Guardian angels wear blue

FOUR dedicated policemen who don’t want to be identified because ‘it is not about us’, spoke to the Zululand Observer about the high levels of poverty, need and helplessness in the deepest rural areas of Zululand.

Today (Thursday) they will be delivering blankets to the Nkosi Sihawukele Disable Centre, home to several mentally and physically disabled children.

Forgotten by society in a poverty-stricken township, the children were rescued by Nomusa Mbatha, a remarkable woman with an extraordinary story.

Often such children are tied to trees, chained up, or, like them, locked alone inside their homesteads without food or water.

But Nomusa says, ‘God had mercy on them and dispatched His guardian angels, such as the men in blue, to bring relief.’

To help drive away the winter cold, the police officers have secured a large blanket donation through Bev Bevan of Zululand Ambassador of 67 blankets.

They were motivated by the heart-breaking scenes they witness when out on duty. The children always suffer the most,’ says one officer.

They are big men – capable, fierce, armed and formidable.

Judging by their age and physique, they have fought many battles and survived.

They have conquered divisions and bridged gaps in the communities they serve.

But instead of turning hard and cynical because of the untold horrors they witness in the line of duty, they have become deeply compassionate towards the poor and the vulnerable.

Their silent camaraderie and private jokes speak volumes – friends serving justice, keeping peace and helping where they can.

When the men speak about the children, eyes glisten and expressions soften.

‘There are little children without pants. They wear torn T-shirts only.

Cardboard shoes
‘Their shoes are so worn out, they put torn cardboard inside the soles to walk through the thorny fields.

‘One little girl was stamping five mealies. I asked her what she was doing and where she was from.

‘She said they are 11 children in the care of their 93-year-old grandmother. The mealies were stamped to cook porridge for supper, their only meal for the day.

‘We saw four children doing maths on the bonnet of an old car.’

The big man looks away to find his voice. He is going back there with a plan.

They speak of the repeated rape of the mentally disabled and the plight of the countless HIV/Aids orphans.

‘They have no chance in life whatsoever. We try to do what we can, but it is impossible to help everyone.’

But they make plans – innovative, practical and implementable.

At the house the children smile – they are not afraid or intimidated by the blue giants. They respond instinctively to the kindness.

The men silently watch as Nomusa and her helpers wrap a colourful blanket around each child.

Big warriors and small women bonded by tiny helpless hands, matchstick legs and big dark eyes.
When the camera comes out, they step back.

‘It is not our story. It is about the children and about this woman. Write her story, it must be told.’

The Zulu warrior interprets patiently and word for word, the big man listens closely, with two on watch outside. Her story becomes theirs.

They are the true heroes and words cannot do them justice.