It began with exhaustion. After panic over an English essay
that lasted late into the post-it noting, character analysing night last night,
I was tired. We started the day early because Dad and us kids were going to go
on our first home visit with the health care team.
We drove to the Seed and hung out there until it was time
for the home visit. We were going to visit the family who just lost a mother, a
member of the HIV support group at the SOH, and I could tell that this was
going to be a tough morning. Since the big Buckey was not available because of
a break down earlier this morning, we crammed the four of us plus Bouli, Zama,
Jabu and Ethel into the tiny Avanza soon to be joined by half a dozen hefty
bags of vegetables. It was cramped, but it was fun. Bouli entertained us with a
round of “We Are Family” soon to be followed by Jabu’s rendition of “Happy Day”
which was a million times better than the Whoopie Goldberg version in one of
those Sister Act Movies.
We got word that the Buckey was free and we drove back to
the Seed to pick it up. I was excited because it meant we would get to ride in
the back with no seat belts! Riding in a car with no seat belts gives me a rush
‘cause I rarely do it… I figure it’s better than getting into stealing or hard
drugs. Anyways, we’re going to switch cars, and Jabu, a fully grown woman in a
skirt, climbs into the back, squats on a tire and says, “I wanna play with the
kids! Get in here!” That woman is my hero. We got in and the novelty of riding
in the back left us after 10 minutes on a bumpy dirt road. My discomfort is
soon forgotten by talking to Jabu. She told us about what the Health Team does
on a daily basis, and my hands were itching for my notebook I left in my purse
at the Seed, her words were so wise. Basically, the ladies on the Health Team
have one of the most amazing jobs in the world. There is so much lack of
education in terms of HIV/AIDS information, from the government, from witch
doctors and from word of mouth. One of the most heart breaking things I’ve
heard is the myth that intercourse with a virgin will cure you of AIDS. So many
children are abused that way… Jabu got involved with this kind of education when
she was visiting a man from her church who had AIDS and his family was afraid
to touch him. She hugged him and 6 months later she had a job at the Seed of
Hope. Amazing.
She also told us about this particular situation we were
walking into. A HIV positive support group member with three children died
quickly from a bout with pneumonia, and even though she took her ARVs
diligently, she was still too weak to overcome the sickness. She lived with her
brother, but their relationship was not strong and he doesn’t want to take the
children, and neither does the woman’s aunt. I was interested and nervous for
what I would see in the next few minutes. We finally stopped and got out with the
vegetables and food hamper, and to my amazement Zama balanced the box of
tomatoes on her head as she walked down this rocky dirt path. Like I said, it
was an Africa day.
We walked through a ladies yard, where chickens roamed free
and the dog house was made out of tarps and plastic bags. Down-hill we saw the
house, made out of mud and sheltered with a tin roof, the house number was
spray painted on the front of it. The neighbours poked their heads out of their
doors, as they watched us enter the house. I passed my bag of potatoes to Zama
and stood at the door, not sure whether or not all eight of us plus the family
could fit in this two room home. Bouli waved me next to her and I entered the
hut, taking it all in, but feeling like I was intruding. There was a candle lit
on the floor, and a gogo (gramma) sat on the ground with a blanket around her
legs, while another walked in and sat on a chair. The roof was made of tin, and
I counted the holes in it on my fingers until I ran out of them. The mud walls
were covered by sheets as a form of insulation, and the ground was covered by
tarp-like plastic and cardboard. Immediately the Health Team began to sing. I
hummed along the best I could and watched another family member of unknown
relation to the deceased come in to listen. Zama sang through her weeping, and
it was beautiful, the love and compassion these ladies have is remarkable. After
the singing, the team each took turns in praying in their beautiful Zulu
language, I only caught a few words that I recognized, “He will never leave us
or forsake us”, “amen”, “faithful”. The gogo on the ground (who turned out to
be the woman’s aunt) cried and then Dad closed in prayer. I’m glad I wasn’t
called upon to pray, because, quite frankly, what would I say? I have trouble
knowing what to say to people in Canada who lose someone they love in a
non-tragic way, so how could I ever think up something here?
The ladies talked to the family in Zulu some more and as
they did, a handsome young boy, maybe 8 years old came in and hugged his knees
against his chest on the ground. He was the oldest of the children left behind.
The youngest was 3 months old, and since they all came from different fathers,
their care by a daddy isn’t a possibility. The government doesn’t have any
plans in place for orphaned children like foster care, so nobody knows what
will happen to these children. I can’t even imagine. The visit ended and we
walked out of the home and saw another left behind child, this one maybe 2
years at the very most, and we made our way back to the car. I had heavy boots
for the family, and the children, but also for my selfishness. Everything that
I have ever cried over or worried about seemed not worthy; I have a loving
family, good friends, and easy access to health care and education. I’ll go to
college, and I’ll live comfortably until I die.
We stopped at a clinic and the high school on our way back
to the Seed. The high schoolers are in the middle of their finals, and the
grade twelves are doing their Matric Exams which are worth 75% of their final
mark for the year. We are so lucky… 50% seems like a joke to them. If you have
a bad day on the day of your final, you’re done.
We got back to the center, picked up mum and went to Woolworth’s
to buy lunch, 5 ready-made sandwiches, 5 drinks, two bags of chips and two bags
of liquorice all-sorts for my father (gross). It rang in at 246 rand and we
made our way back to the center to eat our lunch. When we went to the staff
room the Health Team was talking to a boy we’d seen on the playground a couple
times, he always looks sad and we’ve taken to giving him a little extra lovin’
and smiles. We asked Ethel what she knew about the boy, and we found out some
stuff that made my heart feel like it was in my chest, stomach and throat all at
the same time. He technically lives with his aunt and his baby cousin, but
sometimes his aunt leaves for weeks on end to live with her boyfriend and get a
little extra money from him. They expect the lady to be gone for a long while
come Christmas season. While she’s gone
the boy either stays by himself or with neighbours who will take him in. He’s
9-years-old at best. Without the help from her boyfriend, the lady makes 250
rand a month. The boy has a lot of sores on his head, and has trouble making
friends and getting along with other kids. It was only after we let this soak
in that I realized and voiced aloud “250 rand… That’s how much lunch cost.”
Hmm. My boots became heavier and I needed to shake it off with some playtime.
We went outside hoping it wouldn’t rain for the 14th
day in a row. I pushed kids on the swings and started a half-hearted game of
touch (tag). As I was running from a kid I didn’t notice a patch of mud and
slipped cartoon style onto my back with my legs up in the air. I laughed it off
as I do most times that I fall and felt the wet mud caked onto my shorts soak
through to my skin. I’m sure it looked super comical, but it didn’t really help
lighten the mood of my day. After walking around awkwardly in dirty pants and
mud on the back of my legs, we left early to give Ethel a ride halfway home.
As we were waiting for dad to finish packing up, Ethel wiped
off my muddy butt with a towel; the mother in her couldn’t help herself. It
would have been awkward, but in a weird way it seemed natural, she’s such a motherly
figure… After my rear stopped flaking mud and we were getting into the car, one
of my friends Sanelisiwe came up to me and said “Have you remembered my
promise?” I took her face in my hands and said, “I’ll bring it to you at the
Christmas party as a treat, okay?” You see, yesterday I made a rookie mistake;
I wanted to give a gift to a kid. It doesn’t sound bad, but it’s complicated.
Yesterday Sanesiliwe grabbed my hand and was admiring my bracelets,
“Can I have one?” she asked, “Please, please, please??”
“I don’t want to give one to you if I can’t give one to
everybody!” I told her, she has a sister and I wouldn’t want there to be any
sort of awkward favouritism. I should
have just left it at that, but then I remembered the gift of a rope bracelet my
friend Jorge gave me before I left, telling me to give it to a special kid. I
saw a future leader in Sanasiliwe, and I liked her a lot, so I told her “You
know what, I do have a bracelet I can give you.” Her persistent asking caused
me to promise that I would bring it to her. Now I have the burden of finding a
discreet way to give her a gift without hurting anyone… It’s a weird thing we’ve
had to deal with a lot so far, actually. I dunno. It’s an Africa thing for an
Africa day. Not super important of life changing, but something on my mind.
Ethel didn’t want us to drive her all the way to her house,
but we cut down her walk a tremendous amount. The taxis don’t go all the way
into her neighbourhood, because despite her being black, she lives in a
primarily white neighbourhood and they don’t like the taxis in their area. The
taxis stop at least 2 km from where we dropped her off and she told us that she
sometimes walks it. We were amazed at that, and she told us “The Seed of Hope
touches me too much for me to worry about how I get there. The children, they
touch me. It is so important.” And it’s true, it is. The staff at the SOH, and
especially the health care team, do so much on a daily basis! It’s not
something they flaunt at staff meetings, they don’t scream out “Two people are
now educated about HIV and three accepted the Lord!” even though they have the
right to do so. It’s just a part of their job. This amazing stuff that would
have made last year’s camp director shout for joy and send an e-mail to the
board. It’s just their life, and it’s beautiful and sad and inspiring.
We dropped Ethel off, went back to our apartment where I
changed my pants, and were off to the mall to shop for games supplies for the
Christmas Party next week. I thought about the things I saw today and let them
soak in. It made me sad in a way that made me nauseous and made me want to
literally puke up the dinner half of the kids on this continent didn’t get
tonight. I have so much, and so much will be different and changed when I get
home. There is so much stuff in my life, so many material things and so many
first world problems that don’t matter. All of a sudden, so much doesn’t
matter. It began to pour as we left the mall and I thought about the holes in
tin roofs, and boys by themselves, and houses made out of mud.
So that was a day.
