Being back at the orphanage is a new exercise in perspective. The orphanage seems like an oasis of civilization after the bush. I treat myself to a shower, and luxuriate in the little trickle of cold water -- how my standards have changed! I even keep it running for a few minutes rather than scrupulously turning it off while I soap up. I decide to really live it up by putting on clean clothes -- not just the semi-clean ones I washed here, but the last clean ones I brought from home. I find myself walking with a peculiar gait, sort of like a chicken, trying to not scuff up the dirt and wreck my nice clean feet.
Some of the outreach team had made plans to go to dinner at 4:30, but we didn't realize that most of them were going at 6:30 instead. We walk left to Club Navale, only to find that they don't serve until 7, so we walk back. We take a cab to the other restaurant, since it will be dark by the time we get there, and we are supposed to be in a larger group if we want to walk outside at night.
I ordered squid. I never see the point of ordering American food in foreign countries. I think the quality is liable to be better if you order something authentic, so I high hopes for the squid, and I was not disappointed. It was excellent. With a soda, it came to around $8. It seemed like a feast. This was my first 'off-campus' meal other than the bush food, and it was a real treat.
And it was another treat to go to bed, on a mattress, evn though it was just a little mattress on a bunk bed.
The next morning, I really need to do laundry. I had a few days clothes backed up before the outreach, and now I have almost nothing clean left, other htan the long pants and shirts I haven't needed to wear. I could definitely have packed fewer pants and long sleeves, but if the mosquitos were bad I would have needed them after all, so I'm not complaining.
I used the new laundry area -- cement tubs with running water. I was ecstatic to find that the sun heated water was almost room temperature. But the clothes were sooooo dirty. I soaked them in soapy water, then washed them and rinsed them, but the rinse water was still murky. Other people were waiting, however, and I didn't feel like I could take a longer turn, so I settled for semi-clean. My goal from the beginning was simply to not smell worse than anybody else.
Clothes pins are at a premium. I borrow some, but still don't have enough. Some people's clothes fall off the line, land in the red powdery dirt, and end up dirtier than before. I literally tie my clothes onto the lines, figuring that they'll come out wrinkled, but at least they won't fall. And I try to finish early enough in the day that they have time to dry before dark, since we can't leave them out overnight -- people climb over the fence and steal them, in spite of the fact that the compound is guarded.
At the 11am meeting, the mission students, the Mozambican Bible students, and the children prayed for us. Most prayed silently, or gave words that didn't really connect with me:
-dancing before the Lord waving a kapulana (I'm NOT a dancer)
-working with orphans (I'm not especially good with kids)
-serving the poor (I work for multi-millionaires)
I'm so hungry for impartation of gifts of healing, for signs and wonders and miracles, and I seem to be just as far away as ever. I'm more and more aware that I cannot do anything without the power of God flowing through me. This may actually be what God wanted me to learn from this trip, but I feel broken and empty. On my way out of the worship center, some of the guys are trying to sell me jewelry. I just can't deal with this now. They finally give up, but I feel harassed and at the end of my rope.
I stayed so late in prayer that I missed lunch again, but that's ok, I've got plenty of nutrition bars with me. After having done my research on the optimal bars, and filling out my excell spreadsheet with the results, it would be a waste if I weren't eating some of them. So it is time for a Zone blueberry bar.
By the time I finish eating my bar and washing my face the afternoon is half gone. I go down to the babies' dorm and play with a little girl who says she is six. her hands are covered with scabs and open sores, and her arms have odd little bumps. I hope it is not scabies. She also insists on trying on my hat, and I instantly start getting a psychosomatic itchy scalp.
We invent a little game together. She sits on my lap facing me and I lower her backwards until she is arched with her head down by my feet. I say 'down, down, down' in English, and then lift her saying 'up, up, up'. She catches on to the English and wants to say it herself, pitching her voice down and then up the way I did.
Then we practice making faces together. She isn't quite satisfied with my fish face, so I challenge her to raise ONE eyebrow. She can't do it, but she loves calling out 'one' or 'two' in Portuguese to see what I'll do. A little boy comes over to join our play and she pushes him away, then runs off and sulks when I try to include him. She is so eager for attention that it is hard for her to share, but eventually she relents and I take them both over to the climbing giraffes. They both want to climb high, but I'm nervous about this. They seem so little, and the giraffe is so tall, and the ground is so hard.
Then the two of them challenge me to a muscle contest. I flex my arms and they point to my little bicept and laugh. Shown up by a 5 and 6 year old! I think they are used to women with arms of steel.
Dinner is rice and beans again. It is fine, but I decide to add some of the seasoning I brought with me, for a little variety.
After dinner we were expecting a group meeting at 8pm, but it turns out there was a missions school evening meeting, so we go to that instead. Pamela taught on how a child simly expects to get what he needs and wants from his parent, he doesn't have to beg, yet we act as if we have to beg our heavenly father. Then there was a powerful time of prayer especially for people with distant or abusive parents.
Some of the more mature men and women prayed on behalf of those parents, and repented for the bad parenting. It was an amazingly rich time. People were being blessed all over the room.
I get back to our dorms and am too confused to realize that the reason I'm having trouble finding my way is that the power is off again. I have my tiny lttle keychain flashlight to guide my feet, but I don't have any landmarks. My stolen headlamp would have helped tonight! Some of the guys explain that the blackout is due to the fact that the circuit box actually caught fire where something had been jury rigged. Fortunately they noticed it before it was out of control, and were able to throw dirt on it to put it out. But in the meanwhile, there is no power.
I decide to give up on my shower, since it is hard enough negotiating that bathroom when there is some light. But we are all warned to be careful if we get up to go to the bathroom at night, since the guards saw some guys lurking around last night, and in the dark it will be harder for the guards to notice anything.
This is another lesson in what it is like to be a missionary. Most of the day is filled with practical concerns. Prayer and ministry are important, but keeping clean and fed and safe takes a lot of energy.
No comments:
Post a Comment