Africa: Adventures of a White Middle Class Housewife, Part 7
Our next day was at the care point of an amazing young couple. It felt as if we just kept driving out to the middle of nowhere. There were homesteads scattered all around, children walking up and down the dusty road. Their little feet were bare, and their clothes had holes and tears all through them, yet they smile and wave as we drive by. As we pull into the centre of all the action the children run to the car to look inside. There on my seat was the lunch that I did not want to eat because it did not taste good and was not good for me, so I opted to wait for dinner in six hours. I, of course, have that option. But these children come from miles around to eat every day. There must be 50+ kids running around in the dirt and about three 
or four “go-gos,” the grandmas that remain and are doing all they can for as many orphans as possible. Several had made beautiful purses and wall hangings and they asked me to buy them, so I ,of course, took Gary ’s wallet right out of his pants. He just smiled at me. I wished I had more Swazi money, but did what I could. These children are, for the most part, full of life and spirit, no shoes, raggedy clothes, limited food, limited hope. We walked and they held my hands, many caressed my hair and my arm. We could not understand each other, other than a smile, tickle or a hug. Those, thankfully, are universal. The children started calling me ‘Tondiwi’ and so I asked, “What does that mean?” In perfect English a sweet little girl next to me said, “It means ‘beloved.'” ….I’ll take that! I felt so honored to have been given an African name by such beautiful people. This little angel and I began to chat. She was 12 years old and in Grade 7. I told her I had a little boy in 7th Grade and she remembered Michael from his 
visit as we were standing there looking at the hut Michael had helped build.
She was fascinated with my wedding ring. It was sunny and hot and she kept moving the diamonds to make them sparkle. I told her “he” had given it to me and pointed to Gary . She smiled shyly and said, “Oh, he is very handsome,” and I though, yes I think so too. We walked and talked about school.
She stopped for a second and let out a tiny whimper. I looked down to see what had happened. “I am sorry,” she whispered, “I have no shoes….” She had stepped on a rock and hurt her foot. Righteous anger rose up in me. Flip-flops from the US could be bought for a dollar, and it would greatly improve the quality of this child’s life. Dear God, have mercy on anyone who knows the desperation, and turns away.
She had my heart. Physically she was 12, intellectually closer to 16, but her small frame was closer to that of an eight year old. She told me her brothers, sisters and mother had all died, and she simply had no father, she lived with her grandfather. This is the face of poverty; this is the face of AIDS. A precious little girl, left to grieve and carry on. She was a jewel and so that is the name I give her. I reached into my purse, and found my crystal necklace. It sparkled like the diamonds in my ring. I pushed it in her hand and told her to never forget that she was far more precious and beautiful than anything that sparkled in the sun, and kissed her forehead. We hugged for a long time, and I explained I would be back to see her in a few months, but her shoes would be here soon. She was extraordinary. I knew I would never forget her. I wanted to take her home, now I understand…
