Mandela House: A Hand and a Home For Pregnant Addicts

The day after welfare checks arrive in her East Oakland, Calif., neighborhood, Minnie Thomas sees the ghosts of mothers shuffling in the winter chill. They are emaciated from crack-cocaine binges, and their hair is wrapped in rags to hide patches where clumps have fallen out. Thomas sees them glance at the children draped carelessly on their hips, then down at the sidewalk. "A woman's eyes are a window to her soul," she says. "Those eyes tell you clear as day that they've blown their check on crack."

Nestled in a tidy, working-class area just three miles away is Mandela House, a residential program founded by Thomas over a year ago for crack- addicted pregnant women. In a cozy five-bedroom home that smells of baby powder and food cooking on the stove, fingers that recently clutched glass crack pipes now rest upon distended bellies. From a back room floats the sound of a baby's cry and a soft, throaty voice singing, "Runaway child, runnin' wild, / . . . go back home where you belong./ You're lost in the great big city."

In the four years since crack hit U.S. streets like hard rain, hospitals have experienced an epidemic of sick, undersized newborns. Crack affects the fetus by constricting the baby's blood vessels and restricting passage of nutrients and oxygen. Even one "hit" can cause fetal damage. At Oakland's Highland General Hospital, doctors say about 18% of some 2,400 births in 1988 were crack-afflicted babies.

The problem of pregnant crack-addicted women is relatively recent, and programs aimed at treating them are scarce. Thomas, a counselor to ex- offenders in Oakland for eleven years, had no model when she began her program in December 1987. But with the dramatic increase of crack-contaminated infants, she did not wait for someone else to show the way. "There was a void in the system," she explains. "People who needed help the most were being ignored." Thomas received her inspiration from the ex-offender mothers she had worked with, who fought to turn their lives around. Her plans received support from officials who knew and respected her work. She named her program for Winnie Mandela, wife of imprisoned South African black leader Nelson Mandela.

Mandela House these days is home to four mothers and their babies and three mothers-to-be. Residents receive prenatal care, drug counseling, classes in child development, personal finances and career guidance. They also share child care, housecleaning and cooking. "Mine is reality treatment," says Thomas. "I'm trying to put some order in their lives." Women are referred to Mandela House from jail, court and county protective services. The program is funded by the county, a private grant and donations.

On a typical Monday morning, the neatly dressed mothers gather on living- room sofas for a counseling session led by Thomas. Longtime residents express unfettered affection for their tall, slim mentor, dressed today in a red jumpsuit, brown tweed jacket, black high heels and silver bracelets. "She doesn't judge you from what others say, she judges you from what you say and do," says Monique Gray, a Mandela House veteran of one year. "You can't fool % Minnie," four-month resident Patricia Rodgers admits.