The two elderly ladies rested, sitting on plastic chairs by the window. Beads of sweat formed on their weathered brows, and were quickly mopped up with a handkerchief or piece of towel. The day was sunny and hot, and inside the house, the tropical air hung humid and heavy. It was Tuesday- the day set aside for the Gogo's to come to Seed of Hope for a morning of shared stories, tea and cookies.
Heather and I, along with Gloria and Buli had prepared a large circle of chairs, anticipating a room full of elderly ladies for the Tuesday support group. However just two ladies joined us on this particular day.
"We need to have a meeting now," we were told by Gloria. "You can sit with the ladies if you like, until we are finished."
Heather and I sat across from the ladies and observed them. The first wore a grey patterned skirt with a short-sleeved cream sweater adorned with delicate peach flowers. On her head, as is the custom with many of the grandmothers, she was crowned with a brightly coloured head-scarf. She wore simple black shoes, low-heeled and practical, and her hands clasped her black vinyl purse in her lap. Her countenance was peaceful, and she seemed quite at ease with us being there.
The second Gogo sported a brown felted hat despite the extreme heat of the day. She too, stepped out in simple black shoes, and carried a bright red purse and a cane. She was resplendent in a bold pink pinafore (like a house-dress or light housecoat) which she wore over a patterned tunic and leggings. She had kind eyes and an impish smile, and I suspected that a day spent in her company would yield laughter and fascinating stories.
After a few minutes it became clear that the staff meeting was going to take longer than we anticipated, so we pulled our chairs closer and decided to try to communicate. We started by saying "Sanibona", a simple Zulu greeting, and then pointed to each of us around the circle. Three out of the four of us were grandmothers, so we began there. "Gogo, gogo, gogo," I said, pointing to each of the other ladies in our circle, and then pointing to myself, "not Gogo... Mama". They smiled, finding common ground with us, and we came to realize that the first lady knew a little bit of English...enough to share part of her story with us.
She started telling us about what her life had been like growing up in South Africa during apartheid. The reason she could understand and speak some English was that she had been employed as a domestic worker in a white family's household. With a serious expression, she described how she was expected to clean and cook, as well as care for and raise the children in the home. However, she was not permitted to eat from the same dishes as the family, or use the same toilet. She described that she was not allowed to accept an impromptu visit from her boyfriend and that one time he had been caught visiting her without permission and was sent to jail. Her story then extended beyond her own personal situation to describe how life was for black people during those years. Separate drinking fountains. Separate schools. Separate public transit. Separate neighbourhoods. Violence and injustice.
As she spoke of these things, I couldn't help but notice the sadness in her downcast eyes. We sat quietly and listened intently as she described unimaginable experiences. Tears threatened but somehow I blinked them away- a difficult task in the midst of hearing a first-hand account of a life lived under apartheid.
Just then her story took a turn, and her face brightened as she told us about how much better it is now in South Africa. She smiled and her eyes sparkled as she described, in her broken English phrases, how now everyone is the same; everyone is equal. Her face shone with hope, and she was proud to educate us on how far her country has come since those darker days. I couldn't help but smile back at her too, agreeing that yes, Gogo, things are much better now.
But what really struck me was that here was an elderly, black South African lady, who had endured so much in her lifetime, who is CURRENTLY living in extreme poverty beyond what we could ever imagine in Canada, and yet she was happy. And content. And willing to share her story with complete strangers. White-skinned, non-South African strangers at that.
What incredible courage! And what amazing evidence of what happens when the transformational grace of God fills a life with forgiveness, love and restoration. Amazing grace, indeed.
Eventually Gloria & Buli joined us once more, bringing tea and cookies for us to share. Gloria translated our conversation so that we could share a bit about our lives with the Gogo's. We were humbled when our new friend rose from her chair to bring a plate of cookies over to where we sat, offering them to us. We gratefully accepted, and enjoyed this time of refreshment and fellowship together. We laughed, as we discovered that the Gogo's wanted us to take them home with us to Canada! We told them that would be ok, but they'd need a warm coat and boots to step through snow up to their knees. They were unfazed by this prospect, much to our mutual amusement.
The time came for the gathering to end, so we hugged the Gogo's and spent a few minutes praying together.
Cherished moments which will remain etched in my memory forever.
My only regret is that we weren't able to catch their names. But as I watched our new friends slowly make their way down the walkway toward home, I realized that God knows exactly who they are. He knows their names, their stories, and every intimate detail of their lives thus far, as well as what is to come.
I am thankful for the time spent in the company of these precious women, and whenever I think of them I will remember them with joy - their incredible resilience, faith and hope will remain an inspiration for me, and I will continue to pray that God will hold them close always.
Angela
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