Dad's Blog: Creche, Crutches, Community and Car problems...

This is Tim getting my chance to “hijack” Becky’s blog!


Caroline decided last year to come out to SA for 6 weeks to support Becky and to lay the groundwork for good educational routines in the crèche. We agreed that this was a very worthwhile project and should not be “confused” with holiday so I would stay at home. After 3 weeks the “challenges” were getting to Caroline and she asked me to join her, which I simply couldn’t do due to pressure of work.

However, two ladies from Billericay Parish, Angela and Barbara were coming out to visit the local primary school and to see the charitable work going on in the Parish community. At the last minute I managed to escape from the office working all night to clear my desk and managed to get a seat on the same plane as Angela and Barbara. Of course I did NOT tell Caroline or Becky…….

When they met the two ladies at the airport Caroline was a little bit disappointed, having secretly hoped I would surprise her. I was lurking in the Customs Hall where I was attracting attention as I kept peering furtively round the corner to see if Caroline was looking the other way. With Angela distracting her, I was able to make my grand entrance - Surprise!!
I’m relieved to say Caroline was very pleased to see me otherwise the biggest “practical joke” in 30 years would have fallen a bit flat.

A visit to Museums had been planed, however I managed to subvert that into a trip to a lion park especially for Angela who is mad about animals. Once Angela had been able to stroke lion cubs her happiness was complete, and it was only Day 1!

We drove down to Saint Anthony’s on the Saturday and were welcomed with a meal in the Boardroom, followed by a concert featuring every single child in the home. They were all marvellous, but there was a special poignancy to the children from the crèche reciting “I can sing a rainbow” – in English (of course) as taught by Caroline.
There was singing and dancing from everyone, and I was impressed that the men’s traditional Zulu dance featured in almost every performance. This comprises a great deal of prancing about followed by swinging your foot high in the air and slapping it down on the ground with a mighty thump whilst everyone cheers the “brave” dancer.

Well, the inevitable happened. The finale was the older boys doing this dance. Then the Director of the Home did his bit. Finally yours truly got up, did a bit of shimmying (to great roars of approval from the crowd I must say) and then three huge “foot slaps” before collapsing on the ground from the effort (part of the routine I had seen the men do when dancing).
Unfortunately I fell badly and haven’t been able to walk without the aid of crutches since! Far from detracting from the visit, the site of me hobbling about has provided a great talking point wherever I go. Everyone of course wants to know why I’m on crutches and when I tell them I was “Zulu dancing” for some reason their sympathy slips and they start laughing. I can’t understand why anyone should think it’s funny, but at least it was a heartfelt performance which will be remembered for some time yet.

After the excitement of Saturday night concert night, there was a change of pace with a “Zulu” Mass the next morning. One part of me thinks we were lucky in that we got out in just under two hours; the other side of me is still amazed at the beauty and passion of the singing. Mass turned out to be a great way to meet people. As part of the African rhythm, you sway from side to side and then turn one way or the other. Well, my sense of rhythm is finely tuned as you can imagine (see “Zulu dancing” above), and every time I turned to the right everyone else turned to the left to face me, and vice versa. Oh well, just the odd white guy with the crutches and the rhythm of a brick.

After Mass it was off to the Church Hall for coffee, just like at home. Well, ok, it was a bit different. There we are in the front row with sandwiches and drinks whilst they put on another concert! The choir was great but, much to my delight, we then had the real thing with the young people doing Zulu dancing with costumes and spears and the whole bit. It was all Caroline could do to hold me down in my chair to prevent me jumping up on the stage and showing how it’s done with a crutch-assegai. Even for a tone deaf man with two left feet these people make you want to dance and sing.

Sunday afternoon saw a trip to a battlefield cemetery on the site of the first engagement in the Anglo-Boer war. Ok, I went to the cemetery whilst the girls – I’ve got 4 of them now, give me some sympathy, went to the souvenir shop. We then had lunch in a small safari park (the only animals you see are on your plate). However, the view was superb – gazing out over the landscape from the veranda was awesome.

Monday was a proper working day. I joined Caroline in the crèche to see what she had been up to. Caroline (who is endlessly patient, she has to be, married to me) had become frustrated because so many things only seem to happen when she initiates them.

I saw it through different eyes. These children could have been playing in a crèche at home in Rayleigh. They have now been given some decent toys and (generally) behave superbly well. Seeing them ironing blankets and then using them to strap little dolls to their backs was beautiful. The boys were using the irons as well as the girls, a skill that still eludes me even after 4 weeks without Caroline.

Just for a change, any chance they get, these children just jump up and sing and dance. This whole country is packed full of talent.

On Tuesday I kept Barbara company going out to visit some local people who are being helped by the Church.

Stop the world.

It is such a shock.

The poverty is just achingly bad.
We visited six families and every set of circumstances is harrowing.
I will tell you about three of them.
Take any disaster that could befall you. Then double it and double it again.

The first visit was to a grandmother looking after two of her grandchildren from different daughters, one of whom is dead. One child has had an operation and has a bag hanging from his stomach to hold his “waste”. She has five bags to use and re-use to care for him. The “house” they live has two mud rooms, a couple of old pots and plates that look like they’ve come from a Scout Camp, and a plastic bag with about a quarter of a loaf of bread in. And that is it. Seriously, that’s it.
She is distressed when we arrive.
Why?
Because things are so desperate?
No. Because she was expecting us the next day and wanted to present herself as smartly as possible. After a few minutes she gathers herself and welcomes us by finding benches for us to sit on (which she polishes first).
The local ladies will come and visit her again soon and continue to support her.
What can you say?
What can you do?
We leave her a few staples, say some prayers and move on.

Another visit is to a grandmother and great-grandmother looking after six children. The great-grandmother had 9 children of whom only this one survives. There are no children left from the next generation down, hence the grandparent looking after the grandchildren.
The house and the children are spotlessly clean.
We are with two priests. One of whom begins playing with the children. The other deals with the finances. The father of some of the children has abandoned them. They are taking him to Court to try and get some “maintenance”. They can’t get to Court because they don’t have taxi fare (100 rand, less than £10) – the priest immediately gives it to them. Who knows what the Court proceedings will be like and until then…..

The third visit is a mother who lives in a (relatively) large house. Her husband died just as it was being finished. She is left destitute with 7 children. There was a bit of confusion because she says she has 5 children. Then it is explained that there are two sets of twins – and they count as one birth!
As we shake hands in welcome this woman bows submissively and places my hand on her head. She is expressing her gratitude for the help from the people in England. Barbara gets down on the floor beside her. The woman bursts into tears. One of the priests explains. The woman cannot believe that there are people who have never seen her who provide aid to her. She cannot believe that these people are here now, in her house. She cannot believe that Barbara has now given up a chair to sit on the floor with her.
She runs outside calling for her neighbours to come and see – look who is visiting my house!
Her two youngest children cannot go to the crèche because she cannot afford it. The cost is about £3 per month for each of them. The crèche is not “child minding” but the first step in education. (Fortunately someone had given me a “bursary” and later I am able to tell the priest that their schooling can be funded for the next year. He is overwhelmed and cannot wait to go back to see her and tell her.)

The day is emotionally exhausting and the ankle is playing up a bit so I take a rest the next day.
I go to 9am Mass each day which is only attended by some of the nuns who live locally. They are great fun. These nuns are really tough women and would have terrified me at school. As an adult, they impress me with their quiet dedication and selflessness. Some of them have been here for decades working through the times of apharteid and coping with African bureaucracy. At the centre of their lives is a great love for people and a “can do” mentality. If I could take a couple of them home I could run the country!
Just to take one example.
The primary school opposite the convent (where Angela and Barbara are visiting) has over 1,500 pupils. The sisters noticed that some of the children were lacklustre and unable to pay much attention to learning.
The reason?
They simply didn’t have enough to eat.
The solution?
Obvious really, you build a dining hall and feed 80 children every school day. Day after day after day.
That’s a simple statement but it takes some mighty strong determination to get that running!

The Colombian Parish Priest, Father Jesus, says Mass in English for our convenience (easy to remember his name – pronounced Hey-zuss). He also gives us a homily every day. I don’t mind because it follows a regular pattern:
1. It’s short (!)
2. It starts from the readings.
3. It relates the readings to everyday life in a thought provoking way.

Father Jesus has only been in this Parish a few weeks having just come down from Pretoria which is very different. This helps me because he is speaking about his reactions to what he is seeing each day which I can relate to very easily.

Thursday is Angela and Barbara’s last day and the school has a full programme of entertainment for them. Angela and Barbara have taught the children some country dancing in a few hours crash course and are delighted with the final performance.

On Friday, Becky and I drive Angela and Barbara to the airport – a 4 hour drive away. With a few detours here and there the journey takes us 12 hours! Unfortunately my ankle gives out completely and Becky has to drive almost all the way. I use a trolley as a zimmer frame to get around the airport – a taste of things to come?
The hardest part of the drive is around 100 kilometres of potholed road in the dark. We do hit the odd hole or two and in the morning we discover we have a flat tyre! This is quickly changed as we are going to the funeral of a brother of the Director of the Home – it also happens to be the Director’s birthday!
On the way (Becky driving again – the miles this girl covers!) we drive past a private game reserve. We see some giraffe which is great – one of the Zulu ladies in the back is so excited - she has never seen a giraffe in her life!
Less exciting is the “thump” from a rock hitting the underside of the car. A few miles later we smell petrol. Lo and behold we have two holes in the fuel tank and the gauge is falling fast. We phone ahead for advice, which is simple – drive faster! When we catch up with the others they carry out running repairs African style – chewing gum and Sunlight soap (which is apparently very malleable) and we carry on. We get a chant going as we drive along (led by Becky) – “I don’t want to be barbecued!”
As we arrive at the funeral someone comes to greet us, cigarette in hand. Dodgy ankle or not, I have never moved so fast – I am a one-man anti-smoking campaign.

We are made very welcome at the funeral which takes place at home, and the brother is buried in the front garden. After the burial it becomes something of a party although I decline the offer of Zulu beer (at least I have some brain cells left). Everyone is delighted to see us and Becky tells me it is an honour to have a white person visit your home.
We set out back to the Children’s home in our Sunlight soap special – 150 kilometres no sweat.

Caroline has lost her voice (result!) but seriously is looking pretty exhausted after 5 weeks and we decide she has earned a couple of days “R&R”. I book us a couple of nights in the Safari Park and she perks up no end. Time for a bit of tourism after all, as Becky would say, TIA – This is Africa.