"Their mom is sick," a little student tells me. "They haven't seen her for 6 months. My heart hurts for them. I share my food with them sometimes because their father doesn't take care of them. He sent them to live with their aunt because he has lots of women to his house." I see pain in his dark brown eyes as he speaks about his friends' situation.
On the back of a motorcycle, we are in search of their mama. Scared to find out how sick she is, but hopeful that we can help her recover. I see fear in the boys' eyes. They don't know what to expect either. It has been six months, six months since they've seen their mama.
Holding the boys' hands, we climb a mountain to get to their mama. On top of the mountain we reach a tiny one room mud house. The boys' aunt greets us. "It is only God and I on this mountain caring for my sister. God is the only help we have," she tells me.
We step inside the darkened room to see their mama. Barely enough strength to sit upright, she smiles when she sees her sons. Her body is withered and tiny. The boys begin to cry at the sight of her. They cling to me for comfort. Tears being to sting my eyes. I want to take away their pain. I want to make their mama well again.
With shaky hands, she gives us a paper from the hospital. My worst nightmare is confirmed. HIV/AIDS: Positive.
I step outside of the house into the bright light. The wind softly blows around me. I look down at the city below me, and I cry for her. I cry for the boys. My heart is broken for this family.
When it is time to leave, their mama tells them not to cry. As she pushes them towards me, she says, "Now, go to your mama." My heart breaks all over again. I sit down beside her, tears streaming down my face. I kiss her on the cheek as I put my arm around her tiny body. "You are their mama, not me," I tell her. "They love you and they have not forgotten about you. They miss you everyday. You will always be their mama." Crying isn't common in their culture, but I see tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you," she gently whispers as she gives my hand a squeeze.
We are all quiet on the motorcycle ride back to Jubilee. I put on my sunglasses to cover up my teary eyes. It hurts. I hate the pain that the boys are experiencing. It is not fair. I am angry at the world. I'm angry that THIS is real life. I'm angry that I grew up so sheltered from the pain of the real world. But in the pain and anger and suffering I hear Him whisper, "They are mine. I am here. I love them and I am with them through it all. In this world there will be suffering, but fear not for I have overcome it all."
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