Here’s a slideshow of the children at Hope Village and the volunteers who traveled from the USA this summer to work with WVI’s orphan care program. You’ll see photos of the summer events - literacy and tutoring classes, music rehearsals, the photography project, feeding, making nutritious, homemade peanut butter, game days, outings & the purchase of tons of maize for the months ahead.
The music track is a worship song entitled “Child of God” by Kathryn Scott - from the CD “Hungry”. When I wrote asking her permission to use it, she responded immediately - and generously. ( Thank you, Kathryn.)
Enjoy the beautiful faces of the children of Malawi. ( or for better quality, view it directly on youtube.)
Village children are resourceful when it comes to toys and games. Old plastic bags, scraps of paper and tape become soccer balls; rocks become jax, long strips of thin plastic tied together become a jumping game, plastic bottles and bent wire become elaborate cars and trucks. Bottle caps, sticks, mud - all useful from recreation. Of course, kids in the west cut up refrigerator boxes and make forts out of dead leaves - but the difference is the little plastic toy aisle at the local Drug Mart or the huge Toys R US around the corner. Few African kids have any other choice.
So when a group of women from Minnesota decide to make dolls for each young child and every girl in the Chifundo’s Basket program, they are giving a gift of joy.
Sue Berglund - an RN who has previously served as a WVI volunteer in Malawi - was the mastermind behind the doll project. One year she arrived in Malawi with dozens of handmade fleece jackets for the school children - and dozens of handcrafted Chichewa coloring books. She also gathered a group of talented women to create a stunning quilt that now hangs in the Hope Village church, stretching from ceiling to floor.
This year, it was dolls. Beautiful, hand-crafted dolls - boy dolls and girl dolls complete with babies on their backs, decked out in brightly colored clothing. Each doll has beads threaded into tufts of hair - beads that have meaning. These black, red, white, gold and green beads represent the colors of the wordless book - a tool that is used around the world to teach the truth of the gospel to children and adults alike. And tucked inside a hidden pocket on each doll’s tummy, is a colorful laminated booklet, written in the local language, that tells the whole story of God’s love for them.
The day comes to distribute the dolls and Naomi - a team member from Minnesota - does the honors. After the raucous clapping, screaming and bouncing subsides - she begins to pass them out, one at a time. The kids’ faces are priceless - a combination of joy and utter disbelief. You can read their thoughts: A doll of my very own? I can take it home? It’s mine?
Of course, the older boys can’t take a doll. ( And “older” here is 13) They tell us that they wouldn’t make it out of the village without getting beaten up if they were seen carrying a doll. Thankfully, we have something for them - a little ninja-looking tool thing that they seem delighted with.
As the kids prepare to leave for home, the younger boys hug their dolls tightly and the girls wrap them onto their backs. The give them names (Edwin names his “Uncle Ken”) and carefully brush the ever-present dust off of the black cloth.
Some of the children who participate in our summer photography project bring back pictures of themselves with their dolls at home - a splash of color in a dreary mud house.
Though the kids have spotted airplanes high in the sky, they have never been to an airport. So when my husband recently arrived in Malawi, along with Dan and Donna Camm, we used it as an occasion for a special field trip. The kids have a choice between wearing their WVI t-shirts or their concert outfits - and they opt to dress up. So one day at Hope Village, we criss-cross rope from the school building, to the van, to the front gate. As we wash the clothes - a skirt, blouse, and headwrap for the girls and shirt and pants for the boys - I take care to keep them organized according to the name on the hanger. But as in most things here, everyone chips in to help - and soon Missi’s small pants hang next to Kondwelani’s shirt and I have no idea what belongs to who.
Piles of black shoes tumble out of tagged bags, and the kids take great care in cleaning them. It’s fun hearing the conversations as they work- stories abound.
“I hear if you hold your hand up to a plane as it’s taking off, you’ll stick to it. Planes are magnetic. It’ll pull you high into the sky.”
“I hear if you get too close, you’ll just get electrocuted.”
The stories worry the young ones, but everyone is willing to take the risk - they’re excited about the outing. At the end of the day, we have an incident to deal with, so we ask the older guys to gather the clothes from the line, neatly so as to avoid wrinkles, and put them in the van. We’ll take them home and touch them up, we think. Little did we know that by the time the clothes would make it to our house, every piece would be badly wrinkled, leaving us 200 pieces of clothing to iron.
Fortunately, some of the older guys come over to help. By the time they leave at 5pm, we still have 7 hours work ahead of us.
Yet by early morning all the clothes are basically wrinkle-free and we head to Hope Village to help the kids get ready. One by one they enter the gate - barefoot and many of them in rags. And one by one they change before our eyes. I sit on the clinic steps and place band-aids on every single heel, under the shoe - to make sure we have no blisters today. Thirty minutes later they cllmb on the bus, ready for anything. Loveness rides on the bus with Hana and me, and Joseph and Wapu take the van with several of the boys. On our bus, the kids sing all the way to the airport - about a 30 minute drive.
When we arrive at the airport, we meet all kinds of new challenges - public toilets, the stairs to the observation deck. The kids have never seen steep stairs and walk tentatively and carefully up and down them - slightly awkward in their stiff leather shoes. Once we reach the top, some of the braver ones edge their way to the railing. Others sit or stand safely behind a row of plastic chairs, watching the sky for the first sign of a plane in a slightly worried way.
We soon find out that it’s illegal to take pictures at the airport, so we can’t show you everything that happened. But the kids were so amazingly well-behaved - no fighting, no running around, People around them were amazed and kept asking about them. They wanted to hear them sing - but this wasn’t allowed either inside the airport. We’d have to move the party outside for that. But for now, a round of Fantas and Cokes and packages of biscuits make the wait more enjoyable.
The flight is an hour late, but in the meantime, the kids watch a Kenyan flight land. The little ones are relieved to find out that they don’t really stick to the plane like magnets. When our flight does land, Missi freaks out when it taxies down the run way and out of sight. Unaware that is will circle back. Missi cries “Uncle Ken just got here and he’s leaving again!?!” But finally they see him get off the plane with their soon-to-be friends, Dan and Donna, and started waving frantically. Even from a distance I can see the shock and delight on Ken’s face - he had no idea we were bringing all the kids to the airport.
As the passengers moved into passport control and customs, the kids navigate the stairs and position themselves in front of the exit door. As they wait patiently, people come to inquire: - “Is this Watoto? (an orphan choir from Uganda that tours the world”) No, I say - but they are an excellent choir. I keep pointing to Joseph and Loveness Masambuka - telling people that they are the Malawian directors. A woman waits an hour and half, video camera in hand, to hear the kids sing, but we are still waiting for Ken a(nd the guards watch us carefully to make sure we don’t burst into song.) His luggage actually arrived days before he did. And now he has to wait for someone to find the key to the lost luggage room. When a man does find the keys then he has to wait for the guy who has the authority to open the lost luggage room. They finally let him leave without his luggage and he plows into a sea of happy kids.
We move to the parking lot for a mini-concert of welcome - then we climb back on the bus and head back to Hope Village for chicken dinners. I’m thinking it would be a great idea for them to change before they eat, but they wear their beautiful outfits until the last possible minute. They are now stuffed back in bags, and will need to be washed, hung, and ironed before our tour to Monkey Bay in August. But it is worth every minute of work.
As the day comes to an end, we all sit on the grass together to worship and pray. The kids will have lots of stories to tell around the villages fires tonight. And Missi, who for weeks has been nursing an old burn wound to show Uncle Ken, will sleep well tonight - with a belly full of chicken and rice and the knowledge that the world is a little less dangerous than he had imagined.
July 16th is our wedding anniversary and this is not the first time we’ve celebrated it here in Africa. But today we make a special memory that we’ll never forget.
It starts as a normal day - early morning devotions and then the team heads off to the Hope Village school. I stay behind to blog -at least, that’s what I say. In truth, I call Wapu and him to sneak back & run me into town. I need to buy an anniversary gift for Ken. Let’s see - what are you supposed to buy for your 31st anniversary?
Wapu makes some excuse, shows up with Hana in tow and soon drops us at a favorite shop - “Things of Africa”. Claiming that he has an errand to run for his mother, Wapu promises to pick us up in 15 minutes. That will work, I think. A few minutes to choose a gift and still make it to Hope Village in time to collect the team after school ends.
An hour later, he finally returns.
Now, this in itself isn’t odd. Nor is the next thirty minutes of winding through unfamiliar streets. I’m distracted, reading a newspaper article about the political mess here in Malawi. When I look up, we’re in the villages. Osadandaula. Don’t worry - we’re taking a “back-way” to Hope Village, Wapu says. This must be a “back-back way” - we’re out in the bush..
But soon the landscape begins to look familiar. We spot a bright red shirt up ahead and recognize little Bernard running ahead of the van. Wapu invites him to jump in and now we’re on the back road to Hope Village. This in itself isn’t odd either - we often pick up kids . But today is Wednesday and this isn’t the orphan program afternoon- so I’m a bit confused.
We enter the Hope Village gate and everything is dead quiet. Loveness greets us and I apologize profusely to her and the team for our lateness. I have no qualms whatsoever about shifting the blame to her son and his penchant for shortcuts. Dan and Donna Camm - recently arrived team members from the USA - are planted in the clinic with my husband, Ken. I also apologize profusely to them and hope they’re not upset since we are now an hour and half late. No problem, they assure me.
We climb into the van and wait for Wapu and Hana, chatting about this and that, when Loveness comes and says - there’s something we need to talk about before you go. Nothing odd about this either. We follow her into the pre-school room which is completely empty - except for Bernard who, for some strange reason, is seated at a table alone. I don’t have time to think about this, or the fact that the tables are arranged in the standard meal formation. Because suddenly and without warning, a pile of sleeping mats against the back wall explodes and giggling kids tumble out from their hiding place. Happy anniversary! - they scream. This is the anniversary party of our dreams.
Apparently, this was a last minute plan - a night-before-freak-out between Hana and Wapu. After engaging Loveness’ help the next morning, Wapu and Hana drove through the villages, calling the kids, telling them the plan.
Apparently, while I waited patiently at “Things of Africa”, Wapu purchased bags of freshly-baked scones and sat in the van reading the newspaper. Back at Hope Village, Dan and Donna’s job was to keep Ken busy in the clinic. As tea boiled on an open fire in the kitchen, Loveness arranged the tables and snuck the kids in the gate a few at a time. The back-back-back route through the bush to Hope Village was just a ploy to give the kids time to arrive.
And arrive they have - miraculously. They were all busy in their villages when the news spread to come for a party. Mpelekanji was selling vegetables on the road and others were doing chores at home. But they dropped what they were doing - and they all came. Celebrating with milky tea and huge, delicious scones, we told the kids it was an Irish day - cold weather, gray sky, tea and scones.
Hana presents gifts to us: rings made of hippo tooth - to remind us to be faithful to our vows; a carved figurine - to remind us of Africa; and a village picture made of matchsticks - from the kids. They all rush to sign the back of the picture, leaving their mark in one way or another - spidery signatures and grimy fingerprints. They spill into the yard and begin the jump-rope games - boys and girls alike. We marvel at their strength and they marvel at Ken, who surprises them - and himself - with his jumping prowess.
We end the afternoon early so they can return to their chores - so as not to upset their guardians. But before they go they sing for us - both the older and younger choirs. And then they pray - hands extended toward us, eyes clenched tight, voices raised to heaven.
I peek. I confess - I always do. I love to watch them pray.
I know they can’t begin to comprehend a marriage that lasts this long. None of them have a father. Most of them have lost both of their parents to disease or indifference - the father leaves, the mother remarries, moves away, and can’t take the children into to new marriage. (The kids have asked us if parents in our country have bad fights and then abandon their children.) They are basically raising themselves when they are not inside our gate. But here they see something different in Joseph and Loveness, Petros and Grace, Wapu, Fally, Tamanda - and the host of volunteers that come to love them, like Dan and Donna Camm.
As I watch their sincere faces, I pray for a different future - real love, in til-death-do-us-part marriages. I know that everything is against them - it will take a miracle. But we serve a supernatural God. Ken and I are living proof of that.
When I think about our thirty-one-year journey - the ups and the downs, the mistakes and sin, the joys and the deep disappointments, the children lost and children rescued - I wouldn’t change a minute of it. It has made us who we are. And all of it has led us here - to this beautiful place, this beautiful African family, these beautiful kids - together with one mind and heart.
As the prayer ends, the children rush us for hugs and kisses, some circulating through the line twice. Like I said - this is the anniversary party of our dreams. Thanks to Hana, Wapu, Loveness, Grace, Dan and Donna - and all the children, young men and young women of Hope Village. We will always remember this wonderful day!
Life feels more fragile here. Maybe it isn’t, but it feels that way.
While watering the bushes at Hope Village, one of the older boys accidentally knocked a baby bird to the ground with a spray of water. Instantly the little kids grabbed for it. Within seconds, a pack of children were chasing this tiny little thing around the yard as I looked on - horrified at what I saw as a lack of respect for life. Wapu quickly provided the perfect refuge for it to dry out in safety - a rusty bucket placed out of reach, in the sun. The kids quickly forgot about it and went back to their legos and jump-ropes. I watched them, thinking about their behavior.
As orphans, the world they live in can be harsh. They complain often of beatings received for minor infractions at home. One of our girls limped into Hope Village last week. A drunk man threw a brick at her foot for no apparent reason. A 6-year-old boy was crushed when, as he put it, “a mean man” stole his red “worldview africa” bracelet and tossed it up on the roof of a house.
The kids also boast of beatings given or planned. If they’re too small to beat anyone up, they kick the nearest dog. (I think all the African dogs flinch when a human gets close to them.) Before a field trip last year to Senga Bay, little Missi remarked that he would find the biggest monkey and beat it with a big stick. During a day on the new land, the boys delighted to show me the mice they had caught and killed - and stuffed in their pockets.They regularly hunt mice and rats in the bush, smashing their skulls before impaling them on sticks. Then they boil them and roast them over a fire.
So what makes a baby bird different?
The kids are equally tough on each other. We spend a good amount of our time figuring out who started what and who did what to whom. When so much pain is pent up, the slightest brush brings out the anger and the tears. Yesterday, two of our 14 year old boys came to us with a problem - two girls in the program were mocking them in the village for attending literacy classes at Hope Village. The girls said they were fools to come since they could only do first grade work. The villagers lapped up this information and the cruelty and widespread mockery began. It got so bad the night before that they had to seclude themselves. This news was hard to hear, because we know the boys are ashamed that they can’t read. We’ve watched the tears fall from sheer frustration when no one else is around to see. But the fact that they even came to us is a miracle. Two years ago they just would have handled it with their fists. But instead we had an honest conversation and at the end, the two girls asked forgiveness and the boys actually forgave them. And still showed up for literacy class - still struggling to recognize letters, but rejoicing each time they get one right.
The truth is they all laugh at each other. The boy who can barely read the word “cat” laughs at the boy who doesn’t know the letter “C”. But we’re trying to help them see themselves and each other differently. To treat each other with respect and gentleness - a hard thing to do when you’ve known so little of this in your own life. And we’re trying to help them see their own world differently - the incredible beauty of Africa, the stunning sunsets, the rugged mountains, the vibrant flowers and spreading trees.
After the usual delay through Ethiopia, the WVI team arrived safely this past week. Some of the suitcases and trunks arrived ahead of them, some lagged behind, but at the end of the day all of the supplies made it through. The Hope Kids have been waiting for one very important item - their new WorldView International t-shirts. To them a t-shirt is more than just a piece of clothing. People show their loyalties here by dressing in matching materials, colors, or shirts. Choirs dance through the villages in uniform outfits, shops sell various tribal cloths, political rallies are either seas of pale blue or vibrant yellow, depending on the party. So when the children wear matching shirts, it shows that they are part of something.
When we distribute the shirts at Hope Village they sit on the ground in an orderly fashion, waiting for their name to be called. But after the last child is fitted, the excitement can no longer be contained. The boys play a game of standing leap-frog - jump over each others’ shoulders, standing at full height. (If he had been born in other circumstances, one of our older boys could be a gymnast - it’s unreal how high he can jump.) The little boys play with new soccer balls and the girls play a wild, high-jumping game with their new jump ropes.
Then lunch is served - a delicious meal of chicken, nsima, and cabbage prepared by Loveness Masambuka and her daughter Fally. Little Missi - forever the realist - removes his shirt to avoid a mess. Other kids cover them with chitenzes, or old shirts.
After the meal, the kids take responsibility for the clean-up - as they always do. The girls and the boys take turns - today the boys are in charge of the dishes. Gresham and Vuja slip last year’s shirts over the red ones as they scrub the huge nsima pot with a mixture of crushed brick and soil.
The rest of the afternoon passes with choir rehearsal, craft time, fluteaphone classes, photography lessons, along with visits to the clinic, bandaids and hugs, worship and prayer. When they finally leave at dusk, in group of 3 or 4, the vibrant colors stand out against the grays and browns of the village. We can see them far into the distance in their bright red shirts and big smiles.
It’s such a little thing, a t-shirt. But when you have so little, a new shirt is a precious gift. Especially a beautiful red shirt with the continent of Africa emblazoned on the front.
Especially a shirt that says you’re part of a real family.
If you would like to help care for the children of Hope Village Malawi, contact WorldView International at info@worldviewinternational.org. 100% of every dollar contributed to our orphan program, Chifundo’s Basket, goes directly to the children of Africa.
Someone asked me this question on my first trip to Malawi ,Africa in 1998.
Actually the question was,
“Does anyone in your country really see me?”
My answer now is the same as then - no, we don’t.
Not really…
We may give a little, or we may give alot.
We may think of you when a sad commercial interrupts our favorite show
or we may pray for you all the time.
But truly see you?
See you the way God sees you?
We don’t.
But some of us want to.
God open our eyes to see the world’s orphans, the way you see them.
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