Brooks
Poverty
What does it mean to be without? I wanted to buy a few things before I left home. Funny, now I can’t even remember what they were or what I wanted them for. They seem pretty insignificant now. We went from the U.S. straight into Bujumbura, Burundi to Uvira, DR Congo. Each move was a huge transition in our world’s economy. Anyone could see the difference right away from one place to the other without even stepping out of the car: the roads, the houses, street signs or lack of, markets, schools, vehicles, dress, etc. Could it get worse?
Unfortunately, yes. Sunday we took the long drive, but short distance from Uvira to the village of Makobola to go to the church that meets at the home of the blind twin sisters. We had the luxury of being in a four-wheel drive Land Rover to drive the dirt and rock, one lane road out there. All the way there were many people walking the four hours to reach the village to buy things at the market to haul them all the way back to Uvira to sell them. Yes, many carrying them on their heads or balancing them in huge bundles back and front on their bicycles. I couldn’t help but wonder if one pair of tires would even make it for the long trip back and forth with all of the rocks on the road. Even many of the women had small children walking alongside of them as they strolled along in the mid-day heat.
When we finally reached the village, there alongside the road were many mud houses with thatched or tin roofs, some with doors, many without. We were led into a tiny, dark room and there on a blanket sat women—women who had obviously been waiting for us for a long time. The two sisters sat quietly side by side with other women closely gathered around them. This room and one other is their home and where they meet for church every Sunday. Remy, a church planter, came to this village, shared the gospel with the sisters and they received Christ. They have shared with others and now there are nine of them who meet at their home. None can read or write, but Remy or Stephen come often to teach and share with them. They were so humble and so sweet as they led our time together with some songs they had learned, with smiles on their faces as they sang about Jesus. Remy shared some Scriptures with all of us and then we discussed them. When we were sitting there, I believe God gave me the Scripture “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” These women had NOTHING, but they had more peace, more joy, more hope than any women I’ve ever seen. Roger prayed over them and it was pretty awesome, but gotta tell you, I’m thinking those girls should have been praying for us!
As we left these women, we went to meet with the chief of this village. He was working hard in an outside kiln with a few other men making bricks for houses. He led us into his small home. With sweat pouring off his face, embarrassed, he apologized for his small house and said he had been working hard to make more bricks to rebuild all the houses that had been destroyed in the war—the war when the rebels had killed over 700 of his people. The pain was etched on his face as he spoke and I thought he would start to cry—or I would. The war happened eleven years ago and the pain and misery and destruction is as obvious today as if it happened this morning. Over six million—that’s million—people have died in DR Congo since 1996. It’s inconceivable. It’s unimaginable.
I thought I wanted, even needed something before I left home to come here. Today, I can’t begin to imagine what it would have been.
What does it mean to be without? I wanted to buy a few things before I left home. Funny, now I can’t even remember what they were or what I wanted them for. They seem pretty insignificant now. We went from the U.S. straight into Bujumbura, Burundi to Uvira, DR Congo. Each move was a huge transition in our world’s economy. Anyone could see the difference right away from one place to the other without even stepping out of the car: the roads, the houses, street signs or lack of, markets, schools, vehicles, dress, etc. Could it get worse?
Unfortunately, yes. Sunday we took the long drive, but short distance from Uvira to the village of Makobola to go to the church that meets at the home of the blind twin sisters. We had the luxury of being in a four-wheel drive Land Rover to drive the dirt and rock, one lane road out there. All the way there were many people walking the four hours to reach the village to buy things at the market to haul them all the way back to Uvira to sell them. Yes, many carrying them on their heads or balancing them in huge bundles back and front on their bicycles. I couldn’t help but wonder if one pair of tires would even make it for the long trip back and forth with all of the rocks on the road. Even many of the women had small children walking alongside of them as they strolled along in the mid-day heat.
When we finally reached the village, there alongside the road were many mud houses with thatched or tin roofs, some with doors, many without. We were led into a tiny, dark room and there on a blanket sat women—women who had obviously been waiting for us for a long time. The two sisters sat quietly side by side with other women closely gathered around them. This room and one other is their home and where they meet for church every Sunday. Remy, a church planter, came to this village, shared the gospel with the sisters and they received Christ. They have shared with others and now there are nine of them who meet at their home. None can read or write, but Remy or Stephen come often to teach and share with them. They were so humble and so sweet as they led our time together with some songs they had learned, with smiles on their faces as they sang about Jesus. Remy shared some Scriptures with all of us and then we discussed them. When we were sitting there, I believe God gave me the Scripture “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” These women had NOTHING, but they had more peace, more joy, more hope than any women I’ve ever seen. Roger prayed over them and it was pretty awesome, but gotta tell you, I’m thinking those girls should have been praying for us!
As we left these women, we went to meet with the chief of this village. He was working hard in an outside kiln with a few other men making bricks for houses. He led us into his small home. With sweat pouring off his face, embarrassed, he apologized for his small house and said he had been working hard to make more bricks to rebuild all the houses that had been destroyed in the war—the war when the rebels had killed over 700 of his people. The pain was etched on his face as he spoke and I thought he would start to cry—or I would. The war happened eleven years ago and the pain and misery and destruction is as obvious today as if it happened this morning. Over six million—that’s million—people have died in DR Congo since 1996. It’s inconceivable. It’s unimaginable.
I thought I wanted, even needed something before I left home to come here. Today, I can’t begin to imagine what it would have been.
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