SERVE is a voluntary organisation founded by Fr Gerry O’Connor a Redemptorist.

The object was to get young Irish people from all walks of life, between the age of 19-40 to go live and work voluntary, for 6-8 weeks with the poor and vulnerable in Developing Countries.

It started with one country and now approximately 100 volunteers go each year to 5 countries - Brazil, Thailand, India, The Philippines, South Africa/Mozambique.

I had all these thoughts and feelings to put on paper but just didn’t know where to start. This is exactly how I felt after my first day arriving in South Africa. Where do you start? The realisation hits you on the first day, the vastness of the Aids pandemic, the poverty and the squalor. Nothing was glossed over or tied up with ribbons to make our exposure more palatable, no our first exposure was being placed in a squatter camp ironically known as Freedom Park. Freedom Park consisted of 5,000 corrugated shacks where over 20,000 people live and roughly 70% are infected with HIV/Aids. There is no sanitation, no electric, no running water, no footpaths just muck and rubbish. Nakedness at its best.

Another container is used as a Police Station as the crime rate is high and rape is a very common occurrence. The rest of the containers are used as a primary school and a creche. The creche were 2 large containers, one held approximately 5-10 small toddlers. It was dirty, the floor was in bad repair with nails sticking up, glass in the windows were broken and live electric wires were hanging from the walls. It had 2 pieces of foam used as mattresses and 4 small toys. The other creche was just as bad only it accommodated 40+ children from the age of 4 up. They had chairs and tables which were in pretty bad condition, one blackboard but no paper or pencils. The first thing you noticed when you entered the creche wasn’t the lack of facilities or the dirt but the sea of white pearly teeth, large brown eyes and constant runny noses.

It was 8 deg outside and most of the children didn’t own a coat and few had hats and gloves on. It didn’t matter because the noise was deafening with excitement and happiness at our presence never mind the fact that we had an array of gifts with us which included balloons, pencils, paper, sweets, paints and bubbles. As we produced the first balloon, the children fell silent and watched carefully as the balloon was transformed into a hat. Once placed on the head of the nearest child a wave of kids pushed forward, hands out wanting the same. It didn’t matter what colour or if it was a dog, hat or sword, it was the fact that they had something new to play with and it was free. A rarity in South Africa.

Maputo Kids

They sang songs for us, played with our hair and climbed up looking for cuddles and some sort of affection. They constantly wanted to touch you, adults as well, it was important to them, skin on skin. We left the kids with them chanting shap, a word so many South African kids use meaning ok, its good. As the word shap is said your thumb meets theirs and you flick in opposite directions, a task quickly mastered by all in the group as from here on in you used it constantly. Everywhere we went children followed with balloons in hand, we felt like the Pied Piper.

This compound consists of a number of buildings including the HIV/Aids Hospice, ARV clinic, Parish Church, dormitory for the Personnel of the Hospice, a Nurses home and behind the Church a makeshift graveyard. This graveyard is a place of rest to so many victims of Aids, adult and children alike. There are no crosses just mounds of earth as most of the people buried here were not Christian. On the children’s graves, stuck into the earth are their milk bottles, teddy bears and and other toys, no headstones no name. This place has become a cemetery because these souls cannot be buried elsewhere. Their homes are far away or the nearby cemetery wouldn’t take them in because they died from Aids or Aids related illnesses. They lived with the stigma and even after death the stigma remains.

The Nurses Home within the compound was also in need of repair. The roof was fixed, all ten rooms and two bathrooms were painted which it was in badly need of, rewiring the electricals, fixing the plumbing and hanging new curtains. The next project was a ARV clinic situated 30 mins drive away in a town called Boetkong. This was a house which was donated to Topologo and was in the heart of a housing estate. It was going to be used as a children’s clinic and drop in centre but it was in pretty rough condition. It was a house with 4 rooms and an outside toilet. The ceilings, plumbing and electrical were in a pretty bad state. It was decided to give it a whole new makeover which took us well over a week to complete. This was no Changing Rooms. As the boys pulled down the ceiling a nest of rats fell out. There was a lot of screaming and jumping around and that was only the boys.

New ceilings and coving were put up, new sink erected inside, windows fixed, rewired and new electrical fittings, floors and walls repainted, new curtains and lampshades, new front door and the toilet outside fixed. We then decided as it was for the children it would be nice to paint a few murals in two of the rooms and so it was done, keeping within the theme of African animals. Boetkong ARV clinic was finally completed looking homely, clean, bright and new.

A lot of them are skin and bone, some have broken skin or skin sores or badly twisted limbs. Some of them are so bad that they don’t make it out of the Hospice alive. The reasoning behind this is, the men either don’t get tested for Aids when they become ill all due to the stigmatisation or if they have been diagnosed they don’t go and receive treatment until they become so ill they are forced to go by their families. Hence they arrive in the Hospice in a pretty bad state.

The women on the other hand, with some exceptions, as soon as they become ill they seek help as most of them are the carers of children and if they die who will look after them. This wasn’t always the case and it still isn’t in some areas. 1.2 million children are orphaned because of Aids which will double in the year 2010, in 2005 990,000 children lost their mother to Aids. 600 children die of Aids every day and there are 1,500 new infections every day, 7 million South Africans are infected by Aids and 200,000 die every year due to Aids. Hard to get your head around I know! Where do you start? How do you stop this pandemic? I’m not the first or the last person to ask these questions. I can hear you say use a condom, stop having sex, yes in the western world that would be grand but in a developing country it’s a very different story.

People are being re-educated now and things are changing slightly although this will take years to make a noticeable difference if not generations. The women are getting stronger as the majority of women in South African settlements and towns don’t really have much say. The men have the money therefore have the power. They say if a condom is used or not.

Poverty is the key to most of this, women will use their bodies for what’s known as ‘survival sex’ prostitution as we know it, only prostitution here is very different from prostitution there. Everything in South Africa is paid for, nothing is free education, hospital, medication, water etc. There are no Government handouts for being a single mum. There are few jobs locally for those who have had the privilege of an education, so they have to travel to the Johannesburg along with a lot of other people from neighbouring towns in search of work. Who will look after the children then? So if the women cant get work who will feed their children. As the squatter camps are placed beside the Platinum Mines full of men from all African countries, away from home months at a time, ‘survival sex’ begins to grow. In most cases a condom isn’t used as they get paid more and the virus is spread. He will go back home to his family, have sex with his wife and that’s how it’s passed from town to village to country. The wife may contract it, breast feed the baby and pass it onto the child, meanwhile the lady having ‘survival sex’ sleeps with other men, the same thing happens and so a vicious circle arises. Stigmatisation is the main reason why people will not get tested. Aids sufferers are often ostracised from their villages, towns and even their families.

In front of me wasn’t just a statistic, it was a face, body, a human being with Aids. Her name and life was on a file in my hands. I was able to touch, kiss, hug her and listen to her story. She was another innocent casualty like so many others, stricken down by an angry uncontrollable virus willing to invade and intrude her body, killing everything in its path.

The Hospice can be a very morbid place if you let it but I didn’t approach it that way. These women weren’t dead, they were still alive. They didn’t want us standing there crying and feeling pity for them, they just wanted our help. So we laughed and joked, painted their nails, put make-up on them, brought them up crisps and juice and they loved it.

They looked forward to us coming everyday, it gave them a sense of being a person again. Those who were pretty sick and weak just wanted you to sit and hold their hand.

Another side to our caring programme entailed going to work at an ARV clinic and going on home visits with the Home Care workers. I went on home care visits on two separate occasions and it was here that effected me the most. On the first day we went to a total of 3 houses each very different. Here we met HIV sufferers who are on ARV treatment telling us their stories and telling the Care workers of any problems they might be suffering. Each has a sad story to tell, one sadder than the next, but the second house I visited struck me the most and has stayed embedded in my mind ever since.

She was pregnant at the time but miscarried at 5mths, she was tested for Aids which came back positive. She had no money, no food, the neighbours were feeding her scraps so that she could take her medication 3 times a day. She didn’t no how long this could go on for as no one can afford to feed and extra mouth.

Her uncles lived in Johannesburg and if she moved there she wouldn’t be able to receive the ARV drugs as the Topologo programme is free. Everywhere else the medication has to be paid for which is pretty expensive. She was totally on her own with no family back up system, the only people to off load onto were the Care workers. When was the last time she even got a hug? Something we all need when we feel alone and desperate. I got up to leave and she put her arms around my neck and I put mine around her waist and as I held her I really didn’t want to let go. I wanted to tell her everything would be ok but I couldn’t, I was the one walking away. As we hugged for the first time in South Africa I wanted to cry. As the wave of emotion came over me my eyes stung as they filled with tears, nose running and I had a burning lump the size of a gulf ball at the back of my throat trying to hold it all back. Yes I did feel her anguish, what if that was me? How would I feel and yes I was angry and frustrated at myself for not bringing food with me to leave. All I had in my bag were 2 apples and a banana which I did leave but that wasn’t enough. How did the Home Care workers cope with this day after day?

On the second occasion we visited a family, the eldest boy was 19 and couldn’t get work, another boy at 16 and a girl at 14. Their father was dead and their mother died 2 wks previous of a heart attack. The atmosphere in the house was tense. This was desperation at its worst. Not only were they still grieving but they had no money or food and the 14 yr old girl couldn’t go to school as she had no shoes or bus fare. She was looking at us for some miracle and there was nothing we could do. I felt as helpless as her and useless. How could she get out of this and better herself if she had no education? What did the future hold for her? ‘Survival Sex’ kept running through my mind. As we left she began to cry hysterically and I wanted to cry with her. She was 14 and still a child put in a situation through no fault of her own. An occurring way of life in South Africa.

We left Phoekeng at 6.00 am to get the 8.00 am bus in Johannesburg. The bus journey took 10 hrs and we arrived in Maputo, Mozambique. Here we stayed for a 3 day stop over before travelling another 10 hrs into the heart of Mozambique to a place called Movamba.

In Maputo we visited the local monastery which was based in a poor area. We got a tour of that area and it looked and smelled pretty bad. The local school was just a shell and definitely could’ve done with our help. It was here that we first met Fr San Tiago, an Argentinean priest who would be travelling with us the 10 hr journey to his parish. We would be staying in the monastery with him and 2 other Argentinean priests.

When we arrived we discovered life was pretty basic, no electric, no hot water just freezing cold showers but at least we had a shower facility and the food was very basic. Our task here was to help build a 4 classroom secondary school. Our first day started at 6.30 am with breakfast, to be on site for 7.00 am. The first thing on the agenda was to gather around the tree at the field where the school was to be built. We sat around the tree with some of the locals to ask the ancestors for permission to build. They drank a local concoction which puts them into a trance and they pray. This is a customary ritual which is done first before even a blade of grass is cut. Permission thankfully was granted.

Time here means nothing, things get done when people decide to do it. It is a very easy going way of life. They have the time, we have the watches. We then go to get the tools needed for the job and as we enter the area beside the school we are greeted by the whole community who are singing and welcoming us. It was totally overwhelming and just the first of many in our time in Movamba. The community not only came out to greet us, they came out to help. Many hands make light work! Things have to be done the Movamban way so the women went to work while the men sat and watched. The field had to be cleared so the long grass or straw had to be hacked with a machete. As a row of ladies cut the grass other ladies came and raked it by hand, piled it up in the middle of the field and burnt it that night. Then the ladies stand in a row and dig the weeds out from each section of the field. Back breaking work. Everything is done in order with precision, like a military operation which was quite effective. The field was cleared within 3 hrs. The women then sit and it’s the men’s turn to work. Their job is to measure and mark out the site and build the school, but the women’s job isn’t finished just yet. The resting period doesn’t last too long. They have to walk to the primary school and carry 6ft solid planks of wood which have been stored there in order for the men to start building. Again it was like a military operation, each lady would balance the plank on her shoulder and carry it back, then return for another one. Those with children strapped to their backs carry the planks on their heads.

Two of us were struggling to carry one between us, to the amusement of the locals. The men then began to build and after a lot of shouting and arguing between themselves, the frame of the school was erected and tied into place. Corrugated iron sheets were being used for the roof and placed half way up the sides.

Meanwhile the women then went to clear another piece of land adjacent to the monastery and this was going to be made into a football pitch. White wash was used to mark the pitch and some locals made iron goal posts which we measured and cemented into place. Every day work stopped at 12 noon because of the heat so it was 7 am starts. The group felt as if weren’t doing enough compared to South Africa and because we had to work at Mozambican pace. What we hadn’t realised was, our presence alone had an effect, over 100 people came everyday to help. The community came together as one something which wouldn’t have happened unless we were there.

Something so natural became difficult not to do and at times we did forget but by the end of the week things changed slightly, some local women gave us hugs and the children were climbing up into your arms.

Our evenings didn’t go un-entertained, one evening we were invited to sit around a fire under the blanket of stars with the school children who live in the nearby huts. The children live in these huts all week and fend for themselves as their family home can be miles away. They live here all week and attend school and then they walk home at the weekends. They sang and danced for us and then we had to do the same for them. Our performance wasn’t great but nobody cared we were having fun. We then played games with them, said our good nights and returned the benches we borrowed, back to the chapel. It was a brilliant night. The football pitch was christened on the Sunday with a match between the locals and the Irish and again the whole community came out to watch. Our last day was quite an emotional one, we were given presents of cashew nuts and a sack of Maize ( the main diet in Africa like our potatoes) by the community who again came out in force and sang for us and we said our goodbyes. Mozambique has the most beautiful sunsets, sunrises, scenery and the most beautiful people.

When I wrote this I relived my time there and I went through every emotion all over again, I cried, laughed, got frustrated and even angry at times. I hope you have felt the same when reading this. I wanted to raise awareness within my own community and bring a piece of Africa to them. I hope I have done them justice and told it like it is.

I once read, ‘When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.’ I hope the community in South Africa and Mozambique think of me as that friend.

If anyone would like to contact me about my experience or help fundraise for Topologo or Serve, my email address is: melanie_donegan@yahoo.co.uk