Friday, March 15, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
tears in the dirt
It hit me. More powerful than anything I've felt here. It rattled me. It almost took me down. I paced around for a minute trying to be strong. I knew what I had to do. I had to pick Lawrence up, hug him and walk back outside to the gathered villagers.
The site is Ovaha's Hut, the home village of my translator/partner at CURE, Lawrence. A group of 6 traveled there during a Malawi public holiday on March 4. It was my 3rd time visiting the village. We encouraged the elders, played with the kids and gave away donated clothing and essentials. We spent time talking with a group of about 50 gathered in a small clearing in front of Lawrence's mother's house. The elders sitting on mats, the children nestled together sitting on the grass. Someone brought chairs for our small group, but I always refuse to be the only one sitting in a proper chair. I made my way to a group of kids and made friends quickly. Lawrence had asked if I would say a few words so I thanked everyone for gathering, and for making us feel welcome. I prayed over the villagers and my friend Jonathan (also part of our group) translated.
When it was time to distribute washing soap, salt, bath soap and clothes....I mingled into the crowd. I was going to let Lawrence distribute since it's his project. I want the donations to come from him, he is the reason that we're there. So I took a seat and watched as the elders smiled big as Lawrence placed items in their rough, wrinkled hands. We took lots of clothing for the kids so the excitement and chatter peaked when Lawrence unpacked a box full of small shirts and trousers. The kids couldn't have been more excited. The shirts were going fast when I realized that we were going to run out. We never know how many children will show up on our visits. I had a plan of telling the children that got left out that we would get them something during our next visit in April. The children weren't too disappointed when they heard that from Lawrence. 8 children had been left out. No big deal. At least I thought.
I was about to start snapping photos of the children in their new clothing when I saw Lawrence walking away in tears. He was headed towards a neighbor's house. I quickly followed him. Once inside, he crashed to the dirt floor. In a living room only containing a coffee table that was stood upright to make room for guests and some pots, no furniture. The room was no bigger than a pantry or laundry room and was HOT and humid. It was there that I saw my brother, friend and partner break down. He was sobbing and breathing heavily. It never crossed my mind to ask him what happened. I could feel his emotion, I thought I knew the cause. It was the 8 kids that had been left out. It was the feeling of hopelessness. It was the feeling of trying to help knowing it's not enough. It's the feeling of not being able to stop the pain.
When he finally calmed down, he said "God gave me a huge task." The only words uttered in that house. I didn't agree with him or respond. I just hugged him. It's the moment when words will mean nothing and you just respond the only way you know how, with love. After a couple minutes, he gathered his composure and we exited the house to return to the group. The day ended with laughter, hugs and lots of photos.
Looking back on that day a couple weeks ago, I still think about his tears. I work with Lawrence everyday and hang out with him outside of the hospital. I treat him just like my friends at home. I forget that he is struggling every single week. I forget that his straw roof leaks. I forget that he can't go out to eat whenever he wishes. I forget that he has to walk 45 minutes to the hospital everyday. I forget that he's trying to help a village when he barely has enough for himself. I forget that he suffers and deals with it better than I deal with my own crap. It's moments at the village that I see what a hard life in Malawi does to a person.
It puts everything in perspective. I'm thankful for feeling greedy and spoiled. I'm thankful that I feel shame for my petty worries. Maybe I'll toughen up and become a stronger person. Maybe I'll find more important things to tackle. Maybe I'll find others that need a hug. Maybe I'll be ready when real struggles hit.
The site is Ovaha's Hut, the home village of my translator/partner at CURE, Lawrence. A group of 6 traveled there during a Malawi public holiday on March 4. It was my 3rd time visiting the village. We encouraged the elders, played with the kids and gave away donated clothing and essentials. We spent time talking with a group of about 50 gathered in a small clearing in front of Lawrence's mother's house. The elders sitting on mats, the children nestled together sitting on the grass. Someone brought chairs for our small group, but I always refuse to be the only one sitting in a proper chair. I made my way to a group of kids and made friends quickly. Lawrence had asked if I would say a few words so I thanked everyone for gathering, and for making us feel welcome. I prayed over the villagers and my friend Jonathan (also part of our group) translated.
When it was time to distribute washing soap, salt, bath soap and clothes....I mingled into the crowd. I was going to let Lawrence distribute since it's his project. I want the donations to come from him, he is the reason that we're there. So I took a seat and watched as the elders smiled big as Lawrence placed items in their rough, wrinkled hands. We took lots of clothing for the kids so the excitement and chatter peaked when Lawrence unpacked a box full of small shirts and trousers. The kids couldn't have been more excited. The shirts were going fast when I realized that we were going to run out. We never know how many children will show up on our visits. I had a plan of telling the children that got left out that we would get them something during our next visit in April. The children weren't too disappointed when they heard that from Lawrence. 8 children had been left out. No big deal. At least I thought.
I was about to start snapping photos of the children in their new clothing when I saw Lawrence walking away in tears. He was headed towards a neighbor's house. I quickly followed him. Once inside, he crashed to the dirt floor. In a living room only containing a coffee table that was stood upright to make room for guests and some pots, no furniture. The room was no bigger than a pantry or laundry room and was HOT and humid. It was there that I saw my brother, friend and partner break down. He was sobbing and breathing heavily. It never crossed my mind to ask him what happened. I could feel his emotion, I thought I knew the cause. It was the 8 kids that had been left out. It was the feeling of hopelessness. It was the feeling of trying to help knowing it's not enough. It's the feeling of not being able to stop the pain.
When he finally calmed down, he said "God gave me a huge task." The only words uttered in that house. I didn't agree with him or respond. I just hugged him. It's the moment when words will mean nothing and you just respond the only way you know how, with love. After a couple minutes, he gathered his composure and we exited the house to return to the group. The day ended with laughter, hugs and lots of photos.
Looking back on that day a couple weeks ago, I still think about his tears. I work with Lawrence everyday and hang out with him outside of the hospital. I treat him just like my friends at home. I forget that he is struggling every single week. I forget that his straw roof leaks. I forget that he can't go out to eat whenever he wishes. I forget that he has to walk 45 minutes to the hospital everyday. I forget that he's trying to help a village when he barely has enough for himself. I forget that he suffers and deals with it better than I deal with my own crap. It's moments at the village that I see what a hard life in Malawi does to a person.
It puts everything in perspective. I'm thankful for feeling greedy and spoiled. I'm thankful that I feel shame for my petty worries. Maybe I'll toughen up and become a stronger person. Maybe I'll find more important things to tackle. Maybe I'll find others that need a hug. Maybe I'll be ready when real struggles hit.
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