PACSA: an NGO in SA

As with any aspect of the development sector, immersing oneself in a NGO like PACSA requires learning a new alphabet soup. My first week on site, I attended a CCOH workshop, which was sponsored by CABSA. A few weeks ago at long-term strategic planning, the staff discussed several OD concepts. In a month’s time I’ll be attending the SACC conference, which is not the same as the AACC conference a week later. On Wednesday I wrote a brief paper on the connection between HIV/AIDS and GBV, usually know as VAW, in South Africa. Are you following?

As working at an NGO means that one is inherently working on a deadline, the reader will have until the end of this reflection to memorize these:

AACC All Africa Council of Churches
CABSA Christian AIDS Bureau of South Africa
CCOH Churches Channels of Hope
GVB gender-based violence
NGO non-governmental organization
OD organizational development
SACC South Africa Council of Churches
UNAIDS United Nations Joint Program on HIV/AIDS
VAW violence against women
WHO World Health Organization

My work at PACSA is primarily with the gender desk, which tackles GBV, offers youth peer education in schools and churches, advocates for gender equality, and explores gender, theology and spirituality. Every day is different and may include a myriad of different projects. For example, last week I working on pulling statistics from the latest UNAIDS and WHO report on the AIDS pandemic for a publication and editing a master’s thesis on emerging conceptions of masculinity in post-apartheid South Africa. Most of the work is academic and based on organizational development principles. When I first arrived, some of the staff asked me what my discipline was, as if I am here to do research. It is sometimes difficult not to feel intimidated, because I don’t have a doctorate in development economics. I have been able to put my writing skills to good use though, as the majority of the staff do not speak English as a first language. The staff is something of a UN, representing not only South Africa (Zulu, Indian, and white), but Malawi, Swaziland, Kenya, Germany, Holland, and now the US.

My placement sites at PACSA and the crèche create an interesting counterbalance to one another. Working in a township with limited access to electricity, water, and sanitation is, in many ways, as “on the ground” as development processes become. But I spend the other half of my week in a downtown office, complete with internet access, staff learning workshops, and a Christmas party in the planning. Like so many aspects of life in South Africa, the work at my placement sites exist in stark contrast to one another and yet are intimately connected. The type of work I do at the crèche, which is community-based, is often supported by NGOs like PACSA. Often my work at PACSA gives me a new idea or approach to try with the students and staff at the crèche. It is as though I travel between two different universes on a weekly basis, but my work at both sites is addressing economic inequality in South Africa. I look forward to continuing to work and to learn at each site, as the experience at one enrichs the other.

Birth Certificates and the Hokey Pokey

After my first visit during orientation, I thought that I had a good sense of what I was getting myself into. A month ago I thought I had my year planned out. The crèche is situated in a township, and the children who attend are from the immediate neighborhood. There are few material resources (toys, books, art supplies, furniture, etc.) at the disposal of the staff and the learners. The entire school day takes place in the large, open fellowship hall of a church. I thought that I would be spending my time writing grants and working with the Department of Social Welfare to find more sustainable sources of funding for the crèche. Essentially, similar to what happens in so many development projects, I wanted to throw money at the “problem.”

At first it was difficult not to be overwhelmed by both the poverty that the children were born into and the chaos often created by their sheer numbers. I kept thinking to myself, I don’t have a degree in early childhood education or development or public health; I’m not qualified to do this kind of work! I quickly discovered that my calling in life is not, in fact, to be a isiZulu-speaking preschool teacher. I spent my first few weeks doing crowd control and many renditions of the Hokey Pokey. The children discovered early on that I can be used as a human jungle gym, especially during piggyback rides. With as many as forty-five learners (in addition to the toddlers) and often only one teacher, the staff was thankful just to have another set of hands. I was constantly chasing after stray toddlers, wiping snotty noses, and tying, if not completely retrieving, shoes. In those first few weeks I learned the rhythms of breakfast, morning attendance, snack, play, story time, lunch, and nap time. Names started attaching themselves to faces. In my mind some sense of order began emerging from the chaos.

In the quite moments of the early morning while the students were arriving and in the early afternoon during naptime I asked, and continue to ask, a lot of questions. How is the crèche funded? (Funding comes from school fees and subsidies from the Department of Social Welfare, both of which are inconsistent sources of income.) What is the institutional relationship between the congregation, whose space is used, and the crèche? (There is none.) What are the crèche’s biggest needs? (The laundry list is quite long.) But I realized I was asking the wrong sort of questions. I focused almost exclusively on what the crèche did not have, when I needed be asking what resources did the crèche already have that could be used more creatively, efficiently, etc. Ironically YAGM introduced me to this method in orientation. It’s called an asset-based approach to development. There was a disconnect in my mind between knowing the theory and putting it into practice. I’m constantly revising my approach, asking myself how the work I am doing will best allow sustainable development to take place.

Instead of bemoaning my worse than embarrassing proficiency in isi-Zulu, I started looking for ways to use my gifts to the crèche’s advantage. (Although it still amazes me how much one can communicate to a four-year-old whose mother tongue is different from one’s own.) Using my organizational skills I’ve started working through the student records and the financial books, both of which need attention. I’m working with the teachers and staff to write policy and procedure for a myriad of different situations and finding the most effective ways of communicating home to the parents. These projects are easily more than a year’s worth of work, but I am doing what I can with the time that I have been given. Like anything in life this work is in process, and it is one that I am blessed to be a part of.

In, but not of, the world

It’s a very interesting time to be a student of both South African and American politics and the democratic process. SA, like the rest of the world, is following the US election campaign with piqued interest. I have also become slightly obsessed with it, as I woke up at 3:00am to watch two of the US presidential debates live. (With the time change South Africa is six hours ahead of the US.) I was a little miffed when the analysis following the final debate was cut off at 5:30am for World Sport. Who watches sports at that hour of the morning anyway? The global media coverage of the US election comes with an appreciation of the fact that whomever Americans elect as their next president has implications, not only for their own country, but also for the world. Americans have a profound responsibility when they vote, as many of the policy decisions the next US president will make will have a direct impact on people throughout the world. As not of the world, but with the acknowledgment that I am in it, I implore the Americans following this blog to make an informed choice on 4 November. (I don’t think that my absentee ballot will be counted unless the vote in my district is close.)

When I’m introduced as an American people will often ask whom I’m voting for within the first two minutes of conversation. When I first received this question in small talk with new acquaintances I was slightly taken aback. Discussing politics in the US isn’t explicitly taboo, but it is certainly not considered “polite” conversation, especially with a person one has just met. But here in SA, politics permeate daily conversation, especially in the light of recent events. When I was formally introduced to the township congregation at Machibsa where I am placed, I was asked in front of everyone by one of the worship leaders, “Will you be voting for a black man in the election?” (The question is often unavoidable. For those of you who know anything about my political affiliations, you can probably guess how I responded.)

Political discourse is also alive and well in SA. By the completion of my year of service there will have been three presidents: Thabo Mbeki, Kgalema Motlanthe, and in all likelihood Jacob Zuma. Mbeki resigned in the political fallout of a Pietermartizburg High Court ruling in favor of Zuma. Motlanthe was appointed as a transitional leader between now and the next presidential election in April. The majority, the African National Congress (ANC), may be facing a breakaway party in the election. Although I have reduced the current political situation to a few sentences, it is infinitely more complex. As I learn more about the history of SA as the context in which these politics play out, I am slowly peeling away layers of understanding.

In addition to following secular South African politics, I have also been a part of the democratic process in the church. I participated in two recent ELCSA elections as an observer to ensure that they were “free and fair”. The first was for the national executive committee of the Young Adults League and the second was for the bishop of the South Eastern Diocese. (A diocese is the equivalent of a synod in the ELCA.) As American volunteers with no voting privileges, my YAGM colleagues and I in attendance were considered unbiased. We were recruited to pass out, collect, and count ballots. I’m discovering that the democratic process is an integral and often unavoidable part of life–in the US, SA, and the church–which is why it requires critical engagement in its many manifestations.

The Life of the Church

I didn’t realize how out of place I must have looked at my first South African church service until several weeks later. I was sitting on the “wrong” side with the mamas (mothers and grandmothers) instead of across the aisle with the youth. In traditional Zulu culture men, women, and youth sit separately at community events. I had brought my Bible upon a reminder from my host mom, but had neither a Zulu hymnal nor the ELCSA almanac (a booklet of daily Scripture readings based on the liturgical calendar). No church would be able to afford sets of hymnals and Bibles for the pews. I was wearing a skirt, but didn’t know how inappropriate it would have been to wear trousers as a woman. (I still feel perpetually underdressed.) Although I found elements of the service similar, I could do no better than sit or stand when everyone else did. The first week I started to recognize the tunes and words to parts of the liturgy was a small victory. The singing was hauntingly beautiful, but I had no idea how everyone remained in the same key without a pitch reference. I thought it very unusual that several women were wearing what appeared to be a uniform, only to learn that they were members of the Prayer Women’s League. Congregants can join one of several fraternal organizations called leagues (Men’s, Women’s, Youth’s, and now Young Adults’). I was naively surprised to be introduced at the end of the service (and have been at several services since then) and felt guilty that everyone knew who I was, because I was still struggling with my first set of Zulu names. As I am terrible with names, I am thankful that to begin associating names with familiar faces and positions within the church hierarchy at the events I have attended since then. I realize now that my ignorance shielded me from complete disorientation and embarrassment on that first Sunday.

Sunday worship is a vibrant experience, full of singing, dancing, and even dancing while singing. (This has been a fun adjustment for an American used to more quiet reverence, although I will probably never move quite as well as my counterparts.) I was struck on that first Sunday, which was a very ordinary one, that the church was teeming with people. I was squished between the end of a pew and my host mom for three hours. (The longest service I’ve attended so far was almost six.) This enthusiastic attendance has been consistent on every Sunday since in venues ranging from a township congregation to an ordination service at Durban’s city hall to a tent at the national Young Adult’s League conference. There are no churches large enough to accommodate several hundred people. Most ELCSA churches are in rural areas for a number of historical reasons relating to the work of missionaries and the legacy of apartheid. Every Sunday has been different but I am slowly learning, in the brief time since my arrival, about the life of the church in the South Eastern Diocese (SED) of ELCSA. I am so grateful for the patience and hospitality of South African Lutherans, especially as I am integrating into a new church culture.

14 September: Young Adults’ League rally in Pinetown
21 September: ordination service in Durban
27-28 September: Prayer Men’s League conference in Imbali (township outside Martizburg)
3-5 October: national Young Adults League conference in Limpopo (most northern province of SA)
10-12 October: synod assembly in Umphumulo (seat of the bishop and offices of the SED)