I don’t think I’d want me for a mentor. What could someone in need of mentorship possibly learn from someone like me? How to have a perfectly balanced and nutritious meal ready for the family every evening at 6 pm? Last night we had Cheerios for supper. How to plan fun and engaging family activities? My kids watched 2,045 hours of TV last week alone. What about how to be the perfect wife? Ok, that part is true. Just don’t ask my husband.
So I’m always a little surprised when someone approaches me to be their mentor. I’m tempted to tell them to set their sights higher, but then again, I believe in mentorship. I remember the role that mentors have played in my life over the years, and I get excited at the thought that I could maybe play that role for someone else. So usually, I agree.
I had my first “meeting” with a new mentee just a couple of weeks ago. I cooked Carribean style macaroni and cheese and BBQ chicken for the occasion. The mac & cheese was delicious! But the chicken was basically still squawking when I tried to serve it. I cut into it and blood shot out. So I did what any amateur chef would do and tried to nuke the life out of it. I thought about pretending that I meant to serve the meal in different courses. But honesty is the best way to embark on a mentoring relationship. So I said, “Now you know I’m not the best cook in the world, and there are a host of other things you won’t be able to learn from me.” But I went on to explain that I’m happy to be a sounding board, to offer advice or counsel, and to be someone to hang out with whenever she has some free time. She agreed and seems happy with our arrangement. But perhaps next time, we’ll meet at Spur.
By: Stacey Dlamini
Posted 1 month, 4 weeks ago at 12:46 pm. 2 comments
My mentee and I are from very different cultures. I come from a rural part of eastern Canada where I grew up in a sheltered, white middle-class environment. My mentee and her family come from the Democratic Republic of Congo, which she left with her family because of the political instability and violence as a young child. But now we both find ourselves living out our lives in Southern Johannesburg.
I mention this difference in culture, because our culture impacts so greatly on every aspect of our lives, including the food we eat and how we prepare it. For me, meat has always come neatly packaged on a Styrofoam tray wrapped in plastic, blood free and ready for the oven. For my mentee’s family, meat often comes with feathers, still breathing and squawking.
I came to this realisation when I wandered into my mentee’s kitchen to take my cup to the sink and was confronted with The Goose. She was sitting on some newspaper next to the freezer, with her feet bound. She was quietly awaiting her fate, and seemed to have made her peace. She looked at me in my eye and I became complicit in her impending end. I had to leave the room.
My mentee’s father said to her mother, “I told you not to show Stacey the duck.” (They didn’t know the word for “goose” in English.) “She’d be too traumatised.” The mother of the house couldn’t understand why I’d be traumatised. This was just food. And I have to admit there is a certain amount of hypocrisy in being an omnivore who doesn’t have the stomach to confront where the meat I consume really comes from. These thoughts were bouncing around in my head as I got invited to dinner on Monday afternoon. And there was no doubt as to what would be on the menu.
So I’m faced with a dilemma. I could think of an excuse and stay away in solidarity with The Goose. Or I could try and put myself in their shoes (empathy) to see this for what it was; an incredibly generous invitation to fellowship, sharing and thanksgiving at God’s provision. I accepted the invitation, to the surprise and pleasure of my mentee.
When I arrived that Monday, The Goose looked a lot like the meat I was more familiar with. It was oven-ready. I didn’t have to witness the slaughter or remove the feathers (maybe next time?) but I did pitch in by making the stuffing and the gravy. What followed was a great evening of sharing and story telling. I felt closer to my mentee and her family because of this experience.
Mentoring offers us the precious space to provide input into the life of another. But if we’re open and attentive, it also offers us the opportunity to step outside of our comfort zone and connect on a deep emotional level with other human beings. I am a richer person for this experience. The Goose’s sacrifice was not in vain.
I am writing this article conscious of the fact that this is Youth Month and prostitution is one of the critical challenges that young people are facing. Like the young people in 1976 we need to unite and fight against the common enemy of our generation. The challenges that young people faced in 1976 are different to our challenges and only us are relevant to face our challenges. We sincerely salute the 1976 youth for the tremendous role they played and we believe that we can also make it.
There are different terms such as survival sex, commercial sex, body business, sex work, working women and many other terms that refer to prostitution. However, for the purpose of this article these terms will be used interchangeably. This is one of the controversial issues that South Africa is faced with at the moment. This is a controversial issue amongst the legislators, theologians, philosophers, criminologist, social scientists and the police. There are different opinions, view, perceptions and idea about the whole concept. Despite our perspectives and religious affiliations we need to find out the cause of women getting involved in sex trade, so that we can all roll our sleeves to provide a solution.
My mentee is 10 years old, and she’s a wonderful girl. We usually meet over ice cream or we include her in our family fun times. But this week our meeting took place under much different circumstances. On Friday I got a call from my mentee’s Mum, who was in tears. My mentee’s 9 year-old little brother had fallen at school and broken his arm. He’d been taken to the hospital, and the whole family was worried about him. Their stress was multiplied because the hospital was quite far from their home, it was already late afternoon and they don’t have a car.
I’ve been blessed with a car, so I rushed to their place and took the mother to see her son. He was a very brave boy, but he was obviously relieved to be with his mother again. The next day we visited him again, and this time my mentee came too. She was a doting big sister, and I was really touched to see the love and concern she was pouring out on him. As I was taking her home, she thanked me for being there for her family when they needed me most.
It occurred to me that mentorship is about more than just a relationship between two people. As a mentor, I am privileged to be part of the circle of support around a young person that is much bigger than myself. I must strive to have a good relationship with her family and her siblings. Sometimes being there for her means that I need to be there for those whom she loves. - Stacey Dlamini
Posted 1 year, 1 month ago at 7:46 am. Add a comment
‘…I am going to die, Desiré…’ This was the desperate cry of my mentee on the other side of the phone line at about 10:00 at night. ‘He’s going to kill me, she continues.
I was fast asleep when this call come in and did not know how to respond - confused I responded ‘no you will not die’. What I did not understand at that moment is that she could have died that evening. Maybe her stepfather beating her would not have killed her but the feeling of rejection, loneliness and total hate towards the man would have killed her. The idea of her mother choosing this man above her children would have killed her…but what was the real reason for this desperate cry. I believe and having spoken to my mentee that the real cry was the cry for safety, security and a life free of threat.
She is so tired of feeling afraid and alone and with no option but to survive this life. I had to come to the place where I ask myself do I give her another pep talk or do I do something practical…something that will protect/secure her life. I still don’t understand what I can do but I understand that she deserve a chance at life…a real chance.
What do you think? What do you do when you don’t understand young people?
Posted 1 year, 1 month ago at 9:26 am. Add a comment
We have a beach cottage on the Pondoland Wild Coast, and go there a few times a year at School holidays.
One day this skinny, scruffy looking 9 year old young boy, “Precious”, with the most enormous smile, came asking for work. We already had a helper and did not need him, but he very obviously needed us.
Mike said he could assist him with the general maintenance on the cottage. He cut the grass, a few overhanging branches and handed Mike the nails and tools, and watched.
He was paid, was well fed, given books and clothes, and was encouraged to continue his education and just generally made to feel important and special.
One time when Mike was buying new building material he took Precious to the “big Town” and spoilt him rotten. He took him to a Café for a milkshake and Burger, and bought him new clothes and shoes.
This work Precious happily did for many years. As he got older he progressed to being taught how to use the power tools, to drill and cut, and to float concrete, etc.
One holiday the men put in a drop loo, with Precious involved all the way! He helped dig the pit, level and mark the area, float the floor, put in the seat, the extractor pipes, and put on the roof.
Precious then disappeared.
He was next seen 3 years later in Durban, looking rather scruffy and homeless. We all greeted each other with joy, got the latest news, and he was given some money to “spoil Himself.”
4 years later we gave a lift to a neat and smart young man, who was wearing a jacket.
It was Precious!
He was overjoyed to see us, and enthusiastically spent the next half an hour filling us in on all the news, his dreams and his ambitions. He had worked in both Durban and Cape Town, had gone off the rails completely, and then realized he should come home and settle down.
He was currently building toilets for all and sundry, and was doing so well, he had stated to build a house and was considering taking a wife!
When we asked him where he had learnt this all he remarked with amazement “But baba, remember you taught me to build the toilet, and use the tools, so that is what I am doing now!”
Our little bit of care and teaching had helped this young man to feel good about himself, and to aspire to greater things than just being a herd boy.
We were so humbled! - Caro Smit
Posted 1 year, 1 month ago at 7:52 am. Add a comment
“To every man there comes in his lifetime that special moment when he is figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered a chance to do a very special thing, unique to him and fitted to his talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds him unprepared or unqualified for the work which would be his finest hour.” – Winston Churchill
Posted 1 year, 2 months ago at 9:32 pm. 2 comments
One day this skinny, scruffy looking 9 year old young boy, “Precious”, with the most enormous smile, came asking for work. We already had a helper and did not need him, but he very obviously needed us.