By Kevin Allen
I guess the first time I ever saw Zululand was when I watched the classic film Zulu as a child, watching in awe how a small group of heroic British troops beat off the mighty Zulu race.
How could I know then, that twenty-five years later I would be standing in Zululand, Natal, helping the Zulu people still struggling as a result of this long forgotten conflict, and now devastated by a pandemic.
My journey started in February 2005, when I saw the terrible plight of AIDS orphans in South Africa on a TV documentary.
I watched in horror as a young boy witness his father die of AIDS in front of his eyes. He had to walk miles back to his home, a filthy mud hut with no running water, gas or electricity. Distraught and starving, he soon broke down in tears - so did I. His mother had already died of AIDS a year early and his brave sister, aged only 11, tried to comfort him in vain.
The documentary continued, and so did the scenes of despair and inhumanity, which we were told were being played out a thousand times a day across Africa.
The AIDS pandemic had orphaned over three quarters of a million children in South Africa alone. I simply could not accept that no one would help these poor children.
I’m not religious and I don’t go to church - but I found myself angrily arguing with God asking why he allowed this to happen – a voice in my head said back - "Why do you?"
I knew from that instant I would not.
Six days later I was standing in rural Nkandla, Zululand, feeding the children I had watched suffering on TV just days earlier.
The hardest part of the journey was getting over the inhibition to just get up and go. I lived in a small terraced house in a poor area of Merseyside at the time, and my life saving totalled little more than £1,500. Worst still, I had to leave my wife, my children, my family, my friends and my work – and I could not explain to anyone why.
As I packed my case full of children’s clothes, toys and medicine, my only thoughts were to find the young Zulu boy called Sne, and save him. But as I left home I didn’t have a clue where I was going – and I had had no time to get inoculated or to take malaria tablets.
It took three planes, two days travel, and a gruelling six hour drive across rough terrain before I arrived in Zululand. The TV documentary had named a Catholic nun, Sister Hedwig, who lived in a small town called Nkandla, helping the sick and caring for the thousands of children left behind, and I had decided my best chance of finding Sne was to contact her.
The journey into Zululand was a quest in itself. Trying to get a taxi from Durban to Zululand is a bit like landing at Edinburgh airport and asking a taxi driver can he help you find a convent in London without having the address of were you actually want to go!
What I can say of this incredible taxi journey was that the taxi driver, David, who agreed to take me on a one way journey into Nkandla, stayed with me for the next two days, at no cost, acting as driver, interpreter, security guard, historian and helper and friend to all the children we met.
After driving for hours along the beautiful South African coast, the roads slowly turned to tracks, and as the tarmac ended, so did the running water, the electricity, proper housing, access to food and healthcare.
As we drove, David kept stopping at road side stalls so that I could buy fruit from the improvised trades. The fruit costs pennies – but the people needed the money so badly I bought lots. In the end the taxi was full of hundreds of bananas, so we started to give the fruit out to hungry children as we past them on the roadside.
We finally arrived in Nkandla and somehow found the convent. The sisters were a little surprised to see us when we arrived late at night, but I gave them my suitcase of clothes and the little money I had brought and they kindly took us in for the night.
I explained that I had seen the children’s plight on TV a few days earlier and had felt compelled to help in any way I could. We talked for a while and it wasn’t long before I realised that this small convent of ten incredible nuns, was the first, last, and only hope for the 140,000 forgotten Zulu’s who lived in there.
The nuns estimated that 100,000 Zulus in the area were dying of AIDS, and said many were dying of TB too. Almost all the people lived in poverty, in mud huts without water or electricity, and around 95% of the population was unemployed.
Of the 100,000 Zulus with aids in Nkandla, the South African government was only providing anti-aids drugs for just TEN people. And these were only on a trial basis!
The nuns did all they could to help people, comforting the dying and supporting the living - giving small food parcels to young hungry orphans whenever they could. But they knew they were losing the battle to save this doomed Zulu community.
The next day the nuns said they would help me try and trace some of the orphans I had seen on television only a few days earlier, including Sne.
It wasn’t long before we found the Lindiwe family, whom I had seen on TV. Lindiwe was a poor mother dying of aids desperately trying feed thirteen children, many of which she had taken in after their parents had died of AIDS.
When I entered Lindiwe huts, she was lying on the floor on a mat, obviously very ill.
I past around bananas and sweets, and gave out the children’s clothes and toys I had brought. It was very humbling to see the immense happiness this small act brought to the children’s faces. But then they had not eaten that day, and by the time I left Lindiwe, she had got to her feet was dancing and singing in happiness.
As we travelled, I bought hundreds more bananas gave them to hungry children we past. The local Zulus and the nuns started calling me Banana Man, a name which would later stick.
We travelled further and eventually found a small school which Sne may be attending. Each class was packed full with up to 140 children; they stood toe to toe and could not move, and had no desks or chairs, or paper or pens to write with.
The sisters explained many had not been fed that day, and many were AIDS orphans who would have to beg for food to survive. Yet it would only cost 4p per head to do so.
We continued our travels and miraculously found Sne deep in a valley. It was incredible to have found him at all, within the hundreds of miles valleys and hills, and I was finally able to give him food, clothes and some toys.
Sne was safe, and the nuns now look after him and him sister, but all too soon I had to return home, vowing I would do all I could to help these forgotten people.
I returned home with the maddening knowledge that it only cost 4p to feed a starving child for a day.
My small terraced house with big mortgage was already up for sale when I had left for Africa, and on my return it quickly sold and we rented a house in a nicer area instead of buying again.
With some of the sale proceeds I was able to return to Zululand and set up Food to School programmes with the nuns. Today, these have provided over quarter of a million school meals of fresh fruit to hungry children.
But many more are in need of help and I have now set up Banana Appeal to raise £40,000 to provide One Million school meals over the next twelve months.
Money which is well spent, given that with just 4p we can:
- Feed a hungry child fresh fruit for a day at school.
- Encourage them to attend school, which helps them gain an education.
- The school then provides a stable environment and access to social carers.
- Being fed brings the children out of prostitution, which they do simply to buy food.
- This in turn stops the children from contracting AIDS and other diseases...
- which has improved their mental and physical health dramatically...
- whilst giving the children a ray of hope and a chance of a better future.
- and giving a parent dying of AIDS some comfort that their children won’t fall into a cycle of abuse - but be fed, educated and looked after, once they have died.
- All whilst providing vital trade to the fruit sellers and the local economy, which desperately needs the business.
- And uplifts the spirits of an entire forgotten community, who have been condemned to death by inhumane neglect.
Today I am know as Banana Man by thousands of Zulus and to sustain the project I have taken on an additional part-time job to continue paying for fruit which today feeds over 1,000 hungry children daily.
Some people say I am crazy – and maybe I’m bananas. But the experience has changed me and I know what is important in live, and what is not. I have learnt how little it takes to change a life and have taken control of my own destiny, which is a very enriching experience.
If you would like to learn more about the Banana Appeal, please visit www.BananaAppeal.org or email Kev@BananaAppeal.org
