Mozambique
****NOTE: This blog is from Mozambique (January 11th – February 11th). Due to lack of internet connectivity, posting has been delayed.****
Maybe it's because I'm an only child. That seems a good enough excuse. Or maybe it's because I'm used to living on my own (with the exception of the last two years, but even so, I have always had plenty of space and time to myself). Whatever the reason… I've found that living in community is hard. There is no escape. You wake in a room with 6 other people, you get ready with them, you do ministry with them, you eat every meal with them, you do feedback and "family time" with them and then you sleep… with them. And so it goes, every day, for 11 months of your life (well, 7 months so far). I know, I know. I chose this. Well… God chose this, but I agreed. I stepped into this, eyes wide open. I just never realized that my "wide" was really only half way. You don't know how much you don't know…. until you know. And so frustrations and annoyances have emerged. To say that I have not been the best version of myself is probably an understatement.
Sometimes I feel like L.A. changed me. Or maybe it was the film business. I used to have a good attitude. I used to be that person who was forever positive. If you asked if I was doing ok, my response would inevitably be: Always. When did I become this bitter, jaded person? When did I become this flakey person who never goes to things she says she's going to because I 'just don't feel like it.' When did I become so selfish? Is it a reaction to my environment? Or is that who I really am? Do we just naturally become hard as life passes? Is that part of "growing up?"
Ironically enough, the weather seems to reflect my turmoil. While most days are sunny and beautiful, when we first arrived we had barely settled in when a tropical depression riped through town. An omen of my emotional state to come perhaps? And just like the wreck I've become, the city of Xai Xai (Shy Shy) was left in upheaval. Josepha, a man who works for our contacts on a farm that supports the Bible College, was "lucky." His reed house was not flattened like many… he only lost his roof. And so we (our contact Jason, my team, and another missionary to the area, Ori) loaded up some lumber and tin roof sheets, grabbed a couple hammers, and climbed into 2 SUV's. We were going to help Josepha out.
— Four hours later… (and I thought my commute to work in LA traffic was bad)
As a result of the distance, Josepha lives at the Bible College farm during three weeks of the month, and only spends the one remaining week at home with his wife and 7 children. It's a hard situation, but he considers himself lucky to have work. I said I wanted to visit the 'bush' while in Africa… well, my wish came true. After driving two hours on pavement, we turned off onto a dirt road for another hour before finally 'off-roading' it through the African plains (Literally. We stopped a ten year old boy hearding cattle to ask if there were hidden watering holes around so that we could avoid accidentally driving into them!). Finally we arrived at our destination and got down to work.
Old Reed House New Brick House
We decided to put the roof not on Josepha's destroyed reed house, but rather on the cement brick house he had been in the process of building for the past 7 years. A three room, dirt floor, cement wall structure, Josepha had been putting any spare money he could afford into purchasing bricks and manually building a home for his family. That day, in a matter of 5 hours, we helped put a roof over their heads. A small effort for us, but a large blessing for them. That evening, as we sat around a plastic dinner table in the newly covered room, Josepha's wife turned to us and said, "Many people are sad because of the storm, but I am grateful for it, because it brought you to us." Even in the midst of tragedy, she was thankful. And the thing she was thankful for was community.
My favorite definition of community is: a group of interdependent organisms of different species growing or living together in a specified habitat. While I've viewed community as an annoyance which means little to no alone time, a lack of personal space, and a smaller portion of dinner, to this man and his wife community means a roof over their heads. I think, perhaps, my eyes are still being opened.
Josepha, his wife, and his youngest child
