Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Jonathan and I are here in America now and so it is emails like this from Susan that take me back in my mind to Tanzania. I like America – as I always say, how can one not like a place that has so much ice cream? But I miss Tanzania, I miss when Susan comes back excited and bubbly wanting to share about her visits with her friends. This email of hers was on a flash drive for me to send out after Jonathan and I got to Dar, but things were too hectic in Dar and so it’s only now that I’m here in America that I can send it out to you all. Re-reading it brought back the memories of that day …

In the twilight of the evening, I returned home from Lulanda. Could I possibly be more content than I am now? A day of visiting students’ families in this far off village, escorted by a team of students who showed me over and again how much they loved me, welcomed into the homes of their parents who all seemed just to beam when we showed up, really could a person desire more than this?

The village of Lulanda is really a long and strenuous walk for the people, but this year it seemed that there was a wave of new kids at our school all coming from this village, and so I was intent on coming this far and visiting the village and seeing where they had come from. Up until recently I have had only a little contact with the village of Lulanda and it has happened because of the many people from the village who have AIDS and who have come all the way to Madisi to see me. I rejoiced with every person who came, but I wondered about those who I knew were being forced to choose death rather endure the long distance on foot to get treatment. So I went on this trip with a dual purpose. Certainly I wanted to greet the parents or the relatives who were taking care of these students of ours, but I also wanted to let them know that I very much wanted them to live and to raise their kids, to be alive to see these students of theirs graduate and to somehow help the younger ones make it to school as well. It started with getting tested and that’s what I wanted them all to do. I wanted them to know how hard it was at our school, the huge burden we carry as the teachers when we have so many students whose parents have already died. I wanted them to know that we really couldn’t afford to lose any more parents. I wanted to encourage them to do everything to get tested, to start treatment, and to stay alive so that they could keep their kids in school and give them a future.

The day didn’t start out as planned. Not at all. My little Panzi (The “GrassHopper”) was ready to go at 9 in the morning, and up and down the mountains we went until we got to Iyegea where the mountains are really steep. And right there in the middle of two steep inclines, Panzi decided to not move forward. Of all the things, the gear box went out. I suppose there’s no good place for a car to break down, but if there was one place on this road that was “perfect” for a breakdown, this was indeed it. It was possible standing on the car’s bumper on my tip toes to get reception on my phone! A divinely perfect place, I thought, for the car to die. At first I tried to call Steve, but the call couldn’t connect, and then I realized, he was the wrong guy to call anyway -- as gear boxes are not in his vocabulary. But my phone did connect with Godfrey’s and the moment I said “help”, he dropped everything and was on his way with Redford, one of our mechanic drivers. It made me feel so loved. Their world stopped for a few hours so they could help me and they did it with cheerfulness and an eagerness almost. That warmed my heart.

The place where Panzi’s gears decided to stop working was perfect though, and not just because it was the one place where I could get reception to make a phone call. It was perfect in a much more important way. Because out of a little stick and mud house came a woman quickly running towards the car. It was Zuhura, one of my friends with AIDS! Quickly she welcomed over us to sit down and fed us bananas. There on the mat next to us, though was her sister Flormena, and right away I could see that her hair was way too fine and her body way to thin. Her skin was covered with ulcers. I learned that she hasn’t been able to walk since she was a child of 11. And now at age 40 she exhibits every sign of AIDS. She’ll be going in a few days to be tested. I had traveling with me two doctors from Finland and I could smile with the realization that I could have never had dreamed of even proposing that they make a “house call” to this place to examine Flormena, but what I could never think of doing, God could orchestrate into happening.

We also got to meet Adamu, a youth of 17 with horrific ulcers on his legs who was walking slowly along that road. Peter, the Peace Corps Volunteer who was also with me that day, pointed him out. Adamu, a shy, quiet young man looked clearly as though he carried a much too heavy a burden for a man of young age. I cleaned and bandaged his sores and asked him to come to my house when he had a chance so we could better care for his sores. I learned more about him. His mom died four years ago, his dad was ill and couldn’t work, and his little brother also had sores and other symptoms. Adamu had started treatment for AIDS but dad and his younger brother hadn’t been tested. The Catholic priest, a few hours from his village, had put Adamu in a carpentry school, but Adamu’s family needed to provide food and pay for his rent (about 3 dollars a month) and that is where I met Adamu, heading on the road to talk to his father. He was doing the right thing to see his father, but I knew from the way Adamu looked and from he told me of his family that there was no way that his father was going to have anything to help him with. One might say that what Adamu needed now was some supplies to feed him and clothe him until we could work out a more permanent solution – and in some sense that’s true and that’s why I made sure he got those things. But what Adamu really needed was not just the food and the clothes but the sign that the food and clothes represented, the sign that there was hope that if a little of his burden was lifted, then the incredible offer he had gotten to maybe go to carpentry school just might really become a reality. The doctors already want to go traveling with me again another day and we have the appointment with Adam to show us how to get to his house so we can check on his father and his younger brother.

And so just as my “divine appointments” in Iyegea were finished, I was rescued by Redford and Godfrey who had come with Yatima (The “Orphan”) to help me get to Lulanda. Once in Lulanda, the welcoming began. We started at Taday’s home at the top of the village. This sweet, silly 14-year old, is all smiles. He is in school! And we’ve come to his village to visit his family. His dad died last year, his mom is sick and their thatch house is falling in from the top and through the sides. Yet his dear mom whipped up ugali and greens and we ate together chatting about life and her sweet son. When all of the other guests from homes nearby cleared out, we talked about the realities facing her, and how she needed to go get tested and get the medicines that would keep her alive. If she and I can just keep Taday in school, it will be a great victory. We left her house with a bag of squash greens to make at home, but more than that we left knowing that she was going to get tested and she was going to get help and she was going to live.

Then we moved on to Neo’s house. They beamed when we arrived. Neo has been our student for four years now and he is the first in his family to ever go to secondary school. And a large family he has – 16 brothers and sisters! Not from the same mom though. His dad is 70 and Neo has three mothers. To the great delight of his father, Neo and I could communicate perfectly in English. The father just couldn’t believe that his son was so proficient in that ever-feared language – English. He did want to let me know though that his third and youngest wife (age 50) went to get tested and she tested negative, so he decided all was well. And that it is! We left their house with a huge regime of bananas.

Then on to other homes, and at each one we collected stories and gifts and made new friends. But one home visit that I will never forget was Mika’s. His father’s utter emaciation spoke volumes. I had seen him on a previous trip and remember his hollow eyes locking onto mine. They looked as though they pleaded with me not to leave. I was hoping to find him this trip. And sure enough I did, and this trip I was able to put the pieces together. Turns out that Mika’s mom is one of my friends and she’s been getting the ARVs and she is healthy as can be now. After greeting all in Mika’s house, I talked to them about AIDS and testing and then left. Afterwards Mika’s father followed me at a distance and when there was a break in the crowd he approached and said that he needed to get tested too and wanted to know what he had to do. I signed him up right then, and as soon as our bus goes, he is on it!

We visited, talked and ate all day. And that evening as we returned with Mika, Luka and Andrea, Mrs. Jenkins (their teacher and my aunt), squeezed in amongst all of the gifts of food, it was like Christmas. Not because of all of the gifts, but because it was just so joyful that it felt like Christmas. As we reach out into these new areas, as we head out into villages further and further away now that I have a car, our hope is that we will serve Him well. Gathering up the kids who need to go to school, gathering up those with AIDS, making sure those in great need are not overlooked and forgotten. And thus we begin making the people of the village of Lulanda a part of our lives. What a joy it really is to serve here. God could have chosen anyone to get to come here and do this and to make the inroads to bringing the Gospel to people in this village. How blessed I am that I get the joy of getting to do this. After they get Panzi fixed I’ll be able to travel again and again to this new village. And eventually to villages further down the road as well.

Many thanks to all of you who help in this work. I hope you all are as happy as I am!

In His service,

Susan