Living the Dash

It's been a relatively slow and unexciting week. I say relatively, because it was filled with things that were very new and different just 8 months ago but are now so commonplace as to be almost boring. I know, it's very strange typing that let alone thinking it.

Yvonne and I met a new child-headed household last week. We "found" them after two women came to the Centre to report them. These women live across the street from the kids' house and often give them small amounts of food, whatever they can afford that day. They knew that they couldn't carry on like that, so they came to us to get help.

There are four children in the house. The head, Yolanda, is a 17 year-old girl in grade 11. She has a 14 year-old sister and an 8 year-old brother. There's also an 8 year-old boy who is their cousin - his mother is their 31 year-old sister. Their mother died from HIV last year, and the 31 year-old sister left home about 7 years ago and has not been back (her son has lived with the grandmother, the other kids' mother, almost since birth). Yvonne, Johanna and I went to the house to see their situation and find out what they needed. We had to wait a few minutes while Yolanda was located. When she came in, she started out smiling but within seconds was sobbing, saying that she couldn't take the pressure anymore. She was thinking about leaving or committing suicide, it was so much. Johanna did a great job of soothing her and listening, giving her hope and encouragement that things were going to get better.

Yolanda helped make a list of items they needed. Besides food (they had almost nothing in the house), there were things like washcloths (they all shared one), deodorant (sharing), soap (sharing), toothpaste, toothbrushes, you name it. It was probably the most I've ever bought for any one group at one time, but it was like stocking a house for the first time. When we came back Yolanda was cleaning the house and had a smile again. I think she could see for the first time that she wasn't alone, that other people would help look after her and her siblings.

During Johanna's discussion with Yolanda, she mentioned that the kids in the house behind them were also in trouble. They live with an uncle, but he drinks and can be quite abusive. He's not working, so they also have almost nothing at home. Yolanda tries to share what little she has, and I'm sure some of what we bought went there. Fine by me.

We're due to go back in the next couple days, and I hope things will still be somewhat positive.

There was also a funeral this week, the first in quite some time. Jerome, the new drummer in Siyaya, lost his mother about two weeks ago to HIV/AIDS. She was hospitalized for a long time, better than 6 weeks, and finally succumbed. The funeral was very nice, very musical. Siyaya did about 4 songs, and Jerome played with them. He also plays in a marimba group (a marimba is like a xylophone but sounds almost like Jamaican steel drums), so they also played some songs with Jerome. He said afterwards that it was like his mother was there listening to him, and it gave him comfort to do it.

Because Spiwo was officiating, it was a short service, only an hour. Even the graveside service was shorter than usual. (That was good because the sun is very strong now and my pate cannot handle more than 10 minutes. Darn Minnesota skin.) It was all just as poignant as usual, though. It's hard not to be when almost everyone we bury is 40 or under.

I had my first real experience with ungratefulness this past week. A man came to see me last week to ask for money to buy food. He had caught me outside of church the Sunday before, and because I was in a hurry I gave him R100 and told him to come back so we could talk more. He came back on Monday and asked for R300 more. I told him I didn't have that much and gave him another R100. He pushed it across the desk at me and said "That's not enough. I can't live on that." I was really taken aback at this. No one has ever done that before. They take what is offered with gratitude because they know that I'm trying to help and if they don't take what's offered they get nothing. Not this guy. I upped the amount to R200 and he took it and left.

He came back on Wednesday, this time asking for R500. His son has some kind of skin infection on his scalp and he wanted to take him to a private doctor for treatment. The R500 would apparently pay for a week's worth of treatment. I asked a lot of questions about why he needed a private doctor when he could get free care at a government clinic (like Brown's Farm), and tried to find out what would happen after the week was up. He didn't have any good answers. I refused his request and told him he should take his son to Brown's Farm where a good doctor would see him and prescribe a good treatment. Fortunately, Zethu was at the Centre and I had her come and speak to him. She told him to bring his son in, too. He left, empty-handed and unhappy.

On Thursday Zethu told me that they had had trouble with this guy before. He was part of the support group but was asked to leave because of his behavior and alcohol use. She told me to be careful with him and not give him money.

Well, he was back on Friday asking for money again. And again, I said no. And again he left unhappy.

Today, he was back. He still wants money for the doctor. He has not taken his son to Brown's Farm yet. I also learned that his mother gets an old age pension (R800 a month) so the family has some income to live on. He tried to argue that I don't know his situation and that I must come to his house so that I can understand it. I said, I know your situation because it's the same as many people I talk to. I tried to explain that I am supporting many children who have no money, no old age pension, no social grants to live on. He tried to use his son as leverage, at one point saying he was going to give me his son to look after. I said no, your son has a father and money in the home, and I am not going to take care of him. I did give him R100 to cover taxi fare and some small incidentals, at which point Yvonne took notice and told him in no uncertain terms that he is not to ask for money from me, that I am supporting children and orphans who have nothing. That didn't make him happy, but he better understood my points. I don't think it's the last I'll see of him, and I'll keep posting about future interactions.

I also had a couple of small interactions with Mogise and his family. His brother called me on Tuesday to say that the old man came and fixed their drains again, and that he'd be back on Wednesday morning for the money. I said, "Well, did you expect me to pay for that? Because I didn't agree to it." There was a pause on the phone while Livingstone collected his thoughts and he said we'd have to talk about it. I agreed, and left it. I didn't get another call until yesterday when Mogise phoned. He asked if I was coming around. I said no, I hadn't planned on it. He said that he had nothing to eat and wanted to know if I was bringing anything. I said no, that now that his sister and brother were both working that I wasn't going to support them any longer. He informed me that his sister is not working any longer - "I thought she told you." No, she didn't. He also said the plumber was still after them for his money, so apparently that hasn't been sorted out yet. Then Mogise asked if I could get the kitchen staff to box up his meal (he could still come and get the HIV support group meal) and give it to one of the neighbor boys. I said no, that if he wanted his meal he had to come and get it, and that he should start coming to the support group meetings.

This is exactly what frustrates me about that family and their situation. Mogise makes almost no moves to improve his lot in life. He wants to live like a king but takes no responsibility for making it happen. His family, some very nice people, are not holding him accountable and are not cutting off the other people leeching from them. They must stand up and work as a group to get back on track or they will be struggling for a long, long time.

This week I'm helping a lecturer from the University of Minnesota meet some people in preparation for a three-week "study abroad" class he's doing here next May. He has a friend with him, too. It's been nice catching up with people who share the same accent and know the same culture as me. They even brought me six Nut Goodies! (I told him my fee for a tour was one, and they brought a bagful.) That, plus coordinating a program for St. Thomas, planning some year-end functions, working on Siyaya's US tour, and writing letters for Spiwo and Zethu is keeping me busy. That's good, but it means I actually have to work at home, something I swore I wouldn't do here. Oh well, it's not much and it makes time fly by.

The title for this posting comes from a conversation I had recently with a woman from New York, Linda Mayo-Perez. She runs a cemetery in Queens, a very nice one from the way she tells it. She made the comment that tombstones have our birth dates and death dates on them, but what everyone talks about and reflects on is the little dash between them. What we do in the time that dash defines makes up our lives and our persons. That really struck a chord with me. So, I've decided to start living the dash. I want to make more conscious decisions about what I do and why. It's not about 12-hour days and 100,000 air miles for the sake of showing how much I can get done. It has to be about making (and taking) time to enjoy life and make a difference. That's my resolution for 2008 and beyond.

More to come.