Through the eyes of a child.

After yesterday, when I really felt like I was on the fairground ride called 'Spinning cups' and was so desperate to get my feet on solid ground again and to stop my head spinning; I am having a quieter day today thank goodness. My husband had the morning off as we had yet more workmen coming so I wanted him to be present. He brings a sense of calmness to our home. He says he does not do anything, it does not matter, just his presence here has a calming effect on me and I think, dad too.

It made me think about others who have brought that sense of serenity and harmony to my life. I can remember there were two very special women who were part of my life during my early childhood years. The Church had a lady who cleaned the church building and our home. When I was born, they gave her more hours to help my Mum. Her name was Cynthia and she was from Lesotho. I vaguely remember her. She spent every weekday morning in our home. I think my Mum was struggling with postnatal depression and Cynthia was a wonderful help for her. She would clean, cook and look after me. My Mum told me she treated me as her own child.

Sadly, her children were at her family home in Lesotho being cared for by their grandmother. [The apartheid situation caused separation in many families like Cynthia's. The parents would go to work in the big cities and their children would be left behind to be looked after by extended family members.]

As a baby and toddler, she would place me on her back all snuggled up with a warm, cosy blanket wrapped around both of us to keep me in place while she moved. Held tightly and oh so safely in this way, she would complete her work, singing her way around our house. If she ever had any spare time from her other jobs, she would come to our house and take me out for long walks in the sunshine.

The second amazing woman in my life who was not my birth mother but also treated me like her own child, was the cleaner at my dad's next church. Her name was Sylvia. This church also gave her more hours to help my Mum. She became part of our family from when I was three to nine years old. So my memories of Sylvia are much clearer. She had a baby in Lesotho, living with her mother. Every Christmas, she would go home for a month long holiday. I remember her leaving for home and being heavily laden with a huge bag on her head and carrying a number of bags in each hand. These would be filled with clothes, toiletries and goodies for her family and toys for her daughter. My Mum used to ask me to go through my toys to see what I could give her each year. We could not afford to buy new toys for her sadly but being a 'church child', the congregation were always giving me toys and Mum would only let me keep a few anyway.

Sylvia lived on our manse property and I remember sitting on the rug on her room floor for hours while she sat on her bed. I just wanted to be with her. She made me feel calm and happy. That was a lot different to the feelings I would experience when I was with my parents. She would do one particular cleaning routine that sat uneasy with me then and still does today. This was a different time and place but I wonder if it is a continuing occurrence.

She would sit on her bed with a bowl of water on the floor and she would get a ball of steel wool. I wondered what she was going to do as there were no pots and pans around to scrub clean. She would start rubbing the soles of her feet with the steel wool. I remember asking what she was doing. She said she was cleaning her feet. She always walked around barefoot. I wondered why she used steel wool as she used a soft cloth when she bathed me. After a few minutes, I thought her feet must be very clean and told her so. But she would carry on scrubbing really hard and forcefully with a determined look on her face.

It worried and perplexed me. I was worried she was hurting herself. She noticed my concern and explained that she was trying to clean the soles of her feet so much that they would be pink like mine. I could not understand why she would want to do that. Our skin colours were different. She was a proud black African woman. Her skin was much darker than mine. Why would she want her feet to look like mine? The innocence and naivety of a child, hey?

That scenario has always stayed in my mind. I must have asked my Mum about it soon after the first time I saw it happening. And she explained it to me in a way I could understand at that young age. This must have been a daily occurrence for Sylvia as the soles of her feet were very pink. I had noticed them before but I was shocked to find out how she got them to be that colour. It made me sad. I wondered what else she did to be more like me. I wanted to be more like her. I wanted to be happy and cheerful like her with love in my eyes and soul for everyone.

Both Sylvia and Cynthia were such inspirational women in my life. I observed and learnt so much from them both, particularly their way of being with children, especially me. They were always so kind, gentle, happy and full of humour towards me. I thought that their children were so lucky to have them as Mothers.

Writing this, I have a deep sadness in my heart for their situation and their children but I also feel enormously privileged to have had them care for me like that. They were so selfless and it must have been so difficult for them but they did what they had to do and that was to work and earn money to send to their family. They made the most of their lives and they showed me boundless amounts of love and affection. I did not receive much affection from my own parents and maybe they noticed that. So they did something about it.

My Mum was always honest with me about people's lives and hardships and so she made sure I knew the truth and the severity of their almost severed ties with their own children as soon as I could understand. I really feel honoured to have had these two amazing women in my life. There I was, an innocent young child, being brought up by two wonderful women, amongst others, who were in their own world of sadness, hurt and harsh reality.