Love really is all around #3
The lollipop sisters
The one that forever has my heart 💛
I have so many stories of beautiful acts from one human to another in the book that sits in my library just for me - my own midnight library. Stories of brave rescue dogs in earthquake zones, and hidden huts carved into the Cornish cliffs; of extreme altruism in the darkest of times, and the rehabilitating power of art; of the simplicity of groceries left on a doorstep in times of need or a lift home in the pouring rain. However, out of all the stories I have gathered to date demonstrating the impact one small human act can have on the life of another - a comforting meal on a difficult day, the gifting of a card whose significance you can never know, one stands out the most.
This is the story that grabbed my heart, held it, reshaped it and gently gave it back, leaving me forever changed.
This, is the story of the lollipop sisters.
They call her Mama Lisa
Some years ago, through the power of social media, I became aware of a friend of mine donating young girls’ clothes to a charity that cares for children in South Africa - The Winnie Mabaso Foundation.
As I learned more about the work of this incredible organisation, I fell in love with their ethos, their work, and the incredible woman that sits at the helm - Mama Lisa. The beautiful thing about this charity is the extent to which its heart belies its size. It is relatively small in charity terms, but its impact on those who come under their care, and the surrounding communities, is immense. Not only is a loving, vibrant and secure home provided for vulnerable and abused orphan girls in South Africa, there is also a Granny Club, a Friday Night Feeding Station for thousands of villagers living in a nearby settlement with no access to electricity and limited sanitation; allotments, a sewing club, a library, mother & baby groups, a health clinic and so much more. It is truly remarkable.
Another special thing is that the clothes that I began to donate as Taz and Fiver whistled their way through them, barely touching the sides before growing a size, actually reached the young girls at the orphanage. I had never witnessed the direct effect of a charity donation to this extent before. It was so special. I would receive pictures of these beautiful young girls wearing the clothes that we’d sent out, their faces beaming with joy amidst the sparkles.
We became, and remain, regular supporters, and one year, Mama Lisa asked if any of the supporters might like to come over and volunteer to help take the Mabaso girls on their summer holiday - to the beach, some of them to see the sea for the first time in their lives.
So in January 2019, myself, the friend who introduced me to the foundation, and our five daughters set off for South Africa and the most unforgettable ‘holiday’ of our lives.
The story below is just one moment from a week of indescribable experiences.
The lollipop sisters
She used to save a seat for me on the coach. Every day. She didn’t really speak very much, but every morning as I got on the coach, the big brown beautiful eyes would seek me out, and she would call me over, as she gently patted the seat for me to sit down. I had the window seat, and she the aisle. A 13-year-old girl - the same age as Fiver. An orphan. A child who had suffered things I couldn’t imagine, from a culture I couldn’t ever understand. Me – a London born middle-class-white woman of Irish heritage, volunteering in South Africa through The Winnie Mabaso Foundation. Her – a South African born black child whose heritage I didn’t know, except that she had been orphaned through AIDS, and she spoke a plethora of incredible languages that sang and were musical and expressive, but that I couldn’t interpret. A girl who had had her roots torn away, but had grown new ones thanks to the work of this most incredible charity. A girl who had refound a home, and a family, but who carried things inside that no one would ever unlock.
She wouldn’t talk much on the coach journeys, she would laugh fondly at my attempts to learn some of her language, and my inability to remember the names of 23 girls I had just met. I would be doing fine until a change of hairstyle or clothing, and then I’d be lost. Studies show that our ability to differentiate characteristics within ethnicities other than our own is greatly reduced; and she would find me, my friend and our five children with different heights, weights, varying shades of white skin, hair colours and eye colours impossible to differentiate, because we all ‘looked the same’. We sat there patiently going through the seats day by day until we both knew every name on the bus.
She would chat away to her gorgeous sisters and friends in Afrikaans and Xhosa - the most mesmerising language with ‘click’ sounds that my own mouth is not able to emulate, and she would laugh wickedly and heartily at in-jokes in the way that only young teenagers can. She would sing. She would sparkle and shine. And when things quietened down, and the hum of the bus unleashed its soporific magic, she would lean in…to me…to an adult she didn’t know, in a life where she had suffered loss, and experienced pain way beyond her years. I would tentatively put my arm around her and she would sleep. Sleep in a way that you only can when you feel safe.
What a privilege it was.
By the end of the week, I had completely fallen in love with her, and all the other girls, but my coach partner held a special place in my heart. I wanted to convey that to her somehow. I wanted to show her, but a gift would have been inappropriate. As I watched my own children delight and fight over the 2p lollipops that they had brought with them from the UK, I thought that was it. Just a simple gesture – the gift of a lollipop. Something with no monetary value, but a little sugary delight, something to experience for herself whilst we had our last coach cuddle.
As with every other day, she eagerly called me over, patted the seat, and I snuck in. As the bus started moving and the others were distracted, I handed her the lolly, and just said ‘Thank you. For you’ and kissed her gently on the forehead. She beamed, and unwrapped it, and then made the most extraordinary effort to yank the entire lolly from the stick in one go. Slightly peculiar, I thought, but I tried not to obviously observe her actions. She wouldn’t suck it, or enjoy it, she was just determined to wrench it from its stick. She eventually managed with quite some tugging. The whole sugar ball bulging in her cheek, her eyes bright with accomplishment.
Next she manoeuvred the large sweet in her mouth, and crunched down hard. Whilst my own teeth were wincing at the spectacle, she spat out 2 perfect lollipop halves into her soft palm, her delight palpable. Next she unclipped her seatbelt, got up from her seat, and walked down the bus until she found her sister. As she approached, she unfurled her fingers, and gave her sister half of the lollipop. She then came back to me, popped the other half in her own mouth, and snuggled in to sleep.
My heart was transported along with my breath at witnessing such a beautiful moment.
The unquestionable first thing on her mind upon being given the smallest thing? – to find her sister, and to share. There is a word in the Zulu language ‘ubuntu’ which translates as ‘I am because we are’. This philosophy transcends international and temporal boundaries with humanity at its core.
As Charlotte Bronte put it, ‘happiness quite unshared can scarcely be called happiness; it has no taste’.
I think this lollipop had the best taste in the world.
I don’t have any questions for you today, I’m just going to leave this here, and if you have any comments, as always I’d love to hear.
Love & lemons 💕🍋
Em xx
What a magical experience 💜
I love that you are sharing what I’ve had term as “the book before the book”. The book that is for us. The book that comes first to help us process whatever is inside of us and acts as our own kind of therapy before we move on to the book(s) that is meant to be published (for others).
I’ve just come to realisation that the boom I’ve been writing is my book before the book. It has been the therapy for me that I needed. Before i go on to write the book that I was born to write (for others). I had and still have resistance to this process. I wanted to be the exception and bypass this stage. I am deeply confused now by what it is I’m meant to be writing as “the book”. It’s a tricky time whilst I give space to what it meant to be and what will come to me. And it trust in that (when the illusion of needing/wanting to know now is trying to take over).
The one thing I do know is that what I have already written will be repurposed in some other way. And to me, witnessing the repurposing of yours is confirmation of that 🙂