Early Reflections

Friday March 21st – My 1st day back?


Leaving Africa was difficult for so many reasons. I have so many memories – so many defining moments that I am not sure quite where to begin. I guess the beginning would be a good place to start?

Why I did this crazy thing?

Curiosity - When I visited for a holiday – I didn’t see one person with a learning disability. Not in the towns – or the restaurants – or the shopping Malls. In the UK – these people have a presence. Not here though – at least not in any of the places I visited! I couldn’t help but be curious as to where on earth these folk were.

And so?

I have discovered a facet of Africa that I didn’t see & would never have looked for had I - or indeed - when I visited for a holiday. Some of what I have seen has been traumatic – it upset me – but I will never be sorry that I took a look. Some of the projects I contributed to were not directly related to people with Learning Disabilities either. Although the commonality was that they are all marginalized groups. What inspired me most of all though has been the true guts – the raw honesty & the generosity of the people I have met. And I have mixed with folk from all walks of life – all backgrounds - cultures. I heard their stories – kept an open mind & learned such a lot. And adults with Learning Disabilities – well I never did get to see where they hang out. I posed the question many times to various people? Of course they are there – statistically I would imagine the incidence is similar or higher than the UK. Some are in institutional services – but these cost money – which is beyond the means of many. I am informed that a lot of learning disabled adults live in their family home. Often not venturing beyond the garden (if a garden exists) & likely – rarely seeing the light of day. Perhaps a follow-up expedition is required!

The magical pull of Africa – I really did fall in love with Africa. The mystery of the country – the vastness & the sunsets – all served to make it a place I wanted to explore again – but to explore in a different way. This way.

And so?

There is just something magical about Africa. I knew it back in October last year & having this time –seeing Africa through different eyes has served to affirm the pull. I love it & exploring it twists & turns with an open professional eye – though heart wrenching at times – hasn’t dampened my enthusiasm. Ok – I have been party to some sights & stories that are unjust in the extreme. And while this trip was never intended to be about me “fixing” the things that I knew to be wrong – accepting that these bad things happen & walking away ready for the next day – was difficult. I don’t condone these things & at times I became a little irate – but you know – I still love Africa. And as my dear friend Jill used to tell me – “Kate – you can only do what you can do”. It was good advice way back in the good old days of Whitnash Lodge & it is good advice now. Thanks Jill.

Diversity – Professionally in these times – particularly in “Human Services” – we have to be more & more aware of & sensitive to cultural diversity. What better way to understand the true meaning of diversity – than to spend a month working in Africa.

And so?

Boy is this country rich in cultural diversity. So many cultures – tribes – ethnic groups exist in this country. Such a vast range of socio-economic groups too. The destitute – the poor - the less poor & the wealthy – they all live in Africa. There is also a big migrant population in the province which has brought with it problems & conflict not dissimilar to what we have experienced in the UK. But we all know that tragedy & disability do not discriminate in relation to colour or wealth. If cultural diversity was a tapestry – this place would be the most intricate carpet – rich with golden threads – woven tightly - the pattern so complex that even the most skilled weaver would struggle to recreate it. As for unravelling it to really inspect the threads that make it up – to understand them – to appreciate each one for what it is – only God knows if that would be possible. As for my own professional practice in the UK after experiencing the diverseness of this place – it can only improve.

Peace – This past 18 months have been probably the saddest & most traumatic I have ever known. Those who know me – will know why. Life really doesn’t wait for anyone – but the opportunity to “get off” a while was an enormous pull for me. I didn’t just want this time – I needed it.

And so?

I found an inner peace in Africa that has long escaped me. Even on a practical level & while some of the things I saw were difficult to see – I wasn’t “spinning plates” as I normally do. It’s a woman thing eh – kids – work – home etc. (Everyone wanting a bit of me). At times – my ability to switch off from the events of the day that went before – was very difficult. But I managed to. Sometimes when I was feeling mellow – I questioned how this could be – particularly given some of the distressing situations I had been party to. I guess bar a few days in week three when I had seen the worst of the sights – I managed to embrace the peaceful feeling. I guess doing the job I do for more years than I care to recall - has given me a valuable” shut down” skill. I had no television to steal my head space – no commitments that I didn’t want & the sound of the sea was always there. What better recipe for total chill out. Even with the doors closed & in the depths of the night – the whooshing soothed me.



Give a little back – I know it sound kitsch – but having brought up 2 children – worked like a Trojan since I was 18 – I began to understand & be quite envious of young folk who take a “year out” to do something noble. Doing something like this when I was 20 was simply beyond my means. This has been my “gap year” squashed into 4 weeks.

And so?

While I have always been quite committed & passionate about what I do – I have never thought of myself as a pioneer type? I still don’t. But you know – there really is a skills shortage in Africa of people who know about the Learning Disability speciality. Learning Disabled folk are not a priority. The work I have done here – has been grass roots stuff. Nothing too technical & certainly nothing overly complicated. I believe that I have given something though – particularly at Whizz Kidz & during the seminar I presented. At times I was treated like some “big wig” – which made me very uncomfortable. Always though - what I contributed was appreciated & valued. I may not have changed the world – but I have touched a few special people. I have also made friends – these embryonic friendships will be nurtured - despite the cultural & geographical distance. I didn’t have to travel south of the equator to feel appreciated professionally - the families & team I work with – do that anyway. But I am proud of myself – really proud of myself. And the clinical work aside – this woman drove the guts of 2,000 kilometres in Africa. Bloody Nora – who would have thought it!



Reflection – There is a place in Glastonbury called the “Chalice Well Gardens”. In each serene section of garden – there is a sign – “This is a place for quiet reflection”. I kind of “got it” way back then in that place. Many times over the years I sat in those gardens (often dressed like a total mad hippy) & “quietly reflected”. I knew in my heart though that the term “reflect” would take on a life of its own in Africa. (The sound of the sea – the reflection of the moon off the water – the early mornings - late evenings - my guitar - my thoughts & few responsibilities). Priceless - simply priceless.

And so?

Sometimes there are more questions than answers. If this past 18 months has taught me anything – it is that stuff happens & there is nothing any of us can do to stop it. Some things are destined – written somewhere – inevitable. Life passes us by in the blink of an eye. I think of my beautiful children & can hardly believe that Ben is a man now & Max is taking the tentative awkward steps from boyhood to manhood. It feels more like a year ago that a decade or two - that I watched them sleep as babies – winded them – fretted as they took their first steps – rejoiced when they said their first words - took their photos on their first day at school.

Minutes always turn into hours – hours to days – days to months – months to years. The world turns – our lives take this path & that & we must ride the waves with as much skill & dignity as we can. The choices we make relate to the detail – the big stuff just happens. But the detail is important. All we can do is to skill ourselves up as best we can & be true to ourselves. Despite the inevitable obstacles which may block our path – the dilemmas we will encounter – the bits of crap that life throws at us that hit us square in the eye – perhaps all we can do is to try to be as decent a human being as we can - despite the bad stuff.


Things I saw before Breakfast


Dolphins – loads of them playing – jumping & making their way somewhere only they knew. I saw this spectacle 3 or 4 times while I was supping tea in my night wear on the balcony!
A Crocodile trying to eat a bird on the banks of the river beside the hut I stayed in – in the bush. Wart hogs & baby Impala running around outside my hut.
The most spectacular sunrises imaginable.
Giraffes having a drink from the water hole.


The Highs?

Little Cameron – trying to & eventually succeeding at saying my name.
Tizzy initiating physical contact – priceless!
The enthusiasm of Sarah at Whizz Kidz.
Being presented with the gift form Whizz Kidz. (The lump in my throat was enormous)
Eating the most spectacular Oysters – for the 1st time – they tasted of the sea & tabasco sauce of course? I am a convert!
Driving around – finding my way from A to B & feeling ballsy. Liberating?
Pottering around at my own pace with no particular place to be - feeling mellow & having nowhere to rush to. Unique?
Driving down the hill from Umlanga to Umdloti & saying, “Agghh” every time the view of the bay appeared.
Turning the corner on the way from parking level 2 to level 1 - the view of the coast even framed by the concrete of the stairwell – made me smile to myself.
The generosity of the people I met who made such an effort for me – despite being a relative stranger to them.
Driving north for 3 hours through tribal Africa on route to Safari & soaking up the changing terrain – the sights – sound & smells.
My first beer at the Warthog bar on Safari. God – I needed that beer.
The sugar cane blowing in the wind like an enormous Mexican wave.
Making new friends.
The time & space to just be Kate.
Getting seriously into blogging! I feel a side line as a blogger coming on!


AND FINALLY

I want to say an enormous thanks you to all who have taken an interest in my madness & kept up to date with my blog. And in particular – I want to say a big heartfelt thank you to those who took the time to leave a comment or two. Words can not describe just how excited I was each day as I logged on & how impatient I became when the site took a while to load. I so wanted to see what you all had written. Reading the comments felt like a big cosmic pat on the back – a whisper of “go on girl” in my ear. Your comments enthused me – helped sustain my momentum when I was feeling low – gave me encouragement & made me smile.

And thanks to:

The inner sanctum of girls – my good friends – Beverly – Caroline – Elaine – Debs & Carla - for understanding just how important this trip was to me.

Joy & the guys at work for saying “Go for it” – despite the inevitable increase in their workload – my absence would have brought. I will make it up to you – honest.

David for holding the fort – keeping the ironing basket low - accepting my decision to do this & for being patient.

Max for doing without his mum for a month – though I am sure with his obsessive interest in fishing – he was far too busy to miss me. I hope you caught some massive Carp?

My big son Ben who even though he thought I was nuts – gave me support. Well done son & thanks for calling to tell me about your great exam results? I like the way you don’t compromise your party lifestyle – yet still make the grades. Just like your mother! The party bit anyway!

My mum Sally who despite her concerns that I was going to befall some horrible tragedy – gave me her support & most precious of all she said the words I so needed to hear – “I am so proud of you love”. Thanks mum – that meant the world to me.

My late brother Paul - for coming to me so clearly in my dream. It was lovely to see you once more. I will always miss you. And as he would say - God Damn it!

And finally to my late father Cecil - whose small inheritance turned the notion of a trip such as this – into a reality. I have no doubt that he would have raised an eyebrow in the way only he could! He would have undoubtedly had something to say that may not have been “music to my ears” – but all the same – I wish he was around to give his opinion – whatever it may have been.

Kate xx

The Final Day Dawns

Thursday 20th March

One of life’s mysteries turning your alarm off because you don’t have to rise early - & you wake way before the buzzer would have gone off had you had left it activated? Still – I caught the sun rise & today’s dawn was a good one. Worthy of the many photographs I took.

I killed time this morning – packing – repacking & organising my stuff. Finally I heard from Charlotte. Having lost my phone – getting hold of her without her cell number – was quite awkward. We arranged to meet for lunch at a lovely Italian place in the open courtyard at the Gateway Centre - a lovely open air restaurant & one that has become quite special to me over the past couple of weeks. The final lunch - inlike the last supper - was a perfect & fitting way to end the month.

I have met so many good people over the past month – but Charlotte shines out. She put herself out for me on so many levels – she is passionate about what she believes in & Charlotte if you read this – you are my friend. Thank you for everything & I really do hope despite the geography – we do some of the things we have discussed. Though even if we don’t – we will stay in touch.

So I pottered for the last time around the centre – updated my blog at the internet café that has been my 2nd home in Africa & took a last look around. As shopping Malls go – this is a nice one & when its 30 plus degrees – a great place to seek air conditioning & get respite from the heat. And I have had some of my most easy moments – browsing around – stopping for a beer or an iced coffee & contemplating the meaning of life – the universe & everything.

And so all that was left to do was to return to the apartment – check & recheck my stuff again & link up with Steve & Nita from next door for one last chat. Guys – you have been absolute stars – keep safe & be happy. You are very special people. I hope that the damn monkeys stop pilfering your bread. Steve – go get your catapult - choose a big shiny marble form your ammunition stash & blast the little swine to kingdom come!!

Off to the airport & the long haul back to Leamington Spa.

And what to become of my blog – my dear friend the blog? Well – some early reflection to come within the next day or two – then perhaps one further entry when the dust has settled. My month in Africa will stay in my memory & heart forever & the blog will always be there – but hard as it may be – I must put it down – leave it in cyber space as a testament to my wonderful adventure & accept that http://amonthinafrica.blogspot.com/ – is over.

Kate

My Last Full Day

Wednesday March 19th


Sleep evaded me last night. I just didn’t feel quite as cosy & settled as I have done & my head buzzed like a siren. So when the alarm went off at 5am – I was already up & willing the sun to rise in its spectacular fashion so that I could take some pictures. Alas – too much cloud this morning & the photos were not very special at all.

I arrived at Whizz Kidz at 7.30am – no wrong turns – no anxiety on the highway & was given the most beautiful welcome. Most of the children arrive at 7am & everyone was pleased to see me. I have even learned a little South African Makaton signing. (So different to the UK system – that I have had to sit on my hands for the last few weeks for fear of confusing the children even more)

What a day. The team sought me out – even those who had been a tad evasive previously - came to ask for guidance on this or that. Sarah – the shining star had attended a 2 hour seminar last week on Applied Behaviour Analysis. She threw her arms around me within seconds of arrival & asked if we could talk. She brought her lecture notes & wanted me to explain some of the terminology in the handouts she was given. Why do theses organisations have to use so much jargon. I am a behaviourist & having completed a week long course on IABA – I struggled to get my head around the terminology. Its an “American thing” I suppose – why use one simple words – when ten complicated ones will do? So we spent a half hour going through the notes & paying particular attention to the terms she had underlined. Half way through – Deborah – the Principal came in & discreetly took our photograph. I suspect it will go on the centre web site which is presently under construction.

I had an amazing day. The kids remembered me. A little girl whom I devised a basic programme for to address her tactile defensiveness – came up several times & touched me. By the end of the day – she was initiating games of tag – she rubbed my arm many times & held hers out to be rubbed in return. And in less than two weeks! Wow. Cammie – the little guy who recently had an operation for his severe epilepsy & who needed Speech Therapy – has started therapy. He has been moved to another class where he is doing really well & when prompted to say my name – said – “K ….K …..K ….. Kate”. Everyone clapped & I almost cried.

Even the “die hard” staff in the senior end of the service – sought me out. We had quite an honest – though heated at times - discussion. They wanted to know how they could “make” a lad do his work. They described their anger – their frustration when he wouldn’t engage. Hand over hand guidance had been taken too literally to the point of “You will do this”. It took a while – a lot of examples – with intermittent “I understand how frustrated you must feel” – thrown in – but they got it. By Jove – they got it in the end. It really was a Eureka moment when they realised that if such strategies were going to be effective – they would have been a long time ago. Hopefully now – the path they take with this lad – will reap rewards. And even if it doesn’t – at least the stress levels of all concerned – will be less.

At break time I played in the garden & many of the children laughed at my attempts to juggle one handed. After 10 minutes – several of the kids were bringing me more balls – I must have had 6 or 7 at one point. And who said these non verbal learning disabled kids can’t learn? As well as a solid education – they need to have fun. And boy – did we have fun today? Just as I was saying my goodbyes – I felt myself becoming quite emotional. As I hoped for a sharp exit - I was presented with a package. I opened the paper & inside was 2 canvas shopping bags. Nothing spectacular in that except that all the children had made hand prints on the bags & their name had been written next to their print. One of the most precious gifts I have ever been given & something I will keep & treasure my whole life. I drove out of the gates with tears running down my face & I knew one day – I would return. If I had to choose one project to help – to support or to revisit – there is no doubt in my mind that Whizz Kidz would be it.

This evening – I went again to the Italian restaurant nearby. The Oysters were very good – although last week they were exceptional. Within 10 minutes of arriving – the power went off again. It is called Load Shedding & a tactic used throughout the province to save power as the power stations are coming to the end of their life. So I read my book in candle light which was kind of nice & got taking to a woman who having lost power as she started to prepare dinner - had taken her small children out to eat as an alternative. She was lovely – really friendly & a lot of fun. She made me laugh with a story she told me. Given that it started – “Did you hear the one about the department of health official” – I can be forgiven for thinking she was telling me a joke? It goes like this? The government decided to hand out free condoms as part of the HIV prevention programme. A clerk at the Department of Health responsible for the packaging of the condoms – stapled a health promotion flyer to each pack of condoms. Right through each one! God knows how many condoms reached the various clinics – outreach programmes etc – with a lovely hole in each one. I laughed until I almost choked. Rather than venture back & find my way up the stairs in the dark – I stayed at the restaurant until the power returned. I had a good day today.

I can’t quite believe how quickly the four weeks have passed by & tomorrow I have to leave. I have found my feet – my confidence - my bearings & it feels that I just as I have it sussed - it is time to return to the UK. Could I stay longer – probably but the longer I am off my life – the harder it will be to get back into it. Life – work & time – waits for no one.

A Day with the Downs Syndrome Association - SA

Tuesday 18th March

Dee – a very upbeat Zulu lady – met me early this morning at a service station a few miles away from where I am staying. I took to her immediately. Her passion for what she did – her bounce & her infections smile – all served to make me feel like we had been best friends for years. A very funny thing happened though. She suggested that rather then follow her, which we had originally planned to do – it may be best if I went in her car as she wasn’t very familiar with the area & was prone to getting lost. She drove this way & that – round & round – almost picked up the M4 when she needed to be on the N2. She stopped twice to get directions – but as she was speaking in Zulu – I didn’t understand. Despite the directions she continued to get lost. A couple of times I had tried to interject – and while I wasn’t 100% sure – I had a vague idea in which direction we should be heading – but my words fell on deaf ears – after all – I am only a tourist!. After 20 minutes – I said in a very assertive voice – “Dee – we need to take this road – trust me – it will take you to the N2”. She gave me a strange look – but having run out of options & having nothing to loose – she followed my guidance. And what do you know? We hit the N2 & off we went. She laughed saying that having lived here all her life – she was very impressed with my navigation skills. To which I replied – “ I have got lost in worse areas than this – believe me”.

Dee is a qualified nurse in just about every discipline going. She trained in the “old school” when the course was less integrated than it is now & so over the years since qualifying – she continued with post graduate study to obtain qualification in Mental Health – Midwifery & Community Medicine. She was a nurse in a special school for a while – loved the children & despite taking an enormous pay cut - took a job with the Downs Syndrome Association. Her title is Outreach worker.

The association has a regional office – but Dee is based in a local office which serves an enormous population & geographical area. Her role is varied & despite the “Outreach” title – she is a lone worker & so rarely does home visits. She is informed by local hospitals if a child with Downs Syndrome is born in the area. She co-ordinates appointments for the children & families – runs parent support groups – coordinates access to a genetic clinic - gives guidance on maximising the children’s development & runs clinics for the families she supports. And she does not just support parents of children with Downs Syndrome – she will input into all children with developmental delay.

Today she wanted to show me the Phoenix Assessment & Therapy Centre. The unit is only one of two in the province of KwaZulu-Natal. The centre doesn’t serve the entire province – but a catchment area within it. It seems that families have travelled from the Eastern Cape – stayed with relatives & pretended to be local – to access the centre. I had assumed that it was a specialist provision for children with developmental delay – but no. It is known as a Rehabilitation service. Today I spent most of my time with Leka Maharaj – a Speech & Language Therapist & an Audiologist. In any day she could see people with a host of different issues. (Children with developmental delay – ASD – Cleft Palate – the whole myriad of conditions. Also adults who may have had a Stroke – or an acquired brain injury). She seemed impressed that in the UK – therapists tend to stay within one speciality. Although was keen to point out that while she could specialise – she could only do so if she were to go into private practice & out of principal – she would not do that. There are only 2 or 3 seniors Speech & Language Therapist in the area & she is one of them. Her dedication to the people she serves – shone through. The Unit is an outpatient’s facility only. It has a Physiotherapist – An Occupational Therapist – A Speech & Language Therapist & a GP who consults for them. She told me that they used to have sessions from the Geneticist – but he wasn’t getting paid as promised so he opted out. The unit carries a waiting list of about 300 at any given time. People wait for a long time to be seen & must make their way to the clinic independently – which may mean using unreliable public transport if they can afford it or walking for miles with their child in their arms. They hold regular multi-disciplinary case discussions & this is the most forward thinking model I have seen to date. The environment is bleak – the equipment sparse – but all the folk who work there have a real passion for what they do & want to carry on. From time to time – they run groups or do community proactive programmes – but not as often as they would like due to the pressures on the service.

Leka was very interested in how we work in the UK. Having spent some time explaining how it operated in South Warwickshire – Leka sat back – said that “our way” is the ideal & something they would strive for but that no one in the Government will listen. She then suggested that perhaps I could speak to someone high up in their department of Health to tell them how it should be done! I almost choked – but could honestly tell her that I have only one full day remaining & am fully booked up until a few hours before my flight on Thursday. I didn’t come here to be a political agitator – but from what the many people I have spoken to have shared with me – someone needs to do it. One of the issues here seems to be that all money is being piled into the HIV & AIDS epidemic & it has been for some considerable time. The problem is though – that regardless of how much money has been spent – it has made no difference at all. The incidence of HIV & ADIS in this province is higher than anywhere else in South Africa. People here – simple haven’t changed their behaviour – despite the campaigns to encourage them to do so. The outcome for other needy groups is no investment – no priority & consequently – no or little Government provided services. God – listen to me – I am starting to sound like a campaigner? I will leave that kind of thing to those with the stomach & the energy for it.

Anyway – I was yet again treated wonderfully by those I met today. The openness & generosity of relative strangers today & during my entire visit – has been humbling. Dee & I sat for a while – had coffee at a café & put the world to rights. It was the little gestures that I discovered to be really big gestures that touched me most. Dee proudly gave me an association magazine. These are printed yearly in January & she gave me the 2007 edition. She apologised for this but explained that while head office get sponsorship to print the newsletters – they receive no funding for postage & so sometimes it can take a long time for them to reach the regional offices – if at all. I may never see Dee again – but despite her heavy work load – she took the day to talk to me – took the time to show me places & arranged for me to see the centre & talk with Leka. Thank you Dee – you have been a star.

Tomorrow I go back to Whizz Kidz. I feel like I am returning to my first love. A place with youngsters I understand – a sanctuary for the children & their families & where I can actually do something positive. Thank God for Whizz Kidz?

Letting my hair down?

Saturday Night - 15th March

Good food – even better craic & very good friends – the recipe for a good night. The beach party theme in the restaurant this evening didn’t quite take off as it has rained all day. Thank God – I didn’t wear a bikini – I would have looked a right fool. But the food was fabulous & the people were great. I am not one to drink liqueurs or shots – but tonight I sampled some very odd drinks – more than is sensible – one or two I liked – some I didn’t. Still – with the special promotion for some strong apple liqueur – the “buy 2 shots & get a prize” - lured us all. My prize - a pair of satin boxer shorts? Can’t say I have ever left a bar before with a pair of men’s boxers in my handbag! There is a first time for everything eh?

With my guitar left back at Gav’s house in readiness – when the bar closed we all piled into the car & headed back to the house where me & Chester strummed & jammed into the wee small hours. Now I am not much of a singer even on a good day – but having talked all day – I was very hoarse & even the notes I can usually hit – evaded me. Still – even the croaky singing didn’t dampen my spirits. I went to bed at 5am & being a bit of an insomniac – I was back on the road to Umdloti by 7am. Gavin & Terry – if you ever read this – I can’t thank you enough. Not just for tonight – but for extending your warm & genuine hand of friendship to me. Thank you.

I have a couple of days to chill now – to reflect & prepare myself for the last few commitments next week before I take the tentative steps from African soil onto the plane & from the plane to English soil. The first bit of the transition I guess. What had been glibly referred to as “Kate’s African Adventure” is almost over & make no mistake – this has been an adventure. The sights – the sounds – the people who touched me – the kindness of relative strangers – the amazing highs – the humbling lows. I tried my best to ride the peaks well & hope that I managed the troughs with some dignity. But this experience has given me so much more than just an “adventure”. Some folk said that this experience would change me & they were right. So has this experience changed me in any way ? Not such a radical change that I no longer recognise myself – after all I’ve known Kate for 44 years – and grown to quite like her. But surely things I have witnessed touched and felt will have some lasting effect. However that as they say - is for the future. Today I am contemplating the mysterious lure of this wild country with all of its promise and pitfalls.

The Seminar

Saturday 15th

Friday was a bit I of a lost day. Having eaten a very dodgy Hot Dog at Addington school yesterday – I had to give my apologies to Charlotte & opt out of attending the seminar on Narrative Approaches to Family Therapy that she had very kindly arranged a place on for me on.

Despite the amount of training I have done over the years – delivering the training today had been playing in my mind since I got here. The session plan had been set & reset many times since my arrival. But I knew that once I got started – that everything would be fine. That’s how it tends to be with me. Give me an audience – something to talk about that I believe in & once I get on a roll – the cue cards become redundant & I fill in the gaps with ease. Thank God – today was no different. If perhaps even one or two of the students were fired up & enthused enough to want to make a difference to someone with learning disabilities - the day would be worthwhile.

I started off by telling the group that in the UK – people with learning disabilities have a presence in their community & so when I was here in October & didn’t see one learning disabled person in any town or village – coffee shop – shopping mall or restaurant & it got me thinking - “Where do these people hang out”? And it really did make me curious.

The group were a mixture of nurses at various stages on their training & a few social workers. The room was a good size & very comfortable. Given that bar a couple of participants – the students had little experience or exposure to people with learning disabilities – their interest in the subject was very encouraging. Questions were forthcoming – there were none of those dreadful pregnant pauses that usually communicate a total lack of interest & even though we covered too much material for the time we had – I didn’t feel that I had rushed any topic to the point of doing it no justice. And those of you reading this who have seen me teach – will know how particular theoretical points tend to trigger a memory of someone I have worked with & along comes a story to illustrate the theory – practice link. These were the bits that grabbed the attention of the students & I do hope that the anonymous stories served to enrich the topic. And so by the end of the session - the gruffness of my voice & hoarseness in my throat told me that the session had been a success. Teaching an appreciative group always enthuses me & even missing my turn & ending up taking an unplanned detour through a township area in a town I neither needed to be in & should have avoided – didn’t dampen my spirits or raise my blood pressure. As I negotiated the minor roads & found my way back to the N2 - a warm & satisfied feeling washed over me that confirmed that all was well. And so I made it back – poured a beer – sat out the balcony feeling the warm rain on my face & contemplated getting ready for a night with Terry & Gavin. I can’t for the life of me understand what I was worried about.

Addington School – A Whole Day Perspective

Thursday 13th March

Having spent the day with the Street Project yesterday – I felt that today would be less harrowing. And having had a few hours here earlier this week – neither the drive nor my expectation of what the day may have in store – fazed me. My expectations were of spending time in the class & giving guidance to the teachers. How wrong I was.

Firstly Mrs Jackson – is not the principal as I had thought a few days ago. She is the school social worker. She greeted me with enthusiasm & my initial feelings of warming to her two days previous paled into insignificance within ten minutes of arrival. This woman is a saint – the most passionate person about children I have ever had the privilege to meet & has the balls of an elephant. Now my sequencing of the events of the day is shot to hell. Ok – I am known for being forgetful – for not remembering names – for having a poor sense of direction – but I tell you now that it was the roller coaster of emotional trauma & the sheer pace of the day that has scrambled my thoughts. For that reason – I will recount things not necessarily in order – but as they come to me & some I will intentionally omit.

The Missing Girls.

A man sat in reception asking to speak with Mrs Jackson. He looked very worried – almost tearful. His 13 year old step daughter had gone out to play with an 11 year old friend from school the previous afternoon. By 5.30pm he was getting worried & then discovered that she had removed her school books form the satchel & her clothes were missing. He had sent the night looking for her. But to no avail. “Please help me Mrs Jackson”. What a story this was. His daughter had been quite wayward & was on her last warning at school before being removed to what is called a “School of Industry”. Her attendance had been poor – she had been using Cocaine – having sex with men & was prone to being abusive to the teachers. However – the last 6 weeks there had been a big improvement in her behaviour & everyone seemed to think she was at last beginning to settle down. Clearly though she had planned to leave that night & the young girl she had taken with her was a lot less street wise & according to Mrs Jackson – a very unlikely friend. The saga of the missing children continued all day. The police were contacted – arrangements were made to locate the man she had been seeing & having him arrested & charged with statutory rape. Step dad was distraught – he went to great lengths to convey the measures he had taken to support the girl & to keep her on a straight path. The outcome ? By lunchtime the younger girl had presented herself at a police station quite a distance away – telling the police her friend had abandoned her. She was reunited with her mother. When I left at the end of the day – the step father had returned – was sat with his head in his hands in the foyer & his daughter was still missing.

The Naughty Boy

One of the teachers came to Mrs Jackson to share her concerns about a boy in her class who despite her every effort – was destructive – distractible & regularly abusive / aggressive with his peers. Plans had already been made for his parents to come in for what as known as “An Interview”. (At this school – parents are not given a choice & I overheard a few telephone conversations today when different parents were told – “Mam – this is your child we are talking about – I will expect you here to discuss our concerns or would you rather I had you arrested for child abuse”). Nervous looking parents were called into the office. The boy followed. Mrs Jackson took no prisoners. She told them their son was not born violent – that he was a blank canvas & perhaps they could shed some light onto his behaviour? They both sat with their heads down – eye contact was non existent. Mrs Jackson continued. She was the good cop & the bad cop rolled into one. She asked the child – “Why do you hurt people – has someone hurt you?” He didn’t respond. She played this situation with the skill of a top detective – swaying between congratulating them for being a good family who obviously love their son – to making it plain that she knew that something bad was happening at home. Then she went in for the kill!

Mrs Jackson - “Sir – do you hurt your child”?
Dad - “Yes mam – I do”.
Mrs Jackson - “How do you hurt him”.
Dad – “I beat him mam”.
Mrs Jackson – “Sir what do you beat him with”?
Dad - “A shamba”. (A whip)

And so it went on. Dad said how frustrated he felt with his son for he would not do as he was told. He was restless all the time & had a very short fuse. Mrs Jackson told the parents that beating their child was against the law (though they could smack him – they mustn’t hurt or mark him) She turned to me & asked if I there was anything I would like to say. I wasn’t expecting this – but thought, “Why not”.

Having established that he beat the child regularly – I told him that it was wrong. “Sir” I said – “Your son will grow up to be a violent man”.
I explained he was only a little boy & enquired if he ever made a point of praising him when he was behaving well. He didn’t. I continued trying very hard not to convey my own judgements – but to explain that there are other ways. Pointing out strongly it was their responsibility to help him to learn positive ways of dealing with his frustrations. And so it went on – once I stared – I couldn’t stop. What had I observed during my 10- minute diatribe?

Mum didn’t say a word & looked frightened.
Dad was embarrassed & not at all happy that two women were telling him what he should do.
The boy was fidgeting – restless & very distractible.

I had a hunch which spookily Mrs Jackson shared. We both explained that the level of distractibility & restlessness the boy was showing was quite extreme & that it may be he had a condition that made it really hard for him to concentrate or control his behaviour. Without using the label ADHD – we went to great lengths to reassure him that his son wasn’t mad or disabled – but perhaps he had a minor “wiring fault”. I had already learned that some Zulu people are resistant to labels & modern intervention - that instead they try to beat the devils out of kids who have problems. We gave his teacher a Connors rating scale & urged the parents to take their son to see a Paediatrician for assessment. They agreed although it later transpired that the child had been referred a year ago – the parents had been offered an appointment but had opted not to attend. Mrs Jackson asked dad to tell her some things about his son that he liked. He could only say that he liked it when he was good. She repeated the exercise with the child who was naturally more spontaneous about his father’s good points than dad had been able to be. Mrs Jackson finished the interview by telling them in no uncertain terms that if she ever suspects that their son has been beaten again – she will have them arrested & locked up & their son would be removed to a place of safety. The parents left.

The Old Man

A white man – late 70’s arrived at reception & asked to speak to the social worker. He was shown in. He was very thin – his skin translucent – his body shaking & tears were in his eyes. I couldn’t help but notice that he looked in pain. His right hand was swollen badly with several open wounds on the back of it & three of his fingers were misshapen & enormous. His right eye was very red – filled with puss & weeping badly. God what a sad story this was. For the last eight months this man had “taken in” a Zulu family. Mum – the mother of a 14 year old girl at the school – the pupil & grandmother) It was common knowledge that the woman he had tried to help – was working in the “sex industry”.

“Please Mrs Jackson – you must help me. This girl is out of control”. And so it went on – but his concerns about the child seems strange. Mrs Jackson skilfully probed & within a few minutes the story unfolded. Eight months ago this old man had taken the family into his home – they were homeless. He seemed embarrassed – he felt foolish. Almost since day one – the pupil – her mother & grandmother had been abusing this old man. The eldest & youngest of this formidable trio had for the most part doled out verbal abuse & threats. The middle woman had been physically hurting this vulnerable old man. He raised his hand to show us. I would say at least two of his fingers were broken. The wounds were cause by her nails. He took off his glasses to expose the injury to his eye. He lifted his trousers & showed us his legs. He had very nasty varicose ulcers – cause by being kicked daily for months..

“Sir – you must get rid of this family or they will kill you”.
“I know they will” – he said.
“Then get to the police station – file an assault charge & throw them out of your house”.
“But they have nowhere to go” – he added.
“Sir –they are not your responsibility & make no mistake – this woman will kill you”.
“I know she will – she damn near has. Last night she held me down & tried to gouge my eye out with her nails”.
“Then get rid of them sir”.
“I am too afraid” – he said.
“Sir you are an intelligent man & you know what the outcome will be if you don’t do this”.
“I know but she said if I file a complaint that she will tell the police that I have been molesting the child & I will go to jail”.

And so it went on – the old man was petrified – afraid that he would be locked up. Mrs Jackson made a call to the police station – made arrangement for his to meet with someone she knew & he left. I am not convinced that he did go to the police station as despite our best efforts to reassure him – the old man seems marginally less frightened of the persistent beatings than being labelled as a child molester.

The Photographs

Intermittently throughout the day – Mrs Jackson said that she must take some photos of a 7 year old girl. But other things kept cropping up. After lunch we came across this child on the stair. Mrs Jackson introduced us. She was beautiful – innocent – the most fabulous braids in her hair – but she seemed afraid. Mrs Jackson told her she would take the pictures later – but asked he to show me her arm. The little girl lifted her sleeve. I have never seen such bad bruising & to leave such marks on a child with black skin would surely take some doing. This was not the first time this had happened & the photos were to provide evidence so that Mrs Jackson could make a case & have both parents sent to prison. She told me that she had given the parents two previous chances to stop hurting the little girl – but still the extreme abuse continued. When the evidence was gathered & the case heard at the local station - the child would be removed to a place of safety. I asked what such a “Place of Safety” would be like – Mrs Jackson’s eyes conveyed sadness. I had assumed a foster placement or small children’s home. But no – a place of safely here is certainly not what I had envisaged it to be. Both this little girls parents had full blown AIDS – though had refused antiviral medication & their prognosis was poor. The little girl told me her mother was very sick now. The bell rang & the little girl returned to class.

Home Alone

A 14 year old girl appears outside Mrs Jackson office at the end of lessons. Three days before she had been badly beaten by her mother. The girl had two broken ribs – contusions to her head – a badly swollen knee & bruised arms. Mrs Jackson had contacted the mother & told her the police had been informed of the incident & she would be arrested. Consequently the mother had fled. In the few days since the beating – Mrs Jackson was concerned as to whom was caring for the child. The girl had told her an aunt was staying with her in the family flat. Despite attempts to contact the “elusive aunt” – she could not be found. The girl was clearly anxious. Mrs Jackson told her unless she had proof she was being cared for by a family member – she would have to contact her father & she would have to stay with him. And so it continued – Mrs Jackson gently pressing the girl – the girl being evasive about the aunt. After some 20 minutes – the girl admitted the aunt – wasn’t a relative & both Mrs Jackson & I suspected that there was in fact no one looking after this child. Mrs Jackson was getting increasingly frustrated – she told the girl that she now had no choice but to contact her father. The girls eyes filled up with tears – she put her head down & said – “Please Mrs Jackson – don’t send me to my father – I know my mother beats me – but my father beats me much worse”. Mrs Jackson told the girl to leave it with her & she would see if she could come up with an alternative. As the girl got up to leave I noticed a cigarette burn on her arm. She saw that I had noticed – bowed her head & walked away. I have no idea how this situation will be resolved.


The Police Visit

Early afternoon we were called into the school hall. The local police station was doing a community project & had arrived to talk about the dangers of alcohol abuse. They addressed the older children who had packed into the hall in a very orderly manner & greeted everyone with – “Good afternoon teachers – police & visitors”. The talk was unremarkable except for this. I got talking with a female community liaison officer – she has great links with the school & works very closely with Mrs Jackson. We got talking & I told her about the street project & how harrowing I had found it & about the experiences at the school thus far. She then proceeded to say, “If you want to see how bad things really are here – why don’t you spend a day with us at the station”? Last week I would have been keen to take her up on the offer. Today – I thanked her very much – but declined. While I am strong – some may say fearless – there is just something so horrible about witnessing things that are beyond your power to change.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

These are just 4 of about 8 situations I was a party to today. Each one peeling away layers of tragedy to reveal worse & worse abuse. Children leading lives of daily trauma & fear – yet a strange level of acceptance emanated form these young people. The abuse normalised – the children accepting of it. Mrs Jackson though – was not accepting any of it. She works into the night at home as she has no phone in her office & no PC. This is a very good school – many of the children form Addington School do very well. It has very high expectations of the pupils – the structure & discipline is excellent. Parents campaign hard to secure a place here. I found out also that there is no budget for stationary & any colourful wall displays in the classrooms – of which there were many – the teachers buy the paper – paints etc themselves. I couldn’t believe it. Many of the teachers are not getting paid their full salary & two years on despite pursuing this with the local education department – all appear to have given up trying. Mrs Jackson earns before tax – about 6,000 Rand a month. (About £420 a month) The staff I met today are committed beyond anything I have ever known before. Their belief in the children –despite the lives in which they know them to be living – is unwavering.

I had hoped to be driving back to Umdloti today having achieved something - given advice – or even in some small way – helped perhaps one child. I was anticipating a little “hands on” work. Instead I had a glimpse into the darkest of places – discovered the monsters that lurk silently in hearts of the children whose stories I was party to. I just don’t know what to say. I can only tell the story. It would be easy for me to make judgement about all families – to examine a culture so alien to me & make assumptions about the lives of all children. Although it is difficult – I won’t do that. All I know is that the physical & sexual abuse stories I heard today are wrong – regardless of culture. (I won’t share the sexual abuse story – it is just too awful)
In 6 hours today – I saw & heard things that I have never seen or heard before. And still when I was getting ready to leave – an orderly queue of people was forming to speak to Mrs Jackson. This only means one thing – more horror stories.

Today I looked into the abyss. As I drove away – the heaviness in my heart consumed me. I was powerless to do anything – except share my experiences here. I needed to wash it all away. I hoped I could erase it all from my memory. I wanted to cry – but what good would that have done?

Umthombo Street Project

If I started today’s log like some of the others – bleating on about the traffic – about feeling nervous - about getting lost – it wouldn’t do justice to the things I have seen & done today. Today I learned the true meaning of LOST.

I arrived at the Umthombo Shelter almost an hour early. Tom – the guy who set up the project 10 years ago & whom I was due to meet - was not there. The project consists of several prefabricated huts nestled discreetly beneath a bizarre kite shaped roof structure. The place was heaving with kids of various ages. The youngest was perhaps 10 or 11 the rest teenagers. I introduced myself to the staff – told them I was hoping to find out a bit about what they do & help out any way I could. They didn’t know if Tom would make it in & suggested that as they were short staffed – I should come out with them in their mobile Health Care Vehicle. (An ambulance with some basic medical equipment – dressings – pain killers – antiseptic spray etc)

I was shown into the ambulance & really had no idea what I was going to do or where we were going. We headed out & I got the impression the driver & the young Zulu female worker sitting with me in the back – were looking for specific children. (I am ashamed to say that with the events of the day – that I can’t remember her name). Within a few minutes the vehicle stopped – “Come - get out with me” – she said. I got out & there on the side of the road was a group of about 6 or 7 teenage lads. They were laying on wet & sodden blankets & filthy pieces of foam. The girl explained that she needed to check on the guys as they needed medical help. A young man got into the ambulance & the staff member began to remove a very dirty bandage form his right upper arm. With the bandage off I saw a nasty wound. It transpired he had been stabbed a few days ago. The wound was almost circular & had his arm been sliced any more he would have had a hole in his arm the size of a orange. As it was – it was a nasty flap type wound that had been sutured. It looked infected & the sutures were beginning to embed somewhat. She cleaned it up – I took a look & redressed it for him. He opened his mouth to let me look – his tongue & throat were coated in yellow scum & he was clearly in pain. I thought perhaps he had an infection – but I was told that glue sniffing is rife amongst the street children (because apparently it numbs everything) & so the residue was as a result of substance misuse. He was given some throat lozenges & pain relief. On the pavement another young man shuffled around on his bottom – pushing himself forward or back with his knees & elbows. He had lost the use of his legs – again as a result of glue sniffing. The girl explained that he needed a Wheelchair & they have been trying to source one for him – but the chances of getting one was unlikely or could take years. A few of the other lads had rashes cleaned up & an orderly queue formed for pain relief.

We moved on to another very dodgy part of town to another group of young people. Some of them looked older – perhaps early 20’s – although the two girls were barely 15 years old. The girls were hostile – they had just woken up & proceeded to throw a small plastic box at us. It was here that I met Emanuel & his friend. Emanuel was about 21 – he sat in a rickety wheel chair – his knees were hard with calluses – un-repaired tendon injuries made a couple of his fingers jut out in a weird way. Again years of glue abuse had taken away the use of is legs. Despite his obvious distress he wore a smile from ear to ear – his clothes were caked with grime & smelling of stale urine – he was clearly pleased to see us. Within minutes we were joined by the owner of a local restaurant. She explained that she has known Emanuel for 9 years since he took up his position on the block. “Way back” – she explained, when he could walk (6 years ago) – she would give him little jobs outside her restaurant for money. Now she just brings food & provides lunch for the group once a week. It was 3 years after to could no longer walk that he got a wheel chair – which was bought for him by a foreign volunteer who had grown to love him & detest the system that appears to fail him and so many other street children.

Emanuel’s friend was a quiet guy – he didn’t use glue & had become Emanuel’s carer. If he needed to be taken to the toilet – his friend took him. There are no toilets instead a shop doorway or even defacating in the shade of a tree seems the norm. He was his protector & because of him - Emanuel who by now was very sick – immobile & very vulnerable – was kept safe. His friend would not leave his side – would not let other people hurt or rape him. Clearly Emanuel was loved. But today – he needed to go to a shelter – even he acknowledged this. He had a hacking chesty cough (Perhaps TB – which is rife in the city amongst the street dwellers) his eyes were sore & infected & he was lethargic. A call was made to the centre for outreach worker to come out. Within 15 minutes we were joined by another worker. It transpired that there are no shelters for “adults” – only perhaps rehab or care facilities – but they cost money & the lad didn’t have even a few Rand. The restaurant owner offered to pay 500 Rand a month if only someone would find a facility. Phone calls were made – the outreach worker took the woman’s number so that she could pay should a facility be found. After some time it became clear even if a facility was located - Emanuel & his friend would be split up – while unspoken - the look on Emanuels face told me that he was opting to stay on the street. For to him – being parted from his true & loyal protector was worse than dying cold & hungry on a louse ridden mattress on the streets of Durban. I took some pictures of Emanuel & his friends & they were fascinated by the images of themselves. They thanked us very much. As we pulled away – through the side window of the vehicle - I took one last glance of Emanuel & his friends & couldn’t help but wonder how long he had left. We caught a glimpse of each other – a brief fleeting eye contact that silently acknowledged that he & I both knew that he wouldn’t be around for much longer.

We visited the embankment area where a group of perhaps 20 young people lived. Young girls – still children - had small toddlers running around barely clothes. Dirty & hungry these little children played on the railings. The older lads asked for plasters. The child mothers were pleased to see the unit – but seemed a little anxious their children may be removed. It seems that the workers can only set in motion the systems to remove a small child to a place of safety if either their development is seriously delayed or if there is evidence of abuse. In Africa – from what I have seen – neglect doesn’t count. Now these young mothers are not intentionally neglecting their children – they lack the personal recourses to parent their kids – they have no money & they were barely parented themselves.

I struggled to understand how the “system” could fail these young people. Accessing health & social care (for what it is) is almost impossible if the young person doesn’t have their papers. How many kids think to locate their papers / certificates before fleeing an abusive home or before they leave because their parents have died? No papers – no treatment. Fortunately the centre has a good relationship with a local Government Hospital & sometime will get basic treatment for the children as a favour. But what kind of system is that eh?

The centre are not supposed to be open 24 hours a day – many of the children visit to wash – socialise etc during the day – but return to their pitch as darkness falls over the city. The centre has started a “movie club” though – where if DVD’s are played during the night– the kids can stay to watch – thus avoiding returning to the danger of the streets & the inevitable crime & abuse they are either at the receiving end of are dishing out to others. Food is provided if the funds are available. The only regular donations are of bread & water. All running costs are provided solely by donations. There is no government funding whatsoever. So if donations are not forthcoming – it is bread & water only. I went to get my purse & ashamedly remembered that I had intentionally left it at home “just in case” I was robbed. I felt dreadful – then I remembered I had some cash in my pocket. I dug into my jeans & pulled out all the money I had on me - 500 Rand (About £32) & gave it to one of the workers. She insisted I sign a book to say I had donated. She thanked me very much & yet again I felt humble.

But how & why can this happen? I am not a politician & have no sustained interest in politics. Is it a racial issue – I have pondered this question most of today? I don’t know enough about the system here to comment & whilst others before me may have come along believing if only they could love the children more – their world would be hunky dory. I don’t subscribe to that theory & what do I know anyway – having only spent a day being a voyeur into the miserable lives of the most marginalized?

This is an issue of child poverty – of children fleeing abusive homes or being orphaned & having little or no alternative. And for sure many of the kids are formidable characters themselves & survive by any means possible – legal or otherwise. Many are destined to become the next generation of scary adults in a city already saturated with people forced into criminality as no other choices appear to exist. Survival of the fittest..?

The folk at the centre work for a pittance to help these youngsters but I can’t help ponder what the minister for health or social care is doing about this. Where is the strategy & if such a thing exists – who the hell is implementing it? In the UK – we have a document called Every Child Matters. Okay – I admit – that services can be doled out sporadically depending on where you live & no system is perfect. But from where I have been today – it seems street children in particular matter very little. This is the 21st century & in the richest country in Africa where multi million pound housing developments are springing up everywhere – where the next World Cup will be hosted – children are gong hungry on the streets. They prostitute themselves for a morsel of food. They turn into the next generation of criminals & so the cycle continues. From where I am standing – children here have little value & matter even less.

Today I learned a new meaning of lost.

Addington School

Tuesday March 10th

With a badly out of scale hand drawn map from Charlotte – some directions to the school via the M4 – I set out with lots of time to spare. Guess what – the M4 is (and has been closed for the last week!) “Never mind” says I out loud in the car (as I am getting quite verbal when driving). I head for the N2 instead – the main freeway into the city. The traffic was again chaos & soon I realised that I had to also go on the N3 which is actually called Spaghetti Junction. With a vague idea that I am heading for the Beaches area or the water park & feeling quite ballsy - I carried on. God - what a nightmare. I ended up first of all on a one way system going in the wrong direction – then found my way back into the heart of the city & then took a tour around every back street alley there was & even a drive around the industrial estates. (The Shires Retail Park it was not) I could see the sea – but getting to it was no easy task? What with the rush hour traffic – the one way system – the road closures & my famous inability to negotiate my way around even familiar areas? However – just when I was about to call Charlotte & tell her to forget it as I was useless – I had one more go. Ten minutes later – I was there at Addington School.

The reception area was guarded with iron bars – it is not unusual for the reception staff to be held up at gun point. A mother sat nervously in the foyer waiting to see the principal. “Perhaps her child has been naughty”, - I thought. It later transpired that she had been brought in for the 2nd & final time to be spoken to by the Principal about the beatings she gives her child. She was crying when she came out of the office. The Principal later told me that the mother said that “it was cultural”. She gets regularly beaten by her husband & so she beats the children. I couldn’t help but wonder who the children will beat & ponder the roots of the violence in this society?

Anyway – Mrs Jackson (the principal) was a formidable character & I would likely cry if she gave me a telling off in her office. That said – she is a strong woman – with his principals & high expectations of the children. Prior to the ending of apartheid – the huge school served about 250 white children. It now serves 1,500 – most of whom are black. A high proportion of the kids have lost one or both parents to HIV / AIDS. There is a lot of trauma in that school – but I don’t suppose it is any different to other similar establishments in the area.

There are two special needs classes & I sat in to observe a group in each class on Abuse which was being facilitated by two sets of student nurses. They had prepared a work book with pictures & the children were sat on the floor discussing how it felt to be bullied or not listened to. (Even victimisation between children in these classes is not unusual) What happened next almost floored me. One little girl about aged 11 – put her hand up & told the facilitator calmly & in a very matter of fact way – that a male friend of her mothers had touched her. So there I was in a class with children who were discussing sexual abuse in a very normal way. The student nurses went on to ask the little girl – how that situation had made her feel. I felt very uneasy & certainly didn’t think that they should be pursuing such a disclosure in a group situation. I leaned over – whispered my concerns into the ear of the principal (who was coming to the same conclusion) & in a very discreet way she brought the session to an early conclusion. I later told her that the little girl was sharing this as though it was “normal”. Her response – “Sadly Kate – for many of these children – it is”.

I was shown round the school & introduced to the children & the staff as a “very important visitor form the UK”. I tried to say that I wasn’t that important really – but it fell on deaf ears. All the staff are referred to as Mrs this or Mr that. I didn’t want that & so didn’t give my surname. But instead by means of a compromise – I was referred to as Miss Kate.

The school has had some great success stories. Children getting scholarships to fee paying schools – becoming Head Boy or Head Girl – going on to University etc. Mrs Jackson summed it up perfectly. “I tell the children that I don’t mind what they decide to do as a job - if they want to be a road sweeper that is fine. But I tell them she said, – “You be the best road sweeper on the block”.

As I was shown back through the hall a group of children were finishing some activity & lining up to return to their class. They stopped & with prompting from Miss Jackson said in perfect unison – “Good morning very important visitor Miss Kate”. I could have cried & then they sang me a traditional African song about gifts from the heart.

Most of these children live in extreme poverty – with violence & neglect & abuse as common as SKY TV is in the UK. But in a good school – with high expectations – some of these disadvantaged children flourished. As I retraced my steps to return to my car I noticed a laminated sign on the door. It went like this:

“You can not shake hands with a clenched fist”.

Never a truer word was written?

I return to the school for a long day later on this week. All the staff I met were keen that I spend time in their class & help them with some of their “difficult children”. What a welcome they gave me & while I am a bit apprehensive – I am also looking forward to helping in any way I can. Tomorrow I am spending the day with a project for what are referred to here as “Street Children”. I think these kids are very wayward (even perhaps criminal) & homeless – many are orphans. As me mammy would say – “We don’t know we are born”.

Shaken - but not stirred?

Well – the highway was grid locked – so despite not having to arrive at the University until 10.00am which is well after rush hour – I sweated myself into a stupor behind trucks on the road – panicking that I may be late. Every driver here seems to have innate “road rage”. (Me – I am getting the hang of it also & found myself hanging out of the window making dubious hand signals & shouting, “What’s your problem dude – move it”). But I made it only 15 minutes late despite the hold ups.

Charlotte greeted me – made me coffee & introduced me to my schedule for the week. (Which is varied & interesting – though a little daunting as it seems I have to find my way to various places alone). I met with two other lectures on the nurse training course & discovered that the entire nurse training programme is integrated. That is general & mental health. It is a 4 year course with either very minimal or no learning disability placements & no lectures on the speciality. The head of school met with me & was very pleasant – very grateful & very keen to do something about the lack of specialist teaching on the programme. (So keen that she has or so it feels – invited the world & their wife to my seminar on Saturday – agghhh!!)

After lunch in the student refectory Charlotte explained about her PHD research which focuses on the Zulu community in the local townships & families experiences of caring for someone with mental health problems. First she wanted to call into the local hospital – meet with the sister on the psychiatric wing & then wanted to visit the townships to take photographs for her presentation. Before we left we stopped to collect Mama Priscilla. What a woman. Perhaps late 70’s – has worked as a qualified nurse all her life & now although retired - she does agency work, He husband & three adult sons all have psychosis. She is the only earner in the household & oozes smiles like no one I have ever met before. She greeted me with such enthusiasm & thanked me so much for being interested enough to spend time with her. “My pleasure Mama”, I said ( And I meant it).

The psychiatric hospital was shocking. I only went to the outpatients department. A wide room with church like pews & perhaps 15 “patients”. All of whom had either just seen the doctor & were waiting to be admitted or who were waiting the see the doctor & if the look of desperation on their relatives faces was a yard stick – an admission would have been a God send. These were disturbed people – most of them men & the noise was intense. Yet only one nurse on duty who seemed to be quite unfazed by the potential situations she may have to manage. I had a crafty peep around through the Perspex divide that separated outpatients form the wards. My God – it was like going back in time a million years. People in various states of undress – very disturbed – noisy – primal & I couldn’t see any staff. And there in the corner was a room with a sign saying “SECLUSION ROOM”. Perhaps I am just too “fluffy” & I understand that from time to time – people need to be isolated for safety reasons – but perhaps “Quiet room” would have been less threatening to these people? It would have to me?

We left after 20 minutes. Me – Charlotte & Mama headed out into the town Umlazi – deep into the townships. Charlotte mission was to take pictures – she stopped at the side of the road – she pulled up onto hillsides – she hopped out of her car on street corners & at the railway station & took snaps of the poverty – snaps of groups of folk hanging around – snaps of the beautiful valley below. I too took some photos – though I felt a little (or quite a lot actually) uneasy. I didn’t want to be voyeuristic – nor did I want to put myself in a risky position - yet knew that it was important to capture theses images. It was very edgy – I felt uneasy & was so glad that Mama – our local Zulu speaking old woman was there is help if needed. We stopped at a petrol station in quite a rural area – which had a small takeaway hut. With the searing heat we went in for a drink. Now this entire joint sold only cold drinks – crisps & a few dodgy looking pasties – but gets this? The counter area was completely cordoned off with iron railings. The pervious level of anxiety rocketed – the guys from the repair shop were hanging out of the hut looking at me as though I had landed form Mars & I wanted to make a hasty retreat. That must have been the longest 10 minutes of my life & I was glad to get away. Was I at risk? I don’t know & certainly Mama was a guardian angel – but this is an edge place & I certainly would not have wanted to stop there alone.

What an experience though & a day I will never forget. I understand that there are some very good private psychiatric hospital & clinics – but this one was a government facility & perhaps the saddest & most poignant moment of all was this?

We took Mama home. She had proudly told me that she lived in T section – a nice part of the township. Strange that in the towns like this - there are no street names – only “sections”. I think perhaps the lack of Pine Villas or Valley Avenue would have made it feel less like a ghetto & more like a place where real people live?

Picture this – the hospital gates – heavily guarded. Dozens of minibus taxis tout for business on the periphery. Sick people sit lost by the verge. Staff smoke & chat. As we leave – the security guard asks to check the boot of the car. Confused I ask Charlotte why – after all she has a pass? It seems that staff vehicles are regularly checked for stolen items. Just as I thought I had seen it all – I looked to my right & there not 20 yards from the main gates of the hospital was a run down shack of a building with a sign saying – BHEKISIZWE – FUNERAL SERVICES.

What more can I say?

Weekend number 3

Had a strange weekend. Kinda busy reading up & preparing for my lectures - slobbing around the house - taking in the view & getting in touch with poeple for next week. Half way through Sunday - I decided to go exploring. I got in the car - drove North on the B road & came upon a sign saying, "Crocodile Creek". Yep - I went on a trip to a crocodile farm. Apart from a group of Girl Guides & a few families - there weren't a lot of folk seeking crocs that day? I expected it would be some conservation trip for a mad crocodile lover - but it was a real farm & now I know how much a small - medium & large skin costs. Still - it was quite fun & I got to hold a baby crocodile.

Spent the rest of the time reading - typing & playing Joni Mitchell on my I pod.

A busy week ahead?

Crocodile Stenning!

The Bush Experience

The drive to the Safari was fine. Though driving through tribal areas was fascinating. I had the most relaxing & truly beautiful few days in the bush. The place I went did horse back trails so having rediscovered the little girl in me who just wants to ride all the time – I couldn't’t resist. It is difficult to describe what it feels like to be going through deep bush land – in an American style saddle & being so close to nature. About 30 minutes in – we turned the corner & there was a family of giraffes. I really expected then to spook & run away. But as the horses are also loose to roam the reserve when they are not being ridden – the giraffes are used to them & apart from an initial cautious look – they hardly moved. After about 10 minutes of standing beside these majestic creatures - we dismounted our horses – let them graze while we had some water & chocolate & sat on the grass about 20 foot from the giraffes. From time to time one of them would get a little curious & step slightly nearer to us. They were breathtaking & it was a beautiful experience.

Sailing down the river - drinking Sherry (of all things) & eating Biltong was something else.
And watching a crocodile flip out from the swampland close to my lodge at 5am was quite a thing to see. The accommodation was good but most of all it was the total silence & pitch blackness at night that dictated complete relaxation.

And now I am back in Umdloti & the remaining 2 weeks are going to be really busy with work. Next week I am with the University of KwaZulu-Natal all week including Saturday. I am facilitating a seminar on Saturday & thankfully I am still not ready for it. I have prepared my lecture notes – disregarded then & prepared then again more times than enough since I got here. Teaching doesn’t usually faze me – but I have managed to get in a bit of a tizzy about this one? The rest of the week – Charlotte from the University has arranged a timetable for me to meet various professionals & visit different services. I am not sure if she is coming with me on all the visits – so I may be given an address & a map & told that someone is expecting me at a certain time!! Still – I haven’t done too bad so far at finding my way around – so hopefully I will be fine. Oh & Charlotte wants me to joint write a paper with her on the differing service configuration in the UK & South Africa. Wow.

The work with the Downs Syndrome South Africa Association is the following week. As it transpires – the availability I had left when they eventually called me – wasn’t good for them bar one day – so I am helping the outreach worker do a genetics clinic in a big local hospital. I am not sure quite what I can offer – but I am looking forward to it anyway. And given that I have a couple of spare days – I plan to return to Whizz Kidz. I could happily have spent the entire month there & even by day two – the welcome I got from the staff & the children was fantastic.

Where does the time go? This day in two weeks time – I will be leaving & I can hardly believe it. Already I am reflecting on the experience so far – but will write more about that when I have got my mishmash of ideas straight in my head & had different experiences over the remaining fortnight.

I plan to do a more reading & preparation for the teaching over the weekend – perhaps do a little sightseeing & maybe even watch a rugby match on Saturday? When in Rome?

To Infinity & Beyond!

Today I head out into tribal Africa on a Safari. I didn't sleep well last night. I woke having had a really vivid dream about my brother Paul & I was distressed. Not because I had dreamed of him - but because I could see him so clearly & his voice was no longer pained & I wanted to go on seeing him. And the theme was kind of typical him? He was worried about us all & wanted to know that we were all okay. So it was loosing the image of him that made me so very sad.

But a cup of tea & watching the beautiful African Sunrise - made me smile & so to I had to get ready for the day ahead. I have a full tank of petrol - a 3 hour drive - some cool water (No air conditioning - big mistake as it is 36 degrees here today) and most of all - I have the "brassiness" to venture on today's adventure with vigour.

Here goes?

Liberated of Leamington Spa!!

Whizz Kidz again

Spent another day at Whizz Kidz. The team are really getting used to my presence & while the work is basic & very low level - it remains very satisfying. A little girl Zuma - was eating all kinds of foliage & I had to tell the principal that this could be quite dangerous in the long term. So hopefully now she will have a bit more supervision at play time.

I have had lots of ideas about future networks & potential projects. Perhaps I am being a little naive or over ambitious - but surely with the expertise we have in the UK - if a sponsor could be found - some staff could come over & get valuable experience which would be so beneficial for the children who use the centre. So if anyone for any special schools find themselves reading this - maybe you could offer a placement or think of other ways that you could help?

No surprises again from Sarah - who spoaked up all I could say with such enthusiasm. When I was there last week - I left her some basic handouts that I have for staff training. Today she found me & made a point of asking what each section meant. And it wouldn't surprise me if she translated it from english to Zulu for her clooegues whose English is not as good as hers?

I spent quite a it of time today with Cameron - the little boy who recently had a brain operation & who is struggling to regain his language & whose family can not afford Specch Therapy. I soon discovered just what potential that little boy has. A half an hour one to one - getting his to name objects etc & he was so please with himself.

There is just so much that could be achieved there. Not possible in a month though?

Had some contact with Downs Syndrome Association Soutrh Africa & will be attending a gebetics clinic with them during my last week here. So much to do & so little time?

Until next week.

Kate

The ride of my life

I had a fantastic weekend. A little pottering around - a little cooking - a little swim in the sea. But by far the most exciting & exhilarating experience was galloping along the surf on a thoroughbred mare with the sea spay my face & the wind in my face. Mile & miles of beach with only a few fisherman & a few horses.

It was 30 years ago & remains the one thing that really blows the cobwebs away. The pictures say it all. No need for words.

Kate