The girls are on break from school so 10 of them and I set off to the neighboring community to see Manthoba, Tigi, and their gogo (the one with the broken leg). Manthoba has just started 1st grade this year and the girls had not seen him the week before the break, so we were a little worried about him. It was past time to take them some cornmeal and beans anyway, so off we went.
Manthoba was away fetching whatever water his tiny 7 year old arms could carry when we arrived but Tigi was sitting outside with gogo, who crawls on her forearms to get out of the bed and sit in the sun.
An older, thin, weathered man was there with a young boy. I hadn’t seen them before. He was helping repair some leaks and the broken window of the stone and mud hut where gogo and the two boys live. We have had some awful storms this year and th floor of their single room has been flooded several times.
I asked the man about the boy. It was his son. He has one more at home. I asked about their mother. Ah, she has been gone several years, no one knows where. I ask if he is working. He looks at the ground and says no but he is trying- he is looking. I ask gogo if she is paying him, a silly question because I know she has no money. So I ask him why he is helping her then. “Because she needs help” he replies. I am taken by surprise. If it is not for pay, or not for immediate family (and even then rare) help is not willingly given (although rare exceptions exist).
Manthoba shows up and we ask why he has not been in school He says he was coughing but is fine now, so he will be back on Tuesday when the break is over. He and the girls go off to collect firewood for gogo.
I sit and chat with gogo for a while, nodding as she chastises me for not having stopped by sooner. The days just get away from me but I promise t return sooner with anew wash bucket to replace her cracked and broken one.
I take my leave to go see Babe (bahbay) M, who lives about a mile away and who I hear is home these days. I want to be sure he and the family are faring all right after the death of his infant son. I get to the homestead gate and call out, “ekhaya. Ekhaya M.” There is no immediate response but his dogs have never been particularly mean so I enter and start to walk down the path to the small dwellings. I walk past the few finished layers of the new house he is building, single handed, brick by brick. I notice a recently dug square pit, obviously intended for a latrine, and for some odd reason am struck by the squareness of the pit. On of his remaining sons, this one about 4, comes out on the path to greet me. I ask him if babe is home. “Ukhona”. He’s here. I approach the small grouping of 3 huts and see a figure lying outside on a at. Oh, god, it can’t be. The only was this could be babe M, lying down on a mat in the middle of the day, would be if he is very sick. I have never seen this man sit, except at the hospital early on as he held his young sick child on his lap. Otherwise he is always working, building, planting, weeding, cultivating, or coming to and from church with the children.
I sit down next to him and it is only then that he is aware of anyone’s presence. His eyes flicker open, the whites yellow tinged- almost brown, and he recognizes me. Always the immediate smile that makes me feel the sun rises and sets where I stand. He rolls over on his side to shake my hand and greet me, still capable of the social generosity.
His belly is so distended I wonder that it doesn’t burst. I look at his lower legs and ankles- grossly swollen. I am reminded of my friend Michael the last time I saw him, so ravaged by the cancer that his vital organs had begun to shut down, his swollen belly and lower extremities belying his thinness. He died within a week.
I ask babe why he is not at the hospital. There is no one to stay there with hi (for those who don’t remember, the hospital is so poorly staffed that admissions usually require that a patient be accompanied b someone who sleeps under or next to the cot, on the floor and attends to their needs). The oldest of the 3 remaining children, a 12 year old girl, is too young. I look at this man, his hand in mine, and know he will die without medical care. He may even die with. I tell him I will try to find someone who can stay with him and that he must be in the hospital.
When I get back t town I head for the canteen where the bomakes cook for whatever customers they can get. There is a make cooking here who lives near babe . I find her and tell her I will even pay if she can find a make willing to stay at the hospital with babe M. She agrees to ask around. It’s the best I can do.
I go home and cry.
Babe M has been in the hospital for a couple days now. There is a teenage boy staying there with him. I am uncertain of the relationship. It is a son but it must either be a son of a previous marriage who doesn’t live at home, or it is the son of a brother. A brother’s children are also called “sons” and “daughters”. He looks horrible and isn’t eating. His fever seems to come and go. A doctor crisis exists at the hospital. 3 Cuban doctors recently brought in to help left the country after the woman doctor and her friend were assaulted in their home in the middle of the day in a robbery and failed rape attempt. The home is just down the road from the orphanage where I live. The one doctor on duty for all the wards has taken the weekend off. But babe is still better off here, on a cot on a ward where the potential for help exists, rather than laying on a mat on the ground at home with only small children to attend to his needs. This afternoon babe whispered that he would like some cheese and I will bring him some in the morning. I took that as a good sign.
Earlier in the day, we visited Spelele, the little girl who was badly burned, to see if the arm had been amputated and, in general, how she and gogo are doing. Traveling to Spelele’s home is no small feat, taking over half the day to get there and back, but I still feel badly that I am not able to get there more often. Her home is quite some distance from my community. Gogo says the arm may not need amputating above where the hand burned off. The medicine seems to be taking care of the infection. The money from the Young Heroes sponsorship (see www.youngheroes.org.sz) is helping keep Spelele in better health. She handles herself pretty well with one hand gone and only partial use of the other. I watched her as she held a lemon against her chest with the wrist of the “good” hand, bending her fingers at an angle I would think not possible to peel the fruit. She goes with gogo everywhere as there is no one else to stay with her, and there is no time or inclination to pamper her, so she is learning to adapt.
Me & Spelele. we are both ok.
When I left Babe M at the hospital last night, he was in a great deal of pain. He died before morning. Cancer. He was preceded in death by his wife 2 years ago and his 2 year old son only weeks ago. He was in his late 30s and leaves behind 3 children. He was a good and kind man and the world was a better place while he was in it.
5/22/06
Felicity and I spent the weekend together at Vic Falls, Zambia. It was a much needed break and wonderful beyond telling to see Fizzy. We laughed and cried (well, I cried) and I achieved a much needed balance. Saying goodbye was sad.
For my friends and colleagues at the Buck Institute, I am touched and grateful for the kind words and thoughts you sent me through Felicity. The money you sent for my birthday will go toward a couple good causes. Tomorrow we are taking a tiny girl and a 7 year old boy from my community to the eye clinic in Manzini. Your gift will go a long way to restore and improve sight for both of these children. Thank you. My needs (aside from jaunting around Africa to hook up with good friends) are pretty simple and even a small amount of money can achieve great things here. I am careful how I use and do that but I will make sure to post and let you know what my birthday present ended up being. The best gift was to know that I am missed and that you are keeping up with the stories here. So many people live and die here after a life of often great suffering. It is important to me that someone over there knows that Babe M, his baby, Lungile, Nokuthula, and many others lived and maybe loved and laughed and that they died horrible senseless deaths. I think we can do something here. I think we can save lives. Keep us in your thoughts. Best, Alyson
For joel 5/31/06
For Joel on what would have been his 21st birthday and for mothers everywhere:
Lord Protect My Child
Bob Dylan
For his age, he’s wise
He’s got his mother’s eyes
There’s gladness in his heart
He’s young and he’s wild
My only prayer is, if I can’t be there,
Lord, protect my child
As his youth now unfolds
He is centuries old
Just to see him at play makes me smile
No matter what happens to me
No matter what my destiny
Lord, protect my child
While the world is asleep
You can look at it and weep
Few things you find are worthwhile
And though I don’t ask for much
No material things to touch
Lord, protect my child
He’s young and on fire
Full of hope and desire
In a world that’s been raped, raped and defiled
If I fall along the way
And can’t see another day
Lord, protect my child
There’ll be a time I hear tell
When all will be well
When God and man will be reconciled
But until men lose their chains
And righteousness reigns
Lord, protect my child
“As each minute ticks by, another African child dies from AIDS.” From Global Aids Alliance
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