After trying to meet up at a number of different times and places, Ngoie and I were finally able to sit down and talk this past Monday. She is #5 of 8 children and has lived all over Africa: DRC (Democratic Republic of the Congo), Burundi, Tanzania, Mozambique, and now South Africa. Her family was constantly on the move as they fled war, running as refugees in the middle of the night from country to country. As it pertains to my assignment, I have "an injustice", but it wasn't war that brought me to tears as she shared her story.
While living in a refugee camp in Mozambique, her mom kept going to the doctor but they couldn't figure out what was wrong. She was still breastfeeding Ngoie's youngest brother, which probably didn't help in trying to diagnose the problem. It was finally decided by the family that Ngoie's mom would go to South Africa and it was here in 2001 that she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Ngoie was only 11 years old when her mom passed away.
And I sat there, unable to contain my tears. I wanted to comfort a hurting 11 year old girl and, at the same time, I wanted to scream in anger that, because of where they lived and their circumstances, Ngoie's mom was not diagnosed or treated in enough time to maybe save her life. We sat in silence and then Ngoie asked me if I was o.k. I have not lived through war or lost my mom to breast cancer and she's the one asking me if I'm o.k.
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