She is in tears. They’re not accepting a copy of her police clearance, despite a letter from the South African Consulate in Los Angeles explicitly stating that they have seen the original and they can verify its contents. The guy who is going through her documentation is not being helpful. He is impatient and downright rude to her.

I try to think of a solution. Will they start the paperwork and we can give them the original police clearance later on? I hear muffled objections in the background as my wife asks him.

“No,” she manages to say through deep, frustrated breaths. I want to reach through the phone and punch the guy in the face. I am ashamed to send my wife into this bottomless pit of stale bureaucracy. I tell her to come home – we’ll figure it out. We’ll get the original copy from the FBI in Washington, even though that will take at least 3 months.

At 8:30 I open the gate for our domestic worker. Her name is Aretha, and she is a real-life angel. She lives in Gugulethu and she has four kids. She works full time, she volunteers at her church, and she helps out at an orphanage nearby. Then, in her spare time, she chaperones every one of her daughter’s school events, and she runs a business selling Tupperware. Every week she walks into our house with a smile, asks us how we’re doing, and then she hangs up her coat in the pantry and gets to work. She never complains. About anything. I don’t understand it.

At 8:40 I try to get our almost 2-year old daughter in the car to go to the Waterfront Aquarium. It’s not easy. She has now realised that Mama isn’t here, and she is not happy. With all the spirit she can muster she “explains” to me how unhappy she is with the situation. I plead and promise. Somewhere between multiple references to “Nemo” and “Puppet show” I get the car started and we’re on our way. She calms down as we drive out of the neighbourhood. She likes looking outside. The pensive look I see in the rear-view mirror is one of the few things she inherited from me. I’m glad she looks like her mother.

I drive down the R27 on a crisp autumn day. Table Mountain sits right in front of me in the middle of a giant cloud, like it’s being protected from something. It’s beautiful. I stare at it as I try to get our Hyundai Atos above the 80 km/h mark. I miss the Rav4 we had when we lived in America. And I think about this blog post.

Homecoming Revolution asked me to write a follow-up to my Homecoming Thoughts post from a year ago, and I am at a loss. That post generated a lot of comments, and I’m worried because I know if I write down how I really feel many of those commenters will come back and say, “I told you so.” And the question that’s been on my mind for weeks hits me again: Why did we move back?

Meanwhile my wife is at the Milnerton Police Department getting her fingerprints done. She walks in and asks someone where to go; she explains that she is applying for permanent residency in South Africa. “Why would you want to do that?”, the woman asks, perplexed. “I’m married to a South African and we live here now,” she says. The woman shrugs and points my wife in the right direction.

I miss America. I miss the openness of the people, the need to debate everything and anything just because you can. I miss ubiquitous, fast, cheap Internet. I miss Target and customer service that actually provides service. I miss cheap everything, actually (well, with the exception of wine). I miss the vastness of it all, I miss the way the talent in Silicon Valley almost makes you smarter by osmoses. I miss live music. I miss not having an electric fence that malfunctions and wakes us up in the middle of the night. I’m like a poster child for whitewhine.com.

My daughter and I spend all morning at the Aquarium. I’m silently glad we never took her to the Monterey Bay Aquarium – it’s just not a fair comparison. When I get home my wife and I hold a mini strategy session. We lay out our plans for getting around the inefficiencies that stare us in the face every day. We take a break because our daughter is obsessed with the moon right now, and she needs us to “check that way” if maybe it came out during her nap.

Melissa's Food Shop, Bloubergstrand, Cape Town

At 2:07pm my wife takes our daughter to the park, and I head off to Melissa’s Food Shop for a Flat White and some reading time. On the way I’m reminded that tomorrow is trash day. Countless people are outside going through trash cans, eating what hasn’t gone bad yet, storing anything of value for later use. I sit in the sun at Melissa’s, I listen to the Afrikaans conversations around me, and catch glimpses of the Blouberg beach. I’m confused.

At 4:37pm I drive Aretha to the taxi stop at Bayside Mall. She is smiling. She is always smiling. She asks about my time with Aralyn this morning, she asks about my parents. She remembers that my dad turned 70 recently and she asks me how he’s doing. I try to answer through the lump in my throat. For the second time today, I am ashamed. Ashamed for my privileged whining. Ashamed that I can be so discontent in the midst of the enormous blessings I live in every day. I watch Aretha head off into the crowd to find a taxi for her long commute home. And I am ashamed.

All the reasons we gave for moving back to South Africa are still true. The potential of this place is staggering. It’s beautiful beyond measure. But sometimes it is So. Damn. Frustrating. But maybe that’s ok. Because it’s not about an easy life, it’s about a meaningful life.

I mentioned before that we moved here to write a new story for our lives. A story with conflict, because that’s what all great stories are made of. Now that we’re getting what we asked for it might not be fun all the time, but it doesn’t make it a wrong decision. It just makes it the life we chose, and the life we’re determined to live well. We’re here to stay, and all we can do is whine a little less and use our enormous privilege to give back to our community with every possible opportunity we have.

Because that’s what it means to love a country as much as I love mine.

When we first started planning the move, we agreed on one thing: it’s going to be difficult as hell, but it is a story we have to live. What I kept saying to Jess was this: The next year is not going to be easy. It’s too much change, and too much uncertainty, too quickly. But we needed to remember that a year down the road it was going to be September in Cape Town. It would be Spring, and we’d wake up to a sunrise over Table Mountain, and we’d suddenly be ok.

Last night our almost-1-year-old slept through the night, something she’s done maybe 10 nights since she was born. This morning I went for a run on the Sea Point Promenade and witnessed that sunrise over Table Mountain. I had a perfect cappuccino at Origin.  And then I got an SMS from my wife to say that our daughter cut her 7th tooth. Also, someone I respect unfollowed me on Twitter, but you know, in the bigger scheme of things that’s probably ok.  So yes, I’d say that we’re home now, and that everything is going to be all right.

I have written before about how instrumental Donald Miller was to us during our moving process, and today I was reminded again of this quote from A Thousand Miles to a Thousand Years:

We get robbed of the glory of life because we aren’t capable of remembering how we got here. When you are born, you wake slowly to everything. Your brain doesn’t stop growing until you turn twenty-six, so from birth to twenty-six, God is slowly turning the lights on, and you’re groggy and pointing at things saying circle! and blue! and car! and then sex! and job! and health care!

The experience is so slow you could easily come to believe life isn’t that big of a deal, that life isn’t staggering. What I’m saying is I think life is staggering and we’re just used to it. We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we’re given — it’s just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral.

So, hey. Let’s allow ourselves to be awed every once in a while, ok?

First, consider the lead-up to this tournament.  Think about the endless mockery of FIFA’s choice, the stream of articles on how South Africa does not have the ability or infrastructure to host an event of this scale.  And most recently, the ridiculous reports in the British press of machete wars and who knows what else.  We just sucked it up, and quietly went about our preparations.

And now, here we are, in some of the most beautiful stadiums the world has ever seen, at a tournament that is running smoothly.  Reporters on the ground are talking about the “sustained display of pure joy” by South Africans in hosting and enjoying this event.  There are the constant great reviews of our hospitality and friendliness.  So instead of fighting about inefficiency or bad logistics at matches, we’re fighting about vuvuzelas?

Ok, we’re fighting about vuvuzelas.  So come, let us reason together.

This whole debate eventually boils down to one simple question: What responsibility does a host nation of an event have towards foreign visitors to the event? That really is it.  If you look at the arguments on both sides, that is what it comes down to.

• Vuvuzela supporters defend its usage by saying that it’s part of an African World Cup experience, that you can’t make us change our ways just because you’re bothered by it.
• Vuvuzela haters say it is annoying, distracting, and when it comes down to it, rude to impose it on them.  They’re basically saying:  “Do this at your own matches, but don’t bring it to the World Cup.”

So what is our responsibility to visitors?  Three things:

• Keep them safe
• Show them a great time
• Give them an African experience

It’s that last one that’s the crux of the matter.  Why travel all the way to South Africa just to have a soccer tournament that looks like it could be in America or Europe?  Why would you want to be in the country for the soccer, but lose out on all the other authentic, local experiences we have to offer?  And why would we want you to miss out on everything that makes us who we are?  Isn’t an important part of hospitality making you one of us, instead of viewing you as an outsider and walking on egg shells around you?  And by the way, FIFA president Joe Blatter agrees:

I understand that the sound is annoying to some.  For us, we can’t imagine it any other way.  Yes, we need to make you feel welcome here.  And we really want you to have a fantastic time.  But we also want you to experience what it means to live in Africa.  So instead of complaining about the vuvuzela, pick one up at your friendly street corner vendor, and blow it.  All the time.  Go sit in a coffee shop and read the local paper.  Get out of Sandton and go have a beer in Soweto.  Rent a car and get out of town into the unimaginable beauty that awaits you.  You’ll see why we love our country so much.

And to those who are watching the games on mute on their TVs and complaining from afar — you really are missing out.  That constant droning symbolizes the exhilaration, stress, and release that is at the heart of what makes soccer such a great game.  Come on, give it another shot, and try to live it with us, not just watch it.

So, listen.  We’re not being rude.  We’re inviting you to come in and make yourself at home.  Please don’t be rude by refusing the invitation.

:============<()   Save the vuvuzela!

It has now been two weeks since we arrived back in Cape Town after an 8 year stint living abroad, and I am still hesitant to write this post.  I keep thinking that I need to give it more time, that my unconditional euphoria about being back has to be some kind of temporary adrenalin rush.  That the other shoe will drop and suddenly I’ll be faced with a strange reality, left only with thoughts of “What have we done!?”  And maybe that will still happen.  But right now, as I sit on our balcony in Sea Point overlooking the Promenade and the vast blue ocean, I’m tempted to give up the fight and embrace what my wife told me over lunch today… What took us so long to move back?

It’s hard to explain, but my spirit lifted the minute we landed in Cape Town (after a grueling 2-day journey with our 6-month old, but that’s a story for a different blog post).  After recuperating at my parents’ house in Stellenbosch for a few days, we moved into our flat in Sea Point a week ago, and we just can’t believe how lucky we are to live here in this amazing place.

The beauty in this area of the world is simply stunning.  This weekend I got up and went for a run along the ocean as the foghorns were working overtime, and 100s of runners were enjoying the early morning ocean-quiet with me.  We spent the day at Camps Bay and Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, and we were left only with thoughts of how blessed we are to have all of this right at our doorstep.

There is chaos here, but it doesn’t feel like chaos, it just feels like life.  When we walk around in downtown Sea Point I sense an energy and a vibrancy that is almost tangible.  As I watch and talk to people, as we experience the diversity of cultures and emotions all around us, I can’t help but fall in love with Africa all over again.  And my wife, who is American, feels exactly the same way.

There are those who tell me we’re crazy for moving back, but the love-hate relationship South Africans have with their country is also part of what draws me to this place — we don’t shy away from the bad stuff, and we don’t shut up about our opinions.

Yes, there are many problems in South Africa.  Serious, serious problems.  And I am not oblivious to it — I remain vigilant and always mindful of the safety of my family, and I’d be lying if I said this weekend’s killing of Eugene Terre’blanche doesn’t make me nervous.  But I see in this country a potential that is so different and unique to anything I’ve experienced living in Australia and America.

Let me put it this way.  When I was in high school, rugby was everything.  The problem is that our school really sucked at it.  We weren’t even allowed to play in the same league as our main rivals in town (Paul Roos Gymnasium), because the embarrassment would just be too devastating and there were fears we would grow up weak and bruised for life.  But the words our coach spoke to us one afternoon after practice have stuck with me ever since:

He told us, yes, we could attend Paul Roos and be part of a great rugby school, a school that has accomplished everything there is to accomplish, a school at the top of the rankings.  Or we could stay here, at Stellenbosch High, and help build something from the ground up.  Now, sure, he was just trying to make us feel better.  But the words rang true.

Living in America was wonderful — I love the country and its people, and I am amazed at how smoothly everything works, and how easy it is to live there.  But here’s the thing: America doesn’t need me.  I can’t really contribute much there.  There are 1,000′s of people there who have the exact same skillset I do.

But here, in Cape Town, in my country, I can become part of something.  The Silicon Cape initiative is getting off the ground.  The user experience community is starting to thrive.  I can be a part of that — and here’s the bonus: I can do it in a place that is brimming with hope and immeasurable beauty.  How can I pass that chance up?

During our last week in America, I reminded my wife at some point that we are taking a big risk by moving here.  The job pool is smaller, there are countless political challenges.  You know what she told me?  ”A safe life is a boring life.”  And she was right (as usual).

So we take this risk and we embrace it with both arms.  So far we are loving every minute of it.  Hard times will come, but we are here, now, and this is our home.  Here, in Africa, we plant ourselves.

Trust and start walking. We are not alone in the dark, our path will unfold as we move. R.L.Stevenson once said: “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” If you can’t move in the physical world, move in your imagination, but MOVE.

A lovely sentiment, but as someone who is preparing to move countries in less than two weeks, the reality is quite different.  A recent New York Times article entitled The Psychology of Moving summed it up pretty well:

Whether one moves frequently or almost never, moving is an intensely emotional experience. The underlying psychological issues involved in real estate decisions are of great interest to therapists and psychologists, because housing and moving are filled with symbolism, the hope for new beginnings, crushing disappointments, loss, anxiety and fear.

“Panic can really set in around your home and your apartment,” said Ronnie Greenberg, a Manhattan psychoanalyst. “It’s a matrix of safety, so moving is incredibly stressful and people don’t realize it — they mainly talk about the packing and the external part of moving.”

That’s certainly not as sexy as the first statement, but it is most certainly closer to the truth (except for the part about not realizing how stressful it is.  I have pretty good grasp of how stressed I am right now!).

To go a little further (and definitely more eloquently) into the realities of moving, I want to go back to a great book everyone should read, The Art of Travel.  Alain De Botton says the following:

If our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest—in all its ardour and paradoxes—than our travels. They express, however inarticulately, an understanding of what life might be about, outside of the constraints of work and of the struggle for survival.

Yet rarely are they considered to present philosophical problems—that is, issues requiring thought beyond the practical. We are inundated with advice on where to travel to, but we hear little of why and how we should go, even though the art of travel seems naturally to sustain a number of questions neither so simple nor so trivial, and whose study might in modest ways contribute to an understanding of what the Greek philosophers beautifully termed eudaimonia, or ‘human flourishing’.

At the heart of what makes moving such a complex emotional and physical endeavor is what Alain calls “the relationship between the anticipation of travel and its reality.”   It is never what you think it’s going to be, and that results in a lot of stress and mixed emotions.

The problem is that we can never fully anticipate all the mundane details involved in moving.  So we focus on the outcome — the first breakfast in your new home, the first family walk.  But oh, how the reality of the journey hurts.  One more quote from The Art of Travel that sums this up much better than I can:

If we are inclined to forget how much there is in the world besides that which we anticipate, then works of art are perhaps a little to blame, for in them we find at work the same process of simplification or selection as in the imagination. Artistic accounts involve severe abbreviations of what reality will force upon us.

A travel book may tell us, for example, that the narrator journeyed through the afternoon to reach the hill town of X and after a night in its medieval monastery awoke to a misty dawn. But we never simply ‘journey through an afternoon’. We sit in a train. Lunch digests awkwardly within us. The seat cloth is grey. We look out the window at a field. We look back inside. A drum of anxieties revolves in our consciousness. We notice a luggage label affixed to a suitcase in a rack above the seats opposite. We tap a finger on the window ledge. A broken nail on an index finger catches a thread. It starts to rain. A drop wends a muddy path down the dust-coated window. We wonder where our ticket might be. We look back out at the field. It continues to rain. At last the train starts to move. It passes an iron bridge, after which it inexplicably stops. A fly lands on the window.

And still we may have reached the end only of the first minute of a comprehensive account of the events lurking within the deceptive sentence ‘He journeyed through the afternoon’.

So, there’s that.  But I guess the point is that, somehow, you get through it.  You journey through the afternoon, and you get where you need to be.  And after the dust settles you are left with the sense of accomplishment that comes from beating down a challenge — and a new beginning to make.

So even though I know the reality of getting there is going to be pretty bad, I need to keep my eyes on that first breakfast in Cape Town.  And that, I guess, is the art of moving.

But I finally read it, and it gave me goosebumps.  So for anyone out there who have also not read it, here it is…

We, the people of South Africa,
Recognise the injustices of our past;
Honour those who suffered for justice and freedom in our land;
Respect those who have worked to build and develop our country; and
Believe that South Africa belongs to all who live in it, united in our diversity.
We therefore, through our freely elected representatives, adopt this Constitution as the supreme law of the Republic so as to:

• Heal the divisions of the past and establish a society based on democratic values, social justice and fundamental human rights;
• Lay the foundations for a democratic and open society in which government is based on the will of the people and every citizen is equally protected by law;
• Improve the quality of life of all citizens and free the potential of each person; and
• Build a united and democratic South Africa able to take its rightful place as a sovereign state in the family of nations.

May God protect our people.
Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. Morena boloka setjhaba sa heso.
God seën Suid-Afrika. God bless South Africa.
Mudzimu fhatutshedza Afurika. Hosi katekisa Afrika.

I’m proud to be from a country where we can openly and honestly acknowledge the mistakes of our past, so that we don’t repeat them in the future.

Since our family is moving back to Cape Town in March after 6 years in America, I read the article with great interest.  And as far as rants go, this is a pretty good one.  This guy isn’t holding anything back.  You can read the post here if you’re so inclined.

Now, towards the end of the post, he wrote this piece of advice to people like us who are planning to come back:

If you are overseas, and Africa is in your bones, and you’re feeling duped by SA’s advertising that it’s all getting better (yes, Homecoming Revolution, I am talking about YOU) then don’t believe the hype. If you are white, you are unemployable, no matter how many skills or how much experience you have. Unless you are coming to participate in greed culture, and are willing to risk everything you have saved overseas (yes, overseas we have disposable income – we CAN save), then don’t be tempted by summers and blue skies. Get a UV light to combat the winter depression, but think very carefully before putting South Africa back on your radar.

So let me just address a couple of points in that paragraph straight up:

• Homecoming Revolution has been extremely helpful to me in our preparations for returning home.  Their website has great resources, their staff have always been responsive and friendly, and they helped me connect with the right people when I had questions.  They also didn’t push FNB’s banking services on me — when they heard I already have an ABSA account, they didn’t pursue the matter any further (Homecoming Revolution is sponsored by FNB).
• I am white, and therefore unemployable according to the author.  And even though I understand hyperbole and assume that’s what he was going for, I do want to point out that I am returning to a great job that I am extremely excited about.
• “Greed culture”?  As opposed to the UK and the US where everyone is sitting around singing Kumbaya and figuring out how they can give their money away to other people?  No my friend, South Africa is no more nor less greedy than any other nation in the world.
• Listen, there’s a lot to be said for those summers and blue skies.  For example:

So anyway, I don’t want to make this a long post because I have coffee brewing and I don’t want it to get cold.  But let me just say this.  The author wants me to cancel our tickets and not make the same mistake he made.  And I am not denying that he’s had a bad experience.  But his beef seems mostly with Homecoming Revolution (who’s been great to me) and FNB (not my bank).

So I’m just going to go ahead and ignore his advice.  Partly because our tickets are booked and I already sold my Xbox.  But mostly because I know three very important things:

1. No country is perfect
2. With the right attitude and a little bit of help from your friends you can make it anywhere
3. South Africa is my home

See you in March, Cape Town!

So go unlock the door
And find what you are here for
Leave the great indoors
Leave the great indoors

I started this blog when I first moved to the US with only a backpack and my guitar almost 6 years ago, and I named it “Leave the great indoors” because these John Mayer lyrics resonated so well with that strange mix of bewilderment and excitement you feel when you start a new adventure that turns your life upside down (and makes you feel so ridiculously alive).

A lot has changed over the past 6 years as I got married to my lovely American wife and we got settled into day-to-day life.  But unfortunately so much has stayed the same, and over the past year or so Jess and I have grown increasingly restless in our comfortable indoors.  It is a testament to the success and brilliance of America just how easy it is to live here.  Everything just, well, works.  Sure, America is not without its problems, but let’s agree on one simple fact: it works.

Ironically, in that blessing that is the American Dream also lies the country’s biggest curse: the undeniable draw into all-consuming consumerism and complacency.  You can end up defining yourself by things like how big your car is or how quickly you can get promoted at work — and let’s face it, there are more important things in life.  It is this slow descent into just another branded life that brought Jess and I to a point where we finally made the decision we always knew we’d make at some point in our lives: moving back to South Africa.

Donald Miller, in his book A Million Miles In A Thousand Years, perfectly sums up the thought process that brought us to this point:

If [it's true about] a good story being a condensed version of life — that is, if story is just life without the meaningless scenes — I wondered if life could be lived more like a good story in the first place.  I wondered if a person could plan a story for his life and live it intentionally.

So now, once again, we are in the process of leaving the great indoors to write a new story.  Moving back to South Africa was always our long-term plan — we were just waiting for the right time.  We have since realized that there is never a “right time” for major life changes, you just need to jump in.

I also realized that there are already enough blog posts and stories about expats who moved back to South Africa, and the reasons why they did it.  And yes, all those reasons apply to us: the beautiful scenery, the amazing people, being close to family, the vitality of a country in flux, the excitement of being a part of something bigger than yourself, and of course, just because it is impossible to get Africa out of your blood.

But in the end, the reason that ended up being the tipping point for us is something a little less romantic, a little more universal.  We are tired of being complacent. Sure, you don’t need to move countries to get out of that funk, and everyone’s story is different.  But our story needs this.  For us, moving back is the fulfillment of the quintessential African Dream: to find a place where you can get your hands dirty and help build a nation with limitless potential.

Yes, it won’t be easy.  But to quote Donald Miller again:

When we watch the news [and stories about violence come on], we grieve all of this, but when we go to the movies, we want more of it.  Somehow we realize that great stories are told in conflict, but we are unwilling to embrace the potential greatness of the story we are in.  We think God is unjust, rather than a master storyteller.

So we are ready for this story, and all the conflict it may bring.  We’ll see you in the Silicon Cape in March of 2010.

Does your story need a little conflict?  Make it happen!

Speech to South African youth on Day of Affirmation in 1966

First, the news coverage of Sen. Kennedy’s death led me to the eulogy he gave at his brother Robert’s funeral in 1969.  In his eulogy Sen. Kennedy quotes from a remarkable speech entitled “A Tiny Ripple of Hope” that Robert Kennedy gave in Cape Town on June 6, 1966 on the “Day of Affirmation.”  Here are some excerpts from that speech – powerful words that may just as well have been spoken yesterday to the current generation of South Africans:

There is discrimination in this world and slavery and slaughter and starvation. Governments repress their people; millions are trapped in poverty while the nation grows rich and wealth is lavished on armaments everywhere. These are differing evils, but they are the common works of man. They reflect the imperfection of human justice, the inadequacy of human compassion, our lack of sensibility towards the suffering of our fellows. But we can perhaps remember — even if only for a time — that those who live with us are our brothers; that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek — as we do — nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.

Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men. And surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again. The answer is to rely on youth — not a time of life but a state of mind, a temper of the will, a quality of imagination, a predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the love of ease. The cruelties and obstacles of this swiftly changing planet will not yield to the obsolete dogmas and outworn slogans. They cannot be moved by those who cling to a present that is already dying, who prefer the illusion of security to the excitement and danger that come with even the most peaceful progress.

Few will have the greatness to bend history itself, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation. It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

For the fortunate among us, there is the temptation to follow the easy and familiar paths of personal ambition and financial success so grandly spread before those who enjoy the privilege of education. But that is not the road history has marked out for us. Like it or not, we live in times of danger and uncertainty. But they are also more open to the creative energy of men than any other time in history. All of us will ultimately be judged, and as the years pass we will surely judge ourselves on the effort we have contributed to building a new world society and the extent to which our ideals and goals have shaped that event.

It was a call to action back then, and it still is today. A call to not stand idly by to injustice around us, and a call to look beyond the “familiar paths of personal ambition and financial success” and get involved in a positive way in our local communities. Below is an audio version of Sen. Kennedy’s eulogy. It is a stirring speech and well worth a listen:

Sen. Edward Kennedy’s eulogy to Robert Kennedy:

Sen. Edward Kennedy’s visit to South Africa in 1985

And then, in 1985, amid enormous political unrest in South Africa over apartheid, Sen. Kennedy visited South Africa to stand up against apartheid, at a time where most of the West were still ignoring what was happening in the country.  From an article in Global Post this morning:

At the invitation of Desmond Tutu, Kennedy visited South Africa in January 1985 in a trip denounced by the apartheid regime at the time. On his return to the United States, Kennedy introduced the Anti-Apartheid Act of 1985, legislation that sought to impose economic sanctions on the government of P.W. Botha. A later version of the bill – a mixture of incentives and sanctions – was eventually passed by Congress despite the veto of President Ronald Reagan.

In a statement released Wednesday, the ruling African National Congress said Kennedy was particularly remembered for staging a protest outside Pollsmoor Prison where Nelson Mandela was being held at the time. According to the ANC, Mandela said years later that he knew of Kennedy’s presence outside his prison cell and that it “gave us a lot of strength and hope, and the feeling that we had millions behind us both in our struggle against apartheid but in our special situation in prison.”

The ANC said it “will forever treasure the contribution made by ‘Teddy’ in the struggle for liberation and the building of our democracy.”

We owe it to the memory of Sen. Edward Kennedy, and so many others, to honor their legacy and help build the future of South Africa. May he rest in peace.

Want to start a new trend. #SAis – We’re constantly told what South Africa isn’t. I think it’s time to tell the world what SA is. Thoughts?

Well, in true Twitter fashion, we all responded.  Pretty soon the #SAis hashtag (short for “South Africa is”) spread like wildfire, and it is really inspiring to read through the posts (you can click here to do a real-time search for Twitter updates with the #SAis hashtag).

The updates are predominantly positive, and I still find it amazing that all South Africans seem to feel exactly the same way about their country.  I pretty much nodded my head at every one of the updates.  It is a testament to the strength of the culture when there is such unity in our diversity.

I wanted to pull out and post some of my favorite #SAis updates.  Here they are:

But the best update, the one that sums it all up, comes from Simon Dingle himself, the guy who started this trend:

These days there is also no shortage of articles and blog posts by foreigners/expats returning home and loving it.  South Africa, fit for purpose? is one that caught my eye today.  Here’s an excerpt:

Look, South Africa can be edgy and you need to be vigilant. I’d say that rule of thumb applies to every single city in England on a Friday or Saturday night. Do you feel safe as the great weekend chunder-fest gets under way?

But let’s talk people. And in South Africa, you’ll find warmth and openness whereever you go. There’s difference, too, a sense of vitality and honesty that is refreshing. You feel alive here, aware of the great possibilties. It’s not perfect, there are kinks, dangers, but there’s an intoxicating buzz, too.

While you’re at it, you should really also read #SAis my home, a great blog post by an Irish immigrant to South Africa.  I love this part – an excerpt from the cover letter of his application for permanent residency:

I am especially excited by the new, more forward-looking approach that South Africans are adopting with which to view themselves, the country and the challenges that the country faces. South Africa is a country with great needs, but even greater potential.

While Aids, crime, poverty and unemployment remain significant challenges; they should be seen as potential catalysts for remarkable transformation. Either we choose to embrace South Africa with a positive, constructive and engaging spirit, or we choose to submit to pessimism, fear and misery. That’s it. Nothing complicated really.

What is the most prominent thought that underlines my desire to stay in South Africa? Not the lifestyle, not friends or family…. But the feeling that in this country, you really, really can make a difference.  South Africa is a country where I believe I can write my own story, make a difference and be noticed.

And as for me… After reading through much of today’s SA news, there wasn’t much more I could add to the conversation, except this:

Update on June 2nd: It looks like the trend is really taking off now, thanks to an excellent article in Business Day (Why your country needs you to sign up for a Twitter account) by Simon Barber.  Keep #SAis alive, people!