uMlumgu in the Creche

"uMlungu!"

The solitary cry of a small child can be heard every time that I walk into a creche. Slowly, as the other children catch on it becomes a chorus of tiny voices proclaiming the same message.

"uMlungu! uMlungu! uMlungu!"

Loosely translated, their cry means "white person." School aged learners know better than to use this slightly derogatory term to describe me, but the three and four years olds have not discovered the offensiveness of the word. They just know that it is incredibly descriptive of this tall, blonde, white stranger, a variety of human being that is rare in the townships. My unfamiliar complexion draws the children close to me, wanting to touch my hair and give me high fives. They are interested in me and show that by jumping and climbing all over me. There have been times that I have been brought to the ground by a group of small children as I tried to walk into a creche.

A large part of my experience at my service site is following my supervisor, a field worker in the Youth department, around to different sites in Guguletu, Nyanga, and New Crossroads. We have gone to community centers, primary and high schools, the police station from which I have ridden in the back of a South African Police Services car, NGOs partnering with our organization, day centers for the elderly, and everywhere in between. Although I learn a tremendous amount from all of these places, my favorite adventure is going to the different creches, or preschools, in the area.

I get so much hope and energy from these small children who have seen and experienced so much in their short lives. Whenever I play with kids I always think about what they will become. Will this one be the next head of the ANC? Will that one follow their dream of being a heart surgeon or Advocate and succeed? Will the one playing on the makeshift slide end up killing someone in a carjacking? You never know.

One of the other students in the program has a gift when it comes to children. There is nothing that makes her happier, or that she is better at, than spending her days with little kids and making sure that they have the opportunity to play and just be kids. She told me once that every time she holds a child she puts their little hands in hers and says a prayer that those hands will never hurt another human being or that child.  I say that prayer now whenever I play with the kids.

Today I said that prayer twice, once for Thando and once for an unnamed child who cannot wink. During my supervisor's presentation about abuse I could see that Thando, who could not have been older than four, was taking everything very personally. As he stared intently at the giraffe in her hands I could see his little body tense as she began talking about HIV and AIDS. He knew exactly what she was saying. Without much warning, Thando began to cry. Not ordinary crying, but the kind that involves your whole body. After being calmed by his teacher, Thando resumed his place next to me on the floor as he did the horribly pathetic triple breath thing that small children do when they are trying to breathe after a big cry. Thando and all the kids like him who witness abuse, pain, and suffering could use the extra prayers.

My second anecdote needs to be prefaced. I have the creepy tendency of winking at people in inappropriate situations. I wink at strangers across crowded bars, friends in the middle of pleasant conversation, and even professors after catching their eye during a lecture. I always love to see people's reactions.

Most of the time the littler kids don't understand that I am winking at them on purpose or they just don't catch it because I generally don't get any reactions. Today I decided to try it out again and I caught the eye of a tiny girl in bright pink pants who was probably about three. She saw me wink, stopped walking, and stared at me. All of a sudden she began to blink furiously and her face twitched. She was trying so hard to wink, but just could not figure out how it was done. Her face moved sporadically in that fashion until she gave up, turned on her heals, and walked away from me.

How can you say that you don't believe in God when you come in contact with the Thando's and the girl's in pink pants of the world? God is present in the hope and joy that they are now and the responsibility for our world that they will hold in the future. God resides in the creche.