Acquiring nonprofit status is an entirely different challenge that didn’t come as naturally as being on the ground . . . in the trenches doing the hands-on work. After mountains of government paperwork, I am proud to report that as of September, 2011, Tough Angels, Inc. was officially recognized and accepted by the federal and state governments as a 501c3 nonprofit organization.

Initially when I began to define the work of Tough Angels, I saw the lack of safe houses for women and children as my #1 issue to address. It has since become clear to me that a grassroots nonprofit, such as Tough Angels, must have room to morph and grow into itself . . . there is so much to learn along the way! The safe houses are of tremendous importance, although only a bandaid to address my immediate concern. What was the deeper need? After countless sleepless nights, brainstorming with others, research and contemplation, education seemed to be the answer at getting beneath the bandaid. Could education be the catalyst for giving children a reasonable chance at life without hunger, poverty and sexual violence? Would this provide the required knowledge they need to learn about HIV and understand a cure does not come by having sex with a virgin child? Will education plant the seeds for a new generation to come along and address the safety and protection of their children, a life without poverty, and put an end to the tribal myths that keep this heinous act alive? At the very least, it addresses the immediate problem of getting them off the streets where they are at an increased risk for rape and child trafficking.

Upon further research, I learned that the median income for people in the area where I worked was $300/year. A child’s cost to attend a public school, which includes a meal, uniforms, and books is $194/year, meaning the vast majority of children in the impoverished areas don’t have a prayer for becoming educated. In actual fact, a girl in South Africa is more likely to be raped than learn to read or write. BUT, $194 per child is an attainable amount for us to raise. We can do this – one child at a time and I have already begun to see the ripple effect of the children I’ve already personally sponsored. The long-term dream would be to have no use for the safe houses, or better yet – turn them into schools or daycare centers.

The Wedding Ring Project has been a unique and effective way to fund raise. We are collecting broken, unused, and repurposed jewelry, which is delivered to a refinery to be melted down, in exchange for money to fund our projects. (See: The Wedding Ring Project for further details.) No salaries or overhead expenses have been paid to date, although I’m hoping we will win a seed grant that will allow us to continue this important work and pay for expenses and a small salary for an assistant and myself.

As the founder, it is extremely important to me that Tough Angels be seen as an ethical nonprofit, a steward of donor’s money, and most importantly, an organization that isn’t afraid to do the hard work that will in time, influence positive change. Not modification to “westernize” them . . . they have a culture rich in tradition and wisdom that is worthy of respect. Apartheid and HIV has taken them to their knees and as fellow human beings, we have a duty to help them up, in hopes of restoring their dignity and giving their children a reasonable chance at a life free from sexual abuse, torture and murder.

This is an effort that requires a lot of hard work, support, both financial and emotional, and concern for others far less fortunate than ourselves. I will keep updates posted as this unfolds. I am planning on returning to Africa Summer, 2012 to set systems in place to partner with trustworthy established African organizations.

One child at a time . . . we can do this!

Merry Christmas

Dear Friends

I safely arrived in Denver early Christmas morning after a few delays and minor obstacles.

The last update you received from me was regarding the little rape victim that was in the hospital with the stab wounds. Her condition plummeted and she ended up on life support for a few days but in the end, lost her battle to stay alive. As you may recall, her perpetrator had escaped police custody. He was recaptured, and within the same hour of his capture, the little girl let go of her struggle to stay alive and quietly passed on.

It knocked the wind out of all of us. Fortunately, her case gained (generally absent) media attention. Her death came during the “16 Days of Activism”, an annual event that focuses on women and children’s rights. “Nunu” has now become the face of 16 Days of Activism and her story became national news. Because of the media attention, the Dept. of Ministry, Dept. of Social Welfare, and other dignitaries seized the moment to speak out about the problem of rapes against women and children. In addition, the government paid for the funeral of little Nunu.

Zulu culture is rich in tradition and there is strict protocol to follow for such occasions. The funeral was last Sunday under an enormous white tent in the middle of the impoverished rural area where her family lived. 100′s of people attended, including the police officers that I worked with on the case. The crowd sang and prayed, the dignitaries spoke, we spoke and after 4 hours, the funeral process was finished.

We said our goodbyes and left. All the TV stations were there, in addition to newspapers. I guess I can agree that her life served a purpose to bring about awareness and public outcry about crimes against children.

She was so strong and brave to stay alive long enough to give details of her perpetrator so that he could finally be stopped from hurting more than he already had. The police have been trying to solve several of his rape cases for over a year.

The perpetrator’s court appearance was the following day whereupon he was filing for bail application. We organized a demonstration outside of the courthouse. People from her rural area, Red Cross, African National Congress, teachers, and others joined us to protest.

We packed the courtroom and hallways to attend his hearing. The man was brought up from his cell underneath the courtroom and it was a poignant moment for me to see him shackled around his ankles with such heavy chains that he found it difficult to raise his legs to climb the steps. I leaned over the ½ wall and watched him struggle slowly upward into the courtroom. Here was the man that I had previously witnessed outrunning the cops with such speed that when he ran by me so close, I could feel the breeze of his speed. As he slowly climbed the stairs, only the sound of the metal chains could be heard in the dead-silent courtroom. When his head became visible to the crowd, there was a collective gasp and muffled sounds of outrage, and then the perpetrator looked with shock out into the crowd. I don’t believe he had any idea there would be such an outcry over his actions and from the look on his face, I thought maybe he realized for the first time, his life was forever changed. He had hurt so many women and children in the past and had never been caught. He appeared on 4 additional counts of rape, 1 murder charge, and 1 attempted rape. The police believe he is linked to many more and though not publicly released, they believe he is also connected to more unsolved murder cases. The judge denied bail and the courtroom rose up cheering. That was the first step toward justice in this case and the moment in which I had to release the outcome, since I was leaving the country in only a few days. I had invested so much in this; it was difficult to walk away from it.

On Monday after court, I returned to town where the police picked me up to make a positive ID of yet another incident that had taken place the prior Saturday night. I was in a pub with a staff member to toast my departure. It was my final weekend in SA and we’d made plans to go out and hear some music. It was in a pub on the beach of a neighboring town and my friend had gone to the back room to play pool. Another friend of mine had just left my side to go sing on stage and I was waiting for him on a barstool. There was a man standing about 2 feet in front of me whom I had noticed earlier in the evening. He struck me as someone that didn’t fit into the crowd. It was such a happy evening and people were dancing, laughing, and smiling, and this particular man stood solemnly at the edge of the crowd. Suddenly, without provocation or warning, this man took a gun out of his pocket, and shot another man directly in front of him in the face at close range. The man dropped to the ground and I carefully climbed off the barstool behind him and slid around a sliding glass door, to my immediate right, which led to an outdoor balcony. I was the only one on the balcony and stood silently in the corner. I could hear pandemonium inside the bar… people screaming. The man then walked out onto the balcony where I was standing and aimed his gun directly at my face. I stood still and looked him in the eyes. I knew I was protected . . . I felt it. In fact, while I was standing in the corner, a voice that wasn’t exactly audible but instead more of a download of information matter-of-factly assured me, “you are not going to die and if he shoots, it won’t hurt that bad”. I know this sounds crazy, but it’s what went through my mind and because of it, I never panicked. I stayed calm and steady.

This was the sunrise the morning after the shooting. It was such a sign of hope for me.

The police later told me it is probably why he didn’t shoot. If I had screamed or begged him not to shoot, it might have escalated the situation. We stood there looking at one another, and then he very slowly turned around, lowered his gun, and walked out of the bar. Once I knew the man was gone, I walked back into the pub and went to the man that had been shot, now lying in a river of blood. Everyone was frozen and screaming. I knelt down by his side and checked for a pulse, of which there was none. I shouted for them to call the ambulance and my friend and myself began CPR. Soon another man stepped forward and took over chest compressions and they worked on him for no less than 25 minutes. Slowly, his color began to return and after 45 minutes, an ambulance arrived. The man is still in ICU but will be OK in time. He’s alive! The bullet miraculously missed his brain and is lodged behind his ear. His face was shattered and the damage to his eyesight is still undetermined. He will be hospitalized for a very long time and the reconstructive surgery on his face will be extensive.

I made the positive ID of the shooter on that Monday afternoon, at which time he broke down and confessed to the shooting. This was a club of all white people; the shooter was white and had apparently had a long history of unbearable depression. He snapped that night and his victim was totally random. They’d had no argument or previous contact and no one in the pub had ever seen the shooter before. The police told me I was lucky because he fit the profile to take a hostage or shoot others, as he had nothing left to lose, and I was a perfect target for that.

There are different laws for white people. This man will be justly punished and it was in the newspapers by daybreak the following day. Under no circumstances will this case fall through the cracks. It will get the attention it deserves and all its t’s will be crossed and all i’s dotted. This is the way the law should work… my only wish is that crimes committed against the black people would receive the same justice and attention.

I am sitting now in front of a lit Christmas tree in a warm cozy house in the mountains, where it is lightly snowing outside. A family that loves and treats me as one of their own surrounds me. I am blessed beyond measure. I am not fully present. I have a great deal to process in the next few days… weeks… and I feel like I’m between two worlds. Part of me is still in S. Africa where I had finally adapted and now my sleep deprived body is sitting in America where I must now readapt to a different reality.

I am so grateful for this journey. I have learned so much about myself and others and how we are so carefully connected and interwoven and how this world is one big tapestry of beautiful colors. When one string unravels or is broken, it affects the big picture. We have a duty to help mend the broken and frayed threads because at the end of the day, we’re all in this together. It’s our piece of work.

I don’t have all the answers but I do know that one person can make a difference. It doesn’t have to be a 6-month stay in a third world country. We can make a difference today, everyday and it costs nothing. Kindness, compassion and respect for others… it has an enormous impact.

Now that I’m back stateside, I haven’t a clue where my life will lead me next, but I do know I can’t stop here. There is a lot of work to be done and maybe that’s what my life is about. Helping others. Showing others how to believe in themselves, to protect and stand up for their rights as a human being. Maybe I am here to point out other people’s worth when they have been falsely made to believe they have none. I don’t know yet. But I do know, what I have given to others has been returned to me 10-fold. It is I who has received more than I dreamed possible. I went with the intention of serving others and in the end; I received so much more than I gave.

My prayer is that through my journal notes, I have shared a thought or experience with you that inspired you to see things differently… to love more deeply… to drop prejudices… to be grateful for the little things that in the end are so huge.

When I left Durban, it was a cloudy gray day. I sat in a window seat on the plane and watched as we were leaving the runway. As we lifted above the cloud cover, I saw the sky was bright blue and I could see the approximate location of where I’d spent my time for six months beneath the layer of clouds. The most magnificent rainbow formed right above the cloud cover. It wasn’t just any rainbow; it was an enormous block of radiant color that reflected prisms all over the white fluffy clouds. I was awestruck. The rainbow was only visible above the cloud cover. Tears overflowed onto my face and I knew that rainbow was symbolic of all the love I had received. It was “Grace”. The colors shifted and colored the clouds and I looked around at other passengers, wondering if they were seeing the same thing, or was this only for me. It doesn’t matter… I saw it and I knew I was part of something so much bigger. It was a gift of such magnitude… that scene will never leave my memory. I stared out the window and gave thanks. I am so very grateful for all of you and the love you have shared… the prayers… the encouragement and support. I have been given gifts that I never anticipated receiving. There was no possible way I could’ve foreseen what this journey held but I trusted I would be led and protected and indeed I was.

Thank you for being with me. I have said many times, I did not do this alone and I couldn’t have done it without the help of all of you. I am a lucky lucky girl and I am who I am because of those around me.

I am humble and grateful. Thank you with all my heart.
Signing off on a snowy Colorado morning. Amen!
Love, Patty

Manhunt Update

For those of you that have asked for an update on the manhunt… the latest:

They captured the man finally Monday morning. The Investigating Officer called me this morning to advise me he escaped last night wearing handcuffs. They are out now searching, with a shoot to kill order.

The victim… she took a bad turn for the worse and has been moved to a different hospital where she is in ICU. They discovered her liver was lacerated and she has a perforated bowel. All in all… not a good day on this side. The child had surgery yesterday and they are not betting on her prognosis yet.

Say a prayer for the child, please.

I am ready to come home.

Love, Patty

The Transition

Dearest Friends,

I am flooded with a range of emotions… elation, fear, anticipation… fatigued, but grateful ~ always grateful.

For the past month, the sun has taken leave. It is as if someone ran off with the sky and left this thick, heavy, low-lying ceiling that is suffocating at times. It is void of any color, texture, or light variations. It is just blank. We have had pouring rains and everything is soaked and muddy, including our attitudes. It is supposed to be sunny, beautiful summer weather now so few are coping well with the unexpected climate. The weather has put a hold on the construction of Lady Fair’s house and I have had to let go of any hopes that I will see even the walls go up before I leave. I have no doubts though that it is left in good hands and will advance quickly, as soon as the ground dries up.

Yesterday, I decided to take the day to begin organizing myself for packing and tying up loose ends before moving back to America. A lot has to happen before I leave and no sooner had I begun than I received a call that I would be picked up for a call-out on a 15-year old rape victim. The case involved a serial rapist whom the police had been searching for months. His crimes had rapidly escalated in violence and he had repeatedly stabbed this victim in the left breast, moved a huge rock on top of her and left her for dead. We got to the hospital and met the mother who is a “sangoma”, common and revered in traditional Zulu culture. Sangomas are “doctors or healers” of sorts and are trained for years before they assume their role. They primarily believe in the power of ancestral assistance from the spirit world, along with the help of herbs and incantations. She was in her full regalia, which was interesting against the backdrop of the government hospital, which had gurneys lining the filthy, crowded hallways with casualties and fatalities. In Sangoma teachings, it is believed that the child will absorb the feelings of the Sangoma (her mother in this situation) and therefore it was important to get her settled down and strong before she went in to see her daughter. Her pain was gut-wrenching as she lost complete control and slid down the wall into a heap in the hallway outside the operating room. In time she gathered herself and never showed any other sign of emotion other than that of strength and love for her daughter.

I left the hospital around 11AM with the police commander to go find the child’s best friend that could help us make a positive ID of the perpetrator. Things began to quickly develop as we were given a location of the accused rapist and before I knew it, I was in the backseat of the police vehicle, holding onto a 13 year-old girl on a high-speed chase through rolling hills with no actual roads, only paths. They called in attack dogs and backup and the area we were in spanned miles and miles of hills and lush green bush and a forest at one end. Dilapidated shacks and outhouses dotted the countryside. They left the child and I in the car, hidden behind bush, as they set out on foot in search of the man. The girl spoke not a single word of English and was shaking and crying while I was trying to instruct her to take deep breaths and holding her tightly against my body. Suddenly, I saw the expression on her face change to that of terror and she was scrambling to climb over the top of me and get out of the car, all the while speaking hurriedly in Zulu. I opened the car door to get out and just as I did, the perpetrator raced passed me so closely, I could feel the breeze of his passing! He had the look of a crazed animal and ran barefooted through the weeds. He raced down the hillside next to where we were parked and within seconds, the police emerged, chasing him on foot with guns drawn. Shots popped off from several guns but they missed hitting him. He disappeared into the bush and soon we were back on the road, sliding around corners and trying to head him off before he made it to the forest. We parked the vehicle and hid behind another bush and the commander left on foot, leaving the child and I in the car. By now, there were 7 cops and 2 attack dogs running through the expansive green hills. She had been given a cell phone from someone in her family and the community was now involved in trying to help locate him. They knew the child was with the police so called her to tell her where he’d been sighted. I had no radio or means of communication with the police so told her to stay put while I went running in search of the commander. I found him and immediately, we were back in the vehicle speeding through the countryside, hitting hills at such high rates of speed, we were airborne.
The little girl was so brave and had calmed down but kept a tight grip around my waist and buried her face in my chest. This pursuit went on for hours. We would have sight of him, and then lose him just as quickly in the thickly bushed countryside. The perpetrator was initially wearing a bright yellow t-shirt but had stolen a blue t-shirt off someone’s laundry line, which was another tip that came into the girl’s phone. Dusk came and it was difficult to make out anything in the shadows of the hillsides. The police decided it was senseless to carry on the manhunt past dark, although I still held hopes of finding him last night.

We returned to the hospital and the victim was out of surgery and the cop and I helped the nurse push her gurney up these steep dark and circular outdoor passageway to the ward. It made no sense… it was like I was part of an anomalous movie unfolding in real-time. To give you an idea of the hospital conditions, the victim was lying on a stained and bloody pillow from some previous patient. There was no pillowcase or sheets on the metal gurney; only a plastic garbage bag lay beneath her naked body. She was covered in a thin blanket, which was covered in worms. As soon as I thought I had them all picked off, more would appear. Please, once again, give thanks for all we have! Even though many of us see our healthcare system as one that is marred and in need of serious reform, we can still expect far better conditions than what I’ve witnessed here.

All in all, it was an electrifying, albeit disappointing day. I am being tested on different levels as I come to the conclusion of my stay here. We lost 2 very important cases last week that I have followed closely and taken part in since I arrived. They both were ironclad cases that should have resulted in stiff sentences… the one we assumed would be a life sentence. It was regarding the case I mentioned in previous updates where the 8-month pregnant woman was doused in gasoline and burned, eventually dying from her injuries. (Her boyfriend did this.) In short, the case was thrown out because the investigating officer failed to complete his report. Just in case I didn’t make myself clear… the man walked free! The family of the woman sat in disbelief, as did I. I talked to the prosecutor and asked him if we could appeal the case or what could be done. He said at this point, we would need a new witness to come forward and he would gladly reopen the case. Really? I was so cynical and angry that he apologized for “the system”. I am not finished! I have met a journalist that wrote a piece on Lady Fair and me and I have contacted her about doing a story on this case. I have also been asked to be a guest on a talk radio program so I am hoping to bring it up there as well. The problem is partially due to lack of public outrage when it comes to the Zulu people. There is rarely, if ever, media coverage of cases involving the black people.

I suppose my frustration is palpable. I don’t understand why it has piled up so heavily as I am trying to make my transition out of here. It is likely a way of keeping me angry enough to continue doing the work to bring about awareness and thus change.

I don’t know what I’ll do when I come back to America. I will be in search of a new job, new home, a new beginning. When I made the decision to come to Africa, it was after my divorce of 24 years of marriage. I needed my life to be about something bigger than a divorce and felt like that could best be realized by helping others. This journey has helped me to heal many areas of my own life. Additionally, it has led to so many other avenues where I see I could do more to help others. It is overwhelming at the moment. I have so many things to consider and I’m still trying desperately to stay in the present moment so I don’t cheat anyone of my time here, including myself. My mind wants to speed forward and have a plan in place upon my return. I promised others and myself that I would take the month of January to decompress, refocus and reintegrate into a completely different world and lifestyle. I have a great deal to contemplate and it will take some adjustment time, to be sure. I will rely on your prayers and support and trust that things will unfold exactly as they are meant to. I have such incredible friends and connections that I believe the right opportunities will present themselves in due time.

I will arrive in Denver on Christmas Eve, after 40 hours of traveling. There are farewell parties planned here for my departure and that may be one of the hardest things I will have to do.

I will try to write again before I leave South Africa. In the meantime and during this holiday season, please be mindful of all we have, our beautiful country, and the freedom we take for granted to walk from point A to point B with reasonable safety. Please be kind to others; sometimes it is impossible to understand the impact of gentle eye contact or a sincere hello or thank you.

Human compassion is so powerful and I have seen first hand how so little can do so much to heal broken souls. It costs us nothing. The little girl that I spent holding yesterday through high-speed chases, guns being fired, and hiding in the bush, spoke to me with her eyes when we said goodbye. Even though we didn’t speak the same language, I know she was grateful and comforted by my touch and we didn’t need words to feel the sincerity of one another.

I am tired and bleached out feeling from lack of sunlight, but I remain moved by what can be accomplished with only the desire to do so and a lotta help from my friends. The following picture is a success story. This little one was one of my victims 2+ months ago. She had to go on the anti-retroviral drugs to prevent the contraction of HIV after her attack, which would be enough to level the strongest of us. She is now a different little girl. No one took her spirit away… her body may have been raped, but not her spirit. She sparkles and is proof we can heal!

In sincere humbleness, I thank you for your support and love. This has been a journey of “UBUNTU” for all of us… love and respect for others… I am who I am because of those around me.

Signing off on a cloudy Monday afternoon,
Peace and blessings, amen.

Ubuntu

“Ubuntu is very difficult to render into a Western language. It speaks of the very essence of being human. When we want to give high praise to someone we say, “Yu, u nobuntu”. Then you are generous, you are hospitable, you are friendly and caring and compassionate. You share what you have. It is to say, “My humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up, in yours.” We belong in a bundle of life. We say, “A person is a person through other persons.” It is not, “I think, therefore I am.” It says rather: “I am human because I belong. I participate, I share.” A person with ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed, or treated as if they are less than who they are.” – Desmond Tutu

November 14 2009

Dearest Friends,

You know when you watch the sand in an hourglass and it gets toward the bottom, it seems like the sand moves through faster? Although, I have longed for the day I would be coming home, I now feel it quickly approaching and the sand seems to be slipping through my fingers too fast and now I want to slow down time… just a little, because I’m panicked I won’t have completed all I want to. I have borrowed strength from your support, but to be honest, sometimes it felt like I was madly swinging away at the air and I just wasn’t landing a punch, know matter how much effort I put into it. Now I’m seeing the seeds we’ve all had a hand in planting and they’re beginning to emerge, and hope has replaced what once looked bleak. For the past week, I have sat down to write this update but the events are changing so quickly, it is outdated before I can get it completed.

The best news is Lady Fair’s land! I have made friends with the man from the African National Congress and he is opening doors for me that would’ve otherwise remained closed… even hidden. He is letting me use his builders, free of charge and I will be able to forego contractors, building plans, etc. and must simply pay for the materials. I am nearly there and know in my heart and soul this is going to happen! I have already seen the water lines go in and he is taking me there today to see the progress. Her land is located in a rural development project and within the coming year, a school will be built close to her home and Lesipho and the other children will be able to walk there. Joyful joyful! It is such a miracle and I never anticipated something so magnificent would come out of my time here. I couldn’t see what would evolve… I just continued to put one foot in front of the other. (Sound advice if things look insurmountable.)


This is the rural development area and Lady Fair’s house will be built on the next row down the hill where there is more room to build a larger house with 4 bedrooms. The Rural Development Project provides the land and an extremely small house. From the funds we’ve put together, we will be able to add on to the house so it will be twice the size of the original plan.

I can’t imagine saying goodbye to Lady Fair and Lesipho; the thought of it makes my heart sink. They are my family… Lady Fair has become one of my most important mentors and I will never be the same!

I am honored and so lucky that I came halfway across the world and of all the people I could’ve met, it was Lady Fair and Lesipho that traveled alongside me on this journey. There are no mistakes!

My work with rape cases continues, of course. It is like the constant beat of a drum… one after the other… after the other… court hearings, opposed bail applications, hospitals, suspect raids, tears… theirs, then mine. At times I’ve spent the night in bed screaming muffled anger and frustration into my pillow because I felt helpless. I can’t fix it, but I have come to accept that I can help a few who will then go on to help a few more and from there it multiplies. Right? Please, tuck that vision into your prayers. It is why I chose to focus efforts on building strong foundations for the Zulu women I work with… so they can continue doing this work and helping so many women and children, long after I’m gone. With the donations that have come to me from these journal posts and through the www.toughangels.com website, I have been able to help each of the 5 Zulu women that serve as child safety officers. From medicine, doctor’s appointments, food, shelter, electricity, and clothing… it has all had such a powerful impact that will far outlast my time here. There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude for your help and concern for these people. Your prayers, emails, money, moral support… it has all made a difference and touched their lives, not to mention what you’ve done to mine! Grateful.

I was put on a high-profile case of a 14-year-old Indian girl that had claimed she was raped in the bathroom of a high school. This wasn’t just any high school… it was a school where children with money go, predominantly white children. The investigating officer and I went to the crime scene where we found the buttons of her blouse on the floor and all the descriptions of her story, there in front of us, just like she’d described. We had taken her to the hospital for the exam that is administered by the District Surgeon. Medical evidence proved that she very clearly had been raped. Oddly though, details of her story began to unravel and it became clear she’d staged the scene. I knew the child was not telling the full truth but she refused to budge from her story, which was quite elaborate with detail. This child endured days of grueling investigations. She claimed the perpetrator was a black man and had a meticulous description of him. She was sturdy as she was giving the description to a sketch artist and then I had to walk with her through a line up of all the black men that worked at the school. She was still unshaken… I, on the other hand felt such regret and pity for putting these men through this humiliation. They lined them up out in the schoolyard and she and I walked in front of them about 2 feet away. She looked at each and every one of them and I could see the fear in their eyes for possibly being accused of a crime they weren’t guilty of. I wanted to bow my head in shame because it was already clear at that point she was lying and I wondered how it must feel to be standing in their shoes.

A special canine unit was called in that is trained to find traces of semen or blood. Quickly, the bathroom at the school was ruled out as the scene of the crime. I was given a demonstration after the dog had done the official search. The officer had his partner hide a piece of paper the size of a dime with a “dot” of semen specimen on it. No one saw where the officer hid the paper and within seconds, the dog went directly to it and sat down, where it was concealed, underneath paper, behind a toilet. After days of investigation, we ruled out the school as the scene of the crime, but the damage was already done. Never mind that it threatened to mar the schools reputation, but to acknowledge the fact that this child was so deathly afraid of telling the truth of how and where the rape occurred, still keeps me awake at night. Her parents were strict Christians and my instincts tell me she was somewhere she shouldn’t have been, (i.e. off the school grounds, possibly with her “boyfriend”) and is more afraid of telling her parents the truth and disappointing them than she is of facing the police, school authorities, and the scrutiny of the media. She has subsequently moved to live with an aunt in another city, but how long will it take her to unbury and face the truth of what happened? I would have cracked under the pressure of keeping the lie alive.

I think it is reprehensible that not one of my cases involving Zulu children has ever been reported in the media! Factual accounts so repugnant, they challenge reality, yet few of the locals have knowledge of them. The attitude is largely “that is another world over there and we don’t get involved”.

Moving forward… the 11-year-old Zulu girl that lived with me for nearly a month was truly a joy. We laughed and danced and she told stories of her family of origin. She had witnessed her father being mugged and shot as the two of them walked home together after payday. We made a vision board together and she told me she liked my house because it felt like the walls were laughing. There was nothing more she could’ve said that would’ve made me fell like her stay was a success! She shows such promise. I came home early one morning after having been called out in the middle of the night on a 7 year-old rape case. Exhausted and dejected, I walked into the house to find she had decorated my bedroom door with angel wings and hearts. As I pick up the pieces of one broken child, another one puts me back together with their love. That seems to have been the revolution of heartbreak and healing since I arrived on this voyage.

It is time to bring this edition of my updates to a close… even though the next phone call will likely bring in something new to add. I don’t know where life’s path will lead me next. I am desperately trying to stay in the moment so I don’t miss anything. It’s difficult because its easy to get distracted by the next chapter of saying goodbye and coming back to America. Where will I live? What will I do? Who will I become after all of this is behind me? What will it feel like to stand on American soil again? Some days I feel like I’m stuck in between two worlds, neither of which seem real. My roommate once said she felt like maybe we died and we just don’t know it yet, and that’s why it all seems so surreal. It made me laugh because I could identify with her description.

I will keep you updated on the progress of Lady Fair’s house. It won’t likely be completed by the time I leave in December but I hope and pray the foundation will at least be poured so I can set foot in her very own house that will have her very first bathroom. Never again will Lady Fair have to hike up the hill to fetch water for her family. Life is sweet! Please be kind to others and pause to let gratitude fill your heart for our lucky lucky lives. Think of that the next time you run a shower or bath… what a luxury. Amen!

]]> http://toughangels.org/journal/november-14-2009/feed/ 0 http://toughangels.org/journal/miracle-rainbow-and-a-nap/ http://toughangels.org/journal/miracle-rainbow-and-a-nap/#comments Thu, 13 Jan 2011 00:09:21 +0000 admin http://localhost/toughangels/?p=123 Read More]]>

Miracles, a rainbow and a nap

Dearest Friends,

Today, I am grounded in a place of renewal, gratitude, and joy. For those of you that participated in the group prayer/intention last Sunday, my greatest thanks! Magnificent things happen through collective efforts and energy! I have passed my halfway point and September 30th is day 100! I am OK. Life is not always easy, but it is always rewarding. I have benefited tremendously from the power of prayer, love and support of you, my friends. I told my surrogate Mom today that I felt I was swept up in a force of love, protection, and goodness. I know I have written this before, but I really want to stress it… I am not in this alone. Your support, prayers, and love have kept me strong and focused when I’ve felt weary and helpless. I have never felt alone or that I’ve accomplished a day of this without your help. I feel extremely privileged to have you in my life. Thank you.

Where to start? Last Monday marked incredible strides forward. As you know, I have been trying to help Lady Fair get a roof and walls for her house. I had run into obstacles left and right, yet still trusted that it would all work out. The problem I encountered was she does not own the land where her place is located. We were told that any improvements I made to her property would most assuredly get her kicked off, as the line of deed holders would see the improvements, force her off and “sell” it to someone else. It is tribal land and passes from hand to hand by illegal deeds. I wanted assurances that long after I’m gone, Lady Fair will still have a safe, dry home for her and the 11+ children she cares for.

Without options left, I decided to shoot for the stars. I attained the number of a member of the African National Congress. A stroke of luck passed his personal cell number in front of me and within 24 hours, I had a scheduled appointment to meet him. I made copies of the photos I had taken of Lady Fair’s house, prayed for the right words to come forth, packed Lady Fair up and off we headed to meet with this public official. It was as if time stood still… he listened without interrupting, he looked at the photos with care and genuine heart, and then he looked us in the eyes. His secretary stepped in to remind him that he had appointments lined up waiting for him, but he continued to take his time with us. I told him of how Lady Fair helps so many in her community and that in fact only 2 of the children living with her were her own. The rest were orphaned. I needed his help in finding property that I could legally purchase for Lady Fair so I could raise money to build her a safe and dry place. I showed him photos of the inside of her house where gaping holes caused rivers of water to flow during powerful rainstorms and how the howling winds threatened to send her roof sailing from beneath the rocks that held it in place.

He told us all the land in this particular area was corrupt and nothing could be legally purchased because it had passed through so many false deeds. I asked him where then could I purchase property for Lady Fair that could stay in her name. He thought for a minute and began looking through paperwork, and then out of the blue, said he would grant Lady Fair a piece of government land. It is within a rural development program. Her parcel of land will even come with running water and electricity! (Lady Fair has never had running water in her life.) I told him I needed a guarantee of this as I was leaving in December and couldn’t leave my friend without knowing she and the children were safe. He guaranteed me and signed the papers in front of us. The land will go in Lady Fair’s name. I will be able to begin purchasing the materials required to help build her a home. I have already started accumulating bricks. The man also told me he would make every attempt to have her on that land before I leave in December so I could rest knowing she’s OK. Miracles!

Lady Fair and I thanked the man profusely and walked outside into the parking lot where we both broke into tears of joy. Lady Fair threw her head back and her arms up in the air, fell on her knees upon the wet pavement and thanked God. I was on my knees hugging her and we were laughing and crying all at once. She told me she never dreamed something like this could ever happen to her and I assured her, she was worthy of this and so much more. I love this woman.

October 19 2009

Dearest Friends,

I have a new roommate. She is an 11 year-old Zulu girl and will stay with my roommate from Holland and myself for a month. She speaks English too so that makes life for us so much easier! Her name is Nonhlanhla and she’s had a rough life! Even in the short time she’s been here, she is blossoming and beaming and I think she’s a survivor with so much talent that is just aching to be realized.

At night, when we have dinner, I’ve made a house rule that we all must share 5 things that happened during the day that made us happy or grateful. One night, I shared that it made me really happy to see this tree that was covered in brilliant purple flowers. The flowers also covered the ground beneath it and it looked like a purple carpet. The next day, the driver that takes several children to school told me that Noni begged her to please stop the car. Not knowing why, the driver pulled over and Noni jumped out, ran to one of these trees and gathered handfuls of the purple flowers that were on the ground and handed them out to all the children and the driver. Mmmm, joy!

She is tall and thin with long longs legs and I asked her if she liked to run. She lit up like a light! I told her that my brother ran marathons and she said she wanted to run long distances. I also told her that while running it is important to think about nice things and that my brother always drew a smiley face on his hand to remind himself that he was having a good time. The next day she came home from school and said she ran. She must’ve run like the wind because the high school coach saw it, and he timed her and has had her running with the high school team (even though she’s 11) everyday since. She will do her first race Oct. 30th. She said she either holds a flower when she runs or puts one in her hair. Breakthroughs!

I came home today and knelt on my knees to pray at the same time the group intention/prayer was taking place. I could only feel waves of gratitude. Actually, I woke up this morning with a new feeling. The sky looked bluer, the trees had a glow about them, people I passed on the street smiled. I had an expanded point of view or a different perception. It is as if I woke up and someone painted beauty for me to see and experience and I felt truly happy. In fact, as I moved throughout my day, the song “Oh Happy Day” kept playing over and over in my head. I know I am loved. I know that you are all supporting me in this journey and I cannot express my gratitude sufficiently.

My work here is tough; there is no mistaking that. The things I’ve seen and experienced are raw and dark and sometimes I feel there isn’t enough of me to go around and the stress builds and I have a sense of helplessness. I realize though, it is them… the poverty stricken, sick and dying women and children that have gifted me. I have learned more about faith, gratitude, joy, and generosity from my Zulu friends in the 90 days I’ve been here than I have in my lifetime. I will never be the same. I have received so much from them and all of you, in such a majestic way that it overwhelms me. We are all in this together!

Tuesday marks the halfway point of my time here in S. Africa and I have begun to wonder if perhaps the bigger picture is that these people that I have spent time with, who have such difficult lives, are actually angels that God sent to teach the rest of us the absolute need for compassion, and the opportunity to help and love one another. Maybe that is their purpose on earth… I can’t claim to know… I do know I can call them my teachers.

I will never take for granted the kindness and support my friends have shown me. I feel so lucky and blessed. I promise I will take care of my health and mental/emotional well being. From the depths of my being, I love and appreciate you.
With gratitude… Amen.
Patty ]]> http://toughangels.org/journal/october-19-2009/feed/ 0 http://toughangels.org/journal/end-of-july/ http://toughangels.org/journal/end-of-july/#comments Thu, 13 Jan 2011 00:04:03 +0000 admin http://localhost/toughangels/?p=119 Read More]]>

End of July

Dearest Friends and Family:

I have contemplated… written… rewritten… saved… and deleted so many posts that I could have a small book by now. When I reviewed what I had written, I felt the need to filter some of the information, even though that seems like a disservice to the reality of life in this part of the world. I will aim for the middle ground and spare you the raw truth – it is harsh.

I saw the stats for July… 80 rape cases, the youngest – 4 months old. She died. This does not include the abandoned, abused, and missing children we’re called out on. While in the moment of working these cases, especially at the point of rescue, I am somewhat desensitized to the matters at hand. It is how we get the work done… there isn’t time to mourn, scream, and pull my hair out. I deal with it by focusing on the situation in front of me and then about once a week, I fall apart. I cry because nothing I own smells fresh anymore, or all the lettuce in the market is brown or because my hair is turning gray. And I let it all bubble to the surface where tears flow freely and I know, deep down, I am not crying about the lettuce or my hair and I try to be gentle with myself and not judge my tears or further, try to stop them. It is OK. I am OK. I am safe and healthy… slightly war-torn, perhaps. I have accepted, in the deepest part of my soul, that I can’t possibly understand the bigger picture. I’m not meant to. But I am meant to serve and for now, I don’t ask why… I don’t ask for answers… I simply ask, what can I do to help?

My photos document a kaleidoscope of people, places, and events… illness, poverty and joy.

It’s all here and it makes my brain feel like a Rubik’s Cube with all the colors jumbled up and I’m trying to make sense of it and line the colors up nicely. It’s difficult to find the proper place to store all the information, much less make sense of it.

I have gone out in the middle of the night, searching for a missing 13 year-old mentally disabled girl (whom we miraculously found!). An older man had taken her to a seedy motel, but thankfully, we located her before she was harmed!
I have gone on a police raid where we broke into an abandoned house to find a young man involved in porn and drugs. There, he was hiding out with his child victim in a back bedroom of an abandoned house. I felt such rage I turned his bed upside down.

I have sat in on endless court cases. This past Tuesday, I spent the day on two cases. The first case involved the “boyfriend” who doused his 8-month pregnant girlfriend in gasoline and set her on fire. Unfortunately, she lived for 13 days after the incident. In this particular courtroom, the accused is held in a cell in the basement, underneath the courtroom. There are steps that rise up through a narrow passageway into the front of the courtroom and when the guard calls the man’s name, a trap door opens and the accused rises up out of the floor. As soon as the head of the man emerged from the floor, the mother of the deceased victim fell into my lap, sobbing hysterically. I wrapped myself around this broken woman and held her for I have nothing else to offer.

From that case, I moved to the next courtroom, which was a rape case of a 15 year old that had been attacked, raped, and severely stabbed numerous times in the face. She and I sat in the sunshine, waiting to be called into the courtroom. I held her hand and mainly I tried to talk about the color of the sky, or things that would take her mind off the court hearing and keep her calm. She tried to hide her scarred face in the hood of her jacket but I held her face in my hands and told her she was so beautiful and then covered her face in kisses. She was so shy and traumatized she could barely make eye contact.

After waiting a painfully long time, we were called into the courtroom, only to be told the case was postponed because the police officer forgot to turn in the docket! There is no point in getting angry about the absurdity of the oversights for it is common here, and an accepted part of the system. It makes my head hurt! The child had to go through the terror of seeing the rapist and stand alone, only a few feet from him… all this to have to endure it all over again in a few weeks.

Just when I think I can’t do this for another day, healing comes to me in the sweetest packages. I was standing outside in the courtyard waiting for my ride and turned around to see the girl running through the crowd toward me. She wrapped her arms around me and held on tightly, looked me square in the eyes, smiled and said “Thank you. I love you. Bye bye”. Somehow, she found the courage to leave an opening in her heart to trust again and a bridge was built and I can only pray this begins her journey of understanding that not all people are bad or want to harm her.

Last night, the police brought an 11-year-old girl here to stay for a couple nights with my roommate and me. She was brutally raped and beaten by more than one man and was found tied to a tree. She has no place to go as both her parents are dead and her Aunt had savagely beaten and burned her all over her body with an iron when she found out about the rape. She had been in the hospital all night, going through the necessary examinations and police statements. All our places of safety are full so I ran out and got food and a set of warm clothes for her. She only speaks Zulu and remained sick through the entire night from the post exposure prophylactic drugs, administered to lower the risk of contracting HIV. The side effects are brutal and she was understandably inconsolable. She rolled around on the floor all night clutching her stomach and crying, in between bouts of vomiting. What kind of nightmare must this have been for this child? She was in a strange house with 2 strange women that didn’t speak her language, and it was imperative for us to continue giving her the drugs that were making her so violently ill. I do not want to relive that night, ever. She has since been moved to a place of safety and we will see her in the morning.

For those of you whom have asked what you can do for me, please see the following. I can’t tell you how much your help will make a difference and even $5.00 or $10.00 can help me buy food, medicine, diapers, etc. As for me personally, I have everything I require and I so appreciate your offers to send me the things I miss, but I would be heartless if I didn’t think of others first. The Zulu women I see daily work tirelessly and do so much for the children here, and yet none of them have running water or toilets in their own homes. They live on rice, potatoes, tomatoes, and white bread. It’s the least expensive items they can buy and its what goes the furthest. They eat sugar by the spoonfuls because it is one of the most plentiful things around. Following is a picture of Lady Fair’s house. The first picture is the “toilet” which is shared with 2 other households. There isn’t running water. There is a small basin inside and Lady Fair fetches water from a neighbor down the road.

She and Lesipho, (her 4 year old granddaughter) show up at work every single day, clean and well groomed. One would never guess the conditions they live in. Lady Fair has expanded her family. She has taken in children off the streets to feed, clothe and protect. They are neighbors that have lost their parents, and children from the township that have sought her out because they’ve heard she will help raped, hungry, and abused children. She feeds them all and teaches them right from wrong. They are all required to pitch in and help and they are also required to groom themselves and take pride in the little house they have. It is extremely small, but tidy. Lady Fair is single woman, supporting all these people and she makes 2000 Rand a month.

I am attempting to sell some of my possessions at home in hopes that I can buy enough corrugated steel to replace Lady Fair’s roof and walls. They are so worn; there is no protection from the rain, wind and cold. The roof is held on by heavy rocks. I know how to use a hammer and I know that whatever effort I put into it, it will be better than what she currently has.

Lady Fair’s house

There is joy! I have had moments that have opened my heart wider than ever before… not out of sorrow or pity… but out of pure love and happiness. That said, I am still counting the days until I come back to America. This is really hard stuff and there are days when I think I can’t do this anymore. I should be ashamed for complaining because I get to come home. I don’t have a life sentence in this place like my sisters do. Amazingly, they love their country and are grateful for life. They sing and clap… they pray and dance, but mostly they love with all their might. They are tough angels.

I am forever grateful to you, my friends who keep me strong and are constant reminders that I am never alone in this. Please be kind to others.
With love,

Signing off from Kwan Zulu Natal, S. Africa on a stormy Sunday night.
Patty

Brother’s Letter

I am enclosing a copy of a letter I wrote to my brother, which gives a more personal look at an individual case.

Brother, I can’t save them all, but I can one by one. And my hope is that in time, they are empowered to rise up and believe in a better life for themselves. And maybe they will turn around and help one of their own and maybe I cause a ripple effect. Maybe.

There are glimmers of hope… I can’t see them all the time, but I do remember thinking somewhere along the road that maybe things will change. The government is part of the problem. Their President is quite a woman’s man and proud of his womanizing. He was questioned in the media about his exploits and the danger of AIDS. He said all you have to do is take a shower after sex and you won’t get AIDS. OMG!!! So it perpetuates the problem.

This week will be more snot, tears, blood, and then Friday I’m going to a conference on child trafficking. It will be nice. I bet they’ll have real chairs… maybe real coffee (instead of powdered). Members of Parliament, lawyers, officials will be there so I’ll be happy to get out of the trenches for the day and sit with people that have bathed or washed their hands within the last week. That is not a judgment… it is the face of poverty.

I had a major breakthrough the other day with a little boy that had been traumatized and quit talking. I went to visit him at Granny’s house as we are trying to press charges against the father. I sat close to him and asked him questions, to which he did not respond. This went on for a while and I asked God, “now what?” I heard a voice say walk to the beach, which I had never been because it’s so dangerous. I trusted my guidance and asked Granny if Tyrelle and I could go to the beach. I made a deal with God for our protection and off we went, about a 3-block walk. It was actually in an area about 30 miles from Toti, as I would never go to the beach here. When we got there, it was peppered with men… fishing, hanging out, whatever, but the boy began to light up. He picked up shells one by one, and examined them… some he would throw back, others he would place in my hand, which I realized he was giving me a gift. Of course, you know I was making a big deal about it. Soon we were laying on our bellies on the rocks, pulling up mussels, him pointing at different fish, etc. and then he began to talk. He told me about all the sea creatures and then for 2 hours he told me about his life. Victory. He took his first step into his journey of healing. When we got back to the house, he asked if it cost money for me to talk to him. I told him no… I was his friend. His Granny called to thank me and said everyday he asks his Grandpa if he can go “fetch” his new friend. And that my Brother is why I’m doing what I’m doing!! Smart little boy too… there is hope for him.

So dear friends, I am signing off on a Sunday afternoon in S. Africa. Please be kind to others and give thanks for all the things we take for granted. Keep your children safe and tell them you love them… again and again and again. ]]> http://toughangels.org/journal/brothers-letter/feed/ 0