Story by Heather Moline, Experience Mission Immersion Staff
Dino and Felizardo are two of my neighbor boys. They live with their cousin Ana, who is in her early twenties and has a child of her own, Angida. Nobody really knows how old Angida is, but they know that she is over a year old. Maybe 16 months. Ana is HIV positive and has a slight mental handicap. She has been an orphan for most of her own life, but she does her best to take care of the three young children that are now entrusted to her.
Our community partner, Bernadette, has done her best to take care of the young family with her ministry resources. For the past few months, she has been allowing the children to live in a small house on her property, which is a beautiful, life-changing gift. It has allowed them to have a safe and clean place to call home, although they are still extremely poor.
Dino and Felizardo are 12 and 10. They lost their parents several months ago and like most Mozambican children, have been forced to grow up very quickly. The realities of life are hard here,-- no, not just hard. Unjust.
I've become friends with the family of children and have even had the opportunity to help Ana carry water and do laundry at the well. We try to speak Portuguese, but mostly we just smile at one another and work silently. During laundry time, I hold Angida and several soggy t-shirts while Dino pulls up water from the well and Ana scrubs the clothes in a broken bucket. Soap is a luxury here, so they only let the bar of soap float in the water for a few minutes before taking it out and saving it for dinner dishes and bath time. It hardly produces any suds in the dirty water. Each of the boys have two t-shirts. Ana has one tattered dress, one blouse and one skirt. The baby has three onesies. None of them have underwear.
Angida gets a bath in the leftover laundry water. I pick her up to help get her dressed and Ana motions that I should put her down so that I don't get my own shirt wet and dirty. I shake my head and smile, hugging the little baby closer. I kiss her cheeks and tell her that she is bonita. No one knows if Angida is HIV positive like her mother. The odds are against her. She must be tested at 18 months, which will be an approximate guess considering she has no official birthdate. It's heartbreaking, really. As I wipe the dirty water out of her face, I pray that the test results will be miraculous for this little girl.
Dino wants to learn more English and I tell him that he must help me learn Portuguese, too. We agree to have lessons at 4:00pm each day. When I come to his house on Tuesday, he is waiting with a tattered notebook and pencil. He has pulls two chairs out into the yard. We start by writing our names and then begin a list of English and Portuguese words by pointing to things outside. Well. Fire. House. Cousin. Baby. Sandal. Happy.
Then a man from the neighborhood wanders near the house. He smells like alcohol and too many days without a bath. Dino becomes quiet and sits up straighter, watching the man very carefully. He picks up the baby and looks at his younger brother as if they are speaking their own silent language.
Maluco, Dino whispers to me. I have already learned this word. Crazy. The man stumbles closer to the house and picks up a ball of yarn that belongs to Ana. I know it is a precious resource for the family, and I hope that he won't take it. Dino sits up straighter and reaches his hand out for the ball of yarn. The man tosses it onto the ground and mumbles something in Portuguese. He stands watching us for a few moments. We try to continue with our lesson, but he is still muttering and stumbling around the yard. Finally, I tell him, Nesicitamos estudiar. Ciao. (We need to study. Goodbye.) He says that he will see us tomorrow. No, I say, nao amanha (No, not tomorrow). I hope that he won't come back again.
DIno watches the man walk away and doesn't return to our lesson until he is well out of sight. He puts down his baby cousin and then picks up his notebook. He looks proud, but still shaken. His little family has been protected. We continue with our lesson for another half hour, but I can't help but feel a deep sense of frustration when I say goodbye to my young friends that night. These are the pangs of injustice that we talked about in week one of Immersion training. These are the tough realities of life that we are forced to confront when we throw ourselves into authentic relationships.
And it's not fair. It's not fair that they are orphans. It's not fair that they don't have enough soap to clean their clothes. It's not fair that this little boy of 12 years old must be the man of the house, that he must protect them from everyday dangers and crazy people that wander the streets.
And while my heart breaks for their circumstances, I also know that my budding friendship with the family is powerful. Although I might not be able to solve their material problems, I know that our time together is valuable. I know that practicing English and Portuguese with the boys might better equip them for their future or improve their reading abilities or at least encourage them to stay in school.
I know that living alongside this community and this family is fulfilling part of my purpose in the world. I'm doing exactly what God asks each of us to do--to love the orphans and the widows, the least of these, the people who are vulnerable and who society has forgotten. And despite the injustice that exists all around us, I have to continue believing that our friendships here are bringing joy and dignity into difficult circumstances. I have to believe that there is power over injustice, and that hope does exist. I have to believe that God will hold up his end of the deal--to restore and make all things new.
And as we continue trying to live out our mission here, I am even more convinced that hope begins with everyday relationships. It doesn't take much really. Just laundry, prayer and a Portuguese dictionary.
LEARN MORE | EM has 8 unique IMMERSION programs coming up in 2013, including a 3-month term to Mozambique next summer.
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