My Africa Talk

When people find out I went to Africa, it is almost certain they will ask me if I saw any cool animals, so I will tell you right now, that yes I did. I had about 15 lions 10 feet from the car I was in. It was pretty cool.

Right now, before you begin this exciting story, I want you to take this time to abandon any ideas or thoughts you might have about Africa or even what I am going to say, and imagine what it feels likes to save a person’s life.

In this world, there are missionaries saving lives on about $5 a day. These missionaries belong to smaller groups that don’t have the time, manpower, or resources necessary to support each and every need that crosses their doorstep.

How would you choose who gets to live, and who goes home to struggle to live another day?

This is an everyday battle for the missionaries I met in Africa.

And for this reason, my non-profit, Orant Charities exists.

We are a non-profit, faith-based organization that has two main functions. To support missionaries and to organize and lead short-term mission trips for Catholics.

We support small Catholic missionary groups in their efforts to save lives by creating awareness, providing volunteers and raising funds.

We do this by sending Catholics (and others) on short-term mission trips to volunteer with the missionaries we work with.

This is my job. And it all began at my church in Denton at Immaculate Conception.

After I graduated from college I had a difficult time finding a job that I wanted. Then I realized it wasn’t about what I wanted, but instead what God wanted for me.

Then one day, after 11:00 Mass, God approached me with a job offer to begin a new non-profit organization, and that day, God looked like my boss, Seth Morgan. And so began Orant Charities.

From that moment on, I knew it was providential that Seth approached me at Mass.

Mass is where my life began, not only in Hereford, but also in Denton. Mass is where I go to feel at home on the days I miss my mom and family, because I know that my mom and my family celebrate Mass with me, no matter where I am in this world. From Denton, TX to Malawi, Africa, we are together through the Catholic Church and the power of the Eucharist.

On a larger scale, the Church has become my family; because I know that my beautiful faith is Universal, and that when I am in Mass I have a deep connection with each person present.

For me, the Mass connects different languages and cultures and shows me that the people that make up the Body of Christ are all the same in the image and reflection of God’s love. It is a connection that is much deeper than words; it is a connection of souls.

Speaking of connections, God guided us to two amazing missionary groups in Africa. The Missionary Society of St. Paul near Lilongwe, Malawi and the Missionaries of St. Frances De Sales near Maputo, Mozambique.

This experience for me was nothing short of the most beautiful journey of my life. I remember the fear and anxiety I felt before I left as my family kept pointing out that I was going to another continent. I would be half way around the world in some of the poorest countries on this Earth.

It was something new, and something that I never, even in my wildest dreams, thought I would be doing.

I WAS GOING TO AFRICA.

This girl from Hereford, TX who had never left home but a few times. It was a huge ordeal for me, but when I would start to worry about it, I would hear God saying “Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come and follow me.”

I knew that God was calling me to Africa, and I had little clue why.

But now, I know.

It was to bring hope to the missionaries. It was to show them that the world hadn’t forgot about them and the amazing and difficult work they do each day.

It was to celebrate Mass with over 200 orphans.

It was to pray with a dying man.

It was to dance and sing with women that had little reason to be happy.

It was to be God’s hands and feet. To be His arms as I reached out in love to people who I didn’t know.

I am here tonight to tell you of my journey and the people I met and the stories I have heard.

It’s a huge undertaking, but I know that it must be done. It is my moral obligation to help the people I met however I can, because you see, they are the Body of Christ, too.

There are three very important men to me living in Africa.

In Malawi, Fr. Emmanuel and Fr. Emmanuel, affectionately dubbed “Big E” and “Little E” and collectively called the Double E team. Their super hero name, comes with the super hero power to save lives, and they do, one person at a time.

Then there is Fr. Sebi in Mozambique. Possibly the most kind hearted, spirit-filled and loving man of God I have ever known.

Each day, these three men save lives and bring people to Christ through their humble love and compassion. They work with limited resources and wake every morning with the same suffering, pain and sorrow as the day before.

It’s a difficult life to live in Africa, and I know that only by the grace of God these men have the strength to live another day.

Each of these men are priests, counselors, accountants, teachers, farmers, administrators, providers and friends. They do everything in their physical power to provide a better life for the people they serve.

Just being with them a few days wore me out mentally and physically. I can’t fathom the anguish of each day for them. It makes me pray for them constantly, for more strength and peace and for perseverance.

At each village we went to, we greeted each individual, sang a few songs and danced. Then they welcomed us, we thanked them, they would tell us their needs, I would write them down, and they would feed us or give us gifts, then we would sing a dance more and leave.

My first African experience was in the early morning as I celebrated Mass with over 200 orphans.

I remember walking in and being completely overwhelmed by the beautiful, booming singing. I wasn’t sure of the words, or what it all meant, but my soul knew that they were proclaiming God’s praises.

Sitting there in Mass, the Holy Spirit overcame me, and this feeling of peace and serenity surrounded me.

It didn’t seem like I was in Africa at all, but that I was with the Lord. During that moment in Mass I prayed for these songs to greet me when I make it to Heaven.

Their voices were so angelic and they all knew the words to every song without a song sheet or anything like that. To say the least, it was powerful.

That is a moment, I will never forget.

Another very real moment for me, was when we visited a community care center at a local church, where several mothers take care of the orphans in their village. There were easily over 100 children in the church, almost all under the age of three.

They were so cute.

Some cried because of the scary white girl with the blonde hair. As I admired them and took their pictures, Big E pointed out to me that if I was to bring him the pictures back next year he would be able to show me the children that have died because of hunger, curable diseases and being born with HIV/AIDS.

Wow. Talk about a shot in the stomach. In that room of 100 children, more than half will be dead in a year if they do not receive enough food or proper medicine.

Try to think about that when you lay your head down at night. It fills my mind and my heart with great grief, and that’s how I know that my journey to Africa was important because now I am fully aware of the suffering that these people must live through.

I have held these babies. I have kissed the cheeks of the women who care for them. I know they are real; they have names and beautiful faces.

CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO SAVE A LIFE?

For me, all of this was new. Disease, hunger, poverty, suffering and death is not something I personally experience each day. But for people in Africa, it is a way of life. Moments of true suffering were revealed at each turn. But its effect was most damaging to the orphans I met in Malawi.

The Double E Team lives on a compound with over 300 orphans. Ranging in age from infants to young adults. The young adults are the same age as me. The young adults there attend vocational school where they learn a trade like auto mechanics, sewing, wood working, welding or hair styling that will help them get a job to support themselves. But that’s not the hard part. We went to a meeting with these young adults and they sang to us, in English and in native dialect about “What A Life.”

What a life we are going through.
Crying everyday.
Dying everyday.
Just because of hunger and poverty in Africa.

HIV who are you? You are killing our brothers and sisters in Africa.
My mother has gone.
My father has gone.
You leave us with pain, sorrow and sadness.

You have deprived us of our future and happiness.
Where can we go with our sorrow and sadness?
In the world of plenty, some still die of hunger.
Where to go?
Nowhere to go.

This song, and these students had huge impact on me. It was very difficult for me to meet over 40 students, my age, who had lost both of their parents. They are smart, they are educating themselves, and they hardly have a fighting chance to make it, with the average life expectancy at 36 years of age. Most of them are half way through their lives. And they know that. How surreal is that? But these young adults are empowering themselves to make a difference in the world.

They have skits and songs that promote abstinence and teach about HIV/AIDS. Most people in Africa don’t believe that the disease even exists. Some of them don’t even know how you can contract it. But these young adults are taking a stand to teach the younger children and to help put a stop to this horrible disease.

And they are making a difference, too. A voluntary AIDS test revealed that out of 128 young adults, only one tested positive for HIV/AIDS. 1 out of 128. The average estimate for Africa as a whole is 1 in 5. This shows that the priests at St. Paul are doing something very right.

One day, I had a very real encounter with AIDS. It was the day I met my friend Emilio. As I walked into his home made of reed, that was probably an 8x10 room that had a modest bed made of blankets, I saw a very frail man laying on the bed. It was Emilio. He is 34 and Fr. Sebi told us that he was days away from death. His body was emancipated. He was so skinny, and his facial features were sunken in, he almost didn’t look human.

Myself and Seth, sat on the bed with him. Seth held his hand, and I put my hand on his knee as I was asked to pray for Emilio.

How do you pray for a man you just met who is dying of AIDS? I don’t even speak his language! I asked the Holy Spirit to come upon me and pray with me. And I asked God to have mercy on him and to grant him the peace that he didn’t have on this Earth.

When I walked out of Emilio’s home, I was flooded with emotions. I had never known someone dying with AIDS. To me, it was always one of those things you hear about, but something you rarely see. I knew that would be the last time I would ever see Emilio, unless we meet again in Heaven. That crushed me.

I think of Emilio very often, and pray for him. I found out just yesterday afternoon that Emilio died two weeks after we left Africa.

Emilio is a very real part of Africa for me, and I am so grateful to have met him. Those few minutes with him altered my perception on AIDS and on the pandemic that covers Africa. For me, Emilio gave AIDS a face, a pulse, a frail beating heart. Now, to help fight for others just like him is a top priority for me.

Despite all of this sadness, the people I met in Africa were very happy. They were kind, gentle, generous, caring and loving.

One thing that keeps people smiling day in and day out is to dance. And they dance a lot. I danced a lot with them, and I’m not much of a dancer. But as you come up to a village with people standing outside to greet you, and they are singing and dancing, smiling and waving, you can’t help but dance along.

Plus, when I would dance, the women would giggle and laugh. It brought them so much joy to see me, this crazy white girl with blonde hair, out there dancing with them. Maybe they were laughing at my inability to even follow a simple beat, but nonetheless, they were happy. I would give up my pride any time to bring a smile to the faces of those I met. They deserve it.

What other break do they have in their monotonous routine of suffering, disease and death? They don’t have anything. Dancing and singing is one of the only escapes they have from everyday life. It’s what gets them up each morning to live another day. Fr. Sebi told me, that if they can walk, they will dance.

And that makes me remember Leena. She was the oldest woman in the last village we visited. Fr. Sebi had just told me the importance of dancing, and there sat Leena. On the ground, with her thin, reed cane beside her. She looked like she might be blind or legless. But as her community started singing, she, the oldest by about 20 years, got up and danced. I danced right beside her, knowing that she was truly happy.

Fr. Sebi had given me meticais to give her, it was about three dollars, but when I handed it to her, she was so happy. As the people do in Africa when they are very excited, she let out a loud whoop and began singing and dancing. She kissed each of our hands as she held them in her hands filled with wisdom and years of hardships, and we kissed her hands. She was so special.

Later as we sat around the dinner table with the priests, Fr. Sebi told me that the money I gave her was probably the most she had ever held in her hand at one time.

That blew me away!

It was three dollars. I was given three dollars when I was just a kid. What a mind-blowing thing. Fr. Sebi said that moment added days to her life. It’s weird to think you can have that effect on people, by doing the littlest things.

When it came time to leave Malawi, I cried uncontrollably, even on the plane, I fought back tears of grief. A grief so deep and so surreal, I spent less than two days with my friends in Malawi, but I loved them with the heart of Christ. They are my brothers and sisters. And when I left that morning, I felt like I was abandoning them. Why should I get to leave and they have to stay? They don’t have an escape. I do. And what if, something happens to them or to me before I make it back next year?

My only hope is that I will meet them again someday in Heaven, where there isn’t AIDS or hunger or suffering or sorrow. Only dancing and singing, laughing and loud whoops of excitement.