This is a blog by current Racer Stacey Compton. I hope as you read it your heart breaks a little more for the nations like mine did. This is why The World Race exists…to do something about the injustice in the world.
I’ve been sitting in front of my computer, staring at the screen and waiting for the right words to describe the state of my heart. It’s just me in our bedroom, forced to sift through my thoughts. Sylvia calls me to the living room for lunch, so I re-focus my eyes and crawl out of bed to join her and the kids. My mind still seems to be in a haze. I sit down to begin eating, then look up and realize that Sylvia has asked me a question; she’s staring at me and waiting for a response. I force a smile, answer her question, and tell her thank you for the delicious meal. Sylvia asks me if I’m tired, she can sense something is bothering me. I tell her everything’s fine, then join in the conversation at the appropriate times throughout lunch and retreat back to my room; my mouth is trained to speak the right words, but my mind is far away from me since yesterday.
Yesterday. The day God decided to break my heart; the day I felt like a tidal wave crashed into me. The day God decided He could take the scales off my eyes and expose me to the gravity of the world’s problems. The day I breathed in the stench of mud puddles filled with feces. The day I walked the streets of Luongwe with Jeremy and was overwhelmed by the people around me; a drunk man tried to take my grocery bags from me, a young girl ran behind me and pulled my arm while asking for money, and a group of teenage boys followed us to the gate of our house, ignoring the fact that we asked them to leave. Those parts of the day barely scratch the surface of the array of experiences that I had.
Earlier in the day, Jeremy and I went to town to buy groceries and check e-mail. I’ve been overcome with tiredness the past few days, so my mind was in a fog as we walked down the sidewalk lined with elderly women begging for food and money. In a sense, I feel like my mind has become numb to the poverty surrounding me; it’s now normal for me to be asked for money twenty times a day, normal to hardly ever eat meat, normal to pile in a small bus with thirty people and various kinds of animals, normal to take a shower with water out of a bucket, and normal for me to lay my head down in a house with no electricity. It seems normal because it’s been my life for the past 5 months, but that doesn’t mean poverty is acceptable. It’s 11 months for me and a lifetime for these people.
As I was walking down the street and wondering if my heart had become hardened to the conditions around me, I saw him; a young teenager, no older than 15, lying dead on the sidewalk. It looked as though he were sleeping, but his motionless body position and the flies swarming around his head told me otherwise. I diverted my eyes, stepped around him, and continued walking. I told myself I couldn’t do anything about it and thought surely someone would move his body to a proper place.
Several hours later, we walked down the same sidewalk. I’m going to name the young teenager Peter, because it seems like his life was meaningless if I continue to refer to him as a nameless boy. Peter’s body still lie on the sidewalk; someone had taken the time to cover his face with a jacket, but no one had moved him.
As we walked past, I noticed two boys around the age of 7 sitting on a pile of rocks a few feet from Peter’s body. They shouted out Mazungo (white man) to us, ignoring the fact that there was a dead body separating us, took a sip of their Coke, flashed us a cheesy grin, and continued chattering to each other; something broke inside of me during that very moment. I grieved for the loss of innocence of those children; the fact that they are non-chalant towards death and unfazed by things that take my breath away.
I tried to focus on finding the bus stop and attempted to forget the image that was burned into my mind; my stomach was in a knot and I was sure I would vomit at any second. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was looking for Peter, or if he even had a family that would miss him. How many children in the world live that kind of life? A life robbed of innocence and care-free giggles.
I allowed myself to feel the hurt of the people around me in Ireland and felt like my heart was being wrenched inside of me; I wept for what seemed like days, a pain that I didn’t want to feel again. But, these people don’t get to choose whether they experience that pain…it’s their reality. For the first time since then, I gave myself permission to fall apart; permission to cry out for the people that live in this despair…the people that are so often just faces on a poster or a television screen.
I don’t have a 3 step solution to solve the inhumanity and injustice in the world. I don’t know where to go from here. I’m only one person, but I do know that I’ve seen and now I have a responsibility to DO SOMETHING. I do know that I’m not the same person I was 24 hours ago. I do know that one person can start a ripple effect of change in the world. I do know that I asked the Lord to break my heart for what breaks His; He answered me in a less than ideal way, but He still answered me nonetheless. I’ve gone from counting the costs of what God is continuing to speak to me about the plans for my life, to counting the times that I hear God say to do more….something I’ve tried to ignore and go on with life as I had it planned. I don’t know where to go from here, but I’m taking steps forward towards the person that God is calling me to be…and that’s a start.
