processing is a journey, part 1

Mozambique:
A former Portuguese colony
Differing from British colonies, nationals were treated without dignity or respect. They were given limited access to education and health care. 
When Mozambique achieved independence, the Portuguese, upon leaving, poured cement down wells. They set fire to landmarks. They did unimaginable things.
Mozambique was left bereft - of dignity, of self-respect. The country was left to govern themselves with no experience doing so. There were few skilled labourers. The infrastructure was in shambles. 
Within one year of independence, almost all the Portuguese population had left. This rapid exodus left the economy in disarray. 
Then civil war, for 15 years, under the auspices of communism. War destroyed the remaining wealth. There was a state of absolute disrepair. 
Now democracy. Then a cyclone caused widespread flooding. Now economic recovery led by investment from South Africa, East Asia, and returning Portuguese nationals. 

My Journey: We step off the plane and see a single terminal airport, probably not too much unlike what the Hamilton airport would have been back in the day. There was one entrance door, one customs officer, one conveyor that contained our lugguage. 

All 7 of us, plus our MCC service worker, pile into a SUV, and head to the guesthouse. Our first glimpses included palm trees, some buildings being constructed, a resort with Asian funding being constructed, people walking on the side of the road, cyclists, and potholes the size of craters. 

As we enter Beira proper, the asphalt becomes patchy, the potholes increase in number, and we see large houses. We discover that at one time, this was one of the richest neighbourhoods. Humour me here. Close your eyes and picture a neighbourhood not far from where you live with 3000-4000 square foot homes, dated, but still well kept, lawns manicured, gardens neat and bursting with colour, mature trees, single families, multiple new cars that are freshly detailed in the driveway. It feels safe, secure, wealthy - for some of us perhaps unfamiliar, perhaps uncomfortable. Now imagine the only thing in common are the cars in the driveway. Well, actually, not even the cars. Imagine older model SUVs, patchy asphalt driveway, homes stained with mold and moisture, gardens long overgrown, laundry hanging across the second floor balconey. Further down the road, imagine these homes with no windows, gardens long gone, multiple families, no cars, and dirt. Everywhere dirt. Dusty, loamy, cover your feet kind of dirt. The kind that is so light it blows in the lightest breeze. The kind that it is hard to feel clean as it sticks to the least bit of moisture on your body. 

What happened to these once-beautiful neighbourhoods? War, neglect, poverty, lack of materials. 

Please close your eyes again. Imagine the Royal York in Toronto in all its glory, flags waving in the wind, clean, pristine. Imagine it gutted by a colonial power, burned, broken. Imagine 4-5000 squatters taking it over, men, women, children. Imagine walls and floors being chiselled away so chunks of concrete could be sold. Imagine children roaming all day as school is out of their reach. Imagine the once majestic yards and landscape overrun with grasses and weeds. Imagine the Olympic-sized swimming pool being used as their sewer. Imagine all windows long gone, tattered sheets blowing in the ocean breeze. Imagine how dark it is when the sun goes down at 5:45. My heart broke for the women and children, trying to survive. 

Grand Hotel, built in the 1060s

Heavy, dark, lack of hope. To be honest, that is exactly how I feel. Guilty. Sick. Heartbroken. 

I ask Steve, a BIC missionary and our tour guide, living in Beira for 1 year, how he keeps going, keeps positive, has hope. He looks at me and understands. He sees the lack of hope, the heartbrokenness. One word sticks out from what he shares next and that is OPPORTUNITY. Everywhere I see despair, he sees an opportunity. An opportunity to share food. An opportunity to raise funds to send a child to school. An opportunity to be loving, kind, and full of peace. An opportunity to share the hope he has in a better future. 

And it strikes me, right between the eyes. It is simple. It boils down to one thing. Everyone needs HOPE. As a mom without hope, I see a dark future for my children. I see neverending hunger. I see the cycle of poverty continuing, always continuing, without end. I see lack of confidence and the erosion of spirit in my husband. I feel the weight of caring for my family, of pretending to like waking up each day. The hunger pains have become my friend, something that is reliable and will always be with me. I see my comrades-in-arms, wearing their capalanas around their waist and their ends, carrying their tubs of fares to be sold at market, never meeting my eyes. I feel lonely. And then, HOPE. Hope fills my thoughts as I wake each morning, walking to get water. I smile at my children, as they get ready to walk to school, uniforms on, books in hand. My mundane, tedious tasks of making pots of rice, porridge, beans, brings me a joy as I feel pride in feeding my family. I feel the birthing of something new in my community. 

Where does this hope come from? From guys like Steve, and his wife, Chris, who left it all behind and who befriend those in Beira. They bring breakfast to street kids. They bring dinners to prisoners who never get to leave their cells, women accompanied by their children. They host moms groups. They teach those interested about Jesus and his transforming message of love and peace. They train and equip pastors and leaders. 

From people like Lisa, who left her career in Ontario in dentistry to build houses for Mozambican families. These families upkeep the inside of the homes, pay for the water and electricity, and she maintains the homes, pays the school fees for the children, and for $800, the family has a home that is theirs after 10 years. Oh, did I mention that these families also adopt 5-6 kids aged 5-11? And that they live in a 9 metre by 10 metre home? That they can have up to 3 biological kids? She is currently building homes 3 and 4, a duplex. How does she fund this? Us. You. Me. How does she get paid? Us. You. Me. The hope she brings is immeasurable. Once unloved are now loved. Once uneducated are now educated. Once hopeless are now full of HOPE. 

One of the homes, built by Lisa (and student engineers)

Lisa

From guys like Tony, recovered alcoholic and drug addict, now husband and father. He meets with a group of teenage boys 3 mornings per week in the alleyway in a market where they sleep before they split for the day. He brings them messages of transformation, hope, and encouragement. He brings money, food, love, and sometimes employment. He brings hope. 

Tony and his sidekick, Jim

The boys

From organizations like Mennonite Central Committee (MCC). With programs funded by individuals and organizations like The Meeting House, they are providing funding to grassroots programs that provide skill training to teenagers so they can have hope of earning a living for their families. They are funding programs like AACO (Aid Association for Orphan Children) where single and double orphans can go to hang out and eat. They also ensure each orphan has the required paperwork to go to school for grade 1 (not an easy feat for a lot of orphan children). These kids have the hope an education brings. They are funding schools, providing agricultural teachers for education in the school but also for the community. These communities have the hope that becoming self-sufficient brings. They are funding the BIC church HIV/AIDS program that provides awareness, education, home care, care kits, medicine. These people living with HIV/AIDS have the hope that there is a brighter future, one without stigmitization, one with community. A community filled with hope. 

AACO in Mafambisse

Teenage girls at Machanga, walking to school