I took every moment for granted.
I don't know if this world is ever going to change. I will prayerfully try until I die. Even if it doesn't, all I want is to sit with my children and love them. Everyday at Mohau, I would watch the clock slowly approach four o'clock because I knew I could leave and go home to rest. I am riddled with guilt. I wish I could hold them for longer. I wish I hadn't taken every moment for granted. I wish I had loved faster.

Everyday I became dirtier and dirtier. I was never clean. I never wanted to be. I would wash the grease, the oils but the dirt remained. The dust settles and never leaves you. I really do not intend the dirt to be metaphorical. I literally want to sit in the dirt. I want to be blanketed by the familiarity of the dust. I long for the moments of sitting along side my children attempting to learn a foreign childhood game, crouching beneath the trees as they read to me.

I miss the moments of mischief. I have never been a very good discipliner perhaps because I love to watch children misbehave. I remember vividly singing with Ernie as I watched several of the children, instigated by Praisewell, filling pales with sand and peeing into them to make the sand moist. I remember watching as they turned the faucet on that they were strictly not allowed anywhere near. Or drinking from the juice that was allotted specifically for the Mamas.
I loved to watch as they would climb too high. I loved when too high became just right. I took every moment and every child for granted. How do you say goodbye to children that become your own? I want to sit in the dirt of Mohau's playground once again.
Busiswe. Xolani. Enest. Golden. Dimakatso. Tshepong. Nthabiseng. Thlasani. Letabho. lebo. Thabo. Xolani. Praisewell. Thulani. Offentse. Lebo. Dipuo. Refentse. Nonthlanthla. Siyabonga. Gontse. Stanley. Solly. Rose. Mpho. Thomas. Sphupmelelo. Zizibele. Dimakatso. Koketso. David. Erik. Koketso. Matome. Refilwe. Gethmedse. Sammy. Reba. Andreis.
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