As my team enters the Zakhele Care Point each day, we cannot make it to the gate before vivacious 4 and 5 year olds surround us. With exclamations of “Teeachaaa! Teeachaaa!” they run into our arms, and the day of dust-covered learning begins.
I travel back to elementary school when I enter the colorful classroom where my precious 5 year olds sit. They begin the day with prayer, which sounds more like a unified screaming session than any prayer I have ever heard. We review colors, sounds, seasons and months.
When the time comes to use workbooks, teacher Brenda asks me to hand them out and I take a deep breath before attempting the pronunciation. “Siphelele?” A little girl raises her hand. “Banele-Matta?” They all look at me in confusion until Brenda correctly says the boy’s name. On and on we go with alternating giggles and blank stares as I try my best to navigate the world of five-syllable Swazi names.
Brenda gives direction as Regan and I circle the room with encouragement. “Way to stay in the lines!” or “Good triangle!” are common exclamations. The kids beam. I give some high fives. From the outside looking in, it all seems very similar to a typical kindergarten classroom in the States.
The differences become obvious when we talk to the volunteer teachers and cooks during breaks. If I comment on cute boots or a comfy sweater that a child is wearing, Brenda quickly informs me with pride that these things have been recently donated.
My babies come from homes where meals and warm clothes are not always guaranteed. The Zakhele Care Point provides not only a preschool education; it feeds children of all ages from Monday-Friday. The volunteers cook warm meals, and the kids line up to receive their daily portions.
Each day:
Sour porridge for snack.
Pop (mashed cornmeal) & beans or rice for lunch.
Pop & beans or rice to take home for dinner.
My heart aches as I see the independence of these children. They must remember to bring Tupperware to ensure dinner can be taken home. They are in charge of washing their own dishes. They wave goodbye before heading out of the gate and bounding down the road. 4 and 5 years old. Walking home alone, crossing busy streets.
The role I have taken on this month is that of the hugger. If I can’t be the one to walk each child home and make sure they are read stories at night, I can smother them with love while they are under my watch. Someone is constantly in my arms. I also teach hand games. The kids line up; we practice “Double This, Double That,” one by one. After each game? I give a giant hug. And usually a kiss. And almost always a “Great job baby girl!” or “Perfect my love!” They keep lining up, and I keep hugging.
I know that I am not supposed to have favorites, but there is a little girl who has stolen my heart. Tebenguni is quiet, sweet and funny; today I winked at her and watched as she figured out how to close one eye while keeping the other one open. She works diligently, and I’ve never seen anyone concentrate on coloring as much as my Tebenguni. She had my hand games down on the first day and wants to be next to me at all times. Who could resist falling for her?
Some of the other kids bring snacks from home to eat during break, but not Tebenguni. Every day, without fail, she lines up to get her allotment of porridge. I watch as my girl downs the stuff (who needs untensils?!).
This month, I come home completely exhausted every day, but I am doing what I have always loved: pouring into children. I try to channel my inner Nance Pants (that’s my mom… she’s a rock star of a first grade teacher) as I seek creative ways to reach these kids. I can just imagine the way my mom’s eyes would widen for dramatic effect when reading a story because I do the same. Once again, I sit baffled and in awe of the way God has been preparing me for this trip all of my life.
