I am sitting in a class full of Mozambiquean students as I write this. They are all sneaking curious glances at the surprise visitor, I can tell they’re trying not to stare but can’t help it. The curiosity seems to have taken over the shyness my wooden school desk was just surrounded by about 10 students ranging in age from 12 to adult, all wanting to know what I was writing. Other then than the title I couldn’t explain this blog in Portuguese and decided that just saying it was English would be a better move. I’m still wondering how I got here. I feel like my skin is flourescnt white because of all the stares.
Days here in Mozambique are so different then anything I have ever experienced. This morning I woke up at 7 am, like usual, sleeping in when the sun is beating down on your tent is pretty much impossible. My first priority was boiling water for French press coffee. I might be half way around the world but some things never change. The fire had gone out over night and the small kettle we had been using was gone. Thank goodness I found Laura – a pastor and our host and she took pity on my caffeen-less situation, by giving me boiling water. Breakfast was dry cereal; our team had run out of milk.
After food I walked about 25 yards to what I call the quiet time tree. It is kind of an unspoken rule of camp that the shade under it’s branches is used for two things, quiet time with God or group prayer.
I just got the stare down from the teacher. Class has officially started. I think he has just determined that I am from the United States not England and thankfully class is going on. I hate causing a distraction but here my skin color automatically does.
After about ten minutes somewhat alone under the tree a group meandered over for Morning Prayer. The optional group prayer times are truly a highlight of my days. I always have said that I believe prayer is what makes things happen, now I have the chance to live that out. I truly believe that prayer is the best work I can do here and through that God will provide the other ministries such as relief work, church planting and relationships.
After our prayer time I was ready to move. Being sedentary in camp doesn’t work well for me. I got permission then started to walk down the dirt road. After just a few steps I realized that I would have more fun if some of the orphan boys who live in the compound came with. I don’t really know what to call the place we live in; compound is the best word I have. It’s 6 or 7 grass huts, some tents, and I guess there was a church building that the cyclone destroyed. From what I have gathered, Laura is in charge and besides her family, 12 orphans that she has taken in live there. It’s hard to tell who belongs where, or what belongs to whom. In the native language there isn’t even a word for mine, ownership is not a part of this culture.
The orphan boys were more then happy to come along and be my tour guides. Carlito, Felipe, Justin, Pastor and I all took off. The boys are hilarious; pastor is three, but the rest range in age from 12-14. I already love them like crazy!
I was just asked to write on the board in English and now after an hours worth of teaching English I am back to writing. I had no idea I would be teaching today, but that’s how life here works.
The boys and I laughed while walking by other family compounds of swept dirt and grass huts. They taught me how to ask, “How are you?” In the native language. Being the shy, easily inhibited person I am, I started yelling, “how are you to every person I passed.” My newfound language skills went over well and people would laugh and answer back, genuinely excited to be greeted in their language. The only down fall of my amazing language abilities was that a few of the women thought I could understand. One woman grabbed my hands, led me in to her yard and kept asking for something. The kids translated from the tribal language to Portuguese and because of the last few months of Spanish I can understand very basic Portuguese. Turns out she wanted a roof because the cyclone blew it off. I had to explain that I didn’t have one.
Another woman smelling heavily of alcohol came up, grabbed my hands and wouldn’t loosen her grip. The kids explained to me that she drank a lot and wanted help. I offered to pray for her and she gladly accepted. Sometimes ministry is just walking down the path, seeing what God puts in front of you.
As we neared the compound Laura had some schoolbooks out. She explained to me that she had classes in the afternoon. I was feeling up for an adventure so I asked if it would be possible to come along. After a quick lunch of spaghetti noodles, turn and tomatoes all cooked together in a pot over the fire, I was off.
As I arrived on the school grounds hundreds of dark faces turned around to stare at me. I lined up with everyone else as they sung the national anthem, and then followed Laura back to the classroom.
Now I’m watching as the students take a test. The younger kids outside keep crowding the door to catch a glimpse of me. My dehydration headache is growing.
When I wake up in the morning I have no idea what God is going to do with the day. I love that every night the orphans sing to us for hours and every morning we are able to come together in prayer. I also love lavishing as much attention as possible on the kids at the compound, learning their names, teaching them words in English and learning phrases in their language. I love that our hosts carved a hole in a plastic chair and placed that over the squatty potty (bathroom hole) so that we would have a westernized bathroom experience.
This is my life right now, about as different from living in the United States as possible. Later this week we are heading to a remote village for a few days to work with a neighboring church. As is typical in Africa, they aren’t too specific about what we will be doing, maybe building houses, maybe a children’s program, maybe preaching or teaching English. What I do know is that whatever it is God will provide opportunities to do what is really important – love him and love the people he puts in my path.
