All These Children Are Confused

This morning, Grace was looking at her VBS picture.  They had attended in June at our church in California.

There’s a couple hundred people in the picture.  “It’s easy to find us,” she exclaimed.  “See, Mom?  We’re the only brown kids in there.”

She’s not bothered by it now.  But she was when we were in America.

Our church family, and everyone else for that matter, wholeheartedly embraced my children.  But they felt different and they knew they stood out.  Yes, it was hard for them, especially Grace.  Sometimes, she cried about it.  It was a difficult road to walk with her.

My children are thrust into the middle of several different worlds.  The Caucasian American world, the Tanzanian world, the international ex-patriate world.  And I worry.  As they grow older, will they be able to identify with us?  with Tanzanians?  Where will they fit?  Will they be able to bridge all these worlds?

And that is one of the many reasons I am thankful for HOPAC.  Half of the students are Tanzanian, and the other half are everything else.  Many, many of the children have no idea what they are.

There’s the group of kids who are half Dutch, and half Greek, but were born in Tanzania.  There’s all those who are half Tanzanian and half something else–German, Danish, Japanese–who speak multiple languages and may have a passport to a country they have never lived in.

I asked a little African-American second grader what state she is from.  She looked at me blankly.  “I don’t know,” she shrugged.  “I was born in China.”

I love it.  My children, being born and raised in Tanzania by American parents, can be confused here, and fit right in.  It’s beautiful.

Friday, we celebrated International Day at HOPAC.  Always the highlight of everyone’s year.  We sang and we ate and we waved flags, and some children represented two countries and some children represented more.  It was a day to celebrate the beauty of our cultures and our confused children.

Grace and Zawadi

(Photo credit for the pictures below goes to Abigail Snyder.  Gil was teaching so I had to borrow pictures from another great photographer!)

Photo credit:  Christine Liebrecht

These videos are for HOPAC alumni and former staff….or anyone who wants a real taste of what we get to experience!

Seven

“Piggy”

bottle caps

On Saturday night, I held my boy close.

I’m glad that you’re seven, I said.  But do you promise that when you get big you won’t stop cuddling with me?

I’ve made him promise it for years.  But this year, I’m guessing it really will be the last.  He used to come out every morning and say, Mommy, I haven’t gotten my cuddles today.  He doesn’t say that anymore.  And even though he’s only 40 pounds and I can still pick him up, now he doesn’t need me to.

So I hold onto these moments of him being little, even while celebrating seven healthy and (mostly) joy-filled years with my little stinker.

He is energy in motion, every day.  I think he cartwheels more than he walks.  He has a crazy sense of humor and he constantly tries to jump out and scare me.  He is small, but lightning fast, very strong, and obsessed with all sports.  And bottle caps, which represent whichever sports team he happens to currently be obsessed with.

On Saturday, we celebrated with a soccer party.  Which pretty much sums up Josiah.

celebrating Sunday with our Reach Global team (our surrogate family)

and these two….these two are inseparable.  and incorrigible.

After This, American Bridal Showers Will Always Be Boring

It all started when Alyssa and I asked Lucy (our language helper) to teach us
about ndoa—marriage—in Tanzania.

And out of that discussion, we learned about The Kitchen Party.

The Kitchen Party is called Kitchen Party in Kiswahili. Yeah—not so hard to translate that one. Except you say it with an accent—Keechin
Pahty
.  It’s sort of like a Bridal Shower and sort of like a Bachelorette Party- sort of.

As she was telling us about this, suddenly she brightened.  “My neighbor is having a Kitchen Party next month.  Do you want to come?”

Umm….but we don’t know her.

“That’s okay!  She will want you to come anyway!”

Umm…okay!

So we got our Required Clothes.  Friends are to dress alike.  So Lucy bought us our dresses, so that we would all match.

And last Wednesday, we were off.

We decided to take a taxi.  Neither of us like to drive at night here, and neither of us knew where we were going.  So we found a taxi, and handed the driver my phone with Lucy on the other end, who told him where to go.

We ended up at a little hall in a neighborhood that is mostly poor, completely full of life, and definitely not a place you see many white people. We were, to put it bluntly, the talk of the neighborhood.

The invitation said the party would start at 6; we arrived at 6:30.  We poked our head into the hall.  Large piles of trash were being swept up and decorations were being hung.  Not a single other guest was there.

 We teased Lucy about this, since she is the one who told us to arrive on time.  “This is Tanzania!” we told her.  “Why did you think it would start on time?”

So we found a bench and waited for an hour or so.  We took selfies and told ourselves that we would only speak in Kiswahili that night (which was mildly successful).  After a while, we attracted all the neighborhood children, who stared at us and pointed and practiced their English.  “Good morning. What is my name?” they would ask us.  And then giggle until they fell down.

At about 7:30, we wandered back over to the hall.  The decorations were up, some guests had arrived, and the DJ had his music going at one level:  LOUD.  However, the Bibi Harusi–the bride–had yet to arrive.

But everyone was dancing.  So we did too, trying to be inconspicuous.

We realized very quickly that being inconspicuous wasn’t going to happen.  Perhaps we were clued in when at least half dozen of the guests asked to get their picture taken with us.

Then, the MC approached Alyssa on the dance floor.  “I like you,” she told her.  “I am looking for someone to open the champagne.  I want you to do it.”

First of all, you should know Lucy told us that everyone thought we were sisters, and that Alyssa was the dada (older sister) and I was the mdogo (younger sister).

I was perfectly okay with this.  It allowed me to hide behind my older sister while people asked her to do things like open the champagne.

Alyssa, however, was horrified at the idea of opening the champagne, considering that it was a ritual we knew nothing about, and because the one and only champagne bottle was perched in front of the Bibi Harusi’s throne.  Oh yes, it was indeed a throne.

Alyssa begged Lucy, “Please don’t let them make me open the champagne!”

Lucy ran off to take care of it and came back satisfied.  “Don’t worry.  I told her you are mshamba and you don’t know how.”  Mshamba–literally means ‘farmer;’ colloquially means ‘backward.’   Um, okay.  If being mshamba means getting out of opening the champagne, go for it.

Finally, at 8:00 (two hours after the scheduled start time), the bride arrived in all her splendor.

And she was indeed beautiful.  By this time, I think there were about 80 women in the hall.

After the MC introduced everyone, she said, “And now I want to call up Mama Alyssa.”

Alyssa and I looked at each other in absolute horror.  Alyssa turned white as a sheet.  Lucy whispered, “Oh yeah, when I told her you couldn’t open the champagne, I suggested she ask you to pray.  That’s what she wants you to do.”

Zombie-like, Alyssa got up from her seat.  Lucy added, “Just pray in English.”

But that amazing friend of mine got up there, took the microphone and prayed….in Kiswahili.  She had no warning, yet she totally rocked it.  Oh yes—I will gladly call her my sister.

The next part of the evening was the “advice giving.”  Various women got up and advised the bride on all sorts of matters pertaining to marriage, including the X-rated parts.  Which could be considered a little amusing in this circumstance, considering the bride already has two children and is pregnant with a third.

After each woman gave her advice, everyone came up and danced.  There was a lot of dancing.

Which brings to me to my favorite part of the evening:  the presentation of the gifts.  Seriously, American women, we’ve got something to learn from these ladies.

Lucy had instructed us not to wrap our gift.  “If you wrap it, they’ll just think you have a tiny present in a large box,” she told us.

Oh no…no wrapping allowed.  Because when you present a gift in Tanzania,  you show it off.  Just like this:

And what had Alyssa brought as our gift?  Knives.  Oh yes, my friends.  She knew we would have to dance with our gift, so she bought knives.  That’s why I like her so much.

So there we were, two white women and one Tanzanian woman, all wearing matching dresses, dancing with knives above our heads.  I’m so sorry you weren’t there to take pictures of us.

Since there were quite a lot of women present, and each gift was presented with quite a bit of fanfare, this went on for a while.

At 10:30 pm, dinner was served.  Lucy whispered, “They don’t serve the food until the end so that everyone has to present a gift before they can eat.”

The professional photographer, who had taken our picture with all those strangers earlier in the evening, had run out, printed them, and was now selling them to the ladies for 60 cents each.  We tried to buy one of the pictures with us in it, but they had already all been sold.  Our picture is now on unknown ladies’ walls all over Dar es Salaam.

We left for home at 11:00.  Our taxi driver was asleep in his car while he waited for us.

It was a completely fascinating and fun experience.  Lucy was incredible to take us, and she took such good care of us.  And Alyssa–well, there’s no one I would rather do life with here than her.

The next day, Lucy came for my Kiswahili lesson and we talked all about the evening.  I told her about American bridal showers.  I didn’t bother telling her about the game where you win safety pins by catching people with their legs crossed, because she already looked a little bored.  I don’t blame her.

Where’s the Logic in Helping Ebola Victims? And What Brittany Has to Do With It.

I’m not really sure why people are making such a big deal about Ebola.

Why should we even care what happens to Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Guinea?  Do these countries have anything to offer the rest of the world?

They are bottom-of-the-world poor.  They are war-torn.  Their natural resources have already been pillaged.

Even without Ebola, how long would these people even live?  Like 50 years?  Would they even have any quality of living anyway?  No electricity, no running water, very little education.  Who would even want to live in those circumstances?

Couldn’t this just be nature’s way of natural selection?  Don’t we already have a problem with overpopulation in this world?

Why not just seal up the borders and let nature take its course?  Why should we give our hard-earned money, or our government’s money, to this cause?  We’ve got our own problems in our own country. We’ve got our own poor, our own sick.  Why should we sacrifice our best doctors?

They seem to have a death wish anyway.  They already have murdered health workers and ravaged Ebola clinics.

What about just shipping over lethal drugs that would allow these people to put an end to their misery?  Most of them are going to die soon anyway, so this would allow them to die peacefully, on their own terms, instead of dying a horrific death.

Wouldn’t that be a logical conclusion?

Really, it would just be like Brittany Maynard.  I mean, she’s a hero, isn’t she?  She is so brave to choose to end her life instead of living through suffering.

We are a schizophrenic society, my friends.  Americans would tar and feather me for the notion of “peacefully exterminating” west Africans, and yet the media darling right now is a woman who is choosing “peaceful extermination.”

Do we not realize that the line between the two is paper thin?

How did we get here?  And is it really possible we could get there?  Of course we could.

Listen, I can understand why non-Christians are frustrated with Christians who declare that Brittany should not end her life because God says so.  That would be like my neighbor telling me that the fairy in her backyard told her I shouldn’t go to the store today.

Uhhh…..thanks for nothing, crazy person.



If you don’t believe God exists, then you could care less what He thinks.  Point taken.

So instead, let’s try this:

Brittany should not end her life because the people in Liberia deserve to live.  And this is why those two statements cannot be separated.

Secular worldview wants us to believe that we are nothing but evolved chemicals.  Human life is an accident.  There is no purpose to it other than what we pretend is purpose.  There is nothing that makes humans more inherently valuable than any other type of life.  There are no moral absolutes. Morality is created by the needs of society and is constantly fluctuating.

“Morality is a collective illusion of humankind put in place by our genes in order to make us good cooperators.”  (Evolutionary psychologist Michael Ruse)

Morality–good, evil, love, hatred–is an illusion.  Human life really means nothing.

In this worldview, assisted suicide makes absolute sense.  We put our dogs down when they are sick, don’t we?  So if Brittany is just an evolved animal, why can’t she be put down?  If there is no transcendent purpose to her life, if she does not have a soul, and if life is just about eking out as much pleasure and happiness as possible, then there would be absolutely no reason for her to choose to live a life of extreme suffering.

But this is the problem:

Once we give one human the authority to choose the death of a human (even oneself), then we are opening the door for anyone to choose the death of anyone for any multitude of reasons.

If you don’t think that is possible, then just think about what is happening in women’s wombs all over the world.  And why then would philosophers say things like this:

“Pragmatist philosopher Richard Rorty has seriously suggested that rich nations may end up engaging in ‘economic triage’ against poor nations…The idea that human rights are universal, Rorty notes, was a completely novel concept ushered in by Christianity…Because of Darwin, Rorty notes, we no longer accept creation.  And therefore we no longer need to maintain that everyone who is biologically human has equal dignity.  We are free to revert to the pre-Christian attitude that only certain groups qualify for human rights.”  (Nancy Pearcey, Saving Leonardo)

And that, my friends, is how choosing euthanasia for our society would eventually lead to government-sponsored genocide.

Let me assure you of this:  I have the utmost compassion for Brittany.  Her story brings me to tears. Why God would allow such a thing is a discussion for another day.  But I cannot, and will not, concede that it is morally acceptable for her to take her own life.

The Christian worldview tells me that God is the ultimate authority over His creation.  Man was created by God in God’s image.  This means that we have a soul (an immaterial and unseen aspect to our existence that goes beyond our physical bodies); we have ability to reason, think, create, and imagine.

Thus,

Human life is inherently valuable, in whatever form, whether unborn, suffering, orphaned, handicapped, Muslim, Hindu, poor, rich, homosexual, American, or African.

and

It is morally unacceptable for anyone other than God to take a life in any form for any reason.

This is why I am staunchly pro-life.  This is why I am anti-euthanasia.  This is why I am anti-slavery. This is why I am living in Africa.  This is why I believe we need to be doing everything and anything we can to help our fellow humans in Liberia.

But isn’t Brittany’s decision a personal choice?  Why should it affect me?  Why should I care?

This is why I care.  This quote is about abortion, but euthanasia can easily be substituted:

“Liberals sometimes say, ‘If you’re against abortion, don’t have one.  But don’t impose your views on others.’  At first, that might sound fair.  But what liberals fail to understand is that every social practice rests on certain assumptions of what the world is like–on a worldview.  When a society accepts the practice, it absorbs the worldview that justifies it.  That’s why abortion is not merely a matter of private individuals making private choices.  It is about deciding which worldview will shape our communal life together.” (Nancy Pearcey)

If you don’t believe in God, and you believe that Brittany should be allowed to end her life, I won’t throw God into the discussion.  But be consistent in your worldview.  If Brittany has the right to choose her death, then we don’t have any moral obligation to help Ebola victims.

Worldviews have consequences.  Know why you believe what you believe.  And be consistent about it.

So if you accuse me of being cold-hearted, or uncompassionate, or cruel when I say that Brittany should die naturally, just know that it’s because I believe in the God-given, sacred value of life.  And that’s why I care about Ebola victims.

Bet I Know Something About Our Pastor That You Didn’t Know

This is Gil’s newest invention for Josiah:  Bottlecap Hockey

Faith Community Church, I’m sure you would be very interested to know that your pastor is the reigning champion in the Medina house in Bottlecap Hockey.  

Bet you didn’t know that he is a man of so many talents.

Seriously, though, thank you for sending Pastor Steve to Tanzania.  Not only did he do a fantastic job training a group of pastors, but we got three days with him all to ourselves.  And when your senior pastor is kind and wise and encouraging, it doesn’t get much better than that.  

Churches, send your pastors to visit your missionaries.  Very little is more encouraging.

Page 106 of 234

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén

Verified by MonsterInsights