A Longed-For Day to Remember

Today’s blog is the second post in our series from our Ambassadors’ visit to Senegal. In this post, Fiona shares the story of meeting her sponsored child for the first time and all of the emotions and reflections it swells inside her. It’s a wonderful post, so we’ll let you get reading:

by Fiona Thompson

I awoke feeling quite anxious in the morning - I was going to finally meet my sponsored child.

When I innocently filled out my direct debit form all those years ago filled only with a sense of “doing something worthwhile” little did I realise that it would eventually lead me to Senegal and meeting my sponsored child personally.

And here I was, checking that I had all that I needed: new school bag, football kit donated by my son Angus’s school, pens, pencils, rubber, some World Vision bits and pieces, pressie for Mum? Check, all there.

Off we went in the van, and drove to Aloyse’s compound. We had already driven a long way off the main road and now we went even further into the scrub. The road by this stage was just a dust track. It would be impassable in the rainy season. There were dusty areas being ploughed in preparation for the rains, numerous Baobab trees, wandering cattle, goats and donkeys.

Finally we turned down an even smaller track and came across and rickety fence: Aloyse’s compound wall. We walked between some huts and came across the centre of the compound: a tree under which sat some women and small children shelling nuts.  They had been expecting us but nuts still had to be shelled.

Meeting Aloyse

The World Vision staff went to Aloyse’s hut but he wasn’t there. We waited for a bit and then he walked over: he had gone to the well to wash and change into his best clothes. Judging by the way the rest of his family were dressed, it seemed they had either bought or borrowed his clothes especially. He had clearly made an effort to look his best.

Needless to say, he was very nervous and shy. He didn’t know what the rules and expectations were of this visit and neither did the adults. He had no agenda.

I just went blank. I hadn’t planned what to do if the expectation lay on me. We stood there, greeted one another, he couldn’t look me in the face. I was flummoxed.

Writing letters a couple of times a year doesn’t build enough of a rapport to meet in person. I was introduced to his parents, brothers and little sister who had been standing at the back watching. Some more women from the community came over too.

Meeting the community

One of the ladies poured the peanuts out of her bowl and into another, turning the empty bowl over and making the inevitable drum. The singing and dancing began. I tried to talk with Aloyse asking him about school, friends, his family, but it was all a bit too much for him. We exchanged presents and his face lit up with a beautiful smile at the sight of the football kit. He loved his pencils and the new bag.

His Mum was cheered by the other ladies as she unwrapped a shawl I had bought in the Gambia. I was presented with a lovely piece of fabric to wear as a skirt. One of the elder ladies in the village thought that she ought to show me how to wear it, miming how to put it on. Okay, I thought, let’s break the ice a bit.

I stood up, handed her the fabric, raised my arms and presented myself to her. She rose to the challenge wrapping the fabric around me and tucking it in much to the delight of the other ladies.

The drumming began again and she danced for me, so naturally, I had to join in. To my surprise, Aloyse did too! A huge beam of joy across his face as we danced with each other. Wonderful.

He then told me that his Dad was building a new house. Could he show me? Of course!

We went through the village and I saw where he lived. His hut was made of rough mud bricks with a thatched roof. The space between the two was filled with old clothes and fabric. We went through the fabric door into their entire house, a room smaller than my son’s bedroom.

Inside was a double bed with a mattress made of, what? Straw? Dried grass? I am not sure but it was hard and lumpy. The mat on the floor next to the bed was where Aloyse slept with his brothers and sister and probably the two small goats that were in there too. There was one chest of drawers. That’s it. I don’t know where they cooked. No bathroom. No toys.

We left after the village elder greeted us and thanked me for helping Aloyse and prayed for my family. I was honoured and humbled to be spoken to with so much respect, to be elevated to a status of benefactor.

Reflections

How do you deal with that change in role? How do you deal with the material differences? How do you go back to “normal life” knowing that normality is so relative?

I am going back to a house which has spare rooms and a garden with so much space for growing crops and still have space for the children to play. We have so much and he has crops his family depend and rely on and four goats meaning that his family are better off than some.

And yet in many ways his community is so much richer than many families in Britain. The children have so many adults who care for them, love them, spend time with them, keep them company, involve them. They aren’t sat in front of a TV for hours and ignored; they aren’t treated as an inconvenience or bought off with material possessions disguising the lack of attention and priority.

They may own little, but I bet they don’t spend evenings or even days feeling alone, bored, and unwanted. Richness comes in more ways than money can buy.

We don’t know about you, but everyone in the office was moved by Fiona’s account of her visit: honest, open and reflective, it feels like we joined her on the journey. How does sponsoring your child feel to you? Let us know by clicking over to our Facebook page now and leaving your thoughts.

And don’t forget to check back on Friday for the last blog installment, as well as keeping an eye on Facebook for an album full of beautiful photos tomorrow.