The kids here are forced to grow up so fast. It’s like the heart of a child is trapped inside the life of an adult…
…Looking into her 10-year-old eyes, she appeared at first glance to be an older sister too soon grown-up because her baby brother needed her to be a mother to him. But upon looking a little more deeply into her eyes, I saw a little girl peering out, longing to just be a kid again and have fun.
We were at one of the care points when I met her. While singing a song that involved jumping around and spinning in a circle, I noticed that she was having trouble participating because her baby brother was strapped to her back and jostled around as she moved. Reaching my arms out toward her, I offered to take the baby. Her relief was disguised by a look of wariness, and yet she immediately handed him over to me.
A strange phenomenon came over her as she sang and danced freely with the other children…yes, that was it: she had become a child again. Yet even still, she kept a motherly eye of protection on her baby brother. I longed for her to be free from all worries and concerns, even if only for the couple of hours that we were there.
As we were playing the Swazi version of “Duck, duck, goose” (but it’s so much cooler!), the baby boy, now strapped to my back, could wait for food no longer. His big sister was there instantly, leading me over to the small shack that served as the kitchen. After getting him some rice, she took him from me and began feeding her 2-month-old brother like it was second nature, looking just like a miniature mother.
I talked to her a little, with the minimal SiSwati I know. There was nothing carefree in the way that she talked to me. She was all business, task-oriented; a grown-up inside the body of a 10-year-old. “Ungubani ligamalakho?” (What is your name?) I asked her. “Tembelihle,” she answered, short and to the point, but almost with the voice of a tired mother. “Ngiyajabula kukwati!” (I’m happy to meet you), I responded, desperately hoping to draw out her inner child, but to seeming no avail. She reciprocated the question, and after telling her my name, we sat in silence. But I needed no words to communicate what Tembelihle was thinking. Her eyes kept drifting back to the circle of children, now playing a dancing game, and there was an unspoken yearning written on her face.
Giving Tembelihle a beseeching look, I once again reached out my arms for her baby brother (Tando). This time her relief and excitement were unchecked, and Tembelihle ran jubilantly over to play with the others. She was beautiful, a picture of joy as she laughed and danced and played. At last I saw nothing inhibiting her from being a child, pure and untainted by the worries of pre-mature parenting.
This little girl could feed a baby, wrap a towel diaper, and wrap a sling onto even her own back with the ability of a seasoned mother. I shifted unnaturally to hold the two-month-old in my lap and feed him at the same time, wrapped the diaper awkwardly, and fumbled uncomfortably beneath the sling as I attempted to shift the baby into position on my back. But what I had I gave to her. I had time, a pair of arms, and the love of Christ in my heart, and it was all I wanted to give litle Tembelihle the chance to simply be a child that day.
