Halfway
I’ve been here long enough that I catch myself speaking portuguese to my cat. In fact I did our village school without a translator for about an hour and a half yesterday…although my grammar is atrocious, really.
In the past New Years here has been rough. Staff tell of witch doctors coming out all over the city in their full garb. Perhaps something that US-ians can relate to more is rampant drunkenness. Fatherhood isn’t valued much in this culture and an excuse to drink loads of EtOH doesn’t help the situation.

Loving fathers DO exist here- This man lost his wife and can't take care of his daughter. His beautiful little girl lives with us but he comes to the base and visits her often. Here they are together on Christmas. This picture keeps at the forefront of my mind that every child here has a story. Every one.
Please pray for families here. For a new spirit of real love and for protection from temptation and evil of every kind.
I have a funny story for you…when white people walk through the village they’re bound the hear children yelling “akunya, akunya” which means white-person, white person. Adults chuckle. Visitors are advised to avoid walking through the village in case a situation escalates. I had to go get some “matopi” for our pottery class so I went into the village with two Mozambican friends. Sure enough within the first minute a child piped up “akunya, akunya, akunya” to which another child replied (in Portuguese) he’s not an akunya, look at him. The two began fighting between themselves over whether or not I was white enough. Good times.
Now when a village kid calls me akunya I just look around really fast and say “where??!?” and everyone seems to think that’s pretty funny. There’s one place in the village where, when I turn the corner, they just yell “Eduardu, Eduardu!” and come running. These are my students and their brothers and sisters.
May God give you exactly what you need in the year ahead, lots of love, Ed
…and here’s a picture my friend Sam took, just cause I like you:


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