Soweto.

He said, "I want to buy some bread." He was 11 years old, tall for his age but skinny. He wore an electric blue shirt with sky blue shorts, and a fisherman's hat at least 3 sizes too small for him. He'd asked me all the polite questions-- where are you from? how long are you staying? how old are you? do you have any brothers or sisters? Then he got to the important part.

I asked, "Where can I buy it for you?"

He pointed across the 4-lane street to the imposing concrete block, the ShopRite supermarket. My classmates were walking towards the bus and I knew I wouldn't have time to buy the bread before we left down the long road out of Soweto.

I handed him a R20 bill, worth about $2.50, and said, "Promise you'll share some with your brother and sister.

He said, "Yes, yes," and his eyes wandered away from mine.

I said, "Share it with your family, okay?"

He said, "Yes, yes," and I didn't know if I could believe him.

I asked, "Give me a smile?"

He kicked up red-brown dust as he turned and left, and I could feel my guilt deepen as his friends approached me with dirt-streaked, outstretched hands.

--

Today we went to Soweto, which stands for "southwestern township." It was first established as a place for black Africans to live so they could work in the city of Johannesburg, which should only have been occupied by whites. As apartheid became more entrenched and finally legalized in South African society (in the 1940s), townships were built around every major city to separate the white upper class city-dwellers from the black second-class citizens.

We started the tour with the newer, nicer houses on the outskirts of Soweto, closest to Joburg. These houses were comparable to what you'd see in a nice middle-class suburb in the states. The tour guide told us that these were black millionaires who were able to move out of their smaller shanty-houses deeper within Soweto even during the harsh apartheid era. He also reminded us that some were "legal" black millionaires, while others were "professional economic adjusters." Crooks.

By the time we arrived at the neighborhood where my fisherman-hatted friend lived, it was clear that society is distinctly stratified even inside the townships. At one time, Soweto was full of shacks and shanties with no water or electricity, about 10 people staying in a 2-room house. Unfortunately, for many people in Soweto, the realities are the same now.

I didn't catch the name of the boy who I spoke with-- of course not, since I'm just another ignorant foreigner. The neighborhood was named after a freedom fighter, Ellias Motsoaledi. About 8000 shanties stretch far to the horizon in two lanes. There are only a few water spouts, and there is no electricity. The families use communal toilets which empty into tanks that have only been cleaned twice in the last 3 years.

The hardest part of the tour was not just seeing the poverty and feeling bad about it-- it was knowing that I was a tourist in a poverty-stricken area. The residents of the neighborhood purposely opened their houses to tourists so they could make some money, which they gather together and buy food for the families who are struggling the most. I didn't take any pictures in there. It felt like exoticizing poverty. I know that they only do it because they need the money, and in the end, it's usually worth it for them. But I couldn't help feeling like I was part of a charade. A group of naive tourists enters the township, gets to swoop around the neighborhood, peek inside a house, ask questions about their living conditions. Then the cute little kids follow you down the street, acting curious about you, but all the while just waiting to ask for your money.

You know there's no way you can donate enough money to pull all the kids out of poverty. But you also can't favor one over the other. Your money will probably feed the family for a day or so, or go to candy and treats for the kids. You don't really know what is going to happen with them. You probably won't go back.

So I gave the kid some money. I gave money to the mother in the house that we visited. I gave money to the tour guide so he could distribute it amongst his community. And then I left. I hope I'll go back, but I'm not sure if I'll make much of a difference my second time around either.

--

This is the kind of reason that I wanted to return to southern Africa after visiting Botswana and Zimbabwe two years ago. Of course, that was a completely different situation, and we were visiting completely different countries. Still, I don't know what to do about my intense guilt for all the inequality in the world. Even driving through Evanston, it pains me to see the beautiful houses along the lake and the run-down buildings further south and west. Working for Supplies for Dreams is great, because I feel like I'm doing something about a small part of that inequality, starting with the education system. I guess I have found my garden to cultivate. Now I am just taking a step back to remember that we are all just working on one little corner of injustice in our own worlds. There is much work to be done ! ..