House-Visiting, Realities, Stories

Our house-visits were pretty intense yesterday. We only visited two ladies, but we heard quite a bit of their stories. At the first home, it was Margaret and her daughter who was about 21. (not using real names) The daughter had two kids, a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old. The little ones were Margaret’s grandchildren … and step-children. Figure that one out! Margaret’s husband (who was not the father of her daughter) raped her daughter, Debra, when she was 17. Margaret had been in the hospital, practically on her deathbed from HIV, and then Debra had come home from secondary school to be with her mother. Years later, with her mother still sick and needing shelter and support from the husband, he raped Debra again. They don’t know where the husband is now. She went to the authorities with what he had happened, but I’m not sure anything was done.

We sat and listened to the daughter tell her story, wiping tears from her eyes. She had hardly said two words when we first entered the house. We thought we there more for the mother, who was a part of Ubuzima. But then one of our translators starting asking Debra all kinds of questions, and before we knew it, she was sharing her heart. Turns out both the women have HIV, and the mother has been sharing the medication she receives from Ubuzima with her daughter. (if you’re wondering, Ubuzima will now provide enough funds/medicine for two) So on top of the fact that they are both living with HIV, they are dealing with the wounds of what this man did to an innocent girl … not to mention the day-to-day struggles of a life of poverty. We were each asked to respond and give words of encouragement … but what do you say to something like that? In the end, it was a blessing for me to be able to hear her story and be allowed into that part of her and her mother’s life. I know it sounds crazy, but it was a blessing for me. My heart hurt for her, but I just loved her that much more too.

The next house was a similar story. A mother, 6 months pregnant, and daughter that lived together in a one room shack, a sheer cloth separating the “sitting room” and “bedroom.” The daughter, about 12 years old, was sitting on their bed—a blanket on the hard ground—eating her lunch as we chatted. Every once in a while she’d pull the cloth over her head so we could see her face when she answered our questions. We like to play this game of having people guess our ages … and like usual, they guessed I was 17.

The reason for the blanket as a bed? The father, after attempting to have sex with his daughter and being confronted by his wife, took their two boys along with everything they owned and fled. But despite all of it, the mother seemed to glow! She didn’t stop smiling – it was like I could see God in her.

So again, you wonder what good we do by a simple visit. But that simple visit shows that we care, we are praying for them, and we love them. Perhaps some of the words we speak give them comfort, no matter how simple or few the words are. And sometimes we find other ways we are able to bless them. Like bringing rice, beans, and sugar to those who have had a harder time than normal. Or being able to provide a mattress for our new friends (we’re surprising her at the next Ubuzima meeting). All in all, I guess all we can do is continue to be the hands and feet of Jesus, whether it seems simple or complex, and be reminded that things often have different meanings to different people.