There were many moments during our trip to Kalimantan where I grieved my inability to communicate with the beautiful locals in their heart language. I longed to more fully understand their stories.
One mother moved to a new village with her husband and two young children to find work. They have no family in the village they now call home ~ no family in a village that counts it’s inhabitants by numbering the families. 30 patriarchs. She is 37 years old and she is starting again. I asked if her family was living in a near-by village along the river. “I am the only one”, she replied “they have all passed away”.
Another mother bore her first child at 16 years old, not unusual in her village. The baby, a beautiful little girl, was born with significant disabilities, but there is no access to medical care where they live. She does not speak, has difficulty eating, and is often sick. The father rocks her in his arms. Their second child was born just two years later.
In both villages we visited the children are eager to learn, their faces are filled with hope, their laughter echoes.
So many faces, each representing a life filled with hopes and dreams, each with a story to tell …
Cliff Jumping With The Schmidt's 