LEAP - The journal of a street kid

The girl Next Door

I was always in awe of Aphiwe's creativity. With nothing but a simple stick, she could create magic. It was incredible to watch her work. She'd wrap it in fabric, then shape some old leggings into a round head. The rest of the doll took shape as if by instinct—adding a chest, a backside, a tiny handmade outfit from scraps of fabric. Though the dolls were a little imperfect—missing arms or only having one leg—somehow, they always seemed full of life.

Cindy couldn't get enough of those dolls. They'd spend hours together, playing and laughing, while I sat off to the side with my worn notebook, sketching cars and daydreaming about a world where I could create things as beautiful as Aphiwe's dolls.

Aphiwe had a way of making even the simplest things seem extraordinary. She would sing as she worked, not that she had the best voice, but it didn't matter. Singing was her escape, her way of turning pain into something hopeful.

I'll never forget how she used to sing, softly and a little out of tune, but with such conviction. She didn't sing for an audience—she sang for herself, for the memories that carried her through tough times.

I knew Aphiwe's story, though it always felt like something that belonged to a faraway world, not to the girl I saw every day. At just five years old, Aphiwe had been abandoned by her mother. One morning, she woke up and found that her mother had packed up and left. There were no goodbyes, no explanations—just an empty wardrobe and a world turned upside down.

But Aphiwe had always been strong, stronger than anyone gave her credit for. She moved in with her uncle, but things weren't any better there. She often talked about how she ran away from him one day, ending up alone on the streets of the town center.

I can't imagine how hard that must have been—no food, no warmth, just the bitter cold of night and hunger gnawing at her. Yet even in the harshest moments, Aphiwe never gave up. She would tell me stories about how she hid under boxes with other street kids, always looking for a little bit of kindness, even if it seemed like there was none to be found.

Then there was the night she'll never forget. She was begging with a group of kids when one of the boys grabbed her, tearing at her clothes. It felt like the whole world was against her. But just as things seemed hopeless, a stranger stepped in. A white man chased the boys away, offering her something she hadn't had in a long time—hope. He told her about a place called Miracle House, a children's home where she could be safe, fed, and loved.

Aphiwe followed his directions, still not sure what to expect. As she approached the large, white building with Miracle House painted in blue across the wall, she felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. Two angels, serene and calm, were painted on either side of the door, like they were welcoming her into something better.

When the gate opened, Aphiwe wasn't sure what to feel. But the woman who greeted her changed everything. She was warm, kind, and gentle. "Hello, little lady. What are you doing out here all alone at this hour?" she asked.

Aphiwe, nervous and unsure, just looked down. But the woman didn't push her to speak. Instead, she smiled and said, "Come inside, dear. It's cold out, and you must be hungry."

As Aphiwe stepped inside, she was filled with a sense of wonder. The building was grander than anything she'd ever seen—beautiful wooden stairs, orange walls, and marble tiles that seemed to shine. The dining room was filled with cheerful paintings of cartoon characters.

The woman led Aphiwe to a seat at the table, where she would wait while the food was prepared. For the first time in ages, Aphiwe felt something stir inside her—a tiny spark of hope. It was almost like a dream.

"Why don't you sit and relax while I prepare something to eat?" the woman offered.

Aphiwe took a deep breath, settling into the chair. The warmth, the kindness, the possibility—it was overwhelming. For the first time in so long, she felt like she could breathe again.

That was the day Aphiwe's world changed. And from that day forward, no matter how tough things got, I knew one thing for sure—she would never stop believing in better days, even when they seemed impossible.