Part Two: Our Journey Into The Forgotten Congo of Africa

The Street Legends

The next day, we returned—just like we said we would.

And there they were. Waiting.

The same group of boys, sitting in the roundabout near the park where they had shown us their sleeping spot the night before. All were wearing the same clothes, and a few more had joined. I’m not sure if they were surprised that we came back or not, but there was something in their eyes that had changed. Hope. As soon as they saw us, they began jumping up and down with joy and laughter. They all hopped into the van, Hubert was driving, and we were off.

It’s incredible to see what God can do when you’re open to anything.

We arrived in Congo expecting to visit orphanages and to see the babies we’d been supporting for so many years. But God had already intricately mapped out our two-week trip, and looking back, I couldn’t have orchestrated it better.

We quickly realized that street children are part of daily life in Brazzaville, not in the background, but right in front of you. It’s not just about poverty—it’s a cultural and systemic issue, where many children grow up outside of any formal care. Some leave abusive homes, others are abandoned, and many grow up on the streets because, according to locals, it is a generational norm. When family members or officials try to bring kids back home, they quickly leave again, back to what is familiar to them.

It was this reality, seeing God’s heart for those forgotten children, that reshaped our mission. What we came for was small. But what He had planned was BIG.

A Table Full of Hunger and Stories

When we picked the boys up, the first thing we did was take them out to eat, and they were hungry. You could tell they weren’t used to regular meals; plates were cleared within minutes.

As we sat around the table, we gently asked about their stories. Some told us they had parents at home. Others lived with extended family. A few didn’t say much at all. One boy in particular stood out, arms crossed, expression hard. He was clearly sizing us up, and rightfully so. In a life marked by survival, trust doesn’t come easily. You could tell he was questioning everything about this situation.

What they all had in common was that none of them had the money to attend school. With no structure, no education, and no support system, they spent their days wandering, waiting, surviving.

It was also clear they hadn’t showered in a long time. Their clothes were thin, torn, and barely hanging on. So after that meal, our next stop was simple but necessary: haircuts and clean clothes.

But, like everything else in Congo, even those efforts would come with unexpected adventures, and more opportunities to see God move.

Healing Heads and Navigating the Market

When we took the boys to get haircuts, we quickly discovered that many of them had scalp infections. The long stretch without proper hygiene had left their heads itchy, irritated, and infected. Shaving their hair was a huge relief, both physically and emotionally. You could see the weight lifting as the clippers buzzed.

Thankfully, one thing that is easy to access in Congo is antibiotics. With walk-in pharmacies on nearly every corner, we were able to explain the issue, and the pharmacist gave us exactly what we needed. No waiting. No appointments. Just provision.

We left with ointment and antibiotics in hand, ready to help the boys start healing, and once again, I was in awe of how God’s love shows up in the details. Always.

Next stop: the market.

That’s where things got… wild.

We headed to the local market to buy clothes and shoes for the boys, but being American made us an immediate target. Merchants were shouting, trying to overcharge us just because they assumed we had money. Our translator kept telling them, “This is for orphan children—don’t be greedy!” But it was clear tensions were rising.

Eventually, it got a little too intense. The men in our group, including Hubert and Jean, stepped in, telling us women to leave the market area. We had no idea what was being yelled, but it was escalating fast.

Thankfully, we got what we came for, clothes and shoes for every boy, before we made a swift exit.

Rest for the Weary

After a full day of food, haircuts, antibiotics, market chaos, and provision—we brought the boys back to our apartment. One by one, they took warm showers, some for the first time in who knows how long. Then, they crawled into beds.

Real beds.

I don’t know the last time any of them slept in one, but it was one of the most peaceful sights I’ve ever seen.

Thinking about those boys sleeping peacefully in real beds, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own life. How quickly I spiral into anxious thoughts when things feel uncertain or out of control. But here were these boys, who had every reason to feel hopeless, resting with full stomachs, clean skin, and maybe even a glimmer of safety for the first time in a long while. We didn’t really know them, but God did. He knew every name, every scar, every reason behind their guarded eyes. And it was Him at work in their lives, before we ever arrived.

The lengths God will go through to love and care for us when things feel like they’ll never change. His kindness showed up in the most practical, tangible ways: warm showers, fresh clothes, soft beds, and laughter shared between strangers who suddenly didn’t feel so far apart.

Because that’s who He is.

He wants us to have joy, hope, and life in every season. Not just when things are going well, but even in the waiting, in the brokenness, in the in-between. God never intended for us to wander through this world, physically or spiritually, lost and alone. His love is too personal for that. He cares so deeply for us that He will send strangers from across the world just to meet a need: food, shelter, clothing, or a warm embrace. And that’s just a glimpse of His heart. He wants to reveal Himself, to them, to us, to the whole world—through acts of love so ordinary, they’re sacred.

And that kind of love, that intentional, tangible, selfless love, is what changes people.

It opens eyes and softens hearts. It helps people believe that God is real, that He loves us fiercely, and that He can be trusted. That’s exactly what happened to one of the boys on our trip.

Most of the kids were just grateful to be seen and cared for, and that alone is a gift. But for one of them, the impact ran deeper. Remember the boy with the crossed arms at that first lunch? The one who looked at us with suspicion, unsure of what to make of strangers offering food and kindness?

By the end of our two weeks together, his posture had changed—physically and spiritually.

He was asking questions. He was open. His heart had softened. What once looked like resistance was now hunger for something more, something lasting. His transformation wasn’t loud, but it was visible; undeniable.

That’s the power of God’s love. It reaches through doubt, pain, and survival instincts, and it says, “I see you. I’ve never stopped seeing you.”

We shared soccer games, walks through the streets of Brazzaville, and countless meals. And then, our time came to an end.

It was hard to say goodbye.

The Seeds Were Planted

Over the next few months, working alongside Hubert, we found a house where the boys could live together. We paid for school, provided food, and did our best to create some kind of stability. But slowly, one by one, they drifted back to the streets.

It was heartbreaking, but not surprising.

These kids need constant encouragement not to give up—not to grow weary. And honestly? So do I. I get it. I’ve been there. The pull toward what’s familiar, even if it’s broken, is strong.

But even though they returned to the streets, I am not without hope. This wasn’t a failed mission, it was a field of seeds planted.

That trip was a glimpse of what love can do when you say yes. When you run with reckless abandon toward God and offer your time, your money, your heart.

For those boys, it was a moment of dignity.

For my husband and me, it was a fire lit deep in our souls, one that still burns brighter with each passing day. We left Brazzaville with a burden to care for the orphaned, the overlooked, the ones the world forgets. And we carry that calling into every place God leads us. There is so much suffering in the world today, and God wants to pour His love out through us!

The Street Legends of Brazzaville will never be forgotten. They are the heartbeat behind our passion for serving families and children in every community God brings us to.