Human Trafficking -- A Redemption Story

I had been wanting to post this story since Sunday, and I just found out that yesterday was Human Trafficking Awareness Day (thanks to my friend, Emily!)  So, that makes this post all the more timely.

So, as you probably know, our team volunteers at a local government-run facility for orphans and youth who have been removed from unstable home situations.  This particular facility previously housed a juvenile detention center, so many people still see it as the place for bad kids.  While part of our ministry there is to encourage and affirm the kids by pointing them to God's love, I also feel like another aspect of our involvement is to serve as a prophetic witness to our neighbors.  The fact that we willingly spend our time there and can speak of the kids beyond the typical characterization as "naughty" is quite remarkable to many people.  The kids who end up at this center mostly come from Gauteng Province, but some come from other parts of South Africa and even other African countries.

This story is about a girl, we'll call her Mary, who arrived at the center several months ago from a country in East Africa.  You see, Mary was an orphan in her home country.  I don't know the full story, but from what I've heard, a nice neighbor approached Mary and whoever was taking care of her and offered to bring her to South Africa for a better education.  Mary had been trying to attend school and take care of her younger siblings.  I'm sure the opportunity sounded appealing to Mary -- it was probably a bit scary too, but it was a chance at a new future! Or, maybe Mary didn't even know what was promised and was just told to go without asking any questions.  So, Mary went with this neighbor.  When they arrived in South Africa, Mary learned that she was actually part of a deal with an older South African man who wanted to take her as his wife. Mary is14 years old.  So, this neighbor who had fed Mary on hopes of a new life was now handing her over to this strange man -- not quite the future that Mary had imagined.  This is no way for a 14 year old girl to live, and Mary knew that.  So, she somehow escaped the man's possession and sought refuge at the Catholic church that she had attended with the neighbor when she first arrived in South Africa.  Oh yeah, one more thing -- Mary didn't speak a word of any South African language.  Why would she?  So, she found someone at the church who could translate to the priest and explain her situation.  The priest contacted the officials and thus, Mary ended up at the facility where my team volunteers.

The story gets better.  I met Mary after she arrived at the Center, but she was shy and hesitant because she couldn't speak the local language.  As I've learned -- if  you can't speak the local language here, it can feel like you're on a different planet!  You have no idea what's going on around you and you can't share your feelings, confusions, or questions with anyone.  And most of the kids who suddenly became her dorm-mates were probably unfamiliar with a peer from another country, so what could they do?

My teammate Luc and I went to the facility this past Sunday to support them as they resumed their regular Sunday church services for the kids.  Since it was the first Sunday of the year, several kids got up to share their testimonies of what God had done in the past year, or resolutions they were making for change in the new year.  And then, Mary came up to the stage.  Luc accompanied her because, by God's amazing providence, he also speaks the same language as Mary.  Ever since Mary arrived at the Center, Luc's presence has been like a beacon of hope to her -- I imagine a very real demonstration to remind her that God had not forgotten her.  You could tell Mary was still feeling shy, but there was also some spark about her, like something inside she just needed to let out.  She proceeded to tell her story, through Luc.  She arrived at the Center not knowing anyone or anything about the place.  She was totally alone.  Even though she had been in grade 9 in her home country, the staff placed her in grade 6 at the school on the premises.  She struggled, she said, because she couldn't understand what the teachers were saying or teaching.  The only thing she understood was math, because "the numbers speak for themselves."  She said the teachers were gracious, spending extra time trying to help her understand.  She reached out to another child and somehow, despite their lack of common language, they were able to communicate and help each other.  The smile on Mary's face continued to get bigger and bigger as she told her story.  You could tell that this was something she was meant to share.  By the end of the school year, Mary said, she had passed all her subjects and now she'll be going on to grade 7.  This is amazing!  I sat there, my heart welling up with joy and awe.  It was an encouragement to me, also still feeling like such a foreigner in this place, that Mary came and not only figured some things out, but learned how to thrive in such a strange new place.  That's a tall order for any 14 year old, not to mention all that she had experienced to bring her to that point.

It was only after Mary shared her story on Sunday that I learned the previous parts of her journey.  And that just made the latter chapter all the more amazing -- just think about what could have happened to Mary.  And although visiting the Center is not always filled with pictures of hope and encouragement, on this day it was.  Sure, most of the kids there wish they were with their real families, but Mary was experiencing the redemption of God on a daily basis.  He had taken her situation, with the deception, death, and injustice it carried, and was turning it into something beautiful, in a place where Mary could succeed and discover who she was made to be.  I was filled with hope as I thought about Mary's story and what else God might do through her.

Some good sites to check out regarding the fight against Human Trafficking:
International Justice Mission
Not for Sale
Slavery Footprint

Friends blogging about Human Trafficking:
Emily
Amanda

When the Lights Go Out

So, last Wednesday, I woke up in the middle of the night and glanced over at my clock to see the time. But, my clock was dead—power's out, I realized, and rolled over and went back to sleep. Now, power outages at my house are not too uncommon. In Sosh, and I think in most of South Africa, instead of paying a bill at the end of the month for how much power you have used, you prepay and then reload as you get low. I don't entirely understand how it works, but basically you have an account and you go to certain places (corner stores, random people's homes, gas stations, etc.) and give them money and they top-up your account and then you go home and type in some code into your little power meter box and the lights stay on. Well, the power goes out at my host family's house several times each month. I think it's a situation of everyone thinking someone else is going to re-load the account, but then it gets down to zero and zap, lights go out. This usually only lasts a few hours each time since as soon as it happens, someone makes their way to top-up and then the lights come back on. So, that's what I thought had happened on Wednesday…the power meter ran out overnight and it would need to be topped-up when the family woke up. But then, when I was getting ready in the morning, I checked with my next door neighbor just to verify my suspicions that it was just our house. "No lights!" she said. Hhmm…this was a different problem than I had anticipated! The infrastructure in Sosh certainly has some bumps and issues, but I had only experienced one other large-scale power outage since January and it was resolved within a few hours. So, that's what I was hoping for.

I made my way to Block HH for our usual team meetings and learned that power was out there too! This was not good, but at least it meant it wasn't just a small problem. Surely, the more people without power meant the sooner it would get fixed, right? Oh yeah, and it was a beautiful sunny day, so there wasn't any weather-related cause to the problem. As a team we chatted a bit about what could be the issue, but it was all just guessing. Someone said that perhaps a cable had been stolen, a common problem here. There was a phone cable stolen back in March or April and it cut off landline service to Block HH and Luc & Petunia's house. I'm not really sure what happened, but apparently the phone company just decided not to fix it. Also, there is a new high-speed train service that connects Johannesburg to Pretoria. The stations in Pretoria just opened in the beginning of August and in the past two weeks, there have been at least two incidents of overnight cable theft which have disabled train service for commuters! Oysh. Oupa, my teammate who has grown up in Sosh, reassured us that it would be fixed before the end of the day. He has experienced his fair share of outages, but it had always been resolved quickly. Luc made a comment that it was a good thing we weren't in the Congo, where he grew up, since sometimes it can take up to 6 months to fix a power outage! (Side note – I tried to apply reason and logic to this situation, thinking there's no way it could take so long to fix, but I soon realized that all my powers of reason had no effect on the actual reality of the situation. It could potentially never get fixed!)

So, the day continued and frustrations grew about the power. When you have the sense that it could come back on any minute, you start keeping track of the minutes as they go by without any change. We carried on and had our Tswana lesson that afternoon as usual. Fortunately, Mama Jane has a gas-powered stove in her garage so we could still make tea J Mama Jane invited me to stay and eat dinner with her family, but I decided to venture back to Block GG and see what my neighbors were up to.

I stopped in at my friend Thembi's house and my neighbors Sherz and Tsholo were already there! My main priority was figuring out a plan for dinner and while everyone was concerned about the power, no one else seemed quite as worried as I felt. The main topic at that point was the death of a South African Soapie star. (The rumor of his death, by the way, later proved to be untrue.) So, as they discussed the fate of the soap opera, I kept trying to interject with questions about dinner. By that point, we knew that it was only some sections of some blocks of Sosh that were without power and it didn't seem like there was any rhyme or reason to which blocks still had power and which didn't. The main shopping area of Sosh still had power, so my proposed solutions all involved taking a taxi to one of the fast-food places and buying dinner for everyone. My whole concern was how we would eat, and where we would go to get food, and how we needed to do it before dark. My neighbors, though, are far more resourceful than I am as most made some sort of fire in the front, side, or back of their house and cooked a nice meal. I forget that most of the adults in my neighborhood grew up in areas where electricity was not a standard and cooking on the fire outside was a feature of daily life. This reminded me of my ignorance and naiveté and lack of resourcefulness! So, as those conversations continued around me, only occasionally in English, I decided to sit back and relax and pray that the lights would come back on. When it gets dark, there are only a few things you can do, and sleep is one of them. At some point, Thembi remembered she had a gas stove in the garage. So she and Sherz got a ride to a gas station to buy some gas. But, when they got back they realized that the keys to the garage were in the pocket of Thembi's brother, who was on the train home from work. By this point it was 8 pm and there was no clear plan. I had eaten a slice of bread around 7pm and it seemed like that would be it for the night. I walked back home with Sherz and got ready for bed, as best as I could, in the dark. I was definitely thankful for the head-lamp that I got before I came to South Africa! I went to sleep that night hoping to wake up to lights on in the morning.

Thursday morning came and my clock was still dead. As was my lamp, refrigerator, and everything else that used electricity. I was really getting worried now about the meat in my freezer and the milk in my fridge. I have learned that refrigeration here is not such a big priority for people, as often frozen chicken sits out all day to defrost or cooked meals just don't get put in the fridge at the end of the day. But, I haven't quite adopted that attitude and I hated to think that I'd have to throw away money if my uncooked meats went bad. My frustration was growing, but so were my prayers. I still didn't know what the issue was, but I knew that ultimately there were people who did have the authority and ability to fix the lights. And I knew that ultimately God had authority to move their hearts to restore our power. At the same time, it was a good reminder about the people that live their whole lives without electricity. This is certainly a luxury, as far as the sheer numbers of people in the world who go without, but I take it for granted every day. I expect it and don't really think about how privileged I am to have it.

I noticed anxiety and anger growing in my heart so I decided to spend my quiet time that morning just asking God to help me find contentment even in this undesirable situation. I turned to Philippians 4:11-13: "…I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want (whether with electricity or without ß my addition). I can do everything through him who gives me strength." Now, this was written by the apostle Paul, a man who faced troubles larger than a power outage. And yet, he could say with confidence that he had learned the secret to true contentment—to always rely on God for strength. That was the secret that I wanted to be true in my heart, on Thursday morning, but actually on every day. As I meditated on that passage, I just kept asking God to grant me that strength to be content in this very frustrating situation. I knew complaining and worrying wouldn't change anything, and I also realized that everyone would be complaining. I didn't want my heart to settle on a complaining spirit in this situation, and I knew that the only way that would be possible was through God's strength. Then I was reminded of 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18: "Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." Well, there you have it. The "secret" that so many Christians claim to be seeking is right there in black and white—God's will for YOU is to be joyful, keep praying, and give thanks in everything. So as much as I struggle with that on a daily basis, I wanted it to be true of my heart and attitude in this situation.

Having meditated on these verses helped me as I took a very cold bath that morning. I thanked God for clean water and for the usual ability to heat the water. I thanked God that I have a bathroom in which to bathe and for all the other things I usually take for granted or don't appreciate. And those verses also helped me too as I walked to Block HH that morning. As soon as I stepped out onto the main road, the brightness of the sun caught me off guard. I just paused for a moment to admire the glory of the day, blue skies and all. As I sat in my bed, brooding and worrying and wishing things would change already, the day seemed so dark and gloomy. But I realized that God's light was still shining. That bright sun and blue sky were a reminder that God has made even this day too, even the days that are frustrating and that He is still at work. As much as the present situation seems grim and hopeless, God's light is still shining. Often, for me, it is a matter of taking my eyes off my own problems and looking up to see the light.

I made my way to Block HH and the power was still not on. I learned of some of the rumors floating around – someone had stolen the cables; some of the municipality workers were on strike so they didn't have the normal manpower to fix it; they were using this as a strategy to hold out on their employers and somehow get the public on their side to join them in their wage demands. It really felt like we were being held hostage because we hadn't done anything to be part of this struggle. In addition to those other meditations, I gained a new appreciation for all the psalms and prayers in the Bible on behalf of the oppressed. This was a tiny, tiny taste of "oppression," but it really felt like we were being punished unjustly. We were being used in the labor dispute, and we were paying the price. That was the rumor anyway. Later on, there were rumors about the water being shut off too as more municipality workers joined in the strike and tried to get us on board with their cause.

This reminded me of stories I've heard from the struggle to end apartheid. There were people who would organize boycotts and protests against the government, but they didn't end there. They would threaten and harm those who chose not to participate in the boycotts and protests. So, I felt like this strong-arming tactic was re-appearing in this situation. Again, perhaps just a small taste of South African history, but it was interesting. (Side note: there seems to be a "strike season" in South Africa. Every year, around the same time, various industries—mining, service workers, bus drivers, etc.—strike for improved working conditions, wage increases, etc. Another interesting piece of local culture…)

We carried on with after-school tutoring on Thursday afternoon since it really doesn't require electricity. Thank God for all the things we still could do despite the power outage. During the day it wasn't so bad, but night was when we felt really powerless—literally and figuratively! I walked back to GG on Thursday afternoon, anticipating a nice hot meal cooked on Thembi's gas stove, since by then her brother had returned with the garage keys. I stopped at home first and saw Sherz & Stan, my next-door neighbors, making a small fire. What about Thembi's stove, I asked. It had a leak apparently and was not gonna be used, after all that! So, I donated my thawing meats to the dinner cause since I figured they'd have to be thrown away if I didn't use them that night. So, Stan cooked a nice meal for us on the fire – pap (like thick grits, a staple starch of most meals here; chicken; ground beef. I stayed near the fire with Stan and advised him on the chicken – he had never cooked skinless, boneless before since most people in the township buy and eat full-skin, full-boned chicken meat. It was actually quite fun, Stan and I started singing and I got the chance to learn more about his upbringing. He told me his family didn't have electricity where they lived until he was about 15, so he was very accustomed to cooking outside on the fire. Sherz also didn't have electricity growing up, but they cooked on a coal stove. My ignorance sometimes astounds me, especially as I learn more and more of how other people live. I guess it seems obvious to realize that not everyone has grown up the same way as you, but when you actually learn about real people and the lives they have actually lived, it's quite eye-opening! We enjoyed a tasty dinner that night, complete with three meats (chicken, beef, and some beef stew bones)! It was a feast :)

I went back to my room after eating and decided to read. I was just getting ready to start reading when, in one moment, I heard the hum of the fridge and my clock started blinking again. THE POWER CAME ON!!!!! I screamed!!! Hahaha Sherz heard me and didn't yet realize the lights were back on so thought something was wrong. I ran outside and called her and then I danced to celebrate. I was so excited and praising the Lord! It was amazing.

All in all, this was a good learning experience, though I hope to not have to go through that lesson again! And the moral of the story is: appreciate what you have because you never know when the lights will go out!

The Bang Bang Club

Yesterday I saw The Bang Bang Club.  I had heard only bits and pieces about the movie—I knew it was about a group of photojournalist friends, and they spent some time filming in South Africa.  Turns out it is based on a true story of 4 white South African photojournalists who worked together during the last years of Apartheid, documenting the violent uprisings that preceded the transition to a democratic government.  I definitely recommend the movie, especially to get a different perspective on the ending of Apartheid. 

I didn’t realize the history, but there were not only two sides in the Apartheid fight.  It wasn’t just blacks vs. whites, but ended up being much black vs. black fighting.  It was really eye-opening to me to see how latent frustrations among blacks were stoked by the pro-Apartheid forces to create intra-racial conflict.  I guess if they kept them from having one common enemy, they felt their resistance would be weakened.  I will admit that I struggled at times to focus on the story of the main characters and their photojournalist lives because I was so disturbed by some of the images they were capturing (and I was seeing) of the intense fighting between black South Africans in the townships.  Not only did my heart break to see the terrible and true recent history of this country, but my heart also broke for the way these journalists had to basically become desensitized in order to continue working.   I certainly agree that people need to see these images, and thus there need to be photographers to capture them.  But I can’t imagine how they must learn to cope as witnesses to so much suffering.  You can see the shift in the main character in the beginning, as the internal conflict plays out—care for these people I’m photographing or just move on to get the next shot?  This dissonance continued throughout the film.

Another thing that stuck in my mind is how so many people here in Soshanguve will ask me “Is South Africa nice?” or “Do you think Soshanguve is nice?” (People here like to use the adjective “nice” as a general catch-all affirmative term.)  And of course, they want me to say yes, and I do say yes because I do think that there is good in this place.  But it’s an interesting question, and this movie reminded me it’s much more loaded than just considering anywhere a “nice” place to live.  It’s different than calling Deerfield, IL “nice” because not even 20 years ago, these townships were not “nice.”  Most of the movie took place in various townships, mostly around Johannesburg.  And those townships honestly looked much the same as Soshanguve does today…except nearly every scene was filled with mobs, or burning tires, or dead bodies, or gunfire.  So for someone who has grown up here, especially the older generation, to be able to ask me, a naïve white American, if I find this place to be “nice” is quite remarkable.  The history is not that ancient—this movie took place while I was in junior high school!   There’s just so much more baggage than I even realize behind the peace and relative calm of this place now.  And frankly I think I forget about that a lot of the time.  So the movie was a good, if disturbing, reminder.    

One of the photojournalists ends up traveling to the Sudan to cover a story of a famine.  We see shots of people in a UN feeding station and then we see the character wandering off into the desert.  With his camera, he captures the scene of a starving girl, crouching on the sand, and a vulture just a few feet behind, seemingly waiting for the girl to die.  It’s a captivating image (link?) and, as his friends commend him later, it was a great shot.  In fact, the photographer won a Pulitzer Prize for it.  But the thing that haunted him after was how everyone wanted to know what happened to the girl.  Didn’t he intervene? Didn’t he help her?  Wasn’t it his responsibility, as a witness to the crisis, to step in and respond?  As he put it later in a radio interview, photojournalists capture these images that the world needs to see.  Often the images show some real evil.  And then, people want to shoot the messenger.  And I have had that feeling—in fact had that feeling a lot during the movie.   How can we diminish someone’s life and death to just “a great shot?”  How can they stand there and take pictures of these terrible things and then just walk away, expecting to get paid for documenting someone else’s misery?  But the truth is, the goal of the pictures is to prod us, the viewers, into asking those questions of ourselves.  If we are willing to ask why they didn’t do something shouldn’t we also be willing to ask why we don’t do something? If I see the picture, do I have as much responsibility to respond as the one who witnessed the act in person?  

But I am just like the photographers.  It was eerie watching this group of white guys just drive in and out of the townships, amidst the fighting and burning and chaos, and just go along with their lives.  And I sometimes feel like them.  I don’t see the pain just below the surface.  Like the photographers, I have the privilege of leaving the township whenever I feel like it.  The juxtaposition of scenes between township and the neighborhoods where the photographers lived wasn’t lost on me.  It was so easy to just drive a few kilometers away and forget about all the suffering you witnessed just an hour earlier.   At one point, the main character nearly explodes with this internal conflict as he is driven to despise all sides in the conflict.  His girlfriend calms him down by telling him “it’s okay,” which doesn’t really do it justice, though there was not much else she could have said. I don’t want to be insensitive.  I don’t want to find ways to rationalize or de-humanize the people I live among in order to feel less pain at their pain.  This is not just a movie for my neighbors here—this was their real life.  

Towards the end of the movie, we see long lines of black South Africans, waiting to vote in the first democratic election in 1994.  And we see people side by side who, just days and weeks before, had been running from or at each other, wielding guns and knives.  How does that happen?  Does that mean there is real peace and forgiveness?  It made me wonder if that is still the case today—do my neighbors, some of whom were perhaps involved in such fighting and riots just a few years ago, still harbor animosity and resentment toward each other?  How do those feelings just go away overnight because someone says the fighting is over?  It seems people here want to just move on and forget about it, but that won’t heal deep wounds.  I want to understand and I long to see real healing come.      

Perhaps for viewers of this movie who don’t live in a South African township, the experience will be different.  Maybe they will find the storyline of the Bang Bang Club and their camaraderie to be more compelling than the “background” story happening all around them.  But for me it was the other way around—the photojournalists were just a vehicle to show recent history in a new light. 

more thoughts on the "rainbow nation"

I came across this article recently and my impression is that while the author has some valuable observations about South Africa, he probably didn’t spend most of his time in any of those “shanty towns,” like Sosh, where my perspective has been shaped. I agree that it is miraculous that apartheid is legally ended and in many ways people of different races do interact on seemingly “normal” levels. But, at the same time, I wonder how deep those interactions really go. Most white families and white-owned businesses still employ a black person to cook/clean/garden. Many of those domestic workers are the same ones who worked in those homes before apartheid ended.  I visited the office of an accountant in Pretoria North several months ago and most of the women who worked there were Afrikaans. When I told them I lived and worked in Soshanguve, they looked at me as if I were an alien. They responded by marveling at how amazing it was that I would come all the way from America to live there while they had lived not 40 miles away and had never even visited. It got me to wondering if there really even was anything obvious that would bring them to Sosh, that would help them see beyond the stereotypes they held of a scary place inhabited by criminals and desperate people.

Another thing that has become clear from my four months of living in Sosh is the distinction that we often place on quality of life vs. value of life. “As with many squatter camps around Johannesburg, Zandspruit residents live in squalid conditions, sharing toilets and communal taps, with little or no electricity. Neighboring suburbs have some of Africa's most expensive real estate.”  This quote from this article reflects a common sight in South Africa. 

The terms "quality" and "value" are often used together when we think about a purchase we want to make, but when it comes to describing life often they are total opposites. We, whether in America or South Africa or other places I assume, have internalized this message that the outer quality of our lives implies the inner and eternal value of the same. I have realized that often the luxury that we desire is just the comfort and ease of convenience. We think the good life is having what we want, when we want it, without having to work hard to get it. I have had the odd and ironic experience of sitting with my neighbors, in their corrugated tin shack, watching an episode of MTV Cribs. The whole point of the show is to elicit the covetousness of our hearts towards the excesses of celebrity. But for those who have to walk outside to use the toilet, without a distinction between kitchen/living room/dining room/bedroom/home office, the allure of it all is obvious and natural. My instinctive disdain for that show and the lifestyle it promotes riles up naturally, but I have to catch myself when I realize the privilege that informs my attitudes juxtaposed with the realities of my neighbors’ lives. This situation even brought up that quality vs value of life internal debate when I tried to convince my friend Sherz that that was not the “good life.” But Emily, she asked, what is?? Following God! I told her, excited at the chance to answer such a question. But again, the realities of life can obscure that truth. When we cling to physical things of comfort, as I have been tempted to do here, we forget not only about eternal comfort but also about the God who provides our daily bread.

...and here is another eye-opening article about the state of the South African family

News from South Africa

The Coming "Egyptian Moment" in South Africa

"As a South African, I wonder how South Africa's leadership might respond if it were to reach a similar tipping point with its disenfranchised youth -- where conservative estimates tell us that more than half of South Africans under the age of 25 are unemployed. I do believe it would be foolish for South African leaders to think that these unemployed and disconnected youth may not one day ignite a revolution...Because like Egypt, Tunisia, Libya and most of their neighboring countries that are weathering the revolutions of today, South Africa also has a massive army of disenchanted youth. South Africa is a young country considering that more than half of its population is under the age of 25, and with more than half of them unemployed -- the numbers are equivalent in size to the entire population of Zambia. And the chilling truth is that unemployment doesn't end at the age of 25. Based on current trends, it will go on to become a way of life, not only for their generation but also for following generations."

Nelson Mandela Launches Clothing Line to Help Promote South Africa 

"Former South African president and Nobel Peace Prize winner Nelson Mandela is the last person you’d expect to be dabbling in fashion, but then again, he’s never been known for sticking to convention. Named after his inmate number at Robben Island Prison, 46664 Apparel is a new clothing venture focused on raising funds for the Nelson Mandela Foundation."


South Africa's test of nerves begins now--Update from the Cricket World Cup!
"The South Africans have the mettle but can they endure the pressure that awaits them in the knockout stages of this tournament? History shows that this team has a tendency to crumble in high-intensity situations."


More than 15,000 march for education in S. Africa
"South Africa, a country with one of the greatest disparities of wealth, still struggles to close the gap apartheid created between white and black schools. Only a third of third-graders in South Africa meet the minimum literacy and numeracy standards, according to national test results. Last year, a third of those taking final-year exams failed."


Why South Africa is so violent (not trying to make you nervous, Mom, just found this interesting!)
"Violent crime is deeply ingrained in the social fabric of the country and cannot simply be solved through the criminal justice system. This is according to a report on the violent nature of crime in South Africa which was made public in November."


South Africa Faces Growing H.I.V. Crisis
 "South Africa, already home to 5.7 million H.I.V.-positive people, more than any other nation, can expect an additional five million to become infected during the next two decades even if the nation more than doubles its already considerable financing for treatment and prevention and gives prevention a higher priority, according to a report presented to the country’s leading advisory body on AIDS policy." 

other peoples' thoughts

wanted to share a few articles that i have read lately that have stuck with me...


Community Catalysts
this is actually a really good follow up to my last post, and a good reminder that being distinctive and different in a neighborhood can be good! while there are serious issues of difference that incarnational re-locators must wrestle with, blending in completely is not necessarily effective for joining in the work of the Kingdom.

"Humility is a critical element for incarnational communities of people who have relocated and the inclusion of people from the wider community into the community of relocators can be important. But the thing that makes communities catalytic is not that they become the same as the surrounding community, but that they remain distinctive.

A catalyst changes things, not because it is identical to the other elements in a reaction, but precisely because it is different. In fact a very small amount of catalyst can dramatically promote or inhibit a reaction. The presence of a catalyst changes an environment.

These communities often live prophetically - becoming the change needed in an area, but they rarely really look much like the community in which they are planted.  

 For sure our ethnic, class, and power differences need to be viewed with a healthy dose of caution. We must be vigilant in addressing the messianic complex which can accompany groups who choose a life of incarnational mission. We must live lives of reconciliation in every place humans have put up walls. But I can no longer dismiss a community automatically just because it doesn’t look just like the neighborhood in which it lives. In the presence of humility, reconciliation, grace and peace – differences can be catalytic."

South African "Idol"
a little peek into cultural goings-on in South Africa and a reminder that race is (still) a (big) issue there, 16 years after the official end of apartheid. and oh yeah, the white guy won.

"The real issue is socio-economic. It's about who can pay for TV and who can't. Black folks comprise almost 80% of our population, but in M-Netland they comprise only 17% of Idols viewers. And audiences want to see themselves on TV."

The dangerous side of volunteering
another interesting peek into some of the issues that I will probably face when I get to South Africa. the ironic thing about this piece is that these potential harms of short-term volunteering exist everywhere, whether the volunteers come from america or zambia, and are serving in new orleans or the netherlands.  having committed to living in places of need, i have seen first-hand the effects of well-intentioned people who send a message by forming deep bonds and then leaving soon after. i have experienced the effects of abandonment with children who don't understand why everyone who says they care keeps leaving.  this was even something i wrestled with upon my leaving new orleans--is this how my friends there would see me?  and now to see it in light of where i'm going, i have to keep it at the front of my mind when i think about whether i'm serving for my own benefit, or for the good of others.

"The psychological literature talks about attachment theory — very young children are programmed to build attachments… And so, you've got these sort of repeated abandonments — first with young children whose parents may die of AIDS. And then they go to live in an orphanage where you often have high staff turnover.  And then you've got tourists that are coming as sort of the third wave of this abandonment. Children are left behind to remember a series of these foreigners who come in and then leave them there…"   

why i love psychology
i found this so fascinating because it is such a true picture of the human mind, and the way we justify things--mostly our own behavior.  i know this is true of myself, so to see it verified and studied is very reassuring.  it confirms that i'm not alone in the way i'd like to manipulate my own memory, or self-perception. we really would like to believe that if we've ever been bad, at least that was in the past, our "old selves;" we are constantly improving and our "good deeds" more readily fill recent history. our good-ness is closer to who we are today, so we tell ourselves.  this research confirms, though, that no, actually, we're not as good as we'd like to convince others...or ourselves.  but, there's hope, as the scientists point out that our minds often tend to create future selves even better than we are now, demonstrating an appetite for redemption.

“Now, scientists are beginning to learn how memory assists and even amplifies this righteous self-messaging.  In piecing together a life story, the mind nudges moral lapses back in time and shunts good deeds forward, these new studies suggest — creating, in effect, a doctored autobiography. Recognizing this tendency in oneself, psychologists say, can both reduce the risk of lapsing into middle-aged sanctimony and increase moral vigilance for when it matters most: the present.

 ‘The main finding is that if I ask you to tell me about a positive moral memory, you’ll tell me something recent,’ Dr. Escobedo said. ‘If I ask you to tell me about bad moral memory, you’re going to give me something from much further in the past.’

Future selves may score the best reviews of all, said David Dunning, a social psychologist at Cornell. ‘People seem to situate themselves in time differently than they do others,’ Dr. Dunning wrote in an e-mail. ‘Ask students what’s important for gaining an accurate impression of them and they emphasize more their unwritten future potential than they do when asked the same question about another person. We presume that future potential is more rosy than the past is.’"

Justice and Football

These are the two big things on my mind right now...

Justice issues seem to be pretty inescapable, considering that I work in a neighborhood that looks pretty much the same as it did on August 30, 2005 and all except 2-3% of its low-income majority African-American population have been unable to return to their homes.

Football because, well, I live in New Orleans and I'm from Chicago--how could it not be on my mind? Sometimes I think the New Orleans Saints are the only things keeping some of the residents here sane. Honestly, I have loved being on both sides of the story having ties to the Big Easy and the Windy City. There's no question who I'm cheering for (sorry Bears fans) but I've enjoyed reading and hearing the New Orleans media accounts of my home-city. One of my favorite blurbs so far, written by Times-Picayune columnist Chris Rose upon his arrival to Chicago, "My fancy downtown hotel has a small plasma display screen in the elevator that shows the weather forecast to help you plan your day.When I checked in Thursday, it read: Partly Cloudy, 25/13. Partly cloudy, I'll say. If Sherman-Williams made an exterior paint the color of the Chicago sky this week, it would be called January Suicide, something from the upscale Boutique Bereavement collection.Much worse was the "25/13" part. That's a football score, not a weather forecast. What kind of human being would live in these kinds of conditions?" Oh Chris, if only you knew... He goes on to make another major faux pas. Admittedly, the Saints professional record has been nothing stellar and this is their first appearance this far into the playoffs in their 40 year franchise history. But Mr. Rose made the mistake of terming it "the sorriest franchise in sports history." It was all I could do to hold myself back from falling out of my chair. I am willing to go on the record claiming that title for my beloved Chicago Cubs--who haven't won a World Series since 1908. In fact that date, 1908, has been ingrained in my psyche since I was a little girl. I'm willing to admit that I can share in the pain of Saints fans, which is perhaps why I'm excited to see them beat the Bears tomorrow, but let's just be clear about who's really the WORST.

Read the full Chris Rose articles here: Article 1 and Article 2. And one more article to prove my point.

Life on the Oregon Trail

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the computer game "Oregon Trail." Not only because I miss those old Apple IIe computers, but also because it reminds me of my life here in New Orleans. Let me explain...

In May, when Leroy Barber, president of Mission Year, came to visit our team in Oakland, he talked about the new opportunity being developed for Mission Year alumni to live and work for a year on the Gulf Coast. Short on logistical details, Leroy hooked me with his talk about the need for pioneers--this would be a year for people ready to lead the relief work. Whereas Mission Year is a pretty well-oiled machine, complete with an extensive handbook, this opportunity in the Gulf had far fewer details worked out. Normally, this would be a rather unattractive prospect for a potential year-long commitment, but the idea of being a pioneer and helping to shape history on the Gulf Coast inspired me to go. However, in a recent Unified New Orleans Plan district meeting, we sat around the table with City Councillor Cynthia Hedge-Morrell as she explained to the group that really we are not pioneers, but in fact we are trailblazers. The trailblazers make a path where there is none, and pursue what may seem to others like nothing more than a pipe dream. Trailblazers see hope and a destination where others see only wilderness and barriers. Pioneers, you see, may be the first ones to follow the path towards the destination. Pioneers are brave and courageous for going in new directions but someone had to come first to set out that path. The real pioneers will be the residents of New Orleans who are in the first waves to return in light of the progress that has been made. They will come not knowing what to expect, but hopeful in the path that has been tentatively laid out. The settlers are the residents of the city who will be returning for years and years to come. They will return to homes and neighborhoods rebuilt. The return of these families might skip a generation, but this city will be re-settled.

So you see, all this explorer-lingo got me thinking about my days playing "Oregon Trail." A lot of times I feel like I am traversing the wild west in nothing but a covered wagon and trying to plot new ways to get to the destination. While the description of a trailblazer may seem glamorous, most of the time it has been anything but for us. There are certain unique challenges that come along with being the one to clear away the branches when you can't quite see what's in front of you. While we are not needing to hunt buffalo for our meals or cure Susie's typhoid, the current trailblazers in New Orleans have their own set of difficulties to overcome. It looks like hundreds, if not thousands, of people in this city struggling to keep their homes heated when the droplets of storm water still gathered in the gas mains around the city block natural gas flow into their homes. We experienced this last week, though fortunately we have electric heat. However, we went without hot water and stove/oven power for 7 days. We whined and complained, and we were only among the many of others who face this everyday in this city. The energy company is understaffed and overworked and the whole system is messed up. It looks like sitting around a table for months to come up with a "plan" for recovery, and then waiting even longer to know if there will be an implementation strategy. It means adjusting to New Orleans culture while at the same time figuring out which parts of tradition will need to be foresaken for the cause of rebuilding this city in an effective and healthy way. It means often not knowing what each day will bring, attending meetings that may prove fruitless, and soldiering on in light of a lot of unanswered questions.

Just having been here for a few months, I feel like a small cog in the whole trailblazing process. I was fortunate enough to spend the weekend with a group of passionate, committed pastors from several local churches. I was at the CURE retreat not as a leader but as a listener. What a privilege! I felt like I was just along for the ride as these pastors talked about what's really important to the recovery of their churches and the community. The conversation turned to how we really define Christian Community Development. It was so neat to see these leaders, the real trailblazers, talk not just about what their individual needs were or how many personal struggles they had but actually discuss what their vision was for a community re-born. I've read books and heard speakers on this topic, but none were quite as encouraging as sitting around the table in this conversation. These leaders are not subscribing to someone else's view or just following tradition. These trailblazers are asking the difficult questions and challenging themselves to come up with the answers that will bring hope and new life in the community.

On the first night of the CURE retreat, we watched a CNN special about the situation in New Orleans. It seems weird when the news of your city is designated for a special on a cable network, although of course we wanted to watch. It kind of reminded me of all the CNN I watched during the days immediately after the storm, wondering how it was possible that the plight of people in New Orleans was being broadcast nationwide while those people, so cut off from the rest of the world, screamed for help, wondering if anyone out there could hear them. People on rooftops waving for help and me sitting on a couch, thousands of miles away, feeling powerless to help. Watching it this time, though, made me glad to be a part of New Orleans. So many times I can watch news like that and then, when I'm sufficiently uncomfortable, I can change the channel to something more pleasant to watch. But here is a city that is crying out for help and I get to be here to be a part of the solution!

As people gathered to protest the violence in the city, many remarked that it feels like the "same old story," same as usual, and that nothing has really changed with all the promises and rhetoric that have proven empty. People are asking the same questions: Where is the accountability? Where is the money? How can we stop the crime? Many of the systems and routines of this city were broken long before the storm and the aftermath of Katrina is exposing all that. It is a testament to the amazing power of God to counter darkness with light. He brings light to bear on the darkest of situations, in order to bring healing and truth to pain and deceit. And that light also shows that there is an alternative, there is a different way. As we clear away the dust and debris, we have nearly a clean slate. As a trailblazer, we don't have to follow the routine that has been set before. We don't have to go down the same old road. And the Kingdom of God provides us a detour. The Kingdom is a whole different story and its vision of restoration and hope is what keeps me here and committed to the trail. We can choose to look at what is directly in front of us or we can keep our gaze set beyond what our limited eyes can see. There is something deep within us that calls out for something more. There is something we can't deny, some power that has brought all these people back here already yearning for their city to be brought back to life. And as blazers of a new trail, we are in pursuit of not the same life that this city once had but a wholly new life of love, truth and justice. We say we are blazing a trail, but truly we are trying to cling to the path that God has set out before us. Some days the way is clear, others we trip over our own feet. But if we are to reach the end, we must get up, dust off, and keep pursuing the city of light and promise of which we dream.

Letter to Santa

December 20, 2006
Dear Santa Claus,

I hope you don’t mind that this is my first letter to you ever. As you probably realize, your relevance in my life was very minimal for the first 19 or so years and at this point I think I’m past the point of hoping you will slide down the chimney. Besides, I could never keep someone straight who is supposed to look like Tim Allen, Billy Bob Thornton, and Jimmy Durante all at the same time. At any rate, ‘tis the season to write you a letter.

First, my wish list. These are the things that I hope you can attend to, Santa. Now I realize that most of them can’t be wrapped and carried in your sleigh, but I have faith that you can work something out. You seem like the resourceful type.
--Financial and prayer partners for the work being done in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. So many people gave so much right after the storm, but this is a long, slow process of recovery and rebuilding and we will need sustained resources for a while. Plus as you know, Santa, being a volunteer ain’t free!
--Peace from crime and violence in New Orleans
--Justice restored to local government
--New affordable and safe homes for thousands of still-displaced residents
--Families to come back and live in those homes
--Bureaucracy-free dealings with FEMA and the Road Home Program
--A healthy and effective school system that provides a just and quality education for all New Orleans children

Now is my gift list. Since it seems you have a tireless workforce and unlimited supply of goodies, here are the things for which I am thankful this season. I’m counting on you to make sure these people get the gifts they deserve.
--The CURE pastors who work tirelessly to serve and shepherd their congregations (many still far-flung), while also repairing their own homes, churches, and lives. I’m so grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to spend time with these men, who understand the idea of church-led community development and the importance of that being facilitated by indigenous leaders. Santa, please give them extra time to do what they need to do, since many of them are working an additional job besides their pastoring. Please also give them people who will care for their needs and also some rest!
--The warm and generous people who have opened their homes to me and my team. Santa, I know you’ve made a list and checked it twice, but just in case you forgot some I’ll remind you who I’m talking about. Our friends at Desire Street Ministries who have welcomed us into their extended circle of friends. The friends we have made at Redeemer Presbyterian Church who have shared meals, stories, laughs, and wisdom with us. Please grant them a peaceful and joyful holiday season. Please bring some gifts for the kiddies as well as the grown-ups.
--All the people that have come to New Orleans to be a part of the rebuilding of this great city. I have found friends in unexpected places and never thought there would be such a strong community of dedicated people with a heart to see this place restored. I think they would like some rest and relaxation during the holidays and also some good quality time with their friends and families. For the people who have been doing manual labor, I think you could throw in a massage or two, eh?
--The encouragers and supporters who have reached out to me from all over the globe. I couldn’t be here without realizing that my work has more widespread effects than I can see, and these people remind me of that everyday. Please give them a safe and happy holiday season. And a gift-wrapped token of my appreciation. Maybe a fruit basket?
--Of course, baby Jesus. (You know the holiday is about Him, actually, not you Santa. Sorry!) It’s because He left the comforts of heaven, dressed as a baby, to come down to Earth and relate to the joys and pains of human beings that I have the opportunity to relate to the joys and pains of the people in New Orleans. The biggest gift goes to Him since He sees the world and chooses to love, and from that flows grace, peace, joy, faith, and truth. There’s really no gift that would match what Jesus has given so Santa, do whatever He tells you to do!

Thanks Santa!

Yours Truly,


Emily

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