“She will be okay. I will be okay. They will all be okay. She will be okay. I will be okay. They will all be okay.”
I repeated those words to myself almost every day last month in Swaziland. Africa overall was hard. So many feelings, so many emotions, so many questions and so few answers. I walked through things I never thought I would experience. I questioned God more than I would like to admit. I really didn’t want to be there. Africa was nothing I had hoped it would be. I had hard conversations and put my heart on the line even if I knew I could get hurt in the process. I questioned my future. I questioned what the Lord had called me to. I cried more than I wanted to.
Driving down the highway, I would look out the window and see mountains completely surrounding me and a giraffe alongside the road. I couldn’t help but be blown away by the beauty. In that same moment, a young child walking completely alone on the highway would catch my eye. No 6 year old should ever be walking alone down a major highway. I celebrated triumphant moments of freedom and vulnerability with friends. Yet moments later we would be arguing about who left so much hair in the shower drain or who didn’t clean their dirty dishes, that had since collected a million ants. I’d be eating a sandwich and fruit for lunch as a child peered into the window, waiting for the one meal he would eat that day consisting of a small bowl of rice and beans.
I struggled with how to process everything that I was feeling every day. The things I saw. The things I was hearing. It was all a little too much.
I want to tell you about one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met. For the sake of privacy her name is “L.” She is 11 years old and thankfully she speaks English. She came to me the very first day we arrived at our ministry site for the month. Primary and high school students would come to the ministry after school in the afternoons to receive a free meal. We were able to spend time with them every day and form relationships with them over the course of our three weeks there. “L” didn’t leave my side that very first afternoon and wanted to know everything about me. She showed me her schoolbooks, told me about her life, and asked me a million questions.
Me: “Do you come here to eat everyday?”
L: “Yes but I don’t like to eat.”
Me: “Why not? Do you eat at school or at home?”
L: “I don’t eat at school, sometimes when I get home I will eat a bun. But usually I don’t eat.”
Me: “What is your favorite food to eat?”
L: “Chicken, salad, and some nicer buns. But that is only at Christmas.”
I immediately felt silly for asking her what her favorite kind of food was. Who am I to think they these children have the variety of food that we do? Who am I to think that they have the ability to eat different kinds of food each day or each meal for that matter?
I began to ask her about her family and sadly that wasn’t any better to talk about. She said she has 2 sisters and 4 brothers. She doesn’t know who her dad is and most of her brothers’ fathers have died. Afraid to ask anymore personal questions, I decided to ask her about school. She pulled out a piece of paper from one of her books and handed it to me. It was a poem. She told me she wrote it in school and wanted me to have it. She noticed the bracelet on my wrist and asked if I like bracelets. I told her I did and she said she would bring one for me tomorrow. We took a couple pictures before we left and then she ran off on her way home.
The next day she found me again and didn’t leave my side. She asked if we could go over to the playground equipment, so we did. I crawled up onto the rickety old tires to get onto the playground. We sat with our feet dangling over the edge looking at the mountains that sat in front of us. I started to ask her more about her life and her family. Listening to her talk I couldn’t help but remember what our hosts told us when we first arrived in Swaziland. HIV/AIDS is rampant in Swaziland. The country has the highest HIV/AIDS prevalence rate in the world. Out of approximately 500,000 children, about 350,000 are orphans because their parents have died from AIDS. That’s about 70% of children. An entire generation is missing. The village we stayed in was only 20 kilometers from the South Africa which means human trafficking is also a major problem. We were given very strict rules on which public transportation to take on our off days. They told us to make sure they are never going in the wrong direction (towards South Africa), and to never get on the buses if they are empty or have only men on board. We were never allowed to go anywhere alone and always encouraged to be in larger groups. The highway we walked on every day to ministry is a major highway for trafficking. Sadly so many children and young adults in that community are taken. Witchcraft is also prevalent here. When hopeful nominees run for political office, some visit a witch doctor, who then instruct them to retrieve human body parts in order to win the election. Children, who are already vulnerable, are taken and sacrificed for this purpose. Unfortunately, a lot of the victims are orphans who are walking alongside the road by themselves. Last year alone, 2,000 children went missing, and it is thought that most of them were gone because of this practice. Children are raising themselves or raising their siblings. It’s not uncommon to see a 3 year old walking down the highway with his 6 year old brother on their way home. These children could be taken in an instant.
As I’m sitting on the playground equipment with “L,” I begin to imagine her walking home from school alone and being taken. I imagine her being taken to a witchdoctor where someone sacrifices an innocent child for their own personal gain and need for power. It’s sickening. I look into her eyes as she’s talking to me and thought to myself, “This little girl could be gone tomorrow. She could literally be gone. I could never be able to talk to her again. This is her reality.” It took everything within me in that moment to not break down in tears. I was brought back to reality when she tapped me on the arm and asked me to sing her a song. I spent a few minutes singing to her and then she had to leave. She took my hand, put a piece of paper in it and ran off into the field. Little did I know I would never see her again.
I held the note in my hand for a moment before opening it. I was already planning what I was going to write back to her the next day. I opened the little envelope she had made, unfolded the note and started crying the moment I read the first sentence.
My heart was flooded with sadness for this precious girl. I wanted to give her everything in the world. I wanted her to have friends who loved her. I wanted her to be confident in who she is and the person the Lord created her to be. I wanted her to feel loved and valued. I began to get excited for the rest of our time in Swaziland and the opportunity to be her friend and encourage her over the course of the next three weeks. I went home, wrote her a note and couldn’t wait to see her the next day.
I waited for her the following afternoon with my note in hand but she never showed. I figured maybe she didn’t go to school that day or just wasn’t able to come. The next day came and she didn’t show up again. Day after day, week after week, she never showed up. I would ask other students where she was but no one would really give me a straight answer. Then there I was, our last day of ministry, praying and pleading with God to allow this little girl to show up. She never came. As the day passed I started to wonder if something happened to her. Was she sick? Did her mom tell her to stop coming? Did she get taken? My mind entered into this dark place every day as we walked home from ministry. I would never know the answer. I would never know if she was okay.
The Lord has been showing me that I don’t need to know how everything turns out. As much as I may think I need to have all the answers or know exactly how things turn out, that is not the case. In the midst of the unknown I will be okay and the people involved will be okay. Would I much rather know that this little girl is safe in her home every night? Yes. Do I have to accept the reality that she may have been taken? Yes. I truly have no control of what happens in this world. The most important thing I can do for her is pray. Pray that she is somewhere safe. Pray that she is healthy. Pray that she is loved by her family. Pray that she works hard in school. Pray that she will come to know the Lord and the love he has for her. As sad as I am by the reality that these kids live in each and every day, I will be okay. I can trust that God can take care of each and every one of them more than I ever possibly could. I can trust that she will be okay.
So “L”, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, know that I love you. Know that I will never stop praying for you. Know that God is always by your side and that he is the best friend you could ever have. He knows you better than anybody else ever will. He knows what makes you happy and he knows what makes you sad. He loves everything about you. You are a beautiful and special friend. You have changed my life and I will forever be your friend. I hope we will have the chance to meet again one day. But until then, I love you.
