Disclaimer: It was brought to my attention that some of my writing is sharp. They said although very truthful and heartfelt, the words could be seen as offensive to some readers. This next statement can also be applied to previous and future blogs: I am not trying to criticize or offend anyone working towards making a difference in this country including the schools, the churches, and the kind souls but I am trying to describe a horrible situation to people back home to paint them a picture of what has really been brought to my attention and unfolded in front of my eyes. May my words not come across as harshly as they first seem… my deepest apologies if they did. As my teammate Hannah would say “It is a choice to be offended, so don’t be.” With that being said Happy Reading!
Instead of going to the school one of the days, my team went to a park. Pulling into a park the trees looked like that they have come straight out of the secret garden. They were multiple branches winding out of the base of the trees with the branches bending out and over again. These trees are trees that I can image directors of movies wishing that they could just pick up and plant in the background of every love story ever. The trees were so captivating with beauty; I couldn’t help but just stare at them. Parking the church bus in the middle section of the park, women started becoming untucked from the bushes in the park. They wandered over to the bus. The church normally does a small devotion, prays for them and gives them food but today was different because we were there. These bushes have become their workplace. Their jobs are to sell their bodies for food and their drug addictions. The literally have sex in bushes. Men come in cars, park their cars and pick one. Then they go to the bushes. I can’t really explain how repugnant it all is. The women came and we prayed for them individually. As I was with the two ladies I was praying for, I struggled getting words out. Not only praying but just in small conversation. I tried so hard to choose my words wisely and yet trying to show God some justice. HOW just HOW did these ladies come to this. It came out as word vomit and stumbling to make clear sentences as I tried to piece something together. Anything together. I was emotionless and without words. It honestly probably would have sounded like English wasn’t my first (and pretty much only) language at this point. One of these women was pregnant by her boyfriend but still out here working trying to provide. They live in houses provided by drug lords. As long as they help sell the drugs and use them, then they can live there. They still need food. They still need to pay for their drugs. My words have long been gone at this point. I stood there in the park and stared at the trees. Like these trees, the women with huge scars on their faces, pink lipstick, and life tattered smiles there was beauty to be had amongst the darkness of the environment. As much as I was speechless in this moment, maybe it is better to not have any words and just share smiles instead. Like the directors of sappy love stories, these women will have love stories all of their own.
Another day, we went to the townships to see where our kids live. I don’t even know how to begin to describe this so bear with me. Driving into the townships, there were shacks after shacks. In fact, there is no space in between the shacks. They are made of plastic and aluminum like little patchwork quilts. They were no more than the size of a half bathroom in America. People try to stay warm and need to cook meals so they light fires but they often burn the shacks down. When there is a fire, about 500 shacks catch on fire and are completely gone. As people are trying to save what little they have from their shacks, their neighbor is stealing it in all the fire commotion. There are people walking around the township with burnt faces and hands. I am never seen so many people with burns like that. For them it’s a part of life. Their markets have meat that looks like it was just dissected from every animal known to man. Not the normal beef we see at the butcher. I am talking about the gray looking intestines, the tongues and esophagus duo, the stomach and brains. We were told that shacks used to be temporary housing situation but now it has turned into a culture. This culture has a name and they are called squatters. The squatters rather live in the shacks because they don’t have to pay the government money for water and bathroom faculties. We were also told that almost all black children in Africa have been raised in townships. This was something that took me a back. Dogs were so skinny and roaming the township for any marcel of food they could have. I glance more at them and they have swollen utters, they must have just given birth to new little puppies. These puppies will have the same struggle to feed themselves. I sat there feeling sorry for puppies and the shacks and then I saw kids. There were children with no shoes. In winter. They were standing at the garbage landfill looking for toys or food. They just waved us by like they were the richest kids in the world. All I could do was just wave back. Again, I was left astonished with no words to describe how I was feeling as we visited township after township. These are where my kids that I see live. This is what they come home to. No wonder school is not that important to them.
The last two weeks I have been at Hope School working with grade 3 (8-9 year olds) as a tutor with my teammate Hannah. During this time I have become very attached to the children because as the days flew by, I realized that most of them need one on one help in order to do well. I have been tutoring this boy because he has come to school with no homework completed, no classwork done, and a bad attitude for who knows how long. He is stubborn, rambunctious, and would rather do anything else other what then he is supposed to do. He is so used to failing that he doesn’t even try anymore. He doesn’t have the constant help or push from home. His dad passed away from having AIDS and his mom is very sick with HIV. They don’t have the manpower at Hope to make sure that he does his work. He is not alone, most of the students in my grade need one on one help. Although there is a third of the class that can do the work and succeed on their own, the rest of the class only receives help from one teacher. I stand there in awe as each student has their hand up for help but when we are not there, only one teacher is available for help. My heart goes out to the teacher as she struggles to teach a curriculum that not every student can follow/understand. There are even some students in my class that don’t know the alphabet. How are they supposed to write sentences in grade 3 and do multiplication tables if they don’t even know the alphabet? This isn’t the school’s fault as they are given children from other schools that don’t do well and the students come from shack houses with parents that don’t make their children’s education a priority. The classroom is set in four areas. The tables sitting in the back right corner is where the students who are behind or not very bright sit. That table is where Hannah and I have spent most of our two weeks. Each day that passes, the students that sit there get more caught up/ do more work than normal but I can’t help but think that when we leave things will go back to normal. I know that if we came back after our race, that those children at the back table will most likely be sitting there the next year. This is only one class in one school. This boy that I have been tutoring just loves to hate me. I went back to the school today to say goodbye because today was our last day at Hope Preparatory School and he wasn’t there. My heart sank as I just watched all the agonizing, stressful arguing and pleading to do his work, constant nagging to act appropriately, the sweet tender moments just drift away because I didn’t tell him how much he means to me. I didn’t get to see his reaction when I told him he will always be in my heart and that I hope I see him in heaven one day if I don’t ever come back. I didn’t get to tell him so many things I wanted to. I didn’t get to go to school yesterday because I became sick again with the flu but Hannah told me that he was very distraught that I wasn’t there. After learning this, my heart just ached more. Saying goodbye to other children was difficult. I had one child literally on her little hands and knees begging me not to go and to a teacher at Hope School. She almost cried as I closed the classroom door and waved for the last time. I said goodbye my “daughter” Emmy today too. I went outside to say goodbye and she asks me right off the bat if I am ever coming back. Shot to the heart. In our training, we were told never to say I love you and never to say that we were coming back even if we fully intend to and are 100% sure we are coming. Never ever do this, says Bob. Bob, I stuck to my training and it felt terrible. I answered her question with “No, I am not coming back.” I told her Jesus loves her and that she will always be in my heart. I also told her to try hard in school and to always be kind. What words do you say to a child that you just told you were never coming back to? As I was walking away, she called my name and waved to me with a smile. After all that, she still smiled at me. I became speechless in that moment.
I have so many hopes for my boy in my grade 3 class. I have so many hopes for Emmy. I hope that they know that so much as they love me that Jesus loves them more and that he will be there when they call out to them. I have hopes for the bush ladies. I have hopes for the children in the dump. I am still at a loss for words when trying to describe it all. All I can say is He has got the whole world in his hands, I just don’t know how. My own mother gave me this verse and I find it only more than appropriate to use it now. Isaiah 58:9 says “You will call and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say; Here am I.”
