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.)

Technically, it’s called a high performance blender - which is a bit like calling Michelangelo a house painter.

I started using the machine itself a few years back when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. As he suffered through chemotherapy and his appetite waned, we made delicious whole-food juices and hot soups. Next to prayer, it was the best way we could help. According to their website - “Vita Mix processing breaks open the cell walls to release maximum nutrition from whole foods, more than you can get any other way.” Maximum nutrition - that sounds good to someone fighting to regain their health and strength.

This year, the CEO of Vita Mix, John Barnard, donated a custom-made machine for Hope Village Malawi to help the children in our home-based orphan care program. These children come to Hope Village a few times a week. On Saturdays, they eat a hot meal of nsima, chicken or beans, and vegetables.

Mid-week, they eat biscuits, fruit, and peanut butter sandwiches. On the days that the children eat in their villages, food is often scarce. Breakfast is out of the question. Those who are lucky enough to attend school, work on empty bellies. At lunch time, they may have nsima and a small amount of boiled okra for dipping. Usually, dinner is the same. Sometimes the children eat only once a day, other times, not at all. One boy told us that they have gone as long as three days and nights in the village without food. To combat this, WVI recently bought 4 tons of maize, which will be portioned out in weekly amounts for the children to take home. The problem is, there are alot of mouths to feed at home. And as orphans, they are at the bottom of the pecking order.

The other problem is when the children do have something to eat, it is not necessarily nutritious. Some of my Malawian friends swear that nsima is one of the most nutritious foods in the world - and personally, I happen to love it. But the truth is, nsima made from maize flour and water is high in carbohydrates and not much else to grow healthy young bodies and minds. But you make the most out of what you have.

And this is where the Vita Mix machine comes in. To make the most of our midweek meals, we decided to produce homemade peanut butter. At first, the boys were a bit skeptical - groundnuts need to be pounded into flour, putting your whole back and strong arms into it.

How could this little machine do the same thing? But they decided to humor us and give it a try - Malawi style. Which means, everything is done in community, making the work easier - and much more fun.

We started out with a trip to the village market to buy fresh groundnuts. The harvest wasn’t great this year due to disappointing rains, but groundnuts are still easy to find and fairly inexpensive.

Back at Hope Village, some of the kids shell the nuts, and others start the fire. Pan after pan of nuts is roasted, then dumped steaming hot into a flat basket where the paper-thin skins are rubbed off.

Next the boys take turns - under close supervision - using the Vita Mix. They watch with wonder, as the nuts are ground into a thick, creamy butter. They can’t believe it when the peanut butter comes out warm. They really can’t believe it when we tell them that you can make hot soup and frozen ice cream in the same machine.

As they scoop the finished product into clean jars, the boys lick their fingers, the container,and lastly the spoons - declaring it the most delicious peanut butter they have ever tasted. And, of course, wishing that they had nisma to go with it.

They start thinking like the young business men they are - or that they have to be to survive. Let’s see… 4 full jars from one batch of peanuts - how much did it cost for each jar? What else can this little machine do? What else could we make?

They want to start a business. And who knows? They just might.

But for today, we’re just thrilled that children who are hungry - like little Missi - will have a healthy meal, chock full of protein and vitamins and minerals. Thank you Vita Mix Corporation!

NOTE: All pictures, except for the Vita Mix machine, Dorika pounding groundnuts, and Missi with the balloon, were taken by 13-year-old Greshan - a young man in our orphan care program. Greshan participated in the photography project this summer. Like all the children, this was his first time to use a camera. To see more of Greshan’s photos, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/22877141@N02/sets/72157607293173109/

Greshan, the photographer, roasting corn for his younger brother, Bernard.

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.

And a gift of love - from Minnesota to Malawi.

I hate to shop. It is a special challenge to shop for my 13 year old daughter who knows exactly what she likes - which seems to be anything I don’t like. Shopping for one adolescent overwhelms me.

But recently I went shopping here in Malawi -for 41 kids. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone - Loveness, Wapu, Hana, and Ken shared the joy.

Early one morning we invaded the Pep shop - which is sort of a mini-Woolworth’s - armed with a list of estimated shoe sizes, and some very suspicious measurements for boys clothing. For hours we counted, and re-counted kids on the list. We spread shoes all over the floor, organized by size. (The sizes are European, which is more than a little confusing.) We made our best guess and then moved on to underwear and socks - as Wapu and Ken tried to find pants and shirts to fit 22 boys.

This shop doesn’t have all the sizes that we need, but helpful employees offer to run to another shop to plunder their stock. We decide to buy backpacks for all 41 kids, sorting them by size, color and design. At the end of our shopping trip, a huge, overflowing box is stuffed into the van and a grateful store manager gives us a blanket and two plastic food storage sets as thank you gifts.

That evening, we clutter the floor as we sort through the piles. The longer I stare at the 41 pairs of shoes, shoes, the larger they become in my eyes. I soon convince myself that nothing will fit, that every shoe is too big, every pair of pants too small. But nothing can be done right now, so we begin to stuff items in the new bags. I’m glad that we bought and distributed the dresses for the girls a couple of weeks back - that makes our job tonight a bit simpler.

But at the end of the night, bulging backpacks lean against the front door, ready for the next day.

That’s the shopping part - now for the joy.

We arrive at Hope Village with two huge boxes and when we show them what we brought, they explode - yelling, whistling, clapping, stomping their feet. None of them have ever owned a backpack before.

The boys dash to one of the schoolrooms to try on their new clothes, while the girls excitedly try on their new shoes. Unbelievably, everything fits. every shoe, every pair of pants.

Though “guesstimate-shopping” for 41 kids is not easy - these kids are easy to shop for. If it almost fits, they are grateful. If it is warm, they are grateful. If it has no holes or stains they are grateful. And today they are much more than grateful. Unable to contain their joy, they dance joyfully around the room in a large circle.

Wapu, Hana and I agree - this is one of the sweetest moment of our lives. And if you have ever given to Chifundo’s Basket (WVI’s orphan program fund) you are part of this moment. This is how your money is spent - on food, clothing, shoes, blankets, soap, medical care, school supplies, education - and moments of joy for children like Chisomo and Baba.

It’s been a while since my last post. We’ve had internet problems and/or electricity problems for the last week. But tonight the lights finally came back on - thanks to the electric company workers that spent all day working on the lines. The server came back up - thanks to the guys at Malawi Net. And the huge rat in the kitchen has gone to rodent heaven - thanks to the three amigos and their weapons of choice.

So we’re sitting here, enjoying the lights, watching a traditional dance program on TV Malawi (our sole station) - when Ken yells from the kitchen, “uh…Wapu?” Wapu runs into the kitchen and yells “Omali!” The next thing we hear is scuffle,scuffle, bang, thump, bang, scuffle -curiosity gets the best of me. Tentatively, I crack the kitchen door - all the cupboard doors are open and the guys are rustling bags in the storage room. The rat is no more; they’re checking to see if he brought friends. How big was it?, I ask. Thiiiiissssss BIG! The guys spread their hands wide - a little too wide.

I’ve seen alot of rodents lately - upclose and personal. In a word, mousekebabs - or “mbewa”, as they’re called here. These are mice that are gutted, boiled in salt water, then impaled on sticks - teeth, tail and hair included - and sold on the roadside for your convenience.

Not everyone likes mbewa, of course. The predominantly-muslim Yao tribe won’t touch them. But most of the village kids love mbewa - they hunt mice in the bush and consider it a good day when they’ve tucked a few away in their pocket. Now, I’m a vegetarian. If I wasn’t, the sight of mbewa would be enough to convert me. But then I’m a privileged westerner, with all the choices that go along with that. I can choose what to eat or what not to eat.

In the villages, hunger is real. If you live on one meal a day of nsima and greens - you eat for survival. When our kids come to Hope Village, they enjoy a heaping plate of chicken, beef or beans along with their nsima and vegetables. On other days, they are grateful for any food they can find.  It’s all a matter of perspective. The mega-rat that invaded our kitchen might be seen as a life-saving blessing in someone else’s house. I try to remember that when the mbewa-sellers come knocking.

But now it’s late and I’m heading to bed. Right after I close the kitchen door.

Baba walked into the clinic the other day wearing a pair of glasses he snuck out of a supply bag. Everything was a blur, but he thought he looked intelligent. But Baba doesn’t need anything to make him look intelligent- he just is. We can see it in the way he plays and interacts with the other kids. And every day, in the Hope village pre-school, Baba has all the answers - whether you call on him or not.

All of the children in the Hope Kids program are so clever. Some of them are witty conversationalists, some are natural leaders, and others are talented musicians. Through our summer photography project, we’ve identified a couple of kids with artistic gifts. And many are just good with their hands - if they see it, they can make it.

But, as I’ve written before, many of our older kids are not educated, which seriously limits their future options. ( Currently the Hope Village School only goes up to grade 3). Their life circumstances have caused them to grow up too fast, but we’ve watched tough guys giggle like little kids when given the opportunity to learn in creative ways.

Twelve of the kids ranging in age from 9-15 currently come to Hope Village twice weekly to learn their ABCs -along with phonics. While most of them can “sing” their ABCs, we soon realized that most couldn’t identify them. So with the help of refrigerator magnets sent in from the States, we’ve turned it into a game that everyone can succeed at - eventually. Yesterday, Kondwelani identified every letter we gave to him. One of the other boys struggled badly, but still thought the game lots of fun. On his 12th try he finally picked up the right letter - and everyone clapped for him.

They are also learning to write their letters - a painstaking process, but one that is rewarded with hugs and colorful stickers. It would be hard to imagine a 15 year old in the west beaming with pride over his very own sharpened pencil and a simple orange star stuck into a new copy book.

But it’s easy to take things for granted in the west - like a good education, with textbooks for each child, committed & well-trained teachers, athletics, music and art class, clean toilets - as well as safe passage to and from a beautiful school building on comfortable buses. Or something as simple as a pair of shoes or a shirt without holes to wear to school. One boy told us he couldn’t go to school because he was too ashamed of his unwashed clothes - he had no soap.

The kids who attend the Hope Village English tutoring class (which meets at the same time as the literacy class) show up no matter what. Not always on time, mind you - remember they tell time by the length of their shadows and a cloudy day throws everything off. But they love the class, they love the fact that they have real books to read, and flash cards, and teachers that really care about them. We are challenging all of the kids to dream big: why not plan to attend secondary school? The fees are not a problem - we can support them through Chifundo’s Basket. And if they can go that far, then why not college? This is more than any of them can begin to imagine - especially the girls and the older boys who dropped out of school years ago.

Of course, there are many that will not go any further with a formal education. They will learn a good trade - something that will enable them to make a living. And, God willing, they will know how to read and write so that, someday, they can help their own children with school work.

With God, anything is possible.

On a good day it takes 6 hours to drive the road to the village of Anjabetrongo from the nearest city, Toliare. On a bad day, it takes 10 1/2 hours for the 62 km trek. That’s 10 1/2 hours to travel 38 miles - definitely a day to remember.

First, there’s the rental car. No one who owns a decent car wants to risk sending it into this deep, thorny forest. So we’re grateful to find any car, let alone a decent one. As usual, a polite driver comes with the vehicle - in case it breaks down.

Secondly, we pack it up and weigh it down.
On top of the vehicle we have metal roofing sheets, table and chairs for the new clinic, bed frames, large containers of gasoline, spare tires, and one lonely duffle bag - mine. Into the worn interior we cram water, food, backpacks and sacks, pots and pans, and other miscellaneous supplies - including 50 blankets in plastic wrappers. Add 7 adults, 3 children and one guitar in a car that seats 5 and you have the makings of an interesting journey.

Did I mention that the driver chain smokes?

And then there are the roadside security checkpoints. This is where a rifle-toting man waves down your vehicle for no apparent reason. At one stop a policeman pokes his head through the back window, notes that we are badly overcrowded, and informs us that his friend needs a ride to the next town. There is no room but, if we want to keep moving, we have no choice. So we jam another body into the back and we’re on our way.

At the next checkpoint, the price of forward movement is a Bible for the security guard - a bribe we don’t mind paying. But as long as the vasaha ( that’s me - the lily white foreigner who turns pink in the sun) has a valid passport and the front-seat passengers (that’s not me) are wearing seat belts, we can usually proceed.

Well, we could proceed if our tire wasn’t flat.
But it is, so we pull to the side of the road.

It’s not easy to change a flat tire when the car is so loaded down.
Nor is it easy when we get stuck on a log in the middle of the bush in pitch darkness.
But shortly after, villagers wrapped in colorful blankets appear out of nowhere to help us get unstuck.

I am freezing cold (yes, winter nights are cold in Madagascar) - but my duffel bag is strapped next to the gasoline jug on top and there is no way to get it down. Yes, we do have 50 blankets, but they are gifts for our friends in the Mikea Forest. So I shiver, and I shake, and I listen to the men argue about the right way to get unstuck.

The children are amazing - they either sleep or sing - but they never fuss. My Malagasy partners, Jonoro and Hanitra, and the young men traveling with us just keep smiling and singing.

I love my friends.
And I love these people who are so willing to help stranded travelers late at night.

But I hate this car.

An hour later we’re on our way - heading yet deeper into the bush and deeper into the night. I’m still shivering, but the sleeping child on my lap provides some warmth. I’m lost in the beauty of a star-filled sky when suddenly, I’m shaken out of my reverie by a thunk, a clunk and a sharp swerve to a complete stop.

Outside my window sits a wheel.
And not just any wheel.
No, it’s the wheel that has just fallen off the broken axle of the car that I hate.
“Tsmisy ulanana,” the driver says - “no problem, we have a spare axle.”
And with the patience of a saint, he once again slides under the car.
Note to self: never rent a car that needs to carry a spare axle.

When we finally pull into the village of Anjabetrongo long after midnight, I’m still smiling but I’m chilled to the bone. Pulling on every piece of clothing I have with me, I climb inside a sleeping bag, and shiver myself into a fitful sleep. I’m no warmer when I wake at dawn, so I head outside to stand by the fire - still layered in clothes and wrapped in a blanket.

This is when reality hits me and my perspective shifts.
Standing by the fire is a group of children - several of them are nearly naked. They are not immune to the cold - just the opposite. One little boy shakes as if he’s having convulsions. All of their noses are running, their eyes are infected, their lungs are infected. They have no duffle bag filled with warm clothes. They have no sleeping bag, no blanket. I try to imagine how they sleep through the night shivering naked on the cold ground. I want to give away my blanket, but there are too many children. (I nearly caused a riot in this village once with a few inflatable beach balls!) But we have to find a way to help the vulnerable children.

One of the Malagasy pastors strums the guitar that took up so much room in the crowded car. He begins to sing a praise song and heaven touches earth in this desolate, desperate place. The children smile at me and suddenly I’m not cold anymore.

Getting here is never easy - but it’s worth it.

At this moment, there is no place I would rather be.