Widows

My first morning in Pemba, I attended what is called the "widows' ministry".  I was eager to learn how Iris helps the widows in this community.  I walked with several other visitors to the church and someone pointed out that we must wear long skirts inside.  A couple of us hurried back to our rooms and my bunkmate let me borrow one that she had until I could purchase one at the sewing shop onsite.  I wrapped the beautiful handmade skirt around me, tied it at the side and slowly became very comfortable wearing this culturally acceptable garment.

We approached the church and there were women and babies gathered around the entrance sitting in the shade and waiting for the service to start.  I was greeted by some of the women and was encouraged through the wave of a hand and a pat on the ground to come sit.  So I did.  I looked into the eyes of these women, noticed their dark skin, their colorful garments and at times, a heaviness of their spirits.  I couldn't speak their language so I just smiled, nodded, shook their hands and held their babies.

We made our way into the large open building.  There were benches, a slightly raised platform made of stone in the front, open windows on all four walls and a stone floor.  The space was large but we all gathered toward the front where the platform was.  Many of the women took off their sandals and made their way not towards the benches, but for the ground.  A few sat on the seats, but most chose the floor.  I joined the women on the floor and just looked around at the sea of dark faces and brightly colored skirts, shirts and headdresses.

A woman named Rose gave the sermon at this particular service.  She is from Australia, spent the last years serving the aboriginals there, and she and her family had just arrived in Pemba as missionaries.  She and her husband have 4 children under 10 and this is one of the most beautiful families I have ever seen.  They have so much joy, life and their spirits seem to just sing somehow.  Rose shared a message with the women through 2 translators. This is common in Africa.  As I mentioned in a previous post, the national language of Mozambique is Portuguese, but this is only learned in schools and many have not had this opportunity to learn.  Most people speak only their tribal language, in this case Macua.  So Rose would speak in English (super helpful for me!) and then it would be translated into Portuguese and then Macua.  It is an interesting rhythm and dance that can occur through this method of speaking and translating.  These 3 women fell into a beautiful rhythm that day.

Rose's message to these women was on Jesus, the faithful Provider and Husband.  These women have lost their earthly husbands through death or, in some cases abandonment.  They are trying to survive each day, to provide food and water for their children and to care for the needs of each other.  I watched the women as they listened.  Their faces showed little expression even though the listened intently, but by the end they were laying with their faces to the ground, eagerly seeking for their Provider to come to their aid once again.  The visitors and missionaries went to each woman and we prayed for their hearts to be healed and all the needs to be met.  It was a powerful display of desperation, faith, thirst and hope.

That message was not only for those women that day, but it was also for me.  Tears streamed down my face as I remembered the pain of my own loss, the loss of my husband, not through death but through his decision.  I embraced the message of healing, of provision, of unconditional love and of comfort from my Redeemer.  I felt a connection in my heart to these women.  I admire their strength, their faith, and their choice to try to live another day to provide for their children and their community.

I was forever changed by that experience...and this was only day 2 in Pemba!

Iris provides physical, emotional and spiritual help for the widows every week.  Food is provided, healthcare is given, sewing and jewelry making classes are offered and prayer is constant.

Just yesterday I had a simple, but amazing revelation as I was sitting in my grandmother's living room visiting with her.  I was sharing what I had experienced during my trip to my "homeland" Norway (just returned 2 days ago) and she was catching me up on what had happened in her life since I had been away.  There was a specific moment as she was talking that I realized she is a widow.  I know that sounds strange, but to me, she is just Grandma.  I saw the similarities between those women and my own flesh and blood.  I was spending time with her in a similar way that I had spent time with a few of the widows in Mozambique.  I felt so grateful for the ease of this conversation since we spoke the same language!  I used our time together to ask her if there was anything she needed, anything I could pray for and just listened to hear what was on her heart.  There are "widows" all around us, people with needs and sometimes it takes very little to make a difference.


Below are some pictures of the church, the beautiful women and the distribution of food.  You can see the food is being collected in large garments which are tied and then lifted to be carried on their heads.

What's for lunch?

Many people have asked me what I ate while in Africa.  People who know me well, know that I have been following a specific diet for several years.  Doctors have recommended a diet free of gluten and dairy for me, which has worked quite well for my body, although it does create a challenge in finding things to eat sometimes.  I was relieved to know that the diet in Africa was perfect for me- rice, beans, veggies, yes please!  At the Iris base in Pemba, there is a cafeteria where all meals are served.  As you approach the dining hall, someone is sitting on the steps with a large bucket filled with water.  Each person stands in a line outside the building and as they approach the "water bearer", they hold out their cupped hands to receive the water as the person pours it into your palms.  You then rub your hands together to wash them and allow the water to drip to the side onto the ground.  I had heard there is a tiny bit of bleach in the water to help disinfect which seems helpful considering the potential spread of disease.

As you walk into the building, you see the rows of tables and benches similar to picnic tables.  Everyone stands in a single file line waiting to approach the counter.  Behind the counter is the kitchen and it is always bustling with kitchen staff standing over these huge pots, stirring and serving into plastic dishes.  The food is cooked in bulk and always consists of rice and... something.  Lunch is always rice and beans.  We used to joke as we'd pass people on their way out of the cafeteria saying "what's for lunch today?"  It was such a silly question because it was always rice and beans, but sometimes we'd say "beans and rice!" in an effort to make it seem different that day.  Dinner consisted of rice and either cabbage, potatoes, spinach, a small (and I do mean small) piece of fish or chicken and an occasional banana or apple slice.  The staff would be sweating from the hot kitchen, the heat coming from those huge pots and the steaming food.

Mozambicans eat with their hands.  There is no silverware.  They stir the steaming rice and beans with their fingers, pulling their hand away every few seconds until the temperature was cool enough for them to hold the food without it burning.  They would use their fingers to create a ball of food and then scoop it into their mouths.  I watched people do this with precision and skill.  I always brought my spoon with me to use because I know that bacteria is easily spread through hands and didn't want to risk it.

I always felt full and grateful for the food, no matter what it was.  I would sit with the kids and other visitors or missionaries on staff.  We would work to communicate.  Most of the kids speak the tribal language, Macua (also spelled Makua sometimes).  Some people speak Portuguese, the official language and if kids go to school they learn Portuguese and English.  All the kids on the base go to the school run by Iris.  There are also kids from the village who attend the Iris School.  In these cases, kids are familiar with multiple languages.  However, in the more rural areas, most people only know their tribal language.

Sometimes mealtime was full of laughter and fun.  It was a time for socializing and finding out how everyone's day was going.  Other times it felt like middle school for me.  I was traveling alone so I was always looking for people to sit with and hoping someone would invite me to their table (or at least not cringe if I sat at their table!).  I wanted to spend time with the Mozambicans, but like in most new situations, this requires courage, humility and patience.  Sitting with Americans or those from other countries who spoke English would be easier in a lot of ways.   Trying to communicate in a different language and working through cultural differences is much harder.  There were these awkward silences when there was a communication barrier or someone was not in the mood to converse.  Also, there are cultural considerations.  For example, it is inappropriate, or could be misconstrued, if a woman were to sit too close to a man.  I was always trying to figure out if I was breaching some cultural norm.

People come and go through the Iris base so frequently that some people don't always seem interested in putting forth effort to build relationships.  "You'll be gone soon" could be a thought that goes through the mind of a child.  I tried hard to learn enough words to communicate and press through the discomfort.  It was always worth it.

For the most part though, people were eager to talk, to learn about me, to demonstrate their English language skills and teach me words in their language.

This photo is taken inside the cafeteria from one of the tables.  You can see the line of people waiting to get their portion for the day.

 This is a picture looking outside the cafeteria at a "Tia" or Auntie who takes care of the babies.  She is hanging clothes on the line to dry.  The windows of the cafeteria are open, besides the security bars, to allow a wonderful breeze to come through often.

 These are two boys who live at Iris.  The one on the left wore a Superman shirt most days.  The food is served in colorful plastic plates.