FORBIDDEN TIES

2.

Keeya Modise

I am Keeya Modise, a 28-year-old pediatrician living in Midrand. I've dedicated my life to the care of children, working at Nelson Mandela Children's Hospital (NMCH) as the head of pediatricians. My journey into this profession began long before I donned my white coat or earned my medical degree; it started in the halls of the orphanage where I grew up.

Growing up in an orphanage called Modise Giving Hands, I don't have a blood family. Instead, I have the family I built within the walls of that place. Sibusisiwe Modise, my older sister in the orphanage, became my guiding light. We leaned on each other, forged our identities from the ashes of abandonment, and dreamed of futures where we could help children like ourselves.

Modise Giving Hands was more than just a roof over our heads; it was a haven filled with love and support. Mr. and Mrs. Modise, the founders, poured their hearts into every child they took in. They taught us that family isn't just about blood; it's about connection, love, and the unwavering support that helps you rise above your circumstances. They invested in our futures, ensuring we received the education we needed to thrive.

I remember my first day at the orphanage. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the laughter of children playing in the yard. I was terrified, but the moment I entered, a warm hand clasped mine. It was Sibusisiwe. Her smile was the first hint of safety I'd felt since I could remember. She introduced me to the others, guiding me through the chaos of laughter and tears.

At Modise Giving Hands, we didn't have much, but we had each other. We shared everything-the toys we had, the meals prepared by the Modises, and the dreams we nurtured in the quiet hours of the night. We created a unique bond, one that felt as strong as any blood relation. We were a family forged in resilience, and every day was a testament to our ability to rise above our struggles.

As I grew older, my love for children blossomed into something profound. I spent countless hours volunteering to help care for the younger kids, from bandaging scraped knees to comforting those who cried for their absent parents. It became my mission to provide comfort and care, just as Mr. and Mrs. Modise had done for us.

In high school, I excelled academically, fueled by a desire to become someone who could make a difference. I remember the day I received my acceptance letter to study medicine. It felt surreal. I could hardly contain my excitement as I rushed to share the news with Sibusisiwe. She was my rock, always encouraging me to chase my dreams. Her eyes sparkled with pride as she hugged me tightly, whispering, "You will change the world, Keeya. I know it."

University was challenging but exhilarating. I encountered people from diverse backgrounds, each with their own story, and I often reflected on mine. Every late-night study session and early morning lecture was a step toward my dream of becoming a pediatrician. My experiences at the orphanage fueled my determination. I wanted to be the person who could offer hope and healing to children who felt lost or afraid, just as I once had.

After years of hard work, I graduated from medical school and landed my dream job at NMCH. The moment I stepped into the hospital for the first time as a pediatrician, I felt a rush of emotions-anxiety, excitement, and a deep sense of purpose. The bright halls filled with laughter and the occasional cries of children were a familiar echo of my past. I was home.

As the head of pediatricians, I lead a team dedicated to providing the best care for our young patients. We face challenges daily, from the heartbreaking realities of illnesses to the triumphs of healing and recovery. Each child that enters our care carries a story, a narrative that deserves to be heard and honored. My experience in the orphanage taught me to see beyond the symptoms, to connect with my patients on a deeper level.

I recall one particular day when a little boy named Thabo came into the hospital. He was about six years old, and his big brown eyes were filled with fear. He had been diagnosed with a serious illness, and his parents were overwhelmed with despair. As I knelt beside his hospital bed, I saw echoes of my own childhood in his frightened expression. I remembered how I had felt when I first entered the orphanage, terrified and unsure of my place in the world.

"Thabo," I said softly, "you are not alone. We are here for you, and we will do everything we can to help you feel better." He clutched his stuffed bear tightly, and I could see his grip relax slightly as I spoke. In that moment, I was reminded of why I chose this path. I wasn't just treating symptoms; I was restoring hope.

Days turned into months, and I began to notice patterns in the challenges faced by the children we treated. Many came from backgrounds similar to mine-families torn apart by circumstances beyond their control. It broke my heart to see their struggles, but it also ignited a fire within me. I became determined to create initiatives that would support children from underprivileged backgrounds. I wanted to give them the same opportunities I had received at Modise Giving Hands.

With the support of my colleagues and the Modises, I launched a mentorship program for children in need. We organized workshops where older children could teach younger ones essential life skills, from basic hygiene to academic tutoring. The program aimed to foster a sense of community and belonging among those who had experienced similar struggles.

The first workshop was a resounding success. Watching the older kids step up to mentor the younger ones filled my heart with pride. It was a beautiful reminder that even in our darkest moments, we could find strength in one another. The laughter and joy that echoed through the hallways of NMCH made every late-night shift and challenging day worth it.

As my career progressed, I found myself facing more significant challenges. The reality of pediatric medicine is that not every story has a happy ending. I've had to navigate difficult conversations with parents, explaining diagnoses that no one wants to hear. It's a heavy burden to bear, but I draw strength from my upbringing. I remind myself that I am not just a doctor; I am a source of comfort and hope for those who feel lost.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, I sat in my office staring out the window, lost in thought. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over Midrand. I couldn't help but reflect on how far I had come. The little girl who once played in the orphanage yard had grown into a woman with a purpose.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Sibusisiwe stepped inside. She had always had an uncanny ability to sense when I needed her most. "You okay, sis?" she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

"Just thinking about how much has changed," I replied, smiling softly. "I'm grateful for everything, but it's tough sometimes."

She walked over and enveloped me in a warm hug. "You're making a difference, Keeya. Don't forget that. Remember where we came from and how far we've come."

Her words resonated deeply within me, and I knew she was right. Modise Giving Hands had shaped me into the person I was today, and I was determined to pay it forward. I wanted every child who walked through the doors of NMCH to know that they mattered, that they were loved, and that they had a future worth fighting for.

As I glanced around my office, filled with photographs of the children I had treated and the memories we had created together, I felt a sense of hope wash over me. There would always be challenges, but I would face them head-on. I had a family now-my colleagues, my patients, and the children I was committed to helping.

I couldn't change the world overnight, but I could be a beacon of light for the children who needed it most. With each day, I would continue to fight for them, just as Mr. and Mrs. Modise had fought for me. My heart was filled with a determination that echoed the spirit of the orphanage I called home.

As I prepared to leave for the day, I looked back at the photos adorning my desk. Each child's smile represented a victory, a testament to resilience. I knew that my journey was far from over. There were still many stories to unfold, many lives to touch, and many battles to fight.

And as I stepped out into the vibrant streets of Midrand, I carried with me the lessons of my past, the love of my chosen family, and the unwavering hope that together, we could create a better tomorrow for every child who crossed our path.