Letter from a client

A while back, we received a letter from one our clients – refugee from Zimbabwe who is extremely friendly and personable. Reading this makes all the work worthwhile.

“I couldn’t help stop tears streaming my cheeks. I am touched by the way you treat people (refugees) here. First I eavesdropped the white lady explaining one or two instructions to one refugee and later on I felt at home for the first time since my 2 years in RSA. I felt like not leaving this centre.

You Like people, you like your jobs. Once again, thank you. Keep the good work. Refugees are people they need you.”

LHR Boat Cruise

As a thank you gift to the interns, the entire staff was treated to a boast cruise that included a three-course meal. We worked until 10:30am, then – in an attempt to reach the wharf in time – sneaked across the railroad tracks toward the wharf (I’m sure this was not legal, but it was awesome seeing the attorney’s “breaking the law”). We had the entire boat to ourselves. It was fun and relaxing and refreshing to see the staff outside the context of the work environment. The weather was also beautiful: breezy and warm, the sun gleaning off the surface of the water. This was a great end to an amazing summer.

Enjoying the 3-course meal (I had mango chicken salad, curry rice, and some kind of chocolate dessert). Yum.

Khuli (one of the attorneys) and I prepared to save the world -- with my slingshot.

Dinner with Natacha and Family

Over the weekend, all of us interns from LHR invited Natacha and her husband to dinner at Ande’s flat (helping to set the table was the extent of my assistance since I didn’t know how to cook). Natacha, a client from our office, is a Rwandan refugee whose entire family was killed during the 1994 genocide. She and her family will most likely resettle to another country (the U.S., we’re hoping!) because of the constant harassment and threat from the man who trafficked her to South Africa when she was 7 years old; she is so afraid, in fact, that she never leaves the house—except with her husband. Natacha is only 21, but has experienced so much pain and trauma in her life—stuff you cannot even imagine. And since never attended school, Ande has been going to her home to tutor her math and English.

Unfortunately, Natacha’s adorable 4-year-old daughter, whom I met for the first time in the office, could not make it to the dinner. I still laugh when I think back to the image of the rambunctious little girl running around the office and helping to correct my Zulu (apparently, my clicks were wrong). She would also interrupt me in the middle of my work to tell me she was thirsty; and I would poor water from my bottle into her mouth, after which she would smile and giggle. We were all bummed to not see her that night. But it was a very fun night. Everyone enjoyed the food. And I even performed a few card tricks (the choose-the-card, find-the-card-in-the-deck trick) that surprised almost everyone, especially Natache and her husband. I even performed a magic trick where I purported to stick a coin through my neck and pop it out of my mouth. Seeing the shocked expression on Natacha’s face was priceless.

Natacha never laughed so hard in so long. Her husband told Ande and Melissa this after they dropped the two at their home. For someone who experienced so much pain and trauma from such a young age, we were surprised to see such a warm, cheerful person … a normal person. She appears not phased by her traumas, and, according to Ande, speaks of her past with little emotion. The human mind is extremely fascinating—the way a person (who has suffered incredible pain and ineffably inhumane experiences) can suppress their feelings, to the point that they become numb to their emotions. But it is Natacha’s sincerity and her will to overcome that has led all of us interns to fall in love with her and her family—to the point where Ande and I fervently explored the option of helping Natacha’s husband attain a study permit to attend a community college in my hometown (at least this would hasten the resettlement process, which lasts at least four years). For now though, seeing Natacha smiling and laughing and enjoying herself for the first time was definitely a highlight of the summer.



View from the 13th floor of Ande and Melissa's flat (located directly across from the beach!).

Zimbabwe

I have developed a keen interest in Zimbabwe. Not just because a large base of our clients are from the country (during the week of the initial outbreak of xenophobia, our office met with nearly 500 Zimbabweans). But also because of the (serendipitous) interactions with Zimbabweans — both in and outside of work — that has given me a profound understanding of its people and insight into the horrifying/repressive economic and political conditions that has driven thousands of refugees into South Africa and other neighboring countries.

I had a very interesting encounter at Europa. I was reading an article on Zimbabwe when the waiter, intrigued by a photo of President Mugabe displayed across the page, asked about the article’s content. It turned out that he is a refugee from Zimbabwe. He had left only 4 months ago immediately following the April elections that rendered Mugabe the illegitimate victor. Fascinated by his story, I began asking a bunch of questions, which he appeared happy to answer. (He actually thought I was a journalist.) But after telling him about my work with refuges at Lawyers for Human Rights, he asked if I could assist with his asylum status to which I was more than happy — and now much more comfortable and well versed — in offering advice. It was shocking to hear that 5 billion Zimbabwean dollars is not enough to buy even salt in his country: “I’m not sure how people are even surviving there right now,” he said. In Zimbabwe, unemployment is at nearly 80% and inflation is over 100,000%. Which is why he ended up escaping in the middle of the night to South Africa. We have plans to meet up at some point so he can tell me more about his story.

Yesterday at work, I met with a Zimbabwean teenager who came to South Africa with his mother. He is 18-years-old, and though small in stature and adolescent in appearance, came across as very articulate and precocious, though soft-spoken and nervous during our conversation (he barely looked me in the eye). MW left Zimbabwe 6 months ago due to severe economic conditions. Apparently, the monthly salary of teachers in Zimbabwe is 130,000 billion dollars, the equivalent to 1 USD! Teachers from MW’s school left because they were not making enough money. Which is why MW expressed a desire to continue his education in South Africa; but this was not possible without the appropriate documents.

I felt bad because our attorneys do not consult with clients on Fridays … but I took him to see the attorney anyway. I was somehow compelled by MW as he is one of the kindest, most sincere kids I have met, even in the short time that we spoke. In a sense, I was rooting for him. I wanted for him to succeed, to transcend the obstacles and barriers imposed upon him and all those who had been displaced, tortured, and repressed as a result of the government’s dictatorship. The reality however, is that MW does not qualify for refugee status based on the reasons stated for leaving Zimbabwe—namely economic and not from any form of persecution (his claim for asylum status would eventually be rejected). The next step is for MW to go to the immigration office to attain a study permit, which I am not even certain will be met with success. I ended up giving MW R50 to assist him. As I walked him out the door, I told him to use it wisely (which I’m sure he will) and wished him the best of luck with his endeavors. I understand that handing out money is not the solution, but this was the only thing I could—and wanted to do—to assist MW. I mean, all he wants is the opportunity to go to school—something I think we tend to take for granted.

The life of Zimbabwean refugees I meet everyday is an interesting contrast to the life of my friend Simu, who grew up in Zimbabwe but received a scholarship to attend boarding school and now med school in the UK; he is currently working at hospital in Durban as part of his elective. We met through my British roommates and have become good friends. After a long night of card playing and ridiculous imitations of each other’s accents (the British outnumbered us Americans 4 to 3), Simu and I stayed up till 2AM chatting. He shared his life story—from his perspective on the current Zimbabwean crisis to his personal dilemma of wanting to actually practice as a doctor to his ambitions of one day attending the Harvard School of Public Health.

What I appreciate (and will certainly miss) about this summer has been the opportunity to meet people with such diverse and interesting backgrounds. Fortunately I live in the bay area in California and attend one of the most diverse colleges — ethnically, socio-economically, and intellectually — where meeting interesting people is not unusual ... but somehow, it's just not the same as being in South Africa.

My roommates eating at a restaurant across from our flat (Simu is third to the left).

Tando’s Wedding, Oribi Gorge, and more Birthdays

Within the span of three days, I found myself toasting a speech at a South African/Congolese wedding, jumping off the edge of the world's highest gorge swing, and celebrating another friend's birthday at a very cool South African restaurant. The adventure continues …

Friday night, Melissa and I were personally driven to the flat where Tando’s post-wedding celebration took place. We walked into a room crowded with many (already drunken) people, most South African and the majority Congolese (the groom is a refugee from Congo); we sometimes joke with Tando that she met her husband as a client at our office. I was a bit paranoid when the attention shifted to the only two Southeast Asian people walking across the room, but I was pleased to see everyone smiling and waving with delight, excited that we were there. A few guys actually asked me if I could help them resettle to America, but I just smiled and chuckled awkwardly, as if they were joking. Don’t think they were though. I was even more surprised with Tando asked Melissa and I to present a speech on her behalf (her friend at the last minute became too scared and backed out). So there I was, front and center within 30 minutes of arriving, greeting the room in Zulu and telling everyone how Tando had played an influential part in making my experience at work so memorable. Melissa chimed in as well and throughout our speech, the room would erupt into clapping and shouting. The vibe was very fun, filled with so much joy and energy. I wanted to stay longer but my roommates and I had plans that night to road trip along the south coast for the weekend.

The three of us stayed at Mantis and Moon Backpackers, one of the most innovative hostels I have seen. Trees and plants covered the entire place, which made for a very cool tropical feel—I felt as if I was in the middle of a jungle. We even stayed in a tree house (with a tub in the corner of the room) on the second night! During the day, we walked to the beach for surf lessons. The waves were rough and the conditions not ideal for surfing, but it was fun — and still extremely challenging — nevertheless. By Monday, we packed our belongings and headed for Oribi Gorge where I launched myself off the edge of the Lehr’s Falls into the abyss of the world’s highest gorge swing. I wasn’t nervous leading up to the jump but my heart started pounding as I stood on the edge of the cliff, looking 120m below me. But I leapt from the edge (as if to fly) and experienced the ultimate rush. (I tried to attach the video but the file was too large.) Pete and Gabs, both of whom have bungee jumped in the past, were deathly afraid of heights and refused to do it. Later that afternoon, we hiked around the gorge and relaxed on the edge of the cliff, staring into the picturesque mountain ranges displayed before us. From the peak of the cliff, I can definitely see why Oribi Gorge is one of KwaZulu-Natal’s most spectacular natural settings.



Preparing for the Gorge Swing.


Gabby, Me, and Pete standing on the waterfall on Lehr's Cliff.


Enjoying the trip back to the top of the cliff. It was amazing—from the moment of the jump to the time I was slowly lifted back to the top.



When Gabby and I returned to Durban that night, we went to Moyo to celebrate a friend’s birthday. The design of the restaurant was very innovative and unique, definitely one I have yet to experience. We sat next to the beach area where they provided blankets and cushions for comfortable sitting. We even got our faces painted as Zulu warriors, and toward the middle of the night were treated to an acapella version of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” The food, as always, was amazing; we ate an assortment of South Africa dishes—family style. By the end of the night, I was stuffed and exhausted and ready to collapse on my bed.

Rwandan Ministry of Justice Visits LHR

The Rwanda Ministry of Justice (13 officials that included men and women) visited our office last week to learn about LHR’s operation as an NGO. We were all excited for their arrival. If our Rwandan clients knew of the Ministry’s visit however, there might have been protests—as had happened last year when the head of UNHCR visited Durban to address the Rwandans about voluntary repatriation, which was met with widespread protest. It was particularly striking to see that most of the officials were fairly young, yet holding positions of power in their country. During lunch, one of the delegates, who is director of an organization that works with youth in his country, adamantly insisted that I come work in Rwanda, eager to establish a “partnership” between the U.S. and Rwanda. (He would cross his hands together to illustrate the bridge between the two countries.) It was interesting speaking with him, though it was difficult to comprehend everything he was saying. But the idea of working in Rwanda? Definitely something I would be interested in.



Rwanda has such a fascinating yet tragic history, cast in the shadow of the genocide that resulted in the brutal slaughtering of millions of Rwandans. Most vividly illustrated in the film, Hotel Rwanda, and in the powerful book, We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families, the horrific stories came to life as I conducted an RSD interview for a Rwandan refugee whose application to remain a refugee indefinitely had been denied by the Department of Home Affairs. SB was my first client from Rwanda, and I was eager to hear his story. The interview took 2 hours — with details from the outbreak of the genocide in 1994 to the time of his arrival in South Africa in 1997 — but could easily have lasted another 5 hours. Terrible, horrible, scared, and killed were words often repeated throughout the interview. Although SB has lived in South Africa for the past 11 years, the DHA rejected his claim on the basis that the current Rwandan government has implemented lasting peace and reconciliation between the Tutsis and Hutus, and have abolished policies that had created and deepened ethnic divisions. Moreover, the Standing Committee could not find current evidence that our client would face persecution or events seriously disturbing public order if he were to return his country of origin. My supervising attorney is working on a similar case with another Rwandan refugee; together, we will be working to draft a heads of argument that will be presented before the Standing Committee to appeal their decision.

Weekend Fun

Tomorrow rounds out my fifth week in South Africa (three more to go) and I must say that I am having the time of my life. Yes, I still wake up each morning pumped about going into work. (Today, 13 delegates from the Rwandan Ministry of Justice are visiting our office to learn about how we operate as an NGO.) I attribute this great experience to a combination of things that, altogether, have made this one of the best experiences of my life thus far: the amazing food, hanging out with roommates and friends, the craziness of living next to a hostel, laughing everyday in the office with my co-workers, and most definitely the work I have grown to love.

First off, the food is to die for! One of my goals this summer was to finally teach myself to cook (besides just scrambled eggs and jelly on toast),but I quickly gave that up, regretting that I never heeded my mother’s advise as a young child to watch her as she cooked all these wonderful Vietnamese dishes. So eating out has become much easier—and much more fulfilling. During lunch time at work, I have become a regular customer at Krishna Vegetarian Cuisine where the other interns and I frequented everyday for the first few weeks. For only R20 ($3), I enjoy a delectable roti — freshly baked flat bread with a choice of various ingredients — and an order of soji dessert on the side. My mouth waters just thinking about it. Recently however, we have been eating lunch at the café in our building. The chef, whom we have become good friends with, is an extremely skilled cook and makes a variety of Indian and South Africa dishes each day for lunch, often times topped with what I consider the best (looking and tasting) dessert I have ever tasted, on the house for us interns. A bold statement, I know, but true! And occasionally, my roommates and friends dine at the plethora of most popular of restaurants throughout Durban. Yesterday, I had Lamb Shank and Ostrich Fillet with white wine on the side … you can’t beat that.





I have become much more comfortable with the public transportation system in Durban. Occasionally I take the city bus, but by the second week, I’ve mustered up the courage to take the combi—the most popular source of transportation in Durban. Combis are like mini vans and can fit up to 20 passengers, everyone jammed packed when full. The streets of Durban are swarming with combis, their music blasting at a ridiculously (and unnecessarily) high volume as they drive by with someone’s head sticking out the window, whistling and shouting for your attention. Many of the White and Indian locals refuse to take the combi as it can be intimidating, but quite the experience. But for only R3 (40 cents), it’s definitely worth it.

There is always something fun and exciting happening each weekend. On the 4th of July, the twenty of us Americans gathered in the penthouse across the beachfront to celebrate America’s independence. Everyone (besides me … I ended up buying dessert at the store) cooked various comfort dishes that included: hot dogs and hamburgers, guacamole dip and apple pie, and, of course, fried chicken purchased from KFC. Brent and I won nine consecutive games – yes, 9 games! – of beer pong, which by the tenth we decided to let others share in fun of inebriety. It was funny … the night before, without even thinking, I invited my British roommates and asked if they celebrated the 4th of July. “We can celebrate it if you want us to,” they said with a smile. Toward the middle of the night, Sam Enumah ’10 (another Weissman Fellow working in Pietermaritzburg) and two other Harvard undergrads joined in on the fun. What a night it turned out to be.

”That same weekend, Kevashinee took us to Phoenix — a former Indian township during apartheid — for the celebration of the “Festival of Chariots. The event is a commemoration of the Indian Lord Juggernaut, regarded by followers as lord of the universe. The opening of the festival, which we took part in, included the pulling of the chariot where a large photo of the lord was displayed. (It is believed that pulling the chariot purifies one's soul.) The girls dressed in traditional Indian saris while Brent and I wore shorts and a t-shirt. You are probably thinking that we were being rebellious against the dress code, but the truth is that Kevashinee did not have any traditional men’s clothing for us to wear. Really. We all had a fun time participating in the pulling the chariots; energized by the music and excitement of the crowd, I decided to jump into the center and join in on the dancing and clapping. Fruits and packets of water were thrown from the chariots to the crowd, with water splashing in all directions as people reach out to catch them. Being the immature person that I am, I decided to sneak up on Brent and throw a water packet at his back (as if it was tossed from the chariot), which bounced off and fell to the floor. His reaction was priceless! After pulling the chariot, we ate some spicy briani and soji and then headed inside a temple where it was much cooler and less hectic. It was a great cultural experience. By the end of the day, we were pretty tired — but definitely not tired enough to go surfing at the beach the following day.

This past weekend however, was the best experience yet: a 3-day horse trek through the vast and scenic mountains of Lesotho. This I will have to dedicate a separate blog entry for. And tomorrow, I'll be attending Tando's wedding (my first South African wedding!), after which my roommates and I will be road tripping along the west coast for some bungee jumping, zip wiring, and an overnight stay at a hostel (that is really a tree house) located in the middle of the forest. Until next time ...

Birthday

Last Friday, I celebrated my birthday in South Africa (I realize as I write this that I may never say this again). And, of course, it was a great day. The morning started off with breakfast on the house from the Diakonia Center; the workers overheard us mention my birthday during a conversation a few days earlier and surprisingly, remembered. Toward the end of the work day, Melissa and Ande surprised me with a cake and forced me to put on a ridiculous looking birthday hat, which they insisted I wear throughout the night.

Later that evening, a group of us went to eat at Taco Zulu, where I ate a monstrous chicken chimichanga and drank a monstrous kiwi “alcoholic” drink (which tasted amazing but seriously lacking in alcohol). Everything on the menu was seriously MONSTROUS — and really, really good. The eight of us then packed into a cab and headed to watch a professional rugby game. It was fun to watch but I just don’t understand why anyone would choose a sport that involves so much physical pain. This from someone who, after the game, ended up buying a rugby ball—which we planned on using the following day as part of our beach extravaganza of soccer, volleyball, frisbee, rugby, and, of course, surfing.



We had plans to go to the Congolese night club later that night, but Tando called and told us she ended up “going to the police station to produce tickets,” whatever that means. This has become a running joke in our office. Often, I would randomly bring it up in conversations with Tando and everyone would start laughing hysterically. The night concluded with us hanging out at Melissa and Ande’s flat on the 13th floor located right across from the beach. I didn't get to go crazy at the Congolese club (perhaps this is a good thing), but overall, it was a great day.

Getting to know our clients

“I felt bad for a lot of the refugees when I started working here too, but you can’t do that,” says Kevashinee. She tells me this repeatedly because I often express sympathy for our clients. Too often, I think. I was told by Tando — who lives among the refugee community and even gave us a personal tour of the neighborhood in order to get a better sense of the population we serve — that the refugees are a tight-knit community, and the moment you express sympathy for one person, word spreads quickly. An intern entering my third week on the job, I found it difficult not to express sympathy for our clients who have been through so much tribulation in their lives. It seemed that the need to develop thick skin is essential, and it appears that a few of the staff members, with years of experience in this field, have become adept at doing so.

But how do I not sympathize when a client from Zimbabwe tells me he was robbed at knife-point of his clothing, shoes and wallet just last week (on the very same street I walk to work each morning after getting off the bus—a frightening thought, I know)? How do I react when a man from Burundi released just yesterday from prison tells me he was wrongly accused by the police for theft and as a result spent the past 5 years in prison? Or when a Congolese man tells me that his employer refuses to pay him his month’s salary simply because he is a foreigner? And what in the world am I suppose to think when I am told by the UNHCR Representative that the woman she just interviewed — a 21 year-old from Rwanda whose parents were killed by machetes when she was younger — was recently raped by three men and now thinks she might be infected by HIV/AIDS but cannot tell her husband, fearing that he would abandon her and her child? Believe it or not, but this all happened today. At LHR, we are daily confronted with these types of issues that leave us shocked and often times, speechless.


Today I conducted my first ‘Refugee Status Determination' (RSD) interview, which also meant an intimate look into the life story of each individual refugee. Sherylle, my supervising attorney, is great with making sure that all of us interns are involved in all aspects of the project; I was nervously excited as she pulled me aside to tell the assignment. RSD interviews – which can be long and draining for both interviewer and interviewee – are conducted when refugees are seeking permanent residence or when their asylum claim has been rejected and therefore needs to request an appeal. The interview includes detailed questions about the refugee’s family history, education, employment, asylum claim, mode of transportation, and current living conditions in South Africa, which is followed by independent research and analysis of the client’s country conditions and interview. Finally with the attorney’s approval, I am to draft a ‘heads of argument’ which is then presented to the Standing Committee or Refugee Appeal Board to determine whether the claim is approved for refugee status. This morning, I learned the life stories of Remember, from Zimbabwe, and Adde, from Somalia.

Remember came across as very nervous and timid when he sat next to me, his legs crossed and hands neatly folded on his lap. As the interview can be tiresome and the mood quite grim as the client recalls memories – often painful ones – stretching back to their childhood, I try to lighten the mood by interjecting with a joke here and there. “Wow, Remember is a very interesting name … is your wife’s name Forget?” (I know, a lame joke – but Remember smiled and I also started to laugh non-stop. So did the other interns who overheard.) Remember spoke thoughtfully about his life growing up in Mutare, Zimbabwe. He is the brother of six siblings, the son of a deceased father and mother, as well as the husband and father of a six year old – his entire family is still in Zimbabwe. After the Zimbabwe government shut down his buying and selling business on the streets, he was left with no job and thereafter became politically active as part of the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), the opposition party to the Zimbabwe African National Union Patriotic Front (ZANU-PF) ruling party. Anyone who supported the opposition party faced the possibility of death; this political situation has become even worst today, as the climate of fear and intimidation continues to spread across the country. Late one night in 2005, Remember heard chants and slogans from ZANU-PF outside his home. While his mother answered the door, he escaped through the back window to a friend’s house and eventually to Durban, South Africa, where he has lived for the past 2 years.

Adde’s story is also nothing short of remarkable. He grew up in Somalia, the country that has been ravaged by civil war for the past decade. My mouth literally dropped when he told me that a missile had been fired into his home one afternoon, killing his sister and leaving his brother with a missing leg. Knowing that the instability and chaos of constant warfare meant that he could die at any moment, he decided to run away to South Africa, a 7 month-long expedition that took him through Kenya, Tanzania, Mozambique and Swaziland – with nothing but the clothes on his back. Adde now owns a grocery store in Pretoria, which had been robbed at least three times. “At least I can get a gun after I get my permit,” he said. I don’t know why, but I started laughing when he said that. “So you want to get your refugee status so you can attain a gun? Let me write this down,” I joked. We both laughed about it, though I think Adde was actually serious.

Adde and Remember are desperate to remain in South Africa … because staying in South Africa meant safety and security; it meant that money could be sent home to support their families. They did not want to return to Somalia where the country is facing its worst humanitarian crisis in a decade, or to Zimbabwe where the recent illegitimate elections have rendered the nation unsafe, particularly for Remember and those affiliated with the MDC. We will have to wait to see if Standing Committee or the Refugee Appeal Board agrees. As I prepare my ‘heads of argument’ for both cases, I must admit feeling a bit of pressure as it will be the strength of my argument and research that could affect the lives of two men I have come to respect and admire. How one is able to develop thick skin after hearing these stories I do not know.

I left the office that afternoon with Remember and Adde's stories still reverberating in my head. After work, Brent and I went to the gym – a relatively new facility decked with a pool, a steam room, and many flat screen TVs hanging throughout the building. Afterwards, I headed straight to Europa, a restaurant just a block away from my flat, to use wireless internet. With a warm cup of cappuccino to accompany me, I began organizing my interview notes and researching background information on Somalia and Zimbabwe and reading through the Refugee Act of 1998 and various legislation governing refugees. I ended up staying until closing; somehow, I was energized with a sense of curiosity and excitement. Everything I had learned in my ‘Human Rights and World Poverty’ course this past semester was beginning to make more sense and the stories we read had become all too real.

Acclimating to South Africa ...

Numerous times the other interns and I have raved about what a fun and truly educational experience working with Lawyers for Human Rights has been thus far. Though it can be challenging and at times mentally and emotionally draining, I love the fact that as interns, we are interacting with our clients, and working together with all the staff to come up with solutions to the wide-ranging problems that our office faces each day.

This past week, I have been working closely with our office legal assistant/secretary, Tando, who has been working with refugees for 7 years now. She is studying to be a lawyer herself with dreams of eventually moving to the UK. The fact that she speaks five languages — Xhosa, Swahili, Zulu, French, and English — is a huge asset to LHR. That and the fact that she has a personality that is full of life and joyfulness (she is the one on the phone and in the group picture below, laughing with her mouth gaping wide open). To gain hands-on experience, I have been sitting in her seat in the front office as she mentors me on the different solutions and approaches to issues: from filling out affidavits for clients with lost permits to writing ‘border transit’ letters for those wanting to return to their home countries. The issues are multifaceted and can be complex, but extremely fascinating. At times, Tando leaves the office to run errands and leaves me on my own with a room full of clients, often times nervously baffled as they ask me questions I don’t know the answer to. “This is how you learn!” she would say—usually with a huge smile and a burst of laughter that ricochets throughout the office. Yesterday, Tando taught Andy and I the different clicks in Xhosa and Zulu. It was hilarious … I swear, all the clicks sound the same! I tried but failed miserably, the only thing spewing out of my mouth not clicks and clucks but wads of saliva flying in all directions. The office is always filled with laughter—which I love.

I really enjoy the work I am doing; it gives me reassurance that a career in law—public interest and refugee/immigrant rights in particular—is something I can see myself doing in the future. Maybe it's the excitement of being in a new country and the fact that I have been getting at least 8 hours of sleep each night (way, way more than I get during the school year!) but I wake up each morning psyched about going to work. This feeling of complacency, of passion and excitement, I believe, is something we should all strive for in our life’s work, in whatever we end up doing. Perhaps I am on the way to finding mine.

What’s more, life in South Africa has been what everyone I talked to described it to be: absolutely amazing. Fear of safety was my primary concern my first week here, but I have quickly acclimated to life here and have become comfortable walking around on my own—though not late at night. The weather is beautiful (reminds me of California on sunny days), the people are extremely friendly, and the food is relatively cheap! I live in a flat with two other roommates, both medical students from England, here to shadow doctors as part of their residency program. I have my own room (small but simple and nice) and the place is fully furnished with a bathroom, kitchen, and a spacious living room. The great thing is that the building is connected to a backpacker’s hostel where I have the option of being in the mix of drunkenness (especially during this time of European soccer frenzy) or the option of retreating to my room to relax when tired. It’s truly the best of both worlds.

Last weekend, I went to the beach with Melissa (an intern from my office) and Brent (an intern from the Human Rights Commission). The tides were strong, which presented a perfect opportunity for surfing. I must admit though, that surfing is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Snowboarding I picked rather quickly, but paddling wildly to catch a wave and then positioning myself atop the board without plunging into the water is not easy! How people do it and make it look so effortless is beyond me. Maybe I’ll get some pointers this weekend from watching the ‘Mr. Price Pro’ International Surf competition, which we are all eagerly anticipating. My goal by the end of the summer: to be able to surf ... without constantly crashing into the water.

Today however, we are celebrating my birthday by going out to a South African restaurant, then to a rugby game (which is very popular in South Africa), and then followed by an excursion to a Congolese Club, escorted by the one and only, Tando. “You just wait and see,” she cautioned with laughter. We are all excited. A bit nervous, but yes, excited (I think. haha). We’ll see how this goes.

Xenophobia & World Refugee Day

On the second day of work, I went to a church with Dieuonne (the former lawyer from Congo) to conduct intake for the 150 refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo who sought shelter there for the past three weeks. I found it difficult and rather painful listening to a member of the refugee community stand up and share his thoughts on the crisis affecting his people: children were not attending school, homes were ransacked, and, most tragically, refugees were being threatened and violently attacked. In the past week, one of the Congolese refugees riding a cab had been denied his change and then stabbed numerous times after the driver discovered he was not South African; I cringed as the man walked right in front of us and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal wounds bandaged all over his back. It was such surreal experience. News stories of the horrific xenophobic attacks, at that particular moment, became a reality … no longer stories we read about in newspapers or see in the screens of our televisions. Everyday, tragic stories coupled with graphic images of bombings in the Middle East, of natural disasters ravishing South East Asia, and now the senseless killing and violence against innocent foreigners in South Africa, flood the media. What seemed like fantasy (to me, at least) became a bleak reality that very day.

The room filled with dejected faces of men, women, and children, as they listened to the Director of Disaster Management speak: "Our hearts bleed with you; but we cannot change the situation." My heart bled to hear him say that, though I knew it was true. Each day at the office, I meet dozens of refugees telling me—often in very timid and soft-spoken voices, but clear and quiet desperation—that they want to return to their home countries. Even to Congo where it is still not safe. And even to Zimbabwe where the economy is facing serious turmoil as a result of its corrupt government. "You are writing down my information but what are you doing to help us?" asked the Congolese refugee who, earlier that night, disclosed that he had witnessed the murder of his father by soldiers in Congo. I did not have an answer for him. How much could I really do as an intern but to register his information and encourage him to stay strong? I could not even reassure him that things will get better. I felt powerless.

Last Friday was "World Refugee Day." Our office together with a number of other agencies, known as the Durban Refugee Service Providers Network, organized an anti-xenophobia forum at City Hall in Durban to educate people around xenophobia and discrimination, and to make it known that South Africa fully supports its refugees. I sat in on a meeting to plan the event a few days prior, and it was exciting to see the program unfold. The forum included a keynote address from he Deputy Mayor of Durban, some really cool — and powerful — poetry/spoken word pieces from two teenagers, a DVD educating about xenophobia, and personal stories of inspiration from refugees. We all wore t-shirts with the engraving "xenophobia" with the "xe" crossed out to read "xe Nophobia" along with orange ribbons to emphasize unity and respect for all foreigners in South Africa.

Although the speeches from the Deputy Mayor and UNHCR representative echoed with messages of hope and better days to come for refugees and for South Africa, a part of me was dissatisfied: to me, the words were political rhetoric, trite platitudes that did not encompass a clear vision and plan of action for the refugees. After encountering numerous clients at Lawyers for Human Rights and hearing their frustrations and personal cries for help, I expected something more concrete. Like the refugees, I needed some sort of reassurance. Tuna sandwich and a cup of orange juice in hand, I walked out of City Hall at the close of the event with so many thoughts lingering in my mind.


_____

Durban City Hall (an amazing sight up close!)

Outside the steps of City Hall looking out into the city.