I believe that you can transform the world through the lives of children. I believe that we all have a destiny and a purpose. I know that part of who I am and who I’ve become lives in Mozambique, that that nation and people group have stolen my heart (in a very good way.) With the written word, I would like to share part of who I am with you – with stories that will make you laugh and cry, stories that will bring revelation and understanding. So, I welcome you to sit and just be for a moment.
It’s hard to explain how much Mozambique means to me…
I smelled sweat, thick from days of perpetual sweating and lack of bathing, on the guards and I knew that I was home. As silly as it sounds, I wanted to stay in that moment. I wanted to stand and forever smell these men (from a short distance) and have that smell so embed itself in my nose that I wouldn’t ever forget it.
I stood and watched our cook, mana Eliza, make lunch for the students. She carefully placed new clumps of gray-colored, dirty charcoal under the stove’s metal grates and, lighting a match, lunch was (very slowly) on its way. The only two ingredients she ever asked for were oil and salt, (aside from beans and corn flour). With such a simple recipe, she always seemed to make the best beans in the village. I told her so. Hours later, when she finished lunch, she promptly shared a plate with me. It was served on a well-used green plastic plate. I remembered these plates. I had used them too – many years prior. I eagerly ate with my hands, overcome with joy and contentment.
I drove into town – and it felt so right to be behind the wheel again, in Mozambique, driving on the opposite side of the road. I stared at the ripped-muscle-men cutting down huge swaths of overgrown grass alongside the road. The tender green leaves were now splayed across the pavement. I never saw their machetes stop. I felt that they must be miserable with the heat. I could see, as I passed them in my air-conditioned car with plush, comfortable seats, that their shirts were threadbare and thin. It was a warm day, but the humidity must have been near 90%. They were without water, without food, in full sun…and yet they carried on.
I visited three teachers in their homes. With their monthly wages, they have each been able to build small cement-brick homes and put very simple metal roofs on these homes. Their houses are unpainted – inside and out – and are without windows. There are no lights in these homes, as they are often only used to sleep in, and no furniture, expect perhaps a couple of beat-up plastic chairs and a rickety plastic table. Everyone sleeps on bamboo mats on the floor. Sometimes nails are carefully hammered into the pale gray cement walls and string is strung between them to create a place to drape their clothes. Water is gathered from a nearby well. Their kitchens are outside, little pavilion-like structures with grass roofs and open walls. Chickens dart too and fro and stray dogs cross your path.
These memories deeply impressed themselves upon me. They reopened my heart to the love that I have -and will always have- of Mozambique. They reminded me that it’s okay to smell a little (and that I don’t have to be ‘done up’ every day), that lunch doesn’t have to be fancy or elegant to be beautiful and absolutely perfect, that much of life is made up of hard work, and that a home’s purpose is to provide shelter and be a place to live with our families and our pets. My home here -in the United States- doesn’t need to be absolutely tidy every day. The dusting can wait, as can that stain on my daughter’s favorite dress. It’s more important that I’m present, that I can just be.
I can’t wait to go back.
If you feel led to support the schools in Mozambique or Nate and I as a couple and our ministry work here in the United States, we would be most honored. Here’s for support of our work – both domestically (M55) and abroad (M80).
A Day in Mozambique 