Friday, January 30, 2009

UPDATE - January 22, 2009

For some places NOT to visit:>1=41000

Is it me or is it quite difficult to wear slip slops (flip flops)? Every time I pick up a foot, my toes bend to clench my sandal/flop so it doesn’t come off. Isn’t that a flawed design? Aren’t sandals with a strap around the heel much better because they allow your toes to relax? Does ANYone know what I’m talking about?

Did I tell you that some South African people – when they met Haley (wonderfully loving woman who is doing human rights work in Israel) – told me that they knew I was with a white person. “You could just tell.” “It just seemed quite normal.” I laughed. That was quite hilarious. So if you talk to them about someone in the past they don’t always know and will ask “Was she black?”

So I thought it quite interesting that when I met with one of many mothers who have been in my life (see Mothers section), one white mother took me back in time and told me of a conversation that she had with another white mother. They actually had a conversation about whether or not one would let her daughter date me when older. This second white mother said yes. The first white mother felt the same way about her daughter though there was an age gap. It doesn’t mean that they were/are ok with interracial relationships in general. They definitely feel it’s harder and you must go through much more, but I thought the story (which I never knew) illustrated to me the power of relationship and how knowing someone changes things. Those women knew me and it changed how they thought of me. It was very cool and interesting. I think I have second mothers from all parts of the rainbow. Check out the section.


I am on the job hunt this week and next week. And I’ll probably do research work again in February which will give me about 2-3 weeks before lectures start again in this final semester for me.

This week I counseled a little girl of 5 or 6 who had been sexually abused by a man and kept in a container for 2 years and fed through a hole in the container. You wouldn’t know it by watching her. She was quite joyful, mirthful, and fun-loving. The social worker from the children’s home brought her in to receive HIV/AIDS testing.

We needed two counselors because one had to ask the normal questions to the social worker (you can’t really ask the girl) while the other (me) played with her. Just one problem: she might have a problem with men. And so it seemed for as she grabbed a new toy she always left me and ran back to the other two adult women who were trying to talk in quite tones. They never shooed her away, but talked with her until she came back for another toy. Slowly and slowly, she began to play with me more until she was fine. And then we were bouncing balls off the room and disturbing the other counselor and social worker. Of course, we had to ask her at one point if she knew why she was here. She did: it was to get her blood tested. Why? To make sure I’m ok. That was good enough for us. She was quite brave and was not worried about the pain of the prick (the prick by the way has gotten better over the years, when I was 17, they just jabbed a sharp needle to your finger). She did well, and we prayed we did not have to come back with bad news.

We didn’t have bad news! She was HIV-free, thank God. That would have been horrible. The little girl said she knew a Victor at her children’s home, but she declined to say if he was as handsome as me (the social worker and counselor kept asking her).

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