Finally Some Good News: In the wrong pockets

Editor’s note: For three weeks in September, Mark Ross and his wife, Linda, worked with a Habitat for Humanity Mozambique team to build houses in this southern African country, one of the poorest in the world. Since its founding in 2000, the organization has built over 300 houses for poor families. In recent years, its efforts have been directed to help meet the needs of orphans and vulnerable children. Currently, all the homes are free to the families. Estimates project Mozambique is home to 1.5 million orphans, about 500,000 due to HIV/AIDS. In a series of four columns, titled Just Kids, Dr. Ross plans to share some of his insights about the children he encountered. This is the fourth installment in that series. The earlier installments can also be found on this site.

By DR. MARK ROSS/Columnist

In the face of a budget crunch, the minister stood on Sunday morning before the congregation. He said, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is the church has all the money necessary to pay off the debt and buy anything we need.”
From the back of the church, a cynic asked, “What is the bad news?”
The minister replied, “The bad news is the money is still in our pockets.”
Strangely, it was that silly old story that came to mind on the morning of our last workday in Mozambique. We had just parked our vehicles where, in a few hours, we would participate in a home dedication. The dedication was the culmination of weeks of hard work. We were ready for a party, and the homeowners were ready for their new homes. Just as our team was leaving the vehicles, one of the villagers brought the bad news, “Iesa died last night.” It was then I thought of that silly old story and the line, “The money is still in our pockets.
What a macabre coincidence. We had met Iesa on our first workday and she died on our last workday. At 27-years-old, Iesa was younger than the other homeowners were. All of the homeowners were women who were raising grandchildren or other children who had no parents. Iesa was raising her own children. She had two. The oldest child was 13.
Iesa and her children lived with her parents and a number of other members of the extended family. They all shared a small mud hut. Not only were the accommodations tight, but also the rainy seasons wrecked havoc on the mud hut. When the rain began to fall, the mud walls began to melt.
On that first workday, Iesa radiated with not only beauty, but also a genuine enthusiasm. She was anxious to have her own home, a place to raise her children. We witnessed that enthusiasm during the construction project. Daily, she moved between job sites, helping in any way we needed. She moved material, carried water, helped with the meal preparation, and even helped to dig a latrine. Iesa was a bright spot for our team. A home for her and her children was a symbol of hope for the future of this poor community. Then the day before we dedicated her home, Iesa died.
Earlier in the week, I had a premonition of this tragic event. Beside the place where we stayed was a small shop, where men were learning woodworking. I had admired the beauty and quality of the work, but had not taken time to see the furniture closely. One morning, some men were loading furniture in a pickup. I took the opportunity to examine it. I was genuinely impressed with what looked to be beautiful bookshelves. Then I lifted one up a bit to see the other side. You cannot imagine the shock I experienced when I realized I had lifted up a casket and not a bookshelf. I wonder if it was for Iesa.
The men in the village buried Iesa the same day she died. No one knows why she died. Was it an aneurism or appendicitis? There is no doctor or nurse in the village, no pharmacy, no clinic.
Yet, help for Iesa was just down the road. A registered nurse was on our team. We had access to vehicles; a hospital and pharmacy were within driving distance. The money needed for her care was in our pockets. Only, we never knew she was sick.
I cannot plead such ignorance about the sick in our country. I have friends who live with constant pain because they have no health insurance. I hear regularly of people on fixed incomes who weekly choose between purchasing groceries or medicine. One of the diabetes clinics where my daughter works has closed. Patients cannot afford the supplies, so they do not come. Like Iesa, help is potentially just down the road.
Yet, Time Magazine reported this week that during the last six months in which Congress has debated health-care reform, the pharmaceutical industry has spent an average of more than $609,000 per day on lobbying efforts. Can you imagine how far that money would go in helping some of the poorest in this country? There is money to help the uninsured and the underinsured, only it is in someone else’s pocket.
We were able to give Iesa’s children some photos of their mother and a small offering to offset the burial expenses. Chances are the same money would have saved her life, only it was still in our pockets.
Mozambique is not so different from this country. Money makes orphans of children everywhere. The problem is not a shortage of money. It is just in the wrong pockets.

Dr. Mark Ross is the pastor of Marion Baptist Church. To learn more about MBC, visit http://www.marionbaptistchurchva.com/.