Last week after Bible club, little Emma (a common boy’s name here, short for Emmanuel) told me that he had been left alone at his house. Emma comes and plays at our house as often as possible, and we have grown to love his sweet spirit and his ingenious “cars” that he makes out of anything he can find. So when he told me quietly, with tears running down his face and lip quivering, that he had been abandoned by his family, we were all obviously disturbed. Musa was nearby, so we asked him to get the whole story in Kisukuma, the local tribal language that is more familiar to Emma than Swahili. Musa said that Emma’s family had left the day before (his mom and six siblings—his dad is no longer around) and they had packed up everything with them and left him in the village alone. He said he had spent the night at his friend’s house, whose father is drunk almost all the time. He was hungry and couldn’t stop crying. While Amy was making him a sandwich, we tried to figure out the best way to proceed. Musa said the best thing was to let him stay at his friend’s house one more night and then the next morning Musa would check into it all. Musa said that maybe his family left him since they knew he had Americans for friends.
When I got home that night, I just kept thinking about Emma and his siblings and how sad he was. I didn’t think it was the right thing to bring him home with us, but I also wondered if living and understanding the poor more doesn’t always make us wiser—sometimes it makes us less compassionate than we should be, mainly because we’ve been around the block once or twice. So our hearts were heavy as we prayed for Emma before the kids went to bed.
In the morning, Musa took Emma to talk to the neighbors. Before he could even get to the house, the neighbors were pointing at Emma and calling him a liar. Come to find out, Emma’s family was still where they have always been, nobody went on any kind of trip, and Emma hadn’t wanted to go home because his mama told him to plow up the field and he hadn’t because he didn’t want to.
Hmmm, all that concern for nothing. Really? For nothing? I don’t think so. It seems like God gives us those opportunities to see where our hearts are at. Are we for people, even if we get burned? Are we willing to serve no matter what the cost, or only if people are straight up with us?
Emma wears shorts that you can now see his whole backside through. And those are the ones we gave him (that were nice about a month ago!) because we couldn’t stand to see him wearing his previous rags. Not that he cares—he doesn’t particularly favor his backside to keep the seat of his pants intact! He hasn’t gone to school because he is waiting for money from relatives to buy his school uniform shirt. His mama works hard to try and provide for her six children with subsistence farming. She has four children who are all from different fathers. Before we shake our finger at her and tell her about sleeping around and getting AIDS, maybe we should think about what it would be like to be her and try and feed all those precious little people. So we can keep loving Emma and showing him God’s love, because we know that we are also poor and needy (poverty can’t be just financial, can it?!) and all of us need a Rescuer.
There was another death in our village last week, the death of a bibi (grandma) who had broken her leg and had been taken to the hospital. Third world health care is such that we cringe when someone goes to the hospital, as this is how it often turns out.
The funeral was on Sunday, and after the burial, the relatives and the whole village head to the family’s home. Milka and I went as well, and sat at the back of the women’s side. Funerals are always awkward—very much out of our comfort zone (and Milka’s too, even though she is Kenyan). Searching squintingly for Baseki, the gal who helps in our house, we finally spotted her and asked her to come over and sit with us. Baseki is very sweet, a neighbor of these people, and she is a good friend of mine and Milka’s. We asked her how long we needed to stay before we could go say “sorry” to the family (we had both already been to the house once) . Baseki looked shocked—we had just gotten there! (We found out later that Baseki would sleep at the house that night--even though she lived two minutes away walking distance. All of the relatives and close friends would sleep there, out on the dirt on whatever kanga they had with them.) But we wanted to be polite, so we were curious to know how long was long enough (I know that sounds cold and uncaring, but remember that funerals usually last three days!). Baseki said it was “essential” that we stay for food. It was the biggest funeral I have seen, and I said that because I wasn’t hungry and everyone else would be eating the bereaved out of house and home, could I not eat? Well, it’s “mostly essential” that you do eat. OK, so Milka and I decided to comply and do our part with the food.
My eyes about popped out of my head when they brought the plates out—enough food for all eight of us to eat. Baseki started laughing so hard she had tears coming out of her eyes and she kept wiping them away with her kanga (cloth wrap). She couldn't get over how incredulous we were.
We shoveled in some rice and beans with our hands, then I went to pay the “book”—the account of everyone who was at the funeral and what they paid to be there. If you don’t go to a funeral, you still pay in. They keep track of everyone in that little book. So I went to pay my “lambi lambi” and I only had 1,000 shillings because that was a little more than what you pay. When I got to the book, there were about thirty people standing around (remember, “standing around” in much of the world looks more like “standing on top of” in America). So there were plenty of ears to hear that I HAD A FUNERAL DEBT that had rapidly accumulated from funerals we hadn’t attended of people we didn’t know. After paying for my big debt, I asked the keeper of the book to please check off the boxes for the funerals I had just paid for. It has taken six years to learn this, but I’m finally getting my head around the fact that we might have already paid for these same funerals several times! He said he would check them off later. “I don’t think so, pal.” :) He grudgingly obliged.
Funerals are so fundamental to this culture and building relationships. Marco told me once, “You don’t have to go to funerals, but if you don’t, you will never be a part of them.” From these western eyes, it looks like it’s all about money and food, especially when you are supposed to go to funerals of people you have never met, but yesterday an old man told Dave, “We cannot say thank you enough for coming close to us this weekend. Thank you."
Things are not what they seem.
So when circumstances feel discouraging or cloudy, or we think that we have somebody or something figured out, we must remember that what we SEE with our eyes is not reality.
We walk by faith, not by sight, not only for things unseen,
but even the things we think we can see.
“In everything we see, God is doing a million things we will never see or know..."
John Piper
"I will bless the Lord at all times,
His praise will continually be on my mouth.
My soul will boast in the LORD;
let the afflicted hear and rejoice.
Glorify the LORD with me;
let us exalt His name together.
Those who look to Him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame.
Taste and see that the LORD is good;
blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him."
Ps 34
