Monday :: Kwejuna Project

Monday, February 25, 2008

Monday morning Pat, Heidi, and I sat around Pat's kitchen table eating breakfast and preparing for the day ahead. Monday was the long-awaited Kwejuna Project, in which both Pat and Heidi are heavily involved. Pat helps to translate as the women's paperwork is processed and the team collects more information on where they live, how many children they have, whether their families have been tested for HIV, etc. I had already seen Heidi at work on the medical paperwork for the women for the past two days; she would be giving shots as well as weighing babies and doing check-ups. As we ate, Pat told us how that morning God had given her a "word to throw" as they say in Uganda to the women at Kwejuna. That word was Isaiah 54:4-14, where God speaks to Israel as to an estranged wife. I had yet to personally experience the depth of suffering of Kwejuna, but Pat's words were preparing my heart and already reminding me that God is the one and only Redeemer...

The day before Heidi and I had been talking about a few of the many differences she has observed in her transition from an American children's hospital to Nyahuka Health Center in Uganda. One change that she was actually enjoying was hearing, "Thank you," everyday as she enters the health center or works with nutrition patients in the village. The Lubwisi word for thank you is Webale (pronounced way-bah-lay). Because many of the schools and health centers are goverment operated, there is not a lot of accountability for the government employees, allowing them to slack off or even not show up for work at all some days! Schools and hospitals go without so many vital employees because of this corruption. So when someone like Heidi shows up faithfully everyday, Webale is what she hears because the people truly are thankful.

Heidi also told me how when a baby is born, instead of telling the mother, "Congratulations," as we do here... they say, "Webale kwejuna" which means, "Thank you for surviving."

It is from this expression that World Harvest has taken the name for its HIV/AIDS project: Kwejuna. Survival.

Every 2-3 months, women from all over the Bundibugyo region come to Bundimulinga, the Community Center on the mission, to recieve treatment, get check-ups for their children, and to get food. World Harvest passes out a huge amount of beans, rice, and flour to these women to supplement their diets and hopefully sustain their lives. The women also recieve a shot of Depovera, which is a three month birth control, to hopefully prevent the transmission of HIV to more children.

As we walked up to the community center, we could hear the hundreds of women and children talking and gathering. World Harvest staff was already hard at work by the time we arrived-- Pat was calling woman after woman to ask them questions. Heidi was already elbow deep in giving Depo shots. Children were everywhere about the concrete floor, and mothers were waiting.

I admit, I felt like I was stepping into the work of the mission, and I longed to be able to help in a practical roll-up-my-sleeves kind of way. But I am not a doctor, nurse, translator, nutritionist... and I really struggled to put away my practical side as we were lead into a side room away from the fray and given our work: prayer.

After the women had receieved all of the Kwejuna benefits, they were to come to us in groups of 3-4 to be prayed over. Our missions team split into two groups, with Lisa and I in separate groups so each group had a woman representative, which turned out to be greatly helpful. Several men who lead the church were our translators, and we took our places on the benches to wait. After a few minutes, Matt stood up and read to us from the scriptures, and with tears pouring down his cheeks exhorted us to pray with the expectation that THIS would be a day and place where God would show up. To pray with expectation. My brow furrowed... this was going to be long, hard work. Suddenly I realized this WAS the work for us. And as Matt continued to read from the Word, my head shot up and I heard him echo Pat's words this morning-- Isaiah's words from over 2000 years ago:

Fear not, for you will not be ashamed; be not confounded, for you will not be disgraced; for you will forget the shame of your youth, and the reproach of your widowhood you will remember no more. For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his name; and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called. For the Lord has called you like a wife deserted and grived in spirit, like a wife of youth when she is cast off, says your God....I have sworn that I will not be angry with you, and will not rebuke you. For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed," says the Lord, who has compassion on you.

O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted, behold, I will set your stones in antimony, and lay your foundations with sapphires. I will make your pinnacles of agate, your gates of carbuncles, and all your wall of precious stones. All your children shall be taught by the Lord, and great shall be the peace of your children. In righteousness you shall be established; you shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear; and from terror, for it shall not come near you. (Isaiah 54:4-14)

Our prayers were to echo His word, to tell these women they were not forgotten by their Maker their Husband, and to remind them that His will would be done.

For about three hours we sat and heard stories of women who had been beaten for coming to Kwejuna because it meant acknowledging infection with HIV/AIDS... but they came. One woman had been kicked out of her husbands house by his family for being HIV+, and her prayer was of longing to see her husband and to be reunited because she loved him. She was probably no more than 16. They were all individuals but their stories were frighteningly similar-- of being the first wife cast off, of finding out they were HIV+ and being disgraced and ashamed, of dying mothers' fears for their children. We knelt at their feet and wept for pain that they bear, praying with expectation that the God of the Universe knows their names, stories, language, hearts, hopes and staggering fears. We held their sweet babies in our laps, their strong hands in ours, and told them how beautiful they are. That the God of the Universe is their Redeemer and their hope.

After the last woman had been loved and prayed for, I left heavy-hearted at the magnitude of suffering I had just seen. I left amazed at the words penned thousands of years ago that literally spoke directly to these women! I left confident that God knew each and every one of them. I left a little more broken and a great deal more in love with my Savior.