
Dressed in traditional garb, a solemn expression appeared upon my Shannon’s face. I wrote to her and pointed out the lack of a smile; she responded that South Africa had a complicated history. When I prodded for more information, my aunt, always an encourager of self-education, provided me with one word — apartheid. Ever curious, I was horrified to learn that some of the same atrocities my grandparents faced happened in the same year I was born. I could not wrap my head around such things happening in a land where Black people were in the majority. This was Africa! I was intrigued and even completed a school project on apartheid pass books, segregated facilities, and the denial of citizenship for Black South Africans. Eventually, Shannon returned from the Peace Corps, and I moved on to other things, but this new-found knowledge helped shaped my understanding of the world.
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And I’m glad we did, because the personalized township tour we walked was the highlight of the entire trip. We learned much about Gugulethu’s history, including the murder of Amy Biehl, a white anti-apartheid American, who was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time. We interacted with the community, with those who were banned from living in Cape Town for decades. We even witnessed an adolescent boy’s initiation into manhood, his loved ones cheering and dancing behind him.
We learned that seven Black activists were violently murdered by the South African military. As we strolled through the memorial commemorating these brave souls, I thought of the newly opened National Museum of African American History and Culture and how this space similarly reflects a specific type of resistance and reverence. How a history riddled with injustice can stand so proudly in the present, despite systems yet to be dismantled. So yes, beyond the breath-taking drive up Chapman’s Peak, and beyond the panoramic view atop Table Mountain. Beyond the historic boat ride to Robben Island and visiting the prison cell that held Nelson Mandela for 27 years. Beyond the delicious restaurants, beautiful attractions, and fast pace of the city were Wandile and Olwethu. And Donald. And Bongani. And dozens of other township residents, whose natural joy deepened my admiration for the resiliency Black people share across the Diaspora. The expansion of my love for Blackness was overwhelming.
I know that I will always look for this feeling in every place I travel.
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