Tanga Visit... Who is Greatest?

Last month, I had the privilege of spending a few days in Tanga, northern Tanzania.  To be honest, I hadn't really been looking forward to the visit because it entailed a 6 hr (cramped) bus ride to get there and another 6+ hour bus ride (plus hour+ in taxi back from the bus station) to get back.  A lot of time on the road in cramped, bumpy, traffic-congested African roads... Not the most comfortable of traveling conditions.  And, to be honest, I'm a little worn out by all the traveling at this point.  8 months of basically non-stop traveling in Africa takes its toll... I'm going to the States in a few weeks for a little while and am SO excited.... It's been almost a year since I've been back, and I am more than ready for some first-world conveniences.

But all that to say, I didn't know what was in store for me in Tanga.  And I am so very thankful that I had the opportunity to go.  It was definitely a trip that I will not soon forget.  I went to visit a project that we support through Karama called Tangawizi.  Tangawizi is a small branch of a larger organization called YDCP (Youth with Disabilities Community Program), which was started by the Tanzanian Free Evangelical Church to aid children with disabilities in the community.  Tangawizi is a small branch of it that was started to support their programs - they make very cute bags and purses (made by a disabled artisan) to sell and raise funds for their programs.  We purchase the bags and sell them through Karama.  [see the cute bags (and buy!) here: Saturday Clutch & Florence Bag]

YDCP has about 25 employees and works with 1400-1700 (!) children in the community and surrounding area.  I saw a statistic when I was there that 10% of people in Tanzania are believed to be disabled.  This is such a staggering statistic, as people with disabilities here have so little opportunity for any kind of work and receive no government assistance.  They are usually resigned to begging or being dependent on family members to provide for them.  And it is commonly thought that being disabled is a curse and therefore these individuals are often ostracized and cast out, children very often abandoned by their parents.

YDCP provides support, counseling, medical evaluations, physical therapy, and medical devices for these children.  They educate the community and families on disabilities and their specific treatments and encourage families to raise and love their children instead of abandoning or neglecting them.  Fathers very often leave the situation when a child is disabled, and it is not uncommon for mothers to abandon them either.  YDCP speaks with and educates the parents, encouraging them to raise and love their children- while they provide necessary support that is needed- oftentimes encouraging fathers or mothers to return to the children if they have left the home.

I was able to go into the community with the YDCP workers and visit 4 children and their homes when I was there.  2 of the children were diagnosed with severe sensory integration disorder, one had cerebral palsey, and one precious little girl had down sydrome.

my sweet friend Frillness at the home of the first child

one of the caseworkers playing with him :)

The 2nd home we went to was a child around 12 yrs old with sensory integration disorder.  This child was being raised by his grandmother because his father had left early on when he found out he was disabled, and the mother had since abandoned him and left for Dar es Salaam.  His grandmother was lovingly and faithfully raising him- taking care of his every need: feeding him, clothing him, loving him.  He was dependent on her (the caseworkers were saying he was too dependent even; one of the things needed in this situation was more independence gained on his part), and you could see that he had become just as integral a part of her life.

I had been staying at the house of one of the ladies who works for YDCP & Tangawizi- my sweet 24 yr. old Tanzanian friend Frillness.  Frillness still lives with her parents and 5 of her 7 siblings.  I have been in many Tanzanian homes but realized on this trip that I had never before stayed overnight in one.  So I had the great privilege on this trip of truly seeing an intimate look into their beautiful family life.  This family is educated and rather well-off by Tanzanian standards.  The father has a good job at the Tanzanian Coffee Union and each of the children are educated, well-spoken, well-dressed... the older children have good jobs... they have electricity and a television that they watch at night.  The home is quite large for a Tanzanian home: 3 bedrooms with a living room, kitchen area, bathroom, and spacious yard.  Yet still, this large family (5 of the children are biological children, the other 3 are nieces/nephews whose parents passed away and have since been living with and part of their family)...  Still, this large family shares one bathroom which includes a squatty potty (i.e. no plumbing, basically just a hole in the ground), a spigot in the ground, and a very simple showerhead (with no hot water); the grown children share beds (I stayed in the girls' bedroom- there were 4 of us in 2 double beds); food is cooked from scratch over hot coals.  Staying here, I was reminded once again how hard life is for a Tanzanian.  Everything is worked hard for: meals take hours to prepare- every one of them- clothes are washed by hand... everything comes through hard work.  And it is most often the women, the mothers of the family, that carry the greatest burden- day in and day out, cooking all day long, cleaning the house, raising the children, while very often also working outside the home to raise additional income to support their families.

So as I was sitting in the homes of these children - reminded afresh of the daily burdens these families carry every day- I was struck with awe at the ones who love and raise these precious children on top of all their other responsibilities.  On top of working so hard- to make a living- to be able to buy the resources- to work so hard over a coal fire- every day- to prepare meals- to get by.  These disabled children require constant supervision and care- they are precious, beautiful children made in the image of God- lovable children who are precious and playful- but make no mistake about it: they require a lot of WORK.  It was tiring for me just to watch the caseworkers work with them in the very small amount of time we were there; but day in/day out - caring for their every need, that is HARD WORK.  And as I sat in the home of the 2nd child, whose grandmother was raising him - whose grandmother had CHOSEN to raise him when all others had left him- in spite of the work it entailed - in spite of any cultural notions that he was cursed or unworthy- she KNEW it was right to love him and care for him... And she was doing so.  Each day, she was choosing to sacrifice her life and any comforts of her own, to care for this one who needed her and who would be without hope without her.

Bibi (Grandma) and her beloved child

 the humble home of this saint

I thought about the disciples who were arguing with each other and asked Jesus who would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven.  They surely thought that the one with the highest position, most recognized, closest to Him, would be the greatest.  Yet as I looked upon this home- this obscure home in a small Tanzanian town- unknown to the rest of the world- this one woman who was faithfully and diligently loving one of Jesus's precious children- day in and day out- without any recognition whatsoever - I kept thinking to myself, "THIS is who will be greatest in the kingdom of heaven."  We tend to think of the Billy Grahams or spiritual giants of our time as the ones who will be 'greatest in the kingdom of heaven' - and not that these faithful servants won't be richly rewarded- and I by no means mean to claim that I know who will be 'greatest' or what heaven will even be like- but I couldn't help but think to myself that these are the ones who are most pleasing to the Lord.  The ones who are faithfully obeying- each day- in the small lot that the Lord has granted them for their lives- with no recognition from the world and no earthly reward... enduring great hardships to do so, without the rest of the world so much as even knowing.  Are these not the ones who most please the Lord?  These ones who are doing what He has asked of us, to take care of 'the least of these' in this world, while humbling living out their lives and the lot that the Lord has assigned to them?

And again, at the house of the 18 yr. old boy with cerebral palsey... his mother had passed away, his father had abandoned him, and his grandparents were raising him.  Again, saints before my eyes: ones who made me question anew what is most valuable and most worthy in this world.  

our 3rd & 4th visits: these precious children were neighbors

I had to fight back tears many times in these homes, as I was convicted of how I complain about the discomforts of long, bumpy, crowded bus rides.  Oh, Lord, help me.  Help my self-centeredness, my ungrateful attitude, my impatience... May I learn from these brothers and sisters of mine whom I have the great privilege to witness living out their lots in life so faithfully and so well. 

Mudi & Hassani

Several weeks ago my dear friend Ali and I had the awesome opportunity to be used by God in an incredible way... I am still blown away and humbled thinking of it.  

Here's the story.

A couple posts ago, I posted pictures and some info/stories behind some of the beloved orphans I spend time with here (see here: Kurasini Kids).  At the top of the posting, I showed Mudi & Hassani and shared a brief bit about their situation.  They had been raised in a family, in a town about 3 hrs from Dar es Salaam, and had been brought to Dar by their mother who had then abandoned them.  We learned that she had left them with an aunt who then brought them to the police after the mother disappeared.  The police then brought them to Kurasini.

These boys quickly stole a huge spot in our hearts, and our love for them grew as we spent our Sundays playing with them and the other kids.  And always, as we spent our time with them, we would think to ourselves of their mother, of the family they had come from, knowing that they had known and been raised by a family and that they still missed that every single day.  Mudi was 6 years old and knew very clearly what had happened to him.

ALL of these orphaned children deserve a home and a loving family, but these boys even all the more seemed to *belong* in a family.  It seemed even all the more wrong that they were living in this orphanage.  They had known what family was, been raised in a family... they were loving kids who seemed to have been raised by loving parents and who deserved that still.

Where was their mother now?  Did she think about them every day as we knew that these boys thought of her?  Why had she left them?  Did she regret it?  If she did, would she have any way of tracking down where they now were?

These thoughts were in my head every time I spent time with these boys.  And they were in Ali's.

Then, a couple months ago, I was at dinner with Ali [eating Indian food, the only food we eat together :)] and the thought occurred to me... We know where these boys are from... It's not a very big town... everyone knows everyone in African communities... What if we went to Morogoro with pictures of these boys and asked around until we found their parents?  At least to let them know where the boys were, just in *case* they were regretting their decision and wanted to be reunited with them?  I voiced the idea to Ali, and she immediately said, "Yeah, I've actually thought about that before, too..."

So, within about 10 seconds, we decided we'd do it. :)  We'd at least try to track down their family.

In the weeks leading up to the weekend that we'd set aside to go, we were able to get the full names of their parents and even detailed directions to their home.  Mudi remembered it all, and Ali spoke to him about his past- not letting him know why she was asking- and recorded the information for us to take with us.

And so we went.

And God's fingerprints of providence were all over our trip.

We took the bus to Morogoro and the moment we got off, a taxi driver came up to us who would be integral in our search.  Named Innocent, he spoke good English and as we shared our story with him he said he would help us find the family.  After checking into our hotel, we left with Innocent and followed the directions that we had.  It took us to the correct neighborhood, but after a point we were stuck.  We asked around from home to home, neighbor to neighbor... all those passing by- children, adults... but no one recognized the names of the parents or the pictures of the 2 boys that we had.

We started to get discouraged.  We prayed some more, knowing that God must have had good intentions for this weekend.  We kept searching.  We kept asking.  Innocent helped us translate, and guys in the community [mainly pikipiki (motorcycle) drivers] asked around ... word passing quickly through the grapevine.

And then, it happened.  A little boy said to me, "Yes, I recognize those boys.  Mudi was in my class."

I didn't believe him at first.  All the other kids we'd asked had said they didn't recognize him, so I thought this boy must just be trying to be agreeable.  "Really?  Really?!"  I kept asking him.  "Yes, I know them."  Still not fully believing him, a woman walks up.  She sees the pictures and says, "Yes, I used to be Mudi's schoolteacher.  I know where those boys lived."

This was it. :)

We asked her to come with us, to lead the way.

And a couple minutes later, we arrived at the house.  We walked in, and it was their father who was there.  We told him why we had come; that we knew his children and loved them; that we were coming to look for their family. He listened to what we said and just stood there still, tears welling in his eyes, looking up in hopes of keeping them from falling down his cheeks.  I asked if he wanted to see a video I had of Hassani. "No," he said, "It's too hard.  It's too hard."

He went on to tell us that their mother had left him and taken the children and gone to Dar es Salaam.  He had tried to get in contact with her and with her sister who lived in Dar, but they had changed their numbers.  He had no way of getting in contact with either of them or with the boys.  He assumed she was still taking care of them.  We explained where they were.  He asked questions.  We explained they had been living all year in a govenment-run (i.e. very poorly run) orphanage.  And that they missed their family.  We explained the situation, shared our numbers with him, told him where the orphanage was, and gave him the phone number for the director at the orphanage.  We left, and he told us that he would go to visit the boys... and "don't let anyone take them," he told us... he was processing all of the information which was so shocking to him.

We left and went to dinner (at another Indian restaurant, may I add :)).  Over dinner, we thought, "Why don't we call him and see if he wants to take the bus back to Dar with us in the morning?"

So we did.

And he immediately said yes.

He would meet us first thing in the morning at the bus station.

And he did.  Arriving early even.   We took the 3 hr bus ride back to Dar- Ali and I reading and working on things during the ride, Mohamedi sitting straight up with his face focused forward in anticipation the entire time, as if him leaning forward would get him to the destination quicker.  We asked him if he was happy or scared - or a little of both... "Happy, only happy," he responded.

We arrived at the orphanage.  The boys were pretending to sleep when we walked up, trying to play a cute little trick on us.  "Mudi! Hassani!  Get up!  Get up!  Look who is here!"  Finally they do.  Mudi looks... he sees... he shouts out "Papa!"  Hassani jumps up immediately and runs into his father's arms.

After a lot of tears, talking, smiling, and hugging....  Mohamedi takes the boys home to Morogoro.  They are back in their home.  In their community.  With loving family.  Where they belong.  :)

 Hassani jumping into his dad's arms :)

the three of them reunited :)

[And here is Ali's version of the story: Ali's Blog]


***


Follow-up:

I was able to visit the boys in their home a couple weeks ago.  I was going through Morogoro for another trip, and I stopped in to visit.  I was greeted by Mohamedi at the door with a bigger smile on his face than I'd ever seen on him.  Even bigger than after he was first reunited with the boys.  This smile had been *earned*.  It had grown over the previous weeks... he was not just smiling in anticipation of the thought of living with his boys again; he was smiling because he actually WAS living with his boys again.  This smile came from the pure joy of being reunited with them and actually BEING a family again.  The boys were inside eating large meals on the floor of their one-bedroom home.  They were happy to see me, smiling and acting shy, yet in a contented 'happy to see me but not *needing* to see me' sort of way.  When I would visit them at the orphanage, Hassani would run into my arms and not ever want me to put him down.  He *needed* the love and affection.  This day they didn't need it.  They already had the love that they needed in a family... I was just a visitor that they knew and were happy to see. :)

It is still unknown as to where the mother is, so prayers for her, for her heart, and for an eventual reunion with her and the children are still coveted.  We know that the boys obviously still miss her very much.


***


One more of my favorite (yet heartbreaking) details of the story:

When the boys were getting ready to leave the orphanage, Mudi had some torn emotions, as he was also having to leave behind all of the friends he had made and spent the year with.  An older boy, 19 yrs old, who had lived his entire life in the orphanage counseled and consoled him in his distress.  "You're going back home... you're never going to be hungry again... you will be with your family, and you will go to school, and you will be back with your friends, and you will be able to eat whenever you want."  Those were some of the tidbits of what I heard him tell little Mudi.  The longings that he himself had always had yet had never been met.  The longings for family... for security... for provision... for love.  How every child deserves this.  Please pray with me towards this end.  That each child could know this kind of love and security.