This week I spent a treasured afternoon with Andiswe’s family in the township. There was nothing profound about the afternoon. Such happenstances have now become ordinary, which to me makes them all the more sweet.
Afternoons are my favorite time of day in Mbekweni. The children are playing in the streets. The mamas are finishing up the chores. The men are starting to return home from work. The setting sun creates a humble glow around the rusty shacks. And the smells of unbathed children and slaughtered chicken create a peculiar smell that my senses oddly welcome.
On this afternoon, while soaking in all the delights of the neighbor, I sat with Andiswe’s parents, Joyce and Wiseman- I should add that those are their English names; I’ve failed miserably on several accounts to pronounce Xhosa names. I watched Joyce hang the washing on the line, which created a brilliant rainbow that sailed above the rows of brown shanties. Wiseman sat outside in a stiff chair that seemed to refuse him the relaxation he was seeking after a long shift at the factory. Inside was Andiswe, washing the dishes in a worn out rubber bin. And their precious neighbor next door, who I only know affectionately as mama, sat and mended her youngest son’s pants. And as I sat on a wooden bench, which struggled to support my prospering backside, I began to fade into their world. And there was my moment. I was greeting the passing neighbors, asking Joyce what was for dinner tonight and listening to one of Wiseman’s grand stories. My moment continued on for hours. It was one that left me gleaming for the rest of the night.
And it’s moments like that where I again find joy in the simplicity of life.
I wish many moments upon you all this week.
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