Fourth of July!

In the past I've gone to barbecues and picnics for Fourth of July (shout out to the Colorado fam :)). I remember especially loving those softball games we played a few years ago. And, while those were always fun and while I did miss seeing the whole family today, I definitely had a very memorable July 4th.

Kadi (just realized that I've been spelling her name wrong this entire time, oops...), Jenny (new girl!, tell you about her later) and I've been wanting to go to a church service. They typically last for about four hours, so we've been a bit hesitant, but figured it would be a good way to immerse ourselves in the Basotho culture. We talked to Ma Lebohang (the psycologist at the Baylor clinic, she's amazing!) about it and she recommended that we go to the service at Ha Mamochochoko Mohalaitoe or, in English, Ensure Salvation's Child Home. She said that she's done a lot of work at the orphanage in the past and that the kids put on a wonderful church service every week.

So, on Sunday, we dressed up in the most "churchy" clothes we could find (i realized that my decision to only bringing hiking boots and sneakers in my suitcase probably wasn't the best idea) and took a taxi over to the children's home. We weren't sure which of the slightly crumbling, single story brick buildings it was, but the sounds of music and clapping hands soon drew us to a building that had a mural of three crosses set on the tops of three hills with a sun high in the sky that read "Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again."


We walked inside behind a few last minute stragglers scrambling up the steps. The church equated to a single-room building full of kids sitting in multicolored, plastic lawn chairs in the front half of the room and of sprawling picnic blankets in the back end where all of the toddlers sat attentively. There was a small stage at the front with a set of red drums that were so nice they seemed weirdly out of place, a podium, an electric keyboard, a black, dusty boombox, and a girl who looked about fourteen with a shaved head, white t-shirt, and green shorts holding a microphone. There was some kind of soulful Sesotho music coming from the boombox and all of the kids were singing along and clapping to the beat. We slipped into the back row, attempted to synchronize our steps and claps with those of the kids, and desperately tried to understand and repeat some of the chorus (I ended up using the just-mouth-watermelon-and-maybe-they-won't-notice-that-you-have-no-idea-what-it's-actually-saying technique.). Whenever I scanned the room I kept meeting the gazes of kids interested in who these foreign strangers were.

The service continued with prayers and songs in Sesotho. Each group of kids went up to the front and performed a song and dance. They seemed to hold song and dance as things that no amount of poverty or tragedy could take away from them and, because of that, were eager to show them off to their large, adopted family.

At one point, the girl at the microphone asked everyone to spend a moment to thank God for everything he had given them and not to ask for a single thing: a designated time of thanksgiving. I looked around and saw fifty-something children who live with only a few caregivers and no biological family in a crumbling orphanage and wear mismatched socks and shoes, and pants and jackets with tears down the sides, bow their heads and whisper their long lists of things they were sincerely thankful for. I couldn't help but feel embarrased as I struggled to keep whispering as long as everyone else. I finally settled on looking at every child in the room and saying a special prayer for each of them.

After praying, one of the older women there (I later discovered she was a preacher and one of the caregivers.) stood up for announcements. She motioned for the girl to translate for us, raised a crumpled piece of notebook paper to her eyes, and proceeded to read. She stopped after every line for the girl to translate and slowly read a letter that had come from one of the boys who had grown up in the orphanage. He had committed a crime and was being held in jail. The letter was his request for people to pray for him and his hopes that they would find a way to forgive him.

The second was about a group of orphans in one of the more rural districts that one of the caregivers from the orphanage had met. They weren't able to afford their education, so were forced to drop out. The woman called for all the children to pray for the other orphans who weren't nearly as lucky as they were. Again, everyone bowed their heads and whispered a prayer for them, a wave of quiet muttering passing through the room.

The third announcement was about their visitors. I searched the room for these supposed "visitors" who were important enough to merit an entire annoucement and a request for special prayers. As everyone turned to face us and as her smile seemed to be directed our way, I came to realize who these strangers were. The woman welcomed us to their service and asked all the children to give us their blessings. All the children reached their hands out towards us, and said, "may you shine in the light of Christ," followed by a swishing sound and a sort of waving motion with their hands. I just put up my hand in an awkward wave and smiled, unsure of exactly what to do. I don't know when I've felt a stronger wave of love radiate through me (okay I just realized how mushy-gushy-cliche-cheesy that sounds, but, meh, figured I'd just leave it in here because it really does describe what I felt, not to turn it into a goo fest or anything)

After this, they proceeded with the readings and an interactive sermon given by Ma Lebo (psychologist I mentioned before) and her husband. Church was then dismissed, leaving us to explore the children's home and play with the kids.

they had two rows of five or six portable toilets, one row painted blue for the boys, and one row (like this one) painted pink for the girls

toddler room. there were two shelves to the left of the door covered with mounds of tiny toddler shoes and in the back corner there was a small bedside table covered in containers of baby formula. as soon as we sat down, the kids swarmed around us, all begging for our attention. i ended up with one kid on the top of my leg, one on the bottom half, this repeated on the other side, one reaching around my neck, one cradled in my arm and one being tickled by my other hand. a little crazy, but i loved it.

foooootbaaaalllll!!

we convinced some of the dancers to teach us a bit of their dance. they didn't so much teach us as just jump right into it and hope that we could keep up. they set up their own practices and do their own choreography.

most of the older kids here (starting around age 8, the oldest being around 18) are in charge of raising the younger ones. during the service, i saw kids who looked no older than 7 or 8 holding and cradling toddlers who were wimpering or becoming restless during the service

kadi took this, i kind of love it.