STORIElyne

I am white. My friend @cobusvw was one of the first people to help me embrace being white with all the baggage that goes along with. I am also a racist. It is the bane of my life here in Africa. Growing up in the 80’s in South-Africa have shaped me in a certain way. My inherent racism is something I struggle with everyday. Don’t get me wrong, I try very hard not to be one. My other white buddy @soulgardeners introduced met to Jonathan Jansen’s work describing my racism as almost inherited through blood. Together we started to talk about our struggle with racism in the same way addicts would talk about their addiction.  I am a recovering umlungu, addicted to feeling superior. I am born into a history of racism. Years of prejudice have framed a narrative through which I perceive others that are different from me and my culture.  I am proud to say that most of the time, with the help and patience of kind, supportive and forgiving black (and white) friends I have my addict...

Ek is gedoop in die jare tagtigs in my Ouma Caroline en oupa Piet se kerk op Villiersdorp. Dis waar my ma haar belydenis van geloof af gelê het. Ek onthou as kind, wanneer ons vir my ouma en oupa gaan kuier het, was die kerktoring die eerste ding wat ‘n mens gesien het as jy die dorpie binne gery het. Statig, vorstig, broederbonderig, erg nasionaal, soos dit maar was met die meeste NG Gemeentes van die jare sewetigs en tagtigs. Tydens my doop het die dominee ‘n pikswart toga gedra. Weerskante van die kerk het die ouderlinge en diakens gesit, soos pikkewyne geklee in swart en wit. Die vroue het hoedens gedra en pragtige Sondagrokke. Die plaasbakkies het op die werf agtergebly en die Sondagmotors is uit die waenhuise getrek, blinkgevryf deur die plaaswerkers en netjies in gelid onder die akkerbome van die kerk se parkeerterrein geparkeer. Die atmosfeer tydens my doop was stemmig en gewyd. Die preek is voorafgegaan met dinge wat vir ‘n kind vreemd op die oor geval het. Woorde soo...