Letters from Africa - Day 4

Today I didn't go teach at the academy with the IWU team. Instead I woke up early with Micah, Abby, Jared, and Rachel, two of Poetice's staff and interns. We woke up to witness the drilling of a well, a well that will bring clean water to Siamabele, a village of 200 households. Before this well, the people of siamabele would use water from a nearby dam (loaded with microbes and dangerous to drink) or hike 2 miles to a mission for clean well-water. In Zambia, water is life, and today we had the honor of witnessing water being brought to this village.

Upon arriving at Siamabele we could see the drill, a small tower attached to a truck. Greeted warmly in the Zambia way, we were soon ushered into the house of Stanley, the head man of Shenga, a cluster of 18 or so households where the well was being dug.  We made conversation in his small house before heading back to the drill as it bored long pipes into the ground.  A crowd had gathered, and before long beauty seized the moment: water began shooting out from the drill-hole, fountaining as high as the tower. The Zambians of Siamabele cheered and danced, faces as bright as the morning sun. I have never seen such joy. This was the joy of salvation.  Today the people of Siamabele were given the opportunity to find clean water—to find life—on their own land, near their own homes. This was the hand of God.

And just as God worked through Poetice and Fortress Vision to bring Siamabele life, his presence was revealed in his people. In a service commemorating the digging of the well, a former pastor in Siamabele prayed over our team, praying that "God would open the heavens and rain down blessings greater than this. More blessings." We indeed were blessed as they welcomed us to their food, shared their stories, and sang us on our way when we finally departed. Their joy was our joy, a hum in the handsom silence of Siamabele.

If water is life in Zambia, then family is blood. From the village we drove to Children's Nest in Choma, a place for children who have been bleed dry. In the orphanage, we were not visitors, we were aunties and uncles. Family. We played. We sang. We spoke. We held. For much less time than they deserved, we became love for these children, showing them that they are not abandoned. They are not alone. Money can buy a lot for these kids, but it cannot buy love. What they truly need is more family, more arms to hold them, more people to simply show up and be for them. This love is priceless. It cannot be bought. What you can buy is a plane ticket.

For more information about Poetice International, its ministry in Zambia, and updates on this trip be sure to check www.poetice.com and follow @livepoetice on twitter.