I’ve always supported the other. Growing up in apartheid South Africa I learned from an early age that where I came from was denigrated, despised, disgusting. I allowed myself no sense of belonging. I always knew that I would leave when I was old enough. I was driven to disown everything I came from, everything around me.
I rooted against the local teams with every fiber of my young being. The Springboks were the enemy, Highlands Park with their arrogant red uniform and attitude, the devil incarnate. Support of the other provided a channel whereby I could rebel against the status quo. It made me different, alienated me from my surroundings, and made me a stranger in my environment.
I became a traveler in an impenetrable Diaspora, bringing with me the need not to belong, determined not to fit in. To Israel, back to South Africa, and then to America. Along the way I learned to walk the middle ground; getting closer to a sense of belonging but never quite letting go of the support of the other.
Today I experienced a shift. Standing in the World Cup fan zone at Melrose Arch, amidst a pulsating mass of electric emotion in support of Bafana Bafana, I felt myself dissolve and become one with a remarkable energy. It was like being born.
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