Kayamandi

This is an email I sent Shannon on July 23rd.

I went to Kayamandi today. I both knew and didn't know what to expect.

I'm sure you know what most townships look like. So did I. But it was different walking through it. I had to choke down tears the entire time. It broke my heart to see these small children wearing tattered clothes and shoes, if any at all. The homes were smaller than my dorm room, which I complained about. The older kids were completely jaded to us. The small children waved incessantly, and a few ran up to hug us or hold our hands. A small girl hugged me and walked with me for a block. The shops, the nice ones at least, were in shipping crates.

There were animal skulls and bones everywhere. Rotting flesh in the streets from butchered cattle. It was too much to take in.

The worst part was the orphanage. It took all I had to hold in my pain-wracked sobs. Those poor children. The vast majority of the parents had died from AIDS. The local doctor, while free, only comes into town twice a week, for 4 hours each. That's not enough for the more than 35,000 people living in Kayamandi.

I was constantly checking in with my heart and my body the entire time and I felt so many emotions. The most obvious being guilt. I was overcome with terrible guilt. Not one month ago, I was complaining about an unattractive apartment that didn't have a nice bathroom. I feel so ashamed of that. I feel unrightfully privileged in life. This is hard. Harder than I had anticipated.

I'm having a hard time consolidating knowledge to the point where I can make sense of my experience today. It was both terrifyingly heartbreaking and awe-inspiring. I'm also looking forward to returning every week and seeing how my understanding and appreciation of Kayamandi changes.

I think this project, spending three hours with these kids every week, will be the heart of this trip. This is why I am here. And I selfishly think I will be getting more out of it than the kids will.