Agnes is 34 years old but looks at least 10 years older. I met her this morning as she was leaving the hospital and asked for help with taxi fare. I had some time, so offered to give her a ride to her home. I believe this decision was God fated as I needed to hear her story and share it with you.
Agnes has given birth to her eighth baby on Saturday. The little boy was born premature at 8 months, but is healthy and will probably be able to go home in a few days’ time when he reaches 1.8kg. Her eldest daughter lives next door to her, is 20 years old and has 2 children of her own. The second eldest is 18, also with 2 kids. Yes, Agnes had her first baby at 14 years and for the past 20 years she has been pregnant and breastfeeding for most of those years. She is tiny, looks weatherbeaten and doesn’t weigh more than 40kg. She is not healthy and suffers from epileptic fits as well as stress. My answer to that was that I would also suffer from stress if I had 8 kids and no work, with a husband who doesn’t work either. Apparently they get the waste from Shoprite and that is what they live on. According to Agnes she has a good husband, who never beats her and yesterday he walked all the way to the hospital to bring her 4 nappies that he borrowed from his brother. Ages of the children: 20, 18, 13, 11, 6, 2, 9 months, newborn. Yes, Agnes has thought about sterilisation but there is just never the money or the means to get to the clinic. What affected me about her story is that the 11-year old boy has been in an accident. He was hit by a car driven by a button-smoking boy (according to Agnes) two weeks ago. He has been in the hospital at Tygerberg for the past 2 weeks and he hasn’t seen his mom even once. He has undergone two separate operations, she’s not sure what and must be so very scared and lonely. Agnes says he is a good, happy boy, doesn’t give them attitude and is always full of jokes and makes them laugh. She says the Sunday two weeks ago that he got run over a sadness befell their house and that night she had an epileptic fit. She is so worried about her boy and has no money to call the hospital to find out how he is doing. She came home today and left her newborn in another hospital to try to go and see her son.
As I dropped Agnes at her home (just a shack behind someone’s house), I met the other children shown in the picture. The 13-year-old daughter has to stay home to look after the little ones. She hasn’t been to school for quite a while. The 6-year old girl is supposed to be in grade 1, but there was no money for preschool or admission fees for the school. The little ones are crawling and walking without nappies, their bums and clothes as soiled as their little faces. But they’re smiling. They’re so happy to have their mommy home. Agnes is gentle and caring and I’m sure she does her best, but her arms are full, her body is hungry and sick and her eyes are tired.
I gave them the milk and bread that I had in my car after my morning shop. I gave Agnes some money to get to her son in the hospital. Tonight I mix tears with my spaghetti bolognese, because I know Agnes would so love to cook this meal for her family. I cry: “I am sorry, God, that just yesterday I complained that my house is too small. That this morning I stood in front of my full cupboard and said I have nothing to wear.” I cry for the little boy in hospital, afraid and alone, I cry for the two teenage girls with two children each. I cry for the 13-year old daughter looking after her siblings, her 6-year old sister, who will probably never go to school. And the three babies. But mostly I cry for Agnes and all the mothers just like her.
Agnes has given birth to her eighth baby on Saturday. The little boy was born premature at 8 months, but is healthy and will probably be able to go home in a few days’ time when he reaches 1.8kg. Her eldest daughter lives next door to her, is 20 years old and has 2 children of her own. The second eldest is 18, also with 2 kids. Yes, Agnes had her first baby at 14 years and for the past 20 years she has been pregnant and breastfeeding for most of those years. She is tiny, looks weatherbeaten and doesn’t weigh more than 40kg. She is not healthy and suffers from epileptic fits as well as stress. My answer to that was that I would also suffer from stress if I had 8 kids and no work, with a husband who doesn’t work either. Apparently they get the waste from Shoprite and that is what they live on. According to Agnes she has a good husband, who never beats her and yesterday he walked all the way to the hospital to bring her 4 nappies that he borrowed from his brother. Ages of the children: 20, 18, 13, 11, 6, 2, 9 months, newborn. Yes, Agnes has thought about sterilisation but there is just never the money or the means to get to the clinic. What affected me about her story is that the 11-year old boy has been in an accident. He was hit by a car driven by a button-smoking boy (according to Agnes) two weeks ago. He has been in the hospital at Tygerberg for the past 2 weeks and he hasn’t seen his mom even once. He has undergone two separate operations, she’s not sure what and must be so very scared and lonely. Agnes says he is a good, happy boy, doesn’t give them attitude and is always full of jokes and makes them laugh. She says the Sunday two weeks ago that he got run over a sadness befell their house and that night she had an epileptic fit. She is so worried about her boy and has no money to call the hospital to find out how he is doing. She came home today and left her newborn in another hospital to try to go and see her son.
As I dropped Agnes at her home (just a shack behind someone’s house), I met the other children shown in the picture. The 13-year-old daughter has to stay home to look after the little ones. She hasn’t been to school for quite a while. The 6-year old girl is supposed to be in grade 1, but there was no money for preschool or admission fees for the school. The little ones are crawling and walking without nappies, their bums and clothes as soiled as their little faces. But they’re smiling. They’re so happy to have their mommy home. Agnes is gentle and caring and I’m sure she does her best, but her arms are full, her body is hungry and sick and her eyes are tired.
I gave them the milk and bread that I had in my car after my morning shop. I gave Agnes some money to get to her son in the hospital. Tonight I mix tears with my spaghetti bolognese, because I know Agnes would so love to cook this meal for her family. I cry: “I am sorry, God, that just yesterday I complained that my house is too small. That this morning I stood in front of my full cupboard and said I have nothing to wear.” I cry for the little boy in hospital, afraid and alone, I cry for the two teenage girls with two children each. I cry for the 13-year old daughter looking after her siblings, her 6-year old sister, who will probably never go to school. And the three babies. But mostly I cry for Agnes and all the mothers just like her.
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