Stories from Zimbabwe
Meet Grandmother Nehmalanga

Editor's note: John Wilkinson, executive director of Brother Brother Sister Sister, met Grandmother Nehmalanga during a visit to Zimbabwe in fall 2004. Gogo (which means “grandmother” in the native Ndebele language) Nehmalanga's four children and their spouses have all died from AIDS. A blind widow, she is left to care for her 12 grandchildren.

One day I went with a group from Silundika AIDS Health Council to visit some of their clients in Bulawayo, the second-largest city in Zimbabwe.

We walked through what organizers refer to as a “a high-density neighborhood.” In the United States, we would use the term “ghetto.” This neighborhood consisted mostly of closely packed concrete, cinder-block structures. There were a few crumbling brick single-family dwellings, and several similarly constructed apartment buildings. Other than a few houses painted yellow or light blue, we walked an arid cityscape, with block-after-block of gray concrete structures and unpaved, dirt roads. Some of the buildings had cracked foundations, walls, or both. The steps leading to the door of many homes were broken and usable only with some risk. There was no grass and only a few sprigs of trees to create shade in the mid-afternoon 90-degree heat.

Crowded neighborhood
I toured the area with Ivy Sibanda, director of Silundika AIDS Health Council, and two of her volunteers, John Ncube and Enos Sibanda (not related). In addition to officially permitted structures, AIDS health care workers told me that the shacks and lean-tos crowded on the same lots were not officially sanctioned. By economic necessity, families lived in these makeshift structures, squeezed into already crowded spaces.

We entered homes that had scant furnishings and few amenities. Some had no running water and no electricity. The homes consisted of a kitchen, one or two bedrooms and, in some cases, a small living room. Some had a dark shower stall and toilet. The shower typically consisted of a hose wired to the top of the stall. The only sink in the house was in the kitchen, made of tin, with no cabinet underneath. For cooking, there was a hotplate. There were no closets. I found up to 13 people living in these houses, with the average about six. I estimate that these homes had a footprint of 400 square feet, with rooms quite small, making it difficult for us to fit in the same room without bumping into each other.

One of the first stops was to drop in on a grandmother and the orphans for which she cares.

We made our way across a bare yard, passed between two small houses and entered through a rear door of a neatly kept home. In a small living room/kitchen, we came into the presence of a large old woman, Gogo Nehmalanga, sitting on a sofa with a threadbare throw covering her lap.

Caring for a dozen kids
My hosts introduced me to her. She had a pained look on her face. I was told that this grandmother had adopted her 12 grandchildren as, one by one, her own grown son and daughters and their spouses had died of AIDS. Completely blind and only minimally mobile, this gogo supports the family with a small pension left to her by her deceased husband. She spoke softly, in her native Ndebele language, to one of her granddaughters, a girl about 9 years old. The girl left the room and soon returned with her siblings and cousins.

The children entered the room. A few remained standing, while the others shared the remaining seats or sat on the floor. Some of our group made room by standing in the hallway. When all 12 children had arrived, she began calling their names. One by one, each child responded to his or her name. Although she could not see them, Gogo Nehmalanga had a system for looking after her adopted grandchildren, who range in age from 2 to 16.

Silundika AIDS Health Council provides the family with food when they have it to give. Previously, the organization also had assisted the children go to school by paying fees and buying uniforms and supplies. But the group currently doesn't have the resources to continue that support, I was told. So, the children no longer attend school.

The gift
Prior to this trip to Zimbabwe, I never thought it possible that a blind, nearly immobilized old woman could care for so many children. That someone in her circumstances would take in a dozen grandchildren was beyond my comprehension. By her example, Mrs. Nehmalanga defined for me greater dimensions of duty, responsibility and dedication than I had ever imagined. I learned from her that my efforts on behalf of others fall far short of what is possible. This is just one of the gifts Zimbabwe has given me.

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