Dare to Tell Story Movement – Day 42
It was when we went to South Africa.
Before we went, the whole time Mummy and Daddy talked about wanting to go into the shanty town, to do a kind of tour.
All the time they were talking about it, I really, really didn’t want to do it. They were trying to convince me for ages. I thought, it’s not nice; it’s not a zoo you don’t just go to somebody’s home.
They explained to me that the people from the shanty town guide the tour, that it’s okay. I really didn’t want to do it. When we got there they still kept trying to convince me.
One day we were driving from somewhere, I don’t remember where we were coming from. Near the highways there were always some shanty towns. In this place there were kids playing alongside the highway, on the sand. They were playing football and there were people further on, sitting on the wall.
I got a really weird feeling…it was like I was at home. Just at home. It felt familiar, like I’d been there before. I felt good. It felt calm, natural, it was weird. I felt it in my whole body. You know that feeling when you walk into your house and you’re finally at home, it was like that.
It’s just weird. It makes me feel strange, not sad. It’s more like…I don’t know. When I think about it, I was sitting in a car and they were in shack ; they are black and I am white. I often think about it, it’s just weird, why there?
Now that I look back, as a kid, I always liked the South African accent. I remember trying to talk in it, I remember going to South African families and I remember all the stories they used to tell us.
Even when I was in 4th grade and we had to do a project about a leader. I asked my mom what I should do, she suggested lots of people. All my friends were doing people we all knew from here. I chose Nelson Mandela, and no one knew him, my teachers didn’t even know much about him. Mom suggested lots of people including Nelson Mandela, there were many others I knew about that would be closer to home, yet I chose him.
Now sometimes when I have this feeling that I want to go home, I feel like I want to go back there.
It upsets me a lot and I don’t know why. I’m curious it doesn’t exactly frighten me.
Say if I was really there, then why are they still living like that? I don’t know if the people that were there with me are still there. But it upsets me to see them living in those conditions, and I feel connected to it somehow.
On one hand I would like to go back, on the other hand I’m scared. What would I do there, I won’t get an answer. I don’t know if I can get an answer. Was I was really there? Why does it feel that way? It’s weird.
Some places I’ve been to I know I’ve been there before in another lifetime, but not in the same way, not like this. This is much stronger. This felt like it’s my home.
It’s painful to think about it, though at the time it felt natural and calm. It’s like I need to go back there, but I wouldn’t want to go back there on my own and don’t know anyone I would like to go back there with.
I guess I’d go back to find out and make sure that I really felt it. I know I felt it.
I’d go back to see if I’d feel it again.