25:40 in the Eastern Cape, South Africa

Snow in Africa

2011-08-18T02:32:00.000-07:00

Drakensburg, South Africa, August 15, 2011. It seems this country is awash with metaphors. And so it comes as no surprise that I would awaken to one on this cold morning in the Drakensburg mountains – in the form of three inches of wet, heavy snow. Snow is not unheard of here, especially during this strangely cold and wet winter in South Africa. But in the 10 years I spent growing up outside of Johannesburg, and the eight years I have been coming here since we founded 25:40 (including every winter), not once did I experience snow at any place or elevation. So, as evidenced by the one pair of jeans and five pairs of shorts I packed for this trip, this was unexpected.
The metaphor here, however, is not the unexpected, but the beauty that can flow from it. The craggy Drakensburg mountains take on a new, almost unimaginable majestic beauty when covered with a blanket of snow. When I showed a few early morning photos I took of the surrounding mountains to my daughter Hannah, her only response was that they looked “so fake.” I had to agree. An Egyptian goose perched upon the snow-covered peak of a thatch roof rondavel, with dusty veld-covered hills blanked with a thin but complete veneer of snow, set against a backdrop of crooked peaks and plateaus built black but temporarily (and imperfectly) painted white. This was not the photo I expected to take on this trip. Mountains draped with shapeless wisps of cloud, much like a shawl on an old woman’s shoulders, play tricks with my autofocus. With no perfect lines, it just doesn’t know what it is supposed to shoot – where it should focus. Yet another metaphor.
I have been taught (but still struggle to learn) that what we intend and what God intends are often not the same thing. When we forecast sun, He has no concern with bringing rain. When we forecast warm and dry, He’ll bring snow – even if to the farthest reaches of the desert – if needed to demonstrate His will. I learn, from mornings like this, that God is not silent. He is speaking to us constantly, in many ways. And if this morning I am to listen, then I must put aside my plans, retire my predictions, and stop trying to focus. I must stop asking Him what His will is for me, and simply accept it as it comes. The snow outside is cold, wet and uncomfortable. It has placed a hold (perhaps permanent) on our plans to hike, fish, or take a horseback ride. And when we search for an alternative, it is impossible to focus. But when I step away from the lens, and simply take in what is there, I see something unlike anything I will ever have the chance to see again. Snow in Africa.
Even as I write this, the snow is receding. Leaving behind pools of clear water in the foreground, and exposing jagged, black and brown rock in the mountains. Even God’s unexpected moments are but temporary reminders of our need to stop and wait on Him. After several weeks working on our efforts to start and run programs to help the most vulnerable children here, I have a trove of observations – nearly all of which are rather depressing on the surface. Even after eight years of experience working in rural South Africa, it seems that all we learn is how immense – indeed perhaps impossible – the task of saving these children is. Their parents have failed them, either by dying or disappearing (literally or figuratively, depending on the child). Their caretakers fail them, often ignoring even their most basic needs such as food, while simultaneously taking advantage of child-welfare grants that the government gives out with rare and haphazard, at best, follow-up. Their schools are failing them – often jamming up to 80 kids into cold, damp class rooms with nothing but worn blackboards and a hapless, hopeless babysitters masquerading as teachers. Their government is failing them, with overwhelmed and disinterested social workers not even lifting a finger unless we do it for them and agree to give them the credit. Their communities fail them, by clinging to social norms that push children to the back of the line (only slightly ahead of dogs). And we, looking at all of these things (caretakers, schools, government, community) and knowing each is imperative to our efforts in its own way, feel as if there is no option but to fall short as well. It just seems impossible.
A few days ago Rev. Wikus van der Walt reminded me of why we are here, and why we persist against the insurmountable odds. We are Christian, called by a loving God to do His work wherever and whatever that work may be. Ours is not the task the measure the possibilities, but simply to hear and follow the command. And, as Wikus reminded me, we know it is God’s work precisely because it is impossible. God reminded me this morning that my task is to do none other than rely on His will and move forward with His plans – even though it means not knowing exactly what they are or how they will turn out. God reminded me that what seems impossible for me is always possible for Him (Luke 18:27).
God put snow in Africa.
-- Alec Zacaroli

A Ball with No Air

2011-08-18T02:13:00.000-07:00

Aug. 15, 2011
In May, the Canzibe Mission took the initiative to launch with us an after school care program for orphans and vulnerable children who attend school nearby. 25:40 funds the program and has helped developed the model for the curriculum. It got off to a rocky start. Phila, 25:40’s OVC program manager in Canzibe, had gone to the two schools to inform the principals and teachers and invited the children and their caregivers to opening day on May 19. Canzibe Missionaries Wikus and Carina van der Walt had prepared a program with the teachers, Tumeka and Nolubabalo. The cook prepared lunch.
Nobody came.
But they pressed on and Phila visited the schools again the next day and miraculously the following week 40 children showed up. It has been busy ever since.
Tumeka is one of the teachers we hired. I met her in April and she seemed quiet yet compassionate for children. She had a rocky start, as well. The first few weeks of aftercare it rained and it was cold. The aftercare was meeting in the vestry of the church, which has no heat. In fact none of the buildings here have heat. When the sun is warm, the houses and classrooms are warm. But when it is cloudy, rainy, windy, the structures also take in the cold.
The children came to aftercare despite the rain and cold. Most of the time in the Eastern Cape if it is raining or too cold, nobody comes out of their homes. Most kids stay home from school because they know their teachers won’t show up. Life here is so close to the earth that the rain stops routine dead in its tracks. Yet the children kept coming to aftercare. They felt that this is something different, something good and promising in their lives without parents, a warm house, enough food.
Here on the mission, aftercare is something good and promising. The teachers love the children, they nurture them, they help them, they show respect and kindness and God’s love.
Yet the kids were slow to open up. Tumeka says that children in aftercare were like a ball without air, empty on the inside, unable to bounce, sitting down without help. Many children could not write the alphabet. Many did not participate in the games.
“Some were not interested in anything and my heart was falling apart when I noticed this,” Tumeka told me. One day a boy’s book fell out of the plastic bag he uses as a backpack and Tumeka helped him put it back in. She struck up a conversation about who he lives with. He just mentioned children and when Tumeka asked him about his mother or father, he just said no. “My heart was bitter knowing that the parents are not alive. Then I cried on my own wondering how is the situation at home. This child looks sad most of the time.”
Tumeka went through a serious bout of depression after this, but after much rest and prayers, she heard God calling her to stay and to help these children. The program picked up a bit when visitors came to help and train the teachers and children. Then Jay Rowley arrived in early July on behalf of 25:40 to help the program. He has done a great job organizing the teachers and putting in place a schedule for the teachers follow each day, with time for homework help, Bible lesson, tutoring in math and writing, play time, and a meal. He and Phila established a master attendance list and a system that politely turns away the students not on the registry. Word on the street and in the schools is that this is a good and fun place to come and all the kids want to attend. But because we have limited space and teachers, and because this is a pilot program 25:40 will replicate in other villages, we have to keep the numbers small.
Alec and I were there for two weeks at the end of July and early August and were heartened to see a robust program in place. The teachers are engaged, the kids want to be there and thirst for the lessons they are getting. We established a weekly chapel time for the kids, launching it last Thursday with the kids singing and marching into the church, more singing, and a puppet skit by the Zacaroli and van der Walt girls on Matthew 25:40. They read from the Bible and laughed and sang and prayed. When they returned to their classrooms, a group of boys spontaneously picked up dolls and put on the skit for themselves.
That day the atmosphere was so filled with warmth and love I could feel it in each of the kids. These are now kids who are like balls filled with air, who can bounce on their own. Tumeka is determined to help them now bounce in the right direction.
Amy Zacaroli

Going to the Dogs

2011-08-18T02:03:00.000-07:00

Aug. 8, 2011
Since Sophie’s first trip to South Africa when she was 7, the dogs have captured her heart. In Hamburg, there are several dogs that follow us to the beach and play in the sand and keep us company. Wherever we are walking, dogs come out and bark at us when we pass or follow us. Sophie is in love with every single one of them. In Hamburg, the dogs are owned, fed, and looked after. She has named each one of them based on their characteristics and her whim. Jack and Howie are the family favorites, little Jack Russell terriers.
In Canzibe, however, the story is different for the dogs. Dogs are not so much pets here as either roaming or used as guard dogs. They run free, no spaying or neutering at 6 months, so we see a lot of strays. Those that do belong to a household may be starved and beaten so that they will be mean when strangers come. They are infested with ticks and mange. So last year after her first visit to Canzibe, Sophie came back with her heart sad and full of compassion for these dogs. She resolved to do something about it.
In preparing for our month-long trip here, Sophie went door to door in our Virginia neighborhood, explaining that she was collecting food, treats and flea collars for the mistreated dogs in Canzibe. Our neighbors and friends were more than generous. She packed two suitcases – one for her clothes and one for the dogs.
A few days ago in Canzibe, she and her sister Hannah and their South African friends Lara and Emelia packed a bag of goodies and headed out to huts and rondavels to find dogs that needed some tender loving care. We didn’t have to go far. Just down the road from the mission lives a family I don’t know very well. There were about 5 or 6 small children, one teenage girl. I didn’t see any adults. And about half a dozen dogs…
We explained to them in Lara & Emelia’s elementary Xhosa that we wanted to give some things to the dogs. Once we received permission, the girls carefully approached each dog to try to give treats and loving pats to each dog. One was so old and sick that she did not even get up and barely nibbled at the kibble Sophie gave her. Others ran away from the girls, cowering as they were approached, as if they expected to get beaten instead of petted.
When the teenage girl who lived there saw how much these white girls loved the dogs, she went into a tin storage shed and came out with a newborn puppy – only days old. The girls erupted in squeals of “awwww” and “oh my gosh” and “look how cute!” The teenager came out with two more in her hand so that three girls had a mewing, still-blind-from-birth pup in their arms. But when the teenager went back in for another, she came out holding a black limp pup by the neck. The mother dog had been laying on it and must have suffocated it. The girls almost melted in tears they were so upset. But the teenager was unfazed by this inevitable fact of life. She nonchalantly tossed it on a dirt pile.
We had a few more outings like this and Sophie distributed food, flea and tick collars and chew toys to 16 dogs in all. What I am so amazed at is that she is not afraid of any of the dogs, even if they bark and seem vicious. She approaches them gently, getting on her knees and talking to them softly, until they shyly come to her. She pets them, rubs their ears, checks them for ticks, and even removes the ticks. They flinch initially when she pets them, but most then just relax after awhile, basking in the only positive attention they may have ever received.
If Sophie doesn’t know her calling in life yet, I sure do.
-- Amy Zacaroli

What is Nurturing?

2011-08-08T07:10:00.000-07:00

Canzibe Mission, Eastern Cape, South Africa – “You spend so much time with your children stimulating their minds,” Phila said to me one sunny afternoon as I was sitting outside doing a puzzle with Rebecca, our 6-year-old daughter. I didn’t really know how to respond. Phila, who is 22, is a young Xhosa woman who works for 25:40 at the Canzibe Mission helping us to implement our orphan and vulnerable children program.
I just nodded my head in agreement, feeling like she just stated the most obvious thing in the world, but wondering why she would say it in the first place. We started a very long and eye-opening conversation about parenting, youth, and schools in the Eastern Cape of South Africa.
When a baby here is born, his mom cares for him, nurses him, carries him on her back, wrapped tightly against her so that the baby feels warm and close to his mom. She loves her baby. She cares for her baby. She nurtures him. But I noticed there is very little face time with the child – no games of “This Little Piggy” or “Sooo Big!” Once a child reaches school age, the parents hand over the child to the schools.
Here the elementary and secondary schools are notorious for failing the students in so many ways – not with grades, but with standards. On paydays, teachers don’t show up for school. There is no such thing as direct deposit here and the teachers stand in line at a payout office to receive their checks. If it rains, teachers don’t show up to school because many of them have to walk and it is uncomfortable to walk all that way in the rain.
Administrative meetings and training sessions are scheduled during school hours so a principal and many teachers may be absent from school to attend these faraway meetings. If the teachers do show up, there is very little structure. Often students are unaccompanied in the classroom for hours while the teachers meet in an office for what seems like no reason. If teaching does occur, there are few resources to use. Often the blackboards are worn beyond use, there is no chalk, very few books, not enough paper and pencils for each student. And to top it off, there may be 60 students in one classroom.
But the parents here do not complain about the poor standards. There are no PTA’s raising funds for more books or smaller classroom sizes, or complaining until things improve. This is just the way it is and that is accepted and acceptable here.
I asked Phila if her mom ever read to her or played with her when she was young. And does she do that now with Phila’s younger siblings. She sadly shook her head and quietly said no. “She is very tired,” Phila said, sighing. She talked about how she cannot confide in her mom about anything in her life, especially with boyfriends and questions about how intimate she should be him. Her mom meets the basic needs of their family – shelter, clothes, food – but then that is all. Phila longs for a mom who stimulates, who listens, who nurtures, who sets standards.
Phila has befriended a woman in her life that she calls her aunt. She is a little older than Phila, maybe in her 30s. And she can sit down with this “aunt” and spill out everything that is going in her life, without judgment or disapproval. And this aunt gives her advice that is different than the advice Phila’s friends give her. I thank God for this woman and pray that Phila has chosen a role model in her life that will lead her down the right path.
During our conversation, a little girl named Zimi zoomed over to where we were. Zimi, shown in the picture above, is the youngest daughter of one of the two pre-school teachers at the mission. Even though she is only 3 or 4, can be a bully. Sometimes she does not play nicely with others and grabs and pushes and hits and wants her way at everything. She does not follow instructions and does whatever she wants. I know that her oldest sibling is lost and that at times their household has been chaotic because of abuse.

I called Zimi over and pulled out a very simple book I had brought from the U.S. with three words to a page and only one word is different on each page. I asked her to sit on my lap. It took her awhile to figure out that I wanted her back to me so I could wrap my arms around her and hold a book in front of her. Then we read the book. Phila translated into Xhosa the first time through but then Zimi understood the book and pointed correctly to a new animal on each page. We read the book over and over again. After awhile, Zimi fell asleep on my lap. It was if Zimi’s whole day is spent begging for attention. She is so wound up she doesn’t know how to turn herself off. But with a little positive attention and nurturing, her body and soul can be at peace.
Imagine a preschool classroom full of 20-30 Zimi’s. There are two here at the Canzibe Mission – and only one teacher for each class. 25:40 and the missionaries here – Wikus and Carina van der Walt – are trying to establish a structure for the classrooms, a schedule for the teachers to follow, and a curriculum of sorts for the children to learn basic skills that we believe preschool children should know. And also to impart to these children the stimulation and nurturing that Phila so longed for.
Sometimes I wonder if we will ever achieve this when the Xhosa culture itself does not demand or even understand our efforts. But the children understand – Zimi does, Phila, no longer a child, does. And that’s what matters. If in our work here we can focus on one child at a time and touch her in a way that directs her down the right path and stimulates her enough to stand up and be a leader, then we have succeeded.
- Amy Zacaroli

Taking things for granted

2011-08-08T06:57:00.000-07:00

Aug. 6, 2011

Simple activities you and I take for granted are completely foreign to the Xhosa community in the rural Eastern Cape of South Africa – like reading to our kids, sitting down with them and working on a puzzle, lining up in the classroom before going outside, sharing.

My family and I are on the Canzibe Mission, the central church in this rural mission area of the Uniting Reform Church. The mission has a series of long rectangular one-story concrete buildings with tin roofs --- the missionary’s home, the church, the Masonwabe Preschool, a small shop with another room for the preschool, and a kitchen. In the middle of all these buildings is a nice green yard with a playground for the kids – two rope swings hanging from great climbing trees, a wooden jungle gym, swings made out of hollowed out car tires.

Kids are here all the time playing – from 7:45 a.m. when missionary Wikus van der Walt holds a short 15-minute Bible study before 8 a.m. pre-school. Even at 5 p.m. the older kids – many who are orphans -- are still playing after attending 25:40’s pilot after school program. They are free here and safe. They play with little supervision from the teachers. But it seems to work. There are often scuffles and tears, which will then call an adult to the scene. But mostly they are on their own. Even the youngest pre-schoolers at 3 years old walk themselves to the mission without adult supervision. Some come from as far away as an hour walk. They all walk themselves home in the afternoon – no kiss and ride line here, or a sign-out sheet to ensure that an authorized adult has picked them up. The teachers simply shoo them home, much like we would send a dog outside.

One of the first days we were here, I asked Rebecca, 6, our youngest daughter, if she wanted to come with me to one of the two preschool rooms and read the kids a book. She agreed and we chose one of the books donated to us before we left that we thought the kids would like and that she could read. We chose Dr. Seuss’s Hop on Pop. We walked into the youngest pre-school room and the 3- and 4-year-old kids were at a small plastic table sitting nicely in their little plastic chairs. The teacher was not in the room. So we greeted them and we sat down and Rebecca started reading them Hop on Pop. The kids were polite and listened and looked. The teacher finally came in and she began interacting with the kids at each page, laughing when appropriate and translating when needed. Most of these younger kids do not know English, which is only taught in elementary school at a very basic level.

I left the book with the teacher, who was very appreciative. But it has sat on the shelf since. In the other classroom, where there are 5- and 6-year olds, a roomy book shelf holds a dozen or so books, some in English, some in Xhosa. When I commented to the teacher that these are nice books, she smiled and said thank you. When I asked if she read them to her students, she said no.

The Xhosa culture is based on oral tradition – history is not even taught in the public schools anymore. Everything important to the culture is passed down through stories spoken by elders to their children. Reading and writing takes a back seat to an already poor-performing education system. The preschoolers do not know the ABC song or understand that letters make sounds. When I asked a little girl named Isiphele what letter her name starts with, she said 1. When I asked her what the next letter in her name, she answered 2, I suspect because often kids write “s” and “2” backwards. They do know how to count and they are very good at pointing to objects with their fingers to count. Yet, the concept of grouping sets is difficult even for the 4th grade students in the aftercare. Even these older kids in the aftercare have trouble writing words in a straight line on lined paper.

So we have come in here to help with the preschool and establish an aftercare center for orphans. But we struggle with where to even start. What’s really important? Learning their ABC’s? Basic math skills? Reading? Getting along well with others? Sharing? These are concepts that you and I take for granted by hard to understand in the Xhosa culture.

The answer we believe is first to teach them the Gospel – that they are special; that Jesus died for them and He is their friend and savior; that there is a hope outside their small rondavels where disease and abuse are rampant, where the schools fail them.

We are putting into practice a model for the aftercare based on the 25:40 logo of the child’s hand. Each finger represents a very important need 25:40 will try to meet for these children – nutrition, health, academics, skills training and a library. At the center of the hand is the most important element: The Gospel. Without God’s love and care in the palm, the fingers are detached and useless. If we can teach these children that they are loved and valued in a society that has cast them aside, then they will have hope and a way of life that will set them apart and take them further than they ever dreamed they could go.
-- Amy Zacaroli

Beauty and the Beast

2010-02-02T07:10:00.000-08:00

It is so hard for me to reconcile the jaw-dropping beauty of the Eastern Cape of South Africa with the profound poverty of the people who live there.
I’m in awe of the dramatic, deep green hills and valleys nestled near the Indian Ocean. Cows and horses, sheep and goats roam freely, contentedly eating the green grass. The huge blue sky is as quiet as it is vast. There are no airplanes, no large buildings, only small rondavels and square houses dot the countryside, an occasional pole stringing electricity to a small village. The pace is so slow. We’re on Africa time – a blessing and a curse at once. A blessing because there is always time to stop and strike up a conversation with someone, to practice my Xhosa, to play Simon Says with a child. A curse because progress is painstakingly slow.
While I am living among this beauty, I ache for the children I see at school with holes in their sweaters, barefoot, eating lunch near a trash pile outside of a rusty shack, crooked on its dirt foundation. A thin little girl just stands quietly in the midst of playground chatter, waiting patiently for someone to finish eating so that she can use a bowl. She does not have one at home to bring and the school provides only the food – not the plates or utensils. I watch one girl absently eating her porridge out of a dark blue square plastic container, spooning it to her mouth with a ruler.
One of the four classroom buildings at this particular school is so dilapidated the gutters are broken, so that the adjacent green tank that collects rain water looms impotent and empty. I spy some children without shoes. I remember someone telling me students cannot go to school if they don’t have shoes. I ask Nkosana about this. He tells me that on the first day of school, a child who has none might borrow school shoes from another family. After the first day, no one checks.
At another school, at least a third of the students are not wearing a uniform. Likely they are ostracized for this. Lessons comes to a standstill because the Department of Education is visiting on the first day of February – at least two weeks into the beginning of the new school year – handing out school supplies to each child. They each receive two composition books, a test book, a glue stick, some pencils and a brand new blue ruler. Some struggle to carry the awkward load without backpacks. But I can tell they are excited and proud, yet possessively guarding the handful of school supplies they can call their own. This is their back-to-school shopping spree.
On my first full day in Canzibe, a grandmother and a 14-year-old girl come to visit Nkosana in the office. He is 25:40’s coordinator of Project 1504, the action plan we are implementing with Small Projects Foundation designed to meet the immediate and long-term needs of the 1,504 orphans and vulnerable children in the Ngqeleni District.
The grandmother is dressed in traditional mourning clothes – meaning her husband has died in the last year. The teenage girl is in her school uniform, her gray skirt ripped in the front at the seam. She carries her books in a yellow plastic bag from a local store, the handles broken. These two are barely related. It seems the grandmother’s husband was a cousin to the girl’s father. But right now, that doesn’t matter. The woman in mourning is this teen’s permanent caregiver. The girl’s parents have both died and she has spent most of her life jumping from relative to relative, leaving whenever she wasn’t treated fairly, common for orphans. They have come for help in getting a foster care grant from the government. This small monthly stipend will help the grandmother raise this poor, lost girl.
Nkosana checks their documents – affirming they have proper identification. The Department of Social Services is coming tomorrow for an outreach day, Nkosana tells them. They will set up just outside a local shop and help people apply for the grants they are entitled to but are not yet receiving. Go to them tomorrow, he says.
They leave and it is all I can do not to stop them and sew up the girl’s skirt before she heads off to a day at school.
And typical of Africa time, Friday comes and we get word that the Department of Social Services is not coming after all to this area. Sudden change in plans. It will be rescheduled.
So we wait.

--Amy Zacaroli

Nkosana

2010-02-02T07:05:00.000-08:00

Nkosana had been praying for a job. For a few years he had none, but he came from a family of hard-workers and endeavored to find one in the rural, poverty-stricken area of the Eastern Cape in which jobs are scarce and intermittent.
A Christian man he met invited him to celebrate Easter 2008 at Canzibe Mission – a 13-hour drive from his home in the southern part of the country. Nkosana, a sweet-faced, patient Xhosa man of 25, accepted willingly. He stayed for a long weekend and then returned for good in January 2009. He serves as handyman and interpreter for the missionary, who is a native Afrikaner and whose Xhosa is sparse. Nkosana proved himself worthy, loyal, with a deep and caring heart, especially for the children in this area of green, dramatically beautiful hills dotted with rondavels. Nkosana’s first prayer had been answered, but now he wanted more – to be able to help the children, whom he found poor and hungry.
Even though he is not from this area of the Eastern Cape, he quickly immersed himself in the community and the villagers know him, love him, and are beginning to trust him, not an easy task among people who are reticent of outsiders. He plays soccer with the adolescents and takes pre-schoolers to an early morning prayer meeting before school starts.
He has a deep faith that is nurtured through his work with the missionary. He is taking college classes on the Bible, its history and interpretations, so that one day, if he wants to stand up in church and preach, he will have authority and knowledge to do so.
Nkosana’s heart is with the children. He tells this story. One day last June he was in Mthatha, the closest city to Canzibe. A 14-year-old boy named Themba came up to him and asked him for 2 rand. Nkosana noticed his tattered clothes, the holes in his shoes, the angry look on his face. Nkosana asked him, “What will you do with 2 rand?” And Themba said he would buy bread. Nkosana said to him, “I have bread in my backpack. I have an apple. And I have a sweet. I will give them to you. Plus I will give you 10 rand.” The boy was astonished at Nkosana’s generosity. Then Nkosana told him of the hope and promise that is in Jesus Christ. He explained to Themba that if he accepts Christ as his savior, Jesus will protect and provide for him and his family. Jesus will lead him to live in a righteous way – not to steal what is not his, even though he is poor and hungry. Themba seemed to hunger for what Nkosana said.
Then Nkosana asked him, “What will you do with that 10 rand?” a new Themba said, “I will take it home to my family. For we are poor and have no money and this will help my family.”
Nkosana likes to tell this story. He keeps a picture of Themba on his computer and tries to find him when he goes to Mthatha.
In mid-November 2009, 25:40 hired Nkosana to coordinate 25:40’s Project 1504, which has identified 1,504 orphans and vulnerable children in the wider Canzibe area. He will help ensure these children’s needs are being met – such as receiving child support grants from the government; being trained to grow food gardens; having school uniforms and being exempt from school fees; getting health care; and participating in after school care programs, which will provide help with homework, counseling, a safe place to stay after school, and a properly nutritious snack.
He is very well-organized, quite responsible and honest. Plus he has compassion for the children. He showed me a photo of children lining up for soup at a local school and pointed out to me a very small, thin girl in rags and no shoes. “Look,” he told me. “It is very cold. It is raining. The ground is muddy. And she has no shoes.” He just shook his head sadly.
Nkosana prayed for a job, one in which he can help children. 25:40 prayed for someone to help us with this project – to carry out God’s work for children who cannot help themselves. Our God is an awesome God, answering prayers – an ocean apart.
--Amy Zacaroli

Baby Blankets

2010-01-29T05:21:00.000-08:00

As a mom, there is nothing more satisfying than taking good care of your baby. When your baby is cold or hungry, moms are there to provide for every need. But not all moms can. If your home is a metal shack with a leaky roof and dirt floors, it is hard to stay warm and dry. If your husband takes your small monthly stipend and spends it on drink, there is no money for food for your baby.
Such is the reality of thousands of women in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Many women raise their families in such conditions with no electricity and if they are lucky, water from a tap outside. If a storm is especially severe, the roof may tear off in places, windows can break, and the rain makes the dirt floors muddy.
It is these women and babies my heart goes out to and who I think of often, especially when someone asks me if I can take donations of things to South Africa. The Holy Comforters, a group of quilters at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church in Springfield, VA have provided a wonderful blessing to these women and babies in rural Eastern Cape South Africa. I packed an extra suitcase filled with handmade quilts and receiving blankets lovingly created by the Holy Comforters. I was blessed enough to have a midwife named Karen Clarke in Hamburg, South Africa, take me to the women she has recently helped give birth. I was able to show up at their shacks with a handful of these baby blankets made a world away and allow the women to choose which one they wanted for their newborns. I visited three mothers who had two-week and three-week old babies. They were so thankful and joyful that we arrived with the blankets. They had fun choosing the right one for their baby. And then they lovingly wrapped their babies and held them proudly.
Up the coast from Hamburg, a four-hour drive, is another rural village called Canzibe, where 25:40 also has a project. I stayed on the mission property, which is adjacent to Canzibe hospital. Another NGO here has developed a nutrition center on the hospital grounds for moms to come with their children when the hospital staff notices the children are malnourished. Nokuphila offers them a place to stay for awhile and hands-on training for growing a food garden. I also visited Nokuphila with the baby blankets and was able to give them to a few moms – one of whom looked like a very young teenager.
It’s a small thing, one that most people take for granted – having something to keep your baby warm. But when a mom has next to nothing, it really is a gift from God.
Amy Zacaroli

Midwives

2010-01-29T05:15:00.000-08:00

Women living in the rural Eastern Cape of South Africa can tell you horror stories about the care they receive when they give birth. Except since it is the only care they know, they have no idea their experiences are horrific.
Xhosa women live in shacks and tend to birth at home or go to hospital when labor starts. Typically they do not seek pre-natal care. During labor, they may be tended to by mothers or aunts at home, but if something goes wrong at birth, like a cord wrapped around the neck, many babies die within the first week. If the women make it to the hospital, they are treated poorly by the nursing staff. A typical maternity ward is a big room with 20 beds and no privacy. Guests – husbands, moms, sisters – are not allowed. Women give birth alone. The women are forced to stay lying down in their beds and if they cry out or scream they are slapped on their thighs. Internal exams are harsh and the only goal by the staff is to get the baby out, regardless of whether the woman is tearing or having other difficulties. The babies are taken from them right away to be put in incubators until it is time to feed. There is very little opportunity for mother and baby to bond. Then they are sent home.
These women are abused by the health system and gone through uncaring labor and go home with a baby they don’t know how to care for. This can often lead to a disconnect between mom and baby and the natural instinct for mothering and nurturing is missing because of their experiences.
Noelle (not her real name) had three babies when a midwife named Karen Clarke was checking her during her fourth pregnancy. Karen asked how many kids she had and she replied 3, but Karen only saw two. Where is the other one? “Oh. That one was not right,” Noelle replied. After prodding, Karen learned the baby had a lack of oxygen at birth, probably because the cord was wrapped around its neck, and had difficulty breathing and suffered some seizures early on. He died when he was 8 months old. These things are so preventable with a trained midwife attending the birth.
Karen Clarke moved from Cape Town to Hamburg three years ago with her family to practice in her trained profession of midwifery. Karen’s dream is to eradicate the horror stories of labor and delivery and replace those with positive outcomes as a result of nurturing care for the women of Hamburg throughout their entire pregnancies. The results are already starting to show themselves with the numerous births she already has attended. Right now, Karen tends to labors in the homes women live in – metal shacks. Karen’s plans are to build a small birthing home in the center of town where moms-to-be can labor and deliver in a comfortable, safe environment. Karen will keep them at the birthing home for a week because that is when most newborns die.
She tries to encourage pregnant women to come to her when they first learn they are pregnant so that proper pre-natal care can be administered. It is during this time that Karen can establish a relationship with the women, learn their histories, and test for HIV/AIDS. A simple test can detect the virus and a simple dose of medication can prevent transmission of HIV/AIDS to the baby during birth. About 30 percent of pregnant women whom she has seen have HIV/AIDS. Simply having a midwife in Hamburg can eradicate transmission of AIDS from mother to child during birth – a huge and significant step towards a healthy, AIDS-free society.

Students Get a Second Chance

2010-01-29T01:39:00.000-08:00

HAMBURG, SOUTH AFRICA -- About 50 teenagers and young adults are embarking on a final chance to pass their high school exams through efforts of a community-based group that formed in 2009 to address social issues in their village.
The Hamburg Social Development Project is a group of 10 community leaders, including the high school principal, teachers and former teachers, with the goal of addressing the needs of children in this resource-starved setting who are not receiving an adequate education under the existing public school system. HSDP’s first priority is to help teenagers who have dropped out of school because they failed their matriculation exams and are unable to retake Standard Grade 12 due to a change of the national syllabus in 2007.
Through 2009 the group worked hard to register as a non-profit organization and set and prioritize goals and to communicate to the community their ideas.
The group has made amazing strides in just the last six months. They negotiated with St. Charles High School in Hamburg the use of three classrooms for the finishing school. They will also have an office at the school. HSDP member Mr. Paliso negotiated with the Hamburg community to be granted 5 hectares of land with the longer-term goal of building a community center at which will be the finishing school, the HSDP office and skills training centers, such as plumbing, carpentry, construction, and engineering. The skills training center is necessary for those students who do not have the means to go to college. Hamburg is in the very rural Eastern Cape where jobs are scarce and the quality of education is poor. With specific skills, young adults can aspire to become professionals.
On Jan. 18, the finishing school opened its doors. On the first day, there were 15 young people who registered. The next day 21 showed up. On the day I visited a week later, there were 46 students who were eager to get started. The news had spread beyond the three nearby villages – Hamburg, Bell and Bodium – to villages a bit further away – Lovers Twist, Wesley, Tceku. These students have a deadline of December 2010 to pass their final exams under the rules of the new curriculum. They cannot take the test again if they fail.
HSDP member Thelma Ncumani, who also is principal of St. Charles High School, gave the students a little pep talk. “This is your last chance. We want plumbers, electrical engineers. You must be very serious. This is for Hamburg. This is for you. We don’t want you wandering around the streets,” she told them.
I spoke with a young woman named Portia, who is 23. She finished school in 2004, but did not pass her final exam. She was very excited to take this class so that she could graduate. I asked her what her dreams are. She said, “I want to matric and then help my community.”
--Amy Zacaroli

New Beginnings

2010-01-20T14:17:00.000-08:00

In 2009, God planted seeds for two new 25:40 projects in South Africa that we pray will blossom in 2010. I am writing this just two days before I leave for a two-week trip without my family to visit with the people who are working on these two projects.
In Hamburg, South Africa, a group of community leaders organized last year to form the Hamburg Social Development Project. This group identifies issues in the community that need attention and then works to solve those issues. HSDP formed in 2009, established a bank account, and is in the process of registering with the South African government as a non-profit. It has held a fund-raising event and has identified the first issue it wants to tackle -- students who have finished high school but not passed the final exam to officially "matric". HSDP has negotiated classroom space with the local school and is now arranging for furniture, materials and teachers so that these students can be tutored and then eventually pass their final exams. This will give a huge boost to these young adults who would have no hope of finding a job without passing their final exams. While job prospects in the Eastern Cape are quite limited, these students will be the beneficiaries of model citizens who are volunteering to help them and thus help to improve their community. This gives the students hope and a more secure future.
25:40 has encouraged HSDP to get started and organized and we continue to do so. 25:40 will also help financially when necessary. These types of community-based groups are the lifeblood -- and will be the saving grace -- of villages in the rural areas. 25:40's help has been, we hope, the most constructive. Rather than simply giving food, we are teaching to fish.

A little further up the Eastern Cape coast is the Ngqeleni District, a very rural area of rolling hills between Umtata and the Indian Ocean. There are 22 villages that are spread out and very poor. In 2009, 25:40 funded a survey, executed by Small Projects Foundation and community health workers, to find orphans and vulnerable children. The survey identified 1,504 orphans and vulnerable children in that area. In November 2009, 25:40 hired a local Xhosa man, Nkosana Menzi, to oversee what 25:40 is calling Project 1504. With SPF, we have identified immediate and long-term needs of these children, which 25:40 will fund and carry out with the help of Nkosana, SPF and the community health workers. I will go to Canzibe, where Nkosana lives and works, to review the goals of our project and meet some of the Project 1504 children
I will blog as I can from there. Please pray for travel safety and that 25:40 will properly nurture the seeds God has planted into full-flowering fruit. Most importantly, pray for the children in South Africa impacted by AIDS and poverty who deserve a fair chance at a healthy, happy life. Peace, Amy Zacaroli

The Gogos

2008-08-13T06:05:00.000-07:00

The grandmothers.
Without them, there would be hundreds and hundreds of children living and dying on their own.
The grandmothers.
They are the safety net for AIDS orphans. Here in the rural Eastern Cape of South Africa, the lack of infrastructure means there are no orphanages to come to when their parents die. The special homes they go to are the rondavels or huts of grandmothers, sparsely furnished, usually without electricity or running water. The grandmothers, who have done their birthing and raising and scraping together enough food and school fees for their own children, are now grieving the loss of those adult children. And having to start over with raising their grandchildren left behind from the scourge of AIDS.
But now these grandmothers are old, tired. Some are uneducated; some are haunted by the stigma of AIDS. Some do not even know about AIDS, yet their grandchildren have it.
It is impossible to know how many children in the Eastern Cape have lost their parents to AIDS and are living with their grandmother or aunt. It seems the norm here, rather than the exception.
For years, Eunice Mangwane, an AIDS counselor at Umtha Welanga, has felt the need to reach out to other grandmothers. She is one herself, who has a daughter and a grandson with AIDS. As an AIDS counselor, she assumed AIDS would never affect her family. But when it did, she crumbled. She turned to Nokwanda, another grandmother at Umtha Welanga whose daughter and grandchildren have been affected by AIDS. They bonded. And her life as an AIDS counselor suddenly got more intense and more effective. “When it’s not in your family, you don’t speak the same language,” Eunice said. Now she speaks the same language as her clients.
Here in Hamburg in early August, Eunice and Nokwanda hosted the first meeting of the Gogo support group. Gogo is the Xhosa word for grandmother. About 15 grandmothers showed up with their grandchildren to unite, to support each other, to share their stories, each as tragic as the next one.
Joyce Williams stands up at the meeting to share her story. She speaks in perfect English. She is warmly dressed, with two little children, 4 and 2, at her feet. She proclaims in a strong voice – like a preacher -- that God is with all the grandmothers there. He will show them through. Then she tells her story. Her son was married and had two children but then his wife fell ill and died and then her son died too. Now she is left with the two children– one of whom is HIV+. If her story of losing her son were not tragic enough, she explained that just that morning her daughter had passed away from bone cancer. “I came here because Eunice had invited me and I feel it is very important to be here.” The room fell into a stunned silence, even the children at the Gogos’ feet were quiet with their coloring.
Susan Paliso, probably the oldest grandmother there, then stood and shared her story. Her three oldest married and moved from the rural area to work and raise children in the bigger cities. Her youngest son Dumile commuted to the big city to work and back home to share his income with his mother. He was her breadwinner after her husband died. But then he stopped coming home. For five years. He was too ashamed to admit to his mother he had a girlfriend and they had a baby. And then he was sick and so was the girlfriend, whom Susan never met. Finally someone called and said “You must come. Dumile is ill.” Susan did not go. Dr. Carol Baker went and brought him home, but he died very shortly after that. Then the girlfriend’s parents called and said she had passed away and can you take the baby? So Susan did. By this time, she was working as a domestic helper for Dr. Baker and so the child got medical attention – He has AIDS.
Now Susan is 85 years old. Her grandson is 11. He receives a child disability grant from the government but that will end when he is 14. As an orphan, the grant continues until he is out of school. But Susan cannot prove that he is an orphan because she does not have a copy of the mother’s death certificate. She does not even know the name of the child’s mother. So what happens to her grandson when she dies? What happens if she cannot find a death certificate? Where will he get money? Where will he live? These are all questions none of us can answer.
But she comes here to seek support with issues her peers are also facing. The only answer I know is that with the grandmothers, the children have a little more time before they are alone.
-- Amy Zacaroli

MUSIC

2008-08-13T06:03:00.000-07:00

It is quiet in Hamburg, South Africa. The only sounds you hear are the tide of the Indian Ocean, the cooing of doves and melodies of other birds, dogs barking, the wind blowing, the rustling of monkeys in the bush. Sounds of television and that four beat Microsoft Office tune are out of place here – like an errant horn blow when the symphony is at rest.
One other sound is at home here – people singing. Their voices pure, strong, and without any instruments – just the voices God gave them. Umtha Welanga Health Care Center, the AIDS clinic in the center of the main village, is a beautiful place. It is well built, tan cement with a red roof. Colored glass tiles are glued onto the outside front pillars, creating a welcoming mosaic. Huge windows frame the view of the Keiskamma River and the rolling green hills of the Eastern Cape. It has the feel and character of a very old building, which it is, with its uneven steps painted red and slanting floors, but a solid building. It also has good acoustics.
Patients come here day and night, summer and winter, rainy season and dry, for treatment for HIV/AIDS, opportunistic diseases and palliative care. Every morning around 8:15 or 8:20, someone – Thandie an AIDS counselor or a patient perhaps – breaks into song. Just one voice at first, the others listening to see if they know this song, if they have the strength to join in. Then some patients sitting on their beds will start to sing, and a patient stands from her bed and joins in. Then perhaps Rachel, the head nurse, will join in as she’s writing her morning notes on each patient. The men patients in the nearby ward will walk in slowly and join in. Eunice, another AIDS counselor, will climb the steps from her downstairs office and also join. Soon the room is loud with beautiful, strong voices, joined in a praise song.
And one after another, they sing praise songs to God and to Jesus. Even though most of the songs are in Xhosa, you can still feel the spirit. Then they sing the Lord’s Prayer in English and a patient or a visitor may be asked to pray.
Thandie explains that even if patients cannot get out of bed that they at least listen and try to sing along. “I believe if you sing and pray, then God will help you. Some people who come here do not believe in God, but maybe the songs will move them.”
Athwel, one of the four drivers at Umtha Welanga, said the tradition of morning prayers did not start with the staff. He said he has had patients die in the car with him as he’s driving them to the health care center or the hospital. “Before they die, they want to sing their song,” he explains. So they sing, and then they die peacefully with a strong spirit.
The patients in the health care center may be having a very hard time and Dr. Carol Baker will be attending to them. And the patient struggling, and perhaps other patients nearby, will start to sing. The singing unites everyone and makes the patient strong, Athwel explains. Realizing how singing positively affected them, the patients started the routine of morning prayers.
Alec and I have been touched by morning prayers every time we come here. We go home and try to explain it, but I don’t think we do it justice. So this year we’re bringing a version of morning prayers to the United States. To commemorate World AIDS Day (Monday, Dec. 1), Thandie, Athwel and others from Umtha Welanga, will travel to the Washington, D.C. area and sing at several churches in Virginia, D.C., and Maryland. Through their music and their stories, they will share with us the hope and strength their faith brings them from a place full of hope in the face of poverty and AIDS.
-- Amy Zacaroli

School Days

2008-08-06T02:29:00.000-07:00

Children at the Hamburg Primary School open every morning with singing and praying at 8:20. This after a long walk up a rutted road to the top of a hill that is one of the highest – and windiest – points in Hamburg. Alec is driving a decades-old Land Rover that is much better equipped to handle the road to the school than our VW Polo rental cars. As we approach the last half-mile to the school, we see a group of about 20 children all dressed in their school uniforms making their way to the school. We stop and ALL 20 children come running and somehow pile into the back of the Land Rover with our four children. They are excited for even just a few minutes’ ride in the truck to the school.
At the school, they all pile out of the Land Rover eagerly and form in about 8 lines in the “courtyard” of the school. They are lined up by grade facing the principal and their teachers. They begin to sing – and sing loudly and beautifully. Some songs are in their native Xhosa, some in English. They sing praise songs and the Lord’s Prayer. Everyday a teacher or a student reads from the Bible – today a teacher reads Psalm 121 from her Xhosa Bible. I look it up later and realize it is one of my favorites and hope that the school children take this message to heart.
“I lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth … The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”
They have a prayer and then they bow to the principal, who says a few words. Then they start singing “Marching in the Light of God” and they all march in line to their class rooms. Thus begins a day at Hamburg Primary School. The teachers then go into the principal’s office and sign in, collect materials, and go to their classes. The school looks in much better shape since the first time I saw it in 2004.
Pat Thomas, Alec’s mom, has come several times and spends several months at a time, teaching and equipping the school with shelving for each classroom, a computer and printer for the principal’s office, uniforms for the girls’ net ball team. In February, she had students and some paid laborers to sand the desks and paint them bright colors of the South African flag. Today Alec talks to the principal about securing an extra room so that they can install a few computers for student use.
We visit Grade 1 and Mrs. Luvuno instructed her students to pull out plastic containers that rattled loudly when they handled them. When the students opened them, I saw why. They are filled with used bottle caps, which make quite useful counting manipulatives. The young students practice counting to 10 and 20 and backwards from 10. Some have a hundreds chart taped on their desks.
This is the school for the poorest families in Hamburg. Those parents who work and can afford the transport send their children to a better school in nearby Peddie. A very select few send their children to boarding school.
This school has such promise – the teachers are good and well-educated and the principal and the assistant principal are motivated to connect with other principals in the area and improve the services that the local government sometimes fails to provide.
The goal here is to get parents involved in the school, to have regular meetings with teachers, to ensure their children do their homework, and to hold the staff accountable. This seems so logical to us Americans, but it is a cultural shift to bring this to Hamburg Primary School, where parents may not have had education past elementary school themselves and do not feel empowered to involve themselves.
People here and volunteers like Pat Thomas and 25:40 will be involved in helping the school as much as we can – because these children are all our children and deserve the best we can give them.
-- Amy Zacaroli

Pondering AIDS on the Way to Peddie

2008-08-06T02:27:00.000-07:00

Aug 2, 2008

I drove to Peddie today to fill the gas cans for the Landie, and along the way picked up two women near Bodium. They were hitchhiking. I asked where they were headed. “Peddie” one, sitting in the front seat, responded. “That’s where I am headed,” I said. “I can take you there.”
“You are going to Peddie?” she asked, somewhat surprised. Peddie is not a typical stop for white people from Hamburg (or anywhere else), who would usually head to East London or Port Alfred for provisions. In fact, I have learned that many folks in Hamburg don’t even go to Peddie for gasoline, even though it is the closest stop. They will travel the few extra km to Kidds Beach. I am not sure why, but perhaps it not quite so threatening an environment. In any event, I prefer proximity and rather like the hustle and bustle of this small African town.
“Yes,” I responded. “I am going to Peddie.” “Oye, today is my lucky day,” she responded, her bright, white teeth flashing through a broad smile. She muttered something in Xhosa to her friend in the back seat, and they laughed.
We rode quietly for a while, then I asked where they lived and what they do. “Peddie,” the one in the front seat said. “Do you work here?” I asked. It was curious to me why someone from Peddie might have traveled so far to the Bodium area. “No, I work in Peddie,” she said. “I work in the police station.”
“What do you do?” I asked, assuming chauvinistically that she was a clerk or something of the like.
“I am a police officer,” she said. “So is she.” She pointed to her friend in the backseat. I turned to look, and we exchanged smiles.
“Oh,” I said. “I will slow down then.” They didn’t get the joke, or at least did not think it funny. We drove along a little while longer in silence.
“Do you live in Hamburg?” the one in the front seat asked.
“No. I am from America. My wife and I run an organization to try and help people here. We work with a doctor in Hamburg, Dr. Baker. Have you heard of her?”
“No.” she said, plainly.
“Do you know of the health care center, Umtha Welanga? We have assisted with that.”
She remained quiet. From the back seat, the other said, “the hospice.”
“Yes,” I said. It appears the health care center still has not shed its image as a hospice – a place where people go to die comfortably. “Yes… the hospice,” I said. “We are involved in that.” We rode quietly for another couple of minutes, and I asked if they attend churches. Misunderstanding me, they began listing denominations in the area. Methodist, Zionist, Anglican. “Why do you ask about churches?” the one in the back asked.
“I belong to a church,” I explained. “It is why I am here.” I attempted to explain the meaning of Matthew 25:40, how we serve the Lord through serving others, and how those of us who have so much have an obligation to give much more. They remained quiet. The one in the back smiled and nodded politely. I could not tell if I was being unclear, or they were not terribly interested.
“I also want to know what the churches say about AIDS,” I added, broaching this topic for the first time. “Do they talk about it?”
“Yes,” the one in the rear said. “Some talk about it.”
“What do they say?”
“They say you must be in love. You must stay with the one you love.”
“Do they all talk about it, or do some still not want to talk about it?”
“Some do not talk about it. They don’t want to talk about it.”

We drove on some more.

“How else do people learn about HIV and AIDS?” I asked.
“From other people,” the woman in the backseat responded. She explained that she had attended, and assisted with public meetings where people were told about AIDS and how to avoid it. I asked what people thought about AIDS, and where it comes from. The one in the front seat piped up, after remaining silent for some time.
“Foreigners,” she said, almost with a chuckle. “They think it was brought here by foreigners.”
I laughed. “You mean white skinned people from America?” They laughed too. For once, the subtle discomfort of this discussion lifted momentarily. Even so, I was not certain that they did not believe this rumor. “What do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” the one in the front seat said. “They say it came from a monkey, from someone eating the meat of a monkey. That is crazy, I don’t believe that,” she said.
At once it dawned on me. As I tried to formulate a response in my head – that there was this virus called SIV that was transmitted to humans from monkeys in central Africa as a result of their diet of monkey meat, and that it mutated into a blood-borne and sexually transmitted disease that traveled and infected the globe – it dawned on me that this explanation might just seem equally preposterous. Fearing I might do further damage than enlightenment, I simply replied, “yes, the belief is it came from people eating monkey meat. That is what I believe, but no one is certain. It did not come from foreigners, I can tell you that.” She nodded, but remained quiet.
I realized again, at that moment, how far apart our worlds were. We look upon these beliefs that HIV is spread by white people with needles, that it is revenge by the white man on a now free South Africa, or that it is an evil plot from America or Europe, as simply ludicrous manifestations of an uneducated and primitive society. We know they are not true, but we expect South Africans to simply believe they are untrue as a result of the sheer madness of them. And so we offer an alternative explanation, that it came from monkeys. Monkeys are responsible for the demise of modern-day sub-Saharan Africa, not western invaders. You can almost hear the response. “I suppose monkeys were also responsible for apartheid, and for the colonization that led to it?” Suddenly, if not possible, their beliefs about the origin of AIDS suddenly seem quite plausible.

“It is the men,” the woman in the backseat said, after some time. “They drink and get careless, and do not condomize.” I had heard this before.
“Yes,” I said. And seizing on an opportunity to test theories that the unempowerment of women has contributed substantially to the spread of AIDS, I asked whether it was true that once a man wants sex, a woman cannot refuse him.
“No,” she said. “That is not true.”
I remained quiet.

As we traveled on, the woman in the back seat offered her biggest fear about AIDS – that people were just giving up on fighting it. “People just see it as a part of life,” she said. “If they get it, they will die. But they could die of an accident, or something else. It is just another way to die.” I asked if this was because of poverty. That people faced so many other battles in their daily existence, that AIDS just isn’t a primary concern. She nodded, but added that people also just see it as a way of life. We would call it fatalism, I suppose. That there is a certain resignation to death in these parts. But perhaps the better term is reality. Fatalism seems to imply a giving up, even in the presence of some amount of hope. But this is a reality – a hopeless reality that most people are facing.

We arrived in Peddie, and the woman in the front seat pulled out 20 Rand and offered it to me. “No, no.” I said. “I was coming here anyway.” She thanked me, then retreated back into her silence. I noticed that she had remained largely quiet since the discussion of AIDS arose. She simply stared forward at the windshield, and the rough road that was laid out before us. I wondered what had led to her silence. Was she just not interested? Was she uncomfortable? If so, why? Is she, perhaps, positive herself? In this place of such secrecy, one can never know and one can never ask. We parted ways in Peddie. I said I hoped I would see them around again sometime. “Yes,” they laughed. “We see you.”

As I drove away, my understanding of the story of AIDS in South Africa remained the same – following the same fault lines in this discussion as it had in others. Distrust, hopelessness, and men.
-- Alec Zacaroli

Happy Endings

2008-08-01T02:45:00.000-07:00

Hamburg, South Africa is a place of hope. Amidst the poverty and the disease, unemployment and alcoholism, hunger and death, there is hope. In the center of this seaside village sits Umtha Welanga Health Care Center – an AIDS clinic bustling with patients, nurses, social workers, care givers, treatment monitors, drivers, cooks and cleaners. This is one of the only AIDS clinics in the Peddie District – an area on the Indian Ocean in the Southeast corner of South Africa with 119 villages. Some patients come in here too weak to stand, bone thin, weakened and wracked by AIDS.
But this is a story of hope and happy endings. On this particular day in late July 2008, the medium-sized white Nissan pickup truck with a cab on the back pulls up to Umtha Welanga Health Care Center and the back window of the cab opens and four little boys clamber out. With them is a woman who looks like she’s in her late 30s. Two of the boys are her nephews, Stephen, 4, and Philip, 8. The truck driver, Major Mangwane, greets us and helps the woman out of the back. He has come from her village 2 hours away because the boys have an appointment to start anti-retroviral therapy to combat the AIDS diagnosis they received recently. The truck is one that 25:40 purchased in March from the funds raised by the South African Wine Tasting held by Rick and Anne Wallace. It is a white truck with the 25:40 logo on it in several places, and across both sides in large black letters it reads “One Child At A Time.” Major is paid to be a driver to transport patients to and from the AIDS clinic for appointments. Transportation is one of the biggest obstacles to medical attention here in the Peddie District. With three trucks and four drivers, transportation is one of the best services Umtha Welanga offers in this vast, rural area.
These boys look healthy. Even though they have tuberculosis and AIDS and the boys are very small for their ages, their illnesses have not wreaked havoc on their organs. Their aunt, Nokuzola, has been proactive in seeking medical attention for her small nephews and AIDS has not progressed too far. You can tell by how the boys play on the tractor parked in front of the health care center. They are rambunctious and happy.
But it belies a hard-scrabble life. Nokuzola is the primary caregiver of her nephews. Nokuzola’s sister-in-law, Stephen’s mother, committed suicide when she learned she had AIDS. She overdosed on medicine and hair formula. This is indicative of the stigma AIDS still has in Africa. Stephen’s mother would rather die than live with and manage AIDS. Stephen contracted AIDS at birth from his mother. Philip’s father is Nokuzola’s brother and he is ill, probably with AIDS. Nokuzola’s husband works sporadically as a brick layer in East London – a major city far from their tiny village. Like many sisters and mothers in Africa, Nokuzola took in her small nephews to care for them when their parents no longer could.
And she’s a good caregiver. The boys have been on tuberculosis medicine for 2 weeks and Nokuzola has been very attentive and responsible about administering the medicine properly. Rachel Johnson, the head nurse at Umtha Welanga, feels confident Nokuzola will be able to follow the complicated regimen for AIDS treatment for her two nephews.
Rachel and Thandie, a caregiver at Umtha Welanga who is fluent in Xhosa, reviews with Nokuzola the complicated dosing, which are different for both boys since they are different weights – a series of pills morning and night. Rachel fills the pill boxes marked for each day of the week and draws pictures of the pills as well so that Nokuzola can refer to them if she needs to when she returns to her village. Rachel also helps her open the safety caps on the bottles, since most people in the rural areas have never experienced having to open a prescription bottle.
I ask Nokuzola about how she has faced having her two nephews with AIDS and whether this has caused her problems in her village or at the boys’ school. She says she faced that original tragedy when her sister-in-law committed suicide. Then she turned her attention on the boys. Others in her village have AIDS and she will tell the teachers at the boys’ school so that they will understand when she has to take them out of school for a few days for follow-up appointments at Umtha Welanga. “I am happy because I know they are going to have a long life,” Nokuzola told me.

25:40 Visits Eastern Cape in August. 2008

2008-07-21T19:54:00.001-07:00

Hello Friends of 25:40
The Zacaroli Six leave for South Africa Sat. July 26. This is the first time all six of us have traveled to South Africa since 25:40 was established in 2003. We are very excited that we are all going and that we will finally represent 25:40 as a complete family.
We are going to the Eastern Cape to check on 25:40 projects already up and running, to encourage our new pediatric program, which is designed to find the hundreds of children who need AIDS treatment immediately but who have not seen a doctor. We also will meet with many people on the ground there to explore whether we can replicate in other villages Umtha Welanga, the very successful AIDS clinic we support in Hamburg.
Please pray for us and for 25:40's God-willed mission as we grow our ministry during this month-long trip.
Check in with the blog frequently as I hope to share photos and stories of the people here. I want you to connect with our mission on the ground in the Eastern Cape that you so generously give to.
Peace,
Amy