Cat's African Adventure

I have realised recently that I constantly ask myself the question, what next? I probably do it every day. What next on the list? What decision must be made? Where do we go from here? I guess the truth is, I ask myself this question repeatedly because I live in a reality of choice. My ‘what next’ question is driven by the assurance that there is indeed a ‘next’. That there is always something more to come. When I look back on my own life, there was actually never a time where I couldn’t ask this question. There was never a time that I didn’t have choice. From the youngest age, I could choose what food I ate, what clothes I would wear and where I would go. Even when I was too young to make my owns choices, my parents made these choices for me. The country and society I was born into gave me a whole world of choice – a huge spectrum of answers to my ‘what next’ questions.

It occurred to me this past week, when I was reflecting on 2 years living in Africa, that even though I left so much that was dear to me in my home country, I still made a choice to come and live here and of course the method, timing, transport and logistics were all my choice. Another sobering thought I had was that if I decided tomorrow to head back to the UK, or to any other country in the world, with perhaps just a few exceptions, it would not be impossible for me to make this happen. My whole world is governed by choice. Of course, I have responsibilities, obligations and commitments that would certainly take priority over any sudden departure, but the truth remains that if I wanted to go, I could go. I’ll mention here that I am still totally and utterly in love with Africa, the calling on my life to be here and the people I am surrounded with, so I have no plans to go anywhere!

When I consider our work amongst Africa’s poorest of the poor children, I increasingly understand the hopelessness that shrouds their lives is perhaps the greatest poverty they will experience – I have written about this several times. They have no hope because they have no choice. Imagine that reality.

It is common place here in Africa for us to attend a funeral at a weekend. The huge wave of Aids that has hit this continent shows no signs of letting up and thousands of people pay the price each day. 6000 children every day stand at the foot of their parents’ grave and face the reality of life as an orphan. I have joined the mourners at so many funerals of people taken by a disease that is still spreading and cradled the children left behind.

Recently, early one Saturday morning, a group of us from Hands at Work were heading to another funeral – this time, of the brother of one of our children we care for. At 21 years old, he had lost his battle against sickness, leaving behind his younger brother and sister.  The sun had barely risen in the sky when we arrived at the home of the family. As is customary in Africa, the funeral service starts at dawn outside the family home and proceeds to the graveside. At 6:20 in the morning, I found myself standing in front of the brother and sister ‘left behind’. The sorrow was etched on their faces, exhaustion clearly weighed them down. I had no words to share with them, nothing to say that would comfort them or take their pain away. I stood helpless. The boy and I know each other well and we spoke for a while about some practical arrangements to feed the many people who had arrived for the funeral. Then we walked around to the back of the house, out of sight of the family and he looked at me squarely in the face. ‘Catherine, what do I do now?’

I felt helpless, unable to answer him or even give him any comfort. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding. I realised I had nothing to say, no words left that would tell this boy that everything would be alright and I had a plan. I didn’t. For many moments, I just stood and looked at the boy, willing my mind to come up with something, yet knowing there was nothing I could say.

Once the funeral was finished and we walked away, that oh so familiar verse from Jeremiah came upon me. The promise of life, of a future and of hope. The words brought healing to my troubled heart and reminded me that when we don’t know what to do, when we have no answers or choices left, there is One who is greater than it all. He knows the plans – He designed them Himself. Plans for good and prosperity, plans for new life and a tomorrow.

It’s a common phrase to hear in South Africa when someone says ‘I’ll make a plan’. On that day, when none of us had a plan for what was next, we turned to the only One who knew the plan. His promise is to give life and a future to us: a future of opportunity, help and choice. When children come to us and ask ‘what next’, we will cradle them, mourn with them and comfort them with the promise of their Heavenly Father.

‘I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out- plans to take great care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.’ Jeremiah 29:11

Part of my role at Hands at Work is to receive project reports from our local offices in each of our 8 African countries. These reports are full of numbers and detail about how we spent donor money, but more importantly, information about the children in the communities who have been impacted by the projects. Hands at Work serve in 62 communities across 8 countries in Africa, caring for well over 40,000 children. These children have been identified as the poorest of the poor. Hands at Work look to serve in communities where no-one else is working, where the poverty level is simply too low for other International NGO’s to work. It is in these places that the world’s poorest people live. There is no food security, no clean water, no schools or clinics. Places where prostitution is rife, alcoholism is dominant, traditional healing is dangerously practiced and the hope and love of Christ is seemingly non-existent. Every single community is different from the next, but bear these frightening similarities.

At the end of my work day this past Wednesday, I felt demoralised, tired and frankly, a little hopeless. Now, those of you who know me will be able to confirm that I am one for list-writing. I make lists of tasks to complete, people to speak to, donors to contact, projects to follow up on….you name it, I’ve got a list for it! By the end of my work day on Wednesday, I felt like I had ticked off nothing. My irritation and attitude were not because of my desire to ‘tick everything off’, as such…but more because I felt like I hadn’t achieved what I should have done. I felt like my hours of work were not rewarded with progress made and new ground taken. I felt like they’d been a waste. It was all down to a mixture of communication challenges (no internet for most of the day), some reports that consumed huge amounts of my time, only to realise they needed re-doing, and a general sense of being too ambitious with what I hoped to do in one day. Whatever the reasons, I did not declare the day a successful one. In bed on Wednesday night, I looked forward to Thursday not as a day with a ‘fresh start’ and renewed hope, but as a ‘I hope tomorrow will be NOTHING like today’ sort of feeling.

Thursday started off like many other days and I couldn’t help the excitement I feel each morning about what the day would hold. At the same time, I still longed for a much more ‘productive’ day than the day before. I was again working in the office, and opened up my computer to tackle some more reports….and then it hit me. I had been spending so much time worrying about the amount I needed and wanted to get done that I had completely overlooked what was staring me in the face.

I read the story.

Naomi* is a girl of just 8 years old. At the tender age of 3 years she watched her father be murdered by men who lived as her neighbours in her community. At the age of 5 years, she nursed her desperately sick, bed bound mother. At the age of 6 years, she buried her mother, and joined 28 million other Africa children who were now orphans. At the age of 8 years, Naomi and her sister were sent far away from the community they were brought up in to stay with their grandparents. Unfortunately, neither their grandmother or step grandfather shows much care or concern for the girls and often demand that they leave the house for extended periods of time. Naomi and her sister were found by Care Workers (our heroes who bring hope) whilst they roamed about the roads in an unfamiliar community. These girls were super vulnerable, super traumatised and super in need of joy, comfort and protection.

I read through this story a few times over. Little Naomi was like a slap in the face that day. Through hearing of the horrors that this precious girl had witnessed in her very short life, I was reminded, thankfully, of exactly where I should be putting my energies, my frustrations, my dissatisfactions. If I can channel my feelings of anger and injustice into serving the least of these, I’ll get a step closer in understanding the extent of the calling God has placed on my life.

On any day, if I find myself angry, disappointed and disillusioned, I want it to be for the sake of another child whose childhood has been miserably stripped away. I want this holy discontent to be my driving force. I want to forget myself and my preferences and realise that no matter what my future looks like, I will always have had a completely privileged life compared to the lives of millions of our children. I want to strive to bring justice to our imperfect world. I want to stand in the gap for children who have no voice and no choice. I want to spend myself for the sake of the poor.

From now on, I will tell these stories more. I’ll not waste my breath talking about the insignificant, but instead I’ll make the stories, and the children, and their futures significant.

Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world. James 1:27 (Mes)

I have lived in Africa for over a year now and it surprised even me that I could so quickly call this place home. I knew I would adapt swiftly, I know I have a spirit of adventure and I desire to make my dreams a reality at all costs, but being able to call somewhere home is a unique, special thing. Living in a country where home can mean a temporary residence, family can be like fleeting strangers and belonging somewhere depends completely on the ability to survive, I consider myself one of a privileged minority that has been brought up in a safe, happy and stable home. Of course it wasn’t perfection, nothing is in this life, but it was secure in virtually every way. Not only did I grow up in a great home, but I also lived in a country that valued family life: a culture that perhaps invented the phrase, ‘there’s no place like home’.

I can call Africa home too, though. I feel refreshed by where I lay my head and comforted by the family around me. Despite how ‘at home’ I feel here though, the culture I now live in still doesn’t come naturally to me – maybe it never will. I find myself feeling comfortable in it, and yet I know there is often a process of translation that goes on in my mind. It is evident in the everyday things: the currency, language, foods and even climate, but in more subtle ways too. I often find myself translating the time it takes people to do things, the huge segregation attitudes between races and even genders, and the reactions of people in the face of suffering. The culture I was brought up in taught me a certain way of reacting and treating people – and up until early last year, I believed this to be a very acceptable and probably correct way of behaving.

These days, not only do I understand how different cultures exist, but I am starting to see that the differences between one and the next are not cause for concern or difficulty, but to celebrate a rich diversity that allows us to deeply appreciate our fellow human being: colour, class, gender, religion, language, race or upbringing regardless. I truly believe this, and can recognise and delight in this every day, and yet until very recently I struggled with the idea of having 2 cultures I felt at home in, 2 very different places I could call home.

In September this year, I left Africa for 3 weeks, on route to England for my sister’s wedding. Thanks to the joy of airmiles that seem to be accumulating at a steady rate, I decided to call in at a country I have passed through countless times, yet never stayed in.

Dubai, in the Arab Emirates is a modern, fast paced super city, built right on the desert floor itself. Souring heat envelops everyone and everything which apparently is an attraction to thousands of tourists every month: so many, it appeared to me, that one would think the city only existed as a temporary residence for holiday makers. Temporary is a word that would aptly describe this place – food is delivered in an instant, tourist attractions are paid for and experienced in a moment and people come and go as quick as the sun sets each night. My budget dictated I would be staying in ‘Bur Dubai’ – the old part of the city which is, sadly rarely visited. I stayed in the heart of a market place: gold to my left, fabrics to my right and spices everywhere! What I found here was a buzzing and vibrant community and a honest window into the lives of real people. As I try to whenever I travel, I befriended a local family who owned a shop in the fabric market and they invited me for dinner. As we sat around a table eating food prepared in a family kitchen, I felt strangely at home again – that feeling of safety, comfort and joy. I knew I didn’t belong in the culture, if anything I felt like a stranger in a completely foreign place, and yet I experienced feeling ‘at home’.

Whilst I was in England, having a wonderful time celebrating at the wedding, and spending precious time with family and friends, I delighted in being in a very familiar home. I’ve realised this year that it is the people who make a place a home – and I loved spending time with the ones closest to me. It is heart-warming to expect and experience this each time I go back to the UK. What I didn’t expect, however was how alien the culture there had become to me. I do love being in the UK, but the sense of how different I felt was so tangible.

When I first arrived in Africa I experienced what I can best describe as culture shock: where everything is different to what I understood to be normal, and where I felt a yearning to understand and accept my surroundings. It seems to me that every international volunteer at ‘Hands at Work’ goes through this in some form, sometimes right at the beginning and for a short time, and sometimes it comes and goes, as in my case. Until recently I struggled with how quickly I could call several places home and yet feel like I didn’t belong to any one culture. I attempted to convince myself I either belonged in the culture I had been born into or the culture I now lived in – but neither was true.

Troubling as this seemed at first, I also discovered a new truth that completely turned on its head my understanding of which culture was mine. Serving the poorest of the poor, in some of the darkest places on this continent, where people have no hope and where a simple pleasure like home is completely denied, I now realise I have been called to a different culture altogether. A Kingdom Culture means my belonging is found in Christ. It means my daily steps are not guided by the normal or familiar but I follow in the footsteps of a radical, hope-bringing, life-giving saviour. I belong to a Kingdom Culture that exists solely to serve others and to bring transformational life to people here on earth. It is unlike any other culture I have experienced, one that I deeply love yet one I certainly don’t feel at ease in – the demands of this culture shock me to my very core, they shake the foundations of who I am and what I am doing here on earth. As 2011 draws to a close, I understand now more than ever what our watchword for this year means for me:

‘It is in Christ that we find out who we are, and what we are living for.’ Ephesians 1:11

I am on the tail end of a very busy 3 months, where I seem to have spent more time travelling through Africa than I have at my base in South Africa, not that I am complaining for one moment though! It has been an absolute joy and a true privilege to be able to immerse myself in both the projects that Hands at Work are operating in very poor communities across Africa, and in the bountiful richness and complex diversity of different cultures. At each border crossing or airport, I am filled with a desire to learn, to capture what makes a county unique and to begin to understand how to process the dreadful, unimaginable situations the poor face, and then somehow how Hands can help to support, encourage and bring hope.

I have recently spent some time in Swaziland, often taking visitors or teams to see our existing projects there, as well as dreaming and planning to go much deeper into our communities: to fulfil our commitment to serve ‘the least of these’ in the poorest of the poor communities across Africa. To give a brief summary of Swaziland, it is a country of just over a million people, and the last remaining absolute monarchy in the entire world. It is completely land-locked by South Africa, yet independent. Swaziland is one of the most beautiful countries I have ever seen across the world, where mountains tower majestically all around, sweeping into breathtaking valleys. Summers are extremely hot, winters brutally cold and the poor are in absolute abundance. Swaziland has the highest rate of HIV and AIDS, not just across Africa, but across the entire world. The known rate is 26%, but the government believe it to be as high as 40% – more than 1 in 3. Amongst its 1 million people, there are over 200,000 orphans, at least half of which due to the effects of HIV and AIDS. Poverty is severe and opportunities for a better future unattainable. The hopelessness and resignation felt amongst the people is stark and painfully honest. Swaziland seems to be a country closed off to the world. A country I knew nothing about until arriving here and a country on a steady, miserable decline. I am convinced that the history books written about this point in history will ask what the world has done to respond to the AIDS pandemic sweeping the globe. Swaziland may well be written about as the best example of a country forgotten about, marginalised – a country of such huge crisis, led by the wealthy, yet populated by the very poorest. If ever there was a place that demonstrated the brokenness and inequality of the 21st century world, I believe Swaziland is it. What on earth can we do to help?

Hands at Work are not heroes. We don’t get everything right, and we are daily humbled by our mistakes. We are learning, we are developing, we are in such need of so much, and yet…

We are committed to the poorest of the poor. We will serve where no one else will. We passionately and unashamedly believe in the Biblical mandate that commands us to be a Father to the fatherless, a voice for the voiceless, a friend to the widow and a hope to the broken. Swaziland is our calling, and I am nervously excited for the unknown, yet still trying to comprehend the magnitude of the work before us. Sometimes my temptation is to look ahead to what needs to be done, and declare a resignation from the beginning. Getting involved makes no practical sense, it seems we are pushing against an enormous wave of crisis and we feel unequipped, probably unprepared and often unskilled…and yet, we are drawn to bringing God’s hope to this earth. As a follower of Christ, my belief is that Christ died for all mankind…all. He saw no separation between skin colour, country, culture or religion – we have done that. Christ came for each and every person, one by one.

Last week, I walked through the hills of Swaziland towards a hut nestled in a valley, surrounded by the imposing mountains. Living in the house was a girl of 16 years. She greeted us with a smile – which is always a wonder to me, and a question – what are you doing here?

She showed us into her humble home – the minimal possessions she had were meticulously placed and cared for and the 2 rooms were incredibly tidy. The pride in the little she had stayed with me that day. Side by side, we sat together as she shared her story with me. At the age of 8, her mother died leaving her and her brother alone. Their father had died years before, and so these kids joined an ever increasing orphan population. 8 years on, these siblings are now competent, expert survivors. They have taught themselves how to survive, rather than enjoy living. The pain and the hardship in this girls eyes have been etched on my mind ever since. Perhaps the most humbling thing this girl told me was that she didn’t need or want a hand out, she didn’t ask for anything, and yet she only desired to be offered a chance to experience hope. She longed for a day when she woke up feeling expectation, hope and a dream for her future. I guess I have never known what it feels like to be hopeless and to not have a dream for the future, all because I was born somewhere else.

When we had to say goodbye to this beautiful girl, she looked around at us all and thanked us for coming to see her, and then her final words left me with a precious lesson I hold tight to. She told us that she didn’t want anything from us, and didn’t need us to bring her anything. She only desired to be visited in her home, listened to, encouraged and shown that her life was valuable and that she was not alone. At that moment, and going forward into these coming months and years, this will be my driving force for working in Swaziland. We are to bring hope to the hopeless, show value to the marginalised and bring love to those that don’t feel joy. That’s what I am doing here and that’s what we will be doing in Swaziland.

Living in South Africa for the past 9 months has taught me many things and allowed me to discover a country packed full of history, unique culture and tradition that infiltrates daily life and shapes entire communities. I guess one of the most startling discoveries is the far-from-forgotten apartheid era that still plagues daily life for many people. In the great expanse of time, the dreadfulness of apartheid was only yesterday. For many, though, its effects are still part of today. It seemed to me that on first glance, the oppression of black people by the white people who lived side by side to them was hidden from view. That it was a shameful act, committed by a minority – far from the view of most. I also couldn’t spot it at first. I thought I had arrived in a country that had seen the end of an era where the rich and poor, black and white were vastly separated by economics, environment and opportunity.

I am not for one minute suggesting that the poverty and deprivation experienced by millions here is down to that one dark period in history – I have learnt that the grip of poverty is far more complex and long-standing than that. However, the effects of that time are clearly still holding their grip on many lives – and in surprising ways. Let me give a couple of examples…

Recently, a friend of mine went to a scrap yard just outside of our nearest town, to find parts for a vehicle owned by Hands at Work. On arriving, he was greeted by the owner – a white guy in his 50’s. After getting an affirmative that the required scrap vehicle was indeed present in the yard, Dave, our mechanic asked to be taken to the car. The owner, without hesitating or showing any sign of either shame or embarrassment looked Dave in the eye and exclaimed, ‘the black will take you’. Stunned and humiliated for Stephen, the worker from Mozambique who was so arrogantly referred to, Dave proceeded to follow this guy into the yard and complete the simple task he had set out to do.

Dave’s experience of how Stephen had been treated was, sadly not the first story that had been brought back to Hands. Sometimes the stories aren’t always as blatant as this one – but we see this dreadful, humiliating, sinful racism all too often. The effects of this period are obvious across the generations, and sometimes, perhaps most worrying of all, the children of this otherwise beautiful country are also mimicking their elders in their judgement of those unlike themselves. This is a deep crisis: children are not born with the ability or desire to elevate themselves because of the colour of their skin or the origins of their heritage. They are taught it, they learn it.

In a different kind of way, the racial divide between those with different skin colours also exists towards white people too. Let me explain what happened last week…

I was driving into Belfast; a community in Bushbuckridge to do some filming for the day – to encourage more people to come out to Africa! The drive into Belfast from my base in White River is about an hour away –and as you drive deeper into the heart of Bushbuckridge you become more and more aware of how much people stop and stare as the car goes past. In a strange kind of way, I am used to it now, and certainly don’t feel as uncomfortable as I used to. It is what it is. However, attracting this kind of attention in the communities themselves often has a harsher impact.

On my approach into Belfast and down towards the feeding point, my car slowed down to a crawl as dozens and dozens of small children came running from every direction, shouting ‘Mlungu! Mlungu!’ News travels fast in communities too – faster than it seems possible, and within minutes, barefoot children were running across the dirt towards the feeding point to come and greet us. Again, this is not too unusual and the growing relationship between me and the kids gives this kind of a day its joy.

Part of our plan for filming was to capture the most vulnerable children being given food at the feeding point – and the care workers just love to get us involved in the preparation and delivery of the food too! It was behind a huge pot of maize meal, or pap, that I discovered a crisis that runs deeper that I had previously understood. We had drawn huge attention that day, and ever-increasing numbers of children had gathered from the surrounding houses to be with us. We held a captive audience with the camera equipment too. The children dutifully queued up behind the huge pot of pap, all desperate and incredibly dependent on this one hot meal per day, and I realised that the food wouldn’t feed even half of the kids. Half of these children would go home hungry. These children had been attracted by us, and now we couldn’t provide for them. It is gut wrenching and painful to stare into the eyes of a hungry child and send them away.

On that day in Belfast, the colour of our skin really mattered. It attracted children because they were expectant of something. They had learnt to receive hand-outs from the Mlungu’s and were hopeful. This learned dependence sent 38 children home with empty tummies that day.

It is perhaps an unrealistic dream to be bothered by stories like these, or to expect this country to change their attitudes and behaviours, but I believe I must still dream for this. It is becoming clear to me that I must fight for truth and equality at all costs. For our country to develop beyond itself, our future generations must be coached into learning that there is a bountiful richness to our different cultures, a joy to be celebrated in our differences and strength in being united. A true visionary dared to want more for the future, and I too am inspired and motivated by his declaration: I have a dream…

It is Friday evening, about 9pm and I am moments away from sleep. In just a few short hours, our village, here at the hub of Hands at Work in South Africa will be awake, and ready to hit the road on the way to Zambia. The expectancy and anticipation lingers in the air and the hours are being wished away before tomorrow comes. What is in store is something that will inspire and encourage, at the deepest of levels, the men and women who have sacrificed their entire lives to serve the poorest of the poor in the communities across Africa. They have given everything for the sake of those who have no voice. Those who are so vulnerable, that they simply must live in the moment only – for tomorrow is always an unknown. Those for whom the feeling of absolute desperation is an absolute normality. We will be travelling to Northern Zambia, where the Care Workers will sit together with our international partners, our church leaders will sit with the volunteers from the hub – and celebrate together.  We will learn, hear stories, understand more, and be broken, as we hear of the reality that exists for our children across Africa.  I’ll write a little every couple of days whilst I am away so you can be a part of the journey unfolding….

Saturday 9^th April: Early this morning, our old VW camper van pulled out of the gate from the Hands at Work village. 5 of us set off on a drive up through South Africa, towards the Northern border of Martin’s Drift. As the highways gave way to the smaller roads, and the bustle of the cities merged into the tranquillity of the small villages, we pressed on towards Botswana. By early afternoon, we had reached the border – a mass of offices, check points and paperwork. We had been through this process many times before, and prepared ourselves for an afternoon of justifying our reasons for being in the country and repeatedly presenting the mound of documents we had arranged for our vehicles and equipment. It took less than 30 minutes for the whole process to be completed – an absolute miracle! That afternoon, we especially enjoyed the drive through Botswana in the hours of daylight. We passed through thick bush and roaming wild elephants, dodging scatty warthogs and donkeys crossing the roads. The sun was high and hot: it scorched the already parched grasses on the roads we travelled. The monotony of each hour made us grow weary but we were expectant of our arrival in Nata, Botswana. Tonight, finally laying down to rest after a long day, we camped in a bush lodge underneath a vast starry sky. We all agree that we have seen the true beauty of Africa today – and we are eager for more tomorrow.

Sunday 10^th April: We left Nata early and hit the road, eager to get to our next destination with plenty of time to spare. Today, we travelled through Botswana until we reached the Zambezi River. These majestic waters are also a busy crossing point into Zambia – our destination. Our van was driven, with much needed precision onto a floating platform and we stood precariously around it as the roaring diesel engine shuddered and spluttered to an unconvincing start. As we slowly made our way across the rapid river waves, men with punts in wooden long boats passed us by. Their day of fishing for Zambezi bream was soon from over. It was with sheer relief to be on dry land after the ferry touched down – and it felt great to be in Zambia once again. After just a couple of hours, we arrived in Livingstone, our home for the night. This town is made famous by the Victoria Falls and we were so eager to experience them. We had been warned that April is peak water flow, and we would get wet –but nothing prepared us for the sheer force and volume of water that erupted over the lip of the falls. We stood on a bridge, with Zimbabwe to our left, and Zambia on our right, and were engulfed by the water. We stood a foot deep in the water on the bridge alone, and every inch of us was soaked through- what an incredible experience! We left the falls at dusk as a rainbow arched over the cascading water and through the thick spray. A breathtaking reminder of the unspoilt splendour of Africa’s beauty.

Tuesday 12^th April: I’m not sure I have ever moved more tables, chairs, electrical equipment and lighting in my life, than I did today! Our celebration starts tomorrow – and the sense of anticipation of what is going to happen over the next few days is palpable. Over 20 of us from the hub in South Africa are here in Zambia for the celebrations – and everyone is drained. We have exhausted every ounce of energy in our bodies, but we are filled with expectation for what is to come. Tomorrow brings a renewed hope to the hearts of hundreds. It is when the strong will be made weak. When the assured will be humbled. When the tall become lowly. We will hear real stories from real people who serve the real poor. It will be a time of challenge, of equipping, and of thankfulness – that there are many hundreds of brave people who still, in this broken world we live in, understand, practice and champion sacrifice. Not the kind of sacrifice that comes full circle, that benefits the giver, that gratifies or cheers- but the kind of sacrifice that is unseen, is gut-wrenchingly hard in its consistent demand. Sacrifice that is purely about serving the needs of someone else, beyond oneself. I have never witnessed anything more beautiful in my life, than to step into the life of someone who has nothing left to give – who is so poor that they exist rather than live. When that person chooses to look beyond themselves and their unimaginable struggle to survive, and seek out others who somehow live one step further towards despair….it is sheer beauty, stripped back and raw.

Friday 15^th April: To celebrate the simplicity of life is an African norm. We thank God for providing the rain, and the sun, our mouths to sing and our feet to dance. We thank Him for His love and His promises. To celebrate the simplicity of the act of giving has become momentous to me in these last few days. I have heard story after story of how wonderful people have chosen to give – of their time, of their resources, their homes, their love, their voices…. it has been truly inspiring. As nearly 200 people gathered together, from 8 African nations, and 5 international countries we once again were able to look at each other and say ‘we are one’. Hands at Work don’t pretend to have the answers to the crisis raging across Africa. We don’t pretend, either, to get things right all, or even most of the time. We do, however, hold firm to our commitment to Africa’s most vulnerable children, that we will be united together in our work. Everyone serving in Hands has a unique story to tell – and we tell them often. We are united by a common purpose though. Our goal, which we steadfastly, unashamedly and passionately strive for every day unites my friend Farai in Zimbabwe with Erick in the DRC. Ivy in Malawi is united with Mary in Zambia. Peter in Nigeria is working for the same reason Dara in Mozambique is. Nomsa in Swaziland and me, here in South Africa are in this work together. We have revelled in the celebrations over these past few days…but there is work to be done. Over this next weekend the family will scatter back across Africa – and the world…and continue to serve, to obtain the precious, beautiful ability to sacrificially give until it hurts. This is what Hands at Work do every day…an incredible privilege and a life’s commitment.

 It has taken me a good few weeks to reflect on my time in Zambia, back in January/February, though it has never been too far from my thoughts these past few weeks. I was in Zambia to meet with the Regional Support Team, to plan the year ahead, make commitments together and be reminded that we are one large family, despite the hundreds, sometimes thousands of kilometres that separate each of our African countries. 

Leaving the bustle of Johannesburg and flying into rural, dusty, sizzling hot Zambia was like the difference between the UK in winter and South Africa in the summer! As the plane came to land on a small dirt airstrip in Ndola, we flew right over small clutches of thatched huts and women working the fields, driving herds of goat and cattle from the noise of the engines, eventually coming low enough to wave to the exhilarated children walking home from school through the grasses. Zambia was rural, dusty, bone dry and wide spread – but captivating in its beauty and appeal.  

I navigated the visa control – which I am fast discovering is not so much about whether you have the right documents ready, but more whether you have the right currency to pay your way through. Carrying US dollars, Zambian Kwatcha and South African Rand is essential. My rucksack was picked through, piece by piece, my laptop screened and my passport temporarily confiscated for examination, but I was through, eager and yearning to discover ‘the heart of Africa’ that so many had discovered before me.

I was staying in Luanshya, about 40 minutes from the airport. Hands at Work own ‘Katchele Farm’ – a working, functional farm with accommodation for Hands at Work volunteers and visiting teams. It was basic – much more so than my room at the village in South Africa, but it was wonderful to be staying in a house for a change, and with great friends from our wider Hands family. The first few days were spent with the Hands teams from Zambia, Malawi and the DRC, planning and making preparations for the year ahead: how we would reach the most vulnerable, most desperate, most isolated children, from the most impoverished, most neglected, highest risk communities – an incredible responsibility but something we are deeply stirred and driven by every day. In my new role communicating with our partners overseas, it is essential that I experience first- hand what Africa’s precious children live like each day, and become a voice for the heroes who daily care for, feed and love each one.

Mid way through my time in Zambia, I travelled by bus up to Kitwe – an experience in itself! I shared the back row of a bus, so packed full of people, bags, even chickens, that I was uncertain about how we would eventually all ‘unpack’ the other end. We did arrive though, just as the sun was going down over the vast fields of corn that surrounded the small house I would be staying in over the next few days. Each day in Kitwe, I was able to spend time in the communities that suffer so dreadfully from the grips of the AIDS pandemic, and from the associated poverty issues. I visited many children, patients and widows – I cradled desperately sick infants and bathed very weak grandmothers. I tried to understand. I struggled.

I was, once again gripped by the magnitude of the need, and comforted by the amazing hope that the Care Workers bring every day. These people, mostly desperately poor themselves, give sacrificially of their time, their energy, their skills, the little food and money they have, to the even less fortunate in their communities. They are unpaid volunteers – they are heroes. Their hearts for the poor are what made Zambia, for me, truly amazing. Amidst the suffering, the helplessness, the starvation and the loneliness, dozens and dozens of Care Workers walk the dirt tracks through the communities. They walk into children’s homes, into their lives…and leave footprints of hope all over them. They are an inspiration to me – they are the heart of Africa.

In some ways, Christmas seems like such a long time ago now. In others, the memories of this past Christmas season are still so fresh. I can still remember waking up in early December in the heat of Africa, so excited to be getting on a plane that day and travelling back to England – and back to the snow! As each of the 32 hours passed, and I travelled through 3 countries and countless time zones, my longing to be back with my family and friends was growing. I was excited to just ‘be’ with everyone again – sharing in all the small day to day things again: the things that email, skype and letters just can’t quite replace.

Christmas back in England was wonderful – truly wonderful. I was so happy to see my family again and enjoy all the small things that I’m sure I used to take for granted – Sunday roasts, playing games, evenings watching TV together. In many ways, this was my favourite part of being back – just all the normal day to day things and feeling like a regular part of the family again. Of course, being back on December 10th, I was also able to enjoy the build up of Christmas too – which is probably the best bit for me – I love Christmas at church, seeing trees go up, hearing Christmas music in shops and watching kids nativity plays. I also had the privilege this Christmas, to speak at school carol services in their last week of term. I felt the privilege and pressure of trying to communicate a message of challenge and hope to the children and their parents, amidst the extravagance and consumerism of the season, having lived and worked with desperately poor people.

Whilst being back in my English home, I was also able to spend time with many friends and people who have so generously, and in some cases, so sacrificially given to support me in Africa. It was a very busy time, and I look back now and sometimes wonder how on earth I managed to see so many people in such a short amount of time, but I also recognise that it was something I desperately wanted to do, too. I loved being with everybody again: having meals together, going out for walks, playing with kids, having coffee.

I didn’t realise how much I had missed everybody – both family and friends, until I was back with everyone again. I was in a new sort of reality – where I had spent 4 months creating a new home, but where I had a whole other place – completely different to Africa – that I could still call home. On each side of the world, I have 2 families which I am a part of, 2 rooms that are mine, 2 places I love to be.

January came round very quickly and I soon found myself back in the heat and back to the familiar. It was, again a long trip back – a car, train, 2 planes and a bus brought this tired girl back to the Hands village at 10:30pm one Thursday night. To my surprise and delight, most of the village was still awake – a very unusual sight indeed – but a very welcome one! It was hugs all round, catch ups and stories, then bed…and it felt great to be back.

The next few days at Hands weren’t the relaxed start one might wish for – but I wasn’t in the least bit surprised. There was much to catch up on, although I had done my best to work from England a little each day. Catching up on work would need to wait a few days, though, as the Hands at Work board met on the Friday and Saturday and I was taking the minutes – something I really enjoy doing, but I found myself so captivated by what was being discussed, I had to very intentionally remember that I wasn’t actually able to ask questions or give my opinion – I needed to record the discussion, and allow people to make sense of it! The Monday and Tuesday right after was an opportunity for a team of Hands leaders to head away on ‘retreat’ to strategically and spiritually plan for the year ahead. Again, I was to help with the minutes, but also to take part, which was such a privilege. I was able to learn, appreciate and be challenged by the bigger picture of Hands, and also to understand some of the goals that Hands have set for the year.

One of our key goals for 2011 is how we manage and communicate our projects on the ground across Africa. A project could be anything from a feeding program, to drilling a borehole, building a community school to de-worming orphaned children. As a non-governmental organisation, Hands doesn’t receive any financial help from the government. We therefore rely on donors or ‘partners’ as we like to call them, to fund the projects on the ground. It is our responsibility and our accountability to our partners to tell them how their money is being spent. We should be telling them about the benefit their funding has brought, and the lives it has impacted. In turn, the partners also want to hear real life stories about real people who are living thousands of miles from them who rely on their support.

Hands have asked me to fulfil this new role – to communicate between the people working on the ground, and the people who help to make their dreams and goals a reality. This role will include understanding how projects on the ground actually work, how the team supporting these projects assist the people across Africa and then how this information, the stories, budgets, photos, and reports get fed back to our partners. I am so excited by this new possibility and nervous too. Nervous that this is a brand new role for Hands, and therefore we are clarifying the definition of the role as it develops, but so excited too to be involved in a role that brings 2 very separate worlds together – something that I am beginning to understand perhaps.

So, I write this blog from Zambia. I am sat on the step outside the main building of a farm that belongs to Hands at Work, deep in the heart of rural Zambia. An incredibly peaceful country, Zambia also has more than its fair share of poverty related issues: huge rates of HIV and Aids, starving children, communities with no clean water and therefore high disease rate and a lack of hope amongst thousands of people. It is also somewhere where a huge amount is being developed by Hands at Work. I am here to meet with leaders from the Zambia ‘RST’ (Regional support team) and get to know them and their work a little better. I’m sure this is just the first trip of many out into Africa, but the people I am going to meet each time will be a part of Hands’ family. There is a saying here at Hands and in Africa – ‘we are one’. That saying would only be true of real family, and family makes a home – there is no place like it.

It started like any other day. It ended in much the same way. What happened during the course of the day, though, has been one of the defining moments of my time in Africa, since arriving 12 weeks ago.

I have been busy recently, hosting international visitors who have journeyed to the hub here in South Africa to find out more about who we are and what we do. It is a role I just love. I have the privilege of integrating these visitors to our family here; exposing them to the work we are doing in very vulnerable communities and working with them to develop fantastic potential partnerships for the future. It is a role that excites me and challenges me, but one that I feel incredibly humbled to be doing. One of the great aspects of this role is the amount of time I am able to spend with these visitors in the community. It is nothing short of a joy to see the way the visitors see first-hand the impact that our work has on the lives of very vulnerable people. They see a glimpse into what bringing hope can really mean.

Last week, I was out in one of our link communities in Bushbuckridge, about 45 minutes away from our base. The hugely enjoyable objective of the day was to show the visitors how a feeding point works out in a community, and to connect them with the care workers – the heroes who bring hope into children’s hearts, and food into their stomachs.

We arrived at the care centre shortly after 11, and as I pulled up to the side of the building, I turned to my visitors and asked a simple question: ‘Are you ready?’

They smiled eagerly, and replied: ‘Ready for what?’

No sooner had my door opened when dozens of beautiful toddlers swarmed the car. I instantly got out and greeted them all, bending down to hug as many as my arms could contain, and conversing in the small amount of Shangaan I have found essential to pick up. My visitors stepped out of the car with wide-eyes, and huge smiles for the waiting crowd, though somewhat taken aback by the abundance of little children now at their feet. I will never grow tired of the moment that visitors realise that the language barrier doesn’t really matter to a 3 year old – if you are willing, have a lap to sit on, have hair to stroke and a knack for drawing animals in the dirt, you will get along fine.

Whilst my visitors revelled in the beautiful simplicity of playing with the children, I chatted with the care workers whilst helping them with a few small, but essential jobs: organising files, connecting up a printer for them and unloading a recent delivery of maize meal. I was just coming to the end of the unloading when one of the care workers approached me. She had a look of concern and urgency about her as she asked me to come and see a ‘sick child’ in one of the rooms.

In a side room – one of the only spaces that the other children were not occupying, underneath the open window was a blanket outstretched on the floor. On it laid a very tiny, very sick little boy. Sitting down next to the child, and looking into his eyes, I felt fear. He was sick. He was sweating profusely, had skin almost too hot to touch, a distended belly and deeply yellow eyes…and he could not get up. I laid my hand on his chest and felt his heart pounding with such a pace that I knew he needed to get help. The care worker asked if I would drive him to the local clinic – and would I do it immediately.

In less than 5 minutes, I has scooped the child up and taken him to lie on the back seat of the car, and together with his care worker, we were driving down the dirt tracks towards the clinic. The care worker filled me in on the child’s family situation. He was an orphan, being cared for by his uncle, who was also sick. The care worker told me he spends much of his time wandering through the community, in and out of people’s houses – a real part of local culture here, but a real source of vulnerability for a child not-yet- 4 years old.

As we were driving through the community, I spotted something up ahead, in the middle of the track. As we drew closer, I realised with surprise that it wasn’t an animal – a frequent wandering sight, but a baby. About 18 months old, he was standing in the centre of the road, howling for his momma. As I stopped the car, and the care worker stepped out, she said she knew the child. She had seen him just a day before at the funeral of his mother, who had been buried along with 4 other people from the community: 4 more precious victims, robbed by HIV.

In that moment, with a lost, distraught baby in front of me, and a desperately sick child behind, I was painfully reminded about exactly why I am here, and the crisis that exists all around me that daily stirs me into action. We are here to bring hope, speak up for those that have no voice, and change the tomorrow for Africa’s most vulnerable children.

The baby was returned to his sleeping grandmother, who has now become a mother again to 5 small children. The sick boy was treated and is now slowly recovering, but the memories of that afternoon have not left me – and I hope they won’t for a long while.

It is with indescribable joy, and gut wrenching challenge that we continue to serve here – what an amazing privilege, and a stark reality that every day we have the opportunity and responsibility to change lives…one by one.

Seek justice. Encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the Fatherless, plead the case of the widow. Isaiah 1:17

It feels like I have been here forever. Actually, it has only been 9 weeks – but I have learnt, observed, listened to and experienced so much in my short time here, and the weeks seem to be flying past with a relentless pace. Every day, my role here seems to change and develop, with new responsibilities and possibilities being passed my way. I am discovering how I can be effective here, where I can serve at the point of most need, and what the long term opportunities will look like. Many people have asked me what I am specifically doing here, what my day to day looks like. I’ll do my best to give you a picture here of what a typical day in the life of this UK-born, African-living girl looks like…

It is Wednesday morning and still quite early. The sun is up; high in the sky and the air feels heavy- it’s going to be a hot day. The surrounding wildlife are announcing the start of the day and people start to emerge from their rooms. I am living at the Hands ‘village’ – our hub here in South Africa. The village comprises of a large meeting room and kitchen, surrounded by bedrooms and outside bathroom blocks. Further up the hill at the village are houses where long term volunteers and families live. We are one community though – living and working together each day. I share my room at the village with a girl from the USA who is staying until May, and a girl from Cape Town who will be with us until February. The room is basic, but really comfortable, and great to be shared.

By 6:30am, most people are up and getting ready for the day ahead. Breakfast today consists of fresh papaya eaten out on the terrace, and I sit beneath Legogate – the mountain that overshadows the Hands village. It is beautiful here. Mornings in Africa start early –almost as if we arise with the sun – I surprised myself as to how quickly I have adapted to this.

By 8am, all the Hands volunteers go off to their small groups, spread around the village in different homes. Small groups are a great way to learn together and journey together and we are currently studying Hebrews 11. Everyone studies this at the same, including those out in our other African countries – just one of the ways we are intentional about being united in growing and journeying together.

After we have met, I walk the 10 minutes down the dirt track from the village to have a quick meeting about plans for next week and then head for the office. This is situated on the ‘African School of Mission’ campus that Hands at Work are currently using. I am based in the HR office, which works closely with the Africa and International teams. I spend a couple of hours connecting by phone and email with potential international volunteers who are looking to serve with Hands, and also work on some schedules for my upcoming visitors – one of my roles here is to host international visitors during their stay – and this is something I am growing to love. I currently have 2 ladies from the UK who have come to find out about who we are and what we do. I have been taking them into communities and showing them various projects that they might want to get involved in when they get home.

By late morning, I drive my 2 guests out to a couple of our link communities – Cork and Belfast. These are about an hour away from the village and have been partnered with hands for a few years now. Once my guests are settled in Cork, connecting with the care workers, feeding the orphaned children and giving homework help, I go on to Belfast. I am here today to re-visit the child-headed family I stayed with a few weeks ago – to continue to build relationships and try to address some challenges they have had over the past few weeks. I do this alongside the care workers who daily give so freely of themselves to these vulnerable children – and they are a constant inspiration to me. I am reminded that everything Hands does is about building capacity in, and encouraging the communities to serve in the most effective way possible to reach out to those most in need. I walk through the community towards the house that has been in my thoughts so much in the last few weeks and I feel humbled to experience the privilege to connect again with this family.

Later, after the hour’s drive back, I debrief with my guests about their experiences in Cork, and use this to help in my communication with the country office back in the UK – we communicate with them often about continuing the relationships we have made with our visitors. I spend some time preparing the ‘hands on deck’ schedule for Friday – a chance for every volunteer to come together to hear stories ‘from the field’ in South Africa, and in our other partner countries. This is a very encouraging and inspirational time.

Tonight, the ‘village people’, as I have affectionately named us all, are eating together and sit to chat about what the day has been like – we all share stories from where we have been, who we have met with and what we have done. Bedtime follows after a final cup of local Sabie coffee, sipped outside beneath the abundance of stars. Avoiding stepping on all the frogs, for I walk barefoot most of the time here, I head to my room – the darkness has brought an end to the day, but things are far from quiet. I sleep to the familiar sounds of African animals coming to life and the distant noise of the communities still awake. 

Every day here is different but the goal is always the same – reaching out to the poorest of the poor in whatever way we can, building capacity in local communities and encouraging the local ‘heroes’ who daily care for the sick, vulnerable and widowed in their communities. It is an absolute privilege to be involved in the work here and I am in love with this amazing country.