My team and I have been in Pretoria, South Africa for about 3 weeks now. I have now memorized the way to get from our house to the Mamalodi township where we have been working. I know the exact point in which the scenery turns from suburbia South Africa- to extreme poverty. In a fifteen minute drive the contrast of environments is staggering. From neighborhoods and houses, to tin shacks and fields of partially burned trash, leaving the smell of burning plastic forever in my memory.
Even though the impoverishment and the need is highly evident everywhere you turn, the Mamalodi Township has become one of my favorite places. Everyday at 2 pm on the dot the children get out of school; and thats when my favorite part of my days here begins.. Its slow at first and then all at once. They are walking back from a long day at school, it is extra hot, and you can tell they are tired. But one by one when they get to the gate they look up, a smile shoots across their faces, and they start running. As they run, I prepare my self to be on the receiving end of their energy. As they come, I am slowly overwhelmed with love from each of them. Hugs, kisses, jumping piggy back rides, hand holding, laughing, the works.
I look down at some of their clothes, ripped, weathered, and worn. There are stains, and marks, and many wear the same outfit over and over days on end. But I scoop them up and love them all the more.
Some have injuries; bruised faces, wounded lips, scars on bellies and feet, burn marks, and scratches.Their feet are cracked and peeling, some burned. Part of me is scared to ask what happened, part of me doesn’t want to know, but the rest of me just wants to hold them and to show them love and the way that they should be loved because they are precious children.
As we started to build relationships with these children, I noticed that they would get really possessive of us. If another child would try to hold my hand while they were- it was often accompanied by a slap, bite, poke in the eyes or an occasional punch. I tried saying “no fighting” almost every way I knew how. Verbal and non-verbal- but nothing seemed to work. I asked what the translation was, but still the kids kept going on.
I asked my host brother what to do, and how to translate. He just looked at me and said that we really don’t want them to stop fighting because thats how they survive in their environment. And I was heartbroken. The kids I was holding were no more than 6 years old, and they are fighting for survival.
Thats a lot different than how I grew up. Suddenly I’m embarrassed that I had so many fights with my mom about not getting to use my easy bake oven enough when I was their age.
So what is my response? how can you respond? At first I didn’t want to respond, I just wanted to be sad. But then I decided to take a different approach- to love unconditionally, joyfully, with no limits. If their clothes are worn or spoiled pick them up and love them anyways. If their constantly fighting with each other, pick them both up and love them anyways. Same thing applies all over, not just in Africa. If your friend has made the same mistake that they keep making, love them anyways. If your boss still hasn’t recognized your hard work, show up and work hard anyways.
You can’t help the worlds deep cracks ad brokenness by choosing to lay down in them. Instead bring light in. Show people the love of Jesus. This lifetime is momentary anyways.
“So now faith, hope, and love abide; but the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13
