How the lottery helps charities and non-profit organisations:
Redirecting some lottery funds to worthy causes has occurred for generations in countries with well-established lotto funds
One of the big selling points of lottery competitions is that some revenue is redirected to good causes. Some people in countries such as the United Kingdom have raised concerns about how the selection process chooses one charity instead of another.
However, you’d be hard-pressed to find anybody who believes that redirecting some money from a lottery fund to a charity that helps disenfranchised individuals or families is a bad idea.
By looking at some of the key charities that benefit the most from lottery funding and how they use it to benefit individuals and the wider community, you will better understand the scale of the operation and how companies look to give back. Lottoland South Africa is one of the most prominent lotto competitions that have made steps in helping South African citizens, through many different incentives.
While the central prize money and other smaller prizes are all regulated by the Western Cape Gambling and Racing Board, they also oversee the activity of charities and non-profit organisations that benefit from the lotto funding.
Responsible betting
Buying a lotto ticket now and again can add a bit of spice to your weekend, but ensure that you are only playing for fun and not viewing the lotto as a source of income. If you spend too much time or money or get too emotional playing these games, you must speak to somebody who can help you. Responsible betting is crucial, and the dangers of excessive gambling shouldn’t be taken lightly.
Dankie Lottoland
Probably the most high-profile example of a lotto fund that looks to inject some good back into the community, Dankie Lottoland was a TV programme focusing on celebrities travelling to various charities and doing a day of work to help raise awareness for the various non-profit and charity organisations.
Many charities and at-risk individuals benefit from this incentive when they receive some redirected funds from lotto tickets. In addition, if a rollover occurs, some money is redirected to the same charities.
Whether it is charities that focus on helping the poorest in society, those who require palliative care or help with education, they all receive a portion of funding, which helps to bring a smile to the faces of those less fortunate.
In addition, celebrities helped boost the profile of Dankie Lottoland, Lottoland South Africa and the various organisations that look to make a difference within their communities by looking after the most vulnerable.
Similar ideas in other countries
Redirecting some lottery funds to worthwhile and worthy projects isn’t anything new. It has occurred for generations in countries with a well-established lotto fund. For instance, the national lottery fund in the United Kingdom has donated billions to charitable causes over the last 20 years.
In addition, some investment projects have benefitted from lotto funding, which is sometimes where the line blurs for some people, although for most redirecting funds to look after society’s most vulnerable is worthwhile.
Some analysts have stated that the United Kingdom’s choice to redirect some of this funding to Olympic athletes diverts it into the wrong areas. It has, however, led to more British athletes winning medals at Olympic and Paralympic games. It will certainly benefit society in general if this can springboard future generations into getting active and healthy.
The Olympic games are viewed by some as irrelevant compared to people who are in desperate need in the present day, such as people who can’t afford to feed themselves due to the cost of living crisis. Therefore, it is a careful balancing act to strike, and something that not everybody will always agree on.
Conclusion
As long as lotto funds continue to help society’s poorest and most disenfranchised, they will be able to alleviate some of the concerns that people have around gambling. The companies involved can provide evidence that the money also helps worthwhile causes, which helps strike a balance in a complicated discussion.
It would be naive to suggest there is no downside to gambling, but as long as you are gambling within your means, you can be satisfied knowing that even if you don’t win, some of your money goes to a worthwhile cause.
Zimbabwean project a chance to transform Africa’s mining sector:
Africa’s mining sector must institute critical reforms if it is to avert the deepening of the resource curse.
Increasing global demand for “development” or “critical” minerals and transition fuel sources (such as liquid natural gas) renders this a governance priority.
The World Bank notes that, due to this demand, the production of these minerals could increase by nearly 500% by 2050.
As captured in the Alternative Mining Indaba 2023 theme “A Just Energy Transition: Unlocking Community Potential and Participation”, reforms to prevent and reverse the resource curse must give primacy to mining communities’ voices.
It is critical, from a project’s inception to its completion, to adopt effective natural resource governance frameworks underpinned by a commitment to accountability and transparency.
Recent research findings by Good Governance Africa (GGA) and the Centre for Natural Resource Governance (CNRG) into liquid natural gas exploration in the Cahora Bassa Basin in northern Zimbabwe illustrate some of the critical reforms needed in Africa’s mining sector.
Key to these findings is the need to premise projects on meaningful and continuous engagements with local communities to bridge the information asymmetry between communities, on the one hand, and the government and investors on the other.
Since 2017, exploration activities by GeoAssociates, a joint venture between Invictus Energy and One Gas Resources, have uncovered major potential liquid natural gas reserves in the Cahora Bassa Basin.
The Cahora Bassa Project comprises 101 170 hectares, incorporating the Muzarabani Prospect, a massive prospect first identified by Mobil Oil in the 1990s.
Last year, GGA partnered with CNRG to provide a preliminary assessment of how early exploration activities had affected people living in the Mbire and Muzarabani districts. The findings, delivered on 9 February at an GGA and CNRG side event during the Alternative Mining Indaba and the Mining Indaba in Cape Town, confirmed an accountability and transparency deficit characteristic of mining projects around the continent.
Interviews with residents confirm poor consultation and communication characterised by a top-down and inadequate flow of information. The affected communities showed a lack of awareness of the nature of the agreements that the project was premised on, its parameters, the risks involved and the revenue-sharing structure.
To avoid the problems brought on by diamond mining in the country’s Marange community, there is an urgent need for continuous, bottom-up, broad-based, multi-stakeholder consultations that openly inform the host communities of the parameters and multifaceted risks of the project.
This is important because the effect of mining will probably worsen their preexisting socio-economic, environmental and climate change-related vulnerabilities.
The government and investors must commit to, and implement, effective adaptation and mitigation measures in the context of floods and droughts leading to greater food insecurity.
Historically, natural resource extraction in Zimbabwe has tended to only benefit a political elite, often at the expense of local people. The Cahora Bassa Basin liquid natural gas project offers an opportunity for the government of Zimbabwe to transform the mining culture in a way that would stabilise and grow its economy.
Furthermore, the increasing global demand for “development” or “critical” minerals and transition-fuel sources offers an appropriate window to progressively review the country’s mining policies while also maintaining commitment to global efforts to lower greenhouse gas emissions.
Averting the resource curse demands a major departure from the prevailing culture of mining practices not only in Zimbabwe but in other weakly institutionalised contexts on the continent too.
Based on the report’s findings, to entrench meaningful, broad-based discussions with local people that contribute to equitable community development, the following should be considered.
In the interest of accountability and transparency, both the Production Sharing Agreement and Petroleum Exploration Development and Production Agreement signed between GeoAssociates and the government of Zimbabwe should be made publicly available.
GeoAssociates should develop and publicly present a comprehensive, consistent community communication and engagement plan, which outlines how the company will engage the community throughout the life cycle of the project, as well as conflict-resolution and information-sharing modalities.
The principle of “free, prior, informed and continuous consent” must be respected.
The Zimbabwean government should be clear on how it intends to resettle and compensate households affected by mining activities, including the proposed oil and gas pipelines to Harare.
The government should articulate how the Cahora Bassa oil and gas project fits into its National Development Strategy and Climate Change Response Strategy.
The government’s position on when fossil fuel exploration will be scaled down, in line with its climate change commitments, is unclear.
Investment into climate adaptation and mitigation measures for local communities should be provided, given that the project will probably increase the risk of flooding and environmental degradation in the region.
The Muzarabani-Mbire valley has potential for commercial agriculture, provided adequate technical support is provided to communities and oil exploration and production do not come at the cost of sustainable agricultural productivity.
Sikhululekile Mashingaidze is the lead researcher for human security and climate change at Good Governance Africa. For the full report visit the GGA website
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Mail & Guardian.
Confronting grief, Part 3: Hope crests and crashes:
On 8 March, Mbali Hlela Bulunga, a 12-year-old girl, passed through a portal of pain and went to her peace, after first being diagnosed with leukaemia six years earlier. In this series of three articles her mother describes the journey undertaken by her family as they sought to keep hope alive. Read Part 2 here
Mbali’s first second round of treatment first seemed to have worked. And then, six years after her first diagnosis of leukaemia, we had to face what no family is ever ready to face.
On 7 April, we began the second period of treatment at the Unitas hospital. We knew the routine. Mbali’s father has multiple sclerosis and a sudden flare-up meant that this time around he was not able to sleep with her at the hospital in the evenings.
His mother, who has always treated me with love and respect, even during the difficult period when our marriage had crumbled, offered to sleep with Mbali at the hospital during the week so I could care for my older daughter at night. I spent the weekends with Mbali, day and night, as my sister had come up from KwaZulu-Natal to help out.
At the beginning of June, Mbali contracted Covid while in hospital and had to be put in isolation in the intensive care unit (ICU). I was not even allowed to go into the ICU until I had presented a negative CPR test. Even after the negative test I could only wave at my daughter through a glass door. A mother has no more powerful drive than to care for her children and not being able to even be present was very difficult. Anxiety gnawed at me with increasing ferocity as I couldn’t sit beside Mbali, hold her, talk to her. After almost a week, I was eventually allowed to go into her room with full personal protective equipment .
This time the plan was for Mbali to finish chemo and then do full body radiation to kill her bone marrow so she could get a transplant from her sister’s healthy bone marrow.
On 22 July the transplant process started. Mbali had the usual graft versus host disease symptoms. She had diarrhoea and mouth sores. Her hands and feet shed skin like a snake. Her skin changed colour. People thought she had vitiligo. The taste of food changed.
By the end of August, Mbali was home, barely able to walk, but home. It looked like she was coming through her second journey with cancer. In September, she started getting cytomegalovirus (CMV), one of the viruses that are expected after a transplant. The medical aid eventually approved the hugely expensive medication to treat it. She did well on the meds and the CMV levels went down. In August, she started her horse riding lessons again. She loved horses and horse riding. She slowly cycled on her bike. She felt free while riding and I felt that she was riding into the future. My heart sang.
In November, we learnt that Mbali was in remission, the cancer was gone. It was the happiest day of my life. Joy burst through the walls of the fear that had locked us away from ordinary life. On 29 November, Mbali rang the bell in the Unitas paediatric oncology unit again, celebrating the end of her second journey through cancer.
December and early January were wonderful — Mbali was doing well, looking healthy and going out with her friends, going to birthday parties. Seeing her leap into a swimming pool with glee sent my spirit soaring.
But it was difficult for her to go back to school after cancer treatment. She was behind with the syllabus, friendships had morphed and she was physically weak. Carrying a heavy bag and walking up and down stairs was exhausting. She looked different and children can be cruel.
On 9 January, she had the normal check-up at the hospital and we were told everything was fine. On 16 January, the school called and asked me to fetch Mbali early because she wasn’t well. She said that she couldn’t breathe properly and her asthma pump and nebuliser weren’t helping. I took her for a check-up. The doctor who was on duty that day thought that she was having anxiety attacks and therapy was recommended.
Mbali was very tired, hardly eating and just not herself. It was clear to me she was dealing with more than just panic and anxiety attacks. She had wasted into an almost skeletal thinness. Something had taken her strength.
On 30 January I took her back to the hospital. She was so weak that she needed a wheelchair to get to the ward. As I walked into the paediatric oncology unit, after opening her file at admissions, I could see nurses hurrying up and down the corridor. I wondered what was going on and which child was the cause of all that commotion.
As I entered the ward, I realised that the commotion was by my baby’s bed. There were nurses all around, putting in drips, connecting her to oxygen. And then, just like that, we went back up to the ICU. She stayed there for three days.
The doctors couldn’t agree on whether Mbali was having an asthma attack or whether she had an infection. Eventually they decided that it was asthma and began intensive treatment.
We were in the ward for almost two weeks and it seemed as if we would be going home soon. While we waited out our time another child in the ward died. A family, who were holding on to the hope that a pregnancy brings while their 12-year-old daughter battled a brain tumour, lost the baby at six months. A nine-year-old boy had a foot amputated.
I was trying to be grateful for Mbali’s tenacity, her will to live. And then things suddenly got worse. She had been having a good day on 9 February. She was joking around with her cousin on her phone and decided she wanted to start a TikTok channel on makeup. I was working on my laptop, and then watched the State of the Nation address. We laughed at the childish antics of the Economic Freedom Fighters.
As we were preparing for bed, I noticed on the machines that her breathing levels were low and called the nurses. They called the ICU nurses and the doctor as they fiddled with the oxygen flow and pressure. I climbed into bed with Mbali and sang to her until she slept. In the morning, as I was getting ready to go take a shower, I saw that the levels were very low, so low that I thought that there must be a problem with the machine. I called the nurses again thinking that they would fix the machine. Instead, they said that she had to go back to the ICU.
Mbali was being her sassy self — refusing to go to the ICU, a very lonely place for a child. She eventually relented on condition that she would come back down to the paediatric oncology ward in the evening to sleep as I couldn’t sleep with her in the ICU. When I got to the ICU, after packing her bag and getting more nappies, I saw a crowd of doctors and nurses around a bed. When I realised that they were gathered around Mbali’s bed a wave of shock ran through my body. After all, she had been fine in the ward just five minutes ago.
I was told to call my family as the doctors were “very worried”. My beautiful daughter was now lying in a bed looking like a warm corpse, with a pipe in her mouth and running down her throat. The doctors said she wasn’t breathing on her own and something was making her condition deteriorate so they had to intubate and put her on a ventilator.
After a couple of hours, the doctors called us again and said that they wanted to put her on ECMO, a form of life support where cannulas are inserted into the body — one to take the blood out of the body, and pass it through the ECMO to oxygenate it, and another cannula to feed the blood back into the body. The doctors made it clear that ECMO is not a treatment, just an intervention to help Mbali’s lungs to rest and, hopefully, recover. They hoped that her lungs would heal and that, when they found the cause of her rapid decline, they could then treat it.
Mbali’s will to live took her forward and the ECMO seemed to be working. Her lungs started clearing up. After three weeks, the doctors disconnected her from the ECMO and she was breathing by herself, with the help of the ventilator.
Rushing home to spend some time with Nandi, my older daughter, in our cosy home and then being back with the smells and heartaches of the hospital 30 minutes later made me feel schizophrenic. I love my children fiercely and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for them. But I couldn’t be a fully present mother for Nandi and the guilt sits in my stomach.
Sitting in hospital watching Mbali change, seeing all the wounds that had appeared on her body as the doctors tried to save her life, her head swollen to almost twice its size, her eyeballs bulging out was painful beyond my capacity to describe.
When you have a sick child, you learn exactly who your people are, who your tribe is. Many people will disappoint you. Some will hurt you, sometimes breezily declaring that they understand what you are going through and that it will all be okay. Others will subject you to their religious dogma, declaring that a child’s struggle with leukaemia is part of a divine plan, meant for you to learn a lesson, or that a miracle is imminent.
There are also those who will just be there, just sit with you, offer practical support, and ensure that you know in your bones that you are not alone. They will get on a flight, bring a meal, get you a coffee, drop off a bottle of wine, pick up your child from school, send petrol money, give you a hug. They will come to the house and make dinner.
On 7 March, the doctors said that Mbali was not able to breath on her own, even with the ventilator set to the highest levels, and that her organs were beginning to fail. A biopsy had never been possible, as she was so ill, but they thought that there was scarring in the lungs caused by the asthma, chemo, radiation, Covid-19, CMV, the graft versus host disease and that her bronchioles were collapsing, unable to push the carbon dioxide out of her lungs.
The following day we were told that we had reached the point at which kindness required the machines to be turned off. The last time I had spoken to my daughter, or heard her voice, was the day she had been brought up to the ICU almost a month before.
When your child is keeping death at bay, each hour is a victory, a precious victory. When you are told that the end has come, the bottom drops out of your world, time stands still and, as far as you can comprehend, the future looms as a long passage of interminable pain.
We were given time to say our goodbyes. I climbed into the bed and held Mbali, stroking her, quietly talking to her. Our family and my tribe took turns to say their goodbyes. There was weeping, stories and warm laughter as we shared memories. We played songs. And then it was just the immediate family as the machines were turned off and my beautiful daughter floated away from her pain.
Nontobeka Hlela works for Tricontinental: Institute for Social Research and is seconded to the office of the National Security Adviser as a researcher. She writes in her personal capacity.
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Mail & Guardian.
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