Sacrifice for Baby Grem

Another baby came to Hope Village last week after his mommy died when he was just 6 weeks old.  (This is the 7th baby in 2 months and the 6th one because of the mother's death.)

And just when I least expected it, God handed us another baby sponsor on the same day.  Her name is Kaylynn from Florence, Oregon and she is 12 years old. Her father Tom sent me a message today looking for confirmation on this baby sponsorship, saying, “Kaylynn is so excited, she feels like she adopted a baby or something!” So, this blog is for Kaylynn.

Dear Kaylynn, I want you to meet your new baby, Grem. Look at his big eyes! Annie and I both squeezed him and cuddled him and nearly fought over him. He is one of the cutest babies we have been lucky enough to hold at Hope Village.

Grem’s grandparents brought him to Hope Village last week and told us an inspiring story of sacrifice. His mom became ill with a “mysterious” illness and after 6 days in the hospital, she died. They said Grem laid next to her on her small bed and was able to nurse and be close to his mom until her last day.

These are the grandparents:

Grem doesn’t have a father because he “ran away”. (That’s the term used here in Malawi when a man deserts his family). Grem was the only child of his young 19-year old mother.  He will now live with his grandparents and their youngest child, a 12-year old girl (Grem’s aunt).

Annie enjoyed dressing Grem in these new clothes.

We found out that Grem’s family loves him so much, they are willing to sacrifice just about everything to keep him fed.  Luckily, they met someone at a clinic who told them about our baby program at Hope Village, since they'd run out of money and had enough milk for just one more bottle.

Baby formula costs 6,000 Malawian Kwacha each week to feed a baby. Most Malawians who live in the village only earn about 2,000 Kwacha each week (this is the equivalent of $5.). As you can see, it’s nearly impossible for most villagers to feed a newborn in the event that it does not receive breast milk.

Baby Grem's belly was a sign of love and sacrifice!

The grandparents told me they bought formula for Grem the last 3 weeks since his mom died. They’d already told me they were farmers who grew cotton and maize (corn). I know the village where they live and the village lifestyle they have. I know they would not have any extra money for baby formula. “How did you manage to buy the milk to feed Grem?” I asked. “Mavuto,” (with many troubles) the grandfather said.

He said they worked ganyu (or piecework, day labor) every day, 7 days a week. They only took a break for church on Sunday, and then went back out into the fields for work. Their 12 year old worked with them as well, after school and on the weekends.  

To stretch their money, they also stopped buying food for themselves. They skipped meals and were down to one meal a day. Some days they ate nothing. One week, the only food the 12 year old had was the porridge the government gives to the young children at the primary school (elementary school age).

The day I met with them, they’d walked 4 hours to get to Hope Village. And then they walked 4 hours back home. They will do this each week to collect his baby milk! Thanks to you and your parents Kaylynn, Grem will receive enough baby milk to put more weight on his little body, to keep him healthy, to feed his heart and his brain.

God willing, he will grow to know the love of God because your family cared enough about him to sacrifice just a little to keep him fed.

Just as his grandparents did before you.

Just as Jesus did before them.

A Witch Killed My Friend

A witch killed my friend.  Not shot, or stabbed, or pummeled to death; rather, he had a spell put on him.  The witch even admitted the deed, to the village as well as his widow.  My friend, who was a husband, schoolteacher, and father of two, was a popular man in the village. 

This is his picture:

The villagers were outraged at the witch, so set about the task of killing her.  The village police, who are like a citizens' patrol, took the witch into custody to protect her. 

A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed what I just wrote.  Putting spells on people is just fantasy or mind-control chicanery.  But I have learned a lot about an interesting paradigm that inhabits our world: the spirit world.  It’s a world and a power that us civilized people snicker at -- while we roll our eyes.  

I, more than anyone, was a scoffer.  I too rolled my eyes and shook my head at the ignorant people who believed in such things.  Yet here I am, writing about the world I once denied.

I won’t go into all the details of witchcraft here in Malawi, suffice it to say witchcraft has a consuming influence in this culture.  The well educated and professional as well as the illiterate villagers know about witches and their witchcraft.  The churchgoers and the secular both believe in aspects of this spiritual traditional culture, which is steeped in the ancestor’s spirit world.  

It’s believed that roaming, deceased ancestors influence the daily goings on.  They do believe in one god, but that god isn’t bothered about individuals.  That god has too much to contend with, so he just handles the big stuff:  Things like whether it should rain, and how much, and whether he’ll send major calamities to punish, or huge blessings on a grand scale to reward.

But I see from the length of this writing that I’m going on too much.  

I’ll skip to the meat of this blog. 

The witch, a thirty-something single woman with three kids and one on the way, doesn’t look like a witch.  She dresses as a traditional woman, without any visible outward signs of her being anything but a typical villager.  So I was a little disappointed when I met her.  

I was hoping for feathers and furs.  

Traditional Malawian spirit dancers really do
have the feathers and furs.

Instead, I got torn, tattered, and threadbare chitenje (the wraparound cloth used as a skirt). 

This picture of the witch was taken 
shortly after my friend died.  

Her story about killing my friend more than made up for my initial disillusionment, however.  Not that I wasn’t uneasy about hearing how my friend was killed.  A man I admired for his loyalty to his family, which includes a wheelchair-bound seven year-old hydroencephalytic girl named Cecilia with a sunshine smile.  

He was "unusual" for a villager: intelligent, faithful to one wife, and an affectionate doting father.  He read the Bible in the Malawian language for me every week at our Bible study.  

I’m glad Leanne took pictures of him; it was nice to give those to his family.

He did everything he could to make life comfortable 
for his daughter with hydroencephaltis (water on the brain).

Here’s what I was told about the killing.

The witch had a dream visit by other witches one night.  They told her to kill a cat.  The next day, she captured and killed a cat as instructed.  

That day, my friend became violently ill.  By day three, he was vomiting blood and finally died.  Just days before his death, he looked and seemed perfectly fit to me.  In fact, he had just been to our clinic to get medicine for his wife and he looked great.  There seemed to be no known medical reason for his sudden malady, and I’ve treated quite a few serious illnesses here. 

As for the witch dream and killing the cat, it would be too lengthy to explain the traditional religion and role of witchcraft in this region.  The dream visit and subsequent killing is fairly standard though, albeit much more complicated than I’ve written.  As I previously stated, it dominates the culture, so is a book unto itself.  

Her reason for killing my friend was deflating.  She said she didn’t want to kill him, didn’t even know he was the one who would die.  She was under the powers of the other witches, so just did as she was told. 

Fast forward to ending:  God’s redemptive ability has overcome.  Leanne and I encouraged the witch to ask for forgiveness from our Lord and follow Jesus.  She tearfully accepted His forgiveness, with my friend’s widow close by, listening and watching.  Other Christians were sitting next to her as well, encouraging her to live in the light, and leave her dark past behind. 

We sat outside her home on the grass mat to hear her story.

As of this writing, the ex-witch now hosts our Bible study under her big shade tree.  My friend’s widow and her sit on the bamboo mat together, listening to how God rules our world.  And I get to see how God rules, firsthand, watching them chat to one another as friends do.