A Road Less Traveled
by Cindy Packard

It was only a brief encounter but it will be forever seared in my mind and heart. Her weathered face told the story of the shared struggles of women in Africa. Alone, blind and without hands or feet she had endured the cruelties of war, poverty, and oppression, and yet she had survived. I placed a small loaf of bread in the bag hung from her outstretched arm. I think it was then that my life turned down a different road.

It was my first trip to Mozambique some four years ago. She had approached our van while we stopped for gas off a dusty, red dirt road. I first noticed her eyes, white with blindness staring straight ahead. She didn't say a word, just held up the bag hung on her arm. As I looked I could see her hands were gone, clean at the wrists. Then as I looked down at her feet I realized they were gone too. She was walking on hardened heal-like stumps. I learned later that in war, cutting off hands and feet is a common practice of intimidation.  We watched her shuffle away and sit down on the ground to eat her meager meal. As we drove away none of us spoke.  It was all too much to fathom. On one end there was the injustice and suffering she and surely others here must have endured, and on the other end the indomitable human will to live and go on, despite these kinds of burdens. I could only offer her a loaf of bread. I have never felt so inadequate.

It began to dawn on me then how little I really knew about poverty and suffering.  From our air-conditioned car we had watched stick-thin women walking with huge burdens of wood for fuel or heavy water jugs balanced on their heads. Babies were tied to their backs and swollen-bellied children holding on their skirts. The scattered houses were tiny huts of mud, sticks and long grass. War, land mines, disease, birth defects and injuries have left a large number of adults and children handicapped. It seemed everywhere we looked there were adults and children with crippled bodies struggling with a crude stick or just crawling awkwardly along the ground.  In the city the blind and maim are led by young children whose job it is to spend the day begging for food or coins.  Orphaned children with siblings tied to their backs wander streets in search of food in the scattered piles of garbage and sleep in abandoned buildings.  You can only see these things for so long before you close down or your hearts breaks.

That night, after the encounter with the woman, I couldn't sleep.  I hadn't wanted to go to Africa, at least not at that time in my life.  I had other important things to do.  Now I was lying in my bunk in the shared dormitory trying to comprehend this "other world" that, from the perspective of my sheltered life in middle America, I never knew existed.  Sure, I had glanced at the Newsweek articles on the troubles of Africa, but I chose to "pass by on the other side" justified by the fact that there was nothing I could do anyway and I didn't want to feel sad. 

I got up about 3 AM and went outside to sit under a tree. Finally, sitting there alone in the dark, I was able to cry. I let the sorrow, the guilt, the weight of what I had seen and experienced in these first few days spill out in racking sobs. Finally when I was spent I sat quiet. Questions filled my mind.  Why was I here? What I was supposed to do with this?  Was there a place here for my paltry offering of a few loaves or fishes? Why had God allowed his children to come to this kind of existence? I had brought my scriptures outside with me and I opened them in search of comfort and answers. As is usually the case, I found them. As I read some favorite words of Isaiah, I knew that in a future time this woman would be compensated for all she had endured.  The Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces, and that Heavenly Father had sent his Son to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and comfort those that mourn, to give unto them beauty for ashes and the oil of joy for mourning.

Answers Begin to Come

I still did not have the answers to why I was here, but they began to come a few days later on a trip to a remote village. When we arrived in Mozambique we knew no one, but within the first week we had many doors open to us in miraculous ways. We randomly met someone on the street that introduced us to the National Minister of Health. Learning I was a midwife, Dr. Cossa encouraged us to plan how we could use our resources to assist in training trainers of traditional birth attendants. He also asked for help in obtaining simple, life-saving supplies for the 80% of births that occur outside of heath care facilities. He explained that a bar of soap, a piece of plastic, a clean umbilical cord tie and a one-sided razor blade could literally save thousands of lives of mothers and babies where infection from unclean birth conditions is a major cause of death.

He asked us to travel to a distant village where they thought this training was taking place, and to observe it first hand. We drove for two days on washed-out dirt roads that led to washed-out bridges. After long delays and dubious detours, we found our way across the swollen rivers. Alongside the roads we could see the relocation camps from the recent floods.  Many fields were still underwater.

We reached our destination of Majagaza late in the afternoon. We were impressed with this immaculate little town that seemed to suddenly appear just as we thought we'd never see civilization again. We learned it was mostly women who lived there, many of the men having died in the war. The residents swept the streets daily. The leaders greeted us with great respect and we showed them the introductory letter from the Ministry of Health. They carefully poured water over our hands to let us wash up. We met in the simple whitewashed town building across from the center square, and through our Portuguese translator we explained the purpose of our visit.

As we talked, darkness began to set in.  I waited as long as I could then, rather obviously, glanced at the ceiling and the single light fixture as if to remind them it was time to turn it on. Then, as though they had just realized it, they matter-of-factly explained that they hadn't had any power in the city for over a year, since the first floods, and they didn't expect it to be restored since no one in the government was working on it. Having said that, they returned to the ongoing discussion. It was a moonless night and without even a candle we were soon sitting in complete blackness.  We had only the direction that the voices were coming from to know who was speaking.

The Lord Had a Plan

It seemed strange and surreal, almost like I could see the scene from another vantage point.  The thought hit me, "How in the world did I get here in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of Africa so far from the world I knew?"  Then came a strong impression that I have relied on constantly since. This was no accident or coincidence.  The Lord loved these people and wanted to help them and desired to use us to be that link. As I listened to their simple requests of pencils and seeds, and most of all knowledge, it seemed what they were asking was so easy, so doable.  I could get pencils and seeds and it would make a difference. I had friends who would help. It was then, sitting in the pitch darkness in that small meeting that I knew I would be back. There was something I could do.  I had no idea how or what but I knew the Lord had a plan and that was enough.

A few nights later I was reading a few scriptural references on poverty in the Topical Guide.  I came across a scripture that I didn't understand. 2 Corinthians 8:14, in speaking of the poor, says, "Out of our abundance we will supply their needs and out of their abundance they would supply our needs."  I was aware of the abundance I had to share with them, but what did they have an abundance of that we needed?  The answer came the next day in a little village called Chicagolo. We stopped to visit there because it was where our native translator traveling with us was from.   I don't think they had ever seen white people and they ran when they saw us until they recognized Senhor Bilea.  There were a few dried up corn stalk scattered around but no other sign of food anywhere. They were clothed in rags with one woman's blouse literally just a few shreds of cloth around her torso. We sat down with them on the ground as Bilea got reacquainted and we tried to learn a little about what life was like for them.  Within a few hours of being with them we were in love with these beautiful, humble and gracious people. They explained their crops had all been destroyed yet, they offered to share with us their one scanty daily meal of ground mandioca root. "We asked if they had a school nearby and the children pointed to a large tree .  'There is our school' ( under that tree ) 'except when it rains, then we all run home'.  When I asked what they used to write with they demonstrated by picking up a stick and writing in the dirt. " 

As we were leaving my daughter, Annie, and her friend Erin, walked hand-in-hand with a new friend each had made.  Arriving at the car they wanted to give them something. Annie found an orange and offered it to Anita.  Anita took the orange, carefully peeled it and then walked back to a small group of children and gave one piece to each of them, keeping one for herself.  Those who didn't get any didn't complain, they just watched excitedly as those who did happily ate their portion.  Erin gave a small handful of almonds to her friend.  This girl, too, gave one almond to several children and saved one almond for herself.  That was when I remembered the scripture in 2 Corinthians: "Out of their abundance they will supply our needs."

This way of sharing and being was a way of life to them. It came so naturally.  What they had that they could share with us was something we lacked and needed.  They had an abundance of humility, meekness, patience, charity and unselfishness that in our material world we struggle our whole life to develop and often never can. Maybe the reason we were in Africa wasn't so much about what we could give and teach, as it was for what we needed to receive and learn.  I remembered my friend Mary Ellen asking the question, "Who is rich and who is poor?"  Maybe the Plan was designed this way so we could help each other fill in the gaps - each sharing of their
abundance and being changed and blessed through the process.

Care for Life

Now, some four years later we have a non-profit organization called Care for Life. We have a school, a health clinic, orphan support programs and a teaching farm in Mozambique, Africa.  We also have a new, beautiful brown four-year-old daughter who recently adopted us.  She fits in well with our nine tow-headed grandchildren. Sometimes in life things just start falling in your lap, and before you know it, you wake up to find yourself someplace you never dreamed of but clearly where it seems you were meant to be.

"Why Mozambique?" everyone asks. "Good question!" is our usual answer.  The bottom line, I guess, is because that is where we were sent.  My husband keeps pointing out there isn't anyplace further away from our home on the whole planet. Oppressive colonization, a 15 year civil war that ended in '92, followed by devastating floods has left Mozambique one of the poorest countries in the world. With very little infrastructure it makes working there difficult at best. There is no mail system and few paved roads and little or no healthcare.  Only 30% of the children attend basic school and only 2% attend secondary school. 75% of women can't read or write. Life expectancy is 36 years. A woman has a lifetime chance of dying of a pregnancy-related complication of 1 in 9 (compared with one in 8,700 in Switzerland). In the province of Beira, where we work, there are 50,000 orphans and 1 in 4 people are HIV positive. In the bigger picture of all sub-Saharan Africa, there are currently 34 million orphaned children and that number is expected to rise to at least 42 million by 2010.  According to the Human Development report that ranks poverty in the world, 27 of the first 34 poorest countries are in Africa.  The Human Suffering Index ranked Mozambique as #1.

But statistics don't tell the whole story.  The numbers are real people to me now, and I see their faces in my mind every day.  Last year I watched a little 5-year-old boy, Elvis Jose, die after his life long battle with AIDS. Currently I am waiting for word about a courageous young man who I love like a son who is now also dying of AIDS. A valiant young missionary, he got sick and was sent home after 4 months having tested positive for HIV. I recently sat with Naomi, a 13-year-old orphan who is caring for her 4 younger siblings. Their parents had died and they live alone together, getting a little support from a mother's organization.  When asked what her biggest challenge was she replied, "hunger."

Our Mission

The mission of Care for Life is to alleviate suffering, foster self-reliance and instill hope. In our tiny free health clinic we see hundreds of patients a month. Malnutrition, malaria, cholera, tuberculosis, worms, skin ulcers, and burns (from outdoor fire cooking) are common problems.  Our school focuses on Portuguese literacy for women and children, health, and economic development programs such as sewing, agriculture, English, computers, and budgeting.  Intervention programs such as Valor por Trabalo provide widows and orphan chldren who are heads of households help with immediate needs such as food or medicine. The Accompanhmento  Program offers training and financial assistance to help them become self-reliant.  We work closely with two local orphanages. We provide monthly financial and volunteer support for the Central Provincial Orphanage that cares for the orphaned babies in the province as well as other at-risk children with financial and volunteer support. Currently we are developing a large teaching farm to provide food for the orphanage and cash to provide on-going financial support.

Before I went to Africa the first time I spoke briefly with a sister who had served a mission there.  She shared with me a saying that we have come to appreciate more as time goes by.  It is this: "Once you've seen the sun set in Africa, your life will never be the same again."  There are many days I think it's just too hard, maybe impossible! What are we thinking? Then something happens that quietly re-confirms that this is what we are supposed to be doing, and if we let Him guide us it will unfold as it should.  Most of the time I'm just profoundly grateful that, despite my reluctance, God turned my life down this road.

For more information about Care for Life visit their website http://www.careforlife.org/

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