Peanutbutter and Jam

This past week I met a mother and her child that touched my heart in a very profound way. Walking into her home I noticed that it was one of the sparsest homes I have been in, one table, one cupboard, one stool, a couple dishes... that’s all in the kitchen/dining room/living room. She told us about how her boyfriend works odd jobs that he can find and that his wage is their only income. She wants to apply for a child grant that would give them R220 ($31) a month, but because she doesn’t have an ID of her own she cannot get a birth certificate for her child. Without a birth certificate she cannot get a child grant. To make matters more confusing she can’t get an ID because her and her mother are estranged and her mom won’t sign an affidavit stating that she is her child. For her to get into town to ask what her new options are to get an ID she will have to take a taxi, which she doesn’t have money for, or walk for about an hour and a half, without having eaten breakfast and coming home possibly without eating dinner. It seems as though things are working against her and that no one has been able to help. While Phumeza was translating for me, Phumeza was looking at me, and I looked up at the client and tears were streaming down her face. We asked why she was crying and she said that since they had very little money she didn’t have food to take her medications that she needed daily.... One more hurdle to cross. I was sitting there wondering what we could do to help and we made a plan to speak with social workers and to go to the home office and speak on her behalf on how to get an ID. I couldn’t leave the house knowing that they didn’t have food, so I left my lunch, nothing exciting: a peanut butter and jam sandwich and a plum. When I turned around to say good –bye she had already eaten half the sandwich and had the biggest smile on her face... my heart almost snapped in two...

Our next house was a lovely distraction from our regular work. As we were heading up to the next house a little girl was coming down the path. When she saw me she started crying - a common reaction unfortunately. Kids continue to cry when I’m around as they aren’t used to having a white lady at their home. She ran home and by the time we arrived she was down for a nap. Her house is a mud home currently being built by her mom and grandpa. We sat with them and I questioned them about how they build their mud homes, how long it takes, what kind of mud they use, how they pick the sticks from the bush, etc. The grandpa was keen to fill me in and even spoke English which was great. They told me about how they were going to make the house so that snakes couldn’t get in... um, pardon? Snakes? I have had myself nicely convinced that I wouldn’t encounter another snake while here but it turns out that all these homes that I have been in all day have snakes living behind there cardboard wall paper and hiding in between their metal sheeted walls. I really could have gone this whole year without learning that info. They thought that it was hilarious that I became squeamish and wanted to keep moving, but all I could think of was a snake weaving its way out of the wall behind me (shivers). They also told me stories of how mom’s have come into the house after fetching water only to find a snake curled up with their baby on the floor. The mom then has to wait for the snake to leave on its own accord for if they try to chase it away it will bite the child. Can you imagine sitting and watching as a snake had a nap with your baby?!