Lightness
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34: 18
We are getting back in the swing of things here after our two week midterm break. The seventh graders sat for their National Examinations at the beginning of the second week and then packed their belongings and left KEMPS for the last time as students. The tension they visibly showed the previous week was replaced with contagious joy and relief as they came by my house to say their goodbyes. Their absence signaled the start of the end of the school year, and it hit me just how little time here we have left.
The same day the seventh graders left campus, Joseph mother and his little cousin Getruda arrived from Mwanza. Knowing that her baby boy would soon be leaving the country, she wanted to spend a week with us while we had a break from work. I knew that the routine Joseph and I had developed here in Bukoba was different from typical Tanzanian life but having his mother with us reminded me just how different our lives really were.
By the third day of their visit, we had developed a new routine. We spent much of our time in the kitchen cooking traditional east African foods from scratch- chapati, mandazi, fried fish and ugali, roast chicken with mchuzi, and pilau with potatoes and cabbage. I learned so much from watching and helping Mama Joseph cook. Every day we sat down together midmorning for chai – usually chapati or mandazi with eggs or sweet potatoes, and hot ginger lemongrass tea with honey. After cleaning up the chai dishes, we spent the afternoon visiting or watching “Hope TV”, which features Tanzanian gospel music and prerecorded sermons from local pastors. Late afternoon we began preparations for the evening meal. This was when Mama Joseph and I spent a lot of time talking about our pasts, our struggles, and about what the future may hold. She was a great listener and always had words of wisdom to share with me, either from her own experience, from the Bible, or from Swahili parables.
She and Joseph had a lot of time to talk, too. Aside from the usual family gossip, they discussed the future and marveled at the ways God has continued to provide for us. I watched her beam with pride as Joseph showed her the many projects he has completed here at KEMPS. Even she was surprised at how skilled a carpenter, electrician, and farmer he has become. On their last night with us we had a special dinner and mused at how fast the week had gone by, and how much we would miss each other’s company. We woke up at five the next morning and shared a final prayer together – thanking God for our family, for our time together, and praying for His continued protection – and then they were off to the bus station to begin their seven hour ride home.
We had another frequent visitor during the break, one of my fifth graders, Lightness. Lightness was one of the students who, during my individual conversations with each student, told me that there was not always food to eat at home. I asked her if she was living close by, and when she told me she was, I reminded her that she can always come to school if she is hungry. When her father came to pick her up the next day, I gave him a bag of beans and told him that Lightness was welcome to come any time during the break.
“Ok, great!” he responded. “She’ll be here Monday!”
I walked them out and gave Lightness a big hug. She started to cry, and I tried to encourage her. I told her I would see her soon, but the tears continued to flow as she walked away.
Sure enough on Monday morning when I got home from my walk, Lightness was sitting on our porch with her backpack. She was smiling now. I asked if her dad had brought her with his motorcycle and she shook her head. “I walked.” She told me. I asked her how long it took her, but she wasn’t sure. Checking the time, I asked if she knew what time she left home. “At 7:00.” She said. It was now almost 10. I figured she must have gotten the time wrong.
I set up a table and chair for her to work at in an extra room and brought her some breakfast before getting started on her homework. Lightness has a learning disability, but has never been officially diagnosed. It was painful watching her struggle with basic addition and subtraction, or reading comprehension questions, but I tried to stay positive and help her as best I could. At lunch time I went to the school kitchen to fix her a plate and poured her a glass of juice.
After eating, I asked Joseph to give her a ride home to get a better idea of where she lived, but he came back confused. He said that she directed him to an area not far away and told him that he could drop her there and she could walk the rest of the way, that her home wasn’t far. He tried to ask her why, but she insisted, so he dropped her off.
Since she didn’t have a ride like her father had told us she would, we decided that she should come three days a week – Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday - and spend the rest of the days at home with her mother and siblings. I made sure to send her home with a note each day, giving instructions about which homework to work on and which day to return, and Joseph was more than willing to give her a ride home in the afternoons. When she arrived on Thursday morning, she told us that she was going to a seminar at a nearby church after lunch, so she wouldn’t need a ride home. She asked to borrow a bible, and since it was raining, I gave her an umbrella, too. We agreed to meet again on Monday, and she waved goodbye before heading out in the rain.
She arrived later on Monday, after 10, and told me that she had some chores to do at home. I took her breakfast like usual, but as I was heading back outside, she followed me.
“Teacher,” she said, “We haven’t eaten since Saturday morning.”
I felt my heart ache as tears welled up in her eyes. I asked her if the food was not enough, or if there was none at all.
“There’s nothing.” She couldn’t lift her eyes to meet mine.
“Is your father home?” She shook her head.
“Where is he?”
“Working.”
“Does he come home at night?”
“No. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”
I took a deep breath trying to process what she was telling me, knowing by her fear and sadness that she was, albeit hesitantly, telling the truth.
“How many of you are at home?”
“Five children and my mother.” She replied, tears slowly falling down her cheeks.
I hugged her, at a loss for words. I went to take her some more mandazi and tea before telling Joseph and his mom what I had just learned.
Since the fourth graders were back at school for additional lessons in preparation for their National Exams, there were many teachers on campus, including the head academic teacher, Albogast. I decided it was best to let him know what Lightness had shared and let him take the lead in figuring out how to help her and her family. He was just as shocked as I was when he heard.
“Nothing to eat? Since Saturday morning? How is it possible? And they are six there at home?”
He told me that he would discuss it with the head teacher and call her father to try to get to the bottom of what was going on. But when lunchtime came, there was no solution, and Lightness was anxious to get home. She told me that her father was sending a motorcycle to pick her up, but when I asked her what time he was coming, she couldn’t tell me. She said she would just wait for him at the gate until he came. I could tell she was avoiding getting a ride home, and I didn’t want to add to her obvious stress by forcing the issue. I told her that if she got home and there was still nothing to eat, to come back with her siblings and her mother. If there was food and she was okay, she should come back on Wednesday. I told her three times to be sure that she understood, and she nodded in agreement. Later in the afternoon, Albogast told me that he was able to reach the father, and that he said he would come. The evening came and went, but he never showed.
Lightness didn’t come to school on Tuesday, and I prayed that meant there was food at home. More attempts were made to reach her father, who again promised he would come, but never did. Lightness returned on Wednesday morning and told me that her father was back at home and that they had enough food to eat, and he was coming to pick her up when she finished lunch. I relayed her message to Albogast and before she left for the day, he spoke with her about what was going on and asked her to please let her father know that we are waiting to speak with him.
Through all of this back and forth, Lightness and I were sitting together trying to work through her homework - memorizing Tanzanian history and finding the sum of square roots – and her learning disability was becoming more and more apparent. My heart hurt for my sweet student, now only two years away from finishing her primary school education, who had been struggling, seemingly under the radar, for who knows how long.
When we finished on Thursday afternoon, Lightness’s father still had not come to speak with the head teacher. Knowing that the school was reopening the following Monday, I reminded Lightness that if at any point over the weekend she was hungry and without food, she could come to school. She nodded that she understood and told me that she would see me on Monday.
Finally, Friday afternoon, Lightness’s father showed up. He spoke with Teacher Albogast, along with head Teacher Kalokola, and our other academic teacher, Laudia. Without throwing Lightness under the bus, they asked her father about their home situation and about his work, and it wasn’t long before he relayed to them a situation which mirrored what Lightness had described. He explained that he worked as a motorcycle taxi, but the motorcycle was not his. Every day he had to give the owner of the motorcycle a certain amount of money (this is a common practice here), and some days he didn’t make more than that amount. He said that some days he worked late trying to make enough money, and left early in the morning, which is why Lightness and the other children didn’t see him at home. He confessed that there are days when the family goes without eating at all. Hearing this confirmation of Lightness’s story broke my heart even more, and I struggled to understand how anyone could allow their wife and five children to go to bed without food. I prayed for sweet Lightness and her siblings all weekend, anxiously awaiting her return on Monday.
I saw her mother before I saw her. Lightness resembled her mother so much, I thought at first that they might be sisters. But as she approached our porch with a small baby on her back, I knew that this must be her mother. They came inside and she swung the baby around before sitting on the couch. I asked Lightness his name. “Baraka.” She said, smiling. The name is Swahili for “blessing”. Hearing his name, his face broke into the biggest smile. We asked Mama Lightness how old he was. Only four months.
We told Mama Lightness how happy we were to finally meet her, and how much we love Lightness. Then Joseph started to ask her about how things were going at home.
“I can’t deny that things are not good at home. Some days we don’t eat at all. I had a business selling fabric, but my father got sick and I had to use my money to help him, so I’m not working now.
Lightness had told me that when she went home in June, her mother was not around. I asked her about that.
“It’s true. I left because of how bad things were. But I couldn’t leave my children there, so I came back.”
She confirmed that there are five children in total. Lightness is the oldest, followed by twin boys who are six, a three year old boy, and baby Baraka. None of the other children go to school. Lightness is at KEMPS on a scholarship.
I told her that Lightness couldn’t tell us where exactly they were living, or how far it was.
“It’s very far. On the days she came to school, she left home at 6:30 in the morning.”
We were both shocked. Joseph asked her why Lightness didn’t want him to give her a ride home.
“She told me that you tried to bring her home, but she didn’t want you to see where we are living. She didn’t want to invite you inside to sit on the floor. We don’t have chairs. We don’t have mattresses. We sleep on the cement. Really, things are not good. Whatever you gave Lightness for breakfast, she brought home for her brothers. Some days she came with mandazi, some days it was sweet potatoes. You gave her those, didn’t you?”
We nodded, stunned silent.
As Joseph and Mama Lightness continued talking, my mind started racing. I wanted to take the mattresses in our guest room and give them to her. I wanted to clean out our fridge and give her everything we had. I thought about the pile of blankets stacked in our cupboard untouched and felt disgusted at our plenty. I took a deep breath, trying to think clearly.
Joseph told Mama Lightness that we wanted to help them, but not just in a way that would last a day or a week. We wanted to do something that would help her long term. We want to get her back on her feet and in a place where she can feed her babies. She was very receptive. Joseph gave her some money to get them through a couple days, and told her to talk to her husband, and to think about what kind of support they would need to get back on track. We gave her our number and told her that she could call or come visit any time.
To our surprise, she was back the next afternoon, Baraka in tow. She told us that she was ready to get back into her fabric selling business, but it was obvious that she had no idea how to get started or what amount of money she would need. Joseph tried to talk to her about the cost of their rent and food for a month, but her answers didn’t seem to make sense. He asked if there were any other business ideas she had considered that might be more sustainable long term, but she was at a loss. She told us that she really wanted to buy a plot of land so that they didn’t have to rent a room anymore, because rent and water and electricity were their main expenses. We tried to be encouraging and we told her that we would work on finding support to get her started, but when she left, Joseph and I were both so confused. How could she get a plot of land with no house on it? How could she build a house if she doesn’t have any money to buy food? And if we gave her money to start her fabric business again, without the skills to manage money, it is likely she’ll end up in the same situation a month from now.
Unsure of what to do next, we decided to talk to our friend Abella, who helps us out around the house every week. She too was confused by our conversation and told us that she would ask around to get some more information. Later that night, I got a message from Abella. It was a picture of Lightness’s twin brothers and their mother, sitting on the floor in their room. She went to visit them.
She told us that she spent over two hours talking with Lightness’s mother and father, and that the situation was much, much clearer now. What Mama Lightness had told us was true, but there were some details she left out. Lightness’s father doesn’t come home at all most nights. He admitted to that, claiming that he was sleeping at the nearby church. When Abella asked him about his income, knowing that many motorcycle drivers are in a situation similar to his and are still able to feed their families, he didn’t have an answer. She told him that she could find him a motorcycle of his own, and if she did would he promise to bring his wife enough money every day to feed their children. He refused (I will allow you to come to your own conclusions as to what that means, and I’m sure you will arrive at the same one as me). As she relayed this information to us, it became more and more clear to me why Mama Lightness was so focused on that plot of land. She wants out.
Abella stayed after Lightness’s father left and spoke to Mama Lightness alone. She told us that many of her questions brought Mama Lightness to tears.
“She is afraid. She wouldn’t say why or of what, but she is afraid.”
Abella suggested that Mama Lightness start small, cooking and selling bananas nearby their home where there is a junction with lots of pedestrians. She advised her of ways to use what little money she may make initially to buy food that will last. She also talked to her about ways to prevent another pregnancy, and Mama Lightness really listened to what Abella had to say.
“If my three oldest boys could be in school like Lightness, I think I could manage on my own with Baraka.”
“I think that’s a really good idea.” Abella replied.
Mama Lightness is not the only one in a situation like this. She is not even one of few, or one of many in Africa. She is one of many women like her, all around the world. But unlike those many other women, her path and mine have crossed, and she is one who I am in a position to help. I want so desperately to go and pick up her and her four boys and bring them to my house and let them stay here for as long as they want, but I know that is not the best or safest or healthiest way to help her. She already wants independence for herself and her children, and God has introduced her to people who want that for her, too. Now she just needs the resources to get started, and the prayer to sustain her through it.
Joseph and I have committed to help her, and we will. But I know those of you who read this blog faithfully, and I know that I’m going to start getting messages and comments saying, “I want to help, too!” Right now, Mama Lightness needs financial assistance to feed and provide for her children and start her own business so she can achieve independence. If you feel compelled to help her, you can use any of the below methods to send a donation - just mark it “For Lightness”. If you want to help in a bigger way, her three boys will be in need of scholarships to attend school starting in January. Please send me a message if you would like more information about school fees. And if you’re not in a place to assist them financially, pray for them. Pray for their protection and strength to get through this. Pray that they know they are not alone.
The same day the seventh graders left campus, Joseph mother and his little cousin Getruda arrived from Mwanza. Knowing that her baby boy would soon be leaving the country, she wanted to spend a week with us while we had a break from work. I knew that the routine Joseph and I had developed here in Bukoba was different from typical Tanzanian life but having his mother with us reminded me just how different our lives really were.
By the third day of their visit, we had developed a new routine. We spent much of our time in the kitchen cooking traditional east African foods from scratch- chapati, mandazi, fried fish and ugali, roast chicken with mchuzi, and pilau with potatoes and cabbage. I learned so much from watching and helping Mama Joseph cook. Every day we sat down together midmorning for chai – usually chapati or mandazi with eggs or sweet potatoes, and hot ginger lemongrass tea with honey. After cleaning up the chai dishes, we spent the afternoon visiting or watching “Hope TV”, which features Tanzanian gospel music and prerecorded sermons from local pastors. Late afternoon we began preparations for the evening meal. This was when Mama Joseph and I spent a lot of time talking about our pasts, our struggles, and about what the future may hold. She was a great listener and always had words of wisdom to share with me, either from her own experience, from the Bible, or from Swahili parables.
She and Joseph had a lot of time to talk, too. Aside from the usual family gossip, they discussed the future and marveled at the ways God has continued to provide for us. I watched her beam with pride as Joseph showed her the many projects he has completed here at KEMPS. Even she was surprised at how skilled a carpenter, electrician, and farmer he has become. On their last night with us we had a special dinner and mused at how fast the week had gone by, and how much we would miss each other’s company. We woke up at five the next morning and shared a final prayer together – thanking God for our family, for our time together, and praying for His continued protection – and then they were off to the bus station to begin their seven hour ride home.
We had another frequent visitor during the break, one of my fifth graders, Lightness. Lightness was one of the students who, during my individual conversations with each student, told me that there was not always food to eat at home. I asked her if she was living close by, and when she told me she was, I reminded her that she can always come to school if she is hungry. When her father came to pick her up the next day, I gave him a bag of beans and told him that Lightness was welcome to come any time during the break.
“Ok, great!” he responded. “She’ll be here Monday!”
I walked them out and gave Lightness a big hug. She started to cry, and I tried to encourage her. I told her I would see her soon, but the tears continued to flow as she walked away.
Sure enough on Monday morning when I got home from my walk, Lightness was sitting on our porch with her backpack. She was smiling now. I asked if her dad had brought her with his motorcycle and she shook her head. “I walked.” She told me. I asked her how long it took her, but she wasn’t sure. Checking the time, I asked if she knew what time she left home. “At 7:00.” She said. It was now almost 10. I figured she must have gotten the time wrong.
I set up a table and chair for her to work at in an extra room and brought her some breakfast before getting started on her homework. Lightness has a learning disability, but has never been officially diagnosed. It was painful watching her struggle with basic addition and subtraction, or reading comprehension questions, but I tried to stay positive and help her as best I could. At lunch time I went to the school kitchen to fix her a plate and poured her a glass of juice.
After eating, I asked Joseph to give her a ride home to get a better idea of where she lived, but he came back confused. He said that she directed him to an area not far away and told him that he could drop her there and she could walk the rest of the way, that her home wasn’t far. He tried to ask her why, but she insisted, so he dropped her off.
Since she didn’t have a ride like her father had told us she would, we decided that she should come three days a week – Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday - and spend the rest of the days at home with her mother and siblings. I made sure to send her home with a note each day, giving instructions about which homework to work on and which day to return, and Joseph was more than willing to give her a ride home in the afternoons. When she arrived on Thursday morning, she told us that she was going to a seminar at a nearby church after lunch, so she wouldn’t need a ride home. She asked to borrow a bible, and since it was raining, I gave her an umbrella, too. We agreed to meet again on Monday, and she waved goodbye before heading out in the rain.
She arrived later on Monday, after 10, and told me that she had some chores to do at home. I took her breakfast like usual, but as I was heading back outside, she followed me.
“Teacher,” she said, “We haven’t eaten since Saturday morning.”
I felt my heart ache as tears welled up in her eyes. I asked her if the food was not enough, or if there was none at all.
“There’s nothing.” She couldn’t lift her eyes to meet mine.
“Is your father home?” She shook her head.
“Where is he?”
“Working.”
“Does he come home at night?”
“No. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”
I took a deep breath trying to process what she was telling me, knowing by her fear and sadness that she was, albeit hesitantly, telling the truth.
“How many of you are at home?”
“Five children and my mother.” She replied, tears slowly falling down her cheeks.
I hugged her, at a loss for words. I went to take her some more mandazi and tea before telling Joseph and his mom what I had just learned.
Since the fourth graders were back at school for additional lessons in preparation for their National Exams, there were many teachers on campus, including the head academic teacher, Albogast. I decided it was best to let him know what Lightness had shared and let him take the lead in figuring out how to help her and her family. He was just as shocked as I was when he heard.
“Nothing to eat? Since Saturday morning? How is it possible? And they are six there at home?”
He told me that he would discuss it with the head teacher and call her father to try to get to the bottom of what was going on. But when lunchtime came, there was no solution, and Lightness was anxious to get home. She told me that her father was sending a motorcycle to pick her up, but when I asked her what time he was coming, she couldn’t tell me. She said she would just wait for him at the gate until he came. I could tell she was avoiding getting a ride home, and I didn’t want to add to her obvious stress by forcing the issue. I told her that if she got home and there was still nothing to eat, to come back with her siblings and her mother. If there was food and she was okay, she should come back on Wednesday. I told her three times to be sure that she understood, and she nodded in agreement. Later in the afternoon, Albogast told me that he was able to reach the father, and that he said he would come. The evening came and went, but he never showed.
Lightness didn’t come to school on Tuesday, and I prayed that meant there was food at home. More attempts were made to reach her father, who again promised he would come, but never did. Lightness returned on Wednesday morning and told me that her father was back at home and that they had enough food to eat, and he was coming to pick her up when she finished lunch. I relayed her message to Albogast and before she left for the day, he spoke with her about what was going on and asked her to please let her father know that we are waiting to speak with him.
Through all of this back and forth, Lightness and I were sitting together trying to work through her homework - memorizing Tanzanian history and finding the sum of square roots – and her learning disability was becoming more and more apparent. My heart hurt for my sweet student, now only two years away from finishing her primary school education, who had been struggling, seemingly under the radar, for who knows how long.
When we finished on Thursday afternoon, Lightness’s father still had not come to speak with the head teacher. Knowing that the school was reopening the following Monday, I reminded Lightness that if at any point over the weekend she was hungry and without food, she could come to school. She nodded that she understood and told me that she would see me on Monday.
Finally, Friday afternoon, Lightness’s father showed up. He spoke with Teacher Albogast, along with head Teacher Kalokola, and our other academic teacher, Laudia. Without throwing Lightness under the bus, they asked her father about their home situation and about his work, and it wasn’t long before he relayed to them a situation which mirrored what Lightness had described. He explained that he worked as a motorcycle taxi, but the motorcycle was not his. Every day he had to give the owner of the motorcycle a certain amount of money (this is a common practice here), and some days he didn’t make more than that amount. He said that some days he worked late trying to make enough money, and left early in the morning, which is why Lightness and the other children didn’t see him at home. He confessed that there are days when the family goes without eating at all. Hearing this confirmation of Lightness’s story broke my heart even more, and I struggled to understand how anyone could allow their wife and five children to go to bed without food. I prayed for sweet Lightness and her siblings all weekend, anxiously awaiting her return on Monday.
I saw her mother before I saw her. Lightness resembled her mother so much, I thought at first that they might be sisters. But as she approached our porch with a small baby on her back, I knew that this must be her mother. They came inside and she swung the baby around before sitting on the couch. I asked Lightness his name. “Baraka.” She said, smiling. The name is Swahili for “blessing”. Hearing his name, his face broke into the biggest smile. We asked Mama Lightness how old he was. Only four months.
We told Mama Lightness how happy we were to finally meet her, and how much we love Lightness. Then Joseph started to ask her about how things were going at home.
“I can’t deny that things are not good at home. Some days we don’t eat at all. I had a business selling fabric, but my father got sick and I had to use my money to help him, so I’m not working now.
Lightness had told me that when she went home in June, her mother was not around. I asked her about that.
“It’s true. I left because of how bad things were. But I couldn’t leave my children there, so I came back.”
She confirmed that there are five children in total. Lightness is the oldest, followed by twin boys who are six, a three year old boy, and baby Baraka. None of the other children go to school. Lightness is at KEMPS on a scholarship.
I told her that Lightness couldn’t tell us where exactly they were living, or how far it was.
“It’s very far. On the days she came to school, she left home at 6:30 in the morning.”
We were both shocked. Joseph asked her why Lightness didn’t want him to give her a ride home.
“She told me that you tried to bring her home, but she didn’t want you to see where we are living. She didn’t want to invite you inside to sit on the floor. We don’t have chairs. We don’t have mattresses. We sleep on the cement. Really, things are not good. Whatever you gave Lightness for breakfast, she brought home for her brothers. Some days she came with mandazi, some days it was sweet potatoes. You gave her those, didn’t you?”
We nodded, stunned silent.
As Joseph and Mama Lightness continued talking, my mind started racing. I wanted to take the mattresses in our guest room and give them to her. I wanted to clean out our fridge and give her everything we had. I thought about the pile of blankets stacked in our cupboard untouched and felt disgusted at our plenty. I took a deep breath, trying to think clearly.
Joseph told Mama Lightness that we wanted to help them, but not just in a way that would last a day or a week. We wanted to do something that would help her long term. We want to get her back on her feet and in a place where she can feed her babies. She was very receptive. Joseph gave her some money to get them through a couple days, and told her to talk to her husband, and to think about what kind of support they would need to get back on track. We gave her our number and told her that she could call or come visit any time.
To our surprise, she was back the next afternoon, Baraka in tow. She told us that she was ready to get back into her fabric selling business, but it was obvious that she had no idea how to get started or what amount of money she would need. Joseph tried to talk to her about the cost of their rent and food for a month, but her answers didn’t seem to make sense. He asked if there were any other business ideas she had considered that might be more sustainable long term, but she was at a loss. She told us that she really wanted to buy a plot of land so that they didn’t have to rent a room anymore, because rent and water and electricity were their main expenses. We tried to be encouraging and we told her that we would work on finding support to get her started, but when she left, Joseph and I were both so confused. How could she get a plot of land with no house on it? How could she build a house if she doesn’t have any money to buy food? And if we gave her money to start her fabric business again, without the skills to manage money, it is likely she’ll end up in the same situation a month from now.
Unsure of what to do next, we decided to talk to our friend Abella, who helps us out around the house every week. She too was confused by our conversation and told us that she would ask around to get some more information. Later that night, I got a message from Abella. It was a picture of Lightness’s twin brothers and their mother, sitting on the floor in their room. She went to visit them.
She told us that she spent over two hours talking with Lightness’s mother and father, and that the situation was much, much clearer now. What Mama Lightness had told us was true, but there were some details she left out. Lightness’s father doesn’t come home at all most nights. He admitted to that, claiming that he was sleeping at the nearby church. When Abella asked him about his income, knowing that many motorcycle drivers are in a situation similar to his and are still able to feed their families, he didn’t have an answer. She told him that she could find him a motorcycle of his own, and if she did would he promise to bring his wife enough money every day to feed their children. He refused (I will allow you to come to your own conclusions as to what that means, and I’m sure you will arrive at the same one as me). As she relayed this information to us, it became more and more clear to me why Mama Lightness was so focused on that plot of land. She wants out.
Abella stayed after Lightness’s father left and spoke to Mama Lightness alone. She told us that many of her questions brought Mama Lightness to tears.
“She is afraid. She wouldn’t say why or of what, but she is afraid.”
Abella suggested that Mama Lightness start small, cooking and selling bananas nearby their home where there is a junction with lots of pedestrians. She advised her of ways to use what little money she may make initially to buy food that will last. She also talked to her about ways to prevent another pregnancy, and Mama Lightness really listened to what Abella had to say.
“If my three oldest boys could be in school like Lightness, I think I could manage on my own with Baraka.”
“I think that’s a really good idea.” Abella replied.
Mama Lightness is not the only one in a situation like this. She is not even one of few, or one of many in Africa. She is one of many women like her, all around the world. But unlike those many other women, her path and mine have crossed, and she is one who I am in a position to help. I want so desperately to go and pick up her and her four boys and bring them to my house and let them stay here for as long as they want, but I know that is not the best or safest or healthiest way to help her. She already wants independence for herself and her children, and God has introduced her to people who want that for her, too. Now she just needs the resources to get started, and the prayer to sustain her through it.
Joseph and I have committed to help her, and we will. But I know those of you who read this blog faithfully, and I know that I’m going to start getting messages and comments saying, “I want to help, too!” Right now, Mama Lightness needs financial assistance to feed and provide for her children and start her own business so she can achieve independence. If you feel compelled to help her, you can use any of the below methods to send a donation - just mark it “For Lightness”. If you want to help in a bigger way, her three boys will be in need of scholarships to attend school starting in January. Please send me a message if you would like more information about school fees. And if you’re not in a place to assist them financially, pray for them. Pray for their protection and strength to get through this. Pray that they know they are not alone.
Mungu akubariki,
Allee
If you would like to donate to help Mama Lightness, you can send donations electronically using:
Venmo: @Alison-Gomulka
Cash App: $AlisonGomulka
PayPal: PayPal.Me/AlisonRGomulka
Zelle: alisonrg24@gmail.com
If you would prefer to send a check, you can mail it to:
Alison Gomulka
15601 Shady Brook Lane
College Station, TX 77845
Mama Lightness, Lightness, and baby Baraka
Joseph with his mom
Getruda and me
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