August 1, 2008 - Well, talk about highs and lows. We all arrived safely to the Stumble Inn B&B in East London. A very humorous place indeed. Each room has a theme. The sports room, the Marilyn Monroe room, the asian room, the Hollywood room, the Austin Powers room, the Robinson Crusoe room, and Patrick's and my room, the Playboy room. Yes, posters of Hugh Hefner relaxing at the Playboy mansion. It's all done with a sense of humour and is very kitschy.

After settling in this morning we went to the Barnes' house for lunch. Everyone is a little ( a lot?) jet lagged, and not even sure what day it is. (Saturday) After lunch we sat in the Barnes' living room and introduced ourselves with a quick blurb about what we hoped to learn and see. Christina Dolan talked about going to study in Rome after she gets back from this trip. We had just gone around the room when then the phone call came with news of her father's death, and everything changed for the Dolans. They changed for the rest of us us as well, but obviously not the same. As of 10:00 pm I am not sure if Felicia and Christina are returning home or staying in Africa.

In the late afternoon we returned to the Stumble Inn and a lot of us walked to the beach - about 15 minutes each way. Very beautiful. However, lots of home security in this nice area. High walls, gates, alarm systems, dogs, electified fence tops, razor wire etc. We were warned not to walk around outside at night even in the nicest neighborhoods - too dangerous. It seems that everyone retreats to their own "compounds" after dark. We have not yet visited the poor sections, although we could see some shanty towns while approaching the East London airport.

Finally, this evening we returned to the Barne's for Brii (that's not the right word, but it's South African BBQ). Great food, great people. All really tired.


August 2nd, 2008 - CindI am finally recovered from a brutal flight. It seems dehydration and jet lag is a bad combination. Lots and lots of liquid and a sleeping pill last night worked their magic and I was at least functional this morning.

Last night, we were at a cookout, African style (no giraffe or buffalo meat), when we received word that the father of Christina, one of our group, and the ex- husband of Felicia, another member, had died unexpectedly. After many telephone calls and much heart searching, they decided to stay with us although they are very subdued. The young girl is a year younger than Kerry. They knew each other in high school but were never close. Kerry has now taken her under her wing.

This morning we went to worship at a Congregational Church in Zwelitsha, one of the black townships. The township was much livelier and active than the white suburban areas we drove through. People were in the streets and the stores, selling produce on the streets, washing cars, grilling food, and generally hanging out. When we got out of the vans, we heard music coming from everywhere: hymns in African harmonies, rap, reggae and other music.

The church is quite small, about the size of the chapel at my church. We were met by old African men dressed in their suits and best clothes. One elderly gentleman had a grizzled beard and was wearing a vivid hounds tooth jacket, a sweater vest that somehow mixed blue, pink and purple on a field of green, a dark brown shirt with white abstract patterns and a blue, purple and brown paisley tie. He must shop at Nordstroms.

We met first with the elders, mostly men, and the student minster, a young woman. They welcomed us with hand shakes and explained when we would be introduced, then the choir came in clapping, singing and dancing. The words were in Xhosa(the click language that you hear in Miriam Mkeba songs)but the harmonies and rhythms were compelling. Even middle aged white people had to move. The harmonies were like Ladysmith Mombambo (the group that Paul Simon used on his Graceland album), except they were primarily female singers. There were no instruments accompanying them.

We were seated at the front of the church, behind the minister, where the choir would be in our church, looking out at the congregation. Kerry, Abby, Michael and Patrick, as the youths (anyone under 35) were with the choir. The service lasted about two hours and was almost entirely in Xhosa. It didn't matter. The music was so compelling. Kerry sat with the choir and sang and danced with them. They actually had hymnals in Xhosa, so she read along and tried and I could hear her voice above the others from time to time. Abby also had a hymnal and was singing along. Michael and Patrick would clap from time to time, but seemed a little more concerned about their dignity. The people in the choir loved them. The choir, and the congregation, were incapable of singing without moving and there was a lot of singing. There were 7 hymns and several other call and response parts of the service. Every time, the church ladies, immaculately and beautifully dressed, were up and moving, even the great grandmother types. And they sang. Some of the hymns even had what appeared to be choreographed dances. I have been tired in church before but never before from dancing.

In our honor, the scripture reading and the sermon were done in English as well as Xhosa. John and Dawn each spoke and prayed. We were introduced and introduced ourselves and then Linda presented our gifts. The congregation was told of the loss of Christina and Felicity.

After the benediction we walked out of the church with the entire congregation up and singing.
We then met with the entire congregation and had them do a banner of outlines of their hands with their names and favorite bible verses. The 23rd Psalm seemed particularly popular. We had a marvelous time, shaking hands, hugging, talking, taking pictures, playing with the kids. Michael, Patrick, Abbey and Kerry were particularly popular among the children as they all played with the puppets we had brought.

Later, we went to the grave site of Steven Bikko, one of the martyrs of the fight against apartheid. He was killed at the age of 31 by the security forces. He wrote "I Write What I Like". His life was celebrated in the book "Cry Freedom" which was made into a movie with a very young Denzl Washington playing Bikko.

We also went to the site of the Bhisho Massacre, where South African Security forces fired into a crowd that was marching in to a rally protesting the lack of progress in the negotiations to end apartheid. 28 people were killed. Among the marchers was one of the elders from the church where we worshiped.

Tomorrow we go on a tour of one of the black townships.