How God used a stranger to heal my heart
The year was 2008. I was a student living in Cape Town, South Africa and there was an outbreak of xenophobic attacks around the country that year. Tensions were high and many immigrants living in South Africa were badly affected by violent attacks. Countless foreigners lived in fear for their safety and lives. Their loved ones outside the country watched in horror as the reports of violent and aggressive acts circulated on news and social media. Many were displaced. Some lost their lives. It was a heart-breaking and trying time.
The church I used to attend at that time kindly converted the church building into a shelter for displaced immigrants and refugees from high-risk areas. Many other churches, universities, schools, and spaces with means also did the same. As an immigrant myself, I was fortunate to be living in a neighbourhood that was relatively safe. I could move around freely as normal. However, that did not stop my parents, my friends, and other family members from worrying about my safety. Though I was not directly or physically impacted, I was impacted emotionally and psychologically. I watched what was happening around the country in dismay. At times I’d feel outraged and yet have no outlet for it.
I felt indignant and helpless. The country I had come to love as my second home now felt hostile and uninhabitable. Cynicism began to creep in. I remember that I’d look at my neighbours or strangers in the street with distrust. I wondered which side of the fence they sat on. If they knew or discovered that I was an immigrant, would they smile at me then plot my demise behind my back or would they treat me as an equal? Would they be the one to betray a foreigner or were they an ally? Did they sympathise with those displaced and affected or were they secretly glad, telling themselves that finally something was being done about the influx of refugees and immigrants.
So, it was in this mental state that I went to the shops near my apartment one day. I’d stiffen and bridle each time I met someone in public. I worried that they’d strike up a conversation with me with the intention to discern my nationality then harm me. Sure, there hadn’t been any incidents in my area as I mentioned however, I was fearful nonetheless. As I walked, a lady that seemed friendly stopped to speak to me. I looked around and realised there was no one nearby should the encounter turn ugly. I stopped to speak to her all the same.
She seemed friendly and harmless enough.
I can’t remember how the conversation actually started or much of what we spoke about. I do remember her mentioning that she lived in or near the area and that she was indeed South African. She spoke about the displaced foreigners that were taking refuge at the church I attended and I asked her if she attended the same church. I was pretty sure that hadn’t seen her there before. It was a very small church where everybody was familiar with everybody. She told me that she did not. I asked her a few more questions to find out if she knew me or we’d crossed paths before. We hadn’t. Now, though I can’t remember how the conversation started, I do remember very clearly how it ended.
She apologised to me on behalf of her fellow South Africans. She denounced the xenophobic attacks and asked whether I was okay and safe. She urged me to remember that not all South Africans are like the aggressive and violent minority. Lastly, she asked me if she could give me a hug. I said yes and then she put her arms around me, hugged me briefly, then said goodbye. She went on her way and I went on mine, however, I was not the same after those parting words and that parting hug. She said the words that I really needed to hear that day.
The walls I hadn’t realised I’d allowed to encase my heart concerning South Africans, in general, came tumbling down. I realised that bias and prejudgement had begun to take root in my heart. Moreover, I realised that I felt justified for the prejudice I was beginning to harbour. With a simple hug and some kind words, the lady I met on Campground Road in Rondebosch that day helped me to not only realise it but to also change my heart and mind. To this day, I still have not figured out who she was or how she knew that I was an immigrant without even asking me. That’s not what’s important to me though.
What’s important to me is how God used a simple encounter with a friendly stranger to minister to and heal my heart. He knew what I was feeling and thinking. He knew exactly what I needed and he sent an angel in the form of this lady to provide it. When God showed up for me, the distrust and cynicism I was harbouring crumbled. He showed me how I was going astray with the prejudice, but he also began to heal the fear and trauma I was experiencing because of what was happening. What’s important to me is the courage, empathy, and kindness a stranger showed me. It inspired me and left me forever changed and blessed.
Love,
iBloom for God 