I met Eliza two years ago and instantly fell in love. She was one of the students whose education we were able to sponsor through contributions from blog readers. (Photo at the left is with Eliza on this trip – taken by Paloma.)
The last day I was here in February she arrived at the carepoint with open sores all over her foot and leg. At nine years old she was cooking over the fire and was burnt by hot oil.
After I left Swaziland Gift started investigating her injuries and the World Race team here looked into what was happening to her. It turns out that there were more then just burns, Eliza had scars and bruising all over her body. I cried and prayed and felt utterly helpless being so far away.
All I could think about was her sweetness. Every day I’m at the care point she runs to greet me and sits with her hand in mine, refusing to leave my side. She knows her place, her hand belongs in my right hand when I’m walking and when I sit her head gets nestled right under my chin.
On Thursday we had a few free moments so, Eliza, Gift, and I sat down to talk out of earshot of the other kids.
She leaned her frail body against me and placed her hands in mine. I didn’t know where to start, what do you ask when you suspect that a child is being beaten.
“How are things for you at home?” I asked. It took a moment for Eliza to respond, her small shoulders slumped further forward and she didn’t lift her head while murmuring a quiet answer in SiSwati, which Gift interpreted.
“Things are bad.”
“What is bad?” As I questioned her she begun to nervously run her short finger nails over my long thumbnail.
“The bad men come at night and I’m scared.”
Gift explained more to me. “Her father just lost his job. The economic crisis has affected much more than people in the United States, her father was one of the ones who lost his job. Now he is drinking a lot. I think that the men she is talking about are some type of loan collectors, or some men up to not good things.”
My thoughts immediately flashed to Grace and Mswana both beautiful teenage girls who have contracted H.I.V. through rape. Unfortunately their stories are brutally common in this place. Eliza doesn’t show signs of having been sexually assaulted, but if she stays in her home the likelihood of her becoming a statistic and loosing her innocence as well as her life to rape is astronomic.
I tried to keep up the conversation but the words caught in my throat. Gift encouraged me to continue with more questions.
“Does your family have food at home?”
Her back pressed closer into me as she sucked in a deep breath before answering. Eliza’s words came out, quiet and hesitant. “We go with out food most nights, all the nights I’m in school.” At her answer a tear slipped from my eye, before I could wipe it away it landed on her short rough hair. That meant that a majority of days the only meal she was getting was the bowl of corn meal from the carepoint.
Gift explained to me, “Her father has been here at the carepiont asking for food for his family, since he lost his job he has not been able to buy food.”
I felt helpless, with only questions and no answers, nothing I could do to ease her pain. A gentle breeze blew through the tree we sat under, and the sun provided enough warmth to be comfortable in a tee shirt. The setting was a stark contrast to our conversation. No child anywhere should have to go to bed hungry a majority of nights.
“Can you tell me about what else is going on at home?”
Her voice came out scared but she kept talking. “My father beats my brother and me when he comes home drunk. My mom tries to get in the way and stop him, but he just beats her as well.”
“What does he use to beat you?” Tears start streaming down my cheeks, I was thankful that she’s leaning against me and can’t see my reaction.
“He uses a shoe or a log.” The thought of someone touching this beautiful, sweet spirited, girl in that way, made me shudder. I looked into her down cast eyes and somehow despite everything they still look hopeful.
Gift continues talking with her and translating for me. He asked if she would want to go to school away from home. There are some funds available to send her to a place for abused children in Swaziland, unfortunately spots are limited and Eliza’s case may not be severe enough for her to be admitted. The social worker has decided that her case only counts as negligence not abuse.
The cell phone rang and Gift leaves to take the call. I wrapped my arms tighter around Eliza’s small frame while praying over her. All I want to do is shelter and protect her forever.
