Race and Religion: A Congolese Church Revival

[NB: I wish that I had to pictures to post for this entry, but I don't. I do have two videos, but I'm not sure how to upload those yet. Maybe when I get back stateside I can figure it out.]

A Congolese co-intern invited me to attend a revival-type event at her Church a few weeks ago. Although I had little to no idea what exactly this would entail, I decided to go and find out! The event was to take place Thursday through Sunday evening, but I was assured that I only needed to go to one of these days, so I headed out on Sunday evening, the closing night. My colleague explained that the event was to mark the tenth anniversary of the Church and had a guest preacher who would be exploring the theme: Un Futur Glorieux (A Glorious Future). None of the other interns had agreed to go, so I took a deep breath and hopped into a taxi all by myself.

When I arrived in an unnervingly empty Woodstock across from the appropriately designated landmark, I have to admit that I had second thoughts about even trying to attend. There was no “Church” anywhere in sight (not a Church as I knew it, anyways). I noticed an advertisement sign for the event on a deserted corner building and asked a dodgy passerby if he knew anything of it. He shrugged, so I wandered a bit farther by. About 1.5 blocks off the main road (less-than-coincidentally named Main Road) I found a nicely dressed man and woman handing out pamphlets by the front door, so I approached them. They shot me confused looks but smiled and welcomed me inside as I explained that I was looking for Un Futur Glorieux. Another man immediately ushered me upstairs to the main room, all the while asking me if I was a) invited b) a preacher. Yes, I was invited, but the preacher comment caught me off guard. I suppose that is probably the bulk of White visitors the Church receives, visiting preachers on specific missions. As I entered the main room, there were only about 10 parishioners scattered across the room. It was around 5:50 pm (the event was set to start at 5:00 pm) so I immediately felt even more awkward. Luckily, I spotted my co-intern/friend Princia, who had invited me. She looked almost as shocked to see me as did the door-people but of course was delighted that I had made it and introduced me to her cousins / small entourage.

The stage consisted of a few musical instruments, a wandering preacher, room for excess choir members, and a garishly blinding stage light. The preacher was calling out group prayers impromptu and screaming passionately about Jesus; in both French and Lingala; with a randomly evoked, piercingly high-pitch. Princia asked one of the ushers to inform the preacher to only preach in French since on my behalf so that I could understand what he was saying. What endearing hospitality! This period of the service was apparently a long, warm-up, introductory session. People continued to fill into the room over the next hour in spite of my perceived hour tardiness. Africa-time strikes again, indeed! Princia left my side suddenly, and the next thing I knew she was on stage singing with the choir. I felt a bit uncomfortable when she first left but was also delighted to hear her sing for her congregation. After about an hour of this introductory prayer and intermixed song, the room was bustling: full to the brim.

I turned around to examine the now-full Church chamber. For the first time in my life, I was, quite literally, the only White person in attendance. Perhaps this feeling, more than any other experience at this Church revival, is why the event felt so critical in my South African journey. I have been in the minority many times before, especially working here in South Africa. Never before have I been the only White person at all, however; that is a completely different feeling. At first it was refreshingly invigorating. Having grown up in Upper-Middle Class White Suburbia, I have never really been able to experience this sensation of being in the minority. So much of my academic formation has traversed critical theory to critical theory referring to diverse socio-cultural communities, and now I was planted right in the middle! I couldn’t help to smile, feeling like I was really experiencing something “different,” something inaccessible at home. Of course one might go into downtown Detroit and experience something racially comparable, but I was moreover at a Congolese Church. All the individuals around me were also foreigners in South Africa; yet they had formed a small Diaspora community amongst themselves where they could continue on their own religious, cultural traditions in this hidden, urban corner of Cape Town.

My second initial sensation was that I was the conspicuous object of a gaze. I stood out. If I wasn’t a preacher, after all, what was I doing in that environment? Who invited me? Why wasn’t I attending my “own” Church? I am sure that a significant degree of this sentiment was my own consciousness. I noticed, I felt, that I stood out in this environment and therefore figured everyone else must also be taking note of this. Perhaps this is an egocentric sentiment in the first place and I was just feeling hypersensitive. It probably didn’t help that I was seated towards the front section, either. All those eyes were already moving forward in my direction; what might those individuals be thinking about me?

My third progressive feeling of being in the racial minority situated myself in the context of my religious environment. In the eyes of God, everyone [in that congregation] is considered to be brothers and sisters. I wondered, then, how that shaped the thoughts of all the Congolese parishioners. Maybe I was especially accepted at that time and in that place because I was sharing in worship with them. If I were to be attending a more secular event, of the same racial make-up, would that significantly alter how I was being perceived and treated? I know from my own viewpoint that it would affect how comfortable I felt. As terrible as it sounds, I couldn’t help but to also consider in the back of my mind my own personal security. Because I was such a visible target, I wondered if anyone might try to take advantage of me. I felt at points as if Christian dogma itself were protecting me. After a bit of time, however, I felt mostly at ease.

The style of worship at this event was vastly different than what I am used to. Parishioners were shouting out blessings, dancing joyfully, and speaking in tongues. Some were rocking back and forth and shedding tears. I tried to do my best to fit in to this sort of worship environment, but having been raised Catholic, my comfort zone reflects a quiet, orderly mass. At one point a band took the stage, and the singers simultaneously danced out the melodies replete with hip jostles, limbos, and fancy footwork. I found myself overcome with their energy and almost at once joined in. The guest preacher started talking perhaps 2.5 hours already into the event. He, too, hailed originally from the Congo, but he currently operates numerous Churches around South Africa. An English interpreter also came onto the stage to help interpret for other South African guests, and I found his interpretations nearly impeccable. I was so impressed, not only with his word choice, but with his effectiveness in conveying the original connotations and sentiments associated with the original speech. I felt a bit lost in the Lingala but otherwise completely understood.

The original event was supposed to last from 5:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. I arrived at 5:50 p.m. to a nearly empty congregation and stayed until the end of the sermon just after 11:00 p.m. Africa time par excellence. My colleague, Princia, helped me to carpool back to Cape Town. This experience definitely expanded my comfort zone ten-fold. Not only did I get to feel what it is like to be a true “outsider” in a fascinating cultural community, but I was also able to observe many Congolese refugees in an ever-so-crucial Diasporic institution.

Black Culture, White Culture

“Look at all those White people! That’s Cape Town for you!” wrote one friend as a caption to a beach picture I recently posted to facebook. “Cape Town’s not real Africa…it’s like Europe!” claimed a few other people whom I have met here recently. Two Afrikaner men from Pretoria made this claim at a pub after a rugby game in the Newlands area of the city. A Zimbabwean student here uttered virtually the same comment within the same week timeframe.

They definitely have a point. Cape Town is a hotbed for white, South African culture. Go to many of the beaches and you will find almost exclusively white people. Go to one of the many trendy restaurants, and the scene will look comparable. At the Kirstenbosch Gardens concert I attended a few weeks ago, out of a crowd of a few thousand, I only noticed about five Blacks. Even at a local screening of “Invictus;” a[n American] film exhibited from an outside perspective to a South African audience about their own triumph over apartheid and foundation of racial harmony; the attending audience included almost only white people. It is fairly easy to see how Cape Town gets the reputation that it does.

I don’t think the city warrants it, however. Anyone who honestly believes that Cape Town is a “white” city has slipped shallowly through, missed the “real” Cape Town, and it’s a “shame, man” (South African slang). I’m not privy to any official sociological data, but if I were to estimate, I would conjecture that the city’s Black and Coloured populations grossly outnumber the white population. The City Bowl’s downtown district is often thought of as one of White privilege, but the streets are bustling with the popping sounds of Xhosa, hijab-clad immigrant women, innumerable Coloured individuals, and but a relevant minority of white passersby. Mini buses tear around most city corners and multi-ethnic vendors sell from block-after-block. This is only the downtown area.

The city area of Cape Town is dwarfed in comparison to the Southern Suburbs, Northern Suburbs, and Cape Flats areas. Of course there are well-to-do suburbs such as Rondebosch, the liberal student haven of Observatory, and the upper-middle class Kenilworth. Anyone who thinks Cape Town is a “white” city however, hasn’t been to Wynberg. They haven’t been to Salt River or to Athlone. They definitely haven’t been to Khayelitsha, to Philippi, to Maitland, or to Mitchell’s Plain. They haven’t seen Blue Waters and they probably haven’t even been to Woodstock. These are not merely what we Americans would term ethnic ghettos but enormous parcels of land home to significant portions of the city’s population.

Historically, the Western Cape was home to South Africa’s White and Coloured populations. The New South Africa ushered in an era of migration to the region, and today the influence of Blacks, Coloureds, Indians, and foreigners is enormous. It is not only influential, in fact, but constitutive. These communities form the crux of Cape Town’s informal markets, labor force, and residential areas. Removing their presence would not only be noticeable; the entire city would cease to function. Again, this is statistically a majority community. Unfortunately, many are subsumed by Whites in public visibility due to their status as proletarians. The working class is pushed to the margins of collective consciousness in a truly Marxist fashion. Often racial conflict is merely a discussion of class conflict in disguise. Despite the socio-economic implications, Non-Whites play a substantial role in the area’s socio-cultural geopolitics.

Perhaps many Black South Africans can either not afford or are not interested in attending the concert of a white, Afrikaner alternative rock band at traditionally White Kirstenbosch. Perhaps White South Africans fail to venture en masse outside their comfortable, racially inscribed loci. In either case, these instances of de facto neo-apartheid do not characterize the entire city. Traveling down popular Long Street and branding Cape Town a “white city” is no more accurate than visiting the North Shore of Chicago and deciding likewise. Even this is not a perfect analogy, though, as the Cape Town area’s population dynamic is overwhelmingly non-White. While the legacy of Colonial façades, White restaurants, beaches, concerts, and movie theatres might lead one to deem Cape Town not “Authentically African,” (and yes, of course Cape Town is not the same “Africa” as other areas) these are indeed façades on multiple levels. The dawn of the New South Africa has catapulted the Western Cape into ethnic dynamism, and its racial branding lies upon the delimitating forced perspective of the beholder. I won’t even delve into the impact of the 150,000 + refugees living in the area. Despite my skepticism of the term’s contrived positive connotation, if one wants to experience the “Rainbow Nation,” it’s here.

Life in the ZA

Hello, all! Thanks in advance for taking the time to read this blog. Hopefully I will be able to keep on top of it enough to make it worthwhile. I left for South Africa 1 week ago today, which seems unfathomable because I have already experienced so much it feels as though I've been gone for at least a month. Left Detroit last Saturday afternoon, connected through Atlanta and Johannesburg before finally arriving in Cape Town late Sunday night SA-time (GMT + 2, EST + 7). There were a few setbacks in Johannesburg when I realized I was not on the same flight as the rest of the group to Cape Town (despite congruent departure / arrival times) and after narrowly dodging solicitation for bribery and a flight delay, I made it to a fantastic hostel where Mischelle (another Madison intern) and I spent our first night in SA.

I can't believe how many people I have met from literally all over the world since being here! Lots and lots of Europeans at the hostel, such as a crazy Dutch freelance journalist, Norwegian and Danish grad students, Irish, British, etc.

The next day we taxi'ed to the Perspectives Apartment Complex where I will be staying for the next 3 months! Met with Melanie, the Connect 123 (internship broker organization) coordinator who gave the MSU group a brief orientation to the city and apartment, then moved all my stuff in. I'm on the 11th floor of the building, and my apartment unit has a sweeping view over the downtown Cape Town skyline. The other side of the building has an even more stunning view of both Table Mountain / Lion's Head Peak (i think that's the name???). Met my roommate, Walt, who is also with the MSU group but is actually 27 yrs old. Apparently he graduated from Madison (PTCD) several years back, worked as a ski instructor at Aspen for a while then various other jobs for the next few years. Now he wants to apply to grad school for Int'l Studies, but the schools told him he needs more international work experience, so he went back to talk with @GrantLittke who told him the available internship options through JMC. Seems like a pretty nice guy. We are getting another roommate this upcoming week from Switzerland (though I think it is a Swiss student orginally from Norway) so that should change things up a bit, too.

South African society is even more fascinating than I had anticipated. It seems to defy easy categorization as either a developed or developing country with enormous social disparities among its populace. Race is very real here, in discourse as well as practice. Terms such as "Black," "Coloured" (Mixed race) and "White" are in turn complicated by the very significant pluralities of Malays, Indians, multiple African ethnic groups, and British/Afrikaaner differentiation. A ten minute walk from my apartment complex to an ultra-modern shopping centre involved passing quite new building developments, but alongside the sidewalk a couple lay visibly dying of AIDS. The geographic legacy of spatial apartheid is also fairly apparent in the city's racial distribution. There is definitely an increased number of Black Africans present in the higher strata of society, but at the same time I have been hard-pressed to witness any Whites that are not well-off (Note: This is at first glance. Perhaps this perception will change.)

The city of Cape Town is visually stunning . Definitely rivals the south of France as most beautiful place I have ever seen. Probably helps that it is summer, but the mountains, flowers, and sunshine are incredible. We have a rooftop pool deck at Perspectives for which I feel very blessed.....IN-CRED-I-BLE! I have tried to make it up there at least most days. There's also a chill coffee shop ("Mugged") on the first floor with free wifi and a street-side, mountain-view veranda. That's where I am now. haha Gives EL's Espresso Royale a run for its money.

I also started my actual internship last Wednesday, but I will write more about that in the next entry as I don't want to make this one overly convoluted. As the South Africans say, "Cheers!"