An Unlikely Friend

Yesterday was a full day for me. I went from classes at UWC (which were are usually somewhat frustrating unfortunately) to my internship interview at the Scalabrini Centre for refugees in town. Recently I was starting to feel like maybe I should be doing something else, you know? Maybe it was time for me to work with an organization that didn't have anything to do with refugees or immigrants, perhaps something in peace or conflict resolution. But after going to the centre and meeting with Guilia, my supervisor, I realized again just how much I love refugee work! There is so much to be learned and so much that needs to be done, both in advocacy and assistance. Plus, she is basically going to be leading me in my thesis research while I am here as well as asking me to work towards implementing an employment division at the Centre. Exciting!

Afterwards I was feeling good about life. I felt like it was beginning to take a holistic shape here. I had my school, my job/internship, a church family, etc. So I decided to walk down to St. George's Cathedral to pray for my time here, my heart, my mind, and all the different people I would be encountering here. As I was kneeling, I realized that there was a young woman sitting across the church who was crying. Before anyone thinks I'm holier than I am, I began to wish that she would stop. I was trying to pray! Hello? And then God and my conscience brought to my attention the fact that I was being a complete ass. But, actually, she did begin to quiet down and I finished praying just as she began to sob again. So I went over, feeling somewhat guilty about my own thoughts, and asked if she was okay. She (I will call her Mary) explained that, in fact, she was not okay. She found herself both homeless and without money, and her family would have nothing to do with her because she was addicted to drugs. So I asked if she would like to join me for dinner. She acted a bit surprised, but then went to wash up and we were headed towards St. George's Mall for bite to eat.

Of course, I wished so much that I could pretend as if I was walking down the Mall with anyone, but I was very much aware of the circumstances. I was with a drug addict in Cape Town, South Africa. Then I began to think, "Good job, Dave! If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't have had any food. Plus, you are totally stretching yourself here. Great job." Embarrassing, but true.

Eventually, I came to find out that Mary was thirty years old and a photographer. She was actually mostly involved with documentaries, particularly one she did in a rural, inland area at a hospital for children with Aids. Soon, we found ourselves sitting on the Mall, eating, and sharing our lives with one another. But not forced, rather a genuine interaction.

My time with Mary ended up being one of the most genuine and soul searching moments here so far. She told me of how she started heroine, of its extremely addictive nature, how she had attempted to stop in the past, but would always start again. But there was something incredibly disarming about the whole experience. I was struck by how much of myself I saw in her. She talked about how easy it is to be drawn in, and how quickly our new found freedoms can go to our head. Yet there was no self-pitty in her. Rather a deep sense of who she truly was. "Dave," she said, "I know that my soul is not addicted, it is only my body. It is my soul and my God that are my truest self." She felt as if she was different than the others who talked about stopping, or her past failed attempts. For her, she was embarking on a spiritual quest for healing. She said she felt things in a different way. The drugs had taken so much from her, but she had not been stripped of her ability to feel. In fact, it had been made stronger.

Mary also said another important thing to me that was most definitely a paradigm shift. She said that being addicted to heroine is not for the weak, it is for the strong. It is only the strong who can even attempt to muster the will to quit, to seek help and humble themselves. When she was clean for a year, Mary realizes now how self-righteous she was, and the weakness and vulnerability that came with that.

We departed with me doing everything I have been told not to do. Do not give money. Do not give your phone number. Do not, do not, do not. I suppose I shouldn't take advice or self-reflect based on the words of a heroine addict either.

Literally the day before my time at Scalabrini and with Mary, I had emailed Sara telling her my second thoughts and also revealing to her my own selfishness. It is only when we are removed from ourselves, our normative worlds, and our loved ones that our true self is actually able to be seen and exposed. South Africa's most painful and beautiful confrontation so far has been with myself. I realized how much of my "confidence" and "self-awareness" actually had little to do with me, my true self and soul, as much as it did my ego and my ego's need to be feed and comforted. I wrote to Sara and Hannah:

I suppose that this time is as much for me to reacquaint myself with me as it is for me to start understanding and learning about this region, city, country and world. We get so proud so quick, or at least I do. And the scary thing is, you don’t even know it. I’ve been so blind to my own pride. It is the subtle and subconscious pride that is most dangerous, because it is totally undetectable to both yourself and others.

So, as it turns out, the person I have been most truthful with, most open with is a homeless drug addict. It is a "societal casteaway" that has given me the lens and the gift (even if painful) to look at myself raw and uncensored. Are we not all addicted to something/s? It is she who has stripped away my facades and ripped my ego out, so that all that is left is simply me. Yet Mary is just that, herself. Yes, she is a drug addict, but if that is all one sees then they miss her true spirit.

As we parted ways, we both had tears in our eyes. We hugged and promised to meet at church again this Sunday before she checks herself into detox on Tuesday. Some may say I was had...I might as well have burnt my R100. But that time and money were not wasted because they were not mine. Those few minutes were shared, jointly owned by the two of us. Perhaps I will not see her again. Perhaps I won't get a phone call before she goes into detox and when she comes out. But if life is always a calculated measure, where's our time to dance? To create? To be vulnerable? To actually risk? To love? To know our true selves?

I feel like this doesn't do my time with Mary justly, or my thought process and soul searching in her wake. No, actually I know it doesn't. I left to go to my flat with my food, bed, and my bank cards, while she wondered alone. There is so much more than can be examined and dissected, but what if I just let it be? What if I let myself care, worry, invest in a person and not just an idea?