There is heaviness in Swaziland. A thick cloud of hopelessness looms over this land and its people. I see it in the eyes of mothers who are unable to provide food and water for their children. It is visible in the frail bodies of people dying of AIDS. I hear it in the cries of the gogos (grandmas) as they speak of their children who have all died and the grandchildren that will follow soon. It is captured on the faces of children who are left alone and unprotected unsure of how they will survive.
Each home I visit tells another tragic tale. Whether it be the 60-year-old grandma feeding her six grandchildren by collecting insects and leaves or the 7-year-old orphan dying of AIDS, abused by his uncle, and living alone trying to raise himself; my heart is breaking for the Swazi people!
This cloud of hopelessness stalks you as you walk the dirt roads of Nsoko threatening to consume you at every turn.
Yesterday I entered the care point greeted by the same scene as every other morning: a group of dirty, snot-covered, smiling faces looking for love. A small girl about 4-years-old runs up to me and wraps her thin arms around my waist. I picked her up and she just clung to me. I have no idea who she is or where she is from. This is the first time I have seen her. I begin to watch her excessive need for affection and the inappropriate way that she touches others. I suspect that she is being sexually abused. I don’t know this for sure, but she exhibits signs of abuse and I know that this is a common problem for the hundreds of unprotected orphans in Swazi.
Frantically I begin to search for anyone who can give me information about this girl. What is her name? Where is she from? What is happening in her home? How can I help protect her? I stand there looking for anyone that can help me. One of my fellow World Racers, seeing the panic in my eyes, comes and asks what is wrong. I relate my concerns. My friend looks at me and says, “Lisa, honestly, even if you are able to find out who she is, what are you going to do for her?”
There it is. The cloud of hopelessness that had been following me for the last few days finally overshadowed me. I stood there in stunned silence as the depth of this reality overpowered me. A moment later Karen Barnes approaches and asks how I am doing. I just broke down. Tears streamed down my face in quick succession as I cried out, “I just feel so helpless!” The hugs, the morning and afternoon meals, and the prayers seem so trivial in light of all the problems facing the Swazi people. I feel as though I have so little to give.
As the tears continued to flow, this young girl reaches up and gently wipes them from my eyes. Then she wraps her arms around my neck in a tight embrace. In this moment of affection comfort offered by a hurting 4-year-old, I see glimpses of hope and Kingdom at work in Swaziland. The pain is great, the burdens overwhelming, and the problems seemingly unending; but these are a people that are not forgotten in their pain. They are seen and loved by the God of all hope. It may seem like a very small thing to be sitting together in this pain instead of sitting alone, but for today that’s all I have to offer.
So, I held her and prayed over her as I allowed myself to feel the full weight of her pain. We embraced in silence, comforted one another, and allowed God’s love to surround us both.
