Dear Friends,
When I last wrote to you, we were staring into the face of an impending crisis of health and livelihood. We were bracing for unknown and far-reaching implications of COVID 19. Sitting here on this crisp winter weekend, we warmly shelter on the other side.
Historically, the Queen’s Birthday long weekend has been a time for us to celebrate our freedoms. So naturally (perhaps never more so than in 2020), most of us tumble towards transient rest with a quiet appreciation of the simple joys in seeing loved ones or moving freely again around our own villages. As we celebrate no new COVID 19 cases for multiple days, we breathe in thankfulness that our COVID curve has been not only flattened but erased. We then breathe out a collective survivor guilt as we glimpse through our shiny screens the daily COVID 19 counts in other countries numbering in their thousands. Our economy lies limp and shredded in a new recession, but we remain blessed by intuitive, creative, National leaders who hope in new shapes of stimulus packages that vaccinate us with purpose.
As a physician I have become familiar with the emerging collective survivor guilt. It is barely disguised under bravado; I glimpse it when I lean in and test others’ troubled thoughts. We have been spared the brokenness of mass graves and smashed dreams, the vast oceans have protected this island of ours and disconnected us (and our loves) from the prowling beast of COVID 19.
Friends, it is not so in Africa. This June long weekend South Africa had a record jump, 80% higher than the previous days (3267 new cases per day). It now has the highest COVID 19 incidences in sub Saharan Africa, while many cases remain unregistered in the region AAF works.
I often wonder if our Aussie imaginations are too gilded to fathom the treacherous times faced by our African brothers and sisters. Each new dawn in Australia brings contact from many precious friends still dodging the COVID 19 beast. They are not warmly sheltering on the other side. Yet.
Our HSC kids have returned to class (my precious third son amongst them) somewhat crestfallen to have ‘been robbed’ of Aussie societal rites of passage. The doctor in me knows that every person’s pain is real and worthy of equal care. I stumble though, when I hear of the countless final year students in rural communities in Africa who must write their matric (HSC equivalent) without teaching. For them, the extended lockdown brought no online lessons, no laptops, no textbooks, no data. An educational void.
Many of the schools in the rural communities AAF works have no running water, so they cannot reopen; “wash your hands” becomes arid with no tap in your school. As a corollary, COVID empties growling stomachs as school students are robbed of their only meal, given to allow their learning. An estimated 3 million South African students depend on school feeding programs and are going hungry with schools closed. A nutritional void.
However, hope is sometimes born from the glow of a tiny ember. As I wrote in April, we are committed to bringing you stories of resilience from the dust of Africa. So, as we collectively exhale this new survivor guilt, we can report with great delight that our AAF team remains healthy and well.
There are vibrant stories of life, purpose and ingenuity emerging. We are still providing fishing rods and not fish alone.
Mumsie, our garden co-ordinator, is now spinning fabric into masks and loaning sewing machines to others to teach them how to sell fabric washable masks for 30 cents each.
Joseph, our fearless team leader, is sourcing and delivering food to those found by our team.
Bernard, our contact in Kenya gives us hope in how to use solar panels for vulnerable elderly people with no power ($100 US)
Phum, part of our AAF team for nearly two decades, currently organising and motivating many unemployed local people to care for the neediest people with HIV/AIDS and malnutrition.
Wonderbags, 200 people so far have benefited from $20 “wonderbags”. In the words of one of the grateful recipients: “Thank you Australia I boiled my samp (pounded maize) for only 10 minutes instead of many hours – I placed inside wonderbag overnight and it cooked itself! Thank you for rescuing me from the dry [cow] dung as no wood can be bought and I can now sell the food”
We are called to love as we wish to be loved. We hear the world shouting ‘black lives matter’, and we nod in agreement, as we have always known this; all lives matter. AAF tends to the forgotten black lives, to the ones who quietly depart for eternity and their loved ones who are left.
The easiest thing for us all to do right now would be to pivot and walk away from the endless need and ongoing pain of COVID 19 in these rural communities. To comfort ourselves in the knowledge that we, the ‘lucky country’, escaped the full brunt of it. The enormity of facing scared and angry Aussie faces in the practise these past few months, while keeping our medical team employed as business and health rules have morphed, has sapped Matthew and I ruthlessly. Our community is reeling from economic loss and the psychological pressures are very real. We certainly honour and respect our local pain.
Yet although we live and work in Camden, our hearts are always pulled back to the needs of the people who live in the foreground of the purple mountains. The longevity and authenticity of the AAF team awakens and encourages us. Authenticity in our post-truth era is a rare treasure and cannot be replaced. AAF stands solidly on a history of deep friendship with many remote Zulu leaders and communities. It is this enduring friendship that has enabled us to have access to the poorest of the poor, where few others can tread. We know that each little bit that we give of ourselves, is incomprehensible in its impact to change lives.
Our team is on the ground, ready to turn your generous gift into life-changing action. I’m committed to seeing as many people as possible warmly sheltering on the other side. Will you help me?
Warm regards,
Jane.