ROSINHA

" 'Lord, when did we see You as a stranger and welcomed You in,

or naked and clothed You?'

And the King will reply to them,

' Insofar as you did it for one of the least

of these, you did it for Me.' " Matt 25: 38

Rosinha. Thirteen years old. Found wandering aimlessly, naked, down the middle of the main road outside the Centre, late at night. She said she’d been walking forever. She said she’d been thrown out of home by her father. She was scared.

Rosinha was obviously traumatised. She was not in her right mind. She would not sit down and she could not stand still. She prowled back and forth endlessly like a trapped animal. She talked on and on without making sense. She did not know where she was. She could not tell us where she lived or what had happened to her.

Rosinha, to me, is the personification of the darker depths of this nation and a reminder of the hidden suffering of so many children still out of our reach. I cannot imagine what she had been through. She is just a child.

We could not take her in to the Girls’ Dorm overnight. We would not risk the safety of our resident children. Rosinha was offered warm clothes and a place to rest, protected in the guards’ hut at the front gate. She would be safe until morning when some decisions could be made.

But she did not stay. Rosinha came within our reach for just a few hours but, by morning, she was gone. Later in the day, we heard reports of her being seen many miles down the road.

Nothing here is simple. Western assumptions of civilisation and safety do not apply. The rules we play by in this developing nation are different and oftentimes unfathomable to us.

And so, this night, one desperate, damaged, broken-hearted little girl walked back out into the night, alone.

When I found out that she was gone, a chill ran through me. I cannot yet think of her without feeling gut-wrenchingly guilty. Perhaps we did not serve the one in front of us as we are called here to do. Perhaps we missed an opportunity. Perhaps we could have done more.

Or, perhaps we had to confront and acknowledge the fact that sometimes we can do nothing in the moment when up against such a dark and giant foe. And that perhaps the big picture is what we must focus on.

This explanation does not satisfy me or ease my soul one bit. Nothing is simple here, or straightforward, or predictable. But how does one deal with the fact that a child in desperate need was within our grasp then lost once more to the streets from which she came?

I pray that these feelings of culpability and discomfort stay with me as a reminder for as long as I can picture a thirteen-year-old girl drifting, all alone, through the Mozambican night.

DREAMING OF A FUTURE

How to teach a teacher to manage a class of 69 twelve year olds and to teach well at the same time? This is just one of the questions I confronted during three mornings of seminars last week. My job was to inspire, encourage and envision 24 Mozambican primary school teachers.

With classes of up to 70 students, very little room and few resources, the children do little but sit shoulder-to-shoulder on their wooden benches, hour after hour, repeating new learning parrot-fashion and copying from the board. The teachers have their routine down pat: “Sit. Stay. Be quiet” while banging a rod on the desk. The occasional ear-tugging is the back-up strategy. [One of the Year 1 classes, above, has only 36 students which is small by Mozambican standards. Their teacher is Professor Jossefa.]

I dare not judge. The largest class I’ve ever taught is 28. Back home in Australia, my classrooms had running water, air conditioning and glass in the windows. The students always had coloured pencils, paints, story books to read and room to move. Most had at least one parent or caregiver willing to read with them each evening. The teachers I worked with had finished high school and been to university.

Life in a developing nation is just that – developing. I can judge by the standards I have learned to work to in the prosperous “developed nation” from which I come. Or, I can lay aside all that is familiar and allow God to renew my thinking about such topics as education.

Education is all about finding the level of skill or knowledge in one’s students in a particular area and raising it, one small step at a time. My role here is to do the same with the teachers. And my first goal? To raise the bar of expectations the teachers have about their own jobs, and to stir up some joy. To give the teachers permission to enjoy their work and their students, as they begin to believe that a nation can be changed by quality education. And to encourage them to dream.

The teachers were given opportunity to review the basics of teaching strategies and behaviour management. I used dried beans as rewards for hard work and thoughtful input until one participant pointed out that many of them could not afford to give away even a few beans a day. Strike 1. I referred to the teachers “getting out of bed to come to work each day”, only to realise later that some of the teachers do not own a bed. Strike 2. I gave them name tags to wear only to discover that many of them did not know how to peel off the back or where to stick them. Strike 3. Ah, the great cultural divide!

The teachers are not the only ones learning slowly, one step at a time.

They were also taught to throw a frisbee and to do jigsaw puzzles. Some learned that envelopes need licking to stick, that a biro has to be pushed on the end to work and that blu tac is used to attach things to walls.

With time and thought and much prayer, I must translate my knowledge not only into a new language, but also into a form that is relevant to teachers who have only chalk and a blackboard to teach with each day and, on the whole, very limited education themselves.

Next holidays, there will be more seminars. And more games and resources and theory and strategising about how to teach 69 students all at once. Please pray for the teachers here and for their students. Developing nations, to develop, need good education. Good education comes only with great teachers. And this is my dream for them.

NEW FRIENDS

Meet Dionisio [photo second from top]. A few weeks ago, Dionisio was so sick, he was rushed to the hospital for the third time in two months. Today, he is a healthy, though underweight, 2 1/2 months old and putting on weight daily. Does this little guy love to drink!

Until he is stronger, he will be kept away from the Baby House, where many children have been sick in past weeks. So, it falls to the missionaries to look after him in the meantime. Nobody is complaining and everybody wants him!

Two new babies have arrived this week - Lucia [top] via the police and Ilirio [bottom] from the hospital. Both are wonderfully healthy, which is unusual for new babies brought in. Lucia, 10 months, is set to become the life of the Baby House, with a delightful personality and an infectious laugh. The Baby House is now full - 40 children - so please pray for God's strategies for the next steps.

It is estimated that there will one million orphans in Mozambique by 2010. We are blessed to have 350 of these precious children in our care, 40 of whom are under five. Our primary school attracts another 600 children to our Centre each day. We serve just one at a time as God brings them to us and trust Him to expand the work in His perfect will and timing.

This is the noisiest, most active and exciting place to be. There are children everywhere! Living in the midst of them is, on some days, incredibly fulfilling and, on other days, a huge challenge. Of course living with 350 children would hold its challenges! And I would choose to be nowhere else. I am daily thankful and amazed that God has led me here and asked me stay. I am blessed beyond measure and thankful for each moment.

BABY IRENE

Psalm 84: 10

"A single day in your courts is better than a thousand anywhere else."

I write today with a heavy heart and sad news.

One of our dear babies, Irene, died suddenly during the night. Irene (bottom row, second from right) was 10 months old and had been here at Zimpeto for about 4 months. Her mother abandoned her and disappeared, so her grandparents took her in but were too poor to care for her properly. They brought her here very sick and skinny and, in past months, she had put on much weight and was doing well.

All is not completely clear yet but the doctors suspect she contracted malaria and, before there was time to treat the malaria thoroughly, many babies in the Baby House came down with a stomach/diarrhoea bug. Irene was one of these and she was not strong enough to deal with it. She died on the way to the hospital at around midnight, in the arms of Tracey, our Baby House Director.

Irene's grandparents are being informed this morning. Please pray for them and for all here at Zimpeto. Pray particularly for the medical staff and Baby House workers: Tracey, Neil and Hilda (assisting Tracey), Janni and Solange (nurses) and the tias (carers).

I sit here this morning listening to the noise of the school children having recess, playing clapping games, singing and chasing each other, preparing excitedly for an Easter long weekend. We are here to protect such as these, and it's an honour beyond words. The Baby House is a particularly precious place to be, where the littlest and most dependent of our charges live.

There is no simple way to explain the death of a baby. There is no way to fully express the fragility of life here in Mozambique. Nothing is predictable or controllable or easy. And so we hide under the shadow of the wings of the Father, continuing to move forward one step at a time, caring for each little one He has brought to us. This is all we know to do - love the ones in front of us in the moment and do our best for each.

There are 37 children in the Baby House, some strong and healthy and some fragile, sick and weak. Namais has just, in the last hour, been taken to the hospital, also very ill. Please pray for him, for all our little Baby House residents, for our team, the Baby House staff, and our leaders Ros and Steve.

Pray for the Father's covering on this most amazing of places.

PEDRITO

"Let the children alone,

and do not hinder them from coming to Me;

for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

Matt 19:14

Tonight I met Pedrito. Eleven years old. Wearing blue jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt. He carried a basket of peanuts and a little plastic container to scoop them into the hands of his customers. He had a sweet smile that drew my attention and kind eyes, alert and sad all at once.

Pedrito was wandering the streets of downtown Maputo at 8pm. He was all alone. He silently edged up to our group of four– three women from America, Botswana and Australia and a young man from England.

When he joined us, Pedrito offered us peanuts for sale. We smiled and refused him gently. He then moved closer to our young English friend, the only male in the group, and made the offer again, standing nearer to him.

I watched as Dan bantered with Pedrito, one speaking English and the other Portuguese and still managing to share a joke.

Pedrito looked like any normal, healthy eleven year old boy. He smiled. He laughed. He was quietly friendly. He stood patiently near Dan even after we refused to purchase any nuts from him.

It was Katie who worked it out first. Katie, who works with girls from the streets, helping these young women find a way to live that does not require that they sell their bodies to strangers. Katie watched and listened and put two and two together.

The girls working the streets often carry a basket of peanuts as a covert sign of availability.

Pedrito’s goal for the evening was not to sell peanuts. Under Katie’s gentle questioning, he freely admitted that he was offering himself for sale tonight. That he was selling his body for money. That his name was not really Pedrito. That he wasn’t selling nuts. That his mother was waiting for him at home.

We do not know if Pedrito chose this work to make some money for himself or his family, or if he is being forced to work the streets of Maputo. We don’t know where Pedrito lives. Katie gave him some money and told him to go straight home. We prayed that this money would be enough to get him off the streets for one night. He wanted no more help from us than a pocketful of change.

We do know that, tonight, God put us in the same place at the same time as this precious boy. This was a divine encounter of the highest order. We prayed that the Presence of Jesus would go with him, that he would be touched by the love given to him in a brief encounter with us and that the gift from some strangers of a night off the streets would make him think. We prayed that the Holy Spirit would whisper love to him and lead him to freedom.

A few minutes later and a few blocks away, we saw him again. We watched from a distance as Pedrito crossed the road. A man in a parked car nearby called to him. I held my breath. Pedrito went up to the car window, they talked for a moment, and then he turned away. He walked up the street and noticed us watching him. He smiled and laughed. He was going home.

For this one night, he was safe. What will tomorrow bring for Pedrito and his friends?

WEDDING DAY FROM AFAR

I’ve been asked several times this week, “What is the hardest thing about living in Mozambique?” I had to think for a few minutes. The transition from my life in Australia to living here in Maputo has been quite smooth and uneventful thus far, aside from a day or two of rioting at our front gates. This had nothing whatsoever to do with us here at Zimpeto. Honestly.

The uninvited guests in my room haven’t troubled me particularly – two geckoes, one large frog, a myriad of cockroaches (may they rest in peace) and, last night, a mouse brazenly chewing on a cardboard box in the corner. I have become quite unexpectedly blasé about such visitors and suspect that they’re more bothered by me than I am by them.

The food is fine – so long as it’s thoroughly washed due to a high prevalence of cholera in the area at the moment. The weather is hot and humid and unseasonably blustery but quite manageable. The noise of 350 children playing after school, many of them choosing the sand just beyond my front window as their ideal play area, generally delights me and occasionally forces me to reach for my headphones and some loud music.

All in all, there is a rhythm developing to my days here at Zimpeto that is beginning to feel like the start of something wonderful.

Even as I say this, though, I feel a sadness rise as I think of home today. This is the first day since I moved here a month ago that I wish I were there.

My big brother gets married today. It will be a wonderful celebration and my family will all be together. And as I, here in Mozambique, think of not being there to witness this special event, I’m sad. I’d like to give my brother and his wonderful bride my love in person, to hug them and wish them well. They know my thoughts and my love are with them even if I’m not.

It will be a joyous and special day. Whether together in one place or separated by distance, family is family and nothing changes that. I am blessed to have a family like mine, parents and brothers and sister who love and support me, nieces and nephews and the start of another generation on the way.

At Zimpeto, I get to give to children the love that’s been given to me. I was raised in a family and now I have the opportunity to give from the fullness of this blessing to children who have no family of their own.

To be here today, missing such an important family event, is a small price to pay for the blessing of being able to pour out what has been poured so abundantly into my life. I know my family understands this and blesses my choice to be here today. The children of Zimpeto are the family I share my heart with during this season of my life.

What better way to spend a family day.

LESSONS FROM MOZAMBIQUE

8 Things I Learned This Week…

1/ Where I live, in the city of Maputo, there is electricity and running water. This I knew.
2/ When the city shuts down due to rioting, the electricity shuts down too.
3/ When there’s no electricity, our big back-up generator kicks in.
4/ When there’s rioting in the city, there is no diesel to run the big generator.
5/ When the big generator runs out of diesel, the little generator kicks in.
6/ The little generator runs on diesel too.
7/ At least there’s plenty of hot water because it’s heated by gas.
8/ The hot water, although heated by gas, runs on electricity and, when there’s a riot in the city…

What else did I learn yesterday?

* That the average income of a Mozambican is less than $1 a day.
* That many Mozambicans cannot afford to catch a chapa (minibus) but must walk everywhere they go.

* That many of those who can afford to take a chapa, spend much of their meagre income on this, the only form of transport available to them.
* That chapa drivers are finding it difficult to make a living by driving their chapas due to rising gas prices.
* That poverty is a complicated issue about which we cannot make sweeping generalisations.

How to meet the needs of the chapa drivers and the people who use them? I don’t know but God has a plan.

* Let's pray for change that is long-term and brings health to the economy and, thus, better quality of life for the people.

* Let's pray for wisdom, courage and integrity for the Government of Mozambique and for President Guebuza.

* Let's pray for God to make the way ahead for this nation as it struggles to overcome years of devastating poverty.

* Let's pray for change that will return dignity to the lives of the 21 million people who live here.