This is a long, low, dry, and dusty land. I’ve never lived in a place so brown. There is green, mostly in the trees; and it is not the lush verdure I grew up in, but a hard-wrought green that has won a tenuous victory over the heat and drought. The ground is hard and hot. The sun is intense. Shade is a blessing and a breeze is a gift. We are fairly far out in the bush. Here, goats and cows amble freely down the dirt roads. Children bathe in the water at the village well. Very few of them wear shoes. Women carry baskets and buckets and bags on their heads. Everyone smiles and greets us. In the evenings boys play soccer in an empty field. At night you can hear the drums and chanting of the witches down the road, as they dance around their fires, asking the spirits for rain. The rain doesn’t come. Outside my window in the mornings, a bird that sounds like a monkey calls from an ancient sycamore-fig tree.
Here, men are mostly absent. They work in South Africa because jobs are not available in Mozambique. They have second wives there, and come home only once or twice a year. They often bring HIV and AIDS back with them. Entire generations of families have disappeared because of this epidemic. Elderly women care for their orphaned grandchildren and great grandchildren.
These people are certainly in need of hope, and I pray we can help people find it during our time here.
