I love African children.
Back in the summer of 2010, I spent six weeks in Malawi, “the heart of Africa,” teaching environmental, HIV/AIDS, and gender empowerment education through a wonderful program called World Camp. It was my first time in Africa, and my heart was quickly captured by the sweet children I got to spend my time with each week. Before the trip, I’ll admit that I hadn’t spent much time with kids back in the States, especially in large groups, so I guess it isn’t really fair for me to compare the children in Malawi with my possibly judgmental/stereotypical view of how children normally act in America. But I was blown away by these kids.
Each week we traveled to a new school in a new village, and each week I would find that only about half of my students had shoes to wear. For the five days that we were there, they wore the exact same clothes (and I’m not talking about uniforms) that were covered in dirt and spotted with rips and holes. We knew we were at a nice school when there were benches in the classroom, because a lot of times the kids just had to sit in the floor. We supplied them with a pencil to use so that they could take notes, and when we brought out the crayons each day it was considered a luxury. We were told that if it weren’t for the coolers of nsima (a staple food in East Africa) and beans that we were bringing, most of the kids wouldn’t be eating lunch that day.
And yet, these seemed to be some of the happiest kids I’d ever met! They ran out to meet us when we arrived each day, and had the biggest smiles on their faces all through morning songs and games. One of my favorite parts of the day was right after lunch, when they would circle up, sings songs, and dance like crazy! Their giggles were contagious and their joy was abundant. Though the world may call them poor, I knew that these kids were rich, and I delighted in being able to share in their treasures for those six weeks. I flew home that summer with a new understanding of joy. It isn’t about possessions or circumstances; it’s about being with friends and family, embracing life, and above all, living in the knowledge that I am loved by God.
Before the World Race, that was probably one of the most significant lessons I had learned in my whole life. So I was eager to get back to Africa and experience that same feeling and revisit that same lesson with the children here. But instead I’ve found that I can’t expect powerful spiritual moments to just repeat themselves like that, because I serve a creative God who wants to teach me new things in new ways.
The past couple of months in Africa have definitely been full of children. In Kenya I got plenty of opportunities to love on the kids at Bliss Women and Children’s Project, and had my heart melt when kids from the slums would lean against me during our crusades or walk hand-in-hand with me down the road as we headed to ministry.
(Photo courtesy of Katie Way)
In Rwanda I got to teach a bunch of crazy little tots English (though this mostly just involved singing silly songs) and multiple times a week would get hugs from random kids on the streets.
But no country so far has had as many kids as Uganda. They are everywhere! And almost always chanting “mzungu” and excited to see us (except for the few that freak out and start bawling because they’ve never seen a white person before and are terrified– it always gets real awkward when that happens during house visits). When you combine the past three months, there’s no doubt that I’ve seen hundreds, maybe even thousands, of African children.
Yet one day as I was walking in Rwanda, I realized that I’d been missing something. As much as I’ve taught and played with and been around these kids, I’ve been almost completely oblivious to their poverty. Whereas in Malawi it was much of my focus and my heartache, here I’ve almost completely ignored it, probably only letting it catch my eye a couple of times a month. When I first realized this, I was honestly a bit disturbed. I mean, what’s wrong with me? Have I lost my compassion? Am I just completely desensitized at this point in the Race? What’s going on? Because for the most part, these kids aren’t much better off than my kids from Malawi. How had I gone without noticing that?
So I started making a conscious effort to try and pay better attention to the kids I was encountering. And when I did, my eyes were once again opened to the poverty in much of East Africa. Just like before, I started seeing the bare feet, the dirty, worn out clothing, the snotty noses, the infected cuts, and worst of all, the protruding, malnourished bellies – the kind that you sometimes see on infomercials, but quickly change the channel because you don’t want it to be reality. But it is reality. And for a moment, I let the pain and injustice of that reality immobilize me. My heart was so weighed down with pity that I forgot that my purpose for these children wasn’t to focus on their circumstances, but just to embrace them and love them.
That’s when I realized that all this time of not seeing their poverty wasn’t me losing my compassion, but rather God granting me a time of seeing the world through a different set of lenses.
There is always going to be need in the world – need for food, need for shelter, need for clothing, need for healing. And as followers of Christ, we are called to meet those needs. Isaiah 58:6-7 instructs us to “free those who are wrongly imprisoned; lighten the burden of those who work for you. Let the oppressed go free, and remove the chains that bind people. Share your food with the hungry, and give shelter to the homeless. Give clothes to those who need them, and do not hide from relatives who need your help.”
But of all the needs out there, what the world needs most is love.
I think sometimes we get so caught up in trying to meet the tangible needs of those around us, that we miss the key component of just offering love. We objectify the person into a problem to which we can provide a solution, all the while missing the living, breathing, beautiful human being right in front of us, who ironically enough is often times more desperate for our genuine attention than for a new pair of clothes, a toy, or a cash donation.
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely think it is important to take note of the needs of those around us, and to try and provide for them the best we can. But more than anything, I think it is crucial to look past the problem and see the person standing before us. And I think that is one of the many lessons God has taught me this time around in Africa. That yes, our hearts are meant to break for people, and we are meant to be moved to action. But sometimes it’s okay, necessary even, to look past the dirty clothes, past the lack of possessions, and past the unfair circumstances, and just see the person that resides underneath it all. Because deep down, don’t we all just want to be seen not for what we are, but for who we are?
I love African children. I have loved spending the last couple of months playing with them, singing with them, dancing with them, running with them, laughing with them, hugging them, and holding them. And I love how they have reminded me that what the world needs more than my pity is my (His) joy, my (His) attention, and my (His) love.
“If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it, but if I didn’t love others, I would have gained nothing.”
-1 Corinthians 13:3
