Heartbeats

I’m not trying to take this entry down to “sad town” .. but I figure I need to continue to be true to my school and write about things that I think about and see and hear while I’m having this experience. Some things are hilarious, some things break my heart and when read, will break your heart, some things only get the response of a shaking of the head or a shrug because I’m not sure where to file them away. I’ve been meaning to write for weeks now, but even though the words were coming, the connection between them and pen and paper, or my fingers and the keyboard, was cut off. Sometimes I’m just overwhelmed. How am I supposed to remember all the little details that make one moment, one memory, whole? I can’t. But I try.
A couple of weeks ago, while I was on an adventure, out of the village for the day (a blog covering that coming soon!), I got a phone call from my friend John, the Managing Director of a water and sanitation NGO in Tzaneen (one of the towns closest to where I live). I was on the side of the main tar road, just past the old mealie meal mill, when my phone started buzzing in my bag… and kept buzzing. Not an sms, a phone call. A PHONE CALL! Frantically searching at the bottom of my bag (thank you, my Gueydan Museum tote bag compliments of my Grandma aka R.G. Dimple) and eventually after squatting and dumping everything out on the ground, I found it. I answered, calm, cool, and collected. Hey John! Turns out his organization had some extra money on the side due to the exchange rate (euros to rand) and if I could write him a proposal, to be turned in that next week, I could have some funds to cover a project in my village. A project in my village! So there, squatting on the side of the tar road, the contents of my bag in a little pile in front of me, I wrote in my moleskine journal the areas that needed to be covered in the proposal. And, there, in that spot, after I had hung up the phone (thanking him profusely for such an opportunity), I did a little excited dance, jumped up and down, and used some airtime to call Abby. I was out of breath and talking a mile a minute, but what an opportunity! MONEY! Money that I could spend on something I chose. My mind was reeling… there are a few projects I’d thought about either starting myself or helping out with in the village… and on my adventure I thought about all of them and made plans to meet up with Tanya to discuss them. That next week I met up with the Project Manager for an NGO in my village that does a lot of work with OVC’s (orphans and vulnerable children), I had decided to use the money to purchase needed things for a few child headed households in Metz and the surrounding area. Monday we had a meeting, Tuesday we went on home visits, and Wednesday and Thursday I wrote out my findings and fit them into a proposal complete with a background of all the kids the money would be helping (a total of 12), a budget, and a predicted output. It felt really good. One of those weeks where I kept saying over and over again… so THIS is why I’m here! Applying for money that I was going to, hopefully, get was exciting and fulfilling, but meeting all those kids definitely struck a cord with me, was the most important aspect of the work I was doing. There was the family of 7 that was in need of a pit toilet and had been disposing waste in a hole in the yard. The oldest was in grade 12. And there was the family of 4 (all under 18 as well) that had been able to move into their own house (built by the NGO), but was still in need of a toilet and a water pipe/tap for their yard. And there was Ophelia. Oh Ophelia. God, how that girl got in my heart. When I saw how Ophelia was living it was hard to shut down any emotional responses and ask her straightforward questions about her life and her history. At the ripe old age of 22 she is a veteran when it comes to living on her own and taking care of herself. Her mother died in 1999 when she was just 13. She’s been relying on herself and community services for 9 years. 9 years. Her home is one room that is very unstable and in great need of repair, the walls are cracked and the roof leaks when it rains. She is determined to finish high school, even though a few times she has had to stop and work to earn the money to cover her school fees. In her front yard, you will find the foundation for the house that the government promised to build her a year ago. She was so quiet, tough, and tried to hide tears when it looked like all the questioning was getting to be too much or something had hit a sore spot. Before we left I looked her straight in the eyes and told her that I admired her strength. And I do. We applied to get funds to fence in her yard to keep the goats out and so she could grow a garden, food to eat and also a little extra to bring in a bit of an income. And we asked for a bed to replace the boxspring she’s been sleeping on. I know this is a reality… and I know this is part of my reality… she is my neighbor, she lives in my village, I know a little bit about her life, meeting her has affected me….but I still shake my head and my heart hurts when I think about all the people all over the world who have no access to a proper toilet, a roof that is stable, clothes to keep them warm, food for their bellies, and clean water for drinking and cooking. If you don’t have these basics met how are you supposed to stay healthy? How are you supposed to focus on all the other things that make life that much harder?
My proposal was approved. Relief. Excitement. Hope. Next week, Mary, John’s wife and counterpart, and I are going to meet up in the village and discuss final little details. Families will have water and toilets and food and places to sleep!