This month we’re featuring stories of “The One” — the men, women, and children whom Racers will never forget.
When Kara Bryant of 2013 U Squad heard a little girl screaming in an elementary school playground, she ran to the window just in time to witness something that shook her to her core.
I can still hear her screams.
It was June of 2014 and I was serving at an orphanage in Swaziland, painting murals for a preschool hut in bright, primary colors.
It was the end of the school day. Children played outside, their laughter filling the hut we worked in.
Then, suddenly, blood-curdling screams rent the air, one after another.
This was more than a stubbed toe or anger; whoever was screaming wasn’t stopping, wasn’t just playing. It felt like each scream hammered at my heart, as it left the mouth of the child it belonged to.
I jumped to my feet and ran to the window. Nothing.
I ran to the next window just in time to see something I can’t forget: a circle of children watching as a laughing little boy had his way with a terrified little girl.
She looked to be 7 years old.
Marie* screamed and cried while frantically trying to keep her dress pulled down, to get this little boy’s hands off of her as she tugged her body away from him.
Then I was the one screaming. Righteous anger pounded through me as I yelled for him to get away from her and leave her alone. His laughing stopped, the circle dissipated, and the little boy sprinted down the street.
I sprinted too, out the door and to the side of the little girl he left in terror. I cradled her in my arms and prayed over her. I told her through tears — hers and mine — that it was over now, and that none of it was her fault.
Not long after, I discovered this abuse is a regular occurrence after school.
My heart broke that day for the children of Swaziland who face injustice and fear. My heart broke even more after reporting the incident only for nothing to be done — not even by Marie’s family.
And when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my heart broke deeper still as I walked the little girl home and found out he was her half brother.
It took me a while to see my role in this incident. I could only see the ugly, the hurt, the flesh. I wondered why I had to be there during it, why did God allow me to see it?
For the hour or so that I spent with this little girl, I was able to provide safety. I held her in my arms, reported the incident, and then walked her all the way to her front door. But more than that, I was able to pray over her, pray with her, and speak truths over her. I was able to offer her hope and protection under the wings of her heavenly Father, a hope and protection that would last long after I left.
I knew on that day that my heart was specifically for children facing injustice.
A few weeks later, while in South Africa, I had a dream.
In the dream, I stood in a dimly lit bedroom. There was an old white man lying in a bed. He signaled for me to come join him. I said no, walked out the door, and found myself in a small room with a white woman holding a clipboard.
There were benches around the perimeter of the room. Each bench was filled with little African girls wearing revealing clothes and heavy make up.
As I looked at the woman with fear in my eyes, she looked over her glasses at me and said, “You know that if you don’t go back in there he will come choose one of them.”
I took one more look around the room at the little girls’ faces and immediately turned back stop the man, to stand between these young girls and injustice.
After waking up in a panic, I knew what the Lord was asking me to do: to stand in the gap between children and injustice.
Which is exactly what I do now.
I’ve been back from the Race for over a year and currently live in Chicago, teaching kindergarten at a school called Village Leadership Academy, which focuses on social justice and ending systematic oppression, both in Chicago and worldwide. Our students are 90% low income and are bussed to our school from some of the roughest neighborhoods in the city.
*Not the girl in the story
Every day I teach an hour long block of social justice, because in addition to normal “school” subjects, my job is to empower these children to rise above injustice.
I often find myself thinking about Marie. I see her in my little kindergarteners’ faces. I see her struggle against injustice. I see her helplessness. I don’t know what happened to her, if the abuse stopped.
She has also become my inspiration. When I see her little face in my students’ faces, I see the opportunity to help these children use their voices, to resist injustice and oppression in their lives and in the lives of those around them. I see these students rising up to be leaders and advocates, friends, and peacemakers.
That moment in a schoolyard in Swaziland literally changed my life forever. I believe being able to intervene on Marie’s behalf changed hers, too. It showed her that someone was willing to protect her. That she was worth it. I pray she was never touched again.
Marie has no idea, but she has touched the lives of so many.
She’s why I do what I do. I’m thankful to have met her, to have been there that day to stop her abuse, and I pray that God will continue to use me in the same way for the rest of my life.
*Name changed for protection. First two photos by Carly Marin.
Does Marie’s story make you mad? Do you want to do something about it? Click HERE to find out how you can GO on the World Race in August or October 2016!
