A Trip to Zonkizizwe Secondary on Mandela’s 94th Birthday

I have only just arrived in Johannesburg, so I am pleased that the months of work trying to set up connections before I came is coming to fruition.  Thanks largely to a sister named Lerato, an employee of TEACH South Africa, I am able to link with teachers and principals from four different schools over the next few weeks.  My hope is to find at least two schools with teachers who will use the Dialogues in the Diaspora curriculum on “this side,” such that they will be able to link with the teachers who are using the curriculum in the States, and we can collectively create this particular diasporic dialogue between youth focused on social action. 

This is the students’ first week back to school after the three-week winter break, and it is also Mandela’s birthday week.  In Mandela’s honor, many public schools have a celebratory and action-oriented vibe this week.  In accordance with the UN-declared Nelson Mandela International Day, it has become a South African tradition to spend 67 minutes engaged in positive action for social change, to honor Mandela’s 67 years of civic service.    

It is with this contextual backdrop that I visited the first of four schools.  I was rolling with an entourage – 7 deep – from TEACH South Africa (TSA), which is a South African NGO based heavily on the Teach for America model.  It was clear that the principal had prepared extensively for our visit, as the three founders of TSA are super VIPs in Johannesburg and nationally: one founder is the chairwoman of Deloitte South Africa, another founder is a well-known medical doctor and public health practitioner, and the third founder is a prominent educator who grew up in the anti-apartheid struggle. 

I experienced a heavy dose of the imposter syndrome, as I was asked to join the TSA big-wigs on a stage in front of the entire student body when we arrived.  I was thinking to myself “I just met these warm folks this morning, I have no business being on this stage!”  I was also highly aware of the influence that six particular letters had in shaping my role in the experience.  The “P” the “h.” and the “D.”, coupled with the “U.” the “S.” and the “A.” seemed to open many more doors than any six letters should, so I felt overwhelmed and thankful simultaneously.  We were welcomed heartily in the student courtyard, by the students singing a welcome song as well as their school anthem. 

My heart was warmed when I looked out into the sunny morning courtyard filled with about 200 students.  I was excited to finally have reached the spot where I have anticipated arriving for so long.  And I was encouraged by the feeling of momentary completion in witnessing the truth of the contemporary Black Diaspora, as evidenced at this moment by the globalization of fashion.  I promise you I could have been standing in front of any (Black) school, USA, as I looked out on the student body and saw the oversized plastic eye-glasses and the school-boy fresh attire that marks the most stylish US teens as well.  As the principal introduced us one by one, there was a familiar adolescent excitement of visitors at school, coupled by loud, high-pitched cheers from the girls when the two handsome men in our crew were introduced. 

Amidst the similarities, however, I felt one palpable difference from many of the schools contexts I have experienced in the States: the students were there.  They were present.  They were not jittery or sleeping or shouting obscenities.  The principal did not have to beg for their attention.  All of this, yet they were not robotic.  There was an air of respect that the kids seemed to have for their teachers, principal, school, and the visitors. 

So I was up on stage, taking all of this in, when the principal announced that Professor Jillian Ford would now address the school…  (!!).   Not having expected to even be on stage, let alone address the school, I walked over to the principal slowly as the students cheered. 

I took a deep breath, and began.  I told them that I was thankful to be at their beautiful school, especially on Mandela’s birthday (more cheers).  I told them how wonderful I felt to look out and see my students’ eyes in their eyes.  I explained to them the project we are working on, and the importance of recognizing shared struggle and resistance in the African Diaspora.  I thanked their teachers for the extraordinary amount of work they do.  I picked up on a theme that the principal had been stressing – about the importance of their South African citizenship – and challenged them to imagine also a kind of world citizenship that might connect them with youth in Atlanta, in Chicago, in DC, and beyond.  There was no microphone, so my years of using my teacher voice paid off; I saw teachers in the back of the courtyard nodding supportively.

After the program in the courtyard, I had an opportunity to build with three teachers: two English, one history.  I showed them the documentary and we talked for a long while about the curriculum.  I explained to them that I was not trying to come in there and give them a pre-packaged curriculum and expect that it fit their context, so I was seeking feedback and dialogue about its relevance and feasibility.

Their interest and engagement was encouraging.  Their feedback was invaluable.  They have agreed to be a part of the project.  And so it goes! 

Through a Black Diasporic Portal

I have always known that Africa is in me.  In middle school, Mrs. Mabel Welch invited me to be a part of the Culture Club, an afterschool club for Black kids to learn about our history.  For a 12-year old biracial girl growing up in a predominantly white town, my participation in that club had a profound effect on me.   In high school, I was a part of Pathfinders, which was an extension of the Culture Club.  In college, I was a part of the Griot Society, which was also an Afro-centric extracurricular club that my homegirl Latasha Levy founded.  While a part of the Griot Society, I co-founded Know Your History, a Saturday School program for Black kids in Charlottesville to learn about the Black history that was missing from their social studies curriculum, as it had been missing from mine.  When I started teaching at Tri-Cities High School, a predominantly Black school in East Point, Georgia, I developed the Know Your History club: an extension of all that I experienced until then.

It was a beautiful gift from the universe, then, when I received an email from my brother Lewy last fall, connecting me to a sister named Bernadette Atuahene.  This is what he wrote:

            Hi sis,

My friend Bernadette is a law professor who is working on a documentary movie about land rights/land redistribution/social justice in South Africa.  Connected to that project, she is working on a curriculum (for high school, I think?) to deal with some of these issues.  She asked me to give it a once over--might you or any of your people have an interested in exploring this with her?  Obviously, this material is just in draft form and not for formal distribution.

Love,

L

When I scrolled down to see what my brother’s friend had written him, this is what I read:

Lew, I have yet another request.  They just keep coming, eh?  You know we founded a nonprofit called Documentaries to Inspire Social Change (DISC) that is producing a film about South Africa called "Sifuna Okwethu: We Want What's Ours" (www.discwebsite.org).  We also have developed a curriculum to go along with the film.  If you have time, we would appreciate it if you could comment on the attached curriculum.  Also, if you have any curriculum specialists in your network that you could connect us with, that would be fantastic.

Let me know if you can help us out!
B

It turns out that specific objectives of the curriculum are that students will learn about the history of colonialism, apartheid, and resistance in South Africa.  The broad objectives are that students will understand common oppression and shared struggle throughout the Diaspora. 

So just like that – really, through Diasporic connections that exemplify the broad goals of the curriculum itself – I got linked into this phat project.  Bernadette welcomed me into the project warmly, and invited me in to pilot the curriculum and revise it accordingly.  As such, I piloted the program this past spring in Atlanta.  Since that time, we have established connections with folks in DC and Chicago, who will teach the curriculum in schools there in the fall also.  Our vision is that all of the teachers and students who participate in the curriculum will connect with one another, so that they can understand how similar issues take shape in different geographic contexts. 

All of this brings me to this current trip to Johannesburg.  As part of a grant I was awarded from the Center for Excellence in Teaching and Learning at Kennesaw State University, I am able to travel to the city where the original documentary took place.  While in Jo’burg, I will talk with teachers, principals, professors, and students of education about using the curriculum in schools there.  Again, we hope to link all participants together using the marvels of modern media, such that a young person in Atlanta can hear from a young person in Jo’burg, who just built with a young person in DC, who just spoke with a young person in Chicago.  Because the curriculum includes a social action project, we envision that the youth will share ideas, resources, and perspectives that will help teach these youth about the power of global connections.

Just in the way that the universe (with the aid of some focused, hard-working folks, no doubt) continues to propel this project forward, I believe the universe also set it up to send me off through what seemed to me like a majestic Black Diasporic Portal to the world outside Atlanta: The Maynard Jackson International Airport Terminal.  Um… WHAT?!?!  Have you been there yet?  Even if you do not have an international trip planned any time soon, I recommend you checking that place out.  As Asha drove me up the rounded road towards the terminal, the sight literally took my breath away.  “It’s like Mecca,” I whispered (and I ain’t even Muslim!).  Inside, my amazement was magnified still: everyone with whom I interacted was kind and encouraging and warm and beautiful.  These Black folks were collectively creating a space of human interaction that was even more unique and breathtaking than the architectural masterpiece inside of which we found ourselves. 

I found myself wondering what forces had coalesced to create such a truly beautiful space.  Had Mayor Reed had something to do with this?  Was this Mayor Jackson’s spirit living on?  Were other passengers feeling what I was feeling?  I felt proud of my folks, and I felt proud of my city.  Everybody knows that Atlanta is one of the few (major) Chocolate Cities in the US.  I am thankful that Atlanta chose to construct such an important institution – the international terminal of the US’s (world’s?) busiest airport – with faith in the beauty of the Black Diaspora.