From Sally

Sally Roberts

June 7 -- This evening I really made the transition from staying with the family to being totally committed to the Tranformational Journey team. We had met at 8:30 at the Robben Island Ferry. And it was a relief to have so many of my beloveds to experience the ferry, the tour guides with their moving, and at times, wrenching, stories, and to distance a little from the pain by joking with them, in that cynical shrthnd that we can use because we all know how deeply important these issues are for all of us. We had a relaxed lunch, and then made our way to the Cathedral. However, there I could not be on the sidelines being polite.

It was such an honor to be there for this amazing priest, Wilma, whose history we had begun to see more clearly the previous night in the tributes of her colleagues in struggle, and in the scrapbook of her struggle to be ordained in South Africa. While at times it is possible to withdraw in Pasadena, to call the Episcopal Church the place where many are cold, but few are frozen—suddenly we were seeing it through the eyes of the heroes of South Africa—through the eyes of students, of Bishop Tutu, the psychologists and the professors and the decent-hearted who didn’t know what to do—and that was where the grace of God and the faith of Christians became an inextinguishable beacon of hope, of steadfastness, and of courage.

I know Katie is uncomfortable about religion, and that Debbie has only been inside a church once before. Tonight, though, I felt it isn’t up to me to make this all OK for them, because I need the infusion of hope, of inspiration, of humility at the mighty power of God when one can open even a tiny window.

June 11—Yesterday, Richard and I went to Lessythan. Though only 20 minutes from the Tswaranang Centre, this township was quite rural. With Zixolisile Mbenene and Nomvuyo Mxhosana, we started up a steep gravel road to visit a family where the patient was Jack Kampi, who has TB that has left him bedridden.

Though the house is a single bedroom and kitchen with an outdoor latrine, it seemed spacious compared to many of the shanties we saw yesterday in Mlungwine, though it is shared by the patient, his elderly and blind mother, and two sons. Richard and Zixolisile gave Jack a bedbath and helped him to the toilet, while we talked with his mother and were joined by two more volunteers, Lydia Kweleta and Nokwakha Poswayo.

Then we tested his blood pressure, which has gone down alarmingly, mainly Nomvuyo explained, due to his poor diet. Since there is only his pension of 925 rand to support the whole family, food is scarce, and his older son is also verbally abusing the family due to his drug use. While this sounds dismal, we realized that part of the health workers’ job was to encourage the family and let the older son know that they are aware of the problems he is causing the family.
On our walk through pathways and dirt roads , we saw flocks of sheep, little groups of goats, relaxed looking pigs, and cows. Surrounded by the dramatic mountains, it seemed so beautiful, although the health workers must walk many miles each day because there is no public transport.

It’s winter here, of course, and the wind was blowing so hard that it blew the glasses right off my face three times—I had to remember to turn my face toward the wind no matter which direction we walked. The next visit was to a feisty old woman in her eighties, Elsie, who lives in a slightly larger, cozy house with her son, who has a job.

The health workers have arranged for a neighbor to look in on her, since shje is alone all day. She was delighted to have company, and when she saw our white faces began speaking cheerfully in Afrikaans—no luck. She laughed at my attempts to converse in Xhosa, but then politely said hello, she was fine, and how was I? Ndpilili, I said, fine. We women gave her a bath, from a round pail of warm water, then dressed her in clean clothes and she said she felt so fresh and nice. On this try I managed to take her blood pressure, which was only slightly elevated, not bad considering her hypertension and the edema in her legs. Her saucy, cheerful attitude lifted all our spirits, I think.

The day went on this way, with long walks in the wind, then visits in the home of a patient and the families. All of them wanted their pictures taken, and loved the camera feature that lets them see how they look. At the end of the day, we visited a garden that Nomvuyo uses to feed the orphans and vulnerable children that come to a center after school. When we got to the center, the younger children were singing and dancing together, and then we all had warm potatoes and porridge with cabbage, which was delicious.

The four volunteers we traveled through the rural township with receive no stipend, but feel a sense of satisfaction that they are serving their community, and giving assistance to people who are, in many cases, pretty desperate. Nonetheless, each of them would love to have a paying job if only jobs were available. It is so apparent that HIV/AIDS has left this community, like the one in Mlungisi, with many elderly people living on tiny pensions, with the burden of sick children and orphaned grandchildren, and the process for obtaining any help from the government is impossibly difficult to manage.

Nomvuyo gave the example of Jack, who has been instructed to find transport to the clinic in Queenstown for treatment. Jack’s pension is about 225 rand, yet transport to Queenstown is 180 rand, and then he has to get back home… and hope to have money to feed the five people dependent on his monthly pension.