reality

The day before yesterday my good friend and her husband were car jacked.  Their life-blood, a delivery van was taken by force and they were left with their lives, and a large hole in their business.  Because the insurance would not replace the van without a deductible, they were uncertain of the future.  Our other friend called us yesterday and told us of a threat someone made on his life (and the lives of his family).  After praying, he and Mario pro-actively handled the situation and made it come right....  My best friend failed her driving test, which would have been a key to her becoming more markatable.  The young mother we've been trying to help become a responsible adult has been accused of stealing.  The cries of hungry and sick friends are filling our ears.

And by the way, the World Cup is beginning tomorrow - in Johannesburg.

Reality is that our nation is plagued with ills that is unfamiliar to most people in the world, especially the first world.  And we do seem to be a carefree nation enjoying the hype and the noise and the dancing that's associated with the party that is the World Cup of International Football (soccer).  We do appear in news stories and commercials to be a beautiful people in a sun-drenched land that has beautiful, barefooted children  with not a care in the world, unhurried and undisturbed... by anything.

In a way, it's true.  South Africa, with its dichotomies of rich and poor, sick and well, blessed and cursed, encouraged and discouraged is a very different country than the one we came from.  Still, we have learned to bear down against adversity and stiffen ourselves against the wind.  The survivor in us has been birthed and is a dwarfed version of the natives here.

For instance, a game as silly as soccer (remember I am not a sports nut) has encouraged young kids to "know your status" (HIV/AIDS) when most celebrities or church groups have been unsuccessful.  Today's cover story of the New York Times is about the soccer clubs springing up around rural South Africa encouraging not only excellence in the sport, but honesty in health and well-being.  Many kids have volunteered to be tested for the virus (please read my post from May if you haven't already, entitled "virus").

To see how such a huge thing such as HIV/AIDS awareness being promoted in RURAL VILLAGES here is astounding.  I have seen the most gifted doctors and speakers deliver heart-felt pleas for people to get tested, for free, but with the stigma attached to the virus, they are almost wasting their breath.

Now for clubs that tout football and fitness to say "Hey, you should get tested over there at that table" and the kids go there...it's a miracle.

Reality is funny.  Soccer influences a nation like this one to be responsible.  It influences a world to come together.  It makes my heart beat faster (we are less than 24 hours away from kick-off).... what can I do, other than rejoice in it?

By the way...my friend just called and said they can get a new delivery van, thanks to their insurance.  Our other friend has been successful in squelching a life-threat, and ministered the Gospel to the man who threatened him...and my friend who failed her driving test  is happy about our party tomorrow, and also happy that she can test again soon.  I'm prepared to make restitution for the young mother... aaahhh, life!!  Thank you, God, for loving us!!!

A thank you and credit to Patrick Barth from the above picture of Mpumalanga village boys playing soccer.  Great article!!  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/11/sports/soccer/11aids.html?ref=sports

anthem

The words are like glue to my heart.  Thousands of times I've sung it and only recently fully appreciated it.  From miles away, I hear just the tune and see lips moving and my eyes become cloudy and blur my vision.

The song reminds me that our freedom came at a great cost to people and families who took the land for us....  It reminds me of my home.

It's the song of my history, my country:

O! say can you see by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;

O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

The Star Spangled Banner was written from a ship by Francis Scott Key in 1814 while he and a few friends were on a mission approved by our (then) president, James Madison.   Their objective was to secure the release of prisoners that the British had taken prisoner during a hostile takeover attempt of Fort McHenry, an American fortress.  

At first, the Brits consented to release the elderly doctor (that Key had come for) but later relented, even keeping Key onboard until they knew the outcome of the battle.    

Key  witnessed a brutal bombardment of the fort and surrounding areas, but was able to see through bombs lighting the night sky that the American storm flag was still hanging, tattered, but there.  He etched a poem he called "The Defence of Fort McHenry" that would later be set to music and sung at countless sports events, political gatherings and Fourth of July celebrations.  

The British never took the Fort.  America beat the best Army and Navy in the world through pure guts and mean tenacity.  The same year, the White House would be burned down by the British and Dolly Madison would rescue the beloved painting of George Washington out of there for posterity.  It hangs in the restored White house today.  

If you fast-forward about two hundred years, you arrive here, today (minus four years).  We are a changed world.  On Saturday, the USA will play Britain in the world cup.  Britain is ranked higher than the USA is in football, but they were also ranked higher in 1814 so I'm not so sure who will win the match.   I will watch it to see who will actually sing the anthem, who will remove their hats, who will honour our country and solidify that we can still kick British ass.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1h9NN5FhJ7I&feature=related

 In comparison, the South African National Anthem is new.  Compiled of three different anthems in five different languages, the song was made official under the scrupulous watch of Nelson Mandela in 1997. 

What America does not know is that the song speaks of healing.  First it evokes God's mercy and benevolence on a land that needs Him and has always acknowledged Him.  Secondly, it incorporates respect and (true) diversity in its languages.  Thirdly, it is a compilation of freedom songs, worship and protest songs.  Together, they are homogenized into a beautiful tune... one that speaks volumes. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXKur2FAN7g

Almost no one I know has memorized the whole thing.

Lulu, my friend used to have a ring tone of a small boy singing "La-la-la-lalala, Africa...." and so on.  It was cute.  But to their credit, the RSA does well with an anthem that is only 13 years old.

What's our excuse??  Why doesn't everyone SING the USA National anthem??  Why don't they pause and thank God for the people's sacrifices that secure our freedoms??  Are they THAT in a hurry for the game to begin??  By comparison, South Africans are the same, but it's all kind of a shame.  

I wish we would sing these beautiful words.  

Just for reflection: here's the words of the RSA National anthem....  

(Xhosa) Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika     ( God [Lord] bless Africa)

Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo,    (Raise high Her glory)

(Zulu) Yizwa imithandazo yethu,    (Hear our Prayers)

Nkosi sikelela, thina lusapho lwayo.  (God bless us, her children)

(Sesotho) Morena boloka setjhaba sa heso,   (God we ask You to protect our nation)

O fedise dintwa le matshwenyeho,      (Intervene and end all conflicts)

O se boloke, O se boloke setjhaba sa heso,   (Protect us, protect our nation, our nation,)

 Setjhaba sa, South Afrika - South Afrika.       (We sing, South Africa - South Africa)

 (Afrikaans) Uit die blou van onse hemel,     (Ringing out from our blue heavens,)

Uit die diepte van ons see,   (From our deep seas breaking round,)

Oor ons ewige gebergtes, (Over everlasting mountains,)

Waar die kranse antwoord gee,  (Where the echoing crags resound)

(English) Sounds the call to come together,

And united we shall stand,

Let us live and strive for freedom,

In South Africa our land.

Sing, people... sing in praise and Thanksgiving!!

diski

I hate looking like an idiot, but I'm surprisingly good at it!  Especially when it comes to dancing.  Then I give idiocy a new look, like a professional sheen.  Multiply that by 50 and that's me doing the diski.

I could care less!!  I'm doin it!!!

If you see South Africans rythmically kicking an imaginary soccer ball and then stepping in time together, that's the diski.  A mixture of African folk music and dance groove is the preferred accompaniment.  To see fit done properly makes you want to join in and make an absolute South African soccer fan of yourself.  Don't believe me?  See for yourself!!

http://www.southafrica.info/video/diski-dance2.htm

Once you've loaded the video, you'll see what I mean.  Even more contagious is seeing the township kids doing it.  It's all they need for a spurt of happiness.

My friend Portia has two amazingly adorable boys, Darrell and Eby.  Darrell (Darely) knows how to diski like a pro.  I mean, a full blown pro.  The night of Portia's party I was inviting people to come back for our World cup party, enticing them with Diski lessons, given by our resident pop-lockers, Acid Lunatics.  As I was talking, Darely was passing by and stopped, smiled, then rocked back and forth, rhymically hitting the imaginary ball with his head.  I screamed with laughter and hugged him, overcome with love and happiness.

The Sandton Convention Center (a normally very buttoned-up business meeting place) has started to put on  free Diski Dance Lessons by its own staff members for all events hosted at the centre from now until the World Cup kick-off . 

"Hosting the Fifa World Cup on African soil for the first time in its history gives all of us as South Africans, and Africans, the opportunity to celebrate our culture and bring a truly African rhythm to the event," Executive Director, Mati Nyazema said.

That's what the diski does.

I imagine, God loves his kids dancing!!

vuvuzela

It is literally impossible to not think about soccer right now.  Even as I type I am surprised that my keys are still black and white and have not been redesigned to be the flags of the world or white with cool little octagons surrounding them.  

Jozi has the fever, and I'm swept up into it.

I cannot believe that I am looking forward to the cup as much as I am... but I am.  I drive down the street and not even get angered when street vendors are blocking the way, selling flags, hats, noise makers and  vuvuzelas.  


Anyone can stop me in the store and ask me where anything is, even the most obvious things,  like oats that are stacked to the ceiling, and I'll smile and point the way to them.  

World Cup... the event I never, ever - even remotely- understood has come to this country.  

The teams coming to the world cup are professional teams from 24 countries who have shown themselves to be the best in the world.  All except for one team: South Africa's.  Since we are hosting the game, FIFA (Federation Internationale de Football Association) has to let our beloved team play.  

At our supermarkets (our main ones are Checkers and Pick and Pay) the clerks hope for our underdogs to show the world that we are no longer an insignificant African tip of a nation and instead a sport force to be reckoned with.  Our team has trained hard can hold the field with anyone now.  The reason? We’re pumped up!

Their name, Bafana Bafana, basically means “our boys”.  Umfana is the Zulu word for boy, Bafana means more than one boy.  The affection of that nickname says that these chosen 23 have been birthed by South Africa, and will make her proud. 

To cheer them on, most South Africans will dance, sing and blow long horns called vuvzelas.  To make the noise desired from the chosen plastic flashy instrument, you seal the mouth over the end and blow!!!  This results in that trumpet or bugle note that is close to an airhorn.  Normally, it is a loud, irritating sound...but during World Cup season, blown by a South African, it sounds like victory!!

On Friday, the 11th of June, the opening ceremonies start at 3:00 p.m., but the first game is at 4:00, and our house is going to become a carnival of people, most speaking Zulu and doing the diski. 

I’ll tell you what that is tomorrow.

Oh, and by the way, if you’re reading this, come over and party with us on Friday...and wear yellow...and bring cold drink.  

party

     A Toast at Portia's 30th Surprise Birthday Party - Portia in Yellow


Tomorrow Portia turns 30.  She's lived the life that most people live in 50 years.

Born in Zimbabwe, Portia immigrated to South Africa with her mother in 1997.  Her family came first, and as the eldest daughter, Portia did most of the raising of her siblings.  Each one came through appreciative and with a quiet grace that is beautiful and refreshing.

When she was about 18 she met Thembi, the man that would become her husband.  She married him 1999 and had Darrely when she was 20.  The baby was a joy to her, but soon after, Thembe became sick with an unknown ailment that they later would determine would be HIV.

An incredible man of faith, Thembe grabbed a supernatural healing on his deathbed walked out of the hospital after all the doctors said he was as good as dead.  Tested later, Thembe was shown as a healthy young male with no signs of HIV... and the doctors scratched their heads.  Nine months later, along came Ebineizer, and Portia and Thembe were put on to eldership at Junction Church.

By the time I met Portia she was 25, and a cute little mom with a couple of cute kids.  She had both peace and joy...and was a great singer who set the Spirit of God free.   Thembe was a legend in Joburg, as well as someone who became our angel who explained the varying Black African cultures.  We affectionately called him "our translator".  We planned a trip to Durban to see the ocean -- and took great delight that we would take him and his family to the ocean, a sight they had never seen.

As we grew in friendship, Thembe became sick again.  His sickness developed into AIDS and our whole church prayed... again.  Mario and the other elders took turns getting Thembe to the doctor, sometimes having to carry him out of the car and into an awaiting wheelchair.  As the church delivered prophetic words, we all had faith that this whole thing would be behind us and Thembe would become fat again!!

One day, from under a cover of a mass of blankets, Thembe asked Mario for a favor.  "I don't think I'll make it to the ocean," he said.  "But will you take Portia and my boys?"  Mario smiled and said "Thembe, when you get better, we're all going to the ocean.  You're not getting out of this."

To tell you the devastation we all felt when he died cannot be done.   The Junction was overcome with a crippling silence that can only be comforted with the knowledge that Thembe was in heaven... and had an instantaneous journey.  The memorial was somber, but beautiful  We had all known him to be a son...in the Father's house.  He was with Him finally....

Portia was inconsolable.  Even the strongest Christian woman doesn't come equipped to be widowed at 27.  Her two young boys were the apple of her eye, but she still felt devastated.  She felt ill-equipped to face her future.  In response to this, our church sent her to computer classes so that she could be even more marketable.  She took to the classes quickly, and found a new gifting: administration.  Her graduation led to a new job... new friends.

Within two years Portia looked different.  Her physique was sleek and polished.  Her friendships multiplied and she grew fonder of work...and began to focus on adding to her responsibilities.  She ran the till at Bloemfontein, a gathering of relating churches.  If Thembe was ever able to come back he would not recogninze her... but I knew God was pleased with her.

Tonight I sit here after a surprise birthday party we hosted for her.  Her friends and church family crowded our house, all grateful for her friendship and strength.  She is whatever any woman should want to be.  Beautiful; graceful; strong; an overcomer.  This coming Wednesday she will take her drivers' test...and I know she will pass.  She will be one of the few in Diepsloot that drive a car.   All of our friends gave her a contribution to buy her own car... soon after she passes.

Tonight is victory.  Portia lives in the now, after devastating losses that no one deserves.  She is a victorious person, regardless of her circumstances.  While others would have rolled over and gone into deep depression or alcoholism, Portia bounced back with hope and still has never tasted alcohol.  Tonight she toasted with sparkling apple juice.

A friend I can tell anyting to, she is irreplacable.  I love her like a sister...like a daughter, like a mother.  I partied tonight with her because God has not only seen her through, He has made her shine.

Cheers, Portia.  You're a treasure for this world!!

colcannon

Most of my friends know that my heritage is Mexican.  My mothers' family (all of whom I grew up with) spoke Spanish quickly and coyly, mainly to avoid the young American kids that never picked it up.  My grandmothers' kitchen was a swarm of people and smells, all of which was reminiscent of great times and family --- the men playing horseshoes out back or watching football in the living room.  I now cook most family dishes with great delight...even menudo.  Tonight (for my friend going from England to Rwanda) I made enchiladas and beans.

I am American to everyone in South Africa.  BUT to my friends in the states I am "Half Mexican and Half Irish" --keeping with a descriptive used by most Americans -- an explanation of where your family is from to show your heritage.

The part of my heritage that I talk less about is my father's side...Irish.  My father grew up in Boston and came to California in 1958 to make his mark (and a fortune) and left his whole family behind in the eastern portion of the USA.  He fell in love with my mother (a Mexican girl) and went back to tell his family, none of whom ever married anyone outside of Boston, but also never married a non-Irish.  They were amazingly supportive...and the union was on.

This year my parents celebrate 50 years of marriage.  Married in 1960, they have endured everything under the sun... and are happy still.  Tomorrow they leave for a motoring tour of Ireland...to touch the part of my father's heart that has never been touched - his homeland heartstrings.

Tonight as I was talking to them and said goodbye I made sure to tell them to have a real boxtie and colcannon.  They assured me they would.

Potatoes are the staple of Ireland, and many things are made from them.  To make a real Irish boxtie you grate potatoes, soak them in milk, then strain them and whip in eggs and flour and throw in hot oil in an awaiting skillet .  Chefs began adding onions, parsley, bacon, sausage...you get the picture.   When the boxtie is nice and crisp on the outside, you flip it over and do the same thing.  It looks like a big hash brown.  When it's done, you salt, top it with applesauce and sour cream and serve.  (My mouth is watering).

When we moved to South Africa, there was a remarkable absence of Mexican food...and Irish food.  So when a traditional Irish pub opened up, Mario and I ran to eat there.  I ordered a boxtie, and they brought me a large pancake rolled up with steamed vegetables inside.  On top was cheese sauce.

I called the waiter and told him that the boxtie was done wrong (he assured me it wasn't) and if he could get the manager I'd show him how to do it.  They thought it was funny, and politely declined my offer.  I couldn't finish the thing... and left a very small tip.  A boxtie is hard to get wrong... unless you're in Africa.

Another Irish comfort food is colcannon.  This is basically mashed potatoes with spinach, broccoli or cabbage  stirred together and baked in a big pot (also with sour cream).  The beauty of both the boxtie and colcannon is that they are simple, full of carbs and love.  They also remind me that I am Irish by descent.

My parents have never gone off the continent until tomorrow.  They have seen nearly every state in America, Mexico and Canada, but have never travelled internationally.  I am excited for them, and hope one day they will venture out here.

It would be a dream come true to serve them enchiladas and colcannon from my own kitchen in South Africa.  Love knows no boundaries

countdown

The game, the fever of it actually, has stolen my heart.  It has come into our lives with a crescendo that is unexpected and contagious, and we wait for the day that we hear the blow horns in the streets that signal the beginning of a World event that we get to host!!

Okay, so you don't love the game that most of the world is obsessed with.  Too bad!!  The reason that soccer unites the world is because it is  a universally spoken language; an art form;  the mathematics of the sports world.

It is, in fact, the great equalizer.

Here, in Johannesburg, the game is easy to get excited about.  Our friends talk about it with the same fervor as all-night prayer meetings, and we gleefully accuse them of worshiping football.    School rugby fields have given way for uniformed Afrikaans boys and girls to "kick like Kaka" (funny to hear the kids utter a forbidden word...when used in discussion of football it's referring to the Spanish star, Ricardo Kaka).  Townships stop selling lapa roofing (thatch) and clear the thatch fields for a game between the best adults who don't play for a living.  Everyone breathes in expectation and breathes out  excitement.

In 9 days and 11 hours the first kickoff of the 2010 World Cup (Mexico vs. South Africa) will start the frenzy that we have giddily braced ourselves for: our shining moment as a country, at least in sport.   The eyes of the world will see a close-up of the RSA (Republic of South Africa) and not see strife or apartheid, but rather what this country has become- a nation with 11 official languages, yet strangely homogenized.  A country of Spiritual strength but still wild.

Everywhere are signs of hype and excitement:  The Absa balloon, usually red and white with our national bank logo stenciled on the side, is a soccer ball hoisted above Monte Casino.  The fueling stations have soccer balloons everywhere, street vendors sell flags of the world (we just bought a controversial Mexican one) and on Fridays the whole city wears yellow and green - Bafana Bafana colors.

Coming from a girl who was always picked last for every sports team ever assembled (and with good reason) this sounds funny, but I want to learn the diski and bop the ball from one foot to another to in between my shoulders.

I just hope no one is watching as I learn.