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Dear All,
Something happened last night.
Yesterday was Zambian Independence Day (as well as Indian Diwali), and we attended a wonderful fireworks display, organised
by the Indian community here in Ndola. We took Pete's mum, as well as Jeremy, Amanda, and two of Jay's Zambian friends (Gabby
& Chibwe).
The display was impressive and spectacular - one of the best I've seen - and I was so pleased that we'd taken Gabby with
us, as it was the first he'd ever seen. We had something to eat there, and then decided to head home. Peter took his mum
home in his car as she was very tired, and I planned to follow on just as soon as I rounded up all 'my kids'.
The road leading out of town towards Misundu (the rural area where we live), is very dark indeed, and certainly not an
area to be wandering around on one's own. It leads directly between two shanty townships: Chipulukusu on one side, and Senia
on the other, both of which are steeped in grinding poverty and which are renowned as danger spots, harbouring all sorts of
thieves & criminals. To give you a little idea of just how poor these places are and just how much suffering exists there,
let me digress for a minute...... When we had the first storm of the season last week, the devastation in these places was
appalling..... Most of the 'houses' (which are nothing more than one-roomed mud huts) have roofs made of simple cardboard
or plastic sheeting, weighted down by rocks and bricks to prevent them from flying off in the wind. During that storm, men
were seen literally lying on the roofs of their houses in an attempt to hold them down by adding the extra weight of their
bodies, as the winds were so ferocious that night. The following morning, the damage was painfully evident: plastic sheeting
lay in tatters, cardboard lay in sodden piles, and almost every roof had been left with gaping holes. And this was only the
first rain of the season - the worst is yet to come.
Anyway ... back to last night ....
As I came to the perimeter of town, where the houses ended and the road was in pitch blackness, I noticed a very small
child, a little girl of about 6 years old, filthy dirty, dressed in rags and bare footed, wandering along very slowly in the
direction of the shanty townships. I continued for a while, but the sight had bothered me, so I turned my pick-up around,
and drove back to where she was walking. I asked Gabby to speak to her and ask her where she lived and why she was wandering
around at that time of night (10.20pm) on her own. She answered him that she lived in Senia, that she had been in town begging,
and that she was now on her way home, but she was frightened of all the stray dogs wandering around. I really didn't know
what to do, but I knew that I couldn't just leave her there on her own - I figured that maybe I would just drive her further
down the road and drop her off on the side of the road at one of the dirt-track entrances to Senia. I knew that I could not
possibly drive into Senia at night: my vehicle would have been mobbed, and we would, almost definitely, have been robbed
and, possibly, worse. In addition, I had Amanda in the car, and was not willing to put her at risk. So, I told Gabby to
bring the little girl into the vehicle but, as he did, several people approached us, shouting and gesticulating. It was very
difficult to understand what was going on, but we assured them that we meant the child no harm and that we just couldn't leave
her wandering on her own. Then one of the women in the group told me that the child had been raped ... "many times".
I wasn't exactly sure what she meant, but we eventually figured that she meant that the girl had been repeatedly abused, perhaps
at home. Amongst the group was a soldier in uniform who was very calm and I managed to talk reasonably with him. We decided
that the best course of action was to take the child to the central police station. So ... we headed back into town and,
when we arrived at the police station, I led her by the hand up the steps to the front desk. As I explained the situation
to the officers on duty, she just stood there, leaning slightly against me as I rested my arm across her shoulders and cupped
her face in my hand. They told me that this was not the first time this child had been brought to them at night, having
been found wandering the streets completely on her own, in secluded areas. Zambia has a terrible orphan problem, and there
are hundreds of children who live on the streets, but they all tend to band together in groups, and hang around the shop fronts
etc. It is very unusual to find one so young completely on his/her own. Anyway, I mentioned to the police officers that
the woman had stated the child had been raped, explaining that I had no evidence of this, myself, but was simply passing on
what I'd heard. They spoke to the little girl, and then said to me: "Madam, she says she has not been raped tonight."
I was completely shocked - it was all discussed so matter-of-factly. The police assured me that they would take care of
the matter, and I travelled home with my brood, all of us feeling rather despondent and sickened by the whole thing. As a
mother, I find myself imagining my own children in these appalling situations and it's heartbreaking.
This morning, Peter and I went back to the police station to enquire after the little girl. They told us that she had
been there until a few minutes before we arrived, but that it appeared she had left ... wandering the streets again. There
is no system of protection here, and parents are not held to account for child neglect. Children are often viewed as just
another commodity ... another means to making a little extra cash in order for the family to survive ... they are sold, prostituted,
sent out to beg and abused. They are frequently beaten on their return home if they don't produce sufficient 'takings'.
As a result, little ones are often afraid to return home for the beating they're sure they'll receive. Consequently, they
remain on the streets until such times as they have pocketed what they consider to be enough. The sad truth is that most
of these parents are desperately struggling to survive themselves, often with other children to support. The police force
are powerless to do anything - the problem is rife, and they do not have the funds or the facility to deal with it. There
is no organisation or body set up to deal with this issue, and last night's little girl is just one of hundreds, if not thousands,
of other little ones who suffer such hardship at such an early age.
I don't know exactly how much of a difference we are going to be able to make here, but if we can even succeed in helping
one child, we will have achieved something worthwhile.
God bless,
Salwa
Letter 5
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