Kumbaya
I was told we were going to another community school. I didn’t really stop to think about what all we would find there. We had been traveling around Lusaka all morning, stopped by the Zambian police and escorted to the American Embassy by guards with loaded weapons (story for another time). I was tired, and quite frankly not that excited about touring another school…proof of how God laughs at our lack our lack of faith in His plan and His ability to use our weakness to teach us a lesson and show us His glory. I had been imagining a school somewhat like we had seen in Choma, maybe even better considering that we were in the capitol city. I was surprised as we drove toward the school, into a more rural looking atmosphere. As we moved forward, children began coming out of nowhere, running toward our bus, Christmas morning smiles plastered on their dirty little faces. They kept coming, more and more of them. We drove around to the back of their community school, kids following close behind, running to catch up. We stepped off the bus to swarms of children surrounding us. I’ve never experienced anything like it before in my life. I have never had someone so happy to see me. Their faces were exploding with excitement, barely able to contain the emotion that was rushing through them. Each of us had two children holding tightly to each of her hands and a few more clinging to a piece of her clothing, guiding her along.
They lead us down the path to their school, a few broken down buildings in the middle of their city village. Nearly two hundred kids packed tightly in a large circle stood there singing and clapping, drums pounded the tune of an African beat. We were escorted to the very front of everyone. I could barley comprehend what was going around me. There were children everywhere, shouting and singing, laughing and smiling…all because we came to see them. Their teacher began dancing and singing alone in the middle of the circle and soon another man joined him. All at once one of them came over to a girl in our group and offered her to come out and dance with them. I wanted more than anything to dance with them and was elated when one of the men motioned in my direction to come join them! I stepped out and danced with them, overjoyed, dancing to the beat of three African drummers, drinking in every moment. It’s something I will always remember.
The school was called Kumbaya. They work with orphaned and vulnerable children who would have trouble attending public schools because of uniforms and others costs. There are three hundred children that attend Kumbaya, some are HIV positive, some are orphans, some are the parents to younger siblings or cousins. These children are of the poorest of poor. Some eat only once a day, some every other day. For this reason the school provides one meal for the children, a small bowl of tasteless porridge. While we were there the children were just getting ready to have their one meal. The woman in charge told me that serving meals is always a hectic time because the children are so hungry and are anxious to receive their small portion. I watched as the kids raced to the place where the bowls were being distributed, reaching their hands out in ravenous desire for the one meal they would have for the day. Each took their bowl to a different location, sitting down to relish in their prize. Some ate slowly, dipping their fingers into the porridge and unhurriedly sucking off the dripping paste. Others lifted the porridge to their face and ate with greedy pleasure, making sure to lick the bowl clean of anything remaining.
As we headed back to the bus to leave, the children clung to us for dear life. One girl came up and hugged me tight, “Promise me…please promise me bananas”. It broke my heart. What do you say to a little girl who gets one meal a day, if that, when she begs you to bring her a banana? I had no answer, except to tell her I would pray for her. The children crowed around our vehicle, holding on to a hand or a skirt until we disappeared onto the bus. As we drove away they ran after us…chasing our bus as fast as they could, waving goodbye.
What do you learn from an experience like that? How could those children be so happy? To see laughter and joy in the midst of such suffering is something that will stay with me forever. How often do we look at our current situation and wallow in our hurt and discomfort, oblivious to the painful affliction that touches the lives of so many people everyday. Things we cannot even begin to imagine, things that would make you weep for the precious minutes you have wasted in your own self-pity…What do you learn from an experience like that?
You learn to be joyful. You learn to celebrate life, to realize that there are things in this world much worse than what you deem to be intolerable. You learn what real suffering looks like. You learn to be thankful for each day you are given. You learn to be content.
