One of a almost a million

Every week in our Tuesday staff meeting, we have the chance to discuss situations involving orphans and widows (along with government and local offices, licenses, permits, etc!).  This last week, however, it hit a little closer to home, as Sato, one of our girls who comes to Bible Club, lost her mother.  This family is our closest neighbor, and are also the ones who lost Sato's sister less than a year ago due to tetanus.  Sato, two other sisters, her mother, and another woman and her baby live in their little compound, and then right behind them is another group of relatives and their children (her father died a long time ago).  Sato works so hard.  For all of her thirteen years, she manages amazingly well.  She is almost always washing the dishes, clothes, sweeping the house, or caring for the children who live there and around them.  She goes to school, but on more than one occassion as I passed by her house, I have found her taking care of all the little ones when school is in session. 

 As Dave and I have talked about this, there always seems to be a catch somewhere.  If she does go to school, the chances of her learning much aren't good (500 children, 5 teachers...if they even show up).  If she doesn't go to school, the chances of her never leaving the village and being stuck in this cycle of poverty are high (her family will marry her off young so that they can get the dowry).  If I have her work for me so that she actually earns money so that she can eat, then I am paying for child labor.  If I don't, and no one else does, it will be a huge temptation for her to use her body for money in the coming years.  If we give her money, she will begin to be the sole provider for all kinds of relatives.  It is unlikely her family would sign her over to social welfare, as she is in the "best" stage of life to help with the children, house, and everything else that needs to be done. 

Sato carries 20 liters (about 5 gallons) of water on her head at a time into the village from the lake, just to earn enough money for her daftaris (school books) that cost about either 10 or 25 cents.  When I went to her house on Monday, the day after the burial, she was down at the lake washing clothes.  There were still all kinds of people about (funerals usually last three days), sitting around, drinking chai, and I was so sad that no one would go help her, but just leave her to do the work.  "Yes, Sato is an orphan now!" they would say, in the same careless way as "nice weather we're having!"  When Sato came back from the lake, she greeted me sweetly and played with Lauren a little. 

That's the sad news.  The great news is that GOD has planted in Sato's heart a love for Him and for His word.  She never misses a Bible club, brings all her little charges, and last time she even led the singing.  You would never know what burdens she carries when she comes--she plays and smiles and is always happy.  God has also brought her into our lives for a reason.  Please pray we would find a good way to help her in the coming days. 

On a lighter note, the longer we are here, the more we are amazed at how little we actually know!  Funerals are quite the learning experience, and intimidating, but really all the people want is for you to come and sit.  As Marco, one of our staff says, "You don't have to go to the funerals, but you will never be part of them unless you do."  Funerals are so lengthy that it isn't always on the list of top ten things to do with your time, especially when you don't know the person (doesn't make a bit of difference here--you are expected to be there).  However, it is also a good time to get to know people and be part of the larger community.  I was under the impression that people just sat for three days, but Marco tells me it is the time to catch up on all the news, play cards, and have a good bonding time.  Playing cards is what they were doing when I went, a group of men on one side and the women and babies chatting together on the other.  It is the family's responsibility to provide the food for everyone, which can be quite a burden as you can imagine.  Therefore, everyone who comes to the funeral must pay a fee and have it written in a book.  The fee in our area is 42 cents a family.  If you are ignorant like I am, and decide to help the family out by giving more, then 1. within a day everyone in the village will know what you gave and expect the same and 2. the village office includes that money in the price for the "help"

they gave for making the food, and it doesn't really go to the family anyways. 

If you don't pay and have it written in the book, you will be fined.

Yesterday at our staff lunch, Marco asked me if I knew what a certain older man in the village did during the funeral.  I hadn't heard anything about it, but he told me that when they were carrying Monica, Sato's mother, to bury her, the women began wailing (which is typical here).  Mr. Ngololo, the old man, stood up and said, "You stupid women, I told you not to cry!  You're so stupid!"  I was astounded, but Marco said that lots of people just laughed.  "Isn't that disrespectful to do at a funeral?"  No, not really, lots of times the men will tell the women to stop crying.  Sometimes if there has been  a friendly kind of joking between families, someone will go up to the dead person in their open casket and continue the  joking, like, "You owe me money!  Where am I going to get my money now?!"  Dave and I were cracking up.  Here we had been worried about not doing the right thing.  Evidently the "right thing" can take many different forms around the world, some I had honestly never thought possible!
 We have so much to learn. 

I'll keep you posted on Sato!

Sato, Lucia and Eunie, leading last week's singing