The Mocha Club Blog

Do you remember the story of Little John in Sudan? Here’s an update from one of our partners on the ground in Sudan, Kimberly Smith with Make Way Partners…

Three weeks ago, I visited the same Internally Displaced People’s (IDP) camp to which James and I had been en-route when we first met Little John. The reason for going to the IDP camp called for high levels of hope – we were on our way to witness the beginning of the well-drilling in this particular camp.

Yet, part of me was deeply somber as we drove along that same bumpy road. A few months ago when we found Little John on the side of it, it was rainy season. Water flooded each side of the road and our truck kept getting bogged down in the mud. This time, the searing heat of dry season left deep and hard-crusted ruts, which we painfully bounced over. My eyes wandered to and fro seeking Little John or any hint of people who might know of him. The road was barren.

Where had all the people gone? Just a few months before, thousands of people lined this road where they endured violent rain storms and raging flood waters. Hundreds of broken families huddled together with only a few sticks holding tattered pieces of clothing over their heads masquerading as shelter.

Once inside the IDP camp, I worked to transition each conversation I shared with those celebrating the well, to asking if they knew anything about a little orphan boy named John. “Sure,” they said. “There are many.”

Of course, I felt foolish. I know there are so many orphans, and John is a common name, but I wanted to know about a particular one. I tried to describe him and tell a little of his story. Again the response, “Sure we know many like this boy. All of them had their mothers, fathers and baby sisters to die. Do you want to meet them?”

I long ago learned that “meeting them” translated into “taking them and accepting responsibility for them.” Quite a few of our own orphans still do not have sponsors. Again, I painfully remembered my promise to James, “We take no more orphans until we have sponsors for all of the ones we currently have.”

The conversation about so many needy children brought a mother over to me. She handed me her baby boy who appeared to be about six months old. “For you. Thank you for the well. He is for you. Thank you.”

So, for the next hour or so I held my “gift” praying over him while I mingled through the people looking for “Little John.”

In the end, I never found a lead that led to Little John. I returned my “gift” to his grateful mother, and I piled back into our truck to return to our nearly 500 orphans in Nyamlel.

Because literally thousands of people began praying for Little John and many still are, I can only hope that wherever he is, he feels some sense of God’s comfort through our prayers. “Little John, you are not forgotten.”

We received this update written by one of our partners on the ground in Sudan, Kimberly Smith with Make Way Partners (MWP). We wanted to share her insights and thoughts with you…WARNING: this includes some graphic content.

On our most recent trip to Sudan, Fred Blackwell (a MWP Board Member), Kevin Massie (MWP Project Manager) and I went to three different regions of the country, and we were blessed to meet up with other partners (old and new alike) along the way. These regions were Eastern Equatoria – still haunted by the LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army), then at Nyamlel, where our New Life Ministry school, church, orphanage and widows ministry is located, and deep into Darfur where attacks have occurred as recently as just a few days before we arrived. We were the first Christian or secular NGO (Non-Governmental Organization) to ever visit them. Neither had the United Nations visited or sent any kind of aid whatsoever. We were certainly the first White people.

In the Darfur camp, we meet with leaders and commoners alike. Both groups told us that at least two babies per day were dying simply from lack of pure water, or at times water of any kind. Three of the four children were orphans. Seven in ten women were widows. Most people who walked all day to get to us would not be able to eat anything at all that day because they had forfeited their opportunity to gather anything all in order to be able to spend their time and energy to meet with us. Muslim and Christian alike. (And yes, there were a small number of Christians in the Muslim camp who had been persecuted but now simply lived among the African Muslim in peace as they all suffered together under the Arab Muslim, trying to avoid the slave raiding, genocidal Janjaweed).

Mother and baby

My heart was simply broken as woman after woman kept pushing her baby into my arms. One cried, “Please give us medicine so my baby won’t die like his sister did.” The mother of this baby said that her baby’s (Thomas) stomach was so bloated from water-borne disease and starvation that the local witch doctor told her that if she would burn Thomas’ stomach in these four locations it would rid him of his illness. Now, baby Thomas is at risk of infection setting in his new open wounds in addition to his other maladies. Baby Thomas was only one of at least 50 babies I held praying over them before putting them back into the mothers’ shaking arms – still with no medication.

Phillip

Phillip (trained by African Leadership) who was accompanying us from Kenya (and who “happens” to speak Arabic). We were preparing to send Phillip to another much safer and more comfortable location when he came to Fred saying: “These people are desperate for the Word and I want to live here preaching the Gospel and overseeing whatever supplies you can send.”

I questioned him, “Phillip, are you sure? There is no security here. There are no homes or camps here. Janjaweed attacks, rapes and slavery takes place routinely here.” Philip was certain he wanted to share the hope of God with the desperate Muslims and persecuted Christians squatting in the desert. There are 22,000 in this one “camp”! Phillip is now in Kenya in the process of gathering the medicine and other supplies he will need. God willing, we will have him back on a plane within the month to share with these people.

* * *

Please juxtapose this story to my re-entry back into the U.S… Within hours of leaving Phillip behind, Fred and I headed for our return to the U.S. We flew one whole day out of Sudan to get to Nairobi. We had time for a quick shower and dinner before boarding a late night flight where we flew another day’s travel to Amsterdam. We waited in Amsterdam for a number of hours before we departed for another days worth of travel. Fred for Detroit; me for Memphis.

In Memphis, I had several hours of waiting before I was to board a late night (but short) flight to Birmingham. However, once we began to taxi down the runway, our stewardesses heard a loud noise at the door and sent a distress call to our pilot to abort take off. We returned to the gate where we waited an hour or so for mechanics to fix the problem. After an hour or so, they asked us to deplane while the mechanics worked further. During our wait, I heard several side-bar conversations about being “Christian” and glad that God had intervened from us being hurt in a crash. An hour or so passed before we re-boarded. Once again, we began our taxi. The stewardesses (and this time some passengers) heard the same noise. Again, we aborted our take off. We immediately deplaned and were told to wait while the airline decided what to do.

It was finally decided that the flight was officially canceled and that we had two choices. Go to a hotel and return for a 6 a.m. flight for Atlanta and then wait for a connection or to take a bus which would arrive in Memphis in about an hour (now midnight) for the drive onto Birmingham. I was ready to be home so opted to wait for the bus and get home as soon as possible. Those who joined me in that decision were about 50. Each of us was given a $13 voucher to spend on food in the airport. The problem was all restaurants were now closed save one: an Arby’s which had only one very young person attending it at that hour. Nearly half of our motley crew headed in bee-line fashion for the Arby’s. Keep in mind it was midnight and a time when none of us would normally be eating anyway.

I have noticed that when I travel “all dressed up”, I tend to get special attention from both flight crews and gentleman offering to carry a bag or help to put away my overhead. However, when I travel rather worn and tattered looking with clothes dirty and hair askew donning a makeup-less face, men ignore me even if I am struggling with a 75 pound box of Child Sponsorship letters. While it may be a commentary on our culture, this is a good thing in the “special vantage point” it affords me. I watched from afar as people grew angrier and angrier that their food was not forthcoming. The poor girl behind the counter was overwhelmed and there was nowhere near the volume of food pre-prepared to meet the demands being placed upon her.

The long-awaited bus arrived. But people who had waited in line for an hour to redeem their $13 voucher refused to leave without the food they “deserved.” The airline tried to assure them the drive to Birmingham was only three hours and they would be home soon. Tempers flew, words thrashed about like arrows at the gods who dared to break our sense of entitlement, and a riot nearing the proportion of Darfurees over a water bottle emerged. Finally, the young woman behind the counter offered all the bottled water and potato chips that anyone could carry in compensation of the sandwiches ordered. Begrudgingly a peace treaty had been reached.

Folks with arms cradling water bottles like a mother trying to carry newly-born octuplets boarded our bus. We rode our three hours in silence save the tears a few of us shed over the spirit of entitlement that seems to have invaded our country, our Church.

Please ponder these things in your heart and ask what is your appropriate response to their oppression and suffering.

Remember when we introduced you to the Kitui Orphans in Kenya that MC is helping support? We’d now like you to meet…

These three girls in Kitui, Kenya finished primary school and passed very well to qualify them for their secondary school education! From left to right: Musangi Mutave, Sindi Ndemwa, and Katindi Ndunge.

The parents of these three boys died when the oldest was only 10-years-old and the youngest was 5. These are the Mbilos, who are very bright kids at school with mean score performance of A and B in high school.

1. Felix Mbilo in the purple shirt is now 21-years-old and has completed his teacher college course. Before joining the college he had attained B in secondary school exam.

2. Simion Mbilo, who is the second born of the family, has finished his secondary school last year. His performance has been very impressive with a mean score of A, which means he is a university material.

3. Sammy Mbilo is now in form four, a very bright young man with also a mean score of A.

These three young men were rejected by the relatives after the death of the parents, but never allowed this to deter them from working hard to achieve high learning!

THANK YOU for helping give these young men and women a brighter future!