Maputo

I've been in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, for five days now. Like so many major cities in impoverished nations, Maputo is a study in contrasts. There are cars all over the place--most of much cleaner than I ever keep my car at home--but drawn to the cars like magnets are beggars at every corner, and every mile or so the driver has to disengage an alarm that is meant to discourage carjacking. This morning, I walked along the road that runs behind the guesthouse where I'm staying, the road that overlooks the Indian ocean. I watched the sun rise over the serene water, trying to keep my gaze away from the heaps of garbage filling the ditch beside the sidewalk. Along the road, American-style townhouses rose three-stories high and enjoyed manicured lawns and outdoor seating areas fenced in by concrete walls. Along the tops of the walls, curled barbed wire sternly warned trespassers to stay away; cheerful vines wrapped around the wire to add splashes of color and camouflage the spikes. The view of the ocean was punctuated by boys and men dressed in torn clothing, lying on the sidewalks or sitting solemnly or begging with hand outstretched or tending to fishing nets.

It is difficult to know what an appropriate response to these contradictions is. Cynicism seems like the lazy way out. Blind trust that God is in control and protects His own seems shallow and narcissistic. Sadness, wonder, a longing to understand, a passion to bridge the gap -- are these things that are honoring to God? Are they honoring to the people who spend their days begging along the side of the road? Can consciousness and conscientousness and compassion change what appears to be an impossible situation?