My Life as an African Gypsy

The only way to describe yesterday would be to say it was an emotional roller coaster. A big one full of twists, turns, and flips.

Jon and I decided to drive to South Africa to pick up our packages that we have been waiting for since Christmas. We called and checked and knew they would be there, so we felt the trip would be well worth it. (about an hour and a half away)

When we arrived to the post office it was almost comical how excited I was. We stood there in line with our package slips, and I had try not to climb over the wall and get them! Jon kept telling me to calm down. Yeah right. Finally after what seemed like forever, we had them in our hands! I couldn't wait the hour and a half to go home, yet at the same time the car was too hot to sit and open them in, so we took them in with us when we ate lunch and opened them there.

Glorious!

The smells! The frills! The chocolate!

I kept touching and smelling everything. As sad as it may be, the smells of the stores were familiar and wonderful. I could picture the insides of them, imagine walking around with my coffee in hand and chatting on the cell phone. Oh it seems like another life now. (I don't mean that in a bad way for me here or anyone living that way there, just different.)

We hopped in the car, I couldn't stop smiling. I would say, "Such pretty things."

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Because of the time we returned, we decided we still wanted to go to the hospital, but that we would just greet people and promise our return the next day. One man had been sick the day before, so we wanted to say a quick prayer.

I went around making my short visits, greeting and kissing, explaining about going to South Africa and needing to get home for the evening and how many things there were to be done... then I saw her.

My friend. Maybe just for a short time, but still, I consider her a friend.

She left the hospital a few weeks ago because there was nothing else to be done for her; she went home to die there near her children. But here she was. Back.

I quickly approached, sat on her bed, and knew immediately it was not good. I wrapped my arm around her and prayed. What could I do for her? She wanted cold milk. I went as quickly as I could.

When I returned she could hardly drink. She needed to use the bathroom, but there was no way should could walk. With the help of a couple men we got her into a wheel chair and with much effort, plowed down aisles too small, banging the whole way toward the restroom.

It was horrible. I had never been inside. I held onto her, trying to support her grotesquely huge arm as we scooted into the stall. I pulled up her skirt and held on, praying to the Lord to help me keep her up... and also to keep my stomach in control as the smells were overwhelming. We got her back into the wheel chair, while she moaned the whole time and saying 'wait' every few seconds.

We decided to change beds, to get one closer to the restroom. She had no strength to make it into the bed. I knelt in front of her and together we cried out to Jesus. So much timed passed. Finally we got her sitting on the edge of the bed. We kept praying. Praying. Crying. Praying.

She vacillated between wanting a fan, not wanting a fan. Milk, then cold water, then juice. At one point she thought she may try to eat a banana. I sent Jon to buy one, but she never even tried. She was weak.

Honestly, I was praying for the Lord in His goodness and mercy to take her home. She loves Him I have no doubt, so I earnestly prayed for Him to let her end this horrible life, to stop this suffering.

She kept living.

It had been hours. I told Jon to come back for me. I kept thinking if she would lay down to try and rest, I would be okay with leaving, but for that moment I couldn't. I just couldn't.

We moved once to an air conditioned room... the process difficult and painful. I sat on the cold hard floor next to her. We never stopped praying, by this time I mainly would just say the name of Jesus. I was out of words. She started yelling, "Where are you Jesus?" between her moans. I begged Him to take her, or at least to show Himself to her, let her feel His presence.

Those moments haunt me.

She decided she wanted to try to sleep, but getting back to the bed would prove next to impossible. At one point, waiting in the wheel chair for help to lower the bed, she got up on her own and started moving quickly towards another bed, one that was already lower. In the process she fell to the ground crying out for water, grabbing at the door to prop her up.

Some men helped pour water on her back, and there she sat writhing in pain, soaked on the floor. I sat in front of her whispering the name of Jesus, still pleading for something, some action from the Lord.

We got her to the bed, but when the men laid her down, they were unaware of her arm being so painful. They laid her on that side, her full weight on top of it. She thrashed, kicking her legs, trying to get herself up. With help we got her sitting again. From then on she was afraid to lay down.

It was 9:15 and I needed to go home. I prayed again and then I left her, a little more comfortable than the previous minutes, in a bed next to a woman who seemed more caring, more interested and concerned.

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I came home, crying all the way. My husband had food ready for me, so I ate and we chatted. He hugged me. I vented about not understanding the Lord, and he listened as he does so well.

Then I went and pulled out the pretty things from the packages. I touched them and breathed in the beautiful smells. It helped. My clothes reeked of the hospital, but the lovely orange vanilla I could inhale was refreshing.

I believe the Lord knew I needed that. I needed some beautiful at the end of the day.

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I don't know if she lived through the night. I will find out soon. I pray that she is gone, at home with Jesus. I pray, I pray.

Please don't read this and think "Oh Layne! How could you do this? Oh it is so wonderful. Oh you're so compassionate." and whatnot. I am not special for being there. I am not stronger.

Thanks be to God that He has brought me to Maputo for such a time as this. That He has chosen to use someone as broken and sinful as I am. I was privileged to sit next to a woman with more strength than I, with more faith than I.


I now continue to ask for understanding, for insight into the ways of the Lord. I am full of questions.