I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here staring at the blinking cursor waiting for words to come forth to describe what I’m experiencing here in Amanzimtoti, South Africa. I have been here 19 days though feel I have aged 25 years.
My close friends have urged me to share my experiences and photos with more people, so for those of you that are unclear about the details, I will recap. I am in one of the poorest areas of South Africa. It also claims one of the highest rates of HIV/AIDS and rapes against women and children.
I am volunteering in a crisis center whose focus is to rescue abused children from rape. South Africa has the highest incidence of rape in the world and also sits in the #1 position for HIV/AIDS.
Calls come in night and day asking for our help. They come from hospitals, police stations, schools, and orphanages and sometimes they land on the front doorstep . . . all looking to be rescued from rape and sodomy. It is impossible to understand the nightmares that these people endure.
It is a patriarchal society. Men rule the households, businesses, streets and nighttime. Often times their wives are lost to AIDS and they believe it is their God given right to have their sexual needs met, and this frequently becomes the children’s responsibility. There is no age limit as many cases come in that involve babies. The poverty alone is enough to drop you to your knees but it quickly becomes the background "noise" when you understand what these children suffer at the hands of their fathers, uncles, friends, and neighbors. Additionally, the men see no wrongdoing in their actions and often brag about the numbers of women they have taken sex from. How does one begin to unravel their rationale? I believe the answer is – one by one. One by one you first save the children . . . one by one you fight to have these men prosecuted . . . and one by one you begin to empower the women for I believe that is where the healing of this country will begin to take place . . . with the women. It might take a few generations but I pray they will begin to catch glimpses of what rising up looks like . . . a hope for a safer life . . . what protecting their children from savagery is about . . . and further, come to know what being respected and adored by your partner feels like. So far, I still have a glimmer of hope.
The center has 3 women on staff, 2 drivers, and a steady rotation of Dutch volunteers that come in for a few weeks stay. I believe there are currently 6. In addition, there are 6 Zulu women at the center that have been trained extensively on sexual abuse and they also serve as interpreters, when required. And then there is me. We are kept so busy that most of the women "warriors" operate on little sleep. The women at the center have very unhealthy lifestyles . . . chain smoking, and unhealthy eating habits - most often they are grabbing a bag of chips from the gas station as we’re en route to the next call, meeting, courtroom, or hospital. But they love . . . oh yes! They hold nothing back and I feel like one of their family members.
The goal, first and foremost is to rescue the child from immediate danger. When sexual abuse is confirmed, the child is either transported to the hospital (I use that term loosely), or the police. We have what is called a "rape bag", filled with anything that might be needed after the investigation is complete. (Wet wipes, clean underwear, snacks, a drink, surgical gloves . . .) In addition, we take the child a cloth bear, permanent marker, and band-aids. The arms and legs on the bear move and this is how the child discloses what happened to them. They draw on the bear and it is an effective tool as it spares them the humiliation of showing the authorities on their own bodies what occurred. The bears are an arresting testament to the stories of their experiences. If penetration has been determined, they are given an ARV (anti-retroviral) drug, which is time sensitive, and must be administered within 72 hours. It lowers their risk of contracting the virus by nearly 80%. The trouble is, most children stay bottled up and don't "tell" until someone finds signs of it, or their injuries are so brutal, it's undeniable.
I am in a high crime area but I am safe in my "house". Bars are on every door and window, and there are panic buttons throughout the tiny house. A concrete fence surrounds the property, which they are installing electric razor wire this week. The property will in time become the site of the new crisis center, once funds are raised, so the little house will no longer be here.
This is Mother of Peace Orphanage .
These are children from the "Tree Clinic" which takes place every Wednesday. Women and children walk for miles to gather at this tree, where the women worship, sing and pray, and the children play games with us.
We bring clean water, used clothing, and whatever donated food we can gather from local grocers. They come because they are hungry, sick, or have escaped an abusive situation and are seeking help. 3 children walked to the tree and waited for 3 days because their mother had died. They had no place else to go. I'm told some women and children start walking at 4AM to be there by 10AM.
These are children from a home we visited, a potential safe place for temporary placement. 14 in all, I believe. They were enchanted by my camera as I could show them pictures of themselves. They were nearly climbing on top of me to get their pictures taken as many of them had never even seen a mirror. My camera has become a tool to make a connection with them . . . it is incredible!
I am enclosing a copy of a letter I wrote to my brother which gives a more personal look at an individual case.
Brother, I can't save them all, but I can one by one. And my hope is that in time, they are empowered to rise up and believe in a better life for themselves. And maybe they will turn around and help one of their own and maybe I cause a ripple effect. Maybe.
There are glimmers of hope . . .
I can't tell you where at the moment,
but I do
remember thinking
somewhere
along the road that maybe things will change.
The government is corrupt (big time). Their President is proud of his womanizing. He was questioned in the media about his exploits and the danger of AIDS. He said all you have to do is take a shower after sex and you won't get AIDS. OMG!!! So it perpetuates the problem.
This week will be more snot, tears, blood and then Friday I'm going to a conference on child trafficking. It will be nice. I bet they'll have real chairs . . . maybe real coffee (instead of powdered). Members of Parliament, lawyers, officials will be there so I'll be happy to get out of the trenches for the day and sit with people that have bathed or washed their hands within the last week. That is not a judgment . . . it is the face of poverty.
I had a major breakthrough the other day with a little boy that had been traumatized and quit talking. I went to visit him at Granny's house as we are trying to press charges against the father. I sat close to him and asked him questions, to which he did not respond. This went on for a while and I asked God, "now what?" I heard a voice say walk to the beach, which I had never been because it's so dangerous. I trusted my guidance and asked Granny if Tyrelle and I could go to the beach. I made a deal with God for our protection and off we went, about a 3-block walk. It was actually in an area about 30 miles from Toti, as I would NEVER go to the beach here. When we got there, it was peppered with men . . . fishing, hanging out, whatever, but the boy began to light up. He picked up shells one by one, and examined them . . . some he would throw back, others he would place in my hand, which I realized he was giving me a gift. Of course, you know I was making a big deal about it. Soon we were laying on our bellies on the rocks, pulling up mussels, him pointing at different fish, etc. and then he began to talk. He told me about all the sea creatures and then for 2 hours he told me about his life. Victory. He took his first step into his journey of healing. When we got back to the house, he asked if it cost money for me to talk to him. I told him no . . . I was his friend. His Granny called to thank me and said everyday he asks his Grandpa if he can go "fetch" his new friend. And that my Brother is why I'm doing what I'm doing!! Smart little boy too . . . there is hope for him.
So dear friends, I am signing off on a Sunday afternoon in S. Africa. Please be kind to others and give thanks for all the things we take for granted. Keep your children safe and tell them you love them . . . again and again and again.
Blessings, love and gratitude. Amen.
Patty
Another week passes but when I look back on it, it still hangs in the air like a thick memory that won’t let loose of me. If you are in hopes of "sweet" news, you won’t find it here today, as I am devoted to reporting my experiences without sugarcoating the truth. I see no purpose in that for it only serves to keep us comfortable and shielded from the reality of life in other parts of the world. If we stay "asleep", there is no need to face our own obligations to bring about change, evolve and own our part in teaching future generations that we are all in this together. Equality. The color of our skin or the origin of our birth makes no difference. We all came from the same Creator.
It is not only about helping to bring about awareness that I write this . . . it hopefully also shines a light on all that we should be grateful for. For me, and I hope you, it puts life into a different perspective and my prayer is that we all will be a little kinder to one another, appreciate the simple things that we take for granted, and begin to raise the frequency of the human race so that all children have a reasonable chance at a life of safety with their basic needs met. Aren’t all children entitled to at least that? It requires little on an individual basis to become part of a collective effort that brings about change. Talk about it, pray about it, do something about it.
The days in the week . . . the experiences . . . the sights, sounds, smell . . . all begin to run together and remind me of tar. It is thick and dark and hard to get off if you get it on yourself.
I went to check on a girl that had been raped at the age of 14 and had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl. The perfect baby was 3 days old and both of them were staying in a home for pregnant moms. When I walked up to the house, I was sickened by what I saw. Bars surrounded the front porch area and peering through the bars were 5-6 babies (old enough to stand), all filthy, 4 dogs on the porch as well as 5 cages hanging overhead of several parrot-type birds. The porch-cage was about 7 X 4 ft. The babies looked like they had been wearing the same pajamas for months. We entered the house through the back door into a living space that was tiny and dark. Once my eyes adjusted to the lack of light inside, I saw that there were even more babies (I can’t even remember how many), a few 3-4 year olds, 2 severely disabled children (one shoved into a corner that I didn’t even see until we were leaving), and a gravely ill 2 year old lying on the couch. The white woman who ran the Christian home came in and introduced herself. No other adults were in sight to help with the children. I asked her what was wrong with the 2 year old and if I could hold her as she was limp and clearly suffering. She said "of course" and then told me her story. The child had recently been raped, at age 2, and was tragically wounded and I shall spare you the gory details. I picked her up and looked into her eyes, which seemed to hold so many nightmares at such a tender age of 2. She was burning up with fever and I laid her on my chest and hoped my heartbeat would soothe her. It seemed to as she soon fell asleep and remained there, draped on my body until we left. I still wonder about that baby. Is she still alive? Is she better off if she’s not? Even an hour after we were driving down the road, I could still feel the imprint of her little body on mine. What had she ever done to deserve such pain? Nothing! She was born into ill-fated circumstances by no fault of her own and was left on the side of the road to die.
Upon investigation, it appeared the woman was threatening the young mothers and forcing them to give up their babies. It is unclear if she is selling the babies or what she plans to do with them, as they are obviously not being cared for. We returned the next day and picked up the 14 year old and her then 4-day-old baby and moved them to temporary (but safe) placement. The 14 year old wishes to keep her baby. Both her parents are dead. She has no job, no family, nowhere to go but she does have a dream . . . a dream to go to school and take care of her baby. How can anyone tell her she isn’t entitled to have something to live for? I can’t. Would the baby be better off with suitable parents? Probably. Is there an answer to turn this into a win-win situation? Maybe and we have 3 months to figure it out at which time her temporary placement will run out. We get together and brainstorm these cases and make a group effort to come up with solutions. We will. We must!
I went to a conference on Human Trafficking, which is a thriving industry in South Africa. Children, babies and young adults are kidnapped, sold, even killed for prostitution, Internet pornography, slave labor, organs and body parts and adoption. People from around the world (yes, even the USA) are the kingpins. South Africa is a target because of porous border control, lack of police protection, and the numbers of children on the streets.
What is the good news? Through all their adversity, the children still smile. They are fascinated at having their photo taken. It takes little to thrill them . . . a piece of bread, a donated piece of clothing, teaching them a new game, and hugging them. They are beautiful.
On Wednesday, we were piled into the car on our way to Tree Clinic. The Zulu women began singing. It was soft and sweet and brought tears of appreciation to my eyes. When I asked them to translate, the song was about God’s love being so pure . . . vast like the ocean. They sang with passion and heart and it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. They are grateful. They are spiritual. And they are determined to help others. That, my friends, is the good news for the week. They have taught me so much about being a powerful, proud woman and I will forever be grateful to them.
Signing off from South Africa on Sunday morning. Please be kind to others.
Peace and blessings. Amen
Dearest Friends and Family:
I have contemplated . . . written . . . rewritten . . . saved . . . and deleted so many posts that I could have a small book by now. When I reviewed what I had written, I felt the need to filter some of the information, even though that seems like a disservice to the reality of life in this part of the world. I will aim for the middle ground and spare you the raw truth - it is harsh. Welcome to attempt #7 of my 4th installment of my journal posts.
I saw the stats for July . . . 80 rape cases, the youngest – 4 months old. She died. This does not include the abandoned, abused, and missing children we’re called out on. While in the moment of working these cases, especially at the point of rescue, I am somewhat desensitized to the matters at hand. It is how we get the work done . . . there isn’t time to mourn, scream, and pull my hair out. I deal with it by focusing on the situation in front of me and then about once a week, I fall apart. I cry because nothing I own smells fresh anymore, or all the lettuce in the market is brown or because my hair is turning gray. And I let it all bubble to the surface where tears flow freely and I know, deep down, I am not crying about the lettuce or my hair and I try to be gentle with myself and not judge my tears or further, try to stop them. It is OK. I am OK. I am safe and healthy . . . slightly war-torn, perhaps. I have accepted, in the deepest part of my soul, that I can’t possibly understand the bigger picture. I’m not meant to. But I am meant to serve and for now, I don’t ask why . . . I don’t ask for answers . . . I simply ask, what can I do to help?
My photos document a kaleidoscope of people, places, and events . . . illness, poverty and joy.
Dancing in the streets during Zulu wedding celebration.
It's all here and it makes my brain feel like a Rubik’s Cube with all the colors jumbled up and I'm trying to make sense of it and line the colors up nicely. It’s difficult to find the proper place to store all the information, much less make sense of it.
I have gone out in the middle of the night, searching for a missing 13 year-old mentally disabled girl (whom we miraculously found!). An older man had taken her to a seedy motel, but thankfully, we located her before she was harmed! I have gone on a police raid where we broke into an abandoned house to find a young man involved in porn and drugs. There, he was hiding out with his child victims. I felt such rage I turned his bed upside down.
I have sat in on endless court cases. This past Tuesday, I spent the day on two cases. The first case involved the "boyfriend" who doused his 8-month pregnant girlfriend in gasoline and set her on fire. Unfortunately, she lived for 13 days after the incident. In this particular courtroom, the accused is held in a cell in the basement, underneath the courtroom. There are steps that rise up through a narrow passageway into the front of the courtroom and when the guard calls the man’s name, a trap door opens and the accused rises up out of the floor. As soon as the head of the man emerged from the floor, the mother of the deceased victim fell into my lap, sobbing hysterically. I wrapped myself around this broken woman and held her for I have nothing else to offer.
From that case, I moved to the next courtroom, which was a rape case of a 15 year old that had been attacked, raped, and severely stabbed numerous times in the face. She and I sat in the sunshine, waiting to be called into the courtroom. I held her hand and mainly I tried to talk about the color of the sky, or things that would take her mind off the court hearing and keep her calm. She tried to hide her scarred face in the hood of her jacket but I held her face in my hands and told her she was so beautiful and then covered her face in kisses. She was so shy and traumatized she could barely make eye contact.
After waiting a painfully long time, we were called into the courtroom, only to be told the case was postponed because the police officer forgot to turn in the docket! There is no point in getting angry about the absurdity of the oversights for it is common here, and an accepted part of the system. It makes my head hurt! The child had to go through the terror of seeing the rapist and stand alone, only a few feet from him . . . all this to have to endure it all over again in a few weeks.
Just when I think I can't do this for another day, healing comes to me in the sweetest packages. I was standing outside in the courtyard waiting for my ride and turned around to see the girl running through the crowd toward me. She wrapped her arms around me and held on tightly, looked me square in the eyes, smiled and said "Thank you. I love you. Bye bye". Somehow, she found the courage to leave an opening in her heart to trust again and a bridge was built and I can only pray this begins her journey of understanding that not all people are bad or want to harm her.
Last night, the police brought an 11-year-old girl here to stay for a couple nights with my roommate and me. She was brutally raped and beaten by more than one man and was found tied to a tree. She has no place to go as both her parents are dead and her Aunt had savagely beaten and burned her all over her body with an iron. She had been in the hospital all night, going through the necessary examinations and police statements. All our places of safety are full so I ran out and got food and a set of warm clothes for her. She only speaks Zulu and remained sick through the entire night from the post exposure prophylactic drugs, administered to lower the risk of contracting HIV. The side effects are brutal and she was understandably inconsolable. She rolled around on the floor all night clutching her stomach and crying, in between bouts of vomiting. What kind of nightmare must this have been for this child? She was in a strange house with 2 strange women that didn't speak her language, and it was imperative for us to continue giving her the drugs that were making her so violently ill. I do not want to relive that night. She has since been moved to a place of safety and we will see her in the morning.
For those of you whom have asked what you can do for me, please see the following. I can’t tell you how much your help will make a difference and even $5.00 or $10.00 can help me buy food, medicine, diapers, etc. As for me personally, I have everything I require and I so appreciate your offers to send me the things I miss, but I would be heartless if I didn't think of others first. The Zulu women I see daily work tirelessly and do so much for the children here, and yet few of them have running water or toilets in their own homes. They live on rice, potatoes, tomatoes, and white bread. It's the least expensive items they can buy and its what goes the furthest. They eat sugar by the spoonfuls because it is one of the most plentiful things around. Following is a picture of Lady Fair's house. The first picture is the "toilet" which is shared with 2 other households. There isn't running water. There is a small basin inside and Lady Fair fetches water from a neighbor up the road.
She and Lesipo, (her 4 year old granddaughter) show up at work every single day, clean and well-groomed. One would never guess the conditions they live in. Lady Fair has expanded her family. She only has 2 biological children and one grandchild, but a total of 17 children now live in her house. They are neighbors that have lost their parents, and children from the township that have sought her out because they've heard she will help raped and abused children. She feeds them all and teaches them right from wrong. They are all required to pitch in and help and they are also required to groom themselves and take pride in the little house they have. It is extremely small but tidy. Lady Fair is single woman, supporting all these people and she makes 2000 Rand a month.
I am attempting to sell some of my possessions at home in hopes that I can buy enough corrugated steel to replace Lady Fair's roof and walls. They are so worn, there is no protection from the rain, wind and cold. The roof is held on by heavy rocks. I know how to use a hammer and I know that whatever effort I put into it, it will be better than what she currently has.
Lady Fair's house
There is joy! I have had moments that have opened my heart wider than ever before . . . not out of sorrow or pity . . . but out of pure love and happiness. That said, I am still counting the days until I come back to America. This is really hard stuff and there are days when I think I can't do this anymore. I should be ashamed for complaining because I get to come home. I don’t have a life sentence in this place like my sisters do. Amazingly, they love their country and are grateful for life. They sing and clap . . . they pray and dance, but mostly they love with all their might. They are tough angels.
Lesipo on her 4th birthday
Lesipo
I am forever grateful to you, my friends who keep me strong and are constant reminders that I am never alone in this. Please be kind to others.
With love, Signing off from Kwa Zulu Natal, S. Africa on a stormy Sunday night.
Patty
I have become part of several organizations; one is a community protection forum. There aren’t enough police to cover the area, so the community is getting involved and starting up neighborhood watch groups that work in conjunction with the police. It is a start. It is activism against the criminals that have taken their streets, safety, and lives away.
I am also sitting on the board of Human Trafficking Prevention and Awareness, which is gearing up for the World Cup coming to Durban in 2010, where they foresee major problems. Even though I am only here for 6 months, they still wanted me to participate on the board. I will do all I can in this short amount of time.
Between rapes, court cases, poverty, and one of our Zulu staff members losing their house to a tragic fire this week, it is still a beautiful world and these women show me daily that life is worth living. I know I made the right decision to come here and volunteer. I am honored to give of my time, heart and energy. These people need us. They need our love and compassion . . . our understanding, even though the lives they live are incomprehensible. I am so lucky to bear witness to their lives and I am healed when I’m lost in Lady Fair’s hugs and when we ride in the car and they laugh with joy when I attempt to speak Zulu or when they smile with tears because I bring them food.
