Life with Ma

Getting back to where I left off in order to relate my teaching experiences. After my Dad died Ma (My Mom) moved in with us. Our house was tiny and she had to share Debbie's room. It very soon became obvious that we needed to extend our house and add more rooms. I took it on myself to draw up the plans — adding about 2 feet to the living room and kitchen, putting a huge picture window in the living room and another window in the kitchen. Then I added two more rooms for the boys, and a new master bedroom for Mel and me. I used a book with plans to help me to make the plans look professionally done, and off I went to Central Africa Building Society to ask for an extension to our loan — the Lord must have been behind me 100% because they granted the loan in a few days. We employed the same builder who had built the original house, and we tasted grit and dust for several months as the work progressed. Our home had only one bathroom and one separate toilet, but we were used to that so it didn't bother us. Then my father's will was eventually completed and Ma decided to pay, from the proceeds, to have a very large room built on to the back of the house. It was as wide as the original house and pretty long.  She had a small kitchen area and a shower also. She had no toilet so an intervening door was cut into the end wall of our house, and this door was only locked when Ma decided to lock it.

 Next door to us lived a poor family. The family, including a half-witted adult son, plus an older granny who had her son and wife and two small children living with her. The mother of the children got a divorce from her man and moved to South Africa, leaving the kids for Granny to raise. She was a member of the church and always took them with her to services. One night there was a knock at Ma's door. I was visiting Ma at the time and the granny brought the little girl in and asked if we could help her. She lifted the child's dress and exposed her bottom. I gasped with shock when I saw the one buttock was bright red, with a HUGE boil in the middle. Without thinking I blurted out, "Why haven't you taken her to the hospital?" She replied, "We have no transport and the closest bus stop is too far away for us to walk there." Because of their poverty they would have received free treatment. Unfortunately Mel was out doing personal work at the time and I had no transport, so we couldn't help. I told her I would drive Mel to work in the morning then come home and take the child to the hospital. Meanwhile I took Mandy (the child) down to our bedroom where I turned her over my knee and gently squeezed out as much infection as I could — a good three thimbles full — then cleansed the wound thoroughly and placed a dressing on it. We sent them home and told them to be ready in the morning, which they were, and I took her to the hospital where they dealt with what was left of the boil and gave her an antibiotic to clear up any infection. She recovered very well.

On another occasion the child's frantic aunt burst into our kitchen where I was cooking.  "Please come quickly, Mandy has sown her finger into the sewing machine!!" I rushed over to find the uncle trying to pull her hand through the needle hole in her finger, which was trapped under the needle  which had completely penetrated it. "Stop. " I ordered, "Bring me a screw-driver." When he brought it I put it under the needle-holder and forced it up so that we could safely slide her finger out. I took her home with me, put some antibiotic ointment on it and wound a band-aid around it. She went off as happy as a lark and was soon running around yelling at the top of her voice — a very annoying habit she had.