Killing Grandmas…

                “My grandmother is dying.”

                Phindile’s
words felt like a punch in my gut, taking my breath away as I
tried to think of something to say…anything. 
A dozen thoughts rushed through my mind as I realized that I might have been able to prevent her grandmother’s sickness from progressing so far.

                One
week earlier, Phindile and her mother Sawulina had asked me for money to pay
for Sawulina’s mother’s medicine. 
Sawulina’s mother was already seventy-years-old (incredibly old with the
Swazi life expectancy of 29 years) and had been very sick for the past three
years.  The tablets they wanted for her
apparently made her feel better, though there seemed to be no prospect for
recovery.

                It was
one of the most difficult decisions I’ve had to make since coming here.

                “Phindile…”  I hesitated, gathering my thoughts.  “My team and I try to empower you and your
family by providing with jobs so, in turn, you can support yourselves.  If I give you money now, rather than letting you
pay for it yourselves, I will be stripping you of that empowerment.  And I know that you should have 100 emalangeni
that we paid you for last week’s wages…especially because you sent your brother
to get carepoint food from Nxolisi (the man responsible for distributing food
to those without in the community in our pastor’s absence) even though you said
you needed your wages early so you could buy food for your homestead.”

                Phindile
told me that she’d already spent the money to pay toward her two sons’ school
fees that she was behind on.  She told me
that the money her mother made for washing our clothes once a weeks was only enough
to buy laundry soap, candles, and salt. 
She told me that they had no money for her grandmother’s tablets.

                I knew
that she was trying to take advantage of my generosity, though this didn’t make
saying “no” any easier since Phindile is a dear friend of mine.  But she had been somewhat dishonest in asking
for her wages early to buy food, then also sending her brother to get food
reserved only for those who truly needed it, only to spend the money she’d
received on something else.  It was hard
to actually hold this against her, since her sons’ school fees is a legitimate use
of her wages, but she had been manipulative. 
I needed to be strong and hold to my decision in order to teach her this
lesson in responsibility and integrity.

                The
conversation had ended with my suggestion that Phindile asking her brother
Simanga for money for their grandmother’s medicine.  He also works at the G-42 center, caring for
the grounds, and I knew that he made 800 emalangeni a month and was getting
paid in the next couple of days.  I wasn’t
sure, but Phindile’s face looked angrily disappointed as she turned away from
me, telling me that it was time for her mother to go to church.

                Was it
my fault?  If I had caved and bought
Phindile the medicine would her grandmother still be dying?  I knew that whether or not this was true that
I wouldn’t actually be at fault.  But I
would need to have grace with myself to deal with the guilt that would come if I
could have possibly prevented this negative turn in her grandmother’s health.  As I spoke words of comfort to Phindile and
Sawulina, I searched my mind to think of way to ask what I desperately needed
to know…Could I have prevented this from happening?

                I took
a deep breath then finally asked.  “Did
your grandmother get the tablets she needed?”

                Her
answer filled me with hope.  “Yes, I
bought her the medicine with that 100 emalangeni you gave me…I hadn’t spent it
yet.”

                This
story may paint a very simple scenario in your mind, but it gave me more hope
than I can say.  I was so proud of
Phindile.  She had acted responsibly and
with integrity.  She had allowed herself
to be empowered through her wages.  She
had taken care of her family by her own means. 
I think the reason this simple situation gave me so much hope is that in
Phindile I saw a vision of hope for the whole nation.  Phindile had accepted the opportunity to
provide for her own family rather than depending on foreigners’ support.  And if this is possible in one person, then perhaps
it is also possible for the entire nation of Swaziland to be self-sustaining if
the hand of foreign dependency stops throwing money at problems in hopes of
fixing them, only to be taken advantage of for money’s sake.