Today I took my little one year old daughter to the doctor. Since Saturday she suffered from diarrhea, keeping her mom awake and refusing to eat. I bought some over the counter medicine but there weren't any improvement. While I sat waiting for the doctor in the waiting room, I picked up a Time magazine (August 17 2009). I opened it at an article about diarrhea in Africa that until recently killed 1,6 million children each year. By a happy twist of fate they found out that a daily supplement of zinc cures diarrhea quickly and effectively. Also, the Rota virus vacination will soon become the norm and that will save even more lives.
I read about how with great difficulty people ensure that zinc supplements are brought to remote villages. I on the other hand can go to specialized care, a phone call away. My daughter got the Rota virus vaccination without me even knowing it and therefore has the diarrhea very mildly. Had I been living in Mali, my daughter may very well have died of this disease. It's like every day I realise how privileged I am. There are people everywhere who has it really tough.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Tsidi's sad story
When we moved from Johannesburg to Bloemfontein four years ago a miracle walked into our lives. Isabel was far along and about to give birth to our first born. We were on the lookout for a domestic help with no luck. That is until an angel named Alina knocked on our door. From the first day we got along very well. We decided to pay Alina far above the minimum wage required in South Africa and helped her with what we could. Alina is a truly remarkable women. She once made the newspaper when she took in a homeless white family into her humble home for a few days.
Alina had a husband and a daughter called Tsidi. Tsidi were about five at the time and my son immediately developed a bond with her. So it came that Tsidi visited us often and one time even went along on a family vacation. We came to notice that Tsidi was quite eager to learn and smart, always asking questions and listening attentively to everything we say.
Then I took my current position in Delmas. We told Alina that we were about to move and thanked her for her faithful service. To this she simply replied that she refuse to work for somebody else and that she is willing to move with her husband and Tsidi to Delmas. Things worked out well. Our home had a sufficient servant quarter and Alina liked the place. By the time we moved here, Tsidi were grade 1. I made arrangements for her to be put in an Afrikaans Primary school. To our horror we learned that in the six months she was in her township school in Bloemfontein, she learned neither to read or write a word. Every evening my wife faithfully sat with Tsidi and tried to make up for lost time since her own mom and dad could barely read or write. It bore fruit. At the end of last year Tsidi finished as one of the top in her class and did her work and even read extra books in her spare time. We felt glad and excited about her future.
Then her mother aged 46 fell pregnant. We found this strange because while we were in Bloemfontein she developed problems and was put on a waiting list for a hysterectomy. Being pregnant at such an age put strain on Alina. Her work quality and attitude declined. She announced that she wanted to return to Bloemfontein and rest until the baby was to be born. We gave her her allowed four months maternity leave on which she still is. The baby was born and apparently healthy. Tsidi and her dad stayed behind in Delmas so that Tsidi could continue with her schooling.
For a while everything went well. Then Tsidi started to miss her mother which one can understand. All of a sudden, Alina demanded the child be brought back to Bloemfontein promptly. She barely finished the school term and was taken to Bloemfontein which we thought to be a good thing as long as she would return in time for the next school term. However to this day Tsidi still hasn't showed up. What's worse she hasn't been put in another school for two terms now. She was already to old for her year group and even if she returns now the school will not take her back in. A future wasted and there is nothing I can do about it. I want to cry when I think about it.
Alina had a husband and a daughter called Tsidi. Tsidi were about five at the time and my son immediately developed a bond with her. So it came that Tsidi visited us often and one time even went along on a family vacation. We came to notice that Tsidi was quite eager to learn and smart, always asking questions and listening attentively to everything we say.
Then I took my current position in Delmas. We told Alina that we were about to move and thanked her for her faithful service. To this she simply replied that she refuse to work for somebody else and that she is willing to move with her husband and Tsidi to Delmas. Things worked out well. Our home had a sufficient servant quarter and Alina liked the place. By the time we moved here, Tsidi were grade 1. I made arrangements for her to be put in an Afrikaans Primary school. To our horror we learned that in the six months she was in her township school in Bloemfontein, she learned neither to read or write a word. Every evening my wife faithfully sat with Tsidi and tried to make up for lost time since her own mom and dad could barely read or write. It bore fruit. At the end of last year Tsidi finished as one of the top in her class and did her work and even read extra books in her spare time. We felt glad and excited about her future.
Then her mother aged 46 fell pregnant. We found this strange because while we were in Bloemfontein she developed problems and was put on a waiting list for a hysterectomy. Being pregnant at such an age put strain on Alina. Her work quality and attitude declined. She announced that she wanted to return to Bloemfontein and rest until the baby was to be born. We gave her her allowed four months maternity leave on which she still is. The baby was born and apparently healthy. Tsidi and her dad stayed behind in Delmas so that Tsidi could continue with her schooling.
For a while everything went well. Then Tsidi started to miss her mother which one can understand. All of a sudden, Alina demanded the child be brought back to Bloemfontein promptly. She barely finished the school term and was taken to Bloemfontein which we thought to be a good thing as long as she would return in time for the next school term. However to this day Tsidi still hasn't showed up. What's worse she hasn't been put in another school for two terms now. She was already to old for her year group and even if she returns now the school will not take her back in. A future wasted and there is nothing I can do about it. I want to cry when I think about it.
Funny moment with my son
Readers not able to understand Afrikaans won't share in this but yesterday when I dressed my little boy Steph age3, he was like a stubborn mule. I told him: "Jy is op dun ys mannetjie (you are on thin ice lad)" to which he replied: " Ek is nie 'n dun muismannetjie nie (I'm not a little thin 'mouseman!)". I am still laughing!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Soccer fever in Tembisa
I met a guy called Victor at a function. We are both involved in a initiative called beautiful people where we attempt to build friendship across racial and other lines of division. So it came to pass that Victor invited me to watch the Bafana vs France game at one of the Fan Parks in Tembisa. I was quite excited about the opportunity but at the same time a little bit apprehensive. I am a child of my time. I grew up with stories about how dangerous townships are and how much the people there hate whites and plot to kill them. I was therefore kind of grateful when Victor met me at the local police station.
We then drove to his home. Driving with so many taxi's all around you is quite stressful. I imagine it will feel much the same as driving in New York in rush hour. Apart form the taxi's there are a lot of people and some dogs on the street one should also look out for. Victor took us to his room, a small sink shack in the backyard of his parents home. Maybe it was because Victor knew we would visit but I was immediately struck by how clean and neat this room is. On the one side there was a book rack with books on many different subjects. Victor is a third year student at UNISA, a local university. On the other side of the room stood his desk. Pinned on a notice board in front of the desk are a variety of poems Victor has written. One poem that stood out was "Choice" It starts be telling what things in life we have no choice over, things like your upbringing and background and then goes on to make an important statement that every person can take responsibility for the many choices he or she are able to make. What make this poem special is that Victor's life is a living testament of the truth this poem expresses. While sitting there I reminded myself how just a few hours before I complained how cold our home is, our five bedroom three bathroom home that is! We sat with a few of his friends and discussed everything from sex to cars.
Suddenly we got interrupted by a very well known vuevuzela sound trumpeting next to us. This was promptly followed by a deep roar that shot through the whole township. This reminded us that the game has already started and that we have probably missed a goal. So we walked to the nearby fan park. There is a vibe on these streets that is difficult to describe. It is like everybody knows one another well. I haven't seen one drunk person and were surprised at how well almost everybody were dressed. We entered the fan park where 3000 young people gathered to watch the game on the big screen provided. Vuevuzela's were blown all around and the people danced and partied like I've rarely seen. In a radius of at least 20k's we were the only whites yet I strangely felt very save and at home. The vibe is indescribable!
After the game we went to the home of one of Victor's friends. In their small yard, this friend made a lovely garden, complete with lighting which he switched on to welcome us. We made a fire in a worse for wear car rim and talked and talked. What amazed me was that unlike the people in my white community nobody spoke much about themselves but on issues effecting the country and how it can be solved.
I drove home humbled by what I experienced and inspired to built more such friendships across racial lines. I'll be forever grateful for this exposure! (see pictures I took on the next blogpost I wrote in Afrikaans)
We then drove to his home. Driving with so many taxi's all around you is quite stressful. I imagine it will feel much the same as driving in New York in rush hour. Apart form the taxi's there are a lot of people and some dogs on the street one should also look out for. Victor took us to his room, a small sink shack in the backyard of his parents home. Maybe it was because Victor knew we would visit but I was immediately struck by how clean and neat this room is. On the one side there was a book rack with books on many different subjects. Victor is a third year student at UNISA, a local university. On the other side of the room stood his desk. Pinned on a notice board in front of the desk are a variety of poems Victor has written. One poem that stood out was "Choice" It starts be telling what things in life we have no choice over, things like your upbringing and background and then goes on to make an important statement that every person can take responsibility for the many choices he or she are able to make. What make this poem special is that Victor's life is a living testament of the truth this poem expresses. While sitting there I reminded myself how just a few hours before I complained how cold our home is, our five bedroom three bathroom home that is! We sat with a few of his friends and discussed everything from sex to cars.
Suddenly we got interrupted by a very well known vuevuzela sound trumpeting next to us. This was promptly followed by a deep roar that shot through the whole township. This reminded us that the game has already started and that we have probably missed a goal. So we walked to the nearby fan park. There is a vibe on these streets that is difficult to describe. It is like everybody knows one another well. I haven't seen one drunk person and were surprised at how well almost everybody were dressed. We entered the fan park where 3000 young people gathered to watch the game on the big screen provided. Vuevuzela's were blown all around and the people danced and partied like I've rarely seen. In a radius of at least 20k's we were the only whites yet I strangely felt very save and at home. The vibe is indescribable!
After the game we went to the home of one of Victor's friends. In their small yard, this friend made a lovely garden, complete with lighting which he switched on to welcome us. We made a fire in a worse for wear car rim and talked and talked. What amazed me was that unlike the people in my white community nobody spoke much about themselves but on issues effecting the country and how it can be solved.
I drove home humbled by what I experienced and inspired to built more such friendships across racial lines. I'll be forever grateful for this exposure! (see pictures I took on the next blogpost I wrote in Afrikaans)
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
A World Cup Story (English readers be patient-a english version will follow in due time)
By ‘n funksie wat ek onlangs bygewoon het, het ek bevriend geraak met ‘n inwoner van Tembisa. Sy naam is Victor en hy swot ekonomie deur Unisa. Hy het my genooi om saam met hom en sy vriende die Bafana teen Frankryk wedstryd te kyk in Ivory Park se “Fan Park” in Tembisa. Ek het die uitnodiging dadelik aangeneem. Omdat ek redelik skrikkerig was vir die onbekende wêreld wat ek moes betreë, het ek ‘n pel saamgevat...
Victor het ons by die polisiestasie in Tembisa ontmoet waarvoor ek heimlik dankbaar was. Daarna het hy ons na sy woonplek geneem. Ek het aangeneem dat Victor wat wyd belese is en oor blykbaar enige onderwerp ‘n sinvolle opinie kan lig van die meer welgestelde inwoners in Tembisa is. Groot was my verbasing toe hy ons laat stop by ‘n klein HOP huisie waarin sy ouers bly. Victor self bly in ‘n sinkkamertjie agter in die klein erfie. Sy kamertjie is pynlik netjies en skoon. Die eenkant van sy kamertjie bestaan uit boekrakke met boeke oor baie verskillende onderwerpe. Van ekonomie tot BMW’s. Drie armlengtes van hierdie boekrakke, teen die anderkantste muur is daar ‘n klein tafeltjie waar Victor tot laat saans by die lig van ‘n skermlose gloeilampie bo die tafeltjie studeer. Bo die tafeltjie teen die muur is daar ‘n tipe kennisgewingbord waarop Victor se pennevrug van gedigte vasgesteek is. In die middel van hierdie bord is daar ‘n prominente, grootgeskryfde gedig in rooi letters. Ek kan nie die woorde presies onthou nie maar dit beskryf al die dinge wat Victor voel ‘n mens nie kan kies nie. Jou ouers, jou agtergrond, jou velkleur ens. Die gedig sluit dan af met ‘n sin wat iets soos die volgende lui: “But I can take responisbility for the choices I can make!”
Half droomverlore gesels ek en my vriend met Victor en sy vriende oor alles en nog wat in hierdie beknopte kamertjie. Ek dink aan hoe ek vroeëer die middag gekla het oor hoe koud ons huis is, ons vyfslaapkamer, drie badkamer pastorie. Ek luister hoe positief en opgewonde Victor is oor die land. Ek begin so klein soos die kamertjie voel. Skielik onderbreek die geskree van ‘n nou reeds bekende Vuevuzela digby die kamertjie ons gesprek. Dit word opgevolg deur ‘n dowwe deurdringende gedreun van 50000 Ivory Park inwoners wat Bafana se eerste doel vier. Victor sê: “I think we must go”. Ons stap na die “Fan Park” twee kilometer daarvandaan. Daar is baie mense op straat en dit lyk asof almal mekaar ken want elke tweede persoon groet Victor en mekaar asof hulle jare laas gesien het. By die park dans 3000 jongmense uitbundig voor ‘n groot skerm wat die wedstryd wys. Ek en my vriend is die enigste twee witmense in ‘n raduis van twintig kilometer maar op ‘n vreemde manier wat ek moeilik vind om te verduidelik, het ek nog nooit so tuis gevoel nie. Na die wedstryd stap ons na ‘n ander vriend van Victor se huis toe. Op die erf langs ‘n stowweroge straat het hierdie vriend die mooiste tuintjie gemaak met liggies en al wat hy trots vir ons aanskakel. ‘n Groep ouens steek ‘n vuur in ‘n afgeleefde motorrim aan. Hulle begin gesels. Nie een praat oor hulleself nie maar oor wat gedoen kan word om die probleme van Suid Afrika op te los.
Half nege klim ek en my vriend in my Volvo om huistoe (die een wat vir my te koud is) te ry. Dit is stil in die kar. Terwyl ek uit hierdie ervaring uitry maal ‘n gedagte deur my kop: “Here gaan weg van my af want ek is ‘n sondige mens!”
Victor het ons by die polisiestasie in Tembisa ontmoet waarvoor ek heimlik dankbaar was. Daarna het hy ons na sy woonplek geneem. Ek het aangeneem dat Victor wat wyd belese is en oor blykbaar enige onderwerp ‘n sinvolle opinie kan lig van die meer welgestelde inwoners in Tembisa is. Groot was my verbasing toe hy ons laat stop by ‘n klein HOP huisie waarin sy ouers bly. Victor self bly in ‘n sinkkamertjie agter in die klein erfie. Sy kamertjie is pynlik netjies en skoon. Die eenkant van sy kamertjie bestaan uit boekrakke met boeke oor baie verskillende onderwerpe. Van ekonomie tot BMW’s. Drie armlengtes van hierdie boekrakke, teen die anderkantste muur is daar ‘n klein tafeltjie waar Victor tot laat saans by die lig van ‘n skermlose gloeilampie bo die tafeltjie studeer. Bo die tafeltjie teen die muur is daar ‘n tipe kennisgewingbord waarop Victor se pennevrug van gedigte vasgesteek is. In die middel van hierdie bord is daar ‘n prominente, grootgeskryfde gedig in rooi letters. Ek kan nie die woorde presies onthou nie maar dit beskryf al die dinge wat Victor voel ‘n mens nie kan kies nie. Jou ouers, jou agtergrond, jou velkleur ens. Die gedig sluit dan af met ‘n sin wat iets soos die volgende lui: “But I can take responisbility for the choices I can make!”
Half droomverlore gesels ek en my vriend met Victor en sy vriende oor alles en nog wat in hierdie beknopte kamertjie. Ek dink aan hoe ek vroeëer die middag gekla het oor hoe koud ons huis is, ons vyfslaapkamer, drie badkamer pastorie. Ek luister hoe positief en opgewonde Victor is oor die land. Ek begin so klein soos die kamertjie voel. Skielik onderbreek die geskree van ‘n nou reeds bekende Vuevuzela digby die kamertjie ons gesprek. Dit word opgevolg deur ‘n dowwe deurdringende gedreun van 50000 Ivory Park inwoners wat Bafana se eerste doel vier. Victor sê: “I think we must go”. Ons stap na die “Fan Park” twee kilometer daarvandaan. Daar is baie mense op straat en dit lyk asof almal mekaar ken want elke tweede persoon groet Victor en mekaar asof hulle jare laas gesien het. By die park dans 3000 jongmense uitbundig voor ‘n groot skerm wat die wedstryd wys. Ek en my vriend is die enigste twee witmense in ‘n raduis van twintig kilometer maar op ‘n vreemde manier wat ek moeilik vind om te verduidelik, het ek nog nooit so tuis gevoel nie. Na die wedstryd stap ons na ‘n ander vriend van Victor se huis toe. Op die erf langs ‘n stowweroge straat het hierdie vriend die mooiste tuintjie gemaak met liggies en al wat hy trots vir ons aanskakel. ‘n Groep ouens steek ‘n vuur in ‘n afgeleefde motorrim aan. Hulle begin gesels. Nie een praat oor hulleself nie maar oor wat gedoen kan word om die probleme van Suid Afrika op te los.
Half nege klim ek en my vriend in my Volvo om huistoe (die een wat vir my te koud is) te ry. Dit is stil in die kar. Terwyl ek uit hierdie ervaring uitry maal ‘n gedagte deur my kop: “Here gaan weg van my af want ek is ‘n sondige mens!”
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Dreamride on Youth Day
After a breakaway at my grandfather's Game Lodge in the Madikwe Game reserve near the Botswanna border it so happened that me and my three year old son went home with my grandfather. Because he lives in Randburg and Delmas is quite out of his way, I offered to be dropped off at the Gautrain station in Sandton form where me and my boy took the train to the airport.
It was quite a mission to handle two suitcases and an energetic three year old in the long cues waiting outside the station. However, an official must have seen that I am struggling. He came up to me and took us right to the ticket office from where we took the escalators to the train. In no time we sat in a train that trumped my wildest expectations. The train is clean and world class in every way (I've been on many trains in Europe and the UK). The train was dead centre on time. The ride was smooth and fast and in 14 minutes we arrived at OR Tambo airport. But the real treat wasn't the quality of the train ride but the vibe on the train. There was an air of excitement tangible. Everybody smiled. Opposite us sat a obviously wealthy black couple. Before I knew it my son went and sat right on their laps. I took a picture. I also immortalised this experience in my memory. It was like having a glimpse of the future, of a non-racial and efficient society that buried the past and a society where a great many different people live alongside each other in harmony.
I have hope for my country! If you don't take a ride on the Gautrain and get a glimpse of what our nation is capable of!
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