Patrick was on time this morning, in fact.. he was there before any of us were. He greeted me like normal, with his explosive personality and African Jams. He must of seen that we were all tired and groggy this morning because he jumped out of the van and started dancing around on the sidewalk next to the parked bus. I guess it was a good way to start off the day. The bus ride seemed extremely long this morning for some reason. Even though Patrick was on time to pick us up, it was 9:35 by the time I actually got to work. Walking through the door, the ladies did their normal greeting, “Eyyyyyyyyyy Sissy, you see us early!” When I finally got settled at my desk, I wasn’t sure of what this day was going to bring me. We have our inspection, and organizing for foster parent training today, which is all in Xhosa... So I just sat kind of comfortably at my desk, and pondered about how I was going to write today and what I could understand through their half Xhosa half English speaking they were using.
Makhaza. Makhaza is a township outside of Khayelitsha, it is entirely made and built upon shack houses and extreme poverty. In the center of the township, there is a playground area where all the kids run to after school. The housing shacks that are around the playground have grills set up outside their fencing preparing to braai (what they call BBQ here). I started browsing around and noticed that there were actually sheep heads on the grills, and huge tubs full of chicken feet. Before I could turn around to look the other way, I saw the ladies getting in line to get some chicken feet. They know I’m a vegetarian so they started laughing and saying “we sorry sissy, we just loooooooove chicken feets!” At least the smell was ok... While they were waiting, I noticed some giggling behind me and turned to see a whole line of children wearing their school uniforms behind me. “Hey sissy, hey sissy!!”, they were yelling at me. The ladies said, “The children want to play with you buppah, they don’t see people like you often.” People like me often? I thought about it for a bit, then realized they said that because I was white. Their chicken feet were done and we started walking down the street as they munched on the boney-braaied feet and spit the bones out. I was still thinking about the white girl comment, so I asked them... “do these children ever get to the city? Like Cape Town?”. They then told me that there really is never a need to go to town, that they have everything they want and desire in their townships. I’m figuring out that their still is a lot of unsettled racism between the townships and white people. The Affrikan’s are snobbish and not very nice to the people from the townships. It’s unfortunate, but I guess that’s society for you. Anyway, strolling along... the ladies then began to explain Makhaza to me. Here is where the unfortunate happens. Child molestation, rape and even murder occurs here more often than not. They even have a cemetery that is for children that fall victim to these horrible crimes. It hurts my soul to see that these innocent children, who are free spirited and loving, who know how to use their bright imaginations and play.... are falling victim to such awful circumstances. Umtha Welanga is affiliated with this township because there are children that need to be taken out of homes and placed in ‘safe houses’ (foster houses). The children get out of school early here, and don’t always go straight home. It’s not a requirement for teachers to see their students onto buses... there is no such thing as school buses here. The children walk home, and of course they end up playing on playgrounds, harassing the people who have food stands, and doing anything but going home. Most of these children’s parents are not home when they get out of school, and do not get home until late due to working, farming and trying to scrape as much money as they can to support their families, in any way that they can. We reached our destination, and found no one to be home. The door was open, and you could see where the roof wasn’t all the way attached to the home... a big enough gap that a bird could fly in. I suddenly didn’t feel sorry for myself for freezing every night that I sleep here, where I get to sleep in an actual bed with a blanket, and roof that completely covers my head, and they don’t.
We had to take a taxi to our next stop, because it was too far to walk. When we got into the bus, I noticed a little girl sitting in the first row of seats by herself... wearing her school uniform. She couldn’t have been older than 7, yet she had to take a taxi bus to her home after school, by herself. She got dropped off before we did, and I got to see where she lives. The ladies didn’t think anything of it, as they were singing and belting out the song that was playing on the radio. So it’s rather normal I guess for kids, young kids, to use the public transportation by themselves. We reached our destination and got dropped off in the section of houses where our next stop was, and began to look around. Here, the houses are numbered by who buys first... not in a row. We were in section J looking for J4, which should of been easy.. but it wasn’t due to there being over 100 houses in section J. Finally we found it. It was our visit with MvuMvu. MvuMvu is an older lady, probably in her mid 60‘s, who has beautiful curly hair and white whiskers off of her chin...she is currently housing 6 foster children by herself. We got up to her patio to sit down and talk with her, she stood right up off the bucket she was sitting on and hugged me and kissed my cheek. She then offered her bucket for me to sit on, and here, it’s rude to turn things away when they are offered to you... so I sat on her bucket. MvuMvu (or mama, as everyone on the block calls her) started talking Xhosa with the ladies and I noticed a little baby poking her head out of the curtain and smiling at me. The baby didn’t look more than a year old, but then came running around the corner and hid behind MvuMvu’s leg. I instantly noticed that there was something wrong with this baby. Her legs were bowed so badly that I could of rolled a bowling ball between them when she stands. Nono then explained to me that the two babies that are in the house, are not her foster children. They are the children of one of the foster children in the house. She continues to tell me that one of her foster girls, who has just turned 15, is the mother of these two babies, who are hardly a year apart. She gave birth to both children in the middle of the night, with no one even knowing she was pregnant. MvuMvu then begged me for help, to help her help this child because she doesn’t listen and keeps running off with her ‘boyfriend’ and leaving the babies behind on occasion. After our discussion was over, MvuMvu came out of the house with a large plastic bucket... filled with fresh homemade croissants. She tells me, “I made these fresh this morning and I want you ladies to take them and share them at work.” Again, here we go with the whole ‘giving with nothing to give‘ gesture. It never ceases to amaze me. As we left, she hugged us and kissed my cheek and patted me on the bum as I walked out.
Our arrival back at the office was a little chaotic, as the kids were just arriving for the after school care program and singing and dancing in the street. The kids are using their imagination and creativity, and having a beautiful time.. without technology, video games, computers, iphones and tv’s, which is more beautiful than anyone could imagine.
I’m running out of time, but will post again as soon as possible! :) Peace, love and Africa! XOXO
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