The Mozambican Huddle

One day while I was in one of the very rural villages, our group had some downtime in between outreach activities.  I had spent the morning walking from hut to hut with a couple other volunteers and a translator.  I have another story about that, but I will save it:).

The sun was hot and the only sounds were an occasional chicken pecking around in the dirt or a bird chirping in the air.  My friend Sabine and I sought shade under the straw overhang of one of the mud huts which was open for us to relax in and around.  We took refuge from the heat of the day and sat looking at the beauty of the land.  After a few minutes, a couple of young boys came by.  They made their way over to see if there was anything interesting to occupy their time.  I was afraid we were going to disappoint them terribly, but I was wrong.  We began speaking to them with the very few words we knew in Macua.  We ran out of words very quickly.

Pretty soon, we were completely surrounded by nearly all the boys in the village.  Some of the braver boys spoke to us, but we did not understand what they were trying to tell us.  Sabine and I looked at each other with delight and desperation.  We wanted to engage with the boys but it was challenging without the vocabulary.  Sabine began to sing a song.  She and I sang in English and the faces of those little ones just hung on every syllable.  They were mesmerized.  We tried to get them to sing a song in their language, but our gestures must not have been clear enough.  Some did, however, sing along with us as they quickly tuned in to the phrases we sang over and over.  Every now and then, one of them would reach out their little hand to gently touch our arm or hair as their curiosity got the best of them.  Our white skin and blonde hair was foreign to them.  "Are they real?  What do they feel like?"  I can only imagine what was going through their minds.

The boys tried to speak Macua to us and when we didn't understand, they would say the same phrase louder and louder, emphasizing the exact same words but with greater volume.  They persevered as if, eventually, we would come to understand their language as their volume increased.  We just laughed and kept saying the only words we knew in Macua.

Finally, one of the boys broke through the crowd and presented a deck of cards to us.  We played card games and they would all laugh and yell out when someone uncovered a match.  I am still not sure what we were playing.

After a very long time of playing, singing, sitting, staring and being with these little ones, the crowd began to disperse.  They all moved away from the circle they had formed around us and I could see it was actually still daylight.  Those little guys were packed in so close to us that it had become dark in our little huddle.

Then Thomas, another visitor from the States began engaging the kids and encouraging them to sit on the ground in a big circle.  In no time, he taught them how to play Duck Duck Goose.  They would each take a turn to get up, slowly pat each kid on the head with a hand and a verbal "duck", choose their victim, and smack the victim's head saying "GOOOOOSE!" (or some form of these English words) and then squeal as they ran for safety.  It was so much fun to watch and the kids roared with laughter as they chased each other around the circle.

There were so many moments like this where I learned how easy it is to engage with people beyond verbal language.  Before going on this trip, I felt limited in how I could interact with people who didn't speak the same language as me.  Now I realize it takes very little to welcome people into your world.  Whether you end up singing, dancing, playing cards, giving a hug or sitting quietly together under an overhang to hide from the scorching sun, almost every interpersonal engagement starts with one very simple thing- a smile.

Smiling.  It is so powerful.  I encourage you to smile at strangers you encounter as you move through the day.  See what happens, what kind of reactions you get and how you feel.  A smile is the same in every language.

Simple obedience

My first night in the bush was peaceful.  I shared a large tent with two women from Austria, only one of whom knew English.  Oh how I love languages!  I wish I knew all of them so I could speak with anyone in the world.  There we were in Mozambique, each speaking a different language, yet brought together by God.  I heard Macua, English, German and Portuguese being spoken as people settled in for the night in their tents.  Then the snoring came, but fortunately I had brought earplugs with me so I blocked out the world for a few hours and drifted off to sleep.

We woke up to the low hum of people chattering around the village and hot water boiling over a fire in preparation for our breakfast- a roll and tea or coffee.  This was one of the treats of being on outreach because tea and coffee are not served on the base.  I never truly knew what to expect each day and was at the mercy of those in charge.  I remember being thrilled to know there was actually something to eat and drink.  Suddenly, people began moving toward the truck.  I finally heard the leader say it was time for baptisms.  What!?  My first thought was, "what about breakfast?".  Fortunately, I have a filter and didn't say this out loud.  Some thoughts you just keep to yourself, especially in a country where people go without water to drink, much less a cup of Joe.

So we all piled in the truck with those who had accepted Jesus the night before and wanted to be baptized.  We pulled over on the side of the road and everyone got out.  A man began chopping a trail down the embankment using a machete.  The Mozambicans moved without concern through the reeds and into the murky water.  The rest of us sheepishly made our way down the hill to the tiny pond.  I watched intently, prayed for protection for everyone against snakes and disease and marveled at the demonstration of faith in front of me.  The pastors did the baptisms and we formed a line to pray over the people who had just made this powerful declaration that would transform them eternally.

I was amazed to watch these men, women and children as they took such bold steps of faith.  The atmosphere was calm, yet there was an underlying sense of joy and hope.  It was surprisingly simple and yet perfectly biblical.  I think we tend to overcomplicate things that were meant to be pure and literal.  That weekend the gospel was shared, people responded and water baptism followed.  

In order to have a lasting impact and provide long term support to the villages, Iris identifies men who want to become pastors in each of these villages.  They leave everything behind for 3 months at a time and are trained in the Bible School in Pemba.  Churches are established, pastors are trained and people are discipled in villages all across the nation as a result of these weekend outreaches.  

One thing that we were not able to do was provide Bibles to the people.  There is an urgent need to get the Bible translated into Macua.  I had the privilege of meeting a woman this summer whose family is moving to Mozambique to do just that, through Wycliffe Bible Translators.  Click here to find out their story: The Richards'

I want to keep my life and my theology as simple as it was intended to be.  We are called to love.  Love God.  Love people.  Simple obedience.

Babies don't cry

There are babies all over the villages in Mozambique.  They are beautiful, vibrant and curious.  One thing that struck me is that even though babies and small children are all around, I rarely heard any crying.  I began to pay attention.  The babies were always with a loved one.  They were carried along wherever their mother went or were being cared for by a sibling.  The babies would be swaddled in a wrap and tied closely against their guardian's back.  Sometimes they would sit on a lap or play in the dirt, but there was always a care giver close by.  The babies were engaged, alert and observing who and what was around them.  However, there were very few tears.

In my life I have seen children cry, whine, wail, meltdown, fuss and weep.  I have certainly been one of those kids myself.  I was surprised that I didn't see this with these little ones in Mozambique.  Why were these babies so content?  Were they content?

A thought crossed my mind.  I wonder if tears get them anything.  For example, a child cries because he or she needs or wants something.  They make their desire known and plead their case through an outpouring of emotions.  Many times this display will go on and on until they are satisfied with getting what they wanted.

In a country with so much poverty, there is very little to actually give to a child.  There is not a faucet of running water, a fridge with food and drinks, a toy chest to choose from, teethers or fuzzy blankets.  The babies I saw did not even have diapers.  I learned this the hard way as I held babies without anything to catch their "business".  Perhaps these babies have cried and received only a tighter hug, some limited breast milk and a coddle.

I don't have the answer as to why the babies shed so few tears.  However, I did wonder if these children, some only months old, had already learned to be content with what they had-the warmth of their mother's body and a little rice or breast milk to get them by.  No matter, these children are as beautiful and priceless as our own.