"And the Lord God took the man and put him into the garden…. To dress it and keep it".

 

 

Memories From A Culturally

Diverse Country

“Ringing out from our blue heavens, from our deep seas breaking ‘round, Over

everlasting mountains, where the echoing crags resound.”

 

When recalling memories of my exciting childhood, the first that comes to

mind, is that of standing in the assembly hall, clad as all of us were, in my little navy blue tunic, white blouse, black shoes, and white ankle socks, with hair pulled back into French braids, and belting out the inspiring words of our South African national anthem.

 

In assembly I would slip into a dream world, and would be down at the Cape Point, where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet in a headlong collision, which has caused many a ship to dash against the sharp rocks,

hidden under the dangerous waves. All too soon I would snap back to reality, and realize that assembly was over, and it was time to get down to the dreary business of learning!

 

What I wanted to do was learn from experience. There was so much

outside of the classroom to experience, such as the time our family went to the black church. In our country, one was supposed to attend “your own school, your own church, and definitely live in your own side of town,” as dictated by the government heads of our time, who were still enforcing the separate development system called “Apartheid.” Nevertheless, I loved going to visit the other churches. Their singing would blend in perfect harmony and they, who could not have afforded it anyway, did not even need the accompaniment of musical instruments. Some services took place in African huts, which had no electricity or running water. They crowded in to capacity; twilight would start to darken the room, and one would only be able to see white eyes shining, as they eagerly listened to the message of a heaven where there would never be any more hunger, pain or sorrow, and where all were loved equally.

 

One man gave my Dad a compliment not bestowed on many a white man back then, “Maruti (teacher) you may have white skin, but your heart is just as black as mine.” Such incidents were what made living in a foreign land such a privilege.

 

Thinking of the African services caused me to recall tribal people we would see along the side of the road on one of our long trips to see our fellow missionaries. There were many different tribes, and each of them had separate customs. For instance, the ladies of one tribe paint their faces with white mud and have a piece of material, tied at the neck, as their only garment. Some go completely topless in their own environment, but dress to go into town.

 

The headgear of another tribe is made of intricately woven beads, and they have elongated necks, from adding another copper necklace to their necks each year. Little children often run around bare unless it is really cold. Some tribes paint their huts in geometric patterns, and use different shades of mud as paint. These villages look so bright and cheerful! Often the people would crowd around our car or wave as we drove past. Men and women from another tribe cut holes in their earlobes and insert round pieces of wood, causing the lobes to stretch down

round the ornament.

 

Most of the blacks particularly love to have their picture taken, and would just preen should we stop and oblige them. Other people who were very interesting to me were the men in downtown Durban, at the beachfront. Some would beat out haunting messages on their drums, instilling fear in the heart of this young member of the audience, or sing to attract a crowd, and receive coins thrown into a hat conveniently upturned in front of the performance. They would be traditionally dressed (or undressed,

depending on how you see it) with pieces of animal fur around the neck, wrists and ankles, intertwined with pieces of bone or colorful glass as decoration.

 

Besides some elaborate headdress made of feathers and fur, an animal-skin

loincloth would complete the outfit. After singing, some men would go back to their waiting “rickshaws.” These were a hackney-type of wagon, with huge wheels made of wood, which could carry two people. The unique thing about these was that the men would serve as the horse! I recall being handed up into the “carriage” and waiting in anticipation for a man to take the two pieces of wood in his arms, then laughing joyfully as he ran along the expansive stretch of beach, causing my sister and me to bob up and down.

 

While we were still in Durban, we would often visit the Indian bazaar. This

was an outdoor area with flimsily built stalls, selling just about anything a heart would desire. The Indians (Asians) were so comically convincing that they could literally sell an acorn to an oak tree! The bazaar was filled with a cacophony of noises, as the bargaining, cajoling and downright bribery and corruption would be taking place. My nostrils would flare at the pungent aroma of their spices, for making delicious curries. Also, my eyes could not believe the sight of one of their many gods on display, with one, two, three, four, no, eight arms! And she had the nose of an elephant. No, this could definitely not be learned in any classroom.

 

Now, as I recall going back to my classroom, I think of the strains of the

anthem once again, concerning our deep seas breaking ‘round. As the Atlantic and the Indian oceans are tumultuous at the point where they meet, so have the peoples of South Africa had a history of tumult and bloodshed, in order to meet in the middle. Even as the crashing of the waves against rocks causes them to become smooth, so the crashing of the waves of war has brought about freedom in South Africa for all.

 

Bonnie Marran

Honorable Mention

Stanley Lewis Multicultural/Diversity Writing Contest