After my last blog, which I recognize was depressing, a friend emailed me to ask what exactly it was that was wearing me down. I responded with a list of things that I hate about modern Zambian culture – the rampant corruption, lying, stealing, infidelity, etc. that is accepted as normal. I spent the first year heralding the great things about African traditional culture, the things that we have lost in the West, and that I felt I could learn from. But Zambia is in transition as many move to urban areas, so that traditional values are being forgotten. Now, all I can see are the horrible things that are destructive and keep Zambia in poverty. I find myself thinking and saying things that are very “colonial” and then berate myself for succumbing to that. I try to look at systemic reasons for the physical, economic, and moral decay I witness and I try to focus on the Zambians who are compassionate and full of integrity and working hard, but sometimes I fail and just get frustrated.
In the March/April edition of Weavings, the essays dealt with standing in the tragic gap. The tragic gap is the space “between what is and what could and should be,” according to Parker Palmer. It is hard to live in that tension with faith and hope. I’ve worked hard to see the good of Zambian culture but now I am seeing the other side and find that there is so much that I don’t like. In the process, it feels like the rubber band snapped and I can’t balance the two. When I am in my own country, I have the right to criticize but here I am a guest, so I feel like I should be polite and not even think negatively about my host country. But I’m not succeeding. The gap between the ideal and the real is so astronomically huge that I get tired and cranky thinking about it. And I can’t not think about it because there are a bizillion examples of it every day. I’ve lost sight of the hope and the reality that God is at work here, whether or not I can see it, whether or not I am even part of it. Part of what I need to recognize is that this tragic gap also lives within me, and the chasm between who I am and who I can and will be is also present. I have to continue to live with the tension within myself and be gracious and hopeful, just as I need to learn to do that for Zambia.
So I flip flop between the two extremes, both internally and externally, and can’t seem to find a middle ground. Parker Palmer says that the two poles can be labeled “corrosive cynicism” and “irrelevant idealism.” Year 1 in Zambia I spent at the idealism pole and Year 2 has been dominated by the cynicism pole. Good to know. I’ve got two more years to practice living in the tension. But will that be enough? The key according to Palmer is being in community, and surrounding ourselves with people who keep learning how to do this and encourage us to keep trying it ourselves. Oh great. Community seems to be in short supply here, or at least we can’t seem to find it. But I guess knowing this is a good start, and we will keep praying for people here in Kitwe who can both model and encourage us to live in this tension, standing in the tragic gap.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Peter received a phone call at 3 a.m. from a neighbor who said, and I quote: “Robbers broke down the wall and are in MEF. Don’t oversleep.” I guess that meant we should sleep lightly, and that we did, not knowing exactly what was happening. We were thankful for the extra iron bars Peter attached to our porch windows with cable ties. It was a temporary measure that we hoped would fool anyone who thought about breaking in. We were told that we would be getting bars installed yesterday afternoon but Peter and I decided to leave up the makeshift bars because if the workers didn’t come, we didn’t have any more cable ties to put it back up with. That was a good choice because the workers never came. It may seem ludicrous but we felt a bit safer with cable ties holding bars in place when we got the phone call in the middle of the night.
We found out this afternoon what prompted the phone call. A group of young men, maybe 8 or 9 of them, were using sledgehammers and bars to break down a section of the MEF wall. A resident called the security guard but what can one man do against a group? The hoodlums scattered in different directions but within the hour they were back at work. They managed to push the entire section of wall down, giving them a quick getaway directly back to the Mindolo township that sits behind the MEF campus. Their brazen behavior makes me a bit nervous. People are desperate and hungry and I am trying to be compassionate. At the same time, it would be nice to feel safe.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Since Sunday, we have had Vernon Jantzi, former EMU professor, staying in the guest wing attached to our house. He is here on MCC business and we have had the pleasure of hosting him for meals. We had met before, when we used to live on Madison Avenue in Pasadena and Rosanne was our neighbor in the back house. Vernon and his wife stayed in our home while we were away and they were visiting Rosanne, their daughter. We got to hear stories about Rosanne and how she was always out playing with friends when she was a kid, living in South America. I can imagine that as she was always ready to play with Brendan, me, and eventually Jason, when he arrived on the scene. It was a good visit and the boys, as usual, were eager to share anything and everything that came into their minds. Before dinner one evening, we heard whooping and hollering in our backyard. We discovered a handful of neighborhood kids trying to chase the director’s goat out of our garden. Now that is entertainment! Why bother with TV when you can watch a goat roundup?
I was pleasantly surprised this morning to find my neighbor, Aline, at my front door. I had mentioned a week or two ago, while chatting over the fence, that I needed her help in translating the evaluations from my trauma workshop that were written in French. She had come over to help me with that so we spent some time going over those. I shared with her about the workshop and the stories from the refugees who had attended. Being from the DRC herself, Aline shared with me her own experiences of trauma and that of her family when she lived in Lubumbashi. Militia were going from house to house and killing anyone who “looked” Rwandan. Aline’s grandmother was Rwandan and her grandfather was Belgian so Aline’s mother looks white. Her fair skin saved her from being killed because she asked them, “Do I look Rwandan?” Meanwhile they were harboring Rwandan family members who had escaped the genocide and thankfully they were not found in the frequent searches. I had never heard these stories before from Aline as we usually talk about the kids or the robberies at MEF. There is usually enough in those two topics to keep us going for awhile. So this was a nice change and I was glad she shared more of her life and experiences with me.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Adrian dropped by in the afternoon, worried about a friend of his who had been in a road accident and seemed traumatized by it. He wondered if I would be willing to talk with this friend who was at his place. We arranged that he would stay at my house and keep an eye on the boys while I went to put my trauma counseling skills to good use. For the next hour, I listened to this woman’s story, hearing the account of a road accident where the driver was thrown through the windscreen and onto the road. She too was thrown from the car (no one wears seatbelts here) and when she regained consciousness, she dragged the driver to the side of the road so he wouldn’t get run over. There were certain images that continue to haunt her and she has many “what if” questions going through her mind. The advice she receives from family and friends is to put it out of her mind and forget. So I did a bit of education with her on how she can manage the symptoms, what to expect, and giving her freedom to try to process the trauma instead of repress it. I am hopeful that she will recover in time but I will check in on her periodically to see how she is coping. Adrian is a wonderful listener and I know that he will continue to care for her and help her process her experience as well. I was thankful to have the opportunity to serve in this way but sorry it had to come at such a high cost to this woman.
The physical part of her injuries is something I can’t do anything about. She did go to the hospital where they took an x–ray and since nothing was broken, they sent her home. She can’t raise her right arm without a lot of pain and her neck is very sore. Not to mention that she hit her head and lost consciousness. But she is on her own – no chiropractors to help with whiplash, no physical therapists to work with her arm, no nothing! I heard on the BBC the other day that more people are killed in road accidents in Africa than malaria. I can believe it.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
In spite of a raging sore throat, no internet for four days, and a freak rain storm when half the participants were arriving late Saturday night, Peter managed to survive the opening weekend of Africa Peacebuilding Institute (API). No matter how well you plan and how carefully you instruct others, there are always more than enough obstacles to overcome when launching an event of this magnitude: twenty seven participants from eleven African countries here for four weeks of classes. Two MEF workers witnessed Peter’s fine administrative skills and marveled that the entire group made it as planned. They thought Peter should become part of the management team at MEF, or even the director, since he was able to make things happen. It was a team effort though as any MCCer that was in Lusaka was recruited to help get participants from the airport to the bus station, and fed and lodged for those who came in too late to catch the bus that day.
Because Peter was in and out all day yesterday and today, meeting and greeting API participants as they arrived, we opted for home church. We were looking at the story of the daughters of Zeph-something or other, who came to Moses asking for their father’s inheritance. Faced with this decision, Moses turned to God and God made a new rule that daughters could inherit, something previously unheard of. This generated discussion on many different fronts with our boys, but it led to us talking about our original decision to come to Zambia. Jason still blames me for this move, but this morning, we were able to put it in the context of a decision that we made, after praying about it, and consulting with others who listened and prayed with us. When things are hard, it is tempting to say that it was the wrong decision, but we talked about how things are both hard and good wherever you live. I shared that it has been hard lately for me to love Zambians, to have compassion on them, and to serve here joyfully. I am praying that God will renew that vision and enable me to do that once again. Or perhaps I deceived myself, and I never really did so now it is time to start. Either way, God has work to do in me.
In the evening, I went over to visit Violette Nyirarukundo, our Rwandan friend who taught the trauma counseling course at API last year. We had a nice time catching up a bit and swapping trauma healing success stories from our workshops. She was telling me how April is always a sober month in Rwanda because that is when the genocide took place, now fifteen years ago. Each year it continues to get worse, not better, she says, because the trauma was pushed away and not dealt with. People tell their stories publicly but the stories are contaminated by the political agenda and the politicians who tell them how and what to say. And she is so discouraged by the church in Rwanda. The church is trying to align themselves with the powers that be, “sleeping” with the government as it were, and therefore have lost their prophetic voice. What is scary is that this is precisely what happened before the genocide as well. But if you want to see God at work, Violette told me, then you have to go to the poor, the widows and the orphans. There you can hear testimonies of healing and grace. Stories of those who killed and those bereaved coming together and modeling forgiveness and reconciliation. God is at work, steadily and quietly, but it is not the thing you will read about in the papers. You will see it if you know the right places to look.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Last year Peggy and I began talking about what she could do to provide for her family long term since I won’t be here to employ her forever. When she first started working for me, she longed to return to school and finish grade 12. Because she was orphaned at a young age and moved to different households, she never went past grade 7. So I paid her school fees and she started grade 8 in night school. But fees are expensive, she has many more years to go before getting to grade 12, and while being quite clever, she found the subjects difficult and the thought of it getting even harder was discouraging. Plus there is the fact that there are many who graduate grade 12 and still can’t find employment. So we decided to use those school fees to start a small business instead. Peggy researched different options and finally decided on starting a small restaurant. She used the money to buy her pots and dishes and was ready to start at the end of December. But then there were a number of unforeseen events that kept her from opening, including finding a suitable location and someone to work with her. But two weeks ago, it all came together and they found a shack near the market in Chimwemwe they could rent and her sister moved from a neighboring town to help her run it. Peggy managed to save the seed money I had given her for the past few months, no easy feat when her family knew she had it and would ask for loans. In the last two weeks, she has slowly built up customers and has even managed to “bank” a bit of money, so she is making a bit of a profit. She is very excited and extremely thankful.
So today I went with Peggy to her restaurant to support her and to see for myself what it is like. Amidst rows of tables selling vegetables and beans, there is a small shack that is her restaurant. There are no windows except a few above the kitchen area that lets in a bit of light. The inside walls are lined with flattened cardboard boxes, keeping out the inevitable dust, but also any light. There are four tables with benches where customers can sit and eat their plate of nshima and chicken or sausage or beans. I ordered a plate of nshima and chicken that also came with rape (green leafy vegetable). Peggy sat down with me and we shared together off the same plate, eating the food with our hands. I am not usually a big fan of Zambian food as I find it tasteless and bland. But this was exceptional. For starters, the nshima was still hot which made it soft and pliable (imagine cold and lumpy cream of wheat verses warm). The rape wasn’t too oily and the chicken was nicely cooked. It was really delicious. And it was nice to share it with Peggy and eat together in her new restaurant.
Peggy outside her restaurant
The kitchen area (the pot on the charcoal brazier is full of nshima)
Peggy with her sister PatriciaFriday, May 8, 2009
May is always a busy month here because of Africa Peacebuilding Institute. But it is also a dynamic time and full of energy and participants who are working for peace all over Africa come and share their stories and experiences and learn more which they take back to their respective organizations. Last year we had the two facilitators for each week join us for dessert on Tuesday nights. This gave us a chance to host them in our home and talk with them. Many are returning from last year, like Violette, so it is like seeing old friends again. This year, we have added a dessert evening for the participants. Peter made a sign up sheet so that everyone wouldn’t come at once. Instead, every Thursday evening we will have nine participants join us for dessert and conversation. This is more for me than Peter as I like to host and it is one way I can have contact with the participants. Last night we had the first group over and it was absolutely delightful! Nigeria, Malawi, Uganda, Tanzania, DRC, and Zambia were represented. A special treat was having Okello-Obote, Dale and Marika Christy’s host father, with us. Dale and Marika, fellow MCCers and friends from PMC, lived with Okello-Obote and his family for two weeks, and Okello-Obote affectionately talked about them as his children.
Someone was admiring a carved table that we have so I flipped it over and showed them the game that is on the back, Nsolo. We quickly learned that each country has it’s own way of playing this game and the rest of the evening was spent learning how each country plays. There was much laughter as each explained and demonstrated. The way the Ugandans play is fast and furious with both moving the seeds simultaneously. Everyone dubbed it “corruption” and there was raucous laughter. In the middle of it all, we had a power cut. We brought out our one headlamp and someone used the light on their cell phone so that the game could continue while I lit candles. It was especially wonderful seeing the two older men from Uganda, Okello-Obote and Bishop James, learning the Nigerian way of playing and working together to win. They were so gentle and playful with each other as they decided which seeds to move. It was such a lovely evening and I was so thankful for how it turned out. The discovery of the game and the conversations about different cultures that emerged as a result was a gift. Who knows if we will bring out the game next time. Word may get around and it may be requested. But even if we did bring it out, last night was a gift and something that can’t be manufactured. So we’ll be thankful and see what gifts emerge next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment