GENESIS INTERNATIONAL MINISTRIES

A child sponsorship program is being introduced to our church (Genesis International Ministries) in Hamanskraal, South Africa. Above I'm with children who are catered under the same program in Mozambique.

God is good. I am in South Africa after being a Missionary in Mozambique for a short while. I am a Missionary now in South Africa under Genesis International Ministries. I am with my family; my 3 daughters and my beautiful wife, Precious. It is a new genesis for my family. I am also appointed as a church children's project coordinator. My daughter Tracy is also recovering from cholera and thank God for that.

CRIES WITHOUT TEARS-THE JOURNEY BEGINS CHAPTER 3

This is a picture of my last born, Nanette. She is just 7 months. I know I was just like her at her age.

Cries Without Tears-The Journey Begins Chapter 3

'My mother was a God fearing woman. No day would pass without her consulting with her God; the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob as she would normally say in her long prayers.

I strongly believe that my mother sometimes spoke to God mouth to mouth; if not, the Holy Spirit was visible to her.

At one moment she worshiped God the whole night with songs and praises, seated on her bed; with her Methodist hymn on her hands and a candle light placed on the chair by her bed.

She started with praises immediately after we had our supper.

I and my half brother slept on the mat by her bed; and my sister and my nephew slept on the same bed with my mother in a one room house.

The whole night she sang; praise song aftter the other, tune after tune.

Many times I would wake up and find that she was singing a different song. The last time I woke up she was praying and it was towards day break.

When we woke up to get ourselves ready to go to school, she was already dressed up in her black mourning gown. She was ready to go to work. She was now working as a cleaner at a local hotel.

She looked fresh and annointing shone on her face. In did she had been with her God. You could tell that she had joy and peace withing herself.

The world meant nothing to her, for in God she had everything.

That same morning after my mother had left, a big snake appeared under her bed. It was a very big snake. Fortunately my elder brother Vicente was present. After a long struggle with it, he managed to kill it. Neighbours were amazed and some said they would abandon the house.

On her return, my mother was told about the events that took place immediately after she left; the snake under her bed and how it was killed. We also advised her to abandon the house.

With pride, she said, "We shall step on snakes and scorpions and they shall never bite us, only if we believe in Him."

That was my mother; a short, light in complexion woman with a sharp voice. She was not fat at all.

We lived under God's principles and worshiped Him day and night.

We were taught to recite a prayer every morning and before we go to bed; to the God of my mother; the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The God who led the Israelites out of Egypt to the promise land.

"Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread.
Forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.
For thy is the Kingdom,
the Power and the Glory,
forever and ever
Amen"

We lived in poverty, but God remained the same God. He was so faithful.

Atleast we had something to eat everyday. We could go to school like all other children did, though sometimes we could walk barefooted.

What I remember the most, we were never sick. My mother was only asthmatic and she would normally be on her bed during bad weathers.

I also had one brother who was a staunch Christian and on fire about the gospel. He also had an impact in increasing our faith.

In fact he is the same brother who forced me to accept the Lord Jesus Christ by beating me up. Thanks to him, today He is still the same Lord in my life. I know that one day I'l come face to face with my Messiah.

Cries Without Tears - The Journey Begins (Chapter-2)

I want to believe that my daughters resemble me during my childhood

Cries Without Tears - The Journey Begins (Chapter-2)

'I was only 9 years when I escaped the country to Swaziland with the help of my elder brother Vicente.

This happened immediately after I witnessed the abduction of my aunt Leah by the rebels. That night, there were the only two of us in her house in the far rural area of Maracuene.

I was so fortunate that no one, amongst the hundreds and hundreds members of the rebels who surrounded our house spotted me on my hiding place. I was hiding in the inside-built maize storage.

I could see every thing which was happening through an opening from a small distance. The rebel members were so scary and wild. They uttered all sorts of vulgar words; calling a spade by its real name.

I watched helplessly as they were roughly pulling my old aunt accross the house and forcing her to carry some of her belongings she kept.

I layed quietly on my belly on top of the dry maize. Everything was quiet coming from my side; even mice had taken a break. I could hear noise coming from the other side of where I was, accompanied by gun shots and big footsteps; which included cattle and goats footseps. These were proberbly stolen cattle and goats.

Wailing sounds of women were heard for a minute and silenced by a gun shot; someone had been killed.

In a short while, everything was quiet and you could hear some crawling insects. Even though, I couldn't move out of where I was because I was still not certain whether they were all gone or not.

It was until the next morning, when I heard voices outside the house. neighbours were shouting the name of my aunt, 'Leah!'.

Some were wailing and some claping their hands in amazement. It was yet another story to tell; the painful story of the rebels.

I moved out of the storage and came outside the house to the surprise of all.

'How did you survive, where is your aunt?' They asked.

I looked at them, and deep down my heart I knew that my aunt was never to be seen again. I was the one left behind to tell the story; the lifetime story; the story of loss.

That was my first-hand experience of war in my life. It was immediately after that experience I found myself in Swaziland with the help of my brother. He managed to cross with me over the fence, but had no means of taking care of me.

I stayed in Big Bend in a house that belonged to a family friend. He had his own children and by me staying with him meant it was an extra burden for the family.

Life was not easy. At my age, I had to wake up every morning; sit by the road side and wait for moving trucks and tractors carrying sugar canes. That means, sugar canes falling from the moving vehicle meant I had something to chew. I stood the whole day eating sugar cane and lying by the roadside. I had to survive that way for atleast three months.

It was not long, my father joined me in Big Bend from Mozambique. He had escaped death in the hands of the government. He was accused of helping his son in law who was a senior commander of the army into Swaziland.

My father wanted to settle in Swaziland, and Big Bend was not a right place for him. He took me with him to Mbabane, the capital city of Swaziland.

He was very old. That was towards the end of 1985. My father was 73 years old and I knew he was not going to live that long.

In 1986 January, I started my first grade at John Wesley primary school in Mbabane. I was 10 years old and I was the eldest in class. Pupils of my age were doing their fifth grade.

I was a joke in class because of my age. Children and some teachers laughed at me and cracking jokes about my nationality, and the way I prounounced some words in their language. Some teachers would force me to read the local "Siswati Language book" with the aim of laughing at me when I wrongly call out some words.

They called me by names, "Shangane lenja or Shangane lekunuka."

This means I am a type of smelling Shangaan and a dog. "Shangaan" being my nationality.

Every day I would tell my father about the harssment at school and he would say, "My boy, nothing comes easy. Be proud of your nationality. One day you will go back home, a wise man."

My father prioritise education.He normally said it was a tool to conquer lives' challenges.

I loved school inspite of all those harasments and I was doing well and coming up top in class. By this time, my mother and young sister Busie, had joined us in Swaziland. My sister had also started with her schooling too. She also went through the same experience of harasment.

Due to my good perfomance, some teachers who were good to me, like Mrs. Hlatjwako who was the headteacher and Mrs. Dludlu, promoted me to upper levels within a year. I did not dissapoint them. I always excelled.

In 1987, my father became very sick. He was bedridden. He could not talk or move himself. He had difficulties in eating.We had to help him move to the toilet or clean up his mess around him.

This was another difficult time in my life. I had to play a big brother and make my mother and my sister strong. My mother was unemployed and had no means to support her family and her sick husband.

My mother collected bread leftovers by the local bakery to feed on her family. Sometimes she would go to local restaurants and collect some leftovers and she would bring them home for us to eat.

Everyday she would collect empty boxes to use as sleeping mat for my father who wet himself each and every day. Life was not easy for my family. The Salvation Army church would sometimes help, but the family needs were beyond what they could offer.

I also helped my mother by collecting empty bottles and sell to the local liquor shop. The few coins we got my mother would by something to eat for that day.

Seeing the hardship we were in, I looked for a job as a garden boy to help pay my school fees and that of my young brother and nephew, and also buy school uniform. I had to work after school and earn as little as R40.00 in a month. It was worth it.

My father, Vicente Mododweni Mondlane passed away on September 1988 in Mbabane hospital. He was buried in a family cemetery by our house in Mbabane. His funeral was attended mainly by his children and the Mozambican nationals.

I watched his coffin lowered slowly through an opening which had a cave at the bottom, and the coffin was shoved to the right side and closed by a traditional mat before soil was put.

"It was a wrong grave." I thought. When my father was alive he had pointed a tree opposite, as a place he would have loved to be buried. Nevertheless I was the younget and had no say.

What a life my father had lived; a life of many wives and children that had come to nothing. He died a poor man.

Now we were left only with our mother who had no means of making an income for us in order to survive. What happened to the rest of his wives? No one could tell.

Cries Without Tears - The Journey Begins (Chapter-1)

Look at this picture of my daughter Tracy, Can you believe that I was once this age?

Cries Without Tears - The Journey Begins (Chapter-1)

Just when I was doing grade 3, I was told to write an English composition entitled, "Myself".

'My name is Solomon Mondlane.' I would normally begin.

'I was born on 31 July 1976, in Chinonaquila, Boane as Domingo Tshekefane Mondlane. Chinonanquila is a dusty location found in the outskirts of the city of Maputo. It is 16km south of Maputo city.

I renamed myself Solomon, after I discovered that my original names had to do with the spirits of my encestors. My father said those spirits lived in me. Swazis too could not pronounce the names Domingo or Tshekefane.

I am the sixth born child of my mother, Verah Stengile, who happened to be the fourth wife to my father, Vicente Mododweni Mondlane.

My mother was of the "Xhosa tribe" found in South Africa, who migrated to Mozambique during the apartheid regime. She was one of the ANC members who were found in Maputo.

My father was of the famous "Makhambane tribe" found in the Gaza Province of Mozambique in an area called Manjacaze.

I was brought up in a polygamist family. My father was a tailor by proffession and a priest of a family Zion church.

I was brought up in a home of violence. Even though my father was a priest, he would beat up his wives and his elder daughters as a way of restoring discipline within the family.

My mother was the worst victim of domestic violence.

Quarelling amongst my father's wives occured frequently, and he had no control over it. In fights would normally broke up which sometimes ended up involving the whole family, and children defending their mothers respectively.

The house we lived in was the biggest house found in our community. It was a nine room incomplete block house. Our family was very big; it comprised of sons and daughters; grand sons and grand daughters, great grand sons and great grand daughters, nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles.

We normally had services every evening at our house. Most of the members of the church were family members.

My father normally led the srevice and preached what we called the family gospel. He would talk about events in his family and how he wanted his wives and children to behave. He would pick on certain scriptures to second his teachings and close the service by singing his favourite song, 'Jesus is coming back.'

My father had goats. My elder brothers and nephews were given the responsibilty of taking care of the goats. My sisters would be helping the mothers in doing house chores.

My father was a very busy man. His proffession was demanding. He had many clients who normally wanted their clothes to be made to the standard of their choices. They came from far and from near. Some were locals and some were foreigners mainly from South Africa who normally called my father their brother in law.

I was one of the youngest sons of my father; I was found all over the neighbourhood and by the community military camp which was a short distance away from home. I had a soldier friend who was also a commander of the army. He liked me a lot, and would normally visit my family now and then. He normally brought food and fish for my family. Soldiers had enough supply of food from the government.

The name of my soldier friend was Tomas. This is the man, who for the first time in my life introduced me to an AK47 gun. I was 8 years of age by then, and I would carry it around the military camp like a soldier ready for war, like most soldiers would be doing in the camp. I didn't know that it was a revelation for me of what was yet to come in my life.

I was brought up in a country of civil conflicts. The government was fighting what was seemed to be an unending war against the rebels. The news of the people dying in the northern part of our country were heard all over, and the country was going through a severe famine. Starvation was felt all over the land. Long queues would be found in every shop in the community; people hoping to get something to eat. They would queue from the very first hour of the morning until mid-day. Some would end up going home empty handed.This war lasted for 16 years.

He is God

Nanette and my wife Precious

Two weeks are ago I received an email from my old friend, Gift Nkuna. It had been sometime we communicated. Sadly he had to tell me that, early this year God blessed them (nkuna family) with a baby girl and unfortunately after 3 months she passed away. Just on that note; she complemented us on our new born Nanette who is now 7 months.

I'm still struggling to come into terms with the news of their lost, and I ponder on how great God is for my family.

It was the month of June this year in Swaziland where I was staying with my family. Nanette was only 2 months. It started with my 3 year old daughter who is now 3 years old. She was having a terrible diarrhoa and vomiting. It all started when i was not home.

When I came back she could not eat or move herself.

I rushed her to hospital, the Mbabane government hospital which is a main hospital in Swaziland. She recovered only after 2 days, but we continued giving her medication as it was prescribed.

We thought all was over; then it was Nanette. She was having diarrhoea and vomiting too. Without realisng her skull was visible and there was a big hole on top of her head. She had difficulties in breathing. She lost weight so quick.

We rushed her to hospital. On arrival we were attended by a staff nurse who looked at my baby and said. "She won't live to see the next day."

I held back my baby very close to my chest. I was shaking and when I looked my wife, she was crying.

We were reffered to the Doctor's office.

Before we could enter the Doctor's office, I held my wife close with one hand and the baby with my other hand I prayed this prayer, "Lord, if you have borrowed us this child, take her. If you want us to be with this child for the rest of our lives and a be a blessing to the Nations, save her. In Jesus name Amen"

I had something to tell my wife, "Forget about what the Doctors and nurses say now. Fix your eyes to Him. He is still the same god; the God of Abraham, I saac and Jacob."

My wife looked calm but shaking a lot. Our hope was in Him.

We entered the Doctor's office and without any delay the Doctor gave her his full attention. The Doctor was heard saying, "The child is not looking good at all and nothing special I can prescribe for her except the salt/sugar mixture."

That's what we had to take home, salt/sugar mixture. We had to give her every after 15 minutes the whole night according to the Doctor. That means if she manage to see the next day we would come back to the hospital early in morning.

We didn't sleep and the whole night we were watching our baby and praying and giving her the mixture.

We saw her recovering slowly but surely. The hole on the head closed up and her pale skin changed to normal. We continued feeding her the mixture and praying hard to God to save our baby.

Nanette survived. As we took her to the Doctor the next morning, she looked much better. My wife looked more relaxed than the day before. My soul sang a song of praise to him; "I know the Lord will make a way for me."

Yes, the Lord saved Nanette and she was given extra medicine, but we knew that God was an extra medicine. Today she is 7 months growing so strong and healthy.

I want to say to the Nkuna family, everything happens for a good reason. God had borrowed you a child for 3 months and He knew why. Know that He is still the same God; the God who is still with you today. Honour Him and be faithfull to Him all the time. Good things are still yet to come. Be like Abraham, be like Joshua and the rest of the faithful men in the bible.