"This was my Moment"
At 14.00 hours – this is how things are arranged in Zambia – the ladies start to arrive, each carrying a baby wrapped in a chitenge on their back. They are coming to the mission base at Longezia in much the same way as we go to the health centre with our own babies. The babies will be examined and weighed, the mothers or care givers will be helped with any problems, and complimented on the care of their infants. The babies will be exclaimed over, picked up, cuddled and tickled, and they will take it in their stride just like babies all over the world. The ladies will have a chat, a drink and a break from their routine.
Except its not the same in so many ways. Some care givers have walked over five miles to get here, and one set of twins arrives carried by the mother and her ten year old daughter. This is not unusual – we have seen girls as young as five years carrying babies on their backs.
Agnes Malauzi, a local pastors wife, helps to run the clinic. She is a motherly figure, well respected in the community by the care givers, and during the course of the afternoon, she dispenses advice, along with a parcel of clothes for each baby, bottles/teats/bottle brushes and enough baby milk for the next month.
Its awkward, for the team, to be standing here. We have so much, and we feel like insensitive observers as we watch the ladies examine the clothes with delight, and despite the heat of the afternoon, dress their babies in the new cardigans and then hold them for photographs. Its all so strange to us, and we feel embarrassed and out of place, but the ladies want the photographs, they want us to hold their babies, to take an interest, to know their names.
And so we watch, as Chabotu (a boy) is lovingly wrapped in the brightest of pink jumpers; as Banji and Pimpa try on matching hats; as Kiseto, who is 13 months but weighs less than a 6 month old is carefully wrapped in a new cardigan and hat. He is listless and unresponsive, with the most beautiful face and large eyes. I later find out that he has been ill with diarrhoea and a temperature for a week. Before his mother goes home, she is given medicine for him and vitamins for herself. She is HIV positive and looks thin and unwell.
As the afternoon draws on, Agnes draws the ladies together to give some general advice, and then suggests that they sing together. And they do so, in that completely natural African way, their voices harmonising and rising in a chorus of praise to God. They come from different villages, and probably different churches, but for this afternoon, they all seem to know the same song and sing it in the same spirit.
There is always a bigger than usual silence when the singing stops in Zambia. I think for us its because we are so overwhelmed by the amazing harmonies and natural talent of African singers.
When you take part in a mission trip, your emotions feel very raw for the majority of the time – you are affected on all sides by the culture, the poverty and just the sheer tiredness. Most of the time, you can keep yourself under control, but there is always one moment where it all spills over and its just too much. This was my moment. As the ladies finished their song, in the silence that followed, one of them began to pray. The prayer was in Tongan, but began with “Tata…” the word for Father. It was a simple prayer of thanks to a loving Father God, for providing them with the things that they needed for their children. The tears flowed.
Joy Neilson