Mbayani - Part 2

February 20, 2008

After the children’s program concluded, our hosts took us down “Main Street Mbayani”. A filmy water flowed down the crevices of the dirt road. The air had an oder of sewer. I wished we had worn sneakers. We were all in sandals. We were accompanied by adult committee members, a small entourage of kids who were very interested in Terra and Jordan, and others who were just curious. We walked past lean-tos selling plastic knick-knacks, cell phone batteries; mostly stuff that we could not imagine anyone needing or buying. How do these people survive? One of the committee members said he was a carpenter. He made tables and chairs. “Like Jesus?” I asked. “Yes, like Jesus!” We both smiled and laughed.

We turned down a path that led to a tiny house. Sitting on the ground outside of the door was an old thin woman. Her eyes were red and puffy from infection. Her face was hollow. Dirty feet protruded from under her ragged skirt. Our hosts introduced her. She was the mother of five children. Her children were dead; all five dead. She was responsible for raising six grandchildren ranging from age 8 to 17. A couple of her grandsons were there. We were invited to ask her anything we wanted. Liz looked at me and I looked at Liz. It was extremely awkward. What do you say to someone who has experienced suffering beyond anything we could ever imagine? The silence hung in the air like pestilence. We asked her to tell us about herself, and she deferred to our hosts-she said she didn’t like to talk in front of others. We asked the grandsons what they did. “Piece-work.” (odd jobs.) “What did she need?” “Food.” More awkward silence. Our hosts encouraged us to go into her home. It was a two room mud brick hovel. No windows, no water, no electricity. It took a while for our eyes to adjust to the dark. The grandmother slept in the outer room which was a small space with a blanket on the floor and a small wood stove in the other corner. The back room was the bedroom for the grandchildren. It was about the size of a large closet with one bed. A few filthy clothes were strewn around. It was difficult to imagine anyone living there. We came back out and were asked to say something. Liz thanked her for sharing her story with us and I said a prayer. We looked once more into those empty red eyes, and left.

We walked up a steep bank where a filthy stream flowed down behind hut after hut. We stopped in a building where they grind up the maize (corn) to make flour for nsima, the national food that keeps the people of Malawi alive. Nsima is maize flour mixed with water into a white paste that people eat with their fingers. It has very little taste, and is usually mixed with whatever else is on your plate-if you have anything else. Then we came to our second stop.

A young emaciated woman sat outside of an even smaller hut. She had a baby in her lap-maybe 10 months old. The baby was her niece. She smiled when she saw us coming. Her face lit up. She was waiting for us.
She is “positive.” Her husband died from AIDS several years ago. She was being kept alive by ARV’s (anti retro viral drugs-the “cocktail” of AIDS medication, recently provided for free by the government.) She talked openly about her feelings. We asked her if she was afraid, and she said no, not since she was on the medication. We asked her how the coummunity responded after finding out she was positive. She said that people had been very caring. The people from the committee would come to her house and help her clean, and take care of things. She also allowed us to see her house-a place she rents for K700/month (about $5). It was tiny mud hut with two rooms, again no windows, pitch black inside. We lit a candle. The house was kept very neat.

Liz asked her if she was a Christian. Yes. Could Liz pray with her? Yes. Liz touched her arm and prayed. It was a beautiful moment. Two woman who could not be more different-one a mother-healthy, white, rich, married- reaching across the huge gulf to an impoverished, dark, dying widow and connecting in the name of Jesus who came to break down the walls and barriers that keep us from becoming one. We left with a feeling that we had spent a few minutes on holy ground.

Throughout this amazing afternoon, we wondered why were here, and why our presence meant so much to these people. We were told, “You bring them hope. You are showing them that someone on the outside cares.”

Mbayani- Part 1 (a must-see visit for APC’s mission team)

We struggle to describe our experience at Mbayani-a semi-urban village of Blantyre. What we saw there will haunt us, and strengthen us for the rest of our time here-maybe for the rest of our lives.
While the experience of living in Malawi has been very challenging, it has not been as extreme as we had expected. We live in a comfortable house. The girls go to private schools with other privileged kids. We live in Blantyre, a city with shops, banks, streets and sidewalks. We drive a car. While what we have experienced is a far cry from anything we have experienced in the US, much is familiar.

Then we went to Mbayani.
This village is located just a few miles outside of Blantyre-it only took 5-10 minutes to get there, but it felt like another world. Just getting there was harrowing as we drove up a “road” that can best be described as a deeply rutted path-and we mean deep. It was obvious that few vehicles ever travel this road; at times we wondered if our pick up truck would get over the gullies or if we would get stuck or bottom out as the suspension struggled to keep all four wheels on the ground at the same time.
As we entered the outskirts of the village a little boy dressed in tattered clothes pointed and yelled “Azungu, Azungu!” (White man) Others stared at us and began to follow us. One little fellow was totally naked. The street was lined with wooden framed lean-to shops and littered with refuse. People stared at us from these dilapidated structures. As we looked to the side we could see rows and rows of little mud-brick huts - homes.

Suddenly, we heard the sounds of drums and voices singing. The truck we were following with our hosts from the CCAP Development Project, pulled over and the clapping and singing grew louder. Sewa, our hostess, called over the din “They’ve been expecting you!” Children began to stream up to the car from every direction-dozens of kids of all ages. Their excited faces and hands reached out to us as we tried to get out, all the while singing and clapping some kind of welcome song. They had obviously been awaiting our arrival -we suspect an event that simply doesn’t happen here very often.

The adults who comprise the local village committee were so proud to show off their program. We sat in the few rickety chairs they had-thrones for their royal guests- in a small clearing as hundreds of children gathered round on the weeds. We were deeply honored. Different groups took turns sharing their gifts. One group of boys did gymnastics and “kung fu” excercises--back hand springs, diving through rings and building human pyramids by standing on each other’s shoulders. Girls performed traditional dances. Kids recited memorized poetry and Bible verses. They showed us their homemade swing set--tire treads hanging from a piece of wood suspended between two trees. Even though there were hundreds of kids waiting their turn, the local leaders insisted that Jordan and Terra go first and give it a try.

This children’s program is their way of combating the horrible sense of hopelessness that pervades these villages as an entire generation of Malawians has been devastated by extreme poverty and the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Many of these kids are coming from homes with no parents. They live with grandparents, aunts and uncles or are being raised by other children. Where there used to be a few orphans who were easily absorbed into the large family systems of Malawi, now there are hundreds. The communities are stepping up to care in new and creative ways and these people wanted to show us their work. It was deeply moving.
After and hour or so of the program, followed by the mandatory speeches by everyone, they took us on a tour to see a couple of homes. What we saw was so disturbing… (to be continued.)

Our Loss

We shed many tears Friday February 1. For unknown reasons, two baby rabbits we had given to Jordan and Terra to celebrate Jordan’s birthday, died. The girls had been begging us to get them each a rabbit. They don’t have pet stores here. No one, except ex-patriots have “pets.” But along the roadsides you will pass young boys, holding their arms up to passing cars, and in each hand they display a baby animal of some kind: kittens, puppies, bunnies. So, the day before Jordan’s birthday, while she was over at a friend’s house, we stopped by the side of the road and Terra picked out two flea bitten little bunnies. We took them to a vet, she dusted them with flea powder and they were good to go.

The girls grabbed the Chichewa-English dictionary. Jordan named her bunny Kalulu (rabbit) and Terra named her bunny Patapata (slippers) because her rabbit had extra fur around his toes. We all fell in love with these rabbits. Amidst all the stress of life here, these two little creatures brought us so much joy. The girls fed them before leaving for school and immediately coming home from school. The rabbits quickly learned that when they heard the girls coming, it meant feeding time. They would stand on hind legs, reaching up on their cage with their front paws, begging to be picked up and fed. Then the girls would release them in the yard and they would dart around on the grass, stop for an occasional nibble and then run again, sometimes leaping through the air. We laughed, catching them when they strayed too far.

The rabbits were thriving under the care of the girls. Their tummies were filling out, their fur was shiny and fluffy. We had them for less than a week. On Friday morning, Jordan and I went out to feed them before leaving for school. They huddled in a corner of their cage. Strange. We tickled their noses with a cabbage leaf. No interest. Uh-oh. Bad sign. I walked Jordan to school and immediately came home to doctor them. They had no energy, no life in them. Something was seriously wrong. We took them back to the vet but there was nothing she could do. By noon they were dead.

The girls took it very hard, as most children do with the loss of a pet. This was the first time the girls had to deal with a significant death that they could remember. They both handled it completely different. Jordan wanted to go out and see their bodies. She kept returning to the box in which their corpses lay. I would see her outside, standing in their empty cage, audibly crying. She helped Stephen make a cross for their grave site and she was very indignant when Stephen dug the burial hole next to the compost pile. “Can’t we show some respect! Next to the dump!” Terra on the other hand, refused to look at them, wanted to be by herself, slammed her bedroom door and quietly cried into her pillow. Yet, in an hour she had worked through much of the emotion and when she and Stephen ran errands, she wanted to talk and hear about the saddest death Stephen had ever experienced.

This inexplicable, untimely death gave us the opportunity to talk with the girls about death and loss. We reflected with them on how the people of Malawi and most of Africa are suffering from death of parents, the death of a child and the loss of uncles and aunts and cousins. It did not make their pain any less, but it did create a moment to connect, sympathize and feel compassionate toward our brothers and sisters.

Our First Visitors

Posted February 5, 2008
Written by Stephen

Sunday, January 27th, was Jordan’s 10th birthday, and also the day we hosted our first visitors. We were told a few days earlier to expect a visit from “a few” members of one of the house cottages of St. Columba Church where Stephen serves as the associate pastor. St. Columba is one of the largest congregations in Malawi with over 10,000 members. Each member is assigned to a cottage-a geographic group of church members who meet each week at a home to pray and support each other-like our home churches. There are 13 different cottages-some of them are huge in number. On the last Sunday of each month, one of the cottages is assigned to visit the manse (pronounced man-say) of the “abusa” (pastor).
The cottage assigned to visit us was the Mt. Pleasant/Sunnyside/ cottage. It is one of the smaller cottages with only 150 families. At church that morning Stephen was approached by one of the elders who said he had been assigned to accompany the cottage on the visit. When asked how many would be coming, he said about 12-15 and that they would stay for about 45 minutes.
At 1:30 the cell phone rang and we were told the cottage had arrived. The gates of the fence leading into our yard swung open, and cars began pulling in. There was a line of traffic coming up our little lane. They parked all over our lawn (it made us feel right at home), and they began filing into our house singing as they came. It was an exciting and joyful gathering. There were about 30 all together. Since we only have about 12 chairs in the whole house, the women spread their colorful wraps and sat on the floor. We were handed a typed program that included singing, prayers, scripture reading and preaching. There was also time for gifts and “speeches.”
The visit began with formal introductions all around. We proceeded to sing a hymn. their voices filled the room with natural harmonies as we sang, "What a Friend We Have In Jesus”. We then moved into the rest of the worship service. Members of the cottage led all the parts, and a woman preached a sermonette -a short message of only about 15 minutes (short relative to Malawian standards). Then it was time for the gifts. The entire group got up and walked out to their cars and came back in singing, clapping and swaying hips. They had with them baskets of food overflowing with fresh vegetables and other groceries. There were chickens (prepared for cooking-not live), milk, soap and rice. Pasta, sauce, salt and flour. A woman got up and read off each and every item and how much everything cost, and then they gave us an envelope with another 5000 Kwacha (about $35). We were overwhelmed. This was a huge gift! Evidently this is the church’s way of supporting the pastors, since pastoral salaries here, like most salaries, is paltry.
We gave our speeches-first Liz (mi-abusa), and then Stephen (abusa). We were nearly in tears as we felt so honored by this heart-felt outpouring of love and support.
Since it was Jordan’s birthday, we had a birthday cake and brought it out to share. As we did this, the cottage disappeared outside again and came back in with crates of soft-drinks, all kinds of foods, muffins, chicken etc. They told us they are a “traveling kitchen.” Everyone stayed for fellowship for another hour or so, before all was packed up and the entourage drove out of the yard with waves, smiles and beeps.
Perhaps we should adopt this tradition at APC. Jenna, get ready.

Liz Visits With the Villagers

Feb. 1, 2008
I have been invited to go to the villages to glimpse the work of the Presbyterian church. The Blantyre Synod works with 11 surrounding villages within the 5 townships that comprise the southern part of Malawi. The work done by the church is intended to serve the most vulnerable; orphans and child-headed households, and chronically ill (parents or guardians dying from AIDS). The Synod has built a grassroots structure, working with a committee of leaders from each village: the village chief and other natural community leaders. The village leaders identify the most vulnerable in their communities, assess their needs and determine with the Synod, the best strategies to meet those needs.

The early morning has been drenched with heavy rains. We close our umbrellas and scramble into the two seater cab of a pick up truck. Sewa Phokosa, the Synod’s Program Manager for OFIC, Orphan Families in Crisis, has organized a tour for me to see the work of her program. Sewa speaks English well. She is responsible for overseeing the program, writing reports and updates to donors and managing two other staff members. Rodgers is also with us. He works with OFIC on the ground floor. He is in the fields, contacting community leaders, trouble shooting and ensuring that programs are running well.

The first stop is a preschool. Usually they have 40 or more children in attendance but because of the heavy rains, many of the children have not come today. The children and 4 teachers from the village gather in a small concrete building. The building is cold and stark. There are no toys, no furniture, no crayons, not a scrap of paper in sight. There are a few worn and torn books, in English, in one corner of the room given by a “well-wisher.” Thirteen children sit quietly on the cold cement slab as the 4 volunteer teachers greet me.

After introductions, one of the leaders says a prayer. Then the adults share their work with me. They speak Chichewa as Sewa translates. Story after story is told of the trauma these children have suffered from losing one or both parents. The teachers, all volunteers, tell me how the children will sometimes act out, withdrawing, not wanting to relate to anyone, sometimes refusing to eat. They describe the strategies they use to treat the “whole” child. It is not enough to feed and cloth the child. They are suffering spiritually and emotionally as well as physically. They talk about how they try to take the child’s mind off their problems when they come to school but that task is nearly impossible due to the suffering these small children have had to endure. Their little spirits are crushed. We are rushed to finish the conversation because we have other community leaders waiting to meet us at other sites.

As we drive into the next village, children turn and shout “azungu,” white person, as the pick-up drives past and we lock eyes. The truck stops at the entrance of a small home where three young men meet us. Each teenage man has received a scholarship from the Synod to apprentice with a tailor and now they await the arrival of their new sewing machines donated through OFIC. They rush into their homes and come back out with dresses, school uniforms, and other garments hung over their arms, items they have sewn. They are very proud and excited to show them off. I admire their work. There is much laughter and joking. After a bit, I ask them to tell me about their families. Suddenly, the conversation becomes solemn and serious. They lower their voices. Each of them is the head of a child-headed household. Their parents died maybe three, five, seven years ago. They are the eldest amongst the children and have had to assume parental responsibility. Each of the boys had to drop out of school because they did not have the money to continue secondary school (middle school and high school), for which the government does not pay. They speak of the new hope they have found through the Synod. They cling to their hopes and share a few of their dreams. Perhaps the three of them will open up a tailor business in town. Maybe they will teach other teens how to sew. Again there is laughter.

Sewa has arranged for me to tour the home of one of the young tailors. This man lives with 3 other siblings, the oldest sister nurses her baby as we enter. The home is nothing more than one small cement room, divided by a curtain. No electricity, no running water. They show me their bathing area outside, tarps of plastic sewn together to make a curtain so the one sponging may have some privacy. The toilet is a hole in the ground. Everything is a neat as a pin. Any spot of open land grows maize.

We hop in the pickup and are off to observe a training given by one of the Synod staff and a government social worker. These men stand before a group of over 30 men and women of all ages. These are villager leaders who are on the sub-committees directed to oversee the villages care of the orphans and vulnerable children. They are in the middle of an exercise, making a “memory blanket.” Each participant is invited to draw or write a memory on a piece of paper, a memory of a gift they received from a loved one who died when they were a child. They are invited to share their memory. Tears flow as they tell their stories. The gift of perseverance, the gift of sewing and cooking, the gift of hospitality...Some silence is offered. Then the leader encourages them to do this same exercise at home with the orphans, to give the children opportunities to remember and talk about whom they miss.

The rains begin again. Heavy! The truck fights its way over the rutted dirt roads to make it to one final destination. The bridge into the village is flooded. We cannot pass through. Nevertheless, Sewa and Rodgers want to show me a project the villagers are managing. We turn and head up a steep hill. Before us is a huge field of maize, lush and green. The village chief has given this land to grow maize for the orphans and most vulnerable in his village so that they will not go hungry this year. Rodgers holds an umbrella as we stand on the hill and survey the crops. Suddenly, way beyond, in the fields below, we see a man waving to us, weaving his way through the maize. He is one of the community leaders who is waiting to meet us. Behind him come the rest of the committee, a large group of men and women, laughing, singing. The rain has subsided. When they catch up to is, we admire the crops, as the committee tells me of the hard work they do in the fields so the children do not go hungry. Surely they must have a plow or some type of machinery to work all this land. As my question is translated, they break into laughter and tell me their hands are their machines. Their white toothy smiles are brilliant against their black shiny skin. We all jump into the back of the pick-up for a photo and then we head for home.

This experience happened nearly two weeks ago. We find it takes us a while to process and articulate our experiences. Although the enormity of the problems are overwhelming, the sincerity, hope and love of these people is also overwhelming. “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome.” John 1:5