I have an impeccable sense of direction. I’ve always thought it was a New York
thing. I tend to be in charge of leading
the pack, and I take extreme pride in that responsibility. However, since being in South Africa, I’m
pretty sure the locals around here can blow me out of the water with their
direction skills. They always seem to
know how to get from Point A to Point B without ever having to consult a map
and without ever skipping a beat. I
can’t say as much for myself, especially since getting an iPhone a year ago.
Their heightened sense of direction is especially evident
when driving in the townships.
Maneuvering yourself through the narrow, winding roads, often with kids
and/or animals getting in your way, is definitely a daunting task. Surrounded by all the spazas and shipping
container barber shops/beauty salons, everything look fairly the same. Yet, when driving around with our staff, they
always knew exactly where we were and could give perfect directions on how to
get somewhere from that exact spot, never once seeking the help of any kind of map
or GPS device.
But then I had this realization: everything looked the same,
but only to me.
Our coaches and staff members have lived here for their
entire lives. This is home to them, and
they are comfortable here. They know
everything, and they can see the nuances.
I don’t necessarily want to make this an argument for the reason why
local grassroots initiatives work, but this kind of inherent knowledge is the
reason why they do. What would take me
months or even years to understand, locals have known by virtue of growing up
here, and there is immense value in that.
I began to think about the situation differently: what if
you plopped one of my South African coworkers (or anyone foreign, for that
matter) in the middle of Manhattan? How
would they handle it? It would probably
all look the same to them. Shiny and
incredibly tall metal-and-glass skyscrapers, all lined up in a perfect
grid. It’s monotonous. But in my eyes, it’s all different. I can recognize the buildings, and not just
the obvious ones like the Empire State or the Chrysler Building. I’m talking even the unnamed ones, the
irrelevant ones. I’ve seen them all, and
I could probably name the exact coordinates of where a building is located, or
I sure as hell can get you pretty darn close.
I can probably give you pretty good subway directions of how to get from
one building to another, if you posed the challenge.
I realize now that it’s the same for the people I work with here. Yeah, those shacks all have the same tin
roofs with matching solar panels on the top, all are painted with a similar
pastel color scheme, and they seem to go for mile and miles. But it takes a local to notice the little
things: the guy who also sits at the corner near the neighborhood water tap,
the Kaizer Chiefs or Orlando Pirates emblem painted proudly on a house’s
façade, that one stray dog who really seems to enjoy hanging around the little
shop.
There are experiences and feelings that people associate
with certain places, and its that relationship that helps people to remember
where they are. Yes, these spazas may
seem to be the same, but they are all different because of their
character. Because of the memories. Because of the people inside of them. Because of the time they used to hang around
it after school, still in their elaborate uniforms, and use their spare change
to buy a tiny bag of Nik Naks (which are awesome, by the way). Many people think that having a bad sense of
direction is due to a wonky memory, but really, it’s memories (plural) that are
at the core of good directions. It’s not
just about brain but also about the heart.
Not too long ago, Claire and I were in the car driving home
through the township of Kwazakhele following Siya who was going in a different
direction. He said to follow him until
“we recognized the way,” and we were very skeptical of this. We were on his tail for a bit until I saw a
familiar street corner and a large abangcwabi, or funeral home, that I had seen
before. I yelped because I realized that
we were a few blocks away from a school where I had seen my first SKILLZ Street
graduation. From there, we knew the way
home. It was a minor accomplishment, but
it made me realize that I was gathering experiences and a starting to recognize
places and make associations between the two.
It showed me that this place was becoming seemingly less foreign as it
used to be, and that I, too, was learning the nuances. It’s crazy to me that it has already been
three months, or a quarter of the way, through my year here. But little triumphs like that make me feel
more confident for the months to come that Port Elizabeth may actually become
more like home than I ever thought.
