30 November 2017

On Privilege - Part 1: Rainy day reflections

I am calling this "Part 1" because I know there will be so many more examples and reflections to follow. It's sure to develop as a disjointed series, because there are so many examples in the world and in my own life of certain privileges that some people gain over others through no effort or merit of their own, but by the happenstance of their own identity and luck of birth/upbringing. The privilege that I benefit from personally has only been highlighted even more since moving from the US to Tanzania, as I compare my own experiences to that of other "foreigners"/"immigrants" and locals in each country.

I know I haven't blogged since I first arrived over a year ago, and I may back-up in a future entry to provide more explanation to why that is and try to catch up on the time that has lapsed in between, but for now, I guess today I finally had something I wanted to say.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's the beginning of the rainy season here in Mbeya. One big difference between my place of origin (the San Francisco Bay Area in California) and my new home in Mbeya, Tanzania are the weather patterns... specifically the rain. Here in Mbeya, you go for months without a single drop of rain during the dry season. By October everything is parched and desperate for moisture. Roads are dusty, cows stop producing much milk, the Maasai have to guide their herds far from home to find sparse grass, and many of my friends are in the habit of filling any vessel they have available with water when the taps are running because with frequent water shut-offs they have no idea when the water is going to be off or on and for how long.

But then the rains come... and boy do they come. For months, it will rain (almost) daily. It's not just a dreary sprinkle all day long, but often sunny skies in the morning and then BAM! - a deluge of rain as though the heavens have just opened up. There is no steady moderation of rain, but more of an "on"/"off" switch... often the rains stop just as abruptly as they have started. The good news is that you can often just wait out the worst of it because you know there will be a lull after the skies have emptied.

So this evening I am walking out of the office and the first drops of rain for the evening start coming down. I make it to my car just as the full force of the deluge really begins and sit and wait until it eases up before making my way home. As I sit in the parking lot, I see three young women (two sharing one umbrella) trying to pick their way around puddles as they walk across the parking lot - not an easy feat with giant muddy potholes and two of them connected like conjoined twins attached by their umbrella and trying to coordinate their steps so that they don't fall in to the deep puddles with their nice work shoes. The rain lightens a bit (enough that my windshield wipers will be able to keep up) and I go to leave the hospital compound, greeting the guard and returning my parking card before bidding him farewell. "Wikendi njema!" He is standing in the rain with no jacket, under the protection of an umbrella as he collects the parking cards from people leaving the hospital campus. I drive down the road through deep pools of water as the water flows down the hill alongside the hospital like a river, flooding the lowlands. With the dala dalas (mini-buses) and larger buses passing on the other side of the road, I have no choice but to stick to the muddy waters on my side of the road. I drive carefully, trying not to splash the vendors and passengers waiting at the dala dala stand along the side of the road. I head to the traffic circle, turn onto my favorite road (because it's nicely paved, has "sidewalks", and no potholes) and head up the hill to my neighborhood that sits at the base of Mount Loleza and overlooks Mbeya town. Along the way I pass a middle-aged woman and ask her if she needs a lift. "Unataka lifti?" No, she says, she's just arriving at her destination at the next compound up ahead. I turn onto my street (quite full of potholes) and over the hump that keeps the rain from rushing down the driveway. I drive through the gate, thankful that someone has left it open and I don't need to get out to open it myself, park, and run into my house, figuring that an umbrella is more hassle than it's worth for the few meters I have to cover.

All of that to say... this is what privilege looks like. We all have to deal with the rain. We all get wet. Privilege is having 4 umbrellas (office, car, home, and an extra for guests who might need it) while others only have the protection of a kanga or kitenge (a thin piece of fabric, quickly soaked through). Privilege is having a warm, safe, rugged vehicle  to power through muddy puddles and slippery roads, dry and warm while others walk in the rain and wait for dala dalas, picking their way around the lakes and rivers forming in the road and hoping that no cars are going to splash them going by. Privilege is living at the top of the hill in the neighborhood where the wealthy and the politically powerful live while the rivers of rain flow down to flood the lowlands and the houses that are built there. Privilege is running into a water-tight, warm house, built of strong material, listening to the rain fall on the roof, but safe from any ill-effect that the sudden onslaught of water could bring. Sure, the rain falls on us all, but privilege can make the difference between getting a little wet and suffering very real consequences.

22 August 2016

Home in Mbeya

So many people have asked that I post pictures and write in my blog to share all about my journey to Tanzania and life in Mbeya. I remember how cathartic is was to write and share about my experiences during my prior travels to Africa. I was excited to share. And, in this past week I have felt a strange reluctance... or perhaps a lack of motivation. Nothing felt quite like it had before or how I expected and I couldn't quite put my finger on why... until today.

See, the thing is... I don't feel like I have embarked on some epic adventure. I don't have any sense that I have traveled to some exotic place with new and strange experiences to share with everyone back in the States. I have not journeyed to some place of hardship and lack. I have not come as a young adventurer, thirsty for new experiences. I have not come as a missionary, sacrificing comfort to minister to unreached and isolated peoples. I have only come home.

I have come to a place that has been calling my heart for years, a place that feels more comfortable and familiar and ordinary than anything I have known in my country of origin. I have arrived at a next step in my career that allows me to live comfortably and without stress over finances, finally able to see a future where I am taking steps towards my financial goals. I have arrived at a place that offers me previously unrealized work/life balance. I live in a beautiful, comfortable, and spacious home. I wake up without an alarm, well-rested, to the sounds of animals and children and life all around me. I make breakfast, drink a cup of tea and get ready for the work day. I walk down the road to my office where I try to do my job well and build good relationships with my colleagues, while sharing in communal frustration with misbehaving technology and desperate pleas for help to the IT staff that I would be lost without. Bells and the calls to prayer sounding from the local mosque bring my attention to God and to prayer several times throughout my day and I pause, grateful for the reminder to thank the one who has given me a good life here. I leave the office at the end of the day, with things unfinished and waiting for tomorrow, and make the short walk back home, greeting members of my local community along the way. I walk through the gate of my compound, greet my neighbors and maybe borrow a needed item or ingredient. I put the key in the door, greet the cat that is happy to see me home, set down my bag and proceed to start with cooking dinner. I check Facebook, I read, I snuggle with the cat... and then I lay down, content and satisfactorily tired, listening to the dogs and the pigs as I drift off to sleep with a warm and furry little body next to me - the place where she calls home.

This is the most ordinary life I have ever lived and my soul has been longing for it for years. And now, I can only breathe a sigh of contentment and wonder how to explain that there is nothing foreign at all about this new life I get to live. I never could get the hang of this outside of Africa.

28 August 2013

Highly Favoured

Lusaka
25 August 2013
07:00

Even before I left for Zambia and all throughout the past couple weeks, I have sensed God's favor upon this trip. For years, God has been making all the necessary connections. In the weeks leading up to my departure and up until now, I have seen God's hand bringing everything together in impossible ways.

When I missed my flight in Johannesburg, it turned out to be such a blessing. I was so frantic in the months preparing for this trip and it was really nice to have a little time to rest, refresh, and prepare myself mentally for what lay ahead. When I got to Ndola I checked the team's flight schedule and saw that they also had a very short turnaround to make their connection. I thought there was no way they would catch their flight, but through some miracle, they made it through the massive Johannesburg airport and to the gate with time to spare. They couldn't believe that they made it. The next day, we were able to share in the most incredible day of worship that they would have missed if they were delayed as I was.

I keep seeing more examples of this throughout our trip. One day, on our way to Kitwe, Pastor Faustin got stopped at a checkpoint for speeding. He went to talk to the police and came back to the car. They wanted to take his keys and have him go to the police station, but they might let us continue if we paid a high fine. He went to talk to them a second time and returned with the slow step of defeat to get his wallet. They had negotiated the fine down to 135 kwatcha (about $25). Then, a minute later, he come running back gleefully. Something changed the officer's heart and he didn't take the money. They just let us go without paying any fine at all.

A few weeks before leaving for Zambia, a colleague forwarded a job posting to me - my dream job right now... based in Zambia! I emailed a contact at the organization and we arranged to meet while I was in Lusaka. When we got to Lusaka, he said to let him know when we were settled and where we were staying. When I sent him the address, he replied, "How funny... I live on the same street." The really crazy thing is that the original plan was for us to stay somewhere else and then the decision was made just before we got to Lusaka for us girls to stay with one of Rich's good friends who helped start Pureworks. The next night, we picked one of their other neighbors to come with us to the worship night, and it turns out he works for the CDC. On top of that, he also knows my contact that I am going to meet about this job.

God has a plan. He is sovereign and He is good. I must trust Him to open up the doors to place me right where He wants me... though I am pretty sure He wants me here. God spoke to me so clearly about my future in Zambia during worship yesterday morning and I am so thankful that He is faithful to fulfill these promised that He's imprinted on my heart. I don't know exactly how or when, but I know God has big plans for me here and even bigger plans for the people of Zambia.

26 August 2013

The ministry right in front of us

Ndola
22 August 2013
23:00

There is a loneliness that I cannot escape. My heart has made its home in a land where I can never fully belong. I am not a Zambian, no matter how much I love this country, and as an outsider, I will always struggle to feel fully understood.  On the other hand, there are so few from my home country that can really understand the unearthly connection that I have to Zambia and its people.

I had a thought as I was walking under the glow of the moon, listening to night sounds. So often, we are afraid of the unknown. For many, there are plenty of scary things to encounter in Zambia - spiders, malaria-infected mosquitoes, unlit paths with the threat of hidden dangers and creepy-crawlies. In that moment I realized that the reason I have no fear here is that it is all so strangely familiar. It's as though, in some ancient time and place, this was all written on my heart - some residual and indelible memory in my spirit.

I had myself a good cry last night. This trip is only half over, but I am faced with the reality of having to get on a plane in a week and a half, and I honestly don't know how I will bear it. The thought alone makes me weep and my heart is as though it is splitting in two.

I don't know what the future looks like exactly, but I do know that I cannot imagine being anywhere else. I am trusting God to make a way. Over the last couple weeks it's been as though I am seeing shadows or ghosts of what God has more me. So far, these visions are hazy and unformed, only hinting at the real things they represent.

I am learning to leave the details of the future to God. All I can do is what is right in front of me at the moment and try my best to hear God's voice and be obedient.

At our medical brigade in a very poor area of Ndola. I was praying over a sick boy who was having problems with his ears (likely an upper respiratory infection turned ear-infection). As I was praying for his ears to be healed and opened up, I felt the nudging of the Spirit and knew that God intended this boy to be a prophet - one who hears His voice. So I prayed for his ears to be opened up and tuned to the voice of God... that he would be like Daniel and receive visions from God and speak into the lives of people around him. This boy was only six years old, but God has a plan for him that is so much bigger than the world could guess by his circumstances.

Then, later that day, I was praying for a woman waiting to be seen by the nurse and I kept hearing "business woman", "prosper", and "venture" and I felt that instead I was supposed to be praying for her in this area of her life. When I asked her, through a translator, whether she had a business, she said that while she is home with her children she has been dreaming of starting her own business and hasn't known how she will ever get the bit of funds to get started. She has had a dream on her heart that has seemed impossible to her. So we prayed together in that moment that God will open the door and give the provision she needs to start her business and also give her the wisdom to be successful and, in that prosperity, provide for her family.

Today, at our medical brigade in Kitwe, I came across a woman named Judy who we met at the Kitwe pastors' fellowship the day before. After the meeting, she gathered us together to take a picture of our group so that she could have it and pray over us each day. She had just met us and her first thought was "I must pray for these people!". And here I thought we had come to encourage them! Today, when she saw me in the parking lot, she greeted me like we were old friends and we walked hand in hand towards the triage station where she could first meet with a nurse. This was a woman who was, in reality, around my own mother's age, but seemed to have aged an additional twenty years in her lifetime. Her parents and all five of her brothers have passed and she lives by herself in Kitwe, apparently with no husband or children of her own. And yet, she is a mother of many - the leader of a Boys' Brigade unit (I guess similar to Boy Scouts) and I think even a Sunday school teacher. She told me that God has allowed her to still be living because He has more work for her to do. She is a woman with the ultimate servant's heart, putting herself last after all the others she lifts up. So I gathered our team and we prayed for her blood pressure to be lowered, her sugar to normalize, and for the pain in her legs to subside. Of course God wants her to be well, but I think, more than anything, God wanted her to know that He has not sent her into the battle alone. She does so much for the Kingdom and He will keep bringing folks alongside her... He never intended for her to be alone.

God spoke that same thing to me this morning. He has not sent me here to Zambia alone, but instead sent me with this team, including two other women I can lean on. And, He promised me that He will never send me into the mission field alone. So, even though I may feel lonely at times, I can rest in His promise that He does not intend for me to be alone. Just as I will trust in Him to provide for all my needs, I will trust in Him to provide a partner for whatever adventure and ministry He calls me to next... for even the disciples were sent out in pairs.

19 August 2013

Where the Spirit of the Lord is...

... there is FREEDOM.

We had the pleasure of worshiping at Pastor Faustin's church in Ndola yesterday - Christian Celebration Center, "the family of God, where no one is a stranger".  Later in the afternoon we had a Worship Explosion concert with several other churches.  I have never experienced worship quite like this and I was so honored to lead and be lead in worship with my brothers and sisters here.  There was such joy and liberty in the worship yesterday.  As the day went on, I could feel chains being broken and by the end there was just sheer ecstasy in the Spirit.  I have never worshiped with my whole body in the same way that I did yesterday.  I have never moved and danced with such joy and freedom.  I felt like David, dancing before the Lord, unashamed and uninhibited.  I felt 100 pounds lighter as I jumped and reached up to the heavens in praise. 

If this is just the beginning, I can't wait to see what God has in store as we worship all through Zambia.

16 August 2013

Homecoming

Today I returned to the Meheba Refugee Settlement where I had volunteered with FORGE three years ago.  After only three months living in the settlement, it had come to feel like home.  I even had my best girlfriend, Mary, just across the road to visit and chat with.  Going back today felt just like a homecoming.  Solwezi, the town about an hour away, has changed so much.  It is so much bigger and busier than I remember.  But, Meheba... driving into Meheba, it felt like I had never left.

I hadn't told Mary I was coming.  I only sent her a text as I entered the settlement to let her know I was on my way.  As I walked up to her house, she came running out and gave me the biggest hug ever and asked me, "Are you really here!?!"  It felt like a dream.  Instantly, a child was put in my arms (Hope, now 3 years old, her youngest who had just been born when I arrived before), and I was whisked off to be sat down and introduced and re-introduced to the whole family and proudly displayed for the neighbors.  With the exception of the children having grown older, we all fell right back to the way things were.

It was hard to leave her, but even harder still to know that, despite the fact that we call each other "sister", our lives are so different.  I have gotten fatter in these last three years, while Mary has gotten thin.  Angolans no longer have protected refugee status and can no longer receive support from UNHCR.  So that also means that Mary can no longer be employed as a community health worker.  My Angolan colleagues' positions are now filled by Congolese refugees.  The idea is that Angolans are supposed to repatriate now that the war in their country is over.  Of course, it's not as easy as that.  Systematic, assisted repatriation isn't happening like it was before (some bureaucratic catch 22) and all that can be done is UNHCR can give them some funds to help with transport, but the refugees have to figure out how to repatriate on their own.  So they're stuck in limbo - having a hard time making ends meet in Zambia, but unable to cut through all of the red tape and obstacles to go home and try to make a better life in Angola.  Then there are other reasons to stay.  For Mary, her children are all still in school... in the English-based Zambian school system.  If they were to go to Angola now, they would be uprooted in the midst of their studies and have to switch to schools taught in Portuguese.  Mary cares more about giving her children a shot at a better future by finishing their schooling well, than with having a comfortable life and the fulfillment of employment for herself.  This bright woman, who was an excellent health worker, now raises goats and chickens to sell when she needs money for her children's school fees.

The compound that I called "home" is now an orphanage called Safe Haven.  I kinda like that those rooms that were such a safe haven for me while I was in Meheba are a home for these children.  I hope that it will be a place where dreams are planted in their young hearts and that they would have the grace of God covering them, so that they might one day return to their home countries as a generation of peacemakers.  

11 August 2013

Getting Uncomfortable

En route to Paris

In his book, Mark Batterson calls following the Holy Spirit the Wild Goose chase.  Following the Holy Spirit is an adventure and there are certainly no guarantees of comfort.  Of course, it didn't take long before seeting off for Zambia that I was pushed outside my comfort zone.

Of course, for an overweight person traveling can bring up all sorts of uncomfortable feelings and situations.  Nothing like renting a small piece of real estate for your butt to make one become overwhelmingly aware of the amount of space said butt occupies.  The stares, comments whispered under breath to companions, and worse, the guilt for taking up more space than you "deserve", evoke physical symptoms of discomfort and anxiety - the tightening chest, pounding heartbeat, flushed cheeks, and uncomfortable rise in temperature).  Add to that the juggling, lugging, and hefting of luggage, boarding pass, and outerwear... well let's just say that the struggle only brings more attention and in those moments I just want to disappear.

Now multiply that by what I am going to call the "French Quotient" (sorry if that offends any French people... the following is a sweeping generalization and probably unfair).  Starting my journey on an Air France flight to Paris, I experience that hard disapproval at a level that is really only achievable by a middle-aged Frenchman.

Having navigated the social discomfort and self-consciouness, I reach my seat (and because God loves me and performs miracles regularly, there are TWO empty seats between myself and the aforementioned Frenchman) and begin to dig through my bag for my phone to make a quick last-minute call and send final emails for work... and dig... and dig... and dig.  No phone.  I feel stranded - like I've lost my lifeline.  I had things to look up!  Final details need to be wrapped up!  What on earth am I going to do without a smartphone (AKA my security blanket) for three whole weeks!?!  No Facebook... no Skype... no access to all knowledge and information through the wonder of the internet in my hand... no access to my countless lists stored on GDocs... gasp!  All those last things I needed to do may not get done and I have to face the discomfort of the loss of the sense of power and control that my smartphone gives me.

I also realize that I forgot to fill my business card holder.  What will I do without this tiny card that affirms who I am by what I do?  Not only must I trust God to provide the things I need, allow things to potentially be imperfect, but now I have nothing to offer people but ME.  Just Kimberly.  Not a job title or affiliation, but a smile and maybe a kind word.

So here I am, unable to depend on all my planning, and forced instead to trust God.  I have nothing left to do but sit at His feet and let Him speak to me in this rare moment of quiet and inactivity.  Perhaps it's just that I get absent-minded as I fly through life like a whirlwind... but I can't help but wonder if this was all part of God's plan.  I can't help but think of the story of Mary and Martha and be a little grateful that I am offered an opportunity to experience what Jesus referred to as "something better".

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman names Martha opened her home to him.  She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said.  But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made.  She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work all by myself?  Tell her to help me!"

"Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed - or indeed only one .  Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her." - Luke 11:38-42