A visit to King's Kids Foster Home at Ha Makhoroana village

I visited King’s Kids foster home today.

All three children are doing very well. Looking healthy and happy and loved and well cared for. This home now has a couple living there who act as foster parents. ‘M’e Jane of the AFMSDD is very pleased with the job that the foster parents are doing and is hopeful that it may become a model for future foster homes. She feels very positive about the effect of having two parents here for these kids. While all of the foster moms at each of the homes are doing very good work with their children, Jane feels that the benefits of having a good male role model in the home are really showing up in how the children are doing here. When the end of the school day comes, these kids have parents to come home to who love and care for them, and that simple fact really is priceless. Right now the children are coming to the end of the long winter school break here in Lesotho. Lesotho’s school system puts the equivalent of the North American summer vacation into the middle of winter instead, with a much shorter break occurring in the summer. The oldest child, Lerato, is in grade 5 and doing well in school – her report card for the end of the last term placed her 6th in her class.

She is a bright girl with a quick smile who is on the edge of becoming a young lady. That quick smile pleases ‘M’e Jane very much as she remembers the somber girl that Lerato was just a year ago. Lerato came from a home where her mother was HIV+ and very ill. Lerato functioned as the primary care giver for her mom. At the time that Jane met her, Lerato was very depressed and never smiled. Today when she received her new school bag, facecloth, pen and a small package of sweets, she was beaming. Considerably older than the other two children, her school bag was more “adult sized” and grown-up looking, and the fact was neither unnoticed nor lost on her. I asked the kids today what foods they enjoyed the most and she immediately answered “bread.” Simple tastes. As a Canadian, naturally I was expecting the answer to be something more significant, like hamburgers, French fries, or pizza. Lerato, as the oldest child, is the one who helps the foster mother the most with the household chores such as sweeping, or washing dishes. And she is exploring the intricacies of preparing the family meals under the guidance of the mom, an important skill in this still largely patriarchical culture. Manthethe, the middle daughter, is just about sweet as you could imagine and in grade 2.

She was in grade 1 at the beginning of the school year, but the administration recently moved her into grade 2. I was fussing over the importance of such an achievement when the foster mom spoke up to explain that the change was more about school board policy than scholastic achievement. Manthethe is a little older than the other kids in grade 1. And for reasons that couldn’t be adequately explained today, had recently been promoted to the second grade. Manthethe‘s foster mom went on to explain that she is doing well in all subjects in grade 2 with the exception of mathematics, where she really struggles. Math is the most challenging subject across all grade levels in Lesotho. But they work together in the evenings at the kitchen table and it is hoped that Manthethe will do better. Manthethe really struggled with the favourite food question as well, and after some time mimicked her older sister and answered “bread and tea.” She and her younger brother Hlompho are quite small and the chore that falls to them most often around the house is fetching water. Manthethe lost her mom to AIDS, and her blind and somewhat infirm father was just not able to care for her properly. But he is a regular visitor to the home and much loved by Manthethe. Hlompho is the youngest in the family and he is one of those young children who is just so cute that you wish you could eat him up.

He has grown quite a bit over the winter. Hlompho is in grade 1 and doing well. His background is so heartbreaking. His young single mother abandoned him to the care of his elderly grandfather a few years back. Although it is believed that she went to South Africa, her whereabouts are still unknown. The grandfather simply was not able to care for him. The father is unknown. The favourite foods question did not faze Hlompho for even a second. He immediately responded “papa, moroho le nama.” (Corn meal porridge, green veggies, meat). A typical boy to be sure. And when the girls heard his answer they both immediately chimed in that they liked those foods too, clearly showing that they were dissatisfied with their original answers. The foster dad has been working extensively on the large plot behind the house and the keyhole gardens out the front. A wide variety of vegetables have already been planted in the plot and are now sprouting. The ones in the keyhole gardens are growing well and looking like it will not be too long before it is time to harvest.

There has been a lot of progress on the new church building that is situated on the same property – I think that this summer the services could be moved in there. This church is thriving despite the continued lack of a pastor. It has a strong group of church elders who voluntarily share out the pastoral duties amongst themselves.

There is also a US Embassy funded layers (poultry) project on the site and it is doing very well, producing a good income that goes towards the support of the family.

‘M’e Jane hopes that later this year there will be some new children added to the family. Both because the need is there and because the 4-room house is of a good size and has the capacity for up to 6 or 7 children. The search for new children for the home begins in the spring.

A 7-year old burying his mother

Today was my friend ‘M’e Makhotso’s funeral. It rained most of the previous night. Today at noon it was cold and there were snowflakes in the air. We drove 10 km out to the hillside rondavel in Khanyane where she had lived. About 40 people were gathered in and around a rented tent next to her house. Approximately 10 were relatives, the rest neighbours. We were invited inside the rondavel to see the body. In here we found ‘M’e Makhotso’s remains in her coffin. It was constructed of particle board, with a thin coating of veneer over the horizontal surfaces. The edges of the coffin were unfinished; its how I could tell it was constructed from ½” particle board. The handles and hardware were made of plastic, with a metallic finish. The upper section of the lid was not yet fastened. The coffin was small – not much more than a child-size. Which would accurately describe ‘M’e Makhotso at the time of her death. Surrounding the coffin were a group of bo ‘M’e. It was too dark in the rondavel to really get a good look at ‘M’e Makhotso’s face. I have to admit that was a relief to me. We went back over to the tent and ‘M’e Makhotso’s father conducted the funeral service. (There was no priest available today – their services are in high demand on Saturday’s in Lesotho). He is an interesting man, just one year older than me. Today he had to officiate at the funeral of his 42-year old daughter. Not a task I would wish on anyone. When he was telling me his age I immediately did the math and realized he was just a kid when he became a father. Before they got started I was unexpectedly invited to say a few words about ‘M’e Makhotso and how I came to know her and her family. ‘M’e Mahlompho translated for me. Frankly, most of the people were curious to know how the white guy came to be at the funeral. After her father finished the service, we walked about a kilometre on foot through the muck created by the rain to the grave for the burial. The weather cut us a break as it stopped raining/snowing during this time. Open graves are never pleasant, but when you take away the manicured lawns I am accustomed to, and replace it with weeds and stones, it becomes even more unpleasant. Two men just hopped into the grave, then the rest of the pall bearers passed the coffin into them. The two guys plunked the box unceremoniously onto the bottom of the hole and it made a surprisingly loud and startling noise. The mourners had gathered around the grave, the men in a circle surrounding it, the women, including ‘M’e Makhotso‘s 12-year old daughter Mahlonolo, in a tight group further back, clearly separated from the men. ‘M’e Makhotso’s father said a few more words and then it was time to fill in the grave. It is customary here for the men at a funeral, male relatives first, to each shovel some dirt into the grave. The first few shovelfuls were put in by ‘M’e Makhotso’s eldest son, Khotso. He’s about 20, and was clearly emotional. That was no surprise. What happened next was a little too much to take. Khotso turned and handed the spade to his 7-year old brother, Lebohang. The young boy stepped forward and took the shovel, and with his hands clearly trembling, put a few shovelfuls of the loose earth into the grave where we could clearly hear them hit the top of the coffin. Then he dropped the shovel and quickly moved away from the men and into the group of women in search of his big sister. This same boy two days ago had been crying to the neighbour lady that he wanted his mother. He did not have a clear understanding that his mother was dead. Or what dead really meant. I wonder if tonight, as he crawls under the old blanket and onto the mat on the floor in his rondavel that serves as his bed, if he still does not understand.