Janie's First Botshabelo Intake

Well, I said at the end of the last post that my first intake experience was a story for another post, so here 'tis!

[I'm going to preface this post by saying that I've not included every detail (excluding, of course, any identifying information) of the clients or the experience. Not everything is safe or appropriate to publish on the internet (are you listening, kids?) and this family's story is no exception.]

The process began last Thursday. That afternoon, a man brought his elderly neighbor to ask for help with the four children he was taking care of by himself. To begin with, Marion asked me take a family history and put together a family tree for the children and the old man. The man who brought him in helped translate, and although the old man managed to remember most names, he said he couldn’t remember many dates. Once that was done, Marion joined us for a more thorough interview. he told us that he was looking after his own two-year-old son and three other children who belonged to his ex-girlfriend’s daughter all on his own. He said he hadn’t heard from the three sibling’s mother since she left them there two years ago, but that she’d told him that she needed to look for work. He eventually revealed that he had absolutely no paperwork for any of them. It was clear that the children were in imminent danger as they had not been to school, were often left home alone, and all depending on the small and sporadic income of this single, elderly, retired man. Eventually, it was agreed that the children should come to Botshabelo and transport was arranged for the weekend.

Sunday afternoon the man who'd brought them in was back. The group of people he brought with him, however, looked very different from the one described by the old man a few days earlier. There were five children instead of four. The old man was apparently sick and unable to travel, so he sent a woman who introduced herself as his sister, whom he had mentioned a few days earlier when we were putting together the family tree.

Something felt . . . off.

Marion came to interview this new adult and over the course of the next few hours we heard at least four different stories of who these children were, how they were related and to whom, and what the family was asking. My notes go on for pages and probably 20% of it is close to some version of the truth. In one version of the story, early on, Marion realized that the woman wasn’t the old man's sister at all, but in fact his ex- or current girlfriend who was also supposed to be the three sibling’s grandmother. Further complicating matters, we learned that her daughter, the children’s mother, was not completely out of the picture. In fact, she called repeatedly throughout our meeting. In another version of the story, the groupings of siblings changed. Their neighbor who had first suggested Botshabelo was completely flabbergasted. He’d had no idea the intricate lies he’d been told or to which he’d been a witness. It was a gigantic mess, but at the very least it was obvious that something wasn’t right.

Finally, Marion was able to talk to the two oldest children alone. The rest of us cleared out of the room for a bit because they were clearly intimidated. It appears that none of the children may actually be related to one another and have all been abandoned. It’s also apparent that the oldest children have been looking after themselves and the three babies, including cooking, bathing, and dressing. The oldest is actually about an inch and a half shorter than the next oldest boy, who is five years younger. I couldn’t think of a more impactful example of the effect of chronic trauma on a young body.

When it was time to call the adults back in the “grandmother” was told that we would take all of the children. She seemed relieved and thanked all of us. I doubt very much that we’ll ever see or hear from her again, but you never know.

Almost as soon as the car pulled away, I watched the countenances of both older kids relax. Smiles spread across their faces throughout the evening. By nightfall, when I was helping inventory their clothing and other things they'd brought with them, they were running and playing and laughing with the other kids. It was both profoundly sad and full of promise.

Truly, this is just one example of the profound generosity and kindness I have witnessed here. There were a few questions, but never any about whether or not these kids would have a place here at Botshabelo. Their safety, healing, and the chance to be children were all that truly mattered.