Concept of Birthplace

Every so often, I am struck with the realization that the location in which you are born can determine most facets of life. I remember just a few years ago, when this realization struck full force, slamming me with realities I had never thought about. I was sitting in a dusty South African classroom, reveling in a symphony of African music sung by preschoolers. Earlier that day we had helped feed these same kids, and played with them at recess through a program called Operation Hunger.

Swaying along to the music with some of my classmates from Semester at Sea, my thoughts strayed to what the future would look like for the kids in this classroom. I couldn't help but think of tragedies that could befall them, of people that could hurt them. They were living in Khayelitsha Township, near Cape Town. There is such a stark contrast from the tourist boardwalks of Cape Town to the dusty, winding streets of Khayelitsha. Every few steps in Cape Town, you are heralded by vendors selling helicopter tours of the skyline or shark diving expeditions in the frigid water. In Khayelitsha, every few steps there is another lean-to shack, with haphazard wires leading from the roof to feed a little electricity into the home. Some are surrounded by makeshift barbwire fences, attempting to secure what little possessions may reside in the lean-to. The disparity from Cape Town to Khayelitsha is suffocating and overwhelming. It is so hard to believe that there are those dining in 5-star restaurants before jettisoning off on a helicopter tour, while just a 10-minute bus ride away, blocks of the Township are worried because their water pump hasn't been working for weeks. The differences couldn't be any more pronounced.

Downtown Cape Town, South Africa

Khayelitsha Township, South Africa

This was my first taste of what huge disparities could look like, and I continued to see it in many other countries on Semester at Sea; India, Viet Nam, China, Japan. I felt such compassion for all the citizens of each of these countries. Powerless and small, I felt that there was nothing I could do to help them. Today, however, I am now having these same feelings but in my very own country. I am once again struck by this notion of birthplace. 

These past months, I have been working in classrooms at my elementary school, and doing one on one reading tutoring with a handful of students. I also work in one of the school's after care programs. These programs are designed for children to have somewhere to go after school lets out, since most parents work until 5:00 and are unable to arrange for any other means for their children to be taken care of. These kids remind me of those cute little kids that I met in South Africa, but now they are in the country that I call home. I am always so happy to go to work to see the kids. I have been given so many little presents of flowers and grass picked on their way to school, or drawings that tote phrases of, "I love you Miss Sam," or "I want you to be my mom!"

Sometimes, though, the children say things that completely break your heart. Kids that sleep on the floors of houses, that don't have food, that say their parents are never home to read to them, so their parent reading logs are never completed. My heart aches for each and every one of them, and it is beyond frustrating at times because I am once again, feeling completely powerless. How do you respond to a little boy when he says, "Please take me home Miss Sam! I don't have a mommy. Why can't you take me home?" These situations, sadly, are all too common in these areas of Florida.

Why is it so unfair to so many people that are born into oppressive, violent areas? Why did I become so lucky as to have been born in a small city in Ohio, where crime was almost nonexistent? I am now living in Palm Beach County, Florida where crime is a lot more prevalent that what I am used to. The disparity is also much more visible here than in any other places I have been in this country. If you ride in the car down A1A, one of the highways that line the ocean, you will gaze upon the most beautiful houses you have ever seen. But just neighborhoods away, you will come across places where you don't want to be caught after the sun sets. How was it determined that I, along with so many others, are fortunate to be born into areas where we are not constantly worrying about shootings or robberies? The children that are born into these situations, are statistically more likely to become perpetrators themselves. Violence breeds violence; it is a vicious cycle that seems impossible to break.

Granted, there are those who can defy the odds, regardless of their birthplace. I am not saying that destiny is completely sealed because of where you live. However, for the majority of people in oppressive places, reality is harsh. Hopes and dreams are scattered by the winds of oppressive leaders and government. Poor economies hold no promise for a better house, a better job, a better life.

At times, I have felt like I am doing nothing of importance for the kids that I work with. Sure, I'm teaching them reading and helping them with arts and crafts. But, who is there for them to be a mother and father? Who is there for them to be role models that they can look up to? Why is a child going to worry about the math homework he has when he gets home, when he has more pressing matters such as the violence he might experience, or the hunger weighing on his mind? 

But, there are the majority of days when I KNOW that I am making a difference in the children's lives, no matter how small. They show it to me in the way they listen when I tell them about a new book they are going to read. They show it to me in the drawings they make me, or the pens and pencils they give me. The small moments like these remind me that even though I'm doing something relatively small for them, I"m doing SOMETHING.

Although I can't give them the world, I hope that I can help open the door to the world for them, through education.