She walks into class without a smile, her braids and beads bobbing on her head with each step. “She’s sick,” the older kids tell me. I scan the room of fifty preschoolers and I wonder how many of them are HIV positive. Her name is Natasha.
I talk to her and make faces until a grin breaks out across her face. She brings me her shoes to help put on– they are too small.
Arriving to school the next day, Natasha sees me and comes to give me a hug. I look down at her feet, and she is wearing a different pair of shoes. Her heels hang out the back and her toes barely fit inside. I know “too small” are all she has.
Some of the sponsored students have received Christmas gifts from the States. The sponsoring organization pulls them aside one-by-one to sit at the table with their package in front of the photographer who captures the smile when they look inside.
The other 339 students in the schoolyard watch. I stand in disgust, taking it all in, as a young one grabs my hand. She looks up at me with her big brown eyes and says, “Will you give me one?”
We are visiting the district of Mumbwa and are the first mzungu to ever stay in their town. Most only pass through on their way to more important places. The pastor parades us around town and asks us to stand in front of the church to pray over people, practically advertising our “special power”.
In the pastor’s home, they watch The Prophecy Channel, mostly consisting of shouting and messages you might hear from a palm reader. They are isolated from the outside world. This awful “evangelical” television is their only source of influence on “church”. They implement the same, because this is what they know.
Extreme poverty. Lack of necessities.
When “helping” hurts. Injustice.
Discriminatory stereotypes. False teaching.
The tears flow. And then flow again. And then flow some more.
I am a problem solver. But He is The Problem Solver.
These are not for me. But I can do my part and take them to Him. And I can cry.
