It was the end of a long day in Nsoko. The orange sun was fast slipping behind the cross at the Anchor Center, while the heat of the day quickly dissipated. Everything in me was tired but strangely peaceful. The anxiety that often plagues me in the United States had faded to a gentle din. I rubbed my bare arms for warmth but didn’t feel like trekking inside for my dirty sweater.
(Photo of the Anchor Center taken by Nick Bearman)
I kicked at the gravel with my flip flop clad feet, thankful again that I had thrown the shoes in my carryon, since my luggage had decided against following me to Africa. At that moment, Nick Ryan, one of the guys in my group, pushed his way out of the metal team house door holding some very muddy shoes.
“Hey Morgan, I’m going to go wash off my shoes at the water pump, want me to take yours?” I looked down at the athletic shoes I had borrowed to go harvest cabbage that morning. They were sitting on the front step caked in dirt.
“Yeah, actually I’ll come with.” Stretching my legs sounded good and the early twilight was beautiful.
As we walked the hundred yards to the pump, a small group of kids grabbed our hands and followed. Once we reached the water more children swarmed. They asked us questions in broken English and giggled at our answers. At one point I started singing, “Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha going to do.” Turns out all the kids knew the song and wanted to sing along. Nick was pretty stoked that he shared a favorite movie with the group, “Bad Boys 2.”
(Nick Ryan talking about "Bad Boys" with the kids at the water pump)
They asked if we knew Will Smith and Martin Lawrence. Nick tried to explain that he saw where the movie was filmed, but it got lost in translation. Now I’m pretty sure that some kids in Nsoko think we hang out with the “Bad Boys” regularly.
As we were talking a little guy came walking up to our group. Tears immediately formed in the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. It was Sinetemba. With out hesitation he reached his five-year-old arms up towards my neck and I pulled him into a close embrace, and then shifted him to my hip. He was content just to be held. My mind flashed back to the first time I met Sinethemba, I wrote about him while in Swaziland early in 2009…
Today I was holding a baby who most likely has TB and AIDS whose mom is dying of AIDS. I wonder if Dudu (the mom) will make it through the next week. I don't know if the baby Sinethemba will make it through the next few months. But when I asked in the car, they said that his name means "to hope for or to have faith." That's all I can do. It's hard to keep hope here. But, I'm continually reminded that the only hope I have, and the only hope I can give is in Jesus.
(With Dudu and Sinethemba in 2009)
A few months later, in April of 2009, I wrote more of Dudu’s story…
Dudu's face is ingrained in my mind. Her strained voice, barley louder than a whisper seems to shout. Even after two months back in the US I still think about her often, wondering if the AIDS has swallowed her, wondering if she has been set free from this life of pain and disease.
At 26 years old, Dudu is grappling with the reality that she will not get to see Sinethemba past his infancy. She won't have the luxury of hearing his first word, telling him bedtime stories, or kissing his scrapped knee. She will never get to see this beautiful, thirsty, baby boy grow into a man, wave goodbye to him on his first day of school, or teach him to tie his shoe. When he cries she won't be there to circle her arms around him and whisper that everything will be all right. Her death will come before she knows if he has escaped the monster we call AIDS.
Most likely, Dudu has a few weeks left; maybe it's a few days. I have no pat answers, no beautifully articulated words of hope, but I know that God holds her during this time as she looks into eternity.
Later that year AIDS won and Dudu slipped quietly into forever. Thankfully a World Race team took Sinethemba to the hospital and had his TB treated.
Sinethemba started rolling his little toy car up and down my shoulder, which my invited my thoughts back to the present moment. He leaned in closer and Nick snapped a picture for us.
Sinethemba has no idea that I prayed over him as a baby and promised his mom that he would be taken care of. He does not remember the tears caught by my pillow the night after Dudu placed him in my arms and asked if I would raise him. He doesn’t know that his Mother’s desire to be known by her son was the inspiration for our Legacy Book Project.
I don’t know if Sinethemba has HIV, but I do know that he is alive and doing well. Today he living and because of this I have hope. We have hope. Sinethemba.
