To listen with an open mind when others speak,
And to remember the peace that may be found
In silence
-Cherokee prayer
From the moment I arrived in Kimberley I was told that my new home would be in a quiet area. Since then, as I sit with my host mother each morning with our tea and coffee she comments on the quietness of her street. I agree that the street is quiet. It lacks the sound of busy traffic or any loud shouting. I can hear the pigeons hanging out on the roof and have started to recognize and distinguish the sounds of the different barks coming from the neighbor’s yards.
Despite this description, the conversations that I have had on this block have been LOUD. I have been a part of loud conversations regarding South African history and how it has affected the communities and individuals within Kimberley, the history of Kimberley and the ongoing search for and controversy over diamonds, the history of the many churches in my city, and the history of my neighbors and their families. I have been witness to the not-so-quiet emotions of my new neighbors and friends. For example, the excitement and nervousness of a girl getting her make-up done before her matric farewell, the pain and sadness as a family mourns the loss of a loved one, and the ease and joy that comes from sitting around with friends over a cool drink and some fat cakes. The talk and chatter that fills my new house and the houses around me on this ‘quiet’ street have spoken to me in very deep and wonderful ways.
Another place in Kimberley has shouted loud enough to catch my attention. This place is a first grade classroom full of brilliant and enthusiastic students who happen to be deaf. My voice, regardless of its volume, does not get me anywhere as far as communication goes in this setting. On my first day I thought, “How can I be of any help sitting here silent and not knowing any sign language?” But I was caught off guard and another seemingly quiet place turned into a loud and exhilarating experience. During my time in this classroom I have noticed the emotions so easily read across the student’s faces and their large and deliberate movements and signs fill a room with a sense of noise. I have found even without a common language, the kids and I are able to communicate, work and laugh together. When too many children try to get my attention I find myself instinctively saying, “shhh”, even though there’s no audible sound to quiet down.
Needless to say, the Kimberley that I have experienced over the last month is far from quiet, both at home and in the places I am volunteering in. Even my surroundings seem to be calling out for my attention in the most wonderful ways. Whether that is an enormous ostrich that walks up across the street in someone’s yard or flock of hot pink flamingos flying over me. I didn’t even know flamingos flew. I’m pretty sure they don’t at the Henry Vilas Zoo in Madison, Wisconsin. I have been brought to attention here in Kimberley. I simply cannot help but continually be blown away, even at the everyday things that may be quiet and ordinary to others. I’ve learned that words and actions do not have to be loud to be heard or meaningful. I’ve learned that we all have a voice, disability or not, and that what we have to say can be powerful regardless of where or who it is coming from.
The Cherokee prayer above was found in a packet of readings and reflections given to us YAGM’s in Chicago during orientation in August. I think that I can understand it a little bit better after being here in Kimberley for only a month. With an open mind it is truly amazing what can be heard even on a quiet street or from a child who communicates differently than you. I look forward to continuing this year in Kimberley with ears, eyes and mind wide open, ready to take it all in even on a peaceful, silent evening.
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