15.10.09: DAY THIRTY FOUR.
Today Joel and I went ‘door to door’-ing round Soweto. Think JWs, with curtains to rap on instead of wood. This seems to be completely natural for the locals. But also I’m feeling increasingly keen on telling people about Jesus.
As it happens, most people we talked to turned out to be Christians! The most exciting encounter was actually walking home. We bumped into Juko, an old pal of Joel’s. And a Muslim. We bantered about his hat, but some quite interesting chat about Jesus opened up as I ignored Joel telling me to preach at him. The guy seemed quite open and even mentioned chatting more, so we exchanged numbers.
I wasn’t shocked by the slum as I thought I might be. Maybe I’m just aware that such conditions exist already. Hearing people’s life stories gets me, though.
Paul’s [none of these are real names] is quite instructive. Growing up in the city on the streets after both his father and stepfather (he was born out of marriage and then his mother got this other guy) refused to support him; now being put up in a cool Christian bachelor pad with the promise of work in a to-be-started Christian media studio, but for the past year unable to do anything except church stuff due to a couple of problems with the computer and Chris having no time to sort things out; just waiting trusting God one day things will open up for him to actually get somewhere. Bit of a metaphor for Africa perhaps – profoundly grateful but completely dependant and just trusting in God that one day things will come ok.
There’s these tough stories everywhere – Chris is separated from his British wife, left with a 10 month old boy, and his mum died in the last year too; Daniel came to know Jesus from a Muslim background, but the time I asked him the details he looked wretched until I managed to get out of him ‘I don’t like to talk about it’; Jonathan and Milton, supported by their uncle through school as their dad seems null and void; Marie kicked out with her two preschool girls by the man who took her out of school and never married her. The older I get the more I realise the whole world, and in fact, the church, is stuffed with stories like these. ‘There but for the grace of God, go I.’
16.10.09: DAY THIRTY FIVE.
Dan arrived from Norwich on Sunday and has been plumbing away since. Really nice to have someone else to talk Norwich with. Most exciting, he gave himself to Jesus yesterday. He’s very matter-of-fact about it, but Elspeth did a little dance tonight just when he said he’d actually contacted his parents. So we’ve been having some good chats.
17.10.09: DAY THIRTY SIX.
Dan said, ‘they worry about things a lot less over here. Life’s a lot less complicated.’ I think that’s really true, and I think it explains a lot. In the UK, we’re kind of overwhelmed by life. Too many choices, too many responsibilities, too many things to do, and we walk round with a perpetual headache. Life and everything we’re doing, even the things we love, becomes a burden instead of an opportunity. I’ve not heard of ‘escapism’ here once. The world catches us up in its craziness over unimportant things like share prices, body weight and how up to date our clothes/electrical goods are. ‘Do I own their latest CD?’ ‘Am I insured for this?’ ‘What happens if any conceivable thing goes wrong?’ And so all our efforts are spent relieving the pressure of our worries. Recognise this?:
WAKE UP -
THINK OF ‘ALL THE THINGS I HAVE TO DO TODAY’-
TRY AND DO THEM -
FAIL -
GO TO BED -
WORRY -
REPEAT.
In Africa they’re always fire fighting problems. In the UK we’ve gone too far – we’re always fire fighting worries. Surely the whole point of forward planning is to save us worrying! The other thing this does is squeeze out the important things in life: understanding who we are and what life is for; loving people; enjoying anything!
So what do we do? We can’t all swan off to Uganda. I think maybe understanding our condition could help a lot (Oliver James calls it ‘Affluenza’… though I haven’t read the book) – make us take our western neuroticism with a pinch of salt. I know I’m guilty of expecting to do too much in any given time, and so I’m always disappointed. Let’s give ourselves a break – no one else around us is going to ease up the pressure on us; at least we can stop adding to it ourselves. I guess that means we should also put less pressure and worries on other people too. I had a great chat with my friend James once (on the way to an all-you-can-eat Chinese) where we agreed it would be much better to never own anything valuable enough to be worth insuring – that’s one less worry that even costs us money! I guess some things - like foreign medical expenses - need covering; but there’s a principle: do less, buy less, email less (ahem)… worry less.
Ultimately though, I don’t think we can live in the UK without having at least a mild case of affluenza. Complete withdrawal from the world is not the answer. Just as poverty is the unavoidable affliction of the majority world, this disease is ours. We can’t get round it; as Jesus said, ‘in this world you will have trouble’. Thank Him it doesn’t have to be that way forever!
18.10.09: DAY THIRTY SEVEN.
All that general stuff I wrote yesterday – I think I was talking about me. Most of the time I perceive life, my day, as a burden rather than an opportunity. Today I’m quite excited about my full day as a chance to do a lot of good, and I really see that difference in attitude. The Spirit met me somehow last night – I heard a wind in the trees and sat out for a while on my front step, actually feeling so glad to be here.
I drove in early with Emmanuel, and he did his pastor’s bit on me, which was great. He said this issue is important because seeing work as a burden makes it just a job and not adventuring with God – and because we don’t have joy in it, the Holy Spirit also pulls out! Serious problem.
20.10.09: DAY THIRTY NINE.
Really feeling overwhelmed today. They’ve said ‘go ahead, write the play’, I’m now up to leading 5 different groups/7 sessions a week, Steph’s told her community workers in Mbale I’m coming to do a play with them, I could fit in speaking at Ezekiel’s youth service in Iganga, and Joel’s heard back from Juko who wants to meet up! Just looked back through my journal and saw Emmanuel told me, ‘don’t fill up all your time with work’. But because of feeling guilty about ‘not working as hard as the others’, that’s what I’m doing. I also saw the pictures He gave me about ‘hanging on’. Help me Lord!
Um, I’d really appreciate your prayers for:
- me to know how much of this stuff to do
- talking to this guy tomorrow
- joy in what I’m doing.
I’ve also had some bright ideas for the next few months/years and would love to hear how much they’re from the Father. If you hear anything from Him for me that could be really helpful as well as encouraging.
Love, Tim
Tuesday 20 October 2009
Tuesday 13 October 2009
Days 24-30: The African feeling
5.10.09: DAY TWENTY FOUR. YWAM ‘Hopeland’ base, somewhere outside Jinja.
Tonight, stalking through the throbbing tropical darkness with no agenda, swigging a bottle of Stoney ginger beer, I finally felt it: The African Feeling. I don’t know if it’s just a nostalgia thing, remembering that first holiday in Tanzania aged 12, in swimming pools and land rovers and semi-open air restaurants. But I like it. I feel at home in it. I feel alive in it. Doing my first proper squat-job just now didn’t faze me. The mozzie net suits me fine. A great evening telling wonderful stories from around the world. Maybe it’s the ex-pat life I’m eulogising.
But there was other nostalgia today as well – rolling through Jinja, the covered arcades, the cafes, the Busoga Trust office (www.busogatrust.co.uk). A surprisingly lovely chat with Johnson, who runs the trust in Uganda. He told me I should live in Africa. ‘It’s a beautiful place to be’, he said. I certainly taking some samples. And when I signed his visitor’s book, I saw Rev Ezekiel had visited just before me. So I stopped wussing out, that weird paralysis concerning ‘someone you used to know’ broken by the great joy of giving and receiving interest in Johnson. I got in touch, arranged to meet, great. I realise this is a way of giving love – choosing to visit, devote time to people. O r to host. That I might do nothing practical, might even take these guys away from their vital work, just emphasises how African culture (and, I think, the human heart) prizes the power of simply giving someone your attention.
11.10.09: DAY THIRTY
Just had a great moment. The last few weeks we’ve been watching East Africa’s answer to X Factor: the snappily titled Tusker Project Fame Season 3. Our favourite, throughout, has been the down to earth reggae singing Rwandan with the French accent – Alpha. Oh yes. The worry throughout has been that the Kenyans would win because they have a bigger population and more money. But they had 2 contestants in the final tonight, and they split the Kenyan vote. When Alpha’s name came out the envelope, me and the rest of the household exploded off the sofas, danced round the room screaming “Alpha!” Good times.
9.10.09: DAY TWENTY EIGHT. Independence Day (‘Uganda’s 47th birthday – 2 years above the life expectancy’, according to the comedians I saw tonight)
Got on better with drama groups this week. Some lovely moments, like when playing ‘Pass the clap’, starting to invent new ways of passing, Juko put ‘the clap’ down his trousers and I told him to go and wash it… Yesterday Namuya actually waited for me to walk together.
10.10.09: DAY TWENTY NINE
First session taking 4-12s. I’ve been thinking, ‘I won’t know what to do, they’ll be bouncing off the walls’, but they were fantastic, really well behaved, I was clear, and we did some good stuff.
7.10.09: DAY TWENTY SIX. LMCC office, Namuwongo.
I’ll do this later. Two ragged little boys have followed me in and seem to be expecting me to entertain them. I’ve got nothing. But interruptions like this are usually from God, so let’s try and go with it…
8.10.09: DAY TWENTY SEVEN. 7.22pm. Still in Namuwongo, over half an hour after I got in the taxi.
Now I know what Gridlock looks like.
It rained all afternoon. The road to the school, being resurfaced, is now impassable. The driver is pulling overtaking moves that make me blush. Town taxi park is 40+ minutes walk, but I wonder if it still might be the best move. I’ll text home for a straw poll…
Pay, get out, haggle a boda (motorbike taxi), bundle for a taxi in town, chat to the lady next to me, who manages disasters for the Red Cross. The conversation grinds to a halt as the passengers nod, and I write this (more and more raggedly as we get out of the jam and beyond street lights):
Those boys were hard work. I was trying to talk to them, asking questions, as I might usually do when trying to engage with someone. But their English wasn’t great, so every question took about 3 attempts, if they got it at all. And then I didn’t understand half their answers – they were rarely answers to what I’d actually asked. But they didn’t make any efforts to initiate anything else. I don’t know what they wanted, or expected. My best guess is they just had nowhere else to go. They stay with one’s grandfather in the city, who feeds them but can’t afford their school fees. One’s mother is still alive but workless in the village. They both wore their school uniforms – possibly their only clothes. I’ve seen them in the same dirty half-buttonless shirts and cut down belted up men’s trousers before. I couldn’t identify the set of white marks on one’s head.
I don’t know how they keep smiling. It’s like a default or something. They may be bored, hungry, bereaved and hopeless, but they’re just aware of a strange mzungu who might do something interesting, be nice, or give them something. All those heavy things which would crush me don’t seem to affect their mood at all. Maybe it’s a spiritual thing, like I wondered last week. Or maybe Africans only think in the moment, while I consider the ups and downs and responsibilities of my whole life most of the time. We think it’s foolish: not to worry where our next meal is coming from and so miss a good few. But is there a secret of happiness there?
I gave them nothing, by the way. Not because I thought it unwise. Because I didn’t want to. I felt pressured, abused. I’d done nothing to stir friendship except not tell them to clear off or ignore them. In a way I treated them as equals, human beings. But also that’s nonsense. We’re not equal. I have every thinkable advantage over those guys. And I didn’t even give them a sandwich, or tell them about Jesus’ offered relationship with them. I made same excuse, shut the door on them and ate my packed lunch.
I’ve been driven really strongly on this trip to connect with and understand Africans as equals in a way that’s totally right and good. But I’ve also been feeling a lack of simple compassion. I don’t want my heart broken, my greed exposed, my mind blown by the inconceivable injustice of reality. I want to do my bit and go home. But God sent me those two boys because He doesn’t just want me to be good – He wants every part of me. And I don’t want to change.
Roughing it for 3 months doesn’t let me off the hook. Like Tolstoy, I can live and work as a serf, but I’m still a master. The question is; how can I be a good master? To an extent, that’s what people want. That’s what people need.
Love you all very much,
Tim
Tonight, stalking through the throbbing tropical darkness with no agenda, swigging a bottle of Stoney ginger beer, I finally felt it: The African Feeling. I don’t know if it’s just a nostalgia thing, remembering that first holiday in Tanzania aged 12, in swimming pools and land rovers and semi-open air restaurants. But I like it. I feel at home in it. I feel alive in it. Doing my first proper squat-job just now didn’t faze me. The mozzie net suits me fine. A great evening telling wonderful stories from around the world. Maybe it’s the ex-pat life I’m eulogising.
But there was other nostalgia today as well – rolling through Jinja, the covered arcades, the cafes, the Busoga Trust office (www.busogatrust.co.uk). A surprisingly lovely chat with Johnson, who runs the trust in Uganda. He told me I should live in Africa. ‘It’s a beautiful place to be’, he said. I certainly taking some samples. And when I signed his visitor’s book, I saw Rev Ezekiel had visited just before me. So I stopped wussing out, that weird paralysis concerning ‘someone you used to know’ broken by the great joy of giving and receiving interest in Johnson. I got in touch, arranged to meet, great. I realise this is a way of giving love – choosing to visit, devote time to people. O r to host. That I might do nothing practical, might even take these guys away from their vital work, just emphasises how African culture (and, I think, the human heart) prizes the power of simply giving someone your attention.
11.10.09: DAY THIRTY
Just had a great moment. The last few weeks we’ve been watching East Africa’s answer to X Factor: the snappily titled Tusker Project Fame Season 3. Our favourite, throughout, has been the down to earth reggae singing Rwandan with the French accent – Alpha. Oh yes. The worry throughout has been that the Kenyans would win because they have a bigger population and more money. But they had 2 contestants in the final tonight, and they split the Kenyan vote. When Alpha’s name came out the envelope, me and the rest of the household exploded off the sofas, danced round the room screaming “Alpha!” Good times.
9.10.09: DAY TWENTY EIGHT. Independence Day (‘Uganda’s 47th birthday – 2 years above the life expectancy’, according to the comedians I saw tonight)
Got on better with drama groups this week. Some lovely moments, like when playing ‘Pass the clap’, starting to invent new ways of passing, Juko put ‘the clap’ down his trousers and I told him to go and wash it… Yesterday Namuya actually waited for me to walk together.
10.10.09: DAY TWENTY NINE
First session taking 4-12s. I’ve been thinking, ‘I won’t know what to do, they’ll be bouncing off the walls’, but they were fantastic, really well behaved, I was clear, and we did some good stuff.
7.10.09: DAY TWENTY SIX. LMCC office, Namuwongo.
I’ll do this later. Two ragged little boys have followed me in and seem to be expecting me to entertain them. I’ve got nothing. But interruptions like this are usually from God, so let’s try and go with it…
8.10.09: DAY TWENTY SEVEN. 7.22pm. Still in Namuwongo, over half an hour after I got in the taxi.
Now I know what Gridlock looks like.
It rained all afternoon. The road to the school, being resurfaced, is now impassable. The driver is pulling overtaking moves that make me blush. Town taxi park is 40+ minutes walk, but I wonder if it still might be the best move. I’ll text home for a straw poll…
Pay, get out, haggle a boda (motorbike taxi), bundle for a taxi in town, chat to the lady next to me, who manages disasters for the Red Cross. The conversation grinds to a halt as the passengers nod, and I write this (more and more raggedly as we get out of the jam and beyond street lights):
Those boys were hard work. I was trying to talk to them, asking questions, as I might usually do when trying to engage with someone. But their English wasn’t great, so every question took about 3 attempts, if they got it at all. And then I didn’t understand half their answers – they were rarely answers to what I’d actually asked. But they didn’t make any efforts to initiate anything else. I don’t know what they wanted, or expected. My best guess is they just had nowhere else to go. They stay with one’s grandfather in the city, who feeds them but can’t afford their school fees. One’s mother is still alive but workless in the village. They both wore their school uniforms – possibly their only clothes. I’ve seen them in the same dirty half-buttonless shirts and cut down belted up men’s trousers before. I couldn’t identify the set of white marks on one’s head.
I don’t know how they keep smiling. It’s like a default or something. They may be bored, hungry, bereaved and hopeless, but they’re just aware of a strange mzungu who might do something interesting, be nice, or give them something. All those heavy things which would crush me don’t seem to affect their mood at all. Maybe it’s a spiritual thing, like I wondered last week. Or maybe Africans only think in the moment, while I consider the ups and downs and responsibilities of my whole life most of the time. We think it’s foolish: not to worry where our next meal is coming from and so miss a good few. But is there a secret of happiness there?
I gave them nothing, by the way. Not because I thought it unwise. Because I didn’t want to. I felt pressured, abused. I’d done nothing to stir friendship except not tell them to clear off or ignore them. In a way I treated them as equals, human beings. But also that’s nonsense. We’re not equal. I have every thinkable advantage over those guys. And I didn’t even give them a sandwich, or tell them about Jesus’ offered relationship with them. I made same excuse, shut the door on them and ate my packed lunch.
I’ve been driven really strongly on this trip to connect with and understand Africans as equals in a way that’s totally right and good. But I’ve also been feeling a lack of simple compassion. I don’t want my heart broken, my greed exposed, my mind blown by the inconceivable injustice of reality. I want to do my bit and go home. But God sent me those two boys because He doesn’t just want me to be good – He wants every part of me. And I don’t want to change.
Roughing it for 3 months doesn’t let me off the hook. Like Tolstoy, I can live and work as a serf, but I’m still a master. The question is; how can I be a good master? To an extent, that’s what people want. That’s what people need.
Love you all very much,
Tim
Sunday 4 October 2009
Days 17-23: Cultural differences
4.10.09: DAY TWENTY THREE
I am not going back in again tonight. Phew. Time on my hands a thing of the past. Still, I hope it’s the right call. I’m invited back to watch Watoto Church Drama Team’s play at the National Theatre (not quite as great as it sounds), and to the after show party. Firstly, ‘watoto’ is Swahili for ‘children’; what a great name for a church. Secondly, this is the thing I mentioned cryptically last week – I might get to write their next play! After the show last Saturday got randomly chatting (some of my guys knew some of them)… and there you go. Amazing. Random opening, perfect opportunity, and I’ve got a great solution to do this play idea I’ve had since last year; seems a bit God-breathed to me. So I’m hopeful.
Makes this seem a little prophetic…
28.9.09: DAY SEVENTEEN
Chatting to David tonight about careers etc. He was really confident about building a whole computer business. And he doesn’t even have any way to get to Uni. Realised I can be confident about building a successful career in writing, community theatre and pastor/teaching – in spite of hearing since forever that none of those things are ‘real jobs’ which will ever be enough to live on. I think I have so far managed pretty well to keep pursuing these things, in spite of such received ‘wisdom’. But I don’t feel particularly confident that I might be successful in these things; you know, like, better than other people also trying to do it. But I realise, these things are what God’s made me good at, so He’s going to give me good paid work in them too… if I stay confident – making confident choices, relating confidently with contacts, and working hard. I can do it! I can be a professional writer. I can pastor a great church. I can direct life transforming projects for all sorts of lost people. All I’ve got to do is GO FOR IT with Him. Praise God! Thank you Jesus!
(I also had a really fresh praise time this morning with some old Delirious songs. Drawn back to simply loving Jesus. Please, more of that. “We want to be known as people who are completely in love with you!”)
29.9.09: DAY EIGHTEEN
Ended up chatting with Immaculate for maybe a couple of hours after dinner. Amazing. She is an amazing follower of Jesus. Amazing stories, intimacy, knowledge of God. Jesus really blessed me by inspiring her to share wisdom & encouragement with me at length like that. Hallelujah. Thank you Jesus!
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY
I was thinking at breakfast this morning, ‘why are people here so free, positive and focused on following Jesus, when people in the UK aren’t?’ ‘Why are we so held up by our difficult experiences, when Africans who’ve experienced much worse are not?’ And this morning, the link popped into my head: it is our mental response to suffering, not the suffering itself, which gives us hang ups. And of course in the UK, we are ignorant of Satan’s tactics, even seeing hang ups as our right, and not wanting to let them go. So we are taken out of the game. The other thing is the temptation of the ‘nice little life’; for Africans that is rarely an option, so it remains clear that following Jesus is their only hope. But for us, it is a real and increasing temptation (I’ve heard from older folks).
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY Thoughts from the Taxi home. Late.
Today just felt like a case study for the doctrine of work. Work was created good, exciting, fulfilling; we rebelled against God and the consequence was that work became hard, mundane, frustrating. I went in today for three appointments:
1) Meet Mary to plan the children’s drama group at church. Rearranged from Tuesday, when on my way to see her she came the other way, going to town. Today I arrived at the school, after texting ahead, and she was out.
2) Secondary school drama club. Tuesday’s session spent trying to teach image work to a group with five year 7/8 girls. (Is there anything they won’t giggle at?) Today, tried to play ‘blood potato’ but they wouldn’t close their eyes. Tried to play ‘knots’ but they kept letting go their hands. Tried to read through a script one had written, but never got more than a few lines in a row as there were only two hand-scrawled copies and they were wandering around the room the whole time, whatever I said. (Can they not understand what I say half the time? Why don’t they say so? Are they just unable to treat an open space as anything except a playground?) Had another sound chat with the older boys walking home after.
3) Rehearse church youth drama team for performance at the crusade. Postponed from Tuesday and Wednesday nights when people didn’t come. Put it off until the end of the evening as people needed to sing in crusade outside. Half different people from the group that staged it on Sunday. Our preacher & interpreter roaring through the PA outside. Came unsure of what I’d do, unable to plan. Got totally into it. Characters, motivations, staging, editing; I was leaping about the room like a crazy person, and accumulated a little audience of local children as well as young people from the church. Real pumping stuff. But I thank God for patience. I can’t assume people are stupid, and I communicated extremely clearly, but somehow I found myself saying AGAIN; ‘No, when he says that you come on stage, you stand there, you say this then just mime, don’t say any more until…’ These guys are in their early twenties! It was painful.
The honeymoon was over after the first rehearsals. I can’t change African culture, but it feels like that means they won’t ever get anywhere; my job is to train them, they seem untrainable. But I also remember this is how it went in Cape Town last year. I kept accommodating interruptions, kind of enjoying kicking back instead of work, and so we didn’t get the play ready to perform like we’d planned to. But in the last week or so things did come together and we got a lot done – enough to be a real achievement. Maybe I played it right last time, after all. Go with the flow. It will come together somehow.
4.10.09: DAY TWENTY THREE
I picked Steph up from the airport on Wednesday and it’s been great hanging out. Very encouraging, very wise. As I dragged her into work on Friday to photograph me preaching she took us into Steers and bought us ice cream. ‘But Africans don’t do this’, I started… It was really good. Caramel dip cup. And yesterday we went walking in Mabira forest, which I remember from last time as the place all the hijacks happen. Steph wasn’t impressed when I mentioned this as the taxi drove away. But actually it was fun, and the worst of it was 4 large ants trying to eat my leg. I feel that doing a bit of tourism is right, even while being sobered to hear today that most Africans live on $0.5 a day. I’m now able to translate that into real terms: ¼ of what I spend everyday getting what I’ve been calling ‘mega cheap’ taxis to & from work. I noticed several people from here didn’t come to church this morning ‘because the taxis are expensive’. In the margins of my ‘just enough’ is many people’s whole life.
I still think spending money on my fun is okay, because living in the UK, I can’t avoid hurting some people whatever I do. What the poor need is not for us to be a bit more ‘ethical’ - try and not affect them as much, pretend our lives aren’t woven together – but for us to give our lives to embracing them.
Have a look at these:
http://www.watoto.com/
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/mar/13/recession-aid-poverty-development
Loads of love,
Tim
I am not going back in again tonight. Phew. Time on my hands a thing of the past. Still, I hope it’s the right call. I’m invited back to watch Watoto Church Drama Team’s play at the National Theatre (not quite as great as it sounds), and to the after show party. Firstly, ‘watoto’ is Swahili for ‘children’; what a great name for a church. Secondly, this is the thing I mentioned cryptically last week – I might get to write their next play! After the show last Saturday got randomly chatting (some of my guys knew some of them)… and there you go. Amazing. Random opening, perfect opportunity, and I’ve got a great solution to do this play idea I’ve had since last year; seems a bit God-breathed to me. So I’m hopeful.
Makes this seem a little prophetic…
28.9.09: DAY SEVENTEEN
Chatting to David tonight about careers etc. He was really confident about building a whole computer business. And he doesn’t even have any way to get to Uni. Realised I can be confident about building a successful career in writing, community theatre and pastor/teaching – in spite of hearing since forever that none of those things are ‘real jobs’ which will ever be enough to live on. I think I have so far managed pretty well to keep pursuing these things, in spite of such received ‘wisdom’. But I don’t feel particularly confident that I might be successful in these things; you know, like, better than other people also trying to do it. But I realise, these things are what God’s made me good at, so He’s going to give me good paid work in them too… if I stay confident – making confident choices, relating confidently with contacts, and working hard. I can do it! I can be a professional writer. I can pastor a great church. I can direct life transforming projects for all sorts of lost people. All I’ve got to do is GO FOR IT with Him. Praise God! Thank you Jesus!
(I also had a really fresh praise time this morning with some old Delirious songs. Drawn back to simply loving Jesus. Please, more of that. “We want to be known as people who are completely in love with you!”)
29.9.09: DAY EIGHTEEN
Ended up chatting with Immaculate for maybe a couple of hours after dinner. Amazing. She is an amazing follower of Jesus. Amazing stories, intimacy, knowledge of God. Jesus really blessed me by inspiring her to share wisdom & encouragement with me at length like that. Hallelujah. Thank you Jesus!
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY
I was thinking at breakfast this morning, ‘why are people here so free, positive and focused on following Jesus, when people in the UK aren’t?’ ‘Why are we so held up by our difficult experiences, when Africans who’ve experienced much worse are not?’ And this morning, the link popped into my head: it is our mental response to suffering, not the suffering itself, which gives us hang ups. And of course in the UK, we are ignorant of Satan’s tactics, even seeing hang ups as our right, and not wanting to let them go. So we are taken out of the game. The other thing is the temptation of the ‘nice little life’; for Africans that is rarely an option, so it remains clear that following Jesus is their only hope. But for us, it is a real and increasing temptation (I’ve heard from older folks).
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY Thoughts from the Taxi home. Late.
Today just felt like a case study for the doctrine of work. Work was created good, exciting, fulfilling; we rebelled against God and the consequence was that work became hard, mundane, frustrating. I went in today for three appointments:
1) Meet Mary to plan the children’s drama group at church. Rearranged from Tuesday, when on my way to see her she came the other way, going to town. Today I arrived at the school, after texting ahead, and she was out.
2) Secondary school drama club. Tuesday’s session spent trying to teach image work to a group with five year 7/8 girls. (Is there anything they won’t giggle at?) Today, tried to play ‘blood potato’ but they wouldn’t close their eyes. Tried to play ‘knots’ but they kept letting go their hands. Tried to read through a script one had written, but never got more than a few lines in a row as there were only two hand-scrawled copies and they were wandering around the room the whole time, whatever I said. (Can they not understand what I say half the time? Why don’t they say so? Are they just unable to treat an open space as anything except a playground?) Had another sound chat with the older boys walking home after.
3) Rehearse church youth drama team for performance at the crusade. Postponed from Tuesday and Wednesday nights when people didn’t come. Put it off until the end of the evening as people needed to sing in crusade outside. Half different people from the group that staged it on Sunday. Our preacher & interpreter roaring through the PA outside. Came unsure of what I’d do, unable to plan. Got totally into it. Characters, motivations, staging, editing; I was leaping about the room like a crazy person, and accumulated a little audience of local children as well as young people from the church. Real pumping stuff. But I thank God for patience. I can’t assume people are stupid, and I communicated extremely clearly, but somehow I found myself saying AGAIN; ‘No, when he says that you come on stage, you stand there, you say this then just mime, don’t say any more until…’ These guys are in their early twenties! It was painful.
The honeymoon was over after the first rehearsals. I can’t change African culture, but it feels like that means they won’t ever get anywhere; my job is to train them, they seem untrainable. But I also remember this is how it went in Cape Town last year. I kept accommodating interruptions, kind of enjoying kicking back instead of work, and so we didn’t get the play ready to perform like we’d planned to. But in the last week or so things did come together and we got a lot done – enough to be a real achievement. Maybe I played it right last time, after all. Go with the flow. It will come together somehow.
4.10.09: DAY TWENTY THREE
I picked Steph up from the airport on Wednesday and it’s been great hanging out. Very encouraging, very wise. As I dragged her into work on Friday to photograph me preaching she took us into Steers and bought us ice cream. ‘But Africans don’t do this’, I started… It was really good. Caramel dip cup. And yesterday we went walking in Mabira forest, which I remember from last time as the place all the hijacks happen. Steph wasn’t impressed when I mentioned this as the taxi drove away. But actually it was fun, and the worst of it was 4 large ants trying to eat my leg. I feel that doing a bit of tourism is right, even while being sobered to hear today that most Africans live on $0.5 a day. I’m now able to translate that into real terms: ¼ of what I spend everyday getting what I’ve been calling ‘mega cheap’ taxis to & from work. I noticed several people from here didn’t come to church this morning ‘because the taxis are expensive’. In the margins of my ‘just enough’ is many people’s whole life.
I still think spending money on my fun is okay, because living in the UK, I can’t avoid hurting some people whatever I do. What the poor need is not for us to be a bit more ‘ethical’ - try and not affect them as much, pretend our lives aren’t woven together – but for us to give our lives to embracing them.
Have a look at these:
http://www.watoto.com/
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/mar/13/recession-aid-poverty-development
Loads of love,
Tim
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