Thursday, June 27, 2013

Field Trip Day

I was excited about taking a field trip on Tuesday with the BG social worker.  Our plan was to go to a two villages and then check out a care center that hold children 4 years old to 13 years old.  The drive out to the first village was beautiful.  Because BG is in the capital city, sometimes my heart forgets the depravity of the statistics of the country I live in.  Driving through the mountains reminds me of the staggering facts of that 40% of the country lives on less than $1 a day.  The poverty that was before my eyes as we drove made me grateful for the perks I have at BG, such as electricity, running water (even though it is unsafe to drink) and Internet. 

On our way to the first village we picked up a social worker from the department of social work.  We had been told of a 2 month old baby that was born 3 months premature.  The mother had died at birth and the father had passed away before the child was born, so the child's grandfather was the only living relative to care for them.  We drove through some pretty bumpy roads to get to the village, and then when the road stopped, we made our own.  Praise God for 4x4's!  When we reached the grandfather's residence, he was not there.  We spent some time just walking around and yelling for him, but there was no reply.  After a while, we drove to the next house to talk to some women who happened to be grinding their corn by hand with rocks.  They told us that grandfather found a local female in the village to help him care for the child.  The women we spoke with were concerned, because they felt the women was not fit to take care of a child and that due to the child's premature birth, it was very small and sick.  The women took us to another place in the village to hopefully find the child, but we were unsuccessful.  My heart broke as we drove away without the baby.  I pray that wherever the child is and whoever is caring for the child they are okay.  I did not want to drive down the mountain with empty arms, but there was no choice.  During harvest time, people can leave their house for days to work in the fields.  I pray this child and care giver can get the help they need to allow the child to grow and get better.  Without electricity and running water, I fear what living conditions the child is in.

The second village we went to, also had roads that stopped, so we once again made our own.  Along the way we kept asking local herd boys to direct us to the chief.  Every other herd boy pointed us in a different direction.  At first it was comical, but after a while, it was frustrating, because we needed the chief's stamp on some documents so that one of the children at BG can be placed for adoption.  Finally we found an older shepherd who informed us that since the white flag was flying over the village, the chief was making and drinking his home brew beer and we were invited to join.  We joked as we hoped the chief would have a clear enough mind to stamp our paper work.  Once we found the chief, he said he would stamp the documents, but his stamp was at his house and we needed to drive there. So with the chief  in our truck (smelling of his home brew) off we went to his house.  He stamped the documents and we were on our way.

After spending some time at the post office working on birth certificates of our kids from that district, we were off to visit the other care center.  I heard rumors about the way this center was run and as we drove, I prayed for protection against anything we would experience.  The center had a beautiful facility, but the way the children were being raised was in my mind extremely wrong.  I won't go into detail about the center, but I will say that it effected me, the social worker and our driver in a big way.  I was grateful for our conversations on the way home to talk about what we saw.  I was also grateful for the classes I have taken lately to help me explain some of the things we experienced.

Life in Lesotho is hard, but I am a little jealous of it.  Being up in the mountains, I saw the simplicity of community.  There was no electricity, which meant no computers or television, so in order to communicate with someone, you had to talk to them face to face.  The children entertained themselves with very creative playing and everyone had a friend.  Rocks were being used for soccer goals and a big stick was the prize possession for a little boy.  The women were all gathered around one house, cleaning and grinding the corn and the men we were told were out in the fields.  Mountain living is living in community.  It is like the first church who shared what they had and ate together.  Living in community with other missionaries is the same.  Every one's house is open for conversation and sharing.  The community I am in, is one where I don't have to explain things because everyone knows what life is like and how some days you feel like you are advancing the gospel of Jesus Christ, and other days you feel defeated. 

I am grateful for community living and pray I can continue it once I am back in Michigan.

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