Friday, Part 2

Our next stop was at a preschool near the homestead of Babe Gideon and was close by to where we had attended the wedding last weekend. The preschool was as we had come to expect, a rock and mud structure with a tin roof. There were 30 children here ranging in age from 3 or 4 to8 or 9. The pastor of the church and the teachers told us of the plight of these children and of their mission to provide these children with basic education so they could go on to attend primary school.

It’s amazing what defines differences in opportunity, but in contrast to the children in Shewula, these children nearly all had shoes of some kind and their clothing was less resembling rags.

Chris and Megan had brought a huge bag of Kazoos and we have had many impromptu concerts with the kids along the way. This was no exception. The children sang with us and the teacher led them in some recitations as well. I am constantly amazed at how well behaved these children are.

After leaving the children we travelled a short distance down the rutted dirt road to the homestead of one of the vulnerable families the church had identified for us to assist. The homestead was very indicative of a primitive African existence. There were 3 or 4 mud huts. The elderly Make and Babe were left to care for their grandchildren, which I think numbered 7 or 8. They explained that theses children’s parents had died of AIDS and it is the responsibility of the elders to take these children in if at all possible. Often it is not possible, which accounts for the huge number of displaced orphans in Swaziland. Food is scarce and unreliable. This family has recently decided to have only 2 meals a day to try to stretch what resources they have. Often a meal will only be pap (boiled mealy maize). They rarely have fruit, juice or vegetables.

We unloaded the bounty that we had bought at The Sparr this morning and the family was gracious and thankful for the assistance. It is easy to get caught in the trap of feeling self important when involved in service such as this, but one only has to reflect on the fact that this is such a temporary reprieve to gain a proper perspective. I cannot understate the enormity of poverty here.

As we were leaving the homestead a rusted pickup truck came bouncing up the dirt road and we heard the unmistakable buzzing of Kazoos. As the truck passed by we saw the familiar faces of several of the children from the school in the back, all playing loudly and proudly on their Kazoos. These are the moments that mitigate the powerless feelings of this journey. If nothing else, on this day these children had Kazoos.

Our last stop for the day was a satellite church of Kukhany O Kusha. Their modest building, perhaps 20 by 20 feet was still under construction, without a roof and only a dirt floor. The pastor told of their dream to become a Neighborhood Care Point and developing an educational program for the OVC’s in the area.

There were perhaps 12 or so of their parishioners awaiting us and they immediately began to sing for us. I will never forget their beautiful harmonies as we stood in the shell of their building on the windswept mountain top as the day came to an end. We in turn sang for them, and they us and we them. Music is indeed the universal language and just as I did not understand their words nor they ours, we all truly understood the spirit of that moment.