Mission Trip 2007
"Look In the Dictionary…"
by Carol Nussbaumer
| Look in the dictionary under “adorable” and surely you will see a
picture of the nursery school at Embangweni, Malawi! Look up “smile” and there
will be a photo of the Head Boy at the School for the Hard of Hearing. Flip to
“happiness” and expect to see 3 graduates of the deaf school and their
“Mama Kalo” meeting unexpectedly near the mission church. The synonym for
“poverty” may well be listed as Malawi (see also: “joy”
“faith” “giving”). The fall of 2007 marked the
10th anniversary of my first visit to Embangweni, Malawi. In a total of 8 trips – 5
of them with Marion Medical Mission – I have come to know and love many of the people
in and around the mission station. Surely the novelty has worn off by now and arriving at
Embangweni is truly like coming home, but every trip brings unique moments of pleasure,
pain and sometimes insight. |
Carol Nussbaumer
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That nursery school, for example. While I have known about it for a decade, I
had never paid a visit until 2007. At the suggestion of Dr. Martha Sommers, I took some
small bears made by my home church’s Vacation Bible School for the children at the
school. It was a morning to remember! Picture it: a run-down room in a run-down house
measuring perhaps 10 feet by 12 feet. On the concrete floor are spread a number of bamboo
mats and on the mats sit 45 children ages 2 to 4 years. The room has one window; the walls
are empty except for a bit of dirty, peeling paint. Two teachers – each with a baby
on her back – are in charge and run the class with an enthusiasm that would put
Richard Simmons to shame. I arrive just in time for opening ceremonies. |
Those 45 mites stand and recite a prayer (in English!) followed by the
Lord’s Prayer (also in English). Then they say the alphabet at the top of their lungs
and repeat “A is for apple, B is for boy…” The teachers apologize because
they have only gotten this bit down as far as D. Some dancing follows and then I hand out
the bears. Every single child waits patiently and tells me “thank you”. Next
come “introductions”. Each child stands to say “My name is_____. I am ___
years old. I live in ____. My father’s name is _____. My mother’s name is ____.
I am a boy/girl.” Teacher says “Good work, ____” and the class responds
clap clap clap, clap clap clap,”keep it up!” I think I’m in love. What a
job these two women are doing in a situation so difficult, so discouraging. The only
teaching aids they have are two plastic cups, one red and one green, for color work and a
piece of construction paper on which are pasted a paper square, triangle and circle. They
ask me to bring some picture books of Bible stories the next time I come so they can teach
the children about God at an early age. If this day was any indication, the children are
already being taught.
Then there is the Head Boy, who is in Standard 8 at the School for the Hard of
Hearing. He has little or no hearing and his speech leaves much to be desired, but he is
one of the happiest people I know! At my good-bye dinner, he and the Head Girl were
present along with teachers and others from the mission station. I suspect it was not a
comfortable place for them to be, but his grin was never failing. Perhaps he was there to
eliminate the need for electricity because that smile truly lights up the room. When it
came time for a toast and all stood to clink Coke and Fanta bottles, he tore around the
table to touch bottles with me and the grin got even broader. Speech? Who needs it? He and
I have worked on speech together for 10 years with precious little success but that
evening it really didn’t matter. We are more than teacher and student, we are friends
and fellow Christians.
| My two favorite words in Malawi are “Mama Kalo” and when I hear them
being called from a distance, chances are some of “my kids” are close by. This
year it was three young men who are graduates of the Embangweni School for the Hard of
Hearing now attending Robert Laws Secondary School. We communicate in a polyglot of spoken
English, a little Chitumbuka, signed English and signed Chitumbuka which must seem
confusing but actually works for us. They have been taking exams and are on break –
we are delighted to meet each other. Levi reminds me that he doesn’t know the people
with me (fellow MMM team members) and I do introductions with fingerspelling. Frank asks
(as he always has, just to make certain he knows) for names to be repeated. Shadrach just
stands and smiles but it is obvious he is taking it all in. In 10 years, this pattern has
been repeated many times. We understand each other despite the differences of color and
culture. |
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Malawi is a place of deep and unrelenting poverty. The sheer magnitude of it is
overwhelming. Imagine driving all day, all week for that matter, across this country and
not leaving poverty behind. Mile after mile after mile the scene is repeated of mud or mud
brick huts, narrow trails winding off into the bush, women walking with a bucket or other
load on their heads and one or two or three small children by the hand, goats and chickens
searching for some bite in the dry land, the smoke of cooking fires covering everything.
One never, ever gets used to the constant needs and contrast to the western world of
plenty. The need for food, for water, for clothing, for medical care, for decent schooling
is never-ending. Even in a good harvest year food is hardly plentiful. Even where a
shallow well has been installed, a drink of water means someone will walk to the well and
carry that precious liquid home in a bucket. Clothing is likely to be second-hand bought
in the market and will be worn until it literally falls apart; there may not be the luxury
of a second or third set of clothes. Medical care may not be available because hospitals
or health centers are too far away to get to when the patient must be carried on
someone’s back, on a bicycle or in an ox cart. And yet in many ways Malawi is a place
of joy and faith and giving. Our friends meet us with never-failing smiles. They pray with
us and for us in church, around tables, at well sites. They give out of poverty gifts of
chickens and chitengi, goats and ground nuts, fellowship and faith. They gently tease us
about not caring for sima and for not putting enough sugar in our tea. We tell them they
only like sima so they can play with their food and “tea” is only an excuse to
eat sugar. What a joy it is to be in an environment so familiar and comfortable that we
can jest back and forth! What a joy to be in a place where the Christian faith is spoken
of openly and often. How blessed we are to be reminded often that the widow’s mite is
not just an old parable but is alive and well in Malawi.
Whether this is one’s first trip to Malawi or the twentieth, the place will take hold
and leave a mark on the heart. We warn first-time volunteers that they will never be the
same after a trip with MMM. As I have so often in the past ten years, I heard the magic
phrase from first year volunteers at the final dinner: “Next time I come…”
Was I surprised? Not at all. The shallow wells program has a way of doing that to people.
It is not simply a mission trip to “do something for” the Malawians but also is
a trip that “does something to” those who go. Something deep inside changes when
one not only sees but really experiences the poverty and joy of Malawi and comes to
understand that the three words on each shallow well top slab are to be taken very
seriously: Uchindami kwa Chiuta Glory be to God.
Marion
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