At the beginning of this year, I would never have dreamt that I would have a business Visa for Ghana by the end of it. God is ironic and dramatic in the way he orchestrates our stories. It’s been a long journey with many bumps, but I am humbled at the length He has gone to pursue me. Despite many hardships, heart breaks and health problems, God has overwhelmed me in what He has allowed me to experience. That appropriately backdrops my trip to Ghana. On Monday and Tuesday I trained Lucy from Ghana and Sunday from Nigeria on the Book of Hope Outcomes surveys. After training, we had practicals and went to several schools on Wednesday to practice conducting research. We got up very early and headed to the first school. We test students before they receive the Book of Hope and then afterwards to see the nature of the cognitive changes that occur. Ghana is preparing for elections next month and so I started by talking to the students about the two main candidates and asking them about the U.S. elections and they shouted Barack Obama’s name when I asked who was elected U.S. president. They wanted to shake my hand when they heard that I shook his hand. They also said they want to be president of Ghana some day. After we finished in our two classrooms, we went over to Reni & Lucy’s classroom. They had a larger group of students, who were also coincidentally, younger. Our students were perfect and theirs were quite loud and so Lucy and Reni had to work a bit harder to collect their information. As I was leaving, one of the students asked me for my card, and I stared blankly at him, until he clarified and informed me that he wanted the one with your contact information. I was quite surprised and gladly gave him one.
We went to the next school, which was named Andy Memorial School to survey the kids before they watched the Godman film. I didn’t get to stay with those students b/c Sunday and I were going to conduct market research focus groups for Book of Hope with the older students. I ended up running a focus group on a class of 16, which is twice as big as it should be. I also should have had someone to take notes, but I had to both moderate and transcribe. The kids were a bit shy at first, especially since their teacher was in the room and the room was set up for a classroom and not a focus group. Book of Hope is considering switching from a magazine size to a digest size and we wanted to talk to the kids and see which version they preferred. After we had an icebreaker conversation about cartoons, the kids warmed up to talking and we had quite a lively time. It was really interesting b/c the kids spoke overwhelmingly about which book they preferred. Most of the questions were asked with their heads down so they couldn’t collude with their classmates, but they still acted voted very consistent across classes and sections. They were excited to learn that their information will directly influence the books that BoH produces and they wanted to answer more questions and do it again. I took my picture with the class after we were finished. We distributed books to the children after the focus groups and after the Godman showing. I got to give out books for that and it was quite hectic as kids were quite eager for the books.
Several of the BoH staff from Ghana participated in the set-up and we took them out to eat at the fast food restaurant in Ghana. Sunday and I split a Hawaiian pizza before we left for Accra to go to the craft markets. I always find markets interesting, and I love buying things from different countries, but being a white person makes me look like a walking dollar sign, and I’m pretty good at bargaining, but it was nice that Emmanuel helped me out and shielded me from people bothering me. We got back to the hotel after the markets and got ready to go with the staff to a public showing of the Godman in an open area in a small town outside of Tema. When we got there, there were only like 30 people or so sitting in the chairs. I had to make some phone calls about my other project in Ghana and I stepped to the back where there was a group about the same size huddled around a radio listening to the Black Stars football match against Tunisia. They had a praise and worship video on the projector while they were waiting for the movie to start and it was an 80’s concert by Don Moen. I was embarrassed by how awful it was and was wondering why in the world they were showing it to people of whom English is a second or third language. I actually thought about buying them Israel Houghton’s Live from South Africa DVD so they could at least show that one, but I later found out from the regional coordinator that Francis was trying to impress us with American music. At the time I found myself preferring to be with the men gathered around the football match, but definitely thought they were an interesting juxtaposition.
The movie started and by midway through the movie, there were like 300 people there. It was crazy. Everyone clapped in unison whenever Jesus performed a miracle. The Godman is neat b/c there is an animated portion on Jesus, and yes, he’s fairly Caucasian looking with a touch of Arabian features, but each version has a culturally specific narrative that’s interwoven into the gospel story that mirrors God’s love presented through the film. They stop the movie right at the crucifixion so that a pastor can deliver a 5-10 minute message with an alter call and then finish the movie. Only this pastor spoke for half an hour. Francis translated into a different language from Acan through the loudspeaker on their pick-up truck and the mic that the pastor used was so distorted I couldn’t understand any of the words he spoke in English and I was in the third row. Everyone was amen-ing and hallelujahing at the appropriate times, so they clearly understood it.
I sat next to the childrens rows and just watched their faces as they saw the gospel before them, saw children in the movie that looked like them and spoke an African language that was dubbed into Acan. It was rather overwhelming to see the gospel story and the response of the community. I have been given an incredible privilege and I am humbled that God has pursued me so much so that I know the extent of His love for me.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
road trip mayhem
Thirty seconds after first setting foot in Africa, the euphoria and the gravity of this event was interrupted by the realization that I would be driving in a car on the left side for the first time. In a completely different manner, this also made me quite giddy. Over two weeks would pass until I would get to try my hand at driving on the “wrong” side of the road sitting in the right hand side of the vehicle.
We finished our project on Friday night and my boss asked me if I wanted to go somewhere to celebrate and explore Kenya. We rented a car to drive to Mombasa, which is near Tanzania on the coast of Kenya. I kept saying “Mombasa” just like the hyenas say “Mufasa” in the Lion King. The road from Nairobi to Mombasa is the most heavily travelled road in all of East Africa. We set off for the coast only to encounter monster traffic. We drove five minutes down a road that dead ended, forcing us to turn around and throw ourselves into an extra 45 minutes of traffic. We slowly made our way through traffic out of the Nairobi city limits. The first 100 km away from the city are among the worst roads I’ve ever been on potholes, ridges, jagged asphalt and narrow lanes. It took us quite a bit longer to get out of traffic and decided to stop an hour or two from Mombasa which is a 500 km drive from the capital. We hit the open road and I remembered that I had some CD’s in my bag. I reached back and grabbed Caedmon Call’s “Back Home” album and I turn around in time to see a herd of 20 giraffe or so clustering among some trees. I was like a little kid, shouting, pointing and staring in wonder at the sight of these majestic giants.
We continued driving and since we had gotten held up by traffic we drove for several hours, forgoing lunch and postponing dinner until we arrived somewhere. Our friend Jackson recommended staying in a town called Voi, which is right next to Tsavo Park where we could go on a safari. We thought about driving through to Mombasa, but it was late and we were hungry and we stumbled upon the Red Lion lodge after looking at some shabby spots and some luxury wildlife preserve lodges. My boss speaks an Indian/British combo accented English when speaking to Kenyans, he says they understand it better, but it just makes me laugh. We get there around 7:30 and an Italian couple owns the preserve and show us around the compound and we decide to stay there. The wife asked us if we wanted dinner and she whipped up an amazing four course Italian meal that was perfecto.
We went to bed a bit early so that we could rise early to go to Mombasa. We stayed in a stone cottage with a loft that opens onto the park facing due east so that the sun rises over the savannah shining straight into our place. The weaver birds in their nests compete with the sun to wake us up first. We had a light breakfast and hit the road to Mombasa, which was only about a two hour drive from Voi. We get there fairly early and I had done a touch of research and knew a few places that we should go to. Fort Jesus was built by the Portuguese in the 16th century to protect the ports and entryway into Kenya, which was the main entry into Africa from India, Europe and the Middle East. The fort looks out over the Indian Ocean and the white sandy beaches beneath it. Mombasa was controlled by the Portuguese, British, Indians, Spanish, Moors and has a real Kenyan influence and so the mixture of these cultures creates a beautiful city steeped in architecture, food, smells, and people with an eclectic background. After exploring the fort, which was breathtaking, we explored the Old Town. This part of the city is marked by balconies and doors in Portuguese and Arabic styles. Giant wooden doors and lofts looking over the city with elaborate trim and woodwork. I really enjoyed this part, especially since our guide Omar took us through the back alley ways and side streets, showing us around. We passed through the street markets, sampling some amazing dried mango and baobab tree fruit until we made our way to the main Indian markets, full of incredible spices and vegetables from Kenya, Zanzibar, India and the Middle East.
I bought some spices and fruit and we headed to the coast to have some traditional African food at a restaurant looking out over the Indian Ocean and a nice beach. We drove through the passing rain storms that you can see approaching from kilometers away. We got back to Voi early enough that we had some time to check out the park. We didn’t know how the ticketing work, but when we checked the gate, they told us that the tickets were for 24 hours so we decided to pay our money and get a few hours in before rising early the next day to drive through the park on our way back to Nairobi (Tsavo Park East is the largest park in Kenya). We get into the park and see some impalas, oryx, wildebeest and other small animals at first. We went on a loop where we saw a whole bunch of giraffes. They are quite inquisitive creatures and just stared at us for quite a while, only 30 to 40 feet away from us, munching on some leaves. Tsavo is known for their elephants and we saw a herd crossing the Savannah and so we took a side loop to see if we could catch them. We didn’t see them, but we came across a waterhole with like 50 zebras, all sorts of oryx, waterbuffalo and plains animals. We saw two safari busses pulled over and while we were looking at the zebras, they were all looking on the other side of the road. I spotted the female lion, leaning forward on a rock in a very prosaic pose not more than 25 feet from the road. We sat in our car for a few minutes taking pictures before rolling up a few feet, at which point I saw the male crouched in contemplation holding court a few meters behind his queen. Seeing him emerge from the bushes was an unbelievable sight. We sat there for a few minutes before driving on to see more baboons, ostriches, mongooses, giraffes, elephants and more. We saw far more than I had hoped to see, in scarcely more than an hour. It was in the game preserve that I finally got to drive in Kenya for the first time. Most guys love to pee outside, it’s just a fact. We stopped and I did my business, staring out over the savannah at an approaching herd of elephants. I jumped into the drivers seat on the right side, driving on the left portion of the bumpy clay trail.
We drove past the lions again and made our way towards the gates as dusk approached. We came to another wide field and I noticed several female lions roaming together. Seeing the others was awesome, but I spotted these myself and was quite thrilled. We settled down at the wildlife camp, another great dinner. My boss and I shared a Kenyan beer sitting around the camp fire under the wide starry sky with Krismas, the Kenyan security guard for the camp, who was rarely seen without his bow and arrow that he wielded in protection. I seriously doubt he’s ever successfully used it. We had some guinea fowl for dinner and went to bed early so that we could awake with the sun and weaver birds for an early morning safari the next day.
They brought us coffee, which was amazing, as all Kenyan coffee is and sipped coffee as we watched the sun arise over the savannah. We hit the park early and saw more of the same, but not quite as many. There is a road that heads towards Nairobi and so we headed back by means of the park. We saw a single elephant that was walking right at us and crossed the road 10 feet in front of us before lunching on some shrubbery right next to the road. It was incredible. The elephants hide is tinted orangish brown by the clay that dominates the landscape. The contrast of the hue of their skin, the green grass and leaves of the Kenyan spring, the grey mountains in the background and the blue sky combine for a majestic scene. My boss is driving along, splitting his attention between the road and the scenery. Today’s drive was through a portion that was torched by a severe wildfire that impacted several kilometers. We had to stop for a herd of almost 50 zebra monopolizing the road. Green buds and brush plants were fighting through the ashy soil to replenish the African landscape and I couldn’t help but hum, “the Circle of Life” in my head, complete with the “hmmnnyabbas hmmnnn hmmnn yabbas.”
We’re driving at a good clip and my boss didn’t see a nasty gorge replete with jagged rocks. Practically as soon as we hit this section, I hear a pop followed by hissing as we pull over. The car has a full spare on the back, which is great, but we can’t find the jack or the lug nut key to get one of the lug nuts off the punctured tire. We find both of those things and go to loosen the tire off the back gate, only to find a key-lock protecting one of the lug nuts on the spare. We had several keys, but none of them did anything to open this lock. We called the owner and told him our predicament and he advised us to just try and beat it and whack it off. For the next hour or so we hammered, chiseled, pried and did whatever we could to get it loose. Keep in mind we are in the middle of the savannah, kilometers from anything or anyone and I’m keeping look and thinking about things like keeping the windows up and having two doors open so that we could safely escape if confronted by a lion or leopard. My boss just laughed at me. Well we finally made some headway chiseling at the lock, which was more or less a fastened slipcover over the lugnut so that it couldn’t be turned. We spent an hour and twenty minutes getting it off and I didn’t think it was possibly because it was a Toyota and was some kind of iron. When it finally came loose we shouted and celebrated, almost more than completing our 50 page youth report for Kenya. We took pictures and replaced the flat tire. We joked as we left the park and hit the highway, heading back towards Nairobi.
Well, we quickly realized that once we passed 55 K/hr, which is not very fast, the tire started shaking and past about 70 k/hr, the shaking was unbearable. We drive like this for an hour and I’m looking out the window ever few minutes and quickly realize that the spare is going to go flat. We pull over in the middle of no where, having gone through two tires and being out of options. We try to flag some people down, to no avail. Finally my boss just stands out in the middle of the road and gets a lift 4 km into the next town with the bum tire, trying to get it fixed. I sit along the roadside keeping track of my accuracy of hitting the giant baobab tree 50 meters from the roadside. My boss got into the town and got the tire fixed and we were running low on Kenyan shillings so he hitched a ride back to our car with a man who tried to rob him and kept asking him scary questions while my boss babbled like a fool, desperately trying to establish humanity so that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, wishing he had left his jewelry and valuables with me at the car.
They finally got back and my boss was overjoyed to see me and I changed the spare, unsure of how well the patch would hold that was fixed using a bottle cap, spit, superglue and a piece of old tire. I kept my head out the window constantly checking the air pressure as my boss swerved trying to miss potholes and bumps on the left side, us groaning in unison when we failed at this endeavor. The final 100 kilometers are just awful and we had over 200 km to go like this and we just held our breath and thanked God for each kilometer that passed without another flat. Nairobi is a bit slow for me, but i was so glad to get there and get to the airport and head "home" to Florida.
We finished our project on Friday night and my boss asked me if I wanted to go somewhere to celebrate and explore Kenya. We rented a car to drive to Mombasa, which is near Tanzania on the coast of Kenya. I kept saying “Mombasa” just like the hyenas say “Mufasa” in the Lion King. The road from Nairobi to Mombasa is the most heavily travelled road in all of East Africa. We set off for the coast only to encounter monster traffic. We drove five minutes down a road that dead ended, forcing us to turn around and throw ourselves into an extra 45 minutes of traffic. We slowly made our way through traffic out of the Nairobi city limits. The first 100 km away from the city are among the worst roads I’ve ever been on potholes, ridges, jagged asphalt and narrow lanes. It took us quite a bit longer to get out of traffic and decided to stop an hour or two from Mombasa which is a 500 km drive from the capital. We hit the open road and I remembered that I had some CD’s in my bag. I reached back and grabbed Caedmon Call’s “Back Home” album and I turn around in time to see a herd of 20 giraffe or so clustering among some trees. I was like a little kid, shouting, pointing and staring in wonder at the sight of these majestic giants.
We continued driving and since we had gotten held up by traffic we drove for several hours, forgoing lunch and postponing dinner until we arrived somewhere. Our friend Jackson recommended staying in a town called Voi, which is right next to Tsavo Park where we could go on a safari. We thought about driving through to Mombasa, but it was late and we were hungry and we stumbled upon the Red Lion lodge after looking at some shabby spots and some luxury wildlife preserve lodges. My boss speaks an Indian/British combo accented English when speaking to Kenyans, he says they understand it better, but it just makes me laugh. We get there around 7:30 and an Italian couple owns the preserve and show us around the compound and we decide to stay there. The wife asked us if we wanted dinner and she whipped up an amazing four course Italian meal that was perfecto.
We went to bed a bit early so that we could rise early to go to Mombasa. We stayed in a stone cottage with a loft that opens onto the park facing due east so that the sun rises over the savannah shining straight into our place. The weaver birds in their nests compete with the sun to wake us up first. We had a light breakfast and hit the road to Mombasa, which was only about a two hour drive from Voi. We get there fairly early and I had done a touch of research and knew a few places that we should go to. Fort Jesus was built by the Portuguese in the 16th century to protect the ports and entryway into Kenya, which was the main entry into Africa from India, Europe and the Middle East. The fort looks out over the Indian Ocean and the white sandy beaches beneath it. Mombasa was controlled by the Portuguese, British, Indians, Spanish, Moors and has a real Kenyan influence and so the mixture of these cultures creates a beautiful city steeped in architecture, food, smells, and people with an eclectic background. After exploring the fort, which was breathtaking, we explored the Old Town. This part of the city is marked by balconies and doors in Portuguese and Arabic styles. Giant wooden doors and lofts looking over the city with elaborate trim and woodwork. I really enjoyed this part, especially since our guide Omar took us through the back alley ways and side streets, showing us around. We passed through the street markets, sampling some amazing dried mango and baobab tree fruit until we made our way to the main Indian markets, full of incredible spices and vegetables from Kenya, Zanzibar, India and the Middle East.
I bought some spices and fruit and we headed to the coast to have some traditional African food at a restaurant looking out over the Indian Ocean and a nice beach. We drove through the passing rain storms that you can see approaching from kilometers away. We got back to Voi early enough that we had some time to check out the park. We didn’t know how the ticketing work, but when we checked the gate, they told us that the tickets were for 24 hours so we decided to pay our money and get a few hours in before rising early the next day to drive through the park on our way back to Nairobi (Tsavo Park East is the largest park in Kenya). We get into the park and see some impalas, oryx, wildebeest and other small animals at first. We went on a loop where we saw a whole bunch of giraffes. They are quite inquisitive creatures and just stared at us for quite a while, only 30 to 40 feet away from us, munching on some leaves. Tsavo is known for their elephants and we saw a herd crossing the Savannah and so we took a side loop to see if we could catch them. We didn’t see them, but we came across a waterhole with like 50 zebras, all sorts of oryx, waterbuffalo and plains animals. We saw two safari busses pulled over and while we were looking at the zebras, they were all looking on the other side of the road. I spotted the female lion, leaning forward on a rock in a very prosaic pose not more than 25 feet from the road. We sat in our car for a few minutes taking pictures before rolling up a few feet, at which point I saw the male crouched in contemplation holding court a few meters behind his queen. Seeing him emerge from the bushes was an unbelievable sight. We sat there for a few minutes before driving on to see more baboons, ostriches, mongooses, giraffes, elephants and more. We saw far more than I had hoped to see, in scarcely more than an hour. It was in the game preserve that I finally got to drive in Kenya for the first time. Most guys love to pee outside, it’s just a fact. We stopped and I did my business, staring out over the savannah at an approaching herd of elephants. I jumped into the drivers seat on the right side, driving on the left portion of the bumpy clay trail.
We drove past the lions again and made our way towards the gates as dusk approached. We came to another wide field and I noticed several female lions roaming together. Seeing the others was awesome, but I spotted these myself and was quite thrilled. We settled down at the wildlife camp, another great dinner. My boss and I shared a Kenyan beer sitting around the camp fire under the wide starry sky with Krismas, the Kenyan security guard for the camp, who was rarely seen without his bow and arrow that he wielded in protection. I seriously doubt he’s ever successfully used it. We had some guinea fowl for dinner and went to bed early so that we could awake with the sun and weaver birds for an early morning safari the next day.
They brought us coffee, which was amazing, as all Kenyan coffee is and sipped coffee as we watched the sun arise over the savannah. We hit the park early and saw more of the same, but not quite as many. There is a road that heads towards Nairobi and so we headed back by means of the park. We saw a single elephant that was walking right at us and crossed the road 10 feet in front of us before lunching on some shrubbery right next to the road. It was incredible. The elephants hide is tinted orangish brown by the clay that dominates the landscape. The contrast of the hue of their skin, the green grass and leaves of the Kenyan spring, the grey mountains in the background and the blue sky combine for a majestic scene. My boss is driving along, splitting his attention between the road and the scenery. Today’s drive was through a portion that was torched by a severe wildfire that impacted several kilometers. We had to stop for a herd of almost 50 zebra monopolizing the road. Green buds and brush plants were fighting through the ashy soil to replenish the African landscape and I couldn’t help but hum, “the Circle of Life” in my head, complete with the “hmmnnyabbas hmmnnn hmmnn yabbas.”
We’re driving at a good clip and my boss didn’t see a nasty gorge replete with jagged rocks. Practically as soon as we hit this section, I hear a pop followed by hissing as we pull over. The car has a full spare on the back, which is great, but we can’t find the jack or the lug nut key to get one of the lug nuts off the punctured tire. We find both of those things and go to loosen the tire off the back gate, only to find a key-lock protecting one of the lug nuts on the spare. We had several keys, but none of them did anything to open this lock. We called the owner and told him our predicament and he advised us to just try and beat it and whack it off. For the next hour or so we hammered, chiseled, pried and did whatever we could to get it loose. Keep in mind we are in the middle of the savannah, kilometers from anything or anyone and I’m keeping look and thinking about things like keeping the windows up and having two doors open so that we could safely escape if confronted by a lion or leopard. My boss just laughed at me. Well we finally made some headway chiseling at the lock, which was more or less a fastened slipcover over the lugnut so that it couldn’t be turned. We spent an hour and twenty minutes getting it off and I didn’t think it was possibly because it was a Toyota and was some kind of iron. When it finally came loose we shouted and celebrated, almost more than completing our 50 page youth report for Kenya. We took pictures and replaced the flat tire. We joked as we left the park and hit the highway, heading back towards Nairobi.
Well, we quickly realized that once we passed 55 K/hr, which is not very fast, the tire started shaking and past about 70 k/hr, the shaking was unbearable. We drive like this for an hour and I’m looking out the window ever few minutes and quickly realize that the spare is going to go flat. We pull over in the middle of no where, having gone through two tires and being out of options. We try to flag some people down, to no avail. Finally my boss just stands out in the middle of the road and gets a lift 4 km into the next town with the bum tire, trying to get it fixed. I sit along the roadside keeping track of my accuracy of hitting the giant baobab tree 50 meters from the roadside. My boss got into the town and got the tire fixed and we were running low on Kenyan shillings so he hitched a ride back to our car with a man who tried to rob him and kept asking him scary questions while my boss babbled like a fool, desperately trying to establish humanity so that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, wishing he had left his jewelry and valuables with me at the car.
They finally got back and my boss was overjoyed to see me and I changed the spare, unsure of how well the patch would hold that was fixed using a bottle cap, spit, superglue and a piece of old tire. I kept my head out the window constantly checking the air pressure as my boss swerved trying to miss potholes and bumps on the left side, us groaning in unison when we failed at this endeavor. The final 100 kilometers are just awful and we had over 200 km to go like this and we just held our breath and thanked God for each kilometer that passed without another flat. Nairobi is a bit slow for me, but i was so glad to get there and get to the airport and head "home" to Florida.
What a long strange trip it's been... It seems like ages ago I was sitting in Heathrow on my way to Nairobi. It was only about 20 days ago, but so much has passed since that happened. I finally feel like I have a good grasp on my new job and what I'll be doing. It was thrilling to work with Kenyan students, professors and pastors training them to conduct qualitative research. I got to sit in and facilitate focus groups with Bible Translators from remote tribes in Kenya and work to develop indicators to measure their influences on social capital in the communities where they work and empower people through not only the Gospel of Christ, but with the gift of a written language that empowers people to worship, to read, write, sing and contribute to the cultural and intellectual landscape of the world. It was quite a blessing to listen to the Kenyan staff members speak, talking about cultural disconnects between western missions agencies and ground workers in Kenya. The main cry was for the need for perspective and the recognition that both partners are gifts from God to the other and that this should dictate business and spiritual manners.
We worked quite hard on our research project, compiling a 49 page report on the status of youth ministries in Kenya. Kenya has gone through a lot of turbulency this year, most of it stemming from the post-election violence and the reminder of the legacy of tribalism that still exists in the collective conscious of this country. Students responded with widespread rebellion, violence and destruction, setting fire to several schools reflecting the current crisis facing Kenyan youth. In September, my organization oversaw a random stratified qualitative survey of 4000 Kenyan youth to gauge the current issues they face and the root of their discontent. In light of this research, after training 23 focus group facilitators, we conducted 35 focus groups in Western Kenya, Nairobi and the coastal region. We met with NGO's, various government officials, pastors, denominational leadership, youth workers (Christian and public), teachers (urban and rural) and students (age 13-18, urban and rural). We had almost a hundred pages of raw data that I took the lead in consolidating and then a team of five or six of us went through and plugged responses and formulated key points from the focus groups into the research questions that came from strategic planning after the survey of 4000 students was completed. Both the Kenyan government and school system are very open to the church assisting and leading in implementation of youth programs, overhauling the school curriculum and leading the mandatory hour of religion teaching that is a requirement for all schools in Kenya. The church has been very slow to use this incredible opportunity. Youth comprise almost 70% of the population in Kenya, and so all institutions need to figure out how encourage and develop youth, but the church especially ought to be doing this. Media access is rampant and unmonitored in Kenya. Kids were even commenting on wanting guidance in discernment and talking about how easily pornography is accessible through magazines, private computers and public showings in the slums and elsewhere. Meanwhile, the church has remained very distant from the youth, not adapting to the emerging youth culture, operating in irrelevant cultural paradigm, not including the youth in worship or developing/utilizing their gifts and talents. They have basically been dismissed from the church and in their pursuit of freedom, they cry for guidance and structure that is not being provided by parents, schools and the church. It was amazing to watch pastors, youth workers, and teachers conducting focus groups, participating in the process and reading the information realize the extent of the generational gap and the incredible opportunity as well as essential need to incorporate a genuine compassionate and empowering ministry to the youth in the church, the school and the community.
Seeing them process the information and realize apart from our influence, that the church needs to help youth discern appropriate media/technology content, the church needs to use cell phones, the internet and technology to reach youth. Students were practically crying out to be nurtured and empowered by the church, for the church to meet them on their level and love them, not dismiss them, force feed them or force them to change. It was an interesting contrast to hearing the voice of tribal groups in the remote areas of Kenya begging for their mother tongues to be made into written languages with Bible translations so they can discover the extensive power of the gospel and literacy on their level.
The church needs to be beating down the doors to schools to lead the religious instruction hours and to operate and provide programming for the government sponsored youth centers that are being established. The church needs to provide counseling to students and families along with family programming and training. The next steps were fairly obvious from the compiled data in the focus groups, but it was essential that these suggestions come from Kenyans and not just outsiders coming into Kenya. I’m not sure how cut out for this work I am, and if it’s truly my passion, but it was pretty amazing to be a part of this process.
I have quite a few friends in Kenya now, professors, pastors, students, security guards, and taxi drivers. The friendly guesthouse staff called me at 4:30 a.m. knowing that I wanted to see the election results come in as they happened miles and miles away. Groggily looking through the mosquito netting to see Obama claim victory in my beautiful state of Pennsylvania and a key win in Ohio that sent me back to sleep knowing that the world would wake up to remarkable news that the United States was moving in a new direction. I drove the streets of Nairobi swerving to avoid the spontaneous celebrations in the streets organically errupting in the wake of Obama's victory. People chanting, carrying signs, home made t-shirts, victory notices scrawled in the dust of numerous vehicles that gather layers and layers of dust from the clay filled earth of Nairobi. I was brought to tears seeing the celebrations, the joy and overwhelming significance of this historic event which took place thousands of miles away. My mind was transported to my home in West Philly knowing that the celebrations there would be insane and overwhelmingly joyful. I wept in the car at the thought of my own journey in my racial identity and politics, again questioning who I am and what I want to do with my life. People were so excited and came up to me and I would unbutton the top of my dress shirt to reveal the Obama 08 shirt and give the thumbs up to celebrants reveling in the Nairobi sunshine. What a remarkable experience to be in Kenya for this historic life changing moment. Rarely do I have the humility and confidence in our imperial nation to say that I am proud to be an American. (I am fully prepared to defend that sentiment, and I certainly do not deny the extreme privilege and freedom I experience as an American, particulary a white male, but I'd love to talk about that with anyone who wants! My point is that freedom and privilege quickly lead to fascism, imperialism and arrogance which are often swept under the banner of patriotism and pride)
We worked quite hard on our research project, compiling a 49 page report on the status of youth ministries in Kenya. Kenya has gone through a lot of turbulency this year, most of it stemming from the post-election violence and the reminder of the legacy of tribalism that still exists in the collective conscious of this country. Students responded with widespread rebellion, violence and destruction, setting fire to several schools reflecting the current crisis facing Kenyan youth. In September, my organization oversaw a random stratified qualitative survey of 4000 Kenyan youth to gauge the current issues they face and the root of their discontent. In light of this research, after training 23 focus group facilitators, we conducted 35 focus groups in Western Kenya, Nairobi and the coastal region. We met with NGO's, various government officials, pastors, denominational leadership, youth workers (Christian and public), teachers (urban and rural) and students (age 13-18, urban and rural). We had almost a hundred pages of raw data that I took the lead in consolidating and then a team of five or six of us went through and plugged responses and formulated key points from the focus groups into the research questions that came from strategic planning after the survey of 4000 students was completed. Both the Kenyan government and school system are very open to the church assisting and leading in implementation of youth programs, overhauling the school curriculum and leading the mandatory hour of religion teaching that is a requirement for all schools in Kenya. The church has been very slow to use this incredible opportunity. Youth comprise almost 70% of the population in Kenya, and so all institutions need to figure out how encourage and develop youth, but the church especially ought to be doing this. Media access is rampant and unmonitored in Kenya. Kids were even commenting on wanting guidance in discernment and talking about how easily pornography is accessible through magazines, private computers and public showings in the slums and elsewhere. Meanwhile, the church has remained very distant from the youth, not adapting to the emerging youth culture, operating in irrelevant cultural paradigm, not including the youth in worship or developing/utilizing their gifts and talents. They have basically been dismissed from the church and in their pursuit of freedom, they cry for guidance and structure that is not being provided by parents, schools and the church. It was amazing to watch pastors, youth workers, and teachers conducting focus groups, participating in the process and reading the information realize the extent of the generational gap and the incredible opportunity as well as essential need to incorporate a genuine compassionate and empowering ministry to the youth in the church, the school and the community.
Seeing them process the information and realize apart from our influence, that the church needs to help youth discern appropriate media/technology content, the church needs to use cell phones, the internet and technology to reach youth. Students were practically crying out to be nurtured and empowered by the church, for the church to meet them on their level and love them, not dismiss them, force feed them or force them to change. It was an interesting contrast to hearing the voice of tribal groups in the remote areas of Kenya begging for their mother tongues to be made into written languages with Bible translations so they can discover the extensive power of the gospel and literacy on their level.
The church needs to be beating down the doors to schools to lead the religious instruction hours and to operate and provide programming for the government sponsored youth centers that are being established. The church needs to provide counseling to students and families along with family programming and training. The next steps were fairly obvious from the compiled data in the focus groups, but it was essential that these suggestions come from Kenyans and not just outsiders coming into Kenya. I’m not sure how cut out for this work I am, and if it’s truly my passion, but it was pretty amazing to be a part of this process.
I have quite a few friends in Kenya now, professors, pastors, students, security guards, and taxi drivers. The friendly guesthouse staff called me at 4:30 a.m. knowing that I wanted to see the election results come in as they happened miles and miles away. Groggily looking through the mosquito netting to see Obama claim victory in my beautiful state of Pennsylvania and a key win in Ohio that sent me back to sleep knowing that the world would wake up to remarkable news that the United States was moving in a new direction. I drove the streets of Nairobi swerving to avoid the spontaneous celebrations in the streets organically errupting in the wake of Obama's victory. People chanting, carrying signs, home made t-shirts, victory notices scrawled in the dust of numerous vehicles that gather layers and layers of dust from the clay filled earth of Nairobi. I was brought to tears seeing the celebrations, the joy and overwhelming significance of this historic event which took place thousands of miles away. My mind was transported to my home in West Philly knowing that the celebrations there would be insane and overwhelmingly joyful. I wept in the car at the thought of my own journey in my racial identity and politics, again questioning who I am and what I want to do with my life. People were so excited and came up to me and I would unbutton the top of my dress shirt to reveal the Obama 08 shirt and give the thumbs up to celebrants reveling in the Nairobi sunshine. What a remarkable experience to be in Kenya for this historic life changing moment. Rarely do I have the humility and confidence in our imperial nation to say that I am proud to be an American. (I am fully prepared to defend that sentiment, and I certainly do not deny the extreme privilege and freedom I experience as an American, particulary a white male, but I'd love to talk about that with anyone who wants! My point is that freedom and privilege quickly lead to fascism, imperialism and arrogance which are often swept under the banner of patriotism and pride)
Monday, November 3, 2008
Obamanos
I know that if I were to experience the election in South Florida, I would feel disconnected, being absent from my heart in West Philly. That being said, I prefer to be here in Kenya than to be “home” in South Florida when the elections unfold. Just being here for a week has made me realize how important this election is to Africa and it reflects the pride and ownership that exists in Haddington and Cobbs Creek in West Philly. I realized early in October that I would be in Kenya for November 4th but I had no way of knowing just what an experience that would be.
I certainly don’t advocate voting for Barack Obama because of the historical gravity of a black president. I truly believe despite his abortion policy, he is the better choice for our economy, foreign affairs, tax structures and the most diplomatic and unifying. Bush accomplished nothing in terms of
I was startled to find out that Obama headed the news on all the channels here in English and Swahili, his picture is on the front page of all the papers daily and he is the buzz of many conversations I hear in passing. People brim with pride at the mention of his name. The ma-ta-toos that shuttle people around the city have a bizarre smattering of U.S. and English cultural icons painted on the outsides such as Lil’ Wayne, Manchester United, Nike, Tupac, Dr. King, and many more, but many of them portray Obama’s likeness with messages of change and general pride. There are songs on the radio about Obama and even a musical based on his autobiography, “Dreams of My Father.” A surprising number of people have Obama bumper stickers on their cars. I even saw an “Obamanos” sticker garnishing a passing car today. I laughed at the combination of Obama’s name and the Spanish “vamanos” (let’s go). I wondered how that sticker ended up in Nairobi. People have t-shirts, I saw stickers on a motorbike weaving in and out of traffic. The university students in our focus group training wear eager to talk about Obama and McCain, beyond the normal surface rhetoric that most people employ.
For the most part, while I’m here, I’m supposed to dress professionally, shirt and tie. My boss had to fly up to Cairo for the day on Thursday which afforded me the opportunity to wander the streets of Nairobi. I was quite excited to explore the city, pick up some souvenirs and to flash my Obama ’08 shirt.
I went to the Uchimi Matt where I had seen supporters selling Obama buttons to raise money for Kenyan children. As I was entering the shopping plaza, a taxi driver honked at me, pointing to the Obama button he was sporting. The Obama supporters were quite excited to see me at the table and asked me all sorts of questions. I was looking for some Obama swag that was particular to Kenya, but everything I saw was imported from the U.S. I really was hoping to buy an African Obama item for some of the older women who were my partners and heroes in community work in West Philly. They are my role models and inspire me. Many of my friends and family in Philly have been waiting and hoping to visit Africa, homeland to their ancestors, for 60 or 70 years, and I feel extremely privileged to be here as a young white person.
I have experienced incredible pain and mourning at seeing hopelessness and extreme obstacles to African American youths in Philly. I have seen the concurrent hope and pain that exists in strong African American men and women from older generations who immerse themselves in the realities of black youth in America today. Visiting Kenya has given me such a perspective on my personal ethnic journey. It has taken me many years to truly embrace and love being a white male. That being said, my heart and much of my life has been shaped by African American culture and I feel that I have turned my back on black culture. Being here has made me realize so much, how much I miss West Philly and almost upset and mad that I left. My heart killed to be here and not in Philly to celebrate the Phillies World Championship, but even more than that, I long to be in West Philly to celebrate the pride and joy that will accompany an Obama victory. Today in church as we were singing Swahili hymns in the English service, I saw friends faces in the smiling faces of children running past, singers joyfully offering their worship to God, the style of preaching at the church. I’m still not very sure what to make of that and what that means for me working research and living in comfortable South Florida.
I walked towards the main stadium on my way to the city center and a guy rode by on his bike, turning around to read my shirt and smiling, he turned around several more times as he faded from my path, grinning and giving me the thumbs up. I walked several kilometers to the city center of Nairobi. I was headed to buy some souvenirs, with my main target being the Nairobi Java House which serves amazing coffee. I wanted to pick up some coffee and t-shirts to take home. I was right outside the coffeehouse when a man came up to me and asked me if he could speak with me about education in the U.S. I started talking to him and he said we should grab some tea or coffee. We tried several places, all of which were brimming to overflowing at the 5:30 rush hour. We found a nice little teahouse and sat down and started talking. He introduced himself as Emmanuel and I shared a bit about myself as we chatted over tea. He recounted his story of making his way to Nairobi from Zimbabwe. I had just met Pastor Zoa from Zimbabwe on Sunday and my heart broke to hear the plight of this tortured nation. Here I am a few days later and this man says he’s a Christian from Zimbabwe and has journeyed to Nairobi via buses and trains and that he wants to work, but can’t get a work visa in Kenya and that his temporary visa is expiring shortly and he needs to get to Zanzibar with his two comrades who have an opportunity to go to school in Cincinnati with a professor they met in Uganda.
We had quite a good conversation, and he repeatedly commented on how he was glad that we could speak on a level of equals. Eventually I could tell he was going to ask me to help support him financially. My mind was just grinding over what to do. He essentially asked me for $150 to pay for the three of their tickets. He was somewhat desperate and stressed that if I didn’t have the money, we could go to an ATM and get the rest. I don’t know what I should have done. I ended up giving him just 20 dollars, losing all the excitement that Obama fever had engendered within me.
I walked away feeling awful. I was walking and talking with God and I just said, “Father, forgive me, for I may have just rejected you in your time of need.” I wish I would have suggested going to buy the tickets together, because I would have been willing to do that. I pray for him wherever he is, regardless of his situation. I cringe when people say that going someplace where there is rampant poverty makes them feel blessed and thankful for what they have. I don’t feel blessed or guilty about what I have, I think those are both selfish feelings to have. I tend to feel convicted and an extreme sense of responsibility to use what I’ve been given adequately. In that sense, I wish that I would have done some things differently, but I thank God for the clashing of values and the confrontation of my spiritual attitudes that my encounter with Emmanuel brought me. Again, I pray for him and pray for his nation and ask for his and God’s forgiveness.
I left feeling dirty and confused. I thought about circling back to see if I could find him. I hate the thought of being taken advantage of or targeted because I seem to be a reasonable white person or someone who is easily moved to guilt or obligation. I think that’s crap, I want to be moved by compassion and to respond genuinely and in faith with confidence. Embarrassingly, I decided that I would go buy some souvenirs and sought to distract my mind from the apprehension and discomfort that I felt. I finally made my way to the Nairobi Java House where I was quickly brought back to the Obama-mania. As I tried to figure out what I wanted, a staff of young baristas gathered around me and asked me about what state I was from, what I liked about Obama, and just wanted to hear more about the man. They begged me for my shirt offering to swap my Obama shirt for a free Nairobi Java House shirt. I told them, they were better off searching for a fresh one around town somewhere as mine was tainted by my sweating problem that most of you can attest to. (I had walked at least 4 kilometers to the center of town under the equatorial sun of the Nairobi afternoon.)
I joke that if McCain wins somehow on Tuesday, I’m not going outside for fear of repercussions, but I think there is some truth to that sentiment. There was even a political cartoon referencing that notion in the paper today. On the flipside, I plan to go downtown on Wednesday or Thursday to be part of the celebration that hopefully will accompany Barack’s victory. I await history, and I am excited by Obama, but I still put my stock in the kingdom of God, which is an upside-down kingdom where I am disadvantaged because of my privilege and wealth which I am so reluctant to lay down, despite my ardent efforts. Jesus, save your people, strengthen them and heal them in Kenya, West Philly, Zimbabwe, South Florida and all over the world.
I certainly don’t advocate voting for Barack Obama because of the historical gravity of a black president. I truly believe despite his abortion policy, he is the better choice for our economy, foreign affairs, tax structures and the most diplomatic and unifying. Bush accomplished nothing in terms of
I was startled to find out that Obama headed the news on all the channels here in English and Swahili, his picture is on the front page of all the papers daily and he is the buzz of many conversations I hear in passing. People brim with pride at the mention of his name. The ma-ta-toos that shuttle people around the city have a bizarre smattering of U.S. and English cultural icons painted on the outsides such as Lil’ Wayne, Manchester United, Nike, Tupac, Dr. King, and many more, but many of them portray Obama’s likeness with messages of change and general pride. There are songs on the radio about Obama and even a musical based on his autobiography, “Dreams of My Father.” A surprising number of people have Obama bumper stickers on their cars. I even saw an “Obamanos” sticker garnishing a passing car today. I laughed at the combination of Obama’s name and the Spanish “vamanos” (let’s go). I wondered how that sticker ended up in Nairobi. People have t-shirts, I saw stickers on a motorbike weaving in and out of traffic. The university students in our focus group training wear eager to talk about Obama and McCain, beyond the normal surface rhetoric that most people employ.
For the most part, while I’m here, I’m supposed to dress professionally, shirt and tie. My boss had to fly up to Cairo for the day on Thursday which afforded me the opportunity to wander the streets of Nairobi. I was quite excited to explore the city, pick up some souvenirs and to flash my Obama ’08 shirt.
I went to the Uchimi Matt where I had seen supporters selling Obama buttons to raise money for Kenyan children. As I was entering the shopping plaza, a taxi driver honked at me, pointing to the Obama button he was sporting. The Obama supporters were quite excited to see me at the table and asked me all sorts of questions. I was looking for some Obama swag that was particular to Kenya, but everything I saw was imported from the U.S. I really was hoping to buy an African Obama item for some of the older women who were my partners and heroes in community work in West Philly. They are my role models and inspire me. Many of my friends and family in Philly have been waiting and hoping to visit Africa, homeland to their ancestors, for 60 or 70 years, and I feel extremely privileged to be here as a young white person.
I have experienced incredible pain and mourning at seeing hopelessness and extreme obstacles to African American youths in Philly. I have seen the concurrent hope and pain that exists in strong African American men and women from older generations who immerse themselves in the realities of black youth in America today. Visiting Kenya has given me such a perspective on my personal ethnic journey. It has taken me many years to truly embrace and love being a white male. That being said, my heart and much of my life has been shaped by African American culture and I feel that I have turned my back on black culture. Being here has made me realize so much, how much I miss West Philly and almost upset and mad that I left. My heart killed to be here and not in Philly to celebrate the Phillies World Championship, but even more than that, I long to be in West Philly to celebrate the pride and joy that will accompany an Obama victory. Today in church as we were singing Swahili hymns in the English service, I saw friends faces in the smiling faces of children running past, singers joyfully offering their worship to God, the style of preaching at the church. I’m still not very sure what to make of that and what that means for me working research and living in comfortable South Florida.
I walked towards the main stadium on my way to the city center and a guy rode by on his bike, turning around to read my shirt and smiling, he turned around several more times as he faded from my path, grinning and giving me the thumbs up. I walked several kilometers to the city center of Nairobi. I was headed to buy some souvenirs, with my main target being the Nairobi Java House which serves amazing coffee. I wanted to pick up some coffee and t-shirts to take home. I was right outside the coffeehouse when a man came up to me and asked me if he could speak with me about education in the U.S. I started talking to him and he said we should grab some tea or coffee. We tried several places, all of which were brimming to overflowing at the 5:30 rush hour. We found a nice little teahouse and sat down and started talking. He introduced himself as Emmanuel and I shared a bit about myself as we chatted over tea. He recounted his story of making his way to Nairobi from Zimbabwe. I had just met Pastor Zoa from Zimbabwe on Sunday and my heart broke to hear the plight of this tortured nation. Here I am a few days later and this man says he’s a Christian from Zimbabwe and has journeyed to Nairobi via buses and trains and that he wants to work, but can’t get a work visa in Kenya and that his temporary visa is expiring shortly and he needs to get to Zanzibar with his two comrades who have an opportunity to go to school in Cincinnati with a professor they met in Uganda.
We had quite a good conversation, and he repeatedly commented on how he was glad that we could speak on a level of equals. Eventually I could tell he was going to ask me to help support him financially. My mind was just grinding over what to do. He essentially asked me for $150 to pay for the three of their tickets. He was somewhat desperate and stressed that if I didn’t have the money, we could go to an ATM and get the rest. I don’t know what I should have done. I ended up giving him just 20 dollars, losing all the excitement that Obama fever had engendered within me.
I walked away feeling awful. I was walking and talking with God and I just said, “Father, forgive me, for I may have just rejected you in your time of need.” I wish I would have suggested going to buy the tickets together, because I would have been willing to do that. I pray for him wherever he is, regardless of his situation. I cringe when people say that going someplace where there is rampant poverty makes them feel blessed and thankful for what they have. I don’t feel blessed or guilty about what I have, I think those are both selfish feelings to have. I tend to feel convicted and an extreme sense of responsibility to use what I’ve been given adequately. In that sense, I wish that I would have done some things differently, but I thank God for the clashing of values and the confrontation of my spiritual attitudes that my encounter with Emmanuel brought me. Again, I pray for him and pray for his nation and ask for his and God’s forgiveness.
I left feeling dirty and confused. I thought about circling back to see if I could find him. I hate the thought of being taken advantage of or targeted because I seem to be a reasonable white person or someone who is easily moved to guilt or obligation. I think that’s crap, I want to be moved by compassion and to respond genuinely and in faith with confidence. Embarrassingly, I decided that I would go buy some souvenirs and sought to distract my mind from the apprehension and discomfort that I felt. I finally made my way to the Nairobi Java House where I was quickly brought back to the Obama-mania. As I tried to figure out what I wanted, a staff of young baristas gathered around me and asked me about what state I was from, what I liked about Obama, and just wanted to hear more about the man. They begged me for my shirt offering to swap my Obama shirt for a free Nairobi Java House shirt. I told them, they were better off searching for a fresh one around town somewhere as mine was tainted by my sweating problem that most of you can attest to. (I had walked at least 4 kilometers to the center of town under the equatorial sun of the Nairobi afternoon.)
I joke that if McCain wins somehow on Tuesday, I’m not going outside for fear of repercussions, but I think there is some truth to that sentiment. There was even a political cartoon referencing that notion in the paper today. On the flipside, I plan to go downtown on Wednesday or Thursday to be part of the celebration that hopefully will accompany Barack’s victory. I await history, and I am excited by Obama, but I still put my stock in the kingdom of God, which is an upside-down kingdom where I am disadvantaged because of my privilege and wealth which I am so reluctant to lay down, despite my ardent efforts. Jesus, save your people, strengthen them and heal them in Kenya, West Philly, Zimbabwe, South Florida and all over the world.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Journal from Sunday
Our brains are interesting beasts in the way we look to process new circumstances by tying them to previously cataloged experiences. New things frighten us because we feel powerless and out of control. I practically acclimated myself to Kenya before arriving here through a patchwork of Jamaican experiences, friends anecdotes and television specials. How ironic that we need to deconstruct our perceptions of a place we have never been before in order to engage fully in new cultural settings.
Yesterday morning I was a bit disappointed that we didn’t get to see the Nairobi Marathon which passed close by our guest house. By the time the 15,000+ runners were passing by, we were plenty comfortable in our seats many kilometers away in our friend Peterson’s church. One of the many incredible things about my job is that I get to worship with brothers and sisters around the world. The drive to church was nearly as interesting as church itself. It had rained significantly over night and so the roads were slippery. We drove around downtown Nairobi and into the countryside as we headed towards the church, passing many markets, growing fields and a variety of villages. We drove past the largest slum in Kenya and it is quite overwhelming. The markets near the slums look like stables and are accompanied by a strong odor. I’m not sure I would have felt comfortable wandering these markets, though they looked fascinating. I’ve said it before, but I just love visiting markets and believe that they speak very loudly as to the culture and diversity of nations. Yet another reason to hate Walmart!
The church was located off a main highway and the connecting road was potholed, muddy and quite narrow with water filled ditches menacingly buffering the thin byway. We took a cab there and it was probably the most unfun road I’ve ever been on, and I’ve been in quite a few ghastly roads in developing nations. I couldn’t comprehend sliding so much on a mud road; it was like a sheet of ice.
My boss was preaching at the church and he was actually speaking about churches roles in the communities where they are located. He spoke on how we are to intercede, identify and influence the communities where we are placed. It was an interesting sermon considering that we had recently driven past the main slum in Kenya where half a million people live in some of the worst poverty imaginable. Thinking about neighborhoods and loving the people where you live and loving where you live was so foreign to me as my boss preached because frankly, right now I don’t really have a home right now and when I picture “my” neighborhood it’s back in West Philly and no where near South Florida. I question whether I’ve sold out to my core beliefs, I’m uncomfortable not living in a “poor” community. My life model has been to live carnationally in a marginalized community and live out a ministry of presence. That’s not my paradigm right now and I don’t know how to deal with it and whether or not I’m being true to myself with my current job. My flesh reaction to the sermon was, drop me off in the slums and pick me up in a year or two, I got to get out of this suit, this pseudo-corporate job and South Florida.
My boss gave a good sermon, he spoke very loud and oddly enough, I found his cadence somewhat reminiscent of Dwight Shrute’s, “Workers of the world unite speech.” I’m not sure why, but I started thinking about that and then my mind bounced to thinking about the Swahili song we sang in the English service that I didn’t really know what was about, but it had the word “Hakuna” in it and come on, that’s funny. I’m so immature sometimes, I’m going to go with I need a balance for all the serious and heavy things that I find myself drawn towards. Maybe I needed a temporary reprieve from the weight of the brief offertory testimony. My boss gave a great message, but my heart was most touched by the brief testimony of another guest that morning. Pastor Zoa was in graduate coursework with Peterson’s wife and was staying with the pastors family since he’s from Zimbabwe. I like to consider myself to be a good white person, “aware” of many things going on around the world, but I had no idea about the situation in Zimbabwe. The pastor was asking Zoa questions about the current situations in Zimbabwe where corruption, political unrest and a failing economy have thrown the country into utter turmoil where the average salary for a month can only purchase a loaf of bread and a soda. They somewhat joked that Zoa was a billionaire, quickly following that up by saying that a loaf of bread costs 55,000,000 Zimbabwean Dollars.
He broke down in tears and was clearly overwhelmed as he processed things audibly and faced in a new way the gravity of his people’s situation. I spoke with him at length at lunch and after the service and his congregation is on the outskirts of the slums of Harare and the church is made up of approximately half wealthy folks and half people from the slums. I can’t imagine what the dynamics would be like when the situation is so drastic and so in your face. I asked him how the wealthy dealt with the immediate confrontation of poverty in their congregation. He said that people that were uncomfortable with the poor left the church long ago and that those that remained were committed to being the church and that there was more tension than normal, but that it was to him a great picture of the gospel. I sat there at lunch and thought, man that’s where I should move. I want to be part of that kind of church.
We went to lunch at a Kenyan restaurant and I can’t imagine what Pastor Zoa was thinking. We had this green thing that looks like jello, called eeole that sounds a bit like, e-i-e-i-o and that’s what my boss calls it, but it’s this conglomeration of potatoes, green beans, corn and some other vegetables whipped together and put in a mold before being served. English football is huge, huge in Africa. Interestingly, I’ve started to get a bit more into the Premier League and international club teams and I can hold a conversation and understand the significance of the Liverpool vs. Chelsea game on Sunday that everyone was watching at the restaurant we went to. Other than the green food and everyone watching soccer, the only thing that was different about the restaurant experience were all the flies outside and the camel tied to the parking gate.
My bed here at the Presbyterian guest house is very firm and I sleep through most noises at night, including the early morning prayer call from the mosque next door. It’s rather loud apparently and my boss can’t believe that I don’t wake up. The traffic is awful around the neighborhood especially when it’s around prayer time at the mosque. There’s a tiny balcony attached to my room and it’s a good thinking and writing spot with a nice little view. Nairobi has all these giant three to four foot tall storks that are just huge and are everywhere and they graze about in the backyard with the vibrant flowers of the Kenyan Springtime in the shadows of the huge mosque that consumes much of the landscape. The sun sets over the mosque displaying beautiful colors on the minarets and metallic domes as the sun down prayer sets the backdrop of the end of the day in West Nairobi.
Yesterday morning I was a bit disappointed that we didn’t get to see the Nairobi Marathon which passed close by our guest house. By the time the 15,000+ runners were passing by, we were plenty comfortable in our seats many kilometers away in our friend Peterson’s church. One of the many incredible things about my job is that I get to worship with brothers and sisters around the world. The drive to church was nearly as interesting as church itself. It had rained significantly over night and so the roads were slippery. We drove around downtown Nairobi and into the countryside as we headed towards the church, passing many markets, growing fields and a variety of villages. We drove past the largest slum in Kenya and it is quite overwhelming. The markets near the slums look like stables and are accompanied by a strong odor. I’m not sure I would have felt comfortable wandering these markets, though they looked fascinating. I’ve said it before, but I just love visiting markets and believe that they speak very loudly as to the culture and diversity of nations. Yet another reason to hate Walmart!
The church was located off a main highway and the connecting road was potholed, muddy and quite narrow with water filled ditches menacingly buffering the thin byway. We took a cab there and it was probably the most unfun road I’ve ever been on, and I’ve been in quite a few ghastly roads in developing nations. I couldn’t comprehend sliding so much on a mud road; it was like a sheet of ice.
My boss was preaching at the church and he was actually speaking about churches roles in the communities where they are located. He spoke on how we are to intercede, identify and influence the communities where we are placed. It was an interesting sermon considering that we had recently driven past the main slum in Kenya where half a million people live in some of the worst poverty imaginable. Thinking about neighborhoods and loving the people where you live and loving where you live was so foreign to me as my boss preached because frankly, right now I don’t really have a home right now and when I picture “my” neighborhood it’s back in West Philly and no where near South Florida. I question whether I’ve sold out to my core beliefs, I’m uncomfortable not living in a “poor” community. My life model has been to live carnationally in a marginalized community and live out a ministry of presence. That’s not my paradigm right now and I don’t know how to deal with it and whether or not I’m being true to myself with my current job. My flesh reaction to the sermon was, drop me off in the slums and pick me up in a year or two, I got to get out of this suit, this pseudo-corporate job and South Florida.
My boss gave a good sermon, he spoke very loud and oddly enough, I found his cadence somewhat reminiscent of Dwight Shrute’s, “Workers of the world unite speech.” I’m not sure why, but I started thinking about that and then my mind bounced to thinking about the Swahili song we sang in the English service that I didn’t really know what was about, but it had the word “Hakuna” in it and come on, that’s funny. I’m so immature sometimes, I’m going to go with I need a balance for all the serious and heavy things that I find myself drawn towards. Maybe I needed a temporary reprieve from the weight of the brief offertory testimony. My boss gave a great message, but my heart was most touched by the brief testimony of another guest that morning. Pastor Zoa was in graduate coursework with Peterson’s wife and was staying with the pastors family since he’s from Zimbabwe. I like to consider myself to be a good white person, “aware” of many things going on around the world, but I had no idea about the situation in Zimbabwe. The pastor was asking Zoa questions about the current situations in Zimbabwe where corruption, political unrest and a failing economy have thrown the country into utter turmoil where the average salary for a month can only purchase a loaf of bread and a soda. They somewhat joked that Zoa was a billionaire, quickly following that up by saying that a loaf of bread costs 55,000,000 Zimbabwean Dollars.
He broke down in tears and was clearly overwhelmed as he processed things audibly and faced in a new way the gravity of his people’s situation. I spoke with him at length at lunch and after the service and his congregation is on the outskirts of the slums of Harare and the church is made up of approximately half wealthy folks and half people from the slums. I can’t imagine what the dynamics would be like when the situation is so drastic and so in your face. I asked him how the wealthy dealt with the immediate confrontation of poverty in their congregation. He said that people that were uncomfortable with the poor left the church long ago and that those that remained were committed to being the church and that there was more tension than normal, but that it was to him a great picture of the gospel. I sat there at lunch and thought, man that’s where I should move. I want to be part of that kind of church.
We went to lunch at a Kenyan restaurant and I can’t imagine what Pastor Zoa was thinking. We had this green thing that looks like jello, called eeole that sounds a bit like, e-i-e-i-o and that’s what my boss calls it, but it’s this conglomeration of potatoes, green beans, corn and some other vegetables whipped together and put in a mold before being served. English football is huge, huge in Africa. Interestingly, I’ve started to get a bit more into the Premier League and international club teams and I can hold a conversation and understand the significance of the Liverpool vs. Chelsea game on Sunday that everyone was watching at the restaurant we went to. Other than the green food and everyone watching soccer, the only thing that was different about the restaurant experience were all the flies outside and the camel tied to the parking gate.
My bed here at the Presbyterian guest house is very firm and I sleep through most noises at night, including the early morning prayer call from the mosque next door. It’s rather loud apparently and my boss can’t believe that I don’t wake up. The traffic is awful around the neighborhood especially when it’s around prayer time at the mosque. There’s a tiny balcony attached to my room and it’s a good thinking and writing spot with a nice little view. Nairobi has all these giant three to four foot tall storks that are just huge and are everywhere and they graze about in the backyard with the vibrant flowers of the Kenyan Springtime in the shadows of the huge mosque that consumes much of the landscape. The sun sets over the mosque displaying beautiful colors on the minarets and metallic domes as the sun down prayer sets the backdrop of the end of the day in West Nairobi.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
God bless the rains down in Africa
I've always wanted to sing that cheesey Toto song while traveling in Africa, I just thought of it now, luckily I still have some weeks to go. Clearly, I made it to Nairobi. My body is so confused about sleep, but I've had such sleeping difficulties the past year and a half that jet lag doesn't seem too noticeable or time changes. I suppose that's ironic or something like that. I worked this morning on a report for my boss and then we spent the afternoon walking around South Nairobi where we're staying at a church guest house, which is a nice little hostel of sorts. We went to a walking Safari where we got to see Kenyan animals, which was sweet. Rhinos are always my favorite, of course. There are lots of cool animal statues and artwork all over. I think an actual safari would be crazy, but I'm not sure if it will happen b/c my boss is going to Cairo for a few days this week.
The walking safari had rickety wooden boardwalks elevated 15-20 feet above the ground and you got to walk over different animals and habitats. Many zebras are orange from rolling around in the clay of the ground, I never really thought about that before and found that really cool. There were giant open spaces with ostriches, wildebeast, gazelles, zebras, tortoises and other creatures cohabitating. All of the big game animals had their own habitats; it was somewhat like a zoo but definitely had a more organic and natural feel. We went to a restaurant that was in the trees, they actually had an Octoberfest there which was amusing to me. The big Kenyan beer is called "Tusker" and it's pretty good. They have the history of the beer on the label and I was quite surprised to find out that it's named for the rogue elephant who trampled and killed one of the founding brewers of the beer. That is bizarre. So we sipped a Tusker during our meal in the tree house that overlooked a waterhole with a herd of those funny looking red bottomed baboons. An interesting setting to say the least.
Kenya reminds me of Jamaica a bit, but is very different, i keep reminding myself i'm in Africa. I had to wait in line to purchase a visa and it took forever and there was no airconditioning at the airport. It's spring here and it's really quite reasonable, 60-70's, but the airport was steaming hot and the immigrations lady moved methodically slow. Anyhow, I am chastising myself for grumbling shortly after I gathered my bags and we're walking and the airport all of a sudden transitions from an indoor lobby to a patio and you're outside before you know it and I'm like, "Oh my goodness, I'm in Africa!" The thrill of africa was temporarily overtaken by the thrill of getting in a car with the steering wheel on the right for the first time. Waking up this morning and seeing the city in daylight quickly replaced that thrill.
Walking around the markets was so much fun. You can learn so much about a culture by their food, how they sell it and how things smell. Most people speak some English if not fluently, so people enjoyed coming up to us and starting conversations, half looking for handouts, but that comes with the territory. My boss knows a handful of people in Nairobi and we actually ran into one of them at the market, which was quite remarkable. Walking through a strange city in a foreign culture is a good way to get to know someone and I'm glad I get to know my boss this way. He has been here several times, which even though it takes a bit away from the adventure, is comforting.
Downtown Nairobi looks like the 1970's. It's pretty nice and we checked out the parliament buildings and other state buildings. There are some nice looking buildings too, but i wasn't blown away by any of the buildings. I asked the taxi driver about the upcoming elections after a moto bike passed us with a couple Obama stickers on the back. I saw someone wearing an Obama shirt yesterday walking in the market and the cabbie said that people are really excited about the elections, but he thinks that the CIA controls everything, elections included, in the U.S. and that we don't have true democracy. I laughed and told him I couldn't completely disagree with his theory(I believe that statement was more true up until the late 80's, can't say for sure now). Anywho, that's a whole different can of worms that I'm not opening.
Tomorrow we are going to church with our main research coordinator, named Peterson. My boss, who has has a doctorate of divinity is preaching. Today when we were out and about we saw signs stating that many of the streets are going to be closed for a race tomorrow. Turns out there is a Nairobi Marathon running tomorrow and it's going to go right past where we are staying. I so wish I hadn't stopped running when I moved to Florida. There's a 10K and I'm half tempted to jump in it even though I'm in god-awful shape right now and Nairobi has a good bit of altitude. When do you get to run a race in Kenya? There's a half marathon too that I could have done if this were a month ago, oh well.
Well, I'd post pictures, but I'm on a suspect internet connection. I'm very grateful for it though, don't get it twisted! My room surprisingly has a tv and I turned it on and TBN was on. I was not pleased to say the least, of all the media and culture we export to the world, why TBN? Oh well, not my battle. More to come.
The walking safari had rickety wooden boardwalks elevated 15-20 feet above the ground and you got to walk over different animals and habitats. Many zebras are orange from rolling around in the clay of the ground, I never really thought about that before and found that really cool. There were giant open spaces with ostriches, wildebeast, gazelles, zebras, tortoises and other creatures cohabitating. All of the big game animals had their own habitats; it was somewhat like a zoo but definitely had a more organic and natural feel. We went to a restaurant that was in the trees, they actually had an Octoberfest there which was amusing to me. The big Kenyan beer is called "Tusker" and it's pretty good. They have the history of the beer on the label and I was quite surprised to find out that it's named for the rogue elephant who trampled and killed one of the founding brewers of the beer. That is bizarre. So we sipped a Tusker during our meal in the tree house that overlooked a waterhole with a herd of those funny looking red bottomed baboons. An interesting setting to say the least.
Kenya reminds me of Jamaica a bit, but is very different, i keep reminding myself i'm in Africa. I had to wait in line to purchase a visa and it took forever and there was no airconditioning at the airport. It's spring here and it's really quite reasonable, 60-70's, but the airport was steaming hot and the immigrations lady moved methodically slow. Anyhow, I am chastising myself for grumbling shortly after I gathered my bags and we're walking and the airport all of a sudden transitions from an indoor lobby to a patio and you're outside before you know it and I'm like, "Oh my goodness, I'm in Africa!" The thrill of africa was temporarily overtaken by the thrill of getting in a car with the steering wheel on the right for the first time. Waking up this morning and seeing the city in daylight quickly replaced that thrill.
Walking around the markets was so much fun. You can learn so much about a culture by their food, how they sell it and how things smell. Most people speak some English if not fluently, so people enjoyed coming up to us and starting conversations, half looking for handouts, but that comes with the territory. My boss knows a handful of people in Nairobi and we actually ran into one of them at the market, which was quite remarkable. Walking through a strange city in a foreign culture is a good way to get to know someone and I'm glad I get to know my boss this way. He has been here several times, which even though it takes a bit away from the adventure, is comforting.
Downtown Nairobi looks like the 1970's. It's pretty nice and we checked out the parliament buildings and other state buildings. There are some nice looking buildings too, but i wasn't blown away by any of the buildings. I asked the taxi driver about the upcoming elections after a moto bike passed us with a couple Obama stickers on the back. I saw someone wearing an Obama shirt yesterday walking in the market and the cabbie said that people are really excited about the elections, but he thinks that the CIA controls everything, elections included, in the U.S. and that we don't have true democracy. I laughed and told him I couldn't completely disagree with his theory(I believe that statement was more true up until the late 80's, can't say for sure now). Anywho, that's a whole different can of worms that I'm not opening.
Tomorrow we are going to church with our main research coordinator, named Peterson. My boss, who has has a doctorate of divinity is preaching. Today when we were out and about we saw signs stating that many of the streets are going to be closed for a race tomorrow. Turns out there is a Nairobi Marathon running tomorrow and it's going to go right past where we are staying. I so wish I hadn't stopped running when I moved to Florida. There's a 10K and I'm half tempted to jump in it even though I'm in god-awful shape right now and Nairobi has a good bit of altitude. When do you get to run a race in Kenya? There's a half marathon too that I could have done if this were a month ago, oh well.
Well, I'd post pictures, but I'm on a suspect internet connection. I'm very grateful for it though, don't get it twisted! My room surprisingly has a tv and I turned it on and TBN was on. I was not pleased to say the least, of all the media and culture we export to the world, why TBN? Oh well, not my battle. More to come.
Friday, October 24, 2008
London Calling
Sitting in some fancy executive lounge for British Airways in Heathrow on my way to kenya. My boss flies so much he has executive status and so i get to tag along. The lounge is fancy pants to the nth degree and i sure don't fit in even though i'm dressed the part (ok, i am a good new refined white man eating my fancy cheese with wine and coffee) Everyone has their financial newspaper and walk around all important like and i just laugh to myself. I'm bummed the phillies lost last night, but hopefully i'll be able to follow them and Barack to victories while i'm in kenya. the thought of being in kenya when obama wins is pretty amazing. If i couldn't be in west philly, kenya is where i'd like to experience such a historic and empowering moment. some of my friends told me how 20000 showed up on the deuce (52nd Street) in west philly a few weeks ago to see obama drive by.
i remember being at an mlk tribute concert on the advent of super tuesday and just getting chills as i sensed the gravity of what an obama presidency would mean to our country, specifically the black community. certainly just blindly voting for obama because he is black is a scary thought, of which i'm not advocating, but seeings as how i believe in much of his politics, plenty i don't agree with, i fullheartedly pray that i get to experience some of the pride that will erupt should he win. As crazy as the parade down broad street will be for the phillies, i imagine the pride, enthusiasm and celebration for an obama victory would exceed that in my old neighborhood. i miss it terribly. haha, well, this post from london took an interesting twist.
if my boss doesn't have to leave for egypt while we're in kenya, i might get to go on a safari!
Godspeed.
i remember being at an mlk tribute concert on the advent of super tuesday and just getting chills as i sensed the gravity of what an obama presidency would mean to our country, specifically the black community. certainly just blindly voting for obama because he is black is a scary thought, of which i'm not advocating, but seeings as how i believe in much of his politics, plenty i don't agree with, i fullheartedly pray that i get to experience some of the pride that will erupt should he win. As crazy as the parade down broad street will be for the phillies, i imagine the pride, enthusiasm and celebration for an obama victory would exceed that in my old neighborhood. i miss it terribly. haha, well, this post from london took an interesting twist.
if my boss doesn't have to leave for egypt while we're in kenya, i might get to go on a safari!
Godspeed.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Out with a bang… when will I learn?
I waited a while to write this blog entry because I didn’t want to concern my mom before I left Philadelphia. Seems like worlds ago. Yesterday I ate a Philadelphia Roll at the Sushi restaurant in Kiev and I’ve been updating my Russian and Ukrainian friends about the progress of the Phils and they have experienced my Philly pride. I suppose it’s rather fitting that my final adventure in this chapter of my Philadelphia story ends on a basketball court in the projects. I procrastinated finishing my four page newsletter for the WestSide Weekly for quite sometime. I left work early to try and start it, but quickly realized I needed a basketball fix to get me back in gear. Usually there are just middle and highschoolers running ball on the court, but tonight, there were a group of older guys playing too. I jumped in the roughhouse game late and missed a bunch of shots at the start. I hustle, that’s what I do and I worked for a lot of boards and started to eventually find my rhythm and came up pretty quick towards the end of the game. Feeling pretty confident, I transitioned into the 3 on 3 games rather well and started out my game on a hot streak. I was the smallest on the court and “Y” was guarding me and I gave up about 4 inches and 50/60 pounds to him. I started out the game playing solid defense and picked up some steals and some nice dimes. I started shooting and I started hitting. They started jockin him pretty hard because I was making facials, fade aways and was laying him up. I was smoking and I knew it, but I just shrugged and played it cool. We played to 16 and I made about 10 of the points and we blew them out and they demanded a rematch. They switched off me and I lit up that guy too.
For our third game, Y switched back to cover me, by this time I was feeling pretty comfortable and started some friendly banter and smack talk. They were playing rough, but were calling ticky tack fouls, were setting moving screens and fudging the count too. I find myself having to prove myself and my identity on the ball court, especially if I’m the only white person playing. If I don’t know most of the people, I get suspicious that they are judging me or treating me differently because I’m white. That doesn’t sit well with me. Y starts saying stuff to me, but I’m still killing him and so it doesn’t bother me. They’re calling every thing against them and when you play street ball you don’t call much if anything. I’m a whiny player and I rarely call anything. Then they start messing up the score again and my team’s getting frustrated with them. They blatantly got the score wrong and you have to win by two and they weren’t being logical. My team reasoned with them and I made the mistake of prefacing a comment with, “I have a college…” I stopped midstream, realizing that was not the right course to go, but the damage was done. Y of all people was not happy and he stepped to me and swung at me. I stood there in his face as he said something about disrespecting his block. I was pretty livid at that point and I said to him, “This is my fucking block too, I’ve put myself on the line for this place for three years, don’t give me that shit.” Well, he didn’t like that statement either and smacked me again in the face. His own teammate, Mitch stepped in and punched him as I slipped off shaking from hurt pride and a numb face.
Why did I feel like this 20 something year old that runs the street validates or invalidates my heart and my time in my neighborhood? Even if only for an instant, I gave him power over me to dictate the fruitfulness of my time here. Looking back, I don’t regret standing up for myself. I certainly didn’t need to justify to him or anyone else that my time here has been worthwhile to me or to the community. I learned so much in my time in Philly, but yet I clearly am still immature. It would have been an awful experience had I not played lights out ball. Looking back, I find it comical and naïve of me, but it could have gotten a lot worse. I don’t back down and I don’t believe in violence. That makes for an interesting combination, especially when you don’t know what to do. Shane talks about doing crazy unexpected things to diffuse the situation, but I can’t imagine what barking like a dog or running around with my shirt off would have accomplished.
I walked off in the dark night, not sure of what my face looked like, but not wanting to see anyone. I walked up towards McDonalds and someone called out to me from the other side of the street to see if I was cool, but I don’t think they saw my face. I went up to Shepard Recreation Center, which is my thinking spot. I sat down for a while to think and I called Dre up and was like, um, so I got punched in the face running my mouth and killing at ball in the projects. I was clearly shaken up and didn’t talk much, but just wanted a comforting voice. After collecting my composure, I started to walk back home.
Living with 6 other vastly different people in a small row house was quite a trying experience, but full of so many good experiences and challenges. One downside is that you don’t have much privacy, and everyone knows your business, especially if you have a six year old brother who wants to hang out with you every minute of the day and you don’t have a door to your downstairs apartment. I peeped in the window and didn’t see anyone, so I made a dash for the freezer, grabbed an ice pack and hit the entry way to my room and was home free. No one had seen me. I sat and sulked with my ice pack, watching some baseball and a few minutes later, Ma Linda called downstairs and asked if I was okay. Of course I said, yeah I’m fine. She calls me upstairs, and I told her I was getting ready to take a shower, but that I was cool. She followed that up asking something about what happened to me playing basketball. I thought to myself, dang, everyone always knows everything that happens around here. Word had traveled to her in a matter of minutes about the altercation at the projects. I explained it to her and said it was no big deal, and she says, “Oh helllll noooo, they did not do that to you.” She practically lurches for the door ready to march off into the projects and give them hell for messing with me. I laughed at the picture I had in my head and she might be a rather short 60 year old woman, but I have no doubt she would do some damage, people don’t mess with her, and she doesn’t put up with people messing with her family.
She tells people I’m her son, and she would be offended if I called her anything but ma or granma. She laughs when people ask her how her light skinned son with curly hair is doing, and I think that’s a pretty beautiful picture of the kingdom of God. I’ve learned so much from her and her family. How she takes in her childrens friends, guys who don’t have a place to live, a young mother who doesn’t know what she’s doing, a stranger on oxygen who would be homeless without her, and me, a scrubby pilgrim trying to make sense of the kingdom of God. I miss Philadelphia. As I write this in the airport in Kiev, South Florida is as foreign to me as the Ukraine. I’m not exactly sure what God has called me here for, but I know that I am where I’m supposed to be. God has a sense of humor. I’ll likely be in Kenya when my beloved Phillies win the World Series and my heart will be in many places, but especially my city starving for a championship and starving for the gospel. Oh, but it is there, make no mistake about it, and the gospel I carry around the world and in Florida would be but milk were it not for everything I learned and laid down in West Philly. I still have a bit of a hot head and do stupid things regularly, but I’m not the same naïve kid that moved to West Philly and I have a strong feeling that I’ll be back and it will be for a lot more than 3 years.
The day that I was leaving I stopped by Vince’s apartment after Thaddeus, Vince and I got breakfast that morning at the McDonald’s a block from my house. For the first time since the basketball episode, I walked up the steps in the dank stairwell of the projects, knowing it would be my last time for quite some time. I hung out with Vince and Country for a minute before giving my last hugs, sending up some prayers and holding back some tears. As I walked out, the smell of marijuana permeated the stale air. It was a smell I had grown accustomed to and familiar with. As I opened the door and walked out some guys were about to scatter cautious that my presence signaled police enforcement, but they quickly relaxed and one of the guys muttered, “Nah, it’s cool, it’s just Pete.” I smiled to myself as I walked to my car and I begged God to give me understanding as to why I came here, why I was leaving now, and hoping to return someday for good.
For our third game, Y switched back to cover me, by this time I was feeling pretty comfortable and started some friendly banter and smack talk. They were playing rough, but were calling ticky tack fouls, were setting moving screens and fudging the count too. I find myself having to prove myself and my identity on the ball court, especially if I’m the only white person playing. If I don’t know most of the people, I get suspicious that they are judging me or treating me differently because I’m white. That doesn’t sit well with me. Y starts saying stuff to me, but I’m still killing him and so it doesn’t bother me. They’re calling every thing against them and when you play street ball you don’t call much if anything. I’m a whiny player and I rarely call anything. Then they start messing up the score again and my team’s getting frustrated with them. They blatantly got the score wrong and you have to win by two and they weren’t being logical. My team reasoned with them and I made the mistake of prefacing a comment with, “I have a college…” I stopped midstream, realizing that was not the right course to go, but the damage was done. Y of all people was not happy and he stepped to me and swung at me. I stood there in his face as he said something about disrespecting his block. I was pretty livid at that point and I said to him, “This is my fucking block too, I’ve put myself on the line for this place for three years, don’t give me that shit.” Well, he didn’t like that statement either and smacked me again in the face. His own teammate, Mitch stepped in and punched him as I slipped off shaking from hurt pride and a numb face.
Why did I feel like this 20 something year old that runs the street validates or invalidates my heart and my time in my neighborhood? Even if only for an instant, I gave him power over me to dictate the fruitfulness of my time here. Looking back, I don’t regret standing up for myself. I certainly didn’t need to justify to him or anyone else that my time here has been worthwhile to me or to the community. I learned so much in my time in Philly, but yet I clearly am still immature. It would have been an awful experience had I not played lights out ball. Looking back, I find it comical and naïve of me, but it could have gotten a lot worse. I don’t back down and I don’t believe in violence. That makes for an interesting combination, especially when you don’t know what to do. Shane talks about doing crazy unexpected things to diffuse the situation, but I can’t imagine what barking like a dog or running around with my shirt off would have accomplished.
I walked off in the dark night, not sure of what my face looked like, but not wanting to see anyone. I walked up towards McDonalds and someone called out to me from the other side of the street to see if I was cool, but I don’t think they saw my face. I went up to Shepard Recreation Center, which is my thinking spot. I sat down for a while to think and I called Dre up and was like, um, so I got punched in the face running my mouth and killing at ball in the projects. I was clearly shaken up and didn’t talk much, but just wanted a comforting voice. After collecting my composure, I started to walk back home.
Living with 6 other vastly different people in a small row house was quite a trying experience, but full of so many good experiences and challenges. One downside is that you don’t have much privacy, and everyone knows your business, especially if you have a six year old brother who wants to hang out with you every minute of the day and you don’t have a door to your downstairs apartment. I peeped in the window and didn’t see anyone, so I made a dash for the freezer, grabbed an ice pack and hit the entry way to my room and was home free. No one had seen me. I sat and sulked with my ice pack, watching some baseball and a few minutes later, Ma Linda called downstairs and asked if I was okay. Of course I said, yeah I’m fine. She calls me upstairs, and I told her I was getting ready to take a shower, but that I was cool. She followed that up asking something about what happened to me playing basketball. I thought to myself, dang, everyone always knows everything that happens around here. Word had traveled to her in a matter of minutes about the altercation at the projects. I explained it to her and said it was no big deal, and she says, “Oh helllll noooo, they did not do that to you.” She practically lurches for the door ready to march off into the projects and give them hell for messing with me. I laughed at the picture I had in my head and she might be a rather short 60 year old woman, but I have no doubt she would do some damage, people don’t mess with her, and she doesn’t put up with people messing with her family.
She tells people I’m her son, and she would be offended if I called her anything but ma or granma. She laughs when people ask her how her light skinned son with curly hair is doing, and I think that’s a pretty beautiful picture of the kingdom of God. I’ve learned so much from her and her family. How she takes in her childrens friends, guys who don’t have a place to live, a young mother who doesn’t know what she’s doing, a stranger on oxygen who would be homeless without her, and me, a scrubby pilgrim trying to make sense of the kingdom of God. I miss Philadelphia. As I write this in the airport in Kiev, South Florida is as foreign to me as the Ukraine. I’m not exactly sure what God has called me here for, but I know that I am where I’m supposed to be. God has a sense of humor. I’ll likely be in Kenya when my beloved Phillies win the World Series and my heart will be in many places, but especially my city starving for a championship and starving for the gospel. Oh, but it is there, make no mistake about it, and the gospel I carry around the world and in Florida would be but milk were it not for everything I learned and laid down in West Philly. I still have a bit of a hot head and do stupid things regularly, but I’m not the same naïve kid that moved to West Philly and I have a strong feeling that I’ll be back and it will be for a lot more than 3 years.
The day that I was leaving I stopped by Vince’s apartment after Thaddeus, Vince and I got breakfast that morning at the McDonald’s a block from my house. For the first time since the basketball episode, I walked up the steps in the dank stairwell of the projects, knowing it would be my last time for quite some time. I hung out with Vince and Country for a minute before giving my last hugs, sending up some prayers and holding back some tears. As I walked out, the smell of marijuana permeated the stale air. It was a smell I had grown accustomed to and familiar with. As I opened the door and walked out some guys were about to scatter cautious that my presence signaled police enforcement, but they quickly relaxed and one of the guys muttered, “Nah, it’s cool, it’s just Pete.” I smiled to myself as I walked to my car and I begged God to give me understanding as to why I came here, why I was leaving now, and hoping to return someday for good.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Paris minute
The French are rather stingy with their wireless networks! I've been looking all night. I pretty much just didn't sleep tonight and figured I should wander the city and check out the eiffel tower and champs elysee and all that good stuff. Good food, roaming the city with crepes and wine and good cheese. I get to see the sun rise on the Seine River. I love this city. More later, you only get 15 minutes! A few pissy parisians so far. My taxi driver from the airport was not happy that he waited for an hour and a half in line and that my hotel was only 10 minutes from the airport. It's not my fault, sorry buddy.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Da Amerikanska
Kiev is gorgeous. Here are some spots I went today. Finally got to spend some serious time exploring the city. There are so many Russian Orthodox Churches that are just gorgeous. The one below is called St. Andrews and it's right next to a big market which is real cool. It looks out over the city. Kolya took us around. He speaks English better than I do and he cracks jokes on me all the time. He knows the city and the country so well. He took us to the victory statue below. It's huge! He said they call it Big Mama, but i'm pretty sure he was kidding. claro que si. They actually cut the sword so that it would be shorter than the tallest Russian Orthodox Monastery in the city. It's bigger than the Statue of Liberty and it's quite overwhelming. The city is so cool, i'll post pictures and more later. I tell everyone about Philadelphia and I'm so proud of my Phils!
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Can't Beet Em
This picture doesn't do justice to the restaurant where we ate lunch today. It was absolutely stunning. I took a few pictures of my own. After I went to the bathroom, I told my co-worker Reni that the bathroom was so nice I might take a picture of it. She laughed and half an hour later, when she returned from the bathroom, she said, "Yeah, Pete, you need to take a picture of the bathrooms."
I am a touch overwhelmed by how blessed I am in my new job. I am paid to travel the world, do math and ensure proper research, meet brothers and sisters in Christ, participate in some evangelism outreaches, like tomorrow in Kiev and I'm participating in a distribution of the Book of Hope in Kenya as well, and my "ministry associates" at Metadigm are so awesome and encouraging. I'm real excited to be a part of this organization and feel like I have a much better picture of what I'm doing and what we do as an organization.
I had borscht, which is a real traditional Ukrainian beets, potato and beef soup (see picture below). I hated beets growing up, but I had this soup and I could eat it every day. Today at lunch was the second time I had it and it was so good. Who knew I could like beets? They julienne the beets and they are crispy but flavor infused and there are chunks of potatos that absorb so much flavor and are really soft. Oh it is so good. They put sour cream on everything, especially borscht. They also cook pretty much everything in lots of butter. I had Caucasian Style Veal for my main course, which I found hilarious, but Ilya just laughed at me and explained to me that it's from the Caucus region and that's how they prepare it there.
Last night I had a salad with roquefort cheese and bacon that was served on a fresh baked roll. It was the best meatless sandwich I've ever had. It was one of the best meals I've had in a long time, although they did play an entire Enrique Iglesias album which was just awful. The coffee isn't very good here though. I can deal with it in the short term and could import it in. 
Stolen from Emails
I have a bit of an internet connection here and I have skype so I can call anyone to your computer with a built in microphone or a headset for free on my computer! It's a beautiful thing and as Napoleon (Dynamite and not Bonaparte) says, "I love technology!" I confess that most of this entry is stolen from emails i sent to others. Deal with it ;cp
I had a beautiful stroll exploring the streets of Kiev last night. I got such a better idea of the city than the time that we spent here earlier. There are a ton of expensive clothing places, many of them in the what seems to be miles of underground shopping areas, which are a touch dirty but are spruced up by chic bistros, bars and coffee spots. I swear one out of every two people walking by had a long stemmed rose or other flower in their hands, including the men. If they didn't have a flower, they were probably drinking a beer. Lots of alcohol. We went to a Ukrainian buffet last night and I really like the food here. It's rather different. There are some gorgeous pedestrian walkways and there are all these underpasses so that the people walk under the traffic bustling above them. That's where all the shops and such come into play as well as hustlers and all the flower venders with their wide array of fresh cut flowers. Kiev, like most cities has a vivid contrast of old verse new and it's really interesting to see the dynamic because much of the history and architecture is above ground and in the forefront while the modern parts sprout off and shoot up side streets and avenues and take up the underground. There are all kinds of fountains, sculptures and monuments. Lots of gold, domed roofs and sweeping views of the city and the river that divides it. You can tell it'd be gorgeous in winter with a bit of snow and a frozen river. Dad would love it I'm sure. There are some really tall statues and gorgeous business and governmental buildings that surround the independence plaza.
This is from an email i sent to someone from Philly it has a bit about my job. It's 5 p.m. here (7 hours ahead) I flew in through Paris and get to spend a day there before heading back to Miami and ten I'm home for three days before going to Kenya for almost 20 days. We do research for mostly Christian organizations that distribute Bibles or gospel reading material for youth and study the impact and outcome that distributing the materials have. I train them on qualitative and quantitative research methods and teach them how to administer surveys to measure behavioral changes and social changes on individuals and communities receiving material. I train them on how to enter the data and what the analysis will provide them and how to use the information we collect to strengthen the ministries and how it can benefit communities and schools by letting them see a picture of their community. It is actually rather similar to the survey that we did last summer studying the social cohesion in West Philly, but I don't actually administer the survey.
I'm going to a Ukranian school on Wednesday to help them to a demonstration and practice run at collecting data. The school is excited that there are going to be Americans there and we are actually doing a Book of Hope distribution and a showing of the Gospel presentation through the movie, "The Godman." I'm really excited to see what that's like. I have been a bit distant from the traditional church and from blatant evangelism, I suppose it is good for me to become a bit more comfortable with it.
In general, I need to make sure that they have proper methods to gather the information so that the results are valid and useful. I'll be doing some of the same things in Kenya. I actually have 3 projects there which is why I'll be there so long. I'm learning so much and I am so excited to go to Africa. I actually go to Ghana right after Kenya and hope that I don't have to come home first. I have to get a few shots and take some Malaria pills. I pasted a few pictures from some of the places I've seen so far in Ukraine. Talk to you later! Give my love to everyone.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Never gonna be a "Floridian"
Most of you know that I'm no longer in Philly. I no longer live in the Hood. It's very weird to live in richpeopleville, USA with palm trees and the beach close by my house. I live 2 minutes from Whole Foods and right next to Florida Atlantic University's main campus. I hate driving so much, and my GPS (Gackenbach Positioning System) hasn't fully synched to So Flo yet. Being here is definitely a confrontation of my values and what is dear to me and what I'm comfortable with. The most comfortable place I've been was hanging out with homeless folks under the bridge in the artsy part of Ft. Lauderdale.
I've only been here a week, but it has been crazy, God has blessed me ridiculously, shown me a window into unbelievable community and reminded me of His place of priority and frontness in my life. I've slept on three couches and won't have my own room til November. My brother always talks about being ready to live lightly and not be too heavily rooted and that's exactly how I feel ahorita. On Saturday, I leave for the Ukraine for a week and I managed to book my flight to give me a 25 hour layover in Paris, so I will be stumbling around there for a day! I come back for a week only to leave for Kenya for 20 days on October 23rd. I'm so excited to go, but I'm going to miss Halloween and the World Series crown that my Phighten's will hopefully capture. I love my new job and I'm still acclimating myself, but this is so unreal. I love my coworkers already and the work atmosphere is so conducive to my style of working and I feel like I can joke around and enjoy them, but have already been able to contribute.
I've found some good rockbanding friends, gone to a great concert, taken a boatride from Ft. Lauderdale down to Miami and hung out at the beach a few times. God has a crazy sense of humor is all I can say. Much more to come. I miss Philly like crazy though. Even got back on the space just to stay in touch and everyone knows how much I hate Myspace.
I've only been here a week, but it has been crazy, God has blessed me ridiculously, shown me a window into unbelievable community and reminded me of His place of priority and frontness in my life. I've slept on three couches and won't have my own room til November. My brother always talks about being ready to live lightly and not be too heavily rooted and that's exactly how I feel ahorita. On Saturday, I leave for the Ukraine for a week and I managed to book my flight to give me a 25 hour layover in Paris, so I will be stumbling around there for a day! I come back for a week only to leave for Kenya for 20 days on October 23rd. I'm so excited to go, but I'm going to miss Halloween and the World Series crown that my Phighten's will hopefully capture. I love my new job and I'm still acclimating myself, but this is so unreal. I love my coworkers already and the work atmosphere is so conducive to my style of working and I feel like I can joke around and enjoy them, but have already been able to contribute.
I've found some good rockbanding friends, gone to a great concert, taken a boatride from Ft. Lauderdale down to Miami and hung out at the beach a few times. God has a crazy sense of humor is all I can say. Much more to come. I miss Philly like crazy though. Even got back on the space just to stay in touch and everyone knows how much I hate Myspace.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
I'm not sure whether it's the Phillies late inning tight rope walking or all the junk food I ate last night with the guys, but I'm definitely working on some serious heartburn right now. Pedro just now hit a homer and so that relieves some of my stress. What a great name. That was beautiful. Today marked the closure of another chapter in my life, as I watched the final episode of the Wire. I suppose it's rather appropriate that I finish up my favorite show, depicting the dichotomy of city life and the brutal realities about human nature. These turths are exposed when we are stretched and stripped of our comfort and security which often serves to mask our rawness and vulnerability. As the music of the Blind Boys softly entered the shot and signaled the fade to the final credits, it left me with a bunch of questions that extended far beyond the fictitious nature of the show and into my experiences in my first tenure in West Philadelphia. Several nights this week I've been unable to sleep, just questioning my decision and the weight of all the relationships that I have in this community and the energy and time that I've put into them and that they've put into me. I've sat for hours on the steps of my church this week late into the morning before meandering my way to the rec center and the shopping plaza where I've sat and contemplated what God is doing in my life. I've pleaded with God to bring me back here some day soon, for His purpose and I fight to be confident that I am walking in His will in making this radical move. I love this neighborhood. It is painful to know that next week this time, I will not be in Philadelphia.
Friday, I blew off work in the afternoon and went and hung out at the Sal. I saw a lot of kids that I knew, but I actually met a lot that I didn't. The past three years have been about relationship for me. The single biggest thing I will take from Philly is that before I can love God and love others, I must learn to receive love from God and from others. I have been loved so well by so many people. I've had a lot of hard, painful and frustrating relationships from neighbors, friends, coworkers and others, but I am a stronger person and have grown in my capacity to love as a result. It should be hard to leave a place. Several people have made me cry in the things that they've said to me after I shared my bittersweet news with them. I am humbled that I have the opportunity to hear from my friends and to share with them how much they mean to me.
Friday, I blew off work in the afternoon and went and hung out at the Sal. I saw a lot of kids that I knew, but I actually met a lot that I didn't. The past three years have been about relationship for me. The single biggest thing I will take from Philly is that before I can love God and love others, I must learn to receive love from God and from others. I have been loved so well by so many people. I've had a lot of hard, painful and frustrating relationships from neighbors, friends, coworkers and others, but I am a stronger person and have grown in my capacity to love as a result. It should be hard to leave a place. Several people have made me cry in the things that they've said to me after I shared my bittersweet news with them. I am humbled that I have the opportunity to hear from my friends and to share with them how much they mean to me.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Change
Well, I suppose I may have to change the name of my blog. I'm moving to Florida in two weeks, dang son, that still sounds so crazy to me. I feel confident that it's the right move for me ahorita, but the weight on my heart continues to grow. I love Philly. I will be back, this is where I want to raise a family some day and start a fair trade coffee non-profit cafe, book shop, job readiness program and social advocacy center. I just don't understand God's plans sometimes, but I'm trying to walk in them. God dropped an amazing opportunity into my lap and I feel confident that I'm to pursue it. I'll be working for a mission's organization doing research project management and statistical analysis. I'll be traveling a lot as well. In October, I'm already scheduled to go to Nigeria, India and Dallas. I really miss doing math and I've always wanted to travel on someone else's dime. I just told Booboo yesterday that I was leaving. We sat on the front porch and looked at the U.S. map and where I'd be moving too and then the World map to see some of the places I'd be going to. This is all so crazy. I feel so overwhelmed already by the people he's brought me to in Florida, this job and just how quickly things have happened. I worried that I was running from pain or problems here in Philly, but I honestly don't believe that's the case. I've prayed a lot and if that is the case, then God will have his will accomplished no matter what. I don't feel completely qualified for this job, but I feel like I was called and prepared for it and I'm excited to work hard. Yesterday was the MegaBlock Party and it was a great venue to say goodbye to people and just enjoy West Philly. God, I love this place. I want to live here so badly, but I need some space and some healing.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
I've Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier
The chorus, "I got Soul, but I'm not a Soldier" first attracted me to this song. I thought it was about not joining the military. Since I don't believe in war, I thought that line was a great line and I wanted to find out the full meaning of the song. I looked up the lyrics to the rest of the song and realized it's more a prodigal son story than anything. He's trying to say that he is spiritual and even a follower of Christ, but he's not a blind follower and a crusader.
It's not so much about this epic battle as it is about our hearts. He's not interested in just following rules, but he's able to look back at things and see how God has changed his heart and who he is. I can echo that spirit. It's a rock bottom type of song. He turned to God not as a result of his heart, but more out of a last resort. I know that God honors this selfishness, and even causes us pain to bring us to that point of utter necessity for Him. The prodigal son is a prime example of this. His love for us is so intense, that He doesn't care what our motives are for coming to Him. It's humbling when you think about it, because I know that I've gone to God often after trying just about everything else.
I've been through some things, been angry at God, been hurt, questioned God and I don't understand things, but I know that I'm no longer the cold-hearted boy I used to be. Paul said that when he was a child, he thought as a child, he acted like a child, but when he became a man, he put his childish ways behind him. That verse has been my vision statement the past few months and has always meant a lot to me, but I feel like I can own that statement more now than ever. It's a sad song, but a sweet song. Recognizing all the things that he's done, the mistakes that he's made that have had consequences. Things might not have turned out like he wants, and they might not, but at least he recognizes that they have shaped him and he's grown and is broken, but he's a man now and not a boy. Or at least that's how I feel these days.
All These Things I've Done (watch the commercial)
When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on, hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
I wanna shine on in the hearts of men
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand
Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
And my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no no no no
Help me out
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You know you got to help me out, yeah
And when there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
These changes ain't changing me
The cold-hearted boy I used to be
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You know you got to help me out, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down
Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down
Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier (x10)
(Time, truth and hearts)
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You know you got to help me out, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You're gonna bring yourself down, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down
Over and out, last call for sin
While everyone's lost, the battle is won
With all these things that I've done
All these things that I've done
(Time, truth and hearts)
If you can hold on
If you can hold on
It's not so much about this epic battle as it is about our hearts. He's not interested in just following rules, but he's able to look back at things and see how God has changed his heart and who he is. I can echo that spirit. It's a rock bottom type of song. He turned to God not as a result of his heart, but more out of a last resort. I know that God honors this selfishness, and even causes us pain to bring us to that point of utter necessity for Him. The prodigal son is a prime example of this. His love for us is so intense, that He doesn't care what our motives are for coming to Him. It's humbling when you think about it, because I know that I've gone to God often after trying just about everything else.
I've been through some things, been angry at God, been hurt, questioned God and I don't understand things, but I know that I'm no longer the cold-hearted boy I used to be. Paul said that when he was a child, he thought as a child, he acted like a child, but when he became a man, he put his childish ways behind him. That verse has been my vision statement the past few months and has always meant a lot to me, but I feel like I can own that statement more now than ever. It's a sad song, but a sweet song. Recognizing all the things that he's done, the mistakes that he's made that have had consequences. Things might not have turned out like he wants, and they might not, but at least he recognizes that they have shaped him and he's grown and is broken, but he's a man now and not a boy. Or at least that's how I feel these days.
All These Things I've Done (watch the commercial)
When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on, hold on
If you can hold on, hold on
I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
I wanna shine on in the hearts of men
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand
Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
And my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no no no no
Help me out
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You know you got to help me out, yeah
And when there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
These changes ain't changing me
The cold-hearted boy I used to be
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You know you got to help me out, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down
Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down
Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down
I got soul, but I'm not a soldier (x10)
(Time, truth and hearts)
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You know you got to help me out, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner
You're gonna bring yourself down, yeah
You're gonna bring yourself down
Over and out, last call for sin
While everyone's lost, the battle is won
With all these things that I've done
All these things that I've done
(Time, truth and hearts)
If you can hold on
If you can hold on
Monday, September 1, 2008
Run with Horses
Nike is so inspirational, it's a shame that they have horrible corporate policies. I'm still not completely invincible to their gossamer charm. While I disagree with them in principal, they do have an incredible tendency to evoke inspiration in the common and the extraordinary. Their commercial that plays to the Killers, "All these Things I have Done" is really inspiring. I watched it a few times as I was finding out info on the Human Race. Sadly, the race didn't happen today and I didn't get to go to NYC. I settled for a nice tranquil ten mile run in West Philly alone rather than 10's of thousands in NYC. Maybe next year I'll go run it in a different country. I had a frustrating ordeal last night as I went to my office after midnight to see if it was still possible to participate in the race. No love for me, but it was good. I find myself easily frustrated and I know that I need to step back and look at the big picture more often than not.
I was driving home from my office and I was in a bit of a shouting match with God and just venting frustrations. I mean I've had quite a lot of jank seemingly go wrong for me of late. I'm just trying to hold on. I got back to my house and I was listening to my mixed CD of the moment. Reggaeton, alabanza music, chill music and acoustic worship music, awesome combo. Anyhow, I was listening to this spanish worship song and was belting it out in the car, tears running down my face. Someone came next to my car, and I waved for the person to move on. It's 1:30 a.m. and I'm not trying to interact with people on the street. Well, I realized it was my friend B. He's always trying to hustle some knick knacks and I wasn't in the mood to buy a miniature wicker chair or whatever else he was trying to get a few dollars for. He's got some problems and I've been through a lot with him, but tonight, he ministered to my spirit when I so desperately needed it. He recognized that I was going through some things and spoke encouraging life giving words to me. God sent him to my porch that night and I wept because I was so overwhelmed and confused. I have no idea where God is taking me right now. I wouldn't be surprised if I'm living in Florida, Guatemala, Philadelphia or somewhere completely different in six months.
This weekend there were a ton of block parties, which I love. I think that celebrating is a huge part of life and something I really admire about the city. Block parties are pictures of the kingdom of God to me, great food, moon bounces, basketball, chess games, laughter, spades and dominoes and more. They are a lot of fun when you are part of them, but when you are trying to drive around the city and every other block is shut down b/c of one, it can become frustrating. I had to talk to myself and tell myself to chill out and to be happy for the people having fun. While running the Cobbs Creek trail I passed a half dozen block parties, all very different, but all common in spirit.
I actually passed some people riding horses too. Not something you see every day! As I was thinking about racing and the metaphor of running, it reminded me of the verse in Jeremiah that makes me smile. It says, "If you grow weary in this footrace with men, what makes you think that you can run with horses?" It's a verse that puts you in check and says, step back and take a look at yourself. I actually was able to keep up with the horses for a bit, and they got stopped at a traffic light, hehe, but I know I can't run with horses. It's freeing, i ran in peace and tranquility. God's in control and not me. I'll leave the planning up to Him. I have a tendency to just frick things up. Someday I'll learn to just empty myself. As I was running I was thinking about prayer and how God knows my heart, my desires and I don't so much need to tell them to Him, as I need to let them go and trust in His goodness for me rather than panic
I was driving home from my office and I was in a bit of a shouting match with God and just venting frustrations. I mean I've had quite a lot of jank seemingly go wrong for me of late. I'm just trying to hold on. I got back to my house and I was listening to my mixed CD of the moment. Reggaeton, alabanza music, chill music and acoustic worship music, awesome combo. Anyhow, I was listening to this spanish worship song and was belting it out in the car, tears running down my face. Someone came next to my car, and I waved for the person to move on. It's 1:30 a.m. and I'm not trying to interact with people on the street. Well, I realized it was my friend B. He's always trying to hustle some knick knacks and I wasn't in the mood to buy a miniature wicker chair or whatever else he was trying to get a few dollars for. He's got some problems and I've been through a lot with him, but tonight, he ministered to my spirit when I so desperately needed it. He recognized that I was going through some things and spoke encouraging life giving words to me. God sent him to my porch that night and I wept because I was so overwhelmed and confused. I have no idea where God is taking me right now. I wouldn't be surprised if I'm living in Florida, Guatemala, Philadelphia or somewhere completely different in six months.
This weekend there were a ton of block parties, which I love. I think that celebrating is a huge part of life and something I really admire about the city. Block parties are pictures of the kingdom of God to me, great food, moon bounces, basketball, chess games, laughter, spades and dominoes and more. They are a lot of fun when you are part of them, but when you are trying to drive around the city and every other block is shut down b/c of one, it can become frustrating. I had to talk to myself and tell myself to chill out and to be happy for the people having fun. While running the Cobbs Creek trail I passed a half dozen block parties, all very different, but all common in spirit.
I actually passed some people riding horses too. Not something you see every day! As I was thinking about racing and the metaphor of running, it reminded me of the verse in Jeremiah that makes me smile. It says, "If you grow weary in this footrace with men, what makes you think that you can run with horses?" It's a verse that puts you in check and says, step back and take a look at yourself. I actually was able to keep up with the horses for a bit, and they got stopped at a traffic light, hehe, but I know I can't run with horses. It's freeing, i ran in peace and tranquility. God's in control and not me. I'll leave the planning up to Him. I have a tendency to just frick things up. Someday I'll learn to just empty myself. As I was running I was thinking about prayer and how God knows my heart, my desires and I don't so much need to tell them to Him, as I need to let them go and trust in His goodness for me rather than panic
Friday, August 29, 2008
Running to Stand Still
I know this song was originally written about drug addiction, but it speaks to my struggles with my flesh and my desire to stop running from things that seem to control me. We spend so much time and expend so much energy running when our deepest longing is to be free and stand firm. This song haunts me, but it carries an ethereal beauty that draws me to leave my CD on repeat for entire car rides. Bono sings with such emotion and passion. He doesn't have a classic great voice, it's just raw and real. I love it when I get this song stuck in my head on a long run, especially if I'm running through the woods. It somewhat personifies the peace that I find when I'm out running, just me, my Father and my beloved city. (Sometimes Thaddeus runs with me too)
Running to Stand Still (Watch an awesome live version)
And so she woke up from where she was lying still
Said we got to do something about where were going
Step on a steam train
Step out of the driving rain
Maybe run from the darkness in the night
Singing ha la la la de daySinging ha la la la de day
Sweet the sin
But the bitter taste in my mouth
I see seven towers
But I only see one way out
You got to cry without weeping
Talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice, you know I took the poison, from the poison stream,
Then I floated out of here
Singing ha la la la de day
Singing ha la la la de day
She runs through the streets
With her eyes painted red
Under black belly of cloud in the rain
In through a doorway she brings me White gold and pearls stolen from the sea
She is raging She is raging and the storm blows up in her eyes
She will suffer the needle chill
She is running to stand still
Running to Stand Still (Watch an awesome live version)
And so she woke up from where she was lying still
Said we got to do something about where were going
Step on a steam train
Step out of the driving rain
Maybe run from the darkness in the night
Singing ha la la la de daySinging ha la la la de day
Sweet the sin
But the bitter taste in my mouth
I see seven towers
But I only see one way out
You got to cry without weeping
Talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice, you know I took the poison, from the poison stream,
Then I floated out of here
Singing ha la la la de day
Singing ha la la la de day
She runs through the streets
With her eyes painted red
Under black belly of cloud in the rain
In through a doorway she brings me White gold and pearls stolen from the sea
She is raging She is raging and the storm blows up in her eyes
She will suffer the needle chill
She is running to stand still
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Created in Our Image
I love Donald Miller, especially "Searching for God Knows What" Perhaps I appreciate him because he speaks in a rambling manner much like me, only he's smarter and funnier. He has a not-so-secret crush on Katie Couric and imagines how things would go when he meets her for the first time and how poignant his interview would be and how she would fall in love with him by the end of the interview. People are attractive from far away and then when we get to know people all our junk and baggage comes through.
I personally would like to be Alyson Felix's running partner. Her dad is a pastor and she even listens to his sermons in the car while she is driving to practice. She's real gracious and endearing in all her interviews. I think we'd get along rather well. She does have a hitch in her running stride, but so do I. Even our running strides are compatible. She's still the second fastest woman in the world. I'm sure she has lots of issues, but she sure seems beautiful, genuine and caring coming from Beijing to my television set.
I personally would like to be Alyson Felix's running partner. Her dad is a pastor and she even listens to his sermons in the car while she is driving to practice. She's real gracious and endearing in all her interviews. I think we'd get along rather well. She does have a hitch in her running stride, but so do I. Even our running strides are compatible. She's still the second fastest woman in the world. I'm sure she has lots of issues, but she sure seems beautiful, genuine and caring coming from Beijing to my television set. We have such a tendency to create people in our own image. We even prefer to keep at a distance so as not to mess things up and to preserve the image of them that we protect in our head. Shane says that God created us in His image and we turned around and returned the favor. Part of it is about fixing people, and part of it is about trying to get for ourselves what we want.
After I read Barack Obama's books and read a few speeches and decided that I would be excited to vote for him, my tendency was to not pay attention to him in the media. I didn't want anything to taint my view of him, I want to think that he believes like me and to do too much research and investigation will only disappoint me. This doesn't have anything to do with political preference, people do the same thing with athletes, authors, friends, significant others, movie stars, musicians and the like. We exist in the messed up part and so I embrace the baggage because until we get through the mud of our issues, we aren't truly freed to be all that we can be.
Interestingly enough, Barack asked Donald Miller to give the invocation at the DNC and he prayed a rather nice prayer.
Father God,
This week, as the world looks on, help the leaders in this room create a civil dialogue about our future. We need you, God, as individuals and also as a nation. We need you to protect us from our enemies, but also from ourselves, because we are easily tempted toward apathy. Give us a passion to advance opportunities for the least of these, for widows and orphans, for single moms and children whose fathers have left. Give us the eyes to see them, and the ears to hear them, and hands willing to serve them. Help us serve people, not just causes. And stand up to specific injustices rather than vague notions. Give those in this room who have power, along with those who will meet next week, the courage to work together to finally provide health care to those who don’t have any, and a living wage so families can thrive rather than struggle. Help us figure out how to pay teachers what they deserve and give children an equal opportunity to get a college education. Help us figure out the balance between economic opportunity and corporate gluttony. We have tried to solve these problems ourselves but they are still there. We need your help. Father, will you restore our moral standing in the world. A lot of people don’t like us but that’s because they don’t know the heart of the average American. Will you give us favor and forgiveness, along with our allies around the world. Help us be an example of humility and strength once again. Lastly, father, unify us. Even in our diversity help us see how much we have in common. And unify us not just in our ideas and in our sentiments—but in our actions, as we look around and figure out something we can do to help create an America even greater than the one we have come to cherish. God we know that you are good. Thank you for blessing us in so many ways as Americans. I make these requests in the name of your son, Jesus, who gave his own life against the forces of injustice. Let Him be our example. Amen.
After I read Barack Obama's books and read a few speeches and decided that I would be excited to vote for him, my tendency was to not pay attention to him in the media. I didn't want anything to taint my view of him, I want to think that he believes like me and to do too much research and investigation will only disappoint me. This doesn't have anything to do with political preference, people do the same thing with athletes, authors, friends, significant others, movie stars, musicians and the like. We exist in the messed up part and so I embrace the baggage because until we get through the mud of our issues, we aren't truly freed to be all that we can be.Interestingly enough, Barack asked Donald Miller to give the invocation at the DNC and he prayed a rather nice prayer.
Father God,
This week, as the world looks on, help the leaders in this room create a civil dialogue about our future. We need you, God, as individuals and also as a nation. We need you to protect us from our enemies, but also from ourselves, because we are easily tempted toward apathy. Give us a passion to advance opportunities for the least of these, for widows and orphans, for single moms and children whose fathers have left. Give us the eyes to see them, and the ears to hear them, and hands willing to serve them. Help us serve people, not just causes. And stand up to specific injustices rather than vague notions. Give those in this room who have power, along with those who will meet next week, the courage to work together to finally provide health care to those who don’t have any, and a living wage so families can thrive rather than struggle. Help us figure out how to pay teachers what they deserve and give children an equal opportunity to get a college education. Help us figure out the balance between economic opportunity and corporate gluttony. We have tried to solve these problems ourselves but they are still there. We need your help. Father, will you restore our moral standing in the world. A lot of people don’t like us but that’s because they don’t know the heart of the average American. Will you give us favor and forgiveness, along with our allies around the world. Help us be an example of humility and strength once again. Lastly, father, unify us. Even in our diversity help us see how much we have in common. And unify us not just in our ideas and in our sentiments—but in our actions, as we look around and figure out something we can do to help create an America even greater than the one we have come to cherish. God we know that you are good. Thank you for blessing us in so many ways as Americans. I make these requests in the name of your son, Jesus, who gave his own life against the forces of injustice. Let Him be our example. Amen.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Storytime
Buddha and I sat on the front porch and we curled up in the wagon to read a book. Earlier today I wasn't feeling the greatest and I was at the computer center when I spotted a familiar book in the pile of donations. Max Lucado wrote a children's book entitled, "You are Mine." Usually I'm not one for cliches and feel good language, but I have a soft spot for this book. Someone read it to me once when I was really sick my freshman year of college, man how time has changed. I pulled the book out and actually read it by myself before reading it together with Booboo. The story is about wooden puppets who find their identity in having the most boxes and toys.The main character gets caught up in this pursuit, forsakes all his friends, families and values and joins this race. He thinks he's climbing the mountain to compete with the others but he stumbles into the puppet makers workshop. Punchinello is ashamed, but Eli the maker is patient and loving. He asks him a series of questions that reveal to him that his heart is not happy and that he hasn't been trusting in love and his creator. His stuff isn't what makes him happy or important, it's the fact that the maker created him with love and finds him special. Well, it was cute because Percy came out and joined us and helped quiz Buddha on the reading comprehension and Ma caught the end of it and wanted to hear the story and made Buddha sit still until he fully understand why Punchinello was special.
The simple things of this world confound the wise. I truly have found that the more childlike I am, the more ready and able I am to receive the Words of my Jesus. How beautiful that the story can be as important for Booboo as it is for me as it is for Ms. Linda. We have an incredible maker. I remember visiting Mexico for the first time and Saul was preaching and shared a story about his wife that has stuck with me since then. They were at an artisan market in Oaxaca and they were looking at beautiful pottery. He remarked about how lovely it was and he was so focused on the intricate designs, textures and colors. His wife however said to the salesperson, "I have to meet the creator of these works." They ended up going to meet the person and driving for a few hours, but the impact of meeting the artist and entering into her story brought so much more wholeness and beauty to that amazing pot. Oh that we would focus on the creator and not the created. Psalm 73 calls Gods children to remember that God won't give us anything that gives us more pleasure than him. Sadly I have to remind myself of this almost daily.
Guatemala is known for beautiful vibrant colors. In fact my mom/aunt usually buy me the Colors of Guatemala calendar every year, which I really appreciate. I want to make my own clothes some day. U.S. clothing is so sterile and institutionalized. I suppose that my limited jeans washing is about as close to protesting this as I normally get. Anyhow, as I wandered the streets of Panajachel and saw hundreds of vendors selling the same things, I couldn't bring myself to buy any of it, even though many of the artesanias were beautiful. When we stayed in San Pedro, there were only a few shops and I stopped in one and got to speak with a woman as she was making a beautiful textile. I talked with her a while, before purchasing several of her pieces and I gladly payed a bit more for the story behind the original art.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
mucho fuego aunque me duela, ayudara
At the Workshop of the Master
That time passes and everything changes...That the dream that I had in my soul all of a sudden has disappeared/ That the smile on my face has left me; my tears begin flow /At the workshop of the Master I come well/ He will cure my pain /He will take me into his arms and every hurt He will heal /The tools of the Master my soul He will mend
Al Taller Del Maestro
Ay como me duele estar despierto y no poder cantar
Como expresarte sin palabras que muero si no estas?
Que el tiempo pasa y todo cambia;
hoy lloro de soledad
Que el sueno que llevo en el alma de repente ya no esta
Que la sonrisa se ha marchado; mis lagrimas caeran
Al taller del maestro vengo pues El me curara
Me tomara entre sus brazos y cada herida sanara
Las herramientas del maestro mi alma El remendara
Martillo en mano y mucho fuego aunque me duela ayudara
A conocerlo y a entenderlo a saber que nada merezco
Amar es mas que un pretexto es una entrega es un negar
Mas que aquel sentimiento es la decision de amar
Al taller del maestro vengo
Alli el sol se pondra
Al taller del maestro vengo
Carpintero mi alma aqui esta
Al taller del maestro vengo
No importa el tiempo que alli he de estar
Ay de aquellos dias que hizo frio el sol no aparecio
Cuando el talento no lo es todoy el silencio
vale mas que mil palabras sin senti
doy una vida morira si
Tu no estas aqui conmigo
De que sirve mi cantar?
Para que la fama y las estrellas si el maestro alli no esta?
Para que decirte que te amo si conmigo no quiero estar?
That time passes and everything changes...That the dream that I had in my soul all of a sudden has disappeared/ That the smile on my face has left me; my tears begin flow /At the workshop of the Master I come well/ He will cure my pain /He will take me into his arms and every hurt He will heal /The tools of the Master my soul He will mend
Al Taller Del Maestro
Ay como me duele estar despierto y no poder cantar
Como expresarte sin palabras que muero si no estas?
Que el tiempo pasa y todo cambia;
hoy lloro de soledad
Que el sueno que llevo en el alma de repente ya no esta
Que la sonrisa se ha marchado; mis lagrimas caeran
Al taller del maestro vengo pues El me curara
Me tomara entre sus brazos y cada herida sanara
Las herramientas del maestro mi alma El remendara
Martillo en mano y mucho fuego aunque me duela ayudara
A conocerlo y a entenderlo a saber que nada merezco
Amar es mas que un pretexto es una entrega es un negar
Mas que aquel sentimiento es la decision de amar
Al taller del maestro vengo
Alli el sol se pondra
Al taller del maestro vengo
Carpintero mi alma aqui esta
Al taller del maestro vengo
No importa el tiempo que alli he de estar
Ay de aquellos dias que hizo frio el sol no aparecio
Cuando el talento no lo es todoy el silencio
vale mas que mil palabras sin senti
doy una vida morira si
Tu no estas aqui conmigo
De que sirve mi cantar?
Para que la fama y las estrellas si el maestro alli no esta?
Para que decirte que te amo si conmigo no quiero estar?
huh moments
I have dreamed about running alrededor de Lake Atitlan for years. The most important things I took to Pana were my running shoes, camera and lots of books. After the annoying chicken bus ride, I was looking for my sunglasses and as I reached into my trendy guatemalan wool messenger bag, I envisioned my running shoes still on the rack of the overhead bin above my seat. Some gringo is probably wearing them as we speak. Guess I'll have to wait for my next trip. Maybe running the "Human Race" this weekend through NYC with Thaddeus will begin to make up for it just a bit.
Last night I watched Frida on Univision. I appreciate Frida much more, but Diego is still my favorite. I recognized some of the fake sites from Coyoacan and they went to Xochimilco and rode boats in the canals. I could understand almost half of it. I don't have anyone to really practice spanish with. I'm too scared to give my phone numbers to my Guatemalan friends because talking on the phone in Spanish gives me migrainas.
I could sit in coffee shops all day. Philly or Guatemala, no importa.
Coffee, running, pasta, bananas, books. I think those would be my five essentials in life. Cheese is a close sixth. Lean cuisine, healthy choice, and lean pockets weren't on sale tonight and I panicked and didn't know what to eat.
Andrew nearly went blind from rubbing chili powder in his eyes at the Mayan village we visited. Freakin hilarious, I died laughing. i know it's insensitive, but I mean how often can you say that's happened to you. He has an awesome story to tell everyone.
Blellca told me that she wanted me to have authentic Guatemalan food when I first got there. She took me to "Cajun & Grill" I giggled to myself swallowed my tongue and narrowed it down to the Jazz Combo, Louisiana Chicken and Bourbon Chicken. I went with the Bourbon chicken. I love Blellca. Soy Chapin!
Watching George Harrison's Pakistan tribute concert at 1 a.m. with Fernando in the pouring rain.
Andrew eating about 7 choco's in two days.
Guatemalan television olympic coverage. Were they there? Guatemalan's biggest olympic athlete plays badminton. Still no career medals for mis Guates. I could make the team handball team.
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