I have previously told you about Sandra and her sister Grace, whom I met at the boys’ home. 
I mentioned that there was a woman named Cathy, and her small daughter Christine residing there as well. I’ve wanted to share Cathy and Christine’s story with you for some time now, but its exceedingly difficult to find a moment alone with Cathy in order to get her story in her own words, without Christine climbing all over my computer, distracting me with her infectious giggles and baby dance moves.
It is almost impossible not to be completely taken up by Christine, now 1 year 4 months old. Her almond skin and tight African curls, huge black eyes and new baby teeth, her fat stomach and rambunctious legs; all combine to make her worthy of “cutest baby ever!” a label she is so often given by visitors. She is spunky and delightful. She teeters and totters around house, running faster than her little legs are yet able to go, fearlessly plunging forward only to fall bluntly against the cold cement floor hundreds of times a day. We’ve learnt that if you don’t look at her when she falls, she’ll right herself and be running again shortly. Even her tears for sympathy don’t last long. At lunch times she sits with her bowl of rice and beans, throwing much more on the floor than in her mouth. She seems to instinctively know her mother lacks the means to provide regular meals, or any variety whatsoever, and rarely utters a squeak of complaint. We’re all certain she’ll grow up quite the tom-boy, constantly surrounded by her African Heart brothers. They are rough and tumbely with her; you can always find her being swung around, carried on someone’s shoulders, being taught to shake it to a Ugandan pop song.
Her baby mumbles are mostly incomprehensible save for the occasional mama or dada. I have always feigned complete understanding, reply with “yeah, oh really? mhmm’s,” and Christine has now taken to exclaiming, “Yeah!” over and over whenever I see her. So cute! Whenever I’m around she is clinging to my legs, climbing onto my lap, pulling at my hair. I’ve warned Cathy I may try to sneak her back to
It wasn’t until recently I worked up the courage to ask Cathy about her situation. I knew she had a boyfriend who stayed in the one room she occupies in the house, although I’d only caught glimpses of him, an elusive and mysterious man. It seems no one at the boys’ home has much to say about him. Strange for such a close-knit unit. I became increasingly interested to discover how Cathy was able to provide for her young daughter, as I never saw her leave the residence. All I ever saw Cathy doing was wash dishes, prepare meals, clean up after Christine, clean up some more, and make paper necklaces. All while totting Christine around on her hip, on her back, holding her hand.
Having helped raise my own brother and sister, I realize how difficult and trying parenthood can be; I am constantly amazed by Cathy’s resourcefulness and ability to rally herself amidst the toughest of circumstances. It is the rarest of occasions when she is able to leave the house, her boyfriend is apparently not eager to share child-minding responsibilities (nor does he do any of the cooking or cleaning). She cannot afford diapers or baby wipes, thus, she is provided with a constant source of laundry and cleaning. Because every shilling she receives goes towards Christine, Cathy walks around in ill-fitting second-or-third-hand clothes, not even able to afford a bra. Yet she accepts her fate humbly and without complaint.
Two months ago Christine fell very ill with malaria; although she seems unusually susceptible to
the illness and gets it often, this time was particularly worrisome. I could see Cathy was extremely concerned and helpless for lack of funds. We went together to
These experiences brought us close enough that I felt comfortable inquiring about Cathy’s history. Here, in her own words, is Cathy’s story.
“I am an orphan. I lost my mom and dad. My mom died when she was delivering me. They told me that before my mom delivered me, my parents first had quarrels at night when she was pregnant. One day after a bad fight they went in the garden to dig and they kept quarreling. When they went back into the home, they kept fighting. When they fought, my dad made a mistake and hit her stomach. My mom didn’t feel well after and went to the hospital. When they reached, the doctor told her it was time to deliver me. He managed to deliver me, and my mom had to be taken to surgery. She passed away in surgery. I’ve always wondered if it was because of my dad.
After the death of my mom, my dad didn’t allow anyone to take me. He said he would stay with me until I grew up. My dad was the one who was caring for me. He paid for my studies from nursery up to Senior 4. At the end of exams in Senior 4, I had been away at boarding school. Someone came to the school to pick me, a relative to my dad. He told me when I reached home that my dad had died a month before. They didn’t tell me because I was in exams.
After a few weeks they decided to take me to my auntie’s because I was all alone. My relatives took all of my dad’s things, like pots and house properties, even the house. I didn’t get to take any of it. I was left with nothing. My aunt told me she didn’t have money for school fees, so I would just live there helping her. My aunt had a bar that sold alcohol and she told me to work there without pay. I was working from morning until very late at night, not getting any sleep.
I got a boyfriend, Michael, when I was staying at my aunt’s. He told me he would take me back to school. He did it. After I came back from school everyday I had to go into the bar and sell alcohol. When you are studying you have to revise books and I didn’t have any time. I didn’t manage to revise books. I studied only two terms and my boyfriend told me his job was finished because he had misunderstandings with his boss so he lost his job. I started again to sell alcohol all day.
The bad thing is, I got pregnant. My aunt told me that I could not stay with her anymore. I had to go stay with my boyfriend. My boyfriend took me to his grandmother’s house. This was two years ago. When I was pregnant I didn’t have any problems. I delivered Christine, my healthy baby girl. I was very glad to have such a good, beautiful baby.
When Christine was little my boyfriend wasn’t working, it was so hard to get food. It was so hard for him to buy clothes for Christine. At the time Christine was young, 2 months, my boyfriend was not even getting a single coin. I would spend a day without eating while
Now the problem that I have; here in
Right now I am making necklaces. I have to find magazines, I divide papers into pieces then after I get a needle and I start rolling them. Then after I put on glue. After they dry I put varnish on them, and bead them into necklaces with fish-lines. I hope to raise money to pay for myself to do a course, and to buy for Christine food and supplies. It is all I can hope to do now while Christine still needs constant care.
“That is my story.”
* * *
Knowing what she has been through, I have even more respect for this woman, for her ability to persevere through hardship while holding her head high and keeping a bright, wide smile on her face. I have been supplying her with materials for her necklace making; fish-lines, glue, magazines, scissors, and beads. Although it is a time-consuming process, Cathy works diligently every moment she gets, while Christine naps, or plays with the boys, and has been able to make fifty necklaces in the past two months. I sent the entire lot to 
hope to get a donation of $10 for each necklace, much more than they could sell for here in
If you are interested in purchasing a necklace, please contact my mother, Celine Nelson, at (250) 746-5255 or cceline@shaw.ca.
To view pictures of Cathy and Christine, check out my photoalbum at:
http://uvic.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2059148&l=1a370&id=122501804
~Nicole
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