23. Muhindo

The DMI blog aims to let people know about the deaf kids, teachers, pastors, schools and churches that DMI supports in developing countries, and encourage support for them by telling their amazing stories. Please share this blog with your friends.

A very serious-looking young man sits before me. He’s wearing a blue face mask and a red T-shirt with Japanese writing scrawled across it. He has short cropped hair and steely eyes. I try to read his face but I can’t make him out: he could be a shy fellow, a wounded soul, a comedian waiting for the spotlight or a ball of anger waiting to explode. He’s a little of each, it turns out, but then so much more, and by the time the interview is done, this guy has won my admiration and I have won a life-long friendship.

His name is Muhindo. Remember it.

His beginning is so tragically sad. This is not uncommon for kids at DMI schools yet each of their journeys has its own twist. Muhindo is 17 years old but he didn’t start school til he was 13. He spent the first 13 years of his life without communication, friends or an education. Why?

“My parents rejected me,” he says. “They neglected me because I was Deaf. I have a brother and three sisters and they all received schooling because they are hearing but my parents gave me nothing because they saw no value in me. They left me out of everything. I didn’t fit in. I was alone all the time. I felt completely unloved.” As he tells me this he looks like he’s about to explode.

Then when he was 8, his parents died of sickness only months apart. And just like that, Muhindo added ‘orphan’ to his sad resume. He and his siblings were taken in by a kind uncle but without money, Muhindo remained unschooled and ostracised. His world remained silent, lonely, dangerous and hopeless. As he openly shares his feelings with me, I see the wounds he has been carrying for so long.

Then he met Alain.

Alain is an evangelist who serves as Director of DMI’s school in Beni, Congo, and leads the local Deaf church. When Alain brought him to the school, Muhindo was so happy. Unspeakably happy. His face comes to life as he tells me this. He couldn’t believe that he was finally going to school – and such a fine school, too! There were proper classrooms and chalkboards and teachers, and it was in a safe area away from the rebels (who would think nothing of macheteing a child to death). This was an absolute dream come true for him, and as he tells me this he looks as though he’s about to burst out in a raucous laughter.

Attending school has been a godsend but it’s not without its challenges. He loves the study and the friendships and the faith that he has found there, but abject poverty is problematic. He has no school clothes or bag or shoes. It’s a 1 1/2 hour walk on dusty roads to get to class by its 7:50am start time. The trip home is no shorter or easier. But it’s worth it. Muhindo loves maths and geometry; less so French, the national language of Congo.

At the school he has also found faith. He shares with me enthusiastically about the gospel he has heard, the God who loves him and the answered prayers he has received. I ask Muhindo to tell me about those answered prayers and he doesn’t hesitate to reply. His most fervent prayer is that he would not have to stop school. Because of DMI supporters this prayer is being answered every day. He also prayed for a part-time job so he could do his bit as well, and God gave him work repairing shoes. These are wonderful answers to prayer.

I was pleased to hear this and was ready to move on but then Muhindo stunned me. Sometimes out of the mouths (or from the hands) of the most unlikely or minimally educated people comes a pearl that simply leaves me awestruck. Without prompting he says to me, “If God had healed my ears so I could hear, that would make me happy, but if he did that my heart might still be deaf to God and that would be the real tragedy.” Wow and amen!

I ask Muhindo to tell me his hopes for the future and he gives me three. The first is to become an evangelist. The second is to become a teacher at the school. The third is to become a professional football (soccer) player. If he had to pick one though…? He smiles and says ‘a football player’. He’s not too shy to add that he is the fastest runner in the school and he looks very pleased with himself as he says this. I ask him if he is fast enough to make it to the Olympics and he assures me he is. 

All right then, I tell him. I ask him to take me outside so I can put him though his paces and as he dashes around the compound, I tell you, that boy can run like the wind. After a couple of laps, he runs right up to the camera we’re conducting the interview from and says, “My name is Muhindo. Remember me.” And I surely will.

If you would like to know how you can support Muhindo, any of the kids or teachers, or help meet any of DMI’s needs, please click on the donate button on the top right of the page, or mail to info@deafmin.org 

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