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October and November were the worst months for hunger, when the food from the previous harvest was gone and it was difficult to find anything to eat in the jungle. In this way we sipped our stew until, at the very end, we could finally eat the morsel of chicken or goat. The idea, of course, was to flavor the stew, but it didn’t work. Instead, we were to place it under our noses to get the scent of it before each sip of saltwater. If we were lucky enough to have it, we would receive a tiny piece about the size of a fingertip. Chicken or any other type of meat was a rare luxury for my family. But I was often hungry enough that I was glad to get them.Īnother meal I detested was something my mother called chicken stew, although there was no chicken in it. They tasted terrible, as you would expect. Sometimes, when there had not been sufficient rain to grow food-or when there had been too much rain-we survived by eating the leaves of cassava or pumpkin. We went inside to sleep or in an attempt to stay dry when it rained, but we did not live inside the way westerners do. Like the other families in our village, we spent most of our time outside. Those fires also kept us warm at night and in the wintertime as we huddled so close to the fire pit that our legs were burned by embers that were spit in our direction. Our mothers prepared food-when there was food to prepare-over stone hearth fires that filled our homes with smoke. At night we all slept on thin reed mats unrolled over the dirt floor. All the children I knew lived in small one- or two-room huts constructed of thatch and mud. But then, so was everyone else in my village. But I did not look up often enough.ĭespite my parents’ status as witch doctors, my family was terribly poor. Sometimes, when I looked up at those stars, I felt a sense of awe and peace of mind that momentarily lifted me above the difficulties of life in my impoverished village. They did not make the mighty lion, the ferocious crocodile, the dense jungle that surrounded our village, the bright stars that filled the sky above me at night. It seemed clear that the puny spirits my parents invoked through their magical incantations had not created the world around me.

Sadly, this was the only spiritual reality I knew, although I longed for something more. They delighted in revenge and stirred up trouble between neighbors and didn’t seem to mind that my parents used them to make money from other people’s misfortunes. Instead, they seemed mean and capricious. I sometimes saw their power, but I never would have described them as wise.

My mother and father claimed to be in touch with ancient spirits who were wise and powerful. My parents were witch doctors, as were my grandparents before them. I had never heard of Jesus Christ.Īlthough I now believe it was God Himself who spoke to me on that night long ago, I can think of no earthly reason why He should have intervened in my life in such a dramatic way. I grew up a very poor child in an impoverished village called Cachote in rural Mozambique. I have not been back to my village or seen my parents since that night, over 25 years ago.īefore I share the rest of the story, I want you to know more about me. I didn’t know where I was going or what was about to happen to my family. I jumped up, dressed quickly and walked out into the African night. But I knew I could not ignore this powerful, commanding voice. I was fifteen years old and not at all ready to face the world on my own. My mother and my sister Maria did not stir. My father’s snoring told me he was still asleep. I felt that everyone in my village would probably come running to see what was going on at our home-but nobody else seemed to be able to hear the voice. The command was so loud and urgent that the earth beneath me seemed to tremble. I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. The voice was masculine, strong and deep. The voice was louder and more insistent than before. Had I been dreaming? It had seemed so real. I lay there for a moment, listening to the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. I blinked, trying to see who could be calling my name at this hour of the night, but it was pitch dark inside my family’s hut. The voice boomed in my ear, rousing me from a deep sleep.