Monicca was involved in a taxi accident on Tuesday. Her back went into spasm. Can't get hold of her to see if she is OK. This is becoming more about "Things of my place" than learning Sotho at the moment - but we'll get there. Allen - I aim to have a huge, complex conversation with you August next year - when the year is up.
Through my work with FNB, I attended a course called Vuka. It was one of the most significant experiences that I have had... in my life. A real frisson experience. After it, we were filmed to capture our thoughts. I was dumb founded - silenced - the words would not come. Unable to sleep, I tried to capture the importance of the experience in written word. The thing with most "out of this world" experiences is they are actually extremely difficult to explain - it is the experience, the feel that is everything. So Mike - there actually are no words but here is my attempt written hours after my return from Vuka all those years ago:
Vuka becomes your story. It is about meaningful exchanges. It becomes so intricately interwoven into who you are and the things that you toil with, that it is impossible to describe without revealing parts of yourself. I tell a part of my own story here because I think the impact of Vuka is important for people to understand.
At one point of my Vuka journey I found myself sitting next to a young pregnant woman on a taxi. At first she didn’t want to engage. I pressed on. Partly because I had been asked to make a deep connection with someone and partly because I felt compelled for some inexplicable reason to engage with her. I was telling her about a friend of mine who had just had a home birth. I eventually asked if the position of her baby would allow a natural birth. Her face contorted with worry and all of a sudden I was beginning to understand why she had not been very talkative up until that point. She had just visited Baragwanath Hospital for a check-up. She was very worried about her pregnancy. One of the doctors she had seen on a previous visit had said something that told her that her pregnancy and her baby were not 100%. She was not able to put these worries to rest with the consultation she had just had. She had tried to ask the doctor about what she had been previously told, but instead of comfort her, the doctor had launched into a long and complicated explanation that had clearly left her more concerned than relieved.
We talked about doctors being cold and clinical and unapproachable. We talked about experiences that told us that doctors don’t always know everything. We talked about the fact that women have given birth for thousands of years unaided. We spoke about doctors being problem focused and about how that focus can make them want to control something that feels like a miracle. We talked about the importance of her needing to ask the doctor specific questions during her appointment the following week. We talked about what those questions would be, that they might be intimidating to ask but that they were important.
Her face showed that she still had tremendous worries despite the conversation we were having. I was compelled to say, “you will be fine . . . your baby girl will be fine”. I didn’t know that this was true, but I knew that she needed to hear those words. Her body heaved up in a sigh, she looked at me for what seemed like a long moment and eventually smiled.
She became more relaxed and we spoke about a number of things. At one point she was telling me about her initial disappointment and concern at being pregnant, because at 21 she felt she still had so much to do. At this point I felt obligated to tell her some of my own story because I felt it would give her a new perspective. I told her that I had done all the things that I was meant to in my twenties, that I had studied, worked and enjoyed my freedom. I told her how my husband and I decided to have children when I was 29 almost 30. I told her about how we had been struggling, that it was just not happening. I told her that even though things were not happening in the order in that she intended, given my experience, she might be thankful later for having children at a young age.
It was at this point that she turned to me and said, “You will have a child.” She did not know this as true, but she somehow knew that I needed to hear these words. I caught my breath, looked at her for a long moment and eventually smiled.
I write this early in the morning after returning from Vuka. I have been planning in my mind for hours what it is that I would like to tell other people about this journey. I had great descriptions in my head that I should have written down because now I have forgotten them. But as I was thinking these thoughts I came to the above story. While reliving it in my head, I began to cry when I got to the words “you will have a child”. It was in the quiet of the night so I felt completely alone and fully able to let go of all the emotions that these words stir up.
Those tears were a gift that a twenty-one year old pregnant woman gave to me. I will never forget her. If I should be blessed with a child, I will remember her like some kind of a prophet. If I don’t have a child, I will remember her like some kind of saint who showed great kindness by giving me words that I didn’t realise I needed to hear in order to cry.
And so you see, a young pregnant woman has become an important part of my story. She is intricately interwoven into it. That she is a different colour to me and of different economic circumstances feels insignificant, she is not a black poor woman; she is hopefully a prophet but she is definitely a saint.
PS - Mike if you ever get to read this - please send me the pics taken during the immersion experience and hope you and Anne and your kids are well!!!!!
