Meeting Marilinda

A couple weeks ago I was in Swakopmund outside of some shops we like to frequent (and by “we” I mean “Karrie”). I was doing the faithful husband thing and waiting patiently in the van for my wife to finish. As I was waiting, a girl about the age of 11 came up to the window and asked for money for food. At first I responded by saying “I am sorry, we don’t give away money... and I don’t have food to share right now.” These two assertions are quite true, and ones that we normally maintain. Too often we have people begging money from us, and many times we have good reason to think they will use it to buy alcohol or drugs. Many adults have children do their dirty work for them, so you cannot always assume innocence in the case of children either. And to give money to children in that case only emboldens the adults. Just a reality of life here.

So, I watched as she turned away from me. The look on her face showed that she was used to being “rejected.” I couldn’t leave that alone. I watched in my side view mirror as she gathered with a group of 3 other children. I watched them talk briefly, and then I watched the same girl approach another person. I couldn’t hear what was said, but it looked like a quick denial. Another time, she turned away.

I exited my vehicle, and walked the 20 meters to where they were standing at this point. I decided that I had to find out more. Maybe the story was legit. Maybe she really needed help. Only one way to find out.

I introduced myself to them and then got their names, one by one. Audrey (in blue). Maria (in brown). Marilinda (in stripes). Sien (in gray). 3 girls, 1 boy. They were out begging because they had ended up with their Aunt after the death of their mom a couple months ago, and she does not have the means to take care of them.

Ok. So, maybe I can do something. I decided to take them over to the nearest market, where we bought bread, butter, and apples. Hoping that would suffice, I offered them a ride to where they live (a shanty town on the outskirts of Swakopmund). I was really hoping they would stop begging – at least for the day. Instead, they turned me down and said they would stay there. Fine. As I walked away I turned around and saw them sitting down, and immediately tearing into the food as if they hadn’t eaten in days. That image burned in my mind as if I had a photographic memory for days.

A week later I returned to Swakopmund to run some errands. I found them again, sitting together in the same general area. I offered them some chips that we had in the vehicle. Not very healthy – but it would at least give them something to eat. This time I spoke with them further. We couldn’t get too deep in conversation, because I was simultaneously blocking two drunken men from trying to enter my vehicle with the 3 teenaged girls that were in there. Anyhow, I hugged the kids, told them “goodbye”, and then told them I would look for them again.

A few days ago, Karrie and I were in Swakopmund again. This time, the kids noticed me first. From about 30 meters away from where I was walking my eyes were drawn towards the figure of a child, running with anticipation. It was Marilinda. She had seen me from a distance and she ran full force to grab and hug me. I was equally happy to see her. This was the one I had first seen begging. The one I had turned down. Now, she was coming to me like we had been best friends forever. “Now we’re getting somewhere”, I thought.

I met up with the others. They had just been given enough money by someone to buy a porridge-type drink that someone was selling nearby called Oshikundu. The four kids were going to share a mason-jar sized portion. Maria took the first drink. And then she turned to me. She asked if I had tried that stuff before. “No”, I said. She promptly stuck the jar in my face and insisted I have some. Knowing what that meant – respect, love, community... you know Africans– I took some. The taste of the drink was a bit odd, but it was ok. The taste of the moment was much sweeter. I only took enough to show my acceptance of the gift. It was enough for them to see that I was “one of them.”

Again, we parted ways, and I hugged them goodbye.

Dusk. It was getting dark outside. You could feel the cold that had set in on the seaside town in winter. Still in Swakopmund that very same day, I was driving around wasting some time. Karrie was in the pharmacy and it was going to take a bit. Again, I found the same kids. Not on purpose. I just saw them out of the corner of my eye. They were looking into a store window. Like the old movies, there they were, staring at the televisions inside. Shivering cold on the streets, looking with wonder at the animated movie that was playing in loops on the televisions on sale at the small shop.

I picked them up. You know I HAD to. This time they let me drive them home. Home – to the little one room shack on the edge of the slums. No water. No electricity. Cold beyond belief. Insulation? No way. This was one small “building” in amongst hundreds, maybe thousands, where people are doing their best to survive. This sight was nothing new to me. Virtually every town in Namibia has a “slum” area. But now, I had grown to care very much for these children that I was about to leave behind for a cold, cold night. For them, it was an opportunity to try and rest up for another day of begging. For me, it was something more. I had made a connection that I am unwilling to drop. They are NOT a number. Not a statistic. They are Audrey, Maria, Marilinda, and Sien.

Please pray. Please pray that we can make a real impact on their lives - that we can help them to know just how much God loves them, and wants a real relationship with them, as their Father. Please pray that God will give us wisdom, as we work to get them sustainable help. I’m falling in love with these kids and I just cannot drop this. I will not turn Marilinda - or the others - away again.