statistics and reality

AIDS. The realness of what is happening here is hitting us. Justin did over 15 HIV tests in the clinic these past two days and every single one of them came out positive. These were all people who had no idea they were infected before the test. One man asked to take his test strip prove to his wife that he was tested and had it. They usually show little emotion.. most don't know what the ramifications are of this disease. One woman had a 6 month old child and had been breastfeeding for months w/ the disease. It's rampant here and the statistics are now a very present reality. Most of the employees of this town, like the woman pictured below, have AIDS. It's predicted close to 80% of the town has the disease.

We spent some time with the orphans at the welcome center, a place they are brought when they first come into town as orphans and get acclimated until being placed in a home. One boy, Kai, had been there for a month and hadn't talked the entire time he was there. He was clingy yet reserved and had the saddest, listless look reflecting from his dark brown eyes. I managed to get a couple smiles out of him as we did the airplane and played with his balloon, though they vanished as quickly as they appeared. They don't know much about him except for they believe he was left alone for quite some time before being found due to the way he wouldn't engage with anyone. He also may have experienced some serious abuse. I kept telling him "you are loved" as he wrapped his little legs around my waist and rested his head heavily on my shoulder. I felt as though my heart may shatter into a million little pieces and pop that blue balloon he held on so tightly to.

We also heard a story just today of a new orphan that came into the center that was raped by 7 different people. This is sin at the core, in the darkest and most hellish form. Each story of abandonment, abuse and sexual exploitation plants a deeper root of injustice in the soil of this nation. Story after story, offense after offense. How this must break God's heart.

As Justin and I finish our time here tomorrow, we are quite heavy with what we have seen. But we have hope… and we haven't decided yet what our role is in all of this, but we know He does. And we trust in His provision, help and care. We look forward to posting a more in-depth update when we don't have to crouch  outside in the rain, by a cob-webbed rusted door outside the office to get a WIFI signal (true story). We love and miss you.

"But where does my help come from? It comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth."

Me and Kai; orphans at the community center; a woman employed by micro-enterprise projects; trying to get online; traditional Swazi village we visited

Mr. Justin's Wild Ride

Primitive logging road. Tib/fib fracture. Makeshift ambulance ride. No seatbelts or hand bars.

You could say Justin had quite an interesting day at the clinic. A man from the saw mill came in today with a throbbing bloody leg. After starting an IV it was clear that the man had broken his leg and needed to be transported to the govt hospital at Piggs Peak 30 minutes away. Justin jumped in the back of the ambulance with the patient as the clinic manager took off. The “ambulance” (very loose sense of the word here) is a glorified ice cream truck on a Toyota Land Rover frame.. although there was no pleasant ice cream man circus music coming out of this beast. As it screamed down the lumpy bumpy pot-hole ridden road the suspensions screeched and Justin reached around for something to hold on to—to his dismay finding nothing. It was too late to brace himself as the ambulance banged up and down, up and down, throwing him about like a powerball. The patient, with a casted leg, was being flipped around and caught by the bolted-down gurney, much like a flipped pancake in a frying pan. As the truck caught air, Justin found himself getting thrashed about repeatedly screaming “sorry!” to the patient as he picked himself up off of him…desperately attempting to check his morphine and blood pressure. The manager peered back, throwing a glance over his shoulders every few minutes yelling over the roaring bumps “is everything okay back there?? Just a few more minutes!”

The hospital was incredibly primitive, with worn tile floors and dilapidated machines under the hum of flickering florescent lights...as they rushed their patient in, guards stood outside the operating room w/ their guns at their sides, hardly glancing over. Quite a day of bush medicine at its finest.

two doughnuts and the Arabic connection

The internet is (unofficially) the thorn in the flesh here (Ange, this would give that kitschy Mbale cafe in the laundry district a run for its money). Up, down, slow, slower, nonexistent. And for some reason it registers that we are in the United Arab Emirates so everything is in Arabic and it takes about 5 minutes to switch over to English. Needless to say, it's been a challenge to get on this blasted thing. I'm hoping this gets out... so if you are reading it, then I guess it worked.

These past few days have been quite busy ... we were given a full tour of the village and saw all of the enterprise projects at work. The timber mill (with the path leading up to it covered in goat poo), the dairy farm, the clinic where Justin is serving this week (not quite a Mayo Clinic), the welcome center for new orphans and the bakery (fresh doughnuts and sweet bread, anyone?). We made quick friends with the Mr. Jubilee the baker and enjoyed some delicious treats – “Ay! What you want? Sweet treat? Come in my friends…”

Justin and I feel like we have just started scraping the surface of the work that is going on here. It is focused solely on orphan care and everything that happens serves this cause…. From the enterprise projects, to the group homes, to the school and the lodge..it’s all working to meet the needs of these orphans. There are close to 2o00 orphans that are being cared for in this town, and it’s growing by at least 3 a day. Yesterday we heard a story of a new orphan that came in that was found on the side of the road, with a sign pinned to his shirt saying “I can’t take care of him anymore, someone please take him.” It’s painful to hear stories like this, stories of abuse and abandonment, but they are why organizations like this must exist. If we aren't taking care of the least of these, what else matters? I keep coming back to this question.

The womens community center is also a fabulous facility, started from the ground up by a woman with textile and fabric training. The women are paid to create crafts like necklaces, ornaments and bags to sell in the lodge gift shop and soon, on the open market once they get their Fair Trade status. It is clear that God has brought each person here with a specific calling and each person is dynamic and multifaceted in their giftings.

We had a good meeting also with the director of hr/education and talked through the importance of letting God’s spirit lead here as we visit all the programs, and pray through if He would be calling us here. Justin and the doctor met last night and hit it off famously as suspected, and he and his wife have already started calling us their "adopted children". I've been blessed to be able to encourage a couple of the single ladies (if you liked it than you shoulda put a ring on it..) living here and also have been encouraged by their hearts and commitment to the call. There is still a lot we have to process, think and pray through as we finish out our time here... we have more meetings, visits with the children, a hike up the tallest mountain in SD and a day trip to visit other communities... more on that later. Thanks for your thoughts from afar. We cannot tell you how evidently your prayers are felt... we are so blessed to have the friends we do. We have said that so many times this week.
PS We have so many pics we'd like to share but alas, the internet barely lets me get an Arabic email out. Hopefully some of these worked.
Spending time with orphans at the community center, the micro-enterprise project for women, the clinic "ER" room, us and the friendly baker (justin was really excited about the creme filled doughnut!)

theft and majesty

The power has been out for two days… or we would've posted sooner. The guys here were fixing the power lines apparently. The director told us to make sure we blow dry our hair or curl our hair by 9 am b/c that is when it would be going out – blow dry my hair? You've got to be kidding. I don't even have a brush… and there's a story behind that.

My backpack was stolen yesterday. My backpack w/ my laptop (complete w/ new battery), my i-pod, cell phone, journal, books, jump drive w/ many files that I don't have backed up anywhere else and my North Face rain jacket to name a few of many things. Those of you who have had things stolen know the violating feelings of anger and sadness it brings. I actually didn't get angry but had an emotional reaction (surprise) as tears stung my eyes when I realized it was missing. It shouldn't have happened… our driver was supposed to say in the car w/ our things while we were in the store picking up some groceries but he decided to run into the butcher shop to get meat. In that short time someone picked the sliding window and grabbed my bag since it was the closest to the window. I would've taken my bag w/ me if I had known he would've have been gone even for a second b/c apparently South Africa is one of the worst places for petty crimes in the world and I don't even leave my stuff unattended in Scottsdale. But alas, what is done is done. The driver felt awful and we knew there wasn't much we could do. We ended up reporting the theft at the police station in the remote chance insurance could cover it, but it took us about 2 hours to file a "report" which was a small post-it sized piece of paper w/ a case number on it that my insurance needs to reportedly call… quite an interesting experience.

I know this is a desperate attempt by the forces at work against us to steal our joy and set a negative tone for our trip. Im over it for the most part though I am still mourning the loss of many files and many photos that I will never get back (thinking of Sue, Chris and Kelly on this one). And of course the thought of dealing w/ replacing these things, and the small situation w/ our broken car waiting for us doesn't bring me the warm fuzzies at the moment. But we are here, and need to be present, and that's that. I can't let my mind be tied up w/ stuff that I can't do anything about – and that's all it really is – stuff. Thank goodness our entire vehicle wasn't robbed w/ all the other bags of supplies we had brought with us, and even more thank goodness that we arrived safely. A fellow ex-pat living here told us that being here makes you holier than you could imagine- and the attacks will be frequent becuase He is writing a powerful story here.

On a (much)lighter note, the town here is breathtaking, and we are in awe of the majesty of His creation. This village is tucked away in a remote outcropping, hidden under a cloud forest of mist. Everywhere you look are splashes of hydrangea and wildflowers and lush greenery. It's an hour or so off a bumpy beaten path that traverses between rolling hills, drop-offs and stunning forest backdrop. I am overwhelmed by the kindness of the Swazi people and the resilience of their spirits. Church today was a beautiful lifting of African voices in praise to a God who is intimately familiar with their struggles against the plight of AIDS. There are orphans everywhere, living in homes and being cared for by selflessly and sacrificially be the people called to this ministry. In the rain we took a walk around the village and visited the community enterprise projects that are infusing money back into the economy to help care for orphans- everything that happens in this community is for the care of the orphans because they are the future of these people, and the only thing that can turn this bus headed toward a very dark end around. Honey, timber, dairy farming, a bakery and a lodge with delicious farm-to-table food are a few of these projects. We spent much of our day with Lesley, the wife of the new medical director here that Justin is working w/ this week… they are a lovely couple from Texas that just moved here and will be living out their lives in this community, serving its people. Her husband gets in tomorrow and she said he and Justin will get along "famously" (she is British by birth and uses these wonderful adjectives with her accent).

Today we also visited a home of a couple who have a ministry here caring for 30 orphans in their home, with several other staff. These are children who were found abandoned in the most horrific of circumstances- in pit latrines, sheds and in one circumstance, in a grave. A woman went and had her baby in a field behind a house, then swaddled her and buried her a few feet under the ground. A man saw this woman go back pregnant and come back w/out the baby and asked her what happened. She ran away and after 4 hours, the baby was dug up and found alive. These are just a few of the heart-wrenching stories we heard today. As I looked at each one i felt so burdened knowing that each one had a story some more horrific than the next, a reason they were in this home. AIDS, abandonment, abuse – the epitome of sin in its rawest form… against children. Justin and I were able to spend some time w/ the children, and encouraging this couple for the work they are doing. We left knowing we had witnessed a deeply moving beautiful picture of God's love, of His heart "true religion is this, to look after orphans and widows in their distress" (james 1:27)

Justin and boys in front of bakery; me at abandoned child care facility during feeding time
The views… and Lesley and I.

hello, Jo

Our flight was about 15 hours from Atlanta to Jo-berg and was quite entertaining, filled with Justin's endearing updates from his Suunto watch reading on the barametric pressure, elevation and pressure changes ("Hey guys, we are at 30,100 feet… slightly higher than Everest. Crazy, huh?" and "Wow- look at this- I just programmed the African sunrise and sunset times on my watch – which city are we closest to in Nelspruit??) In case you don't know the story of how we came to acquire this otherwise costly man accessory, remind us to tell you another time.

The midnight snack smorgasbord helped us get through the evening though the spread was quite random, stocked with Twix bars, light blueberry yogurt, blondie brownies and cheese and tomato sandwiches. In a slumber stupor a guy who runs a "construction ministry" from Salt Lake made a pass at me while I was waiting for the loo and when Justin came up to step in, he muttered something about his wife and walked away. Never a dull moment.

On an unrelated note, somehow it was denoted on my reservation that I wanted a low-sodium, kosher meal which was basically a pile of unrecognizable sauerkraut-like noodles with some orange thingies sprinkled over top – which even in its original form could not be labeled as food. Ugh. Good thing for that late-night snack bar.

The moment we walked into the airport and saw the welcoming smiles and heard that familiar African accent, my heart was full. How I love this continent. We are staying in a lovely little guest house in Jo-berg. Our plump and jolly host, Ina, was born and raised here and has never left South Africa in her life. Her husband Arthur has an infatuation with guns and hopes to come to America to run the NRA and shoot around in the dessert. Hmmm. Our dinner was served in the lapa (a term only used in South Africa to describe an outdoor gazebo-like structure) and was incredible, consisting of grilled vegetables, spiced rice, rump steaks (I passed on these), a hearty salad and garlic bread. It was bliss after eating the Delta "pizza" service lunch (glorified Totino's Pizza Rolls in a cardboard box…mmmm). The resident bird, Buddy the Mackaw, is quite entertaining, and bops up and down when you whistle "It's a Pirate's Life for Me." I am trying to get him to say 'Justann' before we leave but I don't see that happening.

Now, we are off to bed with full bellies and great expectations for Swaziland tomorrow.

The lapa at our guest house and Buddy, the pirate bumpin' Mackaw.

love letter

Dear Delta,
Thank you for my manicotti-induced indigestion, crackling headphones and Korean subtitles over my movie.

Over the Bermuda Triangle with Love,
Roseann

out with a crash

It’s interesting how things have a way of happening at the most inopportune times. Not that there Is ever an opportune time for getting into a car accident. But it’s not so much so when it’s the day before you are getting ready to leave the country. Seriously? You ask. Yep…. seriously. Why so surprised? I was awakened from a deep slumber by Justin’s ringtone on my phone at 6:10 am. I groggily reached for the phone, proceeding to spill a half-full glass of water on the way to hitting the send button. I vaguely remember reminding J that his lunch was in the fridge (leftover Pita Jungle goodness) and that his freshly washed underwear were in the dryer (underwear are a big thing at the Dennery household as it’s a problem if there aren’t any clean white underwear for those white scrubs).
“hello?” I said, sounding like I just ate a pack of Marborlos washed down dry martini. “hi… it’s me. I was just in an accident on the 51… I was sideswiped out of nowhere by a speeding car and it kept driving after it slammed into me.” I waited for a second for Justin to say, “ha ha, just kidding!” but it didn’t come. “Kidding?” I asked with a tone of hope I even knew was feigned. “No. Not kidding. I’m waiting for DPS to come and my passenger side is trashed. Can you get dressed and come down? I am fine.” My heart, which I believe had stopped for a few minutes, begin beating regularly knowing he was okay… thank you Lord.
I pulled to the side of the 51 and imagined hearing the first few notes of “Low Rider” playing as I came upon the scene. The culprit- a lowered pimp monster of a Pontiac with dark tinted windows and gleaming rims. The seat was reclined way back, the driver obviously enjoying a G-ride (the gangsta’s joyride) before nailing our grumpy old Honda. Our Passport looked so forlorn, almost frowning in pain as he leaned completely on his rim, tire shredded, door crunched. As if to moan, “Sigh… What did I ever do to anyone?” I looked at Justin as they loaded the wounded beast onto the tow truck and with moist eyes I heard him murmur, “I’m sure going to miss that piece of crap.” And in his Where the Red Fern Grows-inspired moment, he had to look away. It was a touching moment , almost like putting your wounded animal down. Almost. My mind flashed back to all of our memories we made in this hunk of burning metal -- picking up the kids we mentor, going off-roading, helping everyone and their mother move, to name a few.
And so started our day and proceeded to set the stage for a series of unfortunate events. The owner of the car reported it stolen after the police went to her house which meant peachy news for us: a) we get nothing; b) we pay for everything; 3)our car sucks even more now; and 4)please pay $280 to get your car out of impounding today on 23rd Ave. and Williams. Sweet.
We have chosen to not let this event distract from our focus and as a kind friend reminded us (shout out to Tina) – God is getting ready to do something big when junk like this happens before what we are preparing to do. Oh I am hoping! We can’t really do much at this point from 10,000 miles away. But more than all of this, we are so grateful that J was protected and preserved. Nothing is more valuable than that…. I get goosebumps thinking what could’ve happened.
P.S. I am secretly hoping the car fairies come while we are gone to put it out of its hairy misery by resurrecting it and floating it to Honda Heaven. Is that so bad?
Justin, with old Green and his new form of transportation.

sweaty palms

"The important thing is this: to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become." - Charles Du Bos

I'm getting ready to leave again. Correction, we are getting ready to leave again. Lately I've been getting used to picking up, heading out, coming back, picking up, heading out. I'm ready to pick up, head out and stay. At least I think I am. Yes, that is a stirring I feel and not just some lactose-inspired indigestion. We're on the cusp of something bold here, I feel it deep in my belly.

These past couple years have explorative, yet frustratingly unsatisfying to quench this wanderlust, or rather thirst for something more, that has taken root. It started many years ago. And it's much like a persistent desert ragweed, the kind I'm slightly allergic to, that grows uncontrollably and rather wildly. It gets trimmed and infrequently watered, yet stubbornly comes back and pokes its way through. It's very similar to how I felt in Uganda a couple years ago. And it's resurfacing now, in preparation to visit Africa again with a different purpose.

Going back to Africa evokes a lot of things I've vehemently stuffed - thoughts yet still under-processed and slightly unrefined. Or perhaps they are longings, grapplings with some reoccurring questions. I've been holding tightly onto these in my sweaty palm, fingers clasped tightly around it... and now I feel God peeling back each reluctant finger, one by one, to expose what's inside.
Like a child, clutching a crushed flower in her fist.

Africa is a bit like a crushed flower in some ways to me. And I am still that little girl holding it. It's full of beauty and potential, yet at the same time wrinkled and trampled, fading in recognition of what it once was. I've done a lot of growing since my time alone there. But haphazardly scattered over these seeds of growth are some unsettled ideals mixed with a bit of doubt about the ability of new life to spring forth. I have so much to discover still about myself and in many ways, I am still that child looking for its place. And that flower represents things I have not been ready to let go of. But I want the darkness to scatter from those things kept hidden from the light. I want to embrace its truth again. Africa, the crushed flower, has had this way of doing that in me.

As I get ready to embark on what's possible I need to let go of my grasp and hand this tattered and withered possession over to my Father. And in exchange, I'll wash these grubby hands for the promise of something clean and new -- and much more alive.