The Chome trip was an incredible experience. Can't imagine all I would have missed out on
if I hadn't gone. It was like a huge reunion, except even better, because I
never knew when-- or where--friends would show up. I searched the
faces of small children to see who I remembered playing ball toss and other
games with on previous trips. Was I ever surprised to see one of those faces on
a young man who was nearly as tall as myself! "Little" Jon is now a
Form 2 student at Chome Secondary School-one of the young boys I was playing
with last year! Wow! Not a little boy any more, but a young man. My friends
from Chome are some of my closest friends in the whole world: friends with whom I can afford to be myself. We
laugh an incredible lot, we discuss ideas, and we also cry together.
One of
those heart-aching moments was when I asked Godwin if we might have time (in
the one day he was with us in Chome) to visit his step-grandmother. With deep
sadness in his eyes, he told me that his grandmother had passed away-just last
month. Whew. I was not expecting that. He did, however, want to go visit
her grave, and so invited me to go along. Another friend, Sean Pious, joined
us. The freshly-dug grave was still studded with flowers that had dried in the
sun during the days since the funeral. We stood silently, side-by-side, many
thoughts coursing through our minds. For me, that moment brought back memories
of my uncle's funeral. For Sean Pious, it was a staunch reminder of his
father's death, four years ago now. For Godwin, defeat filled his heart.
His step-grandmother (he felt) was the only person he
lived for, the only person who really believed in him. Now, she is gone. Our
differences melted away as we shared in one another's pain.
As we left the gravesite in deep contemplation, we
stopped by Godwin's mother's house. His stepfather, who is quite abusive to
Godwin, was away, so we were safe to enter. Godwin's mother insisted on making
us something to eat. Upon hearing that we weren't really hungry, she decidedly
set about making us some "chai" (tea). Drinking our tea, we shared
more of the memories on our hearts. It hurts sometimes to recall painful
experiences, but as we talked, healing was felt. Sean Pious shared with me more
of the details of his father's death. He has laid aside his own goals in life
in order to provide for his family-especially his "young ones"
(brother and sister). It was through tear-filled eyes that I told both he and
Godwin how much I admire their courage. They have had so many trials in their
lives, yet they refuse to give up. Yes, there have been times when they were
distraught about the future, but they have chosen instead to dwell on what they
CAN do to make a difference in the lives of those around them. As I was
commending these young men, Godwin's mother began to cry. She doesn't speak
much English, so I knew she wasn't responding to overhearing our conversation.
Godwin explained to me how she was crying because she remembered the Adventist
World Radio that I had brought to his step-grandmother last year. That gift had
meant so much to her-apparently to the whole family. I thought my heart would
break, as we cried together.
Their pain was so fresh.
It really struck me that here was a life upon whom I could have no more
impact than I'd already had. For her, the Book of Life was closed, the story
had been written. finished.
Before we left, Godwin's mother brought to me a live hen,
wrapped in a plastic bag, all ready for the trek back down the mountain.
Apparently it is custom here to give a guest a chicken, either to be prepared
to eat while they are there, or to take back home with them. With much
gratitude (though a bit of trepidation), I accepted the gift. This hen was much
livelier than one I had been given before.
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