luther King's assertion that "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." Vanessa Savas '05, who is studying this semester in Cape Town, South Africa, offers her thoughts on South African society as seen through the lens of ubuntu. Savas wrote her piece the week before the national election on April 14, in which President Thabo Mbeki won a second term with nearly 70 percent of the vote.
Every day I wake up so thankful for this experience, and I wish I could share it with the people I love, and with people I don't even know. Everywhere I go, I am reminded of loved ones and past experiences. Sitting atop a hillside in the vineyards of Stellenbosch, I remember the road trip I took with my friends Getinet, Colette, Adam, and Daniel to Vinales and Maria la Gorda in Cuba, when I was studying there last year. This hill in South Africa has the same clean slope as the one we stopped upon to eat a lunch of tuna out of the can and bananas given to us by a guajiro, or Cuban "countryperson," passing by on horseback. A beautiful sari in a storefront window reminds me of my artist-friend-extraordinaire Kristen, and how she would appreciate the texture and colors of this lovely garment. The sushi restaurant I ate at this weekend reminds me of the farewell dinner my cousins treated me to before I left home. A hike up the notorious Table Mountain makes me imagine how much fun my friends Erin, Angie and I would have trekking up this centerpiece of the city. In the spirit of ubuntu, you are sharing this experience with me.
The national elections are approaching, and the political climate is heating up, as it is at home, I am sure. South Africa is in a precarious situation, as millions of people become frustrated with the empty promises of the government of the ruling African National Congress (ANC) party. (The ANC has been in power since the democratic transition in 1994, when Nelson Mandela became president. Mandela was succeeded in 1999 by Thabo Mbeki.) South Africa is one of the most unequal societies in the world, and it's impossible to deny this reality. The white minority of the country has more money, more power and more opportunities than their fellow countrymen.
The legacy of apartheid looms over the nation; unemployment, crime and poverty are rife among Africans and Coloureds (people of mixed racial ancestry). AIDS is ravishing this country, specifically the African population. The anti-retroviral rollout that the government promised in November has not been delivered. President Mbeki in fact denies that HIV causes AIDS. At times it seems the government is practicing population control, some would even say genocide. Development initiatives are misdirected. I am not sure if politics is the cure or the curse. The honeymoon of the transition to democracy is fading. The system of apartheid was officially deconstructed, but its ghost continues to haunt the country. Change is a slow process, but with 10 years of democracy under this country's belt and elevation in the world market, one would hope to see more change. On every corner of the main street in my neighborhood, there is a homeless person and a "Vote ANC" poster.
Last weekend, I went with two friends to Stellenbosch, an area dominated by Afrikaners (descendents of the Dutch settlers) and one of the largest wine-producing regions in the world. The countryside is breathtaking, and on the surface, things seem picture perfect. However, a closer look at the political economy of wine making here reveals the overwhelming inequality. In my "Poverty, Development, and Globalization" class at the University of Cape Town, I have been learning about wine farms and labor exploitation. During apartheid, Africans worked the vineyards under the dorp system, under which they were paid in alcohol. Institutionalized alcoholism ensued, and people were worked to their deaths. However, these workers were easily replaceable. Anyone with hands could work, meaning children were not exempt. I came to witness what I imagined would be hidden from view—child laborers.
As my friends and I wandered the hills, heading toward a wine-tasting location, we passed by farms and substandard worker housing. Young African boys who looked no older than 11 peppered the roadside, taunting us very obvious tourists in their native language, Xhosa. Words from my professor raced through my mind: "The kids with the littlest hands are most valuable. They are told to shape the grape bunches in the shape of the African continent." We wondered if these boys worked on the farm.
My friends and I took a seat under a shady tree to evaluate the situation. The afternoon sun was glaring, and we figured it was another hour walk up hill to the vineyard. We decided to defy what our program (and our parents) would consider the number-one rule of traveling: We would hitchhike. Almost immediately, a 30-something Afrikaner mother pulled over with her two beautiful blonde daughters bouncing around beside her. We gratefully accepted the ride as a puttering bus pulled over in front of us and the African boys climbed aboard. The image of those boys' dark faces pressed to the window at the back of the bus, staring at us in the car below, juxtaposed with the staring white faces of the girls in the front seat of our ride is permanently etched in my memory. We imagined these boys were being shuttled to work. The girls gleefully told us they were headed to their grandfather's pool on his vineyard estate.
We arrived at the vineyard and proceeded with hesitation to taste an array of wines. The possibility of those boys having picked the very grapes that made the wine we were sipping made it an experience none of us could take pleasure in.
—April 2004