by Brendah Nyakudya,  a single mum to a 4yr old girl. Admittedly not the best cook, but loves exploring the outdoors with her little one. A political and social commentator she has just started a blog As I see it.

In many parts of the world, when you become a parent your first serious concerns are about  whether your baby will develop colic or take to the formula and when they’re older,  whether they’ll make friends at school and like their teachers.  Once they become teenagers, it’s  about peer pressure, drugs, drinking and teen pregnancy.

But living in South Africa these worries are secondary compared to what now keeps me up at night. As parents, the law and powers that be have let us down by failing to create a safe environment that protects us and our children.  The freedoms that were fought for in the struggle, have been denied us by criminals who prey on our communities daily – denying us the freedom to enjoy a life without fear.

I have turned into a paranoid parent who looks at everyone  with suspicion.  No-one is exempt from my distrust.  At home I worry whether my nanny can take care of my children without physically abusing them.  Around the complex I fear that the maintenance men could harm them.  At school my distrust shifts to teachers and fellow pupils.  Playing in the park no longer feels safe lest someone tries to abduct or buy one of them.  Shopping malls are potential havens for paedophiles and kidnappers. Sleepovers at friends are allowed with such trepidation for who knows what the sexual preference of the host father is?  Family is not excused either, for how many times have we read of the uncle that fiddles or in even more disgusting situations,  the father that sexually molests their child.

As a parent how do you not give in to all these fears and yet remain vigilant enough in a place where every single situation is potentially dangerous? I wish I knew.  Personally I have learnt to trust my gut, and every day try to teach the kids to always be alert ,  learn to say no and report suspicious behaviour.  Helpers and nannies always come recommended with references and we have forged strong friendships with our neighbours who help keep an eye on the children when we are not around. At any given time we know where everyone is and what they are doing…(long may it last). We are teaching the kids to defend themselves physically and  over and above all of this, we pray and ask God to protect us every day.

All this might sound extreme but this is the reality of our situation.  Ideally I want to wake up in a country where  my children need not  fear every stranger that comes near them.  I want to raise my children in a place where being hospitable and kind will not lead to their harm. I want a day where the village that is supposed to help raise my children is not full of predators that will rape and murder them.

Sadly for us South Africa is not that place and today is not that day.

By Jacqui Janse van Rensburg who has lived in Johannesburg all her life. In her 42 years she has been a daughter, a sister, a wife, a girlfriend, an employee and is a CFO, but at last she can celebrate being a MOMMY! You can find her on twitter @JaxJvR

What motivated me to do this, my story:

Matthew was born 5 weeks premature. The night before the caesarean, the nurses took me on a tour of the Neo Natal ward, so that when I saw Matthew in the ward, I would be more used to the idea, and fore warn is … How ever the saying goes.

I was horrified, and clutched my bulging tummy as I walked around and saw all those tiny little bodies, looking like little plucked chickens, with tubes, drips, breathing apparatus, their desperate parents sitting next to them, exhausted, but full of love and hope.

I thank God daily that Matthew came out strong and healthy, and didn’t spend any time in the Neo Natal ward, much to the surprise and delight of all in the maternity ward.

So this morning, when I heard on 702 that 60 (SIXTY!!!!!) premmie babies had to be moved from the Helen Joseph hospital because of the strike, my heart broke all over again, and I have been in full drive mode!

The NetCare hospital that has taken in the babies (and their mommies) are not asking for a cent, but would appreciate any donations such as nappies, caps, premmie baby grows, gowns, etc.

So … I am volunteering to be the collection point for anyone that want to donate, and I will deliver to them on Sunday.

Send me an email to Premature60@gmail.com and I will let you know where you can drop off your goodies.

With a heavy heart, I ask you to please help me to help these little souls.

Jacqui

by Kerry Haggard who suspects that she has the right to a full night’s sleep – but is struggling to convince her two sons of that… Follow her on Twitter @KerryHaggard

As South Africans, we are quick to brag about our Bill of Rights – one of the most comprehensive in the world. The rights of everyone from prisoners to old people are protected – the rights of children too.

What I struggle with, often, is that so many of us neglect to notice that rights come with responsibilities.

Yes, we have the right to free speech. We also have the responsibility to moderate our words to be constructive and honest.

We have the right to equal protection before the law. We have the responsibility to follow that law, respecting our fellow citizens while doing so.

We have the right to practise our religion of choice. We have the responsibility to tolerate the religion of others, and to understand what we have in common with them. You’d be surprised at how much that is…

We have the right to assemble to demonstrate our dissatisfaction with something. We have the responsibility to respect the property on which we choose to exercise this right.

We have the right to fair labour practices. We have the responsibility to work hard, be honest, and earn the money that we are paid.

We have the right to an environment that is not harmful to our wellbeing. We have the responsibility to look after it ourselves, whether it is recycling or spending our money with ecologically responsible suppliers.

We have the right to property. We have the responsibility to purchase it honestly, and to look after it. It is after all, part of our environment.

We have the right to health care. We have the responsibility to make wise decisions about our own health and wellbeing, whether that is by choosing healthy food, or monogamy.

We have a right to education. We have the responsibility to appreciate the value of this, to go to school or university, and to use our knowledge to improve South Africa.

We are blessed to have these rights, among many others. Our biggest responsibility is to teach these rights to our children – and to teach them that these rights come in tandem with responsibilities. Teaching them that someone else is always to blame for what is wrong in their lives, that someone else must always fix the damage, is simply irresponsible.

I’ve been thinking about how I could teach my toddler a moral lesson or two in the build up to Human Rights Day.  On reflection I think he has already grasped the principle rather well.

You see, where adults tainted by years of existence and trying to remind themselves of, and regain, what they are due – children have a polar opposite approach and first claim what they think is rightfully theirs and the job is left to parents and caregivers to pry back what they can.  Kids expect to have a roof over their heads, food when they’re hungry, refreshment when they’re thirsty and the means to purchase whatever is required. A very ‘can-do’ attitude. Good for them – lifetime of management for us.

We are hardly allowed to say ‘bad words’ to our son never mind threaten him with his life (“Mom, only bad people say those words”). A friend of mine has a 6 year old who actually told her mom that she would be depriving her of an education if she didn’t allow her to go to school even if she has a cough!

When our 4 year old asks “do you love me?” we’ve also learnt that while replying with an affirmative ‘yes’  or ‘of course’ is not only short sighted on our part but also showing lack of insight gained in our nearly 5 years of parenting.  You see, when Michael does this he has generally been up to some sort of mischief or devil-may-care – and he knows it (the joys of being raised with a Catholic conscience)!

There was an incident when his dad threatened him with the wrath of mom for spraying pool water into the lounge. From behind the bedroom curtain there came a voice “mom, do you love me?”  to which I devotedly replied “yes, I love you very much”.  There was an audible sigh before he came happily traipsing through my room to his dad as if he was wearing an invisible force shield.

He has this innate sense that ‘someone’ should be looking out for him and that he is protected by some fundamental privileges. He is right. Isn’t that the premise of the declaration of human rights?

In our experience the article most requiring some effort to entrench would be the first one; it says that “all human beings are born with equal rights and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood”; you try explaining that to a toddler on a playground…

Happy Human Rights Day everyone!

If you have read anything I’ve written before, you will have recognised that I try to see the funny side of most things. Sense of humour is essential if you wish to survive motherhood. It is even more essential if you wish to survive life in South Africa. Since I am a mother of 2 boys, living in South Africa, I laugh as loudly and often as I can. If I don’t, I will most certainly cry. And drink, more than the allotted 2 units a week or whatever is deemed healthy by experts these days.

So, as I pondered the subject of human rights, what they were, what it meant to have them as human beings, why we needed to write them down and talk about them, why we have a day dedicated to them at all, and where the children fit in to the whole subject, I got myself thoroughly depressed. When I look around, I see the rights of people, children especially, being so overlooked, so violated, so disregarded, that I can not laugh. I simply can not find a funny angle.

How do I teach my children about human rights when we see a mother and child begging at almost every robot we stop at, when nothing that I tell my precious children bears any truth in the reality of daily life in South Africa?

The depressing truth is that as a mother, I’m beyond teaching my sons what human rights are. I’m too busy making sure that the gross violations of human rights that occur every day under our noses, especially to the children in our country, simply don’t happen to my boys.

Instead, I pray daily for my children, earnestly, and without ceasing. I pray for their protection, for their health, for their safety, on our roads, and in the hands of their care-givers. I watch them like a hawk, lest they are kidnapped from under my nose by child-traffickers or muti-makers. I teach them how to handle blood if they are faced with another child’s injury at school, because I want to protect them from HIV.

I tell them they are special, and that their bodies are their own. I respect them, and I teach them to respect others. I teach them that we don’t hurt animals, and that the planet is our home and all life should be respected. We recycle.

I do all of this, because I know that although they may have rights on paper, in theory, no-one will enforce them when I’m not there. So I dedicate my life not to teaching them about their rights, and the rights of others, but to ensuring that their rights are upheld. I hope that by example, they will learn what human rights are, and that when they have their chance, they will uphold them more vehemently than we have managed to.

A glass of wine and giggle anyone?

by Joy Robyn Dembo

Sitting outside the Hotel School, I  watched the kids trickling out… White, Black, Coloured, Indian, Chinese …all smiling,  chatting,  joking and hugging.

“And your point?”,  you might be saying?

What  really struck me about this scene was that these kids are colour blind – they are just students pursuing a common goal! And, this makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. These kids don’t know how lucky they are to be growing up in an integrated, free society, as opposed to the abnormal, sinister society in which my generation was raised.

As Human Rights Day approaches, I wonder whether people just see March 21 as a day to remember the old Chevrolet ad “Braaivleis, Rugby, Sunny Skies and Chevrolet”, or whether they stop to think of the horrors of Sharpeville, The Soweto Riots, and the appalling human rights abuses that led to South Africa’s economic isolation, sport and entertainment boycotts, rolling mass action  and countless deaths in exile and detention.

I think back to a scene in the movie “Sarafina”, depicting the sharp contrast between an idyllic Parktown garden full of happy white kids, celebrating the “Madam’s” child’s birthday, laughing and shrieking as they bounced up and down on a jumping castle, while the “maid’s” black daughter looked on, remembering  the horrific ordeal she had just been through, at the hands of the SAP.

I think back to my childhood when my mom employed an amazing black lady who had a “Peri- Urban pass” which didn’t allow her to live or work in Johannesburg.  How absurd is that?  Whenever we got word that the police would be raiding in our area,  Anna would sleep inside the house.  But, we would still spend the night in a state of panic, in case we were raided and they found her.

I also think back to the years I spent at Wits. I was appalled that only Whites students were permitted to study there  and joined the picketers, protesting against Detention without Trial, Harsh Pass Laws, and the horrors of Vlakplaas and a host of other human rights abuses.

Inferior education and poorly paid menial jobs for black people were the order of the day.  Black families were split up by the migrant labour system, and black people were forced to live in appalling conditions (both of which will take a long time to rectify) Protesting and striking were banned, shops were prohibited from opening on Sundays, “Communist literature” and “immoral movies” were banned.  People were arrested and tortured for not carrying their ID with them, detained for no reason and murdered for standing up for what they believed in!

Suffice it to say those were dark and sinister times for the majority of South Africans, so this March 21st, let’s all remind our kids how lucky they are to be living in post- Apartheid South Africa.  Our fledgling democracy may be far from perfect, but it’s a huge improvement on the OLD South Africa!

I am amazed how many people haven’t the faintest idea about how to approach toddlers and children, and how to respect their space. So many people believe that because they are little, their rights to personal privacy are somehow diminished. They reach out to touch them, grab a hand, pinch a cheek, and plant a wet sloppy kiss on their cheeks. Even complete strangers in Pick n Pay have walked right up to my trolley, and grabbed a little hand before I could stop them.

Like every mother, I think my children are gorgeous. They have perfect little faces full of childhood innocence. They have huge blue eyes, white blonde hair, and fat rolls round their knees and wrists in that adorable way only toddlers can pull off.  They are as pinchable and as kissable as can be. But I know better than to pinch their bums without permission though.

Even when they were tiny little things I approached them as I would approach a stranger who’s space I was seriously about to invade. I was gentle, respectful, and I asked permission. I never just assumed because I was their mom that I could lift up their t-shirt and plant a big zerbit on their tummies. I wanted them to be the masters of their young bodies right from the beginning. Obviously, there have been times when I’ve had to do what I’ve had to do. I don’t get their express permission every nappy change time, or every bath time.

I can’t be alone in having to keep a vigilant watch over my children when people visit. And when my sons don’t warm to them in the first 30 seconds of them walking through the door, I find myself apologising to them, trying to spare their feelings.

“Don’t take it personally, Nathan is just very shy. Give him some time and he’ll warm up to you.”

Bollocks to that. Nathan is three. You’re 63. You’re old enough to know better. Nathan’s not shy. He’s normal. How would you feel if someone 4 times your size walked into your house, marched straight up to you and tried to pick you up, puckered up their over made up lips and planted a wet soggy one on your cheek? You’d probably get the fright of your life and call the police. Why on earth should he know who you are and why you want to kiss him?

On the other hand, I do all I can to prepare the little chaps for just such occasions.

“Aunt Lillian hasn’t seen you since you were a tiny baby.”

“When I was a baby and I had a dummy and you changed my nappy?”

“Yes. Since then.”

“Like Dylan.”

“Yes, since you were as small as Dylan.  Aunt Lillian hasn’t seen you since you were smaller than Dylan is now. And she’s going to come and visit us today.”

“At our house?”

“That’s right. She’s coming to our house to visit you and your brother. And she’s going to want to give you a big squeeze and a kiss.”

“Like I kiss Hadyn at school?”

“Do you kiss Hadyn at school?”

“And Skylah.”

“You kiss Hadyn and Skylah at school. What does Teacher Anne say?”

<Giggle>

“Will you give your mom a kiss then?”

<giggle>< run away>

At which point I use the prerogative that is mine as his mother alone, break my rule, chase after him, pick him up, and force 100s of kisses all over his cheeks and his tummy. Just to show him who’s boss.  That will teach him not to give his mom a kiss!