Life is hard, unrewarding and at times devastatingly hopeless for many thousands of young people who are born into the tragic world of Zimbabwe today.
Think back to when you were 14. For most of us, life was simple, school was the most challenging thing that you had to endure and sweets and the love of your family and those around you always made any problems fade away.
Let's now consider Farai (meaning happy), he is also 14.
Farai lives in a small rural community about 100 km outside the Capital Harare and 5 km from his school. When not in school he used to spend his time working in the fields, tending the family's three goats or playing football with a ball made of plastic wrap. Two Christmases ago his dad, Chengetai, came back from his factory work in Harare without any presents to give, only death. Kept away from his loving family by his work in the remnants of the colonial industries in Harare, in a moment of weakness and infidelity he contracted “the long illness” or, as we know it, HIV/AIDS.
After months in the hospital he was discharged and came home, as there was nothing more that could be done for him. Chipo, his wife, Farai and his 2 sisters and one brother were sad to see him ill but glad to have him home. They all worked as best they could to get their papa the med icines the local people said he needed and spent most of the money that they had been saving over the years. Inevitably though, Chengetai died a slow and painful death in the sad knowled ge that his loving wife Chipo was next. Farai did not understand what had happened to his papa and was heartbroken.
Soon enough though, Chipo fell ill and, without the money from Chengetai's work and despite the help their neighbours offered them, Chipo soon became so weak and malnourished that she was unable to travel the 10 km to the local mission. One day Chipo became seriously ill and called Farai “You,” she said, “are the oldest and you must look after your younger brother and sisters. You are now the man of the house. I am leaving you….” Those were the last words that Chipo said to her son.
After they buried Chipo, life became unreal. His childhood innocence long replaced by a dogged determination to live, Farai did as he was told and although his neighbours helped him, they could offer very little as they too were poor and ravaged by the same illness. All four children worked together at keeping their decapitated family together and continue going to school as their mama said, but when the rains failed , so did their crops. The Go vernment would give no money and what Chipo left behind was now finished . What was a bleak future now became terrifying.
There are about 600,000 children like this in Zimbabwe all in situations similar to or even worse than this. Often for these children, there is little hope other than whatever there is to offer on the street: begging, prostitution, selling junk or the simple escapism of glue sniffing. However the future offers some of them more hope than this life of chaos and squalor on the streets.
Farai could just as easily have been a little boy in the township of Mbare, Chitungwiza, Makumbi or Masumi…. Or indeed anywhere in Africa!
In all of the places mentioned , the Jesuits are working as best they can to alleviate the pain and suffering that is rife in the country today. Little Farai and his brother and sisters were put in touch with the Jesuits and received money for School fees and uniforms thus giving them the support that they so desperately needed to continue theired ucation and thus give them a foundation for their own development.