Last week an all-girl Real Life team arrived here in Nsoko. This team of fifteen college-age girls and their three leaders will be ministering here for roughly six weeks. Since I am here, alone, I am also living in the same team house as them. Just to give you an idea of what that means, it’s a pretty small structure that consists of a kitchen, congregating area (no couches or tables, just unreliable, plastic chairs at best), three basic bathrooms (two functioning, one that I’ve never seen minus the “OUT OF ORDER” sign, and all without showers), and finally, two dorm-style bedrooms. So all nineteen of us are “nicely” packed into this house. This calls for constantly revolving bathroom doors, and minimal space and organization within the rooms. Just try to imagine the chaos. We do have access to showers at the clinic on the property, but on occasion I’ve seen a little mouse friend in the stall…not to mention the one currently residing in our house.
I actually have really enjoyed having the team around, despite the stereotype “drama” associated with a group consisting of this much estrogen. They have been a great comfort to the loneliness, and have proved a nearly constant source of entertainment. It has also been really encouraging to spend time in worship and prayer with them. With a new team also comes new perspective.
Many of them had never left the comfort of their home nation, and even some had never been on an airplane before this trip. Naturally, they are well out of their comfort-zone, and so much of what they are seeing, hearing, and experiencing, they are still raw to. Just a few mornings into their arrival, Pastor Gift alerted us to the knowledge that a toddler from the main Care Point (on the property that our team house is on) had died on the way to the hospital. This is the fourth death in the community that I’ve been made aware of in the past four weeks. And I am sure there are countless more from outside of my acquaintance.
Yesterday morning, a third of the team went to minister at one of the Care Points AIM works with. This Care Point is ten or fifteen minutes off the main road and deep into “the bush,” almost to the base of the mountain behind us. It is the most pitiful of all of the Care Points down here, and still has a great number of malnourished children and adults that come there. Because of the difficultly to get out there, it is not steadily reached, and therefore, has not seen the growth that most of the other Care Points have. Many of the girls were sobered and broken from their short time there–their first “in-your-face” experience with extreme poverty. It caused me to look within myself and re-assess where my own heart is.
I’ve found that when I have stayed somewhere long enough, I have a tendency to grow numb. I am still able to function with compassion, but it doesn’t hit me to the core as it once did. I remember being here last year and seeing the children with the kwashiorkor–stomachs protruding, constantly running noses, and amber-colored hair were only the visible signs of severe protein deficiency. It stung to even spend time with them, knowing that I had so much more than they could even dream of just in my little backpack, and recognizing that my short stay would not do much by itself. Over time, I’ve learned to understand that, though I may not be able to do much on my own, many people, individually pouring their hearts out, can change an entire nation. Just a year later, I can see what God has done with this place through the hands and hearts of so many passing through and praying. It is my hope that these girls walk away with a better understanding of ministry, yes, but also with brokenness. Because, sometimes it takes us being broken before we can ever be mended.
