Day One
I woke refreshed. The sun was shining and . . . the power was out in the dorm section of St. Benedict’s.  

I learned later that someone had stolen a part off something (the transformer?); it’d be a number of days until the part was replaced, so for the majority of our time in Jo’burg, I got cold showers (which weren’t that bad, really), cold-water washed my hair in a sink in another part of the building, and set my travel mirror up on the window ledge so I could apply my sunscreen and mascara. 

Breakfast that morning was rusks (a biscotti-like cookie), coffee and tea, fresh fruit, a raw oat type of granola, a raw oat porridge/muesli, and yogurt, but then, when we were almost done eating, the cooks brought out Breakfast Number Two: fried eggs! Canadian bacon! tomatoes! beans!

This two-course breakfast marathon, it turned out, would be the pattern for most of our breakfasts in South Africa. I immediately realized I’d have to pace myself accordingly.

Each day with Iziko started with a contextual Bible study, which I gotta admit kinda made me roll my eyes. Sitting around talking about scripture? Fun-fun. But I told myself I was there for the ride, so I’d go along with it. And the set-up was nice: comfortable chairs circling a woven mat scattered with photos, burning candles, incense, and various South African paraphernalia, all of which Mzi (pronounce “em-ZEE”) explained that first morning. 

Mzi asked us to share three things: What brought us? What did we hope to learn? And what gift did we bring?

What did I bring? For the last few months leading up to this trip, I’d battled low grade dread, anxiety, and apprehension. There was the safety issue, of course — that was the easy one to fixate on. My younger brother spent one of his college semesters in South Africa and when he heard I was going, his first response was, “You know South Africa’s pretty dangerous, right?” 

But more unsettling than the element of danger was a deep internal foreboding. What was I getting myself into? I was acutely aware that I was making a decision to learn about something — about myself, about my country, about my history, about the world — that I didn’t fully understand, and that I maybe didn’t want to understand. I was choosing to expose myself to pain in ways that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle. Whatever was coming, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to feel good. I made sure I packed Xanax.

That morning, when it was my turn to speak, I teared up. “It’s the jetlag,” I cry-joked. I don’t remember my answers to the first two questions — probably the obvious, like curiosity and learning and wanting to see another part of the world — and for the third question, I said I wasn’t sure what I brought. “I’m a down-to-earth sort of person,” I sniffled. “I have lots of question, and I’m often skeptical about things.”

And then Mzi spoke up. “Jacques Derrida, a French philosopher, said, ‘Cynicism is an act of love.’ I think cynicism and skepticism are quite similar. Being skeptical can be an act of love.” 

That statement hit me at my core. If I’d been alone, I probably would have dissolved in a huge puddle of snot and tears right then and there. Here I was, a white woman in a Black country worried about getting “it” wrong, insecure about my ability to understand the depth of the issues, emotionally shaky. And yet when Mzi shared that quote, I suddenly felt seen. I felt valued. Mzi’s words were a gift, maybe even a blessing. Maybe I had a place here after all? Maybe my presence was acceptable, even good?

Just a little, I felt myself begin to relax.

***

An absurdly abbreviated timeline of South Africa’s colonial history:

• 1488: Portuguese sailers arrive, and the South Africans chase them away. The Portuguese report that the South African are savages.
• 1652: The Dutch East India Company arrives. The South Africans don’t want them there, but the DEIC insist they are different. Fine, the South Africans say. Refuel and go on. But instead of leaving, the DEIC builds a castle/fortress. Then they build a second building — a slave quarters — and import slaves from all over the world. 
• 1795: the British arrive. For the next 100 years give or take a couple dozen, the British fight with the Dutch, the Dutch fight with the Zulus, etc, etc. 
• 1833: The British abolish slavery, largely in part because, thanks to the Industrial Revolution, there is a greater need for consumers rather than workers.
• 1887: Gold is discovered in the area that is now Johannesburg. At that point, there were only about 300 white people in that area, but only nine years after the discovery of gold, Johannesburg, named after two white men named Johannes, had become a stronghold.
• 1901 Bubonic plague: Black people are blamed for it, thus providing an excuse to evict them.
• 1913: The Natives Land Act is passed which allows for segregation of land based on race.
• 1932: Orlando East, a settlement on the outskirts of Jo’burg for migrant gold workers, is formed. This is the beginning of Soweto, a.k.a. the South Western Township.
• 1948: The Dutch establish an apartheid government. Over the next few years, a total of 148 laws to keep Blacks separate from whites will be passed. South Africa’s apartheid government studied, and drew inspiration from, the US’s Jim Crow laws.
• 1950: the Group Areas Act, the division of the country into areas (determined by the government) to separate people by race, is passed.
• 1953: Bantu Education, an inferior education for Blacks, was formed.
• 1960s: The rise of Black consciousness.
• 1976: A student uprising, in protest of the government’s directive that Africaans be the language of the schools, launches the horrors of apartheid onto the global stage, and intensifies the protest movements.
• 1994: Apartheid is abolished.
• 1996: The Truth and Reconciliation Commission begins to hold hearings.

***

Of all the Iziko leaders, Nkosi was the most reserved. He’d listen to the conversations, his hat and glasses obscuring his eyes, but when he spoke, it was like a fire hydrant had been turned on: his whole body would vibrate with energy, and the words would come rushing out, each phrase a verbal fist-punch.

For example:

“I am jealous of the South African story!” Nkosi said that first day, his words hard-clipped. “Who gets to tell the story? It should be Black people telling the story, not white people!” 

“I am speaking to you,” he contined, “in the language of the minority! And the minority can’t even bother to learn the language of the majority! Because the majority is invisible to them!” 

It didn’t take me long to figure out that when Nkosi spoke, I’d better listen. Actually, that was true of all the Iziko leaders. But Nkosi, I found, was the most raw and unfiltered, the most edgy. He ran hot, and I adored him for it. 

***

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (11.6.23), seven fun things, four meal deliveries: what I learned, what we ate, the quotidian (11.5.18), the quotidian (11.7.16), meatloaf, musings from the coffee shop, for the time change, awkward.

I’m back! I went to South Africa and then I came home, the end. 

Just kidding! But seriously, the past two and a half weeks feel like a giant, nameless blob. Part of me wants to run away and ignore it forever because:

It’s too much.
I have nothing to say. 
I’m drowning in thoughts.
I don’t have the words.
I know so little. 

***

One of the host organization’s leaders told us, both on our pre-trip zoom calls and then a couple times in-person, that he doesn’t agree with the “experience is the best teacher” statement.

“I have hundreds and hundreds of experiences every single day,” he said, “and they teach me absolutely nothing. But examined experience — now that’s where the real learning happens.”

So. I had an experience, and now for the examining. 

Here’s to hoping I learn something. 

***

Travel Days
We arrived in Johannesburg in the evening, bleary and rumpled after our 15-hour direct flight (and before that a two-hour flight from Dulles to Newark, and before that, a two-hour bus ride from my town to Dulles) — FIFTEEN HOURS, friends, in seats that reclined a total of two freaking inches. I bought a neck pillow for the flight — figured I’d be like one of the cool kids — but it turns out that neck pillows, when one is in an upright position, only serve to thrust one’s entire head forward in the most awkward position possible.* 

Also note, sitting upright for 15 hours is painful on the hips, spine, and emotional wellbeing. I used to think flying was fun, but not anymore. I am a baby. 

Anyway. The flight eventually ended (while in the air, we jumped forward six hours), and we arrived at St. Benedict’s, an Anglican retreat center where Desmond Tutu occasionally sequestered himself and where we would be staying for the first part of the pilgrimage. 

Iziko (pronounced “ee-ZEE-ko”) leaders doled out t-shirts, water bottles, pens and notebooks, the wi-fi password, towels, and a little booklet containing the schedule, brief summaries about the sites of struggle we would be visiting, and poems and prayers we would be using in our group times. I didn’t use the book much while we were there, but now that we’re home, I find myself repeatedly referencing it for spellings, dates, and definitions. It’s a brilliant little resource.

***

Some stats to get you oriented:

• This pilgrimage was organized by Mennonite Mission Network (MMN). 
• There were twenty people in our group, including our two MMN leaders.
• Iziko Lamaqabane — which means “the gathering space of comradeship” — was our host organization. Iziko’s earlier name was Anabaptist something or other, but to most South Africans, “Anabaptist” is a meaningless word, so they changed it to something that everyone would immediately understand.
• Our Iziko leadership team was comprised of four people: Mzi, Pokie, and Nkosi live and work in and around Jo’burg, and Steve, a white person from the US who has lived in many different countries, the last 15 years of which have been in South Africa, lives and works in Cape Town. The four of them, in one configuration or another, accompanied us for the duration of our pilgrimage. 

So what, you ask, does Iziko do? Here, I’ll let them explain in their own (booklet’s) words.

Iziko Lamaqabane is on a pilgrimage to heal colonial wounds, disrupt systemic violence, and cultivate faith formed by and expressed in liberative praxis. By working in relational solidarity with urban peace and justice practitioners, Iziko serves those active at the site of struggle by facilitating spaces of retreat, exchange and collective learning grounded at the intersection of anabaptism, Black liberation theology and critical consciousness.  . . . It is our conviction that the more we can walk together, sharing stories, friendship and knowledge, the more our wisdom, longevity and capacity to disrupt violence and oppression will grow. 

***

Three Disclaimers
1. I am taking creative license with the quotes in this series. Most of the statements are not direct quotes (though some of them are!), but the essence of them is, to the best of my memory, true. 

2. Some quotes, ideas, photos, and reflections may be recorded out of the order in which they actually occurred. This is due to my faulty memory and the ever-present bubbling of ideas. But again, the gist of the sequence is true. 

3. Remember that I am new to much of this information. I am not an historian, nor am I a theologian or a scholar or reporter. I took daily notes in South Africa, and while I am fact-checking myself and running some of the more tricky bits by people who know more about South Africa and its complicated history than I do, there is still a good chance there are flaws in my recounting. 

Grace, people. I’m operating on grace here. Challenge me, ask questions, and then go do your own research.  

at one of the sites of struggle later in the week

Let’s all be pilgrims together.

***

_{*Silver lining: neck pillows make a fantastic sleeping pillow when flat on one’s back. Highly recommend.} 

P.S. My husband read this post and then said, “You didn’t even start!” And this, after two full days of writing and 18 pages of typed notes. I think I’m gonna go curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb.

This same time, years previous: extraction, dulce de leche, chai tea concentrate, wait for it, the quotidian (11.4.19), sour cream coffee cake, old fashioned apple roll-ups, cinnamon pretzels.

Did you plant any peppers this year? Are you now slammed with so many that you don’t know what to do with them all? Am I the only one?

My kids have brought in so many bowls of pepper that it’s kinda ridiculous. I’d forgotten what I’d planted — turned out to be bells, bananas, and poblanos. We ate a bunch in salads, and my younger daughter and I fried up multiple batches of mixed peppers and onions which we then divided into small portions to freeze for winter soups, spaghetti, and beans (a kitchen hack which is so freakin’ handy that I may have already plowed through a large portion of my supply, oops).

ANYWAY. When one of my girlfriends admired my giant bowl of peppers, I said help yourself. So she did, but she took only the poblanos — all the poblanos. Why just the poblanos? I asked. Because I have a special dish that uses poblanos, she said. (And actually, back then we were calling them “anchos” but now I’m pretty sure they’re poblanos. See above comment about not knowing what I planted.)

A couple days later when the next giant bowl of peppers landed in my kitchen, I texted her. 

Me: What’s that pepper recipe you were going to make?
Her: Layer of peppers covered with Spanish rice, beans, corn, cheese (you could add meat), and baked. 
Me (a couple days later): What’s your Spanish rice recipe?
Her: Last time I sautéed onions, peppers, tomatoes, garlic with cumin, turmeric, salt. Then I added already cooked rice. You can also dump all that with the uncooked rice and water in the rice cooker.

And then I was off.

One thing I did differently from my girlfriend’s recipe: I blistered my poblanos in my birthday Ooni (more on that later!) to give them a charred, smoky flavor.

There is so much ooh la la in this photo that I can hardly stand it.

Alternatively, you could blister them over a gas flame, or under the broiler, or just use them fresh, uncharred. As you like it!

I’ve actually made this recipe twice now, both times serving it with sour cream and salsa. The first time my family was kind of befuddled. Like, they thought it was good but didn’t know what it was (at which point I realized that I don’t often make casseroles, ha!) and kinda tiptoed suspiciously around it, asking questions and making suggestions, such as: 

*top with chopped tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and onions 
*avocados would be good!
*more beans
*serve with corn tortillas or tortilla chips
*lime wedges

Clearly, they were digging the Mexican vibes.

Even though my whole family ended up scarfing this casserole (when we had it for family night supper, my older son had four giant servings), certain kids picked out the large pieces of pepper. I get it, actually: large chunks of pepper are kinda daunting (though they’re silky soft and cut easily). But the reason my girlfriend recommends leaving them in big pieces is because every now and then, she says, you get a pepper that’s wildly fiery and it’s nice to be able to just pluck it out. However, I have only encountered one chunk of spicy pepper in all my poblano casserolling, and it wasn’t very spicy, so if you’re feeling brave, go ahead and rough-chop the poblanos and just sprinkle them over the bottom of the pan.   

I think this casserole might make for a good freezer meal. In fact, I have one in the freezer for the family to eat while I’m gone, so I’ll have to check in with them later to see how it turned out and then report back. 

I don’t have any photos of the finished casserole, but here’s a photo of our supper club …

… to which I contributed this casserole, along with homemade sour cream and fresh corn tortillas.

Spanish Poblano Casserole
Adapted from my friend’s texted recipe.

For the pepper layer, feel free to use whatever peppers you have on hand. Also, I did not measure my ingredients for the Spanish rice; just do whatever feels good.

6-10 fresh poblanos 
3-4 cups Spanish recipe (see below)
1 pound crumbled sausage, cooked
2 cups of corn
4-5 cups of beans
a few cups of grated cheeses, such as Pepper Jack, Mozzarella, Feta, Cheddar, etc.

to make the poblanos
Wash and then char, if desired (this step can be done ahead). De-stem and de-seed the poblanos, cut in half (or rough-chop them), and spread them over the bottom of a casserole pan. Drizzle with olive oil.

to make the rice
Heat some oil (or sausage grease, bacon fat, whatever) and toss in a couple cups of uncooked white rice along with some — all of this is optional — chopped onion, pepper, tomato, and minced garlic. Saute until the rice is toasty. Add 1 teaspoon of turmeric, a couple teaspoons of ground cumin, some chopped fresh cilantro (if you have it), a teaspoon of salt, and some black pepper and stir. Transfer the toasted rice to the rice cooker, top with the proper amount of water or chicken broth, and cook.

Spread a layer of rice over the poblanos (you probably won’t use all the rice, just FYI), followed by the cooked sausage, the corn, the beans, and then a couple cups of cheese. Drizzle the whole thing with olive oil. Cover with foil and bake at 375 degrees for 45 minutes. Remove the foil, add a couple more cups of cheese, and bake, uncovered, until the cheese is melty and toasty. 

Serve the casserole with salsa, sour cream, hot sauce, and fresh hot corn tortillas. Other optional condiments: black olives, chopped green onions, picked red onions, diced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, fresh cilantro, avocado, tortilla chips, and lime wedges.

This same time, years previous: gingerbread to build with, simplest sourdough bagels, show and tell, the quotidian (10.12.20), the relief sale of 2019, English muffins, a weekend away, soiree!, peanut butter fudge, a list.