Dearest Friends and Family,
I hope everyone is well and, I cannot believe it's time to say, looking forward to the festive season! It is well over a year since I came to St Anthony's and I find myself again caught up in the whirl of life in a children's home preparing for Christmas.
Since last updating you all I have had a number of adventures, taking me all over the country, with various visitors. I will try and piece together the last 3 months quickly and show how I have risen out of my valley and am feeling very positive about life again!
Mum and Dad arrived in September and came straight to St Anthony's, greeted by the beaming faces of 24 girls, dressed in bright white clothes, and displaying their well-rehearsed 'majorettes' display by way of welcome. Mum and Dad's experience of St Anthony's was much the same as my first introduction to the children, they fell in love with them all in 3 days flat! The highlight of our time with the kids had to be the Sunday afternoon when the three of us decided to hold a BBQ party for the 30 teenagers. Dad manned the BBQ while mum and I had baked cupcakes and coordinated food and drink for everyone. Then the music took over and the kids made the party their own. It moved outside and we were soon in fits of laughter as first mum, then dad, then I, attempted to perform Zulu dance, with varying degrees of success!
As well as our time at St Anthony's mum, dad and I also went on a couple of breaks around the country. First was our trip to the beach, at Port Edward. Beautiful hotel and location, right on the estuary and the beach. The only dampener was the weather! The first day was in full sun and we spent in well on the beach. But as the days progressed the clouds came and it seemed duller everyday! But we made the most of our stay, with a trip to Oribi gorge where we were all brave enough to venture across the suspension bridge, despite the high winds! Mum and I also found rather less adventurous pastimes in the form of the mall and spa...relaxation comes in many forms :)
We also had a fantastic trip to the Drakensberg mountains, the highlight definitely being our discovery of the Drakensberg boy's choir. They really are worldclass performers, we especially enjoyed the traditional African songs and dancing, the whole way through the second half I was saying 'I have to take Lindsey to see this!!'
The next day we went on a hike into to the gorge at Monk's Cowl mountain. It was such a hot day and there was very little shade that dad got a migraine, he did very well to manage to make it back the 2 hours to the car.
Mum and Dad returned via a very enjoyable stay at Melissa's guesthouse and I stayed there to greet Lindsey just a few days later. She was hot on the heels of mum and dad! Poor me, I was forced to have another holiday back to back ;)
Lindsey also came first to St Anthony's where the kids were very happy to greet her. We had a hectic two weeks together, hardly a minute to spare! Whilst at the home we painted an amaaaazing motif on the wall outside of a sunset [all the artistic credit goes to Lins!] Lindsey also arranged an art and craft activity for the children which they loved. Very rarely do they ever get to just spend time together doing something creative and they loved going wild with glitter glue, paint, pritt stick and sequins. I particularly loved the boys view of the xmas sequins, I heard them arguing over who managed to find a 'springbok' amongst the sequins, I realised they meant the reindeers!!
Lindsey also taught a session of gospel choir, the girls are still singing 'Come and go with me, to my father's house!' and are requesting more choir sessions. I hope to resume them soon, and possibly with a guitar! I have hatched a plan to buy a guitar and a 'teach yourself' book and then perhaps can accompany the choir and teach some of the kids to play.
Me and Lindsey also had lots of our own adventures. We set off first to St Lucia, on the coast north of Durban. We had a last minute panic when we found out that it was a malaria area and headed to town to buy some pills. The first chemist informed us that malaria tablets are only available on prescription and that we would have to pay for a doctor's appointment before we could get some. Or, she added, on the otherhand, we could try our luck at the chemist in town, which is renowned for operating under less strict principles :s
We found the chemist she had mentioned and sure enough, our request for malaria medication was met with no reference to our having a prescription! Reading the leaflet inside we realised why the pills were only £5 a packet...side effects apparently ranged from nightmares, to depression, to serious psychological conditions. We shrugged our shoulders and swallowed our first pill, hoping that we would be immune to the effects.
Arriving in St Lucia we were happy to find a beautiful beach which we promptly lay down on until the sunset. The small town was unlike anywhere I had been in SA before, a proper beachy town where you could walk around safely and pop into surfer shops or souvenir places, without being at all tacky. As it began to get dark we pulled up at our backpackers and approached the reception. As we did the sounds of a rather drunken group of people drifted up from the bar, and the reception itself was deserted. I was just about to investigate the party when Lins grabbed my hand and her face pulled me up short. She was on the verge of tears! We hurried out and I tried to calm her down, did the backpackers really look that bad?!?! It seems the rather uncharacteristic reaction was the first of many examples of the malaria pills side effects!
Needless to say, we hurried to find another place to spend the night and found ourselves in a cute little apartment of sorts. We were led to our room by the security guard who informed us most excitedly that we might encounter a hippo outside our room and so should take care if venturing out in the dark. Also, we were told that due to the drought being suffered in the area, there were severe water restrictions but luckily there was still enough water to have a shower and get all the sand off!
The next day we headed off to the river to go on a boat safari where we had some great sightings of crocs and hippos. It was quite cloudy and, stupidly, we werent too careful about wearing suncreen, and later that day found we were both bright red [though Lins turned brown later and I just peeled].
That afternoon we decided to brave the backpackers again and headed in through to the bar. We found a middleaged guy sitting at a bar table, reeking of alcohol which was seeping out his pores, and with one eye squinting. He greeted us with a drawled hello and stood up to reveal grubby feet and unwashed clothes! Basically, the manager was a drunk beach bum!! Luckily our room [twin beds for same price as a dormitory] was clean and perfectly fine for the cheap price. We decided to avoid having to have a drink with the manager and went out for the evening to a really nice restaurant - potato skins for starter mmmm - and came back as late as possible to avoid the guy.
We weren't late enough, and were greeted by a half drunk party of the manager and his friends who had come to visit. I sat down on one bench whilst Lins was whisked off to another and enjoyed a number of interested conversations with some new friends, a yoga teacher from Canada, a trainee physiotherapist working at a zulu government hospital and a guy filming a documentary about rhino poaching. Lins on the otherhand was less happily occupied. With a very drunk guy who kept taking her photo, an old man who boasted about sleeping with a 19yr old the night before, and a boy who spilt his drink on her. O and the manager of course! In order to get away from the unsavoury guests we had to go to bed! Luckily they turned the music off so we could get some sleep.
However, I woke up in the night needing the loo. Not sure whether I was drunk or suffering the hallucinatory side effects of the malaria pills... I opened the door and was met by the buzzing of hundreds of bees in the corridor surrounding the light. I remember saying 'its like the book of Exodus' shutting the door and laying back down. The next morning I woke up with this strange recollection and thought it was a strange dream. Opening the door I found the hundreds of bees now mostly lying on the floor under the light and was partly thankful that the malaria tablets were not affecting me! Lins was not so thankful..! [The next night I turned the corridor light off and it was all fine]
After St Lucia we undertook the mammoth drive of 8hours from St Lucia to Nelspruit, round the edge of Swaziland. The day on the road seemed so hot, we opened the window and hot air just rushed in [but we were trying to conserve on fuel by turning off the air con]. When we arrived at Nelspruit we found it had infact been over 40 degrees that day!!
Hopeful for hot weather the next day we went to bed and got up early for our day trip to the waterfalls of Mpumulanga. As we headed out at 7.30 it seemed a bit overcast but we thought it was just early morning cloud. 30min out of the city we were not so sure...we found ourselves in thick thick fog, I had to put on my full beams and try desperately to keep my eye on the edge of the road as we wound round hair pin bends! We stopped for breakfast in the fog filled town of Graskop and had a rather interesting time in a really oldfashioned cafe complete with its very own cowboy! It felt like we were in a old western movie, frilly dollies and weird pictures and ornaments around the place. The proprietor happily told us that Graskop is famous for having 'four seasons in one day' so we could find it becoming sunny later, though she doubted it. We decided to drive further on to Bourke's Luck potholes and 10min outside of Graskop we were through the cloud and there was bright sunshine! We sunbathed on a rock at the potholes and headed back to Graskop, straight back into fog! We had a nice time having a pancake lunch and browsing in all the souvenir shops.
From Nelspruit we drove back to Joburg, through a massive thunderstorm, but luckily the city had some sunshine and Lins managed to sunbathe round Melissa's pool. The next day I waved goodbye to Lins through the glass around the security gates, the scene of many tearfilled goodbyes! I had sat and cried after Luke left, when a stranger offered me a hug! Cried my eyes out when mum and dad left and now did the same as Lins left. But it had been a great trip and many happy memories were made :)
Since then, I have been working away, trying to make up for so many weeks on holiday. I have spent 10 weeks on the mammoth 'reach for a star' christmas project which has finally been completed today when I made a presentation to the 30 priests of the diocese. The house build is almost over, I learnt how to put glass in windows with putty which was fun! I made a presentation to the Newcastle Rotary club which hopefully will reap some funding in the future. And have made countless driving trips to the doctors, shops and children's houses.
One more anecdote...my infamous trip to the mountain at Maria Ratschitz last Sunday. I had climbed the mountain a few times before but this time met a German girl, Katarina, who was visiting at the mission, and wanted to climb the mountain, but right to the top. I hadn't realised that there was a second Cross further up which marked the true summit and so we decided to reach it. Struggling through the forest which had been recently burnt, we got covered in ashy marks and cuts! But we made it to the top and took celebratory jumping photos of course :)
Then we prepared to head back down, but were drawn by the appearance of a different path leading round the mountain, rather than straight back down the very steep slope. Feeling adventurous we took the new path, along with 2 of the boys as bodyguards! We were chatting happily, Katarina was very interesting, telling me about her work as a social worker and sharing travel stories [I plan to visit her in Munich in 2012!].
After an hour of walking along the mountain we realised it was time we began descending properly, and in the direction of the mission! So we tried to find a route back on ourselves through the forest. About 15min into that forest one of the boys called out 'Auntie Rebecca, look!' Thinking he was playing a walked back to him, 'a snake, a snake!' he said. There was no joking involved at all! Below us, about 7m from the path, was a HUGE snake! Most of it was hidden in the undergrowth but about 1m was visible, as thick as my arm and a head about 5inches long! It was black and yellow with bright yellow eyes fixed on us! As much as I would have liked to have photographic proof of our sighting I was too scared to fumble in my bag for my camera and just grabbed the boys arms and we ran off along the path, full of adrenalin at our close encounter!
Two hours later, after much stress and strain, we considered ourselves thoroughly lost. When we had almost given up hope we found we were face to face with the church we had failed to catch a glimpse of for 3 hours from the mountainside! Somehow we had ended up coming down right round the mission and ended up walking in through the front gate, rather than descending from behind through a gate on the slopes. The rest of the group were relieved to finally find us [2hours later than them] mostly because I had the key for the car with the lunch in!
Lost in the african bush is all good fun, when you are safely home and writing about it!
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Life in a Valley
"We are all meant to shine as children do,
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."
Many of you may recognise the above quote. Many South Africans do. Nelson Mandela said these words in 1994 during his inauguration speech. They were not written by him. But by saying them, they became his words.
When I first encountered these words I knew nothing of Mandela or his presidential address. I, like others of you, recognise them as being spoken in a very emotional scene in one of my favourite movies, Coach Carter. They are performed by the character Tairo Cruiz at a dramatic moment where Carter's teaching methods seem to have their first breakthrough, with the troublesome Cruiz. They are a symbol of a noble, gracious and determined man, believing in the goodness of his students, encouraging them to be the best they can be, to let their 'own light shine'.
The poem from which both Mandela and Samuel L. Jackson draw, is 'Our Deepest Fear' by Marianne Williamson.
These words have certainly had a profound effect on me and characterise a lot about what this trip, this african life, was meant to be for me. Coach Carter was the first dvd I bought for the children, back in 2008. Mandela's long walk to freedom [abridged version] was the first book I bought for the children, also in 2008. It therefore follows quite rightly, that this poem which joins those two key moments, holds a special meaning for me also.
Letting my light shine, to enable others to learn to shine too.
Liberating myself from my fears, facing that fear, and helping others to freedom from their fears.
'Making a tangible difference' that's the statement of intention that I stated almost a year ago when I created this blog.
But somewhere along the way things begin to change. A subtle sliding movement that we don't begin to feel until we pick up speed on the downwards slope. When we hit the bottom and look back up we can't believe we have fallen so far. But that's how it goes. Day by day you cannot feel the change but when you look back over a period of weeks and months you begin to see the small changes and tough moments that have put you down where you are.
For me, I have reached it. My all time personal low. When the downward slope began I can hardly say, perhaps April, perhaps May. I've known I was on the slope for sure since June. Luke's visit was a lot of fun but also opened my eyes to the problems I've been facing and the things which my life here lacks. Since he left, those problems have become my ever present companion.
Make a difference. Be with people who need me. Feel needed.
It seemed like a simple enough aim but reality is always a long way from a romanticised idea, made whilst sitting in the safety of my own country and home.
I never thought I would become cynical. But I also never thought I would see some of the things I have seen. Or experiences that I have had.
You simply cannot just walk into another culture, 'shine your light', teach some Shakespeare, direct a few gospel songs, and think that you can make a difference. Maybe it did something for a day or so, or a few weeks, but in the long term it means nothing. In my first few months I thought everything I did was a breakthrough. That I was getting somewhere, changing someone's life. But it's all just some conceited belief that we matter to others, that we can change things, that we are capable of making a difference.
In the end I am my own person. They are their own. Our lives touch momentarily but all our lives all we are really interested in is ourself and what we will do, and become and achieve. This trip is part of MY life, about who I AM and what I will become. I convinced myself it was about the kids, and africa and the disadvantaged, but in the end all I can think of is me. I will leave and go back to my 'normal' life and maybe, and thats a big maybe, have some kind of contact with perhaps two of these children through their lives, but CYNICALLY, they will just be locked away as a chapter of my life's scrap book.
I have been so absorbed in my own problems and depression that those around me have not been my primary concern for weeks. Why then, should I be at ALL surprised, that I am of no concern to them either? If I feel lonely, uncared for, unappreciated...is it at all surprising when I have only been looking after and thinking about myself?
And I don't hear from people at home either. I think 6 months is about the limit that people can go without seeing you before they forget that you are still out there. The human memory, and the number of hours in a day, mean that you can easily drop off of other people's radar without them even noticing a thing. But when you had been kindly treated to a piece of mail at least every week, when that becomes one every 2 weeks, or one a month...you begin to feel you have lost touch. And when the world you are in isn’t going to plan, once you feel you have lost grip on the world you came from, then you can really feel stranded. Should I stay and regain this world? Or should I cut my ties and see if I can leap the gap I have put between myself and the world I left? What if I get back only to find the world has moved on without me and I am left far behind? Either way I live without half of my life. Africa and England will always be a world apart.
I went on a staff workshop last week, we spoke a lot about the ‘Peaks and Valleys’ of life. It made me realise I am in a personal valley. But when you compare that with the people in my group, who’s valleys are the death of a partner to AIDS, or the loss of a child, or the terrible reality of poverty, or having to face a ‘loan shark’, it does little to help me feel that my problems are also worth something. They win hands down! I’ve lived my entire life on a ‘peak’ in their opinion.
But taking the phrases used on the course I understood more
‘a peak is a moment when you appreciate the good things you have’
‘a valley is a moment when you long for what is missing’
‘longing for what is missing’ is exactly what I have been doing for the past several weeks. I am missing my family, my friends, conversation, socialising, having friends here, teaching, working with children, fulfilment, people.
All I can think about is what I am missing. Of what my life is missing. My dream of shining lights and changing lives. It is all missing. The vision of a year ago has gone M.I.A.
Apparently to ‘get out my valley’ [oh god I hate self-help books and their inane phrases] I must do the opposite of what put me in there, so...I will expose you to the horrid truth of my situation:
Becky’s personal self-help strategy:
1. Find people to talk to
2. Find people to spend time with
3. Do fulfilling work
4. Have a routine
5. Teach in a school
6. Contact friends/family overseas
7. Learn zulu
8. Don’t let people take me for granted/take advantage
My personal prediction that I can achieve these things lies at about 5%...I guess that means my valley is a hell of a lot deeper than I can climb out of. Perhaps a plane will be needed in this instance, one that is Heathrow bound preferably.
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."
Many of you may recognise the above quote. Many South Africans do. Nelson Mandela said these words in 1994 during his inauguration speech. They were not written by him. But by saying them, they became his words.
When I first encountered these words I knew nothing of Mandela or his presidential address. I, like others of you, recognise them as being spoken in a very emotional scene in one of my favourite movies, Coach Carter. They are performed by the character Tairo Cruiz at a dramatic moment where Carter's teaching methods seem to have their first breakthrough, with the troublesome Cruiz. They are a symbol of a noble, gracious and determined man, believing in the goodness of his students, encouraging them to be the best they can be, to let their 'own light shine'.
The poem from which both Mandela and Samuel L. Jackson draw, is 'Our Deepest Fear' by Marianne Williamson.
These words have certainly had a profound effect on me and characterise a lot about what this trip, this african life, was meant to be for me. Coach Carter was the first dvd I bought for the children, back in 2008. Mandela's long walk to freedom [abridged version] was the first book I bought for the children, also in 2008. It therefore follows quite rightly, that this poem which joins those two key moments, holds a special meaning for me also.
Letting my light shine, to enable others to learn to shine too.
Liberating myself from my fears, facing that fear, and helping others to freedom from their fears.
'Making a tangible difference' that's the statement of intention that I stated almost a year ago when I created this blog.
But somewhere along the way things begin to change. A subtle sliding movement that we don't begin to feel until we pick up speed on the downwards slope. When we hit the bottom and look back up we can't believe we have fallen so far. But that's how it goes. Day by day you cannot feel the change but when you look back over a period of weeks and months you begin to see the small changes and tough moments that have put you down where you are.
For me, I have reached it. My all time personal low. When the downward slope began I can hardly say, perhaps April, perhaps May. I've known I was on the slope for sure since June. Luke's visit was a lot of fun but also opened my eyes to the problems I've been facing and the things which my life here lacks. Since he left, those problems have become my ever present companion.
Make a difference. Be with people who need me. Feel needed.
It seemed like a simple enough aim but reality is always a long way from a romanticised idea, made whilst sitting in the safety of my own country and home.
I never thought I would become cynical. But I also never thought I would see some of the things I have seen. Or experiences that I have had.
You simply cannot just walk into another culture, 'shine your light', teach some Shakespeare, direct a few gospel songs, and think that you can make a difference. Maybe it did something for a day or so, or a few weeks, but in the long term it means nothing. In my first few months I thought everything I did was a breakthrough. That I was getting somewhere, changing someone's life. But it's all just some conceited belief that we matter to others, that we can change things, that we are capable of making a difference.
In the end I am my own person. They are their own. Our lives touch momentarily but all our lives all we are really interested in is ourself and what we will do, and become and achieve. This trip is part of MY life, about who I AM and what I will become. I convinced myself it was about the kids, and africa and the disadvantaged, but in the end all I can think of is me. I will leave and go back to my 'normal' life and maybe, and thats a big maybe, have some kind of contact with perhaps two of these children through their lives, but CYNICALLY, they will just be locked away as a chapter of my life's scrap book.
I have been so absorbed in my own problems and depression that those around me have not been my primary concern for weeks. Why then, should I be at ALL surprised, that I am of no concern to them either? If I feel lonely, uncared for, unappreciated...is it at all surprising when I have only been looking after and thinking about myself?
And I don't hear from people at home either. I think 6 months is about the limit that people can go without seeing you before they forget that you are still out there. The human memory, and the number of hours in a day, mean that you can easily drop off of other people's radar without them even noticing a thing. But when you had been kindly treated to a piece of mail at least every week, when that becomes one every 2 weeks, or one a month...you begin to feel you have lost touch. And when the world you are in isn’t going to plan, once you feel you have lost grip on the world you came from, then you can really feel stranded. Should I stay and regain this world? Or should I cut my ties and see if I can leap the gap I have put between myself and the world I left? What if I get back only to find the world has moved on without me and I am left far behind? Either way I live without half of my life. Africa and England will always be a world apart.
I went on a staff workshop last week, we spoke a lot about the ‘Peaks and Valleys’ of life. It made me realise I am in a personal valley. But when you compare that with the people in my group, who’s valleys are the death of a partner to AIDS, or the loss of a child, or the terrible reality of poverty, or having to face a ‘loan shark’, it does little to help me feel that my problems are also worth something. They win hands down! I’ve lived my entire life on a ‘peak’ in their opinion.
But taking the phrases used on the course I understood more
‘a peak is a moment when you appreciate the good things you have’
‘a valley is a moment when you long for what is missing’
‘longing for what is missing’ is exactly what I have been doing for the past several weeks. I am missing my family, my friends, conversation, socialising, having friends here, teaching, working with children, fulfilment, people.
All I can think about is what I am missing. Of what my life is missing. My dream of shining lights and changing lives. It is all missing. The vision of a year ago has gone M.I.A.
Apparently to ‘get out my valley’ [oh god I hate self-help books and their inane phrases] I must do the opposite of what put me in there, so...I will expose you to the horrid truth of my situation:
Becky’s personal self-help strategy:
1. Find people to talk to
2. Find people to spend time with
3. Do fulfilling work
4. Have a routine
5. Teach in a school
6. Contact friends/family overseas
7. Learn zulu
8. Don’t let people take me for granted/take advantage
My personal prediction that I can achieve these things lies at about 5%...I guess that means my valley is a hell of a lot deeper than I can climb out of. Perhaps a plane will be needed in this instance, one that is Heathrow bound preferably.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
One bag of Mexican Chilli crisps, three of the big 5 and 50,000 vuvuzelas!
Well I thought my first blog, was also my last blog, but the positive feedback (from my mum, brother and girlfriend admittedly!) and by the request of Becky has meant that I am back behind the laptop piecing together the last couple of weeks of my holiday/experience. Of the 7 weeks that I am here in South Africa, I would have to say that my last 2 weeks have been the most holiday/tourist like. It started with a safari at the Pilansburg Game Reserve, which was a 30 minute drive outside of Rustenburg, which was the home of England’s first game against USA (but the less said about football the better I think!). Upon arrival we checked in and made our way to our chalet (posh name for our room) and I quickly fell asleep on my bed. However, I was not allowed to enjoy a moment of relaxation as Becky woke me up screaming “Luke, Luke, Luke”. I jumped out of bed in true cavalier fashion, ready to confront the intruder. To my surprise the intruder was smaller than expected and distinctly furrier. In fact, it looked much like a baboon. But wait, why is it stealing our tasty bag of Mexican Chilli crisps??? I suddenly felt wide awake having seen this strange sight and Becky ensured me that I was not dreaming. A baboon had in fact came into our room, stolen the crisps and was now merrily opening them and tucking in, right in front of our eyes. The cheek of the lad...
During the trip we had 3 game drives and around the same number of drives that we took ourselves around the park. As mentioned in the title we had good sightings of 3 of the big 5 (Lion, Elephant and Rhino), but unfortunately did not get to see a Leopard or Buffalo. This was unsurprising though as Leopards are notoriously difficult to see, and we were told that the Buffalos were hanging out at the north of the park, which was mountainous and as such did not have any tourist roads that we could drive. We also had good sightings of Giraffe, Zebra, Hippo and various types of Antelope, as well as a number of other animals. Our favourite drive was the game drive following the England V USA game. We were apprehensive about the drive due to the likelihood of us seeing a beaming set of USA fans and having to endure a 150 minute drive with these gloating “soccer” fans. As expected there was a set of 4 American fans who had been to the game the night before and claimed that they had not slept! Fortunately, they were all nice lads and good for a laugh. There was also a South African family of 5 (with a South African journalist) who was thoroughly interesting to talk to about some of the big social issues in the country. The most fun tourists that we were joined by were however, a Dutch man and woman. The Dutch man soon pulled out a Dictaphone (in the shape of a microphone) and told the rest of the truck that they were in fact radio presenters from the biggest radio station in Holland (Radio 2- with an average audience of 500-700 thousand apparently!) and they were out in South Africa creating a set of shows about their experiences, both sporting and cultural. In this case, they were doing a show about their experiences on their Safari. The Safari guide seemed taken aback by all these events, especially when the Dutch man was holding the Dictaphone underneath him, as he spoke. It turned out that the Dutch reporter decided that those on the trip were also going to take part in his show. He started by asking the Americans who their favourite USA soccer player was, and they said “Clint Dempsey”. He then asked which animal he was most like, and they said “a gazelle”.
Predictably, he then came and asked me who my favourite English player was, and I responded “Rooney” and said that he was most like a rhino. We soon came upon an Impala and the Dutch radio host asked the Americans if this was close enough to a Gazelle, and he then started shouting, “We have seen a Dempsey, we have had a sighting of a Clint”. It was all rather surreal, but at the same time hilarious. We then came upon a group of hippos, and he asked whether this was close enough to be a rhino, and of course I said, yes. It turned out to be a great safari and a load of fun with some really nice people. Apparently they do a daily show and he said that he will e-mail with the details as to where I can listen back to it!
Having had a really successful and fun safari we eventually headed back to St. Anthonys. We were only there for one day and a night though, but we were able to help out with the kids who had come in from the community (the kids from St. Anthonys have now gone home for the holidays). The next day we headed to Jo’Burg and a guesthouse, which is owned by Becky’s friend, Melissa. The guesthouse turned out to be amazingly nice and we spent the evening eating takeaway, and watching the football in her bar. The next morning we headed off to the Soccer City stadium to watch Argentina V South Korea. The stadium was an amazing sight and it was great to be in such a huge place. We were in the neutral section and were therefore free to cheer for both teams (I ended up supporting S. Korea, as I wanted the most interesting game possible!). It was amazing to see Messi as well, and you really could see that he was a cut above from anyone else playing (even though Hinguain did score a hat trick- they were all tap ins) and Messi was involved in every Argentine goal. The only slight downside of the match was the constant drone of Vuvuzelas. Fortunately, we were right at the top of the stadium and therefore most of the noise was focused towards the pitch. However, it was still seriously loud and people had no shame blowing it straight in your ear! We really enjoyed the match though and so far it is still the game that has had the most goals in this World Cup. We were saying how great it would have been to see an England game live, but we are currently not so sure about that assumption following our sorry showings! I am confident that we will beat the Slovenians though and qualify all the same. Hopefully, Capello will drop Heskey, and either play Rooney up-top on his own, or put him alongside Crouch. Also, he needs to put Gerrard in the middle, and stick Joe Cole on the left wing. Hopefullyyyyyy SWP will also not come close to the pitch again, as he has been truly awful! I just realised that I said at the top that I wouldn’t talk about football, but I need to release my frustration somewhere! And it should also be noted that none of the supposed ‘big teams’ are looking very impressive at the moment. We are currently watching NZ beating Italy, Spain has lost to Switzerland, Germany to Serbia, France are all but out, Portugal looked terrible against the Ivory Coast, and Brazil struggled past North Korea. So with any luck we will begin to find some type of form, and you never know we may have a chance!
Anywayyyy... me and Becky don’t have a great deal planned for the next few weeks. We intend to go to Dundee and visit Father Cullen and we are going to paint the wall outside St. Anthonys. We are also going to visit some of the kids, and hopefully head to Durban(via the Drakensburg mountains) and catch some sun :)
I hope everyone is well at home and I look forward to seeing you all on my return.
Luke xxxxxx
During the trip we had 3 game drives and around the same number of drives that we took ourselves around the park. As mentioned in the title we had good sightings of 3 of the big 5 (Lion, Elephant and Rhino), but unfortunately did not get to see a Leopard or Buffalo. This was unsurprising though as Leopards are notoriously difficult to see, and we were told that the Buffalos were hanging out at the north of the park, which was mountainous and as such did not have any tourist roads that we could drive. We also had good sightings of Giraffe, Zebra, Hippo and various types of Antelope, as well as a number of other animals. Our favourite drive was the game drive following the England V USA game. We were apprehensive about the drive due to the likelihood of us seeing a beaming set of USA fans and having to endure a 150 minute drive with these gloating “soccer” fans. As expected there was a set of 4 American fans who had been to the game the night before and claimed that they had not slept! Fortunately, they were all nice lads and good for a laugh. There was also a South African family of 5 (with a South African journalist) who was thoroughly interesting to talk to about some of the big social issues in the country. The most fun tourists that we were joined by were however, a Dutch man and woman. The Dutch man soon pulled out a Dictaphone (in the shape of a microphone) and told the rest of the truck that they were in fact radio presenters from the biggest radio station in Holland (Radio 2- with an average audience of 500-700 thousand apparently!) and they were out in South Africa creating a set of shows about their experiences, both sporting and cultural. In this case, they were doing a show about their experiences on their Safari. The Safari guide seemed taken aback by all these events, especially when the Dutch man was holding the Dictaphone underneath him, as he spoke. It turned out that the Dutch reporter decided that those on the trip were also going to take part in his show. He started by asking the Americans who their favourite USA soccer player was, and they said “Clint Dempsey”. He then asked which animal he was most like, and they said “a gazelle”.
Predictably, he then came and asked me who my favourite English player was, and I responded “Rooney” and said that he was most like a rhino. We soon came upon an Impala and the Dutch radio host asked the Americans if this was close enough to a Gazelle, and he then started shouting, “We have seen a Dempsey, we have had a sighting of a Clint”. It was all rather surreal, but at the same time hilarious. We then came upon a group of hippos, and he asked whether this was close enough to be a rhino, and of course I said, yes. It turned out to be a great safari and a load of fun with some really nice people. Apparently they do a daily show and he said that he will e-mail with the details as to where I can listen back to it!
Having had a really successful and fun safari we eventually headed back to St. Anthonys. We were only there for one day and a night though, but we were able to help out with the kids who had come in from the community (the kids from St. Anthonys have now gone home for the holidays). The next day we headed to Jo’Burg and a guesthouse, which is owned by Becky’s friend, Melissa. The guesthouse turned out to be amazingly nice and we spent the evening eating takeaway, and watching the football in her bar. The next morning we headed off to the Soccer City stadium to watch Argentina V South Korea. The stadium was an amazing sight and it was great to be in such a huge place. We were in the neutral section and were therefore free to cheer for both teams (I ended up supporting S. Korea, as I wanted the most interesting game possible!). It was amazing to see Messi as well, and you really could see that he was a cut above from anyone else playing (even though Hinguain did score a hat trick- they were all tap ins) and Messi was involved in every Argentine goal. The only slight downside of the match was the constant drone of Vuvuzelas. Fortunately, we were right at the top of the stadium and therefore most of the noise was focused towards the pitch. However, it was still seriously loud and people had no shame blowing it straight in your ear! We really enjoyed the match though and so far it is still the game that has had the most goals in this World Cup. We were saying how great it would have been to see an England game live, but we are currently not so sure about that assumption following our sorry showings! I am confident that we will beat the Slovenians though and qualify all the same. Hopefully, Capello will drop Heskey, and either play Rooney up-top on his own, or put him alongside Crouch. Also, he needs to put Gerrard in the middle, and stick Joe Cole on the left wing. Hopefullyyyyyy SWP will also not come close to the pitch again, as he has been truly awful! I just realised that I said at the top that I wouldn’t talk about football, but I need to release my frustration somewhere! And it should also be noted that none of the supposed ‘big teams’ are looking very impressive at the moment. We are currently watching NZ beating Italy, Spain has lost to Switzerland, Germany to Serbia, France are all but out, Portugal looked terrible against the Ivory Coast, and Brazil struggled past North Korea. So with any luck we will begin to find some type of form, and you never know we may have a chance!
Anywayyyy... me and Becky don’t have a great deal planned for the next few weeks. We intend to go to Dundee and visit Father Cullen and we are going to paint the wall outside St. Anthonys. We are also going to visit some of the kids, and hopefully head to Durban(via the Drakensburg mountains) and catch some sun :)
I hope everyone is well at home and I look forward to seeing you all on my return.
Luke xxxxxx
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Can you feel it? It is here!
Hello cyber-world,
This is Luke here. Becky asked me to write a one off instalment in her South African blog as I have been out here for a week now. I thought that the best way to go about it would be to give you a flavour of my experience so far. Unsurprisingly, it started with an all but 24 hour door-to-door journey. Being the first time I have flown on my own, and the first time I have travelled outside Europe I was slightly apprehensive. However, the 10 and a half hour plane journey was fine and I managed to watch a couple of films and read quite a lot of my Dan Brown book. The trouble only really started once I had done all the seemingly hard work. Foolishly I thought that on arrival at Johannesburg airport my sister would be there waiting with open arms! It soon became clear that this was not the case and I was told that she was still a couple of hours away. I used the time wisely (largely sitting on the terminal floor and turning down the numerous offers from taxi drivers to take me to my destination). Having got bored of the airport I went outside in preparation for my sister's arrival. Numerous phone calls with Becky followed and we both concluded that we were looking at the same hotel and we could both see a big red ball (one of the many signs that the World Cup was coming to SA). Unfortunately, 20 minutes later and I was still under the big red ball and there was no sign of Becky. Eventually, I saw Becky on her phone in a car driving past and managed to persuade her to stop.
Having travelled nearly 6000 miles, I was finally ready to travel the remaining 200 or so miles to St. Anthonys. Having suffered a sleepless night on the plane I managed to fall asleep in the car having stopped off for a South African Wimpy (not exactly the authentic Zulu experience just yet!). Arriving at St. Anthonys I was pleasantly surprised by the modern appearance of the home and the sight of the soccer pitch. I arrived before the kids were home from school so we went to the boardroom/dining room and I met the staff of St. Anthonys and tried a Zulu chicken curry. The curry was good and being a bit of a cave man I had no problems with the chicken being on the bone.
Soon the children started coming home from school and I went round with Becky and introduced myself to all of them. They were all really nice and welcomed me with the traditional Zulu handshakes. One of the little children charged up to me and said "Visitor! Hello!" and made me pick him up and swing him round, whilst he tried to copy whatever I said. The older kids assumed that I was some sort of super soccer (not football out here) star, and I quickly accepted the favourable nickname of "Beckham". We played soccer until it was dark and we literally couldn't see the ball any more. In the evening me and Becky went with the other staff members to the local casino for dinner. I had a really good steak and I was really impressed by the casino. In fact, me and Becky are going to go back there tonight to do some recreational gambling! Unfortunately, Zulus do not gamble!
During the days me and Becky take it pretty easy and end up driving into town and doing little jobs for the home, whilst the kids are at school. Each afternoon I play soccer, cricket and basketball with the kids and that is always really good fun. It has been really good to bring some structure to their games. For example, on Sunday the young kids from St. Anthonys played the kids from the local church at soccer and I was the ref. Afterwards, me and the older kids played the older children from the church. We drew 2-2 (I scored 2, but that is an unimportant detail) and the match went to penalties. With our team scoring the first 4 penalties and their team having only missed 1, I was told to take our fifth penalty and hopefully win the game. However, I didn't want to take the moment of glory away from one of the kids so said I wouldn't take it. Thankfully, someone else stepped up and tucked it away. It was so fun as everyone watching went absolutely crazy and we had a mass bundle.
The cottage here is really nice and Becky did a great job of making it welcoming for me. In the evenings me and Becky usually watch a dvd and sometimes the kids come round to watch as well. The kids love coming round to the cottage and seeing me and Becky which is really nice. On the second night, the kids did an official introduction for me, which involved lots of traditional Zulu dancing and a really nice speech from one of the girls saying how happy they were to have me here. They also put me on the spot and made me say a few words, which was a bit nerve racking!
I will apologise now, both for the length of this blog and its disjointed nature. There has been so much going on here though that it is difficult to get down in an orderly manner! On Sunday, me, Becky and the older boys went to a local church where we got a taste of the traditional Zulu Christian experience. It involved a lot of singing, dancing, crying, feinting and shouting, which was fun and certainly different from OLOR!That Sunday afternoon we went back into the township and played a really serious (by Zulu standards) soccer match. It was the care worker’s team against a team from the local community and only me and one other boy were chosen to start. The other boys from St. Anthonys were happy enough watching though. We lost 2-1 in the match, but I did score the goal... It was really interesting to play with African adults at football, as the style is totally different to that of recreational European football. The game is so quick, and the players are strong and powerful. However, their lack of coaching is quite clear as they often lack the vision or experience to see a pass that others would. It was a really cool experience, especially playing on the dustbowl of a football pitch, with huge clumps of grass sprouting out!
Anyway, I think that I have spoken about my main experiences of SA so far. The kids are really nice and welcoming and I can see why Becky would want to work here. She does a fantastic job here and the kids love her. I think she is unbelievably brave to do what she is doing and I have only fully recognised what a big leap it must have been for her, now that I have visited. It must be particularly hard due to the lack of normal communication you can have. The care workers speak Zulu 99 % of the time and only a handful of the kids speak good English. I am very proud of her. I know that she is really happy to have me here which is nice as well. It gives her someone to talk to and I am able to entertain the kids for hours, which is fun! Oooh and one more thing, I was out driving today for only the second time in SA when I was pulled over by a traffic cop! He said that I was doing 87 kmph in a 60 zone (which was a bit harsh as it had literally just moved from an 80 to a 60 like 50 yards before!). He then said it would cost me 600 rand. And then he said, “where are you from?” and I said “I am from England and I am here to watch the soccer”. And all of a sudden he was like, “ok, well off you go, and slow down.” So that was a result! It was really unfair anyway though as the people infront of me were driving faster but didn’t get pulled over! It showed you that they were trying to be extra nice to tourists though!
I hope everyone is well back in England. Hopefully, this blog made some kind of sense and didn’t just seem like random ramblings! Anyway, gotta shoot as me and Becky need to get ready to go to the casino! Wish us luck!
Luke
xxx
This is Luke here. Becky asked me to write a one off instalment in her South African blog as I have been out here for a week now. I thought that the best way to go about it would be to give you a flavour of my experience so far. Unsurprisingly, it started with an all but 24 hour door-to-door journey. Being the first time I have flown on my own, and the first time I have travelled outside Europe I was slightly apprehensive. However, the 10 and a half hour plane journey was fine and I managed to watch a couple of films and read quite a lot of my Dan Brown book. The trouble only really started once I had done all the seemingly hard work. Foolishly I thought that on arrival at Johannesburg airport my sister would be there waiting with open arms! It soon became clear that this was not the case and I was told that she was still a couple of hours away. I used the time wisely (largely sitting on the terminal floor and turning down the numerous offers from taxi drivers to take me to my destination). Having got bored of the airport I went outside in preparation for my sister's arrival. Numerous phone calls with Becky followed and we both concluded that we were looking at the same hotel and we could both see a big red ball (one of the many signs that the World Cup was coming to SA). Unfortunately, 20 minutes later and I was still under the big red ball and there was no sign of Becky. Eventually, I saw Becky on her phone in a car driving past and managed to persuade her to stop.
Having travelled nearly 6000 miles, I was finally ready to travel the remaining 200 or so miles to St. Anthonys. Having suffered a sleepless night on the plane I managed to fall asleep in the car having stopped off for a South African Wimpy (not exactly the authentic Zulu experience just yet!). Arriving at St. Anthonys I was pleasantly surprised by the modern appearance of the home and the sight of the soccer pitch. I arrived before the kids were home from school so we went to the boardroom/dining room and I met the staff of St. Anthonys and tried a Zulu chicken curry. The curry was good and being a bit of a cave man I had no problems with the chicken being on the bone.
Soon the children started coming home from school and I went round with Becky and introduced myself to all of them. They were all really nice and welcomed me with the traditional Zulu handshakes. One of the little children charged up to me and said "Visitor! Hello!" and made me pick him up and swing him round, whilst he tried to copy whatever I said. The older kids assumed that I was some sort of super soccer (not football out here) star, and I quickly accepted the favourable nickname of "Beckham". We played soccer until it was dark and we literally couldn't see the ball any more. In the evening me and Becky went with the other staff members to the local casino for dinner. I had a really good steak and I was really impressed by the casino. In fact, me and Becky are going to go back there tonight to do some recreational gambling! Unfortunately, Zulus do not gamble!
During the days me and Becky take it pretty easy and end up driving into town and doing little jobs for the home, whilst the kids are at school. Each afternoon I play soccer, cricket and basketball with the kids and that is always really good fun. It has been really good to bring some structure to their games. For example, on Sunday the young kids from St. Anthonys played the kids from the local church at soccer and I was the ref. Afterwards, me and the older kids played the older children from the church. We drew 2-2 (I scored 2, but that is an unimportant detail) and the match went to penalties. With our team scoring the first 4 penalties and their team having only missed 1, I was told to take our fifth penalty and hopefully win the game. However, I didn't want to take the moment of glory away from one of the kids so said I wouldn't take it. Thankfully, someone else stepped up and tucked it away. It was so fun as everyone watching went absolutely crazy and we had a mass bundle.
The cottage here is really nice and Becky did a great job of making it welcoming for me. In the evenings me and Becky usually watch a dvd and sometimes the kids come round to watch as well. The kids love coming round to the cottage and seeing me and Becky which is really nice. On the second night, the kids did an official introduction for me, which involved lots of traditional Zulu dancing and a really nice speech from one of the girls saying how happy they were to have me here. They also put me on the spot and made me say a few words, which was a bit nerve racking!
I will apologise now, both for the length of this blog and its disjointed nature. There has been so much going on here though that it is difficult to get down in an orderly manner! On Sunday, me, Becky and the older boys went to a local church where we got a taste of the traditional Zulu Christian experience. It involved a lot of singing, dancing, crying, feinting and shouting, which was fun and certainly different from OLOR!That Sunday afternoon we went back into the township and played a really serious (by Zulu standards) soccer match. It was the care worker’s team against a team from the local community and only me and one other boy were chosen to start. The other boys from St. Anthonys were happy enough watching though. We lost 2-1 in the match, but I did score the goal... It was really interesting to play with African adults at football, as the style is totally different to that of recreational European football. The game is so quick, and the players are strong and powerful. However, their lack of coaching is quite clear as they often lack the vision or experience to see a pass that others would. It was a really cool experience, especially playing on the dustbowl of a football pitch, with huge clumps of grass sprouting out!
Anyway, I think that I have spoken about my main experiences of SA so far. The kids are really nice and welcoming and I can see why Becky would want to work here. She does a fantastic job here and the kids love her. I think she is unbelievably brave to do what she is doing and I have only fully recognised what a big leap it must have been for her, now that I have visited. It must be particularly hard due to the lack of normal communication you can have. The care workers speak Zulu 99 % of the time and only a handful of the kids speak good English. I am very proud of her. I know that she is really happy to have me here which is nice as well. It gives her someone to talk to and I am able to entertain the kids for hours, which is fun! Oooh and one more thing, I was out driving today for only the second time in SA when I was pulled over by a traffic cop! He said that I was doing 87 kmph in a 60 zone (which was a bit harsh as it had literally just moved from an 80 to a 60 like 50 yards before!). He then said it would cost me 600 rand. And then he said, “where are you from?” and I said “I am from England and I am here to watch the soccer”. And all of a sudden he was like, “ok, well off you go, and slow down.” So that was a result! It was really unfair anyway though as the people infront of me were driving faster but didn’t get pulled over! It showed you that they were trying to be extra nice to tourists though!
I hope everyone is well back in England. Hopefully, this blog made some kind of sense and didn’t just seem like random ramblings! Anyway, gotta shoot as me and Becky need to get ready to go to the casino! Wish us luck!
Luke
xxx
Sunday, 30 May 2010
A mother and her son
This week has been dramatic and emotional in many ways, just as I thought my focus would have been purely on Luke’s impending arrival, I have found my week full of action to keep me busy.
On Monday morning, following a disagreement about oversleeping and a punishment of dishwashing, one of the teenage boys decided to runaway...it happened to be one I’m very close to, my friend who I bought trainers for and collected the money from overseas...let’s call him Mikey today.
I didn’t find out about Mikey’s disappearance until Tuesday evening, I guess I had just been out and about so hadn’t visited the boys’ cottage. I was so shocked that he had done this as I had thought he was happy here, and I didn’t know the story about his ‘unfair’ punishment. I thought it was something serious to do with missing in his family, though I’m sure this must have also played a part. I went straight to the Director to ask if I could go the next morning to look for him. We also had planned to continue the search for some land for the family so that we can start building them a house. He was very happy for me to go and to also combine the trip with researching about some land for them, so it was agreed that I could go on Wednesday morning with the Reunification Officer - Mlondi.
Before we left, we tried to find out if Mikey had actually gone home. The family has no phone so we contacted their neighbour and asked her if she’d seen Mikey. She had, and she said that he had arrived on Monday evening. The family were aware that he had runaway. It was a relief to know that he had got home safely, and within one day, so he hadn’t slept out overnight at least. We also contacted Mikey’s social worker, whose job it is to return children who runaway. They promised us they would go and look for him and call us...but we weren’t going to hold our breath. I wanted to fetch him anyway so we weren’t going to leave it up to them.
By the time everything was sorted, we were finally on the road to Ladysmith after 11am. Ladysmith is 100km drive and from there, Winterton is about another 50km. As I drove it I couldn’t believe that Mikey had managed to make this journey with no money, hitching all the way. It is so dangerous, but everyone seems to do it! You are expected to pay your driver something but I don’t think Mikey had any money at all. Hopefully they let him off because he’s just a child.
It was after 1pm when we arrived at the RDP township at Winterton where Mikey lives. You take the road out of Ladysmith towards the Drakensberg mountains, a popular tourist destination. The landscape changes as you enter the area of White farms. The land is well managed and all the fields are full of crops, unlike around Newcastle where the land is just left to grow as it will, only with a few cows and goats grazing it. Suddenly the landscape becomes well managed and productive, as is seen by the large, attractive farm houses which nestle in the occasional field, the white farmer’s homestead. I have been here with Fr. Peter and we went to a very nice cafe and craft shop which had been created as a sideline business by a white farmer and was full of white families and tourists.
Just 10min drive from here is the RDP housing estate where Mikey lives, the family struggling day to day to put food on the table. You turn off the main road and cross a railway track, as you come over the crest of the hill I am all given a jolt of surprise at the sudden appearance of hundreds of identically shaped but different coloured houses, laid out in lines...like pieces of Lego from a distance. From the main road it was completely invisible, you could have drive by and never known that thousands of people were living here.
RDP housing, sorry if I’ve told you before, stands for ‘Rural Development Programme’ housing, and is the government initiative to build houses for the poor rural communities. There are many things wrong with this scheme, other than that it has appeared to make some people dependent on handouts and cultivated the mentality that the country owes them a house and they can just sit around waiting for one...there is also a lot of corruption going on. People get on the list for a house when they already have one...or they acquire one but remain on the list. Then when they are given their RDP house they start renting it to some poor family who are the ones who really need it! So you end up with all these landlords/ladies, making a living off of the back of the government! Whilst families like Mikey’s have nowhere to live and are struggling to find a job to pay rent on a place.
We arrived in the township and wound our way through the grid-like streets to the house where the family was staying just 2weeks before [it had belonged to the eldest daughter’s boyfriend and he let them stay there when they were evicted for not paying rent on their last house]. We pulled up beside the one room house but were unhopeful as the place looked deserted. We tried the door and it was locked. We tried ringing the neighbour who had told us Mikey was at home but there was no answer. We resorted to asking a woman outside a nearby house but she didn’t know the family. Instead she pointed across the road to a house where she said the grandmother had been here for years and knew everyone.
Clambering up the rocky and sandy slope to the house she indicated we found a man sitting outside on an upturned bucket. He was typical of the people in this township. At first glance you would have guessed he was a granddad, in his 60s. Then as you look at him properly you realise, with some anguish, that he cannot be much above 30. And the cause? Alcoholism. The skin on his face is sagging and almost swollen, his teeth are completely yellow and decaying, and he mumbles and slurs every word, his eyes unable to focus. His body was shrunken, the blue overalls he wore seemed to dwarf his thin frame, which has been fed only on locally produced alcohol every day for years.
Mlondi asked this old/young man if he knew Mikey and with the mention of that name he called over a young child. A little toddler walked over to us, dressed in a pink kind of kid’s boiler suit, with bare feet, and I immediately recognised them. It was Mikey’s youngest brother, and his little face showed a flicker of recognition when it looked at me. After a brief conversation Mlondi told me that we were going to follow this little child and he would show us where Mikey’s mother was staying. It turned out they had been evicted from the second house and were now staying in various houses with different relatives. Mikey was not around, the man did not know where he had gone.
Feeling that this whole situation was rather surreal, I found myself being lead through this RDP township by a toddler, on foot – mine were clad in leather boots whilst the toddler I followed was barefoot – on a mission to locate a runaway teenage boy. We had to seriously adjust our pace to that of this tiny boy’s who walked even slower because he kept staring up at us, clearly just as dumbfounded as I felt. He kept hesitating and looking back at where we had come from, with Mlondi continually reassuring him in Zulu and taking his little hand in his.
Just as I was thinking the boy must be leading us the wrong way, a cry to my right brought my attention and I recognised Mikey’s mother, sitting outside a house with a number of other adults and her baby girl on her lap. She was obviously surprised to see us and came straight out to meet us on the road. I was relieved to realise that this time she was sober and she even had a worker’s jacket on. She had found some temporary work and so at least has been able to get some form of income, a much more positive impression from the last two times I had seen her. She confirmed that Mikey had come home on Monday but that she thought he had gone to town as the bicycle that he sometimes borrowed from his sister’s boyfriend was missing. His oldest sister, who is the real backbone of the family and the one with her feet firmly on the ground, was also in town. This was a shame as we had been hoping to take her with us on the hunt for land.
Mlondi communicated our plan to her go to the nearby township at Estcourst where the family have relatives and may be able to find land, and so she followed us back down to where we had left the car. As we walked back down the hill however, we managed to gather a small band of followers...a drunken old lady who I think is Mikey’s great-aunt, and a trio of very grubby children, all under the age of 5 years. The good thing about this is the fact that the ones over 5 were attending school as it was still before 3pm. We all piled into the car and first we drove to meet the family’s Pastor who we were told, had some plan to help the family find land in that township. Unfortunately Mikey’s mother seemed to be expressing a changed view of leaving the township, perhaps because she knows lots of people in this township and is also comfortable with the drinking culture – which we are trying to remove them from for the children’s sakes.
Just over the other side of the township we came to a brightly painted crèche where Mikey’s mum told us her pastor stayed. We drove in and were met by a middle aged man, clean and smartly dressed with a kind face, and his wife. They led us into the far end of the crèche and as I entered the room I found myself in a tiny chapel. The walls were painted bright white, at the far end was a small altar with an appliquéd banner reading ‘Jesus loves you’ and in one corner a nicely kept, small piano.
We were invited to sit down on benches and the Pastor greeted us warmly. The contrast between his clean, composed, gentle manner and the drunken, dirty, dishevelled behaviour of the great-aunt was too large to not draw my attention. He listened calmly and his kind eyes evaluated the situation without any hint of judgement, whilst the great-aunt huffed and puffed and eventually spoke almost as if in a temper, without control or humility. I don’t know what she was saying but it was with a tone I had heard so often from people who were down and out, that they are in need and are owed help.
The outcome of the meeting was that the land spoken about by the Pastor is owned by the church and can only be lent to the family on a temporary basis whilst they look for a house or land of their own. The idea is that they can put a tent on this land and live their temporarily, not the permanent solution I had been hoping for! We thanked the Pastor and he gave us his contact details, left with the difficulty of whether or not to pursue the plan for land in a different area, even though Mikey’s mother now appeared opposed to moving. But the fact of the matter is, there is no land or houses available in this township in the foreseeable future [we’re talking a 2year waiting list]. Besides which, if there was, the township is a terrible place to raise children with alcoholism and crime out of control.
It was decided that we would pursue the search for land somewhere else, as there was not really any other option, and we may still be able to talk the mother round to the move. We had to politely ask the great-aunt and extra children to leave the car – which didn’t go down too well with her and Mlondi was worried he had caused her offense. The emotional relief we felt when she left was matched by physical relief at the removal of the unsavoury smell her presence had also brought to the confined air of the car. Mlondi pointed this out to me saying, ‘no offense to her, but I couldn’t have stomached that smell all the way to Estcourt and back!’ He also mentioned that he suspected the great-aunt was participant in persuading Mikey’s mum to stay at Winterton rather than move to Estcourt.
And so we made the 30km drive to the rural settlement near Estcourt where Mikey’s mother’s other aunt lives and where she sometimes visits for weekends. It was Mlondi and I, Mikey’s mother, her baby girl and the toddler boy whom we had found first. As we arrived in the new area it was to a very different sight and atmosphere than the RDP ‘housing estate’ style of township. Here, the layout was much more rural and in keeping with the culture and society of Zulus. It is not part of their culture to live in tightly packed identical dwellings, but to live more spread out, each family building their own style of homestead with separate rooms and round houses dotted on the plot with space to grow some vegetables or keep cows and goats. The feel of the place was much more homely and it appeared to be a healthier place to raise a family. I can see why Mikey’s mother may be reluctant to move there however. This rural community may be less lively and alcohol infused than what she has become accustomed to. I can’t help thinking she enjoys the type of socialising and drinking which takes place at Winterton and this community at Estcourt seems too quiet and remote – although it is only a few kilometres from the town and work on farms is also nearby.
We arrived and found the other great-aunt and her husband, both elderly and the husband was using an asthma inhaler. They stayed in a very basic and poor looking house but it had an outdoor toilet, water and electricity. They told us that the Mayor of the area [or a kind of Chief], lived opposite them and they pointed out his house, a collection of buildings newly painted a cheerful yellow. Mlondi, the mother and I crossed over to the Mayor’s house and approached somewhat cautiously – I was nervous about how this kind of informal meeting would go – literally turning up on their doorstep!
The contrast of this doorstep to the others we had seen that day was also enough to make me nervous – a large platform and steps of very slippery looking marble-esque tiles, led up to the front door. We were greeted by a middle-aged lady, rather plump, wearing a skirt and baggy t-shirt with a scarf wound round her head. Her face showed a mixture of confusion and intrigue as we came to the front door and she politely invited us in. We did make a motley crew...Mlondi, a tall, young Zulu man, Mikey’s mother, a clearly poor woman with a mud mask on her face to protect her whilst working in the sun, and her baby at her breast with flies circling round them, and me, a young, blonde, white lady with a bewildered look on her face.
The interior of the house was similar to that of a number of well-off Zulu houses I had been to. Marble-like tiles on the floor, a number of large pieces of furniture, large sofa and chairs and ofcourse...a widscreen TV. Sitting down, I couldn’t take my eyes of their coffee table, the stand of which was a manufactured over-sized shell with a fake pearl inside it the size of a small football, on top of which balanced a large oval of glass. I was fixated by this bizarre piece of furniture, at the status symbol it was intended to be, at what this Mayor’s wife was thinking when she bought it, how it is meant to make visitors to her house feel...and how it was making Mikey’s mother feel, sitting there in her overalls and mud mask, breast feeding her whimpering, sick baby.
I don’t mean to be judgemental of anyone, or how they choose to spend their money, but I am merely recording what I have observed, for you to understand some of the complex emotions and thoughts that I experience on a daily basis here. That a family would choose to stay living in a rural community where those around them stay in shack-like accommodation, and instead spend their money on expensive cars, furniture and electrical equipment. They themselves have marble floors and yet go to the toilet outside in a pit-toilet. The contrast of modern and traditional, urban and rural, wealth and poverty...can be staggering. It is the combining of two ways of life. Many aspects of the lives of their parents and grandparents are retained and are not considered at all undesirable – such as having a pit-toilet, whilst the attractions of the modern, westernised lifestyle also begin to work themselves in, but only very specifically chosen features – the decor and cars. It reminds me of that example of colonisation I hear repeated quite often...something about the white man giving the native Americans the common cold and causing hundreds of deaths. I feel like the materialistic aspect of our society has kind of ‘polluted’ zulu society. The huge proportion of Africans buying on credit and opening store accounts is another example of how the desire to have things – which you cannot afford – has gone out of control. All these widescreen tvs and fridge freezers are being paid for in monthly instalments, sometimes spreading over 2 or 3 years. The attitude of saving up for something and buying it when you have enough funds, appears to be completely alien.
Anyway, sorry for that tangent! So the Mayor was still in the office and instead we spoke to his wife, but as they say, if you want something from a man, just persuade his wife...she will do the rest for you. Mlondi told the story of Mikey’s mother and their family, how they have been evicted and are looking for land. That I have raised money from England to start a project to build them a 3 room house and that we just need the land to build it on. Her reaction was good and sympathetic, exactly what we needed. She told us that currently there are no spaces but that spaces have been allocated to people who never showed up to claim them, so maybe one of those can be reassigned. We exchanged contact details and will hopefully here more from them next week.
After this, we drove back to Winterton and were relieved to find Mikey standing in the doorway of his relative’s house when we got back. I had been worried that he would hear we had come and stay away to prevent us taking him back with us. The look on his face showed he wasn’t too happy to see us, but mainly I think because he was afraid we were angry with him. Mlondi negotiated with him and convinced him that he should come back. The eldest sister was also back from town, looking very nice, well-dressed and together, giving me a surge of hope that if she is on board with this project, we can really get this family back on their feet.
It had been a dramatic day, experiencing life in a very poor community, searching for a solution for a homeless family who have been evicted twice in 2 months, worrying about the safety of Mikey and the fate of his mother and siblings left behind. As we got Mikey in the car to take him back, his mother leaned in and took his hand, tenderly kissing it and saying something to him in Zulu. I don’t know what she said but the tears that welled up in Mikey’s eyes were enough to tell me they were words of love from a desperate mother, trying to do the best for her son and sending him away from her in the hope that he will have a better life than she can give him.
As we drove away I felt a surge of desire to do the very best I can for this mother and her children. I have the power in my hands to change their lives...by helping them to help themselves to turn their own lives around. This day has given new urgency to my project and my love for Mikey will help to keep me focused over the next few months towards giving them a new life as a family.
On Monday morning, following a disagreement about oversleeping and a punishment of dishwashing, one of the teenage boys decided to runaway...it happened to be one I’m very close to, my friend who I bought trainers for and collected the money from overseas...let’s call him Mikey today.
I didn’t find out about Mikey’s disappearance until Tuesday evening, I guess I had just been out and about so hadn’t visited the boys’ cottage. I was so shocked that he had done this as I had thought he was happy here, and I didn’t know the story about his ‘unfair’ punishment. I thought it was something serious to do with missing in his family, though I’m sure this must have also played a part. I went straight to the Director to ask if I could go the next morning to look for him. We also had planned to continue the search for some land for the family so that we can start building them a house. He was very happy for me to go and to also combine the trip with researching about some land for them, so it was agreed that I could go on Wednesday morning with the Reunification Officer - Mlondi.
Before we left, we tried to find out if Mikey had actually gone home. The family has no phone so we contacted their neighbour and asked her if she’d seen Mikey. She had, and she said that he had arrived on Monday evening. The family were aware that he had runaway. It was a relief to know that he had got home safely, and within one day, so he hadn’t slept out overnight at least. We also contacted Mikey’s social worker, whose job it is to return children who runaway. They promised us they would go and look for him and call us...but we weren’t going to hold our breath. I wanted to fetch him anyway so we weren’t going to leave it up to them.
By the time everything was sorted, we were finally on the road to Ladysmith after 11am. Ladysmith is 100km drive and from there, Winterton is about another 50km. As I drove it I couldn’t believe that Mikey had managed to make this journey with no money, hitching all the way. It is so dangerous, but everyone seems to do it! You are expected to pay your driver something but I don’t think Mikey had any money at all. Hopefully they let him off because he’s just a child.
It was after 1pm when we arrived at the RDP township at Winterton where Mikey lives. You take the road out of Ladysmith towards the Drakensberg mountains, a popular tourist destination. The landscape changes as you enter the area of White farms. The land is well managed and all the fields are full of crops, unlike around Newcastle where the land is just left to grow as it will, only with a few cows and goats grazing it. Suddenly the landscape becomes well managed and productive, as is seen by the large, attractive farm houses which nestle in the occasional field, the white farmer’s homestead. I have been here with Fr. Peter and we went to a very nice cafe and craft shop which had been created as a sideline business by a white farmer and was full of white families and tourists.
Just 10min drive from here is the RDP housing estate where Mikey lives, the family struggling day to day to put food on the table. You turn off the main road and cross a railway track, as you come over the crest of the hill I am all given a jolt of surprise at the sudden appearance of hundreds of identically shaped but different coloured houses, laid out in lines...like pieces of Lego from a distance. From the main road it was completely invisible, you could have drive by and never known that thousands of people were living here.
RDP housing, sorry if I’ve told you before, stands for ‘Rural Development Programme’ housing, and is the government initiative to build houses for the poor rural communities. There are many things wrong with this scheme, other than that it has appeared to make some people dependent on handouts and cultivated the mentality that the country owes them a house and they can just sit around waiting for one...there is also a lot of corruption going on. People get on the list for a house when they already have one...or they acquire one but remain on the list. Then when they are given their RDP house they start renting it to some poor family who are the ones who really need it! So you end up with all these landlords/ladies, making a living off of the back of the government! Whilst families like Mikey’s have nowhere to live and are struggling to find a job to pay rent on a place.
We arrived in the township and wound our way through the grid-like streets to the house where the family was staying just 2weeks before [it had belonged to the eldest daughter’s boyfriend and he let them stay there when they were evicted for not paying rent on their last house]. We pulled up beside the one room house but were unhopeful as the place looked deserted. We tried the door and it was locked. We tried ringing the neighbour who had told us Mikey was at home but there was no answer. We resorted to asking a woman outside a nearby house but she didn’t know the family. Instead she pointed across the road to a house where she said the grandmother had been here for years and knew everyone.
Clambering up the rocky and sandy slope to the house she indicated we found a man sitting outside on an upturned bucket. He was typical of the people in this township. At first glance you would have guessed he was a granddad, in his 60s. Then as you look at him properly you realise, with some anguish, that he cannot be much above 30. And the cause? Alcoholism. The skin on his face is sagging and almost swollen, his teeth are completely yellow and decaying, and he mumbles and slurs every word, his eyes unable to focus. His body was shrunken, the blue overalls he wore seemed to dwarf his thin frame, which has been fed only on locally produced alcohol every day for years.
Mlondi asked this old/young man if he knew Mikey and with the mention of that name he called over a young child. A little toddler walked over to us, dressed in a pink kind of kid’s boiler suit, with bare feet, and I immediately recognised them. It was Mikey’s youngest brother, and his little face showed a flicker of recognition when it looked at me. After a brief conversation Mlondi told me that we were going to follow this little child and he would show us where Mikey’s mother was staying. It turned out they had been evicted from the second house and were now staying in various houses with different relatives. Mikey was not around, the man did not know where he had gone.
Feeling that this whole situation was rather surreal, I found myself being lead through this RDP township by a toddler, on foot – mine were clad in leather boots whilst the toddler I followed was barefoot – on a mission to locate a runaway teenage boy. We had to seriously adjust our pace to that of this tiny boy’s who walked even slower because he kept staring up at us, clearly just as dumbfounded as I felt. He kept hesitating and looking back at where we had come from, with Mlondi continually reassuring him in Zulu and taking his little hand in his.
Just as I was thinking the boy must be leading us the wrong way, a cry to my right brought my attention and I recognised Mikey’s mother, sitting outside a house with a number of other adults and her baby girl on her lap. She was obviously surprised to see us and came straight out to meet us on the road. I was relieved to realise that this time she was sober and she even had a worker’s jacket on. She had found some temporary work and so at least has been able to get some form of income, a much more positive impression from the last two times I had seen her. She confirmed that Mikey had come home on Monday but that she thought he had gone to town as the bicycle that he sometimes borrowed from his sister’s boyfriend was missing. His oldest sister, who is the real backbone of the family and the one with her feet firmly on the ground, was also in town. This was a shame as we had been hoping to take her with us on the hunt for land.
Mlondi communicated our plan to her go to the nearby township at Estcourst where the family have relatives and may be able to find land, and so she followed us back down to where we had left the car. As we walked back down the hill however, we managed to gather a small band of followers...a drunken old lady who I think is Mikey’s great-aunt, and a trio of very grubby children, all under the age of 5 years. The good thing about this is the fact that the ones over 5 were attending school as it was still before 3pm. We all piled into the car and first we drove to meet the family’s Pastor who we were told, had some plan to help the family find land in that township. Unfortunately Mikey’s mother seemed to be expressing a changed view of leaving the township, perhaps because she knows lots of people in this township and is also comfortable with the drinking culture – which we are trying to remove them from for the children’s sakes.
Just over the other side of the township we came to a brightly painted crèche where Mikey’s mum told us her pastor stayed. We drove in and were met by a middle aged man, clean and smartly dressed with a kind face, and his wife. They led us into the far end of the crèche and as I entered the room I found myself in a tiny chapel. The walls were painted bright white, at the far end was a small altar with an appliquéd banner reading ‘Jesus loves you’ and in one corner a nicely kept, small piano.
We were invited to sit down on benches and the Pastor greeted us warmly. The contrast between his clean, composed, gentle manner and the drunken, dirty, dishevelled behaviour of the great-aunt was too large to not draw my attention. He listened calmly and his kind eyes evaluated the situation without any hint of judgement, whilst the great-aunt huffed and puffed and eventually spoke almost as if in a temper, without control or humility. I don’t know what she was saying but it was with a tone I had heard so often from people who were down and out, that they are in need and are owed help.
The outcome of the meeting was that the land spoken about by the Pastor is owned by the church and can only be lent to the family on a temporary basis whilst they look for a house or land of their own. The idea is that they can put a tent on this land and live their temporarily, not the permanent solution I had been hoping for! We thanked the Pastor and he gave us his contact details, left with the difficulty of whether or not to pursue the plan for land in a different area, even though Mikey’s mother now appeared opposed to moving. But the fact of the matter is, there is no land or houses available in this township in the foreseeable future [we’re talking a 2year waiting list]. Besides which, if there was, the township is a terrible place to raise children with alcoholism and crime out of control.
It was decided that we would pursue the search for land somewhere else, as there was not really any other option, and we may still be able to talk the mother round to the move. We had to politely ask the great-aunt and extra children to leave the car – which didn’t go down too well with her and Mlondi was worried he had caused her offense. The emotional relief we felt when she left was matched by physical relief at the removal of the unsavoury smell her presence had also brought to the confined air of the car. Mlondi pointed this out to me saying, ‘no offense to her, but I couldn’t have stomached that smell all the way to Estcourt and back!’ He also mentioned that he suspected the great-aunt was participant in persuading Mikey’s mum to stay at Winterton rather than move to Estcourt.
And so we made the 30km drive to the rural settlement near Estcourt where Mikey’s mother’s other aunt lives and where she sometimes visits for weekends. It was Mlondi and I, Mikey’s mother, her baby girl and the toddler boy whom we had found first. As we arrived in the new area it was to a very different sight and atmosphere than the RDP ‘housing estate’ style of township. Here, the layout was much more rural and in keeping with the culture and society of Zulus. It is not part of their culture to live in tightly packed identical dwellings, but to live more spread out, each family building their own style of homestead with separate rooms and round houses dotted on the plot with space to grow some vegetables or keep cows and goats. The feel of the place was much more homely and it appeared to be a healthier place to raise a family. I can see why Mikey’s mother may be reluctant to move there however. This rural community may be less lively and alcohol infused than what she has become accustomed to. I can’t help thinking she enjoys the type of socialising and drinking which takes place at Winterton and this community at Estcourt seems too quiet and remote – although it is only a few kilometres from the town and work on farms is also nearby.
We arrived and found the other great-aunt and her husband, both elderly and the husband was using an asthma inhaler. They stayed in a very basic and poor looking house but it had an outdoor toilet, water and electricity. They told us that the Mayor of the area [or a kind of Chief], lived opposite them and they pointed out his house, a collection of buildings newly painted a cheerful yellow. Mlondi, the mother and I crossed over to the Mayor’s house and approached somewhat cautiously – I was nervous about how this kind of informal meeting would go – literally turning up on their doorstep!
The contrast of this doorstep to the others we had seen that day was also enough to make me nervous – a large platform and steps of very slippery looking marble-esque tiles, led up to the front door. We were greeted by a middle-aged lady, rather plump, wearing a skirt and baggy t-shirt with a scarf wound round her head. Her face showed a mixture of confusion and intrigue as we came to the front door and she politely invited us in. We did make a motley crew...Mlondi, a tall, young Zulu man, Mikey’s mother, a clearly poor woman with a mud mask on her face to protect her whilst working in the sun, and her baby at her breast with flies circling round them, and me, a young, blonde, white lady with a bewildered look on her face.
The interior of the house was similar to that of a number of well-off Zulu houses I had been to. Marble-like tiles on the floor, a number of large pieces of furniture, large sofa and chairs and ofcourse...a widscreen TV. Sitting down, I couldn’t take my eyes of their coffee table, the stand of which was a manufactured over-sized shell with a fake pearl inside it the size of a small football, on top of which balanced a large oval of glass. I was fixated by this bizarre piece of furniture, at the status symbol it was intended to be, at what this Mayor’s wife was thinking when she bought it, how it is meant to make visitors to her house feel...and how it was making Mikey’s mother feel, sitting there in her overalls and mud mask, breast feeding her whimpering, sick baby.
I don’t mean to be judgemental of anyone, or how they choose to spend their money, but I am merely recording what I have observed, for you to understand some of the complex emotions and thoughts that I experience on a daily basis here. That a family would choose to stay living in a rural community where those around them stay in shack-like accommodation, and instead spend their money on expensive cars, furniture and electrical equipment. They themselves have marble floors and yet go to the toilet outside in a pit-toilet. The contrast of modern and traditional, urban and rural, wealth and poverty...can be staggering. It is the combining of two ways of life. Many aspects of the lives of their parents and grandparents are retained and are not considered at all undesirable – such as having a pit-toilet, whilst the attractions of the modern, westernised lifestyle also begin to work themselves in, but only very specifically chosen features – the decor and cars. It reminds me of that example of colonisation I hear repeated quite often...something about the white man giving the native Americans the common cold and causing hundreds of deaths. I feel like the materialistic aspect of our society has kind of ‘polluted’ zulu society. The huge proportion of Africans buying on credit and opening store accounts is another example of how the desire to have things – which you cannot afford – has gone out of control. All these widescreen tvs and fridge freezers are being paid for in monthly instalments, sometimes spreading over 2 or 3 years. The attitude of saving up for something and buying it when you have enough funds, appears to be completely alien.
Anyway, sorry for that tangent! So the Mayor was still in the office and instead we spoke to his wife, but as they say, if you want something from a man, just persuade his wife...she will do the rest for you. Mlondi told the story of Mikey’s mother and their family, how they have been evicted and are looking for land. That I have raised money from England to start a project to build them a 3 room house and that we just need the land to build it on. Her reaction was good and sympathetic, exactly what we needed. She told us that currently there are no spaces but that spaces have been allocated to people who never showed up to claim them, so maybe one of those can be reassigned. We exchanged contact details and will hopefully here more from them next week.
After this, we drove back to Winterton and were relieved to find Mikey standing in the doorway of his relative’s house when we got back. I had been worried that he would hear we had come and stay away to prevent us taking him back with us. The look on his face showed he wasn’t too happy to see us, but mainly I think because he was afraid we were angry with him. Mlondi negotiated with him and convinced him that he should come back. The eldest sister was also back from town, looking very nice, well-dressed and together, giving me a surge of hope that if she is on board with this project, we can really get this family back on their feet.
It had been a dramatic day, experiencing life in a very poor community, searching for a solution for a homeless family who have been evicted twice in 2 months, worrying about the safety of Mikey and the fate of his mother and siblings left behind. As we got Mikey in the car to take him back, his mother leaned in and took his hand, tenderly kissing it and saying something to him in Zulu. I don’t know what she said but the tears that welled up in Mikey’s eyes were enough to tell me they were words of love from a desperate mother, trying to do the best for her son and sending him away from her in the hope that he will have a better life than she can give him.
As we drove away I felt a surge of desire to do the very best I can for this mother and her children. I have the power in my hands to change their lives...by helping them to help themselves to turn their own lives around. This day has given new urgency to my project and my love for Mikey will help to keep me focused over the next few months towards giving them a new life as a family.
Monday, 24 May 2010
The Month of May
Dear Faithful Readers,
I hereby promise that I will never leave it 5 weeks before I blog again!! I will make it once a week again, as it should have always been.
I am in danger of letting my life slip by as I'm not recording what I am up to, and I want to remember this whole experience in years to come...
I will try and recap on the major things that happened here since April...
HOUSE BUILD UPDATE: we had a really successful trip with the teenagers again to the house build at Mondlo/Vryheid on Tuesday 27th April, Freedom Day! This was a public holiday and so we could take the kids. The builder was in need of man power to help him get the roof fixed on [as the other workmen are not prepared to work voluntarily...understandably!].
So I drove the ancient Ford bakkie and Mlondi took the brand new Quantum. The boys in the back with me were quite annoyed of course, as the girls got to ride in the comfy mini bus with a cd player and cup holders for every passenger...for some reason the cup holders are considered a real luxury here at St Anthony's!
We arrived and I had the fun task of getting the roofing sheets from the house they were being stored at, down to the site. When I had driven from the builder's yard on the day we bought the sheets, two expert guys had tied them on very securely, and it had still be a hairy drive!
This time all we had were 3 ropes, myself and some teenagers...it may have only been 1km but that was the hairiest drive I have ever made! I managed to insist that we didn't transport all 18 sheets in one trip, but took 9 then 9. Unfortunately I didn't go to scouts so had no idea how to tie a knot, other than 'bunny ear' shoe laces...and scouts doesn't seem to be big in Zulu culture either. So to make sure the load was secure I had 3 boys sitting in the back hanging on to the 4.8m corrugated iron sheets with their bare hands! But this was in very rural africa so if anything had fallen off the only thing we might have damaged would have been a roaming chicken or a stray dog..there were certainly no traffic cops around!We only had to go down the hill which was a grass track and then round the corner to the gravel road where the house is.
Needless to say, we all arrived in one piece, as did the roofing sheets. The boys were really helpful and with the builder on the roof, they passed up the sheets and logs and got everything in place for the builder to then hammer in the nails. Within a couple of hours we had literally 'put a roof over 6 children's heads'...not bad for a day's work!!
Unfortunately the house has come to a bit of a standstill as it still needs to be plastered and have the doors and glass fitted. Hopefully we will make a plan to get down there and help the builder for a day again and get the house finished so that the two children can be in it for the June holidays which start on the 9th. I am still hopeful that things will get a move on in the next 2 weeks and that the goal will be reached.
Then, the next thing to happen of note was a few days later on one of the girl's birthdays. It is the one I have become close too who speaks English as her home language and so this makes it a lot easier for us to be friends. She was turning 18 and I wanted to mark it as a special day for her and so asked mum to send me a present for her. I had the idea of giving her a silver necklace with '18' on it, and mum found a perfect one and posted it out.
Her birthday was on a Wednesday and so I couldn't take her out to the cinema or anything. So I decided to buy a cake from the supermarket, but I hadn't really thought through how to give it to her. I knew that I couldn't go buying cakes for every child's birthday so I didn't want to make the others feel upset or jealous. In the end I planned just to give it to the girl and let her take it and share it with the girls she lives with.
But when I went to find her, she was with the rest of her cottage girls, so I ended up saying, 'girls come with me to my house, I've got a surprise'. I sat them down and told them that 'today is a very special day, because there is a girl in your cottage who has become an adult today'. The girl whose birthday it was suddenly realised this was about her and her face was such a picture. The others reacted so well and were so happy for her, and enjoying it themselves. I knew straight away that I had done the right thing. They started really cheering and whooping and singing before I had even revealed there was a cake! Then the screaming really started! She opened her present and was so amazed by the necklace, she put it on and has worn it every day since!
And so the impromptu party began! They put on music and were dancing and taking photos, it was so nice. My one error was buying a cream cake...as we ended up having a bit of a food fight...and I was the number one target for cream in the face!! I went to bed with hair smelling of cream and slightly sticky but feeling like the girls had all appreciated this chance for really having fun and it made the birthday girl feel so special which was the main thing.
Then...I think it was that weekend that I had helped to organise a weekend away for the teenage boys. We went to the youth centre again...the one with the broken windows, wood stove and terrible toilets? I was pretty anxious about spending 2 nights there to say the least...especially when I found out the only other female care worker going had flu and so I was going to have to go it alone!!
We were running on 'african time' as per usual, and so left St. Anthony's 2 hours late, just as dusk was falling. We took the old bus, swaying round the rural roads in the dark and bumping over the 15km of dirt road up into the mountains. When we arrived I was sent to find the 'crazy' nun, the funny german one with the big workman's boots? Remember her? She's quite a character!
Well she is now officially my favourite nun EVER! and that's saying something as I have probably met about 50 nuns since coming here. I don't know whether it was pure luck, or coincidence, or if this nun actually grew to like us after our last visit...but it turns out there are TWO youth centres...one of which was completed in 2002, the other [which we had in Nov] looks like it hasn't had any maintenance in the past 30 years!
It turned out that there were 2 groups booked for the weekend, and the others had drawn the short straw and got the old place. We had the run of a newly renovated barn with a huge hall, dining area, lovely kitchen, two shower blocks, an upstairs dormitory and I had a room in the visitors cottage. It was 5* luxury compared to what we had come expecting! It was a complete reversal of Nov when we came expecting a decent place and got a dump. Now we thought we had booked back into the dump, and got luxury!
The weekend went great from then on...the next day I did a workshop with the boys about talents and overcoming challenges. We did an exercise where they got to draw on rocks with chalk then carry them up the mountain, was quite a good team building exercise I think. The afternoon had it's share of drama...
The nuns at this place love their dogs, there are about 10 all together I think [dogs that is!]. I don't know if it is something to do with Africans in general...or just this part of Africa...but kids and adults alike are terrified of two things...dogs and swimming! Neither of these things seem to come naturally to them so unless they have worked at having a pet dog or swimming, they seem to have an innate fear of these 2 things. Just like in England we are naturally scared of snakes and dancing...or in USA there are scared of chickens [which haven't been deep fried] and exercise. ...You get the picture!
Anyhow, I was outside playing with the boys when 3 dogs came barking and running over to us and the boys freaked out! They were running round like headless chickens, making the dogs go even more mad. The 5 boys took off running and went into the safety of the church, shutting the door behind them as the dogs barked madly outside. I was laughing and laughing!! I just stayed still and told the dogs to be quiet and they were soon laying down having their bellies rubbed. One of them was a sausage dog..small but noisy!...one a german gun dog, big but beautiful...and then, the one which terrified them most, was a massive St Bernard..looks like a bear but behaves like a teddy when you get it to be quiet!
After some gentle coaxing I eventually persuaded the boys to open the church door and let me in...they reluctantly did so. I tried to explain that running or screaming would make the dogs bark so they mustn't do it. Either they didn't understand or else the natural 'flight' reaction was too strong but either way they ended up running and almost screaming back to the hostel.
Meanwhile, 3 boys who had obviously had pet dogs in the past, came over to play with them and were very calm and good with them. As we sat on the grass stroking them a different boy came running up to us. The dogs were immediately on their feet barking as viciously as before. The boy immediately stopped and looked terrified! I was laughing but telling him to calm down, it's ok, come to me. But the dogs kept getting closer and he started running away, fast as lightning! They immediately took chase, seeing it as a game, the little sausage dog was yapping at his heels! Unfortunately, the other youth group was just walking past and so 20 other teenagers were there to spectate and we were all in stitches at his reaction. We had almost never seen someone move so fast!
It wasn't until about 15min later when another boy came to fetch me and tell me that this boy who had run away...had been bitten by one of the dogs! I went and looked and found it really was quite bad! I felt so terrible that we had all laughed, I had no idea they would actually bite! We took him to the surgery which is on the site and got him bandaged up. Later that week he had to go for a rabies injection at the hospital. I guess the lesson is, a dog's bark can be as bad as it's bite...when in Africa!
The last outing to report was the weekend after when I went to the prison with one of the boys to see his brother and I visited my friend. We went on the Sunday after church and first went to the supermarket to buy the boys some treats like deodorant, soap, tooth paste, crisps and chocolate. The day before I had an idea that I could take this boy to see his brother and then go horse riding! There is a place with a small game reserve in Newcastle and it also has horses, we took the boys there for swimming and a braai in Dec. This boy had told me before that he like horse riding and that he was good, he had learned on the farms near his home. So I rang the stables from the car and was lucky to find that had a space free for the afternoon. So we visited our 2 mates who are also inmates, and then rushed back to the game reserve. We were so excited!
When we got there they has saddled two horses for us, a big white one and a smaller bay pony. I insisted on the big one as I thought I would be too heavy for the pony! The boy got on first and as soon as he was in the saddle I knew he had been exaggerating his riding skills!! He looked completely out of his comfort zone, he couldn't hold the reins and was trying to get the horse to move by flapping the reins, rather than using his legs! That didn't hold us back though!
A zulu guy took us out as our guide and he was on a very highly strung arabian horse that could hardly be controlled! My boy was also fearless and so within 10 min we were trotting across the park, chasing buck and zebra! When it came to cantering I could hardly breath I was laughing so much at the boy's face as he hung on, bouncing around in the saddle. The guide thought I was crazy I think, I could not stop laughing! It was so much fun, we cantered and galloped loads, saw all kinds of buck, wilderbeast and zebra up close...felt like cowboys rounding them up!
We got back exhausted but very happy and my boy has been asking ever since when can we go again!! I'm sure he will be a good rider with a bit more practice, he certainly has got good balance and a lot of courage :)
Anyway, that's enough tales for one blog! Sorry for the delay, I won't let it happen again.
Now the countdown begins...SIX DAYS UNTIL LUKE ARRIVES!
I am so excited for his visit, I have lots planned and so will keep you updated on our world cup adventures!
love to you all, missing you xxxxxxxxxx
I hereby promise that I will never leave it 5 weeks before I blog again!! I will make it once a week again, as it should have always been.
I am in danger of letting my life slip by as I'm not recording what I am up to, and I want to remember this whole experience in years to come...
I will try and recap on the major things that happened here since April...
HOUSE BUILD UPDATE: we had a really successful trip with the teenagers again to the house build at Mondlo/Vryheid on Tuesday 27th April, Freedom Day! This was a public holiday and so we could take the kids. The builder was in need of man power to help him get the roof fixed on [as the other workmen are not prepared to work voluntarily...understandably!].
So I drove the ancient Ford bakkie and Mlondi took the brand new Quantum. The boys in the back with me were quite annoyed of course, as the girls got to ride in the comfy mini bus with a cd player and cup holders for every passenger...for some reason the cup holders are considered a real luxury here at St Anthony's!
We arrived and I had the fun task of getting the roofing sheets from the house they were being stored at, down to the site. When I had driven from the builder's yard on the day we bought the sheets, two expert guys had tied them on very securely, and it had still be a hairy drive!
This time all we had were 3 ropes, myself and some teenagers...it may have only been 1km but that was the hairiest drive I have ever made! I managed to insist that we didn't transport all 18 sheets in one trip, but took 9 then 9. Unfortunately I didn't go to scouts so had no idea how to tie a knot, other than 'bunny ear' shoe laces...and scouts doesn't seem to be big in Zulu culture either. So to make sure the load was secure I had 3 boys sitting in the back hanging on to the 4.8m corrugated iron sheets with their bare hands! But this was in very rural africa so if anything had fallen off the only thing we might have damaged would have been a roaming chicken or a stray dog..there were certainly no traffic cops around!We only had to go down the hill which was a grass track and then round the corner to the gravel road where the house is.
Needless to say, we all arrived in one piece, as did the roofing sheets. The boys were really helpful and with the builder on the roof, they passed up the sheets and logs and got everything in place for the builder to then hammer in the nails. Within a couple of hours we had literally 'put a roof over 6 children's heads'...not bad for a day's work!!
Unfortunately the house has come to a bit of a standstill as it still needs to be plastered and have the doors and glass fitted. Hopefully we will make a plan to get down there and help the builder for a day again and get the house finished so that the two children can be in it for the June holidays which start on the 9th. I am still hopeful that things will get a move on in the next 2 weeks and that the goal will be reached.
Then, the next thing to happen of note was a few days later on one of the girl's birthdays. It is the one I have become close too who speaks English as her home language and so this makes it a lot easier for us to be friends. She was turning 18 and I wanted to mark it as a special day for her and so asked mum to send me a present for her. I had the idea of giving her a silver necklace with '18' on it, and mum found a perfect one and posted it out.
Her birthday was on a Wednesday and so I couldn't take her out to the cinema or anything. So I decided to buy a cake from the supermarket, but I hadn't really thought through how to give it to her. I knew that I couldn't go buying cakes for every child's birthday so I didn't want to make the others feel upset or jealous. In the end I planned just to give it to the girl and let her take it and share it with the girls she lives with.
But when I went to find her, she was with the rest of her cottage girls, so I ended up saying, 'girls come with me to my house, I've got a surprise'. I sat them down and told them that 'today is a very special day, because there is a girl in your cottage who has become an adult today'. The girl whose birthday it was suddenly realised this was about her and her face was such a picture. The others reacted so well and were so happy for her, and enjoying it themselves. I knew straight away that I had done the right thing. They started really cheering and whooping and singing before I had even revealed there was a cake! Then the screaming really started! She opened her present and was so amazed by the necklace, she put it on and has worn it every day since!
And so the impromptu party began! They put on music and were dancing and taking photos, it was so nice. My one error was buying a cream cake...as we ended up having a bit of a food fight...and I was the number one target for cream in the face!! I went to bed with hair smelling of cream and slightly sticky but feeling like the girls had all appreciated this chance for really having fun and it made the birthday girl feel so special which was the main thing.
Then...I think it was that weekend that I had helped to organise a weekend away for the teenage boys. We went to the youth centre again...the one with the broken windows, wood stove and terrible toilets? I was pretty anxious about spending 2 nights there to say the least...especially when I found out the only other female care worker going had flu and so I was going to have to go it alone!!
We were running on 'african time' as per usual, and so left St. Anthony's 2 hours late, just as dusk was falling. We took the old bus, swaying round the rural roads in the dark and bumping over the 15km of dirt road up into the mountains. When we arrived I was sent to find the 'crazy' nun, the funny german one with the big workman's boots? Remember her? She's quite a character!
Well she is now officially my favourite nun EVER! and that's saying something as I have probably met about 50 nuns since coming here. I don't know whether it was pure luck, or coincidence, or if this nun actually grew to like us after our last visit...but it turns out there are TWO youth centres...one of which was completed in 2002, the other [which we had in Nov] looks like it hasn't had any maintenance in the past 30 years!
It turned out that there were 2 groups booked for the weekend, and the others had drawn the short straw and got the old place. We had the run of a newly renovated barn with a huge hall, dining area, lovely kitchen, two shower blocks, an upstairs dormitory and I had a room in the visitors cottage. It was 5* luxury compared to what we had come expecting! It was a complete reversal of Nov when we came expecting a decent place and got a dump. Now we thought we had booked back into the dump, and got luxury!
The weekend went great from then on...the next day I did a workshop with the boys about talents and overcoming challenges. We did an exercise where they got to draw on rocks with chalk then carry them up the mountain, was quite a good team building exercise I think. The afternoon had it's share of drama...
The nuns at this place love their dogs, there are about 10 all together I think [dogs that is!]. I don't know if it is something to do with Africans in general...or just this part of Africa...but kids and adults alike are terrified of two things...dogs and swimming! Neither of these things seem to come naturally to them so unless they have worked at having a pet dog or swimming, they seem to have an innate fear of these 2 things. Just like in England we are naturally scared of snakes and dancing...or in USA there are scared of chickens [which haven't been deep fried] and exercise. ...You get the picture!
Anyhow, I was outside playing with the boys when 3 dogs came barking and running over to us and the boys freaked out! They were running round like headless chickens, making the dogs go even more mad. The 5 boys took off running and went into the safety of the church, shutting the door behind them as the dogs barked madly outside. I was laughing and laughing!! I just stayed still and told the dogs to be quiet and they were soon laying down having their bellies rubbed. One of them was a sausage dog..small but noisy!...one a german gun dog, big but beautiful...and then, the one which terrified them most, was a massive St Bernard..looks like a bear but behaves like a teddy when you get it to be quiet!
After some gentle coaxing I eventually persuaded the boys to open the church door and let me in...they reluctantly did so. I tried to explain that running or screaming would make the dogs bark so they mustn't do it. Either they didn't understand or else the natural 'flight' reaction was too strong but either way they ended up running and almost screaming back to the hostel.
Meanwhile, 3 boys who had obviously had pet dogs in the past, came over to play with them and were very calm and good with them. As we sat on the grass stroking them a different boy came running up to us. The dogs were immediately on their feet barking as viciously as before. The boy immediately stopped and looked terrified! I was laughing but telling him to calm down, it's ok, come to me. But the dogs kept getting closer and he started running away, fast as lightning! They immediately took chase, seeing it as a game, the little sausage dog was yapping at his heels! Unfortunately, the other youth group was just walking past and so 20 other teenagers were there to spectate and we were all in stitches at his reaction. We had almost never seen someone move so fast!
It wasn't until about 15min later when another boy came to fetch me and tell me that this boy who had run away...had been bitten by one of the dogs! I went and looked and found it really was quite bad! I felt so terrible that we had all laughed, I had no idea they would actually bite! We took him to the surgery which is on the site and got him bandaged up. Later that week he had to go for a rabies injection at the hospital. I guess the lesson is, a dog's bark can be as bad as it's bite...when in Africa!
The last outing to report was the weekend after when I went to the prison with one of the boys to see his brother and I visited my friend. We went on the Sunday after church and first went to the supermarket to buy the boys some treats like deodorant, soap, tooth paste, crisps and chocolate. The day before I had an idea that I could take this boy to see his brother and then go horse riding! There is a place with a small game reserve in Newcastle and it also has horses, we took the boys there for swimming and a braai in Dec. This boy had told me before that he like horse riding and that he was good, he had learned on the farms near his home. So I rang the stables from the car and was lucky to find that had a space free for the afternoon. So we visited our 2 mates who are also inmates, and then rushed back to the game reserve. We were so excited!
When we got there they has saddled two horses for us, a big white one and a smaller bay pony. I insisted on the big one as I thought I would be too heavy for the pony! The boy got on first and as soon as he was in the saddle I knew he had been exaggerating his riding skills!! He looked completely out of his comfort zone, he couldn't hold the reins and was trying to get the horse to move by flapping the reins, rather than using his legs! That didn't hold us back though!
A zulu guy took us out as our guide and he was on a very highly strung arabian horse that could hardly be controlled! My boy was also fearless and so within 10 min we were trotting across the park, chasing buck and zebra! When it came to cantering I could hardly breath I was laughing so much at the boy's face as he hung on, bouncing around in the saddle. The guide thought I was crazy I think, I could not stop laughing! It was so much fun, we cantered and galloped loads, saw all kinds of buck, wilderbeast and zebra up close...felt like cowboys rounding them up!
We got back exhausted but very happy and my boy has been asking ever since when can we go again!! I'm sure he will be a good rider with a bit more practice, he certainly has got good balance and a lot of courage :)
Anyway, that's enough tales for one blog! Sorry for the delay, I won't let it happen again.
Now the countdown begins...SIX DAYS UNTIL LUKE ARRIVES!
I am so excited for his visit, I have lots planned and so will keep you updated on our world cup adventures!
love to you all, missing you xxxxxxxxxx
Monday, 19 April 2010
Privacy Act
The privacy act has been brought to my attention and I am concerned that I may have breached it in some of my stories. I am now editing all posts and all children's names used in future will be fictionalised to preserve privacy. I can only apologise for such a terrible oversight.
Thursday, 8 April 2010
My lucky escape!
I have realised that my blog has been ever so serious and even a bit depressing for you lovely readers, and that perhaps it is painting my life here as also very serious and depressing! When it is really not at all! I am going to recall some of the characters I have met here and an amusing incident I managed to get myself into...
Last week an English volunteer arrived who has been volunteering in India, in HIV hospices, for 7 years. Her name is Shelia, she’s around 65 but is so full of life, adventurous and determined you’d never guess! She worked in Waitrose for 20 years and when she retired, decided she would take the opportunity to travel and also finally live her dream of nursing people. India have recently changed the rules on Visas and now you have to leave the country for 2 months before you can apply for a new one [which takes a week to get]. So Shelia decided to work in another country for 9 weeks and found a place at the ARV clinic which is just behind St Anthony’s. As the nuns didn’t feel a person who was not a practicing Catholic could cope with life in the convent and all the prayers and routine, they asked permission for her to stay up here with me instead. It is nice to have the company but I must be honest, communication beforehand was not good so I was told to expect an Indian girl in her 20s...not an English pensioner! But oh well, it’s company all the same!
Shelia is fiercely independent and from the minute she arrived has been expressing her frustration at the fact she is not in a country with good public transport and is also living in an area where it is not safe to even walk to the top of the street. Even for black people here, there is so much crime in the area that you cannot safely walk up the road without the fear of being challenged for your money or phone. Shelia was used to driving round India [near Bangalore] on her scooter and living in her own flat in a completely non-white area. She feels like she is caged in here, describing it as a prison! Though I know it can be tough I have never really resented the fact at all, that I can’t go outside the gates. I just accept it, even though I too am used to lots of freedom and walking where I like, even at night, in the UK. I was a bit taken aback at Shelia’s reaction, even after 5min she was frustrated, it’s not like she’d been here a week and not gone out!
But anyway, we have booked her an organised holiday with a company, to go all round SA and see the sites she had been hoping to visit. Only problem is...she didn’t read the small print and it turns out it was cheap for a reason. It’s a camping trip! They have to pitch their tents every night, build fires and cook their own meals, working from a rota. I hope she can cope with it! I don’t think I could, and I’m 40 years younger!
Anyway, two nights ago I had to go out at 6pm and fill up the car with petrol as the fuel prices were due to go up the next day. I took Shelia with me so she could have an outing and also stock up on food and airtime at the supermarket in town. We were heading back at about 8pm and i was already pitch black on the roads, but it wasn’t too busy so it was ok. In the daytime the roads are heaving and taxi drivers speed down the middle of the road, overtaking incessantly [and the next minute perform an emergency stop in front of you to offload a passenger] so you really have to keep your wits about you. But now it was quiet and we were chatting away, I was laughing at one of Shelia’s tales from her travels. The next thing I knew there was a man standing in the middle of my lane, wearing a fluorescent orange coat and shining a torch to signal me to pull over. ‘O shit’ [excuse my language!], I said as I realised it was a traffic cop with a speed trap and I had just entered the 60kmph zone, still doing around 80kmph. I was annoyed, it was such bad luck, especially as I had a big 4x4 right on my bumper trying to overtake for a km which was probably what had made me keep my speed up. And he ofcourse, got away scott free!!
I put the handbrake on and rolled down my window, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach and wanting to cry, to be honest! The traffic cop greeted us with ‘good evening ladies’ but then ‘what were you thinking going so fast!? This is going to be an expensive conversation for you now!’ I was pretty gobsmacked and didn’t know what to say so just sat there. Then he reached in and patted my chest saying, ‘what is this? Your heart is beating like crazy! You don’t need to be scared!’ It was a bit creepy now I look back but at the time I was beginning to feel relieved as I thought, I think we might be able to get out of this one!
Shelia came to my rescue saying, ‘sorry officer, it was my fault, we were talking and lost track of the speed limit’. He asked for my drivers’ licence and I handed it over, explaining that it was an overseas one and had an international counterpart. Once he heard that, realised we were from the mythical land of ‘overseas’ I knew we would be ok! He addressed me as Rebecca and it gave me confidence to start chatting to him. I told him we were both volunteers, living at St. Anthony’s children’s home. He knew the place because he said he was schooling at St Lewis. That helped the flow of the conversation as I told him I also worked there too, teaching English, and he began to talk about the Sisters who used to run the place. Within a couple of minutes he was asking for my hand in marriage and my reply ‘what Lobola are you offering?’ seemed to please him as it showed I knew some Zulu [Lobola is the amount of cows [or money] the groom's family has to pay for the bride]. By the time it came to drive off he was saying ‘thank you so much, I’m so happy to have met you. Keep your doors and windows locked and don’t stop for anyone.’ ‘Not even for traffic cops?’ I tried to joke, ‘No of course you stop for us, you are safe with us!’ was his reply as he waved us off!
Me and Shelia rolled up the windows and burst into hysterics at our encounter! We felt so chuffed that we had, seemingly, talked our way out of a R400 speeding ticket and had even made a friend out of it! We were wise after the event, both saying, ‘I knew he wouldn’t fine us’. But at the time I was sure he would have to, even if he had a chat as well!
I got back and went straight to the boys’ cottage to relate the tale to Mlondi and Kaye, the careworkers there. I certainly exaggerated my role in talking us out of the fine, but then, why not? Anyone would! I certainly felt like I had won him round with my English accent and fancy pink drivers’ licence, haha! But getting back on the road today, I was extra vigilant and stuck to the limits all the way! I certainly don’t want to see if I can pull off that lucky trick again!!
Saturday, 3 April 2010
Families Together and Families Apart
Dear Friends and family,
Firstly, I wish you all a very Happy Easter! I hope you all have a nice time with your families, I am missing you all very much as this is the first time in 22 years that I haven’t been at home for Easter. It hit me yesterday when I was attending Good Friday service here in Dundee, I suddenly realised I had always spent Good Friday in Rayleigh. I have been staying here in Dundee with my godfather Peter, and living in the Priest’s house with him, since Wednesday. I was feeling lonely and depressed at St Anthony’s without the children, the place is like a ghost town when the kids are gone! So I wanted to get away...I am having a very relaxing time, just reading, cooking, watching some movies and enjoying the high speed internet connection that staying in the town affords, it means I could upload all the photos which ‘failed’ when in the township!
Since I last wrote I can update you on the progress of the house we are building. It is now almost complete, it just needs a roof! The 2 children are staying there now and I saw them last week, they are so happy and excited about the house. I went there just after 6pm and it had already turned pitch black. The rural life seems like another world in the dark! It was terrifying just getting out of the car to greet them as I imagined snakes in the long grass, or at least holes in which you would twist your ankle. It was absolute darkness there, you couldn’t see your hand if you held it up infront of your face. There is no electricity of course, but the full impact of that can’t be appreciated when you visit during the daytime. They were all standing round the glowing orange embers of a fire in a metal drum, standing outside next to the house. The smell of wood smoke stung my nostrils and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness Fiona came bounding up and was hugging me, saying ‘I am so happy to see you Aunt Becky’. Her face was alive with excitement and her smile shocked me back to reality, and to see her reality. My kind of shock and horror at the reality of spending a night here was totally thrown off by Fiona’s apparent ease and behaviour...this is her life. This is what she has always known. For me it felt crazy to be spending a night effectively, just out in the open, at the mercy of the elements. But for her, it was just any other evening in her home town, and she was overjoyed to be spending it with her mother and siblings. In the evening at St Anthony’s she is regularly in my house, using my laptop to type her homework and listen to music, and they came floating into my mind. The contrast seems unbelievable, they are like two different worlds. That’s when I realised again how much these children love their families and the place that they are from. Fiona knows she could have stayed somewhere else for the holidays if she had asked, she could have continued with her ‘normal’ life, having hot showers and electricity to use and regular meals. But they always choose to be with their families, no matter what conditions they are living in.
Just as I found myself sitting in church in Dundee and being overwhelmed by homesickness and missing my family in Rayleigh, so too must Fiona feel every day at St Anthony’s that there is one thing they can’t provide her with, they can never replace her family and the bond they have. No matter where we go in the world and what we are doing, home will always be with our families.
The importance of family is something which has been coming to my attention every day over the past few weeks. I have been working a lot on the Family Preservation Programme which we are trying to launch here, basically providing support for families in the community who are struggling with child care so that we can prevent social services coming and removing the child to an institution. It might be helping them get access to government grants, getting registered with ID cards for themselves and their children, bringing emergency food parcels and clothes, helping to dig vegetable gardens or paying school fees. Next month we are launching our first Parenting Skills workshop where our team of child care workers will be helping to educate some local parents in such things as behaviour management techniques, health and hygiene advice, budgeting skills etc. We also have plans to begin family counselling workshops with 3 families at a time where they will have access to things like bereavement and alcohol abuse counselling. Just to be given a chance to discuss, as a family, in a safe and supportive environment, the problems which they are facing and to see if there is a way they can be assisted in overcoming them. So often problems just continue unanswered, without facing them, and families feel like there is no one who they can ask for help. Our dream is to become a resource centre for the community and assist families in their homes so that their children do not have to be taken away from them, which often causes more problems than it seeks to solve.
Next Wednesday we have a very exciting visit, it is from an organisation which I applied to for funding for the Family Preservation Programme. They have decided to come and make a site visit and discuss further what we are doing and how we are doing it. They are flying all the way from Cape Town just to come and see us, so it is looking quite promising already! I will be heading home on Tuesday so that I can be there for that meeting. Hopefully we will even be taking them out to eMondlo to show the house that we are building as part of the Programme.
The other reason the importance of Family has really come to my attention over the past few weeks is because of a relationship I have been developing with one of the children from St Anthony’s. At St Anthony’s each child has a very different set of difficulties, each unique and each needing unique care to overcome them. But on average, the children we have can be divided into two groups, those with a family and those without. Fiona and Pete have similar stories, both have parents who are alive and love them, but are suffering from alcohol abuse and poverty. Their holidays are tough, and the conditions they face are beyond most of our imaginations, but they face them together as a family. The other group of children...are those with no family to visit in the holidays. The ones who are sent [and received very warmly and lovingly!] to host families for the holidays. For some, this Easter may have been their first encounter with that family, but others have built up relationships over the months and years and see these ‘new’ families as their real one.
Gerry is a very good example of a very successful host family. He stays near Ladysmith with a foster mother and his own real brother who is 2 years older. He misses them so much during the term and really wants to live with them permanently. The only thing standing in his way is his biological mother who refuses her permission for him to live with the foster mother permanently [although the boys haven’t lived with her for about 8 years]. I think she sees it as her sons being given away to another mother, and she doesn’t want them to abandon her. But the fact is, the transfer of affection has already taken place. When Gerry says ‘I want to see my mother’ and I ask ‘which one?’ he always means the foster mother, not his biological mother. He has found a new family and that is where he wants to be. He is turning 18 in September and I am hopeful that this will bring him the freedom to choose where he stays, he will no longer have to do as his mother says.
The child I wanted to tell you about today in regards to the importance of family, is an 18 year old boy who arrived in January. His story is one of abandonment and abuse, from the age of 4 when his mother left to find work in Joburg, he has been passed from grandmother to aunty, now to St. Anthony’s. He and his brother suffered abuse in their aunty’s house for 10 years before social services heard through a school teacher that the boys needed help. They had effectively worked as servants in their aunt’s house, doing all the cleaning and cooking, being treated as second class children compared with her own children and grandchildren, and sleeping on the floor in a kind of cupboard for 10 years. Their uncle beat them badly, the younger boy has a terrible scar on his face from a glass bottle, the incident nearly led to the police being involved which was when they were finally taken to social services.
I spend a lot of time talking with the older brother and the overriding issue that causes him to suffer and feel depressed every day, is not regarding the abusive family [who he forgives wholeheartedly] but the loss of his mother. Although she left when he was 4, he always felt a glimmer of hope that she would one day return for him and his brother from Joburg. The only reason she didn’t come, in his mind, is that she was not successful in finding work and didn’t feel she could return to them empty handed. But he never lost hope, in her, in her love for him, and in their final reunion. But in 2006, at the age of 14, news came that she had passed away. He had not seen her since she had left 10 years before but he was able to attend her funeral. He remembers every aspect of that day, and the pain he felt, and he was so distressed he wasn’t able to go to the cemetery. He says that on that day his life changed forever, that was the day when he lost everything. The woman who had brought him into this world and who had loved him, had left this world, and he no longer feels he has a right to be here either. He says he wants to go and be with her so that he can be at peace finally. He has never been able to properly grieve for the loss of his mother, and to find a way through his mourning. It is as if, even though it is 4 years later, he is still in the earliest stages of grief. He needs to experience real bereavement counselling to understand her death and to find a way forward, beyond it, to experience his own life and the happiness in store for him. It is as if he has reached a brick wall. Until he can understand the loss of his mother he will always be stuck in the past and unable to enjoy his present and future.
When I spoke to him yesterday on the phone he asked me ‘what will ever make me happy?’ I thought about it for awhile, and in the light of the homesickness I had been feeling, and the pain he is in, the answer which I fully believe will be the only solution to his sadness was ‘Family.’ The kind of love and comfort that he longs for is the unconditional and never ending love which a person receives from their family. Just as with Fiona’s situation; money, property, jobs, possessions, they are not what makes our lives truly happy or fulfilled. The only thing which can bring us real comfort and peace in our lives is to know that we have, somewhere out there, even if they are far from us...the unconditional love of our family. Fikile is happy, in her poverty stricken home, but with the love of her family. This young man cannot feel happy even when surrounded by nice things, caring people, good food, and a bed, because he feels he lacks a family. When someone doesn’t know where they are coming from, their gaze is captivated and obsessed with the past, looking behind them, to see where they are from. There is no chance to think of the future and the life you can have when you cannot keep from looking back over your shoulder. He will never be healed until he can be helped to understand his past, find some loving members of his family, and enable himself to look forward again. Once he can focus on the future, perhaps he will start to see that his true happiness will be completed when he begins a family of his own. When he has a wife and children of his own, he can make up for that family-less childhood, by creating a family and loving a family all of his own.
This young man is full of talent and potential and he has an amazing strength of character. He has been able to forgive the treatment he received at the hands of his relatives and he is an inspirational brother for his 4 years younger brother. He works hard at school and is praised by all his teachers for his determination. And he makes friends and people love him where ever he goes. At St Anthony’s people were quickly drawn to him and care deeply for him, I like to think, me most of all. But also at his new school, he has a teacher who he is close to and who really cares for him. Where ever he goes in this world, he will be successful and his character will draw people to him and provide great opportunities. But firstly he needs to learn to love himself for who he is. Then he will begin to realise those around him love him, and that he has a great future.
He is not completely without family, as he has two brothers, one older and one younger than him. I asked him what were their Zulu names and what did they mean. I was so happy and surprised to hear that the three names, when said in the order of their ages, almost read like a message from their mother. Their names are ‘We have Power, Together, We have enough’. The three of them, together, if they stick together and care for each other, have power and they have enough. Just the three of them together, is enough.
A message from a mother to her three sons, in her absence.
Together, you have power.
The three of you together, is enough.
As long as you are together you have all you need.
I really hope that I can continue to deepen my friendship with this boy and that, together, we can overcome the sadness and loss that he feels and look forward to a bright future. More than ever, since January and meeting this boy, I have felt like there is a strong reason and purpose for me to fulfil here. I feel needed, and more than that, I feel like I need this young man too! We have been brought together to share this part of our lives journeys and to help each other along the way.
One last thing, while being here I have discovered the very enjoyable importance of names and their meanings. To the Zulus, and all Africans, names tell stories and they always have a meaning. It inspired me to look up the meanings of my own names. I have found that all of my names are biblical, Rebecca was the wife of Issac, it is a Hebrew name. Sarah was actually Issac’s mother! Also a Hebrew name. Jane, I am not sure about, but it means ‘God is Gracious’ and is the female version of John. Sarah is Hebrew for ‘Princess’ and Rebecca means ‘to bind together’. I was so happy to finally know the meaning of my name and it has really shown me a lot about myself, who I am, and what my purpose is. I was so happy to remember the song
‘bind us together Lord,
bind us together with chords that cannot be broken.
Bind us together Lord, bind us together,
bind us together with Love’.
I really hope that somehow that is what I am doing here. Bringing people together through a common Love. My love for children, my love for families, hopefully they can share that love with each other through me.
When I asked someone, ‘so what would my Zulu name be?’ I was so happy and amazed to hear them say ‘Hlanganani’. Because, as you may have guessed, that is this young man’s name too.
Thursday, 11 March 2010
Rebuilding a Family: Brick by Brick
My gosh! This has been a very draining and troublesome 3 weeks...but it will all be worth it in the long run I hope.
Since my last blog, sorry again for the dry spell [that's Africa for you], but a lot has been going on here, as I have been attempting to launch a new initiative for St. Anthony's Home...the Brick by Brick scheme, Rebuilding Families :)
These are all my little taglines for it, officially it is called the Family Preservation Programme, but the Director has also been playing around with nice names for it, his chosen one is 'Insika' which is Zulu for 'Pillar', representing the strengthening of families which we want to provide, so that the can rebuild that 'pillar' which is the centre of the family and keeps them together. I also approve the name, as I tried to explain to him, my initials are RSJ, which in building terms is a Reinforced Steel Joist...i.e. the pillars which secure a house. So in a way...I feel like the scheme is named after me, haha.
So, it all began back in December last year, at the time when the schools were closing for holidays and we were delivering the children to their host/biological families depending on the situation. This was when I really started to realise that our children are here for very different reasons. Yes, some have suffered horrendous abuse, and they will never be returning to those abusive households. But others, actually come from families which they love, and who love them in return, but circumstances have become so bad that they have to be removed for their own health. The root cause of the problems in these families is invariably poverty...which leads to the age old problem of Alcohol abuse. 'Abuse' yes...but abuse to the body of the person who is drinking it, not necessarily to the children of that person. Yes, some people do drink which then causes them to abuse their children, but in other cases...especially in women who drink...the children suffer through neglect and lack of supervision.
I am still surprised when people come out with the question 'why do they drink?' and anyone who acts appalled at the idea of Alcoholism really, REALLY, just doesn't understand. Just one hour in the townships, seeing how these people live day after day, year after year, and you immediately know the answer to 'why would you drink?'. The question really is, why don't they do something worse. If there is any kind of life circumstance when you have a just cause to want to 'drown your sorrows', 'drink to forget' and throw yourself into oblivion...then living in a mud room, 2m by 3m, with no electricity, no water, no toilet, barely any furniture, and the most basic of foods...that is the kind of life you want to forget.
When you have lived this way for your entire life, you really cannot see any way out. It is not a case of, you're down now, brush yourself off and try again. When you are born at the bottom, in the worst situation known to humans, if that is how your parents lived, and your grandparents...there really will feel like there is no hope. The only way out of there is with the helping hand of someone else, and she hasn't seen one of those for decades. As far as she knew, help was NOT on the way, there was NO light at the end of the tunnel...so? Drink to forget. Block out the hell that is your life, with a blankness, the darkness of drunkness, when you can numb your pain, if only for a few hours.
In December, I visited the house of a child, a teenage boy called Pete. His mother is an alcoholic, his father and brother are in jail for theft, he was removed because he was also stealing to put food on their table. When I left him in a smelly, abandoned house with no furniture and mud floors, I just cried. When we asked if he would come back with us and stay at the Home for the holidays, where he would have food and a bed, he replied 'No, this is where I am meant to be.' He loves his family so much. He has not given up on them, even if his mother feels hopeless, he is determined that his family will stay together, will be united, he is the pillar. As we drove the 3 hours back, Mbogniseni and I had a good talk about what we could do for Pete. I said to him, I know I can raise the funds in the UK to fix his house up, money is just money, that is something I can get. This family needs a home. Pete wants to be with his family, if the only thing stopping him is the fact he has to sleep outside every night, that is something material which we can fix. We have to do this. Even if it is only one child at first, to that one child it is their whole life. We should be changing his life.
I spoke so passionately because I love Pete so much, and leaving him in that place nearly broke my heart. I didn't realise that what I said that day would have such an effect. But it did! Apparently that was the first time anyone had suggested helping in such a material way. Just saying, lets go for it, if they need a house, let's build one. Even if we can only do it once, let's just do it.
When I came back in January they had set a date for a house building project, 6th March, not for Pete's family but another very deserving one. Their mother also suffered from alcohol abuse but unlike Pete's mother, this one seems to have recovered and regained control of her life and the care of her 2 smaller children [10 and 3] and grandchild [1year]. We have not forgotten about Pete, but his social worker has been very uncooperative. But once this first house is done, we will be working on getting something done for him.
This is the story of a family, a mother and her 2 children, Fiona and Mike. It had reached the point in her alcohol abuse, where her 12 year old daughter and 10 year old son, were caring for her, rather than she for them. Understandably, they were going to be getting into trouble, not attending school [as where are they going to get the school fees and money for uniform?]and so social services removed them.
4 years later...and what have the social welfare department done?? Sadly, its the same story all over SA, sweet, sweet nothing. They have dumped 2 children with us, in the Home, and they have left their mother to continue to suffer in her poverty.
I beg the social workers forgiveness if I am not doing them justice but, as far as I have seen, they have made very poor progress with this case over the last 4 years. A family which was living in such poor conditions that they didn't have a tap, was still living like that until 7 days ago.
On Thursday 4th March Mbongiseni and I went to eMondlo, near Vryheid, to meet Mr. Mtshali the local principle of a primary school, who is also on the town council. He said he had arranged for skilled builders to volunteer their services in building the house, over the next 2 weeks. We met the main builder, Mr. Mazibuko, who is the brother of the Councillor for eMondlo [a paid position as a government official]. Together the brothers have been lending their services very generously in getting the build under way.
We drove Mr. Mtshali and Mr. Mazibuko to the site to see the current mud house and to meet the woman [the mother of the 2 kids] and to assess the site. Mr. Mazibuko was a very quiet, gracious Zulu man, who had very little English and a very polite, quiet respectfulness. The way he deferred to all 3 of us, very much reminded me of what it must have been like for him during Apartheid. He still behaves as if he is deferring to those above him, as a domestic worker would to their employer.
Once we were at the site, however, Mr. Mazibuko came into his own. You could see he felt at home on a building site and was happily giving directions as to where the best position would be, how big etc. We decided that we would build a 3 room house, each room 3m by 4m. This is pretty big for a house in the area! Just as we were about to leave, Mr. Mazibuko was looking around for something, and asked the Mother, 'where do you fetch Amanzi?' water! He had realised that he couldn't see a tap around, that is when we found she begs water from the next door neighbour. That would not do for Mr. Mazibuko. He spoke to Mbongiseni and then they translated for me, he was saying that he will come the next day, on Friday, and direct a line from the main pipe to make a tap in their yard. 'They will have water within 24hours' he said.
Mbongiseni said to me, this family has been without water for decades, social services have let them continue without water for another 4 years. Thanks to us they will have water within 24hours. That is a miracle.
My eyes welled up with tears in that moment. Realising that we really were going to make a physical change for that family, for the better. We went to the hardware store and bought the things Mr. Mazibuko needed for the water. 7m of pipe, an adapter, a saddle and a stand pipe: total, less that R240, i.e. just over £20.
TWENTY POUNDS! and 24hours. That is all it took. To give a family the miracle of water. Just £20. I could not believe it. It made me happy, yes...but at the same time you can't help feeling so angry that they have lived without it for so long when it cost so little, and was done so quickly.
The rest of the afternoon we spent in hardware stores and at the brick makers and quarry, buying all the necessary materials for Saturday, the big build day.
Saturday 6th March saw an early start for most of the teenagers who were travelling by our bus to eMondlo, I stirred at 4.20am when I heard the bus engine firing up...but rolled back to sleep! They were all up at 3.30am to get on the bus. Mbongiseni and I were leaving later, he was driving the nice 2007 Toyota Hilux...and I...the not so nice 1980s Ford bakkie...a real grandmother of vehicles. The gear box has aged some what, I have to let go of the steering wheel and use both hands to wrench it from 1st to 2nd gear...not the smoothest of rides! My passengers dont dare complain though!! We left at the much more reasonable hour of 6.30 and I pulled onto the hardware parking lot at 7.28 exactly, just in time to be the first customer.
I must admit, a young blonde haired white lady, in an ancient pick up truck, with 2 zulu teenage boys for bodyguards and an order for 26bags of cement...does raise a few eyebrows! After a few minutes they began to take me seriously and they loaded up the cement and we headed to the site of the build.
When we arrived, after getting a take away Wimpy for the boys ;), it was to find that a hive of activity HAD been going on, and in fact...they had all already crashed from exhaustion! They had been there since 6.30am and had cut back all the grass by hand and dug a large vegetable garden which they were ready to start planting. As we arrived, so did the huge truck delivering 1,000 blocks, so the kids had to get straight back to work.
3 hours and many sore hands later..we had unloaded the blocks and the work of digging the foundations had begun.
By 1pm they were mixing cement and filling in the base of the foundations. Some of the teenage boys had worked so hard! They had barely stopped for a break in over 7 hours and were still mixing cement, shovelling stone and pushing wheelbarrows.
As I stood taking photos of the foundations, one of the teenage boys, Sean, who doesn't have very good english, came to stand beside me. After surveying the scene and thinking for a moment, he turned to me, and talking about his friend who is the boy whose house it is going to be, said
'Mike has his dream today'.
The moment was just so poignant, and really expresses how great a thing we have done. I replied, 'yes he does Sean, he has his dream.'
The other children put so much effort into that day. They knew they were working for their friends, and they felt their friends really deserved to be given this gift. Another girl, Boo, said to me earlier in the day 'Auntie Rebecca, this is a really good thing that we are doing here. A really good thing.'
That is all the assurance and piece of mind I could possibly need. If the children believe we are doing a good thing, then no matter what problems we may have with the social workers, it is the children's opinions that matter, and which I value above every one else's.
The girl whose house it is was visiting me today and asked when we would be going back to eMondlo. She said to me, about the house, and what we have done for her family...
'Auntie Rebecca, you are a lifesaver.'
And that, right there, is all the thanks I need.
Ever.
Since my last blog, sorry again for the dry spell [that's Africa for you], but a lot has been going on here, as I have been attempting to launch a new initiative for St. Anthony's Home...the Brick by Brick scheme, Rebuilding Families :)
These are all my little taglines for it, officially it is called the Family Preservation Programme, but the Director has also been playing around with nice names for it, his chosen one is 'Insika' which is Zulu for 'Pillar', representing the strengthening of families which we want to provide, so that the can rebuild that 'pillar' which is the centre of the family and keeps them together. I also approve the name, as I tried to explain to him, my initials are RSJ, which in building terms is a Reinforced Steel Joist...i.e. the pillars which secure a house. So in a way...I feel like the scheme is named after me, haha.
So, it all began back in December last year, at the time when the schools were closing for holidays and we were delivering the children to their host/biological families depending on the situation. This was when I really started to realise that our children are here for very different reasons. Yes, some have suffered horrendous abuse, and they will never be returning to those abusive households. But others, actually come from families which they love, and who love them in return, but circumstances have become so bad that they have to be removed for their own health. The root cause of the problems in these families is invariably poverty...which leads to the age old problem of Alcohol abuse. 'Abuse' yes...but abuse to the body of the person who is drinking it, not necessarily to the children of that person. Yes, some people do drink which then causes them to abuse their children, but in other cases...especially in women who drink...the children suffer through neglect and lack of supervision.
I am still surprised when people come out with the question 'why do they drink?' and anyone who acts appalled at the idea of Alcoholism really, REALLY, just doesn't understand. Just one hour in the townships, seeing how these people live day after day, year after year, and you immediately know the answer to 'why would you drink?'. The question really is, why don't they do something worse. If there is any kind of life circumstance when you have a just cause to want to 'drown your sorrows', 'drink to forget' and throw yourself into oblivion...then living in a mud room, 2m by 3m, with no electricity, no water, no toilet, barely any furniture, and the most basic of foods...that is the kind of life you want to forget.
When you have lived this way for your entire life, you really cannot see any way out. It is not a case of, you're down now, brush yourself off and try again. When you are born at the bottom, in the worst situation known to humans, if that is how your parents lived, and your grandparents...there really will feel like there is no hope. The only way out of there is with the helping hand of someone else, and she hasn't seen one of those for decades. As far as she knew, help was NOT on the way, there was NO light at the end of the tunnel...so? Drink to forget. Block out the hell that is your life, with a blankness, the darkness of drunkness, when you can numb your pain, if only for a few hours.
In December, I visited the house of a child, a teenage boy called Pete. His mother is an alcoholic, his father and brother are in jail for theft, he was removed because he was also stealing to put food on their table. When I left him in a smelly, abandoned house with no furniture and mud floors, I just cried. When we asked if he would come back with us and stay at the Home for the holidays, where he would have food and a bed, he replied 'No, this is where I am meant to be.' He loves his family so much. He has not given up on them, even if his mother feels hopeless, he is determined that his family will stay together, will be united, he is the pillar. As we drove the 3 hours back, Mbogniseni and I had a good talk about what we could do for Pete. I said to him, I know I can raise the funds in the UK to fix his house up, money is just money, that is something I can get. This family needs a home. Pete wants to be with his family, if the only thing stopping him is the fact he has to sleep outside every night, that is something material which we can fix. We have to do this. Even if it is only one child at first, to that one child it is their whole life. We should be changing his life.
I spoke so passionately because I love Pete so much, and leaving him in that place nearly broke my heart. I didn't realise that what I said that day would have such an effect. But it did! Apparently that was the first time anyone had suggested helping in such a material way. Just saying, lets go for it, if they need a house, let's build one. Even if we can only do it once, let's just do it.
When I came back in January they had set a date for a house building project, 6th March, not for Pete's family but another very deserving one. Their mother also suffered from alcohol abuse but unlike Pete's mother, this one seems to have recovered and regained control of her life and the care of her 2 smaller children [10 and 3] and grandchild [1year]. We have not forgotten about Pete, but his social worker has been very uncooperative. But once this first house is done, we will be working on getting something done for him.
This is the story of a family, a mother and her 2 children, Fiona and Mike. It had reached the point in her alcohol abuse, where her 12 year old daughter and 10 year old son, were caring for her, rather than she for them. Understandably, they were going to be getting into trouble, not attending school [as where are they going to get the school fees and money for uniform?]and so social services removed them.
4 years later...and what have the social welfare department done?? Sadly, its the same story all over SA, sweet, sweet nothing. They have dumped 2 children with us, in the Home, and they have left their mother to continue to suffer in her poverty.
I beg the social workers forgiveness if I am not doing them justice but, as far as I have seen, they have made very poor progress with this case over the last 4 years. A family which was living in such poor conditions that they didn't have a tap, was still living like that until 7 days ago.
On Thursday 4th March Mbongiseni and I went to eMondlo, near Vryheid, to meet Mr. Mtshali the local principle of a primary school, who is also on the town council. He said he had arranged for skilled builders to volunteer their services in building the house, over the next 2 weeks. We met the main builder, Mr. Mazibuko, who is the brother of the Councillor for eMondlo [a paid position as a government official]. Together the brothers have been lending their services very generously in getting the build under way.
We drove Mr. Mtshali and Mr. Mazibuko to the site to see the current mud house and to meet the woman [the mother of the 2 kids] and to assess the site. Mr. Mazibuko was a very quiet, gracious Zulu man, who had very little English and a very polite, quiet respectfulness. The way he deferred to all 3 of us, very much reminded me of what it must have been like for him during Apartheid. He still behaves as if he is deferring to those above him, as a domestic worker would to their employer.
Once we were at the site, however, Mr. Mazibuko came into his own. You could see he felt at home on a building site and was happily giving directions as to where the best position would be, how big etc. We decided that we would build a 3 room house, each room 3m by 4m. This is pretty big for a house in the area! Just as we were about to leave, Mr. Mazibuko was looking around for something, and asked the Mother, 'where do you fetch Amanzi?' water! He had realised that he couldn't see a tap around, that is when we found she begs water from the next door neighbour. That would not do for Mr. Mazibuko. He spoke to Mbongiseni and then they translated for me, he was saying that he will come the next day, on Friday, and direct a line from the main pipe to make a tap in their yard. 'They will have water within 24hours' he said.
Mbongiseni said to me, this family has been without water for decades, social services have let them continue without water for another 4 years. Thanks to us they will have water within 24hours. That is a miracle.
My eyes welled up with tears in that moment. Realising that we really were going to make a physical change for that family, for the better. We went to the hardware store and bought the things Mr. Mazibuko needed for the water. 7m of pipe, an adapter, a saddle and a stand pipe: total, less that R240, i.e. just over £20.
TWENTY POUNDS! and 24hours. That is all it took. To give a family the miracle of water. Just £20. I could not believe it. It made me happy, yes...but at the same time you can't help feeling so angry that they have lived without it for so long when it cost so little, and was done so quickly.
The rest of the afternoon we spent in hardware stores and at the brick makers and quarry, buying all the necessary materials for Saturday, the big build day.
Saturday 6th March saw an early start for most of the teenagers who were travelling by our bus to eMondlo, I stirred at 4.20am when I heard the bus engine firing up...but rolled back to sleep! They were all up at 3.30am to get on the bus. Mbongiseni and I were leaving later, he was driving the nice 2007 Toyota Hilux...and I...the not so nice 1980s Ford bakkie...a real grandmother of vehicles. The gear box has aged some what, I have to let go of the steering wheel and use both hands to wrench it from 1st to 2nd gear...not the smoothest of rides! My passengers dont dare complain though!! We left at the much more reasonable hour of 6.30 and I pulled onto the hardware parking lot at 7.28 exactly, just in time to be the first customer.
I must admit, a young blonde haired white lady, in an ancient pick up truck, with 2 zulu teenage boys for bodyguards and an order for 26bags of cement...does raise a few eyebrows! After a few minutes they began to take me seriously and they loaded up the cement and we headed to the site of the build.
When we arrived, after getting a take away Wimpy for the boys ;), it was to find that a hive of activity HAD been going on, and in fact...they had all already crashed from exhaustion! They had been there since 6.30am and had cut back all the grass by hand and dug a large vegetable garden which they were ready to start planting. As we arrived, so did the huge truck delivering 1,000 blocks, so the kids had to get straight back to work.
3 hours and many sore hands later..we had unloaded the blocks and the work of digging the foundations had begun.
By 1pm they were mixing cement and filling in the base of the foundations. Some of the teenage boys had worked so hard! They had barely stopped for a break in over 7 hours and were still mixing cement, shovelling stone and pushing wheelbarrows.
As I stood taking photos of the foundations, one of the teenage boys, Sean, who doesn't have very good english, came to stand beside me. After surveying the scene and thinking for a moment, he turned to me, and talking about his friend who is the boy whose house it is going to be, said
'Mike has his dream today'.
The moment was just so poignant, and really expresses how great a thing we have done. I replied, 'yes he does Sean, he has his dream.'
The other children put so much effort into that day. They knew they were working for their friends, and they felt their friends really deserved to be given this gift. Another girl, Boo, said to me earlier in the day 'Auntie Rebecca, this is a really good thing that we are doing here. A really good thing.'
That is all the assurance and piece of mind I could possibly need. If the children believe we are doing a good thing, then no matter what problems we may have with the social workers, it is the children's opinions that matter, and which I value above every one else's.
The girl whose house it is was visiting me today and asked when we would be going back to eMondlo. She said to me, about the house, and what we have done for her family...
'Auntie Rebecca, you are a lifesaver.'
And that, right there, is all the thanks I need.
Ever.
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