Category: Other Page 50 of 180

Not Home Yet

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On April 25, 2015

In Other

A friend and I were discussing a new law in Tanzania that could impact how long foreigners are allowed to live here.  It’s not even in effect yet, and we don’t even know if it would impact us.  But it was a stark reminder that we are visitors here.

I thought for a while about where we would go if for any reason we were forced to return to the States.  It was depressing.  I can’t think of anywhere in America that actually feels like home anymore.  My parents’ house probably comes closest–but only the house, not the neighborhood or the city.  I love many, many people in America–especially California–but that doesn’t make it feel like home.

Dar es Salaam is home now.  We’ve lived here 11 years.  For Gil and I, that’s 11 out of 14 years of marriage.  All of our kids were born here.  Dar es Salaam is certainly not the most pleasant city in the world, or even in Tanzania.  I love a lot about it, but there are aspects to this city that I downright hate…yet it is a familiar hate.  My car goes into auto-pilot, even when dodging goats.  I know the secret to finding ravioli.  I’ve planted memories in a thousand corners.  Not much about this place surprises me anymore.  It is familiar.

It’s strange, though, that I’ve made my home in a country where I have to renew my resident’s visa every two years.  I could, technically, be deported at any immigration officer’s whim.  I will never be allowed to own a house here.  I will never be able to vote.  I stick out on the street and am treated differently from everyone else.  A million events could force us to leave:  a serious illness, a closed ministry opportunity, political unrest.

It’s disconcerting to come to that realization–that this is the place where I feel at home, and yet I will never totally belong here.  It’s been the story of my life, starting in Liberia, then Ethiopia and Kenya, and now Tanzania.  My passport says United States of America, and it’s still part of my identity, but I have no idea what I will do when one day I have to live there.

Sometimes it feels like I am floating five inches above the earth, my roots dangling aimlessly.  Then I remember, Fix your eyes on things above, not on earthly things.  My roots shouldn’t go down into this earth anyway.  I am a foreigner in this country, but more importantly, I am a foreigner on this earth.

For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands….While we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened….so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.  (2 Corinthians 5)

This life is a only a vapor, and when it is extinguished, that is when I will really go Home.

California, This is What Real Water Conservation Looks Like

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On April 14, 2015

In Other

The language learning pictures of the day were about washing dishes.  I learned the Kiswahili words for soak, scrub, scrape, rinse.  Then, as usual, Lucy made me a recording of the days’ lesson.  Her recordings always keep me highly entertained, which is helpful since I listen to each one about a dozen times.

First, she made me laugh when she said (roughly translated):  “Foreigners always scrape their frying plans with only a plastic tool.  Because they are afraid of scratching their special pans.”

Yep.  She’s got that right.

She also said, “Americans rinse their dishes ovyo–carelessly–because water is cheap in America.  And they don’t have to carry it on their heads.”

Ouch.  Unfortunately, she’s right about that one as well.  As I listened to this recording over and over, pushing the new words into my brain, I also thought about my home state.

I’m originally from California, which is facing a water crisis of epic proportions.  In fact, Lucy told me that she heard about the California drought recently on Swahili radio.  That’s pretty crazy!  I know that Californians are upset about letting their lawns die and their cars stay dirty and their toilets stay yellow.  I get that–I would be upset too.

But here’s a little perspective from my friend Lucy.

Lucy lives in a household of 6.  They are probably considered almost middle class for this country, because they own their own house and both she and her husband have dependable jobs.

Their house has no plumbing, along with most of the households in this city of 5 million.  A neighbor, about half a block away, has a outdoor spigot.  This is Lucy’s water source.

Every day, Lucy buys 25 gallons of water from this neighbor.  Every day, she fills buckets and carries them back to her house on her head.  This much water costs about 15% of Lucy’s take home pay.

Twenty-five gallons of water is what this family of six uses every day–for drinking, cooking, washing bodies, washing dishes, washing clothes.  And that’s on the good days.  On the days when money is tight, it’s only fifteen gallons.

And you know what?  Lucy considers herself blessed, because she only has to walk half a block to get water, instead of the miles that many women in Tanzania have to walk.

Just in case you’re starting to feel way too judged, let me assure you that even though I write from the same city as Lucy, I’m much more in the category of Californians.  We do have indoor plumbing, and we probably use 10 times more water a day than Lucy’s family, yet our water bill is only about 1% of our take home pay.

The average American person uses 100 gallons of water a day–400 gallons per family of four.  Every day.  In California, residents are beingasked to cut that by 25%.  I know it won’t be easy–it wouldn’t be for me, either.  As an American, I am used to using water ovyo–carelessly.

Living in Africa has taught me to appreciate things I used to take such advantage of:  paved roads, electricity, libraries, Cheerios…and water.  Maybe this water crisis will do the same for Californians.

This is How You Spend Spring Break When You Grow Up Next to the Indian Ocean

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On April 11, 2015

In Other

(that’s a monkey)

The Medina Family of Snorkelers

We Are Not Safe

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On April 8, 2015

In Other

I was awake a long time on Thursday night, thinking about Garissa.

Thinking about 147 lives taken.  Kenya is a country where less than half of all young people attend high school, where less than 10% actually graduate from high school.  These students were the best and brightest of their country.  The hope of many families to escape poverty.  The hope of their country.  Have you taken a look at some of their faces?

Thinking about the trauma.  Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters.  There were only 815 students at Garissa University.  17% were murdered.  Seventeen percent.  Every student knows someone gone.  Hundreds more forever traumatized, in a country where there is no team of counselors to rush in.

Thinking about how we live in the neighboring country south of Kenya.  Thinking about the Christian school my kids attend.  Imagining scenarios.  I am not a creative person, but it’s amazing how imaginative I can be about terrorism.

Kenyans are justifiably angry.  They are demanding more security at their schools.  “We are not safe!”  Kenyan students chanted Tuesday.

We are not safe.  Was there ever a truer statement?

We like to think that we are safe.  We long for it, and we are lulled into it by the locks on our doors and the airbags in our cars.  We like feeling safe, and we like to pretend we are safe because it’s just too hard to be afraid all the time.

Until something happens close to us.  Columbine, 9/11, Sandy Hook….they made Americans feel unsafe.  Garissa is too far away for Americans to be affected, but it’s close to me.  So yeah, it makes me feel unsafe.  Terrorism accomplishes what it sets out to do, doesn’t it?  Incite terror.

The funny thing is, nothing has actually changed about my life.  The danger I am in now is the same that it was a week ago.  It’s just the facade of safety that has crumbled.  I see my world differently.  I know, from experience, that after a couple weeks with no other incident, I’ll pretend once again that I am safe, and I’ll feel pretty good about life.

Which is why these sorts of things are good for me.  They jolt me out of my cardboard fortress, and remind me of the reality of life.  I am not safe.  I never will be.  There is nothing I can ever do differently to make myself, and my children, entirely safe.  I live in a world that is completely out of my control.

I need this reminder.  Because it forces me to take my eyes off the waves and onto my Savior.

The Lord is my light and my salvation–

whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life–

of whom shall I be afraid?



Though an army besiege me,

my heart will not fear; 

though war break out against me,

even then I will be confident.

My safety is in my salvation.  My confidence is in knowing this is not my eternal home.

How It All Started

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On April 7, 2015

In Other

My parents are passionate about prayer, and the prayers of my parents have shaped my life.  Sometimes even when they didn’t realize that the subject of their prayers was me.

In the mid-90’s, my Dad was missions chairman of Hillside Church.  He had a vision for our church to partner with a team serving an unreached people group.  He prayed God would show him the country and the team, and it turned out to be a Reach Global group working in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.

The partnership began in 1996, and Hillside began sending out teams to Tanzania (over 20 teams in a decade!).  My Dad led Team #1.*

My parents prayed that God would build and grow and train His Church in Dar es Salaam.  They prayed that God would shine His light on those communities that had never heard the gospel.  They prayed that God would send a Hillside member to be a full-time worker in Tanzania.

During that first exploratory trip, one of the things my Dad did was prayer-walk on the coconut plantation which was later to become Haven of Peace Academy’s campus.  He stood by the giant baobab tree which bisected nothing but rows of coconut trees, and prayed for God’s blessing on the fledgling school that had a vision of expansion.

In 1998, I was on Hillside Team #5 with three other college students.  We came to provide English camps for a group serving the Indian community in Dar.  We were also introduced to Haven of Peace Academy.  I always knew I wanted to be a missionary teacher, but when I found out about HOPAC, I was hooked.

My parents never, ever pressured Gil or me about any major life decisions–and they never intentionally planted the idea of serving in Tanzania in our heads.  They never prayed that Gil and I would be the answer to their prayers.

Yet in 2001, God led us to Tanzania.  He led Gil to join the team serving the Indian Community that I had joined on Team #5.  He led me to HOPAC–and later, Gil too.  And now God is using us to train His Church in Dar.

And it all started with my parents’ prayers.

My parents were here visiting the last two weeks, and the time was filled with card games and water balloons and sight-seeing and long talks after the kids went to bed.  I am blessed that my parents are some of my best friends and my biggest cheerleaders.  I am incredibly thankful for their lives of service, sacrifice, and passion.

But today, I am mostly thankful that they pray.

*Special note for other RG and/or Hillside folks:  Ironically, for those of you who know him, Kevin Kompelien–the pastor of Hillside–was also on that first Tanzania team.  Kevin later became the Reach Global director for Africa and is now the candidate for president of the Evangelical Free Church of America.   Seems like my parents’ prayers affected more than just us.

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