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.