South Africa, South Africa
I remember when I first got home from Fiji – funnily enough, I was sitting exactly where I am now, overlooking the lake at my mother’s beautiful house in Perth. I’d been gone 18 months, and my life had completely changed: I’d spent the last few months under curfew, writing about a coup, watching a country go through turmoil. Even before that, my eyes were open to a whole host of things I never learned in school.
But, in hindsight, what I remember most about coming home from Fiji was being…well, a little annoying. Fiji this, and Fiji that – what, you didn’t hear about the coup? How could you not have heard about the coup? I’m sure anyone who had spent a chunk of time overseas - or been forced into a corner at a cocktail party by some Greenpeace activist – can relate: you think that what you’ve been through is THE MOST INTERESTING THING IN THE WORLD AND EVERYONE MUST STOP, STAND AND LISTEN. I couldn’t believe that there was a world in Toronto turning at the same time as mine was. And, for several weeks, I was probably one of the most annoying people in the T. dot.
So, that said, now that I’m back on Canadian soil I want to insure that I’m not that person, the one at the cocktail party people are avoiding. I want to make sure that when I talk about South Africa – because for me, this is not an experience that I’m going to tidy away in a drawer – it is with the same passion I felt two weeks ago when I ran through that hailstorm, the peach pit lodged in my throat, the image of that little baby girl dying in Baragwana Hopsital.
Now that I’m home – and I’m happy to be home, happy to be moving onto the next phase with Cotlands, happy to be with my family and friends again – what can I say about my time in South Africa? I look back at my blog and there are cringe-worthy moments. The thing about writing a blog is that once it is out there, it is out there. You can go in and edit it, erase it, but as a writer I consider that tantamount to going back on your word. When you write something you need to stand by it. As I look back on my blog entries from my time in South Africa I have to stand by what I’ve said. So, in keeping with that I’ll try to sum up with a little ditty called:
“Top Ten Things I Know Now From My Time in Africa”
1. We need to hear more about AIDS in Africa.
Let’s face facts: For a crisis that is killing a continent, we really aren’t bombarded with stories. Why? Stephanie Nolen has a theory. The talented Globe and Mail journalist who has brought AIDS in Africa onto our front pages, was recently nominated for the Giller Prize for her book “28: Stories of AIDS in Africa.” She told me that she is one of only TWO Canadian journalists who are stationed there to cover the whole continent. That isn’t a typo: two Canadian journalist for all of Africa - one French journalist, and Stephanie. Talk about a long order. So, she has to cover soaring inflation in Zimbabwe, food programs in Malawi, conflicts in Sudan or DRC and, of course, many other stories not least of which is AIDS in Africa. She doesn’t just deserve a Giller she deserves some kind of medal. Stephanie has won the National Newspaper Award twice. The first time she won (for her work in Africa) she got to the podium and told the crowd, ‘Guys, there are LOTS of stories to cover in Africa. Come on over.’ She repeated the same thing when she got up on the podium the next year. There are lots of Brits covering Africa, but why aren’t there more Canadian journalists? Why don’t we demand more stories? Why are we bombarded with the fine details of Britney’s latest court appearance when important news – and not simply news from Africa – is filtered out? I could go on and on, but I do believe this audience is intelligent enough to draw their own conclusions.
2. South Africa is caught between the First World and the Third World.
Without doubt or hesitation, I can say South Africa is a paradox: first world meets third world, driving fast towards the future while simultaneously stuck in reverse, a place where you can drive as little as one hour and see it all: rich and poor, dense urban spaces and wide African plains, where in one instant you can feel safe and a split second later feel as though you’re in grave danger. But, all things considering, when you think a little about South Africa’s history, their juxtaposition isn't surprising. I’m a child of the 80’s and have a stellar memory. Who doesn’t remember: “I Ain’t Gonna Play Sun City?” Two decades ago we were still protesting apartheid; Nelson Mandela only walked a free man in the early nineties, then overwhelming swept to power in 1994, changing South Africa forever. If you think about where this country has been in the last century, let alone the last twenty years, South Africa is a remarkable country. Apartheid ended without a bang, which most experts say is the most amazing thing about South Africa. No civil war, no bloodshed. Sorry about all that – you know, the segregation and the secret killings and the years of imprisonment – we’re really sorry, but let's move on. Let's prosper. Which leads to me to…
3. Nelson Mandela is a God.
Mandela. What a classy, classy guy. Can you imagine being holed up on Robbin Island in a tiny cell for the better part of your life? Mandela spent 18 of his 27 years imprisoned – this little island off of Cape Town, where you can see Table Top Mountain. Then, when he finally walked free (after several years of house arrest) he declared a commitment to peace and reconciliation. I don’t know about you, but if I’d spent nearly three decades in prison I wouldn’t be so forgiving. But Mandela is a different breed of species.
A lot of modern-day South Africa can be attributed to Mandela. The big criticism of him is that he didn't stay in office long enough. Give me a break - what more can one person give to his country? While I was in South Africa many people said to me they fear what will happen when Mandela finally dies – that he is the glue that helps keep the nation together. I’m not convinced of that. Besides, rugby seems to have done the trick. Which leads me to…
3. Never underestimate the power of sport.
Being in South Africa for the Rugby World Cup was something else altogether. Not only the win – that was big – or the days and days following, the headlines, the thousands of people who got up at 5 am on a Tuesday to get to the airport in Jo’burg to welcome the team back (begging the question: how high is the unemployment rate?). There was something all warm and fuzzy about the Spingboks taking the World Cup this time. They won back in ’95, and Mandela used that win as an opportunity to talk about bringing the country together – but this time it really did bring the country together. Back in ’95 Rugby was a white man’s sport; today, it is South Africa’s sport, their win, their glory. Go Boks!
4. Apartheid Then/Apartheid Now
This isn’t a history lesson – we all know apartheid was a system of racial segregation that ended in the early nineties, culminating with the first democratic elections in 1994 where Mandela swept to power. We know horrible things happened during apartheid: the Soweto uprising in 1976, where soldiers fired on unarmed students, the killing of Steven Biko and other anti-apartheid leaders, segregation, violence…the list goes on and on. In the last few years of apartheid rule the country was in a constant state of emergency – international embargos, protests, and a few bad men trying to hold onto power, while a few good men – like F.W. de Klerk – having the strength and vision to end apartheid.
But today there is a new apartheid. Many of the economic inequalities remain. South Africa has one of the largest discrepancies – lots and lots of poverty, and few people at the top. There is a growing middle class (black and white), but one of the lasting legacies of apartheid is AIDS. Fact of the matter is that though you can say the disease isn’t colorblind, it hits rich and poor, the majority of those living with HIV or AIDS is black and poor. That’s a fact.
I also found, from the interviews I conducted – and please, let me finish my thought before you leap down my throat – that certain things were better under apartheid rule, health care and education being top of the list. No one is arguing South Africa would be BETTER under apartheid; no one would return to that horrific time. However, according to several health care workers I interviewed, under apartheid the Chris Hani Baragwana hospital in Soweto was top-notch– new graduates in medicine, nursing, occupational therapy lined up to work there. Now? Most graduates are scrambling to emigrate and Baragwana hospital is overcrowded and dilapidated. I’m not a fan of hospitals – who is – but I could smell death in every corner at Bara and it gave me the shivers.
This rambling point leads me to one conclusion: AIDS in South Africa’s new apartheid.
5. Good government is a right, not a privilege.
In 2000 the International AIDS conference was held in Durban, South Africa. While the world’s medical and scientific community discussed the crisis, President Thabo Mbeki invited a number if AIDS dissidents to a closed panel where, according to a reporter who snuck in, they advocated HIV testing be legally banned and one dissident denied that he’d seen any evidence of an AIDS catastrophe in South Africa.
When Mbeki came to address the conference, he reiterated his belief that HIV doesn’t cause the AIDS virus, causing hundreds to walk out on his speech. He also sent a letter to a number of world leaders where he likened the mainstream AIDS research community to supporters of apartheid. A lot of the diplomats who got the letter thought it was a hoax. All of this led to mainstream AIDS scientists and activists to sign the Durban Declaration affirming that HIV causes AIDS.
Flash-forward to 2007 (and read some of my previous posts): Mbeki still stands behind his current health minister who advocated a diet of garlic, ginger and beetroot as the main staples for fighting HIV. Even though there has been an “official” roll-out of antiretrovirals, many people don’t have access to them. The health system is chaotic. Rural areas don’t have clinics, so they don’t even have access to a doctor unless they walk for a day or more (or are lucky enough to be around if a mobile medical units pops by). Those who are HIV infected –and who know their status, because most people don’t - often don’t have fridges to store the ARVs, if they even have them. That’s even if they know their status or have disclosed.
And, this isn’t simply about AIDS. South Africa’s crime rate is out of control. They are prepping and planning for the 2010 Soccer World Cup and the running joke is that a group of German tourists are going to show up one day, be mobbed and mugged the next, and be on a plane home before seeing a match – vowing never to return to South Africa. Not a funny joke, is it? Some stats say a rape happens every thirty seconds in South Africa. You drive through neighborhoods in Jo'burg and it is one barbed wire fence after another, and even those don't keep the thiefs out.
For all its economic prosperity, all mineral resources, its fantastic tourism and all that lies ahead, South Africa has a few messes to clean up and they need a good leader who recognizes that his people are dying, that his people are afraid to walk the streets at night, and do something about it. Enough said.
6. Never underestimate the power of culture and stigma.
I was very fortunate to get to know many people over my time in South Africa and one was a brilliant, engaging man named Archie who worked at our hotel. Hotel jobs are coveted – they pay well so the hotels can afford to pick and choose and hire charming and engaging staff. Archie and I had so many interesting discussions about AIDS. Archie has many strong views about how to stem the crisis and one of his favorite sayings is “Disclose, disclose, disclose!” Disclosure is a huge issue in South Africa: being brave enough to go and get tested, then disclose your status to your friends and family. Very few people do it. HIV positive nursing women will breastfeed, when they have been told not to because they will pass on the disease to their newborn, because they are afraid of disclosing to their family; truck drivers will spread the disease to their wife (that they picked up from a prostitute on the road) or their girlfriend because they don’t want to disclose their status and how they got it. One woman I met refused to even admit she was HIV positive, even though both her children are on ARV medication, because she was afraid of her boyfriend leaving her.
Sigh.
Culture plays a huge part, so does stigma. Cotlands has a wonderful outreach and counseling program, and they address this face on. But still…things don’t change. One of the women I met in outreach is 4-months pregnant again; her three-year old daughter has only recently turned a corner and responded to ARVs. This woman wouldn’t answer the nurse’s question when asked: Is the father of this new baby HIV positive??? So, not only is this woman potentially passing on her status to her unborn child, but it is possible she’s infected someone else. And this woman has been involved with Cotlands for two years, been educated with all the programs Cotlands offers, and she still went and got pregnant again.
What’s the answer? I don’t know.
7. Because of all this.
South Africa needs leaders who will stand up and say: I know someone who died of AIDS! We all need to talk about AIDS! Nelson Mandela rocked the nation a few years ago when he held a press conference and announced his son had died of AIDS. It was groundbreaking, because no one talked about AIDS. You see, in spite of the millions of people infected in this wonderful country, very few die of AIDS. They die of pneumonia, or TB or a really bad infection. But not AIDS. Until you tear down the stigma wall, until you have government leaders who are pushing the agenda forward – and pushing it hard – you’re going to stay on that treadmill, never moving forward. I got into a debate with a colleague of my husbands who said that South Africa has prospered under Mbeki, the economy is strong blah blah blah. I asked him how strong that economy would be in two, four, ten years when the entire working population – the 25-45 year olds – has been wiped out by AIDS. He told me I was being overly dramatic. I don’t think I was.
8. And….
We need to do more. A lot of the South Africans I met told me they need to do more, but I think we need to do more. We need to pay attention to what is going on in this country and on this continent, because there are many other nations – Botswana, Namibia, Zaire etc… – that are dying. I know I could go on and on (and I have) but consider this:
• Throughout Africa, there are more child-led households than you want to imagine, children whose parents have died and are forced to raise themselves and their siblings. If you want to help one of these children there are several organizations out there – one that I met last year is Save the Children www.savethechildren.org but Canada’s World Vision can steer you in the right direction www.worldvision.ca
• The task of raising so many of Africa’s children has fallen on grandmothers. Try to imagine your granny, 70 years old with her subscription to Reader’s Digest (had to get a plug in there), suddenly being responsible for raising seven children, including babies? The Stephen Lewis Foundation has made this a central part of their platform and you can donate or get involved with their granny programs in all parts of Africa. www.stephenlewisfoundation.org. Remember my story about Rose and her house? One house for a granny costs about $330 dollars. Consider passing a hat around your workplace. I can send you a two-pager I’m working on that describes Cotlands, and can send you information about Adopt A Granny. Email me directly at erinpp@rogers.com. I was overwhelmed by how this one act - a new house - changed the lives of not only Rose but her grandchildren. $330 to change 8 lives? That's a bargain.
• The only way that organizations like Cotlands, or the Stephen Lewis Foundation, or any of the countless other s(I discovered there are over 30,000 Non-Profit organizations in South Africa alone – how scary is that?) can grow and help more children is through funding. It is a simple dollars and cents issue. You can make a donation online at www.cotlands.org. Cash. No amount is too small. If you can charge $20 to your credit card today, that’s twenty bucks more than they had yesterday.
9. And also....
South Africa is truly one of the most incredible places I’ve been. I’ve been fortunate enough to see the good and the bad, to experience the paradox. I’ve watched a family of elephants rumble past my Landrover and woken to the sound of wild baboons outside my front door; I’ve felt like the whitest girl on the planet on a home visit in Soweto. And I hope in the years to come I will continue to learn more, to experience more.
And one more thing….
10. Though I love him, and Shawshank Redemption is one of my favourite films of all time, I’m not so sure about Morgan Freeman playing Nelson Mandela. Not so sure about anyone playing Mandela. It’s like playing God. Oh, that’s right – Morgan’s already done that role. Time to move onto bigger and better things. Any bets on whether Peter Gabriel does the soundtrack? Ok, I'll shut up now...
Thanks for reading everyone.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Holiday Recap : Wine Region
Hi everyone -
A million apologies for not updating the last five days. It was a whirlwind. We didn't have Internet access until Sunday and by then we were spending the day with friends before flying back to the UK yesterday. I'm now able to go through my notes, and thought I'd do two posts. Enjoy.
Things I learned in the South African Wine Region
1. The Pinot Noir grape is one of the most fragile grapes there is – susceptible to weather changes, to how it is plucked, to how it is stored. It is always handled by hand, not by machine. One of the reasons there are so many expensive Pinot Noirs is that it isn’t a sturdy grape like the Shiraz, so not only are their fewer bottles produced but when you have a wine-maker committed to Pinot Noirs you can be sure they will be damned good, not table wine.
2. The Pinotage grape is indigenous to South Africa, dating back to 1924 when the Pinot grape was married to the Cinsault (formerly heritage). It inherited all the best attributes of both – the sustainability of the Heritage, and the flavor of the Pinot. South Africa produces some find Pinotages – I can vouch for many, many delicious ones.
3. It takes roughly four months for a wine to be stored in a barrel before it is even ready for tasting. South African wines are normally made around February, therefore are ready for our summer.
4. South Africa, once known for its Chenin Blancs, is moving the way of New Zealand and producing some exceptional Sauvignon Blancs. I highly recommend going out and finding the Wakefield Sauvignon Blanc 2007. Absolutely delicious, especially if you’re having fish. So, given what we know from #3, look for 2007 Sauvignon Blancs from South Africa next summer. Put a reminder in your calendar. Do it. Now.
5. Unoaked Chardonnays are good. I think poor Chardonnay has gotten a bad rep lately, rather like how Merlot went out of favor after the movie Sideways came out. But I think the oaking of Chardonnays led to its demise. The unoaked ones we tried are rather delicious.
6. Seek out Champagnes that are made via “la methode Champagne” and not injected with CO2. Carbon Dioxide=Headache. Champagne Method=Where have you been all my life?
7. Ernie Els, the famous golfer, decided to use a teensy bit of his wealth to open three vineyards. The view from his signature Ernie Els winery is stunning. But what is up with a multi-millionaire golfer charging MORE for a tasting then anyone else in the Stellenbosch region? Does he really need the money?
8. German and French tourists travel en masse. Ok, I knew that already, but I also discovered they carry portable instruments. At one winery we were forced to listen to Amazing Grace on the trumpet. I kid you not.
9. If you get behind a tour bus driving up to a winery, overtake them as fast as possible, run inside and slam your R15 (about 2 bucks) on the table and say, “Give me a tasting! Now!” Otherwise resign yourself to either listening to steel brass versions of Tainted Love or finding another winery.
10. There are many reasons the Cape Wine Region is listed on several Top Ten Places to Visit Before You Die: It is absolutely stunning. On a sunny day, from various vantage points in the region, you can see all the way to Table Top Mountain. But you don't even need table top mountain - you are surrounded by staggering hills. I can safely say it is much more fun to play pompous ass, stuffing your nose in a glass, moving the oxygen around and pretending to know what you’re doing when you are in a beautiful setting.
The Most Important Thing I Learned in the Wine Region:
It is very possible – nay, almost enjoyable – drinking at 10 o’clock in the morning, especially when it is socially acceptable
A million apologies for not updating the last five days. It was a whirlwind. We didn't have Internet access until Sunday and by then we were spending the day with friends before flying back to the UK yesterday. I'm now able to go through my notes, and thought I'd do two posts. Enjoy.
Things I learned in the South African Wine Region
1. The Pinot Noir grape is one of the most fragile grapes there is – susceptible to weather changes, to how it is plucked, to how it is stored. It is always handled by hand, not by machine. One of the reasons there are so many expensive Pinot Noirs is that it isn’t a sturdy grape like the Shiraz, so not only are their fewer bottles produced but when you have a wine-maker committed to Pinot Noirs you can be sure they will be damned good, not table wine.
2. The Pinotage grape is indigenous to South Africa, dating back to 1924 when the Pinot grape was married to the Cinsault (formerly heritage). It inherited all the best attributes of both – the sustainability of the Heritage, and the flavor of the Pinot. South Africa produces some find Pinotages – I can vouch for many, many delicious ones.
3. It takes roughly four months for a wine to be stored in a barrel before it is even ready for tasting. South African wines are normally made around February, therefore are ready for our summer.
4. South Africa, once known for its Chenin Blancs, is moving the way of New Zealand and producing some exceptional Sauvignon Blancs. I highly recommend going out and finding the Wakefield Sauvignon Blanc 2007. Absolutely delicious, especially if you’re having fish. So, given what we know from #3, look for 2007 Sauvignon Blancs from South Africa next summer. Put a reminder in your calendar. Do it. Now.
5. Unoaked Chardonnays are good. I think poor Chardonnay has gotten a bad rep lately, rather like how Merlot went out of favor after the movie Sideways came out. But I think the oaking of Chardonnays led to its demise. The unoaked ones we tried are rather delicious.
6. Seek out Champagnes that are made via “la methode Champagne” and not injected with CO2. Carbon Dioxide=Headache. Champagne Method=Where have you been all my life?
7. Ernie Els, the famous golfer, decided to use a teensy bit of his wealth to open three vineyards. The view from his signature Ernie Els winery is stunning. But what is up with a multi-millionaire golfer charging MORE for a tasting then anyone else in the Stellenbosch region? Does he really need the money?
8. German and French tourists travel en masse. Ok, I knew that already, but I also discovered they carry portable instruments. At one winery we were forced to listen to Amazing Grace on the trumpet. I kid you not.
9. If you get behind a tour bus driving up to a winery, overtake them as fast as possible, run inside and slam your R15 (about 2 bucks) on the table and say, “Give me a tasting! Now!” Otherwise resign yourself to either listening to steel brass versions of Tainted Love or finding another winery.
10. There are many reasons the Cape Wine Region is listed on several Top Ten Places to Visit Before You Die: It is absolutely stunning. On a sunny day, from various vantage points in the region, you can see all the way to Table Top Mountain. But you don't even need table top mountain - you are surrounded by staggering hills. I can safely say it is much more fun to play pompous ass, stuffing your nose in a glass, moving the oxygen around and pretending to know what you’re doing when you are in a beautiful setting.
The Most Important Thing I Learned in the Wine Region:
It is very possible – nay, almost enjoyable – drinking at 10 o’clock in the morning, especially when it is socially acceptable
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Day One Holiday: The Garden Route
We flew to Cape Town yesterday and traveled down to the Garden Route, the most visited place by tourists after the wine region (which we head to Thursday). I knew I would feel the feelings that came over me in waves, like those crashing outside my window from the Indian Ocean this morning. So at least I was prepared.
I felt guilty. I can afford to travel and others can’t afford to eat.
I felt like a hypocrite.
I felt guilty again.
I felt pangs for Colands.
I felt guilty again.
We arrived in Cape Town and something was nagging at me. I missed Cotlands. I missed going into the office and writing press releases or whatever else I was working on, I missed the kids at lunchtime and I missed the buzz of Johannesburg. Reading my Frommer’s Guide on the airplane I noted that the chapter on Jo’burg is called “Africa’s Big Apple” and it is so true. Jo’burg has a buzz that is undeniable.
It is an entirely different world down in the Western Cape. And yet, some things remain the same. As we drove out of the airport we passed one of the biggest, poorest townships in all of South Africa: Khayelitsha. From Wikipedia:
The Group Areas Act, passed in the 1950s, prohibited Blacks from living in the cities. The discrimination and black population control by the apartheid regime did not prevent blacks from settling in the outskirts of Cape Town. After the scrapping of pass laws in 1987 many blacks, mainly Xhosas, moved into areas around Cape Town in search of work. By this time many blacks were already illegally settled in townships (black neighbourhood) like Nyanga and Crossroads. As the black population grew, the apartheid regime sought to solve the problem by establishing new black neighbourhoods. Khayelitsha was established in 1985. The Western Cape a preference area for the local coloured population and a system called influx control was in place preventing Xhosas from traveling from the Transeki without the required permit. After the historic 1994 elections hundreds of thousands moved to urban areas in search of work, putting up shacks made of tin, wood and cardboard - this is one of them. Apartheid is over, but its legacy - and the shacks, remain. Today Khayelitsha is home to between 500,000 and 1 million people, and runs for a number of kilometres along the N2 highway. The ethnic makeup of Khayelitsha is approximately 90% Black African and 10% Coloured, with Xhosa being the predominant language of the residents.
Incidentally “coloured” was something the apartheid government determined, based on whether a pencil stuck in your hair or not (if it stuck, you were black).
Last year I visited Khayelitsha with GAPA, another grannies group the Stephen Lewis Foundation supports, and I saw the poverty up close. One of the families I visited then had three generations of HIV positive women, living in a house build of large, stone bricks where the wind came through the cracks, chilling our bones. Things don’t seem to have changed much. There is so much money in Cape Town, – with its infamous table mountain and waterfront restaurants – but right on the cusp is this township. Cape Town is a lot like Vancouver, but there is nowhere like Khayelitsha near Van. The Downtown Eastside doesn’t come close.
You can’t help but feel guilty and recognize the extremes when are in the most beautiful – and expensive – parts of South Africa. We drove along the coast and felt like we were in another world from Jo’burg. We are. I’m wrapping my head around it. We went for an Italian dinner and Tony whispered to me, “Pretty white down here.”
But for now, we’re off to explore. Tony told me to put down my pen and paper for the day.
Day One: Holiday...Later
You’ll have to forgive me for not uploading photos to the blog. I’m a bit of a techno-loser at times; my brother had no problems uploading photos on his wedding blog. Me? I’m impatient. So if you want to see photos you’re going to have to get a Facebook account cuz they will be there.
I realized two important things about the guilt I was feeling over spending X amount of dollars on holiday when I knew what that money could be doing for Cotlands, or feeling overwhelmingly like an ex-pat while walking along the coastal front or having a cider at a pub in a touristy part of town:
1. You can take anything to its furthest extreme. I heard a story last week from my boss at Cotlands about a Canadian volunteer who came to Cotlands for two months then returned home and cancelled Christmas for her family (including two young children who didn’t understand why Santa didn’t want to visit their house). As I traveled along the coast today I saw how much tourism does for South Africa – jobs created, investor confidence, and most of all bus loads of German and French tourists who probably return home saying what an absolutely beautiful country South Africa is. Because…it is. So what if they didn’t visit Soweto? Don’t we want them returning home and telling their friends to go to South Africa? Which leads me to
2. South Africa is so, so, so beautiful. I came down to the Western Cape last year and was stunned by the difference: we climbed up through hillsides today and watched 30 meter waves crashing along the rocks; we walked a 10-mile pristine beach and had a beer in a hippie enclave. As I write I’m watching the sun set over the Indian ocean, listening to Snow Patrol, and thinking how lucky I am. That’s it.
A lesson I think we all learn in life – especially those of us who are fortunate enough to travel – is that life is a lottery: from the get-go you are lucky if you’re born in a developed country that has no struggles, no conflict. You luck out – more than most in the world – with running water and electricity, without the threat of malaria or TB striking you down before you’re fifth birthday.
But I look at my life: Not only was I born in Montreal, but lucky enough to be born to good parents. I was lucky to be born in a country with universal education. I think of the kids I saw today, playing in the townships (outside the really rich touristy areas) and my first thought was: ‘It is Wednesday. Why aren’t they in school?’ Why? Because school costs money in South Africa: school fees, and uniforms and pencils and papers are things a lot of families can’t afford it.
So back to lucky me. I was thinking how lucky I am to have doctors and hospitals at my disposal. I was thinking about how Cotlands, in the year plus before the government rolled out the ARVs paid for the drugs themselves, R500 a month for each kid, and how back home that would have been covered (by my very fortunate health plan, but also by our taxation system). That led me to start thinking about ARVs again, something I’m going to write about tomorrow.
I thought about how lucky I am to have family and friends who are alive and well back home, who I can’t wait to see. It isn’t that we don’t have struggles: my mother’s best friend, and my friend’s sister, have just gone through horrific chemotherapy. But they were also treated by some of the top professionals in the world. They are lucky.
I don’t know what my point is. As the sun dies in the west, and the cold ocean forces me back into my room, I’m thankful I’ve seen all I’ve seen the last few weeks.
I felt guilty. I can afford to travel and others can’t afford to eat.
I felt like a hypocrite.
I felt guilty again.
I felt pangs for Colands.
I felt guilty again.
We arrived in Cape Town and something was nagging at me. I missed Cotlands. I missed going into the office and writing press releases or whatever else I was working on, I missed the kids at lunchtime and I missed the buzz of Johannesburg. Reading my Frommer’s Guide on the airplane I noted that the chapter on Jo’burg is called “Africa’s Big Apple” and it is so true. Jo’burg has a buzz that is undeniable.
It is an entirely different world down in the Western Cape. And yet, some things remain the same. As we drove out of the airport we passed one of the biggest, poorest townships in all of South Africa: Khayelitsha. From Wikipedia:
The Group Areas Act, passed in the 1950s, prohibited Blacks from living in the cities. The discrimination and black population control by the apartheid regime did not prevent blacks from settling in the outskirts of Cape Town. After the scrapping of pass laws in 1987 many blacks, mainly Xhosas, moved into areas around Cape Town in search of work. By this time many blacks were already illegally settled in townships (black neighbourhood) like Nyanga and Crossroads. As the black population grew, the apartheid regime sought to solve the problem by establishing new black neighbourhoods. Khayelitsha was established in 1985. The Western Cape a preference area for the local coloured population and a system called influx control was in place preventing Xhosas from traveling from the Transeki without the required permit. After the historic 1994 elections hundreds of thousands moved to urban areas in search of work, putting up shacks made of tin, wood and cardboard - this is one of them. Apartheid is over, but its legacy - and the shacks, remain. Today Khayelitsha is home to between 500,000 and 1 million people, and runs for a number of kilometres along the N2 highway. The ethnic makeup of Khayelitsha is approximately 90% Black African and 10% Coloured, with Xhosa being the predominant language of the residents.
Incidentally “coloured” was something the apartheid government determined, based on whether a pencil stuck in your hair or not (if it stuck, you were black).
Last year I visited Khayelitsha with GAPA, another grannies group the Stephen Lewis Foundation supports, and I saw the poverty up close. One of the families I visited then had three generations of HIV positive women, living in a house build of large, stone bricks where the wind came through the cracks, chilling our bones. Things don’t seem to have changed much. There is so much money in Cape Town, – with its infamous table mountain and waterfront restaurants – but right on the cusp is this township. Cape Town is a lot like Vancouver, but there is nowhere like Khayelitsha near Van. The Downtown Eastside doesn’t come close.
You can’t help but feel guilty and recognize the extremes when are in the most beautiful – and expensive – parts of South Africa. We drove along the coast and felt like we were in another world from Jo’burg. We are. I’m wrapping my head around it. We went for an Italian dinner and Tony whispered to me, “Pretty white down here.”
But for now, we’re off to explore. Tony told me to put down my pen and paper for the day.
Day One: Holiday...Later
You’ll have to forgive me for not uploading photos to the blog. I’m a bit of a techno-loser at times; my brother had no problems uploading photos on his wedding blog. Me? I’m impatient. So if you want to see photos you’re going to have to get a Facebook account cuz they will be there.
I realized two important things about the guilt I was feeling over spending X amount of dollars on holiday when I knew what that money could be doing for Cotlands, or feeling overwhelmingly like an ex-pat while walking along the coastal front or having a cider at a pub in a touristy part of town:
1. You can take anything to its furthest extreme. I heard a story last week from my boss at Cotlands about a Canadian volunteer who came to Cotlands for two months then returned home and cancelled Christmas for her family (including two young children who didn’t understand why Santa didn’t want to visit their house). As I traveled along the coast today I saw how much tourism does for South Africa – jobs created, investor confidence, and most of all bus loads of German and French tourists who probably return home saying what an absolutely beautiful country South Africa is. Because…it is. So what if they didn’t visit Soweto? Don’t we want them returning home and telling their friends to go to South Africa? Which leads me to
2. South Africa is so, so, so beautiful. I came down to the Western Cape last year and was stunned by the difference: we climbed up through hillsides today and watched 30 meter waves crashing along the rocks; we walked a 10-mile pristine beach and had a beer in a hippie enclave. As I write I’m watching the sun set over the Indian ocean, listening to Snow Patrol, and thinking how lucky I am. That’s it.
A lesson I think we all learn in life – especially those of us who are fortunate enough to travel – is that life is a lottery: from the get-go you are lucky if you’re born in a developed country that has no struggles, no conflict. You luck out – more than most in the world – with running water and electricity, without the threat of malaria or TB striking you down before you’re fifth birthday.
But I look at my life: Not only was I born in Montreal, but lucky enough to be born to good parents. I was lucky to be born in a country with universal education. I think of the kids I saw today, playing in the townships (outside the really rich touristy areas) and my first thought was: ‘It is Wednesday. Why aren’t they in school?’ Why? Because school costs money in South Africa: school fees, and uniforms and pencils and papers are things a lot of families can’t afford it.
So back to lucky me. I was thinking how lucky I am to have doctors and hospitals at my disposal. I was thinking about how Cotlands, in the year plus before the government rolled out the ARVs paid for the drugs themselves, R500 a month for each kid, and how back home that would have been covered (by my very fortunate health plan, but also by our taxation system). That led me to start thinking about ARVs again, something I’m going to write about tomorrow.
I thought about how lucky I am to have family and friends who are alive and well back home, who I can’t wait to see. It isn’t that we don’t have struggles: my mother’s best friend, and my friend’s sister, have just gone through horrific chemotherapy. But they were also treated by some of the top professionals in the world. They are lucky.
I don’t know what my point is. As the sun dies in the west, and the cold ocean forces me back into my room, I’m thankful I’ve seen all I’ve seen the last few weeks.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Day Eight: Monday, Monday…
Life will always serve up funny moments in the absurd. Whether or not that is a Murphy’s Law or not, is should be.
Today, we were stopped by the police as we were driving through Soweto. Now, Soweto is a Johannesburg township, but it is so much more than that. It first came to the world’s attention in June 1976 in what is now known as “The Soweto Uprising” when police opened fire on thousands – mainly students – who were marching against the government. Official statistics of how many died remain sketchy but it triggered the anger and the passion that eventually lead to the fall of apartheid. Nelson Mandela lived in Soweto before he was arrested and imprisoned on Robbin Island for decades. Soweto is referred to, by tour companies, as 'the symbol of African struggle against Apartheid. ' I love watching the tour buses roll in to visit the museums or Mandela's house. The pasty tourists roll of the buses and take photos like they are at a human zoo. But I digress.
Soweto was, and still is, overwhelming black and many parts of it are in absolute, abject poverty; a lot of our grannies live here in tin-roofed shacks, no bigger than the size of a small bedroom, where they are usually housing anywhere from one to seven or eight grandchildren. Sure, there are wealthier parts of Soweto– something a lot of tourists aren’t aware of – but we’re not talking mansions. Poverty, unemployment, and HIV are still the main game. Many South Africans, white and black, don’t like going to Soweto. Some think it is too risky. I’ve been more than a half a dozen times and I’ve never felt threatened, but that’s only my experience.
So, when we were stopped by the police today – four white women, being driven by one black woman – they raised some eyebrows. The funny thing is the black woman was Sister Meisie, basically the boss of all of us. We were heading to a furniture store. The policeman got us to stop, took one look at us (three volunteers, one staff member) and said:
“You’re in Soweto. How do you feel?”
Maybe he wanted us to say we felt safe, I don’t know. He seemed honestly curious. It was pretty funny. We had the giggles as we drove away.
Why were we going to a furniture store? A wonderful reason: One of the smaller businesses here in Jo’burg saw a DVD on Cotlands’ Home Based Care program and asked to sponsor one of the grannies. Home Based Care is the program where we are active in the community, bringing food and medicine and support to the myriad of children, mums and grannies coping, or not as the case often is. Sophie is a 72-year old granny with four grandkids living in horrific conditions. She was featured in the DVD and this company called up Cotlands and to ask what they could do for her. They have now bought her a house – no more than a couple of rooms, but way more than she has – and furniture and will buy clothes for her kids. It reminded me of Rose, a granny I’d met last year who had had such a huge impact on me. And then Meisie told me Sophie would be living beside Rose and we were going to visit her. I could barely contain my excitement at seeing her again.
When I came last year Rose was living in a leaky shack, with one large double bed, no running water and seven grandchildren under her care. The day I met her she burst into tears sporadically: when she showed me the pamphlet for Oprah's school (her daughter was on the shortlist), how she struggled to feed and care for the brood of kids left to her when all her children died of AIDS. Two of her grandchildern are positive and the one I met that day a year ago had massive diarrhea; he was running down a dirt path 10 times a day to go to the neighbor's washroom. Rose was severely depressed at the time, but Cotlands had just secured funding for a new house - like Sophie's - and some of her tears were tears of gratitude: how she had no food for her grandchildren before Cotlands, how they brought her medicine and were buying her a house, how her granddaughter may be going to Oprah's school.
When we walked into her new home today Rose embraced me. I got shivers as I looked around – you could see the pride she has in her home. There is a small bedroom where some of the grandkids sleep, a larger sitting room with pull-out couches, a stereo and a television, a little stove, pots and pans and a fridge which keeps the ARVs. “Cotlands changed my life,” Rose said emotionally. She is a different woman, smiling and happy. She showed me photos of her grandkids: the daughter never made it into Oprah's school but is still studying, the one who was so sickly is doing much better and her eldest granddaughter is studying her matric, what you need to go to university. Rose hugged me tightly, her large bosom crushing my tiny one, and I could feel happiness. A new home, and promise. That's all.
So here’s my Sally Struthers pitch: Rose is one of many, many grannies. Cotlands has an adopt-a-granny program. For R2000 (that’s about $330 Canadian) you can buy a house for a granny like Sophie or Rose . That small act will completely and totally change their life. You can make a one-off donation – honestly, Cotlands are not the type of people who will hound you. If you email Lyndsay Barr, the volunteer coordinator lyndsay@cotlands.org and in charge of the granny program and say, “I’m a friend of Erin’s and I want to buy a granny a house” she’ll take down your details and then we’ll provide you with all the follow-up of how your one act of generosity has changed the life of a granny. I know it is hard to imagine the poverty, the dire circumstances they live through but it is real, it is happening. It is shocking.
I came back to the office from Soweto and the day flew by. I did a photo shoot with the kids - god I love them - and interviewed more staff for work I'm going to do after I'm gone. I’m going to update my blog all week as I holiday through the wine region and on the coast near Cape Town – Tony and I deserve a mini-break, I think – but I don’t want to race through the other amazing things I’ve learned this week. Like how ARVs are saving lives but the kids are cognitively challenged and aren't developing intellectually, how some of the darlings I’ve gotten to know and love didn’t walk until they were 3.5 years old. I will continue to talk of the many projects Cotlands is running and the challenges it - and South Africa - faces in the fight against AIDS. And I have to remind you and myself, AIDS is everywhere in Africa: 25 million (at least) are living with AIDS. There is so much work to be done.
All I know, as I wrap up my first stint with Cotlands and move into my cyber-role as Cotlands' volunteer communications go-to-girl is that this has been one of the most life altering, rewarding and fulfilling experiences of my life. The people I interviewed at Cotlands said one thing to me that stuck: you either “get it” or you don’t. I think I got it. I hope some of you, did too. I met Jeannie today who has been volunteering for 11 years; I interviewed Jackie, the amazing executive director in charge of all this, who has been here 10 years. When I asked them what keeps them going they had different answers but they both amounted to the same sentiment: They see the challenge, and they rise to it. The work will never be done - like the hole in the bucket - but the reason they do what they do, whether it is once a week or everyday, is simple:
It’s all about the children.
Stay posted for photos. They’ll blow you away.
Today, we were stopped by the police as we were driving through Soweto. Now, Soweto is a Johannesburg township, but it is so much more than that. It first came to the world’s attention in June 1976 in what is now known as “The Soweto Uprising” when police opened fire on thousands – mainly students – who were marching against the government. Official statistics of how many died remain sketchy but it triggered the anger and the passion that eventually lead to the fall of apartheid. Nelson Mandela lived in Soweto before he was arrested and imprisoned on Robbin Island for decades. Soweto is referred to, by tour companies, as 'the symbol of African struggle against Apartheid. ' I love watching the tour buses roll in to visit the museums or Mandela's house. The pasty tourists roll of the buses and take photos like they are at a human zoo. But I digress.
Soweto was, and still is, overwhelming black and many parts of it are in absolute, abject poverty; a lot of our grannies live here in tin-roofed shacks, no bigger than the size of a small bedroom, where they are usually housing anywhere from one to seven or eight grandchildren. Sure, there are wealthier parts of Soweto– something a lot of tourists aren’t aware of – but we’re not talking mansions. Poverty, unemployment, and HIV are still the main game. Many South Africans, white and black, don’t like going to Soweto. Some think it is too risky. I’ve been more than a half a dozen times and I’ve never felt threatened, but that’s only my experience.
So, when we were stopped by the police today – four white women, being driven by one black woman – they raised some eyebrows. The funny thing is the black woman was Sister Meisie, basically the boss of all of us. We were heading to a furniture store. The policeman got us to stop, took one look at us (three volunteers, one staff member) and said:
“You’re in Soweto. How do you feel?”
Maybe he wanted us to say we felt safe, I don’t know. He seemed honestly curious. It was pretty funny. We had the giggles as we drove away.
Why were we going to a furniture store? A wonderful reason: One of the smaller businesses here in Jo’burg saw a DVD on Cotlands’ Home Based Care program and asked to sponsor one of the grannies. Home Based Care is the program where we are active in the community, bringing food and medicine and support to the myriad of children, mums and grannies coping, or not as the case often is. Sophie is a 72-year old granny with four grandkids living in horrific conditions. She was featured in the DVD and this company called up Cotlands and to ask what they could do for her. They have now bought her a house – no more than a couple of rooms, but way more than she has – and furniture and will buy clothes for her kids. It reminded me of Rose, a granny I’d met last year who had had such a huge impact on me. And then Meisie told me Sophie would be living beside Rose and we were going to visit her. I could barely contain my excitement at seeing her again.
When I came last year Rose was living in a leaky shack, with one large double bed, no running water and seven grandchildren under her care. The day I met her she burst into tears sporadically: when she showed me the pamphlet for Oprah's school (her daughter was on the shortlist), how she struggled to feed and care for the brood of kids left to her when all her children died of AIDS. Two of her grandchildern are positive and the one I met that day a year ago had massive diarrhea; he was running down a dirt path 10 times a day to go to the neighbor's washroom. Rose was severely depressed at the time, but Cotlands had just secured funding for a new house - like Sophie's - and some of her tears were tears of gratitude: how she had no food for her grandchildren before Cotlands, how they brought her medicine and were buying her a house, how her granddaughter may be going to Oprah's school.
When we walked into her new home today Rose embraced me. I got shivers as I looked around – you could see the pride she has in her home. There is a small bedroom where some of the grandkids sleep, a larger sitting room with pull-out couches, a stereo and a television, a little stove, pots and pans and a fridge which keeps the ARVs. “Cotlands changed my life,” Rose said emotionally. She is a different woman, smiling and happy. She showed me photos of her grandkids: the daughter never made it into Oprah's school but is still studying, the one who was so sickly is doing much better and her eldest granddaughter is studying her matric, what you need to go to university. Rose hugged me tightly, her large bosom crushing my tiny one, and I could feel happiness. A new home, and promise. That's all.
So here’s my Sally Struthers pitch: Rose is one of many, many grannies. Cotlands has an adopt-a-granny program. For R2000 (that’s about $330 Canadian) you can buy a house for a granny like Sophie or Rose . That small act will completely and totally change their life. You can make a one-off donation – honestly, Cotlands are not the type of people who will hound you. If you email Lyndsay Barr, the volunteer coordinator lyndsay@cotlands.org and in charge of the granny program and say, “I’m a friend of Erin’s and I want to buy a granny a house” she’ll take down your details and then we’ll provide you with all the follow-up of how your one act of generosity has changed the life of a granny. I know it is hard to imagine the poverty, the dire circumstances they live through but it is real, it is happening. It is shocking.
I came back to the office from Soweto and the day flew by. I did a photo shoot with the kids - god I love them - and interviewed more staff for work I'm going to do after I'm gone. I’m going to update my blog all week as I holiday through the wine region and on the coast near Cape Town – Tony and I deserve a mini-break, I think – but I don’t want to race through the other amazing things I’ve learned this week. Like how ARVs are saving lives but the kids are cognitively challenged and aren't developing intellectually, how some of the darlings I’ve gotten to know and love didn’t walk until they were 3.5 years old. I will continue to talk of the many projects Cotlands is running and the challenges it - and South Africa - faces in the fight against AIDS. And I have to remind you and myself, AIDS is everywhere in Africa: 25 million (at least) are living with AIDS. There is so much work to be done.
All I know, as I wrap up my first stint with Cotlands and move into my cyber-role as Cotlands' volunteer communications go-to-girl is that this has been one of the most life altering, rewarding and fulfilling experiences of my life. The people I interviewed at Cotlands said one thing to me that stuck: you either “get it” or you don’t. I think I got it. I hope some of you, did too. I met Jeannie today who has been volunteering for 11 years; I interviewed Jackie, the amazing executive director in charge of all this, who has been here 10 years. When I asked them what keeps them going they had different answers but they both amounted to the same sentiment: They see the challenge, and they rise to it. The work will never be done - like the hole in the bucket - but the reason they do what they do, whether it is once a week or everyday, is simple:
It’s all about the children.
Stay posted for photos. They’ll blow you away.
Congrats South Africa
It is their Stanley Cup moment. Congratulations to South Africa for winning the Rugby World Cup. I couldn't help myself - I cheered England on (Tony was very quietly saying "Come On England" - one of us had to be vocal) but in the end South Africa played hard, wanted it more. However, if not for tricky television cameras - blast technology - England would have scored a try. Tony swapped shirts at the end of the night, and we're all still friends.
Had a very chill day yesterday, after an insanely early start at the de Wildt Cheetah sanctuary. Think cheetah and wild dog zoo. Not altogether exciting. The cheetahs are so lame they sit around waiting for their Iams to be delivered. I'd hate to think of them going back into the wild. It was not quite like seeing the animals up close on safari the way we did last year.
I have an insanely busy day today, including a visit to Soweto to see one of Cotlands' income-generating projects, lots of writing to do and tomorrow we're off to Cape Town for four days holiday, including two nights in the wine region. Before that, I'm interviewing Stephanie Nolen of the Globe and Mail, who also just made the short for the Governor General's Literay Awards, non-fiction, for her book 28: Stories of AIDS in Africa. It is brilliant - run out to the store and get it. Everyone should read this book.
Had a very chill day yesterday, after an insanely early start at the de Wildt Cheetah sanctuary. Think cheetah and wild dog zoo. Not altogether exciting. The cheetahs are so lame they sit around waiting for their Iams to be delivered. I'd hate to think of them going back into the wild. It was not quite like seeing the animals up close on safari the way we did last year.
I have an insanely busy day today, including a visit to Soweto to see one of Cotlands' income-generating projects, lots of writing to do and tomorrow we're off to Cape Town for four days holiday, including two nights in the wine region. Before that, I'm interviewing Stephanie Nolen of the Globe and Mail, who also just made the short for the Governor General's Literay Awards, non-fiction, for her book 28: Stories of AIDS in Africa. It is brilliant - run out to the store and get it. Everyone should read this book.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Day Six: This Week in Review
I love Saturdays. Doesn’t matter where you are in the world. I love brunch (though the chef looked at me like I was speaking Polish when I asked for an egg white omelet), I love reading the paper, I love catching up on the week. It was especially nice today to laze by the pool, read a novel and have a good work out at the gym. Jeez, I could be anywhere in the world, n’est pas? But sometimes you need to decompress.
I realize this blog has been very Cotlands oriented so I thought I’d use today to do a “Week in Review” – some of the news stories you may or may not have heard of coming out of South Africa. Enjoy.
Rugby
Right now there is no HIV/AIDS in South Africa. There are no problems with crime, health care is just fine, poverty, access to education – bah! Nope, none of this matters because every single person is living, breathing, eating, sleeping...rugby. Tonight, every person with access to a television is going to be watching the Springboks take on England in the World Cup Final. I’m a little afraid. We have a big private function planned with a traditional South African barbeque and a not-so-traditional big flat-screen TV reserved. As much as I’m denying my heritage, I’m rooting for South Africa. I think that’s partially motivated by self-preservation – I’m a little afraid of what might happen if they lose. Mind you, do they loot and riot here even if they win, like what happened in Montreal when the Habs won the Stanley Cup back in 1994? It doesn’t help matters that I always happen to be front and centre when looting and rioting occurs: I was in Montreal that night, and I was in Fiji during the 2000 coup with – yup – lots of rioting and looting. Hmmm…
Lucky Dube Shot Dead
The headline of the Saturday Star today screamed “WIN IT FOR LUCKY.” On Thursday night, Lucky Dube, a reggae legend and one of South Africa’s most famous musical exports who has shared the stage with Peter Gabriel and Youssou N’dour, was shot dead in a failed hijacking attempt. Spookily, he wrote of his fear of being killed by hijackers in his song Crime and Corruption. The lyrics go:
Do you every worry about your house being broken into?
Do you every worry about your car being taken away from you?
Do you every worry about leaving home and coming in a coffin, with a bullet through your head?
So join us and fight this.
It is tragic, but it is also commonplace here in South Africa. The crime rate is sickeningly high. According the papers, one in three South Africans have been robbed. The murder rate jumped 2.4 per cent between April 2006 and March 2007 with 19,202 murders recorded. Yikes. That doesn’t even include the number of rapes, robberies and break-ins. As I mentioned in an earlier post, friends of ours have been broken into three times in two months – the last time the robbers badly beat up a woman who works for them. I’m being extra careful, mummy, don’t worry.
The timing, with the world’s eyes focused on South Africa being in the Rugby World Cup, is a little awkward. One journalist encouraged the rugby teams to wear black armbands tonight to honor Lucky Dube; other experts quoted – who didn’t want to be named – said all that will do is highlight South Africa’s crime problem. Either way, this is a prelude to the 2010 Soccer World Cup, being held in nine cities throughout South Africa. One of the biggest concerns from everyone, including FIFA, is South Africa’s crime rate. All the editorials are calling on the government to get off their arses and do something. Good luck with that. Just look at all my blogs this week about HIV/AIDS. I don’t mean to be cynical, but I don’t have a lot of faith in the South African government.
Freedom of the Press
Media Freedom is a subject close to my heart. In Fiji, I worked for a media organization that was the South Pacific representative for IFEX (International Freedom of Expression Exchange) and was highly outspoken about media freedom. So when I see that the South African government is threatening to arrest Sunday Times editor Mondli Makhanya and his deputy editor for illegally being in possession of the Health Minister’s health records, I get a little worried.
The Times ran a story a few months ago saying that Health Minister Manto Tashabalala-Msimang’s and her doctors hid a serious drinking problem so she could receive a liver transplant. Apparently, she was boozing right before the transplant, and when she’d been in hospital a few years before for a shoulder operation had her guards smuggle her in whiskey. This is the same health minister who stalled the official roll out of the ARVs and repeatedly, officially stated that a healthy diet with a focus on ginger and garlic was the key to fighting HIV and AIDS. This is the same government who sacked Deputy Health Minister Nozizwe Madlala-Routledge this past August for – get this – traveling to an AIDS conference in Spain without permission. AIDS activists say she was sacked because she was not afraid to criticize the government. The same government headed up by President Mbeki, notorious for denying AIDS is caused by a virus.
The sad thing is that while The Boozer was off sick, the Deputy Health Minister actually did something about the AIDS crisis. She built bridges with the AIDS and medical community – she mended the sour relationship with the Treatment Action Campaign, South Africa’s highest profile campaigners for those living with AIDS. She was one of the driving forces behind an aggressive five-year plan to reduce the number of new HIV infections and extend treatment to 80% of those living with AIDS by 2011.
They sacked her. And kept the alcoholic. And they are “investigating” the newspaper that broke the story. Did I just hear a collective sigh?
For a great look at this story check out an article in the UK paper the Guardian from August: http://www.guardian.co.uk/southafrica/story/0,,2152333,00.html
The government is saying loud and clear that they respect press freedoms. Ironically, all of this blew up on the 30th anniversary of Black Wednesday, the day the apartheid government cracked down on the media. Since apartheid ended South Africa has been regarded as having some of the best media freedom policies in the world. But having rules and living by them are two different things. The government has often expressed concern the media is damaging the country’s image and should focus on the positives of the country, rather than the negatives. Nice one.
Maybe the government should focus on HIV/AIDS, crime and the plethora of other issues and leave the media to do what they do best: keep the public informed and the government in check.
Have a great night Saturday everyone.
I realize this blog has been very Cotlands oriented so I thought I’d use today to do a “Week in Review” – some of the news stories you may or may not have heard of coming out of South Africa. Enjoy.
Rugby
Right now there is no HIV/AIDS in South Africa. There are no problems with crime, health care is just fine, poverty, access to education – bah! Nope, none of this matters because every single person is living, breathing, eating, sleeping...rugby. Tonight, every person with access to a television is going to be watching the Springboks take on England in the World Cup Final. I’m a little afraid. We have a big private function planned with a traditional South African barbeque and a not-so-traditional big flat-screen TV reserved. As much as I’m denying my heritage, I’m rooting for South Africa. I think that’s partially motivated by self-preservation – I’m a little afraid of what might happen if they lose. Mind you, do they loot and riot here even if they win, like what happened in Montreal when the Habs won the Stanley Cup back in 1994? It doesn’t help matters that I always happen to be front and centre when looting and rioting occurs: I was in Montreal that night, and I was in Fiji during the 2000 coup with – yup – lots of rioting and looting. Hmmm…
Lucky Dube Shot Dead
The headline of the Saturday Star today screamed “WIN IT FOR LUCKY.” On Thursday night, Lucky Dube, a reggae legend and one of South Africa’s most famous musical exports who has shared the stage with Peter Gabriel and Youssou N’dour, was shot dead in a failed hijacking attempt. Spookily, he wrote of his fear of being killed by hijackers in his song Crime and Corruption. The lyrics go:
Do you every worry about your house being broken into?
Do you every worry about your car being taken away from you?
Do you every worry about leaving home and coming in a coffin, with a bullet through your head?
So join us and fight this.
It is tragic, but it is also commonplace here in South Africa. The crime rate is sickeningly high. According the papers, one in three South Africans have been robbed. The murder rate jumped 2.4 per cent between April 2006 and March 2007 with 19,202 murders recorded. Yikes. That doesn’t even include the number of rapes, robberies and break-ins. As I mentioned in an earlier post, friends of ours have been broken into three times in two months – the last time the robbers badly beat up a woman who works for them. I’m being extra careful, mummy, don’t worry.
The timing, with the world’s eyes focused on South Africa being in the Rugby World Cup, is a little awkward. One journalist encouraged the rugby teams to wear black armbands tonight to honor Lucky Dube; other experts quoted – who didn’t want to be named – said all that will do is highlight South Africa’s crime problem. Either way, this is a prelude to the 2010 Soccer World Cup, being held in nine cities throughout South Africa. One of the biggest concerns from everyone, including FIFA, is South Africa’s crime rate. All the editorials are calling on the government to get off their arses and do something. Good luck with that. Just look at all my blogs this week about HIV/AIDS. I don’t mean to be cynical, but I don’t have a lot of faith in the South African government.
Freedom of the Press
Media Freedom is a subject close to my heart. In Fiji, I worked for a media organization that was the South Pacific representative for IFEX (International Freedom of Expression Exchange) and was highly outspoken about media freedom. So when I see that the South African government is threatening to arrest Sunday Times editor Mondli Makhanya and his deputy editor for illegally being in possession of the Health Minister’s health records, I get a little worried.
The Times ran a story a few months ago saying that Health Minister Manto Tashabalala-Msimang’s and her doctors hid a serious drinking problem so she could receive a liver transplant. Apparently, she was boozing right before the transplant, and when she’d been in hospital a few years before for a shoulder operation had her guards smuggle her in whiskey. This is the same health minister who stalled the official roll out of the ARVs and repeatedly, officially stated that a healthy diet with a focus on ginger and garlic was the key to fighting HIV and AIDS. This is the same government who sacked Deputy Health Minister Nozizwe Madlala-Routledge this past August for – get this – traveling to an AIDS conference in Spain without permission. AIDS activists say she was sacked because she was not afraid to criticize the government. The same government headed up by President Mbeki, notorious for denying AIDS is caused by a virus.
The sad thing is that while The Boozer was off sick, the Deputy Health Minister actually did something about the AIDS crisis. She built bridges with the AIDS and medical community – she mended the sour relationship with the Treatment Action Campaign, South Africa’s highest profile campaigners for those living with AIDS. She was one of the driving forces behind an aggressive five-year plan to reduce the number of new HIV infections and extend treatment to 80% of those living with AIDS by 2011.
They sacked her. And kept the alcoholic. And they are “investigating” the newspaper that broke the story. Did I just hear a collective sigh?
For a great look at this story check out an article in the UK paper the Guardian from August: http://www.guardian.co.uk/southafrica/story/0,,2152333,00.html
The government is saying loud and clear that they respect press freedoms. Ironically, all of this blew up on the 30th anniversary of Black Wednesday, the day the apartheid government cracked down on the media. Since apartheid ended South Africa has been regarded as having some of the best media freedom policies in the world. But having rules and living by them are two different things. The government has often expressed concern the media is damaging the country’s image and should focus on the positives of the country, rather than the negatives. Nice one.
Maybe the government should focus on HIV/AIDS, crime and the plethora of other issues and leave the media to do what they do best: keep the public informed and the government in check.
Have a great night Saturday everyone.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Day Five: TGIF
Thank God it is Friday. This week has flown past but it has definitely been one of the longest weeks of my life. To be honest, I’m quite happy I’ve made it to Friday in one piece – from the driving alone. Driving in Johannesburg is insane. Drivers cross five lanes at once – indicators are optional, and to be honest seem unnecessary in cars that are made here. There are no fast lanes and slow lanes, so if you find yourself behind a slow moving car the best thing to do is get around it as quickly as possible. I’m not sure they teach blind spots in driving school. Every time I get to my destination I say a little prayer of thanks so maybe I am becoming a little more religious.
I missed the older kids today – there is no homework day on Fridays so they disappear off after school. I wondered how they liked their CDs. But I got my fix from the little ones. Thembisa, my darling eight-year old who always has her mobile oxygen tank behind her, is such a little madam. So bossy! “And what are you doing here today?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye, grabbing my notepad to practice writing. When she laughs it is so throaty it makes everyone around her laugh. The boys climbed all over me like I was a jungle gym, demanding I hang them upside down, giggling away until one of them, so anxious to climb up, banged his head with another, leading to a flood of tears. When I’m writing about Cotlands, I can find myself guilty of forgetting for a nanosecond that these are little children, who get banged up and have temper tantrums and just want attention. Sometimes all they want is a cuddle. Don't we all?
The kids also made me my lunch today. On Fridays, the class comes to the big kitchen to cook - to knead the dough, to mix the salad. I had vetkoek, a form of a dumpling with marog, which is kinda like spinach. It was really good. Thembisa was amused that I was eating the same lunch as them; so was my boss Rochelle who, en route to somewhere (everyone in this place is always going hither or tither), cheekily said to one of the teachers: “Look at that! The Canadian is stealing food right out of the children’s mouths.” You can tell I’m part of the team now.
The Friday cooking sessions are one of the ways Cotlands tries to provide the children with normal experiences, which might seem odd to you and I; but remember, they are institution kids - they don’t bake cookies with their mummy on Saturday. Next time I come I’m bringing a giant bag of Chipits and my oatmeal chocolate chip cookie recipe. Those who’ve tried my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies know it is simply wrong to deprive the Cotlands kids of that experience.
Looking back at the interviews I’ve done with the staff members at Cotlands this week – that we will use in the e-newsletter, the first of which is going out mid-November, hurrah! – a few themes have emerged. First, how many of the staff members have been there a long, long time - like, a decade. They all tell me that no matter how hard they work, they are fulfilled because they know the work is not only important and necessary, but they see the effects it has in the community. Jade, who is in charge of donations-in-kind (clothes, mattresses, cash donations from individuals - if you want to donate her email is jade@cotlands.org), said that she sometimes gets bogged down with the day to day, delivering food here and picking up clothes there but then something magical will happen – she’ll find a fridge for a family who didn’t have one, and desperately needed one to store the ARV medication. The frustrating thing for the staff is that there is always, always a need. It’s like pouring water into a cup with a hole in the bottom – it’ll never be filled.
The weekend is in front of us and I’ve been told my loyalties have to lie with my new friends in tomorrow night’s World Rugby Final where South Africa takes on England. Incidentally, Tony went out and bought an England rugby shirt to wind everyone up. I’ve decided that I’m going to be like Switzerland tomorrow night: the cheese-eating, chocolate-making, cool-as-cucumber neutral territory.
Have a great Friday night everyone. Miss you. I’ll blog all weekend – I think I’m going to head to the Apartheid Museum tomorrow, and Sunday we are going to a Wild Cheetah Farm. Rrrrow!
I missed the older kids today – there is no homework day on Fridays so they disappear off after school. I wondered how they liked their CDs. But I got my fix from the little ones. Thembisa, my darling eight-year old who always has her mobile oxygen tank behind her, is such a little madam. So bossy! “And what are you doing here today?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye, grabbing my notepad to practice writing. When she laughs it is so throaty it makes everyone around her laugh. The boys climbed all over me like I was a jungle gym, demanding I hang them upside down, giggling away until one of them, so anxious to climb up, banged his head with another, leading to a flood of tears. When I’m writing about Cotlands, I can find myself guilty of forgetting for a nanosecond that these are little children, who get banged up and have temper tantrums and just want attention. Sometimes all they want is a cuddle. Don't we all?
The kids also made me my lunch today. On Fridays, the class comes to the big kitchen to cook - to knead the dough, to mix the salad. I had vetkoek, a form of a dumpling with marog, which is kinda like spinach. It was really good. Thembisa was amused that I was eating the same lunch as them; so was my boss Rochelle who, en route to somewhere (everyone in this place is always going hither or tither), cheekily said to one of the teachers: “Look at that! The Canadian is stealing food right out of the children’s mouths.” You can tell I’m part of the team now.
The Friday cooking sessions are one of the ways Cotlands tries to provide the children with normal experiences, which might seem odd to you and I; but remember, they are institution kids - they don’t bake cookies with their mummy on Saturday. Next time I come I’m bringing a giant bag of Chipits and my oatmeal chocolate chip cookie recipe. Those who’ve tried my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies know it is simply wrong to deprive the Cotlands kids of that experience.
Looking back at the interviews I’ve done with the staff members at Cotlands this week – that we will use in the e-newsletter, the first of which is going out mid-November, hurrah! – a few themes have emerged. First, how many of the staff members have been there a long, long time - like, a decade. They all tell me that no matter how hard they work, they are fulfilled because they know the work is not only important and necessary, but they see the effects it has in the community. Jade, who is in charge of donations-in-kind (clothes, mattresses, cash donations from individuals - if you want to donate her email is jade@cotlands.org), said that she sometimes gets bogged down with the day to day, delivering food here and picking up clothes there but then something magical will happen – she’ll find a fridge for a family who didn’t have one, and desperately needed one to store the ARV medication. The frustrating thing for the staff is that there is always, always a need. It’s like pouring water into a cup with a hole in the bottom – it’ll never be filled.
The weekend is in front of us and I’ve been told my loyalties have to lie with my new friends in tomorrow night’s World Rugby Final where South Africa takes on England. Incidentally, Tony went out and bought an England rugby shirt to wind everyone up. I’ve decided that I’m going to be like Switzerland tomorrow night: the cheese-eating, chocolate-making, cool-as-cucumber neutral territory.
Have a great Friday night everyone. Miss you. I’ll blog all weekend – I think I’m going to head to the Apartheid Museum tomorrow, and Sunday we are going to a Wild Cheetah Farm. Rrrrow!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Day Four: My tears dry on their own....
I had two of the oddest, most “Is there a God” experiences today: first, I experience a hailstorm of Biblical proportions on what started out as a bright, hot sunny day. It lasted 20 minutes, there was a layer of mini-golf balls on the ground like a fresh layer of snow back home, pellets battering us from all side as though they had a mission. Then, a few hours later, I burst into tears spontaneously. I don’t normally do that, but I was listening to Stars at the time.
First, Baragwana Hospital. This week they have been all over the news. Due to budget cuts, newborn babies were being placed in cardboard boxes. I’m not kidding. The health minister made a big PR move and brought new cots a few days after the story blew. Whatever. This is yet another example of how messed up the South African government is. They are spending 90 billion rand – that’s about 10 billion dollars – building new stadiums for the soccer World Cup in 2010. They could spend that on health care – on funding clinics in rural areas, ARVs for all affected, the list goes on and on. They could, like we do, ask private companies to fund stadiums – instead of the Air Canada Centre, they would have South African Airways Stadium, for example, but the government is intent on having government-owned stadiums which will likely never be used again after the World Cup. It boggles the mind.
OK, I’m angry. I’m upset. Here’s why. At Cotlands we run many community-based projects, including a counseling project at Baragwana. This hospital used to be at the forefront of medical services, where young professionals wanted to train, where you could get the best of services provided. Now, it is best described as overcrowded and decrepit. As recently as a few years ago, someone would wander in for an HIV test, be told they were positive and that was it: go home and die. Cotlands recognized a need and provides extended counseling at Baragwana. Many of the young mums come to the clinics to weigh their children, see a doctor and have a meal before they go home. Many of these mums and grandma’s are involved with Cotlands projects throughout the community.
But, as much as Cotlands is doing, there are certain cultural things they cannot change. One of the mum’s I met today was lovely, so boisterous, happy to talk about her experience with HIV, as her three-year old daughter (who was tiny) played with crayons. Then I found out the mum is four months pregnant again. She’s had two and a half years of Cotlands training and intervention; she’s one of the mum’s involved in the income-generating program – Cotlands is all about sustainability, trying to ensure that grannies and mums are given opportunities to care for themselves, to make money and learn a trade, like sewing. Plus, this adorable little giirl with the crayons fought for her life; the ARVs have kicked in and are working, but her mum is pregnant again? Sister Meisie, in charge of this project, told me she probably got pregnant for a few reasons. One is common: people don’t disclose here. They might have an HIV positive children but are still healthy themselves and and still deny they have the disease (for fear their boyfriend will leave them). The second is that they get a Child Support Grant - 200 Rand (about 35 bucks) for every kid they have. I'll leave it at that.
I then went to Ward 17, a children’s ward. I saw babies attached to oxygen tanks. I saw arms thin as breadsticks. I met Philele who, at two and a half years old is the size of a 7-month old, oxygen streaming into her nose, and a chest infection so severe she breathes like a machine. She has no immune system. She was also born partially brain damaged. She can’t sit up. She’s a Cotlands Home-Based Care kid (i.e. one who doesn’t live at Cotlands, but to whom we deliver services). But her mother has never taken an HIV test (because she’s still healthy) an as this mother had decided to deny her own HIV status she's igonring the fact her child is dying. She has been told her child needs antibiotics for her chest, and ARVs for the HIV, but she’s defaulted. The stigma of HIV prevails.
And then I got home to Cotlands and the older kids had just come in from school. One of the staff members I interviewed today told me she still gets butterflies in her stomach - like when you meet a new guy - when she sees some of the kids. I know exactly what she means. Gloria, my fiesty, sharp-as-a-tack girl, who is the leader of the group, gave me a big wave. I told them I had their CDs of all their favorite music upstairs. They jumped on me. I brought the CDs down from my office and my laptop and played the music for them. They danced to 50 Cent, and grooved to Rihanna. They were having a good time, and when Sifiso wrapped his arms around my legs and asked me to play Akon’s “Lonely” again, I couldn't resist. The homework tutor was breathing down my neck, so I grudgingly told the kids to go inside even though I wanted to put him - and a few others in my suitcase.
At that moment, what I was reminded of, again – like I needed it – is that ARVs work. Four years ago Cotlands was burying four kids a week. In the last year, they have buried two in total - not two a week, just two. Anti-Retrovirals (ARVs) work, good nutrition works, these kids are full of love and joy and promise.
So, this is why I broke into tears. This country is beautiful, the people are beautiful, but it frustrates me. That baby brought me to tears, but I wonder if I was also brought to tears by the fact that many of these Cotlands kids won’t likely get adopted because they are HIV positive. I cried for what the government isn’t doing, what we all need to be doing and how exhausted I feel by it all. If any of my spin students ask me about my "holiday" when I get back I'll snap.
I looked at the hail this afternoon and wondered if it was a sign. My father died when I was 10 years old and I stopped going to church, relegating myself more to a Christmas and Easter Christian status; I’ve had moments in my life where religion has come back to me - sometimes I've paid attention, sometimes I’ve ignored it. I’m married to a scientist who is pragmatic if nothing else. Today, it was weird. That hailstorm meant something.
By the way, there will be no review of the Lion King tonight. I decided I had too much work to do and I remembered that I saw it in Toronto and fell asleep. I think I'd prefer to experience a different African experience.
As for those Amy Winehouse fans, those tears dried on their own. My tears dried driving up the motor way. I’m 100% certain I’m not the first person who has cried tears for South Africa.
First, Baragwana Hospital. This week they have been all over the news. Due to budget cuts, newborn babies were being placed in cardboard boxes. I’m not kidding. The health minister made a big PR move and brought new cots a few days after the story blew. Whatever. This is yet another example of how messed up the South African government is. They are spending 90 billion rand – that’s about 10 billion dollars – building new stadiums for the soccer World Cup in 2010. They could spend that on health care – on funding clinics in rural areas, ARVs for all affected, the list goes on and on. They could, like we do, ask private companies to fund stadiums – instead of the Air Canada Centre, they would have South African Airways Stadium, for example, but the government is intent on having government-owned stadiums which will likely never be used again after the World Cup. It boggles the mind.
OK, I’m angry. I’m upset. Here’s why. At Cotlands we run many community-based projects, including a counseling project at Baragwana. This hospital used to be at the forefront of medical services, where young professionals wanted to train, where you could get the best of services provided. Now, it is best described as overcrowded and decrepit. As recently as a few years ago, someone would wander in for an HIV test, be told they were positive and that was it: go home and die. Cotlands recognized a need and provides extended counseling at Baragwana. Many of the young mums come to the clinics to weigh their children, see a doctor and have a meal before they go home. Many of these mums and grandma’s are involved with Cotlands projects throughout the community.
But, as much as Cotlands is doing, there are certain cultural things they cannot change. One of the mum’s I met today was lovely, so boisterous, happy to talk about her experience with HIV, as her three-year old daughter (who was tiny) played with crayons. Then I found out the mum is four months pregnant again. She’s had two and a half years of Cotlands training and intervention; she’s one of the mum’s involved in the income-generating program – Cotlands is all about sustainability, trying to ensure that grannies and mums are given opportunities to care for themselves, to make money and learn a trade, like sewing. Plus, this adorable little giirl with the crayons fought for her life; the ARVs have kicked in and are working, but her mum is pregnant again? Sister Meisie, in charge of this project, told me she probably got pregnant for a few reasons. One is common: people don’t disclose here. They might have an HIV positive children but are still healthy themselves and and still deny they have the disease (for fear their boyfriend will leave them). The second is that they get a Child Support Grant - 200 Rand (about 35 bucks) for every kid they have. I'll leave it at that.
I then went to Ward 17, a children’s ward. I saw babies attached to oxygen tanks. I saw arms thin as breadsticks. I met Philele who, at two and a half years old is the size of a 7-month old, oxygen streaming into her nose, and a chest infection so severe she breathes like a machine. She has no immune system. She was also born partially brain damaged. She can’t sit up. She’s a Cotlands Home-Based Care kid (i.e. one who doesn’t live at Cotlands, but to whom we deliver services). But her mother has never taken an HIV test (because she’s still healthy) an as this mother had decided to deny her own HIV status she's igonring the fact her child is dying. She has been told her child needs antibiotics for her chest, and ARVs for the HIV, but she’s defaulted. The stigma of HIV prevails.
And then I got home to Cotlands and the older kids had just come in from school. One of the staff members I interviewed today told me she still gets butterflies in her stomach - like when you meet a new guy - when she sees some of the kids. I know exactly what she means. Gloria, my fiesty, sharp-as-a-tack girl, who is the leader of the group, gave me a big wave. I told them I had their CDs of all their favorite music upstairs. They jumped on me. I brought the CDs down from my office and my laptop and played the music for them. They danced to 50 Cent, and grooved to Rihanna. They were having a good time, and when Sifiso wrapped his arms around my legs and asked me to play Akon’s “Lonely” again, I couldn't resist. The homework tutor was breathing down my neck, so I grudgingly told the kids to go inside even though I wanted to put him - and a few others in my suitcase.
At that moment, what I was reminded of, again – like I needed it – is that ARVs work. Four years ago Cotlands was burying four kids a week. In the last year, they have buried two in total - not two a week, just two. Anti-Retrovirals (ARVs) work, good nutrition works, these kids are full of love and joy and promise.
So, this is why I broke into tears. This country is beautiful, the people are beautiful, but it frustrates me. That baby brought me to tears, but I wonder if I was also brought to tears by the fact that many of these Cotlands kids won’t likely get adopted because they are HIV positive. I cried for what the government isn’t doing, what we all need to be doing and how exhausted I feel by it all. If any of my spin students ask me about my "holiday" when I get back I'll snap.
I looked at the hail this afternoon and wondered if it was a sign. My father died when I was 10 years old and I stopped going to church, relegating myself more to a Christmas and Easter Christian status; I’ve had moments in my life where religion has come back to me - sometimes I've paid attention, sometimes I’ve ignored it. I’m married to a scientist who is pragmatic if nothing else. Today, it was weird. That hailstorm meant something.
By the way, there will be no review of the Lion King tonight. I decided I had too much work to do and I remembered that I saw it in Toronto and fell asleep. I think I'd prefer to experience a different African experience.
As for those Amy Winehouse fans, those tears dried on their own. My tears dried driving up the motor way. I’m 100% certain I’m not the first person who has cried tears for South Africa.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Day Three: Lock up your things, girl…
I feel like I’ve got a “real job.” Strange I had to come to Africa for it. The commute is going to kill me.
Tonight when I got home, chugging my way through congestion like everyone else, I walked over to the posh shopping mall and saw my first African sky - somehow the colors seem different here, softer pinks, purples and blues. I’ve been asked by a few people if I feel safe in Jo’burg so here’s the answer: I’m staying in Sandton, one of the poshest parts of town. That mall has everything from Prada stores to a Hagen-daas ice-cream shop. Yeah, I feel safe. That said, I found out today I’ve been risking life and limb driving around with my laptop in my backpack on the passenger seat. Apparently, smash and grab is huge here – you don’t even have time to blink and you’re stuff is gone. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without my little Mac so I’m hiding it in the trunk now. You do have to be careful in Jo’burg – there are definitely places I wouldn’t walk, even in the daytime – but isn’t that like any major city?
My mall outing had a purpose: to buy blank CDs so I can burn music for the kids. The girls are huge Rihanna and Beyonce fans and the boys love 50 Cent and Usher. They lit up when I told them I would make them music for their stereo, and everyone had a request. “Auntie” Erin was asked for R Kelly (who?) and if I could please put Avril Lavigne on the girl’s CD. Apparently, they have yet to develop a taste in music.
When I came down from my cubicle – the excitement is everywhere, people! I’m writing newsletters! I’m developing volunteer feedback questionnaires! All seriousness, I do love what I’m doing – the little kids had just come in from school. Sifiso wrapped his arms around my legs and wouldn’t let go; a feisty group of six-year olds grabbed my book and practiced writing their names and their favorite colors; Thabo demonstrated his hula-hooping abilities while Londeka, clad from head to toe in pink pretended to mull over her favorite color. But they are cheeky, these kids: Gloria and Happiness (is that not the best name ever?) engaged me in a conversation about the Pretoria Zoo, which I visited last year. We were bantering back and forth when their tutor, none too pleased, came around the corner and barked at them – they’d been stalling going for homework time. Happiness is such a sweet little girl, but she’s tough: due to her illness, she is physically and mentally delayed, a 13-year old in an 8-year old body. Since coming to Cotlands she’s made huge strides – again a testimony to the power of ARVs, good nutrition and a stimulating environment.
What I realized about the kids, as they tugged on my arm or pulled me down to whisper a secret, is that they are dying for attention and affection. I interviewed two of the international volunteers today and Claire, a 18-year old London girl, told me the most rewarding part of her job is being able to provide the children with the attention they desperately need. Some of them aren’t orphans – they go for visits with their parents on the weekend, or are just here in the day – but those that are…well, you just want them to get adopted out as soon as possible. Cotlands might be an exceptional place, but nothing can replace the love of a parent.
Yes, I’d love to pull an Angelina. I want to take Kwalele home with me, my little chef-in-the-making. I love him.
Short post today, guys. I've finally hit the wall. Stay tuned: in the next few days I'm likely going to interviewing the Globe and Mail's Stephanie Nolen....and don't forget, there will be a review of the Lion King on Friday!
Tonight when I got home, chugging my way through congestion like everyone else, I walked over to the posh shopping mall and saw my first African sky - somehow the colors seem different here, softer pinks, purples and blues. I’ve been asked by a few people if I feel safe in Jo’burg so here’s the answer: I’m staying in Sandton, one of the poshest parts of town. That mall has everything from Prada stores to a Hagen-daas ice-cream shop. Yeah, I feel safe. That said, I found out today I’ve been risking life and limb driving around with my laptop in my backpack on the passenger seat. Apparently, smash and grab is huge here – you don’t even have time to blink and you’re stuff is gone. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without my little Mac so I’m hiding it in the trunk now. You do have to be careful in Jo’burg – there are definitely places I wouldn’t walk, even in the daytime – but isn’t that like any major city?
My mall outing had a purpose: to buy blank CDs so I can burn music for the kids. The girls are huge Rihanna and Beyonce fans and the boys love 50 Cent and Usher. They lit up when I told them I would make them music for their stereo, and everyone had a request. “Auntie” Erin was asked for R Kelly (who?) and if I could please put Avril Lavigne on the girl’s CD. Apparently, they have yet to develop a taste in music.
When I came down from my cubicle – the excitement is everywhere, people! I’m writing newsletters! I’m developing volunteer feedback questionnaires! All seriousness, I do love what I’m doing – the little kids had just come in from school. Sifiso wrapped his arms around my legs and wouldn’t let go; a feisty group of six-year olds grabbed my book and practiced writing their names and their favorite colors; Thabo demonstrated his hula-hooping abilities while Londeka, clad from head to toe in pink pretended to mull over her favorite color. But they are cheeky, these kids: Gloria and Happiness (is that not the best name ever?) engaged me in a conversation about the Pretoria Zoo, which I visited last year. We were bantering back and forth when their tutor, none too pleased, came around the corner and barked at them – they’d been stalling going for homework time. Happiness is such a sweet little girl, but she’s tough: due to her illness, she is physically and mentally delayed, a 13-year old in an 8-year old body. Since coming to Cotlands she’s made huge strides – again a testimony to the power of ARVs, good nutrition and a stimulating environment.
What I realized about the kids, as they tugged on my arm or pulled me down to whisper a secret, is that they are dying for attention and affection. I interviewed two of the international volunteers today and Claire, a 18-year old London girl, told me the most rewarding part of her job is being able to provide the children with the attention they desperately need. Some of them aren’t orphans – they go for visits with their parents on the weekend, or are just here in the day – but those that are…well, you just want them to get adopted out as soon as possible. Cotlands might be an exceptional place, but nothing can replace the love of a parent.
Yes, I’d love to pull an Angelina. I want to take Kwalele home with me, my little chef-in-the-making. I love him.
Short post today, guys. I've finally hit the wall. Stay tuned: in the next few days I'm likely going to interviewing the Globe and Mail's Stephanie Nolen....and don't forget, there will be a review of the Lion King on Friday!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Day Two: Action
Today was…for once words escape me. Magical is wrong. Powerful comes closer. Life altering is going overboard. I think I’ll stick with important. Today was a very important day.
I met the Cotlands kids today. One of the projects I’m working on is called the Hope Train, pairing orphans who live here at Cotlands (until, ideally, they are fostered or adopted out) with families back in Canada. Cotlands helps nearly 2000 kids throughout South Africa, predominantly with its various outreach programs but they also provide residential care for nearly 60 orphans – close to 40 here in Jo’burg, and 20 near Cape Town. When I found out I was returning to Africa one of my sarcastic friends asked me if I was going to “pull an Angelina” while I was in South Africa. Let’s be honest: today, I wanted to take at least a half-dozen home with me. I wish I could, but it isn’t as easy as our celebrities make it seem.
I spent a chunk of time with Mealang Van Heerden, the head of the Educare program. Educare is like our pre-school – the kids are in this program until they are developmentally ready to go out to schools in the community, usually around six-years old. As she showed me the classrooms she talked about the challenges: many of the children who are brought in are so ill that they are already four steps back before they can move forward. HIV doesn’t just attack the body – it attacks the mind, it stunts both physical and mental growth. Beyond that, some of these kids come to Cotlands from such horrible situations – living in a shack with a mother dying of AIDS, with zero mental stimulation, or with a grandmother who is caring for several children. These children need to be nurtured, almost rehabilitated, before they can even start to make progress.
First I met a small group of kids. They were painting placemats and one of the girls, strapped to an oxygen tank, did nothing but smile at me. The classroom was like one of our pre-schools: a mobile hanging from the ceiling teaching colors and the alphabet, Lego pieces and building blocks, and a wonderful cork board filled with photos and packages of “Healthy” food and “Unhealthy” food.
I did note to Mealang that this was pretty advanced for six-year olds: they had put a bag of white sugar on the “Unhealthy” food list. I’m not sure our Canadian pre-schools teach that.
Gorgeous Rebecca, 6, stood out. Her jet-black hair combed back, her shy smile, the pink t-shirt. She didn’t want to put her painting away, and Mealang whispered to me later that Rebecca is one of the many success stories of ARVs: When she was brought in, no one here thought she was going to live past a year; she didn’t walk until she was three and a half. But with successful intervention – drugs, a healthy diet, and stimulation – Rebecca is thriving and going to school next year.
Little Kwalele, 8, grabbed a hold of my heart and wouldn’t let go. When the middle kids (6-8 yrs) came home they were told they had to form a line for lunch, and tell “Auntie Erin” their names, their favorite food and movie. Some were quite shy, some were anything but. I’d met Kwalele a few minutes earlier when I noticed his shoes were untied. He tied them in front of me as we talked about what he’d done in school that day. He was very excited because they were planning a Christmas party. I told him about Christmas in Canada, and how we have snow when they have scorching hot summer and promised to send him photos of snow.
So when it came time for Kwalele to tell me his favorite food, he did the most remarkable thing. I was asking some other boys questions while Kwalele stood there with his fingers to his temple, softly chanting, “Chef! Chef! Chef!” He opened one eye every so often to see if I was looking at him.
I finally succumbed. Chef?
“I want to be a chef,” he piped up. Little bugger has mind-reading skills, because "what do you want to be when you grow up" was going to be my question on Thursday. He elaborated. He loves to cook. He doesn’t really know why but he’s eight – what did you know when you were eight? He loves food – his list went on and on and included vienna sausage and gravy , rice and beans and cabbage. He loves to create. This weekend he is going home with a volunteer to cook with them. That might not sound exciting to you, but you have to understand: these kids are living in residential care, in an institution. As wonderful as that is, as much love as they receive, they don’t get to experience normal things that their peers at schools experience: shopping for groceries, watching a match on the television, going on everyday family outings. An element of the volunteer program is to provide them with everyday experiences, like cooking.
How do these kids look? Many of them are bright and healthy and look like any African child. Some are very small for their age. A few look sick. I haven’t been into the hospice yet, but when I was there last year I saw very, very sick kids. The ones I met today, who’ve responded to ART are doing great.
I’d like to be able to post photos of the Cotlands kids but am confined by confidentiality. A lot of these kids are in the process of being fostered or adopted, so having their mugs plastered over the net is simply not cool. But I’ve been promised, at the end of my blog, I can post some photos of the kids.
I got some amazing insights into Cotlands, AIDS and Africa from the staff. Jolene, who is a member of the fundraising team, talked about the ups and the downs of the job she's been at for five years. When I asked how being a new mum – she has 9-month twin boys – has changed her work at Cotlands, she shook her head. “It is raw to me now, because I know as a mother how much love I give to my own kids. I know how much more these kids need. I know what they are missing out on. You want to speed the process up, to get them fostered or adopted out, to get them the love they need.”
And she spoke of the “Lost Generation” of South Africa. These are the kids that haven’t simply fallen through the cracks – they aren’t even on the grid. Kids born in rural communities, without a birth certificate who are never diagnosed because the clinic is a day's walk away, who often die before their first birthday. There simply isn’t the means to get to them. They die, but it is like they’ve never been here at all.
Incidentally, it is worth noting that the South African government only officially “rolled out” the Antiretroviral medicine a few years ago. When you see what the ARVs can do, it boggles your mind that they waited so long. No, that’s wrong. It makes you really, really angry. But I’ve promised Cotlands I won’t bash the government (who provide them with 16% of their funding) for the time being. But stay tuned. We all know I can't keep my mouth shut for long.
I can say this. Even though the South African government has “rolled out” the ARVs, look at the facts from the United Nations:
• South Africa has the world’s highest total number of people living with HIV/AIDS. According to some estimates the prevalence rate among pregnant women was around 28 per cent in 2003. Among infected 15- to 24–year-olds, more than three-quarters are female, due in part to forced sex. Mother to child transmission is still a huge problem.
• AIDS causes 40 per cent of all deaths of children under age five, and has driven up infant and under-five mortality rates.
• Although 11,000 people are receiving anti-retroviral treatment, very few of these patients are children. The AIDS pandemic has orphaned more than a million children in South Africa.
• Only half of children are registered, limiting access to social services.
So back to Cotlands. They are doing something. They are taking care of kids and families. They are providing grannies, caring for their orphaned grandchildren, with support – with food, with medicine, with income-generating projects. But Cotlands is stretched thin. “I feel like I’m always putting out fires,” says Jolene. Even though they’ve expanded through the years, the core number of paid, full-time staff remains the same. “Everything is reactive –you’re lucky you’re doing forward planning. You never have the time and resources, or the opportunity because you’re always going onto the next thing.”
It’s simple. They don’t have enough money. And the irony is that many people here in South Africa think they are rich. Because Cotlands has been around so long, and are in the media so often, people believe they are rolling in dough. They ain’t.
Here’s the crazy thing. It costs them 8 rand a day - about a buck - to be able to provide for a child. I know we’ve all been desensitized by the Sally Struthers ads, Bob Geldof and Bono and the whole we need to save Africa thing. We’ve muted it out, haven’t we? I know I mute it out when I'm back home. You can't here. If you want to donate you can at www.cotlands.org.
I had written something else but I've edited it. Too preachy. See you tomorrow.
I met the Cotlands kids today. One of the projects I’m working on is called the Hope Train, pairing orphans who live here at Cotlands (until, ideally, they are fostered or adopted out) with families back in Canada. Cotlands helps nearly 2000 kids throughout South Africa, predominantly with its various outreach programs but they also provide residential care for nearly 60 orphans – close to 40 here in Jo’burg, and 20 near Cape Town. When I found out I was returning to Africa one of my sarcastic friends asked me if I was going to “pull an Angelina” while I was in South Africa. Let’s be honest: today, I wanted to take at least a half-dozen home with me. I wish I could, but it isn’t as easy as our celebrities make it seem.
I spent a chunk of time with Mealang Van Heerden, the head of the Educare program. Educare is like our pre-school – the kids are in this program until they are developmentally ready to go out to schools in the community, usually around six-years old. As she showed me the classrooms she talked about the challenges: many of the children who are brought in are so ill that they are already four steps back before they can move forward. HIV doesn’t just attack the body – it attacks the mind, it stunts both physical and mental growth. Beyond that, some of these kids come to Cotlands from such horrible situations – living in a shack with a mother dying of AIDS, with zero mental stimulation, or with a grandmother who is caring for several children. These children need to be nurtured, almost rehabilitated, before they can even start to make progress.
First I met a small group of kids. They were painting placemats and one of the girls, strapped to an oxygen tank, did nothing but smile at me. The classroom was like one of our pre-schools: a mobile hanging from the ceiling teaching colors and the alphabet, Lego pieces and building blocks, and a wonderful cork board filled with photos and packages of “Healthy” food and “Unhealthy” food.
I did note to Mealang that this was pretty advanced for six-year olds: they had put a bag of white sugar on the “Unhealthy” food list. I’m not sure our Canadian pre-schools teach that.
Gorgeous Rebecca, 6, stood out. Her jet-black hair combed back, her shy smile, the pink t-shirt. She didn’t want to put her painting away, and Mealang whispered to me later that Rebecca is one of the many success stories of ARVs: When she was brought in, no one here thought she was going to live past a year; she didn’t walk until she was three and a half. But with successful intervention – drugs, a healthy diet, and stimulation – Rebecca is thriving and going to school next year.
Little Kwalele, 8, grabbed a hold of my heart and wouldn’t let go. When the middle kids (6-8 yrs) came home they were told they had to form a line for lunch, and tell “Auntie Erin” their names, their favorite food and movie. Some were quite shy, some were anything but. I’d met Kwalele a few minutes earlier when I noticed his shoes were untied. He tied them in front of me as we talked about what he’d done in school that day. He was very excited because they were planning a Christmas party. I told him about Christmas in Canada, and how we have snow when they have scorching hot summer and promised to send him photos of snow.
So when it came time for Kwalele to tell me his favorite food, he did the most remarkable thing. I was asking some other boys questions while Kwalele stood there with his fingers to his temple, softly chanting, “Chef! Chef! Chef!” He opened one eye every so often to see if I was looking at him.
I finally succumbed. Chef?
“I want to be a chef,” he piped up. Little bugger has mind-reading skills, because "what do you want to be when you grow up" was going to be my question on Thursday. He elaborated. He loves to cook. He doesn’t really know why but he’s eight – what did you know when you were eight? He loves food – his list went on and on and included vienna sausage and gravy , rice and beans and cabbage. He loves to create. This weekend he is going home with a volunteer to cook with them. That might not sound exciting to you, but you have to understand: these kids are living in residential care, in an institution. As wonderful as that is, as much love as they receive, they don’t get to experience normal things that their peers at schools experience: shopping for groceries, watching a match on the television, going on everyday family outings. An element of the volunteer program is to provide them with everyday experiences, like cooking.
How do these kids look? Many of them are bright and healthy and look like any African child. Some are very small for their age. A few look sick. I haven’t been into the hospice yet, but when I was there last year I saw very, very sick kids. The ones I met today, who’ve responded to ART are doing great.
I’d like to be able to post photos of the Cotlands kids but am confined by confidentiality. A lot of these kids are in the process of being fostered or adopted, so having their mugs plastered over the net is simply not cool. But I’ve been promised, at the end of my blog, I can post some photos of the kids.
I got some amazing insights into Cotlands, AIDS and Africa from the staff. Jolene, who is a member of the fundraising team, talked about the ups and the downs of the job she's been at for five years. When I asked how being a new mum – she has 9-month twin boys – has changed her work at Cotlands, she shook her head. “It is raw to me now, because I know as a mother how much love I give to my own kids. I know how much more these kids need. I know what they are missing out on. You want to speed the process up, to get them fostered or adopted out, to get them the love they need.”
And she spoke of the “Lost Generation” of South Africa. These are the kids that haven’t simply fallen through the cracks – they aren’t even on the grid. Kids born in rural communities, without a birth certificate who are never diagnosed because the clinic is a day's walk away, who often die before their first birthday. There simply isn’t the means to get to them. They die, but it is like they’ve never been here at all.
Incidentally, it is worth noting that the South African government only officially “rolled out” the Antiretroviral medicine a few years ago. When you see what the ARVs can do, it boggles your mind that they waited so long. No, that’s wrong. It makes you really, really angry. But I’ve promised Cotlands I won’t bash the government (who provide them with 16% of their funding) for the time being. But stay tuned. We all know I can't keep my mouth shut for long.
I can say this. Even though the South African government has “rolled out” the ARVs, look at the facts from the United Nations:
• South Africa has the world’s highest total number of people living with HIV/AIDS. According to some estimates the prevalence rate among pregnant women was around 28 per cent in 2003. Among infected 15- to 24–year-olds, more than three-quarters are female, due in part to forced sex. Mother to child transmission is still a huge problem.
• AIDS causes 40 per cent of all deaths of children under age five, and has driven up infant and under-five mortality rates.
• Although 11,000 people are receiving anti-retroviral treatment, very few of these patients are children. The AIDS pandemic has orphaned more than a million children in South Africa.
• Only half of children are registered, limiting access to social services.
So back to Cotlands. They are doing something. They are taking care of kids and families. They are providing grannies, caring for their orphaned grandchildren, with support – with food, with medicine, with income-generating projects. But Cotlands is stretched thin. “I feel like I’m always putting out fires,” says Jolene. Even though they’ve expanded through the years, the core number of paid, full-time staff remains the same. “Everything is reactive –you’re lucky you’re doing forward planning. You never have the time and resources, or the opportunity because you’re always going onto the next thing.”
It’s simple. They don’t have enough money. And the irony is that many people here in South Africa think they are rich. Because Cotlands has been around so long, and are in the media so often, people believe they are rolling in dough. They ain’t.
Here’s the crazy thing. It costs them 8 rand a day - about a buck - to be able to provide for a child. I know we’ve all been desensitized by the Sally Struthers ads, Bob Geldof and Bono and the whole we need to save Africa thing. We’ve muted it out, haven’t we? I know I mute it out when I'm back home. You can't here. If you want to donate you can at www.cotlands.org.
I had written something else but I've edited it. Too preachy. See you tomorrow.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Day One in Jo'burg
After 29 hours in transit from Manchester (note: if you don’t want an 8-hour layover in Dubai, pay for a direct flight) we arrived at our hotel just after South Africa had advanced to the Rugby World Cup Final. Now, there may not be a lot of Canadians following the World Cup but I can definitively say that next week nearly the whole of South Africa will be watching the Springboks take on England in the final. I’ve told my husband (a Brit) he isn’t allowed to speak during the entire match. I have a feeling that the South Africans might get a little…testy…if England kicks their ass. Rugby is a passion here in South Africa.
Bright and early this morning and a wee bit jet-lagged, I made my way down to Cotlands. I wasn’t sure what to expect but the moment I met Rochelle, the fundraising manager and my “new boss” I knew I’d made the right choice coming here. This week will be exciting: I’m going to help develop a monthly e-newsletter for their donors and sponsors, writing content and original stories and I’ll help the coordinator develop a similar newsletter for the international audience. I’m going to write stories for the “Hope Train” a project they are trying to get off the ground with a school in Kitchener/Waterloo where Cotlands kids will be sponsored, and develop pen pal relationships, with children back in Canada. Plus, they have many more mini-projects to keep me busy including writing an initial strategy for a fundraising campaign tied in with the World Cup 2010. I left Cotlands with my head swirling, but invigorated and haven’t stopped writing.
But today was about more than just duty assignment. As I was leaving through the lobby, the older kids were coming in from school, dressed in their plaid check uniforms and navy sweaters, even though it was scorching hot outside. As they passed me, some shyly avoiding my eyes, others brightly piping up “Hello!” I was reminded of why I’m doing this.
A little background on Cotlands. The organization celebrated its 70th anniversary last year, a pretty monumental feat for a non-profit organization. Their primary objectives are to care for the needy and neglected children of Africa hardest hit by the AIDS crisis. They work in five provinces providing: residential care, including a hospice and palliative unit to help kids die with dignity, home-based care with nurses and outreach workers visiting some of the poorest areas to provide medicine and food for those coping with AIDS (often grandmothers raising their orphaned grandchildren) a nutrition program counseling, orphan care and numerous support groups and income-generating programs.
It is staggering to look at the numbers affected by AIDS in South Africa. Cotlands currently assists just over 2000 kids throughout five provinces; they have won countless awards for their work. They would love to be able to feed, and provide clothes and medicine for 5000 children, but they currently don’t have the funds or capacity to meet that need.
“Two thousand kids is a drop in the bucket,” Rochelle told me.
“At least you are turning the tap,” I replied.
One of the mini-articles I’m writing is for World AIDS Day, December 1st. Cotlands used to mark the occasion by interring the ashes of the children who had died that year. I can’t imagine how heartbreaking that would have been. Many of the staff has been with Cotlands for years, and many of the children are brought as infants and raised here. A few years ago one of the boys, who was around eight years old, made a special request. He was already very sick, and told his caregiver he wanted both cakes “because this is going to be my last birthday.” He got the two cakes, and died a few weeks later. On World AIDS Day that year Rochelle broke down. “He was such an incredible kid,” she told me. She added that though staff normally can cope – death is a part of the job – and they are provided with grief counselors, it sometimes hits them hard.
But the story I’m writing for World AIDS Day is not steeped in sadness, but in celebration. Since the government roll out of the Anti-Retrovirals (ARVs – more on that later), the medicine that helps people living with AIDS live longer lives, the kids at Cotlands aren’t dying as often. It has been so drastic that they needed to purchase a building for the older kids to live in. Don't get me wrong: some of the kids are brought into Cotlands so sick, there is nothing they can do for them but administer pain relief. But the kids that they catch early, when the drugs can actually do the trick, are running, playing, learning, and living. There are far few deaths because they have the medicine and the dedicated staff to deliver the drug program.
So, this year the volunteers have organized a party on World AIDS day and invited 400 children from the Home Based Care program. They’re hoping to have a jumpy castle – if anyone wants to donate some funds to make that happen please let me know – lots of food, laughter and Christmas presents for all the kids.
They’re celebrating life. I wish I was going to that party.
More tomorrow…
Bright and early this morning and a wee bit jet-lagged, I made my way down to Cotlands. I wasn’t sure what to expect but the moment I met Rochelle, the fundraising manager and my “new boss” I knew I’d made the right choice coming here. This week will be exciting: I’m going to help develop a monthly e-newsletter for their donors and sponsors, writing content and original stories and I’ll help the coordinator develop a similar newsletter for the international audience. I’m going to write stories for the “Hope Train” a project they are trying to get off the ground with a school in Kitchener/Waterloo where Cotlands kids will be sponsored, and develop pen pal relationships, with children back in Canada. Plus, they have many more mini-projects to keep me busy including writing an initial strategy for a fundraising campaign tied in with the World Cup 2010. I left Cotlands with my head swirling, but invigorated and haven’t stopped writing.
But today was about more than just duty assignment. As I was leaving through the lobby, the older kids were coming in from school, dressed in their plaid check uniforms and navy sweaters, even though it was scorching hot outside. As they passed me, some shyly avoiding my eyes, others brightly piping up “Hello!” I was reminded of why I’m doing this.
A little background on Cotlands. The organization celebrated its 70th anniversary last year, a pretty monumental feat for a non-profit organization. Their primary objectives are to care for the needy and neglected children of Africa hardest hit by the AIDS crisis. They work in five provinces providing: residential care, including a hospice and palliative unit to help kids die with dignity, home-based care with nurses and outreach workers visiting some of the poorest areas to provide medicine and food for those coping with AIDS (often grandmothers raising their orphaned grandchildren) a nutrition program counseling, orphan care and numerous support groups and income-generating programs.
It is staggering to look at the numbers affected by AIDS in South Africa. Cotlands currently assists just over 2000 kids throughout five provinces; they have won countless awards for their work. They would love to be able to feed, and provide clothes and medicine for 5000 children, but they currently don’t have the funds or capacity to meet that need.
“Two thousand kids is a drop in the bucket,” Rochelle told me.
“At least you are turning the tap,” I replied.
One of the mini-articles I’m writing is for World AIDS Day, December 1st. Cotlands used to mark the occasion by interring the ashes of the children who had died that year. I can’t imagine how heartbreaking that would have been. Many of the staff has been with Cotlands for years, and many of the children are brought as infants and raised here. A few years ago one of the boys, who was around eight years old, made a special request. He was already very sick, and told his caregiver he wanted both cakes “because this is going to be my last birthday.” He got the two cakes, and died a few weeks later. On World AIDS Day that year Rochelle broke down. “He was such an incredible kid,” she told me. She added that though staff normally can cope – death is a part of the job – and they are provided with grief counselors, it sometimes hits them hard.
But the story I’m writing for World AIDS Day is not steeped in sadness, but in celebration. Since the government roll out of the Anti-Retrovirals (ARVs – more on that later), the medicine that helps people living with AIDS live longer lives, the kids at Cotlands aren’t dying as often. It has been so drastic that they needed to purchase a building for the older kids to live in. Don't get me wrong: some of the kids are brought into Cotlands so sick, there is nothing they can do for them but administer pain relief. But the kids that they catch early, when the drugs can actually do the trick, are running, playing, learning, and living. There are far few deaths because they have the medicine and the dedicated staff to deliver the drug program.
So, this year the volunteers have organized a party on World AIDS day and invited 400 children from the Home Based Care program. They’re hoping to have a jumpy castle – if anyone wants to donate some funds to make that happen please let me know – lots of food, laughter and Christmas presents for all the kids.
They’re celebrating life. I wish I was going to that party.
More tomorrow…
Friday, October 12, 2007
And we're off....
All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go....
We officially fly out to Johannesburg tomorrow. While for many this is the trip of a lifetime, I'm fortunate enough to be experiencing South Africa for the second time. Last year, on business with my husband I researched a story on grandmothers raising their grandchildren, orphaned by AIDS. I toured the poorest areas of Johannesburg and Cape Town and met the most amazing people dealing with extraordinary circumstances. I met a grandmother who, with tears in her eyes, showed me the brochure to Oprah's new school where her granddaughter had just been accepted. She told me this in her tiny tin shack with no running water, a room big enough for only a double bed where she and six of her grandchildren slept tip to toe - two more grandkids were relegated to the floor. Her youngest grandson, afflicted with the disease that has killed so many ( roughly 28 million people are affected throughout the African continent) stared at me with wide eyes - he'd been sick for four days, running down the dirt path to use the neighbor's toilet. I wonder about him now, wonder if he is still alive.
On the same trip, I saw the wealth of South Africa, the things that all the tourists go to see. On corporate "getaways" we chased the Big Five at a Game Park; we toured the Wine Region and sampled Chenin Blancs, slept in a posh hotel overlooking Table Mountain and went to Boulders Colony to see the tiny African penguins.
The paradox didn't escape me.
So this year, when we received word that there was more business to be done in Johannesburg, I got in touch with the Cotlands Organization (www.cotlands.org) a non-profit working to to meet the needs of the children of South Africa. They are one of the many wonderful organizations that the Stephen Lewis Foundation (SLF) supports throughout Africa. I offered myself to them as a writer, as a cook, as a nanny - anywhere I could be of use. They have enthusiastically welcomed me. I know, without a doubt, I will be the one richer from the experience. I'm not some kind of Mother Theresa - I just wanted to do something useful and not be a waste of space.
I invite you to tag along, or check in here from time to time. I'll write about Cotlands, and anything else that comes up; South Africa is an interesting place. I invite you to explore the links below, to get to know Cotlands and other organizations the SLF supports. Stephanie Nolen's book 28 Stories about AIDS in Africa should be required reading, and you can view a chapter at her website.
If you want to help, you can donate directly to Cotlands online, or to the Stephen Lewis Foundation.
We officially fly out to Johannesburg tomorrow. While for many this is the trip of a lifetime, I'm fortunate enough to be experiencing South Africa for the second time. Last year, on business with my husband I researched a story on grandmothers raising their grandchildren, orphaned by AIDS. I toured the poorest areas of Johannesburg and Cape Town and met the most amazing people dealing with extraordinary circumstances. I met a grandmother who, with tears in her eyes, showed me the brochure to Oprah's new school where her granddaughter had just been accepted. She told me this in her tiny tin shack with no running water, a room big enough for only a double bed where she and six of her grandchildren slept tip to toe - two more grandkids were relegated to the floor. Her youngest grandson, afflicted with the disease that has killed so many ( roughly 28 million people are affected throughout the African continent) stared at me with wide eyes - he'd been sick for four days, running down the dirt path to use the neighbor's toilet. I wonder about him now, wonder if he is still alive.
On the same trip, I saw the wealth of South Africa, the things that all the tourists go to see. On corporate "getaways" we chased the Big Five at a Game Park; we toured the Wine Region and sampled Chenin Blancs, slept in a posh hotel overlooking Table Mountain and went to Boulders Colony to see the tiny African penguins.
The paradox didn't escape me.
So this year, when we received word that there was more business to be done in Johannesburg, I got in touch with the Cotlands Organization (www.cotlands.org) a non-profit working to to meet the needs of the children of South Africa. They are one of the many wonderful organizations that the Stephen Lewis Foundation (SLF) supports throughout Africa. I offered myself to them as a writer, as a cook, as a nanny - anywhere I could be of use. They have enthusiastically welcomed me. I know, without a doubt, I will be the one richer from the experience. I'm not some kind of Mother Theresa - I just wanted to do something useful and not be a waste of space.
I invite you to tag along, or check in here from time to time. I'll write about Cotlands, and anything else that comes up; South Africa is an interesting place. I invite you to explore the links below, to get to know Cotlands and other organizations the SLF supports. Stephanie Nolen's book 28 Stories about AIDS in Africa should be required reading, and you can view a chapter at her website.
If you want to help, you can donate directly to Cotlands online, or to the Stephen Lewis Foundation.
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