Africa Day

As I drove through the Geldenhuys interchange late in the afternoon on my way to Germiston City Hall I was distracted by the sun that caught the wings of the birds flying home for the night in their organised v-pattern. I am a passionate advocate for a world without borders and how envious I was of the birds as they flew overhead, unaware of the geographical and political limitations and hostilities that restrain those of us on terra firma.

This morning I read the Sunday papers in bed, and I noticed that the names heading the list for aid agencies were the sexy names. The Red Cross only arrived at Germiston on Friday and we haven’t seen them again. Medicin Sans Frontiers – now that’s French sexy – arrived on Saturday.  The Gift of the Givers and The Jewish Board of Deputies have been immediate in their response when a call for help has been made. Top of my list are the ordinary South Africans whose generosity make me proud to be an African on Africa Day.

Tomorrow our school will open its doors. There are many new children that have been brought in. Children are the most vulnerable in this crisis. One of the churches has offered to host the school, but that means walking them a good five blocks through town. The school committee discusses it and decides that keeping the children within the confines of the city hall is the safest option. I don’t host the meeting of the school committee, I just get briefed by Partson who is the head of the committee and I thank the teachers for their dedication. I ask for a list of what is still required, but I am so grateful to see a box of school supplies already available. On every occasion that I send out an sms or an email asking friends and business colleagues for help, our requests are fulfilled. We needed a gas stove, twenty gas stoves were delivered. A bus was needed to consolidate a particular group of migrants, we’ve just delivered that group from Primrose to Germiston thanks to the generosity of a private company sponsor. I had a sleepless night wondering where we’d get blackboards for our school and Jill sms’ed me to say she has purchased three.

The philanthropic actions of all South Africans has restored my faith in both God and humanity. I wear a small silver charm around my neck, it’s a little shoe that I purchased while travelling two years ago. When I touch the little filigree shoe I realise that it is the perfect symbol of the travellers that find themselves displaced. It will always be my reminder not to be complacent about refugees.

Not every aspect of life at City Hall is pleasing or pleasant. Many of the refugees are double refugees, twice they have been forced to run away; this doubles their sense of hopelessness. A young mother who has appeared emotionally disturbed for the past three days has tried to strangle her four-month-old baby girl in the toilets several times. When other refugees rescued the baby, the mother fled. Nomsa, the nursing sister who oversees the infants centre, slept at the centre last night and cared for the abandoned baby. She is a beautiful child, petite and responsive, smiling at us out of her pink papoose. There are willing foster parents but matters get complicated when a suggestion is made about a private adoption agency. My internal alarm rings and I want to suggest that Child Welfare is called in. The foster parents’s housekeeper decides to spend the night with the mothers and babies in the infants centre.

Today Carrington and Bodicea came to live with us. They will live in a small wooden house in our garden that my children felt would be insulting to them; they were delighted. In less than an hour they have transformed the unused wooden house into a cosy home through the tasteful placement of decorative grass mats, fluffy blankets and a spirit lamp. They pulled a bench up next to the tree and, as I write this, Carrington is banging away as he fits a lock onto the door.

My geyser hasn’t been repaired yet and our soup burned when we were called back to City Hall.