Brooks
Meet Susan.
She was in my small group today. During my times with women, I often
ask each one to share a testimony from their lives of how they have
experienced God. I am consistently surprised by the women's stories and
how they have encountered the Living God in real, life-changing ways. I
used to think that I was a pretty good listener and that there was
nothing anyone could tell me that would shock me. That was before I
started coming to Africa. The stories, the traumas, the horrors are
certainly more than anything that I've ever experienced. I teach the
women that even though our skin is a different color, the foods we eat
are different, the homes we live in are constructed differently and even
our cultures and ways of living are completely different, we, as women,
have much in common as women. We share the same emotions and feelings
and concerns. We hold in our hearts the same love for our children, our
worries and concerns for them. We have fears about our futures and worry
about finances and security and safety. Relationship with our husbands
is important to us and concern for older parents can consume us. They
all nod their heads in agreement, and I hope that some preconceived
thoughts about White, American women is dispelled.
Susan began to share her story. I
wish I could tell you it's the worst I've ever heard, but alas, it is
not. Susan was the eldest of many children living in a small village
close to the city of Kampala (Uganda). Her family was "poor, very, very
poor." Her father was a drunkard who came home many times beating her,
her brothers and sisters, and her mother, even so angry at times, that
he would declare he would kill them all … screaming that he would cut
off each of their heads. Eventually this is exactly what happened. In a
stupor one night, he came in angry and yelling, ordering the mother and
the kids around, asking them why this and why that. His anger escalated
to the point that he did just what he had always threatened. He cut the
mother's head completely off with each of the children watching,
paralyzed at what was happening. With no place to go and traumatizing
his own children forever, Susan was forced to continue to live with this
man. She felt responsible to somehow protect the younger children and
where would she go? What would she do? The father was relentless in his
abuse of her and her siblings, often leaving them behind for days alone
without food or clothing or school fees. Even when he was there, food
was scarce, money needed for food spent on alcohol instead.
When Susan was 14, her father
sent her to an old, old man as his third wife. The custom in East Africa
is that the prospective husband must pay the girl's father a dowry of a
cow, plus some money or whatever is negotiated. Not only was her father
able to rid himself of one of the children, but he also saw a clear way
to get some cash as well. As for Susan, she was no part of this
decision. The new husband then took her far from the mainland out to an
island in the middle of Lake Victoria, where she would live with him in a
small village. There she was surrounded by water, terrified because she
could not swim, living with a man three times her age with people she
did not know, cut off from her siblings and any semblance of life,
however destitute, as she knew it.
As days passed into years, Susan
kept looking for a way out. One day she saw her way of escape and
seized it … not only for herself, but now three years later, she had a
child of her own to care for. In the dark of night, under threat of
death, she hid in the bottom of a small boat and made it safely across
the lake and then walked the long distance into the large capital city
of Kampala. Yes, now she was safely away from the husband, but she had
nowhere to go, no aunts, uncles, or grandparents to take her and her
little girl in. For a long time she survived living on the streets,
begging for money and forever hiding in case the father would happen to
see her. At night she would sneak into someone's compound and sleep in
their outhouse, just to be out of the rain and somewhere that no one
could find her.
Tired and frustrated, scared and
alone, Susan eventually got up enough nerve to go to a church and ask
for help. There someone took her in and her life began to change. She
testifies today that she could not help but believe that somehow God had
protected her all of her life. Why? "Because He loves me!" she
exclaims. He alone had kept her alive. She repeats it over and over to
the rest of us. God is the one who kept me. I am only alive because God
watched over and cared for me and kept me safe. "I have been tested,"
she declares, "and even with all of this, I am clear and do not have
AIDS."
To see Susan, you will see only a
beautiful young woman, strong and healthy with a beautiful smile. She
looks peaceful, maybe even a bit shy, but don't let that fool you. When
Susan speaks, she speaks with fire, with determination and confidence.
She's angry. Not at the world or even the horrors that have happened to
her, but at the tragedies and injustices that people suffer from in this
world. Without a doubt, Suan knows in whom she believes and is
confident that the God who loves her loves other suffering women as
well. Her mission? To tell them all.
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