Please Sign Our New Guestbook! 
| March 3, 2006 Friday night Yesterday, the dreaded day arrived that I had
to take my precious baby Phila home to his Gogo
(grandmother). We left here at 9AM to begin the long journey back to where Phila came from. We encountered many obstacles on the way. After what seemed like an endless journey of 3 hours to the local social worker's office, where we were told she was out and would be back in an hour. The one-hour became three hours, sitting in the combi (van) in the blistering hot sun! At last she arrived! We were then told that she would not go into the area where Phila?s family lived without a police escort as the area was extremely dangerous and was notorious for its highjackings, robbery, rape etc etc!. So off we went to the local police station and proceeded to wait yet another hour for a police escort. At last we got underway on the last leg of this epic journey with a police escort! A short distance from our destination the unimaginable happens, after we finally got underway and we were just a few miles from his home we got a flat tire. Probably because the road had places where the road surface seemed to disappear and massive ruts and potholes were left. Thankfully, we did have a police escort because we all had to get out of the combi while the tire was changed and I did not feel very safe. We arrived at Phila's home, a simple mud hut, and deep in rural South Africa. They had obviously heard the vehicle coming, as two little girls were waiting outside, they were his two sisters of 6 and 9 were waiting for him. The last time they had seen Phila was when he was 6 months old, and he is now nearly three years old! In fact it will be his birthday on Tuesday March 7th. Can you imagine what they must also be going through? They will have to get to know their brother right from the beginning. It is good that Phila has his two sisters, as he has been so used to being surrounded by children here and in the hospital where I picked him up all those months ago! How he has changed, he has now become a real little man. I am going to miss him so. Suddenly an old woman crawled on hands and knees out of the mud rondavel to meet him (she could not walk at all), I assumed it was his Gogo, but in fact it was his Gogo's mother, which I guess means that she was his Great Grandmother. Then I noticed another lady in the background looking utterly bewildered, this was his real Gogo. I learned later that she could not believe that this lovely, healthy little man was Phila, because the last time she had seen him, was when they left him at the hospital, at 6 months of age, he was at that time a very sick baby. Tears were streaming down their faces, and as I watched them and their reactions towards my Phila, I knew that they loved him. That was all I had been praying for all week prior to this journey. I knew that I could handle all of this if only I knew he was loved. He was loved, my prayers were answered. I have never experienced someone having nothing, it just doesn?t seem possible in this day and age but his family had nothing. Such dire poverty you just cannot imagine. I was taken into his family's home, a simple mud hut, where they slept and cooked and sheltered against the elements, because believe me it can be very cold in the winter, and even in the sweltering summer it can suddenly turn into the most tremendous storm when the winds and rain come pelting down. There was absolutely nothing in the house except a small homemade wooden bench, no mats to sleep on, no blankets, nothing. They have no electricity and no water. I don't remember seeing an outside toilet, which if they did have one, would only be a hole in the ground. Can you imagine? I certainly have never seen such dire poverty in all my life. The pictures will stay in my memory for the rest of my days. To tell you that this was one of my saddest days, is an under statement. But it was also an amazing day for me. I had sat in judgment of this family for the past week, how could they give up this child and leave him at the hospital for over two years and then want him back. After seeing their reaction at seeing him again, I now believe that they left him there because they loved him so much and hoped that by leaving him in the hospital they hoped with all their hearts, that this would hopefully save his life and give him a better chance of survival. I am not sure I could have done that if I had been in their place. They understood not one word of English, but somehow we were able to express our common love for Phila with gestures and looks that said more than any words could express. Love knows no barriers.
I told them I would be going home to America next month but
that I would be coming back to South Africa in January 2007.
I told them that I would love to come and visit them again
and to see my Phila. Another prayer answered, they made it
quite obvious that they would love me to come back and visit
them, so I am trying to arrange a visit with them again the
week before I leave for home. I want to take them some very
necessary things such as blankets, sleeping bags, warm clothes
etc, etc for everyone for the upcoming winter, (which as
I said earlier can be very cold), and anything else I can
get together to help make their lives a bit more bearable. Today I have started the process of trying to get something organized for Phila's family and of course for him. I went to our outreach office and asked if I could sponsor a monthly food parcel for his family. this would be a beginning, by making sure that they get some of the very basic foods every month, it seems so little, but it will be a beginning. A food parcel consist of mealy meal, beans, rice, soya mince, cooking oil, washing soap, candles, matches and costs a mere $35 per month, it does require a two year commitment. When one sees the poverty that Phila's family and thousands of others like them in this country suffer, then $35 seems like a very small contribution to make to help these people have the very basics of foodstuffs to survive a month. Many of these people have absolutely no income whatsoever and really live from scratching around for scraps, unbelievable! Love, ================================================================ March 9, 2006 It has been a week today since we returned Phila home to his family. I still miss him so much and my heart aches for him. People here have promised they will find a way for me to visit him when I return from the German Tour. I plan on taking his family canned food, sleeping bags and warm clothing for the upcoming winter months. Many of you have expressed an interest in sponsoring monthly food parcels for families in the valley. I will send you the information you requested before I leave for the tour. Thank you for all the kind and encouraging words that have been sent during this trying time. Please continue to keep Phila's family and me in your prayers. I will be leaving here next Thursday to go on a fund raising tour with The Young Zulu Warriors for three weeks, when I return I will only have two more weeks before returning home to the states. I still cannot get my head or heart around leaving my babies behind. The saving grace is I will be returning next January to work and live in the valley. I am attaching pictures of the Young Zulu Warriors; these were taken behind my house. If I have access to the Internet while I am away I will send you updates of the tour. I am excited that Dick Gordon, a good friend and Co-Founder of Our Journey, Inc. will be visiting me from the states, he arrives tomorrow morning and will stay until I leave for Germany next week. It is my hope that he will agree to write the journal next week and tell you about this amazing journey through his eyes. Love, ==================================================================== The following is written by Dick Gordon, Co-founder of Our Journey, Inc. March 13, 2006 Hello all, Just before sunset we arrived at the Maureen’s home (for the last year) and just got settled in before being invited out to dinner. It was the next day before first impressions could be made. Remote but not removed, the “home” (again, they don’t want to refer to the orphanage as an orphanage, even though they take care of some 90 homeless children) is situated on one of the many hills in what is called “the valley of 1000 hills.” The view is something else, with a 360 degree vista and mountains off in the distance many miles away. The rainy season has joined us and it rained all night and most of the morning. I was rewiring the lights in the newly formed Itsy Bitsy Creche (learning room for the toddlers) and was asked if I would watch several of the precious little ones while Maureen and another volunteer took several of the children out to the bathroom. I said of course and continued on with the electrical work at hand, occasionally looking over at the tiny angelic beings, admiring how cute they are. They continued to watch me with intent, almost as though they were waiting for me to electrocute my self. I suppose I was more interested in their overall safety and some how missed the more subtle activities of two of the little rug rats performing there rendition of “face painting 101” with their recently assigned magic markers that were supposed to be used on the newly arrived coloring books. Well, after Bozo and Marco, the two newly made up clowns, came clean, I was restricted to the maintenance crew and have the campus wide reputation of “don’t leave anyone of the children with “Dick”, please! Heck, not sure what all the hoop-ta-la is all about, it were just a little magic marker. Besides, they are still breathing, the lights are working just fine now. Suppose ya just can't please some folks. I have to admit, it is a strange irony. In the states, an orphanage is a sad place for a child to have to grow up. I’m sure it would be safe to say it is a step down from what most children would have to live in compared to other children, regardless of social status. This morning, I spent the day in the valley amongst the locals and I can be candid when I say that the almost 90 children in this particular home are so much better off than any of the children, in any of the homes I saw. The poverty is as great here as anywhere I have ever seen in all my travels. Here at this home, although basic, they eat three meals a day, go to school, have a bed to sleep on, and due to an amazing group of young volunteers (almost exclusively from Europe), truly understand what it is like to have someone who cares and loves for them. If you can’t tell, it has only taken a day to have fallen for both the children and the committed group of individuals that work here. The children are beautiful and enjoy the simplicity of life. For now I am tired and tomorrow is another day. I am truly blessed. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. Your humble traveler, =========================================================================== Our Journey Journal I'm sitting on one of the buses, hitching a ride with the Zulu song and dance group to Johannesburg Airport, as my last day with the children and staff draws to an end. Having been here barely a week, this is a much more emotional day than I could have ever imagined. For those of you who may not know me; my name is Dick Gordon. I met Maureen some 3 years ago, and have had the good fortune and privilege to help in some small way in the unfolding of her dream, Our Journey. My personal love for travel has taken me to S.A. and provides me the opportunity to witness Maureen's passion and work through Our Journey. Maureen asked if I would write this week's journal. Everyday, an opportunity, and I'm blessed and privileged again. Soooo... Where do I start ... Of course my time here has not been enough to make me any kind of expert, but let me share my observations. Let me first start with the area. A multi cultural country, S.A. is typically modern, diverse and seems to be enjoying good economic times. Confused? Yea, me too. As it turns out, even though the country as a whole is doing well, there is a despairingly gross difference between the upper and middle classes and the majority of the population, the lower class. One in four are dealing with HIV or dying of AIDS, the women are raised and live with "traditional" abuse and the death rates is so high it is not unusual for a South African to finish their day of work after learning an immediate family member has just passed away. The land is rich, lush and green, and in this area, known as The Valley of a Thousand hills, is just that. Steep hills of tall grass and flat trees. Hot and humid, March means we are nearing the end of summer and soon it will be winter. The valley, although not that far from towns and cities, is but far and removed from benefits of the country's economic stabilities. The hill sides are riddled with small mud huts and rondavels with thatch or scrape tin roofs. Inside, little and mostly no furniture only shaded dirt floors which provide shelter from the day's heat. My home for the last week is a home for almost 90 children whose ages range from 1 to 17, who have been left behind by the sweeping pandemic of HIV/AIDS. Many of the teenagers have lived here almost all of their lives. There is an obvious "family" love amongst all of the children. The older ones care for the younger, and when they are removed from the "Home" environment, the young cling to the older. Perhaps it's the volunteers that I should really start with. And I am sure I can not find the words to properly convey the depth of love, compassion and care that these volunteers have to give. The few that are more mature in age, have the experience and wisdom that can only come from raising their own. They provide a wealth of knowledge and endurance, and unfortunately they are but a few. From my "American" perspective; it is very difficult to grasp the role that Maureen has filled. She is loved by all (no surprise there) and been given nicknames or terms of endearment by all of the children to prove it. She personally has increased the level of life for all the children and been provided exceptions that no other volunteers have been given before (all in favour of the children). She, as well as the others, are dedicated and devoted in sharing their endless love. And with 90 children, their love must be endless. The majority of the volunteers are in their early 20,s, and almost exclusively are from Europe. It is because of these young adults and the countless others around the world like them that I give hope and faith in a better world to come. I have never, I repeat, never witnessed the level of heart, love and responsible commitment in our youth. One young lady in her very early twenties has taken on the responsibility to be ALL of the children's mother, with regard to any and all school related matters. She ensures every child is dressed properly, shoes are clean, uniforms are mended; each have their books, completed homework, packed lunch, and are out and ready for the loading of the school buses with hugs and kisses for each as they start their day. Upon the children's return in the afternoon, she is there to welcome, ask about their day, review notes from the teachers, homework assignments, assign other volunteers to assist in their homework, teacher parent conferences, all academic administrative and finally ensure the children have cleaned their shoes and laid out their clothes for the next day of school. She takes great pleasure and pride in this, and I can not imagine or do I know of a single mother that does it with more love for her own. Although I write of only one individual and one story, there are similar untold stories of love and commitment for all of these amazing volunteers. It would be difficult to write about the children and still be brief. Let me try to set the stage by describing the program of orphanages here in South Africa. Unlike the institutions in our western world, where a child reared in an orphanage has probably had less than a normal family upbringing. The orphanages here are providing shelter, care and love for so many of the parentless children that the children in the valley would never find. That is not to say the "Homes" here are better than ours, because they are not. It is just that many of the orphaned children in the valley move from one relative to the next or one neighbour to the next, or all to often are left homeless to go door to door in search for food and shelter of the few that have so little to give. Unfortunately, my words leave me little hope that westerners, particularly we Americans, will truly understand. I don't and I have seen it. So, in that the "Home" may not be the best place we can think of, it is many times better than where the children came from, and so many still are! On the surface these children may very well seem like any other around the world. However, to see where they have come from and what they deal with you just can't help but appreciate the hidden strengths that must lie behind the everyday smiles and laughter. As I mentioned, these children, as so often the case with big families, seem to want and enjoy takeing care of each other. On any given day you will see an older boy cutting the hair of a younger or one of the girls singing or playing with a much younger child. I suppose it may even be a recreational advantage to have so many playmates. They are typically curious and of course being the new guy in town and friend of someone they all know and love (Maureen), I was never alone and always being quizzed. This gave me an instant "in", and opportunity to get to know many of them. The Zulu language is full of clicks and clucks which most westerners, particularly those from Boston ;-) will never be able to master. The children enjoyed hours of trying to teach me, and I do emphasize "trying to teach" the language. Of course it ended in more laughter and fun than learned language. Like so many of the children of this large world, they are easy to have fun with and easier to love! A brief mention of the Out Reach Program in the valley, that Maureen has spoken of and we would like to possibly work with. Rosetta, a middle aged white South African and single mother of three, almost over night became passionate about the disparity of blacks in her country. Her vision and plan is so clear and encompassing that one might believe her overnight passion is much due in part by inspired deliverance of a complete architectural plan with time line. It is easy to understand why Maureen believes so passionately in the symbolic/relationship that can be formed here. Rosetta's appealing approach is not so much that we need to be feeding and caring for these forgotten children of God, but teaching their community how to feed and take care of their own. I can assure you, here vision is real and supported by a solid workable plan. But I digress and we will talk more about this in weeks to come.
I feel as though I should apologize for being
responsible for what might be the longest journal
to date, or that I may have taken advantage of
the opportunity. Those of you, who know me well,
know it is not to my liking or is it my forte
to write about my experiences (as you can probably
tell from the lines above). It is difficult however,
to see what I have seen, even for the shortest
of time, and not be emotionally involved. With
only a few more hours left of this journey, and
while the children behind me harmonize a traditional
Zulu song of farewell, I will close my moist
eyes and begin trying to set every detail of
the past week to memory. |