We were all thunderstruck as we passed the village that was lower than the road. Dark corrugated tin roofs sitting on top of unpainted chipped and cracked walls closely packed together. So close that pigs nosing about between the houses looking for edible garbage didn’t have room to turn around. People in colorful, uncoordinated outfits with baskets on their heads squeezed past the swine on their way to their daily chores. In the center of the village was an indoor mall, ha, got you! The shopping area did however sport plenty of umbrellas for protection from the unsympathetic sun while people sold their wares; bananas, scarves, flowers, whatever; the poor selling to the poorer. The average income was a dollar a day on a good day. On the other side of the road was a field, well most of where we looked was dirt field with scattered trees, where children were playing. They seemed to be having fun but how could that be possible?
A few water puddles were pointed out to us by the guide that had been appointed by our sponsor, Mannaworldwide.com., an organization dedicated to stamping out hunger on planet earth named after the miracle of manna God provided to feed the Israelites as they wandered in the wilderness. Puddles that were enormous problems, breeding sites for mosquitoes, the dreaded carriers of Malaria, that horrific disease we had to be vaccinated against before we could step foot off the plane, well, before we could even get on the plane.
I was not looking forward to seeing the clinic we were here to volunteer at, or the school house either. If the houses looked like this what would everything else look like? OMG, what about our hotel! Cringing, I hoped this week would pass fast. What had I been thinking to use my vacation time to come to this God forsaken land, to help these God forsaken people? Well, next year would be different, Hawaii, here I come.
The clinic didn’t look so bad after all, though it was crowded with people milling about and sitting on the floors in the hallways. They had heard we were coming, what’s more they had heard what we were bringing with us. Hope. We were bringing them gold. Gold in the form of bed nets, nets that cost ten American dollars, ten days wages for them,(remember, that was only if they were having a good day) ten days of wages that went on food for their families. The nets were medicated and effectually killed malaria carrying pests for up to at least five years (the mosquitoes died and stayed dead but the medication lasted five years!) and we were here to distribute them, among other things.
We carried our cargo of nets and medical supplies down the hall behind the guide who greeted all patients cheerfully, touching their foreheads or proffered hands, while some just tugged on the cuff of his pants in the prospect of receiving something.
“Wow, there must be whole families here!” I exclaimed.
“Whole families?” Guide questioned in an unfamiliar accent. “Here in Africa that doesn’t exit. There is no family here that hasn’t lost someone to malaria or hunger. That lady over there, for example, has lost seven children and her husband yet she comes here to volunteer in hopes of sparing others that sorrow.”
I looked at the lady of about eighty and shook my head sadly, commenting on her age and aloneness.
“Dear, she’s only thirty two,” Guide explained.
“You’re kidding!” said I, followed by a silent, YIKES!
“Excuse me,” Guide asked, walking up to a young mother holding her baby, a baby that had just stopped crying.
Guide, setting his cane against the wall, lifted baby to his arms and cradled him lovingly, whispering in his ears softly and tenderly till I saw the frail little chest heave one last time. Eventually, Guide handed Baby back down to Mother, who accepted the still body with resignation. This wasn’t an isolated event, one baby dies every thirty seconds in Africa from malaria, who would she get sympathy from? Guide rested his hand on her shoulder and she in turn placed her’s on top and I could see her yoke of pain lighten slightly as she felt his empathy. The nets and medication came too late for her.
“You’ll see him again.” Guide assured Mom. I admired the sound of conviction I picked up in his word, they reeked with boldness. What else could he say? With no reason to stay at the clinic now, Mom shuffled off to bury her dead.
Okay, let’s deliver the nets and get out of here. I can’t take anymore of this, I was starting to sniffle!
Finally Guide took us to the school, the first of many we would visit on this trip sponsored by Mannaworldwide.com. It was a spick and span building, with tidy rooms, chalkboards and miniature desks and chairs. It almost looked like my first grade classroom, before computers and air conditioning. I’ll not tell you how old I am, so just forget it! Here things lost its comparison to American schools because one wall was decorated in colorful homemade crosses, they would be contraband in the states!
Before we entered the edifice the participants, in pristine uniforms, had swarmed out to welcome us in song with dancing and swaying, hand clapping and arms raised to the heavens. All happy faces and the only way to distinguish the girls from the boys were by the dresses (the dresses were on the girls), because all heads were clean shaven, apparently for easy upkeep and to be cool, no, not the way we in America think of being cool.
I hinted that some of the dresses and pants could be taken in a seam or two, but Guide explained that the parents couldn’t afford clothes every year so they bought clothes that would last a while on purpose. There I went with my American opinions again. This isn’t America, fool!
Guide made his way into the building past children who clamored fruitfully for his attention, it was obvious he was well loved here. One little barefooted girl from the village, a toddler in a cute little pink vest on top of a yellow blouse, adhered to his leg with one arm while she clung to a plastic green cross with her other hand. She had a grip on Guide that was permanent.
The next days were spent making balloon animals and hats, (once the balloons popped the kids still played with the colorful ruptured latex for hours), painting faces with flowers and crosses and doling out toys bequeathed by benefactors back home that couldn’t travel here for one reason or another. I was amazed at how many toys I had to give instructions on, including a jump rope. Here kids used their imagination to occupy them, when they had time for play.
And of course we spent time with our main objective; to share the love of Jesus.
After singing a rousing rendition of “Jesus loves me this I know”, led by Guide, I asked one little girl if she knew Jesus and her wide eyed response was, “Oh yes, my sisters and mom are with him now and some day he’ll come for me!” I had to blink back tears at such a strong faith. And we came here to teach them! They experienced Jesus daily!
The kids looked all the world to me like any of the kids found in American schools; America is not the gold standard for comparison; it’s just my only reference point having been the victim of travel deficiency. They sat at neat little desks with colorful chairs and paid attention or got distracted, fidgeted or sat still, answered questions or tried to blend into the wood work. They hammed it up for the camera, flexing muscles, jostling for prominent positions, laughing, or just blatantly staring at the aperture. Yep they were all American, er, African kids!
I noticed at lunch time some of the kids didn’t eat their whole meal, meals provided by mannaworldwide.com at the feeding centers. I mentioned to Guide that I guess they weren’t starving as bad as the American press made out. Guide looked at me like I was speaking Martian, that’s spoken on the planet Mars, a place far from the realities of this world, “They have brothers and sisters at home that their parents can’t afford the yearly dollar tuition to send to school, so they ration their lunches out to bring home.” Gulp; boy did I feel foolish. I actually had surmised that the heavily curried food was more than they could tolerate along with me. I hate curry! But then again if in America they might not like hot dogs….Nah, everyone loves hot dogs! I’m just glad I brought a generous supply of energy bars for myself; they were the main item on my breakfast, lunch and dinner menu.
Remember when said I couldn’t wait for this week to be over? Well, I’m eating those words now as we all hug goodbye. The faces we painted crosses on this morning smiled at us from under their balloon topped noggins as we all hugged and cried. One little girl whispered in my ear, “We pray for you,” in broken English. Pray for us! They had nothing yet they prayed for us! Sometimes there are just no words that can express human emotions.
Thank heavens we all brought cameras, between the dozen or so of us we had thousands of pictures to share on Face Book to relive this week over and over and use to enlist more volunteers for the next mission trip.
On the ride back to our pick up point Guide filled us in on the various organizations that have been helpful to this part of the globe, Manna worldwide, Imagine no Malaria, Heifer International. He was more than a tour guide he was inspirational speaker. He casually mentioned how only twenty five dollars a month would supply one child with two uniforms, school tuition and supplies, meals, medication, and nets for a year. He wouldn’t know till we got home but our church group picked up the bill for one of the schools we had visited for a year!
At headquarters Guide pulled into the parking lot, turned around in his seat to hand each of us an envelope with our names beautifully embossed on them with instructions to not open till he was gone.
Then he disembarked and headed off down the road. Inside the building the receptionist received us with her mouth wide open. “Where have you guys been, we thought you stole the van!” she exclaimed, explaining that everyone had been looking for us for a week. That was ridiculous we said explaining we had met the guide here as scheduled and he took us on the rounds of schools and clinics we were to visit. The receptionist calmly enlightened us on the fact that our guide had been late that morning and found the van gone! That couldn’t be we argued, he just dropped us off. We all ran to the door to catch him so he could collaborate our story but the long dirt road was empty, there was no way he could have gotten out of sight so soon.
"Look!" I exclaimed,"Here's his cane!" I squealled as if that was all the proof we needed for his existence.
"That is a shepherd's staff," explained the receptionist, coolly.
I pursed my lips together tightly, self control is not my forte, but I actually filtered my thoughts and avoided saying, but not thinking, Hey lady, I'm from Fort Worth,you know, cattle town, give me a cattle prod and I'll show you how that works!
One of the service men who had come out to examine the van to see what we had stolen or hawked approached us. Scratching his head he announced, "The milage hasn't changed and the tank is still full, it doesn't even look like the van left our lot!"
Our leader asked, "Why would we come from America and steal a van to drive around unfamiliar territory delivering malaria nets and medicines, visit school kids for a week and bring said van back unharmed if we were thieves!"
The receptionist couldn't respond, she needed time to come up with a plausable explanation.
We stared at each other in disbelieve. I was still holding my envelope and well, he was gone now so I could open it. Inside was a gift card with gold lettering that read, “Redeemable for one Gold Crown, recipient must be present to collect, pick up at Pearly Gate #2 on Admission to Heaven, signed Jesus”
photos by Kim and David Hayes
www.imaginenomalaria.org
http://mannaworldwide.com
http://www.heifer.org/
Exo 16:15
Psalm23
Math. 9:37
Math 19:14
John 6:31
1 corinthians 9:25
1 corinthians 13:3
James 2:14-26
How MANNA is unique:
1. MANNA was founded and continues to serve children because we have each experienced the love of Jesus Christ and desire to bring that same peace to the entire world.
2. MANNA serves people regardless of their race, gender, religion, or ethnicity!
3. MANNA is committed to always maintain less than a 10% overhead.
4. MANNA partners with veteran Christian workers to provide resources to help them care for the poor.
5. MANNA leads more than 100 trips each year for supporters to see how their generosity has been used.
6. MANNA Directors do not receive salaries and must raise their own funds to cover personal expenses.
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