This month, I heard dozens of stories. With each one, my heart hurt and gut wrenched as visuals of pain shot through my brain. Zimbabwe is a beautiful country with beautiful people, but there is an epidemic.
Abuse, specifically sexual abuse, is extensive. 25% of girls are raped. It’s heartbreaking, and if I’m being honest, I haven’t taken too much time to let that statistic sink in because when I do, my mind doesn’t know how to comprehend it all.
I don’t like thinking about it because I cannot understand it, and I can’t make a huge changing impact. Yes, I can make an impact on a couple of people, but that isn’t enough to lower the percentage.
I heard story after story, and saw scar and burn mark after scar and burn mark. There are girls who became mothers at 12, young women who were raped by family members, and children who took the beating for their sibling.
There was a girl contemplating suicide, and another that couldn’t look at her daughter because it reminded her of her uncle who raped her.
There were little boys who craved the attention of love, and there were a few who still saw the goodness of God, his steadfast love, and believed their children were not a curse but a quite blessing.
I want to share one of the many stories I heard this month. It is about Thando; she is 14, and 3 months ago, she gave birth to a baby boy.
A year ago, a neighborhood man in his 20s raped her. At that time, Thando was only 13. When her family learned that she was impregnated, they no longer wanted her, so Thando went to the man’s family. They did not want her either. Thando had nowhere to go. She was lost, unloved, and pregnant.
When Thando wasn’t welcomed into either family, she met another man. This man, however, was a good man. He told her about the center (SJC) where she could live and go to school. She could have her baby and find safety.
That same man helped Thando press charges against her rapist. The man who raped Thando was arrested, but he did not show up to court. After a few no shows, the case was dropped.
When Thando shared her story with me, details were left out. I don’t know how everything connected, but that’s how most of the stories I heard this month went. When Thando came to the center, she was able to go to school and learn a trade.
At the center Thando makes and sells beads made out of old newspaper and magazines. She goes to school, and she rides horses every Saturday afternoon. She found a safe place and had her baby in November. His name is Perfect, and he looks just like her. She wants her family to adopt him, but he still lives at a baby’s home a few miles from SJC.
On our last day at SJC, Thando was sad. She clung to me until it was time to say our final good-bye’s. When the other girls began to cry, Thando began to laugh. She made fun of the other girls. She laughed at their pain.
My host made a comment about it. She told me something was wrong with Thando. I thought the laughter was a way to cover up the pain, and I still think, at least to some degree, it is. But, when my host responded to me, I learned, and saw a different side of Thando. She is a bit of a bully; she makes fun of other people’s pain.
I don’t know what to think about that. I never saw that side of Thando. I only saw a shy and hurting 14 year old who became pregnant at the age of 13. I saw a creative teenager who wanted to love and be loved.
I’m not writing any of this to devalue her story, but I think I’m writing it more to show how much I don’t know. When I write, I write what I see or feel, but how much can I really uncover in a month? I think it all goes to show the process of life. I’m a work in process, you’re a work in process.
Hurt people hurt people; broken people hurt people; I hurt people; you hurt people.
I’ve been asking God to reveal where I need to grow, and slowly He is showing me blind spots. Here is a big one I’m realizing: I suck at loving people and seeing them as a piece of art made in God’s image.
I love Thando. I loved her before she laughed at others’ pain, and I love her still. I love her because God showed me his love for her. He showed me her brokenness, and he showed me her beauty.
In the Ndebele language, Thando means love. When fully translated, Thando’s full name means “To love Jesus”. As I’m writing right now, I can see Thando sitting at the center with God surrounding her. He is fighting the darkness, the pain that is trying to break inside of her, and He is quietly whispering how much he loves her because she is His love note to those who are willing to open it.
