Paulo’s Home Visit

We left the baby house early Saturday morning, with Paulo dressed in his best clothes ready to visit his father’s house for the first time in his life. I wasn’t really sure how far of a trip it was going to be, but was under the impression that it would take a good majority of our day to complete the traveling.

It has been a lot of fun to share these experiences with my friend Christie from back home. She loves the new experiences about as much as I do, and for that I am grateful. Many times during this day trip, we found ourselves in situations that made us laugh out loud at the absurdity of our circumstance. It has been such a blessing to have a good friend to share these times with, and also easier to get people to believe these unbelievable situations that we find ourselves experiencing.

As we squeezed into our first chapa ride of many for the day, we headed south from the city of Maputo. It was a long ride to area called Boane, which I had never been, while here in Mozambique. It was far enough away from the city, that we had a hard time getting a cell phone signal, and it was also noticeable that life was even simpler in this area than in the city. We then arranged a ride in the back of a pickup with 35-40 of our closest friends. It ended up that because Christie and I had baby Paulo with us that we rode in the cab of the truck for this 2 and ½ hour ride.

After waiting for about 45 minutes for the driver to round up the other travelers needing a ride down this long road, we finally left this small village. It was soon very clear to us that even though it had been 2 days since it had rained, this road was still very muddy and some would say possibly impassable. These people that would make such bold statements are obviously not from Africa, much less Mozambique.

If you can imagine a minimum maintenance road in the States that has been closed because of a flood washing out the majority of the road, and the part that is left is thick, wet mud and water. Take that image and put it in the middle of nowhere, so that if you do happen to get stuck there isn’t much hope of getting out, unless you walk yourself out to the nearest town many miles away. This was the situation that Christie and I found ourselves in, and we both were having the time of our life. I found myself looking at her and thinking, “I can’t believe that I am in Africa driving toward the Swaziland border in the middle of the nowhere, I can’t see civilization in any direction that I look, and I am sharing this experience with a great friend. Can it get any better than this?”

The drive was long in distance and also in length of time. It was very slow at times because of the road conditions, but miraculously our driver got us through and to the last stop on his route which was as close as a vehicle could take us to where Paulo’s dad lives.

We started to ask around, talking to the locals, trying to find out if they knew where Paulo’s dad lived, and it soon became clear to me, that my fearless translator Luis had forgotten Paulo’s dad’s name. Here we are now, seven hours drive from home and we don’t even know the name of the man that we are trying to track down. For anyone that know my friend and translator Luis, this is not out of character for him to do things like this, and I love him for it, because it gives me things to tease him about. As we continued to talk to the people of this remote village, one of the guys thought that he knew who we were looking for, and agreed to walk with us out to where he thought the man lived.

We walked down this road for at least two miles and as walked we teased Luis about the snake that had slithered out of the tree we were standing close to in the village. He panicked, screamed a little, and ran away faster than any of the men and more importantly women that were standing in our circle under the tree. His story of what happened differs greatly from Christie and my memory of how it happened, but I think that our version is more accurate and much more entertaining.
As we neared where the man helping us said that he thought Paulo’s dad lived, I saw a man in a full suit walking down this red dirt road toward us. As he got about 50 feet from us, I told Christie and Luis, that I thought that I recognized him from his visits to the house to see Paulo, and I was almost positive that it was his father. I took Paulo and walked toward the man who stood in disbelief that we had really traveled all of the way out to his village, with his son, to visit him. He stood there, obviously dressed in his best clothes, and it was obvious then that this was a really important to him that his son had finally come to visit him.
For those that aren’t familiar, Paulo joined the rest of the children at the baby house last summer, when his mother abandoned him. His father found out shortly after, but wasn’t able to provide adequate paper work or housing to convince social welfare to allow him to take Paulo. Paulo’s father, George is a neat man, who obviously cares a lot for his first-born son, but can’t provide for himself, much less his boy. I am so glad that I have the opportunity to be a part of what the baby house continues to do for these children and their families.

As we sat in front of this man’s house and he sat with Paulo in his arms, not much was said, but it was obvious that what was happening was good, and I really enjoyed just being able to sit there and be a part of this man’s joy. He sat and just enjoyed having his boy on his lap, being able to hold him while sitting in front of his home.

As the time approached and we need to leave in order to be able to get back to the baby house that same day, we all walked the two miles back to where the pickup had dropped us off. Paulo’s father carried him the entire way, and it was so obvious of how proud he was of his son. Everyone that we passed wanted to see the boy, and when we finally got back to the little village, he showed Paulo off to everyone that was sitting around the tree.

After standing for 30 minutes or so, a mini-bus came by and we were able to catch a ride back to the main road. This driver went so fast on this road that was in such a poor condition. We made the trip in ½ the time that our ride to the village had taken. The ride was so bumpy and included Luis laughing at Christie and I as we were airborne multiple times throughout the ride with Paulo in our arms trying to keep his head protected from hitting the ceiling and windows of the bus. When that ride was finish, we were able to get right on another larger bus at the stop that was packed to past the maximum occupancy, and made really good time back to the city of Maputo.As we were walking home at the end of the day Christie and I were processing through our day and how much we love these “African” experiences. The part that we love the most about it is these situations would be so outlandish in our homeland of the United States, but are everyday norms for the locals of Mozambique. It isn’t out of the question to squeeze 60-70 people in a bus that has a posted capacity of 26 people. It isn’t hard for the people of Mozambique to imagine driving down a washed out, muddy road in a two-wheel drive mini-bus, but most Americans wouldn’t attempt to travel down this same road in the strongest SUV that money could buy in the States. We both love the fact that we are able to have these experiences with the people of Mozambique. Life is good.

Idrussi’s Home Visit

I have been looking forward to returning this summer and being able to do home visits with the children again. Our first trip was a visit to Idrussi’s grandmother and the village of Camp 2000; this was one of my favorite visits from last year.

We set out in Pieter and Rika’s new vehicle, which made our travel much easier. It also allowed us to take many people from the team to see Camp 2000. One of the neat things has come out of our first visit to this village, is that Pieter and his team have decided that they are going to start working with the people of this village that is North of Maputo. They have already been out for a couple of nights stay with the people and are building new friendships with these people.

As we unloaded bags and bags of clothes to give as gifts, many people on my team were very wide-eyed because of the drastic difference in standard of living of this village compared to where we have been staying in Matola.

We set out walking through the deep sand with our arms weighed down with clothing and also our special guest Idrussi. This was his first time to return to see his grandmother since I brought him last time. He was unable to visit with Pieter’s team last time because he had come down with a case of Malaria. Walking into a village that doesn’t have many visitors to begin with, with a group of 6 white girls causes heads to turn.

We finally arrived at Idrussi’s grandmothers house, and shortly after the majority of the village had also arrived to greet us. It was neat to return with some of the pictures printed from my previous visit. There was one little girl that ended up being one of my favorite pictures from my trip last year. As I handed the pictures and looked through them with Idrussi’s grandmother, I showed her the picture and asked if the little girl was still here, and she just happened to be standing right by my side. I was able to show her the picture of herself and she smiled so big, it was amazing to see how much she had grown from the previous year.

As the clothes were divided into piles to be passed out, a few of the girls on the team passed out candy and snacks to the children, and I tried to capture the experience through the lens of my camera. Pieter pointed out to me, the there was an extreme lack of men present in the village. The only males present, either came with us (Pieter, Luis, and myself), or they were under the age of eight. It was obvious that there must be men present, because there was not a lack of children or women that were pregnant. It was just interesting to me that they were nowhere to be seen, and I still haven’t been able to make sense of the situation.

This visit was a good one, and it was definitely worth it to see the joy on Grandmother’s face as she held Idrussi. It will be interesting to see what happens as Pieter and men that he is leading continue to travel out to Camp 2000 to build relationship with these wonderful people.

Idrussi’s Home Visit

When he left the small village of Camp 2000, he was weak, sick, and almost ready to breathe his last breath. His grandmother was sure that she had sent him away to be a part of a child trafficking scheme. She was positive that she would never see her Grandchild Idrussi again.

As we walked through the reasonably new village of Camp 2000, which had been established as a refugee camp for victims of the Mozambique floods of 2000, I wasn’t sure that we were going to be able to find Idrussi’s family. I wasn’t even sure that his grandmother still lived in the village or if she was even still alive. We had traveled by chappa and an old bus for 4 ½ hours and were now walking to a church in the village, where we were told the pastor’s wife could help us track down the family.

As we sat down in the shade that was provided on the side of the simple cement church building, the young lady that had presented herself as the wife of the pastor told us that she would go and find her friend that had brought Idrussi to her over a year ago. As we sat and waited Idrussi shoveled chocolate biscuits into his mouth, and managed to get some of the chocolate on the pants of my traveling companion Luis.

With sounds of children playing under a nearby tree in our ears, the lady returned with a lady named Mary that said she knew where the family lived, we were in luck, but there was a catch. Mary said that it was at least two-hour walk from the church. As I looked up at the sun, which was now high in the sky, I thought through our next step and looked at my watch. We had left the baby house at just after 7:00am, and it was now just after 1:00pm. Two hours from now it would be 3:00pm, plus the two-hour walk back to catch a 4 ½ hour bus ride. I wasn’t sure how late all of the buses ran, and I knew that one of my teammates had plane to catch in the morning. I was also not sure how much I wanted to entertain the idea of spending the night out in this village with Idrussi, who only had a short supply of diapers.

We all looked at each other for a few minutes and finally decided that we needed to continue on in our journey. We walked through deep sand right behind our recently acquired guide Mary. After only walking for a little over an hour, she realized that we had already arrived in the area of the family’s house. This was good news for us because the sun starts to set at 4:30 in the afternoon and traveling in the dark isn’t a good idea in Mozambique.

After asking a local lady from the village about the family’s whereabouts, we walked toward a small grass hut with a man and woman sitting on a grass mat in the shade of a nearby tree. Mary spoke in the native language of Shangon and as the lady rose from the grass mat she started to weep. With tears rolling down her cheeks she approached us, and this is when I realized that this was Idrussi’s Grandmother.

When she handed Idrussi over to Mary over a year ago, she didn’t expect to ever see the little boy again. Now he had returned to her with a Buddha-like belly and a huge smile on his face. He was happy, healthy, and now taking medicine that was helping his body to fight his battle with AIDS. I handed Idrussi over to her, and she hugged and held him tightly against her chest. She repeated, “Obrigato,” which is “Thank you” in Portuguese. Soon all of the small houses in the village had emptied and the people were standing in a circle around Idrussi, as if to witness a triumphant kings return to his village.

I stood by and just tried to take in this entire spectacle. Soon Idrussi’s Aunt was there at the house, along with an Uncle, and other family members. As they enjoyed holding and playing with him, I soon realized that the children of the village had never seen a camera. I started taking pictures of the kids around me, and then showing them their own faces on my cameras screen. The children loved it, but the excitement soon spread to a few of the mothers that were nearby and they also requested that I take their picture, with babies in their arms, so that they could see.
Idrussi and Family
As the sun started to set in sky, I realized that our visit needed to come to an end. The village said their goodbyes to each of us with a kiss on both of our checks, and we were on our way home. The adventure does not, however, stop on our arrival at a nearby paved road.

Standing at the edge of the pothole-filled blacktop, I realized that we were standing at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. A few small chappas came by within the next 45 minutes, but they were all full without room for the four of my traveling companions. I thought to myself of how I had always wanted to hitchhike, and how it would make a good story to say that I hitchhiked in Africa, and without hesitation, or asking the people that were traveling with me, I walk out onto the pavement and put my thumb up. I had a ride in less than a minute and Amy was screaming, “What are you doing?”

With a casual reply I said, “Getting us a ride, come on. I always wanted to hitchhike, and what better place, but in Africa!”

I climbed in the back of the old pickup with Luis and Idrussi, and let Amy and Pedro ride in the cab with our new friend Felix, the driver. He drove very fast and took us into a nearby town where it was much easier for us to get a chappa home.

This home visit, although longer and more exhausting than any of the others was the most rewarding. I feel so fortunate to be able to be in Africa and be a part of reuniting families, giving them hope, and showing that their baby’s future is no longer hanging in the balance, but now shows great promise. This was my last home visit that I will be able to facilitate while I am here for this summer visit, but I also now know that I will return to Mozambique during my future summers and continue to work alongside of these people that are making such a difference in the lives of the family of this country that has won over my heart.

Richardo’s Home Visit

As we set out this morning, I had a different team of people traveling with me. There is a new lady that we are trying to get involved with some of the community work at the baby house. Leonora is pretty good at English and this was her first outing for the baby house.

We left the house at around 9:30 in the morning and road the chappa to the Benefica Market. When we arrived, we phone Richardo’s father and he was on his way to meet us at the gas station that was near to where to our location. It was a pleasant surprise that he was coming to meet us and that we wouldn’t have to search to find his home.

We stood and waited for about 15 minutes and I finally saw his father’s familiar face from his visit to the baby house the previous week. He was so excited to see Richardo, and as I handed the little boy over to him it was neat to see them both excited to see each other again. Richardo looks just like his father, and as I followed his dad, we walked toward a larger bus that would carry us closer to his home.

The bus ride was long and I stood smashed between many people most of the journey. When we arrived, I immediately realized that we were in the same neighborhood as last Friday on the visit to Marcelino’s family. The walk was much shorter this trip and we arrived at his little grass hut in no time.

We sat and chatted for about an hour, he showed us pictures of Richardo’s father who died of AIDS shortly after Richardo’s birth. She was a beautiful woman and it was neat to hear her husband talk so fondly about his former wife. After our visit, he took us to the front yard and dug up some roots of a plant to take home. As he was digging up the roots, two ladies came by the house that were friends of Richardo’s mother. It was neat to let them see how well he was doing. The visit went well and it was great to take Richardo for the first time to his father’s house.

Marcelino’s Home Visit

Marcelino sat at the breakfast table in his best clothes, eating an early breakfast, so that we could leave the house by 8:00 this morning. At the sight of his new outfit he knew that he was on his way somewhere special and was going to have the chance to leave the baby house. This always seems to make the kids happy.

We loaded on to a chappa and headed away from the city, a place that I hadn’t been, we then switched to another bus that took us even farther from the city of Maputo. It was quite a bus trip with Marcelino on my lap and squished into the chappa. He seems to get very quiet and subdued whenever he is taken out.

We walked a short distance through a small village to find Marcelino’s uncle. As he greeted us, I could smell urine on his clothes, and large amounts of alcohol on his breath. He accompanied us, and actually led the way to the house where the father of Marcelino lives.

We climbed on yet another chappa and traveled to another village that was quite a distance from where we started. As we climbed off of the bus, Luis quickly pointed out that we were across the street from Iris Ministries (the orphanage that he spent much of his childhood living in). This is where our walk of great proportions began. We walked and walk and walked. We easily walked six miles through deep sand and carried Marcelino most of that distance. The area was beautiful farmland, but the sand made the walk hard work.

Standing in the middle of stereotypical African savannah with just a few small grass huts surrounding us, I realized that Marcelino’s uncle had no idea where his brother lived. We wandered and almost everyone that crossed our path if they knew Marcelino’s father, but no one recognized his name or knew the family. I was pretty sure that we were lost, but I had one of my favorite children in the world resting in my arms, so we decided to play. I put him down on the sandy path and we chased each other around, while he shouted at all of us. Marcelino’s uncle and Luis continued to ask people and we finally decided to just head down this path with no direction. I really didn’t have much say in the matter because of the language barrier, so I just continued to follow.

After about 15 more minutes of walking, we asked a man wearing a stocking hat in the African heat if he knew the family. I was astonished when his face showed that he was happy to be able to help and led us to the family’s house.

As we approached the gate, I noticed that their grass hut and plot of land was surrounded with bushes with very large thorns on them. I put Marcelino on the ground, straightened his shirt and pants, and he grabbed my hand as we walked through the gate. His family sat on grass mats in the sun. His father’s new wife was cutting vegetables and looked up at us with a smile as we approached where she was sitting.

A little boy sitting next to her with a pot of old cooked rice sitting between his legs looked up and spoke in Shangon. It was obvious that he was excited from the tone of his voice, but I had to ask Luis what the little boy was saying as he looked and spoke to Marcelino. Luis told me that he had said, “My brother, my brother, I have a brother!” Marcelino walked over and sat down next to the boy, who we later found out is named Michael, and sat down and grabbed his hand to hold. It was precious to see these two brothers reunite.

Chickens roamed around our feet as some of us stood and watched the family marvel at how Marcelino had grown and how healthy he looked. We were told that Marcelino's father was working at the market, wandering through the narrow booths selling small items (we went to the market after leaving the house, but did not have success at finding the father).

As we said our goodbyes and headed back on our long walk to the main road, I couldn’t help but think about how much of a difference the baby house has made in Marcelino’s life. Walking with him in my arms, I continued to think about what his life would look like if he lived out with this family in their very humble grass hut. Without running water, with no guarantee of a next meal, without a daily bath or clothes to wear. I am so glad that I am able to partner with a group of people that is making such a major difference in the lives of children. I see the eight former orphans at the baby house as some of the luckiest children in this entire country of Mozambique. They will have a promising future because of what is being done to fight for their social justice.

New Adventures to Come

As my stay here in Mozambique is quickly coming to an end (only 17 days left) and things are winding down, I was pleasantly surprised at breakfast this morning. As we were standing around the kitchen and Pieter was cooking an egg, he casually informed me that he would like me to take each of the babies on a visit to their family’s home before I leave the country.

I am extremely excited about the chance to adventure out into the smaller surrounding villages to seek out the families of the children here at the house. I'm sure that each will have a story that needs to be heard. I will keep you posted on my adventures as they happen. This will be a good way to spend my remaining time here at the baby house.