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.
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.
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