Letting Go

Years ago in Mozambique my daughters were concerned about the girls across the street who had no toys to speak of. We went through our things and chose some toys to give away. The neighbors were thrilled, but my daughters were upset later when they saw their former toys left out in the rain and not cared for. Nusha and her sisters were used to doing wonderfully creative things with leaves and sticks and pieces of elastic that didn't need to be put away when they were done. I had to remind myself as well as the girls that when we give something away we have to let it go.

Monday at Tembisa Baptist I asked where the book bin was that I had left in July. It took them a while to find it, making me think it probably wasn't being used on a weekly basis as intended. Eventually they came up with it. The plastic lid was missing, but there was still a large collection of books in good condition. (Maybe too good.) Unfortunately, there were also coloring books and crayons falling out of their boxes, small toys and stray craft supplies--not what the book bin was intended for. When we give something away, we have to let it go, I reminded myself.

Tuesday I returned to Arebaokeng. I was warmly received. The children pulled the plastic chairs into the front yard, and we read a counting book set in Nigeria that I had borrowed from my friend Ruth. Nlhanlha, the young pre-school teacher, sat with us and translated for the ones too small to know any English. She couldn’t find the bin, but brought a stack of books she uses, including many of the ones I had left. She complained that the school kids take the books home to read and then don’t bring them back.

When the school children arrived, they brought their chairs and gathered around before they even went for their meal. There was a larger group than usual, including a number of teens. I read the Easter story and was surprised that more knew what Easter was about than in the group at the Baptist church. They were a bit vague, but by the end of the story they knew we were celebrating that Jesus is alive. “Let’s have more stories about God,” said one of the older boys.

I gave them a short lecture about bringing back the books they took home. “They belong to all of us. When you bring one back, you can borrow another.” I’m not sure they understood the concept, but I tried.

During the reading time, I saw a boy with a plate of mealie porridge and stewed chicken eating with his fingers in the traditional way while he leaned over almost double to read a book spread on the cement at his feet. In the 'old days' when I brought the books from home, I insisted that they finish their food before they took a book. But they aren’t my books anymore. I bit my tongue. I’m glad he wants to read. I'm trying to learn to let go.