There’s a six year gap between my two trips to South Africa, 2009 then again in 2015. Both trips were similar yet different (If that makes any sense). I went with my school both times: high school then graduate school. In high school,the trip was community service related, while in graduate school, we studied Post-Apartheid Education. Both trips were truly eye opening. Both trips, I went to completely different places, except for one important place: The Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg.
Please forgive me for my ignorance! I knew about the Apartheid in South Africa, but not as much as I should’ve. Visiting the Apartheid Museum for the first time at age 16, was the best education I could ever receive. I was in shock (not really) at the mistreatment, corruption and control a group of people caused to a nation that doesn’t belong to them. (Doesn’t this sound so familiar)? I felt that I was at home. I can’t speak for classmates, but I can speak for myself. Man made this world a Mad Place. No African nation deserves this treatment. Being at the Apartheid Museum gave me no choice but to recall the time my mother spoke with me about Slavery in the U.S. It overwhelms so much when mentioning, probably because I’m sensitive person overall. When we left, I just wanted to be alone.
Fast forward six years later. I’m back at the same Apartheid Museum, with a different set of “family”, more of them looking like me. They were also eager to see more of our roots. I didn’t want to flaunt around the fact that I’ve been here before (but I did a little). This time, I felt more respected by my peers. They knew what this place meant to me, and the knowledge stuck with me because we talked about it amongst each other all the time. What stuck out to me the most was the segregation, and how intense it was, just like at home. It stuck out to me because, this was in South Africa, in the continent of Africa, and it’s own people were treated like objects (forgive me as it’s difficult to explain).
As a melenated person, you really have to know who you are, especially if you live in a foreign country where people aren’t aware or knowledgeable about your history.
Loray’s Journeys 