Written by Todd Werkhoven

The writer in me really wants to begin this story with, “From the 
first time I saw Samweli at the church, I knew there was something
 about this little boy that was going to change my life forever.” But
 that wouldn’t necessarily be the truth. To be fair, I do remember the first 
time I saw him, and I do remember noticing something different about
 him. He wasn’t like most of the other kids at Grace & Healing Ministry
of Dodoma (GHMD) in Dodoma, Tanzania. No, the reason I noticed
 that Samweli was different was the simple reason that he was walking
 with a very pronounced limp in both legs. Although “limp” wasn’t quite 
the correct word for it; it was more like a drag, or as if both of his feet 
were about 20 pounds too heavy, and he had to adjust his entire torso, 
pelvis, and both knees to accommodate dragging his feet back and forth
 to shuffle forward.

Later that afternoon, I found myself playing a pick-up game of
 soccer with about 30 of the kids from the Lahash sponsorship program 
at GHMD in a field near the church. As I alternatively flailed and 
lumbered about the field showcasing my sub-par soccer-playing
 prowess, I noticed someone off to the side of the field, standing behind 
a bike watching us play our game. There stood Samweli, taking in every kick, 
every shot, and every score. When the sweltering heat (and, 
in all honesty, my pleas for mercy) eventually brought our game to a
 close, Samweli mounted his bike, struggled against the dirt and sand 
to produce a bare minimum of momentum, and rode beside the other
boys as we walked back to the church, trying to be a part of the excited
 chatter and also keep his bike upright.

But it still would be another two days before I would properly 
meet Samweli. On our third day at GHMD, the staff was coordinating 
the home stays for us travelers. Home stays are pretty much what 
they sound like: a traveler is matched up with one of the kids in the
 sponsorship program, where he will spend the evening, share a meal,
 and sleep over night with the child’s family at their home. As a first time 
traveler, a home stay occupied the same lobe of my brain responsible
 for the anxiety and awkward terror associated with walking in on
 someone using the bathroom. Except I didn’t even know if the home
 I was visiting even had a bathroom that could be walked in on. Also, I 
didn’t know the Swahili word for “Ohmm-gosh-I-just-don’t-I-can’t-what-
just-I’m-so-sorry,” which is what typically falls out of my mouth after 
walking in on someone using the bathroom.

I was matched with Samweli. He had an impish smile, like someone 
who is very pleased with a joke only he can hear or understand. He
 stood less than five feet tall, and I guessed he was around eight or nine 
years old. He was polite, a bit shy, and other than the condition of his
 legs, seemed similar to the rest of the boys his age.

A taxi picked me up later that afternoon, and I was accompanied 
by Edwin Angote, Lahash’s East Africa Director, who would serve as a 
translator for the evening. We packed the trunk with a new mattress and
 mosquito net, gifts for the family as a thank-you. Our paved road gave 
way to an unpaved road, which gave away a bit more to a deeply rutted 
dirt road, which then gave way into more or less of a field with clumps 
of corn sprouting up willy-nilly, leading to Samweli’s home.

His uncle, Matthew was the first to greet us. He gave us a tour of
 the main living area and bedroom we would be staying in. The “tour”
 consisted of pulling back the curtain covering the entrance to the home
 and simply pointing: the main living space was a small rectangle room, 
overstuffed with a couch, three arm chairs, a coffee table, and two large 
tables pushed against opposite walls. A small bedroom was off to the 
left, separated by another curtain.

We ate a traditional dinner of rice and beans and chapati, along 
with tea, served to us by Samweli’s aunt, whom everyone simply called 
“Mama.” As guests, we were served first, followed by Matthew and Mama, 
and then Samweli and a teenage cousin who had joined us. Although I had seen
 the process of who is served and in which order several times by this point, 
I thought I noticed some sort of oddness in the way that Samweli hesitated 
and halted slightly when it came to his turn. It was a very brief moment,
however, and it would be days before I finally understood the reasons
 for his hesitation.

As the coffee table in the middle of the room was being cleared 
of our plates and serving dishes, conversation turned to Samweli,
 who obediently followed his uncle’s directive to show me his school 
notebooks. I’m not sure what I was expecting to see — perhaps 
workbooks with large type and simple story problems suited for an 
eight- or nine-year-old — but that certainly wasn’t what Samweli laid 
in front of me. He set down six composition-style notebooks, each 
labeled with an individual subject. Inside, written in English and with
 meticulously perfect penmanship, were incredibly detailed and in-depth 
notes on Literature, Civics, Government, Physics, Business, History,
 and more. The first notebook I opened was his Physics notebook. He 
had told me he liked math, and in my head I pictured cutesy little
 multiplication and division exercises, perhaps a story problem involving 
goats. But on the first page alone there were formulas on finding mass, 
force, energy, coefficients, and…well, to be honest I don’t know what
 else, because my own knowledge of math ends with cutesy story 
problems involving goats.

I looked at the notebooks, and line after perfectly written line of
 Samweli’s schoolwork. Then I looked at Samweli. Then back at the
notebooks. Clearly Edwin heard the sound of the gears clanking and
 grinding in my head, because he finally asked me why I looked so
 confused. I asked him to ask Samweli how old he was. Edwin asked;
 Samweli answered. He said he was 16. I asked Edwin to ask him 
again, thinking they both misunderstood what I was asking. Edwin asked again; 
Samweli answered again. He said he was 16.

I had first noticed Samweli because of his limp. Outside of that, he 
looked perfectly normal and healthy to me — just as normal and healthy as any 
other eight- or nine-year-old boy. Except that he was 16.
 And his limp wasn’t the reason he was considered “vulnerable” and part 
of the Lahash sponsorhsip program. Edwin went on to explain to me  
that Samweli was HIV-positive, and the reason he looked at least seven 
years younger than he should was from a lifetime of malnutrition and
 other ravages the disease had visited upon his system. Edwin related 
that Samweli had been very, very sick the year before. The illness, 
brought on by his HIV status, came so fiercely and quickly that within 
weeks Samweli was completely unable to walk or even get out of bed.
 Because of this he had not been able to attend school the previous year.

After talking with the family a bit longer, I looked over to see
 Samweli, who was sitting in a chair tucked in the corner. He had laid his 
head against the cement wall and had fallen asleep. We decided to call it 
a night.

The next day we were back at the church. I wanted to know more
of the specifics of Samweli’s story, so I talked with Tiffanee Wright, the 
Program Coordinator for GHMD. She knew his story well, and began 
to fill me in.

Samweli’s uncle brought him to the program in June of last year. 
Samweli had just recently been released from the hospital after having
 been sick for nearly a year. He did not know why he was in such 
poor health; his uncle had never told him why he kept getting so sick.
 Tiffanee convinced his uncle that it was time for Samweli to know
 what was happening to him. After his uncle gave permission, she told
 Samweli that he was HIV-positive, which, along with a severe fever, is 
what had put him in the hospital.

Samweli sat quietly upon hearing that he had been living with HIV 
his entire life. Then he looked at Tiffanee and said, “Now I know why
my mom died.”

But HIV was only a part of Samweli’s problems. His mother had died, and
 his father was very ill and unable to care for him. He was taken in by his 
aunt and uncle but typically makes his own food, boils his own water, and fends 
mostly for himself at home. Because of the stigma associated with HIV, he often
 struggles with feeling like an outsider. As Tiffanee told me this, I flashed back 
to the hesitancy Samweli showed at dinner. He simply was not used to being welcome
 to eat with others, let alone with guests.

Samweli had also developed neuropathy, a condition that can be caused both by 
the virus itself as well as some medications used to treat HIV. Neuropathy attacks 
and damages nerve endings, causing chronic pain at the very least, as well as weakened
muscles, and sometimes paralysis. The year before, when Samweli had been so ill with fever, 
neuropathy set into his legs so badly that he was unable to walk at all.

After joining the Lahash sponsorship program, Samweli was able 
to enroll in a daily lunch program at GHMD, finally getting the proper 
nutrition to effectively battle his disease. He also began to see a physical
 therapist, and was outfitted with properly tying shoes containing special 
inserts (instead of the flip-flops he had been struggling to walk in). 
Although his nerve damage is most likely permanent, his ability to walk
 is slowly improving. Since walking long distances is nearly impossible, 
the program also purchased a bike, allowing him to travel to and from
 school and the lunch program. He is truly a changed boy since coming 
to GHMD last year. He arrived a quiet, timid, sickly boy, and now his 
true personality — funny, curious, and a bit of a troublemaker in the
clever, wry sense of the word — has blossomed.

The next day I sat in the back corner at the church, thinking again
 about Samweli’s story while half paying attention to the children’s
 choir and dance practice. My finger traced the notes I had taken about
 Samweli, moving along the bullet points describing the facts of his life 
as I had heard them: the boy who shuffled around the lunch program; 
the boy taking in every moment of our soccer game from behind his
 bike, the boy who couldn’t participate in physical activities with the
 other kids; the boy with the copious school notes written in perfect
 handwriting; the boy with HIV and neuropathy who feels like an
 outsider. I didn’t know what to do with it all. Samweli already has a
sponsor through Lahash, which is a great thing, but it made me feel 
even more helpless to do anything for him.

As the children continued their choir and dance practice, I looked 
up from my notes. There, way off to the right and a little further away
than anyone else, was Samweli. Except this time he wasn’t watching.
 He was dancing. This part of the dance required only hand and
 waist movements — perfect for Samweli. And I noticed Samweli 
less than I noticed his gigantic, beaming smile. A smile so large,
 so fulfilled, and so rich with delight in dancing in the presence
 of God that it seemed to obscure everything else in the room. 
A smile that all but walked itself across the room and hit me 
between the eyes. It was one of the most beautiful things I had
 ever seen.

I knew then what I was supposed to do. I needed to give 
Samweli’s story legs to walk on. Out of the hundred or so kids at 
GHMD, it was Samweli, the boy whose legs did not work, that I was
chosen to stay with. It was his story that I learned. I was to take his
 story and walk with it back home. Samweli has no opportunity to share
 his own story — in fact, he didn’t even tell me his story. He was 
too shy… several other people told it to me. But it was his strength,
 his resolve, his attitude, and his larger-than-life smile that caused his
 story to get up out of its special shoes and walk over to me.

Now I carry that story, and it is up to me to honor Samweli 
by bringing it to you. Parts of it are tragic and heartbreaking but 
it is encased with hope and happiness. His story is a glimpse into
 the work of God and His power to heal and change us. His story 
reminds us that we don’t always need the ability to walk on our
 own — we just need to be carried by each other.

I was only able to spend one day with Rose when I visited Savior’s Home in Kampala but she quickly became a favorite. Rose’s mom died at child birth and so Rose lived with her grandmother for several years. Her father, who was struggling with drug addictions, ended up kidnapping Rose and was intending to sell her to a local shaman who would use her in a child sacrifice ritual. Thank God, some local Ugandans rescued Rose and brought her to Savior’s Home where she can now be helped cared for and is a smiley, cute little girl. 

To learn more about Savior’s Home, go here

I’ve been in Dodoma, Tanzania now for about a month and and have spent most of that month getting my feet underneath me for spending the next 9 months here. I’ve settled into the house I’m living in with a family from Kenya; Edwin, Christine and their little boy, Jamal. They are an awesome family and I’m very grateful to be living with them. Edwin is the East Africa coordinator for Lahash so we work together quite a bit. We’ve even set up an office in the house. It’s pretty awesome.

While I’m very excited to be getting started here in Dodoma, at the same time, I’m missing all the people from Uganda I got a chance to meet and spend time with. But, it’s nice to be able to think back and re-minis about everyone while culling through photos and catching up on editing. So these pictures are from Kampala House where I spent most of my time while I was in Uganda (I’ll be posting blog updates of some of my favorites from Amazing Grace Orphanage in Adjumani, Uganda and Savior’s Home in Kampala as well as I finish editing). Kampala House is essentially Mama Susan’s house that she has she has turned it into a big family home of some of the kids she has taken in and rescued. Mama Susan is a widow from southern Sudan who started the ministry, IWASSRU, International Widow’s Association of Southern Sudanese Refugees in Uganda. Amazing Grace Orphanage is the other home in Uganda run by IWASSRU (portraits of the kids living there are a couple of blog posts down). IWASSRU offers refuge and care for orphans and vulnerable children, most of them from southern Sudan, and who many have been affected by the civil war that took place in their country. One of the things that I really kept having to remind myself just being around these kids is that I have no idea of the realities of their lives – the impossibly difficult and unimaginable things they have experienced and have had to overcome. They are happy ordinary/extraordinary kids that like to play and laugh, go to school, work hard, worship God. And they have big dreams and aspirations and hopes. All of this because of the care and love they receive from people following Christ’s example. Good overcomes evil.

“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.”  -Rms 12:9

To learn more about IWASSRU, check out:
http://lahash.org/work/partners-projects/iwassru/
http://sudaneseorphans.blogspot.com/ 

Also, a book as been written about Mama Susan and her story. Buy it here.

Chosen

Honest

Hope

Joy

Love

Marvin

Mary

Mercy

Precious

Peter

Samuel

Des

Gift & Grace