The Rich Little Boys of Mozambique

It was the summer of 1999 and I had traveled to Africa to visit some of our missionaries in Zimbabwe. A few days later, I went by truck with a friend and two missionaries to neighboring Mozambique where the mission was trying to start some churches.

At that time, Mozambique was a war-torn nation that had suffered through 15 years of civil conflict and fighting. Crossing the border into the town of Chichulachula was not really a difficult task. The tariff was only 83 Zim dollars, a little over $5 American. The bad news was that we learned from the border patrol that it would cost us $30 American to cross back into Zimbabwe at the end of our visit. They went on to tell us that they would not accept Zim dollars, Mozambique medicais, or even American Express travelers' checks! My problem was that I had brought only travelers' checks and an American $100 bill.

We decided to enter Mozambique anyway, hoping that we could somehow find change for my $100. We tried the bank in this little town of 10,000 refugees, but they only had medicais. The bank did give us the name of a local man who might be able to help. With the assistance of one of the villagers, we were taken to this man's rather elaborate compound. Amazingly, without quibbling or questioning, he willingly gave me two twenties, a ten, and a fifty dollar bill in exchange for my hundred. No fee, no charge. What a relief! I saw the easy exhange then as a "God thing" and I still do today.

I tell you that story to tell you another story. While we were surveying the town, we were followed everywhere by a group of little boys who obviously had suffered the devastation of war. Their clothes were ill-fitting and tattered, their feet were shoeless, and their faces dirty. But laughing and kicking a soccer ball made of plastic bags and string, they followed us throughout the dusty streets with faces aglow with what I could only call joy. With holes in their pants, I am sure that not a one of them had a red cent, much less a single centavo (100th of a medicai). But for them it was a great day. They were alive and living in the moment.

Much more than me. Worried over my $70 problem (if I had to surrender my $100 back at the Zimbabwean border), I had been so preoccupied with my money woes that I had failed to take in the amazing sights and sounds of my only foray into Mozambique. We visited the marketplace and interacted with dozens of people, but most of it was lost on me. I was too busy worrying.

I will leave the application to you, my friend. I am far too embarrassed by the story to even consider it. I can only say I know who the real pauper was that day.