Blue Waters

On Saturday, we sat in a leaky tent on flimsy folding chairs, overturned buckets, and the rain-soaked rug, taking the stories of the refugees of the Blue Waters Camp. By the end of the afternoon my heart was aching and I was emotionally drained after taking affidavits from two refugees who are working along with other refugees in the camp with the LRC (Legal Resource Center) to protest the government's closure of the camp.

I spoke with a man from Somalia and a 29-year-old widow from the DCR, both who displayed little emotion while telling me the stories of their lives and the reason they are now living at Blue Waters. While I am not at liberty to disclose their stories due to confidentiality with the LRC, I can honestly say that I left horrified and guilt-trodden at the things in life that I complain about. To complain about a slow internet connection or having to put a sweater on when it's too cold in the house seem so shallow and insignificant.

It wasn't until this Saturday, staring into the eyes of the refugees around the room that I really realized how lost some of them are in the world. Some literally had no other person in the world, as they had fled their native countries due to political unrest--fleeing to South Africa in hopes of a better life. For some, it was only a year after arriving in SA when the xenophobic attacks began in May 2008, forcing them to flee their communities and find refuge at the camps.

One of the most unsettling comments was one after I asked about the availability of food at Blue Waters. After learning that there was none, and following up by asking how the refugee received food, I was saddened to hear that there were many days when they were even too tired to go to town to beg, and would simply go to bed hungry. So much for even living on $1 a day.