a village

I parked my car under the shade tree just 10 meters off the road. For about 100 meters both sides of this busy road-- which connects trucks from the port in Beira to Northern Mozambique, Malawi, and Zambia--is lined with small buildings. There are a couple of picnic tables and a few bright colored buildings advertising Vodacom, Mcel and the ever present, Coca-Cola.

We were greeted by a small crowd of church folks that were obviously expecting us. We were quite quickly ushered into a small room, maybe a “dining room” for the local cafe? We were joined by our faithful pastor friend and the local community leader. This man was dressed in his pristine uniform—each shoulder bearing the seal of Mozambique as well as his soldierish hat. We visited briefly with him explaining why we’ve come, who we are and what we want. We asked him a few questions and he proudly shared information about his community of about 2,000 residents. In response to our reasons for coming he states that there are many orphaned and vulnerable children here, many children who’ve been abandoned and patients, yes, there are plenty of patients.

As if we were on a tight schedule we were then shuffled off to go have a pastors meeting in one of the 20 local churches. We walked along the dirt path passing a number of children, greeting those who moved out of our way as others accompanying us carried wicker chairs for this next meeting.

Inside the dark mud brick church were gathered about 10 pastors and church leaders. I was instructed to sit in the front while my African counterpart sat in the first row. I tried to say I didn’t wanted to but they insisted. When it came time to move our meeting forward I was joined by my friend and the pastor.

We spoke for quite sometime about our hearts, what would bring us to this small village and why we came. We asked many questions trying to get a sneak peak into the life here. My friend focused on and challenged us on the words of Proverbs 31:

⁸ Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves;
      ensure justice for those being crushed.
⁹ Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless,
      and see that they get justice.

After long enough my head was spinning as I tried to take in everything in this language I continue to battle, today’s my first day with no translator, I’m managing.

We concluded and exited this cool thatched building to start walking in the community to “see” what they were talking about.

My mind keeps thinking about HIV/AIDS. Everyone seemed to chuckle when I tried to fish for information about how this community deals with the devastation. Being the 8th highest country in the world with HIV/AIDS prevalence I can’t believe that they didn’t mention it as a significant issue.

We started walking on the small dirt paths visiting different homes, hearing their stories. I continue to be bothered how upon our arrival to each home the facts are just blatantly given as if we’re talking about used cars or something.

“So and so was orphaned to his mom and the father abandon them. He's now living with his grandmother.”

“So and so’s father was killed in a car accident on the road and now lives here with his aunt and her 2 other children.”

“This woman lives here with her husband and 3 children and 7 orphaned children. The pastor says, ‘this house is crying. They have nothing.’ “

Anita and Annabelle touch my heart. Anita is 8 years old. She goes to the local primary school but after this year, if she wants to continue her education, she’ll have to walk 7km one-way to the nearest secondary school. She’s just bigger than Nede. I want to cry at the vulnerabilities she’ll face if she even wants to choose to continue her education. Her mother reminds me of the woman/child who has changed my life forever, leaving her child in my hands.

We prayed for a few people who were sick and again I try to understand what life must be like here. The nearest hospital or clinic is 15 km up the road. It costs 30 mts round trip by public transport, equal to 1 USD. Who can afford even this?

Despite the fact that I practically could do nothing this day, I walked away feeling encouraged. As I’ve been reflecting on my time I realize that really, all I can offer is my faith. I have to come back to why I believe what I believe, why I’m living in Mozambique and where I put my trust. I’m encouraged when I look at the number of times in the Gospels that the “answer” to the hard thing is your faith.

“Your faith has made you well.” Matt 9:22

“Because of your faith it will happen.” Matt 9:29

“Your faith is great! Your request is granted.” Matt 15:28

“Your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Your suffering is over.” Mark 5:34

“Go, for your faith has healed you.” Mark 10:52

“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” Luke 7:50

“Your faith has made you well. Go in peace.” Luke 8:48

“Stand up and go. Your faith has healed you. ” Luke 17:19

“All right, receive your sight! Your faith has healed you.” Luke 18:42

Sometimes I’m not sure I have much faith left but when I’m stripped from everything and feel like I’m left naked before the Lord I’m reminded that my faith is all I’ve got to give. And, it’s enough.

the first year

This past year has been terribly difficult, but all the joy makes it worth it, YES, 100%!

anger

I’ve always known I’m an emotional being, sometimes I’m highly emotional (a bit out of control maybe:). Over the last year I’ve experienced a new emotional. Well, if not a new one, a fairly unfamiliar, uncomfortable one.

Anger.

I never knew how to deal with anger before. Well, I couldn’t deal with it. In the past, if I was angry I would just cry. I won’t be able to confront, I would just melt into a pile of tearful sobs.

Something happened the other day where my anger raged again. I knew I needed to respond, not have a meltdown. I needed to act. My heart raced with that conviction I get, only occasionally, from the Holy Spirit. I knew if I ignored, I would lay in bed sleepless that night.

Nede and I were walking to the grocery store. We were having the usual Nede, Dara conversation as we walked hand in hand. Up ahead where the semi-trucks unload their produce for the grocery store I saw a small girl talking with a man who was about my age. The girl was standing with her arms embracing her own waist. She looked threatened. She looked scared. My mind raced as to what kind of conversation could be being exchanged. I knew it was worth trying to intercept this encounter. My anger was rising up. I said a prayer that I would be able to muster up enough Portuguese to say what I needed to say.

I stopped when I reached them. I greeted them- good afternoon, how are you…

I knew that I wanted to stay there just long enough to make this  man go away from this little girl. He did.
I then spoke with the girl a bit more. She continued to look guarded, eyes darting back and forth. I asked if she knew this man. She said something about it being her uncle and giving her a job. I didn’t believe it.
I then ran out of things to say and thought I’d just continue on to buy my groceries as I had simply set out to do. We walked away with Nede’s millions of questions firing.

I wasn’t settled though. I kept looking back. The girl stood there watching the trucks, stone-faced.

I couldn’t keep going. I had to go back.

I called the girl to come closer to me.

“What’s your name? How old are you? Do you go to school? Where is your house? Do you know this man?”

She was 12 years old, yes she goes to school, she lived near, no she doesn’t know this man.

I then just said “you are a beautiful young girl. You need nothing from this man. You need to go home right now. Do not stand here waiting for this man. Go home Beautiful!”

Her face eased. She gave me a little smile and we almost made eye contact. She agreed and I watched to make sure she headed home.

I don’t know what happened next and I don’t really know what was about to happen when I walked up, but I can imagine. I hear the stories here. I know the statistics.

The injustice. Innocence being stolen from a child and the devastating after effects make me rage.

I then held Nede’s hand a bit tighter and had a little chat with her. I was reminded that day what Nede’s been rescued from. And I was also reminded how many other young, innocent girls have not been. It makes me so angry; it makes me want to do more. It makes me want to put my anger into action. I can’t just sit and cry anymore.

“no, i saw them walking around”

Each morning when I bring Nede to school we have our little route we always take-- into the city, over the railroad tracks, left at the police station, right at the Catholic church, until the road turns to dirt, left, school’s straight ahead. The simple route is usually busy and filled with something that turns my head. Or, quite often it’s Nede that grabs my attention.

For example, a few weeks ago as we passed the Catholic church she said, “Mama, did you see that small house with that Lady holding baby Jesus?”

I responded, “Oh, no Nede, I didn’t see it. I think it’s just a statue though. Do you know what a statue is?”

“No but the o--ther (intonation rising indicating it’s been a few days…more like aaaaaaaaaaaather) day I saw them walking around. Yes, I think so.”

My thoughts: OH! Wow! Well! I don’t want to argue that. You never know what these little faith-filled eyes see. She could have. She’ll learn soon enough what a statue is. Jesus is alive. We’ll leave it at that.

Nede wrapped it up with, “Yes, I think so. I don’t know. Maybe.”

She’ll learn soon enough. I wish my faith was more like hers. I’m called to be. I’m learning from her, growing with her, trying to be…