The story of Sendisiwe and Ndabankulu that is now to be told, was a world-view changing moment ... one of those "Aha!" experiences that was to colour forever my child and youth care practice .
The last letter to you promised that this experience would be used as an example of how we, as child and youth care workers, can get put into the middle of a rapid, intense cross-fire of feelings that must be sorted in the moment. If others "dump" their feelings on us, and we adopt their load, we can be influenced to think, and so to react, instead of to respond.. I learnt in the Sendisiwe experience that my own feelings and intuition can be trusted, but had to learn to sift out ME the CHILD and the FAMILY, from the rest of the confusion.
It was an important meeting, held at a critical moment Sindisiwe the mother of Ndabankulu would be there. She had just been released from jail where she had been for eight years on a charge of murder. The story was that she had taken a kitchen knife one evening and in an overflow of frustration and amidst a loud outburst, stabbed her husband to death in front of the three children. The two little girls and the older Ndabnkulu ran into what was said to be a rainy and stormy night. They were found huddled together in a bus shelter. Mom was jailed and the children were separated into two different "Children's Homes". ... and there they stayed.
The underlying story was that Sandisiwe struck out at her husband that night because she reacted to consistent and continuous abuse from him. She'd simply enough.
Needless to say she was labelled "murderess".... and that in front of the little children too.
Ndabankulu was now fourteen. He hardly knew his sisters, but had formed what appeared to be loose bonds with families known in the system as "hosts". Over the last while however on of these had strengthened to the point where more permanence was considered by his Social worker and arrangements were underway for him to be fostered by Nozipho and her family. Ndabankulu wanted this. His mother unexpectedly released on parole, did not.
The meeting was to discuss the way forward now.
Everyone had investments here .Me, as the legal guardian of the boy, the mother whose son he was, the child-care worker who had developed the hosting arrangement , the social worker who had prepared the foster family, Nozipho who had bonded with Ndabankulu and had prepared to take him as part of her family, and of course Ndabankulu.
The foster-placement social- worker asked to met with me to strategise the process of the meeting to come and to discuss the complexity of it.
Mrs Naude was immaculate....... floral suit from the best boutiques in Pretoria... the political powerhouse and the powerhouse of social work. The frilly blouse matched her nail polish. I knew this as Pretoria fashion.
"Do you know Sendisiwe? she asked.
"No" say I.
"She's a murderess you know that !?
"Yes"
Then proceeds the story of the gore and the blood and the rainy night . Details of the knife that was drawn and the children, then very little traumatised eight years ago huddled in a bus shelter. I couldn't trivialise the incident. Slowly slowly unwound the words that carried images. Images that raised spectres, fear, suspicion, anxiety born of risk, outrage, righteous outrage, protective courage and defencive power.
When she arrived for the meeting Sidisiwe met all my stereotypes. Deprived or rationed in jail she now chain-smoked, so that wrinkled her face in smoke induced skin patterns. The mobility of her mood moved her face in ever changing waves of expression, enhancing the shadows of the wrinkles. She was small. Smaller than I expected, but taut and wiry, fast moving - that fitted. A word came " unpredictable" , yes that's it, "unpredictable".
The meeting went according to the usual ritual of niceties and the mummy wrappings unwound slowly until the preservng formalities could no longer mask the real issue.
Voice tones changed into something more soprano. The pace quickened. Everyone was leaning into the circle of feet that was supposed to define our democracy.
Sendisiwe became the most vocal of us all.
The range of feelings now started to take some shape in me . They loomed large over all the other tones and nuances coming to me from Ndabankulu and Nozipho.
Strangely, Mrs Naude, dressed today in a paler suit of violet was still and sitting further back.
A small harmonic resonance inside me was troublesome - it had a well known set of chords of a tone of feeling . It spoke of a lioness who struggles valiantly to protect her cub and her fear of him on its first hunt. It was like a melancholic violin playing a Paganini caprice..... distantly painful yet victorious
And then the the horns and the brass and the drums suddenly drowned the melody of feeling.
" Sendisiwe"
'Listen to me"
After everything that happened, you have to know - for as long as I am here, you will never be able to be the permanent mother of Ndabankulu again"..... it burst out in a fanfair.,
Mrs Naude settled back further in her chair and drew her feet under it.
Sindisiwe sprung up and rushed outside through the kitchen back door. It was though she was part of the group and yet she wasn't, transported out there with no time or space inbetween.
She lit a cigarette and paced up and down.
"Bitch" I heard her say as I watched through the window. Well it couldn't be missed . Everyone else was absolutely silent.
Ndabankulu sat transfixed.
"Bitch, Bitch, Bitch' Shit, Shit, Shit !!!".
As the cigarette finished so the two words repeated slowly subsided with it. Sendisiwe came back into the circle and said" You don't even give me a chance. You don't even listen"
Within three months of that meeting the foster placement broke down. Nozipho phone to say that Ndabankulu had run away during an outing to a park.
I knew exactly where to find him.
There he was. Re-united with his mother in the very same kitchen in which the dreadful incident had taken place. He's probably still there because Sendisiwe was a perfectly stunning mother to an otherwise difficult teenager. The bond is remarkable and generous.
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