Author: Amy Medina Page 53 of 233

Head for the Hills

While the northern hemisphere is running to warmth this time of year, we down here in the southern part of the world run to the cold.  

Okay, so not actually cold, unless you consider 75 degrees to be cold (which we do).  Every year in Tanzania, we spend the week after Christmas in the mountains, to escape the suffocating humidity in Dar this time of year.  

We go with friends, and the kids run off and we barely see them, and the grown-ups read and chat and play games.  We get our jeans and hoodies out of storage and pretend that we’re cold.   Beautiful, peaceful, soul-lifting.

Every year, “Aunt” Alyssa gives each kid the equivalent of a dollar and sends them into the market to see what they can find.  (As I recently blogged, Tanzanian markets are crammed with cast-offs from other countries.)  Whichever item makes Alyssa laugh the most is the winner.  

Grace’s find was the runner-up:  A baby shirt which is obviously “The Letest Design.”

But the winner was these (intentionally) split toddler pants, which apparently are a real thing in Asia to help kids get potty-trained.

New Year’s Eve

Grace’s 12th birthday–more on her later!

Good-bye, lovely Lushoto. We’ll see you again next year!

Medina Life, December 2017

Thanksgiving

So technically this was November and not December, and technically it wasn’t even Thanksgiving Day (which is not a holiday here), but the Sunday before.  But we had pumpkin pie and stuffing and mashed potatoes, and everyone played Wiffle Ball, and we even had a two-year-old who wouldn’t stand still for the group picture.  So it was Thanksgiving.

Then we descended into the Christmas season at HOPAC, which was pretty much just as crazy as the Christmas season in American schools…….

Primary School Christmas Party

And everyone dressed festively…..

And the classes had a “Decorate-Your-Teacher” competition, which was pretty awesome, though I’m not sure the teachers have totally forgiven me for it yet.  

Primary School Christmas Musical

Thanking our wonderful music and drama teachers who pulled all of this off.

Visiting my friend Lucy’s house…

Our annual trip to the water park with my worker’s kids….

St. Columba’s Mbezi District Christmas Party

We rented out HOPAC for this event, and Gil was asked to plan games for the kids.  So he did, but the adults got into them a lot more than the kids did!

We are so thankful for the fellowship this group gives us!

Picnic-Style Christmas Eve Carol Service 

….the way we do Christmas on the equator.

Christmas Day!

We hung out with good friends on Christmas Day.  After years of making gingerbread houses from scratch, I decided this working mom couldn’t hack that this year.  So we used crackers instead.  Oh my goodness–so easy and just as much fun.  I’m never going back to homemade.  

And when you can’t throw Christmas snowballs, you make Christmas bubbles instead.

What If My Clothing Purchases Are Contributing to Someone Else’s Poverty?

Let’s say you had a friend who always had the cutest, most stylish clothes, yet you knew was on a tight budget.  One day you asked her how she does it.

“It’s the best thing ever!” your friend gushes.  “I have my very own tailor straight from Bangladesh!  We set up his own work space in our walk-in closet, so he can make the clothes and hang them right up.  And guess what?  We only have to pay him three dollars a day!  You totally have to get your own tailor. Mine says his 14-year-old daughter is almost as good as he is….do you want me to contact her for you?”

Um.  Maybe you would need a new friend.

So the idea of having your own personal tailoring slave in your closet might not sound very appealing.  (Let’s hope not.)  So why then are we not more disturbed when we hear about the conditions under which most of our clothing is made?

Lately, I’ve been noticing clothing labels.

Almost all the labels say Bangladesh, Vietnam, China, or India.  All countries known for their cheap labor.  And I wonder what’s happening on the other side of the world to bring me my affordable clothing.

You’ve probably heard some of the stories.  About the clothing factory that collapsed in Bangladesh in 2013, killing over 1000 tailors who were making American clothes.  Or maybe you’ve heard of this new documentary about clothing workers in India who get paid three dollars a day for over 12 hours of work.  Or the Chinese tailors who get paid $100-$200 a month.

And that’s only one of the problems associated with clothing in the United States.  The other is that we Americans buy way more clothes than we ever need.  So that means that every year, thousands of tons of clothes are given to charity.  Know what happens to those clothes?

Less than 10% are actually re-sold.  Another big percentage is made into rags.  And over a quarter are stuffed into bales, shipped, and sold (at a profit) to markets in Africa.  Our family has become quite adept at shopping in these markets.  But even this is not a solution.

The massive influx of used clothing into Africa has caused the near-collapse of local fabric production. So much so that many African countries, including Tanzania, have pledged to stop these imports by 2019.  And what is the United States’ response?  That these countries are “imposing significant economic hardship on the USA’s used clothing industry” and thus may receive trade consequences.

So not only does the United States source most of their clothes on near-slave labor, we punish the countries who refuse to buy our cast-offs.  

It’s one thing to hear about poverty in the world and know that there’s nothing we can do about it.  But what if we are directly contributing to it?  What if we actually are buying clothes that are made by slaves?  What if our cast-offs are just increasing the world’s poverty?  Should we care?  Will God hold us responsible?

On one hand, there doesn’t have to be anything immoral about being wealthy.  On the other hand, what if the abundance of our possessions is directly related to the poverty of the rest of the world?  What if having our closets full means that others will have to dress their children in rags?

Maybe I’m being over-dramatic. This is deeply disturbing to me, but I don’t know what to do about it.  Buying only name-brand, expensive clothes is not a solution, since even those manufacturers make their clothes overseas.  Boycotting clothes made in developing countries is not a solution, since much of their economy depends on the clothing industry.  The truth is those tailors need jobs–but they need to be paid far wages and have good working conditions.  How can we, the consumers, make that happen?

In Tanzania, one of my favorite clothing options is buying local fabric and taking it to one of the many tailors I know.  But that’s not usually an option in industrialized countries, and I buy many other clothes in the traditional way as well.

Grace trying on a dress in our tailor’s shop.

And really, clothing is just the tip of the iceberg.  Shoes, handbags, toys, electronics–all of these things are produced overseas, sold in America, and then shipped back overseas when Americans don’t want them anymore.  We see these things in Tanzanian markets all the time.  

The question that most haunts me is this: If there was a way to make the world’s economy more fair, am I ready to make the sacrifices that would require?   Have I come to grips with the fact that I can’t have my cake and eat it too?   If there was a way to pressure the clothing industry to become fair-trade, are I ready to pay significantly higher prices for my clothing?  Am I ready to live with less so that I don’t produce as much waste?   

It’s easy to put my head in the sand so that I don’t have to feel the weight of the world’s poverty.  But to whom much has been given, much will be required.  What does God require of me?

Are there solutions?  Do you have ideas?  Can we have a discussion about this?  I would love to hear your thoughts.

Also, if you want to recommend a great fair-trade clothing company, leave their website in the comments either here or on Facebook.

Here’s two from Tanzania to get you started:

Sifa Threads

Karama Collection

You Won’t Find ‘Emptiness’ On a Christmas Card

I forget that the story of Christmas is a story of humility.

He made himself nothing….being made in human likeness.

God With Us–Emmanuel.  But what did that require?

He emptied himself.  

He humbled himself.

The God who flung planets into space and kept them whirling around and around, the God who made the universe with just a word, the one who could do anything at all–was making himself small.  And coming down….as a baby.  (Sally Lloyd-Jones)

It’s incomprehensible.  I can’t come close to grasping who God is, so how can I begin to understand what he gave up?

The more I become aware of his sacrifice, the more I wonder why I so easily consume the world’s delicacies:  The highest ideal is your own self-fulfillment.  Anything goes as long as you don’t hurt anyone else.

The problem is that self-fulfillment almost always does hurt someone else.  It’s simply not possible to love myself and love others at the same time.  And in trying, I find neither.  

Love, Joy, Peace, Hope–these are the words we find on Christmas cards.  We forget, though, that none of that would have been possible without humility.  Emptiness.  These are not words that are often used at Christmas, yet just as important.

We want the love and the joy, but without the cost.  We want peace and hope, but on our own terms.  It doesn’t work that way.

Of course, God is not a kill-joy.  He is all about joy.  He is the essence of love.  But as we frantically fight after fulfillment, popping pills and climbing the corporate ladder and swiping credit cards and fruitlessly trying to keep our bodies young, we forget that the way of joy and love is found through emptiness.  

God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.

So why then do we strive so hard after strength?

When I fail, why should I be bothered by humiliation?  When I am inadequate, why should I try to hide it?  Why should there be shame in weakness?  Being brought low is the path to joy.  Emptying myself for others is the way of true love.  

That baby, lying in the manger, represents a lot of things.  But for me, this year, he is a reminder of humility.   

Blessed are the poor in spirit 

        for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Tanzania’s “Christmas Trees” which burst into bloom every December.

The Story of Nikky (and me, and her mom, and Kajal, and God…oh, and red chicken)

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Nikky.

We met Nikky when we first arrived in Tanzania, way back in 2001.  We had joined a church that came out of the Indian population of Dar es Salaam.  Nikky, her mom, and her brother were a part of that church.

Nikky and her family were a big part of our lives for those two years.  I was her Sunday School teacher.

And every Wednesday evening, we would go to her family’s house, where Gil would lead a Bible study.  Her mom, Shital, is a wonderful cook, and each Wednesday we would eat her famous red sekala chicken and chips.  It was our favorite meal in Tanzania.

We even had the privilege of being present when Nikky’s mom married her step dad.

When we left Tanzania in 2003, we lost touch with Nikky’s family.  When we returned in 2005, we were living in a different part of the city and fully immersed in Haven of Peace Academy. 

Meanwhile, Nikky and her family starting attending a different church.  The pastor of that church happened to be the husband of HOPAC’s kindergarten teacher.  So when the kindergarten class needed a new teacher’s assistant, she told Nikky to apply.  So imagine my surprise when one day, a few years ago, I saw Nikky (all grown up) walking across the HOPAC campus.

It was a joyful reunion.  We visited their church, where Shital was serving in leadership.  Shital had always loved Gil’s teaching and jumped at the chance to join the Reach Tanzania Bible School.  That was a year ago.

(Shital is front left)

In August, I began my new position as elementary principal at Haven of Peace Academy, where Nikky has continued to work as a teacher’s assistant.  So I became her boss.  

Last week, Nikky got married, and we got to be there.  

This is Nikky with her HOPAC family.

And this is us with Nikky, her mom and dad, and Kajal, another wonderful friend from our old church days together.

(This was Kajal and me in 2002.)

Fifteen years.  I stand in awe of how God has blessed us with such wonderful relationships.  

And almost just as exciting, a few months ago, Shital opened a restaurant in our area.  Where she is selling her red sekela chicken, of course.  Our lives are now complete.  

And we all lived happily ever after.

Page 53 of 233

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