On the Road To Goma
Maji Matulivu — it means Still Waters in Swahili. It’s where I sit tonite, on the shore of Lake Kivu, in the Eastern Congo. It is the home of our host and the extraordinary doctor and founder of HEAL Africa, Dr. Jo Lusi. Last night, we arrived in Kigali, Rwanda, via Amsterdam, from Chicago, and now we are in Goma. We are a traveling team that consists of my husband, Todd, a Plastic Surgeon, my oldest daughter, Mary Ella, two General Surgeons, Marc and Chris, a Family Practice doctor, Steve, and his son, Tom, and a board member for the HEAL Africa organization, Jack.
Marc began this journey to Goma, on his own, 21 years ago, and has been instrumental in helping found HEAL Africa, coming yearly, teaching surgery and actively involved on the board. Chris and Todd have come many, many times to help teach surgery and to encourage the staff here, too. And for some of us, it's our first time. It is my first time here.
Today, we traveled in a bus-like/van-like vehicle, packed full with ourselves and 10 large plastic bins filled with medical and surgical supplies that we carried with us. The road would take us from Kigali, Rwanda, through what has been called “The Land of a Thousand Hills,” with the goal of bringing medical and surgical care and knowledge, and connecting, and sharing our hearts with those who live and serve in Goma, specifically at the HEAL Africa hospital.
As trite as it may seem, it really is hard for me to find words to express HOW I feel, but what I saw today, as we drove along the road, has me reflecting on the human factor — what we all have in common, a heart that beats, lungs that breath, a soul that is present and important to God.
Women with babies tied tight, walked within feet of fast moving vehicles, along the busy street. Some carried bags and bushels and baskets and branches on their heads, and I can only imagine they, too, carry burdens in their hearts. School children, uniformed in blue with book bags, skipped sideways and front and back, along the road, too. Some sat on rocks on the side of the road, paging through books. Goats grazed on grasses. Other women and men held hoes and shovels in their hands, working the fields, walking along the roads, to and from places that I am not familiar with, places that are terraced high on bright green hills. Other women, with home-made brooms swept brush off the sides of the road. They pulled weeds, and loaded them in to bags, and carried them. Somewhere. I saw signs for sweet potatoes and caught a glimpse, as the vehicle speeds by, of people cleaning carrots, loading them into bags full, strapping them on to bikes, balancing the weight, in order to sell, in order to live. Petrol vehicles rumbled loud, with kids catching rides on the back, holding tight to the truck, while clinging to their bikes. Mamas washed laundry in buckets. The River Nyundo bubbled brown below in the canyon. A line of volcanoes loomed large in the distance, some puffing smoke slowly.
I stare out the window. My eyes connect with women — some my age, some younger, some older — and I ask myself, “What do I know of these precious people’s lives?” I answer, silently to myself, “Nothing.” And then I remember that God is the One Who knows and sees all. He sees them and He sees me, and although I don’t understand any of it, at all, I ponder what it means.
We cross the border into Goma, and our first stop is the HEAL Africa hospital. Almost completely destroyed in 2002 by the eruption of a volcano, nothing stopped the people who have committed their lives to bringing health and healing and hope to the people of Eastern Congo. Nothing would ever stop God’s work in their lives. The hospital and its staff of doctors and residents in training, has grown, and continues to grow, and new buildings spring up from volcanic rock -- a visual representation of the Hope that is continually springing up in the lives of His people.
We meet the staff physicians, and those that are being trained, and other faithful staff workers.
We tour parts of the hospital. Tomorrow, we will begin our day with worship at the chapel on the hospital grounds, and then we will see what the Lord has for us — where He will chose to slip us in — to care for His people, to encourage them, to bring medical and surgical help, and in some small way, I hope, make a difference.
Marc began this journey to Goma, on his own, 21 years ago, and has been instrumental in helping found HEAL Africa, coming yearly, teaching surgery and actively involved on the board. Chris and Todd have come many, many times to help teach surgery and to encourage the staff here, too. And for some of us, it's our first time. It is my first time here.
Today, we traveled in a bus-like/van-like vehicle, packed full with ourselves and 10 large plastic bins filled with medical and surgical supplies that we carried with us. The road would take us from Kigali, Rwanda, through what has been called “The Land of a Thousand Hills,” with the goal of bringing medical and surgical care and knowledge, and connecting, and sharing our hearts with those who live and serve in Goma, specifically at the HEAL Africa hospital.
As trite as it may seem, it really is hard for me to find words to express HOW I feel, but what I saw today, as we drove along the road, has me reflecting on the human factor — what we all have in common, a heart that beats, lungs that breath, a soul that is present and important to God.
Women with babies tied tight, walked within feet of fast moving vehicles, along the busy street. Some carried bags and bushels and baskets and branches on their heads, and I can only imagine they, too, carry burdens in their hearts. School children, uniformed in blue with book bags, skipped sideways and front and back, along the road, too. Some sat on rocks on the side of the road, paging through books. Goats grazed on grasses. Other women and men held hoes and shovels in their hands, working the fields, walking along the roads, to and from places that I am not familiar with, places that are terraced high on bright green hills. Other women, with home-made brooms swept brush off the sides of the road. They pulled weeds, and loaded them in to bags, and carried them. Somewhere. I saw signs for sweet potatoes and caught a glimpse, as the vehicle speeds by, of people cleaning carrots, loading them into bags full, strapping them on to bikes, balancing the weight, in order to sell, in order to live. Petrol vehicles rumbled loud, with kids catching rides on the back, holding tight to the truck, while clinging to their bikes. Mamas washed laundry in buckets. The River Nyundo bubbled brown below in the canyon. A line of volcanoes loomed large in the distance, some puffing smoke slowly.
I stare out the window. My eyes connect with women — some my age, some younger, some older — and I ask myself, “What do I know of these precious people’s lives?” I answer, silently to myself, “Nothing.” And then I remember that God is the One Who knows and sees all. He sees them and He sees me, and although I don’t understand any of it, at all, I ponder what it means.
We cross the border into Goma, and our first stop is the HEAL Africa hospital. Almost completely destroyed in 2002 by the eruption of a volcano, nothing stopped the people who have committed their lives to bringing health and healing and hope to the people of Eastern Congo. Nothing would ever stop God’s work in their lives. The hospital and its staff of doctors and residents in training, has grown, and continues to grow, and new buildings spring up from volcanic rock -- a visual representation of the Hope that is continually springing up in the lives of His people.
We meet the staff physicians, and those that are being trained, and other faithful staff workers.
You will have so much to take in over the next couple weeks! Thank you for giving your time to this ministry!
ReplyDeletewonderful Andrea~will journey along with you from here through your words, your experiences, your heart.
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