The Visitor

"Do you not like my baby?"

As I sat on the straw mat in the dirt with a small group of ladies, a young mother, smiling, asked me this question (in Makhuwa, but my friend translated for me into Portuguese). As soon as I responded, "Yes, I like your baby!" she took him by the arm and handed him to me. So I held this chubby Mozambican three-month-old in my lap as I chatted with his mother and her friends who had invited me into their circle.

How did I find myself there? A few months ago, I wrote a blog post about my desire for friendship with Mozambican women. Week by week, as I've met with a group of ladies in the village near my house, I've made progress in that. But it struck me during this particular visit that what I had hoped for might actually be happening.

That day, my friend and translator, Hortência, came to my house to accompany me back to her neighborhood, as she does most Fridays. She told me that one lady's daughter was sick, another lady was sick, and another one was away working at her farm (which is common this time of year, during rainy season). I asked Hortência if we should still go, even just to visit the ones who were sick, and she thought that would be good.

Hortência stopped on the way back to her house to get a bucket of water.

When we got there, we went to visit Fátima, the woman whose daughter was sick. We walked over to her house, and she was sitting outside on a mat with her sick daughter and some other women, including her grown daughter, Farita. They invited me to sit down, so we began to chat. 

We greeted each other, and I asked about their illnesses. They explained to me who was sick and what was wrong. Next they asked about what I was wearing, whether my capulana (wrap worn as a skirt) was actually a skirt made from capulana fabric. I told them it was just a capulana but that I had a skirt on underneath. They all laughed at that and said I was smart to know that you should always wear a skirt underneath a capulana. They told Hortência that they wished I spoke Makhuwa so that they could talk with me better. 

After a little more chatting, Hortência said we could study. So I told the story of the birth of Jesus, with Hortência interpreting. Then, as usual, Hortência told the story again in Makhuwa, so they would hear it twice (once completely their heart language) and remember it better. Next I asked whether anyone else could tell the story, and Fátima told it for the group. Finally, I asked a few questions about the story to make sure they understood and see what they had learned.

I had gone to the village that day to visit the sick, some of "the least of these" that Jesus mentions in Matthew 25. I sat with them on their mat rather than in a chair, where I normally sit when I teach. We talked and laughed together. They taught me about their culture. I got to hold a baby, and another baby pooped on my shoe. And I still got to share the Bible story.

Since then, I have made three more visits to the sick in the group. One of the visits was to the hospital, my first time in Mozambique to actually go into the hospital to visit someone there. I took food, because there are no hospital meals—if no one brings you food, you don't eat. 

Then two days later I visited a woman in her home, where she was actually recovering well and served me some food she had prepared. (I even learned the proper way to eat "carragata," a local sticky staple made from cassava root. Note to self: don't chew it, just swallow it. And only touch the food with your right hand—I should have known that one.) 

We left her house to find another member of the group I teach, who was so sick that she had gone to stay with her father. We walked to another neighborhood about twenty minutes away, where we found her resting in her father's house.

Typically during these visits, we greet, ask how the sick person has been doing, ask what the sickness is, and ask how we can help. Often, they need transport to the hospital or money for medication. Then we pray for the sick person and her family. We always try to bring some kind of food or drink as a gesture of compassion.

Although we are primarily here to meet spiritual needs, it seems that often meeting physical needs goes right along with it. There is so much sickness and death. I want to demonstrate to the ladies in my story group the love and compassion of the God and the Christ that I have been teaching them about. In doing so, by visiting them in sickness and providing things like food and medicine, I'm making connections with them that I pray will open their hearts to the Gospel, and the bonus is that these moments help bond us in friendship as well.

The story group I teach in the village

Now we are off to Pemba, so I must say goodbye to these women, leaving them in the hands of Hortência, who I know is capable to teach and minister to them without me, and Becky, my fellow missionary, who can follow up when I'm gone. And as I say goodbye, I hope none of these women has to ask, like the woman with the baby, "Do you not like us?" Because in the time I've spent with them over the past six months, teaching and learning, visiting them in sickness and health, I hope it's become clear to them that I have grown to love them. And I pray they understand, as I've taught them through many stories from the Bible, that the God who created them loves them as well.

"Then the righteous will answer him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?' And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'" (Matthew 25:37-40)

Friends at church