First Day in the Villages

04 June 2012—

                We awoke to a gorgeous morning and set off early to begin our first day of work in the villages. As we headed into the heart of Xai-Xai to tour the World Hope office, the city was alive with bustling traffic and women in colorful wraps heading to the markets with large bags of grain balanced on their heads, while passenger-filled buses crawled through the crowded streets.  The smell of diesel hung in the air from the trucks and motorbikes chaotically pushing to reach their destinations, but there was a pleasing essence to the chaos of life that was so vibrant and tangible, that you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the churning world around you.

The children here in Mozambique go to school in three shifts (morning, afternoon, and evening), so by 8 a.m., the school yards are already filled with scampering, giggling little ones and teachers continually followed by trails of young students.  Still, receiving an education is considered a luxury in this country, so children remain a staple on the roadsides as they travel long distances to either work in the fields, sell goods to passing cars, or to get water.

Our drive to the village of Macia, where we spent the duration of the day, was about an hour drive on the main road, before turning off down a small sand path which led us about 40 minutes into the bush.  We were taken to two wells that were installed by 12stone in April, where we participated in a short dedication for each area; however, at the third well we were treated to a village celebration, complete with singing and dancing upon our arrival.

Music is something done with an abundance of joy here for all manner of occasions and I have missed the harmony of voices in these villages for a year now.  Even during the church offering on Sunday morning, when most people in the U.S. begrudgingly tithe, the people here sing and dance as they part with their hard-earned money and it remains a wonder for me that I wish more people felt was normal in America.

After the well dedication was complete, the entire community gathered around us to speak about what their lives looked like before and after they had access to clean water, and their gracious appreciation and obvious excitement was touching.  However, it is not uncommon for their thanks to be laced with “buts,” as in “thank you so much for bringing us clean water.  I don’t have the words to express how grateful I am for your kindness, but…”  What follows is usually something pertaining to the fact that they now need a hospital, a school, or a road.  In many instances, they simply ask us to remember that there are many other villages that need our consideration because they too are thirsting for clean water, but their pleas for “more” has always left me a little uneasy. 

Perhaps it is simply because it’s considered rude and ungrateful in our culture to state that something is good, but not enough; however, after first understanding that it is normal in their culture to give thanks in this manner, I tried to step outside my Western upbringing to find a bit more empathy. 

At one point, a man stated that, “If a baby doesn’t cry, how is his mother supposed to know that he’s in pain?”  His question seemed so simple, yet so poignant at the same time because no truer words could be spoken. 

On one hand, the problem that presents itself to us in this country, as well as virtually every other third world nation, is that it is very difficult for Western aid not to become a catch-22.  Yes, they are in dire need of basic, basic needs; however, simply providing them with those needs hampers their ability to form productive economies.  For example, when we simply ship our used clothes to them, while it provides something they need, it also stops the local villagers from producing their own clothing; thereby damaging the local capital.

With this in mind, it is hard to listen to the villagers pleading for simple things like medical centers after sitting with their children who have visible signs of malnourishment and flies in their eyes.  Who in their right mind WOULDN’T want to do everything in their power to provide them with these necessities?  Furthermore, I can’t help but think, “How would I ever think that they shouldn’t be asking for help?”  Plain and simple, how can we hold them to our cultural standards of what we think is polite when they need so much?

Still, the very idea of Western aid is a controversial and highly debated topic because it is hard to address without taking note of our own personal feelings of empathy and compassion, so I don’t think any of us leaves a village without considering our feelings about it.  The situation is so much more than simply asking and receiving—it’s addressing human life at its most vulnerable.

At some point whenever we visit any village, we attempt to split the men and women into separate groups so that we can work with them in an atmosphere which will encourage an open discourse.  Culturally, the women remain very submissive around the men, which is why we separate them; however, it is interesting to note that in many families, it is the women who do all of the work.  While a large portion of Mozambican men live in South Africa to work in the mines so they can send money home to their families, there are still mouths to feed and fields to run.  Therefore, it is absolutely normal to see a young mother turning the earth in her fields by hand with a newborn strapped to her back.  Actually, it is not even uncommon to see a woman who is 9 months along leave for the day still pregnant and return home with a baby because she has had it while harvesting.

Still, through AIDS and work in other countries, many women become single parents at an early age and they found it surprising when we told them that women in the U.S. are single mothers as well.  To them, America is a blessed land that resembles something of a paradise, and they seemed pleased to learn that we’re not completely unlike them.  At one point, a woman even remarked, “we’re actually very similar.  I don’t think there’s a whole lot of difference between us.”  That comment and many similar to it sparked a conversation between about 200 of their women and the three of us that was filled with laughter over our commonalities and the way we all seem to feel about the life as a female.  Like many women in the U.S., they remarked that they were all simply looking for a good man who will treat them right and we laughed because we understood.

At some point our groups joined together again to sit down for the meal they had prepared for us, which included Mozambican staples such as roasted chicken, several types of beans, rice, sheema (corn meal that’s a thicker type of grits), beef, cassava root and of course, Coke.  Content chatter and laughter emanated around the long tables as we enjoyed our food, while Aaron, Angela and I awkwardly discovered that one of our hosts spoke fluent English…after we’d been in stitches while openly discussing the effect beans has on your digestive system.  We’ve decided that we will need to be more careful in the future!

After lunch, while speaking with the women, we had been curious about how they farm their cashews since it draws in a lot of money for the families here.  With pride, they gathered us around the fire and showed us how they roast the nuts while in their shells and crack them open with sticks on the ground.  The tediousness of the work gives me a new appreciation of how highly priced they are in the U.S., but I have to say that there is nothing like a hot, fresh cashew straight off the fire.  They tasted incredible!

Finally, our day ended with balloons for the children, which caused squeals of laughter and I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of their excitement over what we all take horribly for granted.  Their happy faces serve as a reminder of the things we all seem to miss within our own lives and every village I’ve entered in this country, I’ve left continually thinking that they truly have life figured out in a way that I never will.  They live in communities where they enter life together and die together, always knowing that there’s someone behind them to fall back on.  Their wisdom feeds the soul and I wonder which one of us is really off track.  We can learn a lot from this third world nation.  Perhaps we’re teaching them about water, but they’re teaching us about life.

Posted By: Tanna Krewson