Hope

"We are heading to Blind Town." 

This is what I heard one afternoon as we were prepping to go to the next ministry site.  It was explained to me that Blind Town & Leper Town, as they have been named, are the places that people who have been afflicted with these infirmities have been assigned to live so that they are not among the other "clean" people.  This place was on the edge of town and we piled in the van to go with the regular team from Gidan Bege as they went to administer medical care.

We arriveded at Blind/Leper town and were instantly greeted by approximately 75 smiling and screaming children all anxious to make our acquaintance.  The men in our group were then invited to 

go and meet the chief of the lepers as he had requested for us to meet him.  At his request we made our way through a labyrinth of sun lit, small rooms none of which was bigger than 12 x 12.  Some were used for sleeping and one which had a door on either side was used as a kitchen (attached photo).   

We then came to a small opening in a wall and another room. No bigger than 10x10 and barely enough room to stand upright and no lighting other than the sunlight peering through.  It was there were met the chief. He extended what was left of his hand as he sat on the floor and with each hello and handshake

he pressed his palm to his heart to signify his thankfulness that we were there. Via a translator we were able to speak to him and learned that he does not know how old he is, but has 11 children of which only 2 are still alive (The average life span of a Nigerian is 47).  After the team checked his vitals we left and wandered back outside where the rest of our colleagues had been playing with the kids.

I and one of the staff from Gidan Bege sat on a ledge and spoke to some boys in their mid-teens. I asked them their age, what they liked and didn't like, etc.  The smiles were gone, there was no light in the eyes and I saw only what can be described as despair.  We talked awhile longer and eventually they got up and left leaving me with a very hollow stomach.  I asked my friend who comes here weekly, "These children here, they all belong to lepers and blind folks?"   He told me they did, they all live here in this place.  I then asked, "so do they have any hope?"  His response and his honesty shook me while at the same time taught me.  "No they do not.  Most of the girls will be married off around 14 and a few of the boys if any will try and get jobs, but most will not."  He then added this, "so this is way we come back every week to bring medical care and play with them, it gives them something and we get to talk to them about Jesus."  HOPE!  This is the driving factor behind what we were doing, hope in the midst of chaos and despair.

I learned later from one of the others staffers we worked with that about 6 years ago some of the muslim clerics from the town came to meet with the leper chief and told him that he should not let the christians into his village and demanded that he keep them out.  The chief responded with a series of questions . . .  "Do the muslims care about us?  Do the muslims bring us food? Do the muslims check our health and bring us medicine?  No, the christians do, so they will stay in my village and are always welcome."  

HOPE

That is what we bring in the form of medicine, in the form of food, in the form of laughter, playing, and through the Son of God.  I guess my question as well as my friends answer was flawed, these children do have hope, I just had defined it incorrectly