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Pamoja Week at HOPAC Actually Came Out of Disunity

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On November 17, 2019

In Other

Pamoja Week at Haven of Peace Academy actually came out of disunity.

When missionaries move overseas, they expect to learn to navigate the new culture of their host country. What they don’t usually expect is that they will also need to learn to navigate the cultures of other missionaries.

Sometimes this is hilarious. For example, I have fond memories with British or South African friends as we laughed ourselves senseless over our cultures’ varying uses of terms such as “hooter,” “fanny pack,” and “shag rug.” Depending on where you are from, you may be horrified that I just wrote such words on my blog.

Other times are not so funny. Like, for example, when you are trying to run an international school, and the Brits and the Americans have very different ideas of what makes a good school. One prominent example was when my friend Lauren (also an American) and I went to the (British) high school principal and told him that we wanted to plan a graduation ceremony for the graduating seniors. He looked at us as if we had just said we wanted to take the students on a trip to the moon. Because in England, there are no high school graduation ceremonies. Students don’t graduate–they just pass or not pass exams.

And that was just a small conflict. Back around 2004, the debate over American versus British curriculum almost made the school implode. It was like the Revolutionary War all over again, this time in Tanzania.

So anyway. Back to Pamoja Week. About 10 years ago, Gil and I took over the high school Student Council. Another (American) teacher had started it a couple of years previously, but hadn’t gotten very far because the concept of Student Council is also very American, and the British principal didn’t know what to do with it.

But when Gil and I took over, the high school principal just happened to also be American. Woohoo! (This is another important thing for missionaries to learn: You’ll eventually get your way if you just wait long enough for everyone else to leave.) So, great. We got Student Council off with a bang. And what does every good American Student Council plan? Spirit Week, of course!

Our American high school principal immediately agreed: Of course we could do Spirit Week! Why not? Except that the elementary school principal was British. And he had never heard of Spirit Week. His interpretation was Holy Spirit Week (after all, HOPAC is a Christian school), so down in elementary school, they had a special emphasis on the Fruits of the Spirit that week. He was fairly disturbed that up in high school we were dressing up with our clothes on backwards and throwing marshmallows at students’ peanut-butter faces. Because in England, you don’t have fun at school. (Hey–their words, not mine.)

This caused some–ahem–interesting discussions. Gil and I, in our stubborn American-ness, couldn’t understand why we couldn’t do it our way. The right way, of course.

It all came to a head during a rather tense “discussion,” when Kandyl Kotta, the Student Council president (who was thankfully neither American nor British, but Tanzanian), politely told off all the adults in the room. She basically told us we needed to get a hold of ourselves and act like adults.

Yeah, we were pretty ashamed of ourselves.

It was also Kandyl who suggested that we change the name of Spirit Week, since the name itself was causing a lot of confusion. We brainstormed ideas, but in the end, it was Kandyl herself who suggested the winner: Pamoja Week. Pamoja is the Swahili word for together.

And so, like so many other things at Haven of Peace Academy, Pamoja Week became unique to HOPAC. At first, Gil and I tried to stuff it into the American “Spirit Week” box by ending the week with a “homecoming” type event with a big soccer game on Friday night. Except, try as we might, we never could get a team to come play us for a night game. Instead, a couple of years later, the crowning event of Pamoja Week became International Day, an event that had already been in place since the school’s inception. They fused together perfectly.

Ten years later, how fitting that the week that caused so much division is now a celebration of our togetherness. How fitting that the week we celebrate our togetherness ends in a day where we celebrate our unity in diversity.

Last week, the Medina family celebrated our last Pamoja Week and International Day. With us leaving, I’m worried that the story behind it will be forgotten. Which is why I wrote it down today.

Pamoja Week and International Day, 2019

I taught her in fifth and sixth grade! AHH! It was so awesome to have her there!

And more nostalgia….The Medina family at International Day Over the Years (in no particular order)

Lasts

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On November 10, 2019

In Other

The grief of leaving hits me at odd times.

Josiah just turned twelve and got bacon for his birthday. He was thrilled. And I was wistfully sad to think about how this is the last birthday where anyone will be excited to receive bacon or Pringles or Coco Pops as birthday presents.

There are times when leaving feels like a relief. My job is stressful, often, these days. I am unfailingly determined to finish well, to complete the projects I started, to invest all that I can into this school I adore. People ask me what I want to do next year and I say, I really just want to plant flowers and get to know my neighbors. Do I have to get a job? Because I am tired.

But then I sit here in my office at school, and see the frangipani tree blooming outside my window, and the football games going on behind it. In a few minutes I will go out to watch Lily’s game, and I will see her play with girls she has grown up with, many of them with her skin tone and all of them with a million shared memories. I’ll sit with the other moms and we’ll cheer them on with the expanse of the Indian Ocean as our backdrop, sweating together underneath the wet-blanket of November mugginess.

I relish this place, this moment, this feeling. And I grieve.

Sure, this won’t be my last football tournament. But next time it will be called soccer, and I’ll be surrounded by people I don’t know but who know each other and have their own sub-cultures and millions of shared memories that don’t include me. I’ll have Costco granola bars and fruit snacks in my bag instead of home-popped popcorn; I’ll probably be wearing a jacket. I won’t be known; I will be another new face, the one with the odd story of living half her life in Africa.

Everything is a Last this year. The last time I’ll get to ignore Halloween. The last fourth Thursday in November that will be a work day; the last Thanksgiving I’ll celebrate on a Sunday. The last time I’ll hack up a pumpkin to make pie (because who wants to do that when you have Costco???). The last air conditioned Christmas.

Each day is a Last Day. I think of that often–Today is the last November 9th I will experience here. This week is our last Pamoja Week. Our last International Day will be this Friday. It will be Number 16 for us. How will I live my life without International Day? I guess the same way that I’ve lived sixteen Thanksgivings without celebrating on the fourth Thursday of November. Part of my heart has always been somewhere else. But I am used to that by now.

What’s ironic is that in August of 2012, I wrote a post called “The Year of Lasts.” It was the beginning of Gil’s last year as chaplain at HOPAC. We knew we would be returning to Tanzania after a year, but our role at Haven of Peace Academy would be as parents only. After spending ten years of our lives breathing and bleeding HOPAC, we were moving on. I had no intention of returning to be on staff and I grieved leaving that life. Three years later, when the way opened widely for me to return, it totally took me by surprise. So in these Lasts, I rejoice in the icing on the cake–that I got to come back and work at HOPAC for three more years that I never thought I would get.

So I guess I need to be reminded that last is not always Last. Our God is surprising. After years and years of saying good-byes that I thought would be permanent–and weren’t–I’ve learned instead to say, “See you later. The world is small.”

There’s a blessing, though, in knowing that each day is a Last. Many don’t get that privilege–loss and change often come suddenly, without a chance to say good-bye, to finish well, to savor the Lasts. So the grief reminds me to slow down and savor what I do have today. Because that’s how I should be living my life anyway.

Anybody Out There Looking for People Like Us?

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On October 25, 2019

In Other

The main benefit of using a free little Google blogspot is I’ve never felt the need to do any advertising in this space.

Until today. Because today, I’m advertising, um, us. Gil and I. Our family. Anybody out there looking for people like us? After 16 years in Tanzania, we’re moving to America, and we are starting over. We are open to wherever God leads us.

It feels weird to write about this, because we are still all in here in Tanzania. We are still very much fully immersed in our life and ministry here. We love our life; we are not anxious to leave. July still seems very far away and it feels early to start thinking about what will be next. Yet rationally, we know that it’s not that far away, and we need to start planning.

It’s been a really long time since we’ve lived in America, so we’re pretty out of touch. Yes, we are checking out job listings and doing a lot of research, but I also have over 2000 people reading this blog, and most of them live in America. So…..hi guys! Want us to be your neighbors?

In all seriousness though, I’m wondering if any of you might have some ideas for us. Mainly because we aren’t just looking for jobs that could use our set of skills and experiences, but because we are looking for a unique kind of community–a school, a church, or a neighborhood that will be a healthy place for our unique family to transition to life in America.

Whether it’s a community or a job, we really could use your two thousand sets of eyes and ears out there to help us find a good fit.

Ready? Here we go.

Regarding community: We would love to know where pockets of African immigrants are living in the United States. Or maybe refugee communities, or multi-ethnic immigrant communities. We would love to hear about churches or schools that have high populations of refugees or immigrants. We would be thrilled to know about Christian schools or college towns where there are thriving international student ministries.

Regarding jobs: Gil and I are “all in” kind of people. We love holistic ministry; hospitality is our thing. We have extensive experience in education, theological training, TCK ministry, cross-cultural ministry, and missions. We would love to find a church, school, or non-profit that sees our experience overseas (and our multi-racial family) as a advantage, with something unique to bring to an organization. I’ll write a little more about the specifics of Gil and I at the bottom of this post.

Bonus points if the community or job is in or near California. But even if it’s not, we want to hear about it. (Be aware, though, that northeastern winters might kill us. So you’ll have to tell God to make it really, really clear if we’re supposed to head out in that direction.)

So. Got any leads for us? Feel free to share this post with anyone you think might be interested in us. Or send me your ideas to everyoneneedsalittlegrace(at)gmail.com.

Here’s a little more about us:

Gil and Amy Medina have been Reach Global (Evangelical Free Church of America) missionaries for 17 years. We have four Tanzanian kids between the ages of 8 and 14.

Gil Medina, age 42

BA Biblical Studies, The Master’s University

MA Theological Studies, Talbot Seminary

Experience: 2 years in church planting (youth ministry), 3 years as a college ministry leader, 8 years as Bible teacher/youth leader/chaplain (grades 6-12) at an International Christian School, 6 years as a theological trainer for church leaders in Tanzania.

Gil is a visionary, strategic thinker. He is a gifted Bible teacher and preacher, and specializes in taking complex theological concepts and making them understandable and relevant. His favorite teaching topics include Life of Christ, Romans, and Worldview/Apologetics, and he designed his own curriculum for almost all the classes he has taught. He loves discipleship, especially with young people. His other interests include photography and sports (he has coached youth/high school soccer and basketball for 20 years), and he is an avid reader.

Ideal positions include: Bible teacher (preferably post-high school but open to high school as well), international student ministry, college/young adult ministry, church outreach director, missions training/mobilization.

Amy Medina, age 42

BA Liberal Studies/Teacher Education, The Master’s University

Post-graduate California Multiple-Subject Teaching Credential

Experience: 7 years as an elementary school teacher (grades K, 2, 5 and 6), 10 years as a part-time teacher/assistant chaplain/youth leader, 3 years as a school board member, 3 years as elementary school principal at an International Christian School (150 students, 20 direct reports).

My specialty is in being task-oriented, detailed, and efficient. I love training and encouraging others to do their jobs well. I love teaching kids and anything having to do with Christian education. Biblical worldview integration is a particular passion of mine. I am an avid reader and writer and a quick learner.

Ideal positions include: Administrative assistant for a school or non-profit organization, church children’s director, refugee or immigrant ministry, international student or TCK ministry, ESL teaching, missions mobilization, elementary school education. (Though I absolutely love my job as a school principal right now, I won’t be looking for a school leadership position in the near future.)

Thanks for your help!

Some Things Just Make You Laugh With Delight

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On October 23, 2019

In Other

On Gil’s bucket list for our last year in Tanzania was to see baby sea turtles hatch, one more time. We had seen this remarkable event several years ago, but our kids were too little to remember it. Gil had several contacts that were letting him know when a hatching would take place, but this particular beach is over two hours away, and he could never get us over there in time.

As we were driving to the beach for our vacation last week, Gil got a text: There would be a hatching the very next day, and it was only about a mile away from where we would be staying. How very, very kind of our gracious God!

Watching baby sea turtles hatch is one of life’s most extraordinary experiences. The conservationist who opened the nest told us that we must not touch the turtles or carry them to the ocean. It’s extremely important that they make the journey themselves, because as these tiny creatures frantically bolt their way towards the sea, their pea-sized brains are actually taking a GPS pin during their frenzied 50 meter journey. And someday, thirty years from now and after swimming thousands of miles, the females lucky enough to survive will return to the exact same beach to lay their own eggs.  

Some things are just so astonishing, all you can do is stand in awe, marvel in wonder, laugh with delight. 

Yes, the Kids Know

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On October 17, 2019

In Other



Do the kids know? What do they think?That seems to be everyone’s first question when they hear we are relocating to America.  

Yes, they know. We talked about it with them hypothetically for a long time, and they were the first people Gil and I told when we made the decision. 

Michele Phoenix, who has written extensively on the impact of transition on missionary kids, wrote:
“Those who repatriate to their “home” country aren’t just moving from one state or province to another. They aren’t just losing a measurable number of people, places and ‘sacred objects.’ It’s the intangibles that exacerbate their grief and intensify their response to it. Missionaries’ Kids who are enduring transition have lost the languages, sounds, aromas, events, values, security, familiarity and belonging that have been their life—an integral part of who they are and how they view the world. When they leave their heart-home, it feels as if they’re surrendering their identity too.

Moving back is more than a transition for many MKs—it’s a foundational dislocation and reinvention that can take years to define and process.”

I read this and nod, Yes. I experienced all of this myself, when I moved back to America at age 14, after spending much of my childhood in Africa. It was hard. I grieved a lot. I struggled with belonging and identity. Yet for me, my passport matches with my country of birth. I left a house in San Jose, went and experienced life in Africa for six years, and then returned to that house in San Jose. I had a sense of place in America. My children do not.

America is, quite literally, a foreign country to them. Though they are the children of missionaries, they won’t be returning “home,” they will be immigrants moving to a new land. They will be leaving their home–possibly forever.

We told the kids the news in June, just a few weeks before we went to the States for the summer. That trip was a good gift. It helped them to process the idea of leaving while they were visiting America, yet knowing that they still would be able to return to Tanzania for another year.

A lot of big emotions came out this summer. On a walk through my parents’ neighborhood one evening, one child (who doesn’t often get angry) expressed a mountain of anger about what is ahead. You are taking me away from my country! Anger at us. At circumstances.Let it out, I said.It’s okay to be angry. 

Another night, I heard a different child’s muffled sobs late in the night. I sat on the floor next to the sleeping bag and just listened.I don’t want to leave my friends! I’m not going to know anybody in America! I’m not going to have any friends! I could relate to that, so I cried too.I don’t want to leave my friends either, I said.

My biggest girl spent all summer doodling, I am a TCK on every piece of paper her pencil met.

In the past, they’ve always been excited to visit the States. McDonald’s, Disneyland, Target: The Promised Land of Shopping and High Fructose Corn Syrup makes everybody giddy. But when we told them we would be moving there? No excitement. At all. Just tears. And a resigned acceptance. I recently asked Grace if there is anything she is looking forward to in America. Well, my family is there, she said dully. I’ll be happy to be closer to them. That was all.

Since we returned to Tanzania in August, life returned to normal. Our days are full and we want to live fully without the weight of leaving over our heads. Besides, though a year is short for me, it is long for a child. There will be time for grief later. But I know it’s coming. 

I struggle to find a category to put my children into. They are not typical missionary kids, since they belong to Tanzania more than Gil and I do. We didn’t bring them here; they already were here. Moving them to America is probably similar to adopting older children internationally, except not quite. Traditionally adopted kids are leaving an orphanage–something sad–and joining a new family–something redemptive. But my kids won’t be a leaving a sad situation. Grace is middle school president this year, and got bumped up to the high school varsity soccer team–as an 8th grader. Josiah is the fastest kid in his class.They’ll be leaving a life that they love–a perfect life in many ways–surrounded by kids just like them, kids they’ve known since they were babies.

One of my kids asked, Can I go to a non-bullying school in America? I can’t promise them that. I can’t tell them everything will be okay. I can’t tell them it won’t hurt. I can’t guarantee to myself that this will all turn out right in the end, that this is the right choice, that I won’t have any regrets. So I worry, What have I done to my children?

The hardest year in my childhood was the year I turned 14. Liberia was torn away from me, my family was relocated to Niger, but before we could get there, we were relocated to Ethiopia. I found myself in a new country with no friends, no familiarity. I was grieving Liberia deeply. There was no high school for me, so I sat day after day in the elementary school library, by myself, trying to teach myself French and Physics through correspondence classes. By December, I was begging to go to boarding school, so in January, I relocated to another country again, transitioned again, grieved again–this time I had friends, but not family. And then at the end of that school year, my family was evacuated from Ethiopia and we began life in the States….again.

My parents’ plans had been for me to spend all my high school years in Liberia, in stability and sameness. Transitioning through three countries and two schooling systems in the course of one year was not part of that plan, and all of us shed a lot of tears and endured a lot of stress. But you know what? I look back on that year as crucially important in helping me become who I am now. I grew up that year. My faith in Jesus became my own. The people I met and the things I experienced, even though it was a short time, indelibly impacted my “becoming.”

I cling to this memory as I look towards taking my children through the biggest transition of their lives. I can’t make it easy on them, and that crushes this mama’s heart. But easy isn’t always best.

Just last night I read this quote from one of the wisest women I know–Elisabeth Elliot:

And we parents, I’m sure, suffer sometimes a hundred times more than our children suffer. Although we think that the situation is worse than it is, what we can never visualize is the way the grace of God goes to work in the person who needs it. 

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