Charis Around The World

Tidbits From Ebony
Women and Children of Candybar

Since I arrived in Candybar, I have been paying special attention to the children I am able to peek out at from under the tiny holes in my “chadari” (big veil). As I ride down the bumpy, dirt roads in the back seat (women always sit in the back), I observe the little Pushpin people of my neighborhood and pray for a different kind of life for them than their parents have experienced.

In watching the behavior of the children here, I have been deeply burdened for them on occasion. At other times, I’ve been deeply delighted in them! During the recent Cousin holiday in December, I saw hordes of children in the streets. Most of them were completely filthy—some had only been playing in the dirt, but some had been playing in rubbish piles and even sewage gutters. I saw little girls walking together along the courtyard walls--heads covered with scarves, arms covered with bangles, bright green and pink sequined skirts to swish around their ankles and bare feet. I saw boys playing “King of the Hill” on dirt piles. Other boys were swinging and some were even squatting with pants down right beside our car. Sometimes when we drive, the boys like to yell at our car, jump in front of us or bang on the windows. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt and call it “playing around,” but, the truth is, that sometimes, especially with older boys, it feels like an expression of aggression towards the foreigners in the neighborhood—us.

Children here are definitely full of aggression here. They have grown up in a land of war, have often been beaten by mothers and fathers and are called “Satan” when they misbehave.


Recently, on another ride about town, I saw boys playing some sort of Pushpin version of “Cowboys and Indians.” This version was much more disturbing. The boys had toy replicas of serious fire arms such as AK47s and the like. They were marching each other down the street with the guns pointed in the backs and to the heads of the “prisoners of war.” Their posture seemed less like a game and more like what we see on CNN. The “game” seemed so out of place when placed with tiny, pudgy hands belonging to seven or eight year olds with innocent eyes and smooth, round cheeks.



On the other hand, I have interacted with some precious children recently. They ALL have runny noses at this time of year, but I still can’t resist kissing their little faces and holding them close to me to try to warm them up a bit. One little boy is just fascinated with me. Whenever I visit the home of his relatives, he follows me around and sits right next to me. He gives me big hugs and helps me learn important sentences in the Pushpin language. Sentences like: “I don’t like scorpions.” He is precious. He is ten years old and, once he reaches thirteen, he will only be allowed to shake my hand and smile at me from a distance. A few years after that and he will not likely be allowed to see my face anymore. I am enjoying all I can get of him for now!




I have a friend who is a nurse and she and I were talking about women and childbirth in Ebony. I mentioned that I had heard about a woman in Candybar who had recently given birth to conjoined twins who were connected from the chin to the waist. We talked about that situation and other kinds of births this lady has seen over the years. We talked about the many horribly deformed still births that occur because of the malnourishment of the mothers. We talked about babies who are born with extremely painful skin conditions, like little Lawangga, due to the fact that women are often married off without choice to first cousins with too many genetic similarities.

After talking for a few minutes about these things, the nurse looked me in my eyes and said, “Elizabeth, now that you know about these things that occur in this country, how do you plan to pray?”

My first, very lame response was a wide-eyed, “I don’t know.”

The nurse’s face softened and she explained, “What will you pray for these women you will grow to love and the lives they carry within them? Knowing you can not change every circumstance, and you may see horrible things, what do you have left? What can you pray?”

These were rhetorical questions because she continued to explain, “You will pray for God to overcome, to have mercy, on the ignorance of this land. You will pray for health and for nourishment. You will pray that every nutrient available reaches that little baby, and that every cell will connect and build upon itself in the proper way. You will pray for life and for health and for the goodness of God to be known here.”

It all sounds pretty obvious to me now, as I type it out, but it was a tremendous moment for me. This is someone who has lived here and lived through these things and she is sharing with me her deepest, most important secret of success: prayer.

Obviously, I believe that, to be an effective women’s health care professional, I need to diligently study and learn the knowledge and skill required. But before and behind my finite knowledge and skill will always remain the infinite wisdom and knowledge of God. And He will remain the source of HOPE in situations that seem hopeless.

Please pray for the women and children of Candybar.

All my love,
Elizabeth Carmichael


 

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