Friday 30 November 2012 14:47, UK
Stuart Barnes talks about his refusal to tour apartheid South Africa and the vital charity work he is doing.
In 1983, aged just 21 and newly capped for England, Stuart Barnes risked his future in rugby by refusing to play in apartheid South Africa. He was one of only two English players to make that courageous stand, and as a result, he became well known to South Africans. He was later introduced to the legendary campaigning journalist, Donald Woods, and this summer, Stuart travelled into the rural Eastern Cape to see the work of the charity which was set up as a living memorial to Woods who died in 2001. Here, he writes about that journey, and the film he made about the experience: The first animal to catch my eye in the region once called "the Transkei" is a donkey. Laid out on the side of the road. Dead. Not just dead - decapitated: one clean cut. Hit by a vehicle on a dirt road, dismantled by human (maybe hungry?) hands? I can only guess. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a world away, broadcasting from the exquisite, brand spanking new sports stadium in Port Elizabeth, but now I'm journeying into the "deep rural" areas of South Africa's Eastern Cape in my capacity as an Ambassador for the Donald Woods Foundation. It's a charity dedicated to fighting poverty in a part of the country where the fight is uphill. Used by the apartheid regime as a "dumping ground" for those forcibly removed from their homes to create "Whites Only" areas, unemployment here is 89%, and one in five is infected with HIV. There is little piped water, electricity or sanitation, and most people survive below subsistence level. Some people refer to the region as 'The Forgotten Transkei'. It is easy to see why. Tracks of tarmac road are a rarity. The sciatica is stirring on the dirt roads where locals bump around, fourteen to a taxi making the fare a payable (but only just) pittance. The M4 never seemed better. After the headless donkey, we drive by the compound in which Mandela passes the twilight years of his greatness. We've taken a 20 minute detour to see the walls, the roof, and the flags which leave you tingling, aware of that something extraordinary which grew from and came home to these parts. Despite a tragic history, this area has given birth to some of the greatest leaders Africa (and the world) have ever known. For me, it's the beginning of an emotional few days in which I'm to witness first hand the cocktail of killer problems that thwarts the aspirations of hundreds of thousands who live in this place of sad-eyed beauty. Take the day spent with the 20-year-old schoolboy, Nkululeko. He stands out from his class-mates because he is so much older than them. He and his brother were orphaned as young teenagers, losing both parents to HIV, and have been fending for themselves ever since. They've evolved a system for getting themselves an education: while one brother works on a building site to support them both, the other swots up on his homework. At the end of the school year the brothers switch roles. They've been doing this for years. Nkululeko is "ashamed" of being so much older than his classmates, but it's the only plan they've got.