Deep Blue Sea : Westbrook Beach

Last weekend I visited Durban for the first time and had a really lovely time. Being originally from Zimbabwe, I had never had experience with the sea. Then we moved to Johannesburg, which is also inland. The first time I saw the sea was at Heralds Day in George. It was surreal. Water is beautiful to watch whether it’s a waterfall or fast flowing river, but the sea is just majestic and breathtaking. On Sunday I liked feeling the pressure of frothy silky water on my naked feet, and the tickling sensation that came with soil being sucked from beneath them as the water retreated to the sea at Westbrook Beach. Here are some pictures I took. They were all from the same area, but obviously do not all look alike. Those who live close to the sea will not see what the hype is all about, but sue me for being excited – it’s not everyday that I get to see such dazzling beauty, even though I don’t ever want to be on a cruise. It would make me feel vulnerable to be all surrounded by water. Remember the Titanic guys. Remember the Titanic!!

Learning to count every little blessing

Children are very near and dear to my heart. When I was still a young woman, I used to visit an orphanage in my hometown of Rusape, just to hold the babies that someone had thrown away because they didn’t want them. My heart would just break, thinking, how does someone sleep at night just throwing a baby into the bush and walking away, not giving two hoots if the baby would be found by a person or a wild animal? How would they live with themselves years later? Would they think about that baby for the rest of their lives or just pretend it never happened? I remember hearing horrendous stories about how some babies were found in Blair toilets, with maggots feasting on them, or in the forest with ants coming out of their eyes, noses and mouths…  I’d just hold the babies, look at them, and think, “I’m glad you survived and got a shot at life.” I believe every child deserves a fair chance in life. They should be given all they need to equip them with all skills to survive. I believe every child should have access to education. I believe the onus is on every responsible citizen to help in every way possible to help a child get that education, even if the child is not biologically ours. They say it takes a village to raise a child, so we should all do our bit. Some children are from poor backgrounds or have parents who are losers. The circumstances don’t matter. What matters is if we accord the child an education, he might help us when he’s a doctor, teacher, lawyer or some professional someday. But if we wash our hands and deny them help that we can afford, that child might turn into a rogue and steal from us, or murder us or our loved ones. We have a choice. We don’t need to be as rich as Sir Richard Branson or Bill Gates to help a child get an education. Every little bit helps. It might just be a book donation or sponsoring to pay fees for a child for one term. The story below, from my friend, inspired me to also try and do my bit to help children get a decent education:

My name is Sihle Nyashanu and I am a mother of two boys, one of whom is a student at Gateway Primary School in Harare, Zimbabwe. I would like to take this opportunity to share with you about the Class Outreach my son’s class did on the 17^th of March 2015 to Tichakunda School in Hatcliffe.  I felt privileged because of the opportunity that my son’s school gave his class to go out there and be a blessing to the Grade 6 class at Tichakunda School. Tichakunda School is a disadvantaged school in Hatcliffe and it is registered as a Private Voluntary Organisation (PVO) with the Ministry of Labour and Social Welfare. This school is in a community that was started by people who were displaced by the Murambatsvina programme as well as the former commercial farm workers who were affected by the land reform programme. Currently the enrolment at the school stands at 1000.It comprises of Early Childhood Development (ECD) class that has 358 children and the rest are Grade Ones up to Form Four. A special mention goes to my son’s teacher for organising the trip and rallying us parents to get together and be a channel of blessing to others.

All our children were asked to contribute a dollar each in order to buy school supplies for the Grade 6 class at Tichakunda. Some of our children gave more than the dollar that had been requested, and the parents brought in books and stationery over and above what the class had managed to buy for the outreach. All the teachers at Tichakunda School work on a voluntary basis. Of the total number of the children at the school 33 are boarders. These are orphans and vulnerable children who have just been left there and no one came to claim them. The whole idea of this outreach was two pronged: to be a channel of blessing and also for our children to see the kind of life that others are leading. 

An Empty classroom

When we left Gateway Primary School it was all smiles as none of us really had any idea of what we were going to see and neither did we know what God had prepared for us in terms of lessons. For me, personally, the two hours that I spent there were life changing and these changed the course of my life forever. Our way back to Gateway Primary School had a lot of reflection. The way we live our lives day today was challenged. We realised that the things that we think are important are not really important. We thought of the number of times we have thrown away food or said we could not wear a particular dress because people have seen us before in that particular dress!

 It was humbling to hear that the pass rate at this school for 2014 was at about 55%. When I looked at the poor conditions of the school and the surroundings and heard about this, I felt the hand of God was really at work there. I was challenged to see that despite the difficult circumstances the children learnt in (with a low staff turnover of their teachers because of non payment of salaries) more than half of them stood against all odds and conquered. The fields in which they do their sporting activities are hard to look at, let alone play in, yet quite a number of them qualified to represent their school at District level.

Boys' toilet

The School’s Vice Head boy is in the Grade 6 class that our children brought stationery to and he proudly welcomed us to his school and spoke a bit about his school. It was so warm to see the confidence as well as good command of the English language he had. Our children got to interact with their counterparts in the Grade 6 class and some made friends. As we left their class going to the bus for the presentation of the books most of the children were continuing with their conversations. Given that Tichakunda is a registered PVO everything they do is mainly funded by kind donors, who at the moment are not that many. All their 1000 students get food at school. They still have a lot of ground to cover but just like their name Tichakunda, they will conquer.

They charge a minimal fee of $10 and even then,just a handful is able to pay. There is a common feature of children wearing different uniforms in all the classes as their minimum requirement is for all children to wear a uniform, even if it is not their school uniform. Their uniforms are made in a community project and they sell them for $8 each. 

ECD, Grade 6 to Form Four Block and two rooms serving as dorms for 33 boarders

I felt proud that Gateway Primary School is indeed doing something to better the lives of the children at Tichakunda because 75% of all the books that are used there were donated by our school.

All our children came back changed as they realised the major differences that are there between what they are used to and what they saw. Most of them commented on how their counterparts did not have proper classrooms and toilets and how they had “few things”. Some commented on their sporting field and were touched by the fact that they did their sporting activities in that kind of field. The realisation that some of the children did not have families to go home to was quite something as well for our children.

Staff toilets

Given that I have a special interest in the education (either academic or in activities of daily living) of mainly those children who have challenges because of the fact that I am a special needs mum, I was challenged by what I saw. I had been toying with the idea of going back to school to do something in Special Needs Education and the idea was cemented on this trip and I will do something about it! I will continue and will not tire in my volunteering to assist in helping children in reading at the Remedial Department each morning. I was challenged by looking at all those men and women who are volunteering their service to better the lives of the children at Tichakunda. Their love and passion despite the harsh conditions has led me to also follow in their footsteps. One life that improves because of my or your contribution leads to a better future indeed.

More pictures....

Grade 5 to Form 4 Classroom Block

Girls Toilet

Part of Gateway Sports Fields

Gateway Grounds

Part of Tichakunda Sports Field which doubles up as Assembly place

School kitchen where meals for 1000 children are prepared

Autism: A mother's tale

Today is Autism Awareness Day. In the US, autism affects about 1 in every 68 individuals. It can manifests in, but not limited to speech problems, learning difficulties, very short attention span, poor communication, hyperactivity, poor social and/or motor skills, and in numerous cases, behavioural problems. A child can have some or all the mentioned, or even more. Some people are autistic and blind, autistic and deaf, autistic and epileptic, autistic and HIV positive and, and, and... Know the red flags for autism. It cannot be cured, but it can be managed with therapy and/or medication. Intervention is particularly important in the formative years. Below is a mother’s story about her journey caring for her 5-year-old autistic son:

My name is Sphiwe, I’m 30 yrs old. I had my son Sipho when I was 25.  His father and I were married and got divorced when he was one, but we separated in the first trimester of my pregnancy. I think I encountered a lot of stress during my pregnancy, but I thought it was all under control because I really had time to think about it. I remember saying to myself, “I’m better off alone and happy to raise a happy child, than thinking I’m with someone yet I’m actually alone” because he was never there, he was irresponsible. He was an alcoholic, I think, when I look back. I thought I’d made the best decision. I had a lot of support from my family, though. My mom was great. She’s widowed, my father died a while ago.  I had my baby via elective C section because I’m afraid of pain. I thought if I go into labour I might lose my mind.

My baby was normal with an Apgar score of 8/10, so that was quite good. He fed well and would cry a lot as a baby, but with time he stopped crying. He was the most peaceful, most loving baby I could ever have.  I started noticing that something was wrong at the age of two, but all other developmental milestones like sitting, crawling, walking were met on target. He was walking by the time he turned one, he was mumbling sounds. He was doing everything on point so I thought I had a normal baby. But by the age of two, I realised my baby was not calling names, and at that age they should be saying mama, gogo, or the people that they live with. So I sent him to pre-school.

He spent about a term there. He would sleep on his way there, sleep on his way back and I thought, “Ah shame, he’s still young,” but I wanted him to interact with other children to see if he would pick any names or any vocabulary. It didn’t work. He spent the rest of that year at home, but when he turned 3, I sent him back to pre-school. That’s really when I started realizing something was wrong. After a year of being at school, my son would not mention any names. He would not say, “So and so, teacher so and so,” but he sang a lot. He would listen to a song once, and repeat it word for word. I remember when he was singing a gospel song, a very deep one, and this friend of mine said I should stop taking my son to night vigils. It was a big joke - my son the singer.

But I knew there was something wrong, and as a Psychotherapist I took out all my books and started reading. I remember one day sitting at work and I came across Childhood Disintegrative Disorder, which is very close to autism, whereby children grow and then they regress. Because I thought, he grew normally and started to regress, and then I started to cry. I called my mom and told her my suspicions. I think she knew because she just ran to me. She dropped work and she came. I think she knew something was wrong with my child but she didn’t want to say it. She was hoping it’s not true, but when I was saying it she couldn’t say, “It’s not that,” because she was suspecting it all along, I think.

So we started reading around it, and saw it’s closely linked to autism. I tried to call Autism South Africa to get hold of a doctor that would at least confirm my speculations. Yeah, I called every pediatric neurologist in the Gauteng region, and I think it was six months before I could get the earliest appointment. All of them kept putting me on waiting list. I started looking in KZN and I stumbled across a pediatric neurologist in St Augustine’s Hospital, who could see me immediately, Dr Crutchley. Before going to Dr Crutchley I went to the Psychiatric Hospital. I came across a Dr Dlamini, who immediately put my child on Epilim, which is medication for epilepsy. I learnt late that she was not qualified to make that diagnosis to that point, to put my child on Epilim. I always get a second opinion, being a medical person myself. Before I give anything to my child, I read about it. Then I went to DrP etsile who was his GP from birth. I asked, “Can I give him Epilim?”And she was so mad. So she told me not to give it to my son because she said the side effects were more deadly. She just said your child is not that bad. If you give him Epilim he’s going to be drowsy all the time and he’s going to start drooling, all those things, he’s going to become dead, almost.

My son was hyperactive. He would jump, he would run a lot. I learned when I went to see the pediatric neurologist who confirmed that my child is indeed autistic, that even the tip-toeing, the repetitive movement, all that are signs that we overlook as parents, the many birthmarks that he has, I think he’s got about nine little marks on his body, things that other parents can look out for at an early age and help their children. He told me about the crying. He doesn’t cry. If you take something away from him, he’ll just make a sound, a crying sound like, “heeeh” and then it’s gone. He forgets about it and moves on to something else. He’s not a crying baby.

I came back depressed as ever. I couldn’t talk to anyone because not many people know what autism is. They don’t even understand what you mean, and they just keep thinking you’re fussing over nothing: your boy will be fine, boys talk late, you were also not a talker as a child, his father doesn’t talk much. Some people thought it was because of the separation,  that his family was not happy with me taking him away from them, and I was supposed to take my child back to his home. The father and his family don’t communicate with us. It’s like Sipho doesn’t exist as far as they are concerned. My mother tried to go and make peace with them before we went to see the doctor. They never came back to find out how everything went. My mother was afraid that we would get there and be told my child had to have an operation, what if the child didn’t come back from theatre? Now we would have to go and say your son is dead, and we wouldn’t have told them in the first place that your son is sick, so that was her justification. She didn’t tell me, she hid it from me because I wouldn’t have consented to taking my child to people that don’t really care.

It’s pretty much been a rough journey, just me and my son. Right now I discovered Enjabulweni Learning Centre where he goes for occupational therapy and speech therapy. It’s been a marathon,oh it’s been a marathon. I hear about this and I run because as a mother you can’t just sit and say he’ll come of age and it will go away. You want to make sure you’ve done everything, it’s very tough. I remember reading an article once and the first line said: If you have an autistic son there are two things you need to grow immediately, a thick skin and a thick wallet. And I thought to myself, thick skin, perhaps, wallet? Where can I grow a thick wallet in Swaziland, how?

There’s very little support, there’s very little knowledge. I go to public places and people still look at me like I have the naughtiest child, like I’m the spoiliest mom ever. They ask questions in the most hurtful ways. Even in the workplace, I work in a hospital and when I take my son there I struggle. Half the time, I’ll take him to a private clinic where there are few people and I don’t have to doalot of explaining. He’s a very sickly child. He has a lot of upper respiratory tract infections,from time to time he has sinuses, he gets ear infections and he gets throat infections, has a productive cough for long, and he keeps getting antibiotic jabs. We can’t have him admitted because he pulls the drip off.

Source Unknown

Days like that bring me down to my tears and break me, really, really break me, because I’m reminded I have to hold him with lots of power and force because he’s very strong. He’s crying, I can’t explain it to him; he can’t comprehend what I’m trying to tell him even if I tried to explain it to him. He can’t get the best treatment because you can’t put a drip on him, you can’t do anything.  He has rotten teeth from his dummy, and I can’t get a dentist that can pull them out.

Once I took him to Pretoria for an MRI that the doctor had ordered. We drove all the way to Pretoria, spent the night in a hotel and had to drive back without getting it because he was not easily sedated. He kept on saying,“Sukuma, stand up, asambe,let’s go,”each time they tried to put him on the machine. I cried all the way back, thinking of how much money I had spent going there and coming back and having not achieved anything. I have a lot of support, I don’t want to lie, especially from my mum.

He has improved. He has developed a lot of speech, even though he’s still parroting a lot. He’s still repeating what I say. He knows how to greet, his name, where he comes from, how old he is. At the age of 5 that’s a big achievement, for me. He would wave backwards, he would wave at himself like John Cena. He has learned to do it correctly. We had to take him to the mirror to learn to wave.

He goes for EEG sessions to help with brain stimulation for concentration in Ermelo, so I have to drive every Friday. So I understand now what that article meant by grow a thick skin and a thick wallet. But it’s not easy. We live in a country where we don’t talk about these kids. So many people have them. Some people don’t even recognize what it is, and we don’t have structures that help, but hey, it’s one day at a time.

Sometimes you’re angry at God and say things you don’t really mean, but you say them anyway because you’re angry. I will sit and cry through the night, and I fight with God in my prayers and tell him if you don’t make my son well, then take him. Sometimes I contemplate suicide but then I think, but if I go, who’s going to understand my son. I need to be there. But it gets better.

The whatsapp group of parents with autistic children in which I’m a member is God-sent. It’s the best thing that could have happened. People can think they understand what you’re going through but they don’t. What you feel as a parent, no-one else can feel. It’s the biggest pain.You know, you get an HIV positive baby and you know if she takes the right meds she can be OK, you get a baby with diabetes and you know if you give them the right kind of food they can be OK. With autism, they say don’t give them food with preservatives or whatever but it still won’t go away. You can never say my child has been cured of autism. That’s the first thing that Doctors tell you when they diagnose these children, that it’s a lifelong condition. Your child will forever be autistic. The best you can do is teach them how to adapt, how to live in society. I’ve made peace with it and I say if only I could get my son to talk, get around on his own, and take care of his personal hygiene...

He likes drumming, he drums on his head, and he drums on anything. My mom bought him a set of drums for his fourth birthday. It’s crazy, I’ve learnt to love that sound that he makes from the drums because he’s happy when he’s doing that. He likes to break trees and make little microphones and sings. He sings a lot – from your gospel, to your kwaito, to your R’nB, your adverts on TV, he will say them word for word. It’s amazing how these children function, because it’s like they have a vocabulary somewhere. They are just not using it. I always say to people, “My son talks, he just doesn’t talk to me”. And I translate that to: He has vocabulary, he just doesn’t communicate. He’s not dumb, he can talk, he just doesn’t communicate because there’s a difference between talking, just uttering words, and communicating.People struggle to understand that but that’s the best explanation I can give for his condition.

He has learnt now how to use his speech to get what he wants, so he willcela (ask). “Ngincela kudla, ngincela kugeza” type of speech, but he only understands speech to be used to get what he wants, not to express himself, how he feels.

He’ll cry when in pain and I don’t know where it hurts, and nothing hurts like that as a mother. We need to monitor him every day, it’s like you have an overgrown baby. He’s a big baby, you can’t carry him anymore but he’s still a baby and you have to hold his hand for the rest of his life. It’s straining, it kills your spirit.I don’t have another child, I don’t think I’ll ever have because I’m afraid. I wish he was not my first child then I’d know I’m capable of producing normal babies.But now, no-one can explain where autism comes from,  and what if it’s me, it’s my genes, it’s my hormones. I don’t want to take that risk again. If I had to do it, I’d die, because already it’s like I have 10 children already.

When he started tip-toeing, I took him to see a podiatrist, a person that specializes in feet, and told her my baby can’t put his feet flat on the ground. And she said, you know, your baby’s feet are fine. He just likes to walk on his toes, I went to a hearing somebody – his hearing is fine. He responds to stimuli in all directions, speech therapist – his tongue is fine. Everything was ruled out, everything.And all the time it was costing a lot of money. All the time is was draining to go and come back and think, OK, it’s not that, he’ll come around. You wait for a couple of months and you see he’s still not coming around. Then you spot another difference that makes him stand out from other kids, find another doctor, travel to South Africa…

I wish more people could speak about their condition. I wish we had an association and we could talk about it, so that even nurses are able to recognize it when we bring our children for immunization. Autism is trial and error. It’s like your child is crying and you immediately think probably they have a temperature, and you give them Panado, probably their pants are wet, you change, probably he’s hungry, you give him food which he doesn’t want. You keep trying everything, everything, everything like a little baby, and yet this is an old man.

I’d like us to have a centre where children can get OTs, Speech, EEG, all these services, besides being an NGO for advocacy. A neurologist can come once a month for 2 days and we can schedule our children, and they can see if they are progressing.  We are willing to pay, than drive all the way to Durban to see a neurologist and pay R5000 for consultation. We can even get sponsors who can pay the neurologist to be in Swaziland twice a week, we can get hotels saying they can sponsor their accommodation for the two days that they are in the country to see your kids. That’s what we should be working towards – easing the financial and emotional drain on ourselves. We, the parents in the town, regardless of how elite or affording we may seem, are really drained and we could use the support. I’ma single parent, single in the truest of senses. I have to pay my maid. I have to buy food. I have to pay school fees. I take him to Stepping Stones, which is about R12 000+ a year, I take him to Enjabulweni for therapy, which isR360 per session. After four sessions in a month, I owe them R1 300. In 10 months, I owe them R13 000.  If you add that to the school fees I’m paying… I can’t wait for him to be of age and go to Enjabulweni full-time so that I just pay school fees and the therapy is included. I still have to pay transport for him. I drop him in the morning, but I can’t be there at 12 every day to take him home. Sometimes I’m stuck in a meeting. So I got a private taxi. He can’t be on the school bus. I need someone who will understand – put his seat belt on, and lock the doors, take him home, and makes sure he hand delivers him to the nanny, not drop him off at the gate because he might wander off and get lost.All that is emotionally draining.  My maid has to buzz me at 1230 to let me know he’s home, otherwise I won’t stop worrying until I know he arrived, the driver didn’t forget him. I need to buy special food, like 100% pure juice, everything, fruits, it’s draining. It’s costly. I could do with a support centre.

I go to school in the morning to drop my son off and the teachers will be complimenting me, “You’re a great mum, you’re doing so much for your son. We’ve seen so much improvement.” It will send me to tears. It’s a compliment but it will send me to tears. It breaks me to think, I’m being cheered for being a good mother because my child is a special case. No one is cheering all the other mothers out there for doing the right thing. Why am I different? I am different, but do I want to be reminded? I don’t know. Do I want to be ignored at the same time as if I’m not doing anything? I don’t know. It’s an emotional roller coaster, you want people to care but you don’t want people to care, you don’t want people to pay attention.

I want people to say what are you doing this weekend? And I say nothing, and then I want people to say,“You deserve a break, can I come and borrow Sipho for the day?”My brother, perhaps, and his wife. And they take my nanny with them, they take the children away from me and I can switch off my phone, and I can sleep in, and I can play music in my house, and I can do what I want to do, just for one day.  Just for one day without worrying that my son is at home with the nanny, and in the event he develops a temperature, I need to rush back. He’s with my nanny, and he’s with adults that can take care of any situation that arises. It would be nice.

My brother will say you’re overly engaged at church and at work. You’re always doing projects. They’re overworking you.They forget you have your own problems. And I say what else would I do to distract myself from my reality?Because this is my reality. If I decide to sit in my reality, I’ll sit for the rest of my life. I will never be productive. But if I can do something nice, short-term and there are results, if I put together a campaign and I see it coming together, I’m happy. I feel worthwhile, I feel needed, and I feel like I’m contributing meaningfully to society. And for a moment there,I just get caught up in this event and forget because already I feel like I’ve failed as a mom. And people don’t understand that. Your family, especially my mother. Right now she’s happy with the whatsapp group, but in time she will start saying, “You’re giving too much into this group. Are all other mothers going all out like you are? Why are you always giving 110% to everything?I do that because it makes me feel that I’m capable of perfection, I’m not just a vessel of dead ends or of imperfection, rather. “Dead ends”sounds too harsh.They want to support you but want you to behave in a way that pleases them, in a way that makes them feel you’re a good mother, not like a human being worthy of something.

HIV – people understand, Cancer – people understand, but autism is not spoken about, yet it’s so common. I always tell my nanny, when they go out to play in the yard, that she has to close the gate because it’s a block of four flats. We all use one entrance. Some cars will come in speeding because it’s a slope. “Close the gate when people brake, so that when they have to open the gate, you find him and you remove him from the road.” Because the thing with autistic kids is they aren't able to perceive danger. They could all be playing on the driveway, then when a car comes, others will run for their lives. He won’t know. He’ll only run if he’s just imitating the others, but he doesn't know why he’s running. He can’t understand that he has to run to save his life; it’s not there in his mind. How would I blame someone for running over my child or even parking their car, coming out, taking their belt and whipping this boy for being naughty and not moving from the road? Not knowing that my child is autistic because autism is not physically visible.  They seem like perfectly normal, very cute kids.

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Happy Birthday Victor!

Remembering Tawa and Tino

On March 30 2014, my friend Fortune Bango-Macheri lost her two precious babies in a road accident. This being the first anniversary of the tragic event, it can't be easy on her. I didn't have the right words to say to her, so I asked her to talk to me and I would listen. She did...in the story below, which she asked me to share. May Tawa and Tino rest in eternal peace. May the Lord continue to console Fortune and her husband.  The pictures are a bit haphazard because she wanted all of them to accompany the article...

 I had not visited my friend, Violet since the day she had moved from Kokstad to stay in Matatiele. All I had given to her were just empty promises. She had visited us a countless times and once slept over with her whole family. Many weekends she had sent her two children over, Audrey and Taku to spend time with my beautiful children, Tawa and Tino. So on this particular weekend, I had decided it was high time I returned the favour. That's it!  We were all going to Violet’s house for the whole weekend. 

On the other hand, I was getting tired of hitting a brick wall with the Kokstad traffic department to get my driver's license.  Having gone there the previous Friday, the Matatiele traffic department had proven to be more helpful and   understanding. I took the Friday off work and packed everything for the weekend on Thursday night, there was overwhelming excitement and both my kids couldn't wait to leave the house. Tawa had had a chance once to visit Violet's house and he had loved almost everything there.  He had said their television was bigger than ours, their fridge too was bigger and most importantly, Violet had always dished a sausage in Tawa's plate that was bigger than I would do. My bubbly son, Tawa, loved food. Sausage was the third item on his food list after Steers Double Cheese Burger and Debonairs Triple Decker Pizza. Early Friday morning we hit the road and no one slept a wink till we got to Matatiele.  After successfully sorting out my licence issues, we had a great weekend.  We went shopping, talked and laughed most of the time. Tino, my daughter was a loving fan of Audrey (still finding it unbelievable to use the word was - never thought I would ever in my lifetime). Audrey had a habit of spoiling Tino rotten. Despite Tino going to turn six in the next three months, Audrey would put her on the back, lift her like a little baby and kiss her all the time. They played with dolls, rode together on Audrey’s bike and did all sorts of girls stuff. It was the best weekend away.

The day we should have all dreaded arrived, Sunday, goodbyes were due. The weekend felt so short and we didn't want to leave but we had to.  We were due to leave in the morning. I had promised my brother, Silence and his wife Selina that we would pass through their place and spend some time with their new baby, Ethan. Tino loved Ethan to bits. She loved to touch his little and fragile fingers, toes and almost every part of his tiny wonderful body. Ethan was the first little baby Tino had experienced in her life. Somehow we got delayed and the more we did, the more my kids loved it.  Tawa decided to get busy with games on my tablet.  Realizing that Taku and Tino would never leave him to enjoy the games, he took our car keys and locked himself in the car. Fortunately for him, I was the only one who noticed his strategy. I was amused not by his selfishness, but by his ability to identify challenges, come up with solutions by himself and successfully implement them without assistance. That was a survival skill, I thought.  As all bags were being packed in the car Tino was almost in tears. She didn't want to go back.  Her school, Power of Love Pre- school had closed for school holidays.  Audrey's school too had closed. Both Audrey and herself were on holidays, so why would she go back home?  Half of me wanted her stay but a thought struck me. My friend was going to have a new maid the next day and her son, Taku always took time to get used to strangers.  So I thought leaving Tino behind wouldn't do any good but just overwhelm Audrey.  After forcing everyone in the car, we drove away. Before we got any further, I mistakenly thought I had left my work books and we had to drive back.  Before I could step out of the car, I realised that l had all my books and needed not delay going home. Out of the blue, Violet appeared with two hotdogs for my kids, as if she knew it was the last time she had to spoil them. The children indulged themselves in the delicious treats, still sulking though, and we sped off. There was total silence in the car and tension was high. Within minutes, both kids had retired from a hectic day. I too, was getting sleepy and in no time, it got the better of me leaving my poor husband the only person awake.

In what felt like a short period of time I was forced to come back to life. The car was moving in a weird way. When I was wide awake I was horrified, we were out of the road and headed towards what seemed like a scary, long and wide wall of rocks. I had a complete black out only waking up when the car was upside down had come to a halt. Everything happened so quickly, in the blink of an eye, I had lost the most precious gift any parent could ever have. Without much difficulty I found my way out of the car wreck but I was alarmed by the silence. My kids who were scared of a housefly or the smallest ant on earth were not calling out my name. Why on earth were they not screaming out loud for attention?  I began to panic just like any mother on earth would do. I just knew that something was wrong, it's called mother’s instinct, you just know. I could not open the back doors so had to run round the other way. At this juncture I was behaving like a headless chicken. My head was a pot of confusion. Before I got far I met my son's body lying outside the car and all the evidence was there that it was too late to save his life. I was terrified. Ooh God what was happening to me? Then I tried to find my daughter, with my heart held in my hands. What had become of my daughter? Other motorists had stopped by and no one allowed me to keep searching. They all said it was too late. I could not believe it, too late for what?

That horrible night I didn't sleep. I was numb, my whole body was stiff and my heart was torn into a million pieces. My whole world had just crushed on me. I felt pain not just from my heart. It was beyond that. Every part of my body was aching, not with physical pain but something that no one can describe. You could just feel it but it was beyond description.  Poor Abigail, my sister-in-law who spent the night with me and had to console me! How do you comfort someone who does not want to be comforted, let alone stop her from crying when it looks impossible? I do not recall much of what transpired that fateful night. My sanity was running up and down, Abigail was really strong, for she had to nurse me too even after the burial of my children.  I was such a total mess, a wound so jagged that could only be soothed by God's love.

The next days were terrible nightmares that I kept hoping   I would wake up from, but alas that was the reality of my life. I felt weak, useless, angry, lost appetite and nothing made sense. I cried inconsolably. Even a word from my pastor could not make me feel better. Something in me kept reminding me that it had not happened to them, they have all their children and so they don't know what they are talking about. I was lost in my own world and my days were dark and empty. Every morning I woke up with such overwhelming, all-consuming pain that I had to stuff my knuckles in my mouth to stop myself from screaming. I wanted to run away from myself if only it was possible. Something inside me whispered continuously: I shouldn't have survived the horrible accident because my life was meaningless without Tawa and Tino. Why had l walked out without a scratch? Every parent lives for their children, work for their little ones and their dreams. Their hopes and future plans have their children written all over. Children give us a purpose to live and thrive in life. Without them life is meaningless, dull, sad and without purpose.  

The only person I understood to realize my pain was my mother for she had lost my two brothers, albeit in different years. I looked at her wondering how she had survived the agony of losing a child. All memories flashed back. I remembered how long back, my mother had cried quietly every single night after losing my 13-year-old brother. How she had grown thin and how I thought she was going to go mad, if not die. Now I understood the sadness in her eyes that shows every now when she smiles or laughs. Her eyes have long lost that sparkle. Only if you know her story can you realize a strange sadness in her laugh, smile, and voice and in her eyes.

I have learned that it will never go away but will live within me for the rest of my life.  I miss them every day. I miss their touch and I miss their voices mostly. I go through all their pictures and just talk to myself and say: Tawa and Tino I still can't believe it. You came into my life for such a short while and brought so much joy and fulfillment, and now it's all memories. If only I had known, I would have played with you more, kissed you every minute, held your special hands and never let go. I would have loved you more, never yelled at you and laughed more. I would have sat with you all the time for your favourite TV shows. I would have watched nothing but Mickey Mouse, Tinkerbell, Barbie in the pink shoes, Spiderman and the rest of them. We would have lived like we knew we won't go beyond 2014 together. Only if I had known. It has been a whole year now but it hurts like it happened yesterday. The wound is still fresh and bleeding. I guess it will never stop. Initially, I was angry with God. What kind of God would entrust me with two beautiful children and then think of me as an unfit mother that he would just grab them back without warning. Was I a bad mother? The answer was NO all the time. I had put my children's happiness and safety first every time. I had sacrificed my journalism career for a teaching career that would allow me more time with my kids at home. I had left my country and my family to build a better future for them here in South Africa. Was that being a bad mother? My heart grieves with any parent who loses a child. No parent should lose or bury their own child but who are we to judge God? My pastor told me that my children are in Heaven and I believe him, the bible says so when Jesus said: Let the little children come to me for the kingdom of Heaven is theirs.

Through this journey and my seeking for answers, I have met some women, women that I never knew existed, women that have walked the same path as me. That have lost a child or two in the same way I lost mine. These women are very strong. I don't know how they have sailed through the storm. They keep saying it won't rain forever but in the rainy days you need a better umbrella. These women are prayer warriors and they depend on God to go by each day. I met Florence. Her two boys, both beyond 10 years old, where food-poisoned at the same time and died on their arrival in hospital in Zimbabwe. Florence never had a chance to say goodbye. It was too late to see them when she got to the hospital. It has been eight years now since her boys passed on, the only children she had. Flo has since moved to Germany and she says it is only by the grace of God that she is not somewhere in a mental hospital or eating from the street bins. Her story gives me strength every day. She is my pillar of strength.

My high school friend and sister, who is now in Canada and had long lost contact just resurfaced from the blue. Sometimes God just throws or brings back some people in our lives in his time and for a certain purpose. Nothing ever happens coincidentally or without his knowledge. Tendai helped me stand on my feet again, encouraged me each day to trust God.  She would phone and check on me more than necessary. Ooh my poor friend Mayda. She didn't know what to do, almost flew in from England. We have been friends since high school and her two daughters are almost same age with my late Tawa and Tino. She made sure that I didn't collapse or turn into a Zombie. Checking on me all the time. My church in Kokstad has been extremely supportive. I don't know if I would still have my sanity without the First Baptist Church in Kokstad. They were there for me from the horrible day and even now. People check on me all the time and I feel so loved. Is that what not families do for each other? Is that not the true meaning of Christianity and what God desires from us? My pastor has a beautiful heart, so understanding and   supportive. He knew exactly what to say and I could understand everything he said to me. It made sense to me. My pastor comforted me with answers from the Bible. He encouraged me with the truth of God's Word. Those who are grieving deserve a compassionate answer rooted in the truth of Scripture. The loss of my kids drew me closer to a couple in our church that had lost their son in an accident. He had not turned 10 years of age. That was Erica and Peter Kaizer. They made it their task to look after me spiritually. They taught me a lot about losing a loved one and still be able to trust God and rejoice in him. They said it was possible to still feel His presence and love even in the darkest hour.   From the Scriptures they gave me every day, I have learnt that scriptural answers without comfort will fall on deaf ears and comfort without scripture will never completely heal and uplift a grieving heart. We need the words from Heaven on the death of a child. Rather we must look at what God's Word has to say on the matter. We are called to be faithful to the word and place our faith in Christ.

My whole family gave me tremendous support. I could see that my sisters were crushed. They were torn apart and I could see their bleeding hearts. My mother was the worst. She had the pain of losing two grandchildren and she carried the pain of her daughter too. Having walked this road before, she knew what was in store for me and feared I would collapse. I had to be strong for her, pretend that I was hurting but surviving yet I was dying inside. Right through my mourning I knew there was a couple that I was going to need to rely on completely.  I knew they were going to take care of me and I needed them badly just to talk to them or cry on their shoulders. The Brittinghams. I had worked with Allen and Gloria Brittingham for years and we went to the same church. They are more like family to me and they loved my children very much.  Allen, who is a prayerful man, taught me that my children have never been beyond the loving care and concern or watchful eye of the Lord even at the time of death. Their destiny is according to His carefully wrought plan and purpose.  Mr B (as my kids loved to call him instead of the long name Brittingham) continuously said: no one can ever fall into any situation or circumstance that is shielded from God's view. God is completely in control of our lives. We are firmly and fully within his grasp every moment of our existence. The decision whether a child lives or dies is God's decision. He allows birth, He also allows death. No death or life occurs apart from the purposes of God. These are the wise and unforgettable words Allen taught me. Recently I have been reading a book his wife, Gloria gave me: Martha's Journey written by Maureen Lee.   This book contains a story of a very ordinary woman, six months pregnant, working full time in a factory sewing sacks to raise her five children, Martha Rossi, suffered the agony of the death of her fourteen year old son   in France in the heat of a battle. It chronicles the hurt and anguish mothers experience and the need for answers mothers go through after losing a child. Now I am on my second book: Safe In The Arms Of God written by John MacArthur. Erica Kaizer gave me this book and I’m beginning to understand why she wanted me to have it and probably read it. This book talks about what happens to children when they die.  It tries to answer the question: Is my child in Heaven, with scriptural truth revealing the Heavenly Father's care for every life.  

This is a painful journey. To all mothers who are walking with me or have walked this road or will happen to walk this road, let your comfort begin with the truth in God's word. God created your child. God's purpose and destiny for your child are fulfilled perfectly, even if the child died. That is the reality.  I’m not saying this with ease. For me too, it is not a walk in the park and it never will be. I’m still trying to get that into my thick head. My struggle didn't end by just meeting these people and them sharing their stories or God's word with me. I still struggle to get through birthdays and special holidays without my children. In the weakness of my own logic, I still struggle to understand what happened. I still struggle to be submissive to God's plan and serving Him joyfully until the day he calls me home to Himself. The struggle never end I guess.

Many thanks to friend Charlotte Nyatanga for encouraging me write out my thoughts. I thought it was going to be a big challenge to do so, only to realise that I needed to let it out. It also gave me a platform to look back, view myself in the mirror and measure to see how far I have moved since 30 March 2014 to 30 March 2015. I realised that it can only be the Lord who has covered me with his Grace and taken me this far. Otherwise if I didn't believe in him and didn't have such a strong support network, I would be in a mental hospital or naked, eating from street bins of South Africa. All Glory be to God forever and ever.

Related:
A Tribute to Kenneth Kudoma