I have never seen anything like a squatter camp. To call it a slum is an understatement. Rows upon rows upon rows of houses line dirt roads. These houses are not like those my naive, born and raised in the suburbs eyes are used to. The walls made from scrap metal, cardboard, or whatever is on hand. An entire family huddles together in a room smaller than the bedroom I had to myself as a young child. Roofs are held down with weights- sometimes bricks or rocks, and at least once a wheelchair. If you happen to wander out right after a rain storm you’ll find men already up on the roof trying to repair and replace that which the rain has washed or the wind has blown. In some of the newer areas a family is lucky enough to have their own bathroom (that is a single toilet surrounded by 3 walls and a partial door) and a tap in the front yard. In other places, 8 or 9 toilets are shared by hundreds of families. Roads are lined with broken glass and garbage, and wires run across the streets to provide some houses with electricity. It’s the furthest I can imagine from my comfortable home in the US. At first glance, I labeled these people as poor, sad, and hopeless.
From training in the US and here in South Africa we’ve been told and shown that as Americans we’ll see poverty based on physical need, that is a lack of money. We are all about the physical and seldom about the spiritual. I see a family in a broken down home and immediately want to cure their physical need before even wanting to know their story. The project comes first, and building a relationship is an added bonus. But poverty does not come from a need of stuff. Poverty stems from broken relationships. Poverty continues because we’re giving out fish instead of rods and a fishing lesson. I will not alleviate poverty by building houses while ignoring the people who will fill it with life. People are not helped if I drive around with a knowledge of terrible situations and a heart full of pity, but don’t know the real story of the real people. Maybe, just maybe, I am most helpful when I seek relationships first, and give more love than stuff. I will not be naive enough to say that the physical need is irrelevant, but maybe our focus in missions needs to be shifted. Maybe instead of seeing this place as hopeless, I need to see the opportunity for growth.
My first glimpse of hope came from Leonard, an older man living with his wife, their adult son, and their young daughter in a home in the squatter camp. We had the privledge of getting to speak to them and getting to see their home. Leonard is a follower of Jesus Christ. He sews. They have a garden where they grow spinach. Although they live among extreme poverty, in a house I wouldn’t have even considered to be fit to house garden tools, Leonard and his wife greeted us as old friends with a huge smile and a strong hug. Leonard is rich in his faith and continues to pray for his neighbors through all circumstances. Leonard invited us to pray with him, that we might encourage each other. I felt the presence of God more in that small room, filled with love and prayer, than I ever have in a church. Because of the love of Christ that radiates from Leonard’s life, I see hope.
The next time we visited the squatter camp, we went to play with kids. I swear if you ever want to find kids in any sort of neighborhood, walk up and down the streets while bouncing a soccer ball. Magical. As we played with the kids, with the help of local Bible School students (all young adults) in both guidance and translation, the joy was undeniable. Although most kids didn’t speak a lick of English and our Afrikaans went as far as “dankie” (“thank you”… and I’m not even confident on the spelling…) we laughed and smiled and played. At one point, a curly-headed little girl started holding my hand. She didn’t let go. I don’t know her name, or her story, or her favorite color, or even if she knows the name “Jesus”, but I know that at least for a while she felt safe holding my hand. I know I gave her nothing but love, and smiles, and someone to hold on to. I know she smiled and laughed and played. I am confident that her smile is the hope for a brighter future. Amidst a seemingly hopeless situation, where poverty is the norm and homes fall apart, my heart was filled with hope from the beautiful smiles of beautiful African children.
I entered the squatter camp for the first time overwhelmed by the situation and apparant need. I felt guilty for all I have, and discouraged by what I couldn’t give. To be honest, I’m still struggling with that. Initially I thought I was in a place where darkness reigned and hope was a foreign word. I am grateful to say I’ve been proven wrong. There is love in the squatter camps. There is joy, there is Jesus, and I’m happiest to report, there is hope in the squatter camp.
“… we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God…” -Romans 5:2
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