Our time in Xai-Xai and Chiconela (the village where we’re doing the build) is coming to an end. There are a jumble of thoughts and feelings that are beginning to surface in my mind as our departure approaches. It’s a challenge to articulate eloquently at this point.
The conditions, poverty and scarcity in which the people of Xai-Xai and the village of Chiconela are still somehow surreal to me despite the time we’ve spent here. While I expected it, I find myself intrigued, heavy hearted and humbled by it all. The two families for whom we are building are single moms infected with HIV/AIDS, have no plumbing, electricity, sleep on the ground in a hut with a thatched roof with their young children and typically eat only one meal a day.
“Chima” is their daily diet. It is made with a mais that grows in the sand literally around their home as grass does for us. They also gather green leaves to add to it for “nutrition” and flavour. The mother and children spend most of the day preparing and cooking it over an outdoor fire. Eating our very basic lunch in front of them which typically consists of a peanut butter sandwich and/or one or two slices of meat on a bun is like a feast compared to what these families eat and has been a challenge for most of us. It’s hard not to feel guilt or gluttonous when there are so many pairs of innocent eyes watching – children between the ages of 18 months up to 13 years old usually. There’s always at least a dozen or so of them on site hovering just a few feet away and calling some of our names to just say “hello” and take the opportunity to interact with us.
Children are children – not much different around the world. The children here enjoy any attention we give them, they play together, sing and dance and novelties such as stickers is like gold to them. However, there are a few differences here. The children of Chiconela are extremely independent from the time that they are babies. We often observe babies taking care of babies, even carrying them on their back in the traditional African way. Adults are rarely around as the children wander the village and the sandy roads for miles. They are also different in that some show no expression whatsoever. They are stoic – they don’t smile, they don’t cry, and they barely speak. I often wonder what goes through their minds especially when they see us – the white people who came from far away. They are different in that most won’t go to school beyond grade 7 and will be confronted with the realities and responsibilities of adulthood at such a young age. They are different in that children of all ages have physically demanding responsibilities in preparing meals, or herding cattle, or ensuring we have gallons and gallons of water each morning when we arrive to make cement, and gather chairs from neighbours so that we are able to sit around a patio table in comfort when we take a break.
The children here have no toys, no tv, no computers, no games. The only toy we have seen appears to be popular with the boys - a handmade car made of used Coke cans, twine, a few other resourceful hardware items and a stick to push it along. Most children have no shoes and the clothes they wear are tattered and torn. Finally, in many cases their father is either deceased, absent entirely or in South Africa working in the mines whereby they come home for Christmas and Easter only. More importantly, many of the children are undernourished, some infected with HIV/AIDS.
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| A Wire-and-Coke-Can Car powered by a Stick! |
As we soon pack our suitcases and move onto our next adventure and ultimately the “First World”, (a term used by locals here), the biggest challenge is knowing that the people and children of Chiconela will remain to struggle in their day to day lives while we live in a world of abundance, wealth, and frivolity in comparison.
When our vans pull away on Wednesday for the final time and the children smile and yell “bye-bye” in their broken English and call out some of our names as they always do, I am confident there will be some teary eyes on our team – mine for certain. We can take solace though, in knowing that we built a home for two families who will stay dry when it rains and who will never be forgotten by those of us who had the privilege of sharing this time with them. I believe that they have given me the greater gift by embracing us into their home and their lives. “Kanimambo” to the people and children of Chiconela, (“Thank You” in Changana – the local African language).
- Tamara
