A Hard Walk Down A Dusty Road

I write this hesitantly because one of the things I hate about blogs, blogging, bloggers, etc. is that they/we often put things out there that are not our stories to tell. But I am going to go ahead and post this story of one of our home visits in Swaziland for 3 reasons: 1. It is one example of what I've seen now in so many situations...it could be one of many kids in Swaziland or around the world, there's nothing unique about this story, just that it's fresh on my mind. 2. It is a story that needs to be told to a numb, apathetic, affluent, American Christian - to bring reality to life. 3. It is a story that I (as a numb, apathetic, affluent, American Christian) am apt to forget as I leave this culture where poverty is all around me and I head back to my comfortable life...and I don't want to forget it or be numb!

We walked with the boy for several minutes before he pointed and said his homestead was right there. The road we were on was so dusty, and the air so still, that we would all turn away for several minutes until the dust settled when a truck went by. We walked through the opening in the stick and thornbush fence as several cattle lay near by and chickens ran about. The boy ran and got a grass-woven mat and a chair, and brought them over to spread out under the tree several yards from the house. The homestead consisted of a few buildings - a loose stick hut that served as a kitchen, two concrete buildings (about 8 x 10 feet) that were where the adults slept, and a mud & stick hut with a thatched roof where several children slept. The thatched roof had several places where it had fallen apart, leaving it with several holes that were over 6 inches in diameter.
As we women maneuvered to take our shoes off before stepping on the mat to sit down on the ground, the men sat on the chairs, and the boy ran to the field to get his gogo (grandmother). She quickly and quietly came back, followed closely by a 4 year old girl wearing only a sun bleached piece of fabric wrapped around her like a skirt.
When we shared with the woman and talked, she told about how we could pray for her. She shared her health struggles - mostly common ailments of a hard life of a poverty-stricken, hungry, water deprived person in a third world country - sore feet, legs, headache, backache. She couldn't have been over 60, yet her eyes looked much older because of her experiences, and she was still taking care of so many others!
Before we laid hands on her to pray, she had her grandson fetch a coat so she could cover herself as we prayed. I held her hand - weathered by years of hard work outside & caked with dirt in every possible crack. After we prayed with her, we blessed her with a gift of a bag of food and supplies. She sat quietly as we laid out the corn meal, sardines, soap, candles, sugar, tea, matches, beans, and oil. What would cost about $30, and last us Americans less than a week would last this woman and her entire family from two weeks to a month...and she wiped away tears at this gift from strangers.
As we walked along the road back toward where we had come from, "Siyabonga kakuhlu" was what she repeated - "Thank you so much!" And we told her the same thing we had been teaching the children all day...we love because He first loved us.