Gimme Hope

So, once again my bags are packed. But this time, they're packed for home. And when I say bags, I mean a small amount of clothes, a small amount of assorted tourist tat, and a small mobile library of information, books and handouts from the 60 or so projects I've visited in the last 6 weeks.

Planes: 16,000+ air miles, 8.58 tonnes of carbon (£60 to offset, reforesting Kenya); trains: (I loved the Chicago El) and automobiles: (from taxi drivers with nazi tattoos and nazi sympathies to kind, generous and interesting individuals who showed me their culture, and one who invited me to his home and family, not to mention the 4x4 up the Sani Pass).

8 hotels and guest houses: ranging in quality from "never again" to "i've got to come back here". Countless new culinary delights from the pink lemonade of my first day in Louisville, to the bunny chow of my last day in Durban, and the more countable things who have eaten me: 1 brown recluse spider, 6 mosquitos and the 20kg adder who wanted a kiss more than I did!

I've been to the Soweto home of Nelson Madela and Desmond Tutu but sadly didn't manage to find a plaque commemorating where Lucas Radebe was born. I visited the Phoenix settlement with a handful of Gandhi's and listened to amazing stories of the birth of non violence. I've stood where Churchill stood addressing the crowd as he first became a hero by escaping a Boer prisoner of war camp. I've heard of the amazing legacy of Muhammad Ali, and how his early years of segregation shaped the man and the boxer.

Just as importantly I've met many less famous people equally doing extraordinary things. The 14 year old from iLanga, who is raising his brother and sister, all of whom contracted HIV from their now deceased parents, who spoke to me about how exclusion most often stems from fear. The vicar from Chicago outside whose church flies 77 tshirts to mark the 77 young people of Chicago who were killed due to violence in the last school year. The amazing woman running an arts centre from the Durban harbour, who supports both new artists and new arrivals. The residents of St. James Court in Old Louisville who annually turn one of the most challenged neighbourhoods of the city into the South's answer to the Venice biennale. And the many many people who've taken different steps of this journey with me who have shown me different ways of doing things, and different ways to think about doing things.

Maybe it's because as I write from the back garden of my Johannesburg guest house, and a cockatoo takes on a guard dog for fun, I'm overwhelmed by a feeling of hope. But I think that, unsurprisingly, has been a golden thread throughout all the stories I've heard. When there was despair there was defeat, but where there was hope they have nearly always managed to make something good come of it. Don't get me wrong, the learning is all about how we cultivate and harness that hope: but it seems the essential raw material from which good things could come.

Durb be good to me

I'm sure that the days are going faster now, because I really can't believe today is my last full day in Durban. But what an amazing last day it has been.

I left at 5 this morning, to join in with a mayoral walkabout and blitz to the Mpumalanga township and area. The aim is that the mayor goes out to different areas (unannounced), supported by a multi agency team, and sees for himself how services are working and meets the ordinary citizens of Durban as they start the day. Armed with a variety of informational leaflets the team also aims to target key messages directly to people.

By 6am we've reached the Mpumalanga area, and the first stop is a taxi rank. Don't get the wrong idea: this is not a a short line of pin stripes waiting for hackney carriages. The mini bus taxi is the main form of transport for most of Durban's township commuters. More than 11,000 minibus taxis serve the Durban area alone. My first day there, I watched the curious phenomenon of minibuses beep-beep-beeping, one person hanging out the window, shouting, and pointing at passers by, and some getting in, and some getting out without any seeming logic or pattern: young or old, groups or singles, suits and overalls.

Then I started to see the hand signals: a guy from the bus points a finger straight up, a woman on the pavement snakes her hand in a 'no' reply. The bus which has barely slowed, revs back and up on the road, and another pulls quickly into place behind it, the snaking signal again, and the woman is in and the door clunks shut as it speeds on its way. Of the hundreds of signals, the only one I learned was the finger straight up, it means "going to town". It's a huge regret that I never got to go in one, as it looked like fun. Though I'm sure the novelty would wear off, if you're relying on it for a 45+minute commute on a morning and evening. And I'm only surmising, but having observed a distinct lack of usage of indicators and a liberal interpretation of red lights by many of these taxis, i imagine it also might be a less than relaxing journey.

At the taxis the mayor meets and greets, I give out leaflets with the others, mine is on using safe water storage, using my best Zulu: sawubona (hello) and "phuza emigqomwni ephiphile" (info on safe drums), which was moderately amusing for most as the 'q' is pronounced with a click, but downright astonishing for a few. Reminding me once again how far South Africa must have come in the last few years, but how far there is yet to go.

The next stop is at Hlengisiswe Clinic. Not a hospital, more of a hybrid of GP practice and NHS walk in. Here the mayor was greeted by the Sister in charge, who by 7am had some 200 patients triaged and waiting in the right places. It would be easy to be critical and speak of 200 waiting people in pitying terms, but what I saw was a feat of extraordinary organisation and efficiency. Demand is clearly high - this was just an ordinary Spring Wednesday. But the fact that everyone there was seated comfortably and knew how long roughly they would be waiting and not to mention that the place was spotless, seemed amazing on what scarce resources are available for community health care.

On the road again, we stopped in another clinic which showed the strain a little more than Hlengisiswe, a road side taxi point where the mayor was berated for the 40 minute wait someone was having. But, she reflected, as they mayor listened, if she'd left earlier she would have missed the mayor. Clearly, this mayor knows how to communicate. Then, by 8 o'clock as time was running out for meeting morning commuters we made a final stop at the market which serves as a stop and shop for people on their way home from work.

After talking with the traders, and handing out leaflets, the mayor called us into a circle to say thanks, and to talk about the next 'walkabout and blitz'. A man with mental health problems constantly interrupts and we can't hear over his chatter. There are maybe 10 or so staff, a bodyguard and a police officer in the circle, but none of us quite know what to do. With the precision of a Judo master and the art of a politician, no doubt aware there are cameras rolling. The mayor firmly shakes the guy's hand with his right, and guides him away with his left. I smiled: you can see why this mayor got where he has.

And then it was over. Or so I thought. we waved goodbye to the mayoral car, and a colleague from the participation team smiles and says "breakfast". I'm thinking, "I've got an apple in my bag, but why not." 6 of us pile in one car and drive up the hill. We're stopped by the police, and we are either nice to them by offering some spare t-shirts and a few bottles of water, or bribery is very cheap in these parts. I really couldn't tell you as it was all in Zulu, and there was no mention of water drums.

We get to the top of the hill, I throw my 20 rand in alongside everyone else (about £1.50) and take pictures of the view. The next thing I know, we have bought huge steaks, rented a chopping board and knife, and we're cooking on a briaar (basically, purpose built communal bbq). Now steak at 9am, might not be everyone's idea of heaven, and there was a small part of me wondering where the food hygiene certificates were posted, but this was the finest tasting steak I have ever had in my life. The spice coating, the fire grill, the open air and the early start proved a delicious recipe. Smelling of barbeque, I went happily to my next meeting.

Linda Mbonambi is a neighbourhood manager of the INK area: Inanda, Ntuzuma and KwaMashu (INK) area is about 30 km north of the city centre, home to more that half million residents, and is a mix of formal and informal housing. It is the second largest agglomeration of poor neighbourhoods in all of South Africa with many areas experiencing high levels of unemployment, social dislocation, poverty, over crowding and crime, all exacerbated by inadequate infrastructure for the size of population. In 2001 INK was identified as one of seven areas nation-wide of critical importance: predicting that if the new South Africa couldn't turn these areas around there would be significant social breakdown. So began a ten year programme (recently completed) to develop co-operative governance, effective multi agency working and empowerment of residents to become key agents in improving quality of life.

They recognised early on that mobilising the "human capacity" of the three areas would be essential and so with the help of the EU, INK developed a highly participatory approach to engage communities. He talked about how they promoted the spirit of 'vukuzenzele": get up and do it for yourself. Open Space technology was a key tool in developing community fora and getting to the root of many problems. Art of Hosting techniques were shared widely and helped to incubate a number of highly impactive projects early on. 10 years on, Linda said these techniques are now "just the way we do things around here... the circle is the only way most people would hold a meeting now, it's just a natural way of making everyone see the problems, and that we're all in it together."

I left Linda with a profound respect for his work. He left me with a quote from Ben Okri, by saying the skill is to "make visible, the invisible". If you build a bridge, you can see it, test it out for strength and have a good guess at how much it will take. When you build bridges with people and communities, you have to do other things to check out how strong it is. You don't want to find out that there's a weakness by watching the bridge collapse.

My next stop was DUT, Durban University of Technology, where I'd met with Crispin Hempson from the International Centre for Non Violence (ICON) the day before. Also Dr Lavern Samuels, Head of International Relations. Both are fascinating and engaging about their fields, and I will post the blog I've started about both of those meetings in due course.

The reason I was back again today was Dr Samuels has managed to get me a meeting with Ela Gandhi. It would be easy to think that the most remarkable thing about this woman is that she is the eldest granddaughter of Mahatma Gandhi, but that would be underestimating her by a country mile. She is currently chancellor of Durban University of Technology and Vice Chair of ICON, president of the World Council of Religions for Peace and oversees a monthly newspaper. She served in the first Government of the new South Africa from 1994-2004 and spent 9 years under house arrest during the apartheid era for her political and social activism. And proving to be an immensely warm person too, she agreed to meet with me and let me tag along with a visit from family from India.

We all travelled out together to the Phoenix Settlement. Founded by Gandhi-ji in 1904, the 100 acre settlement was build from scratch and was where Mrs Gandhi was born and brought up. I felt hugely privileged to hear them talk of their memories of growing up there: looking for a favourite mango tree, as well as reflecting on their evening prayer ritual: which included Hindu, Christian, Parsee and Muslim prayers in many languages. I should have felt like an intruder, but somehow the Gandhis made both myself and our driver Eric completely included in the experience, occasionally competing to tell us stories from childhood, or wise words passed down from the struggles. Both of Ela Gandhi's parents were active in the non violence movement and advocates of equal rights and there was talk of how to commemorate their contribution too.

In 1985, during rioting across the Inanda area, the Settlement was so badly damaged that it brought to an end the Gandhi family living there. After the riots the land surrounding the Settlement was taken over by 8000 informal settlers who called the area Bhambayi, Today's population is estimated at 20000. The area also suffered from massive internal conflict in the years towards the end of apartheid and the beginning of the new South Africa, with many battles, skirmishes and assassinations between the ANC and the Zulu-dominated InKatha Freedom Party (IFP) (I'd watched the film of the true story of the photographers who covered this struggle, The Bang Bang Club, only the week before, and that brought the area and its history even further into relief.) Mrs Gandhi with Phoenix Settlement Trust has brought a wide stakeholder base together to preserve the historic settlement and provide a learning centre for those wishing to learn more about the birthplace of Satyagraha. The original Gandhi house, built by hand by the Phoenix settlers has been restored and the slightly larger family home that the later family lived in is also open to the public. The displays are very well curated, with a minimalist but deeply artistic touch. This is not a multimedia-bells-and-whistles Gandhi theme park: but rather a contemplative, reflective expose of both the achievements and personal sacrifices of the birth and life of the movement for non violence. Of the many many moments of revalation in this research project, it was one of the most moving.

Rachie goes to school

I spent Tuesday afternoon in the KwaMashu township with the inspirational Siyanda Msomi, artist and teacher at the Mzuvele High School. Siyanda had persuaded (cajoled, railroaded - take your pick) a mixed group of teachers and students to talk with me about their understanding and experience of diversity in the township and the municipality. The school has 1190 pupils, from age 12 upwards, and average class sizes can be between 60 and 70, and is one of 23 schools that serve this large township.

I have to say that I found this session one of the most fascinating experiences of my trip yet. I have mainly relied on one to one contact interviews so far - which has its own advantages in terms of getting an in-depth reflection. But what I think i enjoyed most about the session at the school, was the dynamics of the room - how through the debate and questions, the shy students transformed into passionate and articulate young adults, who very much surprised themselves, and pleasantly surprised their teachers I think. It was the questions we stumbled on that provided the richest veins. When I asked about English in the classroom, one teachers spoke of the idea that one day it might be possible to provide Zulu language education, that engineers could pass a degree in their own language and not have to learn solely in English. The students were wide eyed at this suggestion: Zulu is for home and friends, English is the way to get a job. They simply couldn't imagine a world where their own language would be on a parr with other languages. It was a similar theme when I asked them about the city becoming more mixed. They spoke about working hard so "blacks can move into white areas', but when I asked would the townships ever become diverse, it was laughable. They couldn't imagine a white person ever wanting to live in township, so there was no need to think about if they would be welcomed. "Townships are black" said one person.

On the subject of 'township identity', one of the young people gave a fantastic insight: "where we live is cruel, so some people think you have to be cruel to fit in: that means bouncing school, not showing respect, for some kids its hard to go against their friends who think like that".

One of the teachers spoke of how hard it is to teach a class, sometimes 68 pupils, some hungry, and many (nearly 70% of kids in the school) who have only one surviving parent, or are being raised by a grandparent. Durban has one of the highest rates of HIV/Aids with 32% rate of infection. She said that the role models in the community can't make themselves role models, "what can you say to a child who says 'i know you, you stay by my house' ?"

For many of the teachers, the challenges of the high schools is the legacy of infrastructure. Schools in white or Indian areas might get the same levels of funding now - but they had investment previously, and have a level of infrastructure that Black township schools never had, so they have withstood the transition. "They are not 'better' schools, they are just starting from an easier place".

The school, however, is a key driver for optimism and change in the township. Through a partnership with a local church, part of the school grounds is now an allotment, which sells part of its harvest for profit which s reinvested in the community. The students also undertake numerous educational project that aim to benefit the community. This is where the real benefit of having local teachers is seen. I asked was it hard to find people in the community to help with project and the answer was 'of course not, it is our community, these are our neighbours, we know them and they know us'.

River City, Music City, Windy City

So, I realise I'm way behind on my blogging. There's a few that I have started and will finish. The problem has been I've been having amazing days, and then starting to write at night... And falling asleep. So, nothing changes! But here I am, checked in at Chicago O'Hare, all set for S Africa, and I can't believe nearly three weeks in America have gone by so quickly.

In the last few weeks I've tried to resist dipping in to broad generalisations and assumptions when people have asked me for them. (Are people in Britain less receptive to immigration than in America? Are they more or less political? Are people more likely to get involved in volunteering? These are all questions I've evaded giving any opinion on, just today. ) But I'm tempted to indulge in a little personal reflection just now. And as it's late at night you all understand, this is just me riffing and not necessarily espousing any fully formed opinions.

Things I Think I've Learned From Using American Public Transport:
- Distance is measured in the time it takes to drive there. Anything less than a 40 minute drive is considered nearby. I learned that more than once by attempting to follow directions that were just 5 minutes away. (5 minutes down the fecking freeway!)
- You can sue anyone for anything but if you trip on crappy pavements, it's your own risk.
- Taking the bus is considered a quaint but life threatening activity by those who own cars, as they've seemingly never done this.
- Taking the bus is considered a quaint and life affirming activity if you're dealing with mental health issues. My personal favourite was a guy who had a double sided picture: one a bootlicious lady, booty very much in the foreground; on the other, President Obama smiling somewhat demurely. He made anyone who sat next to him choose a side, and then laughed in the face of that person, seemingly with the same gusto whichever side was chosen.
- Taking the bus is often a great way to see how racially divided some parts of cities are. I was frequently the only white person on the bus in some areas. (I only caused a stir once, the day the bus was really busy, and I lost my grip on the handrail, and had to grab hold of a substantial lady to not fall over. My inner Brit emerged as I profusely apologised, and the entire bus united and cracked up laughing.)
- I now know the reason why taking a greyhound bus is often listed on those list of Things To Do Before You Die.

Things I Think I've Learned from Watching American TV:
- They have the same standard of advertising as the UK when it comes to offering to buy your unwanted gold.
- They genuinely do have home made commercials by used car salesmen, calling themselves "Honest Chuck" and "Dan Your Used Car Man". This is not just something they make up for bad TV cop shows.
- There is a genuine obsession with the Michael Jackson's doctor trial, which takes up over half the nightly news on every channel I tried.
- The direct marketing of prescription drugs to the public seems to me to be as insane as it is dangerous. To my ears, the vast list of side effects that have to be read out by law would be enough to stop me being tempted. (One of my favourite drugs to be advertised for suspected asthma had the side effect that "in rare cases, leads to bad judgement". Really?I'd love to know how that came about!) But then I realised that it's feeding an addiction. In much the same was as smokers are immune to cigarette packet warnings that scare the bejeezus out of non smokers; the lengthy side effects of prescription drugs can be ignored when the overriding addition of consumerist health care is being sold, in much the same way as luxury goods. "You deserve better health" "Don't trust a doctor with the health of your child, ask them for this drug now."

And things I've learned about me...

I always want to write than i have time for. Sorry! The plane's about to board. See you in South Africa!

Oh for to be in Americana...

On Friday 7th, I got to go out and spend the morning in the South end of the city at the Americana Community Center. Founder and director Eduardo Mansilla was a fantastic host. Hailing himself from Argentina, he speaks honestly about how he became a "voice" for internationals in Louisville in the late 80s and 90s, but almost before he starts the tour of the building he tells me that he's starting to be too easy and too usual a suspect now and that he's encouraging the diverse voices of newer internationals to stand up and be counted.

Out the back of the building is an organic community allotment. Developed to encourage healthy eating and promote mental health, the garden is also something of a cultural map, showing the diversity of dietary preferences being cultivated by centre users from 79 different countries, or 80 if you include those US born citizens who are increasingly using the centre's resources to develop their skills and attain the GED - the recognised High School equivalency exam.

Eduardo explains the name Americana comes not from the nostalgic evocation of latter day America, but rather the name of the cheap rental apartment block many S Asian immigrants first lived in in the area. An influx that weren't exactly welcomed with open arms. twenty some years in though, and it seems that the international dimension of the neighbourhood is starting to become one of its key strengths, and the centre is quite possibly something unique in Louisville in is cross cultural approach.

English and GED classes are open to refugees and immigrants equally and ensures a good cultural mix in any class. The first wave of Vietnamese migrants to Louisville were in sufficient numbers to hire translators and for services to develop a broad understanding of cultural differences. Now there is a much greater diversity of the countries that refugees come from, and a much greater diversity in their cultural needs and understanding of the US. Recent arrivals that had spent many years and some their whole lives in border or refugee camps, have had a much tougher journey and experienced more challenges to integration. The US system provides support for refugees for the first 90 days only, after which they are expected to be in employment. The Americana centre is therefore a vital lifeline for many new arrivals, and those still navigating the whiplash of culture shock some years in.

But what I most loved about the place which is a constant triumph of optimism over finance, is the approach it has to being a learning organisation. To adapting to new challenges, to trying new ways, and to seemingly never say die despite the many many challenge it operates with. And perhaps most of all, in country and an immigration system that allows only for integration, for Americana seems to be developing an newer American identity that is authentically cosmopolitan. And ever so subversively, it is engaging the city is seeing the image of the 'immigrant' in terms other than content to work minimum wage until the next generation can succeed.

Pearls of Wisdom

On 5th October I had the great privilege to meet with Dr. Tori Murden McLure, President of Louisville's Spalding University, trustee of the Muhammad Ali Center, author and not incidentally the only woman (and one of very few people at all) to row single handedly across the Atlantic Ocean. My own intimidation aside, Dr McLure was hugely fascinating both on the subject of her involvement with the Ali Center (at the personal request of Muhammad Ali) and the mission for Spalding, which she described as the "scrappy"' underdog of Louisville's tertiary education.

Set in the 13th poorest zip code of the US, Spalding began life as a log cabin school founded by Catholic nuns in 1814 to provide basic education and to develop the helping professions: teaching, nursing, social work. Today it still retains (small c) Catholic identity, and proactively uses this values-base to make sure that its 21st century incarnation still reaches those who most need education. 50% of its students are the first student in their household to attend university, and 75% are from economically challenged families. Spalding also employs an 'every student' policy, recognising that many students arrive not "university ready" and give additional support in English and other skills to try and prevent the huge drop out rate of first year students experienced by most universities in the US. Spading is also riding the wave of adapting campus life to be equally welcoming to mature students, a rapidly growing demographic.

Of her involvement with the Ali Center, she has a tone of great respect and fondness when she speaks of "Muhammad" and how she became involved. Muhammad Ali famously said to her before she set out on her record making journey, that she did not want to be known as the woman who "almost" rowed across the Atlantic Ocean. This mutually respectful relationship is probably one of the reasons she was asked to be a trustee Ali's of legacy in overseeing the Center project: something he always insisted should not just be a boxing museum. McLure outlined to me the original and still developing idea that the Center will become established on a world stage a centre for tolerance and healing, that it can develop conflict resolution techniques and understanding, and honour the journey of understanding the Muhammad Ali himself began.

I couldn't help thinking, that as Muhammad Ali's health sadly deteriorates, that he's chosen wisely to entrust someone like Dr McLure with developing his Center. Someone who doesn't let something like an ocean get in her way.

Occupied in Louisville

Occupy Louisville and Occupy Kentucky have both come out of the recent Occupy Wall Street movement. And today they came out onto the streets of Louisville. Maybe 150 or so people, at the times I saw it up close (lunch time and 5pm) each with a seemingly different agenda and reason for action. There were posters to "end the fed", to "bring our groups home", to "stop the war on workers", to "legalise same sex marriage" and incongruously to "eat the rich". But actually to me this very diversity of ideas and views that has been so mocked by US coverage (Fox news reporters have barely kept contempt for a "leaderless movement" out of their voices) is what is so interesting about it. I asked one young woman why she had turned out, why she had chosen this form of action, and she said that she was so fed up of not hearing her views being reflected accurately, by political representatives and by the media that she just wanted to come out and be heard. She said "I never thought I'd have to be so radical to put across what I think are moderate views: live fairly, don't hurt others, don't judge other people's lifestyles... I grew up thinking these were American values. Now you need corporate sponsorship just to get to speak to a representative and remind them why you voted for them. It's just so messed up".

After the rush hour traffic died down, and it was less about getting passing motorists to "honk their support", it was very interesting to see how the group themselves started to explore and talk about each others issues. Two almost stereo-typical Southern "good old boys" who just want their troops home started talking with a young, nose-pierced lesbian about why she wants the right to marry her girlfriend. Musicians played the kind of music that I'm pretty sure the "cool" college kids who were there wouldn't listen to in a year long iPod strike. And curiosity got the better of the more anarchic and they started listening to the reasons that had brought people out, rather than instructing them n how long they should stay. For me, that's where the power of "occupy" seems to be residing: not in the occupation itself, but how the people doing the occupying are chiding to spend their time. More than one person remarked to me that these are the conversations America needs to have - between it's citizens - and not just between it's politicians and the media.

It will be interesting to see how it all plays out.