Cape Town - After almost a year of planning and trying to find time, I finally managed to spend some time in the Red Cross Children’s Hospital Burns Unit.
It was the day before my birthday. I planned to visit during my annual leave so I could spend as much time as I needed with the children in the ward.
Arriving shortly before sunrise on a rainy Tuesday, I made my way up to the unit with the nurses as they were starting their shifts.
Walking through the double doors into a sterilised area, I washed my hands – twice – and donned a plastic apron and surgical cap.
As I walked down the main corridor, two big brown eyes sticking out from beneath a heavily bandaged head looked up at me. I smiled and waved and the child smiled and gave a small wave with her severely burnt hand.
After a few hours of walking around the ward, feeling the atmosphere and photographing a few procedures, I noticed the brown-eyed girl was getting ready for the day’s first session of physiotherapy.
She was bandaged to a walking frame and crying slightly, but after some encouragement she was soon charging through the ward to the rehabilitation room.
This is how I met Michelle Motibi.
The staff told me her story as I walked behind her, and I couldn’t believe it.
I sat down with her and cheered for her as she passed a ball to the physiotherapist – this session was playtime for her. She unpacked cupboards and played with everything she could find: building blocks, table tennis paddles, dolls and, her favourite, a mop.
Every now and then Michelle would stop what she was doing and pose for a picture. She would hobble over to me and stare at the screen on the back of my camera and smile at the photo of her. As the day went on, I spent more and more time with Michelle. I became “Oom” to her.
Eight hours after arriving at the ward it was time to head off. I said my goodbyes to the staff and went in to see Michelle, who was in tears because she had to go for her second session of physiotherapy for the day.
She did not want to go.
The staff tried to persuade her and she finally agreed, saying: “As oom kom saam dan sal ek gaan (If uncle comes along, I will go).”
I sat through one last session of physio with her while she made a painting, then walked with her back to her room while nurses told me stories of her adventures around the ward.
I popped by a few weeks later to check up on Michelle and she was sitting in the ward, dressed in pink and eating “slap chips”. No longer limping, she danced around the room for a while blowing a whistle.
Her spirit is relentless.
There is nothing that will stand in this little girl’s way.
Cape Argus