Well-Meaning Remarks...

Today I'm writing about something I find odd.  If I hadn't experienced it for myself I probably would never have given this matter a moment's thought, but I have and I have.

Since Simmi came to live with us, I've had countless people come up to me and tell me what a wonderful person I am to take her on.  I thought it would stop after we adopted her.  I thought that maybe it was our act of providing fostercare that made people think we were doing it for selfless reasons.  We weren't. 

The simple reality is that we wanted Simmi.  We love her in exactly the same way that we love our biological children.  Nobody came up to us and told us how wonderful we were to have them!  Nobody ever wondered aloud if our biological children knew how lucky and blessed they are to be a part of our family.  People actually say that to us - even some family members!  Why would anyone expect our daughter to be grateful for what we've done for her, when all we've done is exactly what we've done for our other 3 children?  Is it because she's black and living in a white home?  Does that give people the right to make comments like that?  Absolutely not!

So what do I do about it?  Most of the time I bite my tongue and "take it from whence it comes".  Every now and again David or I will reply with, "Why would you think that she's luckier than any of our other children?", and that usually shuts them up.  I have to wonder whether I would have been guilty of making those kinds of remarks if I hadn't adopted Simmi, but I really don't think that I would, and if anybody ever hears me doing that, you may feel free to give me a smack! 

Grandad

I haven't written for such a long time again. Time is an issue, but I also feel that I haven't had much to say. But today is different. Today I have alot on my mind that needs sorting out, and I've found in the past that sorting out is much easier when I write it down.

On Monday this week, I witnessed the death of my Grandfather. He was going to turn 95 this month, so he had a good, long life. He wasn't ill, or in pain (other than the usual things that affect us all as we get older), he was just really old.

His death has impacted me deeply, and I'm still not entirely sure why. We were never close, in fact I always had the feeling that he really didn't care much for me at all - but I wish we had been, and I wish he had. I last saw him many years ago, before he moved into the retirement village where he spent his final days. The retirement village is in Cape Town, a place I rarely go because of the distance (1400km / 874 miles), family (having 4 children is a little hectic), and finances (finding a place to stay in Cape Town is an expensive exercise and my sister's home is too small to accomodate us all). But most of all I guess, I haven't visited him because I really didn't think he'd care. If I had ever heard from him over the years, or if I had thought for one minute that he missed me and wanted me to visit, I would have. But I never did - not once.

Therefore, I was suprised at myself when I heard he was dying and suddenly had a huge urge to see him. I discussed it with David, and he agreed I should go - even though I really wasn't sure if it was a good idea or not. In fact, David encouraged me to leave immediately and not procrastinate. I'm so grateful that he did. I made arrangements for my children, and got on a plane for Cape Town the very next morning. My Dad was in Cape Town already (he and my Mom live in Durban which is 1640km /1019 miles away), and he arranged for me to stay in the hotel he was staying at, and collected me from the Airport.

I dropped off my luggage, and went immediately to see Grandad. It was quite a shock to see him. He was really thin, and was just lying on a small bed in his room and staring vacantly into space. His breathing was terrible, with almost panting breathing interspersed with not breathing at all, and his mouth just hung open. But I could still tell it was him. He still had his trademark mane of snow white hair that I always remember him having.

My dad tactfully left me with him, and I spent a very long time sitting talking to him. At first it seemed silly and awkward talking to someone who didn't seem to know I was there, but the longer I talked, the easier it became. I began to get the feeling that he could hear me, because at the sound of my voice he would move his hand slightly, and once I thought he actually tried to speak. I told him about Jesus, and how it's never too late to turn to Him. Grandad had loved to travel, and I told him of how I'd travelled to Switzerland (his favourite holiday destination) many times, and that I wished I'd been able to share my experiences with him and maybe compare notes. I told him that I hoped I would meet him in heaven one day, and that we could then catch up on all that we never had on this earth. I held his hand. I spent time with him.

The following day I went back to visit again. He was worse. I wasn't sure that he knew I was there at all. My Dad had things to sort out, so I just sat with him and held his hand. It was Sunday, so I sang to him, all the old Hymns I could remember. His breathing was worse, but it seemed to me that it became more regulated when I sang, so sing I did. At first I felt a bit of a fool, but then I decided that it didn't matter, I was doing it for him, to comfort him, and that's all that was important.

That afternoon I visited again, and again I sat and held his hand and sang to him. He looked worse, his mouth had a bluish tinge. When I think back on that Sunday, I will always remember the singing, and when I try to sing any of those hymns now, my throat blocks up and I just can't. I sang "How Great Thou Art", "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus", "What a Friend we have in Jesus", "Jesus, Name Above All Names", and others that I couldn't remember all the words to, but hummed the bits in between. I told him about my family, and how I had also fostered a child (my Dad was a foster child to my Grandparents), and how I had adopted her, and how I had a step-son who I had also become a mother to as his mother had died when he was small. It was a special time, even though I wasn't sure he could hear me. I realised while I was sitting there, that it was the first time I can remember ever holding his hand, and that made me sad. I told him, and I sang some more. I prayed for angels to surround his bed so he wouldn't be afraid.

The next day when my Dad and I arrived the nurses were busy washing Grandad. I was there to say goodbye. My flight back home was leaving at 12hoo, and I wanted to see Grandad one last time before I headed to the airport and back home to my family. When the nurses finished and we walked into the room, I immediately sensed a change. He looked much worse. We said hello and sat down. In an instant I realised he wasn't breathing. The horror of that second of realisation cannot be described here. I went cold, and started to shake. I had to tell my Dad that his father was dead because he hadn't noticed. My Dad didn't believe me at first (denial perhaps), and I had to tell him another 2 times before he checked Grandad's pulse and called the nurse. The tears just came. I couldn't stop them. I stayed with Grandad, and started phoning people for my Dad so that he could go and fetch Grandad's elderly sister, and call my uncle (my Dad's brother) in America.

I stayed with Grandad. Even though he was dead, I didn't want to leave him alone. Nurses came and went, and I sat quietly and cried silently for my Dad, for my uncle, and for me. My sense of loss was devastating, not because of what we'd had, but because of what we didn't have.

This heartbreaking experience has caused me to re-evaluate my life in a way I never have before. It has caused me to think about life and death, and the meaning of everything in between. Has it caused me to question my faith? No, nothing can. But it has caused me to question my life and the way I live it. Seeing death first-hand, for me, was profound, earth-shattering and life-changing. I want to be better, do better and feel better, because I have realised that I am here for such a short time.

Will these feelings last? I hope so. Will time cause me to forget what I witnessed this week? I hope not. Grandad may not have been much of an influence on me while he was alive, and perhaps he didn't care too much for me, but I loved him, and in this strange way he has influenced my life dramatically. At a time that would be deemed to be "too late" by most, he has rocked my world. Thank you Grandad! I really hope to see you in heaven one day, and I really hope that my presence in your final hours made a positive difference to you, even if it was just a tiny one, because it certainly made a difference to me.

Samantha Rachel Simphiwe

Finally, Simmi has a name. Finally, she is a South African citizen. Finally, she has an identity.

Simmi's adoption was finalized on 12 May 2010, and we were presented with the final documentation on 23 August 2010. She is now named Samantha Rachel Simphiwe - however I have yet to recieve her new birth certificate as the Department of Home Affairs has been on strike since 24 August 2010!

Her names all have meanings that are special to us, and tell the story of her coming to live with us.

1. Samantha - this name was chosen by Daddy. It means "God heard". I love it because I prayed fervently for a baby girl and God heard my prayers.

2. Rachel - this name was chosen by Mommy. It means "beautiful". It's significance is found in the story of of Jacob working, praying and waiting for 14 years for his Rachel. I waited a long time for Simmi.

3. Simphiwe - this name was chosen by her birth mother. It means "God gave her to us". We kept the name because of its significant meaning, and because it's part of her history.

Even though she has such a long list of names, we still call her Simmi. She is treasured, she is loved, and she is ours!

Dear Mr President

Dear President Zuma,
This is my 2nd email regarding the following matter. I am begining to see why the Department of Home Affairs has a suicide on their conscience. I am foster mother to a 2 year old girl, Simphiwe. She's been in my care since she was 9 months old. She was born in South Africa, Tembisa Hospital to an undocumented, illegal Zimbabwean mother and South African father. The mother & father are not married. Simphiwe's birth was not registered, and once the foster care case was finalised on 3 April 2009 I attempted to register her. I was met with refusal from Home Affairs. The mother was in prison at the time, but they would not allow the South African father to register her because the mother had no documents, and was in prison. Even though we had proof of the birth (which the official at Home Affairs in Kempton Park took from me with the application form), all we were issued was a "foreigner" birth certificate (Unabridged Birth Certificate with no id number). When I was handed this certificate, the official at Home Affairs said the following, "This child is going to suffer because of this birth certificate."
We wish to adopt Simphiwe, but adoption cannot be finalised without a birth certificate, and home affairs will not issue a birth certificate without adoption papers! In the meantime, our family is stuck in the middle, and this child is being punished by the state due to circumstances beyond her control. She's being denied the right to a family. Also, as a child in the foster-care system, she is currently a financial burden on an already overburdened State, a burden that we will gladly relieve the State of.
According to Home Affiars Edenvale, Simphiwe is now considered to be an "illegal immigrant", even though she has never been in any other country aside from this one. Nobody seems able to assist me with this, nobody is willing to get involved or make a decision to help this child. I have been to Home Affairs in Kempton Park seven times, and to Edenvale twice regarding this issue. I do not know where else to turn.
Simphiwe was born here, she has never left South Africa. She is not Zimbabwean. She has been living with us, a South African family for most of her life, and will continue to do so. Please help us - we are desperate to give her an identity and stability in knowing she belongs.

First Official Visitation - Assignment Fm Mama Kat

My baby's getting big! Actually, she's getting bigger than I thought because I've recently found her correct date of birth and she's two months older than her mother originally told me. Honestly, how can you not remember your baby's birthday? Anyway, she's now 20 months old (and not 18 months old as I originally thought). This brings her first steps into the normal range (10 1/2 months and not 8 1/2 months), and I feel quite sad that she's not actually the genius I thought she was - although I must point out that she is still incredibly clever and advanced for her age - mother's perogative!

Monday afternoon was to be our first official visitation with her mother. It's been a long time since I last blogged, and things with Simmi and her mother have been unbelievably complicated, so I'll try catch up quickly. Simmi's mom was released from prison in June. She was due to be deported, and possibly Simmi along with her, which of course sent me into a tailspin of despair. As it turns out, Correctional Services took the law into their own hands and released her without deportation. She is now living with relatives somewhere, with no identity papers whatsoever, and therefore with no hope of ever legally becoming employed in this country.

I saw her in court a few months ago because Simmi still has no birth certificate, and the Department of Social Development refuses to give me the social grant I'm entitled to without a birth certificate, I also can't put her on our Medical Aid (very important in this country where state hospitals are only for the desperate), and a host of other problems. Anyway, I digress... When I saw Simmi's mom I offered to spend some extra time at the Welfare offices so she could visit with Simmi. What a waste of time. Picture it if you can:

Me (extra happy face): Come Simmi, say hello to your other mama!

Simmi (sucking finger furiously): ................ (signifies silence)

Simmi's Mom (Sibongile): ................

Simmi: Mama (holding arms out to me)

Me (smile starting to look strained): No Simmi, your other Mama. Come Simmi give your other Mama a big hug.

Simmi (clining to my leg): Come Mama, car (indicating she wants to leave).

Sibongile: .........................

Me (hysteria setting in): Simmi, come on let's play with your other Mama (trying to drag her off my leg).

Simmi: waaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Sibongile: ................................

I'm sure you get the picture.

Anyway, as I said in the begining of this post, Monday was our first official visitation with Simmi's mom since the above incident. Sibongile had contacted the Social Worker on Sunday night and requested the visit. I rushed home from work, dropped off the other 3 kids, made a juice bottle, printed some more photos of Simmi to give to Sibongile, grabbed Barney and the blanky and off we raced to get there by 14h30.

She didn't arrive! Can you believe it? No explanation, no phone call, she just never arrived. We waited 20 minutes and then I left. Relieved and irritated at the same time.

Can you imagine someone disappointing this little face? Praise God that Simmi doesn't even realise what happened. I'm so thankful.

Not an encouraging first for sure!

It's Finally Official

Simmi is ours for 2 years officially now! I'm so happy and so blessed (even though she's been awake since 05h30 on a Saturday morning whilst my darling husband snores peacefully).

I've spent the last few days of the holidays rushing around getting various forms completed, seeing social workers, police officers and officers of the court - exhausting! Our government doesn't make anything easy for a foster parent. I wonder how many people know how much work is involved in getting all the correct paperwork before they sign up, or if they just go ahead and learn as they go along like I have. Dealing with the government has been extremely frustrating. If anything were going to put me off doing this again, this would be it. Hours of my time wasted standing around in court, only to be remanded because of various problems.

Mountains of forms to complete, all seeming to say the same thing, but each one has to be completed anyway. Waiting 5 months for my first payment of the pathetic foster care grant (about R450 per month - $45), and having to complete the same forms twice over, which included 2 trips to the bank for bank stamps and standing in endless lines because of an error at the government offices.

My 2nd claim brought yet another error, I was only paid out for 2 weeks instead of 6, which still hasn't been fixed and it looks like I'll be waiting at least another 2 weeks for that.

Anyway, enough complaining. Even though things have been tough, I wouldn't change having Simmi for anything. I'll continue to soldier through the forests of forms and red tape, knowing that at least she's safe and loved and happy.

GRRRRrrrrrrr

Well today was foster care court day. Simmi's case was finally going to be finalised. I've been so excited all week - BUT there was a problem. I was getting dressed for court this morning when I got the call. Apparently there has been a lack of communication between the court and the Welfare, and there were documents missing, namely confirmation from the prison that Simmi's mom is incarcerated and consent to the proceedings by Simmi's mom. The prison social worker promised to get these documents faxed by 12h00 so we could go to court this afternoon. By 12h00, nothing. A phone call to the prison revealed that their only fax machine (in a prison that houses about 10 000 prisoners) is broken and the documents need to be collected. The prison is about an hour's drive away. The frustration!!! So now our case has been postponed until said documents are fetched, and next week the court is on holiday. They may be able to fit us in tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath.

Perhaps God is teaching me patience - AGAIN.

Assignment from Mama's Losing It: Somebody I'm praying for....

After reading Mama Kat's post on this subject, I am using this prompt to tell my story of answered prayer - as well as continued prayer.

My husband & I have been married for 10 years next month. We both came out of previous relationships, his ending with death and leaving him with a son, and mine ending in divorce and leaving me with a son and a daughter. When we married, we blended the two families and decided that was enough (my youngest was only 2 at the time). A few years later I was told that I had to have a hysterectomy as I'd caught something from my previous philandering husband that had damaged my uterus beyond repair. I suddenly realised that I wanted to have a baby with David, and it was too late. I had the operation, and battled with depression and the desperation to have a baby.

Three years ago, I started praying for a baby. I had such a strong desire for a baby that I had to believe that God wanted me to pray. I remember discussing my decision to pray for a baby with some friends, and they asked why we didn't just adopt. I remember exactly what I said, "No, absolutely not, my husband will never agree to that - it has to be our own." You see, I'd decided that it would be easier for God to restore my womb than it would be for Him to change my husband's heart.

I prayed and prayed. I cried and I prayed. I went for tests, I went for scans. I swung between faith as solid as a rock to being filled with doubt and anger with God.

One day while chatting to a friend about all this, she asked me why I didn't try registering with Child Welfare as a Place of Safety to occupy my time and give me babies to love for short periods while I waited for my miracle. I approached my husband about this, and although I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do (what if my miracle happened and I was taking care of a place of safety child), I believed that God will direct a moving vehicle and asked my husband. To my suprise he agreed, and we completed all the forms and were interviewed and accepted.

I prayed and prayed. Now I was praying to two things. No baby. I used the time to deal with issues in my life, such as forgiveness of my ex for causing me to have to have the hysterectomy. I was frustrated - there are many, many babies dumped in this country every month, and not even one was sent my way!

A year later, the much anticipated call came, and my daughter and I rushed to the Welfare offices to collect our baby. She was supposed to stay for a few days - that was 6 months ago. She was supposed to be sent to a childrens' home - there was no room. She was supposed to go to her father - he didn't want her. Her mother was going to get out of jail and take her - she doesn't want to anymore. My husband originally said "no" to foster care - we go to court next week Thursday to finalise the fostercare case.

God does answer prayer - just not always the way we expect. So who am I praying for right now? I'm praying for Simmi. I'm praying that she is protected from all prejudices that surround a black child who is brought up in a white home, I am praying she stays healthy and that she is kept safe. I'm praying that she grows up and meets a wonderful man who will accept her for who she is regardless of her unusual upbringing. I'm praying and praying.

3.) Describe a time you allowed your child to do something that you normally would not let slide.

When I read this prompt I couldn't think of anything significant that I've ever let slide with any of my kids.

I decided that this made me sound really anal, or even petty, so I decided that justification was in order!

Hence all these pictures of my kids at end of 2008 prizegiving. There's even one of Simmi's prizes (just so she's not left out).

I tend not to let anything significant slide, and I believe that these pictures of my kids' achievements are partially a result of that. I feel proud of them for achieving, and proud of myself for persevering even when I didn't feel like it. It's just a pity I can't seem to apply the same principals to losing weight or keeping within my monthly budget!!!

About Simmi's Mom

As I mentioned in my previous post, there is more to the story of Simmi's mom.

The Welfare had to do an investigation of the mom's circumstances when processing my foster care application. They brought the report to my house for me to read before it is presented in court, and I was shocked.

I've visited Sibongile (Simmi's mom) in jail a few times, and she's been talking to me. I felt so sorry for her, and believed everything she told me. According to her, she fled Zimbabwe 14 years ago and came to South Africa with nothing. She met up with Simmi's father, and fell pregnant with her first baby. He was married. Sibogile gave birth to a boy, and because the father's wife had only had girls, he came and took the little boy away from Sibongile and gave him to his wife to care for. Sibongile hasn't seen the child since. I asked her why on earth she kept on seeing this man after he did this to her, and she said that sometimes he gave her money. I felt so sorry for her, because she told me she knew nobody in this country except him.

Then there was the investigation:

It turns out that Sibongile has 5 children - yes, 5! She left 3 children behind in Zimbabwe when she decided to come to South Africa. After abandoning them, she then proceeded to have 2 more, Simmi being her youngest. She gave Simmi's brother to the father because she didn't want to take care of him (this story has been confirmed by her brother-in-law who also lives here - so much for not knowing anybody in SA). Her sister and brother-in-law took Simmi in for a while because Sibongile was neglecting her, and leaving her with whoever was around and going out for days at a time, but they couldn't keep her permanently. When interviewed, the brother-in-law expressed horror at the conditions Simmi was being kept in, saying that Sibongile was living in squalour.

When I first got Simmi she was sick, dirty and she never cried or even made a sound. Now I know why I feel so sad. I'm so very glad that God brought her to me so I could give her the love, security and care she so desperately needed.

I know I shouldn't judge this woman as I have never been in such desperate circumstances, but I can't help wondering how she could have left those 3 children behind and then had more when she knew she couldn't afford to take care of them. Birth control in this country is free. I just keep thinking the famous Dr Phil phrase, "What were you thinking?".

5.) What happened in the last year? Write about something you can do now that you couldn't do a year ago.

I'm back from the blogging desert - and I have news! But first, my assignment... which will also be my news (yes, I know that's cheating). I'm expanding the assignment to include "firsts", which I think fits in with the theme of things I couldn't do a year ago.

A year ago I couldn't have thrown a 1st birthday party for 40 people. A year ago I didn't even have a baby, nor was I pregnant.

For those of you who followed the story of Simmi last year - guess what ......... she stayed! We are in the process of all the paperwork for foster care, which means she will be staying for at least 2 years, renewable every 2 years. We are hoping to have all this finalised in the next 2 weeks.

Then maybe we should have another party? A celebration of foster care - that would be another first!

There have been alot of other firsts since I last blogged. Simmi's first steps (at 8 months 3 weeks!). Simmi's first trip to the seaside and her first ride in an aeroplane. Simmi's first Christmas. Simmi's first tooth. Simmi's first swim. And now of course her first birthday - which gave Sherae the opportunity to bake and decorate Simmi's birthday cakes which was a first for Sherae.

Back to me - in the last 5 months I have visited Simmi's mom in prison. I would never have imagined that I could or would ever visit someone in prison. I've learned that I am able to go into the cells and communicate with someone who doesn't speak English using my extremely rusty Zulu. I've learned that just because someone has a baby, this does not mean they are a mother or a father (more on that subject in a later blog).

A year ago I couldn't wake up at 06h00 on a Saturday morning - now I do it all the time. A year ago I couldn't put down that excellent book - now I have to. A year ago I couldn't play peek-a-boo, hide and seek, dolls or tickle monster with anyone - now I can play whenever I like. A year ago I had absolutely no idea of how to take care of African hair - now it's second nature (the challenge is getting Simmi to sit still).

Lots of things I couldn't do a year ago - hope I get full marks!

Assignment - The Last Time I Laughed Really Hard - Vuvuzela

This may seem like a very strange title for a post, but keep reading and I will explain. The Vuvuzela is a type of trumpet that is used by our ardent sports fans in this country. It was originally a traditional instrument, whose origins date back to ancient Africa when a Kudu horn was used to summon villagers to important events. It has been converted to bright coloured plastic, and is sold all over the place. It now appears at rugby matches, cricket matches and especially soccer matches. In fact, they became such a problem at rugby matches that they were banned in one of the biggest stadiums in the country for a while. Can you imagine sitting next to someone wielding one of these things ..... not? Let me elaborate. The call of the vuvuzela sounds much like the trumpeting of an enraged elephant with a sore throat. It is LOUD, and after about 30 seconds, it is ANNOYING!

Anyway, I digress. In a moment of madness about 2 years ago, I bought my husband one of these instruments of torture as a joke - a blue one. To be honest, I didn't expect that he would really use it. I thought he'd blow it a couple of times and then it would be discarded to the back of the cupboard. I obviously didn't know him very well! David's vuvuzela gets hauled out of the cupboard regularly. The kids think it's wonderful fun, and he blasts it at the TV during rugby matches, at the dogs, at the kids, at me ....


Every now and again David takes it into his head to wake the kids in the morning with the dreaded vuvuzela. He marches down the passage and into each kid's room blowing it violently. Even Michael who is 18 still thinks it's funny. Last week he decided to do the wake-up drill again - but now of course we have Simmi. I wasn't sure how she would react to this awful noise, so I followed behind them (Simmi was crawling behind David as he walked down the passage). David blew the vuvuzela, and Simmi wasn't phased at all. In fact, she carried on following him and crawled into each kid's bedroom shouting her latest word which is "Hey!" over and over again in this giant voice. It was so cute and funny I felt weak with laughter. She made sure she went into each room and shouted at each child before crawling back down the passage after David and the vuvuzela.


So here's to keeping with South African tradition (no matter how annoying) - and having a good laugh into the bargin!

Simmi is Leaving

This is a horrible post to write. I'm not sure how to start to be honest. As per my previous post, the Child Welfare committee met last week to decide on Simmi's fate. They decided that she has to be placed into permanent care - in a children's home whilst waiting for the outcome of her mother's case.

As a registered Place of Safety, we are unable to keep her indefinitely - we are for short-term care only. If she stayed, we would then not have place for the next baby that needs our care. My heart is broken. That is the only way I can describe this. We were expecting to have her up until the middle of next year, and suddenly she's being yanked away when we weren't expecting it. I understand the logic behind putting her in a home, but to me, logic has nothing to do with it. Welfare doesn't want her to bond with another family, or bond any further with me, and then have to be removed and given back to a mother she no longer knows. My head understands, my heart does not. Devastation......

The good news is that the Welfare are engaging a Human Rights Lawyer to assist Simmi's mom in getting asylum in this country. If successful, she and Simmi will some day be reunited - and that is my prayer for both of them.

I'm still hoping desperately that circumstances change and she can stay - but aside from a miracle, there is just no way.

I have requested that Welfare allow her to stay with us as long as possible before they remove her, and they have agreed, but if there is an opening at the home now, she has to go almost immediately. I know that my intention right from the start was to help as many babies as possible, even if for a short time each, but I lost sight of that the first time Simmi smiled at me.

I feel as though I've had a hole in my heart for the past 11 years, ever since I lost my precious baby Robin to miscarriage. For the first time I've felt fulfilled and complete. It's agony to have to part with her so soon. When I rock her to sleep, I don't want to put her down. I just want to hold onto her forever. I waited for her for so long. I yearned and longed and prayed for a baby girl to care for. I don't know how I'm going to let her go - God will have to give me the strength, I don't have it.

The Saga of Simmi

Assignment for Mama Kat is the post below this one

It’s almost 7 weeks now since Simmi came into our lives. Today we meet once more with Child Welfare to hear what they have decided about Simmi’s future. There was a committee meeting held on Tuesday to discuss Simmi because her case is so complicated. They have investigated the possibility of Simmi’s mom being granted asylum in South Africa, but because she now has a criminal record this is not going to happen. She will definitely be deported to Zimbabwe to serve out whatever prison sentence is handed down. Apparently Welfare’s options are as follows:

1. When the mother is deported, to deport Simmi as well. Not with her mother, but separately to a children’s home or orphanage as her mother will still be incarcerated. They would try to find a home close to the jail so that the mother would be able to find her easily when she is released, and there would be a possibility of visitation.

2. Keep Simmi here in South Africa in foster care where at least she is safe and well-cared for. However, there is then the probability that she will never see her mother again.

3. Convince the mother to allow Simmi to be adopted.

4. Grant the father (who doesn't want her) custody. Simmi is the product of an extra-marital affair and her father’s wife doesn’t know she exists. This would mean that the wife would then have to bring up the product of her husband’s unfaithfulness, and the chances are that she will resent Simmi and mistreat her as a result.

Now I am very nervous. At 15h00 today I will find out what they have decided to recommend. What huge controversy surrounds this precious little person. She doesn’t even have a birth certificate because her mother couldn’t register her as she is here illegally. I can’t bear the thought of her being sent to an orphanage. The situation in Zimbabwe is grim, and I can’t imagine her being well cared for, or even fed if they send her there.

On the other hand, what about her mother? How will she feel about never being able to see her baby girl again? I can imagine the heartache because now I’m facing it too. How will she feel if her baby is sent to Zimbabwe, knowing what is waiting for her there – why did she come to South Africa illegally in the first place – desperation to get away from there. Apparently, the mother has no rights here at all because of the circumstances.

As I write this post, I am listening to Simmi playing outside with the other children, screeching with delight and clapping her little hands. She loves school, and she’s so happy here. I’m praying & holding my breath ……….

Assignment - The First Time I......

The first time I saw my daughter dance she was 4 years old.
There were ballet classes at the nursery school that she attended. I remember the ballet concert at the end of the year. My then husband leaned over and whispered to me - "Oh my goodness (well probably not those exact words knowing him), she's like a baby elephant!"

I remember pink leotards and tiny ballet socks and shoes, and practise, practise, practise. She wanted to be a ballerina.

Now it's pointe shoes and Royal Academy of Dance membership, and teacher exams. As the most senior girl in her ballet studio, my Sherae is the dancer all the little girls in thier pink leotards and tiny ballet socks and shoes look up to. They all want to be like her. She's a ballerina.

This coming Saturday is the year-end ballet concert. I know that as usual I will cry when I watch her float effortlessly across the floor. I know that the applause for her dances will sound louder to me than for any of the other dancers.

I'll be standing there clutching the camera and the video camera, trying to watch, take photos and record at the same time, whilst battling my emotions. It seems like yesterday that my "baby elephant" was prancing across the stage - thump, thump, thump. Trying to point her toes, and twirling in front of the mirror.

The first time I saw my daughter dance, I never imagined I'd still be watching 12 years later.

My 10 Pet Peeves - Assignment

Once again it's been a long time since I last blogged. I'm living in baby land. Anyway, my ten pet peeves - I chose this assigment because it sounded so easy.

1. This is a new peeve, but it definitely ranks as number 0ne: People staring at me in the shops because I have a black baby. Everytime I go out I have to steel myself against this and stop myself from yelling "Hey, what are you looking at - you got a problem - you want a problem?!?"

Madonna, Angelina (embarassed cough), um, I'm not sure how to break this to you, er....... I know you think everyone stares at you because you're famous......... Sorry, that's not it. It's because you each have a black baby!

2. Anybody who is always late and doesn't bother to let me know.

3. Bad table manners.

4. People who smoke - especially when around children, when pregnant or breastfeeding.

5. Rude, badly behaved, nasty, tantrum-throwing children. Let me clarify, all children try all these things from time to time, but they have to be taught from the outset that it's not acceptable behaviour. I managed to teach mine from when they were small - it is possible!

6. Speedo swimming costumes (the ones that look like tiny underpants) on any male older than 5 years old.

7. Kids' inability to put ANYTHING into the dishwasher which is right next to the sink which is the dumping ground.

8. Human Airbags. IE: people who allow small children and babies to sit on their lap in the front seat of the car, or people who just don't bother to strap their children into a car seat.

9. Irresponsible fathers. My ex used to be my prime example, however, upon meeting with Simmi's father, I've a new perspective on this. In court last week he informed the magistrate that he doesn't want Simmi because he has 3 other children from various women, and Simmi is not a boy! This is Africa...

10. Good grief, I'm on number 10 already! I could go on all day... Well at number 10 we have Bad Service. No matter from what source, restaurants, shops, builders, plumbers - whatever. I hate to receive bad service and can get extremely vocal about it. Clear the room if you ever see me storming into a shop!

My Sweet Baby

Oh dear I'm now so attached to this baby! She has become part of our family, and we all love her. When she smiles at me in the morning when she wakes up, my heart overflows. When I see her during the day at school she screeches and waves her arms about and gives me this huge gummy smile - it makes me feel like the most important person in the world. She hardly ever cries, she sleeps through most nights, and she's happy and friendly.

Sherae calls her "my little sister-friend". I don't know what I'd do without Sherae. She helps entertain my little person when I need to do things like shower! Simmi doesn't like anybody feeding her except me, but when I'm desperate then Sherae manages to get some food or milk in for me.

Michael calls her his "little chick magnet" because when we go to church and she sits on his lap, all the girls stop to say how cute she is (of course), and he's getting the benefit. He's so good with her as well. She puts her arms out to him and he picks her up and holds her and chats to her.

Tyler is now a big brother. He's been the baby in the house for 12 years. It's so sweet to see him telling Simmi, "No, don't touch that!", "You mustn't do that!" in his big brother voice.

Michael is 18

On 9th October Michael turned 18. Wow, I can't believe that he's already 18 years old. Old enough to vote, get a driver's license and drink (although he doesn't). I can hardly believe this is the same little boy I became mother to almost ten years ago. He's almost finished school, and is probably off to the USA next year to be a Camp Councellor for Camp America....


Happy 18th Birthday Michael! We went out to dinner to celebrate:


Tyler & "Ouma" ("Granny" in Afrikaans)







Sherae & Michael

David, Simmi & Me

Life with Simmi

I was looking through photographs for inspiration for a blog when I came across this one. It may not look very inspiring, but it made me stop and think of how drastically my life has changed in
the last 2 weeks. This picture was taken at a coffee shop where David & I were enjoying a leisurely breakfast date. Then came Simmi.

No more leisurely anything. I'm lucky if I get to shave my legs once a week, nevermind put on more than a dash of mascara in the mornings. Afternoon naps are a thing of the past, and meals are left half-eaten. I've lost 4kg (8.81 pounds) in 2 weeks from running around after my little crawler. I've dicovered a new meaning for the word "tired", and I've been reminded of the meaning of the word "love" because love her I do! She is the sweetest baby in the whole world.

Think of me on Thursday morning. I'm going to court with Simmi to find out what her uncertain future holds. Her mother will probably be there, and I am not looking forward to meeting her under such nasty circumstances. I've had no success in trying to arrange to visit her before court. I was hoping to build some sort of relationship with her so I could visit regularly and Simmi wouldn't forget her. Our welfare system leaves a lot to be desired!

A Holiday & My New Baby

First, some pictures of our holiday.....

My goodness it's been a long time since I last blogged! I was just getting into it, and life happened. First, it was school holidays and my family and I went away for a few days to a lovely resort called Klein Kariba where there are hot water pools and tons of stuff to do. We had a wonderful time.

THEN in the 2nd week of the holidays ............... More than a year ago I registered with the Child Welfare Department as a place of safety for abandoned babies. I have been waiting all this time for them to call me, and eventually, last Monday, the call came. Simmi (Simphiwe) is a 7 month old baby girl. Her mom is a Zimbabwean national who is in SA illegally. She was caught stealing food for Simmi, and was put in jail. Simmi couldn't stay in jail with her, and was removed and has come to live with me while the children's court investigate everything. She is the most beautiful little girl. She's settled into our family perfectly, and we love her. I feel terribly sorry for her mom. I've been trying to arrange to visit her with Simmi, but the court is not very interested in arranging a visit.

Please note how in this picture I look about 100 years old! My youngest child is 12 years old, and having a 7 month old baby has been an incredible shock to my system! But it's so worth it - isn't she adorable! It will be so hard when I have to give her back. :-(