Three Little Words

Time and time again, I experience first-hand that all people want is to be noticed and to know that someone cares. This is true throughout the whole world, not just here in Mozambique.

This was our third Saturday of feeding the children in the Matola-Santos community a meal. This month we started out small, feeding the 39 children in Berta's Project and inviting in about 40 children from the community. After taking care of the children in Berta's Project, we invite the community children to come through her gate. They wash their hands, receive their meal, and settle down to eat it. After they are done eating and the plates are collected, I sing with them, share a Bible story with them, and send them off. Our goal for our first month was to get ourselves organized and everything running smoothly. Next month, we will increase the number of children we invite.

Last week I told them the story of how God created the world. This week, I reviewed it with them. We reviewed what God did on each day and added in hand motions to help them remember it. I would show out (in Portuguese) and they would repeat after me: Day 1…God made…the day and the night. Day 2…God made…the great big sky. Day 3…God made…the oceans in one place, the land in another place, and the plants. Day 4…God made…the sun, the moon, and the stars. Day 5…God made…the fish (and we made fish faces, which made us all laugh hysterically) and the birds. Day 6…God made…animals and people. Day 7…(whispering) God rested (and we snored, making us all laugh hysterically again). They did not just repeat these phrases, they screamed them out with enthusiasm. I believe the entire population of Matola-Santos learned along with them. We had a blast!

At the end, we were exhausted. They were all sitting on the ground as I stood before them. And then…my world was wrecked. A little girl in a torn yellow shirt and pink tutu, stood up, came to my side, looked straight up into my face and clearly stated, “Mama Terri, eu te gosto.” (Mama Terri, I like you.) I melted to my knees and told her that I liked her as well. She wrapped her skinny arms around my neck and hugged me tightly, not letting go. As she did, the 41 children assembled before us began to cheer loudly and clap their hands. In this culture, it is not accepted for a grown person to cry, but I could not help myself. I cried. And I cried. And the more I cried, the more they cheered.

I cried because this little girl felt God’s love. I cried because this moment would not have happened without my husband I having taken a huge step of faith to reach out to these children. I cried because these 3 little words and this hug made all the years of sacrifice and tears worth it all. I cried because so many family members and friends support our work financially and through their prayers. It is because of them that I can do the work I do here, and they will never have the joy of having a little girl look up at them and say, “Eu te gusto,” and be able to feel her arms wrapped around their necks. I cried because many of the 42 children with me don’t have anyone in their lives who tells them that they like them.

Once I finally collected myself, and the little girl let go of my neck, and the cheering died down, I stood before 42 children with the biggest grins on their faces. They were elated. They touched me deeply, and it thrilled them. We sang “Jesus Loves Me”, I prayed for them, and they were dismissed to go home. As they filed out the gate, each and every child made their way to me, arms outstretched to receive a hug. Even the older 14 year old boys came for a hug! They wanted to be loved as well. I could hardly contain my emotions. After the last child was hugged and had slipped out the gate, I shut the gate and saw Berta looking on. She was grinning from ear to ear, having witnessed what had just happened at her project. It was good. So very very good. And it was all God.

So for all the children who had full bellies yesterday and felt the love of God, I want to tell each of you reading this story, “Nos te gostamos” (We like you). Imagine our arms wrapped around your neck and consider yourself hugged!

My Vovos

In Mozambique, people use different titles to address others. These titles are dependent upon their age. A young man is called “mano”, meaning brother, and “mana” for a young woman, meaning sister. As a person ages and reaches about 30 years of age, they become “pai” or father and “mae” or  mother. A person over 40 is called a vovo, which literally means grandparent but in actuality what they are saying is that you are just plain old. Technically, I am a vovo but I don’t let anyone call me that. I make them call me Mama Terri!

Some time ago, Berta told me about two vovos  that her 13 year old daughter Amanda was helping. Amanda would see this man and woman sitting outside their homes on her way to and from school each day. They were old and unable to walk. They had no one to care for them. So Amanda took it upon herself to bring them food from her family’s own meager supplies and to clean and mop their one room homes. I was impressed by Amanda’s care for them, but not surprised. She has the heart of her mother who runs a community project for 39 orphaned and vulnerable children as well as a preschool for 80 needy children and helps many families with their needs.

In my frequent drives through the community while going to Berta’s, I finally spied two vovos who appeared to be the older people Berta had described to me. Berta confirmed to me that these were indeed Amanda’s vovos. She told me the woman was the mother of the man. I didn’t just want to go walking up to two strangers! But now that I had seen them with my own eyes, my heart also was touched seeing them sitting in the dirt outside their little homes.

Our relationship started out slowly. I would wave as I passed by and they would wave back. I was never quite sure if the woman could see or hear me. Her son always saw me first and would point me out to her. She then would wave in my direction. I wanted more than just to wave at them, so I stopped by one day with food for them. The son spoke a little Portuguese. He has a speech impediment and is difficult to understand, but we make do.  His mother understood Portuguese but spoke Shongan, but we make do as well. Pretty much what happens is that  I “talk” at her and she “talks” at me. I used the little bit of Shongan that I know, which impressed her thoroughly. As you can see, our communication was a bit stifled, but that was just fine with the three of us. We simply enjoyed each other’s company. I even learned their names. The woman is Teresa (my name..Theresa!! How cool is that?! We all had a good laugh over that one, and it seems to increase our bond to each other). The man is Bento.

Their warm acceptance of me during that first visit emboldened me to go further and stop by more. Yet I did not want them to get the impression that I would bring something to them every time I drive by…I go up and down that road multiple times a day. They would get fat and I would go broke! So sometimes I stop with food and sometimes I just wave. I have taken them food many more times, as well as clothing and shoes. I brought a new capulana for the woman one day, which thrilled her!! (In fact, I see that she has it around her shoulders in the photo above.) It makes me want to take her one every day from here on out! Our communication remains a bit limited, to put it nicely, but we still get along just fine. Sometimes there are other ways to communicate than with words.

I must admit I was also a bit nervous what their neighbors would think about a white woman stopping in their area so much.  It is a tight dirt road, so I have to pull up onto someone’s property in order to be out of the way. I worried they would begin to ask me for things as well, which puts me in an uncomfortable situation. After all, as much as I would like to, I can’t help everyone. And I even worried they may just not like me being there. Yet despite my concerns, I have received a very favorable response. They already recognized me because I was forever driving by, but now they knew I cared enough to stop and care for these two people who do not have the capacity to care for themselves. During one visit the cheffe of the area (like the mayor) came to see me. He introduced himself to me and thanked me for taking an interest in these two people who live in his zone. So now I am not just a passerby. They are happy to see me come and stop.

My stops have also opened up somewhat of a relationship with the neighbors. One time as I was getting back into my car, I saw a  tiny girl with capulana wrapped around her foot. This is their version of a BandAid. I asked her what her name was ( Emilinha) and if her foot was hurt (Yes). She said she had a ferida (skin problem). I asked her if I could take off the capulana to see it. She shook her head yes. As I did,  I asked her to call her mother over. Her mother came and explained that the girl had burned her foot about a week ago. Removing the capulana confirmed what the mother had said. She had a wound on the top of her foot and it seemed to be healing nicely. I asked permission and then cleaned it with some antiseptic, put some ointment for burns and infection on it, and wrapped it up. I asked the mother to bring her a little sock to wear so that the would the bandage would stay semi-clean and in place. I instructed them to leave it on for two days and I would return to treat it again. For two days, little Emilinha waved at me and showed me her sock as I drove by. On the third day, I returned to clean and treat her little foot a second time. For two more days, she smiled, waved, and showed me her sock. On the following third day, the sock and bandages were removed to reveal a nicely healed foot. No more sock or pain for her.

As I treated Emilinha’s little foot, another mom came over with her baby who had a mild ferida on his arm. I cleaned it and put ointment and a BandAid on it. She walked off as happy as a clam. Sometimes all people want is to be noticed. To know that someone sees them and cares about their needs. I was happy to be that person for them.

Curious children tend to gather around my car when I stop. They like to see what I am doing. We chat as I return from my little visit and climb into my car again. Sometimes I bring them a candy or a balloon. But again, I don’t want them to think they will get something every time I come!! So sometimes all they get is a pat on the head. Even so, I get treated every time I come. They treat me to smiles and waves. What began as a kind act of simply waving as I passed by two elderly, forgotten people has now turned into a fun relationship with the vovos, their neighbors, and the children. I may not treat them to something each time I drive through, but they never cease to treat me to their smiles and waves. I have said it before and I am saying it again…I am blessed!

My Selfish, Guilty Pleasure (A mini-blog that I have to share.)

Today was a long, long, long Mozambican Day. Only someone who has lived here could understand what I mean by the term, “Mozambican Day”. For those of you who don’t live here…this is what it means. A day filled with frustrations, lost time, and going back and forth and back and forth and back and forth to accomplish one item that in a first-world country would take one trip and 20 minutes… tops. The power is out and the water has not come for days. You cannot take a shower, let alone even flush your toilet.  It is a day where everyone needs you, everyone wants money from you, everyone is trying to manipulate you, bribe you, or take from you.

Yet at the day’s end, as the 4 amazing employees who are helping me with a repair project on our Sunshine House (that should have taken one day to do, and we are now at the end of day 4, by the way), their spirits lifted mine. They put in a long day sweating under the hot African sun. Yet as they took their bucket showers, dressed back into their street clothes, and emerged smelling fresh and clean, their joy of being at the end of their work day spilled forth. We got into the car and headed off to the stop where they could catch their transport home, listening to one of the worker’s recently recorded CDs of worship music blaring from my car’s CD player. After dropping them off, I was feeling a bit rejuvenated myself. 

I drove down the road and was treated to a sight that I got to selfishly enjoy all by myself. In fact, it was so amazing, that I felt guilty for not having anyone to share it with.  It was simple. It was pure. It was full of joy. About 10 boys ran along the street ahead of me. Each pulled behind him a 5 liter plastic jug that was attached by a string. They swerved left and right across the road in front of me, laughing and smiling. It was absolutely beautiful. And it was all mine. All mine alone to enjoy. With tear-filled eyes, I thanked God for the opportunity He has given me to live here and to be a part of a world so different from the one I have lived my entire life in. A world in which I can be at my lowest point and ready to pack my suitcase and return home…but then…10 little boys playing with garbage fill me with such inspiration that I cry and count my life as blessed beyond measure. 

(No...my darling little Beto was not on the street playing...but this photo shows the type of container the boys had and demonstrates the happiness found in pulling it along behind you.)

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?

How often have you heard someone say, “If what I am doing impacts only one person, then I will be happy”? While we often do say such a thing, deep in our hearts, we want to impact not just one person with our efforts but many, many, many more. We are here in Mozambique to transform  lives.

Remember when you were a gangly little first grade student? You were at the start of heading out into the world…climbing those stairs up onto that school bus for the first time, nervously entering a classroom, meeting a teacher and making new friends from outside of your neighborhood. The year passed by quickly, and you put all you  had into pleasing your teacher and doing your best. At the end of the year, you were proud to bring home your report card to show your parents. You felt such accomplishment at being promoted on to Grade 2. You were on your way! But first grade was not a similar positive experience for one little girl.

Meet Maria.

Maria captured my  affection the very first time I saw her at Berta’s project. She has a smile that endears you to her for forever. She is gentle and sweet to her very core. Her small stature makes you think she is younger than her years, which only makes her more captivating. Every time I see Maria, the song from “The Sound of Music” plays in my head, and I often sing to her, “How do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you hold a moon beam in your hand?” This makes us both giggle.

Like every other child her age, Maria attended Grade 1. She is fortunate to live in a complete family with a mother and a father, yet they are very poor. Their only income is the meager amount her father makes selling phone credit on the streets. It was a huge stretch for them to afford the required uniform that would allow her to go to school in their community. The $10 price of this uniform would have been days, if not weeks, of her father’s income. Maria’s year began and progressed the same as any other first grader- she had her first day, she made new friends, she worked hard to please her teacher and do her best work …but her year did not end well. She was told by the school that she was "deficient". That was the exact word they used! And in a country where everyone passes first grade and goes onto second grade, she was told that she may not continue on with her education. The reason…Maria has a speech impediment making it difficult for her to communicate clearly. She is intelligent. She can read. She can write. She can do everything but speak well. For this reason, she was cast aside by the school system.

To keep her from being lost to the streets, Berta has allowed her to attend her project all day for the past three years. This past year, at the age of 10, Maria was a participant in Berta’s preschool program. She came every day and continued her learning alongside the 3, 4 and 5 year olds. Throughout all of this, she never lost her bright smile or her joy. She has now turned 11 years old. Berta realized that keeping her in preschool to infinity and beyond is not helping her and is a burden on her program. She came to me seeking help.

I began looking into possible programs to help students with special needs. None were providing the open door we needed for Maria. They were too far away, and they were too much money for the budget of our newly created foundation. Then a tip from a local children’s center director led us to Escola Luz e Vida (Portuguese for Light and Life School). Escola Luz e Vida is a public school in that it receives funding from the government, but it is private in that the parents pay a small fee for their children to attend. It was started by a Brazilian missionary. While it is not a Christian school, it is run on Christian principles. The director works with the teachers closely and it is a beautiful little campus located not too far away in Matola Rio. The question was…would they accept Maria?

Berta and I took a chance and went out to speak with the director about our Maria. Her first response was that they are not equipped to help special children. As we told her more about Maria, her heart began to soften. Finally, she agreed to allow Maria to attend first grade at the school this year!!!!! Berta and I were elated!!!! 

We immediately began the process of enrolling her. Documents from the family and her previous school had to be hunted down, copied and presented. The registration fee was paid.  A “good, hard” talk was held with her parents about their responsibility in getting her to and from this school because it will require two chapa transport rides to get her there. A friend and employee of our Sunshine Nut Company (whose heart is way bigger than her wallet) went out and purchased all of the books and supplies Maria would need, as well as a beautiful pink book bag to put them in.

Then came today… the day that filled my heart. A lot…no…A LOT of work and time has gone into getting this one little girl into this one little school. At times, I wondered if it was too much time to focus on just one child. There are so many other needs that demand my attention. Yet today put that thought to rest, once and for all. I fetched Maria to take her to the school for the first time. She needed to be measured for her uniform. When I arrived, she had a smile on her face that showed how very excited she was. I don’t think it would have been physically possible for her to have stretched her mouth any further! She climbed up into my car, and I presented her with the beautiful book bag and supplies my friend had purchased for her. She was “over the moon”. Never in her life has she ever had such a treasure. We arrived at the school, and she held my  hand as we entered the gate and walked across the sandy play area to the school office. There we met up with the man who would measure her and sew her uniform for her. She was so nervous, yet his kindness eased her nerves. We paid him, thanked him and hit the road to head home again.

As usual, I am frustrated as I write this blog because my words in relating this experience are lacking the depth and emotion that was felt by us all. Every moment of this journey for this one little girl has been more than worth it. Her life is being transformed before my very eyes. These precious experiences are what makes all we have sacrificed and given up worth it. If we had not come, what would have happened to Maria? What would have happened to the many others whose lives we have been able to touch because of our step of faith as well as the kind and generous support of family and friends. Yes…Don is right…we are here to release the multitudes. And yes…I am also right…we are also here to help the occasional “one” that crosses our path. Whether it be for the many or for the one, we have been called here not to just help but to transform.

I dropped Maria off at home and drove away with a smile on my face that matched hers and a heart that was as full as I hope hers is. Yet today, another song from that “Sound of Music” movie played in my head. The one that says, “So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good!” What did I ever do so good to have been so blessed?!

Xingomana- A Mozambican Experience That Filled My Soul

I have moments when I have to pinch myself and ask, “How did a little girl from a small town in the mountains of Pennsylvania end up here?” I feel this way when I have the thrill of an experience that I cannot believe I am privileged to be enjoying. In such moments, my eyes well with tears of indescribable awe, wonder and joy. These moments do not occur on a regular basis, but when they do, they fuel me to go on further. Our recent attendance at a Xingomana dance festival was one of these amazing experiences.

Our friend, Chude Mondlane, is the daughter of Eduardo Mondlane. She put together a festival of Xingomana dance in his birthplace of Nwadjahane to honor him on what would have been his 95^th birthday.  Her father was the founding president of the Freelimo Mozambican Liberation Front which was successful in gaining independence for Mozambique from the Portuguese in 1975. Sadly, he never was able to see this day. He killed in 1969 when a bombplanted in a book that was sent to him exploded. At his funeral, the Reverend Edward Hawley said that he “…laid down his life for the truth that man was made for dignity and self-determination.” He is a revered historical figure in the hearts of all Mozambicans.

It has been her dream to put this festival together. In fact, she has worked for several years to do this. She is an artist herself and desires to preserve the art culture of Mozambique before it is lost. Because of her perseverance, this event was the first annual national competition of Xingomana dance- an event that will continue for the years to come. We wanted to support our friend by attending the event, yet Nwadjahane is a long, long drive away. So we got out of bed and left our home at 3 am to arrive in time for the 8:30 start.

Driving on Mozambican roads is an experience in itself. To do so at night goes beyond comprehension, so we said a prayer for protection and headed off. At one point, we passed an overturned truck that left sacks of cement all over the road. Soon after that, we followed a pick-up truck carrying a full load of passengers in its bed when the rear left wheel and axle came off leaving a stream of orange sparks in its path as it struggled to come to a safe stop. We also had the multiple random, but expected, police stops along the way in which they look to make the roads of Mozambique “safe” for all by making sure you have a fire extinguisher, safety vest, relective triangles, and proper documentation in  your car. Never mind that no one pays attention to traffic lights or speed limits, and that stop signs are just a suggestion. We can all drive with the peace of mind that comes from knowing our fellow drivers all have proper safety equipment on board. After about 5 hours of travel, we arrived safely in the village of Nwadjahane.

The small village was teeming with excitement. Villagers were lined up along the dirt road that led to the festival area, ready to greet the incoming government leaders who would be attending. They were singing and dancing as they waited. Others were busy about the stage making final adjustments. Others were filling in around the performance area, securing a good spot to view the teams. Behind the stage stood 12 teams from all over southern Mozambique, dressed in their grass skirts and anxiously awaiting to begin. We found a shaded spot under a large tree in the back, behind the rows of plastic chairs for spectators. To our right, was another stage that was decorated in fabric of red, green, yellow, and black- the colors of the Mozambican flag. Chairs were lined up on stage for the government guests. One large, ornate chair was set front and center, reserved for the governor of the province.

Before long, a stream of trucks came rolling in carrying the special government guests. The villagers erupted into song, the trucks came to a stop, and the government people emerged and shook hands with the crowd. They were led up to the stage where they took their places. We were so proud to see our friend, Chude, sitting right next to the governor of the province with the administrator of Manajacaze on her other side. We know the administrator because of our work there. He is an eloquent man with a good heart. He spied us in the crowd and gave us a smile of recognition and a wave. A few minutes later, his assistant came to us and asked us to join the guests on stage. We were happy to stay out of the way and watch anonymously, but he would not accept our refusal. So up we went and settled ourselves on stage.

The event began with the introduction of the 12 teams who had already won their places in the competition by winning local competitions. Each team danced, sang, and whistled their way out onto the stage with shouts and applause from the audience. The air was electric with as much energy as I have ever experienced at any sporting event. Members of the teams ranged from small girls, maybe around 5 years old, to older women who were gray to moms with babies tied onto their backs. After they returned behind the stage to wait, the speeches began, starting with those is less prominent positions in the government and culminating with the governor. TV cameras and photographers were everywhere recording the event. And finally, the competition began! We were led off the stage to the area below where we sat down to view the dancers.

Xingomana is a cultural dance that goes way back. It was performed by wives for their husband. Historically, and even today, men are permitted to take more than one wife. The first wife is the head of the family. She has prominence over all the other wives. She is the head of the household and tells all the others what to do. The dance is the younger wives’ way of getting her back. Through the dance, they are able to flaunt their younger bodies and gain the attention of the husband.

The dance is done to the rapid beat of drums and the short blowing of whistles. The women are barefooted. Through their firm steps, they kick up the sand around them creating a dust that fills the air. They wear grass skirts that swish back and forth, accentuating their every move. The dance is fast and lively. All of this combines to create a beautiful experience that is thrilling. As we watched, my eyes filled with tears of joy and amazement. They were so amazing. They were so beautiful. And it then hit me…how did it happen that I had the fortune of being here to experience this?! I was a world away, not just in distance, but in culture and experience. It was a sight that few are privileged to see. I felt extremely privileged and overwhelmed by it all.

Don looked my way and saw the tears in my eyes. This brought tears to his eyes as well. He worries about me here. He worries about my happiness. He worries about how I am coping with all that happens to us. Yet through my tears, he saw my happiness. It brought happiness to him as well. Moments like this reaffirm to him that he does not need to worry so much. 

The Spar Boys of Matola

Upon our first visit to Spar, the grocery store in Matola, we were hit up by the “Spar Boys”. These are young boys who live on the streets. During the day, they beg for money to buy food. Meaning well, the first thing Don told me was to not give them money or they would be forever bothering me. As harsh as this sounds, it is true. In most circumstances, by giving to those who beg, you only create a “beggar mentality” in the person, thereby making their situation worse. Yet some of the boys would not just ask me for money, they would ask if I wanted to buy fruit. So I started buying their oranges, pineapples, avocados… whatever was in season at the time. As my Portuguese improved and as I made my purchases, I began talking with them more and more. I learned their names and ages. And I learned that not all of them are living on the street. Several had homes to go back to at night. These boys put on their tattered and dirty clothes and go “to work” each day in the parking lot. They bring in more money if they look the part. Other boys have only the clothes on their backs and no shoes on their feet. You can pick out the true street boys by their thin frames, and they tend to be a little rough around the edges.

One such boy is Gabriel. He is one of my favorites. He is such a gentleman and always picks me the best of the fruit that he is selling. I always tell him about the angel Gabriel whom God used as His most important messenger. And I always remind him that God has an important purpose for him as well. In the years I have known Gabriel, he has grown from being a skinny little kid to a teenager who is now taking on the shape of the man he will soon become. He is a tough little guy. The streets have hardened him, but there is a kindness and a gentleness to him as well. One day as I was driving down the street, I saw him in his “better clothes” talking with friends. I almost did not recognize him. We both had surprised looks on our faces as we waved in passing. He is one of the lucky ones. He does go to school, and he does have a home to return to at night.

One of my most memorable days with the boys was while I was waiting in my car for someone to run an errand. They came over to say hello to me. They did not ask me for money. They did not ask me to buy fruit. They just came to greet me. There were five of them. I handed Gabriel a 100 meticais bill and told him to go buy an ice cream for each of them. They all ran off with big smiles on their faces. It was a hot day and this would be a special treat for them. As I waited for my friend to return, each of those boys returned to my car one by one to thank me for the ice cream. I was blown away! No one told them to do this. I did not expect them to do this. Yet each one came to thank me. And just as hard to believe is that in my return trips to Spar, they have not taken advantage of my kindness and have never asked me to buy them another ice cream. This tells me a lot about the character of these little guys.

Many of the boys will ask to guard your car while you go in and shop at the store. Here in Mozambique, you always run the risk of returning to a parked car that has had a light or mirror stolen. Often it will be stolen by the boy you turned down to guard your car! I usually tell the boys that my car will be fine, and they know me well enough to leave it alone for me. Also, the money you pay a little boy usually ends up in the hands of an older boy. They create a type of mafia system. The older boys provide protection for the little boys under their care. In return, the little boys, who are cuter and therefore make more money, give the older ones the money they take in.

Yet recently as I got out of my car and was hurrying to make a quick stop at the store, a small boy approached me and asked to guard my car. I gave him my standard, “No my car is fine. I don’t need a guard,” response when something made me stop in my tracks and take a second look at the boy. After hearing my response, he hung his head and turned to walk away. I did not recognize this boy. He was very young, very small… so very small. He seemed so fragile and vulnerable. He was new to the streets. My heartstrings were tugged for this little guy, so I called him back and said, “Yes please do guard my car for me.” His face lit up like I had just given him a million dollars.

I completed my grocery run and returned to my car to deposit my bags inside so I could go to another store to buy a baby gift for a friend. As I came to my car, I spied him sitting on a small tree stump, knees drawn up to his chest, staring directly into the grill of my car. He was intent upon doing his job well. As I approached, he jumped up. I told him to hang on; that I had more shopping to do. I put my bags in the car, locked it up, and went on to Pep (what I think of as the Mozambican version of K-Mart). As I looked for the baby gift, I could not get this little guy out of my head. While standing in line to check out (which here can take forever- no exaggerating), I decided to not just give him a few meticais to pay him. Instead I bought him a bag of candy and a toy car.

I returned to my car to find him sitting in the same intent position. He popped up when he saw me. I began talking with him, asking his name, his age…the usual questions. I asked him where he was from. He was from Baxia- a location in the city that would be a good 40 minute drive away, without traffic. I asked him if he had a home. Yes. Did he have a mother? Yes. Did he have a father? Yes. Did he have brothers and sisters? Yes. I asked him if he thought his mother missed him. Yes. I talked with him about how hard and dangerous life is on the street. I shared with him that God puts us in families to protect us and care for us. I asked him if he thought he would rather be at home. Yes. I gave him money to take a chappa and return home. I gave him the bag with the candy and car in it that I had purchased for him. As I drove away, I wished with all my being that I would never see him again. I prayed that he would return home and that he would be received with open arms and the same welcome that the prodigal son in the Bible received from his father.

This day that I wrote about this experience was quite some time ago now.  I am happy to report that I have seen neither hide nor hair of that little boy! I would like to think that he did heed my advice, that he did return home, and that he is there now in the care of his family. 

(Below is my current "Guarda do meu carro", Salvadore. He is 13 years old. His family lives in Marracuene. He tells me that he left home because it was a difficult place to live.  He  hangs out during the day in the store parking lot and sleeps at night on the street at another location nearby in Matola. I really like him- he has a gentle disposition and a good heart. He deserves so much better in life than this.)

A Life Transformed

Our family sold all we had and moved to Africa to pursue a vision not to just help the people, not to give them what they need, but to transform their lives. We are doing this through the work of our company, The Sunshine Nut Company, which is built upon the principles of The Sunshine Approach, a business model that is radical about giving back and transforming lives. As with most ventures in our lives, we never really know at the start exactly what it will look like later on. We envisioned what we would do and how it would look, but circumstances led us down a different path- one that is even better than what we had imagined. We have seen lives changed for the better with our employees, with the children at the orphanages around us that we support, in the villages where we buy our cashews, and in the lives of the people we have gotten to know in the communities around us.

We happened upon the lives of Cecilia, Madelena, and Antonio thanks to one of our employees. Their father died in a tragic car accident, their mother committed suicide, their stepfather felt no obligation to them and left,  and their landlord abandoned them to the street.  In February of 2014 we were introduced to three very sad little faces with sad little hearts to match. This was when we moved into action. Thanks to the donations of friends in America, we were able to purchase a home for them. With funds from our company and donations from friends and ministries, we renovated the home and filled it with all they would require to live, including a woman to care for them. They moved in at the end of November 2014.

We were able to provide them with the physical surroundings they needed to thrive, and our recently formed charity provides them with their monthly needs. We even gave them an “auntie” to care for them. But we knew it would take time, love, and consistent effort to heal their hearts.

Thirteen year old Cecilia adjusted quickly. She is a fighter. She is determined to make the most of her life. She jumped right into the cleaning of the house and in helping with the preparation of food and the care of her two younger siblings. Antonio appeared to be too young to have suffered much from what happened. He has been easy going, loving, and happy from the start. Madelena, however, was a completely different story.

Madelena was a very troubled girl, and rightfully so. She had experienced an amount of pain, loss and abandonment through which very few people will ever have to suffer. She was distant. Her eyes were dark and troubled. She rarely made eye contact and to hear her speak was an even more rare event. When she did speak, it was so quiet that you could barely hear her. When we took photographs of the family, we could not get a smile out of her, no matter how hard we tried. Even at Christmas when they were showered with goodies and presents, she gave no hint of joy.

She also went through a difficult time period with her caretaker as well- acting out her frustration by speaking disrespectfully to her, disobeying her, and even throwing rocks at her. Yet we all continued to love her and believe in her. In time, she began to improve. The first sign of progress I saw was when I arrived at the house one day and  she did not have to be called to come and greet me. She came of her own accord, meeting me at the car and taking my hand as we walked to the house. I was walking on air! My subsequent arrivals at the house were met by Madelena greeting me with a vocal, “Hola Mama Terri. Como esta?” I did not even have to bend over and put my ear to her mouth to hear it.

Our patient efforts received the ultimate reward on June 1^st, Children’s Day here in Mozambique. I took over presents for the children and food for a celebration meal that night. Madelena was beaming. Her caretaker and I were so thrilled to see her smiling for the camera. We took picture after picture of her- rejoicing with each one. This day was a milestone for all of us. I couldn’t wait to get home and send off one of the photos to Papa Don, who was away on business at the time. I knew he would be as happy as I was. It is moments like these that reward us more than any paycheck ever could. A forever difference has been made in the life of a child. With love, her heart is being healed one day at a time.