Children of the Dirt (Part 1)

In a land we call “Nsoko” live a group of people small in stature but not in spirit. They are a tribe of miniature baby humans that have adapted to life, carrying the load of several adults. They are born in the dirt; they eat, sleep and live in the dirt.

Genesis (2:7) says we are born from the dust and will return to it when we die. Somewhere in-between the being born and dying, most of humanity lives. Most live in a home, eat at a table, dress, go to school, and have older people protect and provide for them.

The Children of the Dirt are forced scavengers from early in life. Yet, they are far from savages. They are soft, humble and bursting with untapped potential. They were born for great purpose. Within the children of the dirt lie doctors, scholars, teachers, preachers, mothers and fathers.

They do not lack intelligence; they do not lack compassion. They are not bitter or hateful because of their circumstances.

They want nothing more than each of us desires. The very basic needs: a place to sleep, food to eat, and someone to love them.

An education seems the only tangible hope, but even that has a cost that is simply too great.

The school fees are nearly impossible, and the alternative will take their health and their future soon enough.

Their days are filled with the simple struggle to survive.

During the daylight hours, they are consumed with a search to appease the hollow ache in their bellies.

They walk with younger brothers and sisters strapped to their backs in the hot sun through the rugged bush in hope of at least one meal.

Their clothes are filthy and torn to near shreds.

They construct play things from trash, and kick rotten fruit as a ball.

At night their survival is even more intense, there is no dark like the bush of Africa when the sun goes down. The landscape is as black as their complexions. No light, no candles, nowhere to hide once the demons begin their perverted feast.

It is so dark they cannot even see their predator; they only know the pain and the shame.

The dirt is dark red; it seems to become a part of all it comes in contact with. It is in their hair, their clothes, their huts, and covers all that they know and see.

They cannot escape the dirt, it is all around them, and they even breathe it in the air. It is dry and heavy as it enters their lungs.

If you are interested in helping these children, please click on Give to the Nsoko Project, and watch for more updates this month.