More posts from the Zim trip...
http://www.operationwellspring.blogspot.com/
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Time and Place
We were on the road from Doma to Harare (the equivalent of the drive from Ashland, KS to Oklahoma City, OK) when I saw a small, rusted Japanese truck transporting two longhorn steers. There was no trailer; the cattle were somehow both balancing in bed of the truck. My first reaction was that with a few isolated exceptions, that probably hasn’t happened in the United States in my lifetime. Our poorest ranchers are able to own, borrow, or rent a stock trailer to move cattle. We put four-wheelers and other “man-toys” in the back of our full-sized pick-ups. We don’t find much use for small trucks in rural America. They are just not efficient for the work being done.
When I speak of Zimbabwe in this blog post, I will be referring primarily to the rural areas as we have spent our time there.
The Zimbabwean farmers we have witnessed still walk behind plows pulled by mules or oxen. Their horse power still comes from horses and their most common form of transportation is a pair of feet. They use hand tools to plant seeds and rely on the heavens for irrigation. They grow most or all of their own food and barter for other supplies, such as flower or sugar. Almost nothing is wasted. Landfills don’t exist as we know them. What little they cannot reuse is burned. Their water comes from bore holes (wells). In six days, we have been through many villages across the northern part of the country and the only temperature controlled areas we have seen have been the operating room and the laboratory at Karanda Mission Hospital. Karanda is blessed with a strong hospital by Zimbabwean standards, offering sound OB services and a plethora of surgeries (neurological and orthopedic to name a few). The only access to healthcare in Doma is an herbal clinic that was born out of desperation. There is no access to western pharmaceuticals. People travel up to 30 miles by foot to get there.
Throughout Zimbabwe, power can be out for weeks at a time because of poorly treated poles with termite damage. If you find yourself in need of a restroom, you can plan to carry a torch or a flashlight (to look for poisonous snakes) several hundred feet to an outhouse (a covered hole in the ground). Showers are the same, and happen occasionally. Hygiene is viewed differently here. There is often no power or running water. If there are windows, they are single-paned and not energy efficient. A missionary in Doma told me that most farm families survive on $75 USD per month, or $900 USD per year. The median household income for a farm family has not been that low in America since the 1920s ($850). 90 years.
Does this sound familiar? Manual farming practices? Growing our own food? Outhouses? Bartering for goods? My wife, Kaila is from a five-generation farm family in Sabetha, KS. During the Great Depression, this was life for them. They didn’t have much money, but they were able to raise crops to sustain themselves.
Fast forward 80 years and America is a society full of gadgets and conveniences. In lieu of walking, we drive our new vehicles four blocks to work (Ashland proper is about 1 square mile). Oxen are replaced by air-conditioned tractors – everything is temperature-controlled, for that matter. We have all the latest education and technology. It is hard for us to imagine life with inconsistent access to power, water, or sewage. Bathrooms are part of our bedroom suites and most of us shower not once, but twice each day. We live with one of the most advanced healthcare systems in the world. Instead of growing our food, we travel a few blocks to the grocery store. A lot can happen in 80 years.
And yet, in some ways, we are behind Zimbabwe. Virtually the entire town of Doma eats organically, not because of some sort of fad, but because they have no choice. If they do not grow their own food, they will starve. Most of the town works for the orphanage. No American town has the infrastructure to offer this quality of food to everyone. Their herbal medicine clinic has proven to be highly effective in treating complicated wounds. We saw the results with our own eyes. They have used technology that is thousands of years old to heal cases that would require skin grafts in America.
Because the houses are so small in these villages (16 orphans or 4 families in a 1,000 square foot home), people spend most of their days outside interacting with others and building relationships instead of being chained to PCs, iPods and video games with headphones which isolate us. Isolation begets depression; depression begets medication; medication begets side effects and so on. The physical nature of their work virtually eliminates obesity. The workers in the orphanage age very well. Some look 20 or 30 years younger than they are.
The scarcity of resources forces environmentally friendly practices. Try as we may, we could not explain to these people our levels of waste in ways they could comprehend them. They wear clothes until they are rags, and then local seamstresses in training cut them down and create clothing for smaller children. Through doing this, they gain skills they use to sustain themselves outside the orphanage. Paper is reused a half a dozen times until it becomes toilet paper.
Finally, I think the missionaries have a better understanding of poverty than we do. They’ve studied the culture here enough to understand “when helping hurts”. They don’t give to beggars on the side of the road; experience tells them that it perpetuates poverty. In Doma, they pay their workers partly in food, housing, and health care to ensure that they meet their families’ needs first. Just like us, they are at risk of squandering resources on frivolous trinkets. This has been amplified with the new presence of satellite television, giving people here access to American programs and commercials. One native Zimbabwean missionary there, Dave Fortiscue, has made it his life goal to teach the Shona people how to sustain themselves farming, (the difference between feeding them and teaching them how to feed themselves).
They understand that teaching the values of work and entrepreneurship to children who have been raised by children (almost the entire working generation of people between ages 20 and 40 has died from AIDS) or fifth generation indentured servants is complicated and requires immense patience and love. They have shown us the critical importance of understanding people in need before we make personal or collective decisions that help or hurt them. In a polarized America, we have largely dismissed this idea, taking one of two sides: raising taxes and having the government do our dirty work – or eliminating all programs as “hunger is the greatest motivator.”
There is a third option in America and it is is small, but promising. It is the idea that the church is the primary advocate for social justice. If the church were taking The Great Commission (Gospel of Matthew, Chaper 25) seriously, there would be little need for government involvement. This option is messy, but for those of us who claim to follow Jesus Christ, we must come to realize that it is not optional; it is a mandate.
If our group is here to listen and learn, we will leave with this challenge. If we are not, we will dismiss this experience with the attitude that we have simply stepped back in time.
“Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.”
-James 1:27
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
God's Community
After 3 hours in Dulles Airport, 17 hours in the air, 90 minutes attempting to get through customs and 3 more hours in a car to Eden’s Children’s Village, we finally arrived at our first destination.
This culture…I want to dive in the middle of it and be immersed and learn all about it. In just one short day, I have found so many beautiful and wonderful things about these people. It was like taking a bite of a warm, just out of the oven chocolate chip cookie. Then taking a drink of milk only to find out it is sour. It seems as if the more of God’s work one can see, the more the sin and Satan can be seen.
On one hand I witnessed a beautiful community of people all over the world working together to pursue God’s will. God is woven into everything they do. Agriculture, Education, Family Development, and Medicine. The leaders of Eden’s have a daily morning devotions together and the teachers lead a devotions in the classroom. The orphanage is set up in such a way that the children will have a mother and father in each home. The idea of community is truly understood and lived out here. “All the believers were together and had everything in common.” (Acts 2:44) It’s beautiful.
They live a simple life, not because they want to but because they have to. This is where the lines get fuzzy. This is when we take a drink of the sour milk.
Jude and Rory told us stories about going to 1st world countries and how disgusting it is about how much we waste. In the U.K., Jude washed out old milk bottles only to get asked “What are you doing?”. She watched them throw out these milk bottles. In Zimbabwe, this is not how it is done. They keep everything. They use everything. Over. And over. And over again. Every cent spent matters.
In the U.S., being hipster and eco-friendly and vegetarian is the ‘cool’ thing to do. Yet to achieve all these ‘cool’ things, people spend thousands of dollars. If you want to really learn what it means to be hipster, eco-friendly and vegetarian, come to Doma for a few days. The chicks are bought and raised to produce eggs. When they quit producing eggs they become meat chickens. We ate chicken that were killed earlier in the day. Then, the leftover chicken was used in the stew. Meat is a delicacy here, you are lucky if you have access to meat. So if you want to give it to someone, they would be more than glad to have it. And eco-friendly is no problem; electricity stays on for no more than 12 hours of the day and internet is spotty and there is no electricity. They also don’t have much access to modern medicine so they do herbal treatments. Yes, my friend, eco-friendly indeed.
My compassion swells when we drive down the road. Difficult decisions isn’t what makes this situation heart breaking, because it is obvious that we can thrive through difficulties. It is the poor decision making. The worst of their cultures has mixed with the worst of Western culture. The people walking up and down the sides of the roads in suits with cell phones…who knows where they are going. There is no purpose. They compromise basic needs for status symbols and desires. Life is very about the appearances. People want stuff they don’t need and it takes advantage of their lives. I have never seen this so vividly until here.
After leaving Doma and returning to Harare, we went to eat. I already am very aware of the reverse culture shock I will face when we return. We sat down to eat in a very nice restaurant in a nice neighborhood. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought we were in a 1st World country. But I have seen the need. It is literally right outside the door. In the States we confine them to small areas so that we can ignore them or choose to be ignorant to them. I won’t be able to be ignorant. And this I realize after only one day of touring. What will it be like when I truly interact? All I know now is when Jesus said “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Matthew 9:12-13) he was calling us all to unending mercy and love. The transformation has begun.
-Ann Clawson
This culture…I want to dive in the middle of it and be immersed and learn all about it. In just one short day, I have found so many beautiful and wonderful things about these people. It was like taking a bite of a warm, just out of the oven chocolate chip cookie. Then taking a drink of milk only to find out it is sour. It seems as if the more of God’s work one can see, the more the sin and Satan can be seen.
On one hand I witnessed a beautiful community of people all over the world working together to pursue God’s will. God is woven into everything they do. Agriculture, Education, Family Development, and Medicine. The leaders of Eden’s have a daily morning devotions together and the teachers lead a devotions in the classroom. The orphanage is set up in such a way that the children will have a mother and father in each home. The idea of community is truly understood and lived out here. “All the believers were together and had everything in common.” (Acts 2:44) It’s beautiful.
They live a simple life, not because they want to but because they have to. This is where the lines get fuzzy. This is when we take a drink of the sour milk.
Jude and Rory told us stories about going to 1st world countries and how disgusting it is about how much we waste. In the U.K., Jude washed out old milk bottles only to get asked “What are you doing?”. She watched them throw out these milk bottles. In Zimbabwe, this is not how it is done. They keep everything. They use everything. Over. And over. And over again. Every cent spent matters.
In the U.S., being hipster and eco-friendly and vegetarian is the ‘cool’ thing to do. Yet to achieve all these ‘cool’ things, people spend thousands of dollars. If you want to really learn what it means to be hipster, eco-friendly and vegetarian, come to Doma for a few days. The chicks are bought and raised to produce eggs. When they quit producing eggs they become meat chickens. We ate chicken that were killed earlier in the day. Then, the leftover chicken was used in the stew. Meat is a delicacy here, you are lucky if you have access to meat. So if you want to give it to someone, they would be more than glad to have it. And eco-friendly is no problem; electricity stays on for no more than 12 hours of the day and internet is spotty and there is no electricity. They also don’t have much access to modern medicine so they do herbal treatments. Yes, my friend, eco-friendly indeed.
My compassion swells when we drive down the road. Difficult decisions isn’t what makes this situation heart breaking, because it is obvious that we can thrive through difficulties. It is the poor decision making. The worst of their cultures has mixed with the worst of Western culture. The people walking up and down the sides of the roads in suits with cell phones…who knows where they are going. There is no purpose. They compromise basic needs for status symbols and desires. Life is very about the appearances. People want stuff they don’t need and it takes advantage of their lives. I have never seen this so vividly until here.
After leaving Doma and returning to Harare, we went to eat. I already am very aware of the reverse culture shock I will face when we return. We sat down to eat in a very nice restaurant in a nice neighborhood. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought we were in a 1st World country. But I have seen the need. It is literally right outside the door. In the States we confine them to small areas so that we can ignore them or choose to be ignorant to them. I won’t be able to be ignorant. And this I realize after only one day of touring. What will it be like when I truly interact? All I know now is when Jesus said “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Matthew 9:12-13) he was calling us all to unending mercy and love. The transformation has begun.
-Ann Clawson
Monday, October 3, 2011
Margin
Forty-eight hours ago, I was in Wichita, Kansas, feverishly answering emails, voicemails, and text messages in an attempt to prepare myself to leave for Africa. When we landed in Denver, I was still working. The same was true in Washington, DC. This pace continued until the moment that the Ethiopian Airways Flight Assistant insisted that all electronic devices be turned off. At that point, I realized time was up. Whether or not I was ready or was at a stopping point, the Atlantic Ocean brought silence and I was finally forced to check out.
I spent many of the 13 hours on the way from DC to Addis Ababa reading through a book called Margin by Dr. Richard Swenson. In his writings, Dr. Swenson discusses the crazy lives we live in America and how we don't even know the meaning of margin as it is applied to our lives. He insists that we've traded peace for progress.
"Because most of us do not yet know what margin is, we also do not know what marginless is. We feel distressed, but in ill-defined ways. We can tell life isn't quite what it used to be or perhaps not quite what we expected it should be. Then we look at our cars, homes and big screen TVs and conclude that our distress must be in our imaginations."
Admittedly, I've been to the Ashland Clinic in the last month or so with chest pain and no good explanation for it. My family doesn't have a history of heart issues. I'm in (relatively) good health. After a thorough examination and an EKG, I was told it was stress-related.
Fast forward two days and I'm sitting in the home of a Zimbabwean farmer who oversees the agricultural operations for Eden Children's Village, an orphanage in Doma, Zimbabwe. He explained that many of the orphans and staff at ESV have somehow contracted HIV/AIDS, primarily due to infidelity among husbands and fathers. Sexual abuse runs rampant in the culture and many of its side effects go untreated due to the absolute absence of professional counselors. There are times when food reserves are low and they are unsure how they will feed everyone. His wife, an RN, also serves as the local veterinarian, performing C-sections on cattle. No one else in the village is better trained to meet this need. Though the children within their care are healthy and loved, there is still so much work to do here.
Yet somehow, in spite of the overwhelming tasks in front of them, there is peace with them.
"Progress has happened under God's timing," he explains, "and these issues are in the hands of the Lord." More to come in the days ahead...
-Benjamin
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The Missionary
Since our time in Zimbabwe (or "Zim" as I'll call it), I've had a few months to reflect on what I saw, experienced and learned there. I was expecting the disparities in health, wealth, and modern technology. And for good reason. We saw countless people who were starving, dying of AIDS, or with unmet basic, human needs. Access to power, water and sewage systems were inconsistent, negatively impacting commerce and societal order. We saw a corrupted government that exploited and harmed its vulnerable population. The conditions under which Zimbabwean people live are unheard of here.
What surprised me though, were the similarities between rural western Kansas and rural Zimbabwe. I am in no way suggesting that we resemble a developing country. If anything, the safety and community focus of these small American towns make them some of the most comfortable places to live. I just believe we share some similar challenges, access to health care for instance. The circumstances just differ. For us, it's a heart patient traveling 2 1/2 hours by ambulance to the nearest heart center in Wichita, hoping to make it in time to save her life. For the people in Zim, it's one bare-footed man pushing his broken-footed friend in a wheelbarrow for three full days to the nearest hospital, hoping they will make it in time to save his limb, if they make it at all. The two needs are similar; they just appear different on the surface.
One thing is certain to me: the same solution works on both sides of the world, and in any other setting for that matter, whether urban or rural. Mission-minded believers immersing themselves in their communities to share the love best described in the Gospel of Jesus Christ to anyone and everyone they encounter is the best societal medicine. Most people will eventually be open to receiving genuine love and concern from others if that love is authentic. And we're all called to be missionaries, every one of us who subscribes to the Gospel. But it’s tougher than it looks.
When we arrived in Africa, a long term American missionary to Zimbabwe described the process of "integration with impact" in a four-phase process. Her analogy intrigued me because it very much mirrored my experiences moving from Dallas, Texas to Ashland, Kansas (pop. 900), having never lived in a community smaller than 250,000 people. Mostly, I found it comforting to know that my experiences, both positive and negative, were part of this natural process. And for all the happiness and suffering my wife and I have experienced in the last two years, the greatest benefit is a constant reliance on God. I am reminded of a greeting by Zimbabwean farmer when we first arrived in Africa. He said with a smile, "Ah. You in West are challenged because you must choose to rely on God. We rely on Him every day to meet our every need."
My recent journal entry…
I'm a white, privileged, suburban American. My life's a right, not a privilege. I don't know about my heritage. My mom used to tell me, "Eat your green beans. There's starving kids in Africa, and you have it easy." I have friends in my world who make me absolutely crazy, crazy enough to get six shots, and leave my shop, and fly across the continents to try to help the least of these. What I don't yet know, is I'm about to be floored, by what missionaries call phases 1, 2, 3, and 4.
Phase 1. I love this place. It's different in a good way. There's so much here to see, and touch and hear; every day's a new day. The smells are new too. Maybe not too cool. Pew. This food looks nutritious. What kind of dark meat is this? I guess it doesn't matter. It can't make me any fatter. You're all skinny around here. Here's some clothes; here's a dollar; here's some food and fresh water. How could your needs ever bother me? You can't help your poverty. I have medicine for any ailment; just meet my Jesus.
Phase 2. I hate this place. Everybody stinks here. The B.O. will knock your socks off. Can you not just wash your hot spots? That dark meat? It's goat, or dog, or anything but beef or hog. What good is it to dump my time and checks into a bottomless pit? You can't elect a government! You starve! You're sick! You're poor, 'cause you don't get it! You're blind, but you refuse to see the need to see any further than your next meal!
It's hot, and stinky. I don't know what's going on. These moms, are freaky. They're breast feeding right in front of me. Breast feeding?! Are you kidding me?! In public?! What is this?! We've got folks, exposed, in front of other folks. Isn't that their business?
I'm wasting my time, and wasting folks’ money. What I wouldn't mind is some steak for my tummy and a break from this ugliness. I might just, come back some day, when you agree to do things the western way.
Phase 3. I've been here five years and I'm through with my tears. More love, less fear. Understanding overcomes me as the love of Christ becomes my creed. I see the need to stop the greed that seeping in from where I'm from that binds and chains the needy. You buy the lie, defy basic needs for things unclean, the four evil C's: cash, clothes, cars and cell phones. Hell knows its eternal grip on those who sell their souls for cheap trinkets.
We know the same Jesus, but you know Him differently. The Jesus with me is a friend or a buddy. We use Him as a shrink or a genie back home. Here, He is your home, your provider for basic needs and things unseen. I need that freedom inside me.
My way is not the right way, not always anyway. I see beauty in your simplicity, though I won’t lose my identity. I am still an American. But maybe that smell? [sniff] Well maybe it’s me sometimes too.
Phase 4. [sniff] Yep. It’s definitely me, all the time. I find myself being critical of my people back home. You see, that’s not home for me anymore for I’ve been gone for too long. They’ve ignored the things that money can’t buy and put everything else on Mastercard. That is hard for me to swallow when surrounded by orphaned children with hollow bellies and yellow fever and fever from malaria and areas without clean water. No longer can I sit by while generations die from preventive illnesses. But not even my love for these people can make me one of them for I am not from their tribe. I hail to the line of Judah and this world is not my home. Not alone, I toil daily, just awaiting my departure.
God of mercy, Lord of life, bring me please to phase 5. I am tired of the lies and deceit and sickness and heat and feelings of grief and oppression. Let me join the poor, the wounded, the widow and the foreigner in my need for thee. If there is nothing left for me here, take me home.
What surprised me though, were the similarities between rural western Kansas and rural Zimbabwe. I am in no way suggesting that we resemble a developing country. If anything, the safety and community focus of these small American towns make them some of the most comfortable places to live. I just believe we share some similar challenges, access to health care for instance. The circumstances just differ. For us, it's a heart patient traveling 2 1/2 hours by ambulance to the nearest heart center in Wichita, hoping to make it in time to save her life. For the people in Zim, it's one bare-footed man pushing his broken-footed friend in a wheelbarrow for three full days to the nearest hospital, hoping they will make it in time to save his limb, if they make it at all. The two needs are similar; they just appear different on the surface.
One thing is certain to me: the same solution works on both sides of the world, and in any other setting for that matter, whether urban or rural. Mission-minded believers immersing themselves in their communities to share the love best described in the Gospel of Jesus Christ to anyone and everyone they encounter is the best societal medicine. Most people will eventually be open to receiving genuine love and concern from others if that love is authentic. And we're all called to be missionaries, every one of us who subscribes to the Gospel. But it’s tougher than it looks.
When we arrived in Africa, a long term American missionary to Zimbabwe described the process of "integration with impact" in a four-phase process. Her analogy intrigued me because it very much mirrored my experiences moving from Dallas, Texas to Ashland, Kansas (pop. 900), having never lived in a community smaller than 250,000 people. Mostly, I found it comforting to know that my experiences, both positive and negative, were part of this natural process. And for all the happiness and suffering my wife and I have experienced in the last two years, the greatest benefit is a constant reliance on God. I am reminded of a greeting by Zimbabwean farmer when we first arrived in Africa. He said with a smile, "Ah. You in West are challenged because you must choose to rely on God. We rely on Him every day to meet our every need."
My recent journal entry…
The Missionary
I'm a white, privileged, suburban American. My life's a right, not a privilege. I don't know about my heritage. My mom used to tell me, "Eat your green beans. There's starving kids in Africa, and you have it easy." I have friends in my world who make me absolutely crazy, crazy enough to get six shots, and leave my shop, and fly across the continents to try to help the least of these. What I don't yet know, is I'm about to be floored, by what missionaries call phases 1, 2, 3, and 4.
Phase 1. I love this place. It's different in a good way. There's so much here to see, and touch and hear; every day's a new day. The smells are new too. Maybe not too cool. Pew. This food looks nutritious. What kind of dark meat is this? I guess it doesn't matter. It can't make me any fatter. You're all skinny around here. Here's some clothes; here's a dollar; here's some food and fresh water. How could your needs ever bother me? You can't help your poverty. I have medicine for any ailment; just meet my Jesus.
Phase 2. I hate this place. Everybody stinks here. The B.O. will knock your socks off. Can you not just wash your hot spots? That dark meat? It's goat, or dog, or anything but beef or hog. What good is it to dump my time and checks into a bottomless pit? You can't elect a government! You starve! You're sick! You're poor, 'cause you don't get it! You're blind, but you refuse to see the need to see any further than your next meal!
It's hot, and stinky. I don't know what's going on. These moms, are freaky. They're breast feeding right in front of me. Breast feeding?! Are you kidding me?! In public?! What is this?! We've got folks, exposed, in front of other folks. Isn't that their business?
I'm wasting my time, and wasting folks’ money. What I wouldn't mind is some steak for my tummy and a break from this ugliness. I might just, come back some day, when you agree to do things the western way.
Phase 3. I've been here five years and I'm through with my tears. More love, less fear. Understanding overcomes me as the love of Christ becomes my creed. I see the need to stop the greed that seeping in from where I'm from that binds and chains the needy. You buy the lie, defy basic needs for things unclean, the four evil C's: cash, clothes, cars and cell phones. Hell knows its eternal grip on those who sell their souls for cheap trinkets.
We know the same Jesus, but you know Him differently. The Jesus with me is a friend or a buddy. We use Him as a shrink or a genie back home. Here, He is your home, your provider for basic needs and things unseen. I need that freedom inside me.
My way is not the right way, not always anyway. I see beauty in your simplicity, though I won’t lose my identity. I am still an American. But maybe that smell? [sniff] Well maybe it’s me sometimes too.
Phase 4. [sniff] Yep. It’s definitely me, all the time. I find myself being critical of my people back home. You see, that’s not home for me anymore for I’ve been gone for too long. They’ve ignored the things that money can’t buy and put everything else on Mastercard. That is hard for me to swallow when surrounded by orphaned children with hollow bellies and yellow fever and fever from malaria and areas without clean water. No longer can I sit by while generations die from preventive illnesses. But not even my love for these people can make me one of them for I am not from their tribe. I hail to the line of Judah and this world is not my home. Not alone, I toil daily, just awaiting my departure.
God of mercy, Lord of life, bring me please to phase 5. I am tired of the lies and deceit and sickness and heat and feelings of grief and oppression. Let me join the poor, the wounded, the widow and the foreigner in my need for thee. If there is nothing left for me here, take me home.
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