As this month comes
to a close, I am stricken with sadness at the thought of saying goodbye to the
boys I have grown to genuinely love.
I am not really sure what is different about these Mozambiquan boys than
other children I have spent time with over the past six months, but they have
left an impression on my heart that will be hard to shake. There are a few boys in particular that I
just want to stuff in my backpack and take home with me. They have had such a lasting impact that I
felt compelled to write about one of them and tell you a piece if his story.
Paulo’s Story
I met Palu about a week into ministry when he showed up at
Masana one Monday morning. There was
something different about Paulo; he was gentle and timid, unlike many of the other
boys that tend to punch rather than hug or sneak up behind you when you least
expect it. That morning before
breakfast, I sat down with Paulo to play cards when he began to shake and lose
control of his body; he was having a seizure.
I asked Edson (one of the boys that lives at Masana) what was wrong, and
he just said that you have to hold onto him while he shakes to keep him from
hurting himself. For the next ten
seconds or so, I firmly held his arm until he came to. Then, he went back to our card game as if
nothing had happened. I just sat there
and stared at him a moment, startled at how quickly he recomposed himself. Over the next twenty minutes, poor Paulo had
six seizures. I called over Lauren, our
Masana contact, and told her about the episodes. Apparently, Paulo had mentioned it before, however Lauren and Ian had not actually seen it happen yet. Paulo told them that he would sometimes pass
out in the street and wake up some hours later with no recollection of what
happened. The symptoms sound a lot like
Epilepsy, however they aren’t quite sure. At
first, I was so upset. How could I sit
back and watch this boy leave Masana every single day and go back to the
streets, knowing he was so vulnerable and could easily hurt himself? I didn’t understand why he wasn’t going home
to his parents, and why Masana wasn’t doing more to help him.
I sat down with Lauren and talked to her about it the
following day, and she told me that as sad as it was, there really wasn’t
anything she could do until he decided that he was going to leave the street
life and go back home to live with his family.
She then proceeded to tell me a little about his background. Paulo’s real name is Flavio and he is thirteen years old. When
the boys run to the streets, they tend to take on street names in order to disconnect
their lives at home with their street lives. Paulo is from northern Mozambique, about 10 hours north of Maputo in a town called Inhambane. He used to live there with his mother and stepfather, however three years ago he was brought down to
Maputo to live with his grandmother. He
was apparently so unhappy living there, that he ran away and went to live
on the streets about four months ago. Paulo had been to Masana a few times a while back, but had not been again until recently. He started coming back to Masana around the time we arrived in Maputo.
The Lord really laid Paulo on my heart to pray for him and spend time with him that week. I specifically prayed for him to go home, as he was not fit for life on the streets. I knew if he didn’t get help from his family soon, something terrible would happen to him. About a week after his first episode at Masana, sweet Paulo made the decision to go
home. Normally Masana requires the boys
to live with them for one month and do a proper reintegration, but they decided
that this was a special case since he has a medical condition that needed to be
taken care of. Luish is the person in
charge of reintegration, so he spoke with his grandmother and uncle and decided
it would be best to personally take Paulo north to be with his mother and
stepfather where he could be treated and put on medication for his condition.
Paulo stayed with us at Masana for one week. Every time I would see him, he would be smiling
ear to ear. He loved meal time so much
that he would eat two servings just because he could, and say goodnight at 8pm
just so he could go sit on “his own bed”, only to be out fifteen minutes later
and do it all over again. I laugh
inside just thinking about him.
Last Thursday was Paulo’s last day at Masana. That evening, Paulo made his rounds through
the house hugging everyone and saying his goodbyes. I promised him I would wake up at 5am so I
could see him off and hug him one last time.
When I woke up, he was getting ready.
He took off his dirty yellow-ish brown button-down that he had been
wearing everyday on the streets, and put on a clean, crisp white collared shirt
and slipped on a new pair of flip-flops.
The shirt is still sitting in the den.
It makes me smile every time I look at it. Paulo was now, once again Flavio, and it was
time for Flavio to go home.
It’s bittersweet… But mostly sweet.
I miss him.
