C.A.R. airport camp II
/May 2015; Bangui, Central African Republic
Predictably drawn toward the warm welcome and shy smiles of onlookers encircling the central compound, Mark and I reluctantly joined the others under the canopied meeting area. Community representatives filled wooden benches and lined the enclosure, while the visiting delegation sat on benches around a rough table at the front.
After the opening formalities, Mr. Etoka, M. Lea, and Mark brought each greetings and shared a few thoughts. The gathered residents listened solemnly.
Outside, another ring of listeners peered in, following the proceedings intently. Mr. Jean Molito, the community spokesman, scribbled notes as the guests spoke, then rose to address the assembly.
He spoke passionately for several minutes, briefly describing life in the camp and thanking the visitors for coming. “We do not lose hope. And today we know that you have not forgotten us!” Eloquent, sincere, fatherly, he spoke on behalf of the people, and their voices swelled in agreement.
To my utter relief, it became apparent that our visit to the airport camp had created space for a genuine exchange, and was a source of real hope and much-needed encouragement for an entire community scraping out an existence in the margins … and all too easily forgotten.
Mr. Etoka’s staff had unloaded the food supplies at the far side of the enclosure. Sacks of rice and sugar in rows sat next to stacked cases of sardines and 20 L jugs of cooking oil - enough to feed the camp’s 2000 residents for 3 days. We were all too aware of the limitations of this gesture in the face of the pressing need, but it was a start, and heartfelt. It became abundantly clear that both the visit and the food were deeply impacting and gratefully received by the camp’s residents.
Following a the obligatory ceremonial sardine-case exchange, we rejoined the crowd outside the pavilion. Residents pressed in like long-lost cousins, celebrating the joyous occasion. Mark and I later concurred that this time was the highlight of our visit, marked by surprisingly meaningful - albeit brief - interaction with camp residents, young and old.
I was particularly drawn to the youth and children, barely holding back tears as I returned their warm handshakes and brave smiles. I found myself wanting to just *be* with them, to simply minister the love and presence of God, to hang out and hear their stories, heartbreaking as I knew they would be. But all too soon our time ran out.
I was warmed by the knowledge that Bridges and Mr. Etoka will be working with the C.A.R. government on a broader, US-based relief initiative, in addition to ongoing efforts to solve the systemic problems that birthed the Airport Camp in the first place.
Someone made the blessed suggestion that we pray together. To the delight of our new friends, “Mr. Ambassador” led out in his typically eloquent, heartfelt, multilingual blessing prayer. Then, fittingly, Mr. Molito closed the gathering with a passionate prayer, ending in a french praise song known by most of those present, including Alain and our local hosts.
The sense of God’s presence was palpable as we shared a brief but potent moment of worship, bowing our hearts together before the One in Whom all things cohere and hold together.
