Fear

Last weekend I stopped by the yarn store in Tzaneen to purchase something for a project I am working on. By now, I am a familiar face in the store as I frequently visit, if for nothing else, the pleasure of perusing the goods as I create ideas for my next venture in my head. The lady who runs the store is an Afrikaans woman who is sometimes very nice and helpful and at other times gives me odd looks that I attribute to be a result of my “foreignness.” After all, who else comes into her store with the strange requests I often have for things: circular knitting needles, stuffing, and zippers short in length?

In all the time I’ve been to the store she has never asked me about where I’m from or what I’m doing in Tzaneen. This is unusual, as Tzaneen is not a place typically visited by a hoard of tourists. Often, more frequently than not, when I open my mouth and give away my “accent” people generally want to know my background. I did not mind her lack of interest, in actuality I tend to open my mouth as little as possible in stores in order not to stick out, but it did seem a bit strange given the normal reactions I receive.

Finally, on my visit last weekend, she asked how much longer I was staying for (she must have established I was not simply a visiting tourist, and, I suppose, wanted to gauge how much longer she’d have to put up with my eccentricies). I explained to her my situation: living in the village, working in the schools, etc. etc. Her only response to this was “But is it safe in the villages?” I responded that I had now lived there for a year and had encountered no instances that really made me fear for my safety.

Only later, when the question nagged at me, did I wish I had responded differently. I wished I would have told her that I, in fact, felt much safer in the village than in Tzaneen or other cities. After all, in the village everyone knows one another and more specifically everyone knows me. I’m obviously not a good potential target as people are very protective of me and if anyone attempted to harm me there would be a large amount of “village justice” to contend with.

Perhaps what still nags me about the woman’s question is that it’s so often the reaction I receive when talking to Afrikaners. It seems so strange to me that this is their country and they live in such fear of so much of it. I suppose I understand where all the racial tensions stem from; it’s this fear of the unknown and the unwillingness to discover the reasons behind the fear. I wish I could share the good things of rural life with the people who scorn it. There is so much dominance of negativity in attitude towards village life that many people fail to see the spirit of sharing that occurs in rural communities. After all, the handicapped man who lives in the rondavel across the dirt path from me is often provided for by other people in the community. The children are all more self sufficient than any I have ever seen. Even at very young ages they are assisting their families instead of throwing tantrums or complaining they don’t have enough toys. Everything is much more communal, people tend to be more laid back understanding towards one another, something that is often sorely missed in the cities.

I suppose I wish for an idealistic solution; for people to look beyond the prior perceptions, right or wrong, and make a step forward in trying to understand one another. The divide that is often left because people don’t do just this contributes to so many of the negative aspects of the country: the crime, the poverty, HIV/AIDS. I wish people would realize that everything is interrelated, that when we choose to ignore or diminish a people, or leave our thoughts encased in fear then we are continuing the cycle that allows these problems to arise; problems than can not be simplified in terms of black and white because they do effect everyone. In the end, we all just need more understanding of one another.