Today was a particularly rough day at work. A refugee from Burundi came in and asked me
for food vouchers because she had six children to feed and her hair salon was
not receiving any business. However, I
had to tell her no because the simple fact that she had an income was more than
other refugees had and CTRC is all about helping the people who are most
vulnerable. This particular woman had
been helped by the office in the past as well so it was a case in which we
definitely could not provide assistance because the office is for one time
assistance only. Yet as I’m typing this
I can’t help but wonder if her six young children are going to be eating dinner
tonight. There was an extreme language
barrier between me and this woman so I had to keep repeating ‘we cannot help
you with food’. The words tasted like
poison coming out of my mouth. The fact
that I had to say it over and over again because she just wasn’t understanding
was mentally exhausting. On my walk back
to work I kept thinking did I do the right thing? Did I do any good today? I
think I finally understand the meaning of the phrase ‘bringing your work home
with you’. I appreciate that I get so
much responsibility at the refugee centre but no amount of schooling could have
ever prepared me for some of the stories I’ve heard.
Last semester I took a class on war and gender and I did my
readings (for the most part) and wrote my essays. But I never actually took in the
information. I never understood how war
is gendered. Until now. Now I’m seeing it for the first time. I see it
every time a Somali woman sits down in front of me and can’t sign her name
because she’s never been to school. I see it every time a woman from the DRC
wants to speak with a female intake counselor instead of a male. I see it in
the eyes of the children who I know will never know their father. War is the worst thing. I’ve decided it. I’m
not just saying it’s bad. It’s the worst thing on the planet. Of all the bad
things in all the bad places war is the worst evil bestowed onto mankind. It
sucks humans (particularly children) into a life of poverty, disease, violence,
racism, sexism, abuse, hatred, and ignorance.
The hardest thing I’ve had to come to terms with is the realization that
I cannot help everyone. Or that everyone is not as genuine as they seem. Some people will come into the centre with a
fake story so they can receive assistance from us, and this then clogs up the
entire system and prevents those who really need help from getting social
assistance. Working at the refugee
centre has made me realize the different levels of privilege that people have.
This past weekend we stayed in Ocean View which is a
settlement where coloured South Africans were relocated to during apartheid. My host family was absolutely fantastic and
the house I stayed at was nice. If the
house was not in the area that it was then I would never have known that the
family I stayed with struggled with finances. My host mother has had a difficult
life but she was so positive when she was talking to us and telling us about
her job and her children. Staying in
Ocean View wasn’t anything new to me because it looked exactly like my home
village in India. A lot of my stay here
in South Africa reminds me of India and I find myself missing it more and more
each day. Especially when I was in Ocean
View my host mother had her entire family living around her literally two
streets down from her house. Her three
sisters and brother along with their children and her parents all lived within
walking distance. My host mother told me
about some of the troubles she used to have but I just kept thinking about how
lucky she was to have her family so close to her. Even when she was going through something her
family was right there. Of course I’ve
always had my immediate family close to me but I always wondered what it would
be like to go visit grandma’s for a weekend or see your cousins every now and
then. Some of the people in Ocean View
didn’t have much materialistically but they have so much in regards to
community and faith, and I think this is what’s important in life. All weekend I was jealous of my host family
for being so connected with her relatives because that’s something I never grew
up with. Hopefully I will be able to go
back to India soon and see my family again. If my internship and home stay have
taught me anything, it’s
that family is the most important thing.
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| Snigdha's village in India |
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