Category: Poverty Page 5 of 6

The Poverty Over the Fence

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On July 8, 2016

In Poverty

A few years ago, we took the entire HOPAC secondary school to see an exclusive premier of “The Hunger Games.”  Of course, since we had to make it educational, we required them to participate in discussion groups afterwards.

Our students were shocked–shocked, I tell you–when we told them that they were the Capitol.  Of course, they wanted to identify with Katniss and District 12.  Everyone wants to be the underdog; who would ever want to be the Capitol?  Until we reminded them that they were attending one of the top five schools in Tanzania, that their families have vast wealth (even the missionary kids) in comparison to the rest of the world, and they were absolutely obsessed with entertainment.

Like it or not, we are the Capitol.

When I read The Hunger Games series, I was simultaneously reading Martin Meredith’s The Fate of Africa.  I remember being struck by the irony of the descriptions of South Africa during apartheid, and how similar it sounded to Panem.  Not only were black Africans oppressed and deprived in every way, they were forcibly confined to very specific areas and unable to travel, thus making it much harder for them to unite against the ruling minority white population.

Photographer Johnny Miller recently released a stunning series of aerial photographs of South Africa, dramatically showing the income disparity that is blatantly apparent, even decades after apartheid ended.

The following pictures all came from here and can also be found here.

I have a number of South African friends, and one told me that while growing up during apartheid, they never even saw the shanty towns.  The white population was so carefully shielded from them that they didn’t even realize they existed, making it easy to live their lives in guilt-free bliss.  Yet for some of them, all they needed to do was peek over the hedge or cross the road.  But it was easier to just not know.

Most of my readers live lifestyles like those on the left sides of these pictures.  Would anything in your perspective or way of life change if you knew that just over your back fence, there were thousands of people living in one-room shacks, with no electricity or running water?

It’s easy to see these pictures and be angry at what happened in South Africa.  And indeed, everything about apartheid should be condemned.  The poverty of those on the right was and in many ways, still is, racially motivated and intentional.

But the truth is, are we really that different?  If you think you would live your life differently knowing there were oppressed, impoverished people right next door to you, then why does it matter that they are a continent away?  They still exist.  They still are there.  Even if you don’t see them, they still exist.  Or is it just easier to forget about them when all you can see for miles is neatly manicured suburbs?

We may root for Katniss, but we are the Capitol.

Some of you who have been reading this blog for a while might get sick of me constantly bringing this up.  But I can’t help it, because I am surrounded by poverty.  I see it, literally, everywhere I look.  Over my fence.  As I leave my driveway.  As I go almost everywhere.  Dar es Salaam is different from South Africa in that there has been very little city planning.  Nice houses are intertwined with slums, almost anywhere you look.  There is no forgetting.

I must admit that many times, I want to forget.  It’s too hard.  I want to pretend it’s not there; I want to live in a blissful dream-world where everyone has indoor plumbing and enough to eat.  But it hits me smack in the face every day, and I must deal with it.  I must think hard.  Pray hard.  Look for ways to understand.  Look for ways to give generously.  More importantly, look for ways to create opportunity.

I must, because I can’t ignore it.  But really, none of us should.

To whom much has been given, much will be required.

How You Spend Can Be Just As Important As How You Give

By

On March 2, 2016

In Living Like a Missionary in America, Poverty

When you live in one of the world’s poorest countries, you often feel like everyone needs your money.  And well, most of them probably do.

I used to be wracked with guilt.  Every time I ate meat, went out to dinner, or put gas in my car, I would mentally calculate how it compared to the average Tanzanian’s weekly wage.  Spending money on anything they didn’t have–whether it be toilet paper or a refrigerator–made me feel guilty.

And we do give.  We always look for ministries to support and worthy recipients of donations.  But over time, I learned a really important lesson:  How I spend can be just as important as how I give.  

The money I spend (which originates from many of you) is daily being infused into the Tanzanian economy.  I can choose where it goes.  Who am I going to invest in today?  It’s actually a pretty fun way to spend money.

When our washing machine breaks, and I hire a technician, I am supporting his family.  When I buy pineapples on the side of the road, I’m helping that vendor send his kids to school.  When my language helper comes to my house, I’m helping her save money to open a shop in her neighborhood.

Every day, every time I hand over cash, I am helping to build people’s lives.  Often, that means I make conscious choices about how I spend it.  For example:

  • I try to buy groceries from small shops instead of always shopping at the large stores.
  • As much as possible, I buy food that was produced in Tanzania or Kenya.
  • I hire a gal to come to the house and braid the girls’ hair instead of doing it myself.
  • I buy gifts for friends from local artisans instead of Amazon.com.
  • I pay for the shoe repair guy to fix up my son’s shoes instead of purchasing new ones.
  • When I eat out, I don’t always go to the nicest places, and I try to tip well.
  • I hire a seamstress to sew my daughter a dress instead of buying a new one online.

Everything I need is an opportunity to give someone a job.


Need to buy a knife?  Have it sharpened?  Here’s your guy!  And I wouldn’t mess with him….

We also have two full-time workers, even though we don’t really need full-time help.   By paying them good wages, we also support our house worker’s kids and our gardener’s grandmother.  Two families are sustained, and as a result, we have more time for ministry.

I’ve wondered how I would apply this way of thinking if I ever moved back to the States.  Even there, could I help the people around me by how I spend money?  Of course.

Could I seek out the plumber who is just getting started?  The gardener who just moved to America?  The hair stylist who doesn’t speak much English?  Could I use Etsy to buy gifts?  Could I hire someone to mow my lawn even though I am capable of doing it myself?  Or walk my dogs or be my nanny?  Could I eat at the local diner instead of the big chain restaurant, and leave a big tip?

The difference is that in Tanzania, I am surrounded by these kinds of opportunities, and in America, I might have to seek them out.  It might mean frequenting businesses that could be considered on “the wrong side” of town.  It could mean dealing with the inconvenience of working with someone who is not fluent in English.  It could mean paying more for stuff that would be cheaper at Walmart.  It might require the sacrifice of time or comfort.  But shouldn’t that be okay?

But the point is that it’s possible to help poor and disadvantaged people beyond just donating gifts to a charity at Christmas, volunteering at a homeless shelter, or even buying free trade coffee at Starbucks.  We can “distribute our wealth” simply by how and where we choose to spend our money.

Those of us who are rich should be burdened for others who could use our money.  By all means, let’s be generous.  But let’s also consider those who could really use our business.  Sometimes, that can help even more.

Wailing

By

On October 21, 2015

In Life in Tanzania, Poverty

Last week, the wailing crept through our open windows.  I instantly recognized the sound:  Someone nearby had died.

The funeral proceedings, which last for a few days, were set up right outside the wall around our  yard.  A hundred people sat on mats and plastic chairs.  Sometimes they sang.  Sometimes they wailed.  Sometimes they just chatted quietly.

Eventually, I got the story.  A young woman had died.  She was only 32 years old, was married, and had four children.  She lived a bit down the street from our house, but her father and sister live next door to us.  We didn’t know her, but her children had played in our yard with our kids.

She died suddenly, of a strange illness that came on very quickly.  They described it to me as “pressure” in her chest.  Her heart?  I asked.  Yes, they said.  I’m not sure what to make of that.  Maybe a heart attack?  But at age 32?  She had been healthy, they said.  They just shook their heads sadly and shrugged their shoulders.

It’s a story I’ve heard over and over again.  The lunch cook at HOPAC died suddenly this past July.  She had only been married two weeks.  A student from our training program lost two baby boys when each was only 9 months old.  A friend lost twin babies.  Another friend lost two sisters within two years.  And on.  And on.  All from strange, unexplained illnesses.

In Swahili, when someone gets better from an illness, you use the expression Amepona.  Since it was always used with illness, I assumed it meant He has recovered.  For example, if your friend was down with a bad cold and misses a couple of days of work, when he comes back, you might ask him how he is doing.  Nimepona, he will respond.  I am better.

One day, Lucy (my language tutor) and I were working on the story of Noah’s Ark.  When we got to the part about Noah and his family living through the flood, Lucy said to me, Walipona.

Walipona! I repeated in surprise.  But Noah and his family were not sick!  So I got out my dictionary and looked up kupona.

The literal translation is not to recover.  The literal translation is to survive.

In English when someone is sick, we would only say He survived if we were talking about a victim of cancer or a heart attack.  But when referring to recovery from a common cold, a headache, or the stomach flu, we say, He recovered or He got better.

So what I discovered is that in Swahili, when you recover from any illness, the response is literally translated as I survived.

After living here all these years, after hearing of person after person dropping dead for unknown reasons, listening to the stories of almost every mother losing a child, I am beginning to understand.

Of course, I don’t really understand, because I have access to the best health care in Tanzania, and if that doesn’t suffice, I have access to better health care anywhere in the world.  I really know nothing of the fear and apprehension of imminent illness and death.

The United States has 2.3 doctors for every 1000 people.

Tanzania has .02 doctors for every 1000 people, one of the lowest ratios in the world.

Once again, I am reminded of how privileged I really am.  Once again, I ask what else God expects of me for blessing me so much.

Today, thank God if you live in a country where recovery is expected and survival is the norm.  And pray for four young children–Vale, Tony, Aaron, and Jackie, who have just lost their mother and may never know why.

Beyond Christmas Shoeboxes: Building a Heart of Compassion in Our Children…and Ourselves

By

On January 14, 2014

In Operation Christmas Child, Poverty

The most important starting place is to understand the difference between

Compassion

and

Pity.

Pity is me up here and you down there.  Pity is I’m rich and You’re poor.

Pity is condescending.  Pity is feeling sorry for you.

Pity makes guilt the motivator.

Compassion is coming alongside.  Compassion is We both have needs; how can we help each other?  

Compassion is trying to understand.  How would I want to be treated if I were in this situation?



Compassion makes love the motivator.

So here are some ideas to help develop compassion in our children.  This list is not exhaustive.  Feel free to add your own ideas.

1.  For one school season, buy all your child’s clothes at thrift stores or garage sales.  Buying used clothing is the only reality for the majority of the world’s population.  Experience this reality with your child.  Talk about what it feels like.  Then allow your child to take the money you saved and pick out a donation from a gift catalog such as Harvest of Hope.  (which is a great way to give because it helps a poor family develop sustainable income).  That’s one of my favorite gift catalogs, but there are many good ones out there.

2.  Eat exclusively beans, rice, and vegetables every night for a week.  Again–a reality for much of the world.  Take the money you save and pick out a donation.

3.  Travel on your local bus with your kids every once in a while.  Observe.  Talk with them about what life would feel like without a car.

4.  Read and pray through this fantastic book with your kids.  Let’s hope the publishers put out a newer version soon!  (This is more about missions than poverty, but there is a lot of crossover.)

5.  Go to a low-income area in your city.  Shop where they shop and/or eat where they eat.  Grocery shop there or have lunch.  You’ll get a new perspective, some new dinner ideas, and probably learn a couple things about different cultures.

6.  Go to your church’s or city’s local food pantry.  Take home a couple bags of food (you can always replace them later).  Eat that food for a week.

Note:  If you are like me, this idea makes you incredibly uncomfortable.  You are probably thinking:  I could never do that.  What if someone I knew saw me?  What if anyone saw me?  How embarrassing!  How humiliating for someone to think I was poor!  And anyway, who wants to eat out of cans and boxes all week?



Exactly.  What makes us think that a “poor” person feels any differently?  Imagine what it would do to your soul if eating from a food pantry was your only option, on a regular basis.

Meditate on those thoughts for a while.

Now….last but not least….my craziest idea…not just for kids, but for whole families:

7.  Consider moving into a low-income neighborhood.  I wonder, why is this so radical?  It’s definitely a calling, and it won’t be realistic for most families.  I understand that, but can we at least pray about it?  Many middle-class churches have low-income neighborhoods literally next door. How amazing would it be if a team of church members deliberately moved in–as neighbors, as equals, as friends?  To come alongside, to partner together, to share lives, to problem-solve together?  Now, that would be a way to teach our kids compassion.

With most of these ideas, you could say, But Amy, these activities are not actually going to help the poor. 

No, they are not.  But at least they won’t hurt the poor, which is what can happen sometimes with our well-meaning attempts to teach our children compassion.  And when we have built up compassion and true understanding for the poor in our children, and in ourselves, that’s when we are ready to really start making a difference.

Faces

By

On December 16, 2012

In Poverty

Whenever you drive into downtown Dar and stop at a major intersection, little boys run up to your car.  They are about 10 or 12 years old, and hold a jug full of soapy water and a piece of a broken windshield wiper.  As soon as your car stops, they splash water on your windshield, “wash” the window in about 10 seconds, and then hold out their hands to be paid.

I used to get annoyed at these boys.  I really didn’t need my window washed two or three times in a half hour (once at each intersection), and I didn’t like that they assumed I even wanted my window washed.  I also didn’t like that I am always targeted because I am white.

These boys are most likely all street boys.  Runaways from abusive homes, orphans, or cast out for one reason or another, and now literally living on the street.  Which is the life that very likely my Josiah could have been living, had circumstances turned out differently for him.  And so, a couple of years ago, when one of these boys tried to wash my windshield, all of a sudden, I saw Josiah’s face there instead.

And I started to cry.  And instead of shrugging him away, I paid him.  Now I do every time.

Like every other American (and much of the world), I have been thinking and praying and mourning over the terrible tragedy of 20 lost little lives in Connecticut.  But what has struck me about the situation and how it is being presented is that this tragedy is somehow unusual for our world.

Did you know that in the past couple of weeks, 700,000 refugees have fled Congo?  That they are fleeing a militia that has been bombing and burning down their villages, raping and shooting indiscriminately?  Ironically, they are fleeing into Rwanda, country where only 10 years ago, the majority tribe massacred one million of their fellow countrymen/women/children, neighbor against neighbor, and usually with machetes?

Did you know that often in some African countries, children suffer a fate far worse than being gunned down by a crazy person; instead they are handed a gun, forced to murder their own parents, and then conscripted into an army to kill their own neighbors and friends?

The United States will corporately mourn those 20 little lives lost on Friday, and rightly so.  But I can’t help but ask, why are those little lives so much more valuable than the ones over here?  Why do people care so much about this tragedy, and barely cast a glance at Congo?  Why is anyone surprised that such an event would occur, when it has been happening in the rest of the world since Cain and Abel?

And I’m guessing it’s because that people see their own children, or themselves, in the faces of those children from Connecticut.  They can imagine what it would be like to send their own little ones off to school, only to never see them again.  But they can’t imagine a crazed, drug-induced militia entering their neighborhood, raping, burning, and shooting their small children, ripping open their pregnant women before handing their 10-year-old a gun and telling him to shoot his mother or die himself.

The American children have names and faces.  The African children don’t.

Adopting three Tanzanian children has broken my heart for other African children in ways that I never imagined, even after growing up here.  I see children here suffering and I see my children’s faces instead.  I think about my children starving, alone, frightened, separated from their families by tragedy, fighting in wars. Or even just living on the street, trying to make enough money for a meal by washing car windows.

So yes, mourn this tragedy, America.  See your children’s faces in the newscasts and hug your own children tighter today.  But don’t forget the millions of children and families who endure even worse things every day.  Adopt a child.  Sponsor a child.  Send money to churches in Rwanda who are helping the Congolese.

And remember that we’re not celebrating Christmas because of the warm fuzzies and fun and sugar plums.  We celebrate Christmas because our world is desperately, horrifically, tragically broken and our only hope is in Jesus Christ.

A thrill of hope; a weary world rejoices.  For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

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