My $1000 Lesson in Humanity

It's a foggy night in Cape Town. Spring is here, with Summer soon to come. The days are warmer but the nights are still cool, so the mist settles in soon after the sun goes down. It looks pretty, and I don't have to worry about frost on my windshield in the morning.

Not to stretch a pun, but some of the fog is lifting on how things work in the township. My lessons come courtesy of Rosie's family. Now, I knew most of what I was getting into as it happened, but I'm still surprised at how people can take advantage of sincere gestures and quickly ruin a relationship.

I did take Amanda and Bonga shopping on Saturday. They each got a new skirt, shirt and casual blazer for the funeral, plus new shoes. They initially asked for my help with picking colors, until they discovered that pharmacy school didn't prepare me for that. So, I stood around waiting, just like when I accompany my wife. Except I was about 20 years older than anyone else in the store and, you know, a different color. We picked up some KFC for lunch and headed home.

When we arrived, it became very clear that the balance of power in the house had shifted to Rosie's sisters, especially the one from Kraaifontein (the one I picked up a few weeks back). Amanda and Bonga were visibly anxious around them, and I decided to leave so as to avoid any problems. Bonga sent me a SMS (a sort of e-mail that comes on my cell phone) later apologizing for what happened. She also said that someone told her she shouldn't contact me anymore. I wrote back and said everything was fine.

On Monday, I had a conversation with Nomokwezi and some of the women from the JL Zwane HIV support group. Kwezi is now working at a church in Nyanga, trying to start a community centre there based on JL Zwane for the people in the immediate area. She has a team of people from the support group who visit people affected by HIV, and Rosie was one of them. So, they know the family and the dynamics of the house. Kwezi told me in no uncertain terms that I should not go to the house alone anymore. Apparently the neighbors were talking about how I was going there, and she was concerned that one of these times I was going to be robbed. She was also concerned about some of the stories she was hearing from the support group women, that they felt my "sweet nature" was being taken advantage of. The women told me that the family only wanted to get Rosie buried and didn't have any interest in doing it right or with respect. They also felt that any contributions I made would be partially diverted to buy other things (like liquor). So, I promised them that the next time I was asked to come to Rosie's house, I would take one of them with me.

Now, I knew some of that they had told me already, and I went ahead with my donation to the funeral anyway. I knew that about R1000 of the R5400 quote from the undertaker would likely end up in the family's hands. But, I paid it because the family has very little and if even half of the "excess" went towards food it would be a good thing. I didn't like the fact that they weren't planning a lunch after the service, but I couldn't make them do it. I still felt good about the shopping trip for Amanda and Bonga, because I saw first-hand what they went through to care for Rosie and thought they needed to feel happy for at least a little while.

Today is when I got my eyes opened. I got a call about 1:00 from Bonga's phone asking me to come by. The voice was new - the woman spoke English well (Bonga doesn't) and it had a different pitch and timbre than I'd heard before. I should have asked who it was but I didn't. Anyway, because I promised, I called Kwezi and asked if she would go with me. So, at 3:00 I picked up Kwezi (and two other women, because they wanted to come) and we went to the house. When we walked in Amanda and Bonga's faces were a mix of disappointment and anger. When I said someone called me to come, no one knew who it was. Kwezi talked to them in Xhosa and still no one admitted to calling me and why I would have been called. After a few minutes we left shaking our heads.

Rosie's mother was at the house, which surprised me because I was told she wasn't coming to the funeral. She didn't say a word to me (which is rude in Xhosa culture, to at least not get an introduction), and in retrospect it could have been her who called. Kwezi told me she speaks English (how she knows that is beyond me), and she was the only person there whose voice I hadn't heard before.

Driving back from the house, Kwezi and the women explained that things were happening just as they expected. They said that I had become the patsy, someone that the family knew had money and wouldn't ask too many questions. The family expected me to show up alone, and they would have asked me to cover more of the "expenses" (which the women said would have included hair styling) or purchase more groceries. The women are upset enough that they are only going to attend the funeral and leave, and stop any more help for the family. (They had been planning to provide a small funeral lunch out of respect for Rosie. No longer.) They also told me that I shouldn't answer any more calls from Bonga, which I had already decided not to do.

As you can imagine, this whole saga didn't end as I expected. I'm disappointed, more that any respect for Rosie is being lost to family squabbles and greed than that I overpaid for something. I now have greater concerns for what will happen to Amanda and her siblings, especially after the funeral when the family starts to fight over who gets what. The sisters are allegedly talking about kicking Bonga out of the house, which will leave Amanda with people she doesn't really know.

Amanda will probably still be on the list for support through the HIV orphan program, so hopefully Yvonne can make positive things happen. She's finishing her junior year in high school (at age 16 - she is a full year ahead of her age) and she has hopes of studying to be journalist. It would be a real shame if her dream was abandoned because of her living situation.

More to come.