A few months ago I committed to helping Sthe, the founder and director of Izimbali Zesizwe, revive her organization and be a more effective leader. As with most things in South Africa, this started with friendly conversation. On Sundays, after my art class concludes, I sit with Sthe and we talk.
Often times, it takes quite a while and a some gentle coaxing before Sthe finally shares pertinent information. Despite my best efforts, I frequently wander off into my own thoughts while Sthe meanders her way to a point. In these lapses of attention I have missed crucial information, the latest of which is the story behind "the bequest".
For months Sthe has spoken about "money from the bequest" as if I knew what it was. She generally assumes I know more than I do. I went along with this, assuring myself it would make sense in due time. The money had been used to purchase essential operational supplies, like a new printer with built in scanner/copier and a filing system, and most recently (to my pleasant surprise), a new, tiled floor in the garage. Whatever this bequest was, she seemed to be putting it to good use. I left it at that.
This week, Sthe and I were discussing structural improvements – extending the back of the garage to allow for storage and office space. (Ultimately, Izimbali Zesizwe needs to move out of Sthe's garage and into a dedicated facility, but until then, we have to work with what we've got.) The budget for the year only modestly covers program and operational costs – no room for construction. I suggested submitting an additional proposal to the main (only) donors or applying for small community grants. Finally I asked, "What about the bequest?" This mysterious cache had gone towards so many other things. Why not a pile of bricks and some concrete? Sthe stared down at her hands and did not respond. I waited.
Sthe finally looked up and began to speak, slowly and with great care. I steeled myself to listen intently to every word.
She explained that the bequest, a substantial sum, came to Izimbali Zesizwe upon the passing of an elderly man from the community who wished to donate a portion of his legacy to local non-profit. His widow chose Izimbali Zesizwe, hopeful that Sthe would use the money to build a bigger kitchen and an office to support the growing number of children who relied on Sthe for help. An architect came and surveyed the property. Plans were drawn. For a brief, happy time the additional space that Sthe has desperately needed was within sight. Then, the neighbors got involved.
Suddenly, it was no longer acceptable for Sthe to use the bequest to build a bigger kitchen. What would happen when she died or if Izimbali Zesizwe closed? Her family would have a nice house with a nice kitchen that was no longer supporting the community – unacceptable. The donor would be angry. There would be consequences.
Sthe terminated all plans for construction. Izimbali Zesizwe would not be improving its facilities or capacity to deliver free service to the community as long as the neighbors had something to say about it. Sthe was scared into holding back.
This is not uncommon. In fact, it is quite the contrary. In community's like Sthe's and throughout KZN there is an epidemic of vitriolic jealousy. If I can't have a nice, big kitchen, than neither can you. If you're down, you're expected to stay down, and heaven help you if you attempt, or even think otherwise.
When Sthe finished the story, I asked, "Do you believe that the donor would be angry if you built a kitchen for Izimbali Zesizwe on your property?" She wasn't sure. The same woman who gave money to Izimbali Zesizwe, hoping it would be used to build a kitchen on Sthe's property, might be angry if in fact a kitchen was built. Why? Because the neighbors said so.
Finally, I asked, "Sthe, if you could pay for a new kitchen, an office, and storage space out of your own pocket, would you?" She shook her head. "Are you scared?" She answered, "Yes."
Until Izimbali Zesizwe finds funding to build a facility outside of Sthe's property, all improvements must be kept indoors, where jealous neighbors can't see them.
Often times, it takes quite a while and a some gentle coaxing before Sthe finally shares pertinent information. Despite my best efforts, I frequently wander off into my own thoughts while Sthe meanders her way to a point. In these lapses of attention I have missed crucial information, the latest of which is the story behind "the bequest".
For months Sthe has spoken about "money from the bequest" as if I knew what it was. She generally assumes I know more than I do. I went along with this, assuring myself it would make sense in due time. The money had been used to purchase essential operational supplies, like a new printer with built in scanner/copier and a filing system, and most recently (to my pleasant surprise), a new, tiled floor in the garage. Whatever this bequest was, she seemed to be putting it to good use. I left it at that.
This week, Sthe and I were discussing structural improvements – extending the back of the garage to allow for storage and office space. (Ultimately, Izimbali Zesizwe needs to move out of Sthe's garage and into a dedicated facility, but until then, we have to work with what we've got.) The budget for the year only modestly covers program and operational costs – no room for construction. I suggested submitting an additional proposal to the main (only) donors or applying for small community grants. Finally I asked, "What about the bequest?" This mysterious cache had gone towards so many other things. Why not a pile of bricks and some concrete? Sthe stared down at her hands and did not respond. I waited.
Sthe finally looked up and began to speak, slowly and with great care. I steeled myself to listen intently to every word.
She explained that the bequest, a substantial sum, came to Izimbali Zesizwe upon the passing of an elderly man from the community who wished to donate a portion of his legacy to local non-profit. His widow chose Izimbali Zesizwe, hopeful that Sthe would use the money to build a bigger kitchen and an office to support the growing number of children who relied on Sthe for help. An architect came and surveyed the property. Plans were drawn. For a brief, happy time the additional space that Sthe has desperately needed was within sight. Then, the neighbors got involved.
Suddenly, it was no longer acceptable for Sthe to use the bequest to build a bigger kitchen. What would happen when she died or if Izimbali Zesizwe closed? Her family would have a nice house with a nice kitchen that was no longer supporting the community – unacceptable. The donor would be angry. There would be consequences.
Sthe terminated all plans for construction. Izimbali Zesizwe would not be improving its facilities or capacity to deliver free service to the community as long as the neighbors had something to say about it. Sthe was scared into holding back.
This is not uncommon. In fact, it is quite the contrary. In community's like Sthe's and throughout KZN there is an epidemic of vitriolic jealousy. If I can't have a nice, big kitchen, than neither can you. If you're down, you're expected to stay down, and heaven help you if you attempt, or even think otherwise.
When Sthe finished the story, I asked, "Do you believe that the donor would be angry if you built a kitchen for Izimbali Zesizwe on your property?" She wasn't sure. The same woman who gave money to Izimbali Zesizwe, hoping it would be used to build a kitchen on Sthe's property, might be angry if in fact a kitchen was built. Why? Because the neighbors said so.
Finally, I asked, "Sthe, if you could pay for a new kitchen, an office, and storage space out of your own pocket, would you?" She shook her head. "Are you scared?" She answered, "Yes."
Until Izimbali Zesizwe finds funding to build a facility outside of Sthe's property, all improvements must be kept indoors, where jealous neighbors can't see them.
so sad
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