During a journey to Johannesburg, South Africa, I visited the home of a friend, Nandi. At the time, Nandi was an activist and youth leader who traveled the world speaking to educate people on the plight of children. Her focus was child trafficking. She had stayed at my home when I lived in New York City a few times and I had promised to visit her home when I came to South Africa.
Nandi’s home is also home to over 100 children. One morning her mom was driving to work and she saw a young boy playing in the streets. She stopped her car and asked him, “Why are you not in school?” He said, “My mother does not care.” She took him home and his mom was sick with AIDS related illnesses. He also had 2 or 3 siblings. She offered the mom that she would take her son home and take care of him. The other children asked if they could come and she said yes. This began her service of taking care of children; most of whom had parents dead or dying due to AIDS.
When I arrived at Nandi’s Place, I was treated as a dignitary. I was welcomed as one of the family. As I traveled around Africa, this treatment was not unusual because of a seeming cultural mandate to be kind and generous to strangers.
I was given a tour of the children’s quarters which included an area for toddlers, teens, boys and girls were in separate quarters. The children looked at me and giggled and smiled while peeking around corners or the aprons of their care-givers. They laughed a lot because they thought I spoke funny. I told them I had an American southern accent. I sometimes exaggerated my accent to make them laugh even more.
I was introduced to one child who appeared to be 6 or 7 years old. She seemed to be very fragile, even frail. This child took leadership in guiding me around the compound and introducing me to each and every one of the children, one by one.
I was stunned when she first spoke to me because her voice was very different from how she looked. Her voice was loud, strong and clear. She spoke immaculate English and bombarded me with rapid fire questions. Her name was Precious. Precious said, “Hello, how are you? Where are you from? How old are you? Do you have siblings? Why did you come here to see us?” After I answered her questions, she smiled and took my hand and proceeded to give me a tour of the grounds.
The next day when I saw Precious, she continued her duties as guided ambassador again. I noticed her hair had been braided in a most beautiful style. I said, “Precious, who did you hair?” She said, “my sister did it.” As the day progressed, at some point, we were in a room with all of the girls. I looked around the room trying to figure out which of these girls might be Precious’s sister. I eventually asked Precious, “Precious, which of these girls is your sister?” She stopped, looked directly into my eyes, and after being very thoughtful and silent began to approach one of the girls. She touched this girl on her shoulder and said,
“This is my sister.” Then she reached out to the next girl and said, “This is my sister.” Then she reached out to the 3rd and 4th girl and said, “She is my sister.” This process continued until Precious had touched each of the 50+ girls in the room and proclaimed, “she is my sister.”
Finally, she touched my shoulder and said, “You are my sister.” I learned that day from one who appeared to be small and fragile, yet turns out to be magnificent and strong. This encounter was a testimony to all of our humanity and what is possible in embracing each other as brothers and sisters.
Although Precious appeared to be 6 or 7 years old, I learned that she was actually 14 years old. Her small statue was due to past lack of nourishment and malnutrition.
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Baruch Bashan: “The blessings already are”.
Lorraine "Dr. Rain" Warren, PhD 