"So what have you gained from your time in South Africa?"

This is the question that I am dreading when I get back to England in two weeks' time.

It is, of course, natural that people should ask the question, because they are curious and want to know how the experience has shaped me and inspired me, as I begin to think about the next step in the journey of my life, vocation, and ministry. (Three terms that, for me, are synonymous.)

Of course, I can talk about the richness of the experience of working in another province of the Anglican a Communion, and some good and interesting differences in the liturgy. I can talk about the privilege of working in a multi-racial, multi-lingual society. I can talk about the joy that has come from being warmly accepted by all the different groups I have encountered. I can talk about the privilege of being asked to pray with people and bless them, and (in some cases) be with them at some key times, and for the very humbling experience it is when people tell you that your presence (and friendship) has blessed them, when in fact I feel like the one who has been blessed. I can talk about how truly humbling it is when somebody praises your humility, when sometimes you feel so far from the humility that you seek, or put in other words, when people say they see something in you that you do not yet see yourself.

For those to whom I am closer, I might also talk about how I have valued the time and space to pray and reflect following the breakdown of my marriage a year (and a few months) ago, and even to begin to experience some healing, and begin to feel that I am now ready to move on to a position of responsibility in the Church. (As always, I just wish I knew what was next on the horizon.) I could say that I am starting to feel ready to meet somebody new if that is what the Lord wishes to give me. But such conversations are for very few people...

So what have I gained (so far)? I know that I have grown, and been blessed, and that I, in my turn, have blessed. I know that I have learnt more about the world and humanity.

But what annoys me is that we have something of an obsession with results and quantifiable outcomes. It is like we have to justify our very existence by proving what have achieved. It is as though each and every one of our experiences has to have a purpose and a goal. It is as though it is not enough to 'be': there always has to be a 'do' to justify the 'be'.

I want to resist this. I don't want to visit people hoping to achieve something, or go with a set purpose, or have to ask 'what's the point'. I don't want to be so focussed on activity and results that I lose the sense of connection to God's people, and maybe even God himself. I don't want to be so busy that people think they cannot approach me because they don't want to disturb me or bother me with something when I must have something important to do.

I want to 'waste time' with God. I want to 'waste time' in God's Church. And I want to 'waste time' with his people. I will do everything within my power to waste as much time as possible. I will do everything within my power so that people might come to me, and that we might find God in the mess and confusion of our lives. I will do everything I can so that my life, and the lives of those God commits to my care, become that one degree richer because of the encounter. Busy days, even busy weeks and months, will inevitably come and I must respond to these, but know this, I am not going to look for them. They will find me, as they often do, without me looking for them.

So what have I gained from South Africa?

I hope I am a little more mature and developed as a person.

I hope that I am a little stronger than I was.

I hope that I have been a blessing to others as much as they have blessed me.

But only this can I truly say:

I have had an encounter, in which my life has become a degree richer.

If you want to hear more, you might be disappointed.

A wanderer in South Africa

I have been in South Africa for a little over a month (35 days). This is my first time in South Africa, although a few years ago I decided out of sheer linguistic curiosity to start learning a little Xhosa and Zulu. [The curiosity was related to the fact that both languages have clicks.] Really all I knew about South Africa before coming here was that there used to be a system that much of the rest of the world objected to--Apartheid--and that there was a black man in prison who was released and then became the first black president--Nelson Mandela, as if I need to say! I can't really say that I understood much more about it than that.

Twelve years ago I went to Kenya to spend three months there. That was my first experience of Africa, and I was able to learn Swahili and communicate quite happily and even preach in Swahili. I got a small glimpse of life in Africa although much longer than three months would be needed to really feel that one has begun to truly understand a place.

Of course, Kenya is a very different place to South Africa, with a very different history. There are some similarities, but also differences in the culture. Black South Africans do many things in the same, or a similar way to Kenyans. They even shake hands in the same way, and even express respect in the same way while they shake your hand. There is, generally, in the Black communities, the same sense of belonging to each other--something described as Ubuntu. In Xhosa, the saying is 'umntu ngumntu ngabantu': a person is a person through [other] people. That is, we belong to each other, and in a very simple way, this is expressed by the widespread use of kinship terms to those to whom one is not even related. For example, in Xhosa, greeting an older man with 'tata' or a woman with 'mama'--'Ntate' and 'Mme' in Sesotho. At least in the language a belonging to each other is expressed in the use of such terms.

But of course, South Africa has a much larger white population than Kenya has. The white population is divided between the 'English' and 'Afrikaans' groups: descended from the English and Dutch settlers respectively. These two groups have different languages and different cultures, not to mention the odd feeling of tension between them at times! There are also of course the 'coloured' population, as well as Indian, and others. However, I mustn't get too distracted by stating things that any person can find out with a Google search and a few clicks. What I want to focus on is sharing some brief reflections on what I have observed here.

1) Language

I have always been a person with a passion for (learning) languages. From an early age (9 or 10?) I discovered this passion and the ability to learn languages fairly quickly and easily.

South Africa is a wonderful place for a person who enjoys learning and interacting with languages--having 11 official languages! As I have mentioned, I had managed to learn a little Xhosa before I came here, and one or two phrases in Zulu that are different, the two languages being fairly 'close' to each other. I had wanted to learn Sesotho--the dominant black language in this part of South Africa--but it proved pretty much impossible to find a book to learn this. I have since managed to get one here but it has only just arrived, having ordered it over 4 weeks ago! [This post is not going to be about the Postal 'Service'.] Having learnt Dutch some years ago, Afrikaans has been fairly easy to learn. That is, I can follow much of what people say in Afrikaans, even if I struggle to speak Afrikaans properly. Even when I do, people always say I sound Dutch. When I ordered my Sesotho book, I had the conversation in Afrikaans and the lady I was talking to asked if I was from Holland. I suppose I should be happy that she didn't automatically assume I was English.

I try whenever possible to speak the language of the person I am speaking to. This means that I will greet Sotho speakers in Sesotho, Xhosa speakers in Xhosa, Afrikaans speakers in Afrikaans, and so on. In Xhosa and Afrikaans, I am able to have at least some basic conversation, but my Sesotho is very much limited--at the moment--to greetings.

I am finding that a little linguistic effort goes a long way. It seems to make a big difference to people if you make the effort to greet them in their languages, even if that is all you can do. The other week when I presided at the 9:00 Sunday Mass at the Cathedral, I read the invitation to Communion in Xhosa, Sesotho, Afrikaans, and then English. For a linguist like me, it was a lovely experience. After the service a (Xhosa) woman came running up to me to say how excited she was to hear me inviting her to the altar in her own language. It seems like such a little thing, but it shows me that there is something profound in such a small gesture: like the idea that God calls us each by name, so he invites us to his table in our mother-tongue. Another time when I read the invitation in Afrikaans, as I was speaking, I saw the face of an Afrikaans woman light up, as I read the words in her language--albeit with a Dutch accent.

2) Priesthood in South Africa

It may surprise those of you who know me well, that I don't have much to say about priesthood and ministry in South Africa. The most important thing I have encountered is to do with language, about which I have written in the last section.

As far as liturgy goes, there are only relatively minor differences between the liturgy of the Province of Southern Africa, and that of the Church of England. But I do have to 'pas op' ['pay attention'] at times, for some of those minor difference can actually throw you a lot! For example, I am getting used to saying 'save us from the time of trial' in the Lord's Prayer.

The biggest difference between being a priest in England and being one in South Africa has to do with the status of the Churches. In England, being the 'state church' brings with it a certain baggage: some good, some bad. The Anglican Church here does not have that 'privileged' status that it has in England. It cannot assume a right to access to schools and other such places, which the Church of England (arguably) still enjoys. Nor can it assume that people will come to it for many of the 'rites of passage'--to put it slightly cynically.

On the other hand, this lack of 'privilege' also gives it certain rights: for example, it is not obliged by law to baptise all those within the parish bounds who seek it. This gives it a certain right to challenge those who come for the occasional offices, and make all sorts of unreasonable demands like that people attend the Church that they want their child to be baptised into. [For those who don't know me, that last sentence--and in particular 'unreasonable'--was a little sarcastic.]

3) Living in the shadow of Apartheid

Firstly, there is only so much that you can learn by reading about Apartheid in a book (or on Wikipedia as I did). Secondly, the wounds of such an unjust system cannot be healed simply by taking that system away.

One of the first experiences I had in South Africa was a parish braai for the patronal festival. What I soon discovered was that those who attended (largely) divided themselves into three groups: whites (English), coloured (Afrikaans), and black (mainly Sesotho). As somebody coming into South Africa for the first time, this was a powerful thing to have noticed, and, of course, I did my best to mingle between the groups.

There is an extent to which such separation is natural, people the world over naturally (usually) gravitate towards their own ethnic or linguistic groups. The various people-groups of South Africa have their own languages and cultures. There is no sense in pretending that we are all exactly the same. To suggest that we are is not truly to engage with people as they are. I must confess that this separation shocked me a little but as I have reflected, it seemed to me that such 'separation' is not a problem: the difference comes when that separation is forced. Of course, there is no such forced separation here, and the various groups do worship and work together.

It has become fairly clear to me that there are still people for whom the wounds inflicted by Apartheid are still raw. Although non-whites have no forced restrictions placed upon them anymore, this doesn't mean the same thing as saying that everybody here is truly equal in all respects and have completely equal opportunities. It will, I think, take generations for the wounds of apartheid to heal, and for the opportunities available to people to truly be equal. If you are starting from the position of a group of people who had been officially repressed for over fifty years, can it really be argued that we all start from an equal basis?

I am not in a position to be able to give the answers, but I am sure that this will take a lot of time, and for the lived experience of Apartheid to no longer be a thing in living memory.

I still have two and a half weeks of my stay left and so I continue to look forward to the rich conversations and experiences that have been such a feature of my stay here.