It is day 2 on the lake, and we attempt to arrive at Sabonjeda early. Somewhat accomplishing that, Hailey and I are able to go out on the lake almost immediately to meet some of the "list children" working. A fisherman and JP take us out in one of the wooden canoes sitting on the shore, barely above water once we all sit down, and I'm not sure how we're going to manage to keep 4 adults afloat for any length of time, much less be able to move without fear of tipping. At least the water is calm along the shoreline. I imagine the children who spend 8-10 hours a day in this boat, hauling in heavy nets, trying to balance, fearing the water.
At least I know how to swim.
We paddle out in a shallow area, much closer to shore than I anticipated. It's eerily quiet, and as we round a bend, there is Michael, the boy we have been looking for. The light is catching his net just perfectly, but all I notice are his eyes. Hollow, empty, almost angry. His body is rigid. Is he scared? Has he been told what is happening, or have these white people just appeared out of nowhere like paparazzi? It's horrible. While I still believe in the need to tell the story, in some ways this is harder. Thankfully, I know. I know the hope on the other side, that one day very soon this boy will have a different story to tell. We circle all the way around the boat, and Michael gives us a parting look.
My friend Dotse from yesterday has been brought down to the lake as we return. We swap boats for our large one and follow Dotse and his master further out for additional footage. Their boat reads "God Bless" on one side and "Pray for Life" on the other. How appropriate.
As we finish up and head back to shore, I notice that a group of kids have come out to pull in a net that is close to shore. We've seen these nets before – a few trips ago, 8-10 grown men labored to pull one in. This time, it is 12 children and 2 men. It takes them a solid 45 minutes, with no break, to wrestle the 100+ yard net, gathering it into a canoe as they go. The youngest children are untangling netting in the boat while the eldest heave on the net sides over and over again. Perhaps the children gathered once our filming presence was known, perhaps they are the kids of fishermen and not all trafficked children, perhaps they are putting on a bit of a show for the Obrunis. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because children should not be working like this. 8-year-olds should not be throwing their entire body weight into a fish net, muscles bulging. And the little boy in yellow, sitting in the boat? He can't be more than 5.
I have seen enough in these 45 minutes to last a lifetime.
The rest of the day is spent under the mango tree, where our social workers question and interview masters and village leaders. They are fantastic at what they do, and I am reminded how incredible it is to watch Jesus followers leaning into their gifts for the Kingdom. Later, we prepare to leave, and the village children follow us down to our boat. Sam asks for the "list kids" to gather for a photo. They don't really understand what it means to be on "the list" yet, but Lord-willing they will soon. Soon. I'm hurrying, trying to get a headshot of each child, hearing their names for the first time, and then Sam is saying "here is Michael". I turn and do not recognize the boy from this morning standing in front of me. For this time, he is grinning shyly, the emptiness in his eyes replaced with a glimmer of hope. Soon, Michael, soon.
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It came down to this for me:
If I look at the mass I will never act. If I look at the one, I will. – Mother Teresa
For this trip, this trip was about the one. The individual faces looking up at me – Dotse and Michael and others. 7,000 is an incredibly overwhelming number, and the vastness of Lake Volta is indescribable. But instead of remaining paralyzed, I am learning to focus on the one. One village, one master, one child.
It's time to act.
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