The last few days have been difficult to express, so I'm going to try and paint you a picture.
It's a hot day in South Africa as you drive toward Khayelitsha where you will begin your first shift at the children's home. You are apprehensive as you make your way from the more established areas of south Africa towards the townships where few taxis venture. Standing in the fields as you drive by are children no older than 12-13. They are prostitutes. You watch as they stand around in the hot sun, bones showing and vulnerable. Then your attention is drawn to the radio talking about a 6 month old baby who was raped by her uncle, and needed ten operations to repair the damage. Suddenly you come to the realisation that this is going to be an experience unlike anything you've ever known. You arrive at the children's home and go straight to your room in which you will reside for the next 6 days. It's guarded by 2 locked gates and 3 locks on the door for your own protection. Already you're mentally drained. You hesitantly make your way down to the baby room where you will meet the 12 children you're going to work with for the rest of your stay. You step around the corner and before you even know what's happening, there's 12 fragile bodies screaming at you with excitement at the chance for attention. Next thing you know, you're on the ground with 5 children climbing all over you, shoving their hands in your mouth and cuddling you. You look at them and try not to stare, but how can you not. One childs face is completely covered in freshly opened cuts. Another looks to be the result of FAS, and one barely has the capability to walk. He is one year old. You look at him with curiosity and wonder what his story is and where his parents are, but you will never know and neither will he. He is so fragile and ill. It's unlikely he will make it past the age of 12. As you play with the children, you begin to notice things. Their pot bellies from malnutrition. Their shoes that are 2 sizes too small, or too big. Collapsed rooves. Bits of glass all around the children's play area and possible hazards in every direction. In fact, the rooves are protected with scraps of water proof material held down by large bricks. You're only thoughts are, this would never happen at home. As you're feeding the children lunch, many begin to nod off including the one year old who is bundled in your arms. Already, each and every child had captured your heart. Once they are in bed, you go on your break where you begin to reflect on what you have just seen. You try to remember the children's names and before you know it, your break is over. As you go to wake them, you're hit with the smell of poo. Most of the children have diarrhea, and it's not a pretty site. You clean them up, and throw away the 1000 used baby wipes and then some music starts to play. You walk out into the play room to see the children dancing, clapping their hands and singing. You take in the moment, absorb their laughter and your heart is warmed with love. Before you know it, you're laying in bed with thousands of thoughts resounding through your mind, when suddenly you hear the sound of a child screaming in agony outside the premises. The worst part is, there's absolutely nothing you can do. At that moment, a word pops into your head. Injustice. This word stays with you for the next few days as you witness more and more. The children are only allowed to drink one glass of water a day in this hot African heat. In result, you are constantly finding the children drinking out of the toilets. INJUSTICE. The children are covered in infected wounds that could easily be controlled with salt water, but they are not tended to, leading to infections and painful medical procedures. INJUSTICE. The children are then prescribed medication in which the carers neglect to use. INJUSTICE. You struggle to understand the carers and the way they do things but you struggle even more to comprehend that the children are better off in this home than they are with their parents. What's more, that they are some of the luckier children in Africa. Then it hits you, it's only day 3. You haven't even begun to understand the meaning of culture shock yet. However, you find yourself wishing that it was only day 1, because you know that come one months time it will be over and you will never see or hear about the wellbeing of the children again. Each child is so precious and unique and you plan to make the most of every moment with them. Every poopy nappy, snotty nose, tear, cuddle and smile is worth it. They are worth it.
Today i was inspired by the children here at the home. Because it's a Sunday, we had the absolute privilege of taking the babies to church. As we scattered in and found a seat at the front, the sound of singing filled the room. I looked around and saw children of all ages holding hands and dancing. Their voices sent shivers down my spine as they broke into sections and harmonies, while others performed solos. I browsed the room for what i thought was drums, only to realise that the children were just using the objects around them. Tables, chairs etc. Then, when the singing stopped, a young girl around 12 years old took to the stage. She opened up what looked to be an extremely old and damaged bible and began to read. The spirit in her voice was unmistakable. There were no adults apart from a few caretakers. The children ran the service, and more importantly the children wanted to be there. The service continued song after song, followed by prayers. The service was simple, yet realer than anything I've ever experienced. I was raised in church but never have i witnessed anything so pure. I am no longer religious, but sitting there in a room full of those who are, I realised that if i believe in anything, it's people and their ability to remain hopeful despite all odds and to support each other through all feats. I believe that the extraordinary trumps the ordinary, any day. I believe that having something to hope for, even if it's just a better tomorrow - is the most powerful thing. I came here in hopes to add something to these children's lives, but never had i imagined the impact they would have on mine. I am truly blessed to be amongst such amazing people. What an experience this has been.
