The most recent letter from Eva (not her real name) hangs on my fridge. In it, the 15 year-old adolescent residing at St. Vincent Children’s Home describes her experiences at the local senior primary school (the work is getting easier), her plans for an upcoming holiday (going home to see her family), and her favorite things (dance, sports, and music). By far the most colorful item on my fridge, the handmade card prompts frequent thoughts of my friend and reflections on our time together back in Mariannhill. As I read Eva’s letter again recently, I was reminded of an entry that I had posted about her back when I kept a blog about my experiences in South Africa. I’ve decided to re-post the entry here to share the joy that I feel for having Eva in my life. But also for a second reason, as a personal reminder of the commitment that the Khanyisela Scholarship has to the children of St. Vincent’s – to their educational pursuits and academic potential, certainly, but also to their character and their resiliency.
September 18, 2007
Eva’s real name is Thandi, a word that means, simply, “love.” To me, though, she has always just been Eva, although the first time I went to visit her at St. Vincent Children’s Home, the orphanage in Mariannhill, the staff didn’t know which child I was referring to when I asked for her by that name. I finally had to describe her as the twelve-year-old girl who had been admitted to the hospital the week before.
I first met Eva nearly a year ago. As I was walking into the hospital on my first day back after a short holiday, a small voice from behind me called out, “Anne!” I turned and saw an unfamiliar girl wearing an oversized hospital gown running towards me. I remember feeling immediately embarrassed as I wondered who this child was that seemed to know me. There are so many children here here – kids playing in the streets of the communities; patients in the pediatric ward; children of friends, patients, or co-workers. I searched my mind to place this child’s face, but came up blank. Trying my best to hide my lack of recognition, I waited for her to run up to me, hugged her, and exclaimed, “Mtanami! Unjani? Ngiyajabula ukukubona!!” – “My child! How are you? I am so happy to see you!” I discreetly sought to identify her by asking her how her mom was doing, how everything at home was, and, finally, – where does she live again? When she answered the last question by saying St. Vincent’s, I understood not only that she was one of the children from the orphanage, but also how inappropriate my first two questions were. Perhaps Eva had recognized me from church or seen me along the roads of Mariannhill. Still, it was strange that she knew me – at that time, I had been here for only about six months, visited the Zulu church irregularly, had never actually been to the orphanage, and would not have seen her on the road in front of the primary school because she happened to attend school in a different town.
Somehow, though, she did know me, even knew my name, and it wasn’t long before I learned hers: Eva, as she insisted that I call her. After that, I visited her every day the rest of the time that she was in the hospital, and then occasionally at St. Vincent’s when she returned back there. When I moved out of the guesthouse and down to the hospital, I saw her less frequently but we would still meet up at church on a Sunday or at the hospital when she came to pick up her medication.
But seeing Eva this much was not enough to realize that her health was worsening. A growing caseload of outpatients, a new rehab program at a local clinic, and complex cases in the community had taken up most of my time, so the inpatient wards that I would normally cover were being seen by one of the physio assistants. When Eva was admitted to one of those wards a few weeks ago, I didn’t see her once during her entire hospital stay.
I didn’t realize any of this until last Thursday when I was walking around the other side of Mariannhill near St. Vincent’s Home. Sister John Paul who works at the orphanage must have seen me passing by and came out to greet me. She said that she had been looking for me for the past two weeks – now that I was no longer staying at the guesthouse, though, she didn’t know where to find me. Anyway, she said, she was glad to have seen me now because a group of children from the orphanage were preparing for baptism to take place in two days. Eva, who was part of this group, had chosen me as her ummeli, or godmother. This was when I learned about Eva’s health and recent hospital stay. Sr. John Paul was unsure if Eva would be allowed to be baptized, as all of the other children had already met with the priest to answer questions about the Catholic faith – a mini oral examination that Eva had missed when she was in the hospital. The sisters who run the orphanage hoped that she could still be baptized because the next opportunity would not be until November and, as Sr. John Paul put it, “you never know what could happen.”
As it turned out, Fr. Mchunu, the parish priest, agreed with the sisters and wanted to baptize Eva. The baptism took place this past Saturday. I felt honored that she asked me to be her godmother, yet unworthy of filling such a role after my neglect of the child during her illness. I don’t know if I will be able to forgive myself for that. But Eva has, after I apologized to her. I will visit her more regularly now and I also gave my cell phone number to the Sisters at the orphanage for them to contact me if anything happens or if she needs anything. It’s the least I can do, and hopefully Eva will benefit from that. I am, after all, her godmother.
Three years later, Eva remains my goddaughter at St. Vincent’s. We keep in touch through letters, the occasional email when assisted by the office manager at the children’s home, and once she even sent me a video of herself that she had made with the help of another former volunteer. Eva’s health remains fair yet stable, largely thanks to her tenacious spirit that prevailed over the health crisis three years ago. As she nears 18, the maximum age for residing at St. Vincent’s, I do not know where she will go. Perhaps on to further schooling, or maybe she will find work in Mariannhill, where she could remain close to the supportive environment of St. Vincent’s. Or perhaps Eva will simply return to the community that she once left – much stronger now, much more independent, much brighter. And maybe if she does return there, that light within – shining ever more brilliantly – will bring inspiration and hope to her own goddaughter.
