Kikitemo ­ 21 October 2013

Sorry for the delay in posting this, the internet has been a challenge.

 

Today we visited Kikitemo Feeding Station, formerly an Internally Displaced Persons camp.  This place has been the sight of some amazing miracles and has become for me, one of the symbols of God’s redeeming mercy toward his hurting people.  Think we usually believe in the west that miracles belong to the past.  We sometimes speak of healing miracles but rarely does anyone claim a true miracle.  I think that is because we have come to rely so heavily on our own abilities and possessions that we don’t leave room for miracles.  Here, miracles happen often.

 

These people were victims of tribal violence that caused them to loose everything they had, including many family members.  Imagine being forced from your home, able to take nothing, and having the one person you depended on for your daily living, your father, killed right in front of you.  You are a stranger in hostile land, with no one who is willing to help you for fear of being caught in the same situation.  You are forced to run, stopping only to beg for food, until you reach some temporary sanctuary with a good Samaritan.  It doesn’t last long before you are again cast out, looking for a way to survive. 

 

You come upon a woman who has been in the same situation as you.  She can offer you very little help, but she does invite you to join her group of similarly affected people.  They are mostly widows and children of all ages, over 150 in number.  Huddling together as squatters on someone else’s land, they are trying to get the government or one of the international aid agencies to recognize them and provide some assistance, but it never comes.

 

One day the government does show up, with trucks.  They load everyone up and carry you all away with promises of resettlement.  As night falls, you realize those promises are empty, because they dump you in the bush, near a small town, with no water, food, or shelter.  You and your new-found family have been officially abandoned.  All you have is your prayers, as you all try to find a way to keep warm for the night.

 

After some days, you group has managed to make crude shelters and some have walked into the town seeking casual jobs.  Your days are filled with longing for what you have lost and your nights with fear of the wild animals who live in the bush.  Eventually, from the least likely of sources, a leader emerges from your midst.  Like, you, she has lost it all but she retains her relentless faith that God will not leave you as orphans, that He will save you eventually.  She organizes everyone and begins to knit you together as a family.

 

After a few months, your group has managed to scape together enough to buy a small plot of land outside the bush.  It’s not very big, only a half acre, but with the help of some well-wishers you are able to move to your new place and set up camp, not far from a UN recognized IDP camp.  You can see the main highway to the capital city in the distance, and you watch as every day trucks arrive and depart the other camp, but continuing to ignore you and your forgotten family.

 

One day, a man arrives who looks like a beggar.  He is clearly poor, and a bit old, but you remember your culture of hospitality and you welcome him into the camp.  He has only words of encouragement for you, telling you that God has not forgotten you; that your redemption will soon come.  Given his appearance, it’s hard to take him seriously, but you join him in prayer as you wish him a safe journey home.  Unknown to you, God has heard your prayers.  The man is part of an evangelistic work backed by Mzungu (white people).  He writes to his friends and tells them of the desperate situation you are in and begs for help on your behalf.  The call is answered, and some money for food is on its way.

 

As you arise one morning, after spending the whole night in prayers with your extended family.  Your meager rations are all but exhausted and starvation is looming.  Only the unshakeable faith of your leader and some of the faithful widows has sustained you through the night.  You look to the road and see a small truck turning onto the dirt track that leads to your camp.  You dare not hope - there have been so many disappointments.  But when the pickup reaches your place, you can see that it is loaded with bags of maize and beans.  Salvation has come, your God has not forgotten you.

 

This is the story of a girl named Margaret.  In 1998, she was just 16 when the world she knew vanished overnight.  We got to interview her on video today and I can’t