Please Don't Send Me to Africa

I forgot that I am living in one of the poorest countries in the world. Not just a “third world country,” Mozambique is on the list of the fifteen poorest countries (as of 2011).

Somehow, after living here for three years, it only just occurred to me yesterday that I really live in a developing nation, with the very poorest of people. Yes, I know they don’t live like Americans. I know they live in little one or two room grass huts or cinder block houses. I know they are lucky to eat two meals a day, and there is a very large percentage of unemployment. I know the average monthly salary is about sixty dollars.

But yesterday, it all just really hit me. I was walking home from visiting an old man in the community who I help look after. I had just shared a Bible story at his house with five little kids who had followed me there. Every time I walk in the community I have a group of “followers.” There are about thirty of these sweet little kids (thirty that know me) in the community behind our center, and when they see me, they come running, shouting, “É o malungu Mana Anna!” “It’s the white Mana Anna!” On my walk home, I encountered several more of the children. Then I heard from behind a row of thorn bushes, “Mana Anna, come see what we are doing!” I came around to see. There were about eight or ten kids gathered around two very tiny cooking fires they had made with little twigs. And on these two miniature cooking fires they had cut a pop can in half, to use as a cooking pot and they were boiling the potato peelings from the potatoes their mothers were cooking on real fires for their dinner. They were pretending to be cooking dinner. These children were so excited to show me their play, and one of the mothers came over to greet me, and we both laughed at the fun these kids were having.

That’s when it hit me. Do these kids know they are the poorest of the poor? Do they know they are the ones on the bottom of the list? That they are considered hopeless?

Compassion is not feeling sorry for someone; it is having hope for them. When I see these happy kids, running around in filthy clothes that fit them two years ago and certainly don’t now — clothes that are full of holes. When I see these dirty little bare feet, I can’t see them as poor. Because I see their sparkling eyes, and I have so much hope for them! The sweet little dirty hand that slips into mine and walks along beside me. The hungry hearts of kids who sit and feed off the story of Jesus calling the little children to come sit on his lap, because he loves them. The joy in their voices as they laugh and play, and say “Look! Here comes Mana Anna!” And when I must leave them, they say, “We will see you next time!”

Oh, the love I have for these kids. This country is called the poorest of the poor. But to God, they are the richest of the rich. They are the ones with the most hope. They are the ones Jesus was talking about when He said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3).