#well now the woman is in a home receiving care for alzheimers which is horrible; not least because she’s only about 50

[fingertipsmp3]

People need to train their dogs and I’m not asking nicely anymore

[mayphoenix]

...with Long Intervals Of Horrible Sanity turned 9 today! Wow -- nine years! Where has the time gone? I should give an update. My life has taken on great changes. I am still living in the same apartment, still going through the same battles with housing and food assistance (they cut the latter and I’m getting $100/mo to buy groceries). My eldest cat has renal failure and pancreatitis and I have no idea how much longer he will be with me, so I am cherishing every day. Not to be outdone, two other cats decided they needed to have costly trips to the vet, one with a middle ear infection brought on by food allergy, which I’m now treating at home, and another who had to have all but four of her teeth extracted. I had to put my ghostwriting on hold for fear of losing rent assistance -- back in 2017, I was told it didn’t count as “regular” income, but then in 2018 I got a new caseworker who said all income counts, but now I’m back to the previous caseworker and she refuses to return my calls or answer my emails, and calling the main number is useless because it routes directly to a voicemail box that’s always full.  Back in November 2017, I received Kona, a 2002 Subaru Impreza Sport from a friend who could no longer drive (medically). She knew I needed a car, so she just gave it to me. Original owner, she had put 38K miles on this vehicle. Mechanics everywhere have said, “That car will outlive you!” Yeah, well...unfortunately, this particular make/model/year of Subaru comes with what one website calls The Dreaded Head Gasket Problem. It is inevitable, and last winter I noticed a lot of odd-smelling exhaust coming from Kona that smelled of burning coolant. I had the radiator and thermostat replaced, and was told there was a leak somewhere. A few months ago, another mechanic found this tiny leak. I am told I can still drive as long as I watch the coolant level and temp gauge, and what to do if she overheats. Meanwhile, the Check Engine light is on because the O2 sensor has gone out, and now there is a squealing sound which I know means a bad belt somewhere. And the brakes are getting soft, too. I was quoted over $1800 for the head gasket repair and O2 sensor which entails taking out the engine, fixing it, and putting it back in. I’ve already had to replace two tires (and on an AWD, you have to have all tires matching -- come to find out, they have discontinued this tire so I got two of the last new ones in existence). This “free” car has already required over $1000 in work. And it’s all I’ve got so I have to do what I can to make sure she keeps going. Now, I don’t know if I’ve talked about this, before, but I do have a spiritual side to me. It’s not conventional by any means. I don’t subscribe to any one religion. But I always knew I was a natural healer (laying on of hands, energy work) and came from a long line of witches (going back to my Pictish ancestors and Native American roots; my great-great-grandfather was a medicine man). I used to do this for as long as I can remember, drawn to people in pain and using something inside me to take it away and make them better. I never knew there was a name for it, until one day someone saw me working on a friend’s migraine and asked, “Where did you learn Reiki?” My reply was, “What’s ‘Reiki?’” I had a very dark period in my life about 15 years or so ago where I shut down, though, withdrew into myself, because I was so depressed and suffering from undiagnosed PTSD and anxiety/panic disorder. I was so afraid I would pass my sickness on to someone else, so I stopped healing. Following the end of my marriage in 2010 and being on my own for the first time in my life, I went through several surgeries and was put on different medications for various ailments, some of which nearly killed me. I also had a few TIAs (mini-strokes). The only thing keeping me from ending my life was knowing my cats needed me around to care for them. Also, I found out my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but then six months later during a follow-up, the doctors at U of M Ann Arbor said, “It’s not Alzheimer’s, we don’t know what it is.” (Note: based on her behavior, it may be Vascular Dementia but that can’t be diagnosed until after death -- so for now, we just know it’s dementia.) And then right before Christmas 2017, I got fed up with the repeating cycle of being used and abused by my sister, prompting me to cut ties with her, and my eldest niece told me to go fuck myself, leaving me pretty much on my own. Well, Life has a way of making things fall into place whether you like it or not. After all the shit I was going through with the TIAs and getting my cholesterol under control (I’ve put myself on a low-carb diet), my chiropractor told me out of the blue, “You should go into Reiki.” Damn, there’s that word, again... He said there was a guy named Adam, a massage therapist and Reiki Master, who rented space from him twice a week; I should talk to him. Well, Adam was never in when I would go for my appointments. One day, my friend Keith who volunteers at the local Gilda’s Club said I should look into their free workshops for yoga, meditation, and tai chi. I figured this might be good to help with my stress levels, at the very least, so I checked their calendar -- and there was someone offering free Reiki at the end of the month. I went in and immediately felt something happen, just being in the room with this woman. It was like being inside a Tesla coil. I began telling her things -- about her, like her childhood, etc, that she confirmed. And I began to cry. Not out of sadness but release. She said when I walked into the room I had an entourage of spirits with me -- guides, angels, light beings -- more than she’d ever seen, before. She got me on the table and while she never once actually touched me, I could feel pain, like she was physically pulling on me. What she was doing was pulling things out of me. She found his large cord attached at my solar plexus chakra and said, “You are attached to past trauma.” Oh, yes...yes, indeed. I told her to cut the cord and I felt it. It made me cry out, it hurt so much, but then afterward...I felt different. Something had changed.  A week or so later, I went to my next chiropractic appointment, and when I stepped out of the exam room, I turned and saw this young man standing in the hall, looking right at me. I just stopped and said, “You’re Adam.” He said yes. “You’re a Reiki Master.” He said yes. “We need to talk,” I said. And he showed me into his room, where we spent an hour talking. I noticed he seemed nervous. He said, “I’m always nervous in the presence of a great healer.” Who, me? He said he could ‘feel’ my energy. He then recommended I go to Jodi, the Reiki Master who taught him. I found her place of business online and saw that they did monthly “Open Reiki Shares” where people just get together and work on each other in a group, for free. One of these sessions was coming up. I decided to go and see what it was about. What happened that day...it was incredible. Not only was I healing but I was tapping into the minds of these other people, seeing what they were seeing. Then they got me on the table and the Master seated at my head began to shake. She said, “You’re not an Old Soul -- you’re ancient, and you come from a place across the universe.” Well, I already knew that...but no one else had ever acknowledged it, until that moment. Someone picked up on the fact that I’m a writer, and then another Master said, “She is a Storyteller, and she is going to help others with her words.” Cryptic! They also said they saw a mass of spirits around me, and one of them said that there was a guide who had yet to reveal itself to me but would do so soon. I signed up that day to take Jodi’s Reiki I & II course. When the time came, I found myself learning things I already knew, things I already did, and I understood after all these years why people thought I knew Reiki -- because I had been doing it, all along. Even my chiropractor, who is an empath and a healer, sensed it in me. During the attunement, as I had my eyes closed, I “saw” a dragon look down over my head at me while Jodi was behind me. I had been told she had a Dragon guide, so I figured that was him. I even looked up and said, “Hello!” I cannot begin to describe how it felt to be attuned, and how I have felt ever since. I called my friend Seth, a massage therapist and a powerful healer in her own right who is studying shamanism, and she said it sounded like I was tripping. I was seeing everything in such sharp focus, hearing things, aware on so many levels. Jodi had asked me if I experienced anything during the attunement and I mentioned seeing her dragon. She just grinned and said no, he was my Dragon. Now, please note: in the late 90′s, I attended a drumming circle class where we all went on an inner journey to meet different spirit guides, and the one that appeared to me was a Phoenix. Back then, I figured he represented that part of me that was always getting burned up and somehow rising from the ashes. I even got a tattoo of the bird on my back. Well, now I have a Phoenix and a Dragon -- in Chinese, these are the balance of Yin and Yang. Coincidentally, my first tattoo was a yin-yang, and one of the first rings I ever bought was a yin-yang with the OM symbol on either side. It would also explain why, after being attuned, I had a sudden craving for Chinese food... I have since learned the purpose of these guides. The Phoenix is used in long-distance healing when I send Reiki out to others, and the Dragon protects me while I do my work. He will also “encase” me or other people in eggs of protection. The Phoenix takes his duties very seriously, while the Dragon...is a bit of a diva. He’s also a shape-shifter because I’ve seen him in full reptilian form and in human form with wings. I have many other animal totems but these two are connected to my healing abilities and now that I’ve come back to that aspect of who I am, I find that they represent the dual sides of me -- Two-Spirit. The Phoenix is still me as I reinvent myself, refusing to be destroyed. I used to be so timid and when I screamed in anger I sounded like a wounded animal; now when I’m angry, my Dragon roars through me, refusing to take shit from anyone.  Life has changed for me so much since this all happened. We are in a time of Awakening and Transition, and I’m seeing it all around me even as I, myself, am going through it. I have people asking for my help -- “Please send me Reiki!” from all over. And I do. I’ve been using it on my cats. I’ve used it on myself. It’s incredible. I have been changing the vibration in my home, making it brighter, more colorful, inspirational. I have been finding old jewelry and wearing it (that’s the Dragon, show-off that he is with his bling!). I have been pushing myself out of my comfort zone and spending more time at Gilda’s, where I hope to offer free Reiki once a month to those who need it. I am also hoping to get a portable massage table so I can do Reiki housecalls. I’ve even joined a local group of professional writers that gets together once a month. I have started to wean off of one of my medications (Klonopin) which has been rough but I knew I had to stop when I began to notice an occurrence of bad side effects and found that it could do a lot of long-term damage to other parts of my body. I am doing meditation, now, which helps.  I am also preparing to set up a Patreon in order to fund my writing so I can get my first novel out -- somewhat autobiographical, it has been years in the works and deals with surviving narcissists and finding one’s path in life, it’s called The Dragon in the Garden. (I came up with the title ages ago; little did I know...) I have a sequel plotted, and then another book set in New Orleans with different characters. All of these are mine, not ghostwritten, but I can’t use my own name because two other authors have published under variations, so I’ve come up with something else that will serve.  Bit by bit, things are falling into place. But you know the most important part of all of this? I am not stressing out, anymore. I have decided to live in the moment, and see anything ahead of me is positive. Yes, I am concerned about the state of the planet, about the children in concentration camps, about the madman running the country...I am aware. My head is not in the sand nor in the stars. I remain a realist. But I can do that and focus my energy on making things happen for the better. I am being the change I wish to see in the world. I am putting out what I want to receive; instead of calling negativity to me, I am sending out positive energy. I cannot deny the results, the changes that have happened since I started to do this. It’s good. Very good. Recently, I volunteered to make a journey to Mississippi, driving a rental car down to the Gulf of Mexico and back in three days (18 hours driving down, 21 hours driving back), to rescue some kittens that were about to be abandoned and bring them to a local foster group. I saw this as an opportunity to do a Medicine Walk/Spirit Journey. I saw so many signs along the way, received messages, and learned things about myself. I had my eyes opened to people around me, those who would deceive and manipulate. And I had a lot of time to think. I discovered new levels of forgiveness within me, and how to release what is no longer of use or importance. It makes things so much better, so much simpler. I have wasted too many years worrying about stuff and nonsense. 

Oh, I still have limitations -- physical and mental. As my Reiki Masters have all told me, every healer is damaged in some way. I envision myself as a work of kintsugi, the Japanese art of putting broken pottery back together with gold. I am not perfect and never will claim to be. But I know that I am One with the Divine, Source, Creator Energy, God/Goddess/All That Is. I am on the right path -- and maybe I always was. I just had to go through some dark and scary places along the way in order to be where I am, now.  Namaste!

[witch-diaries]

“April 9 2018: Later

Today was insane! I can’t believe I was capable of something so amazing. I feel somewhat overwhelmed with all this information that I learned today... At work I practiced with the pendulum on my breaks, getting used to the feel of its swing and the energy I felt pass through my left palm (I hold the pendulum chain with my right hand and my left is cupping underneath). With practice, it became easier to use. I had to be careful I didn’t overuse it though... I don’t want mine to break like Loryns did. 

Today Four fantastic things happened and I will write them in sequence;

When I got home I lit some candles and saged the room and my grandmother and I gathered at the kitchen table to perform a seance... With myself acting as the medium. I had never done one before so I had no idea how it would go. Earlier in the day, I made a dowsing chart with every letter of the alphabet and the numbers 0 through 9, I’ll post an image of it later. 

We sat at the table and managed to contact 4 different spirits. 

The first spirit we contacted was the older woman that haunts our apartment, she is warm and kind and she smells of Jasmine and lavender, she has short white hair to her shoulders and wears a nightgown. She likes to be in the kitchen when people are cooking as if judging the pasta abominations I create. I adore her. Now my grandmother and I didn’t know her name... Only that it started with an “E”, after having a brief conversation with her (yes/no answers) we got her to spell her name out for us on my dowsing chart by pushing the pendulum to different letters. She told us her name was “Ellie” and she seemed delighted to have someone finally take the time to ask her. I felt a little tired after the conversation with her but we kept going.

The Second spirit we contacted was a man named Jack. Jack used to live in our building, (his wife is still alive and lives a floor above us). He wears an old-fashioned fedora and a tweed suit with leather elbow pads. He has a tendency to jump out at people in the elevator and to give them a good scare, or just hang out to chat. I like him a lot, he was very warm and kind and had a good sense of humor. He watches over his wife and takes care of her, he is content and happy where he is. I worry though that when she passes he might turn malevolent. Things are well though, for now.

The Third spirit we contacted was my grandmothers best friend Sandy. Sandy had passed away in this very apartment from lung cancer in 2014, I had met her once as a toddler but I don’t really remember her. She was more than willing to commune with the both of us, answering all our questions and even cracking jokes. She told us she enjoys the afterlife and it's much more “relaxing” (her words exactly). While communicating with her we used a pair of her spectacles to use as a focal point for channeling her... something I had read online about opening direct lines to spirits using objects that belonged to them. I asked Sandy if she had a message for Grandma before I ended the communication. I got a strong “yes” from the pendulum and it started pointing out different letters on the dowsing chart, I would ask after each letter was pointed to if it was correct and receive a yes or no. The first word in her message was the word “Awesome” Which had my grandmother super confused because Sandy had rarely used words like “awesome” in life. But I assured her it was Sandy we were speaking to and we continued. The message ended up being “Awesome Beer” which made my grandmother burst into tears. Sandy apparently was nicknamed “J-cloth” because she always loved having a cold beer when she was out with friends. Sandy told us that she was looking out for Grandma as she always has been, but her spirit was attached to her grandaughter Sheyanna, whom she raised since she was a baby. Sheyanna this year is only 13 years old and is the sweetest soul you’ll ever meet. Unfortunately, her parents were abusive so she has been sent to live in foster homes. Hopefully, soon she will find her forever home. The conversation had to have lasted over an hour with Sandy alone.

I was exhausted at this point so we ended the communication and took a short break, made popcorn and coffee and chatted about what had happened. 

The last spirit we spoke to that night was my great-grandmother, Grandma’s mother Iris. The conversation was maybe a half hour to 40 minutes. We used an old silver locket with her name engraved on it (will post images later of all objects used). I met her once as a small child and I doubt she would have remembered me because during this time she suffered from dementia and Alzheimers, and passed away soon after. My Grandma (who from this point on I will refer to as “Granny K”) cried through most of the communication. She was stuck asking questions I had written down for her because Iris refused to speak to me. Probably because I was someone she did not know. A note to mention before I continue is that Iris was Christian before she passed and a firm believer in Heaven. I had Granny K ask Iris if she was in Heaven (I got a firm “YES” from the pendulum). Iris also mentioned that Granny K’s brother Rob was up there with her (he passed a few years ago from a mix of diabetes and cancer). I asked her about Granny K’s father (note: this is the only question she answered me directly about) who was abusive and a horrible evil human being and she (Iris) bluntly stated that he was rotting in Hell. Another note when we called upon her when beginning the session she would not answer to her married last name but only to her maiden name. We said our goodbyes to all the spirits we spoke to and thanked them for speaking, ended the session a little early and sat for a while at the table just contemplating everything.

Granny K and I were in tears, because of how emotionally exhausting the whole thing was. I had spent over two hours acting as a medium and was near fainting from lack of strength. My right arm had grown completely numb and was shaking badly (I guess this is why psychics use a stand for their pendulum), but I felt weak as if I hadn’t eaten or slept in a few days (which I’ve done). I felt clammy and numb like my blood sugar and iron were low. I ended up dropping my necklace (pendulum) and it broke in two upon impact. I Krazy glued it together and went to bed. Perhaps it was fragile from overuse, or maybe it was just me.”

-An excerpt from my journal

[fitnesswomenshealth-blog]

Emaciated, mutilated, dead: the mental health scandal that rocked South Africa

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/emaciated-mutilated-dead-the-mental-health-scandal-that-rocked-south-africa.html

Emaciated, mutilated, dead: the mental health scandal that rocked South Africa

In September 2016, Phumzile Motshegwa received a call from an unknown number. The woman on the end of the line said Motshegwa’s brother, Solly, was dead. His body was at a funeral parlour in Atteridgeville, a township in South Africa. Did she want to go and collect him? The address she gave was a disused butcher’s shop. When Motshegwa arrived, a man hosing down blood-stained floors handed her a pair of rubber gloves.

“Do you know your brother?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Choose your brother, then.”

Motshegwa put on the gloves. Before her stood metal tables stacked high with decomposing corpses. “I counted 36 bodies,” she says. “I was shifting all these ladies and guys around until I saw Solly. I saw his head, I saw his scar, so I said, ‘This is my brother.’”

Solly had lived in hospital since a 1989 machete attack during political clashes left him brain damaged. He had been happy and healthy, and recently celebrated his 54th birthday. Now his body lay in front of her, emaciated and mutilated.

Motshegwa took the shawl from her shoulders and draped it across Solly’s bony frame.

What happened to Solly – and hundreds of other patients with mental health problems who died in gruesome circumstances – has come to be known as the worst human rights scandal to hit democratic South Africa.

Over eight months between 2015 and 2016, some 1,700 vulnerable and mentally ill peoplewere moved from Life Esidimeni, a cluster of privately run mental healthcare facilities in Gauteng province, to various unlicensed care homes – many of which were simple suburban residences hastily repurposed.

Health authorities described it as a “project” to deinstitutionalise patients and save money. But 144 people – nearly one in 10 – died in the aftermath, from causes including starvation, dehydration and cold. At one home, Precious Angels, 23 of the 57 patients transferred were dead within a year.

Nathaniel “Solly” Mashigo was one.

Survivors have told the Guardian how they were gathered together, many with their hands tied, and bundled into buses and bakkies (pickup trucks) to head for new homes. A significant number were transferred without files, medications or identity cards. Families were largely left in the dark over when or where loved ones had been moved.

Authorities admit they struggled to keep track of everyone. Three years on, 44 people are still missing.

Phumzile Motshegwa’s 55-year-old brother, Solly Mashigo, died in August 2016 after being moved from Life Esidimeni

‘I sobbed for a year’

The day after Motshegwa found Solly’s body, she returned to the ad hoc funeral parlour – which was trading as PutU2Rest Mortuary – just to confirm that what she had seen was real. She had known that the unit where Solly lived was closing. But she did not know that he had been transferred to an unlicensed charity with no qualifications or infrastructure to accommodate mentally ill people.

He was moved without Motshegwa’s knowledge or consent. Solly had also been dead for a month before his sister was told.

“I was driving to my mother’s home when I got the phonecall,” she says, from her home in Pretoria. “I went to the [charity], it was an old house in Danville. I saw my brother on 2 June [at Life Esidimeni] and he died on 2 August. But nobody told me anything. I said to [the manager], ‘You know, I live here in Danville too. Why didn’t you call to tell me my brother was here? She said, ‘I didn’t have your number – Esidimeni didn’t give me the files.’”

Motshegwa exhales slowly. “Solly has lived in a hospital for most of his life. I blame the government. Because I told Esidimeni at a meeting, I don’t have parents [to look after him] and I’m working – I will lose my job if I have to look after Solly.

“They just took my brother, and they put him in a home.”

Warnings were given over the planned relocations. Psychiatrists at Life Esidimeni raised alarm bells when the healthcare provider’s 30-year-strong contract was terminated in September 2015. Advocate groups including Section 27, a public interest law centre, and the South African Depression and Anxiety Group (Sadag) threatened court action to stop Gauteng’s health department from moving patients, warning of “relapse and death following the relocation of users”.

Authorities agreed they wouldn’t move anyone from Life Esidimeni to “inferior facilities”. They broke their promise, says Joyce Orritt, a mental health worker who tried to stop the transfers.

“We knew full well that Life Esidimeni patients would never cope. They were there under the mental health care act. They were committed. They couldn’t care for themselves. They couldn’t be ‘deinstitutionalised’.”

One of the houses formerly operating as Precious Angels; 23 of the 57 Life Esidimeni patients transferred to the organisation died within the year

Orritt knew the smaller organisations well because she visited them often. She had evidence of kitchens with no food. Patients tied to their beds. Deaths. Two weeks shy of her retirement, she was suspended, and asked to hand over all incriminating files and photographs of problem care organisations. Soon after, the relocations began.

“I’ve been working in mental health for 39 years. But what happened with Esidimeni…” she trails off. “I sobbed for a year.”

South Africa is the continent’s richest and most advanced state, and its 2002 mental healthcare act is laudable. But officials joke the nation’s first-world policies are stymied by developing-world implementation. Although more than one in three South Africans are believed to be living with some form of mental illness, 75% are likely to never get treatment – a combination of paltry budgets, inadequate facilities and widespread taboo.

The tragedy has exposed a long-known secret: nationwide, many patients are held in appalling conditions, receiving abysmal care. Psychiatrists from other institutions around the country have warned that the Life Esidimeni tragedy is merely the tip of an iceberg.

Despite a lengthy, televised arbitration which included a number of senior health officials, the exact motive behind the Esidimeni transfers remains a mystery. Cronyism, corruption and fraud – painfully characteristic of the disgraced presidency of Jacob Zuma, who faces 783 counts of alleged wrongdoing himself – seem to be at the heart of the tragedy. Authorities claimed that the move would save money, but state payments to the unlicensed homes totalled 47.5m rand (£2.7m) and continued long after patients had died and these homes were shut down.

The former director of Gauteng’s mental health services Dr Makgabo Manamela drew up the relocation plan and was physically present at removal sites. She also allowed the organisations to begin operating even though they had not signed service contracts, which meant they went unpaid and were consequently unable to buy food or supplies for the new patients. Still, she testified that she was unaware of what the repercussions would be. “I didn’t know they would be dying, and in our plan we didn’t plan for anybody to die,” she said.

Patients at Gordonia Services, a residential facility for people with mental health conditions in Johannesburg. Unlike many in the sector, the home did not take any patients from Esidimeni and is not implicated in the tragedy

Gauteng’s former head of health Tiego Selebano admitted to signing and backdating NGO licenses – even after patients had died – as well as to being “fearful” of his boss, the former provincial health minister Qedani Mahlangu. At his testimony – during which even former deputy chief justice Dikgang Moseneke was in tears – Selebano apologised for his negligence, telling the families: “You have every right not to forgive us… We made a mess.”

In his final judgment, Moseneke found that the officials had acted unconstitutionally and had behaved, literally, as though they would “get away with murder”. “The death and torture of those who died in the Life Esidimeni [tragedy] stemmed from arrogant and irrational use of public power,” he told the hearing.

Perhaps, then, it is no surprise that many family members feel like no one in power is taking what happened seriously. Not a single official has been fired (Manamela and Selbano were suspended, while Mahlangu resigned) and there are no indications that anyone will face criminal charges. Even Cyril Ramaphosa, who recently replaced Zuma as president and has vowed to combat corruption, came under fire after he was photographed meeting Mahlangu, whom he described as a “comrade” and “human being like all of us”.

“Our government, the one we chose, killed our people, [while] the [apartheid] government we hated took care of our people,” says Luleka Khunjwa, whose sister Maureen, 62, died at Takalani, a home in Soweto for people with disabilities, where claims of abuse, rape and death made national headlines.

Luleka Khunjwa’s 62-year-old sister, Maureen, died after being transferred to Takalani home in Soweto

“There was no food. There were no staff. There were no facilities. Some NGOs used their discretion to bury bodies without informing the families,” says Christine Nxumalo, whose sister Virginia had Alzheimer’s and died at Precious Angels. “They just didn’t care. They act like it’s no big deal, like these lives just didn’t matter.

“It’s been a horrible thing to be part of.”

‘They were traumatised’

On a long, nondescript road in Krugersdorp lies a series of eight brick residences known as Mosego Home. The organisation bills itself as a “psycho-geriatric care facility” catering to 90 patients, and today operates with a licence. In 2016, when Andrew Pietersen’s uncle Victor Truter, 70, was transferred here with 62 others, it did not.

Pietersen was with his uncle on the day he left Life Esidimeni. Truter, who has chronic schizophrenia, had lived at the hospital for 40 years. Clutching his small bag of belongings, he limped toward the transfer bus. No one could tell Pietersen where he was being relocated. When he finally tracked his uncle down two months later to Mosego Home “he was a different man”, says Pietersen. “He was emaciated, he hadn’t eaten and he hadn’t been given his tablets.”

Victor Truter, 69, has schizophrenia, and has lived in institutions for 50 years. He was staying with Life Esidimeni when the institution was ordered to empty its beds

Mosego’s owner, Dorothy Sekhukhune, extracts Truter’s tattered pink medical files to deny the allegations. “That is not true,” she says, shaking her head at Pietersen. “He’s been going around saying stories that aren’t true.” Truter’s handwritten files comprise little more than a few pages from a school notebook. Much of the data appears to have been written in one go by someone with a singular, florid handwriting. The first weight measurement is recorded 27 days after Truter was first admitted, then fluctuates by as much as 8kg within weeks. When questioned how this could be, one of Sukhukhune’s staff explains that weights always fluctuate if measurements are taken just after the patient has woken up.

Sukhukhune describes the Life Esidimeni transfer as a “rush” preempted by a visit from the provincial health department. “We were delegated patients. We went from five houses up to eight houses. We hired more staff. We were promised 4,000 rand [£210] per person per month” – she wags her pen to indicate this was insufficient – “so you have to go out and fundraise. We’re all volunteers here,” she adds, gesturing towards her staff as she pats down her hairdo.

Within months, seven of the 63 people transferred had died. Sukhukhune claims these were from natural causes, and says that Mosego patients were given adequate food, water and medication. But after the health ombudsman recommended that Mosego (as well as a number of other care organisations) be shut down, Truter and other Life Esidimeni patients were transferred once more – this time to a hospital with psychiatric facilities. “The ombudsman’s report has been very bad for us,” Sukhukhune says. “It has tarnished our relationship with our funders.”

One of the houses at Mosego, Gauteng – a ‘psycho-geriatric care facility’. Seven people transferred from Life Esidimeni died in the home

Truter now lives on a multi-patient ward in downtown Johannesburg at Clinix Selby Park Hospital, which has since taken in hundreds of patients who were formerly at Life Esidimeni.

“They were traumatised,” says Kate Kumalo, one of Selby’s psychiatric nurses. “We have had to build them back up again.”

Many of the patients were previously under Kumalo’s care at Life Esidimeni – where she watched them being loaded on to trucks and transferred without any indication of where they were going.

“It was so sad. Some of the patients didn’t have any families and depended entirely on us. They were being moved at night in dilapidated vehicles and refusing to leave. And we didn’t know where they were going, and they didn’t know where they were going.”

She was shocked when some of them were readmitted under her care. “I was so happy to see them, and them to see me. I thought they had died. Then they came through this door. We didn’t know what had happened to most of them.”

Julian Holoane, 45, has schizophrenia, and has been in institutions for 10 years. He was moved from Life Esidimeni, and now stays at Clinix Selby Park Hospital in Johannesburg. ‘I was angry because I did not want to move’

One of them was Julian Holoane, 45, a former plumber from Lesotho who was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 2010. The move from Life Esidimeni was a traumatic experience, he says, and has strengthened his resolve to be discharged “back into the world” as soon as possible.

“I liked Life Esidimeni. They treated us like they were our parents and it felt like we were at home,” he says during a cigarette break, his hands shaking uncontrollably from his medication. “Then they said they would be moving us. I was angry because I did not want to move.

“People outside think we are mad but we are not. They don’t know anything about mental illness. All I see here is security, the buildings, the other people I live with. I want to go out, I want to see the world.

“I need to go home.”

In March, Justice Moseneke ordered the South African government to pay 1.2m rand (£62,000) in compensation to survivors and family members of loved ones affected by the Esidimeni tragedy. To date, many are still waiting.

Far more significant, however, is how long families fear they will be forced to wait until the truth of the tragedy emerges. For Motshegwa, who first lost her husband, then her brother, and then her sister-in-law on the day of Solly’s funeral, all within months of each other, compensation alone can never do her brother’s death the justice it deserves.

“Solly was a good brother. He was happy. He was brilliant and he loved learning. But he left school so we could stay in school and he got a job so he could feed us. He protected us,” she says, wiping away tears.

“Everyone knew what a good guy he was. Everyone.”

‘He was so thin, he cried like a baby’

Patients at Gordonia Services, which is not implicated in the tragedy

The Guardian interviewed more than 20 family members whose loved ones were transferred out of Life Esidimeni, nearly all of whom later died. While some of them had been told of the relocation, very few of them were told where and when the move would take place. As a result, families spent months looking for their loved ones – only to find that they had died weeks earlier. Many families have been refused post-mortems. Death certificates, if they exist, largely cite victims’ cause of death as “natural causes”, despite obvious signs of hunger, dehydration and abuse.

One of the first casualties was Lucas Mogwerane’s brother. Christopher, 56, who was diagnosed as schizophrenic, had lived at Life Esidimeni for roughly 10 years. Within two weeks of being transferred to Rebafenyi Care Centre, he was dead.

Lucas Mogwerane lost his 56-year-old brother, Christopher Mogwerane in June 2016 in the Life Esidimeni tragedy

“I know Christopher as I know myself,” says Mogwerane of the day he went to visit him at Rebafenyi. “But on that day I couldn’t recognised him. He was so thin, he cried like a baby.”

Mogwerane handed Christopher a banana. Soon he was surrounded by other patients desperate for food. They ate their bananas whole, not even stopping to peel them.

Daphne Dubree visited her granddaughter, Mehmona, 36, after she was transferred to Takalani, in Soweto. Within six months of leaving Life Esidimeni, Mehmona had lost a considerable amount of weight. She soon died. “It was a bundle of bones,” Dubree says of Mehmona’s body. “You could count the bones. I stood there and cried… It looked like they never gave her food.”

Daphne Dubree lost her grandchild, 36-year-old Mehmona Dubree, after her transfer from Life Esidimeni

When Reverend Joe Maboe learned that Life Esidimeni would be closing, he wrote to voice his concerns over where his schizophrenic son Hendrick, 52, would be transferred. He never received a reply, and Hendrick was moved without Maboe’s knowledge or consent. When Maboe eventually found him in an organisation in Pretoria, he was filthy, hungry and wearing trousers soaked with urine.

“I saw death in his eyes,” says Maboe. “There were 40 of them in an ordinary garage. They didn’t have medication, they didn’t have enough food, they had no water to drink.”

Maboe tried to take Hendrick with him to see a doctor, but staff wouldn’t release him, claiming a doctor would have to sign off the paperwork. Four days later, Hendrick died.

Reverend Joe Maboe’s 52-year-old schizophrenic son, Hendrick, died after being transferred from Life Esidimeni

Daniel Maretele spent months looking for his sister Lydia, 45, after he discovered that she had been transferred out of Life Esidimeni to an unknown organisation. But by the time he tracked her down to Takalani, he was told that she had already died and had been buried in the gardens of the care home. He is now battling to exhume her body and give her a proper burial.

Terance Chaba was only 28 when he died at Precious Angels, a home owned by a woman whose only experience involved running a daycare centre. Chaba died within 10 weeks of being transferred to the charity, says her legal guardian, Susan Phoshoko. Of owner Ethel Ncube, she says: “She didn’t even know what they were taking – their breakfast, their meals, their medication. They thought it would be swept under the table, and nobody would know about it. But God is always there.”

Susan Phoshoko was legal guardian to her 28-year-old nephew, Terance Chaba. He died after being transferred to the care home Precious Angels

Source link