The Hungry Hearts of Africa

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Day 5

Our day of rest. Before leaving Kruger and Mpumalanga for a more urban experience in Pretoria, we stopped to indulge in a true national treasure...Wimpy's! Basically the equivalent of a Steak n' Shake back home, these little diner-esque eateries serve delicious, frothy, milk coffee and are praised by seemingly everyone. I'd say the food was about what you'd expect: tasty but by no means gourmet, and in under an hour we were back on the road to Pretoria.

Day 6

We were extremely fortunate that our hosts were able to arrange for us to visit an AIDS center right on the border of Gauteng and Mpumalanga where we were able to see first-hand the efforts being made "in the field" so to speak. Then, taking things a bit further, we spent the afternoon with an American aid worker visiting childcare centers and making welfare stops at a couple homes in one of the ubiquitous townships. When we woke at the break of dawn, I was unsure whether to feel scared, excited, anxious, or intrigued by the day that lay ahead. In the end, I think I fell somewhere between sleepy and pre-emptively overwhelmed.

The day began with a long commute to the Bible College where my friend works during the day. Along the way we picked up one of her colleagues who happened to be an expert on all things AIDS and we were able to get a Reader's Digest version of one of the lectures he gives at campuses across Africa. Armed with all we could ever want to know about the AIDS situation in Africa (especially at 7a.m.!) we arrived at the tiny college and were greeted by several of the faculty. Before our car would arrive to take us to the AIDS center, we had the opportunity to listen to the college choir rehearse during a 15 minute break and then we had tea time with the entire campus. For those back in the States, I should elaborate on tea time. I'm starting to fall under the impression that Americans are the last ones to hop on this gravy train because in every country I've been to, it seems that midway between the start of the day and lunch, they have a 15 minute break for all the students, faculty, and staff and they drink tea or coffee and usually nibble on some crackers (or gimbap in Korea) while exchanging pleasantries. Why can't we do that in the U.S.? It has such a nice way of breaking up an otherwise daunting day and as a teacher who lived under a tea time regime for a year, I can tell you that it makes Mondays a whole lot more bearable...but I digress. So at this little college, at tea time everyone gathers together in the courtyard and the food service people put out tea and coffee along with coffee cake and toast, then the mingling can begin! We were introduced to the president (who was actually from the U.S.) and several other administrators at the school and I must say it was quite a warm welcome at a place that was essentially a stopover on our way to bigger and better places. Southern Africans seem to have a wonderful sense of hospitality that I've missed since we left.

It wasn't long until a white jalopy of a truck pulled into the dusty lot, with the windows down and lively African music playing loudly. We climbed into the back seat and we were off. Our driver took us past township after township until at last we turned down an orange dirt road leading straight into one of the shantytowns. Some people were crossing an empty lot, where a few cows and goats scavenged for food, on their way to the main road where they would catch one of the local buses. There was garbage all along the path and I noticed a severed cow foot...I can't imagine the fate of that poor animal. The truck stopped in front of a very colorful building and a plump, middle-aged woman came out to greet us. She exchanged a few words with the driver in one of the 11 national languages that wasn't English or Afrikaans, and then turned to tell us he would pick us up in a while. From the outside, the building was painted with traditional Ndebele designs and looked as welcoming as could be. Nakekela. The vibrant exterior couldn't lift the mood inside, however, and we walked in right as a group of patients were gathering for a weekly therapy session. The nurse showed us the facilities, the grieving room where a patient can be with their families during their last days, the counseling room for both patients and for families who are dropping someone off at the facility or if they have recently lost someone. We were introduced to the young mother and her two children who were quietly waiting to be seen. The daughter was being admitted after she had been raped and thereby infected with HIV. To say that it was "eye-opening" or "a life-changing experience" would be trite. Seeing a family about to be separated for lack of better options is indescribable.

At the center they were equipped to care for about 10 patients at a time, though when we were there they had 11 residents. Funding was a huge issue as the government and other agencies were hesitant to fund a place that had "sub-par" accommodations but simultaneously they are not being given enough money to do much more. The facility is a mud and concrete U-shaped structure, that includes a kitchen, one bathroom/shower room to go around, semi-private patient rooms depending on the circumstances (usually two people to a room,) and a small but sunny little courtyard in the center of the building where we saw most of the patients sitting in wheelchairs, soaking up some sun. Many of the people like to do artwork, some of which is even sold, and we saw some of the tapestries they had made earlier in the week. Our guide told us many of the back stories of the patients (no patient confidentiality here) and how in most African tribal cultures, having HIV/AIDS is shameful. Some people refuse to be checked for fear that they will be shunned by their families and communities, perhaps kept in a shed or outhouse away from their family home. At Nakekela, several patients had experienced that kind of treatment in their communities before being brought to the center. One man, who had been making progress, bathing himself and walking, even talking again, was removed from Nakekela and taken home. After a few months he was returned to the center, worse than he had been when he arrived the first time. His family had kept him locked in a shed behind their house, fed him once a day and rarely ever bathed him. He was kept out of sight, not allowed to talk to anyone, walk anywhere, see anything, and was only returned because they thought he was about to die. This man was probably no older than 45 yrs. but couldn't speak and interact with others, or bathe himself, and was again wheelchair bound. Another girl had been raped and immediately placed in the center to avoid the shame associated with the disease. She was only 14 yrs. old.

On the drive home, we talked what an amazing operation they are running at Nakekela, about how despite the hopelessness of the situation all the patients had smiles on their faces as they shook our hands, and how the staff was committed beyond anything we could have expected. The nurse who had taken us around the center, in addition to working full-time and then some at Nakekela, also "adopted" 100 children who have lost both parents to AIDS. She and her husband have taken it upon themselves to care for these orphans and provide them with food, love, and a stable home. With the exception of the very occasional donor, they provide for these children entirely out of pocket and in their own home. I was almost immediately struck by her modesty and cheerfulness and I truly believe she is a guardian angel to those children.

Back at the college we had lunch consisting of pap (similar to grits and about as popular in Southern Africa as rice is in Asia) and what looked like beef short-ribs. It was pretty tasty for cafeteria food and after the meal, we were able to sneak in a catnap before our next stop to visit the children affected by the AIDS epidemic.

We met the American woman at the college and then the three of us headed to the first of many stops we were to make that afternoon, the first being an afterschool children's center. Although not all of the children there were orphans, many of them had lost at least one parent and were getting a hot meal and access to some "fancy" playground equipment at the center. We arrived just in time to see the line up for the stew and pap they were serving. The American woman said children often come to the center midday for lunch, as well as in the morning for breakfast. The buildings were very basic, sort of indoor-outdoor structure, with all the wide doors open and the cement floors were lightly coated in dust. There were no lights but most of the children were outside anyway, making good use of the jungle gym. I noticed that the older kids took care of the younger ones, carrying them around, children mothering children.

Meeting a little girl at the next center and the drive that followed were some of the most stand-out moments of the trip. Again we found ourselves parked outside a colorful, Ndebele designed building, though this time it was a children’s center. Following the lead of the aid worker, we explored the grounds and made our way out back to the playground. There was a little garden where they would teach the children how to grow the necessary vegetables, and even a goat to keep what little grass there was, trim. While we were listening to the director describe the daily routine, a little girl, no more than 4 yrs. old ran up to me and grabbed my hand. She took me to the one-room building behind the main two-room building, and it was practically pulsing with African dance music. What I found were about 30 kids ages 3 to about 14 (I’d guess) dancing in perfect sync! A few kids sat in the folding chairs and watched the performance and my little hostess took me over to the chairs to see the show! After a few minutes of pretty impressive dancing, I asked her if she could dance like the other kids too. She nodded her head, took her hands down from her mouth, and hit the dance floor! She was the youngest of the group and was adorable! She was always one step behind, watching the older kids do a move in unison and before she’d emulate it, they were on to the next move. I kept smiling and clapping for her, cheering her on, and she watched my reaction the entire time. At the end she came running over and I gave her a big hug and congratulations. “You did such a good job!” I must say, the little girl could dance! Despite not knowing the choreography, she definitely knew the moves! The dancing continued and I snuck out to check out the other kids playing on the playground.

After the “tour” I pulled out my little point and shoot camera for a picture of the place. There in my first shot, was my tiny friend, running over to see what I was up to. I’m going to hazard a guess that she had probably never seen a digital camera before and was fascinated with it. I showed her how to take a picture, looking at the screen before snapping away. We took a picture together and then I let her take a few shots. She was all smiles and soon we had attracted the attention of some of the older boys, who promptly came over to be photographed. They all loved the idea of taking a picture and then seeing it instantly on the screen...especially if they were in the shot! Too soon it was time to leave and we said our goodbyes. As we left, I asked to get a picture of me in front of the colorful center. Again, as if she could hear the shutter clicking, my friend came over. She couldn’t climb into my lap this time (although she tried!) so I asked if she wanted to come up for a picture together. She smiled and nodded excitedly and we took a last picture together, me looking happy and she looking unsure about the bigger camera complete with extend-o lens, we found ourselves posing before.

I said that one of the most memorable experiences had been meeting the little girl and the drive that followed. Along the way back to the college, the American woman wanted to make a few wellness checks. The first stop was an unemployed woman with seven kids and a husband who had recently passed away. I should mention that traditionally in many African cultures, a funeral involves preparing and serving a meal to anyone who attends which in many cases is most of the village! In fact, many people go to funerals just for a free meal. We learned during our time in Botswana, that with such a high AIDS rate, funerals are the main social event of the weekend. Saturday might be the funeral, free dinner, and then afterwards a celebration! It sort of gives new meaning of the expression “living for the weekend.” Anyway, this woman had just been given a new house and we were checking to see that the materials to continue building had been delivered. When we pulled up, we saw several children wandering around and then the woman came over carrying two, one in her arms and one on her back. She looked young, tired, and worried. The whole family was wandering around, on there little lot, the house mostly built at least to the point it was habitable. They discussed when the American could bring them more food and when the builders would return and then we waved goodbye and set off for our final stop.

A note, here, about the townships I’ve mentioned a few times. In these shantytowns, nearly all the homes are small, tin-roofed, shacks. At best they might have two unfinished rooms and an outhouse, which may or may not be shared with neighbors. Occasionally, we would pass what looked more like what Westerners would recognize as a house, though much smaller, perhaps containing three or four finished rooms. We got up close and very personal with a typical township home when we made our last visit of the day.

A 12 or 13 yr. old boy and his younger brother had recently lost their mother to AIDS (which she contracted from her absent husband) and although their father was still alive, he abandoned the family years ago. As we approached the small hut, we had to chuckle a little because loud techno-y music was pouring from every seam of the place. When we knocked on the door, we heard rushing around inside and the music was abruptly shut off. Then, the oldest brother answered the door. He was visibly confused as to why there were two foreigners in tow and ashamed at his situation. When the American woman asked him if he had food, he barely spoke; instead he just shook his head “no”. She persisted with more questions: “Who does the cooking?” “What do you cook with?” “What are you eating?” The boy answered that he cooks with his younger brother on a small, hot plate type thing and that they eat rice or garbage. I felt horrible as this boy mumbled that they ate trash. He looked so embarrassed and uncomfortable; he didn’t want to admit that they were struggling. The American woman asked if she could go into the house to see what cooking supplies they had. She checked for pots and pans, and found a small bag of rice. Then she sat down to make a list of groceries to bring back for them. “What do you want to eat?” she asked the boy. Not wanting to ask for anything, he just sort of stood silent. “Do you like potatoes? Meat? Vegetables? More rice?” He nodded yes to all her suggestions and she made a long list. She promised to return later in the evening with meat and potatoes and all kinds of other groceries. He smiled in gratitude and waved goodbye to us.

With so many people dying of AIDS, it is not uncommon to have a child head of household. They keep the shack they were raised in and then do whatever they can for food, sometimes rummaging through garbage or eating plants and grass. If they are lucky enough to have a bit of money provided by aid organizations or other family members, then they also do the grocery shopping. In the case of the boy we met and his younger brother, they had only lost their mother two weeks prior and were staying in the shack until December because they were supposed to finish out the school year. It turned out that their grandparents lived only 45 minutes away, had a slightly larger home, and were raising the boys’ five other siblings. After school ended, the two oldest boys would go to live with their grandparents, brothers, and sisters. Young children responsible for raising their families, providing them with food while only in elementary school, and keeping everyone safe was a startling realization. Like most people, I’d heard numerous stories from faraway countries, I’d read about the desperation of the situation, I’d seen the pleas for help on t.v. during the holidays. I was always aware and always willing to help in whatever way I could. When the day began, I could conjure up a whole library of images from 25 years of secondhand experience. What I saw that day, when I looked into the faces of the AIDS patients who had been abandoned by their families and communities, or the children who were left without parents, food, or security, wiped away any imaginings I had about the Africa. It was like spending your whole life drinking Wimpy’s milk coffee and then one day sampling a straight up, black, cup o’ Joe. No matter what you think it is, it isn’t. Go and experience the reality of Africa, see the difference and make a difference, and while you’re at it, try the coffee!

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Photos

I Believe You Know My Friend...
Wimpy's! His reputation definitely precedes him!

The Reality
Looking over the arid landscape towards a township

Beauty
A tapestry made by a Nakekela resident

Nakekela
Near the border of Gauteng and Mpumalanga

Making Due
The veggies in this modest garden feed the patients of Nakekela

Bleak Huts
A township expands endlessly on the horizon

The Best of What's Around
The nicest childcare center facility we visited

A First Photo
Taking a pictue with my new best friend...her first encounter with a digital camera

Dancing with the Big Kids
Practicing a dance routine with my little friend trying to keep up

Take 2!
Supposed to be making funny faces but she's just looking adorable!

Can't Look Away...!
Kids coming over to check out my camera and be photographed

The Road Far-Less Traveled
The road heading into a township on our way to do welfare checks

Milk Coffee
The specialty at Wimpy's